Posted October 12, 2012 I don't really get it... That's probably because you're not very knowledgeable of Touhou. Oh well. Share this post Link to post
Posted October 20, 2012 (edited) Never Again I was seventeen when she came. I’d been living with my abusive mother for seventeen long, painful years. It was around midnight, and my mother was already asleep, so when the three soft raps at the front door came it was me who answered. An odd looking little girl stood there, with cheeks pale and colorless, blonde hair in braided pigtails, pink dress torn a little at the hem, feet bare and turning slightly blue from the cold of winter, and black eyes. Fathomless, deep black eyes. I quickly let her in, thinking of how horridly underdressed she was. It wasn’t until later I’d wonder why she’d not been shivering, or even question as to why she was here in the first place. I got her into the living room, wrapping her little form in a thick afgan my grandmother knitted. She held it, though it didn’t seem to affect her, and I smiled. “What’s your name, sweety?” A long silence passed, in which she stared at me. I was beginning to be discomforted by her black gaze when she parted her lips and spoke in a soft voice. “Lacy Morgan.” I nodded, smiling again. “You can stay here tonight, Lacy.” I said, motioning to the couch. She curled up in a little ball, black eyes still on me, and I exited the room. That night I slept soundly, not worrying about my mother beating me or the strange little girl on my couch. When morning came and I trudged into the kitchen, I was greeted with a coffee mug to the shoulder. I gave a feeble shout of pain, staring at my mother. “What the hell did you do? Why is there dirt on the couch?!” she shouted, confusing me greatly. Upon investigating, I found that Lacy had vanished, the only proof she’d been there being some dirt that must have fallen off her dress or feet. I took responsibility, earning myself a strong hit to my cheek, then left for school. While there I heard something that sent chills through my spine. “Lacy Morgan was found dead last night.” I passed the day waiting for anymore news on the subject, but found none. Upon arriving home, the news was broadcasting a live report on her though. “Lacy Morgan, six years of age, was reported dead at seven last night. Her body was located in the backyard, buried there in her pink dress. So far there has been no sign of her mother, Marrisa Morgan, who is suspected to be the killer. Marrisa has reportedly abused Lacy multiple times, and may be responsible for her death.” Suddenly, a picture of Lacy appeared on the screen. She appeared very close to how she had when I met her, blonde hair in braids, pink dress, pale face. Only, her cheeks had color… and her eyes were baby blue. To most this would seem unimportant, but to me it was. She’d died before arriving at my house, if what the news castor said was true. Died hours before. I tried to play it off, going about my buisness. I went to bed early so as not to have to see my mother. It was around midnight when I awoke to cool fingers stroking the bruise on my cheek. I sighed, leaning into the small hand. “Never again.” Lacy whispered, before her hand vanished. Not ten minutes later I heard my mother screaming. I rushed into her bedroom, nearly fainting at what I saw. My mom was thrashing wildly on her bed, a small creature having buried its face into her chest. I could hear the soung of flesh tearing, and my mother’s screaming increased in volume. I wished I hadn’t gotten up. Later on, I’d tell myself I hadn’t. But I had. So, when Lacy pull back from the gaping hole in my mother’s chest cavity, I had a plain view of her razor sharp teeth, glinting in the light. Glinting with my mother’s blood. She smiled innocently at me for a moment, before swiftly tearing out my mother’s jugular. That time I did faint. When I came to, I was in my bed. I walked to my mom’s room, morbid curiousity getting the best of me. Upon opening the door, I found the room empty. The bed made neatly, as if my mom had left for work early. The only oddities were the dirty childs footprints, and the open window, showing that Lacy had in fact visited. I never saw my mother again, and I never missed her either. I eventually got married, and we had a child together. I named her Lacy. Recently, I noticed the neighbors daughter has all sorts of scrapes and bruises on her arms. I’ve started watching their home. And the other day I saw something odd: a little girl running barefoot through their back yard up to their backdoor. It was around midnight, so I couldn’t be for sure, but I thought she met my eyes with her black ones. And I could swear she mouthed two words at me. Never again. ____________________________________________________________ I Need Some Bread & Cereal, Too. You get a phone call from your Mother. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken breasts. After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. The lady cashier makes an odd remark to you, “You know, we’re in no danger of a milk shortage.” Upon arriving at her house you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In a couple, the chicken and the milk has gone bad. “Mom,” you call out, but no answer. You make your way thru the kitchen and into the living room. Sitting on the couch, with her head cut off and neatly resting on her lap, is your Mother. Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator. “It’s not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into a series of repetitive behaviors,” he says. You think to yourself, “They can’t be talking about me. Schizophrenia? Nah. Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?” Suddenly your cell phone goes off. “Hello?” “Hi hun, it’s me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Ohh, and I need some bread and cereal too.” “No problem Mom. I’ll be right over…” ____________________________________________________________________ The Only Sensible Ritual Pasta You wake up to find yourself lying flat in an unfamiliar and utterly filthy room. Your head pounds as you sit up and survey your surroundings. “Ohhhhww. . . What hit me?” You notice the room is dimly lit by a hanging bulb that threatens to flicker out any moment. Large piles of debris are scattered about the small room, and there are no windows. “Hey, who said that? Where am I?” To your left, right and straight ahead of you there are sinister looking doors. You do not fully comprehend your situation, but you must choose one of these doors. One door- “Hey! Are you ignoring me?” -Leads to salvation. One leads to an endless maze of halls and passages that will trap you forever, and the third leads to eternal damnation. You must- “Wait, what? Are you serious?” YOU MUST CHOOSE A DOOR. “Why? The exit’s right there.” In the cold, frightened core of your heart, you know that there is no escape from the desolate predicament you now find yourself in. “Dude, the doors right there. It even says so. See? ‘Exit’, right on the front. Big letters, too.” After a moments struggle, you come to realize the futility of resistance and return once more to the crossroads of passages. There is no way out. “Only because some locked up the exit-” You grumble to yourself as you contemplate- “It was you wasn’t it? Jerk.” CONTEMPLATE YOUR FATE. “Fine, fine. Eenie, meenie, miney. . . that one.” -You say to yourself as you chose the door to your left. Unbeknownst to you is that that particular door leads only to misery, death, and the destruction of your very soul. “What? Oh HELL no!” A sudden burst of intuitive clarity causes you to leap away back before the door closes behind you, sealing your fate. “It wasn’t intuition, you just said-” You must make your choice between the remaining two doors. With a sigh, you go towards the one in the middle. “I know what I’m doing-” You mutter- “-I don’t need you telling me. Prick.” You take hold of the doorknob to the passage that will lead you to wander the maze for all eternity, oblivious to the fate that will soon befall you. Deathless, mindless and hopeless, your rotting corpse will still walk on long after- “Gah!” -You cry as you once again leap back from your choice of passage. “Don’t get snappy with me. So, one door left? Salvation, ho.” -You say as you head towards the final door and grasp the handle. The path you have chosen will be long and fraught with peril. You will face insurmountable, blood thirsty foes and travel farther than the simple realms you think of as ‘life and death’. Should you fail, your tattered soul will serve as one of the tortures spectral servants of the lord of the underworld, Gwyn Ap Nudd. Should- “Wait a minute. . . ” -You succeed, you will have all the unimaginable pleasures of this world and the next, though you will be doomed to remain in the underworld as Gwyn’s right hand man- “HOLD UP YOU OMNISCIENT LYING PACK OF DOG CRAP! You said one of the doors would get me out of here! Salvation, remember? How is being trapped in the underworld salvation? Get me out!” There is no escape- “Don’t give me that! There’s always a way out.” There is no- What are you doing? Where did you get that pipe? “It was lying in one of those piles of trash. What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going to bust down the exit.” You can’t do that! It’s against the rules! “Oh, there are rules now, eh? What happened to your big, scary, narrator voice?” There is no escape! “There will be, just give me a minute! Just, a little. . . There! Ha, got it!” You can’t- “I just did. Goodbye and good luck, Mr. Scary voice. I’m going home, go find another stooge.” I, ah-oh, . I’m out of here too! This place gives me the willies. Edited October 20, 2012 by ChocoBrownie Share this post Link to post
Posted October 20, 2012 These are some good stories. I'm actually writing my own short sci-fi story, but, when reading these, I think it qualifies as a creepypasta. Would you like to hear it? Share this post Link to post
Posted October 20, 2012 Okay. It's on paper, and not complete, so it'll be a while before it's on here. Keep your eye out, though! (The the red one in the peephole *Shudder*) Share this post Link to post
Posted October 22, 2012 (edited) My Encounter with the Drr-Akhin Part One My name is Skyne Powell. I have been asked countless people, especially recently, about my experience with the Drr-akhin. Now that the world’s first wat to occ outside of only our planet is over, I now have the time to sit down and write my firsthand experiences with one of these newfound lifeforms. Being the first publicly recognized human to discover them, I know this will get read. Well, here it is. The scene is a little over six years ago, a week or two before they were known to exist, and about two months before war was publicly declared against them. I was at my humble, one-story home in the suburban part of the city. It started with a phone call. I, in ninth grade, was well known a prankster and mischief-maker. Mac Mikellson, or ‘Macaroni’ as he was well known, was my partner in crime. My mom doesn’t really care about my pranking, provided it doesn’t get me in trouble or hurt anyone, and I get full support from my dad; he was worse a trouble-maker than I when he was in school! Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, the phone call. Anyways, Macaroni had called me that day to help establish a prank we were working the kinks out of. Before you say anything: yes, our plans often got elaborate enough to the point where we had kinks in them. Anyways, after proposing a plan to Macaroni with a simple ‘what do you think’, the strange started to happen. He didn’t respond. “Hello? Macaroni?” No answer. I looked at my phone; the batter was still full. I held it up to my ear again. After a few seconds, I heard a moan. This moan only barely sounded human. It followed with loud crinkling and snapping, like from a crumpled paper, shortly before the line hung up on the other end. My blood chilled, and I felt a tingle drip down my spine. What had just happened? I didn’t know. I tried to call back to ask what had happened, but there was still no response. Something told myself that something very bad just happen, but I shrugged it off as nothing. I tried calling again, worried even more this time. Still no answer. Giving up, I put the phone back in it’s rightful holster, I shrugged it off as nothing. That was the first mistake I made. ~~~ Drr-akhin. Durr-ah-k'henn. D-r-r-hyphen-a-k-h-i-n Edited October 22, 2012 by thegreenrobby Share this post Link to post
Posted October 29, 2012 Yus. I was just thinking about this. You should have part two in my next post. Share this post Link to post
Posted October 31, 2012 (edited) Happy Halloween! Gosh, this creepypasta is long. Oh well. Sorry I've been inactive. anyways. Psychosis (cont.) Monday I forgot to finish writing last night. I’m not sure what I expected to see when I ran up the stairwell and looked out the heavy metal door’s window. I’m feeling ridiculous. Last night’s fear seems hazy and unreasonable to me now. I can’t wait to go out into the sunlight. I’m going to check my email, shave, shower, and finally get out of here! Wait… I think I heard something. — It was thunder. That whole sunlight and fresh air thing didn’t happen. I went out into the stairwell and up the stairs, only to find disappointment. The heavy metal door’s little window showed only flowing water, as torrential rain slammed against it. Only a very dim, gloomy light filtered in through the rain, but at least I knew it was daytime, even if it was a grey, sickly, wet day. I tried looking out the window and waiting for lightning to illuminate the gloom, but the rain was too heavy and I couldn’t make out anything more than vague weird shapes moving at odd angles in the waves washing down the window. Disappointed, I turned around, but I didn’t want to go back to my room. Instead, I wandered further up the stairs, past the first floor, and the second. The stairs ended at the third floor, the highest floor in the building. I looked through the glass that ran up the outer wall of the stairwell, but it was that warped, thick kind that scatters the light, not that there was much to see through the rain to begin with. I opened the stairwell door and wandered down the hallway. The ten or so thick wooden doors, painted blue a long time ago, were all closed. I listened as I walked, but it was the middle of the day, so I wasn’t surprised that I heard nothing but the rain outside. As I stood there in the dim hallway, listening to the rain, I had the strange fleeting impression that the doors were standing like silent granite monoliths erected by some ancient forgotten civilization for some unfathomable guardian purpose. Lightning flashed, and I could have sworn that, for just a moment, the old grainy blue wood looked just like rough stone. I laughed at myself for letting my imagination get the best of me, but then it occurred to me that the dim gloom and lightning must mean there was a window somewhere in the hallway. A vague memory surfaced, and I suddenly recalled that the third floor had an alcove and an inset window halfway down the floor’s hallway. Excited to look out into the rain and possibly see another human being, I quickly walked over to the alcove, finding the large thin glass window. Rain washed down it, as with the front door’s window, but I could open this one. I reached a hand out to slide it open, but hesitated. I had the strangest feeling that if I opened that window, I would see something absolutely horrifying on the other side. Everything’s been so odd lately… so I came up with a plan, and I came back here to get what I needed. I don’t seriously think anything will come of it, but I’m bored, it’s raining, and I’m going stir crazy. I came back to get my webcam. The cord isn’t long enough to reach the third floor by any means, so instead I’m going to hide it between the two soda machines in the dark end of my basement hallway, run the wire along the wall and under my door, and put black duct tape over the wire to blend it in with the black plastic strip that runs along the base of the hallway’s walls. I know this is silly, but I don’t have anything better to do… Well, nothing happened. I propped open the hallway-to-stairwell door, steeled myself, then flung the heavy front door wide open and ran like hell down the stairs to my room and slammed the door. I watched the webcam on my computer intently, seeing the hallway outside my door and most of the stairwell. I’m watching it right now, and I don’t see anything interesting. I just wish the camera’s position was different, so that I could see out the front door. Hey! Somebody’s online! — I got out an older, less functional webcam that I had in my closet to video chat with my friend online. I couldn’t really explain to him why I wanted to video chat, but it felt good to see another person’s face. He couldn’t talk very long, and we didn’t talk about anything meaningful, but I feel much better. My strange fear has almost passed. I would feel completely better, but there was something… odd… about our conversation. I know that I’ve said that everything has seemed odd, but… still, he was very vague in his responses. I can’t recall one specific thing that he said… no particular name, or place, or event… but he did ask for my email address to keep in touch. Wait, I just got an email. I’m about to go out. I just got an email from Amy that asked me to meet her for dinner at ‘the place we usually go to.’ I do love pizza, and I’ve just been eating random food from my poorly stocked fridge for days, so I can’t wait. Again, I feel ridiculous about the odd couple of days I’ve been having. I should destroy this journal when I get back. Oh, another email. — Oh my god. I almost left the email and opened the door. I almost opened the door. I almost opened the door, but I read the email first! It was from a friend I hadn’t heard from in a long time, and it was sent to a huge number of emails that must have been every person he had saved in his address list. It had no subject, and it said, simply: seen with your own eyes don’t trust them they What the hell is that supposed to mean? The words shock me, and I keep going over and over them. Is it a desperate email sent just as… something happened? The words are obviously cut off without finishing! On any other day I would have dismissed this as spam from a computer virus or something, but the words… seen with your own eyes! I can’t help but read over this journal and think back on the last few days and realize that I have not seen another person with my own eyes or talked to another person face to face. The webcam conversation with my friend was so strange, so vague, so… eerie, now that I think about it. Was it eerie? Or is the fear clouding my memory? My mind toys with the progression of events I’ve written here, pointing out that I have not been presented with one single fact that I did not specifically give out unsuspectingly. The random ‘wrong number’ that got my name and the subsequent strange return call from Amy, the friend that asked for my email address… I messaged him first when I saw him online! And then I got my first email a few minutes after that conversation! Oh my god! That phone call with Amy! I said over the phone – I said that I was within half an hour’s walk of Seventh Street! They know I’m near there! What if they’re trying to find me?! Where is everyone else? Why haven’t I seen or heard anyone else in days? No, no, this is crazy. This is absolutely crazy. I need to calm down. This madness needs to end. — I don’t know what to think. I ran about my apartment furiously, holding my cell phone up to every corner to see if it got a signal through the heavy walls. Finally, in the tiny bathroom, near one ceiling corner, I got a single bar. Holding my phone there, I sent a text message to every number in my list. Not wanting to betray anything about my unfounded fears, I simply sent: You seen anyone face to face lately? At that point, I just wanted any reply back. I didn’t care what the reply was, or if I embarrassed myself. I tried to call someone a few times, but I couldn’t get my head up high enough, and if I brought my cell phone down even an inch, it lost signal. Then I remembered the computer, and rushed over to it, instant messaging everyone online. Most were idle or away from their computer. Nobody responded. My messages grew more frantic, and I started telling people where I was and to stop by in person for a host of barely passable reasons. I didn’t care about anything by that point. I just needed to see another person! I also tore apart my apartment looking for something that I might have missed; some way to contact another human being without opening the door. I know it’s crazy, I know it’s unfounded, but what if? WHAT IF? I just need to be sure! I taped the phone to the ceiling in case. -------- Oh, and to make up for the lack of posts, I give you guys a bonus one! Tourist Trap In rural Wisconsin, there is an old abandoned park. Built in the 1920s, it served as the town’s gathering place for everyone. That is, until a newly developed Train and Tunnel for Tots™ ride was installed in 1932. It was an innocent looking childish train, with one main (mechanized) head car, with three small trolleys pulled behind it. It went around some loops before going into a small tunnel. But this is where the story gets weird. There were numerous cases of child deaths that year, all of them happening after the child rode on that train system. Some kids went missing in that short tunnel (about ten feet), and others went comatose after leaving. One, upon exiting, was found to be dead. Her dress was covered in what looked like small bloody handprints. Some killed themselves by scratching at their throats until they bled out, and one of them even killed another child before hanging herself with razor wire at the family’s farm. The park was closed, and the town’s popularity as a tourist town plummeted. Recently, a team of scientists were sent out to the park. They taped a video camera to the train, and put a new intern in with it, before sending it on its way onto the tracks. When the train left the tunnel, it was empty, except for the camera. The last ten seconds were nothing but static, save for the sound of children laughing Edited October 31, 2012 by greenglassesgal Share this post Link to post
Posted October 31, 2012 That tourist trap one was awesome. As a reward, I clickspammed your Jaspernyan. And nope. I think I'm a bit too lazy to finish that. Share this post Link to post
Posted November 1, 2012 Psychosis (cont.) Tuesday THE PHONE RANG! Exhausted from last night’s rampage, I must have fallen asleep. I woke up to the phone ringing, and ran into the bathroom, stood on the toilet, and flipped open the phone taped to the ceiling. It was Amy, and I feel so much better. She was really worried about me, and apparently had been trying to contact me since the last time I talked to her. She’s coming over now, and, yes, she knows where I am without me telling her. I feel so embarrassed. I am definitely throwing this journal away before anyone sees it. I don’t even know why I’m writing in it now. Maybe it’s just because it’s the only communication I’ve had at all since… god knows when. I look like hell, too. I looked in the mirror before I came back in here. My eyes are sunken, my stubble is thicker, and I just look generally unhealthy. My apartment is trashed, but I’m not going to clean it up. I think I need someone else to see what I’ve been through. These past few days have NOT been normal. I am not one to imagine things. I know I have been the victim of extreme probability. I probably missed seeing another person a dozen times. I just happened to go out when it was late at night, or the middle of the day when everyone was gone. Everything’s perfectly fine, I know this now. Plus, I found something in the closet last night that has helped me tremendously: a television! I set it up just before I wrote this, and it’s on in the background. Television has always been an escape for me, and it reminds me that there’s a world beyond these dingy brick walls. I’m glad Amy’s the only one that responded to me after last night’s frantic pestering of everyone I could contact. She’s been my best friend for years. She doesn’t know it, but I count the day that I met her among one of the few moments of true happiness in my life. I remember that warm summer day fondly. It seems a different reality from this dark, rainy, lonely place. I feel like I spent days sitting in that playground, much too old to play, just talking with her and hanging around doing nothing at all. I still feel like I can go back to that moment sometimes, and it reminds me that this damn place is not all that there is… finally, a knock on the door! — I thought it was odd that I couldn’t see her through the camera I hid between the two soda machines. I figured that it was bad positioning, like when I couldn’t see out the front door. I should have known. I should have known! After the knock, I yelled through the door jokingly that I had a camera between the soda machines, because I was embarrassed myself that I had taken this paranoia so far. After I did that, I saw her image walk over to the camera and look down at it. She smiled and waved. “Hey!” she said to the camera brightly, giving it a wry look. “It’s weird, I know,” I said into the mic attached to my computer. “I’ve had a weird few days.” “Must have,” she replied. “Open the door, John.” I hesitated. How could I be sure? “Hey, humor me a second here,” I told her through the mic. “Tell me one thing about us. Just prove to me you’re you.” She gave the camera a weird look. “Um, alright,” she said slowly, thinking. “We met randomly at a playground when we were both way too old to be there?” I sighed deeply as reality returned and fear faded. God, I’d been so ridiculous. Of course it was Amy! That day wasn’t anywhere in the world except in my memory. I’d never even mentioned it to anyone, not out of embarrassment, but out of a strange secret nostalgia and a longing for those days to return. If there was some unknown force at work trying to trick me, as I feared, there was no way they could know about that day. “Haha, alright, I’ll explain everything,” I told her. “Be right there.” I ran to my small bathroom and fixed my hair as best I could. I looked like hell, but she would understand. Snickering at my own unbelievable behavior and the mess I’d made of the place, I walked to the door. I put my hand on the doorknob and gave the mess one last look. So ridiculous, I thought. My eyes traced over the half-eaten food lying on the ground, the overflowing trash bin, and the bed I’d tipped to the side looking for… God knows what. I almost turned to the door and opened it, but my eyes fell on one last thing: the old webcam, the one I used for that eerily vacant chat with my friend. Its silent black sphere lay haphazardly tossed to the side, its lens pointed at the table where this journal lay. An overwhelming terror took me as I realized that if something could see through that camera, it would have seen what I just wrote about that day. I asked her for any one thing about us, and she chose the only thing in the world that I thought they or it did not know… but IT DID! IT DID KNOW! IT COULD HAVE BEEN WATCHING ME THE WHOLE TIME! I didn’t open the door. I screamed. I screamed in uncontrollable terror. I stomped on the old webcam on the floor. The door shook, and the doorknob tried to turn, but I didn’t hear Amy’s voice through the door. Was the basement door, made to keep out drafts, too thick? Or was Amy not outside? What could have been trying to get in, if not her? What the hell is out there?! I saw her on my computer through the camera outside, I heard her on the speakers through the camera outside, but was it real?! How can I know?! She’s gone now – I screamed, and shouted for help! I piled up everything in my apartment against the front door – ------ wonder how long I can keep this up... :/ Share this post Link to post
Posted November 2, 2012 Chains Wednesday, December 1st, 2011 "It’s just an email; it won't hurt me. They’re just words on a computer." I tried my best to convince myself. I have been scared of chain letters my entire life. I have always forwarded them, but now I'm getting too old to believe in such silly things. I moved my cursor to delete but, no, I couldn’t delete it. I couldn't keep it in my in box either. I started having a terrible anxiety attack. I had to send it, I had to. I opened my contacts and sent it to twelve people, just like it asked. Thursday, December 2nd, 2011 The next day at school I approached my friend about the email I sent him. “Did you forward the chain letter?" I asked anxiously. In answer he procured his phone from his pocket and showed me the email I had sent him. I could see that it hadn't been forwarded. Before, I had not read the whole thing. I didn’t want to give myself nightmares. But now, I felt safe. Here’s the letter: “Hello. My name is Gregory. I loved to play with chains. Then, my daddy beat me to death with one. He drank a lot of beer. But now he’s dead, too! I killed him. Don’t hurt my chains. Send this to twelve of your favorite people! But hurry, I’ll be back on Sunday! Love, Gregory” The letter was unusual for a chain letter. It wasn’t particularly descriptive. It didn’t feel as threatening as some of the other chain mail I’ve gotten before. But, it scared me because my name is Gregory and my dad died when I was younger. I was very worried for my friend. What if he died? What had I done? I didn’t personally know all the people I sent the message to. I didn’t care, I warned them all anyway. All of them laughed at me. I ended up crying and running home. They could die and it would be my fault. My fault! Friday, December 3rd, 2011 All of those poor people! They will all die because of this stupid letter. I couldn't sleep at all last night; I was thinking of all of the terrible ways this psycho could murder them. I asked my friend to stay over tomorrow night. I know we’re kind of getting old for it, but I didn’t want him to die. Maybe the killer will get confused when he isn't there. Yes, that’s it! What about the other people? Some of them are my friends, and I didn’t want them to die. I think my mom would be worried if I invited the whole neighborhood to spend the night. I can’t save them. I feel terrible, but it's better to save one than none at all. Saturday, December 4th, 2011 My friend is coming over at about 4 P.M., so I prepared myself. I don’t want to be defenseless if the killer comes. I took a knife from the kitchen block and hid it under my pillow. After he came we were running around outside, and then I suddenly tripped on something. A chain. It was old and rusted like it had been there for a long time, but I had never seen it before. The coincidence terrified me. I’m writing this from home now. I wouldn't believe this if I hadn't seen it for myself. We were settling down around 11:30. We were dead quiet. I was staring at the clock, watching the minutes slowly go by. It was so quiet we could hear each other’s breath. Well, he could hear mine, at least. I was so nervous. We just sat there, consumed by the silence and darkness. The clock at last hit 12:00. A wave of relief rushed over me as the clock turned to 12:01. The door to my room flew open a large shadow stood in the doorway. A large man grabbed me and chained me to the chair in the corner of the room. What happened next, I remember in vivid detail. I watched as he pinned my friend to the ground. He ripped opened his gut, and pulled out the entrails. He cut off all of his limbs, and finally his head. He used the knife to bore hole through my friend’s torso, and then the man fed a length of chain through it. The chain was then locked together with a padlock and I watched as he casually exited the room with the torso, returning empty-handed. He picked me up and placed me in the back of his truck. Tied to the end of the truck was the chained torso. The man then drove around our town, mutilating, murdering, and chaining the torsos of the other 11 people I had sent the letter to. I was forced to watch all of it. Driving along the road the bodies looked like a chain of ****ed-up wedding bells. After he was done, he put the knife in my hands and left without the truck. I drove back home, the police were there. My mother had called them. Now they say they're going to ask me a few questions. But no, I think they arrested me. Why? I didn’t do any of this! I couldn’t do anything to save any of them! W- ________________________________________________________________ Children's Playground I'd moved to a new town, this was a much nicer, cleaner, quieter town than the one I'd lived at before. Not the sort of town you'd expect to have... things wrong with it. There was a very big public park right in the center, it housed rows upon rows of swings, slides infested with snake-like tunnels that weaved in and around the playground - providing a maze for children to lose themselves in their games. There was even a functioning merry-go round which seemed to always be slightly turning, inviting the children to hitch a ride on it's platform of twirls. I have to emphasize on the fact that it was a quiet, peaceful town. The kind of town where kids could leave the house on their own and take the short journey to the park. I had been given strict instructions by my parents that I should come home the second it started turning dark. My life was wonderful, or so it seemed. It was a Friday. I knew the day because I remember coming home with a large grin on my face as I knew I had the luxury of non-stop playing for the next two whole days. I did what I always did, I chucked my school bag on my bed and was ordered to change into other clothing. In a matter of minutes I was ready to descend into a world of fun. Nothing could stop me. The tunnels were my favorite, it was so easy to get lost in them which made great fun for playing hide and seek with my only 2 friends, Billy and Tom. They were both in my class and we - like many 8-year-olds - loved any game that filled us with pure adrenaline. We were going to play Murder. I don't expect anyone to know this game, we made it up. The rules were very similar to hide and seek, except when the one seeking found you, they had to 'murder' you. (Pretend obviously). It was nearing winter as I remember being slightly cold as I wormed my way around in the tunnels, furiously trying to find a perfect hiding spot. Billy was the seeker. Tom had hidden behind the merry-go round. I was alone. It must have been maybe ten minutes (Which for an 8-year-old felt like a year) when I decided to do what all kids do when they get bored - Give up. "I give up!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the tunnels. "I'm in the tunnels! I give up!" I heard sudden shuffling from one end of the tunnel. Now I don't know why. But I froze still. I didn't call out again, I just... waited. Something wasn't right. Billy would always say something before coming in after someone in the tunnel. He'd always congratulate them on being the last to be found, or for cheating by hiding in the endless maze of tunnels. As I stood frozen, the shuffling grew louder. I could tell it was starting to get dark outside as the tunnels slowly began to lose any light in them, slowly but surely dropping into darkness. I began to slowly shuffle backwards, the shuffling ahead of me grew louder, as if someone or something way too big for the tunnel was trying to navigate around. "Come out, it's time to go home now" A very creepy voice echoed through the tunnels. It sounded like when a grown man talks to small children. n, talking slightly higher pitched. This was definitely wrong. I probably would have come out if the voice was outside. But it wasn't. It was inside the tunnels. Why would an adult crawl inside? As I was shuffling further and further back, the face of an old man appeared in the darkness ahead of me. Patches of hair on his head and a definite look of someone who hadn't showered in the last week. I couldn't see what he was wearing but I knew it was tattered old clothes. He had a sharp scraggly beard which was peppered with dirt. The second we made eye contact he just smiled at me. Revealing his filthy, unbrushed teeth which had blotches of brown and black covering them entirely. I panicked, turned around and began shuffling on all fours as fast as I could, The shuffling behind me growing louder and quicker. He was chasing me. I sped through the maze for what felt like an eternity, I only stopped when my legs refused to move anymore. I'd taken so many twists and turns that even I was completely lost. "I don't want to hurt you, I just want to talk" the voice echoed through the tunnels, I could tell he was nearby. I pressed my body against the bottom of the small, narrow tunnel and listened. He continued to make soft cooing noises, begging me to come out and present myself to him. I lay in that tunnel for hours. No exaggeration. Even after I heard him curse to himself and angrily force his way out of the tunnel I continued to wait. Thoughts raced my mind of me coming out the tunnel only to be met by that same smile that once greeted me. In the darkness of the tunnel I could make out blue flashing lights on the outside, I heard frantic voices calling three names repeatedly. "Billy?! Tom?! Michael?!" When I heard my name my heart slowly began to calm. My parents had come. I easily shuffled out of the tunnels, guided by the wet dirt scrapings along the walls of the tunnel, the way the man must have gone. Outside I was greeted by several police cars, lights flashing. There were groups of adults with concerned looks on the faces. I recognized two of them. My parents. "Mom! Dad!" I wailed, crying as I ran towards them. They began crying and ran towards me, lifting me off the ground and hugging me so tightly it felt as though I was being slowly crushed. Billy and Tom were taken that evening. They were later found hidden in a nearby skip. Mutilated. They had been brutally massacred, their skulls had been caved in with a large iron bar and their bodies had deep cuts everywhere, large pieces of glass found buried in their backs. _______________________________________________________________ Morgan's Corner My boyfriend Steven and I said our goodbyes, and we got into his car ready to leave the party. It was about 11 o'clock at night and pitch black outside—so dark you could hardly see your hand 3 inches from your face. It was rather chilly that night, for it was the beginning of spring still yet. Wind blowing ferociously, trees swaying, crashing their leaves into others. We were about 20 miles away from town, on the overgrown low populated area just outward. Often through the blackness we were encountered with a sudden turn, threatening to throw us off of the road into nearby trees. Fortuitously we survived those turns—but just 10 miles away from town our car ran out of gas. We were still rather far away, with no houses or manmade structures anywhere within a 2 mile radius. It reminded me of a jungle. Steven pulled the car to the side of the road. Neither of us owned cellular phones at the time, and we were in need of help. "I saw a gas station just a mile back. I'll be right back." He said, pulling himself out of the car. I was concerned about him—and I'm sure he felt the same about me. "Are you sure you'll be okay? It's dark, and who knows what kind of things are out there. Let me come with you." The next words he told me would replay in my head for the rest of my life. "Sheri. Whatever you do, don't leave the car." "But-" I attempted to reply. "Don't leave the car." He said again even more stern than the first time. His eyes locked on mine coldly for a few seconds, so I decided maybe it would be better if I was obedient. My mind began to change as time went by. 30 minutes. An hour passed by still with no sign of him. The atmosphere I was in was so very eerie- Wind whistling, trees all around hiding who-knows-what in the darkness behind. About an hour and a half since he left, I began to hear a noise—like something was just barely tapping the roof. "Tap… Tap… Tap…" I was at the same time curious and frightened to see what it was, but my beloved boyfriend's voice echoed in my mind. "Whatever you do, don't leave the car." I decided to wait until morning and try to get some sleep, but I wasn't sure how much I could get with that noise coming from the roof. Soon enough though, I drifted off without even realizing it… In the morning I saw that my boyfriend still wasn't back yet- My mind was racing with thoughts of what may have happened to him. I noticed that the tapping hadn't stopped, and since it was daytime I decided to disregard what my boyfriend had said and go outside. I would live to this day regretting not listening to him. As I stepped outside and turned around to shut the car door, my jaw dropped at the sight which I saw. I saw my boyfriend hanging upside down- his legs were tied to vines from a tree that was right next to the road. His entire stomach was cut open, forming a pool of blood on the roof of the car. And his hands… His hands were just barely touching the roof—making the slightest "Tap… Tap… Tap…" Share this post Link to post
Posted November 3, 2012 Almost done! Psychosis (cont.) Friday At least I think that it’s Friday. I broke everything electronic. I smashed my computer to pieces. Every single thing on there could have been accessed by network access, or worse, altered. I’m a programmer, I know. Every little piece of information I gave out since this started – my name, my email, my location – none of it came back from outside until I gave it out. I’ve been going over and over what I wrote. I’ve been pacing back and forth, alternating between stark terror and overpowering disbelief. Sometimes I’m absolutely certain some phantom entity is dead set on the simple goal of getting me to go outside. Back to the beginning, with the phone call from Amy, she was effectively asking me to open the door and go outside. I keep running through it in my head. One point of view says I’ve acted like a madman, and all of this is the extreme convergence of probability – never going outside at the right times by pure luck, never seeing another person by pure chance, getting a random nonsense email from some computer virus at just the right time. The other point of view says that extreme convergence of probability is the reason that whatever’s out there hasn’t gotten me already. I keep thinking: I never opened the window on the third floor. I never opened the front door, until that incredibly stupid stunt with the hidden camera after which I ran straight to my room and slammed the door. I haven’t opened my own solid door since I flung open the front door of the building. Whatever’s out there – if anything’s out there – never made an ‘appearance’ in the building before I opened the front door. Maybe the reason it wasn’t in the building already was that it was elsewhere getting everyone else… and then it waited, until I betrayed my existence by trying to call Amy… a call which didn’t work, until it called me and asked me my name… Terror literally overwhelms me every time I try to fit the pieces of this nightmare together. That email – short, cut off – was it from someone trying to get word out? Some friendly voice desperately trying to warn me before it came? Seen with my own eyes, don’t trust them – exactly what I’ve been so suspicious of. It could have masterful control of all things electronic, practicing its insidious deception to trick me into coming outside. Why can’t it get in? It knocked on the door – it must have some solid presence… the door… the image of those doors in the upper hallway as guardian monoliths flashes back in my mind every time I trace this path of thoughts. If there is some phantom entity trying to get me to go outside, maybe it can’t get through doors. I keep thinking back over all the books I’ve read or movies I’ve seen, trying to generate some explanation for this. Doors have always been such intense foci of human imagination, always seen as wards or portals of special importance. Or perhaps the door is just too thick? I know that I couldn’t bash through any of the doors in this building, let alone the heavy basement ones. Aside from that, the real question is, why does it even want me? If it just wanted to kill me, it could do it any number of ways, including just waiting until I starve to death. What if it doesn’t want to kill me? What if it has some far more horrific fate in store for me? God, what can I do to escape this nightmare?! A knock on the door… — I told the people on the other side of the door I need a minute to think and I’ll come out. I’m really just writing this down so I can figure out what to do. At least this time I heard their voices. My paranoia – and yes, I recognize I’m being paranoid – has me thinking of all sorts of ways that their voices could be faked electronically. There could be nothing but speakers outside, simulating human voices. Did it really take them three days to come talk to me? Amy is supposedly out there, along with two policemen and a psychiatrist. Maybe it took them three days to think of what to say to me – the psychiatrist’s claim could be pretty convincing, if I decided to think this has all been a crazy misunderstanding, and not some entity trying to trick me into opening the door. The psychiatrist had an older voice, authoritarian but still caring. I liked it. I’m desperate just to see someone with my own eyes! He said I have something called cyber-psychosis, and I’m just one of a nationwide epidemic of thousands of people having breakdowns triggered by a suggestive email that ‘got through somehow.’ I swear he said ‘got through somehow.’ I think he means spread throughout the country inexplicably, but I’m incredibly suspicious that the entity slipped up and revealed something. He said I am part of a wave of ‘emergent behavior’, that a lot of other people are having the same problem with the same fears, even though we’ve never communicated. That neatly explains the strange email about eyes that I got. I didn’t get the original triggering email. I got a descendant of it – my friend could have broken down too, and tried to warn everyone he knew against his paranoid fears. That’s how the problem spreads, the psychiatrist claims. I could have spread it, too, with my texts and instant messages online to everybody I know. One of those people might be melting down right now, after being triggered by something I sent them, something they might interpret any way that they want, something like a text saying seen anyone face to face lately? The psychiatrist told me that he didn’t want to ‘lose another one’, that people like me are intelligent, and that’s our downfall. We draw connections so well that we draw them even when they shouldn’t be there. He said it’s easy to get caught up in paranoia in our fast paced world, a constantly changing place where more and more of our interaction is simulated… I have to give him one thing. It’s a great explanation. It neatly explains everything. It perfectly explains everything, in fact. I have every reason to shake off this nightmarish fear that some thing or consciousness or being out there wants me to open the door so it can capture me for some horrible fate worse than death. It would be foolish, after hearing that explanation, to stay in here until I starve to death just to spite the entity that might have got everyone else. It would be foolish to think that, after hearing that explanation, I might be one of the last people left alive on an empty world, hiding in my secure basement room, spiting some unthinkable deceptive entity just by refusing to be captured. It’s a perfect explanation for every single strange thing I’ve seen or heard, and I have every reason in the world to let all of my fears go, and open the door. That’s exactly why I’m not going to. How can I be sure?! How can I know what’s real and what’s deception? All of these damn things with their wires and their signals that originate from some unseen origin! They’re not real, I can’t be sure! Signals through a camera, faked video, deceptive phone calls, emails! Even the television, lying broken on the floor – how can I possibly know it’s real? It’s just signals, waves, light… the door! It’s bashing on the door! It’s trying to get in! What insane mechanical contrivance could it be using to simulate the sound of men attacking the heavy wood so well?! At least I’ll finally see it with my own eyes… there’s nothing left in here for it to deceive me with, I’ve ripped apart everything else! It can’t deceive my eyes, can it? Seen with your own eyes don’t trust them they… wait… was that desperate message telling me to trust my eyes, or warning me about my eyes too?! Oh my god, what’s the difference between a camera and my eyes? They both turn light into electrical signals – they’re the same! I can’t be deceived! I have to be sure! I have to be sure! Share this post Link to post
Posted November 4, 2012 [[HEY! Y NO ONE ELSE IS POSTING? I would post some, but it's really late so I don't want to freak myself out... @_@]] Share this post Link to post
Posted November 4, 2012 I think this one is pretty cool... An Egg It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me. And that's when you met me. "What... what happened?" You asked. "Where am I?" "You died," I said, matter-of-factly. No point mincing words. "There was a...a truck and it was skidding..." "Yup." I said "I... I died?" "Yup. But don't feel bad about it. Everyone dies." I said. You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. "What is this place?" You asked. "Is this the afterlife?" "More or less," I said. "Are you god?" You asked. "Yup." I replied. "I'm God." "My kids... my wife," you said. "What about them?" "Will they be alright?" "That what I like to see," I said. "You just died and your main concern is for your family. That's good stuff right there." You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn't look like God. I just looked like some man. Some vague authority figure. More of a grammar school teacher than the almighty. "Don't worry," I said. "They'll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn't have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved. To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it's any consolation, she'll feel very guilty for feeling relieved." "Oh," you said. "So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?" "Neither," I said. "You'll be reincarnated." "Ah," you said. "So the Hindus were right." "All the religions are right in their own way," I said. "Walk with me." You followed along as we strolled in the void. "Where are we going?" "Nowhere in particular," I said. "It's just nice to walk while we talk." "So what's the point, then?" You asked. "When I get reborn, I'll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won't matter." "Not so!" I said. "You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don't remember them right now." I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. "Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It's like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it's hot or cold. You put a tiny part or yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you've gained all the experiences it had." "You've been a human for the last 34 years, so you haven't stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for longer, you'd start remembering everything. But there's no point doing that between each life." "How many times have I been reincarnated, then?" "Oh, lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of different lives." I said. "This time around you'll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 A.D." "Wait, what?" You stammered. "You're sending me back in time?" "Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from." "Where do you come from?" You pondered. "Oh sure!" I explained. "I come from somewhere. somewhere else. and there are others like me. I know you'll want to know what it's like there but you honestly won't understand." "Oh." you said, a little let down. "But wait. If i get reincarnated to other places in time, could I have interacted with myself at some point?" "Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own timespan you don't even know it's happening." "So what's the point of it all?" "Seriously?" I asked. "Seriously? Your asking me for the meaning of life? Isn't that a little stereotypical?" "Well it's a reasonable question." you persisted. I looked in your eye. "The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature." "You mean mankind? You want us to mature?" "No. just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature, and become a larger and greater intellect" "Just me? What about everyone else?" "There is no one else," I said. "In this universe, there's just you, and me." You stared blankly at me. "But all the people on earth..." "All you. Different incarnations of you." "Wait. I'm everyone!?" "Now you're getting it." I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back. "I'm every human who ever lived?" "Or who will ever live, yes." "I'm Abraham Lincoln?" "And you're John Wilkes Booth, too." I added. "I'm Hitler?" you said, appalled. "And you're the millions he killed." "I'm Jesus?" "And you're everyone who followed him." You fell silent. "Every time you victimized someone," I said, "You were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you've done, you've done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you." "Why?" You asked me. "Why do all this?" "Because someday, you will become like me. Because that's what you are. You're one of my kind. You're my child." "Whoa." you said, incredulous. "You mean I'm a god?" "No. Not yet. You're a fetus. You're still growing. Once you've lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born." "So the whole universe," you said. "It's just..." "An egg of sorts." I answered. "Now its time for you to move on to your next life." And with that, I sent you on your way. Share this post Link to post
Posted November 5, 2012 I think this one is pretty cool... An Egg It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me. And that's when you met me. "What... what happened?" You asked. "Where am I?" "You died," I said, matter-of-factly. No point mincing words. "There was a...a truck and it was skidding..." "Yup." I said ... "Because someday, you will become like me. Because that's what you are. You're one of my kind. You're my child." "Whoa." you said, incredulous. "You mean I'm a god?" "No. Not yet. You're a fetus. You're still growing. Once you've lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born." "So the whole universe," you said. "It's just..." "An egg of sorts." I answered. "Now its time for you to move on to your next life." And with that, I sent you on your way. More interesting than creepy, if you ask me. Well, I have been kind of stuck with my creepypasta, but a new idea came to me, so please enjoy other one I made instead. Please mind; it's a little gruesome. Sharktooth The door opened. Tabitha, or 'Tabbycat,' as her mother used to call her when she was a child, had returned from the momorial. It was for the death of a close friend, who had, recently, picked up the same job she had. She seemed so happy when they last saw each other. Tabitha couldn't understand why she would resort to taking her own life, as well as her daughter's. (She'd seen the bodies, they were actually rather gruesome. After bringing her young toddler in from the van, Matthew, she stepped back outside. She came back in with a wooden holster, which had several plastc handles sticking out of one side. On the concealed ends were beautiful, seemingly perfect, stainless steel knifes of several shapes, sizes and uses. There were a couple slots empty, but she didn't want that knife anyways. She belived that one of those empty slots contained the knife that was the choice of her double suicide. She didn't know where her friend got them, but they were beautiful. Tabitha and her late friend were alike in seveal ways. They had a lot of the same interests and even had the same odd hazel eyes. The thing that brought them closest of all was the relatable fact of single mothership. Her's devorced her, while Tabitha's died in a bank robbery gone wrong. She wedged the knifeset into the corner of the countertop, when her fingers ran across an engraving on the side. It read 'Sharktooth Knives' in a bold print. An attractively-engraved sideview of a shark was just below it. It was well done, but one thing caught her eyes: the gills. There were four lines just behind the line of the mouth for the gills, but they were... standing out. As if they were carved out by a different artist at a different time. Must just be the brand's style, she guessed. Her son pulled down a stack of plates from a cabinet in the adjacent dining room. He cried. "Oh, honey!" She left the knives on the counter to comfort her infant. ... The rest of her day ran pretty smoothly. She had dinner, finished up some paperwork and watched television, before putting her child down to sleep and heading off to sleep, herself. She slept well until she heard the crying. Her son was crying at two in the morning. She got up to deal with it. Something was different. The baby's voice of crying. She was worried; it wasn't an 'I need attention' cry, it was a 'help me I'm injured' cry! He was screaming bloody murder! She ran into the child's room, but he wasn't there. It wasn't long before she found the source of the screaming. But what was he doing on the kitchen table? Her eyes darted around. There wasn't anyone in the house, or at least it seemed. He did tend to crawl around at night; a couple of times he was found at the foot of his room, and another in the middle of the hallway. But he'd never gone as far as the kitchen. She called the police. When they showed up, they could find no signs that there was anyone else here, or even a point of entry. They concluded that the child must have just climbed up on one of the chairs, fell asleep, and had a nightmare. It made sense. The policewoman simply suggested that they go back to bed, and they'd examine the neighborhoods for anyone who might have done anything like that. They didn't. However, they did catch a drugdealer. Tabith fell asleep on her bed with her arms surrounding her child. ... The next day went pretty well, or at least it would have. She was tired from the last night's scare. She got everything she needed to get done, done, but didn't bother with any television or other pastime. She went straight to bed, and put her child down then, too. That night, she heard the screaming again. It occured later, about 2:30. She was tired enough to sleep into the scream. However, when she got out there, it was already too late. The scene was horriffic. Her son's stomach had been cut open. The gore and organs within, were not within. They were outside of his frail little body. The kid was screaming. That meant he was alive still, during this terrible, vomit inducing process. Then she found the murderer. Her beautiful, stainless steel kitchen knives. They were floating, as if they were carried by an invisible man. They turned, points to her. They had noticed that she noticed. One of the knives turned back around to the screaming baby. It went right through the skull. The screaming stopped, at least from the child. The mother was now screaming bloody murder. Under her screaming, a sound of wood scratched by metal could be heard. The knives lunged forward. She ducked, and two went over her. They embedded themselves in the wooden wall behind her. The other four were still flying around. with an urge to murder. They quickly reloacted her and locked on. two went for her feet. They didn't stab. Instead, they slammed down on her ankles by the side, and continued to press. It held her feet down. She fell to the ground. The third went for her left wrist and she soon was left flailing one arm. The final arm tried to end the flailing by going for the neck, tip forward. It lunged straight at her, but, maybe a centimeter from her neck, she grabbed the knife by it's black handle. Suddenly, pictures went through her mind. Portraits. There were three, hanging up against a white wall. The first one contained an African-American man. He was holding the hand of a young girl of the same race. She had no clue who it was. It flashed and faded into red. The second was familiar. It was her friend, holding the hand of her three year old daughter. She finally understood when it flashed and faded into the very same red. The third portrait was plain white. However, she knew exactly what it meant. In suprise, she let go of the knife. It jabbed right through, and she was left to die, not being able to breath. The last thing she heard was a knife, scraping on wood. ... He put the box of knives on the counter. Three were missing, but he didn't want the one that Tabitha had used to murder herself with. He noticed the engraving. It was of a shark. One thing caught his eye. Where the gills were was instead a group of tally marks. They were 6. ~~~~ How's that? I just came up with the idea last night. Share this post Link to post
Posted November 5, 2012 Yeah, the one I posted I found cool, but didn't exactly scare me. Nice job Robby! That story, not only was it intriguing, it managed to send a shudder down my spine. Not lying. Few creepypastas manage to do that, however interesting they are. A Parent's Love We were all there that day. The day they released him. Me and Kent, Bonnie and Simon, Nora and Anthony, Dustin and Patrick, and Darlene. We didn’t bring the kids. I think it was Nora’s idea to leave them at home. And it was Patrick’s idea to go watch the release. Chad Lamb strode from the prison, wearing the smirk that had won us over six long years ago. He stopped at the gate, spotting us. Dustin waved. Darlene raised a finger to her throat and slowly dragged it across in the classic execution motion. Lamb scowled, exited the gate, and turned west, heading for the bus stop. There was an empty lot across from the prison where we waited by our cars. Lamb, I was happy to see, continuously checked over his shoulder as we watched him walk away. He wasn’t afraid, but he was cautious. When he disappeared from view, Nora said flatly, “It’s time. We need to go to her now.” Three years ago, the kids had started having nightmares. They woke up crying, but would refuse to say why. They’d started making up excuse to avoid going to school. And they’d reacted with fear around Mr. Lamb, their charming, engaging new teacher. Finally, over the summer, Patrick and Dustin had taken their adopted daughter Yuan to a consular, who’d convinced her to open up. Lamb had touched her. Had touched several other students. With a little more pressing, Yuan gave a few more names. Dustin and Patrick had gone to their parents, gone to us. It was hard. I didn’t want to believe it, but Stan had been so scared. He’d evaded us, refused to answer the questions at first, but finally broke down. He’d been convinced he’d get in trouble. So had Violet, Eddie, and the twins Tyler and Beatrice. Lamb had done a real number on them. The police had been wonderful. Slowly, gradually, the children built up their courage to testify. My stomach twisted as I recalled Violet breaking down in tears on the stand in court. Poor, sweet Violet. Then again, Violet wasn’t sweet anymore. She went from a shy, helpless seven year old victim to a ten year old black belt with a mean streak. Six year old Kayla had the meanest, toughest sister in school. If only Beatrice had been so strong. Once again, I thanked God it hadn’t been my Stan. Then felt horrible for the thought. I heard the car stop, and looked up. We were in front of her shop. I could see the other parents waiting in front of the emerald door. “Come on.” Kent said wearily. “She hates it when we’re late for our appointments.” The shop was crowded with books, animal bones, statues of gods and fairies, strings of strange plants, and several ancient weapons. The glass counter at the back separated the public shop from the private meeting room. Darlene trudged to the counter and hit the bell once. A black curtain, emblazoned with purple eyes, was pulled aside, revealing Coda. “Heya parentals! Today’s the day, ain’t it!” Coda was always cheerful, no matter what. He had long, sharp teeth, and nails to match, with eyes as yellow as candle flames. If I’d cared, I might have wondered what he was. The boy wasn’t human. She had confirmed that. “I’ll get The Bone Woman, ‘kay?” Coda offered, disappearing back behind the curtain. “Come on!” He called, and we followed. As we always had. Nora had found her. I never asked how. The Bone Woman’s might had been proven to me, and her effectiveness was all that mattered to me. We each took our usual seats around The Bone Woman’s table, and waited. Eventually, Coda returned, leading his master by the hand. The Bone Woman’s glass eyes gazed sightlessly over us as Coda gently helped her into her massive, throne like armchair. She had a thick book, bound in a shining white material. We’d seen the book before. She’d shown it to us the first time we’d visited her. The Caligo Veneficus. The Darkest Magic. One of only thirteen in the world. Bound in the flesh of a murdered priest, the stitching done in human hair, taken from a mother who died in childbirth, and the ink it was written in mixed with the blood of a hanged man. “Are you sure?” She asked, breaking the silence. “We’re sure.” We said in unison. She nodded grimly, flipping the book open to a page near the center. The Iratus Motuus. The Angry Dead. Nora and Anthony looked grim and determined. Bonnie put her hand on Nora’s shoulder. “Are you sure, honey? Completely sure?” “This is the only way to put things right.” Anthony said, and Nora nodded. The Bone Woman shooed Coda away. “I will need the item.” She said as he left. Nora reached into her pocket, and removed a silver necklace. A heart shaped chunk of aquamarine winked cheerfully in the fire and candle light. Anthony swallowed, tears in his eyes, as soon as he saw the necklace. I remembered that necklace. Beatrice’s favorite. She’d been wearing it even when they found her in her room, hanged by her belt. A news article proclaiming Chad Lamb’s coming release from prison clutched in her hand. Nora regretfully handed the jewelry to The Bone Woman. The shaman took it, inspected it, and nodded. “Her soul has left a mark upon this object. It will work. It will call to her.” Coda came back, holding several bottles, cans, and herbs. He dropped these unceremoniously onto the table, and then turned to a shelf in the room, fetching a brass pot from it. He set this on the table too, and vanished again. As we watched in silence, The Bone Woman went to work. She seemed to not need eyes to identify what was what. She seized a decanter of dark, red wine, pouring it into the pot, and began to chant. Three yellow rose blossoms, a pinch of salt, seven rabbit bones, a lock of red human hair, a handful of grave yard dirt, snake fangs, on and on and on. The brew began to smoke and steam without being boiled, and The Bone Woman’s chanting grew faster and louder. I heard Beatrice’s name sprinkled in the foreign chant. Lamb’s name as well. Finally, she reached the finally stage of it. “Arise, my child, arise, arise, arise! Your killer now walks free, and justice has done not its duty. The time of justice is gone, now comes vengeance. Arise, my child, arise, arise, arise!” There was a burst of sound, and lavender smoke poured from the pot, filling the room and blinding us. A tortured, horrified scream split the air. The smoke cleared, and The Bone Woman looked at us gravely. “It is done. She shall be waiting for you at the agreed upon place. Go to her. But, Nora, Anthony, be warned. This is not your daughter. This is an instrument of revenge and unholy justice. Remember that.” The coffin stank. And the body was disgusting. Why did she get this gig? She’d wanted a fresh corpse. The body slowly reassembled, stitching itself back together via the Shamaness’ dark magic. The Bone Woman. Ah. Her. One of the strongest. Soon, the hands were fully reformed, and she’d slammed upwards, tearing open the coffin’s cherry wood lid. She pushed up, up, up, through the soft, icy Earth, and into the midnight air. The throat fixed itself, and she gulped down oxygen. She didn’t need it, but it felt nice for the body. She pulled herself up, settling her feet on the frosty grass. She knew where to go. She rolled her still repairing shoulders, and walked. Heading for the iron gates, down the dirt road, towards an abandoned barn that her master had ordered her to proceed to. “They, shall, be, waiting.” He rumbled. The white dress was tattered, torn, the lace slightly yellowed. She’d lost a shoe on the trip up, and the another on the walk down the hill the grave was on. It was two hours to the barn, and the legs were stiff. The arms swung limping, the feet shuffling and shambling. It grew to be too much effort to keep the mouth closed, and she let it fall open, the tongue lolling out. She felt restless. She wanted to rip, tear, kill, devour. She wanted to get the job over with and go home to the fiery, sulfur-scented fields of home. The crumbling barn appeared, and she vaguely spotted several cars parked. She grimaced. Damn. Late. As she approached, she heard shouting. “The damn witch cheated us! Nothing’s here! God damn it Nora, how could you—“ She got to the door, reached up, and ripped it open. Nine living humans looked over at her, startled. One of them took a hesitant step forward. “Be-Beatrice?” The human whispered. She said nothing. Only a raspy moan for an answer. The human drew back, gathering together, whispering. “What did she say for us to do?” “Uh…We send her to Lamb, I think. Yeah.” “Okay, okay.” They broke apart, and another one approached. “Es…es vos iratus…mortuus?” He fumbled out uncertainly. His Latin was awful, but she nodded once. She pulled back the blackened lips, showing the sharp teeth granted by the spell. She held up the hands, the black, claw like nails casting shadows. She gave another raspy, hungry moan, and one of the humans burst into tears. “Send her away, send her away.” She wailed. The one before her pointed back out into the night. “Chad Lamb.” He said firmly. “5831 Carmen Lane. Soon. Within a week. Understood?” She nodded, moaned, and turned, shambling away. Some instinct, evolved from the earliest days of her people, led her back outside, towards town. She did not run. She had time. So much time. She took back roads, moving like a shadow through trees and backyards, quickly approaching Lamb’s house. She got hungrier with every step. She needed to eat! Good, she was sure the nose was picking up his scent. Finally, thank you high dark master, there was the house. There was her meal. Chad was still up. On his computer, surfing his ‘special’ sites. Thank God that the American government still hadn’t started monitoring what registered sex offenders looked up on the web. He was so engrossed in a newly posted video, that he didn’t hear the back door open. Nor did he hear the sound of dirty, cold feet padded across his kitchen floor, through his front hall, up his stairs, down his hall, stopping in front of his closed office. He did finally hear the office door open, and looked up. “WHAT IN THE HELL??!!” Beatrice Mastin was standing in his doorway, standing in at him with puffy, sticky eyes. She smiled at him, her dirt stained fangs filling her mouth. She shuffled through the door, holding out her arms, curling her claws in and out. Chad fell off his chair, his pants around his ankles, scrambling backwards, until her ran into the far wall. Beatrice reached him, and stopped, staring down at him. The girl, from far away in another world, asked her to say something, and she complied. After all, fear made the meat taste better. “I’m hungry, Mr. Lamb.” The man’s screams were almost as sweet as his skin. Share this post Link to post
Posted November 6, 2012 I'm really glad you liked it.I worked hard on it all morning. (And last night, too. On a tinypaste document on my DSi) But to be honest, I hadn't even thought about it until last night, when I came up with the idea. It was spontaneous almost. Spontaneous writer... Share this post Link to post
Posted November 6, 2012 FINALY DONE POSTING THIS WHOLE PASTA! Psychosis (cont.) Date Unknown I calmly asked for paper and a pen, day in and day out, until it finally gave them to me. Not that it matters. What am I going to do? Poke my eyes out? The bandages feel like part of me now. The pain is gone. I figure this will be one of my last chances to write legibly, as, without my sight to correct mistakes, my hands will slowly forget the motions involved. This is a sort of self-indulgence, this writing… it’s a relic of another time, because I’m certain everyone left in the world is dead… or something far worse. I sit against the padded wall day in and day out. The entity brings me food and water. It masks itself as a kind nurse, as an unsympathetic doctor. I think it knows that my hearing has sharpened considerably now that I live in darkness. It fakes conversations in the hallways, on the off chance that I might overhear. One of the nurses talks about having a baby soon. One of the doctors lost his wife in a car accident. None of it matters, none of it is real. None of it gets to me, not like she does. That’s the worst part, the part I almost can’t handle. The thing comes to me, masquerading as Amy. Its recreation is perfect. It sounds exactly like Amy, feels exactly like her. It even produces a reasonable facsimile of tears that it makes me feel on its lifelike cheeks. When it first dragged me here, it told me all the things I wanted to hear. It told me that she loved me, that she had always loved me, that it didn’t understand why I did this, that we could still have a life together, if only I would stop insisting that I was being deceived. It wanted me to believe… no, it needed me to believe that she was real. I almost fell for it. I really did. I doubted myself for the longest time. In the end, though, it was all too perfect, too flawless, and too real. The false Amy used to come every day, and then every week, and finally stopped coming altogether… but I don’t think the entity will give up. I think the waiting game is just another one of its gambits. I will resist it for the rest of my life, if I have to. I don’t know what happened to the rest of the world, but I do know that this thing needs me to fall for its deceptions. If it needs that, then maybe, just maybe, I am a thorn in its agenda. Maybe Amy is still alive out there somewhere, kept alive only by my will to resist the deceiver. I hold on to that hope, rocking back and forth in my cell to pass the time. I will never give in. I will never break. I am… a hero! ==== The doctor read the paper the patient had scribbled on. It was barely readable, written in the shaky script of one who could not see. He wanted to smile at the man’s steadfast resolve, a reminder of the human will to survive, but he knew that the patient was completely delusional. After all, a sane man would have fallen for the deception long ago. The doctor wanted to smile. He wanted to whisper words of encouragement to the delusional man. He wanted to scream, but the nerve filaments wrapped around his head and into his eyes made him do otherwise. His body walked into the cell like a puppet, and told the patient, once more, that he was wrong, and that there was nobody trying to deceive him. Share this post Link to post
Posted December 5, 2012 Guys this thread is AMAZING I'm soo happy Egg made this and big MEGA BUMP Share this post Link to post
Posted January 26, 2013 I can't see it... Im glad Kai made this thread i read everyone of the stroies funny and creepy Share this post Link to post
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