In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls themselves "The Holder of the End". Should a look of child-like fear come over the workers face, you will then be taken to a cell in the building. It will be in a deep hidden section of the building. All you will hear is the sound of someone talking to themselves echo the halls. It is in a language that you will not understand, but your very soul will feel unspeakable fear.

Should the talking stop at any time, STOP and QUICKLY say aloud "I'm just passing through, I wish to talk." If you still hear silence, flee. Leave, do not stop for anything, do not go home, don't stay at an inn, just keep moving, sleep where your body drops. You will know in the morning if you've escaped.

If the voice in the hall comes back after you utter those words continue on. Upon reaching the cell all you will see is a windowless room with a person in the corner, speaking an unknown language, and cradling something. The person will only respond to one question. What happens when they all come together?

The person will then stares into your eyes and answer your question in horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear soon after the meeting, a few end they're lives. But most do the worst thing and look upon the object in the person's hands. You will want to as well. Be warned, if you do your death will be that of cruelty and unrelenting horror.

Your death will be in that room, by that person's hands.

That object is 1 of 2538. They must never come together. Never.

Somewhere in the world, there is a collection of books. Perhaps it's in a dusty, unpainted shelf in the back corner of someone's attic; perhaps it's in a set of musty boxes in the basement of some tiny, obscure library. It contains a few hundred volumes, all handwritten, ranging from leather-bound volumes with yellowing pages two hundred years old through to modern spiral-bound notebooks. All of them are diaries, some by famous people, some by not-so famous people, but all by the most horrific madmen and murderers the world has ever known. And the collection is growing. For if you ever find it, you will hear a faint scratching sound, coming from the newest volume of the set. This volume will be new, and filled with blank pages, except for the first. On this first page, you will find the beginning of your own diary, written in your own hand.

Phenomenon the first: Observed while driving westwards on I-80. Two occupants in car, middle of the night, no other cars around. The first sign of this phenomenon is that you will lose ALL radio reception, and devices such as MP3 players, Discman, tape decks and other music players will cease functioning. Your heater will begin to only dispense cold air, regardless of setting. After the first mile of this, you will notice a fog growing at the edges of the road, and you will see no exits, regardless of whether they were supposed to be there. If you continue on, you will begin to see the occasional pedestrian. Some of them will gesture that they would like to hitch a ride. Under no circumstances should you stop for them, no one has ever stopped and survived. If you see lights approaching from behind, and it is a hearse, do NOT let it pass you. No matter what. After 13 miles, the phenomenon will end, and you will be safe.

>>1060022

Phenomenon the Second: Reported occurrence while driving eastbound on I-94 Four occupants in car, Late morning, No other cars immediately nearby. Investigated by the witnesses after they read instructions they found in a book, left behind in a rest stop bathroom. Participants must mix a shot of whiskey, a drop of their own blood (One drop for each participant), a pinch of salt, and a small amount of used engine oil. Mix with water from a rest stop fountain in a glass bottle, and smash it on the interstate in the evening or morning. If the instructions were followed correctly, the way will become densely foggy. An unmarked exit will appear, and if you pass it by, it will be closed to you for six years. If you take the exit, go left and under the interstate. Half a mile down the road, is an old gas station. Inside, it is said that a full glass the coffee sold there, will keep you awake all night, and the other food and beverages are purported to have various properties themselves. Pay the proprietor only in metal coinage, no bills, no checks, and no cards. There are also some arcade machines near the back of the store, as well as an old fortune telling wizard in a glass case. He knows how you will die. Accept no sexual favors that are offered to you while there, and do not anger anyone. Your life depends upon it.

>>1060024
moar

There's a small, inconspicuous building called "Pindaric Willoughby and Co." in the industrial district of Birmingham, UK. Most of the time, its doors are locked and the windows are draped. However, on February 29th of every leap year, there will be a small plastic container outside the front door containing business cards. On the front of the card it says in large capital letters, "PADRAIC WILLOUGHSBY AND CO. ENGLAND'S THAUMATURGICAL SPECIALISTS". On the back, in nearly ineligibly small type it says "The blood of the innocent." Any night after midnight one can come to Pindaric Willoughby and Co. and slide their card through the door, and the door will instantly unlock. Inside there is an empty room with white walls. No light reaches this room, except for a small sliver from the other end of the room. When you approach this room you will find that it is actually another door. When you knock on it, a voice will ask "What makes a man become exalted?" and you must respond with the phrase on the back of the card: "The blood of the innocent." The door will open and you will come into another room, a kind of lounge. Inside it you will find around 5-10 people, depending on the night, sitting around smoking and drinking brandy, all in late Edwardian period dress. There is absolutely no conversation at all in this room and, it is nearly silent except for the phonograph which plays the exact same record over and over, ad infinitum. If you attempt to speak to one of the patrons, they will promptly ignore you and pretend as if you were not there. Towards the south wing of the room you will find a large, round table, slightly different from the others. On it will be a quill pen and a document. The document shows all of your personal information: name, birth date, place of residence, criminal record, greatest fears, etc. At the bottom of the document is a long line that asks for your signature. No one knows what happens after you sign it.

Creepypasta Survival Guide.(Applies to perfectly normal situations too)

1. Mirrors and darkness don't mix.

2. Seriously mirrors and darkness are a "NO".

3. There is zero chance of survival if you look the thing that no one else can see.

4. If you are alone at night in a creepy Gothic mental institution,take some time to reconsider what the fuck are you doing there.

5. Avoid going to places where everyone else who went there never came back.

6. If someone stops your vehicle at night and asks to join in,it would be in your best interest not to let him in.

7. Killing is the last method of survival. Even if you really “are the demons Joe”.

8. WHO WAS PHONE is always a good thing to ponder. Also who the hell answers a phone while kissing a dead persons sexy daughter. Or any daughter for that matter.

9. Get a simple .38 revolver. Load it with 2 AP , 2 FMJ , and 2 silver bullets.

10. If you really feel there is no chance to come alive out of a situation empty said gun at main threat.

11. Area 51 is simply too well guarded to let you get in. Or let any alien to get out.

12. When going to a hotel don't peek on other people's rooms. If you couldn't resist but you saw a red thing, take some time to consider the quality and place of your next hotel-of choice.

13. As a side-note any hotel named Hotel California can be hazardous.

14. Invoking demons, speaking weird languages and performing rituals of any kind is considered dangerous. Refrain from doing that, especially around Police Stations ,Churches ,Psychiatric Institutions and your house in front of a mirror at night.

15. When going to a new area, environmental understanding is a key to survival. Ask around for cursed places , legends , dangers and other details. And listen to the local peoples' advice.

16. Always have a Bible next to your bed. Provides average reading material , proof of beliefs and a really heavy object to throw at enemies.

17. Don't count on Holy Water. Get a sturdy vial of Sulfuric Acid and let a priest Consecrate it.

18. Japanese priests cleanse rooms by waving katana swords around. Their ritual is 100% effective.

19. If you find 666 messages on your phone , mailbox ,email, etc consider changing the said service provider. Also don't bother listening /reading the messages. It's spam. Extra dimensional or advertising but spam nevertheless.

20. Old pharmaceutical companies cant help you. Unless you specifically need “Blood Of The Innocent”, ”Snake Oil” and “Radioactive Syrup”.Which is never.

21. Lighthouses are dangerous. Avoid them at all costs.If you work at a Lighthouse consider a career in Insurance Sales.

22. There is simply no reason to listen to music that causes suicidal tendencies.

23. If you like to plan ahead and have some money , buy your auntie and uncle a house in Bel-Air. Nothing can harm you there no matter how scared is your mother.

24. Secret secluded untouched places in old buildings are left untouched for a reason. Pioneers never say “die” but they have a high mortality rate.

25. Avoid doing anything in front of a mirror (especially at night).You are seen differently than what you see and mirrors are dangerous heavy fragile objects.

26. On your 33rd birthday try celebrating in your well lit house with the company of others.

27. Refrain from using the One True Name for anything.

28. Read on sleep paralysis.

29. Watching TV static for long periods may be hazardous to your health.

30. Get a cat. A cat is fine too. Those furry little hairballs seem to perceive unnatural phenomena better than us.

Your cell phone rings, and it’s a number you don't recognize. You shrug, and answer anyway.

You: Hello?
Caller: May I have five minutes of your life?
You: Yeah, sure…

The caller hangs up, and you suddenly feel a bit older.

I just came here from /b/. I think I like this board better.

Too bad there's this creepy little girl in white knocking on my bedroom door and I'll never get toadoiua;lkd

WITNESS

You're at work alone, when you suddenly hear the copy machine start up. You walk out to take a look at what's going on and see several copies filling the tray. Picking up one of the pieces of paper you discover that it is a copy of a picture depicting you sitting in your office chair, dead, with your eyes torn out and your throat cut. The others are the same picture, but taken from increasingly bizarre angles.

There is no original picture in the copy machine. In fact, the machine has been out of toner for a week.

One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.

His desk was next to the window, and he turned and stared outside. It looked liked a picture. When it was home time at the school, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.

He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.

She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said "no." He was devastated.

When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said "no." It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.

In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.

The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, "Sorry, no." When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said "no." He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.

Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.

The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up. He smiled. He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.

(9/3/06 10:29 pm)

Reply Internet Explorer 3 When using Internet Explorer 3 for Windows (Google around for a version that works on Windows XP), enter this in the address bar (do not copy-paste, you must input it with the keyboard):


for-you://gratitude-and-remembrance

Wait ~ 40 seconds. You will fell strange. Don't fight the feeling, or you will be jerked out of it, and you have only one chance to do it.

A weblog will appear. It will contain events that will happen for the seven next years of your life.

Add /admin/ to the address bar. Try to guess the password your future self would have chosen. There is always a way - discovering it is never out of your reach even if it's a meaningless string of letters.

Once you have access to the admin, you can delete any post you want, and that event will never happen to you.

However, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES you are to edit a post. JUST DON'T.

You have only one hour to do it: after that the connection will be lost.

>>1060102
woah dudeeeee

>>1060102
Anyone tried this?

>>1060112
I did...still recovering from the shock.

>>1060113
Stop trolling.
Fucking thing doesn't workOH FUCK
OH MY GODOHMYGODOHMYGOD.

>>1060086
Too bad no one will get this.

>>1060122
I got it.
Hated it, but got it.

http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/520968/posts

Go down to the seventh post. Shit bricks.

>>1060122
i got it too. quit being such an elitist because you know about old creepypasta.

>>1060138
That hard to read and makes little sense because of broken links.

Bumping epic bread

You are sitting in the computer lab at school, staring through the glass into the hallway. Across the hall is another computer lab, filled with people. At first, you think nothing seems too strange, but then you realize that they arent people at all, but department store mannequins, staring into the blank monitors.

You blink is disbelief, but they are definately there. You notice that the lab you are in has gone completely silent; in fact, you are the only person left in the room.

When you look back into the other lab, the mannequins are gone.

A bit creeped out, you decide to save your paper and leave.

And thats when the whole building goes black, and you feel the cold plastic hands tearing at your skin.

>>1060039
>>1060042

Bumping for good advice.

>>1060248
It might be creepier if instead of cold plastic hands,"You feel your skin start to harden like plastic."

It was just about time to leave the office when Fred noticed that his desk calendar indicated that tonight would be a full moon. You see, Fred was a werewolf. He dreaded the full moon, but he shook the thoughts from his head and went about his business. He’d not been a werewolf very long, only since the incident, but he still knew what it meant.
The office was quiet – everybody else had already left and the few that were left didn’t say anything to Fred as he left and said goodbye. He didn’t want to think they were rude, and they HAD been chuckling behind his back earlier, but it was still sort of off-putting, he thought to himself. In any case, he would need to have a good plan for tonight, because it was a full moon, and Fred was a werewolf, ever since the incident.
He went straight to the grocery store to get some steaks and potatoes for tonight. He was hungry, and he would need his energy to run around, because tonight was a full moon. He picked up some lettuce and radishes, too, and a nice bottle of red wine. His wife loved red wine. The cashier was a pretty teenager, and he smiled at her. She nervously smiled back, and then Fred left with his groceries.

Fred stopped by Mike’s house after work and even after a little convincing, Fred still had to drag Mike to the car to come over for dinner. Better tonight than tomorrow, Fred thought, because tomorrow is the full moon. So he drug Mike inside and yelled out for his wife, who didn’t expect him home. She backed up the stairs but Fred followed her and the neighbors would have been able to hear her screaming, if Fred hadn’t visited them first.
In the morning, after the police left Fred’s office where they found five men and women stabbed to death, they followed a smeared trail of blood up from Fred’s car, parked on the street, up to the house on Fred’s left, and then back again to the house on Fred’s right. Both were forced open and the occupants were found quite dead. They then went back and followed the blood up to Fred’s house, where they found the door open and his coworker Mike inside, severely mutilated, on the couch with Fred’s wife, who was also not quite as intact as she once had been. Fred was sitting on the floor in his underwear, covered in blood, warning the police that he was a werewolf. He explained that he’d been a werewolf ever since the incident, but they just forced him to the ground at gunpoint and brought him to the station. When the police questioned him about the incident he kept referring to, he told them to get his cellphone. He instructed them to check the text messages, and the only one he had was from his wife, and it read “I want a divorce – you’re lazy, you’re boring, and you’ve got your head in the clouds all the time.
PS, I’ve been sleeping with Mike. I’m pretty sure half your office knows, idiot.” He told them that was how he became a werewolf. But they didn’t have to worry about that, because yesterday was the full moon. Mike knew, because he was a werewolf.

>>1060097
First time I've seen this one. congrats, gentleman.

more pasta required!

>>1060284
Second time for me,not original

>>1060394
FFFFFFFFFFFFFF-

>>1060420

Who are you replying to?

>>1060420

gg he deleted his post

Some dude was standing somewhere.

Suddenly, dicks everywhere!

The dead can use computers too.

>>1060439

don't get my hopes up =(

>>1060429
HORROR

CREEPY IMAGE DUMP

>>1060452
Okay.

>>1060459

it...

it burns

>>1060459
OH GOOD FUCK SCARIEST THING ON /x/

>>1060459

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
GET IT OUT OF MY HEAD! GETIT OUT OF MY HEAD.

>>1060459
And this, ladies and gentleman, is the end of /x/. Nothing, no picture, no creepypasta, will ever be this disturbing. Ever.

>>1060459
WTF EW

lol tails

>>1060485
>>1060479
>>1060472
>>1060469
>>1060466
I.
Fucking.
Win.

>>1060491
I've got to tip my hat to you. Holy damn, sir, that was disturbing. WTF is that?

Found this when scanning pictures of my dead grandfather for my dad. Generally creepy.

>>1060015
hyuk hyuk hyuk now all your friends in the larp club will think you're awesome

>>1060491
Even bigger win is the fact that you saved that you actually saved that picture when you saw it.

>>1060496
Got hooked up with it on /b/, a torrent some one pointed me too. It's a single page of a series of very weird, very disturbing furry comics. That one page, specifically, can grind most conversation to a halt. It's the most bizarre fucking thing I have EVER seen. Clearly, it needs to be shared. Ever seen the 'BAWWW' bunny? It's from this comic.

>>1060502
Yes, I am pretty damn amazing. The lengths I go to to horrify people. You know, in my day, we had to ration horror. You kids should be thankful horror and disgusting is now so plentiful.

>>1060509
How's that disturbing? It's a furry diaper fetish. Everybody already knows those people are fucking nuts.
>>1060518
This is way tamer then the banana peeling itself. This is just silly and sad.

>>1060521
furries are fucked up, but combining one mindfucked fetish with another is extra fucked up. if you can't understand this, you're probably a furry. with a diaper fetish.

>>1060525
NO U

>>1060525
Then by that logic you understanding and condemning them means you're into something worse that you think is better then that.

>>1060527
Incorrect. See the picture.

This thread has become amusing. We shall watch.

>>1060530
Then you understand my point exactly.

>>1060525

Or perhaps has seen it reposted among the boards enough times that it has 0 effect anymore?

I just mostly find it hilarious. Disgusting, definitely, but hilarious.

>>oh no, is that kitty OK?

moar creepy pasta

Look behind you. What do you see? Invariably, there will be a wall somewhere in your view. Now stare deeply into the space on the wall that lines up best with your eyes. Nothing will happen, but makes sure you are clear on where this particular spot is. That spot contains all the negativity in your mind. Whenever you are on your computer, reading scary stories or whatever you do, sometimes you will get spooked. What do you do when this happens? You check behind you, that’s what you do. As you read this now, a feeling of dread will come over you. Check the spot. Nothing again, huh? That’s because right now, all the evil is locked safely in your mind. Some people, upon learning of this "negative spot" resolve to remove the spot in an attempt to remove the negative energy. This is a grave mistake. You must never let harm come to this spot. If you do, you will have released the energy. Now when you sit at your computer at night, you will feel chills even in the summer time. The feeling of dread that only presented itself when you were genuinely scared will now hang in the air constantly. Within a week you and your loved ones will have a string of bad luck. Within a month your computer will begin to act erratic and eventually break down. On the anniversary of the spots destruction, you will dream of your most horrible fears. The dream will seem to go on forever, and when you wake up you will notice your vision has darkened. Every year on the same day, the dream will repeat itself, and your vision will grow darker and darker. After you go totally blind, don’t ever turn your back on that spot again. That is if you can still tell where it is.

If you ever find yourself in LA's Old China town, head into the square, past the statue of Sun Yat-Sen, past the hip-ultramodern toy store called "Monkey King" and look for an import store next to what used to be a wishing fountain. Go into this store and head all the way straight back, you'll see a selection of weapons, look for a weapon called a Jiujiebian, a sort of multi-sectioned whip. It MUST have exactly nine segments, no more, no less. This will be called the "Chain of Night". It will cost you 29.95. Then after that, go outside and wait till dark, as the moon rises, take a quarter from your pocket and cast it at the wishing well. As it lands focus on that spot exactly and slowly chant under your breath: "By the circles of Lao-Tzu, the Void inside of matter, I call forth the spirit that lingers here!" this phrase is best said in the original mandarin, but the spirit will understand a sincere supplicant regardless of language. A girl will step out of the bottom of the fountain, about nine years of age. She will ask you: "Where has my mother gone?" you must respond with: "She has long since gone from earth, but look to the sky, and see her there!"

This spirit is not that of a little girl, but of a bog-hag, cursed to obey this one command regardless of who says it. At this moment, you must attempt to strike the girl with your newly acquired Jiujiebian. SHE will then snarl and attempt to fight back. Should you win, all the money ever thrown into the fountain will await you. If you fail, all that the folks in Chinatown know is that a bloody Jiujiebian lies at the door of the import store with a new notch in its handle. To date, there are 48 notches in the handle.

A recent study by the National Psychiatric Institute in Boston, MA, concluded that no activity can account for the phenomenon known as nightmares. Whereas many dreams come from unconscious desires, most nightmares seem to come from an outside source independent of the individual. In fact, when subjects are asked to recall nightmares they are almost always found in the same memory section as actual physical memories, not the section where normal dreams are replayed. In other words, those aliens and creatures you see at night in your "dreams?" They're real.

Item#: SCP-012

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-012 is to be kept in a darkened room at all times. If the object is exposed to light or seen by personnel using a light frequency other than infrared, remove personnel for mental health screening and immediate physical. Object is to be encased in an iron shielded box, suspended from the ceiling with a minimum clearance of eight feet from the floor, walls, and any openings.

Description: Object retrieved by Archaeologist K.M. Sandoval during the excavation of a northern Italian tomb destroyed in a recent storm. The object, a piece of handwritten musical score entitled "On Mount Golgotha", part of a larger set of sheet music, appears to be incomplete. The red/black ink, first thought to be some form of berry or natural dye ink, was later found to be human blood from multiple subjects. The first personnel to locate the sheet (Site 19 Special Salvage), had two members descend into insanity, attempting to use their own blood to finish the composition, ultimately resulting in massive blood loss and internal trauma.

Following initial investigations, multiple test subjects were allowed access to the score. In every case, the subject mutilated themselves in order to use their own blood to finish the piece, resulting in subsequent symptoms of schizophrenia and massive trauma. Those subjects who managed to finish a section of the piece immediately committed suicide, declaring the piece to be "impossible to complete". Attempts to perform the music has resulted in a disagreeable cacophony, with each instrumental part having no correlation or harmony with the other instruments.

Because it makes me laugh:

Morgann died. His whole family came to his funeral distant cousins, old relatives he hadn't seen since he was a child all came. Morgann was young and had fallen from his horse, ruining his innards on a broken log, completely disemboweling him.

During the funeral mass, Morgann sat up. He was confused, though wide awake. The assembled mourners gasped, though the priest simply cocked his head and looked down from the pulpit.

"Morgann?" Morgann turned to the father.

"Father Ryan, how are you? What goes on here, father?"

"Well, Morgann, you've died. I think. Are you breathing?"

"...Can't say that I am or am not, I never really notice lest I'm swimming, father."

"Well, for certain I can say you're dead, I helped look at your innards. You lay cold, unbreathing, no pulse, for a full week. Morgann, you are dead, lay down in that box and go back."

"But, Father, I do not feel dead. Think this must be all one big joke on me."

Father Ryan sighed. "Morgann, look inside your burial suit, away from the crowd for modesty, look here."

Morgann turned toward the father in his coffin and opened his suit, and found that he had numerous stitches. "What's this here, I had surgery?"

"Well, in a sense...look inside." The priest turned away slightly as Morgan pulled at the stitches. His insides, he found, were sawdust.

"Oh. ...Oh my. Father, I do think I am dead."

"Yes, yes Morgann, you are."

"...I get a last blessing?"

"You did."

"...Well, I'm going to lay back down I suppose." He turned to the mass, covering himself again. "Love all of you. Sorry, sorry everybody for making such a scene, go on with the mass. See you all later now."

Morgann lay down, and the funeral continued without incident, aside from attempts to rouse fainted members of the parish.

>>1060674

saw that video...this doesn't have the same effect without it.

>>1060102
Does this work? How do I download IE 3?

One night you'll be browsing /x/ and need a glass of water. You're not scared, but out of the corner of your eye, in one of the dark corners of your home, you'll think you see something for only an instant. At first you won't even notice, but as the nights go on and you read more of this creepypasta shit and freak yourself out with mindfucks, you're going to want to go for that midnight glass of water less and less, and eventually you'll be back to sleeping with half the lights on like a little kid, and that mirror over your dresser or on the door will have to go next.

WHY DO I ALWAYS COME HERE JUST BEFORE GOING TO BED I HATE YOU GUYS

>>1060102


FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

FUCK YOU INTERNET

FUCK. YOU. INTENRET.

FUCK YOU INTERNET

GRSDHJZRJKDJOH MY GOD FUUUUUUCK

>>1060102

so, someone should post the website to actually d/l ie3.

>>1060102

"Errors:
This program does not support the protocol for accessing 'for-you://gratitude-and-remembrance/'."

>>1060459

This anon doesn't get it. Explanation please?

>>1060921

You don't want to know.

Just don't look at it anymore, for your own good.

I liek this

*bump*

There is a dark forest deep in the heart of the Rockies, surrounded on all sides by mountains. In the center of the forest is a lake on the shores of which you will find a large black stone. If you swim out into the center of the lake, the stone will drag you down into the darkness. You will emerge from shadows in the alley of a frightening dark city of heavily arched roofs and buildings built on stilts. You must not talk to a single citizen of this city, or you shall be trapped there forever. The citizenry is horrid and mutated, and they will leer and curse at you, and their hideous and deformed women shall offer you unknown and horrible lewdnesses. At the edge of this city is a highway. Walk down the left side of the road (yes, against traffic) with your thumb out and a man in a dark truck shall pick you up and drive you back the way you came. The city will be gone, and he will take you to any place on Earth as long as you can name it and there's a road there.

My f5 key is getting considerable usage.

Come on /x/, make me stay awake all night!

Pic related, scariest pic of all time.

creepypasta and mindfucks are the cancer idiot. want that shit go to /b/.

/r/ the site about that house had a diary about someone who travelled across the country to find it, apparently it had made his mass-murdering friend crazy. It had a subplot concering a babysitter, too.

>>1061054
http://www.dionaea-house.com/

Rejoice, my brothers, for I have found IE 3

http://www.oldversion.com/program.php?n=msie

/x/ has a cancer now? Oh-ho-ho..

However, /r/ing the pasta about the kids who find a cabin in the woods, and weird shit happens after that. plzkthnx

>>1061107
>/r/ing the pasta about the kids who find a cabin in the woods, and weird shit happens after that.
Never.

look at THE EYES. They're pure, soulless EVIL...

>>1061110
In that case, I'll get someone else to do it for me.

Lazy ass.

>>1061112

>>1061117
:3

>>1061054
Learn how to use some fucking punctuation. It's not so fucking difficult. Magic doesn't exist, ghosts don't fucking exist, just get the fuck over it.

>>1061134
UH OH GUYZ NOT THE GREMMER NATZE!

Also, you sound butthurt.

>>1061112Unaware bird is unaware

>>1060102
Someone explain exactly what happens here.

>>1061212

>A weblog will appear. It will contain events that will happen for the seven next years of your life.

>Add /admin/ to the address bar. Try to guess the password your future self would have chosen. There is always a way - discovering it is never out of your reach even if it's a meaningless string of letters.

>Once you have access to the admin, you can delete any post you want, and that event will never happen to you.

>>1061212

You get this:

>>1060872

>>1060551
>>1060565

Reported

>>1061351
Those pictures are veery old. If it would make you feel better the lady in>>1060565is now missing. She was identified on the internet and people started sending her messages and stuff before she went missing. I bet she was killed or just went into hiding.

>>1061136
god damn that freaked me out

>>1061134

INTERNET TOUGH GUY IS NOT AFRAID OF YOUR SHIT!

Get out and grow up.

Legend has it that if you travel east to Japan, you will find an old man living on the coast just 40 miles south of Tokyo. If you give this man $500,000 he will take you to an island just off the coast that can't be found on any map. This island is filled with people without faces or names, who hold grudges over the most trivial of matters. When you arrive at this island the first thing you will see is a swimming pool that is never open. Just beyond the pool you will find a town that is filled with cats. You must find a white cat wearing a pink bow. If you ask the cat how to get to Mexico, he will stand up and ask you for three things: Your name, your face, and your soul. If you agree to give them to him, your face will vanish and you will forget your own name. You can live on the island and have whatever you desire, but you can never leave the island. The only way to escape is to find the cat again and ask for a young child. The next day a van will pull up in front your house. You will hear a knock at the door, and a voice will ask if you want to come to a party. No one knows what happens if you enter the van.

>>1061049
>>1061134
>>1061371

Obvious troll is obvious

>>1061359

Good. I hope she died a horrible death.

>>1060551

>>1061402
This is true 4chan creepypasta.

I mean, the pool's closed? Due to the AIDS, no doubt.

A mysterious child-delivering van? Unknown events happening within aforementioned van? A supposed "party" van.

A cat-filled city (sounds like Caturday amirite?!?)

I don’t have much time left. I’m hoping the blood will drain out of my wrists before they can get to me again, but I can’t be certain. Oh god, it’s so cold. I’m losing a lot of blood. But I have to finish. You have to read this. Maybe you can stop them.

It all started about a month ago. I was frantically trying to finish a writing assignment for Social Studies that was due next period, writing so fast I thought I’d snap my pen in two. I think the paper was on World War II. Amazing that I can remember things like that, through all of this, isn’t it? Nevermind. It doesn’t matter. As I wrote this paper, I began to notice something odd. I was making a lot of mistakes. You’ll have to excuse my digression for a moment, but I need to explain something: I never make mistakes when I write. Teachers use words like “impeccable” and “exceptional” to describe my conventions. That’s why I was finding this odd. And what’s more, they were all errors in capitalization, which served only to confuse me more. I hadn’t capitalized the beginnings of sentences, proper nouns anything. But, capitals were cropping up sporadically throughout my writing. I had words like “gErmans” or “alliaNce”, without the faintest clue why. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I quickly corrected my mistakes and finished the paper.

In fact, I didn’t even think of the incident when it happened again. I was commenting my friend’s new MySpace picture. In the middle of typing up some inside joke, I noticed that my capitalization was once again awry. Scanning through it, I noticed something else odd: The word “hello” had been capitalized entirely. Figuring I’d just go back and finish it when I was done typing, I started again. And again, my finger would hit the “shift” key unbidden. When I checked my typing again, I looked closer. My mind began to subconsciously piece together the capital letters. Imagine my surprise when I realized that it formed a message. It read, “GLAD WE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION”. What I did then could only be described as a double-take whilst being completely still. Not knowing what had begun then, I signed off and promptly went to sleep, chalking it up to an overactive imagination.

The third time was during Language Arts. I was writing an analysis of “The Iliad”, when it happened. A message spelled itself out once again: “YOU WILL HELP US”. Now I was nervous. My hand shook slightly as I tried to erase the mistakes. As soon as my eraser touched the page, indescribable pain lanced through my hand. It was as if someone was excising all the nerves in my fingers, and impaling my hand on a railroad spike. It was over before I had time to scream. My hand shaking even more, I continued writing. “DO NOT DISOBEY”, my mistakes spelled out. I think that’s when I sealed my fate. I wrote faster. Whatever happened, no matter what I had to do, I never wanted to feel that pain again. It must sound cowardly to you, but I assure you that you would have done the same in my place. That’s why you have to stop them.

>>1061451
A challenger appears! http://www.chinasmack.com/pictures/kitten-killers-return/2/

At home, I continued the paper. They spoke to me again. “GET A CERAMIC BOWL”. Confused, I hastily got up and retrieved one. I continued writing. They continued their instructions. “PLACE A BOOK IN THE BOWL”. Trying to move quickly in order to avoid the pain, I tossed The Iliad in. “BURN IT”. I looked around my house quickly. Hurriedly, I grabbed a match, and lit the book aflame. The next directive was more ambiguous. “FEED IT”. I didn’t know what they meant. In the middle of my paper, I wrote “With what?” and continued writing. The answer unnerved me. “BLOOD”. I stared at the paper for a second. Then, before I knew what I was doing, I’d scored a long cut over the tip of my finger with my pen. I held it over the burning book, and a sick-looking mixture of ink and blood dripped slowly down. After about 5 minutes, a hum began to emanate from the book’s bloody funeral pyre. It started softly, and increased in volume until my whole body vibrated. I felt as if my entrails were turning to liquid, and I shut my eyes and covered my ears. I lost track of time then, but after what seemed like an eternity it ended. I opened my eyes to be greeted with a disturbing sight. The book had stopped burning, but it was no longer a book. The pages had formed into a blackened, papery tendril that had embedded itself into the floor. That wasn’t all that had changed, though. The tree outside the window of my bedroom had lost its leaves. The wood floor around the bowl was rotten. And finally, I realized to my horror that I my skin had wrinkles.

The next month continued in their demands. Every week, they instructed me to burn a book in the bowl, and add an offering. Once it was a fingernail. Then a tooth. They wanted a piece of steel. And every time I completed an iteration of the ritual, another tendril was growing from the bowl and into the ground. The tree by my house died. My floor grew soggy and completely rotten. And I- I’m covered in liver spots, and my hair has turned gray. I’ve grown old. I sit in my room all day, writing randomly, no longer forming words, just following their demands. But even through my servitude, some part of me rebelled. Whatever I’m creating in that bowl, whatever they’re forcing me to engender, it’s going to unmake reality. Its very presence is killing me. kIlling everyThing living around it. i have to Stop it. it might already be ToO late. i’m lOsing a lot of bLood, and i’m getting dizzy. hopefully i’ll be deAd before They gEt to me again. oh god, they’re in mY writing again. oh my gOd, it’s cold. i can feel my life Unraveling-consider this a wARning. my dEath will Only slow them down. they want to Undo cReation. don’t ever read their meSsages. if you do, theN you’ll be fOrced to finish what i started. and no matter What, there is no escape.

It has been reported that some victims of rape, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not WAKE UP. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren’t being raped. The only way that they realized they needed to WAKE UP was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to WAKE UP. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and PLEASE WAKE UP

>>1061490

>>1061498
Do this:
>>1061507

>>1061490
>>1061507

"Human Flesh Search Engine".
She'll get hers just like the other one did.

http://news.newamericamedia.org/news/view_article.html?article_id=964203448cbf700c9640912bf9012e05

>>1061496

It's too late, you are ours now.


FUCK

>>1060459

>>1061533
You clicked it because you're an idiot.

>>1060570
WILL IT BLEND?

>>1061567

Everything blends eventually.
Do you hear me /x/? You will all blend!
YOU.
WILL.
ALL.
BLEND!

>>1061569

I'm made of titanium alloy with a 3.4 inch concrete base.

I won't blend.

>>1061569
You know that fucked with my head? Gremlins. Holy shit BlendedGremlin!

>>1061571
Sure you will. You've just never seen a diamond-bladed blender at work.

>>1061571

I WILL JUST HAVE TO BLEND YOU EXTRA HARD! DO YOU LIKE PAIN!?

>>1061574


I forgot to mention that I have a 2.5 inch outer diamond shell.

>>1061577
Diamonds can cut other diamonds. How do you think they're cut in the first place?
It might simply take longer, is all.

>>1061576

Do you like having a pair of space heaters shoved in your rectum?

This thread went to shit.

>>1061579

Fuck this shit.


I'm made of fucking 30,000 negatively charged protons the size of skipping stones.

makes me shit brix every time.

/r/ picture of fat chick's face close up to camera, with round yellow eyes and generally a super high contrast picture, giving her a pale face. super unnerving.

>>1061584
I'll concede if you can show me a proton that size.

>>1061594


Lets wait for the LHC.

It has been reported that some victims of rape, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not WAKE UP. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren’t being raped. The only way that they realized they needed to WAKE UP was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to WAKE UP. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and PLEASE WAKE UP

>>1061597
The LHC is magically going to make protons larger by colliding them? Explain your logic here.

>>1061604

LHC is going to create thousands of tiny black-hole like ob-fuck it I don't know jack-shit about science.

There is an abandoned mental hospital at the top of a hill in Worcester, Massachusetts. Once every five years an old rusty box spring appears within the courtyard of the hospital. If you can sneak inside and sleep through the night on the bed, in the morning a man with a shirt that reads “observe and absolve” will take out his wallet and give you a picture. This picture will show you how you will die. If the picture is of the man standing before you, running won’t help.

Don't turn around. It doesn't like to be seen.

>>1061604

when you can get a proton to travel at 99% the speed of light, their mass dilates into like kilograms. But they dont physically enlarge (Einsteins special theory of relativity)

>>1061584
how about a black hole, the regular type, not the micro ones.

Sarah Palin may one day be the president of the United States of America.

>>1061670
my heart just exploded
that's the happy ending

moar pasta plz

bumping for more pasta

Anymoar pasta??

>>1061451
Me too. I don't think there is a way to die that's awful enough for her. I envy whoever did the deed.

>>1061351
>>1061359
>>1061451
>>1062051

WHO WAS POST?

>>1060671
Why bother? You'd still be out $17.95...

Pic related.

you know i don't find the holder stories to be that creepy, i mean some of them are, but not really brix shat creepy

>>1061351
what happenned with these posts?

>>1062191
One of the pics had a woman crushing a live kitten with her high-heels. The other was a cat in a blender. Things like that make me feel homicidal...

>>1062195

Pics or it didn't happen.

>>1060122
I remember it. I also remember thinking that a slit-wide open mouth, while not a plus, certainly doesn't make you hideous. Poor woman.

WITNESS

>>1062216
That's not funny. My sister was killed by a WITNESS.

Think about who you're going to offend next time.

I used to be fearless.

Horror movies never really scared me. Scary books had no effect. Haunted houses are meaningless. I was never a child who slept with the covers over their face, or with a night light. As a little girl, I never felt the need to crawl into bed with my mother after having a nightmare. I never really had nightmares to begin with, and the few that I did, most would never consider a nightmare at all.

I've simply never been afraid of what goes bump in the night. Our home security system kept away fears of very real humans with dark intentions, as did our rottweiler, aptly named Killer. As for threats outside the home, well, who could be afraid in a nice, white, upper class community? I've lived in a bland bubble all my life, never knowing what fear is.

So why should I ever be afraid of the dark?

Up until this moment, I haven't been. I saw it as childish and illogical. Of course, I don't feel that way anymore. I'm writing this to you now as a warning because it's too late for me. I know that now, and it's brought on a surreal sort of calm…When I finish warning you, it will be all over. So forgive me if I'm being long-winded…I enjoyed life a bit more than I was once willing to admit.

It all started with what I thought was a virus. I had been linked to a video called "Girls and Boys Come Out to Play." It sounded harmless enough. I thought it was an art student's film, perhaps. The person who had linked the video promised it was very good. Well worth watching.

I can't remember the video. All I can remember is the feeling it brought up. It wasn't fear, but it was close. I was uncomfortable. I was unnerved. I was also vaguely ill.

From then on, things only got worse. The background on my computer had changed to a picture of a disturbed looking young woman who stared at me from a black abyss. Every now and then, and growing more frequent by the day, strange noises would emit from my computer, even when the sound wasn't on. Screaming, strange laughter, grinding noises…

At the time, I was annoyed; the fear hadn't settled in quite yet. Then, the faces started popping up, like those ridiculous 'screamers' that scared my friends in high school. Yet these were different. They looked real. They were the faces of the dead; and they had died violent deaths.

I wish I could say that I stopped using the computer, but I couldn't. My job requires me to use my computer frequently. What was I to do? I had no other computer available to me.

I tried to take it in to have the virus removed, but no one could help me. They said there wasn't a virus. They said the computer was fine.

Meanwhile, it got worse. The faces weren't just popping up; they would stay. And with those horrible, rotted eyes, they would hold my gaze. I couldn't look away from them and their terrible, mocking grins. And oh, God…the smell. My computer forever had a vague stench of death around it.

I thought I was going crazy. I thought that perhaps someone was messing with me. The people at the computer repair place didn't know what they were talking about. Something was wrong, but I knew that it had to be something very real that just had to be fixed.

So I got a new computer. Everything was fine for a while, but then it all came back, and in full force. Now there were voices. Now there was screaming. Now, the rotted faces showed their stinking bodies. I could see every maggot, every fly, every pus-filled crevice…And they were calling to me. Telling me that soon, very soon, I'd be joining them. They were so angry that I had tried to get rid of them, and now they would make me pay.

I didn't know what to do. Ignoring the problem wasn't working. I thought maybe it was the fault of a friend from work. Perhaps it came from the emails they had been sending me? I never thought it was the video. Not for a second. After all, that just wasn't logical.

I was at the end of my rope. Today, I unplugged the computer and began packing. I would go on vacation, clear my head, and pray that everything would be back to normal.

A few minutes ago, I realized it would not. The power went out, and for the first time in my life, I felt true fear. I had no idea that in a few moments, it would become mind-numbing.

I stumbled through the house, looking for a flashlight, when I saw that something was still giving off light.

The computer.

The unplugged computer was on, and the woman in the background was moving. Beckoning me over.

I couldn't help myself. I sat down across from her with the darkness caving in all around me. And then the woman, like all of the other images I've seen before, began to rot away. The whole scene rotted away, and then the screen went black. And without light, without a means of seeing my reflection, I saw her behind me for the briefest of moments, a bloody and rusted knife in hand. The computer came back to life, and my old background had returned.

But I know it's not over.

So I've decided to come here. I know you all like to be scared, right? Well, take it from someone who has only very recently known fear: it's not always worth it, and not everything is fun and games.

Of course, you probably wont believe me. Why should you?

The thing is…I haven't been completely honest with you. There was no video. It was a story. A story quite similar to this one, though with subtle plot differences and perhaps better story telling. I know all of you like stories that might give you a good scare. That's probably why you started reading mine.

Now that you've read this, you'll share my fate. I know it's cruel, and perhaps unfair, but it has to be done. I just hope that you can take comfort in knowing that when I'm the woman haunting your computer, I'll be a bit more gentle. If I can, I'll use a blade that's a little less dull. Pictures of those who came before us who are a little less grotesque. Sounds that are a little less alarming.

But then again, you DO like to be scared, right?

Don't worry. I wont ask you to repost this story five times. Nothing will save you. After all, nothing could save me.

The power is still out. And I know, behind me, the woman is waiting for me. I'll see you very soon.

Goodbye for now.

I’m about to do a very stupid thing.

I know it’s stupid. I know it. But I don’t think I have a choice anymore. And I have to do it now, while I have the nerve and the will and while my hands are still steady.

I’m sick. I’ve always been sick. Some days are better than others. When I was young my parents prayed that it might just be a precursor of the onset of epilepsy, but the seizures never came. I just… can’t trust myself.

I see things. On some days, I can hear them and smell them too. I should say that I used to see them. After being on every possible combination of pills three doctors could come up with, I thought we’d finally found the right chemical key for my misfiring brain. It’s been six years of stability and relative normalcy, trading a halfway house for a tiny studio apartment, a collection of mostly tolerable side-effects, and a steady job. I realize this probably sounds dull for most people, but I cherished every moment of that achingly simple monotony.

It went bad all at once.

Friday morning. I awake from the first dream I’ve had in years, a vivid phantasmagoria of colors and sounds, and begrudgingly leave my perfect and sterilely clean apartment for the short walk to work.

I notice it as soon as the elevator opens, the unearthly stillness and silence in the heavy air. The front door of the complex is hanging open, unlocked and swinging gently, the faintest trace of smoke drifting inward in the damp breeze. Outside, the wide streets are empty and bare. My mouth is suddenly dry and I rock back on my heels, cresting a crippling wave of panic and déjà vu.

This particular hallucination, the quiet and the smoke and the emptiness, was always my most frequent; I haven’t had it in six years but the familiarity of it stings. I shut my eyes tightly, and jab my hand at the panels of chipped buttons. Moments later I am on the top floor half, and walking half blind the path to my door with practiced familiarity. Once inside I sit on my bed, gripping tight the handle of my cane, eyes closed, breathing slow and steady. Focused. Calm. Clear. I open my eyes.

I can’t be outside like this, I know this. I was hit by a car when I was homeless, wandering dazed into the street, while my fevered mind saw only emptiness. I’ll need a replacement hip before I’m forty. I can hear the slivers of bone grind a little with every labored step. I call my boss, and leave a terse message, apologizing for being too ill to work today.

I hold my breath as I open the one tiny window in my studio. It’s so close to the building next to me, I can almost touch its brick wall and I can’t see the street from this height and angle: but as I strain to lean out the window, sounds of yelling and a few whining engines drift up to me. The pall of unearthly quiet is broken, and I feel a great sense of relief, knowing that my episode is over.

I am counting the pills in orderly columns on the table, proving a fifth time to myself that I have taken my daily regimen, when I start to hear the screaming. It builds from far below; riding the struts and supports of the tower until it seems to emanate from the bones of the building.

An hour later the sounds seem like they are right outside; horrid, terrified, inchoate clumps of half formed words and pleas, punctuated by wet, ragged shrieks and heavy muffled thudding. The breathing and relaxation exercises aren’t helping, and I’m gripping the edge of my bed, soaked in sweat. The idea appears fully formed in my mind: I need to barricade the door. I struggle to suppress it. It would be like- giving up; all progress I’ve made would be for naught if I entertain the notion that the episode is real.

But the screaming… this is a new one for me.

>>1062237
THEN WHO WAS COMPUTER?

There’s the shuffle of movement outside, and the knob of the door twists violently and shudders against the deadbolt. I try to cry out, but my throat is parched and only a dry croak comes out. The door starts flex slightly as heavy blows land on the outside, and a mad, gibbering chorus of voices spits out a strange nonsense of broken syllables.

It only takes me a moment to decide now. I burst to my feet and throw all my weight into the bookshelf, crashing into it with bright white bolt of pain. It topples slowly, leaning at first like a tree and then smashing to the ground. On top of the bookshelf goes my desk and chairs, my hip screaming with each step. I collapse again on the floor, grasping for breath, and listen to the pounding subside and the horrid voices retreat.

That was two days ago.

They come back every day and scratch at the door, whispering in that vile gibberish. Sometimes I allow myself to think I can recognize the voices. The phone is dead, and the power is out. When I lean out the window and yell for help, the only answer I get is the occasional shriek or ululating babble.

When I was younger, when I was at my worst, my episodes would last for hours, at most. I am at a loss. I have very little food left and the water pressure has already dropped.

Lying in bed in the late summer heat, in a moment of near total silence, the inevitability of it occurs to me. If I stay, I’ll starve. What happens to me on the other side of the barricade only depends on how sick I really am.

I want to believe with a sudden desire I am just ill, simply and profoundly ill. The sureness of it wells up in me, and I feel suddenly awake and lucid. I need a doctor, surely, but soon the hallucination will lift and my mind will heal. I just need to break through this.

I need to go outside.

I remove the bookshelf slowly, rotating it away from the door gently to rest with the other furniture. This is right, I assure myself. This is healthy. I turn the deadbolt, put my hand on the handle, and try to suppress the rising terror in my guts. I give it a little pressure.

Outside, I hear a dry shuffling and a low rising murmur of unfathomable voices, and my surety drains from me, leaving only cold and naked horror in its place.

My hand is on the door.

I’m about to do a very stupid thing.

>>1062237
>The power is still out. And I know, behind me, the woman is waiting for me. I'll see you very soon.
Goodbye for now.
Would have been creepy as fuck if you eliminated these last few, cliché lines.

>>1062234
That's what you get for using Windows, bitch.

>>1062259
I didn't write it, just saved it.

>>1062276
For a minute there i thought it was some OC, guess i should lurk moar.

>>Wake up, you're still in a coma.

>>1062250

A skitzo against a zombie outbreak. Fucking best creepypasta ever

>>1062316
Relevant to your interests.
http://thejosefkstories.blogspot.com/

bump

>>1060097
Well, this one sucks.

>>1062320
Fucken A!

>>1060089

Someone needs to fix that copy machine, it's been doing that all damn week.

>>1062320
Book. Marked. All in one place!

I like West the best so far.

>>1060459
Oh.... dear.... God

>>1062250

this sounds very like i am legend, dont you think?

>>1062621
Um... what? In the sense that it's about zombies? Or about a guy? Because that describes a lot of stuff.

>>1060541

My ex-girlfriend had a dead bird collection.

bump for great justice.

Come on /x/. I'm a resident /b/tard so impress me.

>>1062656

I do too... wait... am I your ex?

:<

This can't end well.

>>1061496
IT'S TOO LATE YOU ARE OURS NOW.

bumping for moar creepy pasta

>>1062946
Thanks, wasn't sure I could read on my own.

TRUE HORROR

>>1061627
ah shit i am going to worcester for halloween tomorrow!

>>1063032
LOAD ME UP


*throws up*

THE HELL IS THAT

>>1063032
NOT AGAIN, GODDAMMIT! I WILL EAT YOUR FUCKING LIVER!

>>1063076
I wish they were some way I could be ignorant of furries :(

Also just in case you didn't know about it:
http://www.telltalegames.com/community/comics/samandmax/issue-1

>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032
>>1063032

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

>>1063090
http://rapidshare.com/files/120214870/Incontinent_Student_Body.zip.html

>>1063086
I own every single ounce of Sam and Max merch that has ever been.

I am a tremendous geek, but fuck you, Sam and Max goddamn rule.

Also, IT BURNS MY BRAIN GOOD FUCK EW

>>1063097
Me too, fucking furries ruining anthropomorphic animals for everyone.

>>1063097
You crack me up little buddy. I fucking love that comic, even the cartoon was goddamn hilarious, albeit completely tame, and everything about them is priceless. I even had the computer game.

>>1063112
Well, the cartoon was intended to be more kid oriented, but it was still fucking hilarious. And they did a really good adaptation of Bad Day On The Moon.

>>1063108
They are something seriously wrong with the person who made this comic.

Not that it isn't incredibly obvious.

Anyway check out these cool tattoos.

>>1063108
Oh for fuck's sake!

>>1063125
WHO THE FUCK WOULD DO THIS TO THEMSELVES!?

>>1063135
Furries

>>1063108
Fucking gross

>>1063032

You know what is disturbing about this (Besides the obvious.)? The person that drew that shit actually isn't half bad at drawing. If he (I'll assume.) put his skill/talent into drawing something less fucked up, he might be able to make some money or, at the least, something that I can fap to. Fuck him.

This thread wounds my soul.

>>1063142
That's a depressing thought.

I'm fapping to every furry pic ITT.

>>1063142
Furries probably pay well to commission these monstrosities.

>>1063151
It's part of a furry comic that is sold. People do pay for this shit. Think about this, and feel your very soul weep for humanity.

A FULL BACK TATTOO


FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

>>1063156
MOTHER OF GOD WHY

>>1063156
>>1063125
>>1063108
No. Really? Nah. REALLY!? WTF IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE!? MURDER!

Good memories wash away the pain.

>>1063154
No. No one pays for this. I refuse to believe it.

>>1063170
I say the same thing about music and movies.

I actually met a real furry once. A half-decent creature he was. Not a babyfur or anything, just liked anthropomorphic animals. He was a bit odd, but he did convince me that furries existed that I didn't have to kill. If I got out of my house enough to find more, I'd still assume that they were babyfurs or one of those other fucked up furry types until proven innocent.

>>1063173
Likewise.

It's just not fair. I cannot fathom the mind of one who would pay for anything like this. It's a fucking joke or something.

>>1063154
Well, so much for two weeks on the wagon.

>>1063170

I'm having a hard time as well. That shit is just wrong. There is something fundamentally wrong with a person who looks at that for enjoyment.

>>1063180
Booze? Cause, I'm thinking booze. Yep. Time to drink. A lot.

>>1063183
I've seen the entirety of the series, some one posted all of it on /b/ yesterday. Four issues of it. It was...horrifying. There's no sex or anything even, but it's supposedly fap material. It's very confusing, maddening even. Lovecraftian.

>>1063189

shit, I saw that. I wanted to have a good cry afterward. never had I seen on /b/ something that made me feel the need to pray

>>1063189

I have to ask, what is the source? I've gotta read it, just to see how much lower my faith in humanity, even if it's just that small group, can go.

>>1063198
I really don't know the source. It was just one guy posting every single page. Took him nearly three hours. It was very very unnerving. He was silent until the end and just said 'It is done' when he posted the last page. Shit scared me worse than any creepypasta or picture.

>>1063198
see
>>1063095

>>1063202
God was angry with /b/.

>>1063203
It's the full four issues?

>>1063213
I don't really want to download it to check. :(

>>1063215
I'm worried about looking at it. Will it destroy me?

>>1063218
I survived it all, but it is taxing and painful. Not properly prepared, your mind may be destroyed.

A handy tip: If something confuses you badly in it, don't even attempt to consider it and make sense of it. You WILL go mad.

>>1063218
Utterly, you will be an empty shell.

Hellmode: fap

>>1063223
Well, I had a good 25 year run. Lets do this thing.

>>1063032
That's some fucked up shit right there. Lovecraftian indeed.

>>1063228
Godspeed, brave anon.

MOAR PASTA!

>>1060097
Oh fuck

>>1063228
Imagine someone notices you looking at them!

>>1063203

I'm going for it. I don't think I'll make it, but... I'VE GOT TO TRY!

On Inishboffin, an island off the coast of Ireland, in County Galway, around 1902, a man named Garret Conner caught sight of a boat while tending to fishnets with his cousin Gerald. He points out the boat to Gerald, which is floating sideways in toward the shore, running the risk of colliding with the pier. Fearing for the crew of the boat, and for the pier (which would be expensive to replace, and make things hard on the fishermen), and the boats moored, Garret and Gerald run up the pier, calling to the crew on the boat. Three men, tending other boats, joined them, yelling and bringing rope to perhaps moor the boat themselves if the crew was found incapacitated, or dead. Those lost at sea long, afterall, would eventually die, so they needed to be prepared if one of these boats came floating in to moor it and remove the bodies safely.

Garret, Gerald, and a friend from another boat row out in a small boat, connecting the line, and row back toward the pier. They noticed immediately, no one was responding to the repeated calls, and the anchor chain was in the water, but the boat was floating along anyway.

They get the rope around the pier mooring, and pull it in opposite the other boats for safety. The hull gets a small dent, but the pier is unharmed, and they secure the boat safely, but it's floating back and forth, as the anchor seems perhaps be floating just below the waterline. Setting up a plank, the men board and search the ship.

>>1063259
The captain's manifest and log are found, but there is no sight of the crew. There are no visible sights of foul play, but the row boat for escaping the ship is still on deck. However, the anchor chain has been broken cleanly, as if cut through. Sitting on the deck, they begin to look through the manifest and log. It was a fishing trawler, but no nets or rigging were found. Oars appeared to be absent, but the main post had no sail, nor the rigging for a sail.

At a loss, they secure the boat with a new anchor, and examine the log. Garret, most literate of them, finds it written in Irish (which is fortunate, as Garret spoke little English; much of western Connacht, especially islands, are Irish-speaking places) and reads through what are mostly blaise entries. The boat came from Clare Island, not far north of them, and was trawling for dolphins (a common part of Irish islander food prior to modern sensibilities). As it went though, the captain's entries more frequently dipped into prayers. Short at first, but longer, and apparently made up by himself or his men, with only a few traditional ones mixed in.

By the last twenty pages, it's practically a missal, interspersed with nonsensical ramblings, but no dates given. Only on the last of the twenty pages does it seem to recover sense, but still no dates.

>>1063263
"We saw them in the water. They had taken the anchor. They were looking from under the water, staring at us. They were swimming, but never came up for air. Their eyes had light in them. We would sail to shore, but the compass has failed, and the sail has gone. The oars are missing. We are lost, and they move boldest at night. We sometimes hear them hold the hull, scratching. They do not breath. They are men, but not men. Please God, send your Mother for us. We are doomed. Do not abandon our souls. See this finds its way to a safe place. We have accepted the end, and thank you for what life we have been given. Protect our families and homes. If sin had led us to this place, we are sorry. If chance did, we do not begrudge you our bad luck. Captain Brian Costello"

A Brian Costello, a trawler captain, was missing, as were seven other crewmen. His boat was brought to the island, refitted with a new sail. The piermen identified it, as did their friends and family. Their corpses were never recovered. Island affairs tended to get poor recording, and all that was mentioned was a brief blurb that the men had been lost at sea. The conditions under which they were, and the unusual nature of the log were not mentioned and remained as part of the stories of the islanders in the region.

Later, during a storm, Costello's ship, sold to a Morgann O'Neill, was lost. His boat is supposedly still seen around Clare Islands, Inishboffin, Inishturk, and Caher Island (most of the islands of the Mayo Islands). Some fishermen, like, living fishermen, people you can go speak to, truly believe they've seen it, a sailless, small boat, being rowed by a pale bodied, or even spectral crew, with no eyes, but instead a dim glow where eyes should be. Others don't believe in it, but Mayo Islanders, especially sailors and fishermen, will swear it is real.

>>1063228
First two issues done. I feel drained and nauseated.

This thread is fail

>>1063281
Saging is irrelevant. It's begun to autosage, hasn't it?

>>1063278
Don't over do it, take it slow, or it might kill you.

>>1063278

Yo, I'm trying as well. After one issue, I feel fucking sick. Not even kidding. This is embarrassing to mankind. Every time I try to figure something out my brain just says no. WTF is this.

>>1063298
Proof there is a devil?

>>1063298
I'm on the third. I feel sick. Like, I might actually have to throw up.

>>1063168
The dewy balm of sweet, sweet memories. I love you.

I finished it. I'm done. I really, really need to get drunk, pray, and sleep for a decade.

>>1063307

Yo,>>1063298here. I just read the second, and... I honestly don't know if I'm OK. I feel... wrong. Most disturbing wrong is the thanks for the immense support of the furry community in making that second issue.

I've gone this far, I'm gonna go ahead and down 3 and 4.

>>1061107
I went camping about 3 weekends ago in the Huntsville national forest in Texas. Me and 3 friends that came home for the weekend, they are all in college and usually we all get together at least once a year, old friends from high school. For the camping trip we planned to go backpacking deep in the forest, live off of fish that we catch and animals that we can trap. We have been doing this for awhile in Texas and in numerous places, Arizona, Colorado (if anyone is familiar with the Spanish peaks there), New Mexico, so we‘re pretty much used to anything you‘d encounter out there.


It was my turn to pick where we went camping, so I chose Huntsville (more accurately it’s Huntsville/New Waverly). So we drive up there park our car in a camping park spot and start walking off into the forest. We had some laughs along the way, everyone catching up with each other's lives. We walked until it started to get dark and set up camp where we stopped. Everyone gathered wood to make a fire and we set our tent up. And we do what we always do: try and scare each other with weird stories.

Around this time we started to smell something very faint. It was noticeable, but not overbearing. We couldn't put our finger on what it was, so we just carried on. Mike had to go piss and he walked off in the forest. A second later he come running back, piss all down his jeans like he’d missed really bad. Immediately we all crack up and throw some jokes at him. Then we noticed that he was white as snow and trying to catch his breath. He starts screaming for us to follow him, and runs off.
We all get serious and go follow him, not knowing what the problem was. We start to hear a faint scream and crying in the distance, in the direction we were running. It was pitch black away from the camp and Mike had the only flash light (we left ours at the camp, he had his from his trip taking a piss), so at this stage we didn’t have much choice but to follow the light, which was frantically pointing here and there in front of him.

The scream gets closer and Mike starts to slow down. We then notice a ratty old cabin that looked like it was abandoned, except for a faint light that we could see from one of the old mildew covered windows. The crying was intense: whoever it was couldn't breathe enough to let out a full yell. We all followed Mike up to the front door and we could all hear the crying from inside. As soon as he knocked on the door it stopped.


We all waited and heard really heavy footsteps walking fast to the door. There was a giant slam against the door and the sound of a bolt unlocking. Then nothing. We waited for a bit, knocked a few more times, but still nothing happened. We walked around the house (there was no fucking way any of us were leaving each other’s side) and noticed a window, which was a good way up. Alex took a deep breath and said asked us to give him a boost so he could see inside. Me and Mike lifted him up to the window. We watched him brush away dirt and webs from the window and place his face close to the window to try and see something.

There was a quick beat. Then suddenly he breathed in fast and let out a loud scream. Then he fell back from the window, screaming bloody murder the whole way. We all tried to calm him down but he was hysterical. We went to him but he started to shake, punch, kick, you name it, and then took off towards the camp.
None of us wanted to be separated so we all ran close behind him. We caught up to him and grabbed him and set him down. The fire was dying out so I grabbed some nearby wood that we collected added it to the fire. My hands were shaking and I had to do something. I went back to Alex and we all tried to calm him down. He wouldn't he kept screaming and was breathing so hard that he eventually fainted.

All of us are terrified now, and we all kept the fire high until sunrise. Periodically Alex kept waking up, screaming just like before. By sunrise he was up and looked catatonic, just mumbling to himself and whimpering.

Me and Mike decide to go look at the cabin now it was daylight. We searched where we thought it was, except there was nothing there. Nothing at all. The indistinct smell from last night had now grown into a very strong smell of something dead, something stale. We headed back to the camping site. When we got there we found Alex had chewed into the sides of his face and swallowed so much blood that he was throwing up. John was at his back, and he looked like he was about to die from exhaustion. I guess we all looked that way, I just didn't notice until I saw his face. Alex said quietly that we need to leave. Now.
We all started to pack up the tent. It started to rain really heavily (it was about noon) and the sky started to grow really dark. Alex started to go into a panic. He went and grabbed a big stick and yelled at us to leave it and leave, now, or he‘d knock us out and drag us out of there himself. Mike started to yell at him, and they started to fight. We broke it up and finished packing, and then started to make our way back. After a little while we arrived at a creek we had crossed the previous day, only it was flooded over, and the water was moving to fast for us to cross it. Alex started to scream again, yelling at Mike for taking his time packing up the tent when we could have gotten out of here. This went on for a while until we finally convinced Alex to calm down and tell us what happened.

He said as soon as he put his face to the glass, a face on the other side did the same thing, and started to smile really big. It had dark eyes and a dark mouth which was much bigger then Alex's, as the smile got as large as it could. A giant shadow behind it swung something down and sliced it‘s face off. The face was stuck to the window, and he said it started to laugh quietly as it slid down. Mike, still pissed off (and though he wouldn‘t admit it, beginning to get freaked out), started to argue with him again. We eventually started to follow the creek for a way to cross.


We then started to see toys floating in the creek. Really old toys, old Barbie dolls and baby dolls. This wasn't like any old trash floating in the creek, though… this was a lot of barbies, a lot of baby dolls. One washed towards the side and Mike picked it up. It had some kind of voice chip that was dying and started to say some gurgling words we couldn't understand, followed by it’s sad excuse for laughter. Then it sounded like it was whispering. We thought the batteries must be dying, he threw it down.
We kept going, and the sun was starting to set. Alex was freaking out more now, and was whimpering and breathing heavily. We all started to see shadows move behind trees, something we all called BS on until we all were seeing it. It was barely light out and we stop as we see the cabin right in front of us. None of us knows what to think. Mike says “This is bull, I’m going in there.” Alex tries to stop him. We all do, all of us just wanted to go home. Mike says to all of us to fuck off, do our own thing, he doesn't care anymore, this is all bull.

We start to hear hundreds of the same sort baby doll as before, laughing, whispering and trying to sing. We start to move forward past the cabin, all of us, and kept pushing forward. We smelled something dead in the air, something stale. The same something as before. We started to hear something crying, and something screaming. We kept on going. We eventually crossed the creek and left the woods. We get back to our vehicle and got in. Its pitch black, and we drive. We are about to get on the 45 to Houston but the road is under construction and can't be accessed. It points to a detour. As we head towards the detour it seems to be small, bumpy dirt road going into the woods.
We then see a young girl come up to us. She looks like she was in trouble, young and pretty. She approaches the passenger side door and she looks like she‘s really drugged up, or beaten up. Alex doesn't roll down the windows, nor does he open the door. She reaches for the handle and he immediately locks it. She puts her face on the window and starts to smile really big. We floor it, Alex starts to cry and scream and we are all breathing heavy. We finally cut on a street that takes us to the 45 and we take it the whole way. When we get back to my apartment everyone doesn't know what to say and we all break apart and go our separate ways.

Mike messages me later and says he is going to go back. I try to convince him not to and all he does is say it was our own minds that were screwing with us. I think he just went to prove to himself he wasn’t scared. I can smell that stench everywhere now. I don't go out anymore, I just stay in and don't answer the door. Last week everyone I met was acting really strange, people that I knew for a long time and total strangers. My own dad, when I went to his place to eat supper with him he just watched me, strangely, when I was sitting down. He didn't say a word the whole time. I kept asking him “What’s wrong?” He just slowly shook his head.

When I was leaving to go home I turned to wave. He had black eyes and an open mouth like he was in pain. When I started to walk back he shut the door and bolted it. I stayed there knocking and knocking. Nothing. I called him, his phone was disconnected. I even called the police. Halfway through the questions they were asking me the connection started to fade into static. I could hear a faint mumbling, singing and laughing.
Mike has completely vanished. There is not even a record of him being alive. When I call Alex’s house they talk to me like I’m some salesman. They say they don't know any Alex and to please stop calling. The person who tells me that is Alex‘s mother. I can’t get ahold of John. Someone knocked on my door and when I went to look I saw a face completely covering the peephole and a giant smile started to form.

I called the cops again and instead of it turning into static they got really strange. “Sir, are you affected by any drugs at the moment?” “No.” “Are you coming home anytime soon?” “Excuse me?” “Come home.” and the phone call ended. My mail slot swings every now and then. Someone is sliding pieces of baby dolls through it. I try to call people now and all I can hear is static and bad baby doll noises and this crying and screaming. My TV is busted but when I go to piss I can hear it on. I might be going insane.


Whoever lives above me started to scream in pain and crying deeply recently. I hear giant footsteps from their apartment, I hear bangs and something falling to the ground. From the neighbours to the right of my apartment I hear what sounds like a baby that never gets tended too and then it sounds like a baby doll whose batteries are dying. My phone has been ringing now and it’s Alex telling me things in a language that I have never heard before, nor could even manage to repeat. I kept getting emails of pictures of black and small colorations, now I can't even access my email. Someone knocks on the door, then they slam against it. I hear the bolts unlocking one by one and I run to make sure to lock all of them back and sit down crying.
What do I do? My electricity keeps dimming. My water, sinks, bath, shower, all smell like something dead. I keep seeing a shadow of someone behind me raising something up in the air, and I just take off to the other side of the apartment with my head against the wall. I have boarded my windows shut, someone was throwing rocks through them. I never could see who. I have boarded my bedroom in, I hear crying and screaming in there now. And right now while I’m typing this I can see the reflection off the computer screen of some shadow behind me.

>>1063360
One of my favorites pastas.

Also, read the furfag shit. I don't understand how people like this. It's... interesting (not in a good way), but people fap to this? What the fuck.

>>1063404
Evil is real, and its name is furry.

>>1061521
>It's too late, you are ours now.

Wow, that made so much more sense than what I got out of it...

"you are our snow"

moar plz, it's halloreen.