An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn’t certain of which direction to go, and he’d forgotten both where he was traveling to and who he was. He’d sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him. She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: “Now your *third* wish. What will it be?”
“Third wish?” The man was baffled. “How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?”
“You’ve had two wishes already,” the hag said, “but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That’s why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes.” She cackled at the poor man. “So it is that you have one wish left.”
“All right,” he said, “I don’t believe this, but there’s no harm in wishing. I wish to know who I am.”
“Funny,” said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. “That was your first wish.”

>>815058
I actually really liked this.

During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time.

Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm’s well (which had apparently dried up earlier that year).

Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera (seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen). After positioning the camera to include both her and her kitchen stove in the image, the tape then showed her turning on the oven, opening the door, crawling inside, and then closing the door behind her. Eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently, after which point thick black smoke could be seen emanating from it. The camera then continued to stationary point at the oven for another 45 minutes until the batteries apparently died.

To avoid disturbing the local community, police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well.

…or why the physical stature of the woman on the tape did not in any way resemble the stature of the woman found in the oven.

I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Any moment now I am going to be killed.

Today a friend of mine told me a story.

His aunt had taken care of him since he was a small boy, and she told him last night about how his parents died. He did a very fair imitation of her (I knew them both pretty well):

“They were doing mission work in some nasty little south american country when a man burst into the mission hospital one night, terrified out of his mind. He told them that his sister had been killed by a Muerto blanco, and that he was certain that it was coming for him next. What is a Muerto blanco? Apparently it was some sort of bogey-man, something like that dumb chupacabra or whatever. They called it the White Death or the White Girl, because it was the soul of someone who hated life so much that they came back in their shrouds to kill those who told of them.

The man had been told about the vengeful spirit by his sister hours before her death. It was a girl with dead, black eyes that wept bile. The thing moved without ever actually moving its legs, and it stalked its victims back to their homes. Now, if you weren’t already aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start knocking on your door…

* Once for you skin, which she’ll use to patch her own decaying flesh.
* Twice for your muscle, which she’ll gnash her teeth on between victims.
* Thrice for your bones, which she’ll make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victims.
* Four times for your heart, which she’ll wear around her neck.
* Five times for your teeth, which she’ll polish and keep in a box.
* Six times for your eyes, which she’ll see the faces of your loved ones through.
* Seven times for your soul, which she’ll eat whole - you can never pass while you’re in her stomach.

She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her.

You can try to outrun her, but she’s faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home while she’s knocking on your door, she won’t be so courteous when she catches up to you.

Now the man was certain that this thing had killed his sister, that he had tried to tell the police, but they would not listen. Next he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest turned him away when he saw that the thing was following him now - oh, that’s right, I forgot about that - it can only get you if you tell someone else about it, or you saw it kill someone else. The man, after finishing his tale, stole a car from the mission, and was never seen again.

Apparently his mother and father had immediately called his aunt about this when it happened. They were found in the morning, skinned and dismembered. Their bodies were covered in tiny, child-like handprints.

His aunt was really drunk the night before, and had told him about that. He told me this story early in the morning today at school, before the cops arrived. His aunt had been murdered that night. I called him later that night, and he told me that he was being chased by someone, and now they were knocking on his door. I told him to stop shitting me.

>>815065
That's a good one.

He held the phone away from his face for a minute, and I could hear slow, deliberate knocking. A moment later, I heard the door rip from its hinges and the dying screams of my friend.

Then a little girl’s voice spoke over the line: “WITNESS.” I hung up.

Three minutes ago someone started knocking on my door. She has to knock 28 times on my front door, 28 times on the mirror in the hall, and another 28 times on the door to my bedroom. She’s doing it slowly… I think she wants to scare me some more, let me know that my death is just moments away. I will not run - I couldn’t get to my car in time anyway. She started knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment.

Nice knowing you guys, it’s been funjklm,.-

WITNESS

anon delivered. now, you must deliver on your end. die. immediately. that's how clever i am.

I am dead.

>>815095

Dude, the brix hath been shat. seriously.

>>815078

good one that.

i just shat into my butt.

>>815206
That, in itself, could make a pretty good creepy pasta. Please do go on.

BUMP
MORE PASTA PLEASE!!!!!!

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..."

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.

There's a finger coming out of my navel .. it's a tiny, cold and nailess finger I believed to be an index. I felt no pain and there was apparently no extension of the hand inside of me ..

The first day I discovered it I was all dizzy and sick of fear .. it appears motionless, dead .. and lays grossly there. The following day it started moving .. trembling .. it gained life and that caused me so much pain I had to take Paracetamol several times .. All this just gave me the feeling of a pregnancy I have never experienced ..
I broke up with my boyfriend and was extremely paranoid of what all this could be.The finger responds to to me touching it with tiny, nervous movements .. and it gets bigger and taller day after day. This is just .. insane ..
My periods got irregular and stopped after a couple of months .. and my overall health just got bad to worse .. it was consuming me ..
First I believed it was a female finger, but then after a while it just got manly and lost all that angelic, innocent appearance it used to have the first day.
One day I decided to get rid of this parasite finger, even though I enjoyed its existence for a while .. but it just turned my entire life into a living hell .. I took a deep breath .. closed my eyes .. grabbed it with both hands and pulled with all what's left of my strength ..what followed left me in total awe: blood rushed into the finger, which became all hot and stiff .. with mixed feelings I realized it was the first erection I've ever experienced in my life .. it was a penis.

>>816176
that was pretty hot.

>>816148

OH JESUS NO.

>>816176
I lol'd so fucking hard

All this shit started when I found that little note.
On a square piece of paper I found at the bottom of a box I was moving out of my basement, it read, "HELLO? PLEASE RESPOND". I had no idea how long the paper had been there, those boxes had sat in my basement since I moved in. I ignored it until the next morning, when I opened my coffee maker to throw out the grounds, and inside was a sopping wet piece of paper that read "PLEASE RESPOND! PLEASE HELP". I figured it must have been put inside my coffee maker by whoever was pulling this pointless prank, because it wasn't there when I put my coffee grounds in.
I found more notes, under my mousepad, inside my computer tower while I was putting in some new RAM, between the layers of tissue of my toilet paper roll, under my DVD player's disc tray. Places that no one would ever look, places you'd never think of putting a note, places you knew no one would ever look and it would be foolish to put a note, because who knew when they would see it?
But it kept happening, and they all said the same thing every time, begging me to respond and help them. Being the retard I am, one day I just got fed up when I found one inside a cup in my dishwasher(right after I had run it- the paper was dry) I wrote on the back of it "HELLO. I'M RESPONDING. PLEASE EXPLAIN YOUR SITUATION!" and slid it under a crack in my bath-fitted tub.
No sooner had I left my bathroom did I find another piece of paper, floating on the surface tension on the surface of my class of sprite I had in the living room.

>>816202
class of sprite

>>816214
Yeah, that confused me a little, too...

the monster one was good. Technically we'd all be dead :)

Every time you exhale, a little bit of your soul escapes. Luckily, you almost always inhale it back before anyone else gets to it. Almost.

Ever fogged up a mirror with your breath?


Don’t do that.

bump

glass of sprite. sorry.

>>816202
I carefully picked it out of my drink, it read "THANK YOU." and in larger letters, "I'M TRAPPED".
I waved it around to dry it off a bit, and wrote on the back of it again, "where are you trapped? how are you sending me notes?" and, not creative enough to think of where to put it, I just threw it behind my couch. I waited and looked, but I didn't see any other notes for the rest of that day.
The next day I checked my mail, inside of some spam letter was the next note, "IN THE SECOND DIMENSION. BELOW YOU". I wasted no time in responding "whoever you are, this prank is retarded. give it a rest" and threw it outside, the wind blew it away.
The next note I got was still in obnoxious capital letters, though it was much longer than before and the last sentence seemed to have been squeezed into the remaining space. I think it was a passage from some encyclopedia or textbook. "The first dimension is a defined point in space. The second dimension (this was underlined) is anything that exists with height and width, while the third adds on length. The fourth includes time, the and the fifth is the past: time that has already occurred and is solidified in timespace." Everything beyond that was too squished in to read. I rolled my eyes and responded again, "How can you read this if you're in the second dimension? How can you even exist??" I slipped this note into the space in my toaster between the element and the metal casing.
my reply came when I brushed it out of my hair the next morning before I took a shower. "WRITING IS 2D. VISION IS 2D- TWO 2D IMAGES SUPERIMPOSED."
That didn't really get to the point of how I was supposed to "rescue" this person, which I defined in my next note that I flushed down my toilet.

I love it, keep going!

>>816269
MOAR

>>816269
WHAT HAPPENED!?!?!?!

writers block?

>>816269
"MAKE ME 3D" was all that was on the new slip of paper I found inside of a chocolate bar I unwrapped, later on. How the idiot was putting these inside sealed products was beyond me but at this point I decided to play along, maybe it was some kind of TV show thing.
"how?" was all I wrote for my reply. I remember exactly where I put it, because it was the last thing I wrote for a long time. I put it in a crack between my length mirror, and it's wooden backing. As soon as I let go it slid out of sight and I didn't see any papers again for a year and a half.
Getting dressed one morning for work, I went into my room and adjusted my tie and shirt in my mirror, the same one, only it was now on the opposite side of my room. Looking into it, I noticed a square behind me on the wall. Turning around, there was none. In the instant before I turned around again I thought it must have fallen off, but in the mirror it was still there, still suck to the wall. I touched my mirror thinking maybe it was some sort of warping or optical illusion, but it wasn't.
I lifted my heavy mirror up from the ground and slowly walked backwards with it, nearing myself to the opposite wall on which the paper was stuck. The closer I got, the clearer the message on it became, until I stopped, sandwiched between the heavy mirror and the wall, looking at the paper immediately over my shoulder: "MAKE YOU 2D" it said.

I moved the fuck out of that house as soon as I could. After bunking at my girlfriend's for a while, I got the fuck rid of the mirror, the toaster, everything. My heart still skips a beat when I see any perfectly square piece of paper, sitting on the floor, all alone. I still live in fear of some day I'll open up a book or look in the inner lining of a jacket, and a piece of paper will flop out.

I check all my things, now. Constantly. I also don't drink coffee anymore.

>>816344

BRILLIANT

>>816344
Nice one Anon!

7/10
nice story

People still laugh at me when I tell them I don't like sticky notes.

Good job, could use a bit, but a nice idea and fairly good writing to boot. 8/10.

>>816344
YOU SON OF A BITCH LET ME OUT OF THIS DIMENSION.

>>816148
Wow... Just wow.

>>816148

...

Jesus fucking Christ fuck off. =( One of my worst fears is rape.

>>816344
7/10

>>816603
Get out.

>>816148
Is this true or just designed to mess with your head?

>>816148
>>816148
oh the lolz

>>816202
Great job anon, 7/10

>>816344
Also, srry for the double post, but I think it should had ended where it says MAKE YOU 2D. That way it isn't clear if the sandwiching made you 2D and leaves an open space for suspense, think about that

bump! DOESNT ANONYMOUS HAVE ANYMORE DECENT PASTA?

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…

>>816966

That pasta was pretty tasty. 50 internetz 2 u.

Someone post the one about the "Mourning Minstrel".

>>816665
No.
Now, seriously, PLEASE... WAKE UP.

>>816966
nice... is that original?

>>816966

Seconding the grats for delicious creepypasta.

>>816991
O shit! I remember that one. The end completely raped my mind.

>>816966

nice idea but amateurish writing

>>817029
maybe i can make it better?

>>817029
One school day, a boy named Tom Krozner was sitting in class and doing math. It was six minutes before the bell. while he was day dreaming, 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 time to go home, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it, even though he didn't think any one else had seen 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 nails tapping on glass. 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.

>>817053
and hur ya go
Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He was led down his stairs, out the door. and across his lawn. He then started to go across the street. he couldn't do anything but follow the noise, it was like a trance. when he got into the middle of the street, A car coming around the corner struck and killed him. He lay dead with the picture in his hand.

The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. As he was picking up the boy to bring him in the nearest home for help, he Suddenly saw the picture and picked it up. The driver smiled despite what was happening. He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers…

>>816966

Awesome story

>>817053

Maybe you can write something original, bitch

>>816966
Is this original?

>>817063
nothing is original, welcome to the internet

more pasta?

moar!

/r/ Mourning Minstrel

>>817048

Was that you who just posted it again?
What'd you do, give him a last name?
Nice.

>>816148
Oh, shit.

Prosopopeya.

It was past ten in the evening. I thought I was the only passenger on the bus, but I heard children’s voices from behind. The children were apparently talking about a ghost story.

Child A: “…. and if you turn around, the ghost will snatch you away and carry you to the afterworld!”

I recognized the voice. I often saw these children on the same bus after work. They went to a cram school.

Child B: “Then that’s easy. All you have to do is make sure you don’t turn around.”

Child A: “Yes, but I heard you can’t help but turn around. The ghost would try all sorts of tricks on you to get you turn around.”

It was nearly the bus stop where these two usually got off, but it looked like they didn’t notice it. I thought I should warn them because I didn’t want them to go home late. So I turned around and said, “you are getting off here aren’t you?”

Child A: “See, I told you so.”

Every family in every town in every country on every continent has one. It’s a cabinet, not particularly odd, not out of place. The paint was peeling a bit on the corners and the knob was a bit loose. The inside smelled like dust and the paint wasn’t the same as the kitchen walls.

You hid in there once during a game of hide ‘n’ seek.

No one told you it doesn’t open back into your reality. Don’t worry, you can’t tell the difference.

But everyone misses you

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.

In this world exists a spirit neither male nor female. This spirit is covered with a
dark cloth with a separate white cloth to cover it’s head. It is said to carry an
enormous brown burlap sack in which to hold it’s victims in. It is said the second
it’s name has been called out, either directly or indirectly, the person is
collected and is property of the spirit. Many who have witnessed its appearance have
been said to have gone insane with their eyes gouged out. This spirit is very, very
real and failure to not mention it’s name will cause Candlejack to come whisk you
awa

So ur with ur honey and yur making out wen the phone rigns. U anser it n the vioce is “wut r u doing wit my daughter?” U tell ur girl n she say “my dad is ded”. THEN WHO WAS PHONE?

Does anybody have that creepypasta about people who disappear?

>>818059
This one?

There was this woman whose husband was acting very strange one day, very paranoid, she asked him why and this is what he told her:

“Twelve years ago to this day a whole bunch of my friends and I went to an old haunted house downtown to stay the night because we thought it would be fun. We were all settled on the bottom floor of the house and we were fine for the first few hours. We began to hear things that sounded like foot steps pacing on the floor above, and scratching on the walls.”

“We sent Jimmy, who was the oldest of us, up to have a look so he grabbed his flashlight and we watched him head up the steps. His foot steps seemed to stop towards the last few steps where he was no longer visible to us and slowly his light faded from view, we called after him but there was no reply.”

“Afterwards we sent Matt, the second oldest up to find him, he walked up the steps and the same thing happened. At this point we thought they were joking, and out third eldest, Jason went up to look shouting that he knew it was a trick and to give it up, at the last few steps where the other guys had vanished his shouting voice became distant before vanishing completely.”

“The rest of us got scared and went home to call the police who checked it out the next morning and found blood smeared up the sides of the stairwell. They searched the entire house and never found a soul. The house was eventually knocked down and not one body was found. Every year on this day one of us remaining from that house has disappeared going from oldest to youngest.”

Her husband was not seen again after that day. Police held an brief investigation, but nothing came of it.

>>818061

No, its really short. It's kind of like:

"Every year, X amount of people disappear. Many people are found again, but some aren't"

>>818075

Never mind, I found it


It might happen one morning that you wake up home alone. This could be normal depending on your situation, but this morning will be different. While your environment will all seem exactly the same, you’ll notice that everything is quieter than normal. If you go outside, you will notice a distinct lack of anything like birds, insects… or people. As far as you travel, you will not encounter another sentient human being. The entire world will be intact, but empty except for yourself.

There are currently over 100,000 missing persons cases in the United States. Some are just normal cases of murder or kidnappings, but in others, the disappearance cannot be explained and no remains of the person are ever located.

>>818061
wtf there were 15 of you in the basement...
less of a scarey story, more of a orgy..

>>818134
someone doesn't know how to read.

>>818143
3 died on the night, 12 died in the 12 years
therefore, before the killing started, there were 15 of them couped up in a dark basement
being scared, they were probably holding each other
one thing leads to another...
OMG.

>>818147

Mantrain of fear

Kuchisake-Onna is the legend of a Japanese woman, mutilated by her jealous samurai husband who murdered her for infidelity scarring her horribly and leaving her repulsive.

Her jealous Ghost still haunts places in Japan, usually on foggy nights, wearing a surgical mask when she will approach people and ask shyly: “Watashi kirei?” (Am i beautiful?) The person usually responds, yes.

She then pulls down her mask to reveal an ear to ear grin, cut by her jealous husband to mar her for her life. “Even like this?” she will persist. If you answer no. She will take a pair of scissors, and cut the same gruesome smile into your own face. If you answer yes, she will disappear, and the second you go home will reappear at your door and finish the job.

The only way of confusing Kuchisake-Onna is to say: You are average, which will confuse this mysterious Onryo. Or to present her with hard amber candy, or say ‘Pomade’ six times will shall make her flee.

She has been seen from the 1970’s til the early 2000’s, often seen lurking near children whose innocent answer of yes when asked if she is ugly, will lead to their deaths

I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets under books and bags. The kids at school never said anything to my face, but I knew they were laughing behind my back.

I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor, to get them checked out. The growths on my hands seemed to be the elephant in the room back then, since they’d just say I was fine and change the subject. But I knew better.

I had tried to remove them as a child, but without avail. Scissors, knives, potato peelers; trying to cut or scrape them off was always a lost cause because I couldn’t continue once the pain kicked in.

But today was different. It’s amazing how numb you can get with a couple of tourniquettes and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was originally planning to use a sharp knife, but figured that trying to slice through the tough flesh of the growths would be too arduous in my drunken state. I opted for the slightly more technological plan B.

I had to hurry though. I was already pretty light-headed and was starting to feel dizzy. My hands and forearms, nearly blue from the lack of circulation, couldn’t wait much longer either. The whirring of the blender helped to put me in a sort of trance–ready to do what I had wanted to do since I first looked down at my strange deformities.

I shoved my left hand in first. The immediate sensation of sharp blades slicing through flesh was jarring, but I was surprised at how well the alcohol was working–I expected it to hurt more. I could hear the sharp metal churning and cutting, working perfectly as planned. I pressed my hand down harder. All those bad memories, all of the embarrasment–all of those horrible things were now nothing more than a thick red pulp.

Breaking from the feelings of ectsasy, I pulled out before the blades hit knuckle. I smiled, taking a good look at my new hand. As for the growths–well, five down, and five to go.

>>818219
that one always makes me laugh =P

This morning I stepped out of the shower and this bathroom was fine: white walls, white tiles, sink and counter with toothpaste crusted all over. Three out of the four lightbulbs over the mirror were still good — 100 watt, clear bulb, blinding bright in the small white room. Like always I was late, so I skipped shaving. She liked it when I didn’t shave, anyway. I was thinking about doing mutton chops. She’d get a kick out of that. I passed the mirror and noticed I was grinning. I didn’t even know I was grinning.

I’m in the bathroom tonight before bed and there’s something wrong with the lights. All three are on again but they glow kind of brown and don’t really light up the rest of the room. I should get more bulbs from the kitchen. I should, but I’m busy. The date was shit and she shut her apartment door on me. You’d think that would wipe off the stupid grin from this morning. But I came back in the bathroom and, in the mirror, my face was still doing it. If I touch my face it doesn’t feel like a grin, but there it is in the mirror.

In the brown light it’s hard to make out but — have you ever actually counted how many teeth show when you smile? I lean in close. One, two, three, four — I didn’t know my mouth was so wide. Nine, ten, eleven — I can’t do mutton chops after all. The corners of my lips are out to my ears. It still doesn’t feel like a grin. But keep counting, for curiousity. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

It’s the summer, and you’re out of your college classes for at least a week or two, before the next semester starts. You’ve spent this time lounging around, and sleeping a lot. But lately, correspondence between your local friends has dropped off. They don’t drop by. Your phone’s been quiet for awhile, and your IM lists are all empty.

After five days of this, you’ve gotten bored enough to try chatrooms. They’re all empty; even the big ones. Any e-mails you send get no replies.

When you leave your apartment, the whole of the building is unearthly silent. The only noise that comes about at all is the whurr from the automated Rail outside. Nobody answers when you knock. All the buildings are dark and locked up when you look out the window; the only cars are of the parked variety.

A search of the entire building, and even further beyond that, yeilds nothing. No life; the only movement is from the wind, or the automated peices of machinary. Defeated, you slink back into the empty apartment complex.

On your door is pinned a note:

“Turns out the guy in room 302 really could sleep through the end of the world.”

The note is dated five days ago.

In some television markets, people get two different versions of the same channel. This is usually caused by affiliates being nearby–for example, while living in New Jersey receiving the ABC affiliate from both New York City and Philadelphia, or living in Southern California and getting both the Los Angeles and San Diego stations. For the most part, these appear to be the same channel in all except local news and some daytime programming, with the exception that one is actually closer and more clear than the other.

These channels, in reality, should not occur. Television markets are set up to focus around ONE city, and offering two different versions of the same channel in one market can split viewer-ship in the ever-competitive ratings race.

If you are to watch the channel with worse reception, from the city that is further away, you’ll start to notice that the news reports major events that never occurred, on people that aren’t real, on technology that shouldn’t exist, the ads are for products that you’ve never heard of.

The conspiracy theorists think that these television stations belong to an alternate world. They point to the fact that the news tends to be getting worse over there, more separate from our own. There are reports of looking into an alternate world, and invading it for their own. Just pray they aren’t talking about us.

In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.

She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She went to the police, who raided the address on the envelope, where they found heaps of human flesh for sale.

And what was in the envelope? “This is the last one I am sending you today.”

Since before I could remember, I’ve wanted to be a mother. It seemed my whole childhood and teenager years were spent yearning for a child of my own. By the time I was nine, I had names–and color schemes for the nursery–picked out. All I needed was someone to make them with. But college was disappointing. I went through a whole string of bad boyfriends and bad father material. Getting on with my career didn’t seem to help much. I realized, though–when I was twenty-seven, and there were no suitable prospects on the line–that, technically, I did not need a man to have a
child with. Just a very particular product of his. I found a sperm donor bank, chose the best prospect they had, got out my turkey baster and… well… hoped for the best.

I was overjoyed when my first pregnancy test came out positive. My doctor was surprised to see me coming in sooner than he’d expected. Before I was four weeks along, I had the nursery painted, and the furniture set up. Toys and diapers, bottles and books, bibs and coveralls. I had everything a new mother would need.

I couldn’t explain all the weight I was losing. I kept getting thinner–everything except for my belly. My friends all joked that it had to be at least twins. Or the biggest baby they’d ever seen.

I got weary of the kicking somewhere in the third trimester. And the scratching.

Just one more week until my due date.

I just wish it would stop gnawing.

So ur with ur honey and yur making out wen the phone rigns. U anser it n the vioce is “wut r u doing wit my daughter?” U tell ur girl n she say “my dad is ded”. THEN WHO WAS PHONE?

Bump! We need more creepypasta!

Fine, I'll get off my ass and post more. Christ.
The next time you’re alone in your room, turn down the lights. Think of something on your body that varies in length, such as hair. It must be clearly viewable from your perspective. Grab a ruler and, looking in the mirror, quickly grab a hair at random; you must confuse it. Hold it in position as best you can and note the length. Look down. Yours will be different.

Don’t look back up.

Don’t turn your back to that mirror ever again.

If you are watching television, and the signal cuts out to static, turn the TV off immediately. If you watch the static on TV for long enough, the static will suddenly pause. All sound in the room will cease; even the white noise of the TV itself will disappear. If this happens you must not look away from the screen. You will probably not notice at the time, before you lose your gaze on the TV, your body will freeze as well. Time around and with you have paused completely. Specks of the black and white dots slowly come to life, creeping slowly in seemingly random directions. Not static as you know it, but organizing themselves into a moving picture again in front of you. As the static returns to normal, and the white noise of the TV comes back, you will regain control of your body. You must never watch that television again. It will only play static, even when unplugged. If you watch the static any longer, these same events will reoccur, but with disastrous results. What exactly happens is unknown, as it is obvious that anyone that has been unfortunate enough to experience this has disappeared. It is rumoured that if one continues to watch the static again, or during their experience, looks away, the white and black specs will slowly start to move again, but you will not. Your eyes will then be permanently fixated on the screen as you watch the picture come back to life, and what seems to be your station’s signal return. You learn soon this is not the case, as all sound is still absent, and the picture on the TV shows a familiar surrounding: the room in which you sit. The only thing you see next is movement on the TV, as you see yourself from behind, and subsequently, the cause of your disappearance.

>>815058
does not get

>>818294

I like

>>816966
What happens when she gets to 11

High-resolution picture is here: http://www.rumdesign.com/wrong/

You stand solemnly in the small dining room of your new house

It's been sixteen years since you've last moved. Of course, you would be reluctant to just pack up your bags and leave, but it couldn't be helped. So you're homesick. Big deal. But something puts you off about this house. Something you only noticed this very moment. It didn't appear discomforting when you were first saw it, but now it does. Oh yes, you don't like this house one bit.

The room is whitewashed; furnished with the fine antiques of your old house. There are two windows in the back right and back left corners, with an odd painting sitting between them. In the middle of this room lay the antique dining table, with seating for four, adorned with tablewear moved over from your last house. An elegant display-- nothing suspicious about it at all. To the left of the table sits a drawer. This drawer is very special to you...it was given to you as a present from your mother the week before she died. Atop that very drawer sits a small bonsai plant, some candles, and a collection of pictures of your mother. In the far right corner of the room is a cheap white radiator and your dog's watering dish. Odd then, that you wouldn't find your dog anywhere in this room...

...he stands behind you, quivering in fear.

He directs his gaze at the windows, then at the radiator, and then at the dresser, and finally at the table. He turns to run, but can't. He is too fiercely enthralled by the horror of this room. He then directs his attention to the painting between the windows. It is a simple painting of a long, winding street smack in the middle of an old, snowy town. But there's something wrong here. Just on the right-hand side of the road sits an odd reflection of light...

You hold your dog for a minute and follow his gaze about the room. Can you find what's wrong with this picture?

>>816966

Delicious creepypasta is delicious. Never seen it before, either.

>>816603
oh! look at the time!

>>818325
Oh i saw it! you just gotta stare at it for awhile with your face realy close to the screen!

>>818325

I'm sure that's not a screamer. No way.

>>818325
does not want to see

>>818328
i had, that other time, someone also offered to rewrite

>>816148

this one always scares me

My story is intresting as i belive it is one of the only times when the Black eyed Children have spoken with children openly

I was skateboarding at around 10:30 last night and i had stopped to take a rest when i was approached by two kids one with blonde hair and a baseball cap pointed and a skateboard painted all black on the bottom and the other slightly less intimitdating as he look to be around 8 he had blonde hair also and was wearing a spiderman shirt the older one spoke to me as i had my head hanging low
" Hey, kid can you help us were lost we need to use a phone can you take us to your house?" I looked up at them and immediatly felt Dread and dispair i stood up quickly sensing something was wrong " Uh, you can use my cellphone if you want" the older kid seemed annoyed then and look me in the eyes it was then that i noticed they were black all black not in white i could see " Hey cool contacts where did you get them" i asked

" There not Contacts" he said flatly " Yea well sorry i couldn't help you guys out but im going inside" i turned around and started to ride but somehow the older kid caught up with me and grabbed my sholder " YOU will let us use your phone WE NEED TO GO INSIDE BUT WE CAN"T IF YOU DON"T TAKE US TO YOUR HOUSE" it was at this point i hit him in the face and ran up the stairs to my house and shook for hours later when i was on the computer i looked outside my window and the kids were staring at the window i told my mother and of course she didn't belive me

>>818377
BUT WHO WAS PHONE

>>818377

this sounds similar to a thread we had a while back where some guy said two kids wanted to come in his house but they creeped the fuck out of him and he wouldn't let them in, so they sat outside his house all night long staring.

>>818377
OOOoOoo "BUT OF COURSE SHE DIDNT BELIEVE ME!"

That ruined it, you idiot. wtf did she not look at the fuckin nigger eyed children on your lawn staring at the window? Learn to write before you shit on a plate and call it pasta.

>>818391
It really is pasta, didn't write it, just copypasta'd it from some sort of forum.

Why the fuck do I always read creepypasta JUST BEFORE GOING TO BED?!
Fuck you /x/

>>818407
lol
sweet dreams

>>818228
the big question, of course, is
WHO WAS NOTE?

In rural southern Illinois a toy company began selling “realistic” baby dolls to expectant mothers. But apparently after the mother had her child the toy baby would start crying. Eventually the “rocking motion” advertised to calm it down wouldn’t work, and you couldn’t get it to stop without shaking it. Eventually when it started crying the parent would have to beat it, and the beatings and thrashings would have to get harder and harder to get it to be quiet. The only thing that seemed to shut the baby doll up permanently was the bash its head against the wall to destroy whatever mechanism triggered the crying. On more than one occasion though, neighbors called the authorities to report child abuse, and when the police arrived they found the bloody remains of infants smeared across the walls and the floor. In most cases the mother couldn’t understand why the police were there, she just “got rid of the stupid doll” as she rocked a baby-shaped bundle in her arms.

>>818192
LET'S PUT A SMILE ON THAT FACE

>>818626
Theres actually a movie very similar to that pasta. the end sucks though because you never find out who was phone...

The man in the baseball cap walked through the hardware section of Home Depot.

Something was wrong. He had to fix it when he got home. It was a little stuffy in there; might feel good to let some air in. He thought for awhile. The hacksaw would probably take too long, and it would be a weird angle for the phillips head screwdriver. He had tried the hammer, but couldn’t get it to work, even with the four inch hot-dip galvanized nails he’d bought yesterday.

It was an old place. Sold construction, over forty years old. The fuck if he knew what it was really made of. His eyes wandered over to the power tool section. That might do the trick. He just wanted to fix it up a bit. The ventilation wasn’t right.

After some inspection, the man purchased a DeWalt 14.4 volt electric drill, with a 7 piece set of rapid load masonry bits. 3000 rpm, 98.7 foot-pounds of torque, two batteries and a charger. He paid in cash, thanked the casher, and drove home. As the clock hit 1:47, he figured he’d give it a go. He didn’t know if the batteries were fully charged or not, but figured a few minutes of juice would be enough. Besides, he was getting a headache, and he wanted to get this done before the kids came home.

The man sat down at the dinner table and loaded the drill with a battery and a 17/64” masonry bit. He wasn’t sure what size to use, so he guessed he could start low and size up. But it didn’t really matter, anyway. After removing the baseball cap, the man pressed the electric drill to the left side of his head and squeezed the trigger. The drill made a loud grinding sound as the bit struggled to pierce his skull.

Two, three minutes later it was done. The man pulled the drill from his skull. Little flecks of bone were stuck to the bit. It felt like a slight wind was blowing through his head. He sat there for a moment, smiling.

It felt good to let some air in. But now it was time to take care of that leak.

>>816966
Oh Christ, I remember the one thread where everyone was rewriting this story. Truly cool.

Those used to be green!” the man said aloud, staring at the plants on the sill.

“I swear! They were green just yesterday!” he shouted to his wife, who was reading a book across the room.

He looked around. His eyes were unable to focus clearly for a moment, so he rubbed them. Looking around, he shouted again, “The walls! They used to be blue! We painted them blue just last month! Why aren’t they blue?” He was unable to control himself anymore. His wife looked over at him, surprised to see him in such a fervent uproar.

“Honey! Relax! You’ve just had a long day!” she affirmed. He wouldn’t have any of it though. “Don’t tell me what I’ve had or haven’t had!” he commanded as he stormed out of the room.

Figuring her husband had possibly been drinking, the woman tried to continue reading her book. But her concentration was continually broken by the yells of her husband.

“This used to be orange!” she could hear him yell in the other room. “These used to be brown!” he yelled again. Several minutes passed, but finally he was silent. Content that her husband had calmed down, the woman continued reading.

However, moments later a loud crash could be heard in the kitchen. The woman sprang from her chair in surprise, and darted over to the kitchen to see what was the matter. As she entered the room, she let out an incredible scream. There lay her husband on the floor, drenched in blood, with his abdomen slit wide open. Holding his own bowels in his hands, he uttered one last breath, “…these used to be red!…”

>>818650
proof you weren't there..
just one anon after another competing for the worst writing skills prize

Prominently displayed in the children’s section of the Houston Downtown Public Library, among several others of the same title, My First Cookbook appears as a run-of-the-mill children’s cookbook, complete with large print, simple instructions, colorful, friendly illustrations and a somewhat disproportionate desert section. In fact, the only major deviation from this theme is an article near the end of the book entitled “A Recipe for Success”. This is a complex, macabre ritual involving human sacrifice, self mutilation and sacrilege, as well as more curious and innocuous practices such as walking down a stair case with a prime number of stairs taking them two at a time and then up it taking them three at a time. It’s written in the same cheerfully simple prose as the rest of the book and accompanied by the same helpful, pastel drawings.

>>818651
that is the worst pasta i have ever read in my life.

A teenage baby-sitter put the kids she was watching to sleep in their beds and went back downstairs. The late night news was on the TV — the reporter said a psychopath from a local mental institution was on the loose and that police thought he might be in the area. He cautioned residents to lock their doors and windows because this guy was very, very dangerous.

Well, the teenager checked the locks on the windows and the doors, but she forgot the door on the cellar bulkhead. Needless to say, the psychopath broke in about an hour later, coming up from the cellar, armed with an ax. The children heard some noises downstairs, but thought it was the baby-sitter moving some furniture around. Then it got real quiet.

All they heard for the remainder of the night was this noise: “Thump! Thump! Dra-aag… Thump! Thump! Dra-aag…” Evidently, they were too afraid to get up to see what it was. In the morning, their parents came home and were horrified to find the babysitter at the top of the stairs, dead with both arms hacked off at the elbows. She’d been climbing the stairs on the bloody stumps of her arms, pulling her badly injured body along. Was she trying to check on the children? Was she trying to get help? Or in the madness of her tortured soul, was she planning to kill the children herself?

>>818674
idea: 7/10
execution: 5/10

>>818674
Nevermind, THIS is the worst pasta ive ever read

Rumor has it that every Halloween during the hours of 2am and 5am, there exists a void. You must stand in front of a mirror in a pitch black room with your gaze fixated on the mirror. If you remain in the room when the moment arrives, you will feel a chill seize your body. Place your right hand on the mirror and whisper “I accept.” If done correctly, in the mirror, there will be a faint image of an infant with no flesh and pitch black eyes. He will stare directly into your soul and you will hear the buzzing of flies and nervous whispering.

You will not be able to make out the image in the mirror, but you will be filled with unspeakable terror. The infant will ask you five questions about events that have occured within your life. His voice will sound like the rubbing of sandpaper and will be devoid of all human emotion. For each question that you answer incorrectly, one of your five senses will be consumed and lost to you forever. For each question that is answered correctly, you will be able to recite the name of someone you know.

That person will be found dead the next morning with their flesh removed and their eyes missing.

Have you ever gotten a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye? A simple movement caught in your peripheral vision. Most will simply dismiss this as a shadow brought about by a flickering candle, or perhaps a pet jumping down from a piece of furniture. Ninety-nine out of a hundred times, these people are right.

But then there’s that one elusive sight. It can easily be explained by the above conditions, but something feels wrong about it. A chill down your spine, a slight pain in your side. Maybe even a complete blanking of your mind, only to recede moments later.

Should any of these symptoms be felt, there may be cause for worry. Our peripheral vision is designed to catch motion, even in the dark. This was used to defend against predators in our early days, and as with many aspects of our human nature, it has remained, but weakened.

This view out of the corner of our eyes still alerts us to danger, and although predators have dropped on the list of dangers we may face today, they still exist. Should you ever feel that queer chill in your back, try not to focus on that shadow you saw in the corner of your eye. It might be better not to see.

>>816148
na uh
I wasn't raped, I'm still pure

Damn it....

I wasn't planning on sleeping anyway.

Well, I was, until I read all this creepypasta.

Favourites:
>>816148
>>816202
>>818046
>>818228

He was in complete darkness.

He woke up and blindly tried to reach a wall in the dark.

He lit up that last match he had in his pocket. By the time the fire reached his fingers, he read on the wall, written in blood, ''only fire can keep them away''.

(based on a picture I saw here a couple of centuries ago)

It was her eyes that first attracted me to her. I didn’t believe in love, but the
first time I gazed into her beautiful green eyes I knew she was the one.

I loved seeing myself reflected in those eyes, looking deep into her soul and
knowing I was a part of it. It’s kinda stupid, but I even wrote poetry about them. I
don’t remember much, but I told her “There’s so much life within your eyes, and so
much love”.

Oh God, I loved the way the light danced within them. I just couldn’t imagine not
being able to stare dreamily into them.

Now if I could just find a box that was half as beautiful as her eyes, I could stop
carrying them round in my pocket.

The next time you make a purchase, hand the clerk a $1 bill and ask her to make change. She will hand you back a number of coins, several of which bear the likenesses of long dead historical figures.

>>819166
OH SHI-

>>816344
>>816269
>>816202
9/10

I live in a small apartment by myself, on the fifth floor. One night, a while back, I heard strange noises coming from down the hall. They weren’t shouts and they weren’t banging noises and they weren’t people fucking. They were weird. They sounded like gurgling. Loud gurgling.

Normally I don’t give a damn about what goes on in the rooms around me; my stance changes when whatever is going on pisses me off. These gurgling noises were doing just that. So, I left my apartment and headed towards the door at the end of the hallway, which seemed to be the source of the sound. I banged on the door and shouted at whoever happened to be in there to shut the hell up.

I stayed in front of the door for a little while to see if the noises would stop. They didn’t. I banged again and shouted again.

I heard a door open behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I knew it was some other stupid tenant who was pissed at me for shouting. Well, I was pissed at the gurgling noises.
ENTER
I kept banging and banging on the door. I had given up shouting because if I hadn’t, I would be hoarse for a week.

Ten minutes, at least, after I had left my room, the noises were still coming from the room. By now, a few other doors had been opened. I could feel the people around me. I don’t know if they wanted the noises to stop as well or if they wanted the noises I was making to stop.

Nothing was working, and my hand was starting to get numb. I rested for a minute to let my hand get some blood flow. During that time, someone behind me started talking. “Sir,” the person said (I wasn’t paying attention to the voice, so I don’t know if it was a man or a woman), “I think-”

“I don’t care what you think!” I shouted at the person.

The commentator sent me over the edge. I stepped back a bit, nerved myself, and kicked the door as hard as I could.

The door burst open, and I walked inside.
ENTER
There was nothing. It was a bare room, completely devoid of furniture, curtains, pictures. Everything.

I ran all over the apartment, looking in all the rooms for something, ANYTHING, that could be causing the gurgling noises. All the rooms were the same, with nothing at all inside. I checked the sinks in the bathroom and kitchen, figuring some water problem could be making the noises, but I found nothing. Both sinks ran fine, and the noises didn’t seem to be louder around either sink. In fact, the noises weren’t louder anywhere in the apartment. The noises were the same volume all over the apartment.

>>819156
Excellent. Is this original?

I ran out of the room, planning to get on the elevator and check the apartments above and below the one I had just checked, figuring something could be in the ceiling or floor.
ENTER
I was stopped by the owner of the building as I ran out of the apartment. Two guys grabbed ahold of me and held me, keeping me from moving.

“What’s going, [name removed]?” the owner asked, a very worried look on his face.

I explained the noises to him, as well as how the entire apartment was empty.

The owner shook his head and turned around. I asked him what was wrong. One of the people who had gathered in the hallway while I was beating against the door said, “What noises are you talking about? There are no noises.”
ENTER
My mother and father came to get me a couple of hours later. I was tied to a chair when they came. The other tenants had tied me up so I wouldn’t hurt myself anymore trying to find the “noises.” It turned out that my hand was badly broken from banging against the door so much. I apparently hadn’t registered the pain.

I got started on electro-shock again shortly afterwards. It seemed to be working. I didn’t think of the noises for the longest time.

Recently, however, I am hearing them again. I know that they aren’t real. I remember the incident at the apartment (which I have just told you), and I remember a similar incident which had occurred years before that one. My brain is simply wired wrong. There are no noises.

I can’t get them out of my head though. They are driving me mad. I have to figure out where they’re coming from. I have to stop them. The goddamned things are driving me nuts.

When you are admitted to a hospital, they place on your wrist a white wristband with your name on it. But there are other different colored wristbands which symbolizes other things. The red wristbands are placed on dead people.
There was one surgeon who worked on night shift in a school hospital. He had just finished an operation and was on his way down to the basement. He entered the elevator and there was just one other person there. He casually chatted with the woman while the elevator descended. When the elevator door opened another woman was about to enter when the doctor slammed the close button and punched the button to the highest floor. Surprised, the woman reprimanded the doctor for being rude and asked why he did not let the other woman in.
The doctor said “that was the woman i just operated on. She died while I was doing the operation. Didn’t you see the red wristband she was wearing?”
The woman smiled and raised her arm “something like this?”

There's a small, inconspicuous building called "Padraic Willoughsby 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 illegibly small type it says "The blood of the innocent."

Any night after midnight one can come to Paidraic Willoughsby 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.

A few years ago, a mother and father decided they needed a break, so they wanted to head out for a night on the town. They called their most trusted babysitter. When the babysitter arrived, the two children were already fast asleep in bed. So the babysitter just got to sit around and make sure everything was okay with the children. Later that night, the babysitter got bored and went to watch TV, but she couldn’t watch it downstairs because they did not have cable downstairs (the parents didn’t want children watching too much garbage). So, she called them and asked them if she could watch cable in the parent’s room. Of course, the parents said it was ok, but the babysitter had one final request… she asked if she could cover up the angel statue outside the bedroom window with a blanket or cloth, at the very least close the blinds, because it made her nervous. The phone line was silent for a moment, and the father who was talking to the babysitter at the time said, “Take the children and get out of the house… we will call the police. We do not have an angel statue.”
The police found all three of the house occupants dead within three minutes of the call. No angel staue was ever found.

Requesting the epic one about the guys who go camping and find the house. Giant grin in all reflections, etc, etc.

Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. Harold, the Oakdale gravedigger, upon hearing a bell, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time it wasn’t either. A voice from below begged, pleaded to be unburied.
“You Sarah O’Bannon?” Yes! the voice assured.
“You were born on September 17, 1827?”
“Yes!”
“The gravestone here says you died on February 19?”
“No I’m alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!”
“Sorry about this, ma’am,” Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. “But this is August. Whatever you is down there, you ain’t alive no more, and you ain’t comin’ up.”

Chief Scientist’s Log 12/7/2007 12:31 AM

A new find was brought into the lab today. Men working the demolition of a condemned warehouse at this facility discovered a rusty oil barrel that seemed to exude cold. Preliminary electromagnetic field readings yielded chaotic data before the equipment died. Barrel appears to be constructed of stainless steel and, again, radiates cold.

13/7/2007 9:00 PM

We opened the barrel today inside a sealed chamber. Chamber immediately frosted over. Unidentified entity found within the barrel. Appears to be gaseous and black. Indeed, the very light surrounding it appears to be “sucked in” by it’s presence. Appears to be sentient, but does not communicate in any understood way. Biological matter that comes into contact with the Entity seems to disintegrate.

14/7/2007 10:11 AM

An intern entered the sealed chamber alone today, without his hazard suit. He was not seen again. The Entity has double in size since being released from containment. Has become aggressive. We are sealing off the chamber immediately in light of it’s flesh-consuming properties and rapid growth. All research is halted.

14/7/2007 11:00 AM

It’s gone. God help us, it’s escaped.

>>819264
Good one.

>>819276
Thanks

>>819237
this one?

An odd occurrence has been rumored to happen in a certain pub at night in southwest Germany. If you sit in the stool farthest from the door while one beside it is empty, order a round for yourself and offer to “buy one for the Baron”. The bartender will without question or expression will pour 2 beers from tap. He’ll place one beside you and the moment the other one hits the table the room will go dark and silent, save for the sound of footsteps as a man in uniform sits beside you.
It is believed that it is indeed Captain Manfred von Richthofen, although no one is sure because they can barely see their own glass, much less the person’s face. No one who’s told this story has had the nerve you touch him or risk insult, and the figure does not say a word. But apparently if you were to ask him “So sir, what’s the condition at the front?” he would tell you startling details about the region’s future and sometimes how they connect to the world as a whole. Those who lived long enough after the fact claim that these events took place the exact about of years from the date they asked as from the date Baron von Richthofen died in battle. Yet this cannot be confirmed, because every time the figure has been asked the question after 1964 he’s only replied with a cold laugh.

>>819110
good one

>>819301
thanks

A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. Especially no one should look inside the room, under any circumstances. So he followed the instructions of the woman at the front desk, going straight to his room, and going to bed.
The next night his curiosity would not leave him alone about the room with no number on the door. He walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. He bent down and looked through the wide keyhole. Cold air passed through it, chilling his eye. What he saw was a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a woman whose skin was completely white. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door. He stared in confusion for a while. He almost knocked on the door, out of curiosity, but decided not to.
This disinclination saved his life. He crept away from the door and walked back to his room. The next day, he returned to the door and looked through the wide keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, unmoving. Perhaps the inhabitants of the room knew he was spying the night before, and had blocked the keyhole with something red.
At this point he decided to consult the woman at the front desk for more information. She sighed and said, “Did you look through the keyhole?” The man told her that he had and she said, “Well, I might as well tell you the story. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in that room, and her ghost haunts it. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which were red.”

It’s about 9:35 at night. The show on your TV is silent, the volume turned down. Maybe you’re one of those people that has to have a static noise and picture, even when listening to or watching something else.
The living room light is on. Two of the five bulbs have burnt out. The one in the back seems the next to go, but you don’t think much about it as you stretch out in your chair.
Something begins gnawing at the back of your mind. It’s just a normal Monday night, the rain outside a steady drizzle that freezes as it hits the road. Something that makes you want to look out the large pannel window beside you, covered up by a Harley Davidson blanket to keep the warmth in the house.
You try and distract yourself, turning on your favorite band. Maybe it’s Collective Soul, or Rammstein, or anything. Something to take your mind off of it. It’s only 9:37 now, just a few minutes later, and you still have this urge to turn around and look out that window, shrouded by a black and orange blanket. You hear a slight tapping on the glass, like a fingertip trying to get your attention. You turn the music up louder, trying to drown it out. It becomes louder and more insistent now, faster and faster, still trying to draw your attention.
“It’s in my head, I’m just worked up, too little sleep. Last night was crazy.” You tell yourself. The rapping on the window ceases, and you begin to settle back in. It’s 9:41. You turn your attention back to the TV, commercials flooding your brain.

The tapping returns. A simple, sharp tap. Curiosity overwrites fear, and you lift up the blanket with your left hand, expecting to see a stray limb from a tree smacking the window from the wind outside, or maybe nothing at all.
A long, pale white tongue drags across the window, smacking back with another tap. Your heart stops as you look up, seeing two great, white staring eyes bulging from an elongated face, lacerated with boiling cuts and keloid scars, coated with burns, it’s face nearly as long as your window itself. It’s upside down, hanging from your ceiling. It’s mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth, there may be thousands or millions of them. Several are rotten and pulsating, and it keeps staring at you. It’s cavernous mouth seems to be smiling. Like it knows something you don’t…

>>819274
Liked it!

>>819226
wtf angel statue
it's a fucking clown statue, asshole.

There is a certain road near the Everglades in Florida, which, if you drive down it alone in the rain, day or night, you will suddenly have a very real feeling of being completely lost. Your radio will turn to static, your CDs will skip, and your tapes will play slower than normal. If you try to find a map in your car, it will have mysteriously vanished. If you continue forward down the road for more than a minute, you will find that you can’t turn around, and everything behind you is pitch dark. There are no other roads and no other cars. Continuing down the road, you will come upon a fork with no signposts. In the middle of the fork, there will be a man, covered head to foot in various pieces of clothing. The only skin visible will be around his eyes, which will be bright green. You must get out of your car, but do not turn it off or close the door after you. You must approach the man, but stop at least three feet away. You must stand there silently, waiting for him to speak first. If you break the silence first, you will find yourself back on a main road, but you will die within 24 hours. If he speaks first, he will ask you what you require. Tell him that you need to know which road will take you to your destination. He will then ask you what you will offer him in exchange for his assistance.

If you offer him a ride, he and your car will disappear, and you will become the new guardian of the crossroad. If you offer him an umbrella, he will take it and stab you through the chest. If you offer him your love, he will take your heart still beating from your chest and eat it, condemning you to walk the earth without a heart, insane from the pain and loss. You must offer him your loyalty and kneel before him. If you do this, he will close his eyes and bow in return, extending a hand to whichever path will lead you back to safety. If you try to run from him, you will be dead before you reach your car, and your body will be found back in your car in some random location.

>>819333
what difference does it make, you nitpicking fuck?

And I am always with you.
I was there from the time you were born. I stood in the delivery room, staring down at you before you could even open your eyes to see me. Your parents, relatives and doctors couldn’t see me there, in the corner, watching you with cloudy eyes, but I was there from the time you were born.
And I followed you home.
I was with you always, your constant companion. You played with your toys alone while I stared from all angles in nearby mirrors; my matted, clotted hair with oily sweat that hung off my dented forehead like glue. I was always your constant companion, drifting behind your mother’s car on your ride to preschool. You alone in the bathroom, but I was on the other side of the door, wind whistling through the bruised hole in my throat. My arms twisted and hanging in their sockets as I stood hunched on the other side of the shower curtain. I wait and follow you. I follow and drift behind you.
I’m not seen. I’m almost not-there in light. You never saw me that morning as I sat across from you at the breakfast table, a shiny red clot hanging from an empty tooth socket as I gaped grotesquely at you. I wonder sometimes if you know I’m there. I think you are aware, but you’ll never understand just how close I am.

>>819316
I WROTE IT YOU IMPOSTER

>>819345
wat

>>819346
good one

I spend hours of your day doing nothing more than breathing in your ear.
Breathing – gagging, really.
I crave to be close to you, to always wrap my crippled arms around your neck. I lie near you ever single night, cloudy eyes staring at your ceiling, underneath your bed, at your sleeping face in the dark.
Yes. You caught me staring occasionally. Your parents came running down to your room one night when you screamed. You were just beginning to talk, so you were only able to cry out “Man! Man in my room!” You thought you’d never forget the sight of me, with my collapsed jaw hanging to my chest, swinging back and forth. I sank back into your closet and your mother was unable to see me though you pointed and pointed and pointed. You thought you’d never forget when they left that same night. You saw the closet door crack so softly and me crawling across the floor to your bed on all fours, shambling in jerking movements as I pushed myself under your bed on disjointed limbs.
You learned a new word for me: boogeyman. Not quite the monster you thought I was. I’m just waiting and following you always, touching your face with my knotted fingers as you sleep.
You’ll see me again soon. Any day now, I’m coming, blunt and brutal. One day you’ll walk across the road and – I believe I’ll plow into you with loud roar and a screech.

You rolling on the pavement, rolling under wheels, bluntforce metal fenders and my fingers touching your face again and again.
As you stare up from the cold pavement with cloudy eyes; your matted, clotted hair hanging in your face and your jaw unhinged and swinging to your chest.
You’ll see me approaching.
No one else will see me. You will stare past them into my eyes and I’ll leer down at you. For the first time in our life, something like a smile will come over my face. You’ll swear you’re looking into a mirror as clotted red bubbles from our mouths.
I’ll lean down, past the doctors and the oogling people and pick you up in my crooked arms.
Our faces will touch. My wings will unfurl. And then you’ll have to follow me.
And I am always with you.
I am your guardian angel.

>>819350

Worst. Guardian Angel. Ever.

A laundress, newly moved to Charleston following the Civil War, found herself awakened at the stroke of twelve each night by the rumble of heavy wheels passing in the street. But she lived on a dead end street, and had no explanation for the noise. Her husband would not allow her to look out the window when she heard the sounds, telling her to leave well enough alone.
Finally, she asked the woman who washed at the tub next to hers. The woman said: “What you are hearing is the Army of the Dead. They are Confederate soldiers who died in hospital without knowing that the war was over. Each night, they rise from their graves and go to reinforce Lee in Virginia to strengthen the weakened Southern forces.”
The next night, the laundress slipped out of bed to watch the Army of the Dead pass. She stood spell-bound by the window as a Gray fog rolled passed. Within the fog, she could see the shapes of horses, and could hear gruff human voices and the rumble of canons being dragged through the street, followed by the sound of marching feet. Foot soldiers, horsemen, ambulances, wagons and canons passed before her eyes, all shrouded in Gray. After what seemed like hours, she heard a far off bugle blast, and then silence.
When the laundress came out of her daze, she found one of her arms was paralyzed. She has never done a full days washing since.

Kuchisake-Onna is the legend of a Japanese woman, mutilated by her jealous samurai husband who murdered her for infidelity scarring her horribly and leaving her repulsive.
Her jealous Ghost still haunts places in Japan, usually on foggy nights, wearing a surgical mask when she will approach people and ask shyly: “Watashi kirei?” (Am i beautiful?) The person usually responds, yes.
She then pulls down her mask to reveal an ear to ear grin, cut by her jealous husband to mar her for her life. “Even like this?” she will persist. If you answer no. She will take a pair of scissors, and cut the same gruesome smile into your own face. If you answer yes, she will disappear, and the second you go home will reappear at your door and finish the job.
The only way of confusing Kuchisake-Onna is to say: You are average, which will confuse this mysterious Onryo. Or to present her with hard amber candy, or say ‘Pomade’ six times will shall make her flee.
She has been seen from the 1970’s til the early 2000’s, often seen lurking near children whose innocent answer of yes when asked if she is ugly, will lead to their deaths.

>>819379
read the thread, pl0x

It’s a simple enough thing. It’s all a part of the body’s sleep processes. Sleep Paralysis, right? No big deal, really. Your body produces a chemical that paralyzes your body during R.E.M sleep to prevent you from hurting yourself by thrashing about during your dreams. No big deal.
Okay, so, you opened your eyes and you can’t move your body. It’s the chemicals. Oh, you can keep trying to wriggle those toes, but it’s not happening. Forget it. Just relax. It’ll go away. It’s fine. It’s normal.
Oh, now there’s something pressing on your chest, real hard, it’s making it hard to breath. It’s heavy, so very heavy, whatever’s on your chest. Chemicals. It’s all chemicals. Stop trying to scream, it won’t work. Your throat muscles are paralyzed too. You still can’t breath.
You are staring at a blank ceiling, you can’t stare anywhere else. Shadows flit across your vision, forming shapes you try not to think about. A clawed hand, a flash of jagged, shadowy teeth. All images from your subconscious. A face forming above yours, leering through black void eyes. You think you
hear sibilant whispering. Angry hissing, like a snake that’s been disturbed.
Suddenly, a sharp white light briefly flares in the room as a car pulls down the street, dispelling the shadows. The weight is gone. You can breath, your hands clench sheets.
You feel an eternity has passed by but it was all the work of a moment. You wriggle, just to prove to yourself you can. You sit up, take a deep breath and then laugh a little at yourself. Sleep Paralysis. Stupid.
You turn to shake your spouse awake, eager to share your experience. You feel paralyzed again, but it has nothing to do with Sleep Paralysis. You stare at the blood, the jagged wound in her throat, her wide, staring eyes, mouth opened in soundless scream.
You survived your Old Hag Syndrome.
She didn’t.

It was about 2 hours ago that my wife put my youngest son to bed. As is usually the case, shortly thereafter, my son leaves his bedroom and joins my wife and I in the living room. Normally, his arrival is justified by some hypochondriacal (you like that? I am a walking dikchunary) such as his head/stomach/legs/hands/{insert random body part here} hurting. Sometimes he'll whisper in a raspy voice, "I'm so.....thirsty....need.....drink." And other times he'll simply be nosy and want to know what we're doing.

But tonight was different.

My son arrived, on schedule, in front of my television. Instead of asking for a drink, some food, or complaining that he's "not feeling well", he simply asked if he could sleep in my bed. I, of course, said no. I have plans for that bed later (wink, wink). But he was insistent.

I realized he looked visibly upset. When I asked him what was wrong, he said there was something in his room. A ghost, he said. "A ghost?", I thought. Not likely. Now, it's not that I don't believe in ghosts. I'm of the personal opinion that there is much more to the universe than any of us know, and I've even had some "unusual" experiences in the past that some would attribute to other worldly beings, but I haven't ever experienced anything in this house. This house is relatively new, and, to my knowledge, nothing tramautic has happened here. The first owners, who built the house, are still alive and well. In other words, there would seem to be no possible reason for a ghost to be haunting my six year old's bedroom.

But, being the awesome father that I am, I quickly stood up an entry team (consisting of me, my wife, my 10 year old son, 7 year old daughter, and my 6 year old son) and assaulted the bedroom. As we burst through the door, we were confronted with..........nothing.

"The ghost is hiding, I think" comes the explanation from my youngest. "Well now", I say, "we'll simply have to coax him out into the open."

So my crack team of paranormal investigators quickly laid out a plan. We would take a cardboard box - but not any cardboard box, this one must have special ghost-trapping abilities - and set a trap for the ghosty. Luckily, Dad just happens to know where there is a special anti-ghost cardboard box (it's called the garage). As fast as can be, I jet to the garage, retrieve said box, and return to my crew.

Since my youngest son seemed to be the obvious target of Casper, we decided to use him as bait. We oh-so-quietly crept into his room and placed the box in the middle of the room. My son would stand in the box, we'd shut the lights off, and the rest of us would wait outside the room. When the ghost approached my son, the plan was for him to yell. I would burst in the room with lightning Dad speed to trap the ghost. My youngest would jump from the box and onto his bed. My oldest would run in and flip the light switch on. And my wife and daughter would laugh at us. Well, that last part was kind of improvised actually (thanks for your help, hun).

So there we were. Sweat droplets hitting the floor in tandem with our heartbeats. All quiet except for the sound of our breath (and the snoring of my two mutts. They really oughta make breath right strips for dogs. That right there, my friends, is an untapped goldmine. But I digress....).

Suddenly, my son's call breaks the silence. "Now!", he yells. I sprint from my hiding place in the hallway. As I break the plane of the doorway, my oldest son is already on the light switch. Man, he's fast! My youngest jumps from the box just as I land on top of it. Quickly, I close the box, trapping the ghost inside!

"You got him!", my boy yells. "But what do we do with him?"

He's right. I now have a, presumably, pissed off supernatural entity trapped against his will inside a cardboard box. I can't exactly take him outside and release him into the wild. He's a damn ghost, for crying out loud! He'll just slide right back through the walls.

“Daddy, I had a bad dream.” You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness—it’s 3:23.

“Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?”

“No, Daddy.”

The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter’s pale form in the darkness of your room.

“Why not sweetie?”

“Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy’s skin sat up.” For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can’t take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.

>>818320
She takes off her shoes.

You’ve been dating your girlfriend almost two years now. You often stay late over the summer and on weekends and arrive home long after the rest of your family go to sleep.
Every night you drive the deserted rural roads back home from a pleasant evening at her house you become overwhelmed by fears that you will arrive home to find your family dead in their beds. Each night you peek into your sister’s room and see she’s fine and hear the reassuring rumble of your father’s snore as you pass your parents door.
You chuckle at your silly worries and drift off to sleep. Finally one morning you decide to tell your mother about your late night fears amidst some jovial conversation for a nice laugh. As you tell her a concerned look comes over her face. She sweeps the hair away from her face as she says, “Oh honey, you know we were all shot almost two years ago.”
You scream as you see the gaping bullet hole in her forehead.

>>815045
bump

>>819391

FINISH D:

Okay guys. These are awesome. Lights are now on.

Someone post the one with the girl and the dog under the bed.

>>815065

Am I the only one that doesn't get it? I feel stupid. Are we asking if there were two people that did this?

>>819608
A young girl is left home alone with only her dog to protect her. When night approaches, she locks all the doors and tries to lock all the windows but one won't close.

She decides to leave it unlocked and goes to bed. Her dog takes its customary place under her bed.

In the deep of night she awakens to a dripping sound coming from the bathroom. The girl is too scared to go check so she reaches her hand under the bed. She feels a reassuring lick from her dog and falls back to sleep. She reawakens to the dripping sound, reaches her hand down to the dog where she feels the reassuring lick and falls back to sleep. Once more she awakens to the dripping sound. She reaches her hand down and feels the lick of her dog.

Now curious about the dripping sound, she gets up and slowly walks towards the bathroom, the dripping sound getting louder as she approaches. She reaches the bathroom and turns on the light. She is greeted by a horrific sight; hanging from the shower nozzle is her dog with its throat slit open and its blood dripping into the bathtub.

Something on the bathroom mirror catches her eye she turns around. Written on the bathroom mirror in her dog's blood are the words "HUMANS CAN LICK TOO".

post more!
i've read the entire thread and this is great.

In a private terminal at the Port of Boston there is a houseboat. This houseboat has been anchored there, permanently, for at least 50 years. The eccentric owner has maintained all fees and taxes and is in good standing with the Port Authority.

Still, even if the owner wasn't finacially responsible, no one would ask them to depart. Despite the owner's friendly, hospitable, if odd nature, there is a persistent air of unease around the boat and the area of the Port surrounding.

Very few people have taken the owner up on offers of hospitality, but those who do recount a wholly unbelievable tale:

When you step into the houseboat, it's as if you're sent backwards 50 years in time. Looking out windows depicts a cityscape of antiquity and the television recieves live broadcasts of programs of the era (including news programs). If you look out the open door, you see the city as it stands today. When the door closes, you can see the 50 year old skyline through the port opening.

Some visitors who spend time with the owner notice something particularly disturbing: an almost uncanny resemblance to their host, despite obvious age differences. Though this is odd, the owner is friendly and trustworthy (ignoring the air of unease most feel), so it isn't surprisng if casual friendships build between a guest and the proprietor.

All this would, of course, be very strange and worthy of note, but dismissed as some form of elaborate hoax or illusion, if it weren't for one additional detail.

Whenever someone elects to spend the night in this houseboat after an evening of conversation and a few drinks, they are never heard from again.

When the guest awakens in the morning, the owner is nowhere to be found and suddenly, the city skyline never changes back to its contemporary appearance when exiting the boat.

Under the bed there is a briefcase full of $100 bills with a letter stapled to a list.

The letter simply reads, "You have 50 years to follow these instructions if you wish to free yourself from this hell.

The clock is ticking. Get to work."

>>815077
no its not. I hate how the creepypastas always go "no one every found out because of this"...
cause then how would the one who was telling it know?
I know its made up, but adding that is unnecessary and kills it

>>819666

666

The home was already furnished when he walked in; he needed only bring his suitcase, which he had filled with a few sets of clothes, some toiletries, and DVD collection... the few material things in his life that actually had any worth.
He got a great bargain for the home, too. Including the furnishings that came with it (from previous owners who couldn't take it all with them, he guessed), this gorgeous 2-story suburban home cost less than half of what he was paying for his apartment in the slums. As far as he was concerned, it was a steal.

It was while he was putting away his DVD collection when he noticed it. It positioned itself subtly, blending almost perfectly with the existing furnishings, but now that he saw it he couldn't look away. He had never seen one quite like this before, and so it was hard to gauge exactly its expression - was it scared, or angry? For fear of making a potentially fatal mistake, he refrained from hazarding a guess.

(continued below)

Lying in bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I hadn’t just happened to wake up so early. I checked the clock – it read 5:47, making me feel awfully suspicious, as it was two thirty when I went to bed, and there was no way I had gotten a full night’s rest in three hours. The fact that the hair on the back of my neck was standing on end certainly didn’t make me feel any more comfortable.

It was already warm; summer days got hot early in California, and the sun was shining brightly. This was no time to be nervous, after all, this sort of morning is what wards off the terrors of the nights before. The sound of a crinkling plastic bag had me frozen in my bed. I knew there was nothing to worry about, I was safe in the light of day, but still I was immobilized. Movement beneath the covers of my bed, towards my body couldn’t even get me to stir. It was all an illusion; I was safe. Even the most wicked of monsters vanish when daylight and reason come shining through.

I didn’t know then what kind of creatures may lurk beyond the twilight, but I know now what it takes to escape them. You may have something of value to give them, or a room mate to set them upon.

I had to give them my tongue.

http://www.creepypasta.com/forums/viewtopic.php?f=3&t=47

I miss her, /x/, I really do. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I loved her with all my heart and soul. Do you know what it’s like to find your other half, so early in life as I did? It’s uncommon, let me tell you. It just might be the rarest goddamn thing to ever happen to a person, and it happened to me at twenty one. It’s not my fault, you know, she was the one who didn’t want commitment. I swear, every other word from her mouth was “restraining order” this, or “call the cops” that, but she must not have had the grasp on love that I did.

I blame her, personally, for how all this went down. If she had just tried, she would’ve seen how truly amazing our love could have become, but she never wanted to give it a chance. She just wanted to live with that joke of a husband she had, and keep working at her useless career. It was out of love I did what I did. I had to set her free from her prison. I couldn’t stand to see her so out of place from where she belonged – safe, with me – and so I killed her, knowing that if we can’t be together in this life, we’ll have all of eternity in the next.

Well, I guess that the reason I miss her is because of this girl I’ve met. She’s absolutely perfect, /x/. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I love her with all my heart and soul. It’s like she’s my other half. Do you know what it’s like to find your other half, so early in life as I have? It’s uncommon, let me tell you. It just might be the rarest goddamn thing to ever happen to a person.

continued from>>819725

After a minute or two of staring, he approached it slowly, creeping ever so slowly so as not to startle it. If its mood changed as he approached, it didn't show it. But he finally got to the point where he could reach out and...
He picked it up off the fireplace mantle. Its expression was fixed in its plastic face, but its eyes spoke to his very soul and drew him in. He began to lose his focus and his sense of time, and, oddly enough, his sense of self. When he realized what was happening, he gathered up the mental effort needed to tear himself away from its gaze and loft the figurine across the room.

Handling it while it was face-down was considerably less nerve-wracking. It was a trivial matter to pick it up and walk it to the back yard, where it was disposed of with a mighty heave over the fence. Not his problem anymore.

Imagine his surprise, then, when his eyes fell upon the figurine sitting immediately next to him on the couch cushion while he was reading, as though it had been calmly watching him the whole while.
He knew not to meet its gaze; that much was instinctive already. Incensed at its persistence, he grabbed the figurine by the legs and walked it over to the garbage disposal in the sink...
He laughed as he destroyed it. He didn't realize why when he was doing it, but he laughed.

continued below...

>>816603
yes. because men like to rape 300 pound guys who happen to be in a basement

In 1964, an otherwise ordinary man was committed to a sanitarium after assaulting a famous actor in a restaurant in Los Angeles. The name of the man, as well as what he looked like, was forgotten with time, but his strange encounter was retold many times by the owner of the restaurant, to add a bit of local flavor to his location. On one such evening, I was fortunate enough to happen in while he was recounting the story to a group of tourists.

“He comes in, an’ he just starts swingin’ away at the actor – busts open his nose, he does. There’s blood everywhere. I go an’ pull the bastard off him. ‘What the hell are you doin’?’ I ask him. He looks at me, his eyes wide, and he says, ‘You’ve got to let me kill this man. He’s going to end the world. It isn’t going to happen now, or when he’s in charge, but it will all be his fault, you’ll see, if you don’t let me kill him.’ He didn’t say much after that, because Casey came from out of the kitchen, knocked him out with the mop. We called the cops, they took a few statements, and left.” He looked around the group of tourists, admiring how he had captivated them. I was certainly impressed.

“So we offer the actor a free meal, but needless to say,” he pauses to set up the story’s punch-line, “but of course, he never took it.” The tourists all laughed, and he left to check on their meal.

On his way past me, I stopped him. “I stumbled in about halfway through your story, and I’m just a little curious. Who was the actor who got attacked?”

“Well, ain’t it the damndest thing,” he said, scratching his head, “It’s our new governor, Ronald Reagan. But hell,” he smiled, “It isn’t like he’ll ever be president.”

Walking in graveyards shouldn't be scary. The things under the ground there are dead. They can't hurt you now.

It's the lively places, the carnivals and theaters, places where people gather and crowd and swirl together.

Those are the feeding grounds.

Go to any mirror and put your hand against the glass. Don't worry, nothing will grab you. Wait. Sometimes it takes half a day, sometimes it takes a moment. But you'll yank your hand away when you feel it.

Worms or centipedes, who knows? All pressed in tight like there's no more room on that side, wriggling against your skin. When you pull back, the glass is the same and you'll be unharmed.

But now you know it's there.

Porcelain dolls, baby dolls, plastic things with vacant eyes that stare at nothing--little girls always get at least one. It's not because they all want to play mommy. Most of them think those dolls are creepy, too.

They're training tools for when the girls grow up and have children of their own. For when they look down into the bassinet and see their baby's smile has grown forced, the laughter turned into a rattle, their eyes too intelligent and cold. They recognize what it is and kill it quick.

It doesn't happen often, but it happens. And when they have a daughter that makes it to childhood, they make sure she has a baby doll of her own.

The first time we moved houses was when I was 8. We moved into a rather small three bedroom house that was; get this, about a mile from a graveyard. No big deal right? I thought this was cool and, being eight, I decided to find out if there were ghosts and shit.

I guess the first warning sign I should have had was when the real estate agent told us to stick together in the house because of a 'roach problem'. Naturally, the first thing I did was sneak off and go into the kitchen of the house. It was completely empty--white walls and a few connections.

I don’t know why but I thought ghosts would hide, so I walked through the kitchen and into the hallway and into a bedroom. Christ. There was an old armchair facing a wall. I skipped over too it to see what was up. The chair noiselessly slid across the room.

As it did so, the door to the closet opened, and the chair backed in. I got a quick glance at a grinning, bony old man sitting in the chair. I was now staring into the tilted face of an old, withered man. The skin around his eye-sockets had been torn away and all that was there was black. His lips and teeth were gone, it was black. Yet something about his smile made me want to see him again, I walked towards the closet, and opened it.

>>819745

The old man jerked forward and grabbed me, I screamed. Instead of touching me, his hand went THROUGH my body and I felt him grab something deep in my chest. My entire body went freezing cold at the touch of his icy fingers in my chest. The man glared through me and his voice rattled as he spoke to me, "I'm hungry", and pulled me towards the closet. The door closed, and at that point, thank god, I forget what happened.

My parents say they came into the room and heard nothing, nothing at all. Then they opened the closet, and at that point, they found me on the ground screaming at the door, clawing at the ground so hard that one of my fingernails came off.

I've been to psychologist and hypnotists, I even spent a month in a mental hospital, but I still have no idea what happened after that door closed. I do have nightmares though. Lots of them.

We didn’t buy the house.

continued from>>819736

After a day of moving in, he was tired enough that he decided to turn in early. He made his way up the stairs to his room and flopped onto the master bed. He rested his eyes, thinking he'd get up in a moment to undress, but he fell asleep face-down on the bed fully clothed.
He woke up staring the figurine in the face. Surprised, and more than a little terrified, he sprang from the bed and fled from the room. In his state, he could hardly even remember the layout of his own home, and ended up in the guest room before he finished collecting his senses.
His mind was racing. He knew he was panicking, knew he should calm down, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. What to do?
He called the police. The operator seemed strangely familiar with the occurrences when told the street address, and he was politely told that an officer would be over with the hour.
The hour? So long? He didn't even know if he'd live the hour out, much less pass it peaceably, or even make it to the door when the doorbell rang. He thanked the operator, and hung up just in time to miss the operator's wicked cackle...

The officer had arrived not within the hour, but within the minute. He hurried downstairs to let the officer in, jumping over the railing entirely so as to avoid the hall that led to the master bedroom.

continued below...

continued from>>819748

"Yes, I'm quite familiar with the history behind this house," the officer explained. "No doubt your experiences here have been of a similar nature."
He couldn't help but feel betrayed by the realtor...
"You see," continued the officer, "what you have here... is a Doom House."
"A Doom House?" replied Lowtax.
"Yes," said the officer, stumbling around awkwardly. "A Doom House. You need to leave immediately."

But Lowtax didn't leave the Doom House. Instead, he marched right back up to the master bedroom to do some shit I completely forgot because I haven't seen the fucking film in, like, five years. Upon unveiling the turban from the terrorist, he saw that it was the officer all along. He defeated him with a flight of stairs, and then presumably went on to live a happy life.

THE END

John Stalvern waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were demons in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to Cernel Joson were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
John was a space marine for fourteen years. When he was young he watched the spaceships and he said to dad "I want to be on the ships daddy."
Dad said "No! You will BE KILL BY DEMONS"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the space station base of the UAC he knew there were demons.
"This is Joson" the radio crackered. "You must fight the demons!"
So John gotted his palsma rifle and blew up the wall.
"HE GOING TO KILL US" said the demons
"I will shoot at him" said the cyberdemon and he fired the rocket missiles. John plasmaed at him and tried to blew him up. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.
"No! I must kill the demons" he shouted
The radio said "No, John. You are the demons"
And then John was a zombie.

>>819821
THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE WAS WHEN I LAID EYES UPON THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF LITERATURE.

>>818143
someone doesn't know how to count

Have you ever felt that itch? The strange itch, as if insects were crawling on your skin. You reach down to scrath it, expecting a fly or an ant to be there... but nothing. No creepy-crawlies on your skin.

None ON your skin. But beneath the surface...

>>819821

>Cernel Joson were not listenend
>"No! You will BE KILL BY DEMONS"
>Then as he got oldered he stopped
>the radio crackered
>So John gotted his palsma rifle
>"HE GOING TO KILL US"
>"I will shoot at him"
>John plasmaed at him and tried to blew him up

This work has perfect grammar and spelling, and the content is amazing (he lied).

>>819892
Pretty good. Original Content?

>>819905
yeah.

John Freeman who was Gordon Freemans brother was one day in an office typing on a computer. He got an email from his brother that said that aliens and monsters were attacking his place and aksed him for help so he went.
John Freeman got his computer shut down and wet on the platform to go up to the roof of the building where he left his motorcycle and normal people close because he was in his office lab coat. John Freeman got on his motorcycl and said "its time for me to live up to my family name and face full life consequences" so he had to go.
John Freeman ramped off the building and did a backflip and landed. He kept driving down the road and made sure there was no zombies around because he ddint have weapon.

>>819821
John Stalvern waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were demons in the base. He did not see them, but had expected them for years now. Colonel Johnson ignored the warning he gave, and it was too late, far too late now, anyway.
John had been a space marine for fourteen years. When he was young, he watched the spaceships and he told his dad "I want to be on the ships daddy."
His Dad said "No! You'll be killed by the demons!"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got older, he stopped. Now in the space station base of the UAC he knew that there were demons.
"This is Johnson" the radio cracked. "You must fight the demons!"
John got his plasma rifle and blew up the wall.
"He is going to kill us!" said the demons
"I will shoot at him," said the cyber demon and he fired the rocket missiles. John fired his gun and tried to blow him up. Then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to kill.
"No! I must kill the demons," he shouted.
The radio said "No, John. You are the demons"
Then John became a zombie.

Fixed.

The contrysides were nice and the plants were singing and the birds and the sun was almost down from the top of the sky. the mood was set for John Freemans quest to help his brother where he was. John Freeman looked around the countrysides and said "its a good day to do what has to be done by me and help my brother to defeat the enemys".
John Freeman was late so he had to drive really fast. A cop car was hiden near by so when John Freeman went by the cops came and wanted to give him a ticket. Here John Freeman saw the first monster because the cop was posessed and had headcrabs.
"I cant give you my lisense officer" John Freeman said
"Why not?" said the headcrab oficer back to John Freeman.
"Because you are headcrab zombie" so John Freeman shot the oficer in the head and drove off thinking "my brother is in trouble there" and went faster.
John Freeman had to go faster like the speed of sound and got there fast because Gordon needed him where he was. John Freeman looked at road signs and saw "Ravenholm" with someons writing under it saying "u shudnt come here" so John Freeman almost turned around but heard screaming like Gordon so he went faster again.
John Freeman drove in and did another flip n jumped off his motorbike and the motor bike took out some headcrab zombies infront of John Freeman. John Freeman smiled and walked fast. John Freeman then looked on the ground and found wepon so he pickd it up and fired fast at zombie goasts in front of a house.
John Freeman said "Zombie goasts leave this place" and the zombie goasts said "but this is our house" and John Freeman felt sorry for them becaus they couldnt live there anymore because they were zombie goasts so he blew up the house and killed the zombie goasts so they were at piece.

Then John Freeman herd another scream from his brother so he kept walking really faster to get where he was. Ravenholdm was nothing like the countrysides there was no birds singing and the pants were dead and teh dirt was messy and bloody from headcrabs.
When John Freeman got to where the screaming was started from he found his brother Gorden Freeman fightin the final bosss and Gordon said "John Freeman! Over here!" so John Freeman went there to where Gordon Freeman was fighting. John Freeman fired his bullet from teh gun really fast and the bullets went and shot the final boss in the eyes and the final boss couldnt see.
Gordon Freeman said "its time to end this ones and for all!" and punched the final boss in the face and the final boss fell. John Freeman said "thanks i could help, bro" and Gordon Freeman said "you should come here earlier next time" and they laughed.
The laughed overed quickly though because John Freeman yelled "LOOK OUT BRO!" and pointed up to the top of the sky. Gordon Freeman looked up and said "NOO! John Freeman run out of here fast as you can!" and John Freeman walked real fast out.
John Freeman loked back and saw Gordon get steppd on by the next boss and he was mad and angry.
"I'll get you back evil boss!" John Freeman yelled at the top of lungs.
to be continued..?

>>819933
GTFO newfag

Thredbump

Dad stayed at the waiting room,being restlessas he tried to hear anything through the door. The door the room where mom was giving birth to my new baby brother,I didn't quite understood all the fuss,so dad offered me to take a walk around the hospital,but stay close so he can call me when we can visit mom.

I went through the exit and just looked at all the people going by and going out,and then walked over to the hospital's garden,a place where most patients went to if they wanted to see something else instead of the gray rooms they stayed in.
As I looked at all the people there,3 kids,about my age,drawed my attention,they were talking with each other,a little far from all the others,being bored as hell,I went to them,hoping that they will be nice to me and help me pass the time until dad will call me.

Theyve noticed me,and just looked at me,with a hidden smile on their face. Suddenly I have noticed that one of them,has only 1 arm,I have become frightened,and they noticed it,the armless kid said "Hey there,I guess it's the first time you see someone like me,eh?" I have started to relax after I heard his soft voice. "Hi,I'm Daniel." he said. "And this is Craig." He pointed on another kid.which something looked strange at his face. "And this is Stan" he pointed the third kid,someone who was pretty pale,and had a strange smile on his face. I only kept looking at them and Daniel talked again: "I see you still wanna know what's the deal eh? As you allready understood,I have no arm,it happened to me in a car accident,and they had to cut off my arm because it was dead or something"

I nodded and looked at the other 2,who returned a look on me too. "Craig's left eye is missing,he has a glass eye instead of it,so it won't look to creepy." he said. "It happened to him that in a middle of soccer game he fell into a bush and a branch got into his eye." I only said "Oh." and he kept talking "And Stan,you can't see it from here,but he has only 1 kidney,he had a surgery where they cut 1 off because of a disease he had." I just stood there,trying to smile but can't,what people say after they hear such things,being said so smooth? Daniel cut my thoughts as he said "guess were the "lost gang",we all missed something" he said and pulled of a sigh.

"Robert!" I heard a farmiliar voice,but something was strange in it,it was dad,he was crying,alot,he just came there and hugged me,like he never hugged me before,and all I could hear was Daniel saying "Hey,I think you can join our gang,now that you also lost something."

Keep this thread of epicness going

BUMPETY BUMP

This one time a guy went swimming in the sea. It was calm and warm and fun. Then something grabbed him by the leg and he went under. Seconds later he came up gasping hardcore for breath and said "wow, what just grabbed me?" Then an alien hovered just above the water staring at him in a mirror and he realized he was on a UFO. He traveled all over the universe with his new found alien friends until they discovered this one planet. It was full of ghosts and scary. So there he was swimming in this ghost planets seas (he liked swimming) when out of no where, a shark bit his arm off and he yelled. HAR HAR HAR came a voice.... "ANOTHER GHOST TO LIVE ON OUR GHOST PLANET!" echoed as he died from his bad wounds and blood loss.

boop

then who was what