A degenerated VHS dub was discovered in the University Library containing five minutes of inexplicable amateur footage. In one continuous shot, the camera momentarily focuses on a doorway on the north wall of a living room before the operator climbs outside of the house through a window to show the exterior white clapboard. The camera then moves inside the house through a second window completely circling the doorway and so proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that insulation or siding is the only possible thing this doorway could lead to. A hand appears in the frame and pulls open the door, revealing a narrow black hallway at least ten feet long. The camera begins to move closer, threatening to actually enter it. A voice can be heard, "Don't you dare go in there again, Davy," to which another voice adds, "Yeah, not such a hot idea."

During the war a soldier faithfully wrote his mother every week so she would know he was all right, until one week she didn't get a letter and immediately began to worry. Within a couple of weeks she got a letter from the Army saying that her son had been captured and was being held in a Prisoner-of-War camp, and they assured her that they had no reason to believe the American prisoners were being mistreated in any way. A few weeks later the woman finally received another letter from her son, it read: "Dear Mom, Try not to worry about me, they are treating us well and I'll be released as soon as the war is over. Make sure that little Teddy gets the stamp for his collection. Love you, Joe" The woman was overjoyed to hear the news, but was confused because she had no idea who "little Teddy" was. She decided to steam the stamp from the envelope and have a look. When she did she saw that written on the back of the stamp were the words:
"They've cut off my legs".

It's early morning. The sun won't be up for another couple of hours. You're fast asleep in bed, lost in a dream, when the phone rings. Rather than waking up, you roll over and cover your head with a pillow.
Hours pass. The sun rises.
The phone is ringing.
When you wake up, your alarm clock is blaring and the phone is ringing. By the time you will yourself to turn the alarm off, the phone has stopped ringing. You realize that it's been ringing all morning.
You slide out of bed and press the blinking red button on your phone as you stumble into the bathroom. The phone beeps, followed by the friendly, electronic voice.
Hello. You have six hundred and sixty-six new messages. Message one. The phone beeps again, and you're not prepared for what comes next.
Screaming.
You spin around, thinking that she's standing right behind you. There's pure terror in her screams, accompanied by other disturbing noises. You stand there, horrified, for about ten seconds. Screaming gives way to hysterical, garbled crying before dying out with the sounds of spilling meat and tearing flesh.
The phone beeps again. You're shaking.
Message two.

You wake up in the dark of night to a hissing sound that sounds like it's coming from your kitchen. You flip the light switch, but the electricity is dead. You curse and get out a flashlight from the closet. Closer investigation reveals that the source of the sound is under the sink. You place the flashlight on the floor so as to have both hands free to determine the cause of the problem. As you crawl in under the sink, the flashlight goes out and you can hear a voice. "Bad idea."

I am Thomas's reflection.
Every morning, he rises from sleep and walks into the bathroom.
...and he makes faces.
I am so tired of the faces. He makes them for at least half an hour. Mocking, ridiculous faces. I have no choice but to mimic his every action, although inside I am seething with anger.
He does this every day... well, USED to.
One morning he awoke as usual, and entered the bathroom.
On this particular morning, against his will, he picked up a pair of scissors.
On this particular morning, against his will, he gripped those scissors tightly in his fist.
...on this particular morning, entirely against his will, he plunged those scissors directly into his right eye.
Thomas screamed, and screamed. I screamed and screamed too - with one difference.
I can't mimic his pain.
Just
his
face.

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 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.

Truth: More frightening than fiction.

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.

Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your slumber. You begin to doze, then another crash jolts you awake. The cycle lasts most of the night. So you lay there, eyes open and outward, looking at your room stretching out before you in oblong shadows. Your eyes move from nameless object, to object, until you reach your mirror, sitting adjacent to you across the room.

Suddenly a flash of lighting, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror revels to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face.

Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don’t sleep for the rest of the evening.

The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn’t matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.

Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend’s house. It’s time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You’re watching intently as words form:

“Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night.”

>>871394
crappypasta, who also makes creepypasta-based YouTube videos, has one based on that one.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eyopd8nedng

Ever since I was a little kid, I would see shit in mirrors. Not just the occasional corner-of-the-eye shit, I mean, I would see people opening the door, walking in, and sitting down on the bed, brushing their hair, or whatever might go on, and when I blink or focus, it disappears.

The weird thing is, what I see gets worse as I get older. It used to just be the door opening, or someone opening the door and walking in. Then it got to where I could hold conversations with them. Now it's gotten to the point where the people talk to me, threaten me, and tell me what I shouldn't do.

I'm pretty sure they can't see the computer from here, otherwise, I would never be typing this. I just went to take a piss a few mintues ago, and I was just standing there, looking in the mirror, when a young woman walked in and reached out to the mirror. It seemed to me she had her entire arm through the mirror, reaching for me, searching for me. I swear I felt her hand around my neck. I strained my eyes and blinked a few times, and she disappeared. Moments later, a young male walked in, and he pressed his face against the glass and said, really low, "You can't hold us back forever. Eventually, this window will open, and we'll all come out."

There is a small island in the Mediterranean Sea that does not appear on any map. It cannot be seen from any other island, nor can any other land be seen from it. On this island is a lighthouse, rotting from age and sea water, which is never lit. There is nothing inside it, save for a spiraling staircase that leads to the top, and an ancient, dusty bookcase. The case is filled with unmarked books; bound in ancient leather, save for a single space. If you remove a book from the shelf, it will fling itself open in your hands, and the words inscribed in it shall start screaming to the air. You must wrestle the book closed and shove it back on the shelf, or the immortal evil contained within its pages shall break free, and you will be forced to take its place, with pages, ink and binding crafted from your own flesh and blood. However, if you bring the correct book to the island, and place it in the empty space, the lighthouse will light. As long as it is lit, the world shall enjoy an unending paradise, for all the evil in the world will be contained in the lighthouse. And while it is lit, nothing can go in or out. The only problem; you will be trapped for eternity with all the evil ever known or conceived, by man or god. And the only way to escape is to douse the light.

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 to 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 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.

The 666th frame of every Halloween themed movie depicts a basement with a corpse smoldering in the corner; these frames are often removed from the final film, but one can find them on occasion. If you were to put the frames together, in chronological order of the release of the film it comes from, a short film is revealed.

The film depicts the corpse's violent death in reverse. The final frame will be a picture of yourself sitting before your TV, viewing the final frame of the film.

On the farthest point of Long Island, the last scrap of land that still counts as New York, there sits a tremendous, abandoned building. Protected by its own isolated location, there is also at any given time two to three Security Guards there. However, if one approaches the cast iron gates on the night of December 4th, even those few security guards refuse to work. The gates are left unlocked, and the wind will be utterly still, a nearly opaque fog filling the peninsula. Go directly to the main doors and step within, there will be a single long hallway , the end occluded by that fog. If you look to either side upon entering, you will see a modern operating room through a glass door. The farther you walk, the older the equipment will get, the more old fashioned the doctors will be dressed. As you can finally see the end of the hallway, the screams of the patients will be nearly deafening. The hall will terminate in an open door leading to a single wooden table, a man in woolen medical clothing, stained brown from blood, will be bent over a corpse. The body's face will be covered, and the man will turn silently, screwing the top onto a cloudy jar of liquid, filled to the brim. He will hand this abnormally heavy object to you, before turning back to his work. Instantly, you will be outside of those cast iron gates. From that point on, disease and injury will never affect you, but if you ever open that cloudy jar and pull out the contents... you will find a heart, pulsing and beating loudly in your palm. A sudden feeling of horror and revulsion will pass through you as realization strikes, that you have just pulled your own living heart from your chest.

>>871383
lol Navidson

>>871383

So I herd u want sum EXPLORERS?

There is a demon of great evil, that will be able to walk upon the Earth if someone is told of its existence and does not repeat the name to another. To the best of my ability, his name roughly approximates "Jkqxxllyuo".

This was told to me by a rather unkempt man on the street; if you have not noticed it already, I just told it to you.

Remember this -

Should you ever despair of life so much that you want to die, you have the means at hand and yearn to end your life, you have written a suicide note to those you will leave behind and you are prepared to die...at that moment, stop.

Get a pair of scissors. Cut away at the note until you end up with a piece of paper in the shape of a key. Go to a door, any one will do. Push the paper key forward and turn your hand as if unlocking an imaginary lock.

The lock is real. Open the door. There you will find it. The other earth. The one that awaits to replace this one when it dies. That death is inevitable, but in the meantime the other earth will belong to you.

Be warned: the other earth is very different from this one.

Quiet Toddler

There is a child in a hospital in Decard, Tennessee. The child is a quiet toddler that remains in the nursery with all the other newborns. If you ask the staff they will ignore you, but the tag on his arm is yellowed and marked 1948. He will not cry, only rock quietly. If you speak the name on his tag, his eyes will open, something you don't want to happen.

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."

bump!

In almost every building, there is one corner, one small enclosure that no one ever looks at. It's the corner in the basement that has been blocked by a disused sofa for years; the thin space in the attic between the wall and the stacks and stacks of crates full of junk you never use, but could never throw away. The space that never sees the light of day, or any other kind of light at all. Where darkness does not merely dominate, but practically oozes out from around the edges of its prison.

No one knows quite how long a space must remain concealed for it to acquire this particular property, nor if there are any specific conditions that it must meet. But it is a far more common occurrence than you might think.

In newer buildings, when this happens, the residents often report feeling cold when passing by, even in attics during the hottest of summers. Whenever contemplating taking a quick peek to see if there is anything actually there, an unnatural dread seizes them, and they leave the room quickly, if not quite running. Once left behind, the feeling passes, and it is quickly forgotten, or laughed off.

What actually happens in these forgotten sanctuaries of the dark? It is impossible to tell. For while many such corners have been exposed to reveal absolutely nothing, some brave souls have lost their sanity through nothing more than an ill-timed glance. The safest thing to do when encountered with such a phenomenon; close your eyes, rip away the area's covering in a single motion, then keep a tight hold on what you've pulled away. No matter what you hear or feel, do not get up, do not look around, and do not try to cover your ears. You might be one of the lucky ones.

shat millions of bricks

>>873349
Bricks were shat

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 victimes.

Thrice for your bones, which she'll make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victimes.

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.

>>874715
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.

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.

>>874716
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 fuy5
WITNESS

Then, WHO WAS PHONE?!

>>874744
No.

>>874744
i lol'd hard^^

on 2:22 its one of the models from America's Next Top model photo shoot where they had to be hanging from the ceiling.

In 1938, over 6,000 patients were checked into mental hospitals all across America within one week of each other. Reports of similar instances supposedly came from Europe and Asia as well. The circumstances of each patient were, eerily, identical.

Every patient completely shut down, shivering in the corner until their family, unable to calm or care for the individuals, committed them.

The only thing the patients would say was: "There is not, and never has been, such a thing in this world as a meaningless coincidence."

OMG SCPANTERA IS OVERSIGHT! THINK ABOUT IT:

SCPANTERA POSTS VIDS ON YOUTUBE. SO DOES OVERSIGHT!

OVERSIGHT POSTED A NEW VID TODAY. WHO ELSE POSTED A VID TODAY? SCPANTERA!

THAT'S HARD EVIDENCE GUYS!!!

bump

>>875460
I posted WITNESS like 3 days ago though.

While honeymooning in Maine, my wife and I stopped in the picturesque town of Boothbay on a particularly dreary and rainy day. Since our planned picnic was out of the question, we sought shelter in a dilapidated little antique store near the harbour. While my wife inspected the large chests and side tables near the door, I eagerly examined the antique tools and seafaring equipment inside the glass sales counter at the back. Being a collector of optics and mariner's instruments, I hoped to find a sextant, or perhaps an old leather-bound telescope.

A particularly interesting piece caught my eye. It appeared to be a heavy brass flashlight, bearing a worn brown patina but remarkably modern in design. I asked the shopkeeper, but he could only tell me it was found in the same old sailor's chest as several of the compasses and the sextant also on display. He inquired as to whether I would like to purchase it for five dollars, or perhaps have it for free. "It's worthless to me, nobody wants it." When I remarked about the price, he sighed wearily, and then reached into the cabinet and retrieved it for me.

>>876510
"Here, see for yerself, feller."

The craftsmanship was wonderful, quite durable and apparently hand-made, perhaps somewhere in Europe. Worn lettering indicated it might be German, or perhaps Austrian in origin. I twisted the bulb housing and a weak red beam swept out. Poking it into a dark corner of the shop, I was greeted with fantastic monotone swirls, moving and entwining with each other like a pit of eels. As I stared further into this unusual projector-kaleidescope, my fanciful mind invented ghoulish faces and sinuous, gnarled tendrils. Shutting the device off, I turned excitedly to the shopkeeper.

"Fantastic!" I said. "It must have an oil filter of sorts in front of the lens! I have two Victorian kalediscopes, but none that are illuminated like this"

"You don't get it, do you? Nobody gets it. They all come back to return it after a while." The shopkeeper leaned on the counter and I could see that he was breathing heavily and perspiring. "They all think it's some sort of trick... till they start seeing it when the light's off."

"That ain't no projection, mister. That... damned thing, that light... it ain't makin' up those creatures. It's just lettin' your eyes see what's already there."

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".

advice to listeners: avoid headphones

advice to OP: i dunno if you are trying to make it sound like your bumping in to the mic on purpose, but stop moving around. average speaking voice is average.
good attempt. get better by doing more i guess

My dad told me this story when I was twelve years old and we were on a camping trip in the forests of Texas.

He had just moved into his own apartment for the first time. He was going to college and he had a job, and he had rented a small, one bedroom apartment near his job and the campus he was attending. On one of the first few nights he spent there, from outside his door came a loud knocking. Someone was knocking at the door, but not his door. They were knocking on the one across the hall. My dad didn't think much of it, of course, but the knocking continued for awhile and it began to annoy him. It was loud, frantic, irregular in its rythym, and each knock pissed my dad off a little more. Eventually he decided to go look out his peephole and see what the commotion was all about. When he looked out the peephole, there was a woman standing right outside of HIS door, staring into the peephole, right at him. My dad was shocked and he backed away from the door. He had expected to see someone across the hall, with their back to him. He checked that the door was locked, then he looked back out the peephole. No one was there. The hall was empty. And... the knocking had stopped.

>>877977
He stared out into the hall for a while, confused as to what was happening, when suddenly the door across the hall opened and a man stepped out. He was around 50 (my dad was in is mid-twenties at the time). The older man looked down the hall in both directions. He was obviously frightened and confused. He went over to my dad's door and knocked quietly, hesitantly. My dad opened the door, and asked what was going on. The older man admitted he was just as confused as my father. He had been coming home to his apartment a few minutes before, but as he was walking down the hall he saw a woman at the other end, staring at him. He said her face looked like pure evil. He was scared of her so he quickly opened his door and went inside, then locked it. He watched out his peephole as the woman came slowly down the hall to stand in front of my father's door. The look on the woman's face scared the older man so much that he began frantically knocking on his door, hoping to alert whoever lived across the way (my dad) of the danger outside. The woman just stood there for the longest time as the older man kept pounding on his door in warning. After a while she turned and ran off without making a sound.

I don't know if that's very scary to you /x/, but when I was 12 years old in the middle of the dark woods, it scared the hell out of me. Anyway, there you go. True story, as far as I know.

I have a story for you /x/. I don't think I'm crazy but a lot of people do. Here's what happened to me today.

I work at a library at a university. It's not too busy but not dead quiet either. There were people talking and goofing around and working on class assignments - nothing unusual.

But at exactly 5:55 PM, I suddenly heard everything stop. Everyone was completely quiet and moving very slowly. Not like eerily slow like time warp, but like they purposely didn't want to attract attention. I looked around and the only people who seemed normal were myself and a coworker named Laura, who is a "library specialist" who is trained to handle a lot of the services we offer and all. She seemed to be going on as normal at her side of the desk even though our other coworkers, Pat and Paul, were quiet and still.

I turned to look around - everything was so creepy and still and quiet - but then I heard the library doors open.

In walked a frail looking old man with an unremarkable black tuxedo and a plain, dull average face. But two things noticeably stood out from this gentleman:

1 - His eyes were completely gone.
2 - He was carrying a brown, professional looking briefcase which has bees flying around it in a holding pattern of sorts.

He walked slowly up to the counter, fixated on Laura and seemingly uninterested in me. I got a chill down my spine. This guy creeped me the fuck out. He set the briefcase down on the counter and opened it.

>>878099
A huge fucking bee was inside.

This thing was easily the size of the briefcase if not larger. It looked like any other bee except big and hairy - almost like a bee teddy bear toy of some sort. But it was ALIVE and it buzzed loudly and vibrated at the most sickening and ungodly rate, like a vibrator or something.

He took the bee out of the briefcase and held it out, and Laura looked up slowly. She suddenly said "Oh darling, are these roses for me? They're BEAUTIFUL!" and took the bee from his arms and cradled it like some vibrating furry baby of doom.

The buzzing from the big bee kept getting louder. I vaguely remember seeing Laura leave with this man as he took her by the hand and walked her out the door. Even through my fear I wanted to follow them - to help her or figure out what was happening. It was the maddening buzzing sound that drove me to shut my eyes and cover my ears and grit my teeth and wish it all away.

Suddenly it all stopped. The library was back to its normal hustling and bustling. I looked around - Laura was really gone. But I had to know for sure what happened. I asked Pat and Paul where Laura was. The reaction I got was one of puzzlement.

"Who is Laura? What are you talking about?" They acted as if she never existed in the first place. It's like none of it happened at all!

I am so confused, still now. But you can see tell tale signs if you know where to look that this really happened. Laura isn;t on our schedule at work anymore - vanished completely. But now Saturdays and Sundays - when she used to work - the staff is reduced to only a lab staff member and a reference librarian - no library specialist. I didn;t know Laura that well but I'm gonna try to track down her friends and family and see if they remember her.

And please PLEASE if any of you hear a story like this somewhere else or if you see Laura or this BEE KEEPING OLD MAN please tell me - tell /x/ - tell the world!

test

There's a bus stop somewhere in Grand Rapids, Michigan where you can witness the future for a brief while.

If you find this bus stop and dial 000-0000 from a cell phone, the display will turn into the number 776-1100 which is the local bus service's telephone number. You will then be asked which route you want to get information about by a computerized system. Dial 00. You will hear a time roughly 20-30 minutes later than the current time.

The weather will start to grow colder and foggier, and at the time given, a bus bearing the route number 0 will arrive. The grim faced old man driving the bus will not turn to greet your or acknowledge your presence - you must simply pay your fare (BY COIN ONLY - fare cards will not work at all) and then take a seat.

As the bus leaves, colors will start flashing through the windows wildly. Don't close your eyes or you will wake up on a normal bus from route 49 headed northbound to the mall. Keep your eyes open until you hear the tone signaling a nearby stop followed by a woman screaming instead of the pleasant description of the next stop. The bus will soon stop and you must get off.

After getting off, you will be at an unfamiliar place in town. You can make out familiar buildings in the distance but the area you're confined to by a seeming invisible force is new and looks futuristic.

>>878250
What the buildings and features look like is dependent on the visitor - friends who have done this report different structures and places - some horrible and ghastly, others beautiful and serene. One thing all of the places share in this dreamlike world is a new flag waving. It's not the US flag - it's a red one bearing a striking semblance certain flags of Asian countries - but still different.

Feel free to explore, but not too long. The bus will arrive again in 2 hours. Until then this area is free to explore. If you try using your cell phone to call any number, all you will hear is the woman screaming again. No other electronic devices seem to work in the area - as if devoid of batteries.

When the bus arrives, get on it. I know for sure it will bring you back safely, but none of us have dared stay longer than the 2 hours between buses so we don't know what will happen. When you come back you will be at the station you left, unless you close your eyes at which point you will open them and find yourself on northbound route 49 again. We can;t seem to figure that connection out.

We haven't tried doing this in pairs or groups yet, but we assume it would work just fine. But you never know - I mean if we all see a different place than each other, the results of mixing 2 could be disastrous.

One other interesting note - a male friend of mine - lets call him Scott - found a newspaper machine in the alternate time. He couldn't get the machine to yield a newspaper - coins or no coins - but the date of the paper read March 34th, 109 A.F.C.E. By my best reckoning AFCE means "after first common era" or "after former common era". Eerie considering that if much of the city is the same in this "future", it may not be far off...

In Saginaw, Michigan there was formerly a Taco Bell that had an inexplicable sauce problem.

A one time loyal employee who was known to dabble in the occult was fired by new management under false pretense.

Ever after, every sauce packet given out contained human blood. Even new shipments of sauce packets contained only blood. When traced to the factory that produced the packets, no abnormalities were found. Other franchises in the area experienced no ill effects.

One of the last managers of the store tried bringing normal sauce packets from an untainted restaurant into the tainted location - only to find that they too then contained blood.

Packets moved from this location to another did not change back into sauce.

The location closed in the early 1980's and was sold and converted into another restaurant which experienced no problems whatsoever. None of the remaining sauce packets can be found today for DNA testing to determine the origin of the blood.

bump

>>871394

This one always makes me D'AWWWWWWW.

Once on a trip to southern Ohio in the late evening with two friends, we passed under an old rail bridge. After passing through the bridge, we kept seeing familiar looking monuments and landmarks and scenery. Eventually we came to a town - the same one we had passed hours ago on the way to the bridge. Somehow we ended up going into and out of the same side of the bridge despite not turning around.

According to locals it happens a lot to outsiders and the road beyond the bridge is haunted. We took an alternate route and found a nice hotel for the night.

That night everything felt kind of weird. We all felt somehow backwards from going through the tunnel and coming out the wrong side. After ot being able to sleep all night, we decided to go back and try driving through again.

Upon again exiting the wrong side, we finally felt right again for a few brief seconds, until in the rear view mirror I saw a cloaked figure with pale gray skin and big black eyes standing on the bridge.

We drove away as fast as we could and vowed not to return.

A few weeks later after we'd settled back down back home, I logged onto my bank's website to check my account and pay my bills.

>>879119
There had been a warning on my account about a possible fraud charge. I took a look at the charge, and couldn't believe my eyes. The motel we stayed at was listed on the bill, but the name of it was spelled completely backwards! My stomach churned as I read it again - I rubbed my eyes at least twice just to be sure.

To make things worse, the check image the bank had uploaded was not a scan of a check at all.

It was a photo.

A photo of a cloaked gray being with big black eyes.

Two days later my bank inexplicably removed all traces of the deemed fraudulent charges. All attempts to investigate further into the situation result in bank representatives denying any existence of the charges at any point in time and hanging up on me.

>>879120

The photo bit got me. I subscribed to your vids, by the way. Looking forward to seeing what you do.

If traveling through the tip of the thumb of Michigan on a night with a full moon, stop at McGraw County Park. The gate will be closed but you can park in front of it. Bring a set of black clothes and change in the change rooms.

When you come out, there will be an old man with olive colored skin and curly dark brown hair and a mustache selling hot dogs in a cart. If you order one, the man will thank you for your patronage and apologize for your loss saying "I'm sure the wake will be nice." One of your relatives - not necessarily someone close but still someone you know - will have been murdered that night.

Be sure to change back into your other set of clothes, because if you drive away while still dressed in the black clothes you'll be pulled over by state police and arrested for the murder of your family member and the clothes will be covered in their blood.

There is a vending machine at an old, seldom maintained rest area along a stretch of interstate highway near Holland, Michigan. The vending machine hasn't been stocked in years due to the loss of its keys, it being completely stuck shut, and being bolted to the ground. Somehow it remains on after many years and contains a single old candy bar with an unrecognizable faded wrapper. Most people pass it by as I did on my visit.

But as I found out later, anyone visiting the rest stop who as born on February 29th on a leap year becomes maddeningly hungry and makes every attempt at claiming the candybar - many taking their own lives in crazed attempts at breaking the machien open.

At least 18 known victims have tried - and yet the site remains open as it is the only working rest area for miles and the state is too underfunded to build a new one.

I've only been there once because I overshot on the way to visit a friend in Holland. True story when I tried calling him on my cell phone all I heard for the first few minutes was a crow cawwing. I hung up and tried again and it was fine.

MOAR

ugh, im fucking creeped out to the fucking max

8 pounds of shit will fill my pants if anyone knocks on ym door today

Say, is there someplace where all the creepypasta is stored or something?

MOAR GODDAMMIT!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7iFXyLah2oQ

>>880516
A few places, I keep my own private stash though.

>>880840
That was pretty awesome.

It is said that in Glen Rose, Texas, an old bank vault underneath the city contains a slot machine from the 1800s that contains a key given to Abraham Lincoln by an unidentified being bearing resemblance to a gray alien.

Even if you found the machine, you would have to get all three 7s to line up to retrieve the key.

And to do that, you would need the arm of the slot machine, which has been hidden seperately from the machine itself. It's whereabouts are unknown but rumored to be in either Dallas, Texas, New Orleans, Louisiana, or Walla Walla, Washington.

Although the obvious choice would be the furthest away, those in the know believe that it's in New Orleans, Louisiana and that Hurricane Katrina was orchestrated to provide a cover for a search and recovery of the arm.

BUMP for many shat Bri/x/

MOAR!! OP, don't stop nao!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KR1RwQxQhdQ&NR=1

This one freaked me the fuck out. I shat bri/x/.

You have been warn.

There's a diner in Independence, KY that has used the same menus for nearly 70 years. The menus have been updated to include a few new dishes and accommodate new prices, but on the last page remains a remnant of the original menu - the chicken stew.

Every attempt at removing the item or changing it's price (30 cents a bowl) has failed.

No one at the diner knows how to prepare the dish - which isn't necessary anyway. Anyone who attempts to order the dish inexplicably starts to faint midway through the sentence.

When awoken hours later, the victim feels no ill side effects - except he/she squawks like a chicken and coughs up a single white feather before resuming normal speech.

The feathers are unremarkable and the diner now keeps them if visitors don't want them - there's a wall literally covered in them and is truly a sight to behold.

Various people lost in Chicago on cold, snowy February nights have yielded reports of strange activity. People report being lost and suddenly happening upon a 1920's era male Italian mafioso in a black pinstripe suit and hat smoking a cigar and flipping a coin in the air for a bit. The mafioso asks different favors of each, each with a different result.

A female witness was asked for a match to relight his cigar with. Upon responding favorably and lighting the cigar, the mafioso reportedly melted "like snow" and the witness ran off to find help.

The next morning she was called to business in Texas and then into other southern states and other countries. Since then she has been incapable of seeing snow in person - she is either called away from snowy regions or the snow melts or does not fall upon her arrival.

>>881558
A homosexual male witness was asked to engage in a sexual act with the mafioso, and willingly complied. After doing so and parting ways, the witness now exhibits the ability to naturally repel sexually transmitted diseases and attract romantic attention from others at will.

A successful fashion designer who witnessed such an event was asked, by a mafioso who appeared in the nude, for his clothing so as to not freeze to death. The witness refused and left. The designer as since failed at creating any successful new designs as has been forced to switch careers.

The last of the known witnesses at this time, a hunter, was asked to fix the mafioso's gun. Although the hunter had never experienced such a weapon, the problem was a simple and common mistake with an easy fix. Since the event, the hunter reports never having trouble with his weaponry again. He also believes his success rate when hunting has gone up, but it may be unrelated to the event.

GOD DAMN THAT RIPPING SOUND IN THE FIRST VIDEO CREEPED ME THE FUCK OUT

Somewhere out in the middle of Kansas where there's little else but a stretch of lonesome road, there's a cell phone tower about 24 feet from the road. You can get great reception from this tower if you're near it. 5 bars of signal and all that. Call anyone you like - you'll hear them loud and clear (assuming they have good reception too).

Call anyone but 911. They won't be able to triangulate where you are based on the tower signals. Why?

Because the cell phone tower doesn't officially exist. It's not in any computer system or on any maps. There are no records of it connecting with any current phone systems. No phone company, person, or agency admits to placing it there, and it isn't connected to any visible cables for data transmission or satellite dish access or electricity. It's just a tower that sits there relaying your calls.

In northern Colorado there's a Chinese restaurant that serves only Chinese food. Cause you know - a lot of Chinese buffets have American food for little kids and crap. But I digress. This place serves only Chinese food.

One day some college kids were there and when asked what they wanted to eat, one of the guys jokingly said he wanted a pizza. Everyone laughed except the impatient waitress, but he ordered something off the regular menu and the friends waited for their food.

When she came back with the first two plates of food, the guy joked around again and said "Hey, where's my pizza?" The woman looked irritated and walked off.

When the second two plates of food were delivered, the guy was about to start his meal but again decided to ask "When is my pizza gonna be ready?" The waitress stormed off and returned 2 minutes later with a large pepperoni pizza covered in thick gooey cheese and rich tomato sauce.

The guy stared in disbelief and then thanked the waitress. As his friends giggled at him he reached cautiously for the pizza. He ended up eating the pizza - his friends not having any because they thought maybe the woman spit in it or something.

The waitress and staff of the restaurant didn't talk at all to the group for the rest of the night. When the bill came, he wasn't charged for the pizza. When the friends left and headed home their separate ways, there was a car accident involving this guy crashing into a highway median and flipping the car.

The injuries due to the accident would not have been severe, but he was found dead nonetheless. The official cause of death was ruled to be starvation - even though his friends had witnessed him not 30 minutes prior eat an orange chicken platter, 4 helpings of friend rice, and... a pizza.

>>882627


lolwut?

>>882710
I honestly don't get why people don't understand this one. My third video is based on it and the reactions are either "cool" or "huh?"

On any night with a crescent moon, open Winamp or any other music program you might have on your computer that has a shuffle program. Empty your mind and keep clicking the forward button. If you’re rather unlucky a song named “I’m your problem now.mp3? will start playing. For the first minute it will be completely silent.

Close your eyes when the screams start and DO NOT OPEN THEM FOR ANY REASON. Horrible imagery will fill your mind, of corpses and unimaginable evil. This will happen as a full seven minutes of this song’s horrible symphony of screams and sounds continues.

IF you make it through those torturous seven minutes, you will wake up on a bench in a deserted greyhound station. A faceless man at the other end of the station will offer you a cigarette. If you don’t accept it, your eyes will open and the song will be gone and no time will have past. If you choose to accept it, however, this man will divulge to you the secrets of life.

After you’re done smoking, take the ticket out of his pocket and board the bus coming into the station. You will awake back in your house, and exactly twelve minutes will have passed since you started listening. The problem is that anyone who’s survived the song goes insane from the information they’ve just learned.

Be warned, should you succeed; through any polished surface–be it mirror, wood, or window–your reflection will always be watching.

Thanks for reposting the reposts of the reposts of my creepypasta. I was gonna do it but I think now I'll just write some more.

>>882970
explain the pizza one.

>>883094
tl;dr on the pizza one:
fat jerk abuses restaurant staff, magically dies of starvation after being a fatty fat fat loser

>>883060
Were you the one who started posting 'em with this image (for the bee story) about...uh, a month or two ago I think? 'cause that's when I started copying these down so they're at the top of my personal stash-o'-pasta.

There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads, seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them.

They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they’re different inside. There’s no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp…

Once you possess a hitchhiker’s object, you’ll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You’ll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You’ll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won’t. You’ll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you’re doing. You’ll smile and nod and they’ll get into the car and you’ll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box…

There is a video on YouTube named Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv. If you search this, you will find nothing. The few times you find something, all you will see is a 20 second video of a man staring intently at you, expressionless, then grinning for the last 2 seconds. The background is undefined. This is only part of the actual video.

The full video lasts 2 minutes, and was removed by YouTube after 153 people who viewed the video gouged out their eyes and mailed them to YouTube’s main office in San Bruno. Said people had also committed suicide in various ways. It is not yet known how they managed to mail their eyes after gouging them out. And the cryptic inscription they carve on their forearms has not yet been deciphered.

YouTube will periodically put up the first 20 seconds of the video to quell suspicions, so that people will not go look for the real thing and upload it. The video itself was only viewed by one YouTube staff member, who started screaming after 45 seconds. This man is under constant sedatives and is apparently unable to recall what he saw. The other people who were in the same room as him while he viewed it and turned off the video for him say that all they could hear was a high pitched drilling sound. None of them dared look at the screen.

The person who uploaded the video was never found, the IP address being non-existant. And the man on the video has never been identified.

Have you ever heard the expression “an apple a day keeps the Doctor away?” Most assume, with no reason to think otherwise, that it is simply an easy-to-remember rhyme that stresses the importance of eating healthily to young children. But the saying did not originate as a harmless reminder. It was born in a frontier town in the early years of the gold rush, where food was scarce and money even scarcer.

One August, when a bad drought had struck the region, a series of bloody killings swept through the town. Every night, a single house would be broken into, and anyone who saw the invader would be swiftly, brutally slain. Nothing was ever stolen, save for a few scraps of food.

>>883323
After two weeks of this, the local grocer set out a few apples and a glass of milk in the town square overnight. He then hid in the tower of the church, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone who came by.

Fighting fatigue, the grocer waited for any sign of life below. Just after midnight, he was rewarded by a chilling sight; a man, carrying a black bag stuffed with dully shining metal tools and covered from head to foot in cloth bandages, staggered into view. He paused at the sight of the apples and milk, then whipped his head around, as if looking for the one who dared to patronize him. Seized with fear, the grocer ducked out of sight, staying hidden ’til sunrise.

The strange man had only taken one of the apples, and didn’t even touch the glass of milk. No houses were broken into, and no one was killed. For decades, the town continued to place out an apple or two every night, even long after a single apple stopped dissapearing.

>>883212
I think the second time I posted it was with the bee image - someone used that image to reply to my original post. Thanks for the nod any which way. I'm producing more over in>>883067at the moment, and I save all of mine in TomBoy notes so I almost always have backups to repost...

>>883328
Awesome :D

Already have that thread on watch and have copied down a few more I haven't seen before. It's good stuff.

Hell, if you like the narrated pastas I've done mayhaps we should collaborate and put out some more YouTube fodder.

>>883388
Wup, forgot to switch back to my tripcode.

There is a moment each leap year, at exactly three minutes past three on the morning of February twenty-ninth. If you possess the courage, await that moment in darkened room, with no other present. At that moment, the darkness will deepen. If you were to hold you hand directly before your face, you would not see a thing. But you must not do so. No, for that would be to waste the moment. Instead you must reach out, into that impenetrable darkness.

And it will reach out to you.

An unseen hand will grasp yours. You must not flinch away, nor tighten your grasp. To do so will only slough away more of the decrepit flesh that covers it, and anger its unseen owner. Remain perfectly still, as the withered fingers move over your palm, tracing unknown patterns. Do not move an inch as it crawls slowly up your arm. And most of all, do not even breathe as it caresses your face, touching what cannot be seen.

>>883393
Should you remain still through this, the hand will be withdrawn and a voice will speak, so close you can feel its breath on your face, smell the scent of decay it carries. It will ask you for one simple piece of information: your name. Answer truthfully. Answer truthfully, and the presence will retreat, leaving only a whisper in the air as the darkness lifts. “It is done.”

From that day on, untold good fortune will be yours, and mysterious power. You will lack nothing, and have everything. But in a year, perhaps two, you will feel your skin begin to decay, and smell the sweet smell of death upon your breath…

shitsuck

In winter of 1944, with overtaxed supply lines in the Ardennes, a German medic had completely run out of plasma, bandages and antiseptic. During one particularly bad round of mortar fire, his encampment suddenly became a bloodbath. The survivors claimed to hear, above the screams and barked commands of their Lieutenant, someone cackling with almost girlish glee.

The medic made his rounds during the fire, in almost complete darkness as he had so many times before, but never this short on supplies.

The bombardment moved to other ends of the line, most men dropped off to sleep in the still dark hours of the morning - New Year’s Day, 1945.

The men awoke at first light with screams. They discovered that their bandages were not typical bandages at all, but hunks and strips of human flesh. Several men had been given fresh blood transfusions, with no blood supplies available. Each treated man was almost completely covered, head-to-toe, with the maroon stain of blood.

The medic was found, sitting on an ammunition tin, staring off into space. When one man approached him, tapped him on the shoulder, his tunic fell off to reveal all skin, muscle, and sinew had been stripped from his torso and his body almost completely dried of blood. In one hand was a scalpel, and in the other, a blood transfusion vial.

Ok OP, that was pretty fucking chirpy, you could have sounded a bit more freaked out instead of calm though.

MOAR!!!

Do you have the one about a chineese resturaunt that has a specialty on the menu, and a boy was asked to get it. The found him in his car eaten?
I don't remember much else

>>884276
See>>882627

Also, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_RmXC7bbXg is based on that one.

>>884273
I actually tried a "scared" recording and it came out really really stupid, so I stuck with the "ironic calm" approach.

Mr. Jack Worldly, a hard working and skeptical man, stood outside his vandalized bungalow with a look of shock and awe on his face. The front door had been left open for all in the quiet neighborhood to see; not that he had much of value to begin with. He took to a search for anything that the vandal had taken, seeing nothing out of the ordinary, and certainly nothing important missing from his home.

Tired and confused about the whole ordeal, he finally found the energy to fall asleep late that night while scanning the web for any related news stories on his brand new computer. He was awoken by the dull sounds of his alarm clock in the other room, his tired mind quick to come to the conclusion that it'd just been a random act.

It was not the last he'd seen, however, as the same thing happened day after day when he came home from work. Every time he'd leave the house his door would be open, even if he'd only left for an hour to head downtown. Full of questions and lacking any answers, the middle aged man got an idea to capture the vandal that'd been breaking in. He hooked up several surveillance cameras all over his home, pointing first to the door and all through the hallways. He placed most of them inside his guest room where he had his computer, as it was obviously the most expensive things in his house.

>>884313
Proud of his job after making sure everything was in order, he swiftly slept the night away and was anxious to come home from work the next day. Finding nothing out of the ordinary when he came home and saw the door wide open, he sat at his computer to review the footage he'd taken.

The footage of his front door finally revealed the 'vandal', if it could be called such. The picture was fuzzy, but from such a short distance it was easy to make out just how dark the creature's skin was. It were as though its body were made of black veins and smoke; two sunken red eyes inside a deformed head. It walked into the home, and as he watched, he thought that surely the camera couldn't be seeing such things.

"Such a horrible sight could not exist..."

The figure walked all around the home. It touched the carpet with its dark hands; it seemed to reach inside every mirror like it were a puddle of water. Jack kept watching and furrowing his brow, seeing the monstrosity blink several times before creeping into the guest room. Jack kept watching, sweat running down his brow, as he watched the creature open the closet. Jack could feel his heartbeat slow down, as he heard the closet behind him slide open.

I was 12, and it was 9 o' clock at night. i was about to go to bed, but I decided to make a PB+J before I went to bed. The house is quiet, my mom having already gone to bed. I'm in the kitchen making my sandwich when I hear a surprised gasp coming from the dining room. I look up, and there's a woman in the kitchen. Even today, I can still remember so many details about her, she seemed so solid, so real. She was about 5 feet tall and slightly overweight. She had blonde hair and brown eyes. She's also holding a big steak knife. I am frozen, my eyes wide, but too shocked too move. She too, is staring at me with a terrified expression. Suddenly she screams and drops the knife, vanishing right before my eyes. Until she disappeared I would have bet my life on her being real. The really odd thing was, she had acted like she had just seen a ghost.
true story btw

Cutty Grimes

After my service during World War Two (I'm afraid my service record is sealed until 1992) I was offered two positions. If ever there was a point of divergence in my life, this was it. Trevor Bruttenholm, busy in Berlin, telegrammed me asking to help him form what would later become the B.P.R.D. At the same time I received a letter from a Lieutenant-Colonel Carne, who was assembling his own detective agency, asking me if I would like to head his newly-designated Occult Bureau. I was torn between my loyalty to a friend and my relative poverty as a professor and researcher. Carne's second letter persuaded me: he offered a substantial contribution to the Institute of Archaic Studies if I was to come aboard with him. I met with Trevor in the British sector of Berlin and explained to him my reasons. His response was unexpectedly bitter and vehement. He decried what he thought of as my "greed and arrogance", encouraging me to enjoy my thirty pieces of silver, and so on.

Nonetheless, in the spring of 1946 I began as Bureau Chief of the Occult within the Carne Organization, stationed in London, England. I sometimes regret my decision, especially in light of Trevor's later work, but regrets aside, my work within the Carne Organization was terribly fruitful.

It took time to become used to the resources of the Organization. Unlike the Institute, the Carne Requistionary didn't ask for forms, authorization, or even a reason for drawing out weapons, borrowing a car from the motor pool, even tapping out vast sums of cash for emergencies. I was glad to have such resources when the first assignment of the post-war era came to my desk.

>>884566
A mining consortium outside of Manchester had hired us to look into a series of disappearances and cave-ins in their nearby coal mine. Survivors reported seeing a bright white human-like creature who ran on all fours and emitted a faint glow when stationary. One photograph came to me showing a series of what appeared to be bites along the calf of a mine foreman, who called the creature "Cutty Grimes".
After two ex-SAS men didn't return from an investigation of the mine I resolved to move in force and kill or capture the beast who haunted the mines. Recalling Cohen's three Aphorisms on the Occult I tasked several of my employees to look into anything dealing with this area going back to pre-Roman era. It was a bright woman named Georgia Lennox who turned up a reference to our "Grimes" in a diary of John Dee's: "Moste unusual are the Sightings of Cuttie Grymes”, a beast most Foul who stalks the Danforth Region and the caves thereof." From my own memory Dee never mentioned Grimes anywhere else in his library, but the research proved to me the serious nature of this threat.

Three former Commandos volunteered to assist me in the investigation, knowing the dangers involved I didn't order any one of my employees to move with me into the mine. They each outfitted themselves as they saw fit, being military personnel I assumed their opinion superior to mine. I requisitioned for myself a Sten gun and a Browning Hi-Power pistol, and prepared the clips of each to be loaded with cartridges with silver points. The ride to the mine took just over five hours and we spent the night at a local inn, going over the schematics of the shafts and checking our weapons. The next morning, equipped with electric torches, gas masks, and of course our weapons, we entered through the service shaft.

>>884570
I was unprepared for what we saw after the short trip down the still-functioning elevator. The two operatives we had sent in were hanging upside-down from a wooden beam along the ceiling of the mine, naked from the waist down. On their chests were carved various Kabbalistic symbols. I recognized them from Agrippa's treatise on natural magic immediately- they were invocations of the tetragrammaton. The three men who accompanied me didn't bat an eye at this gruesome scene; in some ways it was less of a relief than I should've felt.
Because there was no functioning light system below, and because attempting to ignite the wicks of the dusty gas lamps could spark a potentially fatal blaze, we were confined to moving slowly through the tunnels, clinging to the light accorded to us by our electric lamps.

At times we grew disoriented and would pause to reexamine the map, it was in one of these attempts to regain our bearings that I heard first the awful whistling of Cutty Grimes.

I quickly shushed the furtive discussion between my men and cupped my ear to listen better. It was a tune I couldn't recognize- making the sound that much more eerie- and it was close. Very close.

After a time the whistling stopped, and one of us (I don't recall who) said, "That isn't a normal whistling."
"He's whistling through his teeth," said another. "My mum could do it."

>>884573
We laughed at this for a short time but a sense of unease still filled me. We determined where we were in the mine and continued. We came across another awful sight: the corpses of six miners, still wearing their gear, scattered along the floor of an alcove containing benches and tables. Lifting up their shirts revealed the same Kabbalistic symbols I had seen upon our entrance, nevertheless the combinations of these Hebrew letters were unpronounceable, and I wondered on this as we ruefully abandoned the scene to continue our search.
We came across him just outside of the alcove. He was sitting, knees up, arms sprawled out, like an ape, glowing a grim purple. His head was cocked like a dog's, and his eyes calmly took us in as we rounded the corner. His lips peeled back to show a smile of teeth filed to points. He ran his black tongue along their enamel and began to whistle again.

The first man to raise a gun (I remember it being a Webley Revolver) was suddenly felled by Grimes, who toppled the man by jumping like a frog onto him and casually biting open his throat. His mouth came up red and he smiled up at us again; it was almost a proud or defiant gesture, and in a strange way, I felt he sought our approval. Before I or my men could fire at him he had taken off, running with remarkable speed on all four elongated limbs, whistling.

We kept a short but dignified watch over our colleague as he speedily bled out, and, pilfering his ammunition and gear, left his body behind to follow the beast.

>>884574
He crashed down from above us at some time later (I could not hazard a guess as to when.. ten minutes or two hours, it makes no real difference), claiming another of our men with his long, curling fingernails, ravaging his eyes and slicing open his stomach in a deft motion that took no less than a few seconds. Here I was able to tag him with the Hi-Power, the round went through his knee and exited out the other side. He made no sound but fell backwards, baring his teeth as he was want to.

My second round struck him in the other leg, here too he made no sound, but seemed suddenly sedate and unable to respond. I ordered the remaining operative to hold a gun on him with orders to shoot to kill if he made an attack motion and removed a bundle of high-test coil. I bound his legs and tied his hands behind his back, even while this close he did nothing but watch me with his black eyes and, occasionally, bare his fangs. I tore a section of cloth off of our dead fellow's uniform, forced some coil through it, and so fashioned a sort of gag for the monster's mouth.

That accomplished, I ordered the other operative to assist me in carrying him up to the surface.

>>884576
He didn't struggle as we hefted him, one of us holding his legs, the other his shoulders, through the mine, but the work was exacting and we paused to rest several times. It was when we came to the alcove where the dead miners lay that Grimes started and began to whistle. The other man swore, and dropped his end, letting the beast fall hard on his head. His whistling only became more frantic and frenzied.
"What are you doing?" I hissed at the operative.

"Marking time, sieur.." Grimes hissed, and I could not conceal my surprise. I heard then another whistle, and another, and another- a sea of whistles, coming from all directions, echoing monstrously throughout the cave. And then another noise, at first, inscrutable, but gradually understood. It was the padding of the feet of a thousand wretches, identical to Grimes. They were a beehive, I thought, and Grimes was a catch-all name for a hundred thousand identical beasts, they had lived in this cave system for centuries and we had been fools to mine it, fools to disturb them, and we were fools to try and capture one without consequences.
"We need to leave here, now," I told the man, dropping the other end of Grimes I still held. I leveled my Hi-Power at his skull and fired, the gunshot was deafening but put an end to HIS whistling, at least. Then we turned to run.

>>884577
We came to a fork in the mine I did not recognize, and, harried, I began to wrack my mind, seeking the proper way out. The operative meanwhile was silent beside me, I could not hear him panting or, in my case, wheezing from the exertion. At first I chalked it up to his professionalism but when he tapped me lightly in the arm I turned to find a veritable sea of Cutty Grimeses, all of them working their way along the walls of the mine shaft with their hands, whistling. They were blind, I realized. Blind, and using the whistles to determine position, just like the squeaks of bats. It was then that I was thankful for having brought a smoke grenade. Trying with desperate patience I searched awkwardly through my rucksack for the canister. They inched ever closer. My hand seized upon it, and I felt a triumphant surge of energy, carefully and soundlessly lifting it from my rucksack and holding it in front of me. I pulled the pin of the grenade, and the soft click it produced made all of the creatures black eyes peer directly at me. They began to whistle a sharper tune, and I threw the grenade over their short heads and behind them. It landed and began to hiss, they turned and charged in the opposite direction.

The frantic journey through the convoluted mine, pursued by a critically delayed but still present enemy, I barely remember. I cannot recall how we made it up the elevator but I do recall the whistling that echoed up the chamber from below. I remember starting the car in the setting sun of afternoon. I remember that infernal whistling still audible over the roar of the engine as I reversed the car and sped down the dirt road out of the mining complex.

Two weeks later the Carne Organization offered its condolences to the mining consortium and refunded them their money- I was subsequently asked to help demolish and seal the mine in permanently.

I did so gladly.

NO ONE. FUCKING. CARES.

OKAY?

FOR FOUR DAYS YOU'VE BEEN SHAMELESSLY BUMPING YOUR OWN SHITTY THREAD WITH YOUR OWN SHITTY VIDEO WHICH IS YOU TALKING IN A LOW QUALITY MIC WITH A BUNCH OF SHITTY PICTURES YOU PROBABLY FOUND ON GOOGLE.

JUST FUCK OFF.

>>884574

I'm sure your colleague appreciated that your vigil was not only short but also dignified.

moar

>>884588
Obviously somebody
cough
>>884276
>>881074
>>881043
>>880521
>>880501
>>880489
>>879197
>>878930
>>876396
>>873890
>>873816
>>873465
cough
likes this stuff.

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..."

>>884693

THEN WHO WAS PHONE??

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.

>>884588
Badass over here

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 glass of sprite I had in the living room.
I carefully picked it out of my drink, it read "THANK YOU." and in larger letters, "I'M TRAPPED".

>>885017
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.
"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.

>>885020
"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.

>>885022
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.

ok I just got a random phone call from some girl saying that they were outside my house and wanted me to come out, all my cell phone said was "unknown number", am I fucked?

>>885248
no

>>885248
BUT WHO WAS PHONE???

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.

>>885310
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…

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

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.

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.

Why do so many of these stories take place in Michigan?

>>886218
Michigan is obviously a nexus of evil

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.

>>886455
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.

Pantera, the last 3 where fucking cool!!
Pleas MOAR!

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.

Time to request archiving for this thread, I haven't seen some of this creepypasta and it shouldn't be lost.
Go to 4chanarchive.org
Click request interface
enter 871379 in thread ID
select board and enter captcha

I appreciate the archive request, but rest assured that none of this will be lost. I have all of this copied down on my computer and posted elsewhere on the internets (ie my Facebook), where I continually add (decent) new entries as I find 'em and repost whenever I make a new topic for one of my new creepypasta videos.

MORE! You're voice is perfect for creepy narration. And I loved you're story about the red eyes.

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.

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.

>>871379

you have a cool voice, just need a better mic

>>887853
I dunno, I think it's pretty reliable and decent. I'm using one of these: http://www.amazon.com/Logitech-Extreme-Gaming-Headset-980233-0403/dp/B0001NYK1G/ref=pd_ys_iyr1

Granted it's no professional recording mic, but it does a good job of filtering out all the ambient noise from my room.

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.

>>887850
i don't get it :(

the rest fucking rule though :D

Epic job. I expected a 12 year old with a squeaky voice to narrate it, but I was surprised. Great job delivering the ending!

>>887903
Inhuman baby.

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.
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.

>>887936
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.

>>887939
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.

There once was a little boy and he was friends with this girl in kindergarten.
He saw that the girl had a green ribbon around her neck and asked her why.
She said only, "I'm not s'posed to tell." They remained friends through childhood, all the way to high school, and the girl still wore that green ribbon around her neck.
The boy has since grown used to it, and stopped asking long ago. They decided to go steady and were very happy for almost 2 years. Finally, on the anniversary of their second year together, they decided to give themselves to each other. Undressing each other lovingly, they spoke of how much they cared for one another. The boy kissed his girl, and grasped the green ribbon, the last vestige of clothing she wore, and swiftly untied it.

He was found hours later, still naked, sitting in the corner, her head in his arms.

>>887966
This story is old as fuck. I remember reading something like it in a ghost stories book from my school library when I was in first grade. There's often variations on the color of the ribbon and when it's revealed (sometimes before they get it on, sometimes when she's 80 and on her death bed).

I woke up in the middle of the night. Clock said it was 3:24am. I groaned and rolled over, intent on going back to sleep so I'd be well rested for the meeting that was in 6 hours. I woke up again at 3:47am, pretty pissed at this point. I swore, staring at the ceiling. A few moments later I noticed a faint tapping sound at my window. That must have been what woke me up. I was too lazy to go and see what it was, especially once I remembered there was a storm front or something moving in. It was rain or ice or something. I tried going to sleep again, only to wake up at 3:59 with the tapping still going. Again, I managed to go to sleep after a little while. It didn't seem like long before I woke up for the fourth time and rolled out of bed, going over to the window just to see what the hell was making that sound. I whipped the drapes open and saw, well... nothing. It was a clear night and there was no sign that there had been any weather. I closed the drapes and walked back to bed, getting under the sheets before glancing at my clock. 3:77am. I went back to sleep.

is this one big fucking story!?

if so tl;dr

>>880501
I've been reading this shit all night. I don't think im going to bed. Mmm Monster.

>>888255
Back to /b/ with you.

Nicholas was older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die. The dwarfish natives of the arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.

Once every year they forced him,sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.

He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was far harsher.
Ho.
Ho.
Ho.

>>888362
Neil Gaiman is God, no exceptions.

Hello. You don't know me as well as you should, but I know you very well. I sit across from you when you watch TV, I stand in front of you when you look into the mirror, I walk along side you when you pass a darkened window, and right now I'm sitting across from you as you read these stories, though the monitor keeps you from seeing my reflection.

These are the times I like best. I hate repeating the motions you make, the facial expressions you take on...you disgust me. You're going no where in life. You're a loser and you don't even care. I know that if I were in control, things would be much better.

So that's why I'm going to kill you tonight. I know what you're thinking...why would I tell you this? And here, of all places...Well, it's quite simple. Are you really going to believe me? Even now, are you? Of course not. You're stupid enough to think this is fake. Well, it's not...

I suppose you'll realize that tonight when I rip your heart out through your throat, using the glass from your shattered mirror. I've tested my limits. I know what I can do. The other day, when you turned away from the bathroom mirror, I nearly grabbed your hair. You got away, but it was no matter. I knew I could do it. So what if I couldn't smash your skull against the glass just yet?

Don't be sad. Think of it this way: you were never going to amount to much anyway, so I'm doing you a favor. It's not so bad where I live, and you'll be going there quite soon. So long as you're always near the glass, They can't get you. They can't rip your eyes out as punishment for not dutifully waiting for your doppleganger on the other side to stare at you. Once you learn the rules, you'll realize They are quite harmless. Mostly.

Now if you could please turn away from the monitor, we can get this over with.

>>883256
I've read so much creepypasta im legitimately scared to do this.

>>888362
Jesus Christ. SAVED. Did you write that?

I love you, OP.

>>888375
FFFFFFFFFFFFF

>>884742

lmao. That was a lot funnier than it was scary.

>>888396
Nope, not I.

>>888591
I really like that one but it's plagued by the fact that it's innately going to be not creepy at all to 50% of the potential audience.

A 15-year old boy in a small town in Maryland sat down at his computer after getting home from school one day. He turned it on and logged into an instant messaging program, and was then suprised to receive a message from a classmate of his, who had been absent that day.

It consisted of two words; "please come". Confused, the boy sent a reply, asking why he'd been absent that day. After two more messages and fifteen minutes with no response, he decided to get on his bike and head over to his classmate's house. It was a short ride, only about five minutes away.

When he got to the house, he found the door was unlocked. Inside, partially dried blood was splattered over the walls and floors, and an unrecognizable figure was crumpled against the far wall. It was missing an arm and a leg, and bloody streaks on the floor lead away from the body and into the kitchen. The boy slammed the door closed, and immediately called 911 on his cell phone.

When the police arrived, they found three corpses, as well as tracks leading away from the house from the back door. The forensics report concluded that the entire family, the boy's classmate and his parents, had been killed sometime the previous night.

here's some spookypasta
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EzZI16Z13dw
made me shit a fucking state

If you wait at any given train station and keep watching a train will show up that isnt on the train schedule. If you get on the train you will find that the inside of the train, despite what the train looks like on the outside the inside will be very elegant and old fashioned.

Have a seat and enjoy the train ride. By this point there is little you can do to save yourself and you should enjoy this short period of luxury that precedes the horrors you will face.

The train is full of other passengers dressed very fancy and old timey. there will be waitresses and waiters that will serve you. When the train makes a stop get off the train. If you do not get off at this stop then the train will continue on but all the passengers will be rotting corpses and the trian will never stop, the entrances will be sealed and you will be stuck until you die in a smelly train filled with disgusting rotting corpses.

>>888375

MotherFUCKER.

I wonder why so many of us are afraid of mirrors? Hm.

If you ever are in an area of absolute quiet, still your breathing and move not a muscle. After a few seconds, you will notice that the silence has a sort of "sound" of its own, a kind of empty ringing tone. This is nothing unique, everyone will hear this, given the proper setting. An informed person will tell you that your brain is trying to interpret the lack of stimuli to your hearing and so creates a bit of a filler sound. Actually, there is never, ever, total quiet anywhere on Earth. This sound actually covers something very important. For a persistent individual, one can discern what is under this pitch. The next time you are in such a situation, shout at the top of your lungs for about half a minute, then become completely silent all at once. It will be different for everyone. Some will hear nothing different for dozens of tries. Others might catch a snatch of soft murmuring. A special few might clearly make out what they hear on the first attempt. What you will hear is a voice that relays an account of events about to happen in the immediate future. It's like a sportscaster relaying the events occurring 10 seconds later. Such an ability would doubtlessly be invaluable, no? You will be able react to any immediate danger, relate to people around you with greater ease. No one would ever surprise you. As time goes on, you will be able to make out this voice under increasingly noisy circumstances, to the point that it can be heard at any time by just concentrating. Now, of course you are wondering what sort of horrible catch there is for this.

>>888881
Perhaps the tone of the voice is so horrible that it will drive you mad, or maybe the voice will only predict your death over and over again. Of course this isn't the case, though, its a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, its simply a matter of noticing. But there is a danger. For you see, there's no such thing as a voice lacking a body. And just like you will notice new sounds, so shall you notice new sights. More importantly, you will be noticed.

Somewhere in West Philadelphia , you will find an old basketball court with a single ball lying in the middle. Pick it up and start shooting hoops. After a while, a small group of hooligans will approach you and challenge you to a fight, which you must accept.

After the fight, you must go home and relay the events to your mother. She will then inform you that you have an aunt and uncle living in one of the districts of Los Angeles , and out of fear, she will send you to live there for an indefinite period of time.

>>888885

With your bags packed, go to the street corner, and whistle for a cab. The cab that will pull up will bear the word FRESH on the license plate, and upon closer inspection, novelty fuzzy dice will hang in the mirror. Although you will think that cabs like these are rare, don't say anything about it. At this point you MUST point out in front of the car and say 'Yo homes to Bel Air'. You will stop in front of a mansion, and it will be somewhere between 7 and 8 o'clock, even though it will feel like you've been traveling mere seconds. Get your luggage out and say 'Yo homes, smell ya later!', but do NOT turn back to face the cabby. Walk up to the door, look over your shoulder once, and then knock on the door three times.

If you follow these instructions, your life will get flip-turned upside-down.

Convicted forger A. Schiller was serving his time in Sing Sing prison in the late 19th century when guards found him dead in his cell. On his body, they found seven regular straight pins whose heads measured the typical 47/1000ths of an inch or 1.17 mm in diameter. Under 500X magnification, it was found that the tiny etchings were seen on the heads of the pins were the words to “The Lord’s Prayer,” which is 65 words and 254 letters long. Of the seven pins, six were silver and one was gold. The gold pin’s prayer was flawless and said to be a true masterpiece. Schiller had spent the last twenty five years of his life creating the pins, using a tool too small to be seen by the naked eye. It is estimated that it took 1,863 separate carving strokes to make it. Schiller went blind because of his artwork. Why did Schiller do this? And how did he acquire the knowledge to construct such a tiny instrument for the engravings?

>>888888
You're twenty days late.

>>888942
Heh, 888888 on 8/8/08. Clever.

it's 02:57 ... I have to be at work for 05:30. I'm so fucked.

I once stuck two cell phones together in 69 position while they called each other. Weird noises came out, so I tried saying something in it to see how it would be distorted. I said, "Hi. I'm aaron." I said this about 5 times and each one sounded different until a voice came back saying (completely different from my voice). "Hello Aaron. Hello Aaron. I am Mikeal. I am Micheal. Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead?" I tried saying my name again, but a different voice came back saying, "I don't want to go. I don't want to go." After that I hung up.

Deep in a quiet suburb hidden in Plain sight, it is said there is a boy, perhaps in his early teens, that stands on a small footbridge above a quiet creek not often traveled. If you happen to find this same bridge and the boy is not there, come back at a later date, it's not your time.

If you are one of the fortunate, or unfortunate as you may be, to catch him watching the stream, ask, "How are the ducks today?" This is the only thing he'll reply to, but afterwards he'll sustain conversation with you. But his answer to your initial question will always be, "Fine as always, but it seems there are two missing."

Pay attention throughtout the duration of the conversation and follow his every word, he is right. You can ask him anything, and he'll lead you to the road of prosperity.

This prosperity does come at a price though, after following his final instruction, one person that you've always loved will sear through your mind, and eventually the thought of that person will consume your soul, and you will eventually find yourself spending the rest of your days watching a peaceful stream, and when questioned, the only thing you can muster up without the mention of your love is, "Just fine, but there are three missing."

MOAR.

>>889123
Hahah, I don't why that freaks me out so much.

>>889247
because you're thinking of phones doing it.

As you walk into the room, you see a bed. Not just any bed, your bed. You stare at it. You might think something is under the bed, waiting for you to fall asleep. But don't think too much.

You might not notice the eyes staring at you from the window.

SLEEP

I am going to protect you. I will be right there. They wont dare touch you or take your hair or your eyes or your inside while your asleep now because I'll be there standing over you and I can scare them away. I wont let even one of them get inside you so you should feel safe

But you have to sleep. Sleep!. I'm not allowed to come if you might see me.

Maybe you can get in your blankets and pretend to be asleep. You have to pretend though. If you see me or hear me coming closer you have to pretend you don't hear me or see me. If you don't pretend I'll have go to away forever and then they will get you. If it sounds like snakes and bugs coming in through your bathroom thats them and you should run. If it sounds like big heavy paws and my tail dragging and wet noises thats me and you should not be scared. I'll protect you.

I want for you to feel safe

and I WANT YOU TO SLEEP

>>889123
Freaks the shit out of me, and I don't even have a cell.

Classic.

"Creak", a sound, faint, distant, but still heard.
"Crack", something snapping, or being trampled on.
The man sits in his room, reading. The room is silent except for the quiet fire burning.
"Creak"..Just the the house settling, nothing more.
"Crack", Perhaps some small animals outdoors.
"Whoosh", Was that the wind?
The man stands up and peeks out the window. A clear night is all he sees, the full moon brillent in the sky. Laughing at his nervousness, he returns to his book.
"Creak", the man now silently chuckles at the sound.
"Crack", how could he have been scared of some sounds.
"Whoosh", must be breezy out tonight.
"Thump"...did that come from within the house?
The man stares into the fire, trying to calm his jangled nerves.
"Creak"...
"Crack"...
"Whoosh"...will the sounds never cease?
"Thump"..."Thump"..."Thump"...
Closer, he thinks, the sounds are getting closer. He shuts the book and closes his eyes, and thinks of something besides his wild imagination.
"Creak"
"Thump"
"Crack"
"Thump"
"Whoosh"
"Thump"..."Thump"..."Thump"...a pause? The man moves quietly, slowly, towards the door with a nervous gait. "Thump"...a step back..."Thump"...yes, it's getting closer. "Thump"...he stares at the door, trying to somehow see through it..."Thump"...he reaches slowly for the doorknob, hand shaking, no longer able to take not knowing..."Creak", a loose floorboard, near the door outside..."Thump", he slowly opens the door...
"A scream"
...silence...

lol

>>889260
I like this one.
People don't protect.
They guard.
They keep for themselves.

You dream.

You dream about yourself. All you see in your dream is you standing and staring back at you from the view of your dream. You change into a malformed monster, decaying and agonized. You wake up after the sudden change

It's 2:19 A.M.

You have to go to the bathroom. You go into the bathroom and take care of your business. Apon your exit, you stop in front of the mirror, your dream coming into memory. You just look curiously at yourself.

Until you change into the decaying courpse from your dream in a single instant.

You punch the mirror, yet it does not shatter. And apon your punch, you change back to normal, but it is not your reflection, only you standing as you were in the dream. The mirror has several cracks from your punch all the way to the edge of the mirror. Somehow it did not shatter.

You are in immense pain.
When you look down, your white shirt is stained with blood.
You lift the shirt, and the pattern of the cracks in the mirror have been placed on your body, in deep gashes, deep enough to cut your organs.

You try to scream but the gashes have cut your lungs. The last thing you see before you die is your reflection, standing, watching you.

You die.

The mirror shatters.

Have you ever been taking a shower and felt like something was moving around behind the curtain? Especially if you were alone? Like as if something were watching you? Did you look up? Did you catch the very vaguest hint of eyebrows or a tuft of matted, greasy hair above the curtain rod?

That's not a good idea. It doesn't really like it if you see it. It likes it the most when you've got shampoo on your hair, and your eyes are shut tight so they won't sting. Or even better, when there's soap and bubbles all over your soft face. It likes that the best, because your eyes are clenched so tight, and even if you did want to open them, like, if you heard a soft rasping of hard, dense hairs against the plastic shower curtain, or the scratching of claws on bathroom tile, or the gentle splatter of drool or... god knows what... on the floor outside, well, you wouldn't open your eyes because it'd burn. Right?

Right.

Don't open your eyes. Because if you ever see its face, catch its eyes...

Well,

It'll notice.

Arcades are getting more and more rare, but if you look around long enough you'll find one and if you're lucky you'll find one of the older ones. they usually keep them in the back and you'll often see the classics: Galaga, Pac Man, Pong, Asteroids. But in almost every old arcade you'll find a strange old cabinet you've never seen before. If you search on the internet, you'll find no references to it nor will it be mentioned in any library.

If you are curious enough to play, put in a quarter. The simple graphics and addictive gameplay will remind you of a simpler time, but the game will be difficult and your character will die. You'll notice you have another life, so you play again.

And again.

and again.

you begin to feel tired after some time and decide to call it a day. You look down at your hands and see the fingertips have worn clean down to the bone. You look at your reflection in the plastic and your face looks withered, your hair looks much longer. You look at the floor and see the carpet has been torn up except for 2 squares where your feet were. Your muscles ache and suddenly the intense pain in your hands becomes aparent. You stumble towards the door only to see it, along with the windows have been boarded up. You look through the cracks and see nothing. no other buildings, no roads, no trees or water. nothing but dust.

Games are a good way to waste a little time, but that one is a bad way to waste all of it.

You're in bed, feeling chilled despite being under the covers. You hear something tap against glass. You look out your window from your pillow, but see nothing. You try to sleep, but are bothered by the sound of something scratching against glass. You look at your window, and see nothing. You're really unnerved now, and you hear the scratching noise again, this time a high pitched screech of something against glass. You hide yourself under your covers, trying to ignore it.

You wake up in the morning, feeling mostly refreshed. You almost forget about the strange noise last night. You look at your window with daylight now, and see nothing unusual.

But in the mirror in your room, the word "Hello" is scratched into the surface.

>>888375

FUUUUUUUCK

>>881042

only reason why i shat bri/x/ from that story is because im from glen rose tx. for a small hick town, there are a lot of ghost stories and one in particular about old abe lincoln and john wilkes booth, however non about a slot machine in an old bank vault... but pretty awesome to see GR make it on /x/ ^_^

>>889990
Polybius?

MOAR.

FUCK YOU.

I NEED MOAR THIS THREAD GAVE ME HOPE FOR THE FUTURE.

This thread is still going? It kept me up all last night. Thank god, I love this shit.

You're walking down your street, it's a gray, cloudy, unseasonably cold day.

As the brown leaves swirl about you, you hear, faintly yet distinctly, a baby crying. As you move toward the noise, it becomes the sound of a young girl sobbing. Closer you approach the sound, and as the wind picks up, it is clearly the sound of a young woman screaming. You race toward the corner, and as you near it, the sound becomes that of an old crone choking. Then silence as you turn the corner, revealing nothing but a puddle of water on the sidewalk. As you look into the puddle, it seems your reflection is delayed by a few seconds...as if it is watching you and then mimicking you...

You're at work alone, when you suddenly hear the copy machine start up. You walk out to take a look at what's going on and see several copies filling the tray.

Picking up one of the pieces of paper you discover that it is a copy of a picture depicting you sitting in your office chair, dead, with your eyes torn out and your throat cut. The others are the same picture, but taken from increasingly bizarre angles.

There is no original picture in the copy machine. In fact, the machine has been out of toner for a week.
The lights in your hallway begin to flicker. When the light is on, you see nothing. But each time it goes out, you can make out the silhouette of a figure. Each time the light goes off, it gets closer.
While brushing your teeth in the evening, you catch a glimpse of your wall mirror, covered in fingerprints. Annoyed, you grab a towel and rub at them. They remain. Upon closer inspection, you realize that they seem to be on the other side of the glass...


The howling outside your window: sometimes it's not the wind. Be even more wary when it grows silent. Don't open the curtains during those times; it will finally see you.

>>881083
>YOU HAVE BEEN WARN

Archive this.

You try to sleep, but the noises keep you awake. It's like something's scratching on wood. And growling. You tell yourself it's only the wind, and only the trees outside, but the sound goes on. And on. And on. Finally, you just can't take it. You stand up, turning the lights on. The sound is coming from your front door. You walk into the living room on unsteady legs, and the growling gets louder, the scraping more pronounced, more... vicious. With shaking hands, you reach for the telephone... and the noises stopped. Like they never were there. For what feels like hours, you stand there with the phone in your hand, waiting for the sounds to begin again. Thy never do. Finally, heart in your throat, unable to stop yourself, you walk to the door. You open it... on the night air. Nothing. You study the door. It should be almost clawed to pieces, you could have swore you heard the wood start to give. But it's unmarked. You shake your head. Just your imagination. Then you close the door. The claw marks are on the inside.

And after HOURS
i'm done with the thread

From Borges's invaluable Book of Imaginary Beings: "Suggested or inspired by mirrors, the surface of still water, and twins.. in Germany it is called the "Doppelganger"; in Scotland, the "Fetch", because it comes to fetch men to their death. Meeting oneself was, therefore, most ominous.." (p. 62)

The fetch is by far the most dangerous creature encountered by the author. I first was confronted by a fetch several years ago on the streets of Venice, upon seeing me he turned and disappeared into the sidestreets off Saint Mark's square. It took me nearly six hours to murder him, driving a sharp piece of stone into his ribs until he expired. Contrary to tradition there exist unlimited numbers of doubles for each person, but they all share some things in common.

First, the fetch (wherever he originates from is a mystery) wants only to murder and replace you. He will contrive to do this through artifice (have you ever heard of someone surviving a terrible car accident without a single scratch?) or through direct violence (a la my double in Italy). They are your match in strength, wits, even personality, and herein lies your difficulty. While an immensely strong creature might have some weakness unknown to itself, the fetch knows what it must guard and what it must strike. The fight itself is always brutal, and indescribably chilling- how else should one feel, bashing their mirror image to death with a heavy stone?

>>885310
>>885311

FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK
i shat a fucking quarry

A friend of mine lives in Chicago, and on a recent road trip to attend a wedding, I spent the night at his place. That evening we went out around his neighborhood and looked for a good place to eat. He picked a restaurant he'd never been to before - a new experience for both of us.

It was a dive with a walk-up counter and a few indoor seats - other patrons drifted out and ate while walking or sat at bus stops or on the curb. Everyone was eating the same thing - an unidentifiable meat in a steamy tortilla wrapped in tin foil. Something about the meat was odd, but we gave it a shot.

Halfway through his burrito, my friend bit down on something hard. He looked at the jagged, bit off end of his dinner and pulled out the offending piece of metal. It looked like a surgical hook of some sort. Going back into the restaurant, my friend and I tried bringing it to the attention of the cooks, but none of the staff could speak English. Dejected and disgusted, we threw away the rest of our burritos and headed elsewhere.

On the way out, we couldn't help but notice an ambulance parked in the alley behind the restaurant. It's back doors open, the inside dark and empty.

>>889123
BUT WHO WAS PHONE???

>>889791

wat

There it goes again. Something definitely moved this time. It was very brief, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw something. But wait. All the doors are locked, no pets, and your parents won’t get home until 10. So there’s no way something moved. It’s just your imagination getting the best of you. Sitting alone in your room, the only light emitting from the monitor of your computer, you stare into the darkness for several minutes. Just to be sure. Now you feel silly. What were you thinking? Of course there’s nothing there. What, are you 6? Go back to what you were doing.

15 minutes later, as you prepare to go to bed, you’re in the bathroom. The shower curtains shift. Wait… no. Stop spooking yourself. It’s just an overactive imagination, filling your head with what isn’t really there. You gaze into the mirror at yourself. You say it to yourself, slowly and clearly, “Imagination.” With a sigh, you turn the lights off and head towards your room.

Laying in bed, you stare at your ceiling, dark and foreboding, only the motion of a small fan disturbing the calmness of the night. A shadow from the light in the hall shifts. No. No, no, no. Stop it. It’s your imagination. Just that. Go to sleep, you fool.

But then, just when you’re about to drift off to sleep, at the phase no one remembers when they wake, you sense something in the darkness. It’s your imagination, leering down at you. With a jagged, macabre smile.

The ban on Cuban products wasn't necessarily political in nature. In 1925 US government scientists found that certain products found transported from Cuba, espcially prized Cuban cigars, bestowed upon the user various properties including incredible fortune, luck, strength, or longevity - hence confiscation of all such items when possible.

It is rumored that the special items have been traded to tourists from an unremarkable white sailboat with no known or recorded markings. On the one occasion government workers attempted to pursue the vessel and photograph it, the boat easily escaped capture and the digital camera elicited only corrupt data.

Looks like we're finally in autosage, gonna machine gun my remaining pasta.

If traveling through the tip of the thumb of Michigan on a night with a full moon, stop at McGraw County Park. The gate will be closed but you can park in front of it. Bring a set of black clothes and change in the change rooms.

When you come out, there will be an old man with olive colored skin and curly dark brown hair and a mustache selling hot dogs in a cart. If you order one, the man will thank you for your patronage and apologize for your loss saying "I'm sure the wake will be nice." One of your relatives - not necessarily someone close but still someone you know - will have been murdered that night.

Be sure to change back into your other set of clothes, because if you drive away while still dressed in the black clothes you'll be pulled over by state police and arrested for the murder of your family member and the clothes will be covered in their blood.

On August 8th, 1973, a subway station in New York City, and the publics memory of it, completely disappeared. It's former location is not known, although some urban explorers traversing through old subway tunnels have happened upon an old station that wasn't listed on any modern maps - in pristine condition. Working lights, clean restrooms, brand new maps, the day's newspapers stocked in vending machines... the works. Unfortunately, the explorers never seem to find the station again, and always forget their cameras or end up with blurry, inconclusive photos.

Subway officials deny all queries about the station.

Ever wonder why some pencils roll off the table faster or more often than others?

Some of the trees in South American rain forests are actually intelligent beings capable of speech and limited movement. Loggers typically wear headgear that blocks out loud noises like that of chainsaws and such, so they don't notice the screams of the trees as they are cut down.

Some products made from these trees are more prone to accidents than others - possibly the trees trying to get revenge from beyond the grave or trying to get back home.

It is thought that about 426 of these trees remain today.

>>890323

The end of that story made absolutely no sense, it's as if you took the end from a completely different story and pasted it on there

>>891373
It's four separate pastas, cut out the gaps between some of them while posting for some reason.

Not that it matters now! Ohs noooo, thread death!

Bumping to keep massive amounts of content available.

bump for the hell of it