gtfo my /b/

>>925854
ITT: Newfags don't know creepypasta STARTED ON /b/

>>925861
ITT: fagets getting troll'd

>>925866
>>925861
ITT: faggots

Dreams are just your mind dealing with the days events, right? Nothing paranormal about that, everyone does it.
I mean, there are places you visit often in your dreams. A certain house, a shop, a school...But these places are just figments of your imagination, right?
Have you ever wondered about these places and the people within them?
I know you're out there, "lucid dreamers", the ones who can control what happens when they dream. You are just beyond that film, that membrane that seperates us.
Lucid Dreamer, have you ever wondered what that beautiful woman in your dream felt when you suddenly decided you wanted to fuck her? Oh, she seemed willing enough, didn't she?
Have you ever considered that you raped that woman, Lucid Dreamer? That she had no choice but to do everything you willed her to do while her mind watched on in horror?
Remember, Lucid Dreamer, all those awful things you have done in your dreams...and consider what those who call dreams their home must think of you. What they wish to do to you in kind.
I'm waiting, Lucid Dreamer, for those nights when your exhaustion keeps you from your power. Oh, the things I will do to you then.
Sweet Dreams.

bump

Do you know what a Cordyceps is? I didn’t either until 20 minutes ago. It’s a family of thousands of different types of fungus, grows all around the word in various rainforests and jungles. The awful thing about them is they’re parasitic, they grow on other animals. An ant happens to run into some spores, and then it starts to colonize his insides, starting with his brain. At some point, the ant starts to act visibly ill; standing in place and shivering, or walking in circles. If a fellow colony member sees him in this condition, he will be dragged to the border of the colony and exiled.

Then, when it’s almost over, the ant weakly climbs as high as he can up the vines, and locks his body on tight. Finally, he dies, and the fungus emerges from the back of his skull, bursting forth like a long and foul fruit. After a short time, the little stalk spews forth its own spores, leaving the mummified and broken ant clinging to the stalk, his eye cavities filled with drying fungus.

I mention this because last night, when I was up on the roof of my apartment complex, I found my brother’s body.

>>925883
fail. i'm a lucid dreamer (nearly always). are you telling me i'm basically raping myself (lol mindfuck)?
cmon is my hand raping my penis while mastrubating? what is my hand/penis thinking? what does the toilet sit i shit/piss in every day?

>>925911
>what does the toilet sit i shit/piss in every day?
lolwut

Cordyceps fungus only affects insects and bugs.

>>925973
thanks professor.
>>925909
whars the rest? I thought it was longer than that.

>>925973
>insects and bugs.
lol

>>925909

Google'd, he ain't lying.

Though the cordyceps generally targets insects and arthropods becasue they're biologically triggered to do so. The bugs give off some sort of pheromone that tells the fungus to specifically target them. It's all a little confusing.

Seriously, it can't hurt you. Some azns actually eat the remains of the bugs they get.

>>925843

>>925988
This is what we colloquially refer to as "Creepypasta" or "A story". The thing is, they aren't actually real, which can be confusing sometimes. The thing to remember is not to panic, and not to confuse this with "Science Class" or "The News". You'll get the hang of it in no time, sport.

>>925909

>>925911
No, I'm saying what's in your lucid dreams is real...and it hates you.

>>926030
a reason more not to be nice to it :>

Once upon a time there was an demon naemd candlejack. Whenever y

>>926017
holy shit it all makes sense now, that fucking crab and his genital shrooms

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.

Have you ever been taking a shower while alone in the house and felt like something was moving around behind the curtain? Or 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 your eyes don't sting. Or even better, when there's soap and bubbles all over your soft, pink 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 scratching against the plastic shower curtain, or a rasping of claws on bathroom tile, or the gentle splatter of drool or cum or... god knows what... 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.

On your way home from work, you find a discarded book. Pages torn and weathering have given it a woebegone look but the writing still appears legible. You pick it up and take it home thinking that it might be worth a read if only for shits and giggles. Once at home you promptly forget about reading it. Days go by without so much as a cursory glance at it. Then, about a month later, you notice the book again but its not the same. Its still the same book. Same looks, same torn pages, same weathered stained cover, but its different. No longer is it the same unassuming book that you picked up off the street. Its changed. Suddenly you feel that feeling of unease that you get when someone is watching you. You shake your head thinking that you just need to go to bed. As the days go by the feeling of "wrongness" that surrounds the book intensifies, and it starts to show. You start eating and sleeping less. Your coworkers notice and start to whisper. Your girlfriend breaks up with you because she thinks you're on smack. Eventually you take some time off from your job citing mental health reasons. As the days stretch into weeks the job hiatus becomes permanent. You stop bothering with bathing and personal hygiene because you rarely go out anymore and when you do its just to buy food. Eventually you stop sleeping all together because whenever you do, you wake up screaming. Day after day you sit in the empty corner watching. Watching it watch you. Soon you stop eating altogether. Eventually you stop blinking.

2 months later the police will knock down your door and find your bloated corpse sitting in the corner of the room with its unceasing gaze pointed to the book on the table. One of the officers will examine your corpse while the other looks at what you were staring at. He picks up the book and turns a few pages before realizing it?s completely blank. Shaking his head, he puts the book down where he found it.

Ever wandered alone on the streets at the dead of night? Well, if you encounter a wizened figure in tattered robes and a hood, and you just can't seem to make out his face no matter which way you look at it, pay your respects. This man is infact Death himself. He only appears to sole travellers at the stroke of 3:33am, so most go their entire lives without ever seeing him "in the flesh", so to speak.

If you're brave enough to speak to him, he may take out an hourglass from his robe. The hourglass represents how much longer you have left to live. If there is plenty of sand in the upper glass, it means you still have a long time left to go before inevitability claims you. But if he takes out an hourglass that contains black flowing sand, then run as fast and as far as you can to the one you love before he finds you. And he will find you.

The black sand represents borrowed time.

one day /b/ died...
...for good

Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. Harold, the Oakdale gravedigger, upon hearing a bell, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time it wasn?t either. A voice from below begged, pleaded to be unburied. ?You Sarah O?Bannon?? Yes! the voice assured.
?You were born on September 17, 1827??
"Yes!"
?The gravestone here says you died on February 19??
"No I'm alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!"

?Sorry about this, ma?am,? Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. ?But this is August. Whatever you is down there, you ain?t alive no more, and you ain?t comin? up.?

Do you know what a Cordyceps is? I didn?t either until 20 minutes ago. It?s a family of thousands of different types of fungus, grows all around the word in various rainforests and jungles. The awful thing about them is they?re parasitic, they grow on other animals. An ant happens to run into some spores, and then it starts to colonize his insides, starting with his brain. At some point, the ant starts to act visibly ill; standing in place and shivering, or walking in circles. If a fellow colony member sees him in this condition, he will be dragged to the border of the colony and exiled.

Then, when it?s almost over, the ant weakly climbs as high as he can up the vines, and locks his body on tight. Finally, he dies, and the fungus emerges from the back of his skull, bursting forth like a long and foul fruit. After a short time, the little stalk spews forth its own spores, leaving the mummified and broken ant clinging to the stalk, his eye cavities filled with drying fungus.

I mention this because last night, when I was up on the roof of my apartment complex, I found my brother?s body.

Do you ever wonder how scary death is? Think about it, its the one thing that we truly know absolutely nothing about. Some people may cite religious beliefs of an afterlife, others might claim they just focus on life, but its really something that is totally and utterly foreign to us. And what if the religious people are wrong? What if death really is nonexistance, that its simply over once the brain dies? Terrifying, huh? Of course, a reasoning goes that you won't notice it, since you won't exist. But... Let's say a certain someone could expose you nonexistance. Let's say this person could actually let you experience the state of not existing and more importantly, let you remember it. He'd probably be able to get you to agree to anything in order to avoid that fate. Tangentially, for certain people near death, their brain activity sometimes ceases completely for about 3 seconds, and then returns, only to shortly die in a more conventional fashion. As another aside, many hospital orderlies have noticed a man wearing a suit that they have never seen in any catalog or on any person before. Interestingly enough, when you ask them about the suit, they will struggle for a moment, then reply that it?s hard to describe, but they are sure they haven?t seen it before. Ask them about the man, however, and they will freeze up, spasm violently, and reply "What man?"

Imagine the most solitary place you can imagine. The most isolated, lonely location you can possibly conjure up; a claustrophobic, dirty cell, the peephole in the door forever unused; a quiet, wind-whipped plain where no directions exist; a desert landscape, all sound muffled by the driving winds and buffeting sands, where half-seen shapes roam the horizons.
Imagine spending an eternity there. Terrifying thought, isn?t it? Mull on it for a while. An existance with no beginning and no end, alone with your mind.
Right now, it?s a scary scenario.
When you get to your afterlife, it won?t be just a scenario anymore.

Don't look behind you. It doesn't like to be seen.

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".

>>926114
My shower curtain is clear.

You are home alone, and you hear on the news about the profile of a murderer who is on the loose.
You look out the sliding glass doors to your backyard, and you notice a man standing out in the snow. He fits the profile of the murderer exactly, and he is smiling at you.
You gulp, picking up the phone to your right and dialing 911. You look back out the glass as you press the phone to your ear, and notice he is much closer to you now.
You then drop the phone in shock.
There are no footprints in the snow.
It's his reflection.

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.

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...

Don't make any sudden movements. It wasn't a figment of your imagination.

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.
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.

Dreams are just your mind dealing with the days events, right? Nothing paranormal about that, everyone does it.
I mean, there are places you visit often in your dreams. A certain house, a shop, a school...But these places are just figments of your imagination, right?
Have you ever wondered about these places and the people within them?
I know you're out there, "lucid dreamers", the ones who can control what happens when they dream. You are just beyond that film, that membrane that seperates us.
Lucid Dreamer, have you ever wondered what that beautiful woman in your dream felt when you suddenly decided you wanted to fuck her? Oh, she seemed willing enough, didn't she?
Have you ever considered that you raped that woman, Lucid Dreamer? That she had no choice but to do everything you willed her to do while her mind watched on in horror?
Remember, Lucid Dreamer, all those awful things you have done in your dreams...and consider what those who call dreams their home must think of you. What they wish to do to you in kind.
I'm waiting, Lucid Dreamer, for those nights when your exhaustion keeps you from your power. Oh, the things I will do to you then.
Sweet Dreams.

http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/creepy-pasta

Loads and loads of creepypasta there. Good stuff too.

Do things in your house ever seem out of place? Can you never find something where you left it?

How many of you have taken a moment to look around you while you've been reading this thread? I bet you're fixated on this screen, aren't you. It's best that you haven't looked up.

Look up now. Find an object outside of what would be your peripheral vision while looking at your screen. The order of clothes in your closet would be good. Memorize everything you can about that object. Now turn back to your screen.

There's very little chance that object will be in the same place when you look back. You don't want to see what's moving it.

>>926164
:3

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.

ROW ROW FIGHT THE POWAH

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 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.

Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your sleep. 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 and 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.?

>Dreams are just your mind dealing with the days events, right? Nothing paranormal about that, everyone does it.
I mean, there are places you visit often in your dreams. A certain house, a shop, a school...But these places are just figments of your imagination, right?
Have you ever wondered about these places and the people within them?
I know you're out there, "lucid dreamers", the ones who can control what happens when they dream. You are just beyond that film, that membrane that seperates us.
Lucid Dreamer, have you ever wondered what that beautiful woman in your dream felt when you suddenly decided you wanted to fuck her? Oh, she seemed willing enough, didn't she?
Have you ever considered that you raped that woman, Lucid Dreamer? That she had no choice but to do everything you willed her to do while her mind watched on in horror?
Remember, Lucid Dreamer, all those awful things you have done in your dreams...and consider what those who call dreams their home must think of you. What they wish to do to you in kind.
I'm waiting, Lucid Dreamer, for those nights when your exhaustion keeps you from your power. Oh, the things I will do to you then.
Sweet Dreams.
>I'm waiting, Lucid Dreamer, for those nights when your exhaustion keeps you from your power.
>keeps you from your power.
>power
ROW ROW FIGHT THE POWAH

:3

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

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 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.

>>926114
>gentle splatter of drool or cum or... god knows what
wat

I used to browse this board all the time. I found the device here. Its construction is already creepypasta. I had five of them done for a long time, and I finally found the sixth.
They say the eyes are the mirror into the soul. Those exact words are part of the bargain.
Every man has the power to control their own soul. It comes with having the mirrors connected right to your brain - the mirror is the key. Most men are limited to those mirrors. But, what if you were not? What if you could control the soul behind all mirrors? You could watch anyone, become anything in view of one. Appear before someone with images too horrible to be real- and then step through and make them real. No one who knows how to attain such a power can refuse it.

There are downsides. You need an invitation to step through a mirror in someone's home or car, or even through their front door. And everyone who sees you fears you. Your eyes, your own mirrors, have turned from within to without, and reflect no light. However, extending your dominion to all mirrors includes other people's eyes-they'll not notice your eyes or your dominion over their wills if your ability to control their soul is better than their ability to control their own.

I've left enough clues here for anyone who wants it to discover the key to attaining this power. If you are one such person, be warned, that if you discover the method within my message you must take it. No one who knows how to attain such a power can refuse it.

If you are strong enough, you will know who has taken the bargain by their black eyes. If you're not, they own you anyway.

>>926164
Brix were shat

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 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, that 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.

Look behind you. What do you see? Invariably, there will be a wall somewhere in your view. Now stare deeply into the space on the wall that lines up best with your eyes. Nothing will happen, but make sure you are clear on where this particular spot is. That spot contains all the negativity in your mind. Whenever you are on your computer, reading scary stories or whatever you do, sometimes you will get spooked. What do you do when this happens? You check behind you, thats what you do. As you read this now, a feeling of dread will come over you. Check the spot. Nothing again, huh? Thats because right now, all the evil is locked safely in your mind. Some people, upon learning of this "negative spot" resolve to remove the spot in an attempt to remove the negative energy. This is a grave mistake. You must never let harm come to this spot. If you do, you will have released the energy. Now when you sit at your computer at night, you will feel chills even in the summer time. The feeling of dread that only presented itself when you were genuinely scared will now hang in the air constantly. Within a week you and your loved ones will have a string of bad luck. Within a month your computer will begin to act erratic and eventually break down. On the anniversiary of the spot's destruction, you will dream of your most horrible fears. The dream will seem to go on forever, and when you wake up you will notice your vision has darkened. Every year on the same day, the dream will repeat itself, and your vision will grow darker and darker. After you go totally blind, dont ever turn your back on that spot again. That is if you can still tell where it is.

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

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.

>>926177

holy shit, just about all of this creepypasta is on this site!

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. 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.

You keep finding things on your shelves when you wake up. Normally, it's just something small and cheesy, but whoever's putting them there seems to know your sense of humor. Though there's been a few times it's been something nice - there was a wallet without any ID that time you were low on rent, and a Rolex when you forgot your dad's birthday. Today, though? There's simply a note. "Okay, your turn."

Somewhere in an underdeveloped portion of Asia, there was a lady who would wash up in a lake and swim there for hours. One day her tummy seems to be getting larger, and she realizes she's pregnant. It gets bigger and bigger, coming into what seems like the final months. 9 months pass and still, no labor. She passes out all of a sudden and is brought to a hospital in the city.

It turns out there was never any baby. Found inside her was a bunch of leeches, progressively multiplying themselves and forming an ecosystem inside of her.

>>926265
rule 34

>>926292
I second

>>925911
no he is saying your raping other peoples minds

>>925843
what does ITT mean?

>>926162
>>926145
FUCK. YOU.

>>926313
International Toasting Trojans

>>926313
In this thread

Man, I love this thread :D

>>926139
G-man

>>925843
>>925854
>>925861
>>925866
>>925877
>>926313
trolls trolling trolls trolling trolls trolling trolls

>>926156
THEN WHO WAS PHONE?

lolbump

.../x/ freaks me out
why is this the new /b/?!?!

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

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

If the voice in the hall returns after you utter those words, continue on. Upon reaching the cell, all you will see is a windowless room with a single man huddled in the corner, still talking endlessly and cradling something. The man will only respond to one question: "What happens when they all come together?"

The man will then stare intently into your eyes and answer your question in horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell; others disappear soon after the encounter, and still others end their lives. But most do the worst thing, and look upon the object in the person's hands. You, too, will be tempted. Be warned that if you do, your death will be one of cruelty and unrelenting horror.

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

That object is 1 of 538. They must never come together. Never.

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls herself "The Holder of the Beginning." A small smile will work its way over the person's mouth, almost as if to say, "You fool.”

You will then be taken down a hallway, seemingly leading out into a place it shouldn't. Physically, this place shouldn't exist anywhere in the institution, yet it does. The hall will be forever silent, even if you try to make noise. Screams will die before leaving your mouth, and footsteps will be muffled. Your guide will simply point to the door.

If you enter, you will find a cozy room full of a pleasant yet unidentifiable perfume. In the center of the room, you will see a beautiful woman holding her arms as if cradling something; further inspection will reveal that she is, in fact, holding nothing at all. This room will remain just as silent as the hallway you just left, no matter how hard you try. The only exception is for you to ask one question: "Why were they separated?" The woman will then explain, in excruciating detail, every horrific event in history, every beating, every war, and every rape. No travesty in the history of the universe will escape your ears. When she finishes, all will fall silent. It is up to you to do what you will with this information.

That woman is Object 2 of 538. It is up to you if they should be joined or not.

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Eternity." A sigh might escape the worker as they look upon you with the utmost pity. They will take you down a flight of stairs into what should be the basement of the building, yet isn't.

As you press deeper and deeper into the underbelly of the institution, you will begin to hear a chorus of screams. At first it will be barely audible, as if originating from a point a great distance away, but the closer you get to the end of the hallway, the louder it will become until it drones so loudly that it seems to consume all other noises. Soon the din will become so painful that you will feel the unrelenting urge to claw at your own ears to escape it; it is advisable to resist this impulse, or else it will be impossible to complete your quest. The worker will show you a door, covering both their ears as they do so. As swiftly as they can, they will unlock the door and run, leaving you alone in this cramped, dark hallway.

This will be your last chance to run. If you decide to continue, open the door; the piercing wail will then end abruptly, leaving your ears ringing. The room you will enter will be coated in an almost tangible, all-consuming darkness but for the far end of the room. There, manacled to the wall, is an emaciated figure, covered in raw lashes. He will stare directly at you, with a maniacal grin plastered to his face despite festering wounds and a scalpel still half-protruding from his chest. Now will be your only chance to save yourself, and the only way is to ask, "Who created them?”

He will cackle in a manner befitting the death throes of an animal before responding. His will be the most horrific tale you have ever heard, beyond such primitive concepts as pain and death. It will delve deep into the very essence of evil; those of weak mind go mad at the man's story, so remain strong, no matter how fragile your mind may feel.

When he finishes, it will be up to you to end this man's life, releasing his terrible burden. Remove the scalpel and he will shudder once in agony before falling silent... forever.

That scalpel is Object 3 of 538. It is up to you if the rest should be protected or destroyed.

In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway house you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask to visit someone who calls himself "The Holder of Nothing." Should a look of sheer, primal disgust mar the worker's expression, you will then be taken to a separate building, one that appears to be an old, wooden outhouse. Inside will be a seemingly endless corridor far, far longer than the length of the outhouse.

The corridor will be completely silent. Attempting to make any sound at the wrong time is a grievous, lamentable mistake. You will notice the lights in the corridor getting brighter and brighter as you make your way down towards the end, soon you will be blinded by their brilliance. If at any point the lights go out, QUICKLY shout out, "No! Stop! What you are doing is wrong!" while backing away. If the lights do not come back on, bolt for the door you came in through. It should still be open; hopefully you aren't far enough down the hallway for it to close on you. If it does close, an eternity in hell would be far preferable to what you will suffer.
If the lights come back on, continue walking down the corridor. At the end of the hall will lie a single cell; the worker will open the door for you while glaring at you in disgust. Inside the cell will be a mad pastiche of colors, arranged in several harlequin-like formations. You must not be distracted by them, for at the center of a room is a naked young woman, slathered in blood and bound by strips of human sinew. If you take your eyes off her even for a moment, she will completely and totally destroy you. She will only respond to one question: "What were they when they were one?"

She will then stare into your eyes and speak the answer in incredible detail. It will be unlike anything you have ever heard; you will be on the verge of both ecstasy and agony at her mere words.

It is not uncommon for a Seeker to lose themselves in the euphoria. The worst thing you can do, however, is look upon the tattoo on her chest. Your mind will tempt you to gaze upon it, but you must resist. If you do not, and foolishly set eyes upon it, you will fall victim to her horrifying powers. She will flay you alive and add your mutilated flesh to her bindings, and you will remain trapped with her, fully conscious, for the rest of time.

That tattoo is Object 4 of 538. They desire to be one again, but they mustn't.

>>928003
Mods fought /b/ off every but here. No one cares about us, I guess.

pic unrelated.

Why do I read these threads?

I must be dumb. Or crazy.

>>928099
i vote dumb

>>928103
Quoted quoted poster here:

That's what I was leaning towards too.

NotATripFag, what happens next!? It doesn't look like there's an actual point to your creepypasta.

No more Holder bullshit please, stalepasta is stale :(

>928178

Don't.

So are there 538 of these holder creepypastas?

>>928030
Just keep reporting rules violations and keep posting /x/ related stuff. Ignore the /b/tards and they will shrivel and die anyway, they are all attention whores.

Do you like what you see?

moar plz

bump for more original creepypasta

moar

Do not look directly into her eyes...

I know you. I've watched you look at photographs of maiming and murder. I've smiled while you stared raptly at the videos of sudden, bloody death. My cold hand was on your shoulder as you did these things, as you convinced yourself that there was no harm in looking. 'Lots of people look at things like this', you told yourself, 'it doesn't make me a bad person.' My long black tongue slipped unfelt across your face as you became more and more fascinated by the suffering you saw.
No, enjoying those things doesn't make you a bad person...
It just makes you a very good meal.

Thought I'd give it another shot, constructive criticism welcomed.

I can still hear it. Even as I sit here typing this I can hear it. It's still down there.

It's a horrible sound. A pathetic, whining, screeching sound.
That stupid animal's been down in the heating vents for two days now. I think it's gone, but then it makes that wretched, pitiful squeal just to remind me it's there.
I've had animals trapped down there before and they usually get out after a couple hours. What's wrong with it?

I don't wanna go get it out. It's too much work and I don't even want to look at it again. I threw some food down there just now. It's a stupid little runt of an animal, but it'll be able to find it. Maybe even eat it if it's smart enough to work that much out. When it goes for the food, that's when I'll get it. I'll reach in and snap the little fuckers neck.

Then it'll stop screeching and just let me fucking SLEEP.

God, why did I even have a baby in the first place?

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.

There's this guy who lives down my street. Mr. Draper. You know those really, REALLY cranky old men you see in TV shows...like, they pop your football before they give it back to you, or smash your frisbee and give you the remains? He's that kinda guy.

He's lived there since my grandparents were my age. They tell me there used to be a Mrs. Draper, but she contracted some illness and died. When me and my friends were younger we'd tell one another ghost stories about how he killed her and keeps her in his house somewheres. y'know, retarded kid stuff that everyone does when they're younger.

A couple of nights back there was this scream came out from his house. Someone called the police to report it, and soon after that an ambulance turned up. The cops probably called for it. They took a body out of the house, loaded it into the ambulance and headed out. It was all bagged up, but everyone assumed it was him, because nobody else lives there.

'course all kinds of rumours start flying round. Oh, it was the ghost of Mrs. Draper exacting her revenge on her murderous husband. Oh, he had a heart attack and died. Oh, it was his time and he saw death himself. Oh, he found out the queers got the vote and he couldn't handle it. Whatever.

In all honesty, I don't know what happened. Nobody does, really, 'cept the police and they can't tell us, because it's confidential.

But I saw him.
I walked past his house today, and I swear to god he was stood on his porch. Watching me. Not just glancing at me, he was staring right at me.

I work at an all-women's spa and us staff members are required to enter the building through the back door. The back door is situated in a blind alley enclosed by a few derelict sheds covered in sloppy graffiti.

One day I saw two things lying in the alley: a doll's body, clothed in a white lace dress, and her head a few inches away. Not her entire head - just the blonde curls glued to her porcelein scalp. The face had been broken off.

Something was written on her dress, but I was in a hurry to get inside. When I left that night, someone had shifted the doll's body so you could read what was printed on her dress in bold black crayon.

LAURA.

Which just happens to be my name...

But there's another Laura who works at the same place, and I've still got my face. Don't know about her, though. I've never actually seen her in the two months I've worked there...

bump for moar!!

>>926236
Bricks were shat.

>>928357
iz dat sum original creepypasta?

>>928370
win

>>928357
I'd like to step in here and say please, for the love of god, NEVER say that you're the one who made the creepypasta. It ruins the whole thing, for me, at least.

Briliant!

So... you know those blenders?... those... blendtech blenders? Well, I must make an exclamation as to how well they really do work!

There is... is?... was.... a little mexican boy that lived across the street from me... These people would play goddamn music all hours of the night, and throw crappy mexican parties and had 7 cars in their car port. Nevertheless, .. we hired the little boy to do dishes for us.
he came to our house at about the time I got home from college on thursdays.
goddamn spic.

>>928845

he's always home.. washing dishes.. dishes dishes dishes dishes. and more goddamn dishes. He doesnt speak a word of english and I wondered why my goddamn parents even hired the bugger. Day after day after day after day he did dishes, earning more money and became even more endearing to my parents. He even got so comfortable that he began coming into the house uninvited. He'd eat our food, use our bathroom, and treat us like his parents. They even went far enough to give him a key to the house!
something. had. to. be. done.

>>928868
I had concocted an idea in the inner recesses of my mind, I played the situation over and over and over in my head finding the perfect time, words, and actions to fit what needed to be done. I worked out ever single detail and every single situation that could ever happen or go wrong. at first, I was terrified of what I was going to do, but.. I eased more down and became comfortable with the issue.
It took me so long, so very long to do this process, but I realized it had to be done.. perfect.

He came in, like he always did, like any normal day. He stepped up to do his regular work. I turned the corner and waved to him, smiling. everything had lead up to this point. Slowly, I grab a metal pot, and almost give it to him...

>>928893
..then I bash him over his head.
he squirmed, and almost screamed if it werent for me stuffing the dish rag into his filthy mouth.
I then bashed him repeatedly, over and over again. I saw some blood drip down from his swollen head. This will not do.
I then dragged him into the bathroom and plugged the drain to the tub. I filled up the water to a decent level then put his unconscious head under for about 5 minutes. After that, I knew he was dead. I then dragged him back into the kitchen and opened up the sink cabinet. behind there was a wooden board which I promptly removed to expose a large gap that ran down underneath the house into a space in the foundation.
I stuck his head in there and drained the blood out. I couldnt leave ANY trace of blood to be found anywhere.
his head.. hrrm... his head... it would be so much easier to drop that into the space other than blend it.

>>928909
..so I decided to do that instead. I grab a steak knife and begin sawing through his neck, snapping the tendons and cartilidge between the bones like raw chicken.
I didnt want the head to smell, so I cut out the eyes, nose, and mandible (with the tounge) and stabbed out most of the brain through the back, but it was tough work for a steak knife. I then filled it with salt, hoping it would prevent it from smelling and decaying.
I then dropped it into the hole in the wall, letting it fall a few feet until it hit the metal piping that lead underneath the house.
I then spread out newspaper on the kitchen table and put the body up there...
I chose a cleaver from the rack and first cut off the hand at the wrist. I heard a snap like pork. I didnt apply much force so I had to move the cleaver side to side to snap the bone away.
I grabbed my trusty blender and blended away.

I did this with much of the body parts. The innards were removed and blended individually (though together based on size) and the ribcage was quartered. Much like beef.

after each blend, I took it out into the backyard and poured it down the gopher hole. then I turned the hose on full blast to rush it into the underground system.

I was almost done when the hole started to fill up...

>>928921
THAT IT????


FUCKING NIGGERTITS ON A DILDO THAT SUCKED IF ITS OVER

>>928921

OC in MY /x/?

It's more likely than you think.

>>928971

not over.

put penor in pooper. is this paranormal?

>>928981

being a faggot? no

putting your OWN penor in your OWN pooper?

slightly.

>>928989
dude srsly? that comeback was full of fail.

>928921

I didnt know what to do, so I looked around my yard for somewhere else that I could put the slush into.
There was an old tree in the backyard that had been cut down and it had begun to rot. There was a hole about 5cm wide at the top.
In a panic and a rush, I quickly pour it down that way. Well, my chickens were very interested in what I was doing so I got a chunk of meat out of the container and tossed it at them. they ate it and loved it. so, I gave each of them a piece, making sure there was no reasonably sized bone in it (the bone HAD to be very fine in order for it to fully disintegrate and decay)
I finished off all the hard areas of the body and disposed of them in the tree. I did not know how far down it went. the water never overflowed when I washed it all down.
I also blended the newspaper and anything else that might have been "evidence" ... then .. I dropped off the blender at the goodwill store 2 hours away from my house.
it was done.
days went by, cops came, cops went... funny thing was the boys parents didnt ever ask the boy whenever he went anywhere.. he was just allowed to roam freely wherever he went.

well, it's been 2 years and the most peculiar thing happened. The rotting tree (I think it was a texas umbrella tree) came back. a while after I saw that, I noticed a strange smell in the kitchen. The roots had gone up underneath the foundation and up that hole where I put the skull. I busted the board I nailed up over the hole in the wall only to come face to face with the skull of the boy I had murdered. the roots must have pushed it up the hole.

>>928981
Yes, but not creepypasta.

>>929003
Nice

>>928998
wasn't a comeback. just pointing out that being gay isn't paranormal.

lrn2readingcomprehension

>>929003
I tried to push it back, but it wouldnt go. I cut the roots off and tried to pull the skull out. didnt work. there was something in the way. so I ended up getting a crowbar and busting the skull open. I picked up the shards and held them in my hand.
it was evidence against me! I took them into the bathroom and flushed them down the toilet.

a week later there was a strong smell of milldew in the bathroom. the trees roots had broken the pipes to the toilet and shit-filled water was seeping everywhere under the house. We called a plumber, but that was a no-go. there was nothing we could do. no way to fix it. so we removed the toilet and poured cement in the pipes. ... but.. it only got worse. soon every pipe in the house was broken and beams were snapped by this tree. we kept chopping it down and down, but it kept coming. being fueled by an unseen force.

a short while later, the house was pronounced "condemmned" I had moved out since then, but my parents were unwilling to give up.

2 days later the majour support beams to the house had been snapped by the tree roots and the whole structure had collapsed, killing my parents.

...but.. he never got me.. I'm sure he realizes this.. and he killed the only people he cared about. I just hope he doesnt come ... after me.. ever. ..or anyone else for that matter.

ITT: many great creep pastas
>>929017
meanwhile, an uptight /x/er rages and QQ's because he is being trolled by a /b/er

>>929017
dude, you were responding to the troll asking about penor in pooper paranormalness, clearly one of the /b/tards invading.

that counts as a comeback. wheres my efg pic when i need it?

bump for great justice

bump for great pasta.

bamp

>>926145

These headphones. They vibrate.

>>926164
i lol'd

I know you. I've watched you look at photographs of maiming and murder. I've smiled while you stared raptly at the videos of sudden, bloody death. My cold hand was on your shoulder as you did these things, as you convinced yourself that there was no harm in looking. 'Lots of people look at things like this', you told yourself, 'it doesn't make me a bad person.'
My long black tongue slipped unfelt across your face as you became more and more fascinated by the suffering you saw.
No, enjoying those things doesn't make you a bad person...
It just makes you a very good meal.

Dreams are just your mind dealing with the days events, right? Nothing paranormal about that, everyone does it.
I mean, there are places you visit often in your dreams. A certain house, a shop, a school...But these places are just figments of your imagination, right?
Have you ever wondered about these places and the people within them?
I know you're out there, "lucid dreamers", the ones who can control what happens when they dream. You are just beyond that film, that membrane that seperates us.
Lucid Dreamer, have you ever wondered what that beautiful woman in your dream felt when you suddenly decided you wanted to fuck her? Oh, she seemed willing enough, didn't she?
Have you ever considered that you raped that woman, Lucid Dreamer? That she had no choice but to do everything you willed her to do while her mind watched on in horror?
Remember, Lucid Dreamer, all those awful things you have done in your dreams...and consider what those who call dreams their home must think of you. What they wish to do to you in kind.
I'm waiting, Lucid Dreamer, for those nights when your exhaustion keeps you from your power. Oh, the things I will do to you then.
Sweet Dreams.

bump for moar creepypasta

There are people who can see into the future, and they see something strange now. After a certain point, there is a part of time about 9 months long where nothing can be seen. When looking into this period of time, they all see the same vision over and over again.

A tall, pail, beautiful girl curled up in a corner of a white room. long raven hair flows down her back, and she is unclad save for a simple white dress. she looks to be about 15 years old. She is crying and hiding her face, wracked with some horrible sorrow. all who look into this point in time feel a strange desire to help this women.

One thing is becoming very clear, when we enter this period of 9 months, we HAVE to find her, whoever she is. Because every time one who sees into the future tries to look beyond those 9 months, they kill themselves in the fastest way possible, speed being the only determining factor for there actions.

All they ever say is "it killed her"

It's easy to guess who "her" is.

we have no idea who it is, but mentioning it seems to make them try and kill themselves faster.