[QUOTE=wug;23112566][B]Toy story secrets.
Look it up on youtube.[/B]
'nuff said.
Scary as fuck unless you know what's gonna happen.
Don't blame me for anything, you looked it up.
Fucking hell i couldn't sleep for a WEEK after watching that.
That's why i dont look at youtube links.
EDITED:
oh god i dont want to look on this thread anymore incase anybody posts the picture of the 'suprise' at the end
:tinfoil::tinfoil:[/QUOTE]
Someone do that :v:
[QUOTE=BurningPride;23114805]Someone do that :v:[/QUOTE]
I did, it was a generic screamer.
Frightening someone isn't the same as scaring them to shit. Huge difference
[editline]06:03PM[/editline]
Like, ohhey I jumped a bit when that image popped up.
... Now what?
anyone know that japanese manga where the girl was sticking stuff in her and it looked like she was melting or made out of clay or some shit
I believe that is "Holes"
[QUOTE=howling techie;23112612]hardcore:[url=http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/HighOctaneNightmareFuel]Grade A High Octane Nightmare Fuel.[/url][/QUOTE]
Why are Harry Potter and Yu-Gi-Oh on that list?
[QUOTE=Upgrade123;23115671]Why are Harry Potter and Yu-Gi-Oh on that list?[/QUOTE]If I remember correctly, early on, Yugi forced Kaiba into the world of monsters, forcing him to be killed by the monsters on his cards until he could learn to respect them, or something like that. He also forced him into his own subconscious to become a child, to piece his heart back together again, putting him in a coma for years until he finished. A few other things happened as well that I can't remember. Not sure about Harry Potter. I was more of a Yu-Gi-Oh nut a few years back and never paid attention to Harry Potter
I was neither....I was busy wetting myself over "alien abductions" those damn stories scare the crap outta me.
[QUOTE=BurningPride;23114805]Someone do that :v:[/QUOTE]
no
[quote]having spent my life in a buzzing metropolis, driving through the midwest states was a hypnotic and sobering experience. Anyone who has seen the breadbasket of america will know what i’m talking about. Fields. Billions of acres of crops covering the land in waves of undulating leaves; the tamed wilderness organized into rows, blocks, and circles, continuing on for hours and hours and days and days. That’s one of the strangest things about driving through the midwest. The endless ocean of cornfields, birthed by man’s labors seem to go on without end, but with no signs of those who created it. A car here, a small house there, a windmill, a rotting barn; it’s as if some great civilization built it eons ago and then died out, leaving the living remains of their creations for you to drive past and wonder at. That’s how i found myself on the evening of the last day in july, driving my red sedan along a veritable tunnel of a road cut across the cornfields. No broad highway for me; rather, i had chosen a graveled detour which i had been promised led back to the interstate. The last few exhausting days had seen me driving non-stop across the country, but today, as the sun peaked in the sky and began its free fall back into the earth, the end of my trip drew near. Rest, relaxation, and who the fuck knows maybe even fun lay at my feet; the only thing separating me from my goal was a mile more of gravel road and a few insignificant minutes on the freeway.
Unfortunately, my car was having a little trouble navigating the tiny country road. The assholes at the gas station had promised a worn but perfectly passable route, but a few miles in it became increasingly evident that neither description fit this sorry excuse for a road. Still, the anxiety didn’t really sink in until the gravel path degenerated into a dusty path and then into mere ruts on the ground. As the weeds growing between the tire tracks began to hit the underside of my car, i briefly grappled with the idea of turning around and taking the more traditional, albeit longer, paved route. But soon, that bitch, stubbornness, got her way and i plowed on forwards against the rising weeds and deepening dark…
as the sun kissed its lower lip to the crust of the earth i stopped the car. My journey had come to an abrupt halt. The road, barely discernible among the vegetation and barely wide enough for the car, had ended. Stopped. Right in the middle of a field of corn. Apparently, this was the literal road to nowhere. I cursed the hicks back at the ‘pump and save’ who had given me these shit directions and considered my options. Option, actually. The only action now was to return down the path i had so painfully traveled and then take the long paved road all the way around. Holding my breath, i tried to stifle a headache and several curse words running through my brain. And that’s when i heard that sweet sound. “prbprbprbprubbbbb” the unmistakable mating cry of a harley tearing down a highway at full speed. Evidently the interstate was straight ahead and only a few hundred yards away. I felt some guilt for what i was planning, but stubborness’ sisters, adventure and lethargy, convinced me that mowing down several hundred feet of some farmer’s corn harvest was worth not spending hours more on the road…
i wasn’t sure if a sedan could hold up to such punishment, but my car handled it like a pro, crushing and pulverizing the green stalks as they bent away and under the bumper. A couple minutes and bam! I was through, back out into the dim evening light. I laughed and flipped the wipers to clean all the green shrapnel covering my windshield. I stopped mid-laugh. This was a road, but definitely not the highway. A two lane, paved, black road ran in a perfectly straight line off into the distances, disappearing into the evening light. I cursed the assholes at the gas station again and prepared to bash my way back to the dirt path. But turning around, the beautiful hole i punched through the field was gone…
a wall of corn, not row to row, but stalk to stalk stood in front of me, and i realized with a sinking heart that there was no way i could find the dirt path again in that solid block of green. Once again i weighed my options. Just two options now: Left or right. I headed what i figured was due south and hoped this road linked up to the highway i so desperately strove. Miles and miles i traveled. No change in scenery. Miles and miles of cornfields, pressing in on the car, enveloping me in the gloom of early night. No other cars. No other sounds. No radio reception. I stopped a few times, at first listening for the signs of a busy highway, and later just listening for anything at all; anything beyond my own breathing. Nothing. Nothing but the crickets, gently chirping to each other across the ocean of waving stalks. More driving. The crickets faded away and only the occasional shrill whine of a cicada cried out into the night. . More driving. Low on gas. More driving. The moon peers over the tufts of corn and lifts itself into the sky, transforming the land into monochrome; draining away color. More driving. Very fucking low on gas. More driving. Nothing but corn corn corn fucking everywhere. More driving. . A barn?…
a barn. Aglow from the light of the moon it appears like a ship in the sea, a dark but welcome shape rising above the monotonous and oppressive landscape. With a mixture of relief and apprehension i continue down the road. One turn, a short driveway, and i’m there; parking at the bottom of the sloping hill that leads up to its moonlight roof. It’s built in an old wooden style, high gabled with heavy oak doors. It looks old. Like, not just normal “oh look, it’s an old barn kids” old, but reaaalllyy old, like it hasn’t been looked upon, much less opened, in hundreds of years. Still, its presence offers hope and companionship, shelter and safety. Getting out of the car i walk up the path to the front doors. Interestingly, the grass all around the barn, a meadow extending about fifty yards, is clearly meticulously cut and groomed. Also, the path up to the barn has been worn smooth, like some large machine has routinely pounded up and down, polishing and flattening the path. Striding up to the door i knock. And knock again. I give it several minutes, but apparently no one is living inside. I open the doors and walk in. I was right…
the stench hit me first. Powerful, like a left hook right on the nose. Seedy and cloying and sour, it was like being dunked head first into a porta-potty. I retch, struggling to force fresh air down into my lungs. But as my eyes adjust, and the stench escapes into the cool night breeze, the horror begins. . The barn is full of corpses. Dead bodies lie on tables, hang from walls, and sit piled in great heaps into the corners. Green with rot, their open mouths are grinning; their decayed eyes staring emptily about the barn. The world starts to spin around, my knees buckle and my breath escapes once again. Hundreds of bodies. Some are still fresh; crumpled spread-eagled in the corners of the barn, huge red-ringed gashes covering their bodies, wounds that look like splashes of lipstick applied to their pale, naked forms. Older, rotten corpses, lain out flat onto slabs of stone and wooden tables and hung from the walls; cut open and divided in a grotesquely methodical pattern: Their heart placed carefully near the head, tongue cut out, various organs lying discarded and piled onto the floor below, and their intestines bunched up and knotted like a nightmarish bouquet of flowers. Further into the barn lay the bits and pieces, brown dried hunks of what used to be heads, arms and torsos. And crates. Giant wooden boxes piled neatly along the back wall of the barn, almost innocuous but horrible; dark stains seeping from under the lid and running down. . But nothing compares to what hangs from the ceiling…
a fraying rope stretches down from the rafters. Hanging from the rope, gently swinging in the night air over the bloody tables is bound a horrible absurdity of something that was once alive. It resembles a victim of some terrible holocaust, its skin shriveled tight against its chest and belly, the arms unnaturally long and thin, hog-tied behind its back. Its hands and feet are enormous, ending in gnarled fingers a foot long, a jagged yellow nail at the tip of each one. Its head. A burlap sack has been tied around its neck, completely covering the corpses’ features. A gash runs the length of its neck, the dried remains of some purple ichor running down from the wound and staining the bag over its head. . Swinging there… dead in the moonlight…
i rise above the waves of fear and stumble out of the barn, slamming the door shut behind me. Outside the moon still rises, the wind still blows, and the crickets chirp, the horrors inside the barn having no effect on the simple sanctity of nature. Leave. Run. Drive. The only thoughts that permeate my numbed mind. I turn away from the wooden monstrosity before me and run to my car. But the car isn’t there… there is nothing around but cornfields. As i run around the barn, the rows of waving stalks dance before my eyes. Trapped. Trapped in an ocean on a ship of the dead. No. I cannot stay here. I break for the fields of corn, the terrors behind chasing me heedlessly into the unknown ahead. As i hit the edge of the cornstalks my courage fails me. I cannot go ahead and i cannot go back. I stand there, shrouded by the complete silence…
a light breeze tousles my hair as i stand motionless and forlorn. Gently, the field of corn sways in place as the wind picks up. Then the wind really begins to pick up. The corn stalks begin to march back and forth in what is quickly becoming a maelstrom. The wind whips my face and tears across my arms. It reaches down my throat, pulling my scream out and mixing it with the surrounding chaos. Rain! It’s suddenly raining, a torrent, a solid sheet of water falling from the heavens, knocking me off my feet, churning the solid ground into liquid. Lightning! Thunder! Arcs of electricity fly before my face, striking and torching the ground at my feet. I run back to the only shelter there is, all my fear forgotten in the struggle to survive this onslaught from above…
i have barricaded myself in the barn. I’m shrouded in perfect darkness except for the pulses of lightning that glint off the outlines of the dead. This is past fear. I’m petrified, crouching against the bolted oak doors, the rain hammering a machine gun fire behind me, trying to bash its way in. Behind me lies certain death, in front of me lay the dead. The pulsing lightning seems to animate them. They dance and shiver and grin and laugh. They have nothing to fear. They laugh at me and my fear, they laugh at my blood, they laugh at my heartbeat. To this cacophony of laughter i sit frozen, watching over those that cannot move, move.
Lightning bolts across the sky. Flash. Dark. . Flash. The wind has been blowing the corpse tied to the ceiling; it’s rocking back and forth in long arcs above my head. Dark. . Flash. It’s hands are swinging back and forth beneath it. Dark. I thought the hands were tied behind the back. . Flash. The rope is swinging back and forth. The monstrosity is gone. Dark. . Flash…
suddenly i see it crouching on the floor, its bagged head hung low beneath its shoulders. The cadaver’s limbs flail about, sliding it across the bloody wooden planks. Towards me. In the flashes of light i see its sickening twitching movement as it sways back in forth, its head bobbing around with no control. I hear it.
Bubbling, murmuring, babbling. It sounds like a drowning man trying to talk. It howls and gurgles and sputters and screams. Unintelligible. No pattern, no sense. It twitches, screaming, across the floor as i lie frozen against the wall, watching its movement in the throbbing light. . Flash. Dark.
Dark. I hear its blithering in my ear… dark. I feel its ragged breathing… dark. Burlap brushes my face… . Flash. I run…
out the door and across the churning mud. The rain throws me down into the muck again and again. A guttural snarl and it’s after me; on all fours it leaps and twitches and gurgles and screams as it chases me. Into the corn. Knocking aside the stalks i stagger into the pitch blackness. I run and run. Unseen things tear at me – is it the leaves or has the beast caught up? I run and run. I run and trip. I tripped on a root - or did it grab me by the ankles? I run and run and run oblivious to the darkness, to my fear, to my aching lungs. And then it catches me.
Long nails - no, talons - gangrenous and yellow, tear into my shoulder and hold me back. I stumble and fall. I’m going to die; i can feel its breath on my face again. I can taste the death on its hidden lips…
i will not die! . With a yell i rise up and grab its sallow arm, tearing its claws out of my back with a sharp flash of pain and blood. The monstrosity gibbers and yelps. And i run. And i run. And i run. And i trip again.
Falling, falling down into darkness, skidding across mud and stones, almost drowning in the muck i tumble down and down. Then it all comes to a stop…
i look up from the bottom of a ditch and realize i’m out of the cornfield. I’m at the road. The rain has gone away. The wind has died. Best of all, my car is parked by the edge of the road. I waste no time in jumping in, locking the door, and starting the engine. Miraculously, i have half a tank of gas. With a yell i stomp the gas pedal, hoping to charge forward forever and ever out of the blackness and into the light of day. . But the mud churns beneath me. My tires spin helplessly then sink into the muck. Ahead of me, the cornstalks part, and the dead thing crawls out into the beam of my headlights. With growls and burbles it slowly slips through the mire in front of me, taking its time, savoring the web of dread it has trapped me in…
last chance… i stomp the gas again and fly forward. The creature leaps. My windshield cracks. With a “thunk” and a splash of purple blood, it collides against the car then goes flying across the road. “fuck you!” i cry as i stomp the gas and steer towards its crumpled form. Ten feet – five feet – three feet. It gets up. I miss. But as i go swerving by it doesn’t give chase. I can see it in the rearview mirror, struggling to stand up. I shift to reverse and rev the engine. . Then a shape appears above the cornstalks. Blotting out the moon; a shadow climbs out of the field and walks down to the road. The light of night shines off shoulders that stretch meters across; forty feet above the ground the outline of a head eclipses the stars. It bends down to the monstrosity sitting in a pool of vile blood. The shadow picks it up, caresses it. Then it turns towards me. A low moan fills the air, rattling the car and sending the cornstalks into another mad dance. With its free hand, the monstrous shadow reaches down to its waist then lifts something high into the air. Something big and sharp that reflects the light of the moon across the darkened fields…
i slam back into gear and fly forward. The moan continues, the steering wheel coming loose in my hands. The cornfield is in a mad frenzy, stalks bend and sway with so much force they uproot and toss into the air, covering the road in shadows and leaves. “thud thud thud thud thud” ground shaking footsteps coming for me, coming closer. A shriek of metal and something cleaves the roof of my car in two; light spilling into the car like air into a wound. The sounds of twisting metal deafen me as the wheels began to lift off the ground…
and then it’s over. I drop back to the road and accelerate, the shadow’s footsteps fading away into its hellish moan. I tear down the road without abandon, the dark shape and its unearthly call fading behind me… i get it now.
The horrible, blubbering shape was merely a pet, a dog, a guardian of whatever nightmarish creature lives and works in the barn. It is the true master of that slaughterhouse. Although it’s far behind now - that dark shadow - it looks enormous. It turns, a flash of silver bursting from its hand, as it disappears back into the swaying cornfields…
pedal to the metal. 130 mph. The engine roaring, the tires squealing. I fly down the road, impervious to my surroundings, to the blood flowing down my back. Minutes pass like lifetimes. Trees and shadows loom like a thousand unnamable horrors down upon my head. Then, a light. More lights. A town. Not just a town, the town, the fucking place i was trying to reach so long ago, earlier today in an earlier life. I stumble into a diner, the screaming of the waitress lulling me into dark unconsciousness…
sleepwalking, the doctors say. Here take these pills, they say. A hundred doctors, maybe more, and they all agree that i’m a headcase. The cuts on my face and arms? Scratches from the sharp corn leaves. My shattered windshield? I drove into a ditch. They throw a rainbow of pills in my face to cut down on my dreams, to avoid panic attacks, to bury my sorrows in a field of manufactured happiness. I guess doctors know best? . . Still, there are some things they’ve never been able to explain. I had some tests done on the purple liquid spattering my car. Inconclusive, all of them; apparently it’s blood, but contains things that are not blood(?). There isn’t much to say about the straight, clean cut that runs the length of my roof either, nobody has been able to tell me what will cleave steel like butter. Then there are the four jagged wounds across my back that ooze, puss, and bleed, but refuse to heal…
i stay in the city now. The chalky smell of concrete, the sharp smell of steel, even the bitter aroma of living humans keeps me sane. My apartment has no plants in it. I eat meat and bread. The sight of a cob of corn, or even a kernel, makes me throw up, sometimes faint. For the most part, i can interact normally (except for the vomiting thing) and pretend like the last day in july never happened. . I feel perfectly safe in the daytime…
but each night when i sleep, i’m forced back… back to the moonlit fields, where the cornstalks bend and sway with the howling wind… back to the hall of corpses, where the hooded monstrosity shrieks and gibbers and twitches… back to the haunting ground of the unseen butcher, whose long knives flash into the darkness.
[/quote]
[editline]06:54pm[/editline]
[quote]hello. I can see that my grin confuses you. Well, let me tell you the story about why i’m so happy. My name’s jack. . At least, i call myself jack. I can’t remember what my parents named me. I grew up in some large, grimy city. As a child i lived with my parents in a squalid apartment full of mold and cockroaches. I spent most of my time outside in the alley playing with boxes and stray cats. I recall very little about where i lived except for the gap behind my bed - that’s where i hid when mommy and daddy were screaming and hitting each other. I don’t remember it as a pleasant life, but it was okay. . Then one day mommy walked into the kitchen and pulled out a shotgun, shooting daddy in the face. Then, staring at me, she put the barrel under her chin and pulled the trigger…
i ran from the room with blood-stained clothes, fleeing out onto the dirty city streets and running until my legs collapsed beneath me. I crawled into a dark alley and curled up behind a dumpster. The next few days were very horrible; i sat in the box, slowly starving to death as thousands of beautiful people strolled by. It was very painful. . Finally, the colors began to blur and the pain started to fade as i slipped below the surface of a dark ocean, the light slowly fading into the greenish water. But before i disappeared into its soothing depths, someone grabbed me and pulled me back to the streets of the city. I saw a wrinkled old face, bright blue eyes, and my mind floated into oblivion…
madame morkavi was her name. I think. She carried me gently back to her trailer and nursed life back into me. For ten years she fed me and taught me how to live on the streets; how to steal, how to pickpocket, how to intimidate, even how to kill. I became very good at it. She ran a fortune telling business during the daytime, and i would hide behind my bed as exotic strangers sat around a smoky table watching morkavi point her wrinkled fingers at her wrinkled cards. But at night, she would come into my room and lure me out for a night of adventure in the city…
i lived for the night. Holding a bag and a flashlight, i would sneak behind her as we broke into houses and buildings. We would creep back out with our sacks bulging with money and plunder. Sometimes the places we went made me very nervous, but madame morkavi told me we would never get caught; she said her gypsy magic opened doors and told her where people hid their valuables. . Once, she was wrong. One night, in a car garage, a very big man crept up behind us and grabbed madame morkavi and began punching her. I found a tire iron and bashed his head in until grey bits flew through the air. That was the first time i ever killed someone. Madame morkavi said we’d been caught because the man was an evil satanist who blocked her enchantments…
then, in the middle of winter, madame morkavi caught an illness and slowly faded from life. I was the only one by her bed when she died. With rattling breaths, she told me to come closer. In a whisper she told me to make a wish, to wish anything i wanted and that it would come true. I thought for a moment, and finally answered that i wished to have everything that i ever needed. She placed her hand on my forehead, and with her last breath mumbled a cryptic spell. Her eyes closed…
again i was homeless, wandering the streets. But this time, i knew how to survive. For ten more years i begged and stole to endure. Sometimes i killed. A strange force seemed to protect me; every time i was starving a truck carrying food would crash, every time i was freezing a building would burn, every time i was attacked my knife would find an artery. Madame morkavi had truly blessed me with a gift. I was content in the knowledge that i would always survive. But not happy. Something still seemed missing, a hole in my heart that was full of sorrow…
my epiphany occurred one summer evening as i was walking through an unexplored neighborhood. As i rounded the corner i saw a red house unlike all of the others. It wasn’t really the house itself that astonished me, but what was inside. Behind a large window, in the warm light of their living room, a handsome man and a gorgeous woman were laughing and kissing. They were so full of joy. The face of the woman brought back memories of my mother from a long time ago, when she used to smile and hold me. I suddenly realized what had been missing from my entire life. A family. I wanted a family. No, i needed a family…
madame morkavi’s dying words came back to me and with confidence i approached the door of the couple, deciding they would become my new parents. I knocked on the door then stood smiling, sure that they would open it with welcoming arms, ushering me into the lovely house as their son. But when the beautiful woman opened the door, she gasped and disappeared. The tall man came out of the house and began to yell at me. He drew a gun from his pocket and pointed it in my face. I ran away and they slammed the door behind me…
i cried, confused and alone. Why had morkavi’s charm failed? Why had i been refused the last thing i needed to be happy? I sobbed in a ditch as the sun disappeared behind the red house. . But as the moon rose behind me i remembered another night, long ago, when madame morkavi’s magic had before been rendered useless. They were devil worshippers! Yes! Yes, that explained why they had not hugged me, welcoming me into their house. Madame markovi’s magic would never work on them. It was sad that the first people i had loved turned out to be evil, but i knew what i had to do…
i crouched in the ditch watching the house until late into the night. I saw them walk up the stairs. The woman flossed her teeth in the bathroom. They kissed again. Then they went to the bedroom. From my hiding place, i saw the last light in the house blink off. I waited a few hours, and then crept forward in the night. I circled the house, rattling the doors and trying to lift the windows. I thought i was locked out, but in the shifting moonlight i saw a tiny basement window stuck open. Blessing madame morkavi, i crawled through the window into the dingy cellar. I made my way upstairs into the elegant house, stopping briefly in the kitchen. They had pictures hung along the hallway of the two of them together. I bitterly imagined how much happier they would be if i was in those pictures with them. But it was too late now…
they were sleeping, wrapped together in the bed sheets, as i opened the door. I crept past the silver light that flowed through the window and spilled across their heads. The man began to stir. Quickly, i jumped on him and plunged a steak knife into his eye with such force i cleaved through his skull. The woman woke and let out a shrill scream. I grabbed a pillow and held it against her face as she struggled to escape. Finally, she relaxed. The satanists were dead; madame morkavi’s spell was safe…
i had fun that night. I wandered the house, watching the tv, eating out of the fridge, even cleaning the steak knife and putting it back in the kitchen like a normal person. Late into the night i put on their clothes and pretended i was a businessman, rushing through the house late for a meeting, or a housewife, busily tidying the tables and dusting the windows. Finally, i grew tired and walked back up to bed. Settling in between the bodies, i pulled the bloodied covers across my chest. Wrapping my arm around the woman, i drifted off to sleep. . The next morning i couldn’t stop smiling. Putting on my old clothes i regretfully left the house, walking - no skipping - back down the street. I had filled the void in my heart. I was happy. From then on i lived happily in the alleyways, marveling at the wonder of the sun and the earth, staring at the bright colors of the people who strode by my home. Except on the nights i get lonely…
then, i wander down a random neighborhood, sneaking up to windows and gazing at the people living inside. I move from house to house until i find a family i like. Straightening my shirt, i knock on the door, smiling. Most people slam the door in my face. In that case, i wait until they’re all asleep and i… . Well, you know what i do…
so, if you ever hear a knock on your door late at night, you should answer it. I’m a really neat guy. I bet we could have some fun together. . Or maybe you’ll catch a glimpse of me in the darkness, staring at you through your window. Grinning. I promise i’ll wave hello. . Can you see me? . I can see you.
[/quote]
[QUOTE=1337_n00b;23112730]Interesting, scientific fact - so far, the scariest things through the first 5 pages are smile.jpg, Pokemon story and Candle Cove. Candle Cove is just plain creepy, others are scary.
God-fucking-dammit it's 3 AM.[/QUOTE]
I didn't find Candle Cove to be very creepy.
[QUOTE=DJFender;23116578][quote]Some shit about a stalker named Jack who appears at your window and shit[/quote][/QUOTE]
He sounds like a nice guy. I'm gonna go out and give him a hug when he appears tonight. :3:
I want more creepy game stories. For some reason I really like them.
[QUOTE=PredatorKing;23117708]I didn't find Candle Cove to be very creepy.[/QUOTE]
I didn't either, I just found it kind of unsettling. Pretty much like every other story on there.
Done reading the thread. I liked the Zelda ones.
[quote]I was adopted. I never knew my real mother; rather, I knew her at one time but I left her side when I was too little to be able to remember. I loved my adopted family though. They were so kind to me. I ate well, I lived in a warm and comfortable house, and I got to stay up pretty late.
Let me tell you about my family real fast: First, there’s my mother. I never called her Mom or anything like that; I just called her by her first name. Janice. She didn’t mind at all though. I called her that for so long, I don’t think she even noticed. Anyhow, she was a very kind woman. I think that she is the one who recommended my adoption in the first place. Sometimes I would lay my head against her in front of the television and she would tickle my back with her nails. She is one of those Hollywood mothers.
Second, there’s Dad. His real name was Richard, but he never really liked me much so I began to refer to him as Dad in a desperate attempt to gain his affection. It didn’t work. I think that no matter what I called him, he would never love me as much as his own child. That’s understandable so I really didn’t press the matter. The most notable attribute of Dad was his unmoving sternness. He was not afraid to pop his children when they did something wrong. I found that out before I could use the restroom properly. He didn’t hesitate to spank me. Well, I’m in line and it’s because of his methods.
Lastly, is my sister. Little Emily was really young when I was adopted, so we were about the same age, but she was slightly older. I liked to think of her as my little sister, though. We got along better than any sibling could possibly get along. We would always stay up late together and just talk. Well, she did a lot of the talking; I mostly just listened because I loved her. It was a great setup that we had! We were short on bedrooms, so- because I didn’t want to sleep in the living room by myself when I was littler- I had a pallet set up for me next to her bed on the floor. This is where I have slept since. But it was cool with me because I enjoyed being with her and I had always felt pretty protective of my little sis.
Everything changed on a horrible Wednesday night. I was at home taking a nap when little Emily opened the front door. The sound of the door opening pulled me to a state of consciousness and I walked from the room down the hall to the living room. That’s when I first remembered it was Wednesday. I was never any good at keeping track of what day it was. Actually I’ll just go ahead and say it: My sense of time was HORRIBLE! But nevertheless, I knew it was Wednesday because Emily had just come home from her Church’s youth group gathering. She walked in the front door and hugged me, and then was followed in by Dad and Janice.
“You have a good nap?” Janice said teasingly as she ruffled up my hair. I just shook my head away and snorted in a manner that clearly expressed that I was teasing back with her.
“Don’t you snort at your mother like that!” said my father gruffly with authority. He shut the door behind him and hung up his coat.
“I was clearly joking…” I growled under my breath. He must not have heard me because I didn’t feel him smack me. Emily then proceeded to our room and I followed. She started telling me about her day. You know… usual teenage girl stuff. But I listened so that she would feel better. After her summary she suggested watching TV and I obliged and jumped onto the couch as she was going for the remote. She rolled her eyes at my little-brother-like immaturity and scooted me over and sat down. The TV turned on and we watched it together until the sun went down. Emily was the kind of girl that- instead of watching cartoons and soap operas- would rather watch Discovery and Animal Planet and Natural Geographic. I like those too so I didn’t mind. Actually, those were the only channels that can hold my attention.
So it got late and Janice walked up behind the sofa. “Emily it’s past your bed time. Turn off the television and go to your room. You too.” she pointed at me. Emily turned off the program we were watching grudgingly and stood up. She started down the hallway to our room. As I followed I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
We went into our room and Emily turned off the light. Just as she did, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. It was out the window, but as soon as I redirected my line of sight to where the window was no longer in my peripheral vision, what it was that I thought I saw was gone. I still remained alert. For my sister’s sake.
I laid there in the darkness with nothing but the thin ray of light from the street lamp outside to illuminate the room. It wasn’t much. Time and time again I could have sworn that I heard subtle sounds just out the window… a twig break, leaves crunching, clothes jostling. And all the while I could smell a faint stench of sweat and blood. I kept my eyes open most of the night.
The sounds outside subsided and the smell left my nose. I began to feel at ease. My eyelids closed.
Not long after that, I heard a very loud crash on the other side of the house. I was up in an instant. “THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE!” I barked with extreme adrenaline coursing through me. “Wake up!” I shrilly pleaded with Emily. She did, and as soon as I saw her sit up I ran to my parent’s room…
Dad was dead. His neck was splayed open and gaping as blood spilled out of it, off the bed, and onto the floor. I saw that the master bathroom’s door was closed and just before it- on the outside- was a man.
A man… I don’t feel comfortable calling it that.
He was very large and rugged. He turned around and saw me and that’s when I saw him accurately for the first time. I wont forget it. His eyes were large and beady and trapped with lust. He was styling a beard that was badly unkempt with blood dripping off. His clothes were dirty and his face was cold. Just then I noticed the same horrid smell of sweat and blood from earlier, but this time it was overwhelming.
He saw me. He saw me and grinned with a set of crooked yellow teeth. That smile threw me off. I thought that I was going to die, but then he turned back to the bathroom door completely unperturbed by my presence. I was terrified and didn’t no what to do. I just yelled and cried. I watched as he shouldered through door that was Mom’s only protection. I watched as he raised the large razor that he was carrying, but had obviously neglected to use properly. I watched as he sliced her open and tore her to shreds…
I then heard something; the last thing that I wanted to hear… It was Emily’s scream coming from behind me. The large monstrosity looked up from my butchered mother and stared at my little sister. I was distraught. He stood up and quickly started walking toward us. My sis turned and ran, and I was at a loss when he bypassed me and went straight after her. Why was she still in the house? Had she not assessed the situation and run? Apparently not, and now she was dead and I was alone.
I ran after them both. I expected the man to kill her as he had the rest of my family, but I was sadly mistaken. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her as a way to make clear that he was in control. He dragged her through the house… I was making all of the noise I could now, hoping and praying that someone would come to my aid. He mustn’t take her. Not her.
As he passed me I backed against the wall and whimpered with terror, “Why?” He didn’t respond except by putting his free hand on my head while Emily screamed in the other and saying “Good boy.” He gave another crooked grin and a very cold, unnatural laugh. I followed him to the door where he dragged my helpless sister after him. He opened it, pulled her out, and slammed it shut behind him.
I am now sitting in the house with my mutilated adopted parents, shivering and whimpering with dismay. He’s out there with her. Doing who-knows-what to her, and I can’t do anything. I would if I could, but I can’t. I would chase after them in a heartbeat, but I can’t. I sit here, looking at the front door. I look down at my paws. If only I could open doors…[/quote]
[editline]05:07AM[/editline]
Another one.
[quote]I’ve decided to kill myself.
I think it’s important someone understand why, so I’m making this video before I blow my head off. The first time I remember it happening I was nine. Johnny Weller and I were playing in his back yard. The sun was setting over his back fence, warm oranges and reds shining through the bone-white slats like a creamsicle against pearly white teeth. Johnny was the cowboy and I was the dirty redskin, stealing his horse. We ran around the swingset, him laughing and me whooping and threatening to scalp him. When he tripped, I ran to where he laid in the dirt, scooping up a handful of air, pointing my finger at his nose and proclaimed, “I got your gun now! BANG!”
Johnny’s head exploded in a tremendous blossom of crimson blood, slate-gray brain and chips of skull that sparkled in the setting sun. My hand fell to my side, and I stared, open-mouthed, unable to understand what just happened. Someone was screaming. At first I thought it must be Johnny’s mother, until she tore open the back door and I realized I was the one screaming. Johnny’s mother crumpled against her son’s headless body, adding her broken sobs to my horrified cries.
Johnny’s funeral was the next week, closed casket. I forgot the sparkling light shimmering across the cloud of Johnny’s blood. I forgot Johnny’s mother rag-dolling my little body, begging me to tell her what happened to her son. I forgot the sherrif telling my mother Johnny was hit by a falling bullet, one of twenty six cases each year. I forgot my father’s quiet talks with my mother about how they never found the round that spattered Johnny’s smile across the grass. I adjusted. I coped. I forgot.
I didn’t forget the next time it happened. I never played cowboys and indians again; in fact, I can’t remember a single instance of any shooting game played by little boys anywhere in my childhood. I do remember the little girl in the park, pop pop popping her little nerf balls as she bounced around. She ran up to me, brandishing the weapon and shouting, “Hands up!”
I smiled and complied, dropping my sandwich in mock terror. I lifted my hands to the sky and petitioned for mercy. A true homicidal maniac in the making, she executed me with a flurry of staccato pop pop pops. I dutifully played dead, sprawling across my bench. She giggled and proclaimed, “Your turn. Shoot me!”
A sudden sensation of intense discomfort slithered up my spine. I thought of flowers, glittering crimson roses, wet with morning dew. She eyed me impatiently, apparently convinced she might have to nerf me once more to provoke a response. I lifted my finger weakly, pointed at her and whispered, “Bang.”
This time I wasn’t the one screaming. Her mother cradled her baby’s dismembered limbs, frantically clutching an arm, then a leg. I had pointed my finger at the little girl’s belly button. The moment the word left my lips, she ruptured like a water balloon filled with punch and soaking bits of crimson colored fruit. Johnny Weller’s decapitated body filled my vision, the slow red of sunset sliding down the front of his striped shirt. I ran.
I can’t do this anymore. I got pissed at Laura yesterday and put my finger in her face to tell her off. I didn’t even say it. I couldn’t bring myself to sop my girlfriend’s brains off the kitchen floor. I can’t do this anymore.
All I have to do is put my finger against my temple and say it.
At least I’ll go out with a bang.[/quote]
I watched the Poughkeepsie tapes the other day in spit of this thread. Some of the acting was laughable. I was chilled when he murdered the little girl in the beginning and wore that Witch Doctor mask when he went into Cheryl's house.
[QUOTE=Frozen;23118575]
The two stories about the guy breaking in and the fake suicide note with the magic finger kid.[/QUOTE]
Holy crap. Both of those were really good.
Agreed, but they're more of good short stories than creepypasta.
Gun story is exactly like that gmod weapon
[QUOTE=DJFender;23118909]Gun story is exactly like that gmod weapon[/QUOTE]
Except written characters die instead of pixelated ones. :ohdear:
[QUOTE=Oreo Atlantica;23118968]Except written characters die instead of pixelated ones. :ohdear:[/QUOTE]
All the same.
Also, try not to read this in the dark
[QUOTE][B]Unforgiving [/B]
I sat upright, my dark bedroom spinning around me. Something had roused me from my disturbed sleep, and instinctively I could tell that it was something major. For a few seconds I let my mind wander back to my haunted dreams – but no, that was a place I didn’t want to go. He was long dead and I had washed my hands of any remorse. I turned my attention back towards the reason I had awoken so suddenly. A glance out my window revealed that several feet of fresh powder had fallen since the storm had started. Forcing on some clothes, I wondered blearily around my house, turning on lights, checking the stove, trying to locate the source of my disturbance. Finding nothing strange I leaned back on a wall and closed my eyes, letting my consciousness drain of thought; immediately I sensed it again, that strange sensation that roused me from slumber. It was coming from outside. I jammed my jacket on and opened the door.
I walked down the front steps, my boots leaving prints in the newly fallen snow. Glancing nervously around my yard I searched for whatever had woken me up so suddenly; but all I could hear was the gentle crunching of the ice under my feet, and all that moved were the wispy clouds of my own breath, suspended in the frigid night air. Something was horribly wrong, hideously out of place, but my tired eyes failed to detect anything through the darkness and my ears perceived nothing but the gentle moans of the drifting wind. Shivering, I stared off into the cold night, straining my eyes to see beyond the circle of warmth cast outward by the house; and it was as my vision swept the fringe of that gentle light that I discovered the grotesque oddity that had roused me from my bed.
When light is cast over a flat darkened field, one expects the intensity to diminish evenly with distance as the light rays are diffracted by particles in the air – in other words you can usually spot a soft gradation of dark to bright, with every shade of gray in between. However, the light from the porch lamp deemed to disobey this fundamental law. Close to the house the light seemed to behave normally, being brightest directly above the steps and gradually darkening as it travelled outwards, but thirty yards or so from the door it stopped abruptly. A blank, seemingly impenetrable wall of darkness encircled my house and no light, either cast from my porch lamp or streaming out of the windows, was able to illuminate anything beyond it. I began to suffer the optical illusion that my house was on top of a circular mesa, though I knew the ground around it was actually very level. This alerted me to another strange phenomenon: the usually brightly speckled night sky was devoid of moon and stars, nor was I able to see any lights from the neighboring houses or the freeway that ran close by my property.
My head felt dizzy and a feeling of vertigo set in, I appeared to be completely cocooned within a sphere of oblivion that cut off all lights and noise from beyond its dark borders. The pitch black sky was explainable, it was obvious a storm was brewing, but the lack of any visible houses, cars, or trees churned my stomach, and as my head spun I doubled over and vomited. I stayed bent, hands on my knees, trying to collect my nerves and calm myself. Unsteadily, I rose back to my feet and took another long look at my surroundings; I told myself that the nauseating darkness was merely a mirage, and to reinforce my courage (and even possibly dispel the illusion) I slowly began to walk towards the mysterious boundary, where the white snow bordered a black nothingness.
A strange fear gripped me as I crept closer to the edge of my vision; it was the same fear which had awoken me only minutes earlier. Foot by foot, step by step, I closed upon the stark line drawn across the lawn, with each inch the dread within my heart growing. The encapsulating darkness had an evil hunger to it; as I warily moved forward the void began to resemble a giant, indescribable maw, swallowing all of the earth before it, ravenous not for food, but something far more primitive and vile. Each footfall closer to the boundary seemed to take hours, but I doggedly maintained my pace, determined to shatter the illusion that had dropped me to my knees. At long last I finally stood before it, the tips of my boots barely over the dark threshold. Leaning forward I pressed my face through the invisible barrier, gasping as a cold wind washed over flesh. To my dismay I still couldn’t see anything; the other side of the barrier was like the unlit bottom of a cave, only green and blue phantom images flashing before my unseeing eyes. But, I did hear something.
A strange, muffled sound reached my ears. At first I wasn’t able to distinguish what it was, only discern that it was getting louder. Suddenly, recognizing the series of slaps and thumps, a new terror gripped my heart. I stumbled away from the black wall, petrified by what sounded like a huge four legged creature bounding through the snowdrifts towards me from beyond the void. My feet refused to move, my eyes remained locked upon the dark border as the footfalls came closer.
But just as I was expecting the creature to come charging out of the oblivion and bare its horrible form, it stopped. Behind the curtain of black I heard a strange snuffling, accompanied by a scraping that cast clouds of white snow out of the darkness and into the light. My frozen muscles started to unknot themselves; perhaps the mysterious creature was a dog or pig. Breath returned to my empty lungs and my chattering teeth slackened. But just as I began to relax I heard an awful noise that sent me scurrying back into the house, bolting the door as soon as it was shut.
Just beyond the reach of light, shrouded by that mysterious darkness, the creature had gurgled.
When I was finally able to compose myself I set off through my house, locking all of the windows and doors and drawing the shades shut. Once every opening in the house had been latched shut, and the burbling coming from across the yard could no longer be heard, I collapsed on my bed and stared at the shadows etched across the dark ceiling. I thought that I had moved beyond the day of the funeral, I thought I had gotten rid of these visions months ago, but now I lay sleepless; the hallucinations had returned. Recalling the advice of one of my many useless psychiatrists I closed my eyes and slowly breathed through my nose, clearing my mind of all the bullshit and panic that had crept up on me. There was no mysterious darkness outside, and there certainly was no monster concealed within it, just figments wrought from a damaged brain, a result of too much whiskey and meth and bad memories.
In my dreams I returned to that overgrown cemetery where I had seen him buried; the sky was overcast and droplets of dew soaked my feet as I shuffled my way through the grass. I was following a white coffin hoisted upon the shoulders of faceless men in coats. I knew he was inside it. As the pallbearers wound their way through the gravestones I could hear muffled shouts coming from inside the casket. It began to rain as we approached a rectangular hole in the earth, a pearly white tombstone set in the ground before it. All the people I remember from the funeral were there, but instead of crying and watching the procession they had their eyes fixed unblinkingly upon me. The thumping and yells from inside the coffin grew louder as the men filed upon either side of the hole and began to lower him into the grave. As the casket was swallowed up by the pit he cried out my name, asking, begging me to help him. But all I could do was stand there and watch as he disappeared forever into the darkness. As the suited men turned and walked away from the grave I heard a final anguished scream burst out from the depths of the pit.
I woke up covered in a cold sweat. The wristwatch on my bedstead showed that it was only two in the morning; had I really only slept for a couple hours? The watch used to be his, but he had given it to me in his will. I remember how much the others had struggled to stop me from getting it. His parents, his girlfriend, all his other acquaintances, they said it was my fault he was dead; they said I didn’t deserve anything he owned. I told them how I had been away when he had been murdered, how when I saw how far he had fallen I tried to get him help. But they didn’t care. They said that I was the one who had corrupted him, introduced him to the wrong people, familiarized him with all the wrong substances. To them I was just as guilty as the one who had pulled the trigger and blown most of his head off.
I glanced out my window, shuddering when I saw that it was still pitch dark outside. The only respite available to me now was the bag happy pills safely stashed away under my sink. For the second time that night I crawled out of my bed and groggily made my way downstairs to the kitchen. It’d been two months since I had last touched my stash, but I knew exactly where they were, my hand tearing off the tape and pulling the bag out almost automatically. I sat there on the kitchen floor, my shaking hand pouring out one, two, then four pills; I was that close to safety, the white pills on the edge of my lips, when from the corner of my vision I saw the front door. It was open. I dropped the bag and leapt to my feet, the small tablets scattering across the hard linoleum.
Somehow the bolt had unlatched itself and a breeze had blown it open. At least, that’s what I told myself as I hesitantly walked across the kitchen and into the living room, my eyes locked upon the gently swinging door. I reached out and grabbed the cold brass knob, using it to pull my unwilling feet forward. There was nothing outside. But not the good kind of nothing where you shut the door and go back to bed placated, it was the bad kind; gazing out the door I saw exactly nothing, no yard, no lights, no snow, just the concrete steps disappearing downwards into a black abyss. That inexplicable wall of nothingness had moved closer.
Slowly, cautiously, I walked out the door and stood on the first step. The light spilling out from the doorway behind me only traveled three feet or so, illuminating the first few steps and the metal railing, but leaving the ground beneath cast in shadow. I raised my arm and carefully extended it before my face, trying to find the edge of the abyss. About eighteen inches out my hand suddenly disappeared, my wrist and my forearm floating alone before my eyes; it was an incredibly odd sensation not being able to see your hand, but still able to move and feel it. The other side of the dark curtain was unbelievably cold, so frigid that my fingers had already begun to go numb. Perplexed, I withdrew my hand and fished around in my pocket for my Zippo. Flicking it, and convinced that the flame was burning solid, I plunged my fist back over to the other side. The light from the flame vanished, along with my forearm. Wondering if the lighter had gone out, I tried to withdraw my arm. But before I could, something grabbed my hand.
I screamed as unseen talons dug into my flesh. Warm blood flowed over my frozen fingers as I tried to wrench my arm free from the invisible assailant. I heard the creature gurgling again, this time only inches away from my face. My feet began to slide across the ice laden steps as the thing started to drag me forwards, my wrist and my elbow slowly disappearing over the dark barrier. The horrible slobbering, murmuring sound was in my ear, I could feel splashes of cold saliva hitting my face. With a final effort I hooked my legs around the metal railing and tried to draw myself away from that horrible border. Slowly and painfully I begin to overpower the creature, my elbow coming back into the light. Deep, long cuts appeared along my skin as the thing’s razor sharp claws slipped backwards over my arm. Finally, with the last strength left in my legs, I tore myself free from its death-grip, tumbling backwards through the door and landing sprawled across the tiles in the entryway. In my mangled, blood covered hand I was still clenching the lighter. Its yellow flame fluttered back in forth in the darkness.
This time I propped a bookcase and a sofa against the door. On the other side I heard it clawing at the wood. I staggered off to the bathroom, clutching my injured arm, leaving a trail of splattered scarlet behind me. After popping one of the pills scavenged off the floor I sat on the edge of the bathtub and wound gauze around my wound. Whatever was hiding in the darkness, its claws had cut straight down to the muscle. Slowly, the drugs, mixed with my blood loss, overcame the pain, and I leaned back against the wall, my eyes rolling backwards, my mind wandering outside the walls of the dingy, blood spattered room.
I tried to focus on my situation, forcing my thoughts upon the wall of darkness and the horrible creature that stalked within it, and as my vision faded a dozen half baked escape plans wound through my consciousness. But it wasn’t long before the medication took control; I felt myself drifting out of the safe confines of the bathroom, the stained yellow tile and the leaking sink dissolving away, replaced by a green field dotted with rows and rows of white stones. I was propelled onwards through a haze of light rain and found myself once again standing in front of his grave. It was long filled up by now, the grass growing tall over the mound that marked where they had lowered his casket, a small vine with white flowers winding its way up his marble tombstone. I remembered the last time I came here. I stood there for hours, wondering if I was going to break down and cry, or laugh, or maybe just apologize.
Instead, as the sun set and rain began to fall, I left without a word.
The hallucinations switched gears, the graveyard disappearing into a swirling mist. I was sitting on a couch in his apartment as he paced back and forth in front of me. I recall that this was the last time I had seen him alive. A year of pricking himself with needles and forcing smoke down his lungs had reduced his figure to a skeleton, but his face still wore a smile that stretched across his gaunt cheeks. He told me how he’d made it big on some internet website; he’d gone from broke junkie to millionaire in a month. But that wasn’t all. He’d contacted some drug ring and was going to start dealing big time and pulling in the real bucks. The handoff was in a week, and he had even already stuffed two million into a briefcase hidden behind the fridge.
Six days later I got a call from the morgue. They found his body, minus most of his skull, lying in some abandoned quarry, riddled with bullets.
Finally, the visions began to fade and I felt myself dropping back down to reality, the last hazy vision of his mutilated head spiraling away as the bathroom came back into focus.
I guess I had some sort of pipe dream that the walls of the house would stop the darkness from squeezing in any tighter. But when I awoke and staggered out of the bathroom the entire first floor had disappeared, the wooden staircase winding downwards into that impermeable shadow. I glanced at the watch around my wrist – why did it say it was still two in the morning? And then I finally noticed something that nearly broke my strained nerves. The second hand wasn’t moving. The clock in the hallway confirmed it. Time had stopped. No wonder I escaped the clutches of that grotesque creature so easily, it had all the time in the world to let me stumble around my house and grow weaker as its dark net drew ever tighter.
I couldn’t even begin to fathom why I was being hunted by this thing. It was just too real to be another hallucination from my drug-addled brain. I wandered the upper floor of my house, desperately seeking some source of refuge from the gathering darkness. It seemed like every time I turned away it moved a little closer; slowly it began to advance up the stairs and down the hallway, the ceiling lights blinking off one by one. There was no more sanctuary from this creeping terror, my last chance for safe haven lay scattered across the floor of the kitchen, which had long ago been consumed by the shadows. I huddled in my bedroom, staring out along the vanishing hallway, every so often hearing something crawl about in the darkness.
And then I saw it. As the creeping gloom reached a junction between the hallway and the bathroom something skittered from shadow to shadow, ever so briefly exposed to the waning light. But that momentary glimpse was more than enough to chill me to the bone and reduce me to a shivering mass of fear. It had crawled on four spindly legs, but it had the body of a man. Its pale skin was pulled tight across its bones, sloughing off in spots and revealing masses of rotting blue flesh. Decomposing entrails spilled from its fetid stomach, and as it crawled across the walls it left a grimy trail of blood and tissue.
But worst all, it had no head. The lower half of a jaw flopped around under an open stump. As it breathed liquid gurgled in and out of its exposed throat. And as I stared at it, a new emotion burst above my undiluted fear. Recognition. The decayed body, the missing head…it couldn’t be…but it could only be…
Him.
He had come back to the grave to get his revenge upon the one who betrayed him, and it was too late, much too late, for mercy. Screaming, I kicked the door to my bedroom shut. Collapsing in a corner I yelled and begged and whimpered for him to leave, that I was sorry, that I had made a mistake; but as thin lines of shadow began to trace themselves across the wood I heard a scratching from the other side that communicated only one thing: too little, too late.
I commit these last few words to paper in the feeble glow of a plastic flashlight I grabbed from the closet, just before it was consumed by the shadows. As I sit here crouched in the corner, surrounded on all sides by the creeping darkness, I have only one wish. I want to reveal the truth to anyone who might find my mangled corpse; maybe it will buy my redemption from a horrible fate, if not in this life then perhaps the next.
It is my fault he died. When they all blamed me for killing him, saying that I had led him down the wrong path, that I had corrupted him, I wanted to laugh at their stupidity; I may have introduced him to his dark side, but he was the one who fell completely for it. Perhaps I should have seen the hunger in his eyes, but he chose his path, and he loved every minute of it.
But they were right, I did kill him. I can remember the exact moment I killed him. It was dark in his apartment, and I lay awake on the couch long after he had gone to bed. Careful to not make any noise I crept into his kitchen and pulled his fridge out from the wall. Just as he claimed, a small brown briefcase leaned against the plywood. Grabbing it, I strode out into the night, leaving him to his fate. A week later he went to the tradeoff and - well, Columbians don’t like it when you show up to a coke deal with a briefcase full of printer paper. Never did I apologize or ask for his forgiveness; I always thought he deserved it for being stupid enough, weak enough, to leave a case full of cash unguarded, besides what good was it begging the dead for absolution? I used the money to buy a new life for myself. New car, new clothes, even this new house where I now lay curled on the floor, awaiting my fate.
Now his rotten corpse squats on the ceiling above me, gurgling patiently, each breath showering me in his putrid blood. I have my head tucked between my knees, but I can already feel the shadow brushing against the top of my hair, steadily closing in. I don’t know, maybe I had mental breakdown and I’m really in a padded room, raving about moving shadows and dead friends. But I doubt it.
Maybe it’ll be quick, and when he rips the last breath from my lungs I’ll ascend to a better place. But I doubt it. Something tells me that my violent death will be just the beginning.
Oh god, I can feel its breath on the side of my face. I can’t see anything. The darkness has closed in completely.
I just want everyone to know tha
[/QUOTE]
I love these threads. While reading that Dionaea house, during the first bits I couldn't get out of my head "Aww stupid thing is just fake." Then as I get into it, as all the stories I read like such, I can't help but get creeped out/scared.
[QUOTE=Dynamitekyle;23049831]This is incredibly long, but probably my favorite.
[IMG]http://img43.imageshack.us/img43/7835/ootbeta.jpg[/IMG][/QUOTE]
okay I know this is extremely late but when I was 5 I went to rent super smash bros 64 for my nintendo 64 and I found a cartridge that was exactly how that described it.
I should have rented it.
This is a very helpful guide for all of you:
Survival Guide
We’ve all been there. You have just gone to a certain place, at a certain time on a certain date, done a special thing and the thing you suspected would happen has just fucking happened, not to mention the fact that you’ve just seen whatever the fuck it is that lives in your mirror, been told in detail how you’re going to die, and the highly demonic and invincible thing you summoned is heading towards you.
Also, your family are all dead, your friends are all missing and you’re being framed by someone with access to your bedroom. What the fuck do you do now, sweet protagonist?
Well, you’ve come to the right place to find out: These are the simple rules one must follow in order to firstly, not become the victim of creepypasta and furthermore, to come out kicking if the worst does happen. With the help of this guide you too can be the catatonic, traumatised wreck as opposed to the guy currently being worn as a coat by some dude who roams a lot. Just keep these simple rules in mind…
1. Mirrors and darkness don’t mix.
2. Actually mirrors are a general “NO”, in creepypasta world, there is nothing more sinister.
3. There is zero chance of survival if you look the thing that no one else can see or answer it’s question incorrectly.
4. If you are alone at night in a creepy mental institution,take some time to consider what the fuck are you doing there, then, if it is appropriate to do so, leave.
5. Avoid going to places where everyone else who went there never came back or died inexplicably.
6. If someone stops your vehicle at night and asks to come with you, it would probably be in your best interests to politely decline.
7. Killing is the last method of survival, use it sparingly but without fear.
8. WHO WAS PHONE is always a good thing to ponder. Also who the hell answers a phone while kissing a dead persons sexy daughter. A douche is who.
9. Get a simple .38 revolver. Load it with 2 silver bullets. If you really feel there is no chance to come alive out of a situation, take one shot at whatever’s threatening you. If this doesn’t work, you still have the last shot to become an hero with.
10. Area 51 is simply too well guarded to let you get in. Or to let any alien out.
11. When going to a hotel, try to steer clear of unauthorized areas. If you couldn’t resist but you saw a red thing, take some time to consider the price range and hotel standard on your next visit. Have you ever stayed at a haunted Hilton?
12. When booking your hotel stay, Trip Advisor can be an invaluable tool in deeming whether your choice is the scene of a multiple murder/full of dead people/built at the mouth of hell. Local newspapers can also be helpful.
13. Invoking demons, speaking weird languages and performing rituals of any kind is considered dangerous. Refrain from doing that, especially around Abandoned Warehouses, Churches, Psychiatric Institutions, Forests and your house in front of a mirror at night.
14. When going to a new area, environmental understanding is a key to survival. Ask around for cursed places, legends, dangers and other details. Listen to the local peoples’ advice, and don’t be afraid to ask if you’re unsure of which attacks/disappearances are paranormal and which aren’t.
15. Always have a Bible next to your bed. Provides average reading material, proof of beliefs and a really heavy object to throw at enemies.
16. Don’t count on Holy Water. Get a sturdy vial of Sulfuric Acid and let a priest Consecrate it.
17. Japanese priests cleanse rooms by waving katana swords around. Their ritual is 100% effective on corporeal forms.
18. If you find 666 messages on your phone, mailbox, email, etc consider changing the said service provider. Also don’t bother listening /reading the messages. It’s spam. Extra dimensional, possibly, but spam nevertheless.
19. Old pharmaceutical companies cant help you. Unless you specifically need “Blood Of The Innocent”, ”Snake Oil”, and “Radioactive Syrup”. Which is never.
20. If you need to sign it in blood, you do not need to sign it. All mainstream governing bodies will accept contracts signed in ink, bear this in mind if offered deals that seem too good to be true.
21. Lighthouses are dangerous. Avoid them at all costs. If you work at a Lighthouse consider a career in Insurance Sales, or Veterinary Care.
22. There is simply no reason to listen to music that causes suicidal tendencies, or to watch films that have had strange/disastrous consequences..
23. If you like to plan ahead and have some money, buy your auntie and uncle a house in Bel-Air. Nothing can harm you there no matter how scared your mother is.
24. Secret secluded untouched places in old buildings are left untouched for a reason. Pioneers never say “die” but in fact they do have an unusually high mortality rate.
25. Before you start swimming in the ice-cold waters of a murky lake at the center of a dark forest at midnight, ask yourself, do you really want to travel to an ancient and terrifying city? If the answer is “no,” then stay at home instead, and watch whatever quality programming is available on Cinemax.
26. On your 33rd birthday try celebrating in a well lit house with the company of others.
27. Refrain from using the One True Name for anything, there is probably a reason people gave it a nick.
28. Watching TV static for long periods may be hazardous to your health, try satelite TV to combat this problem.
29. Get a cat. Those furry little hairballs seem to perceive unnatural phenomena better than us, and if desperate, simply throw it at whatever is about to get you.
30. Cemeteries are bad places, especially in foggy conditions and on halloween.
31. Try not to close your eyes, ever. If you must, do so only briefly.
32. If you hear chanting, run until you are out of earshot.
33. If you are too old to play with dolls, you do not need to be anywhere near one of the creepy little fuckers.
34. Legends can offer valuable insight of where not to go camping with friends.
35. When babysitting, ascertain the family’s tastes and preferences, to avoid being killed by poorly selected statues.
36. Even if you are certain that running will not save you, it is always best to try.
Follow these simple rules and little (or massive) harm may befall you. Either way, the important thing is to make sure your tale is told, copied, and pasted repeatedly.
I will follow that guide all of the time, except I will keep a M1911 with a full clip of silver bullets with me at all times, just in case there are more of whatever is after me.
Guys I just [B][I]LOOKED[/I][/B] at the first frame for dead bart and for some reason got chills down my spine, probably because it looked like some stop motion animation or something.
someone post something adorable. PLEASE.
But seriously, I am scared to piss in my toilet because I am afraid if I open it a hand or a demon or a NES cartridge will pop up
Palette Cleansers on the way!
[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRXgpR2lzo4[/media]
[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygI-2F8ApUM[/media]
[QUOTE=Ninja Gnome;23119780][B]open it a NES cartridge will pop up[/B][/QUOTE]
pff.... pfff...... PFFFAHAHAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHA :razz:
sorry but that was funny.
All I have to do for a pallete cleaner is go outside to see our cats.
to bad its 3:00 at night.....
[QUOTE=Ninja Gnome;23119780]But seriously, I am scared to piss in my toilet because I am afraid if I open it a hand or a demon or a NES cartridge will pop up
Palette Cleansers on the way!
[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vRXgpR2lzo4[/media]
[media]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygI-2F8ApUM[/media][/QUOTE]
Just constantly talk to yourself. Imagine that one side of your head is the one trying to scare you with all your paranoia and the other side figures it out and they fight and shit with words.
No I'm not insane for doing this.
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