• Generally just Fucking Creepy Stuff-Thread
    5,002 replies, posted
This thread made me qiute litteraly shit a cinder block the size of the sun, especally when the first thing in this thread said that the latest date was 2027, and just the entire whole thing about fallout 3, and i couldnt read the whole story that novangel posted, it almost made me shit my pants!!!
[QUOTE=Rats808;23471195][img]http://i685.photobucket.com/albums/vv215/astrocreepx/The_Poughkeepsie_Tapes.gif[/img] This fellow here? It's a clip from the movie [I]The Poughkeepsie Tapes[/I]. And it's 100% human. |D[/QUOTE] Could you explain what is exactly happening is this clip? And how is the movie?
[IMG]http://i453.photobucket.com/albums/qq255/Sandwich35/LAND_Robot_BigDog_and_Controller_lg.jpg[/IMG] Like something from half life...
OP you should prolly find a place to lay low so the government doesnt ass molest you with a metal object and throw you in a ditch.
[QUOTE=Novangel;23478780]The kid was eaten, note the untouched fruit.[/QUOTE] That's what I was thinking, but having something eat him is kinda... lame. Needs new ending
[b] The Skeleton [/b] A FEW YEARS AGO A MAN WAS WALING DOWN A ROAD BECAUSE HIS CAR BROKE DOWN AND HE SAW A CAR COMING UP BEHIND HIM SO HE STUCK OUT HIS THUMB TO HITCH HIKE AND THE CAR STOPPED AHEAD OF HIM. HE RAN UP TO THE PASSENGER SIDE AND OPENED THE DOOR. WHEN HE OPENED THE DOOR A SKELETON POPPED OUT!
[quote=g-foxisus;23064976]ok [img]http://i.imgur.com/bycsp.jpg[/img] not page king though :saddowns:[/quote] this made me cry
[QUOTE=NoShogun;23482361]Could you explain what is exactly happening is this clip? And how is the movie?[/QUOTE] It's just a random clip from the "tapes", it pops up near the end. The movie itself is pretty good, I've watched it 2 times already. One alone, and one with my mom...in that order >.>
[QUOTE=mrhippieguy;23438823][img]http://i150.photobucket.com/albums/s82/Riutse/theyes.jpg[/img][/QUOTE] :byodood: High octane nightmare fuel.
[B]"Illness"[/B] Not so much creepy as thought provoking, regardless I hope you enjoy it. [release]Illness. This is the word that has plagued my life. "His illness prevents… he has an illness… his illness is progressing… we can cure his illness… we can't cure his illness". Omens spewed forth from the mouths of so many white-clothed prophets and soothsayers. They are paraded around my bed on a daily basis; grim faced apparitions bedecked in the colour of angels but carrying the devil's tools. Hope and misfortune. The ringmasters of this morbid circus stand behind the flowing line of white; their faces permanently blackened by the shadows of their creases. The daily baptism of tears never seems to wash them away. This is the image I have fixed in my mind of my paternal shadows because they rarely approach me, preferring distant love to nearby grief. When they do lean over me the light over their head creates a halo encompassing the forced smile and dying eyes. I'm not sure which is worse: the silence of shadows or the falseness of light. In times of blessed solitude, free of the constant intrusion of cold metal and colder niceties, I survey the room. It is the only entertainment available to me. It is my earliest and, indeed, only memory. It is not very large, completely bare of furniture apart from my bed. The walls, oh the walls, are extravagantly dressed however. An assault of colour; a bombardment of images. Cards, photographs, flowers, paintings… All as colourful as possible. Individually they are pleasant enough but together the affect is overwhelming and extremely nauseating; one is put in mind of a masquerade. A hysterical and sinister masquerade where the masks are the most honest things present; for in reality the colour is just as mask. A lie to dispel the truth of my illness. The only natural light in the room comes from a small, circular window. I often look up at it; cursing the fact I am too low to be able to gaze out at reality. Straining to bathe my senses in but the smallest shred of Outside. It is hopeless however: my body is atrophied and it is too high and too thick to provide anything but a shaft of light. An apology of sorts I suppose. Usually I exist in a state of bright delirium; my mind thickened, weighing my thoughts down and my senses assaulted by the facade of my walls. The tightness of my blankets, the looming medical apparatus, the piercing, artificial light, the heaviness of my thoughts and that hideous display entombs me. I cannot think. I cannot talk. I cannot move. I am solely an observer to my own misfortune but to observe I must live. Vitality, no matter how dim and cracked, spurs my heart. Recently there has been a more permanent face amongst the line of false prophets. It is a kindly one; creased with pitied happiness and framed with lustrous blond hair. The most glorious part of him however are his eyes, not pools of shadows like my parents or dead like the other doctors, but alive and radiant. The deepest blue reminds me of the sea I shall never experience, the blond the fields of wheat I shall never touch and the happiness the joy I've never witnessed. He is of the Outside. His presence comforts me and the shaft of light agrees; spilling approvingly around his body. My memories are a series of episodes; brief flashes of illumination in darkest oblivion. What I can remember I remember vividly: the motherly embraces, the picture books she used to show me of the outside, the long, lazy winding smoke trails from my father's pipe as he read me stories. The pain. The fear. The tears. The shouting. Then worse: the numbness. The creeping, perfidious numbness that infected my limbs and then spread to my parents. The tears of love replaced by the tears of habit. The colours of life replaced by the colours of desperation. It is better not to remember. The smiling face has been looking at me differently recently; the smile is less happy and more piteous. The eyes less radiant and more piercing. Less ocean and more drowning. Less wheat field and more bile. Less joy. More hysteria. The room is infecting him. I have caught the odd glances; the pained expressions. The dark resolutions forming slowly behind his gaze. My illness is his illness. I suppose, in the time when I was in bed but not bed ridden, I have been outside. I have walked. I dream of it occasionally but it is a vague and poorly painted dream. I can hear the murmuring of a lot of people but it is distorted, their faces are blank… not blank but indistinct. I am surrounded by these people while I walk down an avenue lined with trees. The buildings are blurred but I catch glimpses of signs offering things I have no knowledge of. There is a creeping sense of unfamiliarity as it continues and things become increasingly alien to me: the people are more in focus but their features are abhorrent to me, the avenue is flowing together, the trees are larger and more verdant. The signs I can see no longer make any sense at all and there is a frightening element to their gaudy brightness and nonsensical language. I realise that it is not the place that does not belong but myself and this sickens me. I fall to the ground and the people offer hands to help but I cannot touch them. My head falls; I stare in to the blue sky (the only thing I recognise) and then I awake, staring at the window. The smiles of the Outside man have become friendlier again but this strikes me as much worse; a resolution has been made but I am powerless to comprehend what it is. I am painfully aware that I can do nothing but wait. The Outside man has replaced my other doctors: the shadows have taken a liking to him. He is around more and more. Leaning in, mumbling that it shall all be alright. I have nothing to fear. Hope is eternal. Death is kindness to the dead. I am alive however and try to tell him this with my eyes. The desperate stares seem to encourage him however and for my part I cannot stand to gaze in to the certainty of his. The time has come. He is stroking my hair and whispering in to my ear. "It will all be alright. I am here to help you. I love you," he announces in his kindly, fatherly tones whilst reaching in to his doctor's bag. He withdraws a small syringe filled with a clear liquid. I stare at it, then him. "I am alive! Alive!" my eyes scream, desperately fighting the befuddlement of my heavy thoughts. "That's right, I can cure your pain. Your misery. I have seen the desperation in your eyes, I understand what you want," he replies with a bittersweet smile. The more I fight the more leaden my mind becomes but I redouble my efforts; screaming at every part of me to move if only to save itself. My little finger twitches. It twitches and the pain returns. The pain long absent returns to remind me that I am alive. Elation swells in my breast and I determine to try once more. Again it twitches. Again there is pain. Again I am overjoyed. I return my gaze to him as if to scream triumphantly but he has not noticed. My hands are covered by my blankets. I twitch and twitch but am unable to disturb what is quickly becoming my tomb. He smiles at me once more before piercing the tube of my IV drip with the syringe needle. As his thumb nervously hovers over the plunger I am aware of a faint tapping outside. My mother opens the door and walks in to the scene. I am saved. Her eyes grow wide as she gazes at the doctor, realisation slowly dawning. She screams and lunges at him, he falls over waving his hands and trying to explain. "You sick bastard!", the first time I have heard my mother's voice in years, "he's my son! How could you? How could you!". "He's sick and he's never going to get better. I am offering him the only peace he will ever have," he replies, the illness pouring from his mouth. Then, my mother faltered. Then stopped. Horror, blackest horror and betrayal, fills my mind with its bile. My mind is tarred shut. He stands and walks to the corner of the room, she follows and they murmur quietly. I strain to hear, desperate to know my fate but I can discern nothing but the occasional sorrowful glance back to me. When they have finished she approaches me, sitting on my bed she strokes my face and looks in to my eyes. I pour my heart, my soul… my very life in to my gaze. I look at her. She at me. Then, with a genuine expression of love, she turns to him and nods. My life is forfeit. He returns to the syringe and pushes down. My delirium intensifies, my ears are filled with the murmuring of the people on that dream street. I scan the room from them, to the detestful walls and finally to the window. As I feel my vision fading I grasp at it mentally; my one solace. My mother and the doctor lean over, blocking it from view. I see the illness in their eyes. [I]An original story by Alistair[/I][/release]
Ahh....creepypasta. How I love thee.
oh god make it stop :crying:
Oh god, that Ed Edd n Eddy one was awesome. Not really creepypasta but still just awesome.
This is on the second page? Not anymore!
Haha you think that's scary?!?!? I like to get on facebook and add random hot girls in gradeschool and masturbate to their pre-pubescent faces! Yummy. [highlight](User was permabanned for this post ("gimmick" - Lithifold))[/highlight]
[QUOTE=u_mad;23495761]Haha you think that's scary?!?!? I like to get on facebook and add random hot girls in gradeschool and masturbate to their pre-pubescent faces! Yummy.[/QUOTE] Someone should ban this guy, all his posts so far are racism and well, this.
Does anyone have an explaination for that creepy smile.jpg pic on page 2?
[QUOTE=Ender_Wiggin;23496163]Does anyone have an explaination for that creepy smile.jpg pic on page 2?[/QUOTE] The picture was so scary, everyone died. The end. [img]http://img.youtube.com/vi/G2U8yfKM9nY/0.jpg[/img]
[QUOTE=u_mad;23495761]Haha you think that's scary?!?!? I like to get on facebook and add random hot girls in gradeschool and masturbate to their pre-pubescent faces! Yummy.[/QUOTE] That's not scary that's just retarded, and likely to get you stabbed around here.
[QUOTE=CheeseMan;23490072][B]"Illness"[/B] Not so much creepy as thought provoking, regardless I hope you enjoy it. [/QUOTE] That was beautiful.
The Fallout 3 thing is mostly the creepiest one I've yet read, between those 39 pages. Post good content, people.
[QUOTE=I Broke The Sun!;23496222]The picture was so scary, everyone died. The end. [img]http://img.youtube.com/vi/G2U8yfKM9nY/0.jpg[/img][/QUOTE] That didn't help at all :'(
[QUOTE=lol12;23501144]That didn't help at all :'([/QUOTE] It's filler while I searched for it! [img_thumb]http://dl.dropbox.com/u/7643056/Smile.jpg_Story.jpg[/img_thumb] I just got you were making a spongebob reference.
[QUOTE=Ender_Wiggin;23496163]Does anyone have an explaination for that creepy smile.jpg pic on page 2?[/QUOTE] Change your avatar [B]NOW[/B], Im not gonna be browsing and get scared by every post you make.
[quote]It was a few weeks ago that the hay bales started creeping slowly away from the house. Every morning when I woke up, each had moved a few hundred feet from where it was before. I assumed it was pranksters with nothing better to do, and I so I ignored it. Within a few days, though, the bales began to approach the boundaries of the farm. I was tired of the whole game by then, and decided to move them back. It took a tedious hour to bring them all from where they were to over near the house again, and by the time I was done I was ready to snap the neck of whatever little pissant was deciding to screw with me. The next morning, I found each and every one of my horses messily decapitated. The smell was what woke me up. Each one was slumped over against the side of its stall. There were no signs of the heads. I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the mess and burying the remains. It was only when I was done that I noticed the bales of hay had all returned to their positions from the day before, scattered far out into the fields. This time I left them where they were. That night I sat on my porch with my shotgun in hand and a pot of coffee on the table beside me. I sat for hours, straining my eyes into the fields to catch a glimpse of who was moving my hay bales. Finally, I was beginning to nod off. I would have, but just as my eyes began to close I heard a clamor and a rustling of trees from the nearby woods. I leaned forward, my heart racing with excitement; I was going to catch the bastard. I fumbled with my gun and fidgeted in my seat, waiting anxiously for whoever it was to get close enough to ambush. It was only when the thing got close enough for me to make out its silhouette in the dark that I was frozen still. The thing that crept into my fields from the nearby woods didn’t seem to notice me sitting there. It stalked, hunched and deliberate, through the field with the posture of a tiptoeing thief. If not for the fact that it must have towered to over ten feet tall even in its crouched position, it might have seemed almost frail. The thinness of its arms and legs and the emaciated, caved-in quality of its chest reminded me of a starving animal. Still, this thing was undeniably strong, and I watched it hoist each bale up into its arms with ease, and set it down carefully a while away, taking only a few strides to cover the distance. I watched it work, moving each bale thoughtfully. Every once in a while it would straighten up to look around at the other bales’ positions in the field, before adjusting the one it was working on ever so slightly. Before it left, it looked towards the house. I felt its eyes sweep over me in the dark, but whether it saw me or not I couldn’t tell. Then, it turned silently and crept back the way it came, disappearing into the dark of the woods. It took me an hour before I had the courage to move at all. I went inside after a while, but didn’t sleep that night. It was only when the sun rose that I dared step off my porch into the fields. The hay bales were where it left them. Strangely, it didn’t move them as far as it had in the previous days. They were approaching something invisible in the fields, and as I looked at them I realized that they seemed to be marking some line. Indeed, as I walked around the house, I saw the distinct circle that they formed with me at the center. At first I thought the bales were just being haphazardly moved away from the house, but now I could see that they were instead being moved towards some boundary. The thing was sending me a message. I slept uneasily that night, and only because I was exhausted. The next morning the bales hadn’t moved at all. They didn’t move at all for the rest of that week, in fact. They were finally where the thing wanted them. I made myself sick trying to interpret them. Why would this thing expend so much energy moving my hay bales, and threaten me with such violence should I try to interfere? Killing my horses was just that - a threat. An intelligent threat, at that. It knew what would scare me, and it knew that I would understand the implications. The sound of an automobile working its way along the road to my farm one morning gave me a little rush of excitement. I’d been planning to abandon the farm since I saw the thing, but I couldn’t hope to leave on foot without risking it treating me like it treated my horses. But, if I could get in the car with whoever was coming my way, I might be able to escape before it could stop me. I didn’t know or care who it was. I decided that the moment they stopped the car, I would jump in the passenger’s seat and tell them to get the hell out of here. I didn’t get the chance. The car worked its way slowly along the road, trundling across the uneven ground. I urged it silently to hurry. It was when it passed between the two bales placed on either side of the road that I began to hear a booming clatter from the woods. The thing burst suddenly from between the trees, sprinting on all four of its terrible, gangly limbs towards the car. Within a few seconds it was there, pouncing on the automobile like a predatory cat. Within moments it was picking and peeling the vehicle’s steel frame apart, working to get at the driver. The man, whoever he was, screamed all the while and I could hear him even over the crunching of metal and the shattering of glass. It was only when the thing crushed him carelessly in its hand that the screaming stopped. It tossed him away, and straightened up to look at me once again. In the sunlight, I could see the inhumanity of it. It was composed entirely of something awful and alive which was lashed together in a messy semblance of a human form. Whatever it was made of looked so polished and hard, that if it weren’t for the minute writhing of the stuff, I’d think it was made of granite. The thing retreated back into the woods, and I was left to my shock. My eyes wandered to where the car sat, the engine still sputtering, between two of the hay bales. Suddenly, I understood. The message was clear. I am this thing’s captive, and I am not allowed visitors. Nothing may cross the borders it has set. I’m trapped here, by the thing that stalks the fields, and it demands nothing except that I never leave. Still, I don’t know if I can handle being that thing’s canary. I’ve been thinking hard for the last few days since I saw it crush that man’s chest, and silence him before he could finish his scream. If I crossed the hay bale border, it’d probably do the same. It’d smash my skull before I could put my hands up to protect myself. It’d go and find a new pet, and probably keep looking until it found someone who could stand knowing that it was waiting just outside, watching it at all hours with its shiny, insect eyes. I’ve been thinking hard for the last few days, and I might just make a run for it.[/quote] The people who write these things should seriously consider writing something to submit to be published.
[QUOTE=whazat!!!;23488265]:byodood: High octane nightmare fuel.[/QUOTE] That photo of that bear/dog doll makes me laugh every time I see it, and seriously it's not scary to me at all.
[QUOTE=] There was a storm a few weeks ago. I remember it barely. The day was normal, sunny and warm. It was univentful though. I had been on the computer till the storm arrived. My Dad was working and my mom was sleeping. My brother got scared and moved me to the basment, we stayed there for 2 hours before my Dad arrived from work. My brothers been acting strange ever since. He constantly asks us things, about the afterlife. He acts scared about it, even when re-assured that he shouldn't be. He sometimes tells me he has suicidal tendencies, and speaks about these things even in public. He ussually could be cheered up, but in the last few days, he's been dull. He just sits there, rarely speaking. He generally wants to stay alone. Nothing cheers him up, even going to Six Flags hasn't helped. I think he saw something that night, during the storm. He can't explain what it is. Just a feeling. I don't know what he saw, or what he thinks. He also apologizes, even for small things. he isn't acting like himself anymore. I feel different too. It's a strange, unexplainable feeling. I can't seem to feel it now, that or I just don't notice it. But whatever it was, I wish it was gone. He once asked me what would've happened if that storm didn't hit. I would really like to know.[/QUOTE]
[QUOTE=BananaFoam;23505042][/QUOTE] So...the kid is dead? And the storm was...whatever killed him?
The brother is a ghost?
I gave him my depression. Tell him I'm sorry but I feel great now.
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