Show Posts

This section allows you to view all posts made by this member. Note that you can only see posts made in areas you currently have access to.


Topics - Slimebeast

Pages: 1 [2] 3 4 ... 7
16
Before I start in with what happened, I just need to warn you about a few things.

Firstly, I'm not all there, in the head. I have schizophrenia, and have been on various medications for the past 14 years, with varying degrees of success. Each of them helped a bit, but nothing substantial. Electroshock, attempted in desperation for a cure, instead exacerbated the condition, much to the dismay of both myself and the doctors.

Secondly, I'm rather craven. Sure, I can handle normal stuff; snakes, spiders, etc. When it comes to anything else, though, I turn into a complete coward, curl into a ball, and wait for it to pass. With all that's happened, I doubt you'll be able to blame me. Just, trust me on that.

Third, and probably most important, everything I am about to tell you happened after the electroshock treatments. Because of this, I entirely blame the doctors for everything that happened. Before that 'therapy', sure, I'd see the occasional oddity in a hallucination, but afterward, my life became a constant nightmare.

Finally, I should probably tell you why I'm writing this in the first place. The short version is, I'm worried about how much I'll be able to tell before they get to me again, and I want to get as much out there as I can. Even if no one believes me, I need to send this out in the hope that someone will know how to help me.

The doctors took me in for shock therapy. The day after my surgery, I saw the first one. I was lying in the hospital bed. It was as uncomfortable as ever, but I'd been pretty heavily confined to that bed ever since I got to the medical floor. I really didn't have much choice but to get used to it. Doctor Marcus slid open the glass door and came into my room.

"Good. You're awake. We need to run a basic diagnostic test. Now, I understand that you've had a traumatic experience. However, we need to get this done, and the sooner the better. So, if you don't mind, can you tell me what you see?"

Doctor Marcus held up a card with a picture of a pear on it.

"I see a pear. Are we done?"

"No, afraid not." The doctor's face dropped into a regretful frown. "Here's the next card. What do you see?"

This time, the picture was of a home and family. It looked like it was drawn by a three-year-old.

"It's a house, and a family. Is this really necessary? I'd like to get up and stretch my legs."

"Please, be patient, Ray." I guess he thought that using my name would make me feel better. "I need you to identify one more picture for me. Here, just tell me what you see."

Another card. This time, though, the picture creeped me out. It looked like a shadow of a person, if it stood up. There was no one attached to it, just the figure. It was entirely pitch black with no features, save for two tiny pinpricks where the eyes would be. They looked like stars in the night sky. This was how it started, and I would soon come to regard that image with utter dread.

"I see a shadowy person, with stars for eyes. Where did you get that one? I don't remember it from last time."

I wasn't lying. This was a test I had taken many times. Each time they wanted to assess how a new treatment or medication was working, they gave me this test. It was easy. I had actually memorized all the cards by this point, but that one was definitely new.

Doctor Marcus gave me a look that was unlike any he had shown before. A mix of puzzlement and confusion, and maybe disbelief. Regardless, he made a strange face and looked at the card himself. "Are you sure that's what you see here?" he asked, turning the card to me again.

This time, I did recognize the card. It wasn't the figure from before. It was, instead, a crudely drawn police officer, standing next to a crudely drawn police cruiser. What had happened to the photo from before? Or was this the real photo, and the last one fake? I hate asking myself questions like that. I learned long ago that when you live the way I live, inquiries about what's real and what's not real tend to go unanswered, and end up running you in circles until you're too exhausted to think. I dropped the thought from my mind to avoid the hassle.

Doctor Marcus, however, was still waiting for an answer. I told him something I thought he would accept as a viable response. "The shadow was the officer, next to the police car."

He saw right through my ploy. "It seems to me that you may be experiencing some... unforeseen side effects. That's why we do this test, you know. To ascertain whether the treatment is an improvement or a detriment..." I had already heard the speech, and didn't care to listen to him beat a dead horse. In retrospect, I should have been more fair to him. He really was trying to help: I see that now. I was tired, though, and wanted to go back to my room, instead of spending another minute in that uncomfortable bed.

Eventually, he finished his speech, wrote another prescription, and let me get up. I was happy to be walking out of there. My left leg had fallen asleep, but that was still less irritating than the speech I was given. Doctor Marcus opened my door and shuffled me inside, locking the door as he shut it behind me. I didn't mind. I actually liked my room, save for the monotone color scheme. White-washed walls occasionally interrupted by a smudge of crayon from some loony. Boring.

The rest of the room was more to my liking. My bed was far better than the one I had been confined to before, and I had a small table that sat next to it, complete with an adjustable desk lamp. The table had a single, unlocked drawer, which I was not allowed to have the key to. I didn't care, since the only things in there were my sketches. I like to draw, and that was the best place for me to hide them so the other residents didn't get at them. They were like damn vultures, I swear, picking at everything, regardless of whether they had any actual interest in it.

You may have realized at this point that the room I've just described sounds a lot like a room at a mental institution. Actually, I suppose everything I've talked about so far does, doesn't it? If so, you earned yourself a cookie, because in the four years leading up to my electroshock treatment, I had been living at Augustinian Institute for the Mentally Unstable. That translates roughly as 'The Loony Bin', in case you couldn't tell.

Prior to those four years, I lived with my parents. We dealt with my illness as a family, and despite any preconceived notions you may have, we were happy. Mom would make breakfast for me every morning, and dad would watch t.v. with me. Our house was a safe place for me, and I actually had a better time dealing with the hallucinations when I was at home. With me being so messed up in the head, I'm kinda surprised at how perfect my family life was.

Then, quick as a wink, that life ended. My parents went out for a night on the town. Heavy rain was pouring down that night. I remember it keeping me awake. Apparently, the soaked, cobbled road was a bad match for the tires on my parent's car, and they skidded off into a ditch. Neither one made it out, and that's all I'm going to say about it. It's a touchy subject for me, as you can imagine.

With no relatives left, I was placed in the care of my physician, the aforementioned Doctor Marcus. He, and the other doctors, had only one goal in mind for me. Get me healthy enough to boot out the front door so they could bring in another guinea pig. Bad news for them, none of their drugs worked. I was carefully monitored for the next four years, bringing us back to the electroshock, and the events that took place afterward.

I sat down on my bed and retrieved my sketching supplies from the drawer. When I would get really bored, it would help to draw something interesting that happened from the day. Well, I had been resting for most of the day, which really only left the strange flash card to consider. I drew my rendition of Doctor Marcus, holding up the card. When I tried to draw what was on the card, though, I couldn't. I didn't remember what it was. I do now, obviously, but for whatever reason, at that moment, it was as though the card was blank both on paper and in reality. I laid back in my bed, getting a headache. I wanted the day to end, and so, despite having rested for fifteen hours post-op, I fell asleep.

I woke up very early the next morning. I didn't have access to a clock or watch, but there was no light streaming in through the barred window above my bed. It must have been before dawn. The doctors didn't open the doors until 8:00 each morning, so I was stuck in there in my boredom, waiting. I didn't want to wake the person in the room across the hall from me, so I left my lamp off. Instead, I sat in the darkness, just waiting. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move in my room. I turned to look, but found nothing.

As I rolled back to face the door, however, I came face to face with a horrific sight. Utter darkness, a shadow in a room of shadows, and two white stars, coalesced into a humanoid form. The monster from the card had followed me. It had crawled on all fours onto my bed and was at eye level, just inches from my face. Its white pinprick eyes stared into mine, a void of emotion, lacking in characteristic. I clamped my eyes shut and curled into the fetal position. I started crying, praying for it to be over. I could hear it, right next to me. It was breathing in my ear. The hot breath emanated from nowhere, as the monster had no mouth or nose. It stayed there for minutes on end, just breathing louder and louder. I almost wished it would just get it over with.

Then, quickly as it started, the breathing ceased. Only the hum of electricity remained, coming from the walls. I didn't open my eyes for a very long time, too scared of what I might see. When I finally did open them, it was still dark, and the creature was gone. I quickly flipped on the lamp to make sure it wasn't hiding in the shadows. My room was devoid of inhabitants, save for me. I started to calm down, and quickly became embarrassed. I didn't envy the nurse that would have to take my pants to be washed.

Across the hall, I could hear someone stirring. I figured it was a patient, but I didn't want to be left in the dark again. I angled the light away from the door as best I could, and tried to get back to sleep, to no avail. Eventually, the Sun rose and the doors were unlocked. The nurses gave me a change of clothes, clearly annoyed and a little disgusted. I told Doctor Marcus about what happened to me, for no other reason than to let him document it. He was obviously concerned for me, and decided to give me some meds to help with the hallucinations. I took them gladly. No way did I want to see that again.

The drugs had side effects, but they sure as hell worked. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary for months. I was so relieved after the first week that I actually thanked Doctor Marcus for all he had done for me. The look on his face was priceless, but I really meant it, and he could tell. I think he lightened up on me after that. He actually started taking an interest in my issues, and in helping deal with the side effects of my meds. For three months, my life at the Institute was the best it had ever been.

Then, in a moment of stupidity, I slipped up. One of the nurses forgot to prepare my psych meds, and I forgot to remind them. I didn't even realize that the mistake had occurred, because even off the pills, everything was fine. I still slept soundly that night, and the night after, and saw nothing strange either day.

The third day off my meds, however, would prove to be a moment of clarity for me. I woke to the sound of my door being unlocked. I flipped on my lamp sleepily before opening my eyes. There wasn't a doctor standing there to greet me this time. Just the open door. I got out of bed and stepped out into the hall. I turned and closed the door behind me, locking it back up. I looked down the hallway...

And froze solid at what I saw. I wasn't in the asylum anymore. I was in... I don't know. I can't adequately name the horror that now faced me. I always pictured Hell as being fiery and smelling of brimstone. This wasn't hell: This was... visceral. The hall had contorted into a fleshy mess. Horrible smelling fluids leaked from sores in the walls and blood coated the squishy, vein-covered floor. The doors to other rooms were replaced with sphincters, and down the hall, I could see a figure standing with its back to me. I could hear it sobbing. I tried to turn around, but every muscle in my body locked. Something inside me knew that whatever was behind me would be far worse than what was in front of me.

I looked back to the door to my room, only to find that it wasn't there. The intestinal tunnel I was in had overtaken the door. I could see the knob in the folds of flesh, though. I thought, “If I can just get back through the door, it will be alright.” I don't know why. Out of pure horror, I concocted the notion that my room was a safety net. It was a stupid idea, but I tried it anyway. Nowhere else to go, regardless, except toward the figure. That was the last thing I wanted to do.

I tried to reach for the knob, and the flesh closed around it. I pushed through the slimy, squishy mess, until I felt my knuckles touch the knob, and I took hold of it. The wall clamped down on my arm, crushing bone and trapping me there. The figure stood and turned to walk toward me, still sobbing. Its pitch black skin was broken only by its pinprick white eyes, which leaked a gray fluid that oozed down its cheeks.

The sobbing grew louder and louder, becoming like a banshee's wail, somehow echoing off the twisting walls of flesh. It stood perfectly still a few feet from me, and the gray slime continued to dribble out. My crushed arm felt like it was on fire, and my blood sloshed to the floor, mixing with the gore. I started crying out for help, and inside I was praying that this was a dream, or vision.

Then, for the first time, the monster spoke. A horrible, ghastly, grating voice. It was utterly inhuman, and that alone gave me strong goosebumps over my entire body. There was no movement of its face, as it had no mouth with which to speak. This made the sound all the more horrible. But it was what the creature said that was truly terrifying.

"We are in you now, and you are in us. Neither can escape, and you cannot stop us now."

My knees gave out, and I dropped to the floor, sloshing the various fluids where I hit. I started bawling, waiting for whatever horrible things the shadow had planned for me. I felt warm hands on my shoulders, and I flinched, cringing away from the evil being that had caught me in its web of sinew. It spoke again.

"Ray, are you with us? Ray!"

I looked up to find Doctor Marcus holding my shoulders, trying to help me. The hallway was normal again, as was my door. My arm had healed. Doctor Marcus pulled me to my feet, but I was still unable to stand well, and I was crying my eyes out as he helped me to his office. It was more than an hour before I calmed down enough to tell him what happened. I spared no detail, watching as his face switched between visages of horror, disgust, concern, and outright fear. These looks made me more frightened, because this was the only time I ever saw Doctor Marcus afraid of what a patient reported seeing.

He made certain that the nurses never forgot my meds again. They didn't work anymore, though. I don't know why. I was really scared of this though, because I was still hallucinating. Flames in the hallway, meals made of maggots, and the damnable creatures that stalked me in the darkness of my room. Once they realized that nothing was helping anymore, they had no choice but to cast me out. I couldn't benefit from their type of help anymore, and they needed the space. I went back to the home I knew before.

It's been twenty-seven days, and each day the visions get more and more intense. The starry-eyed shadows have been following me everywhere. The only place they can't reach me is in my home. They've gotten more... creative... since the asylum. Everywhere I go, the scenery and people turn into fleshy piles and shadows, all in the blink of an eye. Sometimes, the people wouldn't be shadows, but instead twisted, mutilated corpses. It doesn't stop there. If I try to go anywhere, they corner me, cut me open, burn me...

I feel everything, the agonizing pain of mutilation. It's torture, literally. I can't go anywhere. I'm starting to run out of food. I don't trust canned foods at all anymore. It's like a god damn game of surprise. What's inside this time? A bunch of eyes, strands of hair? The distortions have invaded my home. Even now, the walls in the living room are pulsating, like a heartbeat, and the t.v. only shows static. I don't think anyone will believe me, and I'm scared to go outside. They have me surrounded. I think they are waiting for me to leave.

17
Creepypasta / The Face In The Middle Of The Dark by Unknown Author
« on: March 08, 2019, 12:18:53 AM »
At the end of the 1980s, a horrible murder took place. It was worse than you can ever imagine. It was so gruesome that the investigators refused to release information to the press. In the middle of the day, in a small village in Russia, laid a newly bought house. It was bought by a 29 year old lady named Amanda Branksnovitsch.

The reason the house was sold was because the lady who lived there before had heard a weird creaking noise that made it impossible for her to sleep, but it was fixed shortly before Amanda moved in. But after the moving was finished, the creaking came back. She tried to find the creaking's source, but whenever she found what may have been the source of the sound, it disappeared. Five days later, she began to hear a knocking too. What is going on? She thought.
After a while she found out that the noise came from the biggest wall in the house, the one standing against the bathroom. She couldn't make sense of a damn thing. She looked into the bathroom, but all she saw were blue tiles of marble reflecting the lamp hanging from the ceiling. She looked all around, and after dusk she found a crack in the roof. She was so desperate to stop the noises that she ran down the stairs to the kitchen, got a roasting fork and spent 1 hour and 23 minutes to make a bigger hole in the crack.

Then she walked outside into her giant treeless garden, got a stepladder and climbed into the ceiling armed just with a photographic camera so she would be able to see what was causing the noises after the print was developed. Inside, it was dark like a black hole. She got to the wall where the creaking noise came from, but accidentally, she fell into the gap inside it.

She was stuck, and sat there horrified and wondered what she should do, stuck in the dark, empty, grim gap. She stared into the nothingness, but then she heard a weak, hoarse, whispering laugh about 5 inches from the back of her head. She barely managed to turn her head around, but she wished she never did that. It was a face in the middle of dark.

She got out her camera, only slightly able to see what was producing the menacing noise, and hit the shutter button as quickly as possible before being frozen in fear. She was found dead two hours later, her charred corpse seeming incredibly mutilated. The face of a scream was stuck on her face, preserving the state she was in right before she died.

It was believed the whole slaughter of the young woman went on for a grueling 20 minutes. The cause of death was covered up and the only definitive evidence, the photograph which she took with her camera, was not revealed to the press.

When the police looked at the image they could barely make out a face in the photograph. But the face was clearly not of a human. The mouth was elongated, the eyes were too large and un-natural and the general facial anatomy of the creature in the camera were all wrong. When the police tore down the woman's house from top-to-bottom, absolutely nothing was found which suggested that such a woman had ever lived anywhere near the area where the photograph was taken.

The case was declared un—solveable.

It was not until 2004, long after the collapse of the Soviet Union and the beginning of the freedom of the press in the country was the case brought up again. A relative of Branksnovitsch lead an inquest into the photograph and the police gave the archive to the family. After a large amount of waiting, her loved-ones finally had the photograph in their hands. This was what they saw:



18
Creepypasta / The Disappearance of Ashley, Kansas by Unknown Author
« on: March 08, 2019, 12:18:38 AM »
Sometime during the night of August 16, 1952, the small town of Ashley, Kansas ceased to exist. At 3:28 AM on August 17, 1952, a magnitude 7.9 earthquake was measured by the United States Geological Survey. The earthquake itself was felt throughout the state and most of the midwest. The epicenter was determined to be directly under Ashley, Kansas.

When state law enforcement arrived at what should have been the outskirts of the farming community, they found a smoldering, burning fissure in the earth measuring 1,000 yards in length and approximately 500 yards in width. The depth of the fissure was never determined.

After twelve days, the state-wide and local search for the missing 679 residents of Ashley, Kansas, was called off by the Kansas State Government at 9:15 PM on the night of August 29, 1952. All 679 residents were assumed to be dead. At 2:27 AM on August 30, 1952, a magnitude 7.5 earthquake was measured by the United States Geological Survey. The epicenter was situated under what used to be the location of Ashley, Kansas. When law enforcement investigated at 5:32 AM, they reported that the fissure in the Earth had closed.

In the eight days leading up to the disappearance of the town and its 679 residents, bizarre and unexplainable events were reported by dozens of residents in Ashley, Kansas and law enforcement from the surrounding area.

On the evening of August 8, 1952, at 7:13 PM, a resident by the name of Gabriel Johnathan reported a strange sight in the sky above Ashley. The town itself, having no official branch of law enforcement, called into the police station of the neighboring town of Hays. Gabriel reported what appeared to be a "small, black opening in the sky." Within the next fifteen minutes, the Hays police station became overwhelmed with dozens of phone calls all reporting the same phenomenon. The phenomenon was never reported by any neighboring communities. A decision was made to send of a trooper to Ashley to investigate the matter the following morning.

At 7:54 AM on the morning of August 9, 1952, Hays Police Officer Allan Mace radioed the Hays Police Station. He reported that, despite following the one way road leading into Ashley, he had become lost. According to his report, the road "continued along its normal path, but somehow ended up back in Hays." Officer Mace went on to add that the road never curved, or bent in any direction. At 9:15 AM, seven of the town's 10 police cars were sent to investigate the situation, and all members of the team came to the same conclusion. The only road leading into Ashley stopped leading into Ashley, but instead led back to Hays. Phone calls continued to pour into the Hays Police Station, all reporting that the black opening in the sky continued to grow in size. All callers were advised to remain inside, and to not travel outside unless absolutely necessary. At 8:17 PM, Mrs. Elaine Kantor reported her neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Milton, and their two children, Jeffery and Brooke, missing. According to Mrs. Kantor's phone call, the Miltons attempted to leave town in their family car earlier in the evening. They never returned. Law enforcement officials from Hays never reported the car, or individuals, coming up the one way road.

At 7:38 AM on the morning of August 10, 1952, phone calls from Ashley into the Hays Police Station reported that the town was in total darkness. The sun had never risen. At 10:15 AM, at the request of Hays Law Enforcement, a helicopter from Topeka, Kansas flew over the region in which Ashley, Kansas stood. The town was never observed from air.

At 12:43 PM on the afternoon of August 11, 1952, Ms. Phoebe Danielewski called into the Hays Police Station. She reported that her daughter Erica had begun to have conversations with her father, who died three years prior in a drunk driving accident. To add to her concern, Ms. Danielewski reported that Erica was attempting to go outside into the dark, to "join them." Over the course of the next twelve hours, a reported 329 phone calls were placed into the Hays Police Station all describing similar phenomenon with the children of the town.

The following morning of August 12, 1952, the situation became dire. During the middle of the night, all 217 children in the town of Ashley, Kansas disappeared. A reported 421 phone calls were placed into the Hays Police Department. Unable to be of any useful assistance, Hays Law Enforcement instructed all callers to remain inside and to avoid any and all attempts at finding the missing children.

At 5:19 PM on the evening August 13, 1952, Ashley elderly man Scott Luntz reported a growing, distant fire to the south. According to his description, the fire seemed to turn the distant black into "bright red and orange [that] seemed to extend high into the sky." Throughout the rest of the day, calls continued in, stating that the fire, in addition to moving north, now seemed to "come out of the black sky." No fire was ever witnessed by any of the neighboring communities or law enforcement officials.

The reports continued until 12:09 AM on the morning of August 14, 1952. The last phone call, placed by a Mr. Benjamin Endicott, reported that the fire in the sky had grown so intense that it began to appear as daytime over the town. The phone call ended abruptly:

(FROM THE PHONECALL PLACED BY BENJAMIN SHERMAN ENDICOTT)
Benjamin: Just hold on... wait...
(continued silence)
Benjamin (cont.): Yeah, yeah I see something. It's to the south. It looks like-
[END PHONECALL]

The next phone call wouldn't be placed until the following evening.

The following is the entire transcript of the final phonecall to be received by the Hays Police Department out of the town of Ashley, Kansas. It was placed at 9:46 PM on the evening of August 15, 1952. In this recorded phonecall, the officer on duty is Officer Peter Welsch. The caller has been identified as Ms. April Foster.

[BEGIN PHONECALL]
Officer Welsch: Hays Police Department.
(muffled static)
Officer Welsch: Hello? Foster: YES... yes, hello? Officer Welsch: Ma'am, who am I speaking with? Foster: My name is April, April Foster. (coughs) Please, sir. Please help me. Officer Welsch: What is happening, ma'am? Foster: Last night... last night they came back. Officer Welsch: Ma'am, I'm going to need you to - Foster: LAST NIGHT THEY CAME BACK! (cries) Officer Welsch: Ma'am, I'm going to need you to calm down, and speak clearly. What happened? Who came back? Foster: (sobbing) Everyone. Officer Welsch: Everyone? Foster: They all came in the fire. Officer Welsch: What do you mean everyone? Foster: My son... I saw my son last night. He was walking... he was walking down the street. He was burned. Jesus Christ HE WAS BURNED. Officer Welsch: Ma'am I - Foster: He died last year. I raised him since he was a baby... it was just me and him. I told him to watch for cars when he rode his bike. But he never wanted to listen. Officer Welsch: Ma'am, what you're saying isn't making any sense. You said everyone came back? Foster: ARE YOU FUCKING LISTENING TO ME? EVERYONE. Everyone came back. Everyone who died, or went missing, they're back. And they're looking for US! (cries) He...he said: "Mommy, I'm okay now! See, I can walk again! Where are you, Mommy? I want to see you!" (sobs) Officer Welsch: ... Ma'am, where are you now? Are you safe? Foster: I'm hiding. Just like everyone else. We saw them coming through the fields... and... some people opened their doors for them. God, the SCREAMING. (pause) I don't know what happened to them. But their houses caught fire and they... caved in. I have my curtains drawn. I'm hiding in the closet right now and- (silence) Officer Welsch: Ma'am, is everything alright, are you okay? Foster: (silence) Officer Welsh: Ma'am? Foster: (glass breaking) Oh... Oh my God. Officer Welsh: Ma'am? Foster: Something just came in. (muffled cries) Officer Welsch: Ma'am, stay as quiet as you can. Don't make a sound. Foster: (Muffled: "Mommy... mommy?") (sobbing) He came inside. Officer Welsch: Stay absolutely still. Don't leave. Foster: (Sound of muffled footsteps) (Muffled: "Mommy? Mommy, where are you hiding?") Officer Welsch: Stay quiet. Foster: (Sound of heavy footsteps. Laughter. Muffled: "I found you, MOMMY!") (Indiscernible screaming and noise) Officer Welsch: Ma'am? MA'AM?
[END PHONECALL]

The following morning, at 6:55 AM, the law enforcement officials of the Hays Police Department arrived at the location of Ashley, Kansas. A smoldering, burning fissure in the Earth was all that remained.

19
Creepypasta / The Clown, The Paint, And The Turbines by Elliot Cowling
« on: March 08, 2019, 12:15:22 AM »
What I experienced in that place I will never forget. You must read this to learn about the thing I saw and why you should be careful out there in the dark world. My life was traumatised by this event. I feel writing about it will help me to release some of the dreadful memories of what happened. My poor family.
 
The Events
Back when I was younger, my family purchased a beautiful home in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. It was cheap and only 5 miles away from my school, or so it said. It was marvelous. I can remember all those times I used to play down in the garden with my toys and just think about how great life was. School was a drag obviously, but the idea that this place was my playground was amazing. I was an only child so I really had to invent some games to keep me amused when my parents went out. My life was brilliant. Every day after school, I would come home, rush outside and then go into my own world for hours. Life was amazing.
 
However, there were two questions that started to bug me after a long while. The first one was that my parents NEVER allowed me in their room, and they would always keep the door firmly shut. It never really bothered me at the start of living in this “palace”, but then I realised that the whole thing was, well, odd. The second question is this. There were fields that backed onto our back garden. These fields were full of wind turbines. Lots of them. I didn't quite understand what they were back then. It was a while ago. Let's just say that. These turbines seemed to go on for miles. They made me feel very weak and vulnerable. They seemed to stare at you, with their arms spinning round and round all day long. I was told never to go into those fields. It wasn't because of the turbines. Oh no. It was because of the figure that stood still in the distance all day and all night long. Who the heck was it?
 
One day, my mum went into town and she left me all alone, in our labyrinth of a house. Let's just say that it was irresponsible. I was only nine years old. My dad was at work so he couldn't look after me. Anyway, I just accepted it and she drove off. I was very happy to be alone. I could play my own games in the house and no-one could stop me. I was ecstatic. I pottered out the back garden and the turbines stared at me, inviting me into the fields where they worked and rested. I couldn't resist. No-one was here to tell me off, so I could get away with it!
 
I slowly walked across my garden, kicking any toys out of the way. My mind began to buzz and invent stories. I looked left to right, and I turned around to see if anybody could see me. I proceeded towards the garden fence, and into the field. I climbed over the fence with a struggle, like an old man getting up from his seat. I managed to get over the wooden fence and I just looked up in awe at the sight of these things. Then I looked down and I noticed the figure. They were very far away, but my parents knew something that I did not about the whole thing. After checking if anyone was watching again, I began to walk across the fields. I kept my eye on the figure. I didn't feel too afraid as I continued to wander past the turbines, but I thought I should turn back. I didn't want to be in this field anymore. Not because I was afraid this time. Usually I disliked the turbines. This time, I was bored. What was the point of it all? How did my parents know this thing wasn't a statue or something? They just assumed it was something bad to scare me from wandering off from the house. Every child should explore. It's part of growing up.
 
I began to turn back, but as I did so, the sky suddenly turned dark. Very dark. A storm cloud must have arrived. Great. Now I would be soaking wet and I would be caught out by my parents. I started to run back to the house. Something didn't feel right. My whole body began to feel almost tingly. Like an icy chill. I put it down to the cold weather that had just arrived. I ran back to the house and took a quick glance back at the field. That's when I noticed it. The figure's head had moved. I thought nothing of it at the time, but as I ran inside I began to come to terms with what I just noticed. I ran up to my bedroom and barged my door open. My bedroom looked out onto the fields, you see. I looked out the window and realised that it had moved. The figure was now looking at the house. It must have always been like that I thought.
 
I spent the rest of the evening contemplating everything that had happened in that field. What was this thing? It had to be a person. Maybe they were stuck. If they were though, they would be calling for help surely? I went to bed that night feeling a little odd. Not afraid, just, uneasy.
 
The next day my mum went out again and she gave me the option to stay at home or go with her. Was I going to go with her? No I was not. I stayed at home and went back to the fields with a feeling of dread in my stomach. I didn't know why. This person seemed lonely. I needed to ask them what they were doing. I plucked up some courage and began walking. I didn't blink. I just kept my eyes on the figure for the entirety of the walk. They were definitely looking at me, without a doubt. I tried waving at them. In turn, I received no gesture back.
 
As I kept wandering closer, I noticed the clothes the figure was wearing. The majority of the figure's clothing was red. The figure wore a hat with a white feather on top. Even the shoes were red. I could make out the face now. They had a red bulbous nose. The bottom half of their face was painted blue. It appeared their lips were painted white. This person was a clown. What would a clown be doing in the middle of a field staring at my house?
 
“Hello?” I called.
 
No response. I stood at a fair distance to the clown. The person was certainly a man. I kept calling the clown. No response still.
 
“What are you doing here,” I asked.
 
Suddenly, the clown blinked and lifted his head up a little. I stood back a little.
 
“Can you hear me,” I asked.
 
“You should turn back,” the clown finally responded.
 
“What's your name,” I kept questioning him.
 
“Does it matter what my name is? I am here because I want to be here. I live here, child.” the clown responded.
 
“I live here actually,” I said, reassuring him.
 
“I live here. You disturbed me. And those who disturb me help me paint,” he said violently.
 
I was very confused at that last part. Help him paint what?
 
“What do you mean? I'm going to tell my mum about this,” I said with a childish authority. Of course I thought I was right. I was a child. I was boss in this conversation. So I thought.
 
“Your mother will refuse to believe you boy. She is merely a cold-hearted woman. She has seen me. Why do you think she doesn't want you down here? She knows of me. Oh I warned her. I really did.”
 
I was listening intently. My mum had been here? That's why she was telling me to stay away? No, it can't be. This is just my dad dressed up I thought. I thought it was some cruel joke to keep me away from this field.
 
“Stop playing around dad!” I shouted.
 
“You think your little daddy will come and save you? No, he will not. You see, your parents. They leave you alone a lot don't they? You know what I mean. You are always left alone in that house. Why oh why is that? I told them. I warned them. They're scared. They're scared of me. You see boy. I've been waiting for you for a while now. When they're out, I'm about.”
 
“How do you know they've been leaving me alone?! Who are you?!” I shouted.
 
“Your worst nightmare.”
 
I belted it. I turned around and sprinted as fast as I could. I ran and ran and ran for ages it seemed. I looked behind me. He had gone. I charged back to the house. They weren't home. The sky was so dark. It was 7:00PM. Mum and Dad should be home soon I thought. I burst into tears and went to the phone. The phone was smashed to pieces. Someone must have been in the house. Oh no. It can't be!
 
I had to get out of the house. I was in floods of tears and my burning eyes kept blurring up. I rubbed them viciously as I repeatedly tried to open the front door. It was not having it. I kept tugging at the door but, nothing. That's when I stopped for a few seconds. If this thing wants my parents out of the house, for whatever reason, is it something to do with their room? I tried to shake away the thought, but it kept clouding my mind. They allowed me in their room in the last house. Why not this one? I had to find out what was going on. I heard noises coming from the kitchen. Wiping away the tears, I charged upstairs and burst into my mum's room without even thinking a thing.
 
Once the door had smashed into the wall next to it, I stood there in silence. I don't even want to write this, but, hanging, from the ceiling, was my dad. Three chains emerged from the ceiling, each one dug into his back, blood still dripping from his lifeless body. I vomited. I kept throwing up every time I looked at the thing. The walls were covered in writing. After darting my eyes away from the body several times I noticed that the writing all said the same thing.
 
“Sacrifice.”
 
Suddenly, the doorway filled with red. It was him. The clown. I screamed as he walked closer and closer towards me. He held a paint brush in his left hand and a paint pot in his right.
 
“I told you,” he said. He lunged towards me. The paint pot came towards my head. I screamed and covered my eyes and then, I woke up.
 
This seems like a stupid plot twist, doesn't it? It's not. Please, keep reading. You have to find out the truth. It was a dream, and it was early morning. I had dreamt the entire ordeal. Not moving house obviously, but the clown and the room and everything to do with that horrid field. I slowly wandered downstairs, gripping my head. It hurt really bad. I must have been thrashing around in the night because of the nightmare and hit my head. I was burping up sick because of what I just witnessed in my dream. It made me feel sick to my stomach. Maybe I was coming down with an illness. Not again. I called for my parents. No answer. They must be outside.
 
I went to the back door, opened it and hobbled outside. I called again. Still no answer. I wandered to the edge of the garden to see if they were in the fields. I saw something in the distance. I thought it was them. I called out and the figure looked at me and waved. I was happy knowing that my parents were safe and sound, and that I was going to be alright. The turbines weren't spinning that morning. I spent the rest of the morning inside watching TV. I didn't bother looking out the window to see where they were. I was too involved in watching cartoons to even remember to check.
 
By 4:00PM, they had still not returned to the house. I went outside to go and look for them and that's when I stopped dead in the middle of the garden. One of the turbines was red. As I looked up at it, I screamed in horror. At the end of two of the “arms” of the turbine, there were bodies spinning round and round. The figure in the distance began to wave at me again. Oh no. It couldn't be! That was no dream. I was concussed! The paint pot gave me the injury on my head! That's when I noticed the writing on the fence. The writing that wasn't there earlier. The very words that have made me suffer for countless years now.
 
Thank you for helping me paint!

20
Creepypasta / The Clown, The Paint, And The Circus by Elliot Cowling
« on: March 08, 2019, 12:14:40 AM »
I never liked the circus. Not for any particular reason. I just wasn't a fan of all that theatrical side of things. My little brother however was a huge fan of the circus. It had taken up permanent residence around five miles outside of our town. It was in fact the opening day of the circus. Advertisements seemed to have appeared from nowhere. It was situated within a large cut down field, next to another field full of wind turbines.

So my parents gave in to my brother's constant whining and we went out around one in the afternoon to the circus. He wouldn't shut up as we approached the main gate. We were greeted by the startling image of a wide mouthed clown on a large sign just outside the gate. Underneath where the words:

Big Top's terrific circus! It's so fun that even your parents won't want to leave!


Um. Right. Well that clown doesn't know me at all. After we parked up my brother jumped out the car and ran towards a cotton candy stall. He is five years old so what should I expect?

“Don't go running off Marcus!" my mum shouted at him.

Marcus kept bugging me to go on all the rides with him. My dad kinda forced me into it to keep him company. By the time I'd got off the carousel, I'd felt like I'd come down with an illness. I felt that sick. It seemed like every ride here was turned up a notch to intentionally make the children spew candy and chocolate all over each other. They also played this ominous music that sounded like something you'd hear in a nightmare in a horror film. There seemed to be a calliope round every corner, blaring out a hideous tune from its rusty pipes. It was around 3:00 PM now, and my mum called me over to tell me that the show was about to start, and that I had to accompany my brother to it because it was a 'Kid's only show'. What show? "Oh, that show... the one where people fly out cannons and all that rubbish!" I thought. The one where elephants parade left to right and are secretly thinking 'You're all a bunch of assholes'. I was not remotely interested. Surely that's not remotely safe, right? A children's only show? Parents or guardians aren't allowed in? I didn't think much of it at the time.

I was dragged along to the show and Marcus made sure we had decent seats. It seemed like half an hour before the thing started. Finally, the curtains drew back, and out came a man in a red suit with beige coloured trousers, and a black top hat. He also had a black cane with a golden head of what seemed to be monkey on it. He spoke with a French accent. It was the ringmaster.

“Ladies and gentleman! Boys and girls! I welcome to you to Big Top's terrific circus! It is so wonderful to see so many people here on our opening day! We have got plenty in store for you... and your parents here this afternoon! Marvel at the amazing Ernie the Elephant! Gasp at the beautiful Miss Melody! And cheer for the one and only Dangerous Don! We have plenty of treats for you this afternoon and this evening so let the show commence!”

An uproar from the crowd made me jump. The entire tent erupted with applause. I was probably the only person there who didn't clap. It looked like I was the oldest person there to. I was seventeen. The tent only allowed under eighteens in it, which was very, very peculiar.

I sat there and closed my eyes while Marcus cheered everything that was going on. Every time I closed my eyes to sleep (yes I was that bored), the crowd would wake me up so there was really no point. Just grin and bear it I thought. I sat through elephants parading around in circles, tigers jumping through hoops, people firing themselves from cannons, tightrope walkers and I still remained bored.

“Up next we have the wonderful Miss Melody singing her wonderful tune 'Peaceful Night!' ”

Out came a stunningly beautiful woman wearing a sparkly red dress and high heels. Her hair was long and blonde. It seemed to trail down her back. She sang a gorgeous song that for the first time in the whole show, kept the audience silent. We were in awe of her beauty. When the song finished, the crowd went back to their usual self and filled the place with cheers and whoops. She turned around and slowly wandered back behind the curtains.

“Our final act this evening are some special guests. They have came from miles away today just to be here so can you please welcome, Jane and Andy Jones!”

My eyes widened. Marcus and I looked at each other with the same expression. He said mum and dad's names. The red curtains drew back and, to my surprise there they were. I looked in shock as they wandered towards the audience smiling and waving. What on earth were they doing in here! Mum looked around and we made eye contact. Her eyes were red and bloodshot as if she'd been crying her eyes out. Dad looked just as upset as Mum. They were holding hands and struggling to smile. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. The crowd went quite and the ringmaster gave my mother a microphone.

“I'd erm... I'd just like to say erm... that... it is a great honour to be here... and erm I'd like to announce that tonight, we are redecorating the tent. I'd like to say to my sons if I may... get out of here... now.”

The ringmaster looked at someone behind the curtain. I couldn't see who it was, but I have a feeling that my mum wasn't meant to say that. As she did, I gulped, I grabbed Marcus' arm and the ringmaster marched forward, grabbed the microphone and pushed them back.

“Erm let's hear it for Jane and Andy Jones!”

The audience did not applaud. They chatted amongst themselves, intrigued by what had just occurred. I looked at Marcus and I leaned in closer to his ear.
“Don't let go of my hand,” I whispered.

I stood up with him and we awkwardly shuffled past moaning audience members to get to the exit. The ring master glared at me whilst addressing the audience. I didn't hear what he was saying. After making our way to the exit, we hurried outside and looked left to right, trying to spot a backstage entrance so we could find our parents. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It had turned off because it was out of battery. Just my luck.

I led Marcus past smiling parents waiting for their children. They seemed quite content eating and drinking and chatting whilst their children were being entertained by daredevils. The eerie music was still blaring out across the circus. After avoiding about twenty piles of vomit and a hundred cans of drink on the grass, Marcus and I could not find any sign of an entrance,

“Maybe they're back at the car?” I questioned.

“What's that?” Marcus asked.

“What's what?” I replied.

“Over there? That wooden door by the tent.”

I looked to where he was pointing. Joined on to the main tent was a wooden exterior. It was rectangular shaped with a tin roof. We wandered over and I proceeded to knock on the door.

“Hello? Excuse me we're looking for our parents. Hello?”

There was lots of banging from within. I could make out a dull moaning coming from behind the door, but no-one came to answer it. I tried knocking ten times or so. Nothing.

“Look they're probably at the car,” I said.

Suddenly, hundreds of children burst through the doors of the tent. An announcement came through the speakers.

“Ladies and gentleman. The park will be closing in ten minutes. Thank you.”

This was turning into something I had dreaded for a long time. Losing my loved ones when I needed them.

There was no security in this place. I saw no security guards the entire time I was there. The best thing to do was ask a performer of our parents whereabouts, but I didn't see any and I couldn't get backstage to ask anyone.

“What I think we should is g---”

Everything went black.

And so began my night at the circus.

When I woke up the first thing I noticed was the pain in my head. It was a violent throbbing right on the top of my head. The sky was pitch black. It was night. The moon wasn't even in the sky. Some security lights were on however. I sat up and processed everything that was going on. I was in a cage. One of the animal cages. On the other side, there lay a tiger, but it was dead. I nearly puked at the sight of it. It had been mutilated from head to paw. Slashes across its stomach, teeth removed from its mouth. Flies were all over it like a bout of Chicken Pox. Tied around it's neck was a piece of string with a note attached. The note read:

Needs to be darker


I looked at the cage door. I noticed the lock. It looked rather rusty. I tried pulling it for some reason but to no avail it didn't open. That's when I heard a shuffle coming from some distance in front of me.

There was only some light coming from where I was looking, but from round the corner, there came a silhouette. I didn't move a muscle. It stood there for a good minute or two and then walked back the direction it came. Another minute went by and the thing emerged again. I could hear a whining sound coming from it's direction. That's when I noticed it was dragging something. No. Someone. Now my view was quite simple. In front of me in the distance was the main tent, or the Big Top as it's known (hence why the owner's name is Big Top). Below it was a long rug or carpet of sorts that spread it in all different directions. One of them led to me. I noticed that they were coloured red.

The figure now came from the left of my view and the air was filled with the loudest shouting a person could hear. The person the figure was dragging began to protest.

“Help! Please anybody! Help me! Who are you! I just want to see my wife and children! Let me go!”

This man was scared absolutely shitless. I could make out his hands digging into the carpet to stop this figure from dragging him. They both went into the tent. I frantically tried to get out now. I even attempted picking the lock with my nails I was that desperate.

Snap.


The lock chain broke and the door gently swung open. I guess it was rusty after all. I crawled out the cage cautiously and looked around. Where's the way out! I didn't know what to do next. I was so worried about myself, that when I realized I needed to find Marcus and my parents, I started to cry.

“I don't know what to do anymore,” I whispered to myself whilst weeping.

Squeak!


The speakers had turned on throughout the circus. What I heard made everything slightly more disturbing. Classical music. Frederic Chopin's piano piece 'Raindrops Prelude' echoed between the confines of the circus. All of what happens next, I will never forget for the rest of my days. The calmest voice followed by the most haunting of screams, came through the speakers.

“Right darling. What I need you to do is just keep calm. You're helping me decorate so you shouldn't be upset.”


“Please get me off of here! I didn't do anything! Please!”


“Well let's see here.”


“Aaahahhhhhh!”


“Wonderful colour darling. Got an almost pink hue to it. Right erm, ok then well that can do for the side beams over there. That will do nicely.”


“Stop this! Please! Ahh! It hurts! Please just stop!”


“Don't be so loud please. I thought you had a headache anyway?”


“Ahhhhhh!”


“There we go. Oh you head does look vile doesn't it. Right. Melody could you clean this up for me darling. Thank you.”


I stood in sheer horror at what I just heard. The piano stopped playing for a about thirty seconds, then it continued. This time, Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata' was playing. Suddenly, the figure came bursting out the tent. It saw me instantly.

“My child! What are you doing? I thought you were locked up? Oh well. Come here at once,” it demanded.

I found myself listening to the thing. Why would I do that? What came over me? As I walked closer, it became apparent who was conversing with me. It was a clown. But it wasn't just a standard clown. It was the one on the sign outside of the circus. Red nose. Red shoes. Red trousers. White feather on top of his hat. The bottom of his face was painted blue. His lips were white. This was Big Top. He spoke to me.

“I've never seen such an obedient child! Now don't worry. I don't hurt children. I want you to come inside with me and stay there. Don't speak unless spoken to and try to be good, ok? Excellent.”

He grabbed my shoulder and forced me to walk along the carpet. I know why it was red now. I didn't want to even have the slightest thought about it.

“Don't you just love that copper smell?” he asked.

“Oh yes, I erm... it's lovely,” I struggled to say as the putrid smell clang to my nostrils. I dare not disagree with him.

“The uniform I'm wearing is for extreme redecoration,” he claimed.

I looked up at the ceiling of the tent. I wretched after I saw what was there, and as I did so, Big grabbed my collar of my shirt and pulled me back up. Hanging from the ceiling were dozens of hooks. Some of them had bodies dangling from them, and others were yet to endure the same fate. Underneath each hook, there was a paint pot. The ones below the bodies were full. All the others were empty. Big shoved me onto the audience seats and he walked over to a rack in the centre of the room.

“Now what I want you to do, is every time a paint pot gets full up, is to paint the beams on the sides for me ok? I'll give you a ladder and you can gradually work your way up.”

From behind the curtains, Melody the singer emerged with a ladder. The expression on her face was one of disgust.

“Well say thank you then!” Big snapped.

“Th-th-thank y-y-you M-M-Melody,” I stuttered because I was so nervous.

Big Top wandered outside, and I assume over to another cage, because a minute or so later he dragged in another man. The guy was probably in his twenties, and he was tattooed from head to toe it seemed. He wore a black tank top and blue jeans. Big lifted him onto the rack, and he tied the man's feet, while Melody tied the man's wrists.

“Boy. Get over here please,” Big Top demanded.

I shot up and got there as fast as possible to avoid the same fate as these people. The man didn't speak. He merely breathed heavily. Big Top addressed me again.
“You see this one's got markings on him. I don't like them that way.”

With that, Melody handed him a carving knife, which Big plunged into the man's throat. He pushed it in deeper and deeper, the man all the while choking on his own blood. It was pouring out of him like a fountain. Big was killing parents. He was murdering some of the parents of the children who had attended the show!

“Slip away. That's it. That's... it...” he said with a struggle.

I cringed and wretched again.

“Oh, we might as well use his blood. There's so much of it, and besides, it's a gorgeous colour. Melody can you squeeze that out of him darling?”

She wandered over and dragged him to the floor. She propped his head up on the ladder and the blood began to pour into one of the pots. Melody kept squeezing just beside the wound to get the “goodness” out of him. Once she finished, I knew what I had to do. Melody handed me a brush.

“Oh no that brush is starting to go all funny Melody. No no, let him do it with his fingers.”

I gulped. There was no way in hell that I would ever perform such a ghastly task. I looked at him and I saw the look in his eyes. I just burst into tears. I had no choice. I would die if I disobeyed him! My family could die! What if they were already dead? I found myself asking these questions as I began dipping my fingers into the pot. I was on my knees, and in my mind I was begging for all this to stop.

“You might find a chunk of something in there but it's all goodness so don't worry.”

This part of the story was a blur for me. My mind seems to have blocked it out. I remember the feeling of blood meandering through my hands as I brushed the beams ever so gently, but that is all. How long I did this for I am not clear, but Big kept killing victim after victim. This was no circus. It was a slaughterhouse. He was redecorating his playground. Melody must have hung the bodies while I worked. The next thing I remember was Big's booming voice declaring:

“We're on the last one now Melody! My oh my you're nearly done my boy! Keep it up!” he shouted excitedly.

A few agonisingly long minutes later, he strolled back in. He wasn't dragging anyone. He was walking with someone. I leaned in closer to see who it was. No. It couldn't be him. Big had entered the tent, but with, well, with Marcus. Marcus' hand was engulfed by the dripping wet gloves that Big wore. He was holding his hand. How could this monster hold my fucking brother's hand! He was speaking to him as if he was his father.

“Now here we are sweetie.”

“Where are mummy and daddy?”

“They're waiting for you Marcus don't worry. Now you're gonna help me paint Marcus if that's alright with you. You'll be helping me out massively Marcus.

You'll see your mummy and your daddy if you do!”

“Yay!”

“You're a star Marcus!”

Big shot his eyes up at me and stared as he walked slowly with Marcus. If looks could kill. He was going to kill Marcus. Something within me snapped.

“You even fucking lay your hands on him!”

“No, I'll use a tool, darling. I'm not an idiot.”

I began climbing down the ladder and Melody ran over to me. As soon as I reached the bottom, Melody lunged towards me. I retaliated and she fell to the floor.

“Move and he dies,” Big shouted.

I turned slowly. The knife was held above Marcus' stomach. I stood there frozen to the spot.

“You can't do this... please... you can't...”

“Maybe your mother shouldn't have informed you to get out. Maybe if she kept quite like the other adults I had taken, Marcus wouldn't be in this situation.”

Melody stood up now and ran to Big's side. They both gawped at me with threatening eyes.

“Please. For the love of God don't do this!”

“I'm sorry,” the clown said.

He lifted the knife up ready to stab.

“No please!”

Before the clown could go any further, Melody spun around, snatched the knife from his grasp and threw it to the ground. She then spun around and shouted:

“Run boys! Through there!”

She pointed towards a side door that led out to the parking lot I assumed. Marcus broke free from Big's grip and ran with me. Melody ran with us and Big screamed with anger. He must have had a music player or something because when we left the tent, Debussy's “Reverie” began to blast out through the speakers

“I want you to paint!”

With that, we ran through the door and round the corner. There was the entrance. It was right in front of us. As we were running, Melody pulled some matches from her pocket and a matchbox. She lit them and threw them at the fence by the entrance gate. Fire engulfed the wooden fence and Big stormed through the gates.

“No! Look what you've done!”

We ran. We didn't have a destination. We just ran. We went into the fields in front of us. The turbine fields. The fire was blazing now. It had reached the tent. That's when I noticed. There were children. Children were sitting in the fields. I assumed that these were the children who lost their parents. The sight was so sad. One girl was talking to herself and playing with a blade of grass. I had to do something.

“Follow us! Quickly come on we have to run!” I shouted.

“You'll never run from me!” his voice echoed across the fields.

The night sky now shone with light as we ran for our lives. The children were following us. Melody ran behind us, and she kept shouting at the children for them to keep going. The atmosphere was deadly. I stopped. The others continued running. In my mind, thoughts of my parents kept replaying. I thought of when I was a child. When I was playing in the house. My mum picked me up and kissed me on the forehead and told me she loved me. I thought of when my dad built me the playhouse in the garden. I stood there in silence. I turned around. I saw the sadistic clown now walking in the dark, a dripping blade in his hand.

“Look what you've done. The lot of you. All you had to do was paint. That's all I asked you to do!”

“Where are my parents!” I shouted.

“Oh, they were fed to the tigers hours ago my dear. Sorry for leaving it this late! Hahaha!”

Melody came running up from behind. Marcus stopped with the other children on the hill behind us. Big cast his eyes on her. I began to weep uncontrollably. Big gazed at her.

“And you. Why you Melody? Oh, nobody does anything properly anymore.”

Melody shoved me backwards and stood in front of me. She had a small blade that she drew from her pocket. From her other pocket she drew a paint brush. She lifted the blade to her other arm and she sliced at her arm. I gasped in horror.

“Melody what are you doing!!”

She turned to me.

“Saving us.”

She immediately turned back round and she began to place the paint brush on her arm. She started to stroke her wound with it. I could hear her struggling in pain as she did this. What was she doing! She then pulled her sleeve up more and began to paint her arm.

“I'm painting. You can't do this Big.”

Big's eyes widened.

“No no no... this... is not right. I can't even touch you. That paint is so beautiful on your skin.”

I then lifted up my sleeves and Melody then painted my left arm. I cringed at the sight and feel of her blood running down my arm.

“You both look so wonderful. The colour is beautiful on you.”

Melody began to march forward.

“This stops now,” she said calmly.

Melody then snatched the knife from Big, and she plunged it straight into his stomach. She took a step back, and then when Big finally processed what was going on he took a step back. He looked at the gaping hole in his outfit and he gripped the knife.

“You look so wonderful Melody.”

He yanked out the knife, and he then gracefully wiped it along his right glove. He then lifted his glove to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“Smells wonderful.”

With that, he fell to the ground. And so did I. I collapsed to the ground.


The police statement


This is Officer Reynolds. Yesterday we interviewed seventeen year old Ryan Jones about what has been dubbed as “The Circus Incident”.  We were sent over to the circus. We found thirty two human corpses located within the tent, along with five tigers. That morning, we found twenty two children, a woman in her early twenties, a seventeen year old boy (Ryan) and his five year old brother (Marcus) on our doorstep, covered in what appeared to be a manner of blood and other disturbing substances. We sent our lot over there immediately and what we found there was beyond belief. In my entire 32 years in the force I had never seen such a revolting crime scene.

We questioned Ryan that afternoon and he kept giving us the same response. “I've got to redecorate” he said. He said this precisely 11 times, and one officer claimed he had to leave the room because of the 'look Ryan gave him'. Despite this outburst he answered the questions as best as he could. All were questioned and Melody claimed she was blackmailed to 'take care' of the bodies. After the interview, the twenty two children were sent to their next of kin. Ryan was sent to his home and Melody accompanied him and his brother. She drove them home in his car at around 4:00PM that day. Seeing as their next of kin cannot be contacted at this time, and Melody is not a suspect in the case, we placed the children in her care for the time being. The evidence was reviewed that evening, and about 2:00 AM this morning, we got a call from Melody. Police rushed over immediately to the house.

We found Marcus Jones' body stuffed into a wooden wardrobe, with a sticky note attached to his forehead. It read I didn't need him anyway. Such a fresh colour. He suffered lacerations to his stomach, groin and legs. There appeared to be written in blood above the bed in his bedroom the words I love this job xx. Melody suffered no injuries. She claimed that Ryan "left her alive because he didn't need to paint with her." Melody also said that he was wearing a clown suit. This clearly shows signs of post traumatic stress disorder and the force is trying their very best to hunt down Ryan Jones and if necessary, shoot on sight.

It is still unknown how the circus appeared, and how the advertisements were placed around the town overnight. Melody said that she received a letter two weeks prior to the opening day offering her a job there to perform. She never went for an interview for anything of the sort. The performers we are still trying to contact at this time.

We have also been receiving calls concerning stolen paint pots around the neighborhood. After thorough investigation, we found a stash of them in the middle of Colebury Woods. This is the next part of our investigation regarding the whereabouts of Ryan Jones.
Also, we could find no trace of a clown outside the circus.

21
Creepypasta / The Chosen Journals by Chelseaadams524
« on: March 08, 2019, 12:13:28 AM »
March 9th- I figured I’d write this journal as a way to relieve stress. My job can get a bit hectic at times, to say the least. And, before you ask, I’m fine. You don’t get as far as I do by being careless. Anywho, allow me to explain a few things.

What if I told you that you are not alone? That, as you read this, you are surrounded. Not by hidden cameras or stealth ninja assassins or anything crazy like that. Rather, that you, and others, are constantly in the presence of beings whose origins predate humanity by several millennia. These beings are called “Ancients”. That’s not their actual name, though. Their real name is far harder to pronounce and spell (It’d take two weeks just for me to write it). Ancients are powerful shapeshifting beings that can take the form of pretty much anything you can think of. The guy next door, your dog, even the computer you are using right now could potentially be an Ancient in disguise.

That being said, there’s no need to get too worried. For the most part, Ancients want nothing to do with humanity. In fact, you could spend your entire life living among one or more Ancients and never know about it. There are exceptions, of course. Ancients that have become a threat to themselves and others. That’s where people like me come in.

I’m part of a group of humans known as “Chosen”. And, no, I have no idea what causes someone to become a Chosen. Maybe you’re born a Chosen, or maybe you have your abilities bestowed upon you at a certain point in life. Regardless, Chosen are the key to keeping the world safe from rogue Ancients for two reasons.

First, we Chosen are able to tell when something is an Ancient in disguise. Most people pass by Ancients without a second thought. But, we Chosen can tell when something is “off”. When something doesn’t look quite right. That’s how we know if it’s an Ancient or not.

Second, only a Chosen can slay an Ancient. Again, no idea why. A weapon wielded by a normal human may not do much damage to an Ancient, but a weapon wielded by a Chosen becomes lethal to them. You see, we Chosen are able to sense an Ancient’s “Core”. The Core is sort of like their brain or heart. It looks like this glowing orb-like thing that pulsates. Destroying the Core is the only way to kill an Ancient.

I must go now. Got work to do. Sounds like someone was just attacked by their dishwasher. I’ll tell more of my adventures as a Chosen some other time.



March 9th- Encountered a particularly nasty one at a retirement home. You’d think something taking the form of a pair of dentures would be funny. Well, it’s a lot less funny when it jumps down the throat of its victim and rips them apart from the inside-out. Not sure how the staff will explain that to said victim’s loved ones.
That Ancient was fast too. I borrowed an old guy’s cane to use as a weapon against it. Every time I thought I had a killing shot (the two front teeth were where the Core was located), it would quickly zip out of the way. I also got bitten several times. Lucky for me, that Ancient’s teeth weren’t very sharp but its jaws were quite strong. Had I not smashed its Core in, I’m sure it would’ve dove down my throat and chewed up my innards as well.



March 10th- The Ancient I had to hunt down this time took the form of a chair. It was slow moving but strong and very aggressive. I mean we’re talking about one nasty temper. Each “arm” was actually a head with one trying to coil around me and the other trying to bite. As you’ve probably guessed already, the legs of the chair were, well, legs. As for the seat, um, the less said about that the better. Let’s just say I feel sorry for anyone who tried to sit on that monstrosity.

It’s Core was in the back and it was determined to keep it there. For something that moved so slow, it was able to turn surprisingly fast. Each time I tried to get behind it, it would simply turn around and face me. Eventually, I opted to just burn the thing alive. I watched as it thrashed about while its Core was cooked alive along with the rest of it.



March 11th- Like I’ve stated in a previous entry, not all Ancients are evil. Most of them live peacefully amongst humanity. A few even will aid us Chosen against rogue members of their race. One in particular goes by the name of “Thac” (Pronounced “Tock”, in case you were wondering). His preferred form is that of a small plush dragon, though he will sometimes take the form of a businessman in his late 20s to early 30s.


That being said, however, I don’t recommend people work with Thac unless they are well-aware of what they are getting into. Thac appears to be more than the run-of-the-mill Ancients I’ve encountered in the past. He’s willing to aid humanity, but his motives and reasoning for doing so remain unknown. And, to be honest, he’s more interested in whatever benefits him the best. Of course, that doesn’t make him “evil”, per se. Just someone who can be dangerous if you’re not on his side.

There are other aspects of Thac that make me (and other Chosen) question whether or not he’s even an Ancient or...something else. For one thing, he appears to be capable of some form of magic (for lack of a better term). He is capable of disappearing and reappearing nearly anywhere he pleases. And, as I stated above, he’s able to transform into more than one form. Most Ancients I’ve encountered only have two forms, their disguised form and their true form. Perhaps Thac is simply more skilled than other Ancients we’ve encountered so far and his abilities reflect this aspect.

Another aspect of Thac that differs from other Ancients is the bizarre hourglass-shaped associated with him. Said symbol can be used to prevent Thac from entering rooms or even entire buildings. And, if necessary, it can also be used to seal and imprison Thac should he become a danger to others. I wouldn’t recommend attempting to slay him, however. As morally questionable as he can be, I’d rather Thac be an ally than an enemy.



March 12th- Went to a local bar-and-grill for dinner and to track down another rogue Ancient. Thac was with me for whatever reason. I had learned not to question why he chooses certain hunts over others. We had dinner. It was average, except for the waffle fries, which were surprisingly good given the standard bar food fare available.

Our informant was an Ancient that took the form of a television set. A news ticker scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Most people didn’t give it second notice as they were too busy chatting about their day or eating their meals. Thac and I were aware that the news ticker’s words were completely irrelevant to what the newscasters on the television were saying. Instead, they were describing the recent attack that had occurred.

The rogue Ancient took the form of a human being and was responsible for the disappearance of several people over the past week. It didn’t take long for us to track him down. His movements, mannerisms, and appearance were off. Enough for even a normal human to find something wrong with him, even if they didn’t realize just how wrong.

Thac and I confronted him in a parking lot outside the bar-and-grill. It didn’t take long for the rogue Ancient to shift into his true form. And, to say he was ugly would be an understatement. His ribcage and vertebrae had crawled out of his mouth with the ribs extending and forming long arachnid-like legs and the vertebrae forming the tail. The rest of the Ancients humanoid body swung back and forth at the end of the tail while he scurried about slashing at us with his front rib-legs.

After several long minutes of dodging rib-leg strikes and using whatever we could find as makeshift weapons to strike back, I was finally able to locate his Core. It was located in the Ancient’s left-arm of the humanoid body. Thac was gracious enough to distract the Ancient while I climbed up the vertebrae-tail and towards the arm. Unfortunately, the Ancient quickly noticed and began thrashing about trying to throw me off. During this, Thac had been impaled by the rib-legs and had to retreat to regenerate. It took all my effort to hold on for dear life. Using what little strength I had left, I managed to stab the Core with a broken bottle before falling to the ground. The Ancient thrashed about for a few moments longer before curling up and dying.

I really should thank Thac for helping me that day and remind him that it’s his turn to pay the next time we go out to eat.

22
It is not my fault your loved ones die
For everyone fears when the end is nigh
When men are shattered and their limbs fly
The blame lies not with me

Tools of death in careless hands
That crush the worlds and plow the lands
And spill the souls like desert sands
The souls that I must see

I long to go where those spirits do
To be free of fate I’m shackled to
To give mankind a peace that's true
But I'll never be set free

My role eternal, and so my life
To be the one who bears the strife
The wrath, the pain, gun, sword, and knife
That brings all hope to knee


Your world of flame, your world of smog
Your lungs shall fill, your oceans clog
And eat away like a rabid dog
But the blame lies not with me

The lazy hands and greedy hearts
That shred nature to bleeding parts
When all the while the rotting starts
And devours all to see

My name is tied to the evil ones
Forever bound to their daughters and sons
And sung in songs of swords and guns
Beneath the withered trees

These monsters claim that I'm to blame
A hungry beast no man can tame
An entity of death and flame
But they created me


It is not my fault that your money's gone
Rendered worthless by the order of one
Who cannot repair the damage done
No, the blame lies not with me

I am fed and fueled by mounds of cash
While those around are turned to ash
And the hopes of those that live are dashed
By consequence of frivolity

To the streets, the lost will turn
Their worthless bills now tinder to burn
The Depression comes, for you to learn
The horrid curse of poverty

Fallen figures of good and kind
Strike deeper than bullet or blade, I find
Failures of the power-mad remind
Of how ruthless life can be


It is not my fault that fear has spread
That the living soon will join the dead
Not a single word spoke I to dread
No, the blame lies not with me

The memories that scar them still
That I bestowed, but not by will
Still writhe and worm and take their fill
Shaping their reality

The men that brave or flee from pain
And return back home to loves again
Still bear my mark upon the brain
Where no one else can see

For he is lost in a world unseen
One that lurks within his dreams
And wakes to shred him at the seams
Leaving but a husk of he


This is the burden that I bear
That I am forced at once to stare
Into the hopeless dark despair
That has come to be because of me

I wanted none of this for you
I want mankind to gaze into
A future bright and peaceful and new
One that I can never see

I say I carry not the blame
But truth is that I wear the shame
That comes from being thrust the name
Of war, for that is me

Forever more I walk the path
Of fragile life destroyed by wrath
Of broken man and psychopath
And wade through the bloody sea


I want, above else, to be set free
And I pray my death resides with thee
And hope these words brought you to see
That truly, the blame lies not with me

23
Creepypasta / The Antiquan Giant by Unknown Author
« on: March 08, 2019, 12:04:45 AM »
I used to go diving a lot. Not so much anymore, but a couple years ago I was really into it, had my license and everything. It’s really beautiful down there: the pale patterned sand, the water washing away the distance like a blue mist, and flashes of the brightest colors you’ve ever seen as some fish darts into view. I’ve done my share of exploring wrecks and grottoes, but my favorite thing to do is hover right where the shelf plunges into the deep. You get the greatest dynamics there as deep-sea creatures come up to feed.
 
Anyway, one time I was drifting along near Antigua about 40 feet down. I had two tanks with me so I could stay down for several hours. The shelf sloped off to my left and rocks and coral broke the monotony of the sand to my right. I hadn’t seen much that day and was getting a bit bored, but then I noticed a large octopus. It was a deep-sea type, probably washed up accidentally (they don’t usually come up to hunt). It seemed sluggish and didn’t react much when I drifted over to it.
 
Now, octopuses aren’t very friendly creatures; if you manage to get near one they usually flee within seconds. I’m sure you’ve seen videos of them changing colors to match their environment. Not all species can do that, but they’re all very good at hiding. So seeing a deep-sea octopus up close was quite an opportunity. It was about a foot from crown to beak and dark mottled green. Its tentacles curled around it, perhaps four feet long when extended and pale on the underside. Its eyes looked like golden rings around narrowed black pupils. It was having trouble moving and looked half dead.
 
I decided to try to get near it. There were some yellowtail jacks nearby and I speared one with my knife. Sorry if that offends you, I’m not one of those “touch nothing” divers. Cautiously I approached the octopus and offered it my fish, shoving it out ahead of me and letting it drift toward the creature. Success! It didn’t run, but lazily reached an arm out to capture the morsel. It brought it under its beak and began to devour it. I drifted closer, trying to acclimate it to my presence.
 
Over maybe half an hour or so it became more lively and used to my presence. Apparently I had bought its tolerance with my offering, and it even began to play a little bit, darting away from me and then back. I had a stick with me that I used to test holes and mud and such, and it occurred to me that maybe I could teach it to play fetch. I brought the stick out and waved it until it seemed like I had its attention, and then threw the stick out sideways. It didn’t go very far underwater, of course, but the octopus went after it and grabbed hold with its tentacles. It didn’t seem inclined to return to me, though, so I swam closer. It was waving the stick at me, and then it tossed it out to the side. It was copying me!
 
 
I retrieved the stick and then an interesting idea came into my head. Next to us was a large flat rock covered in half an inch of mud and detritus. Careful not to disturb the layers, I took the stick and slowly drew a crude figure of a man: two legs, two arms, and a round head coming off a central cylinder. The octopus seemed to be watching with interest. I tossed it the stick and it caught it easily. It sat there toying with it, and for a few moments I thought my expectations had been too high. But then it reached out with the stick and began tracing its own mark in the mud. It was even cruder than mine, to be sure, but clearly drawing. However, the proportions were all wrong. It had fused the head and the body into one ball, and there were too many legs. I was just happy it was copying me; I’d heard octopuses were smart, but this was really something. But then, it hit my like a freezing wave: the octopus wasn’t copying my drawing, it was drawing itself!
 
The implications for this were huge. If I’d had a video camera then, I would be a famous man today. The only other animal I’m aware of that’s capable of the imagination and self-awareness to do something like that is the ape, first cousin to humans. That the ancient octopus, without so much as a spinal column, had the mental capacity for such a feat would surely have turned biology on its head. However, I didn’t have a camera, and the scientists I’ve told my story to greet it with understandable skepticism. I would put all my time into trying to prove it myself, but I just can’t bring myself to go diving any more.
 
Anyway, once that realization struck, I got excited. The octopus passed the stick back and I began drawing other sea creatures and common sights. We kept on for maybe an hour, and the octopus contributed as much as I. It even drew something I took to be a crude figure of a submarine, with a con tower, propeller screw, and even torpedo holes. Finally, the octopus led me to the other side of the rock, a blank canvas. Far down in the corner, it again drew itself and then me. These figures were very small, maybe an inch or two tall. Then, painstakingly, it went to work on a much larger drawing. At first, I thought it was a whale, but whales are roughly of a size with submarines, so it didn’t seem to justify the scale. Furthermore, the proportions were all wrong: this seemed like something more humped and compact, almost as if it were upright rather than aqualine. And it had weird bits sticking out of out that didn’t seem like fins. I couldn’t place it. An oil platform, maybe? No, the lines were too natural, and an octopus wouldn’t know what the top of a platform looks like.
 
When the drawing was done, we both sat and looked at it for a while. I took the stick back from the octopus and circled the drawing of us, and then drew a line to the thing. I’m not sure if the octopus picked up on my confusion, because it just sort of sat there for a while. It didn’t try to take the stick back. Then it started swimming away. I followed it at a distance. It seemed to be keeping a pace, leading me on. Then it turned and shot out into the deep area off the shelf. I was a good way through my second tank and wasn’t supposed to go any deeper, so I had to let it go. It stopped once to watch me, and then darted off, dissolving into the dark blue depths. I looked after it for a few minutes to see if it would return, but there was nothing, so I started watching the other fish and making my way slowly back to the boat.
 
Then, suddenly, there was a low thrumming sound all around me. It wasn’t very loud, but it was *big*, as if it came from the ocean floor itself. I’ve heard of underwater eruptions, but I’ve never been in one, and I wondered if I was about to be. But this didn’t sound like anything natural. It sounded like the call of some animal, slowed down into the virtually sub-sonic range and projected from huge speakers very far away. I’ve had a chance to look over the seismograph recordings for that day, and nothing shows up at that time for that frequency. I have no idea why. The fish were going crazy, darting back and forth and all heading inland. And not just the reef fish, larger ones from deeper in were streaming by me even faster. Suddenly, among them, the octopus appeared again. It or one quite like it. It swam up to me and eyed me strangely, then darted past with the rest. The thrumming sounded again.
 
Looking out to sea, I gradually became aware of a large dark patch. It was very hard to tell how big or far away it was, but there was plenty of both to go around. It was hard to tell more than just a shadow in the murky water, but it clearly wasn’t a whale or anything man-made. I couldn’t even tell if it was a single creature; there seemed to be long strands like kelp or jellyfish tentacles streaming off it, but immeasurally larger. It looked like nothing so much as an ancient, misshapen section of coral reef broke off and floating. At least the part I could see; it seemed to fade off into the distance as though that mass, immense as it may be, was only a limb to some far larger entity. I’ve never seen a naval carrier from underwater, but I imagine that’s the kind of shadow it would cast.
 
The thrumming rang out a third time. An unreasoning fear seized me. I didn’t appear to be in danger: though the thing was vaster than anything I’d ever seen, it was too far away to reach me quickly, and it seemed like it wouldn’t fit into the shallows, anyway. Nevertheless, I was gripped by the feeling that if I didn’t get away as fast as I could, I would be dragged down into the abyss and consumed. I could feel the very water itself drawing me down into that black maw. Heedless of the depth or my equipment, I surged upwards. As I rose, of course, I began cramping, but I clawed my way up anyway. I was still far from the boat. When I broke the surface I could barely move; I had to keep my mouthpiece in because I couldn’t keep my mouth above water. I certainly couldn’t call or signal the boat. Far from receding, my panic was worse than ever; from above the water I couldn’t see the thing or tell whether it was coming for me. I thrashed my slow, painful way toward the boat. Finally someone on board noticed my and they came to pick me up. I had the bends bad, and had to stay in a hospital for a few weeks until I was over it. The doctors tell me I was lucky not to get a stroke or some other permanent damage.
 
So, that’s my story. I’m sorry I can’t give a more satisfying conclusion; I still don’t know myself what I experienced. My friends think it was some form of rapture, but it just doesn’t match the symptoms; narcosis is supposed to reduce anxiety, not stimulate it. And my hallucinations, if that’s what they were, were too vivid and specific. Anyway, since then I’ve been afraid of the water. I tried going out once or twice, but all I can do is stay shaking in the boat. I think there really was something out there, and I don’t think it’s something I ever want to come across again.

24
Creepypasta / The Afterlife Can Be An Unusual Place by IcyDice
« on: March 08, 2019, 12:03:44 AM »
Hello there. Before we get started, allow me to introduce myself. My earthly name was Marcus Wade. I’m not entirely sure what the purpose of sharing my personal accounts with you is, but maybe I do it just because I can.  You can make your own assumptions as you go, but I’d rather not go on a tangent for too long before the story. So, allow me to tell you about my experiences in the afterlife. I think they may interest you. Maybe things will change in the future, and if they do, I will continue to describe such experiences to you. For now, I present you with what I know and have seen as of now. Events which shaped my life after death and continue to do so.

I awoke, yet I did not remember falling asleep. Perhaps that is death, if you can even call the process in which I experienced death.  Can something which never was truly alive be deceased? I ask that as a man without a family or a legacy to call my own. All I saw around me is nothingness. I say nothingness because there is no language within the mortal world to describe was, and that was when I realized my worth. When I learned that I only ever amounted to all of which those who lived and died before me discovered, and my progression of thought and discovery would come to a halt once I discovered true omniscience. Yet, true omniscience was a fallacy. A myth created so the foolish people such as I would find themselves on a wild goose chase to self-proclaimed superiority rather than become progressive members of society. Sound pretentious? That’s because that was who I was as a man. So there I sat, unmissed by anyone, and totally unfazed by the fact that I was in the afterlife.

A state of clarity had washed over me once I found myself in this strange place. It was as if all my wrongs were exposed and I was enlightened to the truth and the difference between right and wrong. Throughout my life, I was completely obsessed with learning as much as I could, so I could prove to those who doubted me I was better than they had assumed I was. Now that I was dead, I could only be surrounded by thoughts and memories as my mind expanded further and I came to understand what I hadn't before. Fitting wasn’t it? As a man whose sole purpose was discovery and intelligence, this newfound knowledge could only be described as a euphoric feeling to me. Heavenly, if you will. Yes, this was Heaven. It had to be, for what else could possibly be concluded based on the information at hand?

I found myself uncomfortable at first. The sensation of being a sentient, yet disembodied was strange due to the amount of time I had previously spent as a living, breathing person, but I soon got used to my circumstances. I had all the time in the world to think, and so that is exactly what I did. I sat there for as long as I can remember, pondering over past events and actions. Some of them I took great pride in, whilst I kicked myself over my own stupidity when recalling others.

It felt like an eternity before I saw it. Some sort of bright light penetrated my vision, and I was finally able to see the world around me. A perfectly rectangular room, devoid of any furniture, was what I saw. I looked down and saw a hand. It was my own... I had seemingly regained my mortal body once more. The walls and floor of the room were in pristine condition, and everything appeared in a white coating of paint. In the center of the room sat a single white desk, where a large desktop computer sat mounted on top of it. I slowly made my way over to the old-fashioned equipment and sat in the chair, pushing the power button to the computer. I heard the soft humming of the machinery as the screen faintly lit up, revealing a blue background screen and a single application in the center. I moved the mouse until the pointer hovered over the app, my curiosity at its peak. Then, I clicked twice and watched as a brand new page popped up in front of me, filling the screen entirely.

I watched as a plethora of dates and times appeared before my eyes, each accompanied by a video file. Unsure of what any of this meant, I clicked on the very first link. Upon doing so, a downloadable file appeared, which I opened. Much to my surprise, the download automatically started playing the video within it. I saw a woman in a hospital bed. The expression on her face was that of pain, and I heard her crying in agony as various doctors and nurses did their best to comfort her. The woman was someone who I had recognized. She was... she was my own mother. After several minutes of her exasperated wailing, one of the doctors lifted up a small child, showing my mother as pride and joy filled her eyes. As soon as the video ended, the download file closed out and I was returned back to the original web page. For a minute, I was left speechless. Upon looking at the file more closely, I recognized the date on it as my birthday. Before me was every single important event in my life.

I took the time to watch a few of these videos, of course. Several birthdays of mine, my first girlfriend, my first few cars and homes. There were hundreds, if not thousands of videos detailing some of the best times of my life. I sat in awe as I watched the early days of my childhood replaying right in front of me. It was truly one of the most fascinating moments I had ever experienced. This fascination, however, was short-lived. Soon, I felt a new, much less pleasant feeling. One of disappointment and regret. I am referring to the events which took place in my life after my childhood. Now, I had been aware of the poor decisions I had made in life before I found the mysterious computer room. In fact, it was some of those very memories in which I had pondered in my previous state. However, there is a large difference between recalling something and actually witnessing it again with your own eyes. For instance, when I had remembered my various arguments with my parents, the kids and teachers at school mocking me for my low intelligence and work ethic, the feelings associated with such events didn't shake me up as much as viewing my bullies and relatives berate me with insults, believing I would end up as a nobody or some hooligan on the streets.

Even more disheartening was that there were more download links involving the negative aspects of my life than there were positive ones. It is a sad fact of life that adulthood lasts far longer than childhood, and my adult years grew even more depressing as the slow, definite march of time continued. Still, there was nothing I could do within my afterlife except watch as my pathetic life devolved from the innocence of a child to the contempt of a grumpy man, so I continued.

When those closest to me had doubted my ability to progress at the rate of the other children, I personally took it upon myself to prove them wrong. As a young boy with very few friends or hobbies, such a task became my passion, and I spent nearly all my time with my nose stuck in any book I could get my hands on. I completely ignored any other entertaining activity a boy my age would gladly partake in, even opting to study on my birthday and other fun events in my life. Thus, as my high school years started, I isolated myself from all distractions in order to prove myself capable of outsmarting anyone who dared doubt me. As you can imagine from someone like me, I considered people distractions as well, causing many relationships with the few friends and family I had to shatter completely. These were the years that marked the beginning of my downfall.

After reviewing my teenage years, I decided to move on. I clicked on the scrollbar and dragged it downwards, waiting a bit before stopping once more and selecting a new date. I was an adult at that point in time, and my studying and hard work had paid off. Well, paid off as far as financial security was involved. Despite being socially inept and losing most of those I cared for, I carried on with my anti-social tendencies until I found myself in a good college and got into a well-paying job. I had moved up the ranks rather quickly in the workplace, soon becoming a top-ranking supervisor who enjoyed commanding my orderlies around like they were dogs.

I sat in my chair in disbelief as I watched the smug grin on my face while I barked out instructions to colleagues and interns alike. The nerve I had to treat others such a way. Perhaps it was the afterlife and the newfound clarity and sensibility I discovered upon entering it that allowed me to see clearly the problems with my behavior. It also allowed me to see the scowls and rude remarks muttered under the breath of various employees who looked upon me in disgust. I had been blind to such things in my human state, but apparently, I wasn't anymore. This behavior wasn't just common in the workplace, but outside of it as well. It wasn't long before the neighborhood came to realize my rather distasteful tendencies and steered clear of me altogether, to which I paid them no mind. It was my choice and mine alone to live a life of solitude, and for the longest time, I was known as the mean old man who lived at the end of the block. I never smiled, nor did I ever laugh. The very few people who saw me outside of my house or outside of work only ever saw me with a scowl permanently sewn to my face. I didn't decorate for Christmas or Halloween. I didn't send or receive gifts or partake in the many activities within the community. If there was precious work to be done or information to be learned, I focused all of my attention on it.

Speaking of Halloween, I found a few video files around that holiday. I decided to watch some of them and found that even though I never had a single frightening prop out on my porch or yard, not one kid within the area would come near my residence. I actually found myself chucking at this fact, figuring their parents must have warned them about the scary old fart who would surely throw a fit should he be disturbed, regardless of the circumstances. My curiosity started withering away as I clicked on the scroll bar and continued downwards. It was at that moment that I realized I had almost reached the bottom of the page, and only a few downloads remained. They were nothing special really. Just a few videos of me lashing out at some more people who dared commit the heinous crime of trying to socially interact with me. Yeah, I'm surprised I made it into heaven again in this first place. Then again, it was never made apparent where I was. As far as I knew it wasn't heaven, but just some random phase of the afterlife I found myself in. Regardless, I don't make the rules, nor will I attempt to understand them in a vain attempt to know everything. After all, why make the same mistakes in the afterlife as I did in the mortal world.

Now, the reason why my palms became sweaty upon nearing the end of the timeline is that, as you may have guessed, the final date was the date of my death. You also may have wondered why a spirit is choosing to spend time typing his recounting of life and death online, and the answer to that question is simple. I didn't have a normal life, nor did I have a normal death.  I have to share what happened to me with you all simply because I feel obligated to do so. Maybe it can serve as a warning, or perhaps I feel the need to share because some things are simply too insane not to spread. Regardless, I'm already this far, so I might as well continue.

It took me quite some time to muster up the courage to download the final video. Despite mentally preparing myself for what was to come numerous times, I was still hesitant. I found myself out of the chair and pacing the room at one point, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down. It seemed like hours before I was ready to witness the most important, and most upsetting, day of my life. The day which transferred me from the land of the living to that of the dead.

Summoning each ounce of bravery within me, I clicked the link and watched as the download opened and the video automatically played. I frantically chewed at my fingernails as I watched myself in my living room, sitting comfortably in my recliner chair. I saw the coffee mug in one hand and newspaper in the other as I did what I had always done best, absorbing all the information I could. The night was black as tar and the wind sung its soft tune. I could notice all these details and more as my eyes closely watched. It felt as if I were experiencing the event in real time, except this time, unlike my human counterpart, I knew what the outcome would be. I knew that that living, breathing person who had been me would live their last day. A life would abruptly end and I would bear witness to my own demise, and it caused my skin to crawl, my entire body trembling. It was an eerie feeling indeed. This video was longer than the previous ones. While the others had been just thirty seconds to a minute or two at most, this one was several minutes longer in comparison. I watched myself take a quick swig of my coffee and stand up, making my way to the kitchen. This version of me... a person who I had trouble conceiving was the exact person I am.

I.. I knew the noise was coming but I didn't realize it would come so soon in the video. The sound of glass shattering filled the house as the "alive version of me" turned quickly and grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter, slowly making his way back into the living room. I practically screamed at the monitor in front of me, begging myself not to do what I was about to. These efforts were fruitless, of course. If I could change the past I wouldn't be in my current predicament, now would I?

I saw myself flick on the light and stare at the broken glass window in confusion. There was nobody in sight, and I had relaxed my body due to a false sense of security. It was foolish, and although my relaxation was just for a split second, it was enough. A large man in a mask pounced from behind the wall, tackling me to the floor. I covered my eyes, not wanting to see the massacre that was destined to unfold, but morbid curiosity forced tiny creases in between my fingers to allow peepholes. I had to see... I had to see. This computer allowed me a new perspective on what had happened in my life, and I just couldn't help but watch as the man wrapped his arms around my throat, seemingly unbothered by my futile attempts to defend myself.

I leaned back in my chair and felt my body tense up as the man forced his knee into my ribs trying to cease my efforts at escaping, his grip around my throat tight as ever. Finally, after an uncomfortable amount of silence, the man released his hold on me and got up, watching over my limp body. My face was pale and my eyes were bloodshot, an expression of surprise on my face. It was the first time I had seen any emotion besides contempt within me. I let out a long sigh of relief as the video finally came to an end and the download closed out. I placed my hand on my throat and rubbed gently. It was almost as if I felt choked just by reliving my final moments on Earth. I got up once more, pacing the perimeter of the white room. I felt sick to my stomach at the prospect of the computer. I had access to any moment in my life at the click of a button, including my own murder. I took a seat in criss-cross position at one of the four corners of the room.

It could have been anyone who killed me in all honesty. I had lots of enemies. People who I showed disdain for returned such feelings. People in the workplace, people in the neighborhood. Hell, even what was left of my family at the time had felt deep resentment towards me. Funny enough, despite the heavy torment I faced at their hands in childhood, even when I solved their issues with me of being a stupid kid they didn't seem satisfied. In truth, I don't really regret cutting them off from my life. Sure, I regret leaving some of them. Quite a few of my cousins had always treated me with respect and dignity, however, I feel no pity towards any of the others.

When I went back to the computer and turned the monitor back on, I was immediately met by something curious. There, right next to the first app, stood another. It was a notepad with a title named after me. I looked all around me, looking for any other entities within the room. There was nothing. Not only that, but there were no entry points in the room either. No doors, no windows, and upon further inspection I found no sign of hidden hatches either. There was absolutely no way another person could have gotten in, leading me to believe that the app had appeared all by itself. Realizing once more that I truly had nothing better to do, I clicked on the notepad and watched as the document opened. Several paragraphs of text sat before me. After reading the document, I realized that unlike the video files, it didn't detail the events which took place while I was alive. Rather, it was an article describing what happened after I died. I felt my eyebrows rise while my eyes scanned the screen, taking in the information presented to me. While I can't remember the exact words I read, I can paraphrase what they said.

In summary, after I died there were several suspects the police rounded up and interrogated. I recognized each of the names listed by the article as people I had come into contact with in life. My experiences with all of them were, needless to say, negative. In all fairness, there were plenty of people who would have the motive to murder me, but not a single one was found guilty. According to the article, all who were questioned were eventually released due to "insufficient evidence", although I found that rather hard to believe. Despite not wanting to believe it, a part of me felt as if the case wasn't taken as seriously due to my reputation around the community. Still, none of it mattered now. Not anymore.

When I moved past that part of the article, I found that the topic had shifted from the strange circumstances surrounding my death to the impact on my community. My house had been put on the market, but nobody would buy it. Apparently, nobody would buy a house where someone had been murdered. What had once been a dead zone during the holidays became a neighborhood attraction for some of the younger kids, especially during Halloween. It was at that moment during the reading that I froze, my face completely blank. It had been... years since I died. I placed my head in my hands and took several deep breaths, which did almost nothing to calm my nerves.

Then I continued reading the article, my breathe exasperated, I saw it expanding upon the previous point in the writing. Many teenagers would dare each other on the scariest day of the year, October 31st, to spend the night near my house or, in some cases, sneak in. Apparently, tales of my mean attitude and murder spread like wildfire upon my death, causing tons of ghost stories and rumors to be told around the campfire. I found several more video files within the notepad, which I didn't even realize could be stored there, but then again, I had learned that I couldn't expect anything ordinary now. I downloaded the links and watched several videos of teens sneaking in and out of the house at Halloween. Some spent the night, while others got too scared to stay and ran home crying. I must admit, the house did look pretty creepy. It was unkempt and probably unsafe to stay in, with cobwebs covering the porch and the paint on the outside peeled and chipped.

The inside of the house, from what I could tell, wasn't in much better condition. It was completely barren of furniture and the floor was coated in a thin layer of dust. There were very few places in the home where light could be found, mostly due to the windows being boarded up. I watched a video of a rather timid-looking kid make his way up the steps to the second story, the stairs creaking every couple of seconds. He looked all around, taking in his surroundings. He allowed the flashlight in his right hand to illuminate the room. With that, he layed out a sleeping bag on the cold hard floor. There were dozens of kids who had done the same. Eventually, the local authorities took notice and would often have a patrol car near my house during Halloween in order to make sure no kids were trespassing. Once again I was taken back by the amount of time that had passed since my death. Perhaps it had been longer than I thought.

Finally, the kids stopped showing up, and so did the police. I could feel my heart sink a little at that. Something about the fun the kids had, while juvenile, reminded me of the some of the fun I missed out on as a boy, and the fact that their fun was ending somewhat saddened me. I looked at the article and saw it come to an abrupt end, to which I closed the notepad and returned my gaze to the monitor home screen.  Rubbing my eyes in fatigue, I felt the incoming sensation of sleep.  I found it odd how I could feel sleepy in the afterlife, but I suppose it's pretty tiring to see what I had. I felt myself drifting off, and without much thought, I allowed sleep to embrace me.

I woke up the day after, or at least I think it was the day after. I had no concept of time within that white room, and I was disappointed upon waking up to find that nothing had changed. I was afraid that all the afterlife would provide me was contemplation in the form of this computer in front of me. Stretching my hand forward and gripping the mouse, I shook it a little to wake the monitor up. The background had changed from a purely blue screen to a black and white checkerboard style image. Once again I looked around the room for any place someone could enter and alter the computer, only to find nothing again. Shifting my attention back to the screen, I noticed one more item that hadn't been there the previous day. It was a folder, and upon opening it I found a page titled "Instructions". It was in an application which I was unfamiliar with, but I proceeded in opening it anyways. Inside was a single link. Figuring there was no harm in clicking one more, I hovered my mouse above it. However, I hesitated. Something about this link seemed odd to me. This wasn't like the others and I knew it, but I had no idea how. Still... there was only one way to find out where it lead. Sighing, I tapped the mouse and opened the link. And once I did so, my vision went black.

For a single moment in time, I thought I had gone blind, and it terrified me. The white room surrounding me was gone and replaced with darkness, and for that split second I wanted to scream, but couldn't. I couldn't do anything really, and it was awful. I would say my heart was pounding against my chest but I couldn't feel my heartbeat, nor was I sure if I had a chest or body at all for that matter. I couldn't feel my own existence. It was like for a moment I stopped existing within reality, becoming an abstract being. I didn't exist, yet I did. That's as best as I could describe that odd, terrifying sensation.

As soon as it started it stopped, and I was snapped back into reality. I stumbled a bit and fell to my knees, gasping for air as I felt beads of sweat running down my face. It was amazing how alive and human I felt even as a spirit. My blurred vision finally came into focus and fixated on the floor beneath me. The first thing that I noticed was that the floor wasn't white, meaning I wasn't inside the room I had become so familiar with. Instead, the floor was wooden and cold, coated in a thin layer of dust. I stood to my knees and looked around, taking in various features around me. Recognizable features which allowed me to easily identify the place I was in. It
Download
was my own house.
It looked the same as it had through the videos I saw while kids searched through it. I saw the same boarded windows, heard the same creaking floorboards... yes, it was mine alright. I was confused as to why I was there, and I felt my heart speed up as I noticed where I was standing. It was the exact same spot as where my murder had taken place. Feeling uncomfortable with where I was, I moved to the front door and placed my hand on the cold doorknob. I tried turning it but to no avail. The door wouldn't open. I looked down at the lock, only to see that it wasn't turned. I grasped the doorknob and frantically began turning, unable to exit the house. I rushed to the back door and found that the same thing happened. I pushed up on the windows not boarded and found that no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't budge. I was trapped inside my own house, with no way to escape. I pounded my fists on the door and screamed at the top of my lungs despite knowing damn well that not a soul in the world could hear me.

My body found itself slumped over in front of the back door, twiddling my thumbs and tapping my foot lightly. I took several deep breaths in an attempt to distract myself from my situation and tried thinking of some sort of solution. Why had what happened, happened? Why view my entire life in rewind and study my legacy after death just to be trapped in the very house I was killed in? It was madness. I slammed my fist against the floor in a fit of rage and got up once more, clutching my head and violently pulling at strands of my hair. After several minutes spent in frustration, I allowed myself to settle down and explore my now abandoned home. I figured that there was no point in getting too worked up over it anyway. I made my way up the stairs and down the hallway. Despite the second story being completely enveloped in darkness, I found it quite easy to see and navigate, as if I had my own set of built-in night vision. At the end of the corridor was a door to my room. There was something odd about it, and it wasn't a subtle type of odd either. A fluorescent glow emitted from within the room, shining brightly through the cracks. I made my way towards this glow and, much to my approval, I found I was able to open the door.

Upon entering I realized that glow coming from a computer screen within the room. It was my computer, inexplicably clean and in the same spot it had always been despite the rest of the house being bare. I lifted the computer and realized that a fine layer of dust say underneath where the computer was, which should have been impossible had a solid object truly been on top of it. I had realized that this wasn't my computer, but something provided to me as a tool. It was my very own resource and I found that it came equipped with apps and an internet connection. I couldn't explain this at all... but something was allowing me to communicate to the outside world. What seemed like a blessing in disguise, however, would turn out to be my only way to share to you this story and what follows. It wouldn't turn out to be a convenient device as a gift, but a way to retell the painful experience that is to follow, The other thing I noticed about the computer was the date and time. Wondering what time and day it was, I looked, only for my eyes to widen. The date was October 31st.

It was the morning of Halloween, and it was then that I realized my presence within my house was no coincidence. I was meant to be here, on this very night. I remembered my thoughts in the past. If you recall, the kids within the neighborhood would gather around my house at Halloween, each daring each other to enter the old abandoned house where a murder took place years ago. I wondered, however, about the police, until I then recalled their absence recently as the teenagers died down. I then realized that because of the lack of law enforcement specifically in front of my house, there was a possibility that they would be back and enter once more.

A smile grew onto my face as I realized that my dismay upon hearing these kids and their mischievous fun would come to an end would now be invalidated. My smile only grew wider at the prospect that perhaps I would be able to help these kids have fun and do their fair share of devious acts, seeing as how I was too foolish and full of myself as a young lad to do so myself, thus losing part of my very childhood. Yes, I understood my purpose. I was to haunt the very house I was killed in. While that idea might have sounded very unsettling to the average man, I was excited to relive a part of my life I missed out on. I peered out into the brightly lit road and observed the houses in the distance. Many cheap Halloween decorations adorned the neighborhood, and I saw a few young kids board a bright yellow school bus. I had the whole day to prepare for the night to come. I chuckled to myself. They had no idea what they were in for. As the sun withdrew from the sky and fell below the horizon, I saw dozens of kids running out of their homes, candy bags gripped tightly within their hands. They skipped and galloped down the road with plastic masks portraying witches and ghouls and all sorts of creatures of darkness. To each house in view, they approached with glee and knocked upon the doors. They laughed joyously as candy was emptied into their bags and moved onto the next houses. None of them stopped at mine though.

The evening progressed, and the night grew darker. The moon stood high in the night sky and provided a comforting light in every direction. Many of the younger kids had gone home by that point, and only a few teenagers remained. My heart fell as a thought formed in the back of my mind. What if nobody tried staying the night? What if they were too afraid of police confrontation to take the risk? I didn't want to believe it. This was my chance to make up for my failure in life and help those currently living. Yet, I wouldn't get that chance, would I? Figuring the night was a failure, I laid down on the floor and placed my arms under my head, resting my eyes. I allowed my body to relax and breathed out deeply. Did you know spirits can dream? I didn't, but I know now. I found myself lucidly dreaming that night, sitting within my old recliner chair. Well, it wasn't me who was sitting. I couldn't quite see who the person was because their face was hidden behind the newspaper they held. I approached them slowly, clearing my throat and tightening my fist. I placed my hand on the top of the paper and pulled it down, attempting to find out who the man was. Then, I jumped back, startled and afraid.

There, sitting in the recliner chair, sat a large man in a mask. He threw down the paper and leaped to his feet, approaching me with surprising speed. I fell backward and hit my head on the wall, and I watched in terror as his hand opened and wrapped around my throat, choking me. I struggled for air as my face turned blue. My lungs felt as if they were on fire, and I scraped and clawed at the man's arms and face, attempting to sink my nails into his skin and draw bled. Trying to do anything I could to free myself of his grip. I couldn't. I was too weak to stop my assailant, and I felt myself slipping. I felt the veins bulging from underneath my skin as my eyes became bloodshot. It felt as if they would pop out from the sockets. It felt so real... as if I would die once more. I was reliving my worst moment. Every second of it, I felt. It was all so familiar to me. The furniture around the room within my dream had been knocked over in the struggle, and here I was, death slowly approaching me.

Of that entire ordeal, the most horrifying moment to me was when my entire body went limp, yet I could still see. I could still see, breathe, and feel. I was conscious and aware, trapped inside of a dead body. I was completely and utterly out of control, like a session of sleep paralysis. I watched as the man released me from his grip and stood over me, admiring his work. I witnessed him slip his fingers underneath his mask, pulling upwards. What I saw underneath that black, foreboding mask will forever be ingrained into my mind for eternity.

It was me... it was my face. I saw it clear as day. The skin was pale and slightly blue. The eyes were bloodshot as they had been upon my death, and worms wriggled around through open holes and wounds caused by the process of decay. A mixture of mud and grass filled his mouth, leaving little to no room for the being to speak. I struggled to comprehend what was happening as the figure grabbed a black shovel seemingly out of nowhere. The monstrosity moved out of sight and I heard the sounds of wooden floorboards being removed. As soon as the thing was done with that task, I heard the sound of dirt being removed from the ground. Within minutes the creature was done with its job and lifted me with superhuman strength, tossing me into the hole it had just made. My screams were muffled by my inability to open my mouth as the thing shoveled the dirt on top of me. As the earth filled my makeshift tomb, my sight was lost. The last thing I heard was the faint laughter coming from the creature that had reenacted my murder. A creature that appeared to be me, but wasn't...It was jeering me. I sat up abruptly, drenched in my own sweat and tears. I shifted into a fetal position, rocking back and forth while a million thoughts rushed through my mind. What the hell just happened? Did I really see what I thought I had? There was no way in hell it was real... any of it! I shivered and shook and I just couldn't sit still and nothing made sense. That nightmare had shaken me to my core and I wiped my forehead. I hadn't felt that type of fear since the date of my death. I thought there would be nothing to fear after death, but I was wrong. Maybe nothing can hurt or kill me anymore, but the memories and nightmares which plague me will remain forever.

Not only would my murder dominate my dreams completely, but I wondered, and feared, whether my regrets in life would as well. I wondered if the loneliness I experienced at my own hand would eventually get to me. I felt tears well up within my eyes as I struggled to find a reason behind any of this. I hadn't a clue why and I may never have a clue. The afterlife is supposed to be eternal bliss. The sweet release of death was supposed to help liberate us from the problems of life but they seem to follow us into death.

Perhaps it is a blessing, or perhaps it is a curse. Would I be able to feel happy if such feelings and issues didn't follow us? This truth will forever elude me most likely, but it is something I feel the need to ponder. Yes, it is quite ironic that I do perhaps even more thinking here than I do in life. However, over time I have come to believe that our motivations and intentions behind our actions determine their effect and morality. I myself am a good example of this.

The computer provided to me allowed me to write down notes such as these for further contemplation in the future, as well as reflect on ideas in the past. The Halloween night I described earlier happened about two years ago. After that night, I found myself trapped within my own house until the following Halloween. Luckily enough for me, time seemed to progress faster than it normally would until that day. The house seemed to be pretty devoid of activity until that Halloween though, so I myself had to find entertainment in other activities such as, well, writing. I wrote about my experiences within the computer, this being one such story, and it keeps me sane. I suppose that's another reason why I was presented this hunk of junk replica of my past life laptop. It's a good way to be active and kept up to date while in the very confined world I live in.

The nightmares I had kept on coming. I'd say they occurred about once every week or two. Some of them were harsh, such as the one where I had to live through my murder again. Others weren't nearly as bad but still caused me to feel sick to my stomach, such as witnessing several life-changing moments in wish I pushed family away. Such dreams confirmed my theory about certain moments in my life full with negative connotations coming back to haunt me. I was convinced for some time that the nightmares I had were, in part, punishment for my actions in life as a cruel and negligent man. However, nothing else in the afterworld really seemed to back up this idea, so it is just another theory of mine for now. There are still many questions I have that I am unsure how to answer, so I may seem uncertain a lot of times. In truth, life after death doesn't truly answer our questions about the universe. I've no clue if this experience happening to me is similar to other spirits. Thus, with no comparison to offer, I cannot offer with certainty that events such as this will be similar to others. When last year's Halloween arrived, I was filled with hope once more. It was a promising day, and I would pray that someone would dare enter my home.  Again I saw the kids in their plastic masks and neat costumes skip down the road for a night of trick-or-treating. Just like every year before, they would go up to a neighborhood house, knock on the door, and joyfully accept their delicious treats. The night went on, the kids got their candy, and they all avoided my house once again. A frown formed on my face as I lost hope, realizing that it would be another boring Halloween for me. I hung my head low and made my way over to my spot on the floor, lazily sitting with my legs spread out haphazardly. I leaned my head against the wall and listened to the sounds of the children's fun dissipate. The moon had risen once more, and the children made their way back to their homes.

Breathing out slowly, I prepared to fall asleep once more. Well, until I heard a strange noise outside the house. I opened my eyes and shifted my head toward the back door where the sound originated. I saw several shadows moving around outside the window, soft murmurs accompanying the motion. I sat up, my interest peaked. Could it be what I thought it was? Could it be what I had been hoping for all those years? I got my answer in the form of the window near the back door sliding open and a small boy stealthily making his way into the house. He couldn't have been more than 15 years old. I smiled wide as I stood and made my way over to the boy. Finally, a new risk taker! As expected, he apparently couldn't see me. The boy clicked his flashlight on and methodically traversed the house, jumping at every small creak and groan the old house made. I could see his skin crawling, quite uneasy in the rickety old place. Smirking mischievously to myself, I gently knocked on the wall next to the boy, causing him to jump in fright. He made his way out of the room and towards the bottom of the staircase, looking up into the darkness beyond. I made my way besides the boy and scratches the wooden walls, which got a clear reaction out of the kid.

"H..Hello? Is anybody in here," He whispered softly under his breath, somewhat unsure.

I remained silent as a dead man, not wanting to chase the poor kid out of the house too quickly. This was my first haunting after all, and I didn't want to ruin it. The boy allowed his light to shine up the stairs as he made ascended to the second story, each bump within the night causing him to noticeable wince. I followed him upwards, passing through his body at one point which caused him to shiver. Once he reached the top, he made his way down the long corridor and to my room. Before he could reach the handle, I opened the door ever so slightly, beckoning to him.

"Heh... it's just the wind. Don't be a wimp man, you can do this," The boy spoke to himself.

As he shined the light around the room, I snuck behind him and stood silent, grinning ear to ear. When he turned around to face me, his face turned completely pale. This confused me, so I turned around to see if anything caught his eye. There was nothing. Looking back, I stared directly into his eyes. He stared right back into mine. He could see me. I didn't know how, but suddenly he could see me. He backed away slowly, lip quivering and his eyes as wide as humanly possible. Then, he abruptly released a blood-curdling scream and runs in the opposite direction. I follow quickly as the boy rushes down the corridor. Apparently, he didn't pay attention like he should have, because I heard a shrill cry before the sound of a body tumbling down the stairs echoed throughout the house, followed by a sickening crack.

I rushed down to the boy, my mouth agape in pure shock. There, at the bottom of the stairs, sat the body of the boy. His neck was turned in an unnatural position, clearly broken. His eyes were wide open and unmoving, and his chest was completely still. He wasn't breathing at all. He... was dead. I had to sit there and watch as the paramedics and officers took the child's lifeless body away. The crushing weight of guilt caused tears to form within my eyes, and soon I found myself crying. I had never intended for something like that to happen, and I will never get over it. My perception of time seemed to drastically slow down after that event. I wrote down that event into my computer, my mind unsure of what to think.

This guilt has been weighing me down for some time now. Of all the awful experiences I have had, both in life and death, this tops them all. I am a murderer, and nothing will change that now. Whether this was an accident or not is inconsequential. The blood is on my hands, and I can't help but wonder about the boy's family and how they must feel, even to this day. It tied a knot in my stomach just to think about it, and it always will. A while after those events happened, I found a new application on my computer. It was nothing that I had ever downloaded, nor was it something anyone else could have placed there. It reminded me of what happened in the white room on the other computer, so I immediately knew something crazy would happen. Sure enough, upon opening it up I saw a list of download links to videos. The same videos that were on the white computer, in fact, each and every one identical to their counterparts. There was, however, one video that I didn't recognize. One placed directly after my death date on the timeline.

My eyes widened as I read the date underneath the download link. It was Halloween... the same day I had caused the death of the poor boy who entered the house. I already knew what the contents of the video would be, and watching it only confirmed my suspicions and made me sick to my stomach. That night is all that I can think of any more. There seems to be no more room for any sort of contemplation beside what I could have done differently. All I can ponder now is if there was something that could have been done to mitigate this entire mess... if a mess is even an appropriate term for this. Now, I wish that I could stop thinking altogether.

A child died within the house, and word spread quickly throughout town. The police will be sure to be on top of this place again, but the truth is that I'm stuck here forever, until further notice. If kids don't try sneaking in again soon, they will after the fuzz dies down. Someone will come in, and I'm deathly afraid that there will be another accident someday. I will feel that way until the end of time... or until whenever this damn house is demolished. I'm not sure what I will do when that time comes, but this afterlife is slowly shaping into a hell far beyond what I had imagined. I type this to you know because in a life and death of eternal torment, nightmares, and guilt, it's all I can think to do. There is nothing else for me, so perhaps this account of my life and afterlife will hold some value to you. Whatever the case may be, wish me the luck I so desperately need. Maybe in time I'll forgive myself and move one, but I don't know. I don't really know anything anymore. I just hope the kids stay away from this place. All it has to offer is bad news. Take care now, and be safe this Halloween.

Please don't do anything stupid.

25
Creepypasta / Something Lurks by PostMortemCreamPi
« on: March 08, 2019, 12:00:39 AM »
In my teenage years I spent the majority of my time secluded in my room. I would typically watch old horror films while seated on a small couch in the basement I called my room. The few friends I had would occasionally come over for a night of games and films. When one of them would stay over, they'd use the couch to sleep. Slowly my friends would stop coming by except Adam, he mention that the others spoke behind my back. They had stopped coming over simply because the unfinished basement had given them an uneasy feeling. Eventually even Adam would stop coming over, insisting that we stay at his place for the night.
It was only after, that I began to feel the unease myself. The cold uninviting place was even getting to me. I decided to distract myself by putting on a remake of my favorite film, that had recently had it's home release. I began watching with only a fainting interest, the changes that had been made left nothing to latch onto. At some point I began to drift off to sleep on the couch. I don't recall where in the film I had last seen, but I remember entering a deep sleep at some point near the beginning. Dreams where not a rare occurrence to me, but it had been months since I last had one.
However I recall entering that dream state where you find yourself in a situation familiar to normal day. I was standing near the bottom of the staircase that lead to the only door in my room. My television was showing the film I had fallen asleep during. I began to walk in a slow and methodical way, almost floating the way you tend to do in dreams. Hand outstretched, it was pale and gnarled with long unshapely fingers. They seemed to dangle lifelessly, except for the index finger that stretched out with knobbly joints. The arm was draped in loose dark fabric, robe like and extending down towards the floor. As I continued to move about the room with arm outstretched I noticed someone sleeping on my couch. It was myself, back turned and in a deep motionless slumber. I continued to move towards myself, and eventually had stopped hovering above the other me. I stood there for an unknown amount of time, before taking my my hand and jabbing the long finger into my back. I jabbed at the flesh right below the shoulder blade, pressing deep and sharply.
It was at this moment I jerked awake, turning around to where the other me in the dream had been standing. There was nothing there, only the credits of the film I had fallen asleep during on the television. My back where I had jabbed myself in the dream felt sore and hot. I stumbled over to the mirror on the farthest wall, checking my back. Underneath my shirt there was a small wound, trickling small bits of blood down my back. In the mirror I could see the wall where the stairs rested, the closet that had been made from beneath the stairs was a jar. The two slim doors that occupied the space normally a single door would be, were cracked with the right one more a jar then the other. From the crack, a pale visage lurked peering at me. It took notice that I was looking at it in the mirror, and beckoned me with a long knobby finger tipped with a small speck of red.

26
Creepypasta / See You Soon by Lyca
« on: March 07, 2019, 11:59:35 PM »
See you soon


“Wake up.”

“WAKE UP!”

“WAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUPWAKEUP!!!!”

I could feel someone’s hands on my shoulders shaking them hard.

I tried to open my eyes. I felt confused. Where was I? What had happened?

Finally I forced my eyelids open. Everything seemed blurry.

“Hey, you’re awake.” The voice said a little too enthusiastically.

I squinted in the direction of the perky voice and ever so slowly a face came into focus. It was the face of a man who looked unnaturally happy. This guy’s grin was huge. It must have hurt smiling that wide I guessed.

“Isn’t this just GREAT!” he said it like it wasn’t really a question.

His enthusiasm wasn’t waning in the slightest and I found him kind of creepy, also I realised I had no knowledge of where I was or how I’d got there.

I scrunched my eyes to try and help me think and it actually helped. I  remembered running. That’s right I was running… from them. Rick and Jed, the two bullies who chased me home from school most nights. Sometimes I managed to escape them and sometimes I didn’t. This time something else had happened… but what?

“What indeed.” said the smiling man.

“Think a little harder Toby, you’ll get there.”

That’s right I was Toby. I was running from Rick and Jed. I thought a little harder. That’s when I saw the car. I’d ran straight in front of it and there was no way it could have avoided me. The car had hit me hard with a sickening THUD. I saw my body flying high in the air at least 10 feet. Then I fell. I hit the road hard and was sure I heard things break. Then nothing.

Nothing… at…all.

That’s when I’d heard the man’s voice telling me to wake up.

“Well, here’s the deal Toby.” he said.

“The deal?” I was understandably confused.

“You died when that car hit you son.” he wasn’t my dad so wtf?

“It’s not the end of the world though, I have some good news for you kiddo” he continued. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” I replied. “I don’t feel anything.”

“Precisely.” He said in that same happy voice. I suddenly realised he sounded like a used car salesman and that I probably shouldn’t trust him.

“No pain in the afterlife Tobes, you broke pretty much everything in that accident. You died when your head bashed the floor. I saw the whole thing. That’s when I brought you here.”

“Is this heaven?” I asked.

“Sorry to disappoint you but no.” he said. “And anyway let me introduce myself, I’d forgotten my manners in all of this skull smooshing. I’m Tanas Dayville.. your guide.”

Now I may have still been a little fuzzy but I know my anagrams and if that wasn’t enough what about that last name?

“Tanas Dayville? You’re the Devil.” I said..

“No.. no no no, oh no.” he replied with a smile bordering on genuine. “If I was the Devil do you think I would tip you off by using that name?”

He had a point I guess.

“I’m your guide, just like I said I was. That name is just an ironic coincidence. I can’t tell you how much distrust it causes. It’s not as if it’s even my fault. I mean who chooses their own name?”

He had another point I guessed again.

“Soo errm.. what now?” I asked. I was aware that I was lying on a bed/trolley type of thing, you know like one of those things they put you on in a hospital when you’re waiting to be seen by a doctor or paramedic or whatever. I sat up right then not feeling the slightest bit dizzy anymore.

“Anyway, I'm glad you’re feeling better.” Tanas said and he kind of playfully bro thumped my shoulder..  “Now we can really get down to business. Are you aware of the clause?”

Clearly I wasn’t and he knew that.

“The clause...”  Tanas explained “is a little bit of fun payback.”

“Payback?.” I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant but I liked the sound of it.

“Payback. You, sonny, were killed by an evil act of malice.”

“I got hit by a car.”

“True, true… but you were chased into the path of said car.”

I supposed I was. NO. There was actually no supposing about it. I was bullied, harassed and chased. I’d been so terrified that  I’d ran into the path of a fast moving car that had killed me. I thought of my grieving mother, my little brother crying over me. I thought of the blameless driver of that car. His life would never be the same now that he’d killed a kid.

“So tell me about this payback.” I said.

“Welllll…” said Dayville, his expression slightly changing now. I couldn’t put my finger on what had exactly changed but he somehow looked different. Still happy, but different. “Because you died of malice you get to send someone to hell. I suggest one of your killers. Either would fit in fine there.”

I thought about it for a second. While it was true I hated Rick and Jed, we were just fourteen year old kids. Maybe they could grow up to be good guys. Maybe? Sure I wanted payback, but sending one of them to hell forever? Forever was a long time. Forever was... well, forever.

“I need to think about it for a while.” I said not knowing what else to say.

“No time to think ToeToe.” Said Dayville. “We have no time. You have to go. This has to be now or never.”
I had a flash of memory of all the years of bullying and I felt anger. I said one word:

“Now.”

Dayville put his hand close to my chest and kind of gestured. I had the weirdest of feelings like I was being pulled out of my body.  I was now stood looking at my own body lying flat and still on the road. There were police all over the place. Two paramedics were working on me, or what used to be me. There was a lot of blood around my head. I didn’t want to be back in that body that’s for sure.. I heard a siren and noticed it was another police car speeding to the scene. My mother was in that car. Then I saw Rick stood by the kerb looking over at my body. He didn’t look in the least bit sorry. He just looked blank. I felt a superhuman anger, malice and rage as I pushed Rick as hard as I could into the path of the speeding police car. It hit him full on. He was flung in the air like a rag doll and he hit the road with a satisfying smack sound.

Dead.

I saw my mother’s shocked face in the car and I was glad she was wearing her seatbelt.

I heard Dayville’s voice. “Wonderful, wonderful!” it trilled. He sounded manic and evil now and not in the least bit pleasantly cheerful.

I’d done it. I’d sent one of my bullies to hell. Good. Now I could go wherever life, or the afterlife takes me.

I suddenly felt a terrible pain. My whole body felt like it was being crushed and my head felt like it was going to explode.

Daggers. Daggers everywhere.

I heard a voice.

“We’ve got him!, He’s back” I felt something pressing hard on my chest. Everything hurt and I was aware that something around my neck was stopping me from moving. I put my hand up and felt something hard.

“Toby. Toby?” said a voice. A new voice, not that of Tanas Dayville.

“You’re going be fine Toby. Don’t panic, that’s just a neck brace to keep you from moving for now. You’re going to be fine. Your Mum’s here and she’s coming to the hospital with us. Can you hear me?”

I couldn’t speak so I tried to raise my hand to give a thumbs up because I didn’t know what else to do.

“We can give him something for the pain now he’s stable.” The same voice said.

“He’s lucky to be alive, his heart stopped for almost three minutes.”

“But what about that other poor boy, the one that got hit by the police car? He just kind of jumped in front of it.” I recognised my mother’s voice through the fog of pain and drugs.

“I’m afraid he didn’t make it. He died instantly.”

I felt the needle go into my arm and all the pain started to slide away. I started to drift off into a peaceful sleep. And as I drifted off I swear I heard Rick’s voice hiss..

“See you soon Toby.”


27
Creepypasta / The Russian Sleep Experiment by Unknown Author
« on: March 07, 2019, 11:58:47 PM »
Russian researchers in the late 1940s kept five people awake for fifteen days using an experimental gas based stimulant. They were kept in a sealed environment to carefully monitor their oxygen intake so the gas didn't kill them, since it was toxic in high concentrations. This was before closed circuit cameras so they had only microphones and five inch thick glass porthole sized windows into the chamber to monitor them. The chamber was stocked with books, cots to sleep on but no bedding, running water and toilet, and enough dried food to last all five for over a month.

The test subjects were political prisoners deemed enemies of the state during World War II.

Everything was fine for the first five days; the subjects hardly complained having been promised (falsely) that they would be freed if they submitted to the test and did not sleep for 30 days. Their conversations and activities were monitored and it was noted that they continued to talk about increasingly traumatic incidents in their past, and the general tone of their conversations took on a darker aspect after the four day mark.

After five days they started to complain about the circumstances and events that lead them to where they were and started to demonstrate severe paranoia. They stopped talking to each other and began alternately whispering to the microphones and one way mirrored portholes. Oddly they all seemed to think they could win the trust of the experimenters by turning over their comrades, the other subjects in captivity with them. At first the researchers suspected this was an effect of the gas itself...

After nine days the first of them started screaming. He ran the length of the chamber repeatedly yelling at the top of his lungs for three hours straight, he continued attempting to scream but was only able to produce occasional squeaks. The researchers postulated that he had physically torn his vocal cords. The most surprising thing about this behavior is how the other captives reacted to it... or rather didn't react to it. They continued whispering to the microphones until the second of the captives started to scream. The two non-screaming captives took the books apart, smeared page after page with their own feces and pasted them calmly over the glass portholes. The screaming promptly stopped.

So did the whispering to the microphones.

After three more days passed. The researchers checked the microphones hourly to make sure they were working, since they thought it impossible that no sound could be coming with five people inside. The oxygen consumption in the chamber indicated that all five must still be alive. In fact it was the amount of oxygen five people would consume at a very heavy level of strenuous exercise. On the morning of the 14th day the researchers did something they said they would not do to get a reaction from the captives, they used the intercom inside the chamber, hoping to provoke any response from the captives they were afraid were either dead or vegetables.

They announced: "We are opening the chamber to test the microphones; step away from the door and lie flat on the floor or you will be shot. Compliance will earn one of you your immediate freedom."

To their surprise they heard a single phrase in a calm voice response: "We no longer want to be freed."

Debate broke out among the researchers and the military forces funding the research. Unable to provoke any more response using the intercom it was finally decided to open the chamber at midnight on the fifteenth day.

The chamber was flushed of the stimulant gas and filled with fresh air and immediately voices from the microphones began to object. 3 different voices began begging, as if pleading for the life of loved ones to turn the gas back on. The chamber was opened and soldiers sent in to retrieve the test subjects. They began to scream louder than ever, and so did the soldiers when they saw what was inside. Four of the five subjects were still alive, although no one could rightly call the state that any of them in 'life.'

The food rations past day five had not been so much as touched. There were chunks of meat from the dead test subject's thighs and chest stuffed into the drain in the center of the chamber, blocking the drain and allowing four inches of water to accumulate on the floor. Precisely how much of the water on the floor was actually blood was never determined. All four 'surviving' test subjects also had large portions of muscle and skin torn away from their bodies. The destruction of flesh and exposed bone on their finger tips indicated that the wounds were inflicted by hand, not with teeth as the researchers initially thought. Closer examination of the position and angles of the wounds indicated that most if not all of them were self-inflicted.

The abdominal organs below the ribcage of all four test subjects had been removed. While the heart, lungs and diaphragm remained in place, the skin and most of the muscles attached to the ribs had been ripped off, exposing the lungs through the ribcage. All the blood vessels and organs remained intact, they had just been taken out and laid on the floor, fanning out around the eviscerated but still living bodies of the subjects. The digestive tract of all four could be seen to be working, digesting food. It quickly became apparent that what they were digesting was their own flesh that they had ripped off and eaten over the course of days.

Most of the soldiers were Russian special operatives at the facility, but still many refused to return to the chamber to remove the test subjects. They continued to scream to be left in the chamber and alternately begged and demanded that the gas be turned back on, lest they fall asleep...

To everyone's surprise the test subjects put up a fierce fight in the process of being removed from the chamber. One of the Russian soldiers died from having his throat ripped out, another was gravely injured by having his testicles ripped off and an artery in his leg severed by one of the subject's teeth. Another 5 of the soldiers lost their lives if you count ones that committed suicide in the weeks following the incident.

In the struggle one of the four living subjects had his spleen ruptured and he bled out almost immediately. The medical researchers attempted to sedate him but this proved impossible. He was injected with more than ten times the human dose of a morphine derivative and still fought like a cornered animal, breaking the ribs and arm of one doctor. When heart was seen to beat for a full two minutes after he had bled out to the point there was more air in his vascular system than blood. Even after it stopped he continued to scream and flail for another three minutes, struggling to attack anyone in reach and just repeating the word "MORE" over and over, weaker and weaker, until he finally fell silent.

The surviving three test subjects were heavily restrained and moved to a medical facility, the two with intact vocal cords continuously begging for the gas demanding to be kept awake...

The most injured of the three was taken to the only surgical operating room that the facility had. In the process of preparing the subject to have his organs placed back within his body it was found that he was effectively immune to the sedative they had given him to prepare him for the surgery. He fought furiously against his restraints when the anesthetic gas was brought out to put him under. He managed to tear most of the way through a four inch wide leather strap on one wrist, even through the weight of a 200 pound soldier holding that wrist as well. It took only a little more anesthetic than normal to put him under, and the instant his eyelids fluttered and closed, his heart stopped. In the autopsy of the test subject that died on the operating table it was found that his blood had triple the normal level of oxygen. His muscles that were still attached to his skeleton were badly torn and he had broken 9 bones in his struggle to not be subdued. Most of them were from the force his own muscles had exerted on them.

The second survivor had been the first of the group of five to start screaming. His vocal cords destroyed he was unable to beg or object to surgery, and he only reacted by shaking his head violently in disapproval when the anesthetic gas was brought near him. He shook his head yes when someone suggested, reluctantly, they try the surgery without anesthetic, and did not react for the entire six hour procedure of replacing his abdominal organs and attempting to cover them with what remained of his skin. The surgeon presiding stated repeatedly that it should be medically possible for the patient to still be alive. One terrified nurse assisting the surgery stated that she had seen the patients mouth curl into a smile several times, whenever his eyes met hers.

When the surgery ended the subject looked at the surgeon and began to wheeze loudly, attempting to talk while struggling. Assuming this must be something of drastic importance the surgeon had a pen and pad fetched so the patient could write his message. It was simple. "Keep cutting."

The other two test subjects were given the same surgery, both without anesthetic as well. Although they had to be injected with a paralytic for the duration of the operation. The surgeon found it impossible to perform the operation while the patients laughed continuously. Once paralyzed the subjects could only follow the attending researchers with their eyes. The paralytic cleared their system in an abnormally short period of time and they were soon trying to escape their bonds. The moment they could speak they were again asking for the stimulant gas. The researchers tried asking why they had injured themselves, why they had ripped out their own guts and why they wanted to be given the gas again.

Only one response was given: "I must remain awake."

All three subject's restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers, facing the wrath of their military 'benefactors' for having failed the stated goals of their project considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, an ex-KGB instead saw potential, and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected, but were overruled.

In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long term confinement. To everyone's surprise all three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake. One of subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously; the mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might, first left, then right, then left again for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head off his pillow and blinking rapidly. Having been the first to be wired for EEG most of the researchers were monitoring his brain waves in surprise. They were normal most of the time but sometimes flat lined inexplicably. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death, before returning to normal. As they focused on paper scrolling out of the brainwave monitor only one nurse saw his eyes slip shut at the same moment his head hit the pillow. His brainwaves immediately changed to that of deep sleep, then flatlined for the last time as his heart simultaneously stopped.

The only remaining subject that could speak started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwaves showed the same flatlines as one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber with both subjects inside, as well as three researchers. One of the named three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander point blank between the eyes, then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well.

He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to a bed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. "I won't be locked in here with these things! Not with you!" he screamed at the man strapped to the table. "WHAT ARE YOU?" he demanded. "I must know!"

The subject smiled.

"Have you forgotten so easily?" the subject asked. "We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind. We are what you hide from in your beds every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go to the nocturnal haven where we cannot tread."

The researcher paused. Then aimed at the subject's heart and fired. The EEG flat-lined as the subject weakly choked out, "So... nearly... free..."

28
Creepypasta / Proven Innocent by danatblair
« on: March 07, 2019, 11:58:01 PM »
The cops had everything about the kidnapping of Joey wrong. Their prime suspect, Scooter the Clown was a well known children's entertainer in town. He performed at parties, like Joey's all the time.
 
At the precinct I am an insignificant ant flailing for the attention of titans. Finally, a cop turns to me and says, "Are you lost little boy?" On cue, my silence held no longer.
 
"The balloons with the ransom note, they were filled with helium right?" I asked. "Scooter never had a helium tank there that day. He blew everything up by hand. Check his truck and you will see I am telling the truth."
 
The officer smiled and left, only to return 10 minutes later ghost stricken. He got down on his knees and rattled "I don't know how we missed that kid, but you just did that clown a service. "
 
I beamed as I walked home, knowing my hero was safe not ever dreaming he would thank me in person. When I saw him a block from home my jaw dropped.
 
"Someone's been a good little detective. I have a special badge for you," Scooter said.
 
He reached into his pocket, grabbed a balloon in the shape of a badge and then blew it up in front of me. As soon as I held it's light floating form, my heart froze.
 
Without another word, he turned around and started dancing down the street. Pausing only occasionally to put a balloon to his lips, tie it and then release it into the air. As each one drifted into the sky I realized just how wrong all of us were about Scooter.

29
Iconpasta / Mr. Widemouth by perfectcircle35
« on: March 07, 2019, 11:57:06 PM »
During my childhood my family was like a drop of water in a vast river, never remaining in one location for long. We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight, and there we remained until I went to college in Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we had lived in when I was much younger.
Most of these memories are unclear and pointless – chasing after another boy in the back yard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on. But there is one set of memories which remains as clear as glass, as though they were just made yesterday. I often wonder whether these memories are simply lucid dreams produced by the long sickness I experienced that Spring, but in my heart, I know they are real.
We were living in a house just outside the bustling metropolis of New Vineyard, Maine, population 643. It was a large structure, especially for a family of three. There were a number of rooms that I didn’t see in the five months we resided there. In some ways it was a waste of space, but it was the only house on the market at the time, at least within an hour’s commute to my father’s place of work.
The day after my fifth birthday (attended by my parents alone), I came down with a fever. The doctor said I had mononucleosis, which meant no rough play and more fever for at least another three weeks. It was horrible timing to be bed-ridden– we were in the process of packing our things to move to Pennsylvania, and most of my things were already packed away in boxes, leaving my room barren. My mother brought me ginger ale and books several times a day, and these served the function of being my primary form of entertainment for the next few weeks. Boredom always loomed just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and compound my misery.
I don’t exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with mono. My first memory of the small creature was asking him if he had a name. He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth, because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his body– his head, his eyes, his crooked ears– but his mouth was by far the largest.

“You look kind of like a Furby,” I said as he flipped through one of my books.
Mr. Widemouth stopped and gave me a puzzled look. “Furby? What’s a Furby?” he asked.
I shrugged. “You know… the toy. The little robot with the big ears. You can pet and feed them, almost like a real pet.”
“Oh.” Mr. Widemouth resumed his activity. “You don’t need one of those. They aren’t the same as having a real friend.”
I remember Mr. Widemouth disappearing every time my mother stopped by to check in on me. “I lay under your bed,” he later explained. “I don’t want your parents to see me because I’m afraid they won’t let us play anymore.”
We didn’t do much during those first few days. Mr. Widemouth just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained. The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with a large smile on his face. “I have a new game we can play,” he said. “We have to wait until after your mother comes to check on you, because she can’t see us play it. It’s a secret game.”
After my mother delivered more books and soda at the usual time, Mr. Widemouth slipped out from under the bed and tugged my hand. “We have to go the the room at the end of this hallway,” he said. I objected at first, as my parents had forbidden me to leave my bed without their permission, but Mr. Widemouth persisted until I gave in.

The room in question had no furniture or wallpaper. Its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway. Mr. Widemouth darted across the room and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open. He then beckoned me to look out at the ground below.
We were on the second story of the house, but it was on a hill, and from this angle the drop was farther than two stories due to the incline. “I like to play pretend up here,” Mr. Widemouth explained. “I pretend that there is a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I jump. If you pretend hard enough you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try.”
I was a five-year-old with a fever, so only a hint of skepticism darted through my thoughts as I looked down and considered the possibility. “It’s a long drop,” I said.
“But that’s all a part of the fun. It wouldn’t be fun if it was only a short drop. If it were that way you may as well just bounce on a real trampoline.”
I toyed with the idea, picturing myself falling through thin air only to bounce back to the window on something unseen by human eyes. But the realist in me prevailed. “Maybe some other time,” I said. “I don’t know if I have enough imagination. I could get hurt.”
Mr. Widemouth’s face contorted into a snarl, but only for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment. “If you say so,” he said. He spent the rest of the day under my bed, quiet as a mouse.
The following morning Mr. Widemouth arrived holding a small box. “I want to teach you how to juggle,” he said. “Here are some things you can use to practice, before I start giving you lessons.”
I looked in the box. It was full of knives. “My parents will kill me!” I shouted, horrified that Mr. Widemouth had brought knives into my room– objects that my parents would never allow me to touch. “I’ll be spanked and grounded for a year!”
Mr. Widemouth frowned. “It’s fun to juggle with these. I want you to try it.”
I pushed the box away. “I can’t. I’ll get in trouble. Knives aren’t safe to just throw in the air.”
Mr. Widemouth’s frown deepened into a scowl. He took the box of knives and slid under my bed, remaining there the rest of the day. I began to wonder how often he was under me.
I started having trouble sleeping after that. Mr. Widemouth often woke me up at night, saying he put a real trampoline under the window, a big one, one that I couldn’t see in the dark. I always declined and tried to go back to sleep, but Mr. Widemouth persisted. Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning, encouraging me to jump.
He wasn’t so fun to play with anymore.
My mother came to me one morning and told me I had her permission to walk around outside. She thought the fresh air would be good for me, especially after being confined to my room for so long. Ecstatic, I put on my sneakers and trotted out to the back porch, yearning for the feeling of sun on my face.
Mr. Widemouth was waiting for me. “I have something I want you to see,” he said. I must have given him a weird look, because he then said, “It’s safe, I promise.”
I followed him to the beginning of a deer trail which ran through the woods behind the house. “This is an important path,” he explained. “I’ve had a lot of friends about your age. When they were ready, I took them down this path, to a special place. You aren’t ready yet, but one day, I hope to take you there.”
I returned to the house, wondering what kind of place lay beyond that trail.
Two weeks after I met Mr. Widemouth, the last load of our things had been packed into a moving truck. I would be in the cab of that truck, sitting next to my father for the long drive to Pennsylvania. I considered telling Mr. Widemouth that I would be leaving, but even at five years old, I was beginning to suspect that perhaps the creature’s intentions were not to my benefit, despite what he said otherwise. For this reason, I decided to keep my departure a secret.
My father and I were in the truck at 4 a.m. He was hoping to make it to Pennsylvania by lunch time tomorrow with the help of an endless supply of coffee and a six-pack of energy drinks. He seemed more like a man who was about to run a marathon rather than one who was about to spend two days sitting still.
“Early enough for you,” my father asked with a hint of sympathy?
I nodded and placed my head against the window, hoping for some sleep before the sun came up. I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder. “This is the last move, son, I promise. I know it’s hard for you, as sick as you’ve been. Once daddy gets promoted we can settle down and you can make friends.”
I opened my eyes as we backed out of the driveway. I saw Mr. Widemouth’s silhouette in my bedroom window. He stood motionless until the truck was about to turn onto the main road. He gave a pitiful little wave good-bye, steak knife in hand. I didn’t wave back.
Years later, I returned to New Vineyard. The piece of land our house stood upon was empty except for the foundation, as the house burned down a few years after my family left. Out of curiosity, I followed the deer trail that Mr. Widemouth had shown me. Part of me expected him to jump out from behind a tree and scare the living bejeesus out of me, but I felt that Mr. Widemouth was gone, somehow tied to the house that no longer existed.
The trail ended at the New Vineyard Memorial Cemetery.
I noticed that many of the tombstones belonged to children.

30
Creepypasta / Memories From A World Of Grease by SirGroinPain
« on: March 07, 2019, 11:48:14 PM »
The first sign was the tap water. I got to witness it even. With my cup in hand I go to the sink, however the water had an unpleasant look and smell to it. It was yellowish and you could faintly catch the smell of animal flesh coming from it. And it produced a surprising amount of heat. I disposed of it immediately but otherwise didn't do anything about it. On the news however you could find reports of such incidents coming from all over the country. The liquid was cooking grease. People didn't fully understand the ramifications of this until the first deaths happened. A group of middle school kids died after drinking cooking grease from their school's sinks. More and more people began to die. You'd hear reports of elderly people, young children and everyone in between having consumed the contaminated water and dying from internal burns, or various viruses and bacteria found within it. According to what I've heard on the news some 20 year old shut-in drank grease that was full of parasites When his family came to investigate him after hearing nothing from him for months they found his putrefied corpse with multiple holes burned trough it that were covered in a solid layer of grease, and inside that grease they found larva eggs. His whole body became a meal for larvae, flies, ticks and maggots. Reports of contaminated tap water started showing up all over the world. The world was in mass hysteria, religious prophets claimed  this was the end of the world, people dying left and right, and the poorer people that couldn't afford clean water where almost gone, water prices were so high that no one besides the rich CEOs and important politician could regularly afford it. The population of the earth has long dropped under one billion. That's when the rivers appeared, and what riveting rivers, of grease nonetheless, what else could you expect. Looking like veins they spread all over the world, they connected to the normal rivers and lakes and flooded them with grease. Soon it became impossible to continue staying in a normal house, it was boiling you alive. Walls were full of dripping grease, sleeping in there was gonna get you killed no matter what. So people took to living in tents. The ones that haven't abandoned their  homes were flooded by grease while they were sleeping. You could hear them screaming and beating on their doors even while their skin was peeling off, flesh burning and veins opening up to stain the yellow grease red. A disgusting mix of gore, flesh, viscera, oils and grease was dripping from every crevice of the old world's homes. Their walls were filled with grease, their interiors too, under the weight most collapsed, with the other more resilient structures following soon. Ruins and rivers were most of what you'd find, the heat was almost unbearable. During the first summer the rivers were sizzling finally, couldn't even step foot in there, could even feel the heat emanating from a mile away. Nobody expected the rain, nobody could've ever been prepared for it. the people outside had their flesh burned off, grease got into every crevice and every pore, when their bodies bloated and blew open for as much gore you'd see there was just as much if not more grease inside of them, I wondered just how much was in me. It wasn't much easier for the people in tents either. The lower quality ones were burned. The stronger ones like mine could however withstand the rain. The population of the world fell down drastically, to what I could guess to be around one thousand to five thousand people. Tents had to undergo a maintenance check every day to avoid grease entering them. Large lakes turned to grease, the one bottle you kept just in case was grease now, looking at your veins they seemed unnaturally yellowish. Cities became flooded, oceans started catching it too. Society was dead, so were your friends, life on earth was gone, the last fifty or so people with me included gathered together to what could possibly be the last clean corner of the earth. Everywhere else it was just grease for miles, the surface of the earth became an ocean, only things poking out of it were the occasional mountains. And a mountain it was that me and the other people found ourselves stranded on. These people were once country leaders, large corporate moguls and high ranking mafiosi, but whatever these humans once were was a distant ghost of the past, we now were bloated abominations filled with grease to the brim dribbling it from every crevice ready to be popped like a pimple off of the most disgusting face. There wasn't any cannibalism, any attempted murder or a last attempt at keeping the human species alive, everyone silently accepted their fate and quietly awaited their deaths. Too disgusted of what they became to do anything. I am the last man standing, standing in the middle of a mountain ready to fall over into a sea of sizzling grease, writing down his memories in the hope that at the very least something would remain from our world so that whatever life comes after us would know of our legacy.

Pages: 1 [2] 3 4 ... 7