So you like a bit of character creepypasta do you? Whether it be aliens, ghosts, monsters or just plain old fucked up people: This is the home for it.
- 1 Instructional
- 1.1 Death's Truck
- 1.2 Observe and Absolve
- 1.3 Queen's Bay
- 1.4 Thirty-Third Birthday
- 1.5 One For The Baron
- 1.6 Truck Driver
- 1.7 The Man In the Black Cape
- 1.8 The Child
- 1.9 The Man With Green Eyes
- 1.10 Missed Calls
- 1.11 Grocery List
- 1.12 Thanks
- 1.13 Missing
- 1.14 Five Minutes
- 1.15 Wake Up
- 1.16 The Mouth of Truth
- 1.17 13th month
- 1.18 Toolbox
- 1.19 Lucid Dreamer
- 1.20 Barking
- 1.21 The Argument
- 1.22 Itch
- 1.23 Cell Phone
- 2 Victims
- 3 Other Character Creepypasta
Some people have been known to communicate with Death. There is no way for you to reach him; he must come to you. You have no control over whether he does or not. One day, however, you may be approached by him.
It will happen when you are alone, perhaps walking down a lonely country road after someone you love has just died. You will hear the sounds of a noisy automobile that will slowly grow louder and louder. If you turn around, you will see an old, rusty green truck approaching. If you do not turn, you won't see the truck before it reaches you. And reach you it will.
A man will get out of the truck, a tall man with his eyes hidden in the shadows of an old baseball cap. He will introduce himself as Death and you will know that this is true.
Death will give you the opportunity to go down into Hell with him and reclaim a lost soul. If you decline, he will nod politely and go on his way. You will live out the rest of your life normally, but wonder every day what could have been. If you accept his offer, you will descend through a mad underworld before battling through a hellish labyrinth for the chance to reclaim a lost soul. Nobody knows what happens if you win.
Observe and Absolve
There is an abandoned mental hospital at the top of a hill in Worcester, Massachusetts. Once every five years an old rusty box spring appears within the courtyard of the hospital. If you can sneak inside and sleep through the night on the bed, in the morning a man with a shirt that reads “observe and absolve” will take out his wallet and give you a picture. This picture will show you how you will die. If the picture is of the man standing before you, running won’t help.
It is said, a long time ago, when Queen's Bay was just a small fishing village, the mayor's young wife Maura was killed by "The Queen."
I'm not one to say whether this is true, but I do know that certain nights are colder than others.
You see, you’re too young to remember, but your mother used to run the inn where the Lady Maura used to live. And there were times, young man, when you woke up screaming, because "the scary woman was staring at you."
Laugh if you will, but your mother was never too sure about this. Until that night when you didn't wake up.
She had put you down for the night and returned to the common room, to have a glass of wine and tally the evening’s profits. About an hour later there was a crash from your room upstairs. Thinking you were waking up from another one of your nightmares, she hesitated to run upstairs, waiting for you to cry for her before coming to the rescue. Strange thing is, young man, you never started screaming.
She eventually closed everything up and, thinking you had gone back to sleep, doused the lantern and went to her room.
The next morning came and you were late for breakfast. After calling for you several times, she went up to your room. I can tell you, she intended to skin you raw — your mother with a common room full of customers and a dish boy who was too lazy to get out of bed.
She gasped as she entered your room to find it empty. The window was open, and the toy horse you kept by the windowsill lay shattered on the floor. Your sheets were strewn across the room, and you were nowhere to be found — the only evidence being the merest trace of a lady’s bootprints, and a few drops of blood.
The whole town was up in arms looking for you that morning. For days, we searched high and low to no avail. Devastated, we returned home to wait for the news.
It wasn’t until about a week later when your mother, still inconsolable, heard another crash in your room, late in the evening. Hoping you had somehow returned, she rushed up the steps only to find your door open and a young woman — beautiful they say — placing you on your bed. Your mother screamed and the woman looked at her. I can hear your mother now, just as she told me the first time: “Her hair was blond, her eyes blue as cornflowers. She had such a sad smile, and a thin line of red that ran across her neck.” As your mother approached, the woman faded as if she had merely been smoke in the shape of a person, now blown by the wind into nothingness.
The town cleric told us that it was a changeling or some other evil spirit that had gotten you — one of the servants of The Queen's court. But that night your mother cradled you close, screaming. It was all we could do to pull your lifeless, cold body from her arms.
Oh, my boy. Your poor mother, right before she took her own life, made me swear to visit your sweet grave once a year and tell you this story. She wanted you never to forget the woman-shaped thing that took you from us, and how she will see you soon.
On your 33rd birthday, go to your local gas station and pick up the newspaper. The classified ads will have a small segment commemorating your birth and asking you to turn around. Upon looking behind you, a man dressed in a black cloak will be advancing in your direction. If you choose to run away, he will hunt you for the rest of your life, eventually killing you. However, if you await his arrival and show no intent of fleeing, he will give you a small package. Inside, you shall find the object you most desire.
One For The Baron
An odd occurrence has been rumored to happen in a certain pub at night in southwest Germany. If you sit in the stool farthest from the door while one beside it is empty, order a round for yourself and offer to "buy one for the Baron". The bartender will without question or expression will pour 2 beers from tap. He'll place one beside you and the moment the other one hits the table the room will go dark and silent, save for the sound of footsteps as a man in uniform sits beside you.
It is believed that it is indeed Captain Manfred von Richthofen, although no one is sure because they can barely see their own glass, much less the person's face. No one who's told this story has had the nerve to touch him or risk insult, and the figure does not say a word. But apparently if you were to ask him "So sir, what's the condition at the front?" he would tell you startling details about the region's future and sometimes how they connect to the world as a whole.
Those who lived long enough after the fact claim that these events took place the exact amount of years from the date they asked as from the date Baron von Richthofen died in battle. Yet this cannot be confirmed, because every time the figure has been asked the question after 1964 he's only replied with a cold laugh.
(Note: Manfred Von Richthofen was the Red Baron, German hero of the Great War.)
There's a dark forest deep in the heart of the Rockies, surrounded on all sides by mountains. In the center of the forest is a lake on the shores of which you will find a large black stone. If you swim out into the center of the lake, the stone will drag you down into the darkness.
You will emerge from shadows in the alley of a frightening dark city of heavily arched roofs and buildings built on stilts. You must not talk to a single citizen of this city, or you shall be trapped there forever. The citizenry is horrid and mutated, and they will leer and curse at you, and their hideous and deformed women shall offer you unknown and horrible lewdness.
At the edge of this city is a highway. Walk down the left side of the road (yes, against traffic) with your thumb out and a man in a dark truck shall pick you up and drive you back the way you came. The city will be gone, and he will take you to any place on Earth as long as you can name it and there's a road there.
The Man In the Black Cape
If you stand alone at the corner of Church St. and Market St. in Charleston, South Carolina at 3 AM, you see a man coming down Church St. wearing a black hat and black cape with stringy white hair and weathered skin. He'll stop at one of the two corners directly across from where you are standing and start to walk the corner directly opposite from where he is standing. When he reaches about halfway (dead center of the intersection) and nobody else has arrived, he'll stop, turn, and look directly at you.
If you do not blink for roughly 20-30 seconds he'll tip his hat to you and walk along his way, disappearing into the dark shadows of the trees that line the streets. Nobody knows what happens if you follow him.
If you do blink before he tips his hat, the very first thing you will see is the man standing directly in front of you. He'll grin maliciously at you and draw a blade hidden in the shaft of the cane and slash you across your throat, but you will not feel a thing. You will, however, pass out and remain in a comatose state until the sun rises over the horizon.
For the next six nights, you will have a recurring dream of the man walking down the street, appearing suddenly before you, and slashing your throat. On the seventh night, the events will replay the same up until he stops in the middle of the intersection. At this point, he'll say, "It's been fun playing with you, boy, but now it's time for you to go. Don't ever let me see you again." He'll then tip his hat and walk away before you wake up.
Nobody knows what happens if you visit the corner a second time.
There is a child in a hospital in Decard, Tennessee. The child is a quiet toddler that remains in the nursery with all the other newborns. If you ask the staff, they will ignore you, but the tag on his arm is antiquated and yellowed, clearly made in the late 1940's or there abouts. He will not cry, only rock quietly. If you speak the name on his tag, his eyes will open, something you don't want to happen.
The Man With Green Eyes
There is a certain road near the Everglades in Florida, which, if you drive down it alone in the rain, day or night, you will suddenly have a very real feeling of being completely lost. Your radio will turn to static, your CDs will skip, and your tapes will play slower than normal. If you try to find a map in your car, it will have mysteriously vanished.
If you continue forward down the road for more than a minute, you will find that you can't turn around, and everything behind you is pitch dark. There are no other roads and no other cars.
Continuing down the road, you will come upon a fork with no signposts. In the middle of the fork, there will be a man, covered head to foot in various pieces of clothing. The only skin visible will be around his eyes, which will be bright green.
You must get out of your car, but do not turn it off or close the door after you. You must approach the man, but stop at least three feet away. You must stand there silently, waiting for him to speak first. If you break the silence first, you will find yourself back on a main road, but you will die within 24 hours.
If he speaks first, he will ask you what you require. Tell him that you need to know which road will take you to your destination. He will then ask you what you will offer him in exchange for his assistance. If you offer him a ride, he and your car will disappear, and you will become the new guardian of the crossroad. If you offer him an umbrella, he will take it and stab you through the chest. If you offer him your love, he will take your heart still beating from your chest and eat it, condemning you to walk the earth without a heart, insane from the pain and loss.
You must offer him your loyalty and kneel before him. If you do this, he will close his eyes and bow in return, extending a hand to whichever path will lead you back to safety.
But if you try to run from him, you will be dead before you reach your car, and your body will be found back in your car, deep in the swamps of the Everglades.
It's early in the morning. The sun won't be up for another couple of hours. You're fast asleep in bed, lost in a dream, when the phone rings. Rather than waking up, you roll over and cover your head with a pillow. Hours pass. The sun rises. The phone is ringing.
When you wake up, your alarm clock is blaring and the phone is ringing. By the time you will yourself to turn the alarm off, the phone has stopped ringing. You realize that it's been ringing all morning. You slide out of bed and press the blinking red button on your phone as you stumble into the bathroom. The phone beeps, followed by the friendly, electronic voice. "Hello. You have six hundred and sixty-six new messages."
The phone beeps again, and you're not prepared for what comes next.
You spin around, thinking that she's standing right behind you. There's pure terror in her screams, accompanied by other disturbing noises. You stand there, horrified, for about ten seconds. Screaming gives way to hysterical, garbled crying before dying out with the sounds of spilling meat and tearing flesh.
The phone beeps again. You're shaking.
You get a phone call from your Mother. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken breasts.
After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. The lady cashier makes an odd remark to you: "You know, we're in no danger of a milk shortage."
Upon arriving at her house you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In a couple, the chicken and the milk has gone bad. "Mom," you call out, but no answer. You make your way through the kitchen and into the living room.
Sitting on the couch, with her head cut off and neatly resting on her lap, is your Mother.
Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator.
"It's not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into a series of repetitive behaviors," he says.
You think to yourself, They can't be talking about me. Schizophrenia? No way. Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?
Suddenly your cell phone goes off. "Hello?"
"Hi hun, it's me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Oh, and I need some bread and cereal too."
"No problem Mom. I'll be right over..."
It's 3 AM on Halloween night and you and your friends been up all night on a horror binge. You've watched your favorite scary movies, read your favorite scary stories, and even attempted the old "Bloody Mary" trick in your mirror. After your friends leave, you stretch and yawn, deciding now is about the time to hit the hay, so you move into your bedroom and lay down to sleep.
After awhile, however, you realize that you can’t get the images of some of the fictional creatures you saw on your television out of your head. "Meh...I’m going to hate myself for this tomorrow," you say aloud as you flick on your bedroom lamp, knowing that having a nightlight used to help get rid of your nightmares as a little kid. Within minutes you're close to sleep, snuggled up comfortably under the blankets with your eyes closed and more pleasant thoughts on your mind...
...that is, until you detect something moving in front of the light, casting a shadow over you. You blink, beginning to turn towards the lamp before a rotting hand grabs hold of your shoulder. "Thanks for turning on the light, I was having trouble finding you in the dark."
It might happen one morning that you wake up home alone. This could be normal depending on your situation, but this morning will be different. While your environment will all seem exactly the same, you’ll notice that everything is quieter than normal. If you go outside, you will notice a distinct lack of anything like birds, insects… or people. As far as you travel, you will not encounter another sentient human being. The entire world will be intact, empty except for you.
There are currently over 100,000 missing persons cases in the United States. Some are just normal cases of murder or kidnappings, but in others, the disappearance cannot be explained and no remains of the person are ever located.
Your cell phone rings, and it's a number you don't recognize. You shrug, and answer anyway. The voice on the other line says, "Can I have five minutes of your time?" You answer yes, and the caller immediately hangs up. Then, you look at the clock.
...And you feel five fucking minutes older.
It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not wake up. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren’t being tortured. The only way that they realized they needed to wake up was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to wake up. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and please wake up.
The Mouth of Truth
Somewhere near the center of Palermo, in Sicily, there is an old amusement park.
Should you wander around, just aside a shooting gallery there is a old funny-looking statue of a grotesque face.Don't try to get close to it yet.As soon as you're about to touch it, no matter how hard you try, you'll change your mind.
Get to the shooting gallery and pay the clerk for three games, it will cost you the equivalent of 10$ in total.It doesn't matter how much you score, as soon as you finish the second game keep the gun and don't shoot again.The clerk will ask you his gun back, but you must ask to try the Mouth of Truth instead.
After he agrees, you'll be able to approach the statue.Put your hand in its mouth up to your wrist.A small crowd will gather around you.After some seconds the eyes will light and your hand will be blocked, as the statue will ask you one question about a secret, or embarrassing fact of your life, even something you're ashamed of.You must answer the question truly and aloud, regardless of the people watching you.
If you answer correctly, some will be shocked, others amused by the truth, and your hand will be released.Within the following two or three weeks you will feel somewhat different.You will see that same light of the statue in your own eyes, and you'll notice people will feel a bit uneasy when talking to you.That will be for a simple reason: none will be able to lie at you.The effect of this "blessing" will last about a year.After it has worn out, you'll be able to redo this once again.
Don't answer the statue with a lie!An inner mechanism will clamp your fingers and you'll pass out from the shock.When you wake up, you'll be just outside of the park, and you won't be able to enter it ever again. When you'll go back home, the morning after you'll feel something strange in the hand you put in the statue's mouth, and find out your pinky is missing.No cuts or wounds, just smooth flesh where your finger used to be.
Throughout the following days, each morning you'll wake up with one of your fingers disappeared.On the eleventh to twentieth morning your toes will start missing.Should you try to ask for help, people will just laugh at you and tell you've always been a liar.By a month, you'll have no appendixes: no nose, ears, eyes, lips, genitals.All you'll be able to do will be feeling around with your stumpy limbs.Then your limbs will disappear too.You'll be left wherever you fell asleep as a human stump until starvation and decay get the better of you.
If you answer truly, but keep your voice low, from that moment on for the rest of your life you'll just be a big liar.Anytime you'll try to tell the truth, your voice will be cut and only a slight hissing will come out.
If you use the Julian or the Gregorian calender beware:
February of all the months of the year has only 28 days. Why so, is a question that crosses the mind once in a while, well... it is not a coincidence; it is a hint. If you take the extra days of the other months so that every month only has 28 days like February there will be enough days to creat a 13th month with... 28 days. Sure there is enough to have a month or two with 29 days, but there will be a 13th month in which you can have the 13th day of the 13th month. Good thing we have used a 12 month system for so long, because if it is the 13th day of the 13th month and you know it is that date: 'it' will happen.
(Note: It IS possible to learn the existence when such a date)
You wake up one morning to find a note taped to your mirror: "Don't worry, I took care of everything." Your clothes have been freshly laundered, the bathroom is spotless, and your garage has been organized. Even your faithful old toolbox has been replaced.
Later that week, there's another note on your mirror: "GET OUT OF TOWN." Paper-clipped to this message are several grainy photos of police in a taped-off section of a field. One of them is carrying your old toolbox in his latex-gloved hand.
Dreams are just your mind dealing with the day's events, right? Nothing paranormal about that; everyone does it. I mean, there are places you visit often in your dreams. A certain house, a shop, a school...but these places are just figments of your imagination, right?
Have you ever wondered about these places and the people within them?
I know you're out there, "lucid dreamers". You're the ones who can control what happens when they dream. You are just beyond that film, that membrane that separates us.
Lucid Dreamer, have you ever wondered what that beautiful woman in your dream felt when you suddenly decided you wanted to fuck her? Oh, she seemed willing enough, didn't she?
Have you ever considered that you raped that woman, Lucid Dreamer? That she had no choice but to do everything you willed her to do while her mind watched on in horror?
Remember, Lucid Dreamer, all those awful things you have done in your dreams... And consider what those who call dreams their home must think of you. What they wish to do to you in kind.
I'm waiting, Lucid Dreamer, for those nights when your exhaustion keeps you from your power.
Oh, the things I will do to you then. Sweet dreams.
We've all heard it. The incessant barking from your one of your neighbors dog. Late in the night, the barking will wake you, and you will scream at the dog out of the window. One night, you hear the dog barking more than normal, but you will ignore it. The dog barks again, louder and faster than before, and you ignore it. The final time, the dog is barking loud enough to practically shake your ears. You go out and throw a brick at the dog in the back yard, which silences the dog for good. Proud of yourself, you fall back asleep. Deep in your dream, all you see are dogs barking. Through an infinite void, just dogs.
The next morning, The Police find a number of footprints coming from the dog house, a bloody corpse hanging from the back door, and one dog with a brick lodged in it's skull.
You're the manager for a small store. You hired one of your friends, and you just found out that he's been stealing from the register, stealing stock, abandoning his post to visit with his girlfriend in the back room while he's the only one on duty, and the argument you had with him at the office just didn't settle it for you. You pound on his door. When he opens up, he goes pale, soils himself, and staggers back, gasping for breath.
It doesn't impress you, really; you figure he just thinks you're showing up with the cops, until you step through his door and glance to the side, where you get a good look at yourself in the mirror.
Or at least, the parts of you that are still recognizable after that shotgun blast that your friend gave you at the end of that argument...
You feel an itch in your throat.
You try to cough it out, but it just won't come.
You struggle with forcing yourself to vomit. You drink lots of water, but whatever it is, its just stuck there.
You reach for the carton of milk in the fridge and sneeze as you raise it up. Something hits the floor with a rattle. You look at the floor and see a small button with a flowery design on it.
Then you look up. On the milk carton, you notice a missing kid. Her blouse shows the same buttons.
If you call yourself on your own cellular phone, sometimes you will get an answer. You won't hear anything other than heavy breathing, so don't bother waiting for them to speak. If you then say the name of a person you know and a reason that they should die (reasons like "I just want them dead" do work), then they will die a gruesome death within the next 24 hours. Their horribly mangled corpse will be completely unrecognizable, and there is never any evidence pointing to a specific perpetrator so the person(s) who performs this service has never been caught. This was how the infamous Black Dahlia murder was perpetrated.
There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads, seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them.
They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they're different inside. There's no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp...
Once you possess a hitchhiker's object, you'll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You'll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You'll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won't. You'll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you're doing. You'll smile and nod and they'll get into the car and you'll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box...
He smashed the dark oak desk into shards of stray wood strewn about the chamber with his sledgehammer. He couldn't eat the whole thing in one bite.
As the veins in his eyes pulsed and his teeth ground for individual superiority over the others, he tried to think of something that didn't involve what the guard outside the heavy door was going to watch him eat through the bulletproof glass.
"Blueberries, they're nice, I remember blueberries. The best ones came from the big bushes outside the McCoy house in Michigan. I'm going to eat a desk for a crime I didn't commit. Blueberries."
He laid his hammer down, sat on the floor, and stared for a few minutes at the wall. He eventually picked up a dime-sized chip of wood. He held his nose and opened his mouth wide.
"This is a blueberry. This is a McCoy blueberry. They'd always be happy to give me their blueberries, and this is one of them."
As he swallowed it whole, he gagged as he felt the edges of the chip cut the lining of his throat. He forced it into his stomach. The back of his mouth became sour with little drops of blood.
"That was a blueberry, a very sweet blueberry, picked at just the right time. I probably liked it."
He choked down more chips. More blood came up, and nausea set in from the wood and its varnish. He couldn't throw up; then he would have to start over.
He got to his feet and raised the sledgehammer high above his head to make more of these pieces out of the bigger ones.
"I love blueberries, I'm going to eat a lot of blueberries."
The door flung open, and before he could say anything, the guard took his hammer and slammed the door.
"Well, it looks like I'm going to be eating big blueberries."
He sat on the floor and grabbed a foot-long length of splintered oak. He tried to break it, but it would only break in half.
He pointed his face at the florescent light on the ceiling and opened his mouth wide.
"This is a blueberry. I know it looks nothing like a blueberry, but it is. I'm a sword swallower, I can eat a sword, a sword made out of blueberries."
He nudged the wood past the opening of his throat. He felt it scrape, he felt it slide, gently, gently, gently.
"This is a blueberry. It doesn't taste like one, but it probably is."
He felt his mouth water, and in doing so he gagged. He couldn't breathe. He tried to pull the wood out of his throat but the edges were caught on the inside of him.
With a long scream saturated by his torn throat, he ripped the stick out and threw it to the other side of the chamber. His mouth was a fountain of saliva and blood. His esophagus might as well have been on fire with the pain.
He turned his head, and saw a sturdy board that made the surface of the desk. He only split it in half with the hammer.
"That is no blueberry."
A mason, Benjamin Franklin's links to occult secret societies have long been known. In the clip below, the History Channel talks about his involvement in the Hellfire Club, a secret society that conducted black masses and orgies. These bizarre, occult practices are still going on today in secret societies like the Bohemian club. In 1998, workmen restoring Franklin's London home dug up the remains of six children and four adults hidden below the home. The London Times reported on February 11, 1998:
"Initial estimates are that the bones are about 200 years old and were buried at the time Franklin was living in the house, which was his home from 1757 to 1762, and from 1764 to 1775. Most of the bones show signs of having been dissected, sawed or cut. One skull has been drilled with several holes. Paul Knapman, the Westminster Coroner, said yesterday: "I cannot totally discount the possibility of a crime. There is still a possibility that I may have to hold an inquest."
Sean’s house was covered from head to toe in family photographs. Some from family retreats to Ireland, others showing lost family relatives. Most of these photographs would include Sean in them, so it was only natural that he would look at them from time to time. However, one day he noticed something rather strange about the pictures.
His mother seemed to have a red face in all of the photos. Rather shocked by this, he immediately ran downstairs to ask if anyone had done something to the pictures. They all answered no; even his mother, whom was quite worried. Later that day Sean’s mother went to the hospital due to horrific 3rd degree burns caused by a grill catching fire for an unknown reason.
Sean’s father decided to stay at the hospital that night and thought it best to send Sean home with his older brother and little sister. As Sean walked into the house he caught glance of the family photograph in which he had noticed the change to his mother's face, and found that she was not in the picture.
He ran upstairs to her bedroom only to find that she was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed by these strange events Sean called the police. Sean informed them that his sister had been kidnapped and that someone was in his house, possibly vandalizing his family's belongings. The phone immediately went dead, and as Sean went to put the phone down he caught a glimpse of an animal in the corner of his eye. He rushed out of the safety of his room to go and find the beast, but what he found was far worse.
The mangled bodies of his family lie in the corridor in front of his room, their faces frozen in a state that almost made him vomit. And then it struck him. All the photographs had been removed from the walls, except for one which was a picture of Sean, with his face scribbled out.
The next day his two best friends went to visit him, because he was not answering his phone and was not at school all week. As they arrived, they noticed that the door had been left open. So they let themselves in, and were never seen again.
An Apple A Day
Have you ever heard the expression "an apple a day keeps the Doctor away?" Most assume, with no reason to think otherwise, that it is simply an easy-to-remember rhyme that stresses the importance of eating healthily to young children. But the saying did not originate as a harmless reminder. It was born in a frontier town in the early years of the gold rush, where food was scarce and money even scarcer.
One August, when a bad drought had struck the region, a series of bloody killings swept through the town. Every night, a single house would be broken into, and anyone who saw the invader would be swiftly, brutally slain. Nothing was ever stolen, save for a few scraps of food.
After two weeks of this, the local grocer set out a few apples and a glass of milk in the town square overnight. He then hid in the tower of the church, hoping to catch a glimpse of anyone who came by.
Fighting fatigue, the grocer waited for any sign of life below. Just after midnight, he was rewarded by a chilling sight; a man, carrying a black bag stuffed with dully shining metal tools and covered from head to foot in cloth bandages, staggered into view. He paused at the sight of the apples and milk, and then whipped his head around, as if looking for the one who dared to patronize him. Seized with fear, the grocer ducked out of sight, staying hidden 'til sunrise.
The strange man had only taken one of the apples, and didn't even touch the glass of milk. No houses were broken into, and no one was killed. For decades, the town continued to place out an apple or two every night, even long after a single apple stopped disappearing.
The Subway Ride
I live in the U.K. A colleague at work heard this from her boyfriend.
He works with someone who said that his sister's friend got the last tube (subway train) home a couple of weeks ago. When she got on there were five rows of seats empty but the last row had three people sitting in them. As she was a little afraid, she went and sat opposite these people. She settled down and looked up to see the woman sitting opposite her really staring at her.
So she got out her book and started to read but every time she looked up the woman was still staring. The train pulled into the next station and a man got on. He looked up and down the carriage, took a look at her and the people opposite her and came and sat next to her. As the train left the station the man leaned back and said quietly in her ear "If you know what's good for you, you'll get off at the next station with me". She was scared but thought the best idea would be to get off at the next station as he asked as there might be people around.
The next stop comes up and she leaves the train with this man. The man says "Thank God, I didn't mean to scare you but I had to get you off that train. I'm a doctor and the woman sitting opposite you was dead, and the two men either side were propping her up." According to the guy who told this story, the girl and the doctor called the police who stopped the train at the next station.
A couple was sitting in a movie theater watching a scary movie, and the female of the group wasn’t having a good time. She’d obviously been bored out of her mind. It’d been a late showing, so there was practically no one there and the room was dead silent except for the screening. About an hour into the show, she feels a drop on her hand.
Ignoring it, she quickly shakes off the feeling and continues to watch the movie, trying to enjoy it. Another drop lands on her hand and furious now, she hits her boyfriend, thinking that he’d purposely been messing with her, be it spitting or throwing water on her. He doesn’t move. She pushes him harder this time, throwing in some obscenities, and to her horror, a red line that she hadn’t noticed until now, starts to seep red and then his head falls off.
Horrified, she lets out a silent scream and that’s when she feels the drip again. Looking at her hand, she can barely make out the color of the liquid, but it’s red. Nervously, she looks up and is shocked to find a body hanging directly above her, it’s neck tied within a noose and the stomach torn open.
A young girl is left home alone with only her dog to protect her. When night approaches, she locks all the doors and tries to lock all the windows but one won't close.
She decides to leave it unlocked and goes to bed. Her dog takes its customary place under her bed.
In the deep of night she awakens to a dripping sound coming from the bathroom. The girl is too scared to go check so she reaches her hand under the bed. She feels a reassuring lick from her dog and falls back to sleep. She reawakens to the dripping sound, reaches her hand down to the dog where she feels the reassuring lick and falls back to sleep. Once more she awakens to the dripping sound. She reaches her hand down and feels the lick of her dog.
Now curious about the dripping sound, she gets up and slowly walks towards the bathroom, the dripping sound getting louder as she approaches. She reaches the bathroom and turns on the light. She is greeted by a horrific sight; hanging from the shower nozzle is her dog with its throat slit open and its blood dripping into the bathtub.
Something on the bathroom mirror catches her eye she turns around. Written on the bathroom mirror in her dog's blood are the words "HUMANS CAN LICK TOO".
A man saw a Ferrari at a used-car sale and asked for the price of the car. The salesman lit up with a smile and said he'd give it to the man for $500 dollars. The man bought the car instantly on the spot after hearing the ridiculously cheap deal.
The man had the car for months now, but on a cold, winter day as he got into the driver's seat he was startled to see someone in the rear-view mirror. He quickly turned around and saw nothing in the empty seat and quickly shrugged it off thinking he must have imagined it.
As the cold days went by, the car doors started to lock up on him, the engine would stall, and he would hear sounds of something hitting in the back. The man started getting anxious about this bad omen. That horror soon showed itself as he was driving to the airport to pick up his relatives. He looked up and saw 3 bloody bodies in the rear-view mirror staring at him. He screamed and realized that this car is really haunted and fled from the car.
Later he heard the story of the car from the salesman. The police found the car 2 years ago abandoned in an empty airport parking stall where 2 dead bodies were found in the back seat and another one found in the trunk.
The Three Wishes
An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn't sure of which direction to go, and he'd forgotten both where he was traveling to...and who he was.
He'd sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him.
She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: "Now your third wish. What will it be?"
"Third wish?" The man was baffled. "How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?"
"You’ve had two wishes already," the hag said, "but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That’s why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes." She cackled at the poor man. "So it is that you have one wish left."
"All right," he said hesitantly, "I don't believe this, but there's no harm in trying. I wish to know who I am."
"Funny," said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. "That was your first wish..."
The Building in the Woods
In my city, there was an abandoned building. It used to serve as a storage facility for wood. It was long abandoned, and nature almost completely reclaimed it. Although it was tough to get there, when you did it was worth it. Teenagers hung out there, it was a place to get away from the house, and away from your parents.
For some reason, nobody ever went into the dark part of the complex, where no beam of sunlight ever hit the walls. Me and my friends were talking about it, and we decided to venture into the darkness. We were curious, and we wanted to look cool. We went home, and packed our bags. We brought potato chips, beer and flashlights. We didn't actually believe in ghosts. Ghosts were something that was used to scare little kids, we thought.
People thought we were crazy, for going into the dark part. For some reason, you didn't want to stay there long. the air just had a smell of terror. We got used to the very few light we had quickly. We sat there, the 5 of us, and drank some beer. Then one of my friends noticed there was a staircase leading downstairs. We challenged eachother, but mostly ourselves, to go down there. It was even darker here. But we got used to this as well, and decided to hang around a little longer. We drank some beer, and joked around a little bit. As i walked around, i noticed there was a wooden barricade set up. I could just see past it, and noticed there was yet another staircase there. I called over my buddy's, and we removed some of the wooden boards. They were to be removed quite easily, and we were able to pass through. As we were walking down the stairs, we noticed that this floor was completely flooded.
The water smelled like rotting corpses, and i got a strange feeling in my gut. We whispered, as we were all absolutely terrified. It was completely silent, and then we heard a scream. The scream of a young woman. Our flashlights stopped working.
I ran like hell, and i screamed at the top of my lungs. I heard my friends yell behind me. I didn't wait. I was too scared. When i got out, the sun was setting. I ran out of the building, into the woods, and i fell asleep beside a tree. Only two of us made it out that day.
The police investigated the site. They found the body of a beautiful 20-year old woman, who had drowned there. My friends are still missing.
A degenerated VHS dub was discovered in the University Library containing five minutes of inexplicable amateur footage. In one continuous shot, the camera momentarily focuses on a doorway on the north wall of a living room before the operator climbs outside of the house through a window to show the exterior white clapboard. The camera then moves inside the house through a second window completely circling the doorway and so proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that insulation or siding is the only possible thing this doorway could lead to. A hand appears in the frame and pulls open the door, revealing a narrow black hallway at least ten feet long. The camera begins to move closer, threatening to actually enter it. A voice can be heard, "Don't you dare go in there again, Davy," to which another voice adds, "Yeah, not such a hot idea."
Other Character Creepypasta
The Skeleton Tree
During the spring of 1902 in the Dry Tortugas Islands off of the coast of Key West, a man was shot and the bullet protruded slightly from the back of his skull into a tree (which he had his back against at the time). As time passed and the tree continued to grow, his putrefied corpse was lifted into the boughs as his skull was still attached loosely to the tree by the bullet. As time passed, the tree grew around the skeleton. If you can find this tree on one of the islands, tap it thrice with the heel of a cow hide leather boot, you will be granted the ability to make anyone forget anything at will.
The Unfortunate Hiker
I was through hiking the Appalachian Trail last year, when I got lost and found myself off the trail, in a strange, dark hollow with heavy moss and one running stream. It was getting dark, and starting to rain. I found a cave just above the creekbed, and there were no bear-tracks, so I went in for shelter.
Sometime in the night, a bear did come, right into the cave, and I had no way out! Keeping my head, I crawled deeper into the cave and found a passage too small for the bear to fit. It led to a long crawlway ending in a little alcove.
I had no light, and was terrified. But the sound of the bear in the bigger room faded away. This new room was cozy, with what felt like mounds of soft moss and crackly leaves all over the floor. A breeze blew through, and the leaves, though I couldn’t see them, seemed to move all over, they tickled me all night long, making it hard to sleep.
The next morning I crept back out to see if the bear was gone - he was. So I exited back into the hollow. I had a terrible rash all over my body from the itchy bedding I had slept on, and couldn’t stop scratching as I gathered my stuff and went down the creek looking for a road and some directions back to the trail.
I found another trail along the creek, and in a few hours, it ended at a dirt road. There I rested, trying to decide which way to walk for help. My skin was bleeding in spots now, and pustules were forming at the itchiest places. I thought I might need some cream or something.
A game warden Jeep came around the bend, and when the Warden saw me sitting at the trailhead, he stopped.
"You planning on going up there?" he asked, gesturing up the trail I had come down.
"No, actually -- " I began, but the itching on my skin made me stop short to scratch.
"I wouldn't if I were you, especially that cave."
"Why?" I asked.
"They call it Spiders-Nest Cave."
The native villagers around these parts say that there’s a stretch of tundra just north of here that is occupied by benevolent spirits. These spirits grant insight and warning, they say, to whoever visits them at night, once the sun has disappeared entirely and left the world in jet darkness.
I drove out to the middle of the frozen expanse of ice and waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever commanded these people’s reverence. They send their children out, bundled in furs to keep from freezing, on the eve of their 15th birthday to seek an audience with these spirits. Once they have achieved this, the children run home to their parents to share the news. From then on these children are considered adults in the village. Engaged couples visit this tundra on the night before their wedding. The entire village stays up all night awaiting their return, as it is upon their return that the couple either decides to proceed with their marriage, or to abandon it. The elderly visit the tundra whenever they are sick or ailing, and often make their condition worse by staying all night in the cold. When they return, however, it is most often with an air of sheer serenity.
So I waited, curious to see what phenomenon might inspire people so powerfully. I waited for hours, bundled in my parka and sitting on the hood of my pickup. I waited until I felt that I was going to freeze to death, even in my thick clothing.
I heard the spirit before I saw it.
A crunching of snow in the silence made me jump off my truck and spin around. A hunched, gray-skinned man stood a few meters away. Sad, yellowed eyes stared back at me, set inside a skull from which sprouted only a few greasy hairs. He breathed heavily, with a rattle that shook his fragile ribcage, and one of his arms looked as if it had been messily broken and then neglected, allowing it to knit back together imperfectly. Badly scarred flesh marred his splayed legs. The man stared at me for perhaps ten seconds, breathing in the frigid air and exhaling a sickly dribble of steam, before disappearing when I blinked my eyes.
I spun around, looking for the man, but he was truly gone. Approaching where he had stood, I found a pair of bloody footprints in the snow. Frantic with fear, I got into my pickup and headed for the village as fast as the ice would allow. A few villagers were waiting for me when I arrived, knowing that I had gone out and curious as to what might happen.
I hastily got out of my truck and, approaching the nearest villager, I demanded, "What is so benevolent about these spirits? What is so insightful? How do these spirits help you?"
"What did you see?" he asked, the look on his face now mirroring the fear in mine.
"I saw a man, horribly disfigured and desperately sick!" I screamed into his face, and the rest of the villagers around us backed away a step. "Why? What does that mean?" I begged him.
"The spirits show only one thing," the man explained. "They show their visitors, a year in the future."
"It is a process which I derived empirically. All motion, either generated by or imparted to an object, obeys the same principle," said he. "When your arm moves, is the motion continuous, or are there discretized points, however small, at which there is no in-between?"
"The latter case, I would imagine, at some subatomic level," I offer.
"Indeed," he replies. "In my work, I have discovered it matters not the timeframe in which the motion occurs, nor the force that impels it. On film, during the traditional application of the process, the movement is indistinguishable from life. Would you agree?"
"Aside from the crudity of the animation as has been practiced in the past," I say, “that is entirely the point."
"Yes, you have chosen the perfect word," he says, opening the black leather bag I have been eyeing since we entered the room. Perhaps he has noticed. "The stop-motion animator's work is quite crude. I have refined the processes, and refined them again until the medium was freed of its old moorings, yes? A new art form emerged, and a new science. At a sufficient level the two are indistinguishable."
"Many things seem to be," I say. He smiles at this.
"But enough talk," he returns as his smile is replaced with a stern air of professionalism. There is some hint of pride in his face, though, as he says "perhaps, to begin, I should introduce you to one of my assistants."
He claps his hands three times. From a shadowy corner, a misshapen clay thing the size of a man shambles jerkily across the room towards us, its skin rippling as if plied by countless unseen fingers.
"Szomorú Vasárnap" or "Gloomy Sunday" in English, is a hit song written in 1933 by Hungarian composer Rezső Seress. It's more commonly known as "The Hungarian Suicide Song" because of hundreds (if not thousands) of suicides that had been inspired by listening to it. The song itself has been covered several times, most famously by Billie Holiday, and for the most part is considered an urban legend and a brilliant marketing campaign.
The version that reached radio waves, however, is not the version that was originally written. Rezső Seress originally wrote the song in order to woo his girlfriend, who had recently left him. The song succeeded in bringing them back together for a short time, before she jumped from his apartment window. Rezső had been out at the time. His girlfriend left a note for him: "Szomorú Vasárnap."
The song was changed before release. Rezső Seress himself committed suicide in January 1968, jumping out of his window in very much the same manner his girlfriend did.
The Shadow Being
When I was fourteen, my mother and father were divorced, and I went to live with my mother and a man she supposedly fell in love with several years ago. We searched for a house for all three of us to live in, and eventually found the perfect house. A few months later, after finding out that my dad had Cancer, my mom went, engaged to this man living with us, to the very hospital and stayed with my father for about a week, leaving me to tend to myself as I remained in the basement, wasting my time on the computer.
It was late, around midnight if I recall correctly, and the man living with us went off to bed, turning off every light in the house, except for the computer room in the basement. During this time we had one dog and one cat. I can't remember exactly where the dog was, but the cat was downstairs with me, doing what cats do, I guess. While typing away on the computer, it occurred to me, after several minutes had passed, my cat had been staring at the door, which was left wide open, for a long time. Her ears appeared to be pinned against the back of her head and I finally noticed her faint growling.
Thinking that it was the dog, I turned around and called for her, only then to notice something that took me completely by surprise. The door that leads up to the second floor was left wide open. In front of it, taking the size of a three or four year old, was this ominous being, made of shadow.
As chills ran down my spine and fear completely took over my body, I watched this unearthly 'thing' with what little time I had, I absorbed any features possible, noting that it had small, beady eyes that were yellow, and this 'thing' had black tendrils on top of its head, and on the sides of its body, which didn't exactly have a 'shape'.
Whatever this thing was, it reacted quickly and hid by leaping over to the stairs, making it partially visible to my view. Then, I noticed that it leaned over and peeked through the wall that hid it, quickly pulling away as it knew I was still watching.
To this very day I don't know how, but I managed to muster up enough courage and quickly ran to the computer room's door, slamming and locking it. An hour later, I ran through the whole house, turning on every light possible, except for my mom's bedroom, and I went to bed with the light on. I didn't bother looking for the dog, and I never told the man about this strange occurrence. I just went into my room and crawled into bed.
I don't know how I fell asleep. But I did. Whatever the Hell that thing was, it was watching me. I didn't think that I'd ever get over it. But I guess I calmed down after a while.
A week later, after staying the night at my brother's house, I was bored and decided to look this thing up. Oddly enough, what I saw that night matched the description of what most people call a 'Shadow Being'. That scared the living Hell out of me, and I knew, without a doubt, that it was not my imagination that created this thing.
Ever since, I hated that house. That perfect house was no longer my home. I'm honestly surprised that I still stayed in that house, unfortunately, I didn't have much of a choice. But I never saw the Shadow Being again. Never. Still, I was afraid.
Thankfully three months after, my mom and I moved back in with my dad and the man living with us eventually moved away, and our so called dream home was up for sale. Probably still is.
I still have nightmares of the Shadow Being from time to time. Sometimes, it feels like it's watching me whenever I'm alone. I was never really afraid of the dark until then. Now, I hate looking into the darkness.
The darkness could be looking back at me.
On his way home that night, as he walked through town, a man stepped out of an alley in front of him. He tensed to defend himself, but the man just stood there. Looking him over, he realised the man looked like a hippie. Something of a comedy caricature of a hippie, really. Long unwashed hair and beard, sandals...and a sandwich board reading 'THE END IS NIGH'. That, he thought, was unusual, even for a hippie.
"You want something?" he asked.
"The world's ending," said the hippie. "I need your help."
He stepped around the hippie and kept walking. High as a kite, he thought to himself. The hippie started walking after him, and fell into step beside him.
"Please, I need your help," said the hippie.
"Look, man, I'm really not interested," he said, and kept walking.
The hippie leant against a wall, watching him walk away. The hippie wasn't all that disappointed; lots of people gave this kind of response. Another skeptic, he thought to himself, fingering the ragged holes through the middles of his hands.
The Withering Belief
In the long forgotten annals of human history, there is a being. This being is not of this existence, I doubt it exists outside our own imaginations. But that does not stop it, no more than you can stop nature. Once you learn of this being, it finds you. Not unlike a parasite, it leeches off your doubts. Not any old doubts, but your own doubts that it even exists in the first place. this would be harmless if it wasn't for the fact that, the more it leeches, the more you believe. The more you believe the stronger it becomes.
And when every fiber of your being believes...
Well, I'll leave that for you to find out.
Chief Scientist's Log 12/7/2007 12:31 AM
A new find was brought into the lab today. Men working the demolition of a condemned warehouse at this facility discovered a rusty oil barrel that seemed to exude cold. Preliminary electromagnetic field readings yielded chaotic data before the equipment died. Barrel appears to be constructed of stainless steel and, again, radiates cold.
13/7/2007 9:00 PM
We opened the barrel today inside a sealed chamber. Chamber immediately frosted over. Unidentified entity found within the barrel. Appears to be gaseous and black. Indeed, the very light surrounding it appears to be "sucked in" by it's presence. Appears to be sentient, but does not communicate in any understood way. Biological matter that comes into contact with the Entity seems to disintegrate.
14/7/2007 10:11 AM
An intern entered the sealed chamber alone today, without his hazard suit. He was not seen again. The Entity has double in size since being released from containment. Has become aggressive. We are sealing off the chamber immediately in light of it's flesh-consuming properties and rapid growth. All research is halted.
14/7/2007 11:00 AM
It's gone. God help us, it's escaped.
State of the Union Address
If you watch every State of the Union Address since it's been filmed and available on tape, you'll see that halfway through--exactly halfway through--the President always says the same word. Most say it under their breath during the standing ovations, but some are forced to work it into the speech itself.
What's the word? You don't want to know.
Belief is a powerful thing. Well, not your belief: your opinions couldn’t be less important. But there is someone, and there always has been someone, who can control the universe by his powers of belief. You see, at any given moment the universe is controlled by what one particular man believes. All things, right down to the laws of physics, are subject to instantaneous change as soon as one dies and another is chosen.
Disappeared when the new Believer couldn’t fathom a female aviator. Ever wonder why Newton’s seemingly obvious laws of motion took so long to come around? Well, for thousands of years all the Believer’s put their stock in Aristotle’s physics. Believers don’t even know about their powers, and it is flat out impossible to tell who is one.
Creepypasta/Paranormal Creepypasta is part of a series on Creepypasta