Creepypasta: My Name Is...

My name’s Charlie, and I’m 15-years old. I’ve lived in Chicago for just about my entire life before my entire family moved to the small town of ********* (I’m not going to name it for personal reasons).

There’s been a story going around this little town, something about children getting taken away by these things called Takers when they misbehave. So basically what these Takers do is that they’ll climb through the window of the child in the dead of the night, and whisk them off to some unknown place. Nobody really knows what happens to these kids, and I highly doubt it’s true, but it’s been pretty effective in getting kids to behave relatively well.

The more superstitious folk in here think that the Takers are real, mainly because of the few cases of missing children that have occurred in the last decade. But I know otherwise. The dense woods surrounding the entire town would have been a more plausible reason for the disappearances than some stupid rumor concocted by frightened townsfolk. You have a bunch of ballsy young kids and you put them in the vicinity of a deep, dark, mysterious forest. You wouldn’t have to be a genius to put 2 and 2 together- these kids embarking late night exploration trips into the forest and winding up lost. I mean, yeah, a bunch of search groups were sent in to hunt for the kids but I’ve seen how big this forest really is.

It’s enormous. You’ll need an entire army to comb through the area and even then it’ll probably take them a couple of weeks, tops.

Alright so being the new kid on the block, kids generally ignored me in school, which was fine with me- I didn’t have to put up some badass punk image to keep bullies of my back. Eventually I was invited to a big party, it was going to be held at this really popular’s guy’s house so I figured why not? This was going to be my best chance at making friends.

The party was OK, I guess, I’ve been to better ones. The kids here were too quiet, too tame that almost none of them wanted to drink more than a couple cans of beer. I was almost at the threshold of my boredom by 11.30pm though, more then half the people had left and the only highlight so far was some stupid guys versus girls mass badminton match. I decided that this was a good chance to establish some reputation in this town.

'Guys. GUYS!' I clambered up onto one of the wooden picnic benches and clapped my hands for attention. The other kids all turned and I knew from their looks that some of them didn't even know who I was.

Fueled by my 10 cans of booze, I raised my arms and gestured to everyone. ‘Look, I don’t wanna be an asshole or anything, but this party really kinda stinks. Trust me, I’m from Chicago and I’ve seen some hardcore parties over there.’

'Yeah? What do you think we should do then, party-man?' This huge hulk of a guy, Vince, pushed his way to the front of the twenty-strong crowd and sneers at me.

'Well,' I paused dramatically and jabbed my thumb towards the forest just beyond the back-gate of the house. 'We've got this at our disposal, and I think it'll be a shame to just ignore it.'

The crowd lapsed into silence before breaking out into a nervous laugh and turning away from me.

'Seriously? C'mon, we're teenagers, you seriously believe that the stupid monster-in-the-woods story is true?' I climbed down from the table in dismay and disgust. I made my way to the cooler and popped open a can of beer before hopping over the back gate.

'Hey- what the hell are you doing?' I turned back, and it was Carl, a fat guy from my English class, hollering after me.

'What does it look like? I'm going into the damn woods, Carl. There's absolutely nothing to be afraid of, and I'm going to prove that to all you wussies.' I tossed the half empty can towards him before ducking under the branches of the trees. 'Peace out, ya pussy.' I saluted him mockingly before making my way into the woods.

I had to admit, after about 10 minutes of walking into the forest, I was beginning to regret my decision. The initial rush of bravado had gone and what replaced it was a growing feeling of anxiety.

'Just 5 more minutes, Charlie, 5 more minutes and we'll go.' I muttered to myself as I stomped through the bushes to emerge into a clearing. The sudden illumination from the moon took me aback. However, what surprised me more was a rather large wooden cottage sitting in the middle of the clearing. Being the idiot I was, I decided to check it out.

The cottage, as expected, was abandoned and it was clear that it had been so for a long time- it was almost entirely covered by a thick layer of moss and grime. The stairs leading up to the door were all broken at various parts which some of the steps even missing. The only parts of the cottage that still looked presentable were the windows, which were grimy and badly stained, and the door.

Thinking that the inside of the cottage would be a great photo background to show off to the other kids, I gingerly made my way up the steps and pushed the door open. The door opened with a loud creak, as expected with old abandoned cottages in the middle of the woods. I was immediately hit by a foul, putrid odor that rushed out from inside the cottage. Gagging, I took out my phone, turned on my flashlight application and stepped through the door.

The inside of the cottage seemed rather normal, a bunch of furniture pushed towards the back of the living room and a small kitchen to the left of it. There was something eerie about the place though, and I quickly snapped a couple of pictures before turning to leave when all of a sudden something hard hit me on the back of my head.

I was still in the cottage when I regained consciousness. However, I was in another part of the cottage, maybe in one of the bedrooms. I couldn’t tell, because I was blindfolded. Fighting back a sense of nausea and fear, I struggled to my feet before realizing that my feet were shackled to the floor and my arms tied behind my back.

The putrid odor seemed even more foul than before, if that were even possible and I just about had enough. I drew in a breathe to yell when I felt a warm breath down my neck.

'Good, you're awake.'

'What the- what's going on!' I whipped my head back and hollered.

'Please do keep quiet, I wouldn't want to have to gag you.'

Biting down a scream, I forced myself to stay still while tender, soft hands gently removed the blindfold. As I gradually adjusted myself to the dim light from the lamp in the corner, I began to have a clearer view in the room.

I immediately wished for the blindfold to be back on.

All around me, in various forms of decomposition, were dead bodies of boys, all shackled to the ground the same way I was. There were about the same number of bodies as those that had disappeared before. Choking down a scream, I immediately began to hyperventilate and pulled desperately at my restraints.

'Hello, Charlie, my name is Peter. Please, do no panic.' A figure, tall and dark, climbed in-front of me. I could barely make out the features of a man's face in the dim light, but what frightened me the most was the wide, maniacal grin he had plastered on his face and his round, beady eyes fixed right upon my face. Sighing softly, he settled down in-front of me and gestured towards the bodies.

'All failed experiments, I'm afraid. I do sincerely hope you would not end up like them.' He paused for a second, regarding me quietly. 'Are you hungry?'

The absurdity of his question shocked me out of silence. ‘What the fuck is this! What the fuck are you?’ I screamed wildly and swung my legs out to kick him but my efforts were in vain- the shackles held them down.

'Dear oh dear… such language. And violence! You are indeed a perfect candidate!' He rose to his feet in one fluid motion while clapping his hands in glee. 'The other boys had some real fire in them but you, ho boy, you might just make the cut.'

'WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT! LET ME GO!'

Ignoring me, Peter reached into his pocket and pulled out a large hypodermic needle. Uncapping it, he crawled slowly behind me, and caressed the left of my neck gently.

Trembling wildly in fear and horror, I ducked away from his hand, only to feel a prick of a needle on the right of my neck.

It all happened so quickly. My vision began to swirl and blur before I slumped onto the ground.

I woke up with a throbbing headache and sore limbs. My vision was still blurry as I massaged my head gingerly, before realizing that I was lying in the middle of a clearing in the forest.

'Ugh.' I climbed slowly to my feet and surveyed my surroundings. A normal plain clearing, with trees along its sides. The moon was still up, so I couldn't have been unconscious for long. Groaning, I staggered back slowly into the woods and after 15 minutes of walking, I emerged out of the forest and into the back-gate of the house. It seemed like the party had just ended.

'Hey! Hey- dude, oh my god, we were just gonna call the cops!' Carl hurried towards me before yelling wildly to a boy in the backyard. 'Vince! He's back!'

As I was helped through the backgate, Vince grabbed me by the shoulders and laughed in relief. ‘You freaked us all out, Charlie, you maniac!’

As I made my way back into the house while Carl and Vince ran to their phones to spread the news, I felt a grin slowly grow onto my face.

My name is Peter, and I am now 15-years old.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Looped

Version 1:
It was 1AM on a Friday, and I was irritated at having been woken up by my friend, Joe, by a rude message.

'dude get to my room and bring me my guitar got a gig in half hour i need it'

'Idiot.' I muttered as I rolled out of bed and crossed the hallway to the dormitory room of Joe. He had always hidden a copy of his room key on the ledge above the door for situations like this and as I opened his door, a wave of despair swept over me. The room looked as if it had been trampled like an army of wild animals.

'Jesus, Joe. Where the hell is your guitar.' I made my way to the bed and rummaged randomly through the stacks of clothes on it, hoping that the guitar was somehow buried beneath them. I frowned as my hands closed upon a black, wooden box.

Curiosity over-took me as I examined the box carefully. Nothing special, just a typical wooden, black box with a bronze clasp keeping it shut. I flipped open the clasp and found a rectangular metal box-like contraption in it. In red, faded lettering were the words ‘Time Machine’ printed on its top right corner and in its center was a big red button.

I let out a laugh. This was just the kind of junk Joe would waste his money on.

'What a numbskull.' I chuckled as I pressed out the red button and tossed the time machine behind my back.

I then proceeded to rummage through the stacks of clothes on the bed and frowned as my hands closed upon a black, wooden box. Frowning slightly in confusion, I opened the box and chucked softly at the metal box-like contraption named ‘Time Machine’. Pressing down its big red button, I tossed it behind my back.

'What a numbskull.'

Version 2:

It was 1AM on a Friday, and I was irritated at having been woken up by my friend, Joe, by a rude message.

'dude get to my room and bring me my guitar got a gig in half hour i need it'

'Idiot.' I muttered as I rolled out of bed and crossed the hallway to the dormitory room of Joe. He had always hidden a copy of his room key on the ledge above the door for situations like this and as I opened his door, a wave of despair swept over me. The room looked as if it had been trampled by a herd of wild animals.

'Jesus, Joe. Where the hell is your guitar.' I made my way to the bed and rummaged randomly through the stacks of clothes on it, hoping that the guitar was somehow buried beneath them. I frowned as my hands closed upon a black, wooden box.

Curiosity over-took me as I examined the box carefully. Nothing special, just a typical wooden, black box with a bronze clasp keeping it shut. I flipped open the clasp and found a rectangular metal box-like contraption in it. In red, faded lettering were the words ‘Time Machine’ printed on its top right corner and in its center was a big red button.

I let out a laugh. This was just the kind of junk Joe would waste his money on.

'What a numbskull.' I chuckled as I pressed out the red button and tossed the time machine behind my back.

Giving up on the pile of clothing, I combed through the other piles of junk before giving up.

'can't find your guitar, too bad.' I texted Joe as I returned back to my own dormitory room and climbed back into bed. I fell back to sleep within seconds.

It seemed like only a couple of minutes had passed before I received a text from Joe. I looked at my phone clock- it said 1AM.

'dude get to my room and bring me my guitar got a gig in half hour i need it'

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Train Observer

I’ve always enjoyed train rides- it gives me a great chance to sit and observe the other passengers in peace. I like to imagine situations for them, life backgrounds that matches their faces and dressing.

It’s around 11pm, and I’ve just gotten onto the last train back home. The train was understandingly empty, and I managed to get myself a seat with a good view of the other passengers.

There’s a pregnant lady sitting a couple seats down from me, and a couple of tough looking kids sitting a few seats down from her. I made a mental note to steer clear from them. Sitting directly across them is a guy in a suit clutching a briefcase, nothing out of the ordinary.

But what really caught my eye is the guy sitting directly across me. I’ve only just realized he’s got no eyeballs.

I think I’m going to get off at the next stop.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Cries of Help

Despite my mediocre results, I was very lucky to have secured an internship position at a local banking firm upon graduation from college. I was assigned to the marketing team, which was okay, as marketing and advertising had always been a prime interest of mine.

The only downside was the notorious reputation the company building had for being one of the most haunted places in town. Having being build above a burial ground, there were endless stories of apparitions, ghosts, and the like, parading the corridors of the building. Now I’ve always had a healthy skepticism for the supernatural, so this didn’t bother me one bit. However I must admit that it was rather unnerving at times, especially during over-time when most of the other staff had already gone home.

The strange noises first happened during my second week of work. I was in the pantry, enjoying a hard-earned coffee break when I became aware of a low murmur all around me. It wasn’t loud enough for me to make out any words, but it was loud enough to be picked up on. Confused, I had stuck my head out of the pantry to check if it was coming from the outside. It wasn’t. Dismissing the issue as a trick of my exhausted and stressed out mind, I finished up my coffee and quickly returned back to work.

The next incident happened a couple of days after that in the middle of a team meeting. The team-leader, also my direct boss, had been discussing on our latest marketing proposal when I heard the low drone of voices again. It wasn’t as soft as the last time, and I could vaguely pick out words such as ‘help’ and ‘save’.

'Are you hearing this?' I turned to my co-worker sitting beside me.

'I'm trying not to.' He groaned and nodded towards the team-leader. 'This is hella boring.'

Irritated, I tried to concentrate on the meeting rather than on the voices, which seemed to gradually become more frantic and panicky as I continued to ignore it.

These incidents began to occur more and more frequently, and the voices started to grow louder and louder. By now, I could make out most of the words.

'help me…' '…save me…' 'trapped…' 'need help…' '….get us out…' ‘come…’

It’s driving me insane.

I tried playing loud music on my headphones in an effort to drown out the noise, but it just increased in volume and it seemed as though the voices were coming from inside my headphones too.

I couldn’t tell anyone about the voices- I couldn’t risk getting fired, none of the other firms would accept me in and what would I be then? Broke, homeless, with a bunch of noisy ghouls hounding me.

No, I have to tough it out. My internship would be ending in a couple of months, and after that, I would be free.

It’s getting to me, though. It’s beginning to become very difficult to concentrate at my work.

I now begin to see shapes. Dark shapes, lurking in the corners of my office, reaching out to me. I can see no facial features apart from their mouths, drooping down the corners of their heads as they moan for help.

It’s so loud. So loud so loud so loud I can’t take it.

I see their tendrils. Long, spindly, branch-like tendrils, curling and looping towards me.

I can’t move.

The moans are getting louder.

I can feel myself losing consciousness. My view is growing dimmer.

It’s so dark. Too dark.

I don’t understand what’s happening.

-

When I wake up I realize I am no longer in my seat. I can still see the office, though. I’m still in the office.

Only now, I am one of Them.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Deepest Fear

It took me a month to figure out the pattern- the pattern It was using to kill us off.

At first it was Jack, who was found dead, lying face-down and submerged in his own bathtub. His mother had been the one that found him, the poor woman. Her lifeless body was discovered a week later, after countless complaints from her apartment neighbors about a pungent odor from her apartment. After breaking into the home, the police found her hanging from a rope from the rafters of her bedroom.

It went after Diane next. Diane, who had been a victim of dog mauling when she was just 5-years old, was discovered just a week after Jack’s mother was found. Her body, lying by the side of the forest surrounding the town, was practically ripped to shreds. There were countless bite and claw marks, courtesy of a pack of stray dogs that had been roaming the neighborhood for weeks.

It went after Kyle a week back. I could tell that Kyle had suspected that something was wrong- his text messages to me grew increasingly frantic as he begun telling me about a strange figure, a clown, he said, climbing out of his closet, night after night, and standing at the foot of his bed. At first I had thought nothing of it- Kyle had always been a pretty high-strung kid since young and was prone to panic attacks, so this was probably just one of his ‘outbreaks’.

Calm down, I recalled telling him, it’s probably a serial killer, Just keep your doors and windows shut and locked. Just calm down, and your hallucinations would go away.

Boy, was I wrong.

Kyle’s body was found just 2 days ago, after he failed to show up to breakfast on time that morning. His mother had gone up to his bedroom to wake him up when she found him, cold and rigid, his eyes glassy and opened wide, staring straight ahead at the foot of the bed. There were no wounds or bruises of any sort. The coroner later on declared Kyle’s cause of death to be a heart attack.

That’s when I realized that something was really wrong. It couldn’t have been the work of a serial killer. It just doesn’t add up. It had to be something supernatural, something that could target and attack our deepest, darkest fears, something that could pit our fears against us.

You see, Jack, who had drowned, was always terrified of water. Jack’s mother, who doted dearly on her son, had always been overly protective over Jack. His death would have been the ultimate blow to her. Next was Diane, who had always been extremely fearful of dogs ever since her childhood incident. And Kyle, who always had an irrational fear of clowns… well, you get the idea.

And as for me, I have always been afraid of the dark.

I can tell It’s coming for me. I’ve recently begun seeing crazy hallucinations, shadows morphing into indistinguishable shapes of monsters and demons, things that no normal human being should be seeing. I’m no fool, I know my time is coming. Even as I am writing this, I can hear It, moaning my name over and over again from the darkest corner of my room. I’ve given up keeping the lights on, I’ve given up fighting. It’s no use anymore. I’m just so exhausted.

Goodbye.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Daddy's Home

It was a quiet Friday evening and eight year-old Sarah had just returned from school. Elated by the lack of homework for that weekend, she wasted no time in pulling out her half-finished art project, a small wooden cottage made up of ice-cream sticks, from under her bed. There was a lot of cutting to be done though, and despite having being told not to use the pen-knife without parental supervision, she quickly took it from her father’s work-desk and proceeded to trim the edges of the ice-cream sticks. Due to the lack of experience in using a pen-knife, it quickly slipped from her grip and left a huge, bloody gash on her left arm.

'Daddy! Daddy!' Sarah's voice rang out from her second floor bedroom. 'I hurt my arm- it's bleeding really badly!'

Sarah’s cries of pain were the first thing Carl heard as he entered through the front door. As he drew in a breath to yell out a call of reassurance, a figure outside the window caught his eye.

It was a man, holding a large rake, and he was heading right towards the back door of the house.

Ignoring the panic welling up in his body, Carl quickly closed the front door quietly and hurried towards the kitchen, which was where the back door was located. Taking great care not to make any noise, he pulled out a knife from its holder and positioned himself right next to the doorway.

Don’t worry, baby. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.

Carl felt his heart-rate quicken and his palms sweat as the footsteps outside drew closer.

Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’ll protect you.

The door finally swung open and Carl sprung into action. Clamping his free hand over the intruder’s mouth, he slammed his foot at the backs of the intruder’s legs. As the intruder toppled over to his knees, Carl quickly seized the chance and swung the knife down onto the intruder’s neck, slicing the neck wide open from ear the ear.

Panting heavily from adrenaline and exhaustion, Carl pushed away the lifeless, blood-soaked body in disgust. The once pristine walls were now splattered with blood that pooled all around his feet.

'DADDY! What's all that noise? What's going on?' Sarah's yells had increased in panic levels at the noise made during the fight. Sighing softly, Carl stepped away from the blood puddles and hurried towards the stairs.

Hold on, baby, I’m coming.

'DADDY! DADDY!' Sarah's voice had evolved into a loud shrill of panic and fear.

Hold on, baby, Daddy’s coming.

As Carl emerged onto the landing, he pushed open the half-opened door to Sarah’s room.

'Hey, baby.'

'How many times have I told you not to call me that?' Sarah groaned as she swung her wheelchair towards the door. 'What took you so-'

She froze in mid-sentence as she finally turned towards Carl. Her irritation quickly dissipated and in its place was pure fear.

'Who- who are you?' She whispered in horror.

A small grin crept over Carl’s face as he stepped into the bedroom, brandishing the bloody knife by his side.

'Daddy's home.'

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Hero

I’ve been a nurse for the past four years at the local hospital. Having being assigned to the Children’s Ward, my experience thus far has been a relatively enjoyable one. I’ve always loved kids, I love spending time with them, I love seeing those cute little angelic faces light up whenever I bring them gifts. Sometimes I bring books, sometimes chocolates, and the little one to one sessions I had with them were always the highlight of my day.

I thought it was a joke at first when I saw the letter sitting on my desk a couple of days ago. TRANSFER, it had said, in big bold letters at the top of the page. Scanning through quickly, I realized that I had been transferred with immediate effect to another ward.

To say that I was devastated was a severe understatement. Tossing aside the bag of chocolates I had brought for my sessions today, I made my way to the head nurse’s office and slammed the letter down onto her table.

'What is this?' I demanded. 'Who allowed this?!'

'Jason, Jason, please sit down.' The head nurse calmly regarded me and gestured to the chair. Leaning forward, she clasped her hands together and continued, 'Jason, are you aware of the complaints you've been getting from the parents?'

'What complaints?' I was very confused.

'Well, apparently there's been reports of the children feeling rather uncomfortable around you, and their parents have been requesting for you to be transferred out of the Children's Ward. Are you sure you've not heard about this?' She added, frowning slightly at my indignant expression.

'Are you kidding me? The kids like it around me! I bring them gifts, I make them happy! I don't know what sort of nonsense complaints you've been hearing- they're all untrue!' I replied, spluttering slightly in outrage.

'Well, true or not, the Board has reviewed the complaints and they think it's best for you to move on to another ward, just to prevent any sort of misunderstanding. It's tough, but I hope you underst- Jason sit back down. Jason, sit down. Jason!'

It was only after the head nurse had yelled out my name that I realized that I had risen out of my seat in anger, with my trembling fists clenched tightly at my sides. Leering down at her in disgust and disbelief, I snatched up the letter and returned back to my desk, all the while fighting back the urge to lash out.

It was only upon reaching the new ward that I realized I had been transferred to the Mentally Ill Ward. It was absolutely frightening for me- there were patients on wheelchairs, pushing themselves in random directions, their eyes staring blankly in the distance, and there were patients lying on their beds, some moaning in anguish and many others muttering unintelligibly under their breaths. The room reeked of death.

Their heads snapped towards my direction as I stepped into the room, their eyes narrowing in suspicion and hatred while their mouths gradually curled up into frowns. As I watched their frowns slowly morph into a snarl, I felt as if I had walked into room full of ravenous wolves who all wanted a piece of me for themselves.

Abandoning my initial idea to introduce myself publicly, I quickly backed out of the room and slammed the door shut behind my back.

This is insane, I thought. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong here at all. They’ve got no right to put me here.

The next day was no different than the first, only this time it was almost as if the patients had been anticipating my arrival. I could make out the snarls and low growls from even behind the door. Sensing my hesitation, the other nurse-on-duty, Bree, put her hand onto my shoulder and smiled reassuringly.

'Don't worry, I know it's a little bit different from the Children's Ward, but you've got no reason to be scared here.'

Entering the room after her, I took a quick glance around and tried to ignore the frosty, threatening glares of the patients. I couldn’t understand how Bree could work under such a hostile environment. The way the patients glared at us- it was almost as if they wanted to murder us!

A low whisper from the old man on the wheelchair to my left caught my attention. As I turned, he reached out with his finger and beckoned me to lean in. Frightened, I instinctively stepped away.

He narrowed his eyes in response as his mouth grew into a maniacal grin.

Kill you, he mouthed. Kill you.

As I watched on in horror, I became aware of the other patients, who all had their gaze fixed onto me.

Kill you, they whispered. Kill you.

My fear and adrenaline rose with every whisper, which gradually became louder and louder.

Soon it was almost as if they were chanting.

Kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you kill you

'Jason? Are you okay?' Bree's worried voice rang out from my side.

Doesn’t she see what’s going on? Can’t she hear them?

Nonetheless, I have to protect her. I have to protect both of us.

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my pen-knife and slowly slid its blade out. And just in time too- the old man that had first spoken to me suddenly pounced out of his seat, his eyes wild and crazed with blood-lust.

'STAND BACK!' I hollered, shoving Bree aside before swinging the blade down before me. There was a sudden splash of red as the old man froze in his tracks, his mouth open in an ugly snarl. Wrapping my fingers around his neck, I pulled him in towards me and jabbed the blade deep into his stomach. As I prised the blade from his body, I could see, out of the corner of my eyes, the other patients making their way towards me, their growls growing louder as they approached.

I could hear Bree screaming wildly behind me as I swung around to face the patients.

Yelling loudly for Bree to go, I launched myself forward and swung, slashed and jabbed at every single patient I could reach. I had only successfully taken down about five other patients and was just about to bring my blade down onto another when I felt a sudden sharp prick at the back of my left shoulder. It was the oddest feeling- I felt myself grow calm immediately before I fell unconscious.

—

I had woken up just yesterday and had found myself sitting in the middle of a padded room, wearing a straitjacket.

I was so confused, and I still am.

I had gone insane, the doctors had said.

They seem to think that I had murdered those people back in the hospital, who apparently, weren’t from the Mentally Ill Ward at all, but rather, belonged to the Terminally Ill Ward.

Apparently I had ‘hallucinated’ them to seem as though they were about to kill me.

Can’t they see they’ve got it all wrong? I only killed to protect myself and Bree. I’m not a killer, they should be locking up those crazy people from the hospital instead!

They should be thanking me. I’ve stopped those crazy people from harming other people, like Bree! They should award me, not lock me up!

Can’t they see?

They’ve got it all wrong.

I’m not a killer.

I’m a hero.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Delivery Boy

Coming from a poor family, my parents have always struggled to pay for my education. I decided to take some load of them when I got accepted into college and began scouring newspapers and magazines for part-time jobs to earn some money. However, finding a job was easier said than done- the employers all wanted workers who had a completed college education and substantial work experience- both of which I did not have.

It was after a couple of months and countless failed interviews that I finally received a phone call. I could recognize the gruff voice on my phone almost immediately- it belonged to Harris, a tough, burly man who managed a private delivery service in a dingy old warehouse by the edge of the town. In his short, curt manner, he notified me that I had gotten the job and that I would start the following week.

I was elated. The job paid relatively well and fitted in perfectly with my school schedule. The job would also provide me with a new bike, something that I couldn’t have afforded in the past.

The deliveries I made in the first few months were relatively simple- the furthest place I had to go was just over by the next town, a mere half hour bike-ride away. These deliveries were fine, they were fast, they were quick. However, I wanted to go further and earn myself even more money.

I finally got my chance when Harris rung me up early Saturday morning, at 1AM.

'Charles. You up for a job?'

'Harris- it's 1AM. Are you insane?' I moaned.

'It's got a double payload. Are you in or not?'

Double payload? That definitely got my attention. I quickly agreed and made my way towards the warehouse.

The package to be delivered was larger and heavier than those that I had delivered before. It also had a faint odor- I couldn’t really place my finger on what the smell exactly was, but it was rather disturbing. I had a strong urge to break the number one rule of the business and almost questioned Harris about the contents of the package. It was only the incentive of the double payload that kept me quiet. The only thing Harris had said to me before he left was ‘Get it there as fast as possible.’

So off I went, into the dead of the night. It was a very unnerving experience, to be cycling down the empty and dimly lit streets, past the countless shop-houses that have been closed for the night. The only source of noise was the 24-hour pub a few streets away, its low drone of music and noise further fueling my anxiety.

The destination was to be a couple of towns away and if I cycled by the main road it would have taken me about a couple of hours, which was far too long. I decided to take the alternative route- through the forest outlining the town, which would effectively cut down my travelling time by half.

In hindsight I probably should have stuck by the main road.

—

It’s been close to two hours, and I’m horribly lost. The path that I had been following had disappeared completely along the way, and my stupid bike is proving to be nothing but a hindrance on the rocky ground of the forest. I decided to call Harris for some directional help.

I had only a bar on reception and after several attempts, I managed to reach him.

'Harris. I've got no idea where the hell I am.'

'Are you in the forest?' His voice was infused with loud static and it was really difficult to make out what he was saying.

'I can't really hear you- I'm lost in the damn forest and this package is stinking it up. I'm coming- hello?' There was a sudden rush of loud, crackling static and the call cut off. 'Shit shitting shit.'

I’m close to a full scale panic attack right now. My only sources of light are the screen of my dying cellphone and the dim moonlight filtering through the dense canopy above. Praying feverishly, I decide to trudge on and hopefully, just hopefully, I’ll get out of here fast.

The package is proving to be a massive burden. It’s taking every bit of effort I’ve got left just to keep it up on my bike, which I am now pushing alongside myself.

I’m not sure if I’m imagining things, but I’ve just passed by a couple of bikes, just like my own, lying in a ragged heap by the side of the bushes. They look awfully rusty, dirty and old, and there’s a thick layer of moss and grime covering them. It’s almost as if they’ve been tossed and abandoned by a couple of bikers. Weird.

After a couple of minutes more of trekking, I became aware of movement among the trees beside me. I could feel my adrenaline level rising as I quickened my steps. I was seriously considering abandoning my bike and the questionable package by then when I spotted a dim ball of light in the distance.

In my state of panic and fear, I quickly headed towards the light without considering its source.

I can now hear growls coming from my side. Growls, snarls, and the occasional cracking of branches and twigs.

Sweat pouring down my face, I broke into a run and sprinted towards the light, leaving my bike and package behind.

I’ve finally reached the light. Turns out the light was really from the inside of a small wooden hut located in the middle of the forest. I could make out human voices and some kind of folk music emanating from within it.

I probably shouldn’t have approached the hut at all. After all, what sort of people would live in a hut in the middle of the woods? However, the loud growls and snarls from behind me quickly secured my decision and I clambered up the rickety stairs in a state of panic and thumped my fists onto the door, all the while yelling for help.

The door finally creaked open and without thinking, I barged in and slammed the door shut behind me. Panting heavily in both relief and exhaustion, I realized that the house was inhabited by a group of elderly people. Draped in shawls and cloaks, they eyed me curiously before one of them, an old, muscular man, frowned.

'Where's the package, boy?' He asked.

'Package?' I responded, confused and fairly freaked out by then.

'He's lost it. Just like the other one.' The old man sighed and turned towards the others. 'We've got to make do with him.'

Genuinely frightened, I backed up towards the door and tried the doorknob, only to realize that the door was locked from the outside.

'Where are you going?' An elderly woman, her eyes glassy and white, approached me from my right. As I turned towards her, she broke into a wide grin, revealing a set of sharp, pointed teeth.

I whipped back to face the others. All of them, like the elderly woman, wore maniacal grins and had the same set of pointed teeth.

'The party's just started.'

—

Hey guys, my name’s Lucas, and I’ve just moved into town. I must be having a stroke of good luck because not only did I manage to get a well-paying job delivering packages, but my boss has just contacted me about this double payload job. All I’ve got to do is to deliver some package to some place a couple of towns away. I know it’s kinda late, it’s just a little after 1AM, but I think I’m going to take the job. The boss just told me to make it quick though, I think he’s worried for my safety. How nice of him. Well, I think I’m going to cut through the forest, I’ll be so much more quicker that way.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Bedtime Stories

My favorite time of the day was always bed-time, because that’s the time daddy returns home from work. He’s a fireman and he’s saved lots and lots of people.

'Little Jack, my boy.' He always says when he reaches home. 'Come on, it's time for bed.' He would then scoop me up from the floor and carry me all the way to bed and tuck me in, and he doesn't leave my room til he reads me a bedtime story.

One day, however, mummy got a call in the afternoon. She started crying when she was on the phone, I didn’t understand why. When she hung up the phone she came and sat down next to me. She was still crying and that made me feel very sad.

'Mummy,' I asked. 'Mummy, why are you crying?'

It took her a long time to answer me, by the time she responded I had already returned back to playing my Lego toys.

'Jack, daddy's not going to come home for tonight.'

I was confused. ‘What about my bed-time story? Daddy always reads me my bed-time story. Is daddy coming home tomorrow?’

'Oh, honey,' Mummy still looked very sad but she was trying to smile a little bit, I could tell. 'Honey, I don't know.'

That night I was put into bed early by mummy, she said she needed sometime to herself. She still looked very sad and had been crying the whole day. That made me sad, too, because she wouldn’t tell me why. I think it’s something to do with daddy not coming home, but I don’t understand why she’s so sad. Daddy would come home like always, wouldn’t he?

The next day mummy became even sadder and was crying all the time. Grandma and Grandpa came over to visit and they both were crying too. Nobody told me what was going on, all they did was hug me and say ‘Oh, Jack’ over and over again.

I think it’s something to do with daddy, I think. I think he’s sick, that’s why he didn’t come home last night. But he’s okay now, he just came home.

I was already in bed by the time he came into my room, but I was very happy to see him.

'Daddy!' I cried out in glee. 'Daddy, you're home!'

'Jack, my boy. You've gotta be quiet, now, we wouldn't want to wake up mummy, wouldn't we?' He made a shushing motion with his fingers and climbed into bed next to me. 'What do you wanna read today?'

I picked The Big Red Tractor, and daddy read it very well tonight. He did all the voices and even gave Sally the Cow a funny high-pitched voice. It made me giggle.

However daddy said he had to leave after he finished reading me the story. He said he has to go back to work, he’s got a lot more people to save. I was very sad to see him go, but I know he has to. It’s okay, he promised he’ll be back tomorrow to read me another story. He also said to keep his visits a secret from mummy, too. It’ll be fun, he said, it’ll be our little secret with each other. I don’t really see how it’s fun, but I’m okay with it.

Every night for the next two weeks, daddy came home, like he promised, and read me bed-time stories before I slept.

One night, however, after finishing his story, daddy said he had to leave for a long time, and couldn’t come to see me anymore. Why, I asked. He said that he had to go to someplace far to work, to save even more people.

This made me very sad, and I didn’t want him to leave.

'It's okay, little Jack. Daddy's going to be far away but I promise you that I'll be looking out for you all the time, okay? And when the time comes, you'll be able to see me again, and don't worry, I'll be waiting for you.' Daddy picked me up from bed and hugged me very tightly. He felt very warm and smelt of smoke, but I didn't care.

'Don't go, daddy.' I said as I started to cry.

'I have to, champ. Don't forget what I said, okay? I'll be looking out for you. Take care of mummy for me, won't you, champ?' Daddy had already walked towards the door.

'See you around, little Jack.'

 —

Daddy didn’t come back after that, but I always felt as if he was around me. Sometimes, as I sleep, I feel a slight brush on my forehead and sometimes, I smell smoke in my room. I’m not scared, though, because I know it’s daddy, and he’s always watching out for me.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Influences

Ever since young, I’ve always been fairly interested in the way people think and how people make their decisions. But the type of people that I had always held great interest for was the depressed people, and more specifically, the suicidal people.

What really drives them to kill themselves? Is it their depression? Is it from extreme levels of stress? Or is there some sort of external influence, perhaps an influence so subtle people generally don’t notice them? The possibilities are endless and I’ve recently embarked on a fact-finding mission of sorts to get a greater insight behind suicides.

After hours of interviewing numerous depressed, suicidal people, I made a slight breakthrough whilst reviewing one of the tapes during the interview of a particularly disturbed lady. She displayed all the usual symptoms of any depressed person, but what caught my attention was actually during one of her frequent lapses of silence.

She would tilt her head to her left, always to the same side, and her eyebrows would furrow slightly, almost as if she were concentrating on something. During this time, she would completely ignore me.

What was even more baffling was the almost invisible, dark figure hovering behind her.

I swear I saw no such thing during the interview.

Judging from her actions, it was almost as if she was communicating with it, or more specifically, listening to it.

This same odd incident was apparent in only a couple other patients, both also from the same hospital as the first woman. It was baffling- I couldn’t find any reasonable explanation for this.

Puzzled but intrigued, I called up the hospital, only to realize that the three patients had committed suicide the night after the interviews had occurred. The methods of death were the same- all three had jumped out of their windows.

Up till today, I still have no logical explanation for the mysterious dark figures- were these ghosts or just a trick of the camera? Were the deaths a result of what these figures had said?

And finally- are our decisions based solely on ourselves, or are we unknowingly being influenced by unseen forces among us?

That, is the real question.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Time to Remember

As a single mother afflicted with short-term memory loss, life was pretty tough, what with having to juggle taking care of my son, Jerry, and having to remember to take my medicine on time. At the age of 15, Jerry was offered a football scholarship to study in an overseas university, one that he had so desperately wanted since young. It was tough letting him go, and he promised that he would skype me daily for a chat.

Waiting for his skype became a daily highlight of my life. I would literally sit in-front of laptop for hours in anticipation of him. Finally, at around 3PM, I heard the all-familiar ding of the skype notification.

'Hey mum,' Jerry's face popped up onto my screen. He didn't look too happy, which was weird. He should be having the time of his life right now.

'Hello, dear, why the long face?' I smiled at my screen.

'I don't know, I'm not feeling too well right now…' He sighed and clutched his head in his arms. 'Been having the most awful headache for the entire day.'

'Did you take any medicine? Oh honey, if your headache gets really bad you really ought to see a doctor, is there a doctor in the campus? Do you have his number? You could give him a call, see if he'll make a room visit.' Worried, I unleashed a torrent of questions and quickly surveyed the anguished figure of Jerry. 'Are you running a fever? Is your room-mate with you?'

'Mum….'

'Jerry, call up your room-mate, get him to come back! What if you collapse and there's no one around?'

'Mum…. did you take your pills?' Jerry glanced up at the screen, a sad look crossing his face.

'Jerry, honestly, shouldn't we be more worried about your head? Where's your medicine?'

'Mum, you have to take your pills. Don't you remember?' Jerry sighed and smiled sadly. 'Don't you remember, mum?'

Positively confused, I blinked at him. ‘What?’

'Don't you remember? I'm dead, mum.'

'What- don't say that, Jerry!' Shocked, I frowned at Jerry and shook my head furiously. 'Don't you ever say that!'

'You have to take your pills. You have to remember.' Jerry was pleading now, and as I stared at him, a trickle of blood rolled down from under his fringe. Paralyzed by both fear and shock, I watched on in horror as Jerry's eyes slowly rolled to the back of his head, and the trickle of blood gradually became a steady flow.

'Remember, mum.' He gasped in pain before slumping out of his seat.

'Jerry!' I screamed and jumped out of my seat, sending my laptop crashing to the floor. Yelling wildly for Jerry, I quickly picked up my laptop, only to realize that the screen was pitch black.

My laptop wasn’t even switched on.

I was in a full-scale panic mode by now, screaming and yelling in my living room when I tripped over a pile of newspapers. Sobbing furiously, I kicked at the newspapers when one of the articles caught my eye.

Rubbing my tears away, I grabbed the article, which was crumpled and creased in many areas.

BOY FOUND DEAD IN WORLD-CLASS UNIVERSITY, the headline said, with a large, colorless picture of Jerry, my poor Jerry, lying in a large puddle of blood on the stairs with his head cracked open.

The article was dated 3 years ago.

Sobbing, I tossed the article aside and climbed to my feet.

I have to take my pills.

I can’t do this anymore.

I have to remember.

I have to.

As I staggered to the medicine cabinet, I glanced up to the clock and sighed in relief.

My face cracked into a grin and turned back to my laptop.

It was just a little over 3PM.

Jerry should be calling soon.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: Final Drive

Ever get that queasy feeling in your gut? The kind you get when something’s wrong? Well, I had that feeling awhile ago, when I had just left my office building. There had been a sudden influx of work to be done, and it was almost 11PM when I had left. I had just gotten into my car when I felt it- an almost nauseating queasy feeling in my gut, accompanied with a tingling at the tips of my fingers. It was almost as if my throat had suddenly constricted, and I found myself desperately gasping for air.

I was on the verge of passing out when the odd sensation disappeared, almost as sudden as how it happened. Confused, and a tad bit freaked out, I quickly opened the car door and sucked in the fresh air greedily.

Fearing that I would have a sudden relapse, I climbed out of my car and peered around. Strange. There were almost ten other cars still in the car-park when I had left the building. Now, my car was the only car left. Well, there goes my idea of hitching a ride. All the lights in the building were turned off, too, which couldn’t have been possible- I was one of the first few workers to leave and the top board executives were still having their meetings in the building.

I was beginning to feel uneasy, standing alone in the poorly lit car-park next to a completely dark and empty office building. I quickly clambered back into my car, turned on the engine, and left.

The drive through the city was equally unsettling- the streets, usually bustling with activity of the town’s youths, were completely empty. The shop-houses lining the streets were closed too.  I could feel my anxiety levels rising as I yearned for some human contact.

Finally I exited the town, and turned into the highway. The highway was eerily quiet, and after twenty minutes of driving, I realized that I had not seen a single car on the road. Genuinely freaked out by now, I pulled out my phone and quickly called my girlfriend, Diane.

Now, I’ve seen my fair share of horror movies, and by the way things were working out for me, I was half expecting to hear static over the phone. I guess you could imagine my surprise when Diane answered.

'Danny?' Her voice rang out from the phone speakers.

'Diane! God, I thought I wouldn't be able to get through.'

'Get through what? Dan- it's like midnight right now, where are you?'

'I know, baby, I'm on the highway right now. Just needed to hear your voice.'

'Okay, Danny. Keep your eyes on the road now, you're going to miss the cut-off.'

'Cut-off? What-' Confused, I peered through my windows and true enough, there was a break in the treeline to my left, with a gravel path leading right up to the edge of the cliff that the highway was on.

'Diane- how did you know?'

'Remember the cut-off, Danny.' And with that, she hung up.

Positively confused, I stopped my car and walked towards the gravel path. There was nothing special about it, no dead bodies, no splashes of blood, no ghostly figures like how one would expect in a place like this. The only odd thing I couldn’t get my head around was that I had driven down this highway countless of times, to and from work, and I had never once seen this path before. Something was definitely wrong here, I just couldn’t tell what. And how did Diane know I was near the cut-off? How did she even know about this cut-off?

I gingerly peered over the edge of the cut-off. It was a long drop down, and I couldn’t even see the bottom of the cliff, just the sharp, rocky edges along its side.

Desperate to get home, I hopped back into the car, revved the engine and sped off.

The next thing that struck me as weird as the length of the highway. Usually it would only take me half an hour to get off the highway. Now, I had been driving for almost an hour and there was no sign of the exit.

Weird.

My radio wasn’t working.

My phone wasn’t working.

My headlights were dying.

The only source of light was the moonlight filtering through the dense canopy above. I could barely make out the road ahead of me anymore.

I’ve already passed by the cut-off a couple of times.

It was almost as if it were taunting me, egging me on to drive off it to escape from this never-ending road. It seemed to appear at different parts of the road now.

No way, no way I’m driving off this cliff. Just ignore the stupid cut-off.

This just wasn’t making any sense at all.

Maybe if I hold out, maybe if I keep driving. The exit should be just up ahead.

—

It’s been three hours. My fuel’s close to zero. My phone died on me, my headlights too.

The exit. I can’t find it. I don’t think there’s even an exit anymore, just one big loopy road, bringing me round and round and round.

And that’s what I did.

Drive round and round and round.

Starving. Hungry. I have to get off this road.

Round and round and round.

Have to get off.

Just one more drive. My final drive. My final drive till I see the cut-off.

There.

I see it.

Just up ahead. Like it’s beckoning me over.

And this time, I go for it.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Creepypasta: The Elevator

The rain reached its peak right after I left. It started as a slight drizzle during work, and gradually worsened along the way- the rain drops were practically hitting against the glass windows of the fried chicken joint I was working at. I remembered we had a particularly obese lady waddle into the joint, dripping all over the floor.

‘What the hell, huh, Scott? Any fatter and we’ll have to put her on a diet,’ my co-worker, McDoogle, had commented sarcastically. ‘If there’s anyone who needed to fatten up, it’ll be you, mate. You go any thinner and I’ll have to flash out my magnifier to find you.’

As the night went on, I had prayed for the rain to stop, but God clearly wasn’t listening, because by the time we had closed up, it had become a full-fledged storm out there, and the only thing I had for protection was a dusty black jacket that McDoogle had found in the lost-and-found box. I quickly zipped it on, and went on my way.

I managed to squeeze onto the last bus with the rest of the commuters, mostly well-dressed businessmen with proper coats and gloves, the lucky bastards. Some shot me confused looks as I plopped down onto a seat near the back, and I wouldn’t have blamed them- I stuck out like a sore thumb, a scraggly-haired teenager dressed in nothing but a black jacket and torn jeans, soaked from head to toe. They had probably thought I was a druggie or something, the way I was hunched over in my seat, shivering from the cold.

The crowd of gawking onlookers thankfully thinned as we went on our way, and by the time I had finally reached my stop, there were only three other passengers. I quickly got off, and sighed. I had hoped for the rain to stop, but no chance. If anything, the storm had worsened along the bus ride. Just my luck, I muttered darkly, beginning my long trek back to my dingy apartment. I lived in a small room on the 23^rd floor, right at the top of an old, slightly dilapidated building. It wasn’t ideal, having to live about thirty minutes away from the nearest bus-stop, but my meagre salary prevented me from having anything better.

The lobby of the block eloquently reflected the pathetic state of the building- the paint weathered and peeling off in spots, cobwebs hanging off the corners, and the only source of light was a flickering light bulb dangling from a lone wire. I shuddered as I ducked into the lobby, and it wasn’t from the cold- the long, shifting shadows given off by the bulb had always given me the creeps. Luckily, there was an elevator already waiting in the lobby, and I gratefully hurried in and hit the number ‘23’ button, sighing in relief as the elevator vibrated to life and creaked upwards.

As I settled in for the minute long ride up, it suddenly shuddered to a halt and the doors groaned open. A guy, clad in a maroon hoodie, strode in, his wet sneakers and umbrella forming a large puddle where he stood. He pressed the number ‘17’, before turning to nod at me in greeting. I nodded back, and glanced up to the cracked screen in the elevator- a bright green ‘2’ shone out from it.

‘Crazy storm out there, ain’t it?’ He commented.

‘Sure is.’ I replied.

The journey up continued in silence, when the elevator stopped with a soft ‘ding’. I blinked in surprise at the noise- I’d never heard the elevator ‘ding’ before. The landlord must have finally gotten off his lazy, fat ass and fixed something. The doors creaked open, and the maroon guy left.

It took ages for the doors to finally close, and even longer for the elevator to start moving again. I leaned back onto the grimy wall and made a mental note to call the landlord about improving the elevator.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew I was half slumped over the rusty railing in the elevator, with drool dripping off the side of my mouth. I quickly straightened up and checked the screen- the number ‘17’ shone out from it, which couldn’t have been correct, because the guy got off at ‘17’ and I clearly remembered the elevator moving off before I’d dozed off. Speaking of dozing off, how long was I out? It couldn’t have been very long- the trip from ‘17’ to ‘23’ would have taken half a minute, at most. I peered out of the grimy windows of the elevator- there was nothing out there of interest, only the occasional metal railings flashing past the window.

I stepped back, and glanced up again. Still ’17’. I forced myself not to panic. There had to be a legitimate explanation for this. I found myself pacing around in the elevator to work off the panic.

I paced. I looked up to the screen. ‘17’.

I paced. I looked up to the screen. ‘17’.

I paced. I looked up to the screen. ‘17’.

With no watch and no phone to tell the time, all I had was the number of rounds I’d walked in the elevator.
Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four.

‘17’.

Fifty-seven, fifty-eight, fifty-nine.

‘17’.

I was losing it. I could feel the grimy, disgusting walls of the elevator close in, bit by bit, as I continued to pace.

‘17’.

’17.’

‘17.’

I was finishing off my ninety-eighth round when the elevator shuddered to a stop. YES! I hurried over to the doors and stared out the windows.

No. There was nothing but black.

This isn’t my floor. This isn’t any floor.

I had enough.

‘FUC-‘ I began, when everything happened at once.

The elevator jerked roughly to its side, sending me sprawling onto the floor. The lights flickered twice, before going off with a loud buzz. I was thrown into darkness and before I could get up, the elevator jerked again. It was like the mechanical version of a seizure, only worse. I was flung in all directions across the floor, my body bumping against all four walls as I slid around, uncontrolled.

And then it all stopped.

The lights flickered on and I found myself lying in a heap in the left corner of the elevator, my head pressed up into the corner. Disorientated, I got to my feet. I couldn’t even figure out what I was feeling at the moment. Confusion? Fear? Panic? Pain?

Before I could decide, the doors slid open.

The guy, the same maroon guy, stepped in. Maroon hoodie, wet sneakers, dripping umbrella. The same maroon guy.

I looked up. A green ‘2’ glowed out brightly from the screen.

What the hell?

I looked back down, followed the motion of his finger as he pressed the number ‘17’ button.

‘Crazy storm out there, ain’t it?’

What the hell??

I looked up. The guy was staring at me.

‘What?’ I croaked.

‘Crazy storm. Almost blew my damn umbrella away.’ He chuckled, before squinting at me. ‘You okay?’

I finally found my voice. ‘You came in here just now.’ I replied, my gaze darting from his face, to his maroon hoodie, to his wet sneakers, to his dripping umbrella. This was no mistake. It’s the same exact guy.

I’m losing my mind.

‘What, here? I just got here, man.’ He smiled nervously and stepped back.

I could see him slowly tightening his grip on the handle of his umbrella.

I’m freaking him out.

The very thought made me want to laugh. Me? Freak him out? Hell, I was the one stuck in this goddamn elevator. I should be pissing my pants.

I stepped towards him, my gaze alternating between him and the glowing screen.

‘Woah. Dude. Don’t be weird.’ He wasn’t smiling anymore. He tightened his grip on his umbrella.

The elevator ‘dinged’ and the door behind me opened. I didn’t move. My eyes were fixed on him.

He edged around me. I could see sweat trickling down his face.

‘Don’t come back in here. Whatever you’re doing, you better stop. You better stop.’ I whispered, following behind him, step by step, until I reached the door.

I stayed rooted in the spot, even after the doors closed, my gaze piercing through the window on the door. I wanted to make sure that he left. And he did, scurrying backwards down the corridor.

That’s right. Don’t ever come back.

I glanced up to the screen as soon as the elevator started moving again.

’17.’

’17.’

’18.’

I let out a huge sigh of relief.

Finally.

I continued to stare at the screen, feeling less and less tense as the number continued up as normal.

’19.’ ’20.’ ’21.’ ’22.’

’23.’

I wanted to cry, that’s how relieved I was.

I stepped out through the doors as soon as they opened.

The next thing I knew, I was flying backwards into the elevator, hitting my head, hard onto the wall.

‘Holy shit! Sorry dude, I didn’t see you there.’

That voice.

That fucking voice.

I looked up slowly. From the dripping umbrella, to the wet sneakers, to the maroon hoodie, to the face, to the bright ‘2’ glowing from the screen above.

He did it again.

‘You okay?’ He asked, bending down.

I told you to stay away, you fucker.

‘Hey. You hit your head or something? Shit, I’m sorry.’ He continued.

I’ll make you sorry. You wanna mess with me? I’ll make you sorry.

‘Woah, dude. Quit staring man- don’t be weird.’

I remembered the next few seconds in flashes. I remember lunging at him, snarling and growling. I remember tackling him to the ground. I remember wrestling his umbrella away from him. I remember bringing the umbrella up high. I remember his face, staring up at me in fear and shock, as I brought down the sharp tip of his umbrella down onto his chest.

Once, twice. In, out.

His yelling, gradually reduced to a moan, and then a gurgle.

One, twice. In, out.

His thrashing and fighting, gradually reducing to weak grappling, before he fell limp.

Once, twice. In, out.

His eyes, at first wide open in terror, slowly closing, before it shut.

I continued stabbing long after he stopped breathing.

I had to make sure.

I had to make sure that he didn’t come back.

I won’t have him fucking around with me again.

—

I heard the doors open behind me. I didn’t know how long it was after I killed the maroon guy. With no watch and no phone, how could I have known?

There was movement behind me.

‘Shit.’ A voice rang out.

It didn’t sound like maroon guy. I smiled.

‘I found him, I found him. Fuck, it’s a mess in here. Level 17, hurry up!’

I removed my gaze from the bloody, misshapen mess infront of me and turned.

‘Don’t move!’

It was a policeman. He had his gun out and pointing right at me.

‘I said don’t move!’

Don’t worry. Nobody was going to mess with anyone. I took care of that. I smiled at him in reassurance.

More and more policemen appeared behind him. One of them prised away the bloody, broken umbrella away, one of them cuffed my hands, and three of them dragged me down the stairs. They didn’t have to be so rough, I wasn’t going to hurt anyone.

When we emerged out of the lobby, I realised it had stopped raining.

An old, balding man in a suit walked up to me, his hand clutching a phone.

‘This him, doc?’ A policemen asked in a gruff voice.

Doctor?

The old man nodded before speaking into the phone. ‘McDoogle here, we found him.’ He tucked the phone back into his pocket before turning back to me. ‘You really gave us quite a scare, Scott, running away like that during kitchen duty.’

McDoogle? Kitchen duty?

And then it all hit me.

Kitchen duty.

The obese lunch lady complaining that I had to eat more, or she would have to ‘flash out her magnifier to find me.’

Stealing the black jacket from the front desk. Putting it on to hide the white uniform below.

The front door letting out a soft ‘ding’ as I slipped through.

Taking the bus back home.

My ward room number.

23-17.

I blinked and turned to McDoogle, my doctor from the mental institute.

And then I fainted.

Grabbed from Horror/creepy short stories

Bloody Mary

She lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal remedies for a living. Folks living in the town nearby called her Bloody Mary, and said she was a witch. No-one dared cross the old crone for fear that their cows would go dry, their food-stores rot away before winter, their children take sick of fever, or any number of terrible things that an angry witch could do to her neighbors and their children.

Then the little girls in the village began to disappear, one by one. No one could find out where they had gone. Grief-stricken families searched the woods, the local buildings, and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of the missing girls. A few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary's home in the woods to see if the witch had taken the girls, but she denied any knowledge of the disappearances. Still, it was noted that her haggard appearance had changed. She looked younger, more attractive. The neighbors were suspicious, but they could find no proof that the witch had taken their young ones.

Then came the night when the daughter of the miller rose from her bed and walked outside, following an enchanted sound no one else could hear. The miller's wife had a toothache and was sitting up in the kitchen treating the tooth with an herbal remedy when her daughter left the house. She screamed for her husband and followed the girl out of the door. The miller came running in his nightshirt. Together, they tried to restrain the girl, but she kept breaking away from them and heading out of town.

The desperate cries of the miller and his wife woke the neighbors. They came to assist the frantic couple. Suddenly, a sharp-eyed farmer gave a shout and pointed towards a strange light at the edge of the woods. A few townsmen followed him out into the field and saw Bloody Mary standing beside a large oak tree, holding a magic wand that was pointed towards the miller's house. She was glowing with an unearthly light as she set her evil spell upon the miller's daughter.

The townsmen grabbed their guns and their pitchforks and ran toward the witch. When she heard the commotion, Bloody Mary broke off her spell and fled back into the woods. The far-sighted farmer had loaded his gun with silver bullets in case the witch ever came after his daughter. Now he took aim and shot at her. The bullet hit Bloody Mary in the hip and she fell to the ground. The angry townsmen leapt upon her and carried her back into the field, where they built a huge bonfire and burned her at the stake.

As she burned, Bloody Mary screamed a curse at the villagers. If anyone mentioned her name aloud before a mirror, she would send her spirit to revenge herself upon them for her terrible death. When she was dead, the villagers went to the house in the woods and found the unmarked graves of the little girls the evil witch had murdered. She had used their blood to make her young again.

From that day to this, anyone foolish enough to chant Bloody Mary's name three times before a darkened mirror will summon the vengeful spirit of the witch. It is said that she will tear their bodies to pieces and rip their souls from their mutilated bodies. The souls of these unfortunate ones will burn in torment as Bloody Mary once was burned, and they will forever be trapped in the mirror.

The Demon in the Mirror Trick

This is an old trick, one I am sure many of you have tried. Turn down the lights and stare into a mirror. Stare at your face, and let your eyes go out of focus. Your face, the face you've known your entire life, will start to morph, twist and become demonic before your very eyes.

This used to be a fun party trick, especially if you were telling a scary story while it was happening. Something about watching your own face twist, it's just unnerving in such a deep, personal way.

Don't ever do it. If you're reading this, just don't. I did it recently, on the spur. I was walking out of my kitchen, and my bathroom door was open. There was just enough light from the little kitchen light to see the mirror. I stared, and watched my face turn ugly. Same as always. Until it smiled back. At first I thought I smiled. No, the reflection did.

I don't know much, but I know that whatever is on the other side of the mirror hates you. Maybe because we just see it as our reflection, our property, something to use to comb our hair and brush our teeth. But it's alive. And full of hate.

I hear it now, at night, tapping on the mirror. It wants out. I tried to show my wife, but it's smart. She just sees the reflection, but as soon as she turns around, it smiles at me. The taps have started to turn into pounding. Not just at home anymore either. It goes wherever I go, and it wants me.

Tonight I am alone. I can hear it tapping, and now it's pounding. Its face is that twisted face. See, I figured it out. That twisted face, that isn't from our eyes going blurry. No, that's its real face showing up.

Oh God.

I just heard glass shatter.

Mirror Man

Hello there. My name is Jesse. I had heard that this site is where people would submit their stories that were well... creepy. I've read a lot here, mostly the stories that you would read about monsters, supernatural things, serial killers,  and even  haunted items.

I've heard that most of these stories are actually true but I never did believe it. I didn't think stuff like that existed... well except for the serial killer part. My point is I always thought these things were hoaxes and just that. That is until The Mirror Man.

You see I go to high school in suburban Massachusetts. It's really what you would expect a normal high school to be: regular classes, everyone has their own group of friends, y'know...the usual stuff.

No, the school isn't haunted, no it wasn't built on a Native American burial ground, nothing like that. It's a completely normal school. But lately let's say about two maybe three weeks ago, a rumor had started floating around school. But it wasn't a usual rumor of "Who's cheating on who?" or "Who's pregnant?" No, this was more of those urban myth rumors you would hear about. The guy who started this rumor.

Let's call him Tim. You see, Tim was a well known guy; he was that one guy in school everyone liked, and one day he came in with a almost triumphant smirk on his face, as if he was parading around. One of my friends, Dan, had went up to him and asked what was he so happy about in which Tim responded, "I beat the Mirror Man." As if it was some sort of achievement.

To which Dan asked "Who's the Mirror Man?" Basically since I don't want to keep doing this who said what thing I myself well tell you who the Mirror Man is.

The Mirror Man is the quote unquote "Spirit" who will appear if you say the words "Mirror Man" into a mirror three times when you're alone, Now I know what you're thinking  another one of those bogus mirror tricks right? We all tried the Bloody Mary thing when we were kids, we all found out it was bullshit and that no ghost would pop up ultimately leaving us disappointed but relieved at the same time that nothing was gonna come out of the mirror and kill you. And at first I thought the same thing about this.

Tim must be pulling a prank or something right?  our whole lunch table gave him our skeptic responses in which he replied, "If you don't believe me then why don't you try it for yourself?"

A few of us nodded at each other and just said, "Okay" And then we went back to eating our lunches. The rest of the day was pretty normal after that. I had went home did my homework and that was it.

My mom and dad were away for the week on a business trip so I was home alone though, I didn't mind though cause at least I still had my dog to keep me company. Time went on and eventually it was night time. I had just finished  brushing my teeth in front of the mirror when that thought of the rumor came up in my head again, I figured I would do it If only to prove that it was really nothing. I turned off the lights and stood in front of the mirror, I took a deep breath and said the words:

"Mirror Man....Mirror Man...Mirror Man."

I waited for what seemed like a good minute in the dark... nothing had happened. I knew it was fake from the start  I smiled to myself and went to bed  waiting to rub it into Tim's face.

The Morning came along with school that day The first  half went pretty normally... then it came to lunch. We were all there talking about what we usually do then came in Tim only... something was different, The usual aloof look on his face had faded into an expression of worry and deep thought. He was never like this before. He sat down slowly and we had all asked him what was wrong.

He was silent for a moment before saying, "I saw him again..."

We asked who it was that he saw eager to find out what was doing this to our friend. he gave only a shaky reply "The Mirror Man..." I rolled my eyes at this I thought he was pulling some stunt to get attention.

"The Mirror man isn't real; I tried it last night!" I said.

Tim turned to me and  shouted at me, "He is real! And I saw him again last night! He's coming for me! He said he would!"

This had caught the attention of the other tables in the area as well as the teachers, The entire cafeteria went silent as he shouted, "He's coming for me!"

One of the better known teachers had grabbed him by the shoulders and escorted him out of the cafeteria... What the fuck was going on here?

Fast forward a few days later, the rumor of the Mirror Man had spread throughout the school, onto the internet, to everywhere locally. It had become a craze by the time my parents had gotten home from their trip. I had told them everything, I had still continued to do the Mirror Man trick every night but no matter what I would never see the supposed spirit.

However, many other people in the school had apparently seen him even if they didn't do the mirror trick, they would just be staring at their reflection fixing their hair etc, and then out of nowhere their reflection would just distort... into the Mirror Man. But why wouldn't he show up for me? I didn't understand it and it frustrated me!

Upon the morning of last Monday the entire school had been called into the auditorium. This would never happen unless something really good or really bad would happen and with the recent news I sure as hell knew it wasn't the former... The principal of the school had stepped out with a grave look on his face.. he walked up to the podium and...

Tim had died... The police found his body in his room after they broke down the door. I couldn't believe my ears... Was this really happening? No It couldn't be. How did he die!.. Did he really kill himself over this whole Mirror Man thing or... Was something else going on here?

Later that night I had signed onto the schools website, The school had a chat system implemented where students could contact other students about when papers were due, help on projects and things like that. I was chatting with my friends and other kids about the day's events. Then suddenly, a message popped up [GUEST-Mirror_Man] has logged into the chat room.

I looked at the message for a few seconds. Was this some kind of fucking joke? Because nobody was laughing. He said nothing when all the other students called him out. All he did was post a link to a picture in the chat The moderator banned him immediately afterwards. I clicked on the link apart from my better judgment... And I wish I hadn't... What I saw in that picture will be sure to haunt me for the rest of my life. It was Tim... But...

It was his corpse. Pale and lifeless. His jaw was hanging open as if he was screaming... There were dozens of shards of glass dug into his skin, including two larger ones that were stuck into his eyes. There was blood everywhere... And carved into his chest were two parallel lines, lined up vertically with an X slightly overlapping them.

I was appalled and... I began to cry... He was a kid for fuck's sake. Who did this to him... Why did they did this to him?! Instinctively the first thing I thought was... The Mirror Man. Was he really real? Did he really do this to Tim? All these questions buzzed in my head. I started feeling nauseous. I ripped the cord out of my computer making the screen go black. And I just cried there.

Over the next day's things only got worse... More kids were missing... More ended up dead... And each time it was done, a picture of their corpse ended up on the school website under the screen name "Mirror_ Man" Eventually I just stopped clicking I knew what the picture was as well as everyone else did. The school was shut down by the police soon after that.

The FBI started questioning people. But one thing kept I my mind the entire time was... Why couldn't I see the Mirror Man... I shouldn't even be asking this, I should just consider it a blessing and leave it alone but I wanted to know why... One final time I went into my bathroom.  One final time I turned the lights off and looked in the mirror... And One. Final. Time. I had said "Mirror Man...Mirror Man...Mirror Man" My voice grew shaky and unstable with each time my mind was about to snap I needed to know!... And finally I saw him...

My reflection started to distort... It was replaced by a man... He was wearing a pair of jeans and an olive green hooded sweatshirt. But his clothes were bloodstained... There were shards of glass sticking into him and impaling him like a fucking pincushion! His mouth was sewn shut and I couldn't see the rest of his face... But in his hand there was a bloody shard of mirror. I was petrified.

How does one react to a serial killer staring him down?! I didn't think this could be real, it had to be one big fucked up dream or a hallucination or something! I took a step back from the mirror, my heart thumping in my ears was all I could hear... When surprisingly he also took a step away.

Being cautious I took another step away... And so did he... Where I moved he moved in perfect sync... As if I was... Looking in a mirror. I closed my eyes and shook my head and... There I was again... Well... There was my face... but my clothes changed... I was wearing an olive green sweatshirt and jeans... And there was a piece of bloodied mirror in my hand.

I looked down and... It was all true... There I was wearing the exact same thing that the mirror man had worn just a moment ago... No... No this had to be another trick I thought. The mirror man was fucking with my head! Then... I saw a blood trail leading out the bathroom door... I reluctantly followed it and it led to the door of my parents bedroom... I kept whispering in a hushed tone as if I was pleading...

"No. No" over and over again

I had slowly opened the door... And there were both my parents. Broken shards of glass going through them... two through the eyes... And the two lines. with the X... On their bodies. I know the reason why I couldn't see him... It's because I could always see him, I was the Mirror Man... I did all those horrible things...


It was me.

The Girl and Her Mirror

Her background story starts like any other. She was born into a money lacking family, always going to school in rags or clothes that never fit. Jessica was fourteen at the time. A boy, Trevor was his name, always teased her and bullied her until she sobbed and sobbed.

Her only sanity was in her hand mirror. She would look in it for hours wondering if she was worth the life. She went to school with it, outside, and everywhere she went. Trevor was a lonely, low self-esteemed boy. He took his anger out on anyone who seemed lower in status than him.

Such a sad decision for the boy. He took her mirror and hit her in the face. Her fragile, bony face tore open like a balloon as she fell to the floor lifeless, limp, full of broken dreams, and fifty-six pieces of glass. Now we all should know that a spirit can do anything it desires.

Her spirit, craved revenge on all that wronged her. She wanted Trevor. Revenge is a worthless action and want, always hurting those in its way. Well, Trevor was going to learn that what goes around comes around. Jessica's spirit lived in the only place it knew, what it looked in, what it watched in, what it died in.

She hid in the glass that was placed in Trevor's house. Trevor did not feel guilt like any other human being, he only felt satisfaction. Everyday Jessica tried to haunt him in his own reflection, but he only saw perfection. Until she snapped and pulled him in.

He was missing for fifty-six days. When the boy was found he was tucked gently in bed, cut into fifty-six pieces. Now she takes boys into her cursed realm of glass, but only if they made the same mistake Trevor made. The mistake of looking down on those who are unfortunate. The last words any of the boys hear are, "The girl, she’s cold, just like the glass that cut me. Just like the glass that will cut you!" and they stay missing for fifty-six days.

Always cut into fifty-six pieces. Let Jessica's story be a reminder of all the people lost in the realm of death. Just because one person after the next looked down on those who could only look up.