The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

My friends were idiots. I was an idiot. I don’t know if the warnings are real, but I know everyone else is gone. We thought it was a story. We just wanted to play along, have some creepy fun, but now it feels so real. Like it won’t go away until it has us all. At least that’s what Devin said. To be clear, none of us wanted this. It was supposed to be a fun, cheesy way to spend the night while Devin’s parents were out of town. Brendan found the story (here’s a link), but it was Devin’s idea to actually play the game. None of us were surprised by that, though; Devin’s always been into rituals and creepy things. Of course, we didn’t think it would actually work. But, I guess … no one ever does? That’s how stupid kids like us get suckered into playing, even though every warning tells us not to. It was me, Devin Hart, Brendan Smith, Hannah Lawrence, Kennedy Lake, and McKenna Hall. We chose Isaiah Whitman as the target, because Kennedy had a crush on him and Hannah and I couldn’t resist an o

If you’re reading this, then I assume you know all about Snapchat’s “Psychic Knock Game.” If not, you can click HERE to get caught up. If you’re like me, then you’ve probably been perusing the creepypasta site over the past few days and noticed the countless posts pertaining to The Psychic Knock Game. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting pretty sick of them. I want my regularly scheduled stories back; anything that doesn’t involve that damned Snapchat ritual. I tried contacting the site through Facebook , Twitter , and Instagram , but to no avail. Each and every time, I was left on read. Typical. Still, I wasn’t about to give up. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I thought it best to shame the story in an effort to get the posts taken down, or at the very least, make them stop. What better way to shame the ritual, I thought, than to disprove it all together; show the creepypasta fandom that it was a bunch of malarkey; something that wasn’t worth reading – or at least not

That idiot Josh started this. He found this Snapchat user named callme_469 (click here for a pic of their snapcode). Rumor had it that the account belonged to a hot girl, so Josh thought he could flirt with her, I guess. Despite the suggestive name, Josh was misguided; after connecting, the user sent him nothing but snaps detailing the instructions to some sort of ‘psychic’ game. “You get a group of you together, and if you all focus hard enough, you can knock on someone’s door with your collective psychic energy.” Josh explained to Martin, Tony, and I in school on Monday. We noticed that there was a bit more to it than that when he actually showed us the snaps, each one a picture of handwritten instructions. • You need a large group of people who are connected in some way; friends, teammates, or classmates works well. • You must all agree on whose door to knock on. If there is any disagreement in the group, the game will not work. • Everyone must wear black. • The group must sit in a

N̴o̸n̷e̷ ̶o̵f̴ ̷u̴s̷ ̵r̸e̶a̵l̷i̵z̶e̸d̴ ̵w̴h̷a̴t̵ ̶w̷e̸ ̵w̴e̶r̴e̷ ̶g̷e̸t̸t̷i̷n̴g̷ ̷i̵n̸t̵o̶.̶ ̵D̸a̸v̵i̴d̴ ̷i̸s̸ ̸t̵h̵e̶ ̸o̵n̴e̶ ̸w̵h̵o̷ ̴c̶l̵i̵c̸k̴e̶d̶ ̷o̷n̵ ̸t̶h̵e̵ ̶p̴o̶s̷t̴ ̵a̴n̶d̶ ̸d̵e̷c̴i̴d̸e̸d̷ ̴w̵e̸ ̸s̶h̴o̷u̴l̷d̸ ̷p̶l̷a̷y̷.̵ …. It was Thursday night and David’s dad was working. Naturally, at the prospect of finding ourselves on a Friday night unsupervised, my friends and I were drawn to David’s house, like moths into fire. We are all 17 years old. Before we played, we were beset with that unshakable, idealist faith of youth. Nothing could touch us; we would live forever. The psychic knock game broke this belief, among other ideals. Nobody believed it was real. The four of us had performed a dozen of these rituals before, to little results. Our little “Scooby Doo Club” consisted of me, my boyfriend David, Donna, and Mike. Smoking a bowl and poking around the internet for ‘sinister’ games to play was just what we did for kicks. The only thing any of them ever actually did was make

Everyone has that one terrifying nightmare from their childhood they still remember, but what happens when they find out that it was real? When my brother James and I were growing up, our family lived in an old Victorian Style home located in Massachusetts. It was a beautiful tribute to the profound craftsmanship of the early twenties; picture a life size rustic dollhouse with an absolutely stunning part glazed, timber framed porch. It was also very secluded, with our nearest neighbor being maybe a mile away. We would spend most of our days outside, in the treehouse our father built, as we made up stories of pirates and treasures. I was always Blackbeard while James would be Calico, we were the unstoppable duo of the high seas. There was a special hole in the middle of the tree where we would hide our stolen treasures. James had noticed it the very first day after the fort was built. As exciting as our tree house was though, I would have to say the best part about our home was our nann

Series by:  donutboy456781 Two nights ago, after speaking with Detective Laird about the creature that broke into my home, I’m pretty sure I had a panic attack. I couldn’t catch my breath no matter how hard I tried. It felt like my throat had closed up. I shouldn’t have fallen back asleep after hearing that terrifying news, but I did. I had no choice. Maybe it was all the stress of the last few days, maybe it was the panic attack, or maybe it was something else entirely… but I did fall asleep, and that night I had the most vivid dream I’ve ever had. Usually my dreams are a jumbled mess of nonsense, but this one seemed to flow much more coherently than normal. It seemed to tell me something. I found myself in my home’s entryway yet again. It was still very much in shambles like it had been when Sergeant James escorted Mary and I to safety for questioning: the door still lay on the floor, and the trail of the crimson blood-like substance still flowed like a makeshift road leading to the

Series by:  donutboy456781 Unsurprisingly, things since my last update have been insanely hectic. I truly haven’t been able to find the time to write this next post for you all until right now, so I am sorry for all the worry I caused anyone with the abrupt ending of my previous post. My wife and I, luckily, are once again okay. We’re still very shaken up by every little terrifying thing that has happened in the last two days, but thankfully we will be fine. Our bond has only strengthened during all of this, so that is a massive positive in a boatload of negatives. Before I get into the finer details about last night, I want to address something a lot of you have been saying the past two days: it was a bad move for me to withhold the truth from Mary. I thought I was doing the right thing in the moment, but lying to her was a bad idea. I could have gotten her killed, and that makes me feel awful. I came clean with her earlier today, and she handled it about as well as I could have expec