The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

Hello, fellow followers. Just to take a break from posting stories to let you know that I will be moving most of my creepypasta story collection into a new blog that specializes in them while keeping this blog slightly tame with heartwarming stories and such. So, if you're interested, go to https://mycreepypastacollection.blogspot.com/ if you are a fan of reading creepypastas and go binge on my collection there. Thanks~!

Over twenty five years ago a friend of my Grandmother gave her an old oil painting called ‘The Anguished Man’. She told my Grandmother that the artist used his own blood mixed in with the oils and committed suicide shortly after finishing the painting. I have no way of confirming if this story is true or not, but my Grandmother passed the story down to me when she gave me the painting. I really liked the painting, but because my wife didn’t like it I kept it in the cellar. After our cellar was flooded during a prolonged period of heavy rain I moved the contents of the cellar to my parent’s garage while the cellar dried out. When I got the painting back I decided to keep it in our spare bedroom on the third floor of our house. Shortly after we started to hear strange noises, loud unexplainable bangs and an odd scraping noise like someone scratching their nails on fabric. When the painting was in the cellar our dog would not go in the cellar, she would just stand outside growling; now wh...

Fingers trembling with excitement I opened the package. Just as I had hoped, it was the camera I won on ebay. With mild delight I realized I had received a better deal than I had realized because the previous owner had left the memory card in the slot. Before sending an e-mail to the seller alerting them of the mistake I decided to see if anything was on it. Setting the camera on slideshow I watched as the camera displayed a picture of a shipping label. My confusion turned to horror as the next image was of a person brutally murdered. The rest of the card was alternating pictures of a mailing address followed by a murder scene. The last image was of the shipping label from the box I had just opened. ---- Original Author: danatblair

I’ve always loved the dark. It feels warm and welcoming. Like a mask, hiding all the stress and emotion that the daylight shows so explicitly and replacing them with a sensuous feeling. The dark reveals your true nature and abolishes the facade you play during the daytime. Yes. The dark is good. You can be yourself in the dark and not feel judged or threatened all the while by being yourself. That’s why I love the night so much. You can just relax in the blackness, surrounded by nothing but shadow. Allowing the dark to overcome your senses and numb them down until you feel nothing at all but complete weightlessness. Then, when sleep finally takes control, you are thrusted into even deeper darkness. Infinite darkness. Just black empty space. An endless void your mind creates to help you drift off into unconsciousness. But why? Why is it always black? Have you ever thought about that? Whenever we close our eyes, we are met with black. But why? You don’t notice it, do you? You don’t think...

I’ve been working at a police station in Massachussets for the past ten years. No, I’m not an officer but rather a First Responder. It’s…not such a big job, or at least to me anyway, because my family lives in mid-sized city. Average 20,000 people. The most important calls I get include robberies and house fires. And then there are the pranks that teenagers play on Halloween and such like that. I’m recording all of this. The reason why is because I’m scared like hell. Still scared. It all happened ten years ago. There are eight emergency responders at the station. Six are the assigned responders who switch off at eight hour shifts. Two responders work one shift. Two extra responders in case one bails. It’s pretty efficient, I think. We’ve never had two responders bail and the back ups having to work the same shift. But in case we do, we have a calendar for that sort of thing. I work the night shift from 8 pm to 4 am with a guy….we’ll call him ‘Bill.’ It was mid September and Bill had t...

 Jonathan Felix sat back in the chair after affixing the final electrodes to his skull. He is currently reclined in one of the most expensive private scientific investments in the world, and today was the fruition of his, and many others, efforts. The aim of the project was to open a human beings mind and allow them to perceive one of the spatial dimensions above the mediocre three. The actual result was still a point of contestation, but it was suspected that the individual would be able to study all possible universes that could be created from his actions, and then choose the one that he wished to follow. A man whose every action would be perfect as he had already witnessed the results. Felix had jumped at the opportunity, because he was young and headstrong. In his early twenties and brilliant in the field of quantum mechanics, he was relishing the opportunity to apply the usually theoretical aspects of his craft to a physical medium. He gave the final thumbs up to the techs be...

Identifying Exploding Head Syndrome (EHS) An uncommon phenomenon that causes a person–usually female–to suffer from sudden, loud, and unexplainable noises right on the verge of sleep. Noises which are jarring and can sound like the popping of fireworks, gunshots, the bang of slamming doors, and even loud explosions. In some cases, violent screaming or sobbing is heard. The most exceptional thing to note about the sleep disorder that is EHS, is that noises do not occur within the head. Sounds are out of body and can be heard anywhere up to a block away by both ears. Although very little is known, psychiatrists speculate that EHS occurs when certain synapses in the brain fire off rather than settle down. What synapses and why, however, is still unknown. No one has proven this theory to be true however, and doctors aren’t even sure where to begin looking–let alone find an actual cure or remedy. Many subjects have claimed that a little rest and relaxation can help, but EHS never truly leav...

I woke up. Sheets were stained with sweat, breath was no longer bated, and unconscious solace began to surcease. Depression kills. Not in a directly physical way, not in a way perceivable by anyone except the sufferer. It made me feel psychotic. It went past the brain tissue, into the atoms of their molecules. I always imagined the electrons painstakingly orbiting a chunk of ice. There was never light in my imagination. I felt a subconscious sigh emit, and tossed off the sheets. I sat up, let drop head to hands, and contemplated once again my current situation. I contemplated the fact that I could no longer stay awake during the day. I contemplated the nothing I felt all the time about nothing. I’ve been contemplating suicide. Yet I’m too pathetically apathetic. I got up, and silently made my way to the kitchen. My night vision and preference for darkness have both increased proportionally. Light couldn’t help me navigate the cramped quarters of my apartment any better than the dark. C...

I first got in contact with Jack, my former landlord, a little over a year ago when I answered his newspaper ad. I was in a rush to move out as I had just broken up with my significant other, whom I shared an apartment with, and Jack was renting out the furnished basement of his house. The location was good and the price was a steal, and I moved in with a few boxes of personal items four days later. The house was old and the floors were creaky – Jack was the eternal bachelor, interested in nothing but cars, certainly not interior decorating or hardly even basic upkeep for that matter – and when he got up to go to work at 5 A.M. he would often wake me up, since I am a very light sleeper. However, as the months passed by I got accustomed to waking up early. I cannot tell you the exact moment I realized that something wasn’t right. Over a number of days, a thought slowly crept into my conscious mind and settled; I hadn’t heard very much noise from upstairs lately. There was the occasional...

My life has been average at most.  I lived in a family of two girls and one boy. There was my older sister, Jenny, me, and my younger brother, Alex. We had a typical childhood, I guess. Jenny was popular, with her blonde hair, blue eyes, and skinny frame. Alex, early on, showed a penchant for sports and became the star athlete of the family. But myself, just like the rest of my life, was very… average. I wasn’t overly smart. I wasn’t ugly but I didn’t stand out. I had a small group of friends. I was average. But I idolized my older sister. Jenny was everything I would never be. She had friends, upon friends, upon friends. She had a string of boyfriends starting from the time she was 11. There was always some boy, some drama. She grew tired of it, but I loved it. Jenny loved me, too. We were really close as children. Mom and dad loved me, sure, but they didn’t notice me like they did Jenny and Alex. Because there was nothing special about me, not really. But Jenny didn’t ...