The Survival of the Fittest

Ever get that feeling like something or someone is watching you?

It’s a human instinct, built from various evolutionary mechanisms. This first began to adapt to more primal humans whilst living in forests or other areas with a high volume of predators. Being able to sense that hunter, aside from using vision, sight or smell, became important over the years. I personally don’t believe in the five senses, I believe it’s a childish way of looking at and explaining something otherwise so complex. I believe that we have many more, including this perceptive sense of being hunted, or being watched.

Now that we are generally far more domesticated as a species, this ability no longer has quite the same useful application in detecting predators (though given a situation where we are stranded in some dangerous woods for example, we still do have it in us).

But this sense now generally applies to other things on an average, day to day basis for us. Perhaps for example, if someone, another human is hunting you, stalking you or is watching you. That can happen and it does happen plenty all around our dangerous, sometimes demented world, every day.

However, perhaps more commonly, whether we know it or not, we also have a sense for feeling other presences that the naked eye cannot detect. And this has also been the case in older, more primal civilizations; where shaman existed to give one example. This ability, or sense, has also evolved over the years and whether people want to admit that or not, it’s irrelevant, it’s just how things work. For example, many of us no longer need rituals to stimulate these sensory perceptions, we simply feel it and many people feel it all the time.

This sense also seems to be stronger in the next, upcoming generations on average. The younger you are as you read this, the better these senses likely are for you, if even just a little. Many people also shut these feelings out, depending on their mindsets and personality traits.

If you are above average in the traits of sensitivity, empathy or are highly observant, then chances are you can better tune-in to these senses. You have a large advantage, if you want to call it that.

That thing watching you as you sleep, staring at you as you are on your computer, as you eat your dinner alone, as you watch TV late at night… its presence, even if momentarily felt, is felt for a reason. It’s never purely imaginary, quit telling yourself that. We have these senses for a reason. That evolutionary trait is working as intended if you feel that sense run down your spine, through your body.

Your body understands that you’re not alone, your mind is then given an option in what to do with that information.

When we turn the lights out, this sense becomes stronger, just as all the other senses do. It’s not make believe. For example, the very primal, common fear of something standing over your bed as you sleep does not stem from nothing, it’s based on many, many generations of humans feeling that sense occur whilst in bed. It’s not a
coincidence.

Try and put it all together, have some wits about it.

There is a very good probability that there is something else with you there right now, looking at you, or at least sharing common space with you. I’m just saying this in a statistical sense, we all know that this sense goes off quite often, perhaps depending on how busy our day, who else is with us, where we are, how we feel and things of that nature. Many factors to it all, really, but at the end of the day anyone can tune into it to some degree.

If you’re alone right now, there is a much higher probability that this sense will trigger for you, just because of your mindset and because of how we are when we’re isolated–we’re so different, aren’t we? It is then up to your mind how to process that sensory input. You can choose these things to be as you want them to be.

Dependent on who you are, your mind may slip. And that is where we begin to see problems. The things watching us become dark and hostile in our minds. The bodies become misshapen and deformed, the intentions become disgusting. We are watched with malice now, through a spiraling, mocking, hateful gaze. They now emerge from the darkest, most satanic bowels of our minds, in where we all undoubtedly have some real estate. The entities watching us, whatever they may be, become one thing. Our greatest fears.

We let them become that.

The weak let them become that. Don’t be weak.

—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

The Arbiters

They had found the Voyager probes and decoded the messages inside. Their great silver ships filled the sky, scudding through the atmosphere like shiny storm clouds. All planes that approached them, no matter from what nation, were shot down.

They called themselves the Arbiters. Their demands were simple. One person from every nation on Earth needed to come forward, of their own free will, and offer themselves up for experimentation. If they did, they would gift Earth with technology beyond knowing. If not, they could cleanse the Earth of every trace of humanity.

Most people had panicked. Governments fell, people killed and looted, and chaos reigned. But even as the worst of humanity came forth, so did the best, and the one person per nation quota was met easily, with people to spare.

All the ships withdrew but one then. A great voice filled the sky. Humanity had passed their test. All those who had offered themselves up were safe on the ships in orbit and they would not be experimented on.

Rather, they were to be rewarded beyond measure. Rejoicing filled the streets. The Earth had been spared! The last ship drew back into orbit. A great white light filled the sky and lanced down. No buildings were touched. Not a blade of grass was harmed, and both the lion and the lamb lay down without fear. But every person on the planet, down to a man, was gone.

The people on the ship looked down in horror. They turned to the Arbiters, questioning. They merely smiled. “Come ye meek,” they said. “The Earth is now yours.”

Credit To – Star Kindler

The Boogey Man

It started with my 3 year old son screaming in his room in the middle of the night. When I came in to check on him he was in hysterics. Tears ran down his little cheeks as he cried about how the Boogeyman had frightened him. I let him sleep with my wife and I for the night, thinking it was just a bad dream.

The next evening he didn’t even want to be in his room, but I convinced him that the Boogey Man was just a figment of his imagination. I was awoken once more by his screams. I rushed to his room, to find him in tears again.

On the third night I set up a camcorder in his room, in order to show him that there was no monster. That evening there was no screaming and no crying. I was refreshed when I woke up in the morning after having gotten my first good nights sleep in three days. However, my son did seem fatigued. He didn’t even put up his usual fuss in the morning when we got him ready for preschool. When my wife took him to day care, I decided to review the camera’s tape in order to find out how he had slept. I’ll never forget what I saw.

At around 2AM while my son was asleep his closet door slowly creaked open. Out of the shadows crept a pale, naked, veiny, woman with long white hair and solid black eyes. Her body was bony and frail, like that of a holocaust survivor. When she turned to the side, I could see her spine protruding from her hunched back like a dinosaur. She reached into my son’s crib with her unnaturally large hands and covered his mouth. He was trying to scream, but he couldn’t. The palm of one of her hands easily enveloped his head, muffling his cries. She snatched him up with the ease that a person of her frame should not have had, then walked back into the closet with him in her arms. An hour later she returned with what looked like a wriggling maggot the size of a duffle bag and placed it in my son’s bed before retreating once more into the closet.

Over the next 2 hours I watched it twist and writhe while it grew and mutated until it looked just like my baby boy. Once the transformation was complete, it got out of bed and slipped on a pair of his pajamas, then slid back between the covers and waited for us to come in. I don’t know what that thing is that left with my wife this morning, but I know it’s not my son.

—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

Them

Is it silence where you are now, except for the whirring of your computer, or whatever your reading this on?

Good enough.

Tune out that noise.

Listen. Very carefully. To the noise within your ears.

Before you may have dismissed it as hissing static in your head, or a barely discernable noise of something else. But I’m telling you now it’s not.

It’s your body warning you that they’re here.

Them.

With their empty, black, over-sized sockets- pale skin stretched tight over them.

Fleshy talons, elongated bones, to scrabble at the flesh they seldom taste. They have no origin.

Very old, very slow
And very, very hungry.

Cursed to skulk with withered mouths the size of pin pricks and an appetite as collosal as mountains.

And you can sense them, because they’re always there- they long to taste life they’ve never had- whether souls or flesh. They’re not picky.

But all they exist of are energy, and they barely exist in this realm, which is why most of the time we can’t see them.

But your body knows they’re there. You can hear their energy. In your ears now, in the silence.
Silence is good, because it means no disturbance to the energies.

When there’s no disturbance, that’s when they get through.
Silence is good.

For them.

Don’t

Turn

Around

—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

The Most Beautiful Creature

The most beautiful creature I’d ever seen never seemed to close the curtains of her room next door. We’d only moved in a week before, but it was hard not to notice a girl like her. I don’t think she’d ever seen me, but that just made her that much more alluring.

She was young and thin, skin as fair as winter’s first fall, and she had beautiful crimson hair. I would see her dance almost every night, her hair setting fire to the air with each dip and twirl. I was instantly captivated, catching every moment from behind just the two panes of glass. Some nights she danced, others she just sat at her desk, sometimes talking on her cell phone long into the night. It wasn’t until the end of that first month when I saw her murder that first lucky kid.

It was some girl from school, a ditzy spaz whose enthusiastic introduction to the “cool” drugs around campus had her bounce between all the wrong groups. A perfect victim. She always did things so perfectly.

It was the first night I’d seen her turn the light out so early. I might not have known what she had done if the crescent of her knife hadn’t caught the moonlight. It was a silver tracer, carving through the dark that soon began to glisten a brilliant, scarlet red. There were no screams, there was no sound. It must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like‘d been watching for hours. Exquisite.

When she finally turned the light back on, the ditz was obviously gone from sight. But her face, her beautiful face, was lovingly coated in a layer of fresh blood. She had the cutest grin on her face, her eyes seductive and wild. She had crossed the deepest line, she had made the darkest sin. God, how gorgeous. Her crimson hair falling so gracefully across her face, like a fallen angel.

The next three came and went just the same: a drunken football player, a reclusive theater kid, an experimenting Goth girl – all of them playing their parts in this wonderful show she put on for me all throughout the next year. She invited theminto her room, like an old friend about to catch up on the latest gossip. Then you’d see it, the moment I always waited for, her hand reaching just out of sight as a smirk crept across her lips. She’d always turn the lights out for the kill, but the look on her gorgeous visage when she turned them back on…I could almost feel the ecstasy she must have felt.

One day, I finally got up the courage to go meet her or, maybe join her in the fun. If I was really lucky, maybe I could be the one to inspire that terribly seductive smirk. I bought some really nice clothes, an expensive perfume too. I even to tried bleaching my hair blonde, hoping I could get it to shine as vibrantly as hers. But that morning came the worst news of all.

My parents told me we were moving away. They had become afraid for me, as many parents had over the loss of a few teenagers. I tried to object, but what would I say? If I told them about the girl beyond my window, she’d be the one that would go. Then, I’d never see her again. So I obliged, hoping I would see her again some day. They sent me away immediately to stay with a family friend. It was hard, I got so anxious not being in my room again, maybe see her dance for me one last time.

My father’s job meant we moved a lot, but they hated moving me out of my room. It was just hard. I would get really anxious without having my mirror on the wall. When I got out of the ward, my doctor recommended I keep it up, like a window, to keep me from relapsing and lashing out at my family. I thought it was weird at first, but soon I would forget it was even there; I’d just get so distracted. Ever since I got out, we’ve always seemed to move in next door the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen, and this one was a blonde. A real angel.

—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

The Lucienne Twins

I will never forget the Lucienne twins. Even after ten years, they are still fresh in my memory. Too fresh.

It was my first year of teaching when they were in my class. My fresh college diploma was framed on my desk, and I had placed a signed picture of my favorite professor, now deceased, on the wall behind me. In cursive, it read- To Mary, my brightest, that you may teach the world.

I watched over my kindergarten class as if they were my own children. But the Lucienne twins were my favorite. There was Abigail, the blonde one with a minuscule nose, and Bridget, shorter with brunette hair.

“Miss Mary,” Abigail would start, tugging on my dress, before Bridget continued, “We were wondering-“ Abigail would take over, “if we could go to the sticker box-“ Bridget would now speak “And take a star?”

And of course there was no way I could say not to the couple. They were irresistible, from their broken sentences to the heart shaped lockets they wore that were embossed with their names. I could never imagine something happening to them. But fate follows no rules, and something did.

Word about the car crash spread around the school faster than the ambulance could reach the hospital. It had been at an intersection, where a pickup truck had slammed into the side of their compact car on their Friday morning commute. The driver had still been drunk from the night before.

The gas tank was immediately ruptured, spewing the right side of the car with fuel, and flames licked up through the backseat. Bridget was strapped into a car seat above them, and rumor was that Abigail watched her twin burn alive. When the firemen freed Abigail, she threw herself onto the still smoldering bones of Bridget, and her sister’s red hot locket branded itself into her earlobe. The body of her single mother survived, but the toll of the lost daughter sickened her souls.

Abigail returned to class two weeks later. The hair on the right side of her head was singed and steadily grew back, though the color was darker. A doctor’s inspection revealed nothing else wrong with her, except a deafness in her right ear. Hushed voices in the school hallways whispered her eardrum imploded by the sheer loudness of her sisters dying screams. But most unnerving was her sister’s name, scarred into the lobe of her deaf ear, and surrounded by the outline of a heart shaped locket.

From then on, no student would sit on the right side of Abigail, and I had to rearrange the seating charts to place her next to the wall. Abigail seemed content there, in an island of isolation. Before her sister died, they rarely conversed with the other students, and now was no different. In social time, I would hear Abigail talking to the wall in incoherent sentences.

“Abigail, honey, what’re you saying?” I asked a week after she returned.

“Oh Miss Mary!” She said, “I’m-“ Then she would pause, waiting, “and then we thought-“ Another pause, silence, “and we can, can’t we?”

“Sure you can, honey.” I replied, though the exchange made my hair stand on end. She smiled again, and cocked her right ear, the deaf one to the wall, pausing again, then speaking.

“She said yes!” Then the gibberish continued and the closing bell rang.

It wasn’t until I drove halfway home that I realized the gaps in Abigail’s conversation were where Bridget should be speaking.

Months passed, and Abigail became even more of an outcast in the class. The kindergarteners came to forget the disaster, and some students even began bullying Abigail. I revised the seating chart again, and moved her close to my desk.

“Miss Mary!” Clamored Abigail one day, pulling my dress. She stumbled, and I reached to catch her, but she fell against my professor’s portrait on the wall, shattering the protective glass. She picked up the remains, the glass biting deep into her soft palms. She didn’t notice.

“I’m sorry Miss Mary,” She said, and her voice changed tenor, “we didn’t mean to break” Again a pitch change, “your picture. “

I stopped. It was her first complete sentence since the crash.

“It’s ok.” I said, holding her. Blood from her hands dripped onto me, but it felt cold, and I rushed to bandage it.

“I’m sure you will teach the world one day, Miss Mary.” She said, her voice continuing the inflections.

My heart froze as I read the note on the portrait for the thousandth time. Abigail couldn’t read cursive.

“How did you know that?” I asked.

“Bridget told me, she talks to him now.” She said, curling her streak of darker hair around her finger.

“That’s not all she tells me. She tells me terrible things sometimes. And I can’t stop hearing her.” Then she started crying, and noticed the glass embedded deep into her hands. “She never stops,” Her voice elevated to a yell.

When I took the picture back, her sentences became broken again, and I moved her on the seating chart away from my desk.

Over time the other students realized Abigail’s reaction to old objects. They’d bring her in things that they found in the attic, artifacts their grandparents owned, and watched as she cocked her right ear and her sentences become whole or broken when she held them. It became a game to them, listening to the stories she made up. But the effect took an obvious toll on her, and she soon started wearing gloves, even in the dead heat of summer.

But one boy, larger than the others, a brute known for his bullying, liked the look on Abigail’s face as they pushed artifacts into her squirming palms. He was the quickest to see the fear that she felt when they once gave her an old bullet shell, and ran home afterwards to find an old box in his basement his parents forbade him to open. Inside was his great grandfather’s Nazi uniform, a warden at a concentration camp, and he twisted off one of the buttons.

The next day he found Abigail on the playground and pinned her against the chain link fence. He ripped the gloves off and forced the button into her hand, tightly closing her fingers about it. When she began screaming, he only laughed, and closed the fist tighter.

I reached them too late. When I pulled the boy off her, she was sobbing uncontrollably, both her hands locked into fists. She dropped the button like it was searing hot, but refused to open the other fist until the paramedics arrived and knocked her out with anesthesia. Only then could they pull her severed right ear out, torn off by her bloody fingernails, with Bridget still written on the lobe.

But most terrifying of all was when she screamed. I could hear two voices screaming.

—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta

CHANNEL 6

It’s been a week since I had first noticed things were “off” with all of the residents in my apartment building. I would link you an article to whatever’s happened, but there is no story. I would tell you the city I lived in, even the apartment building’s name, but you won’t find anything about it except its website and different review sites for it. I don’t know how long this post will stay up before it gets deleted, but I’m going to post it anyway.

---

So, a week ago I come home from a long day of work and just want to get inside my apartment, kick off my shoes, strip to my boxers, and eat and sleep. I live on the eighth floor out of fourteen, but that’s not really important.

My neighbor from across the hallway was just leaving her apartment as I approached my door. I’d seen her plenty of times, but we’ve barely talked and have said nothing more than “hi” to one another when passing each other. But when she saw me, she smiled and said, “Hey, how’s it going?”

I gave a short response, not expecting an actual conversation and also just wanting to get inside and be left alone. But instead she walked up to me and introduced herself. Let’s call her Hannah (but I’m sure that even if I gave you her real name, you wouldn’t find anything about her online. Not even a Facebook profile or anything).

I gave her my name and proceeded to unlock my door (my universal sign of “leave me alone”) but she persisted on having a conversation with me. It wasn’t even a “getting to know me” conversation, but more like a survey:

“Do you watch TV?”

No, I don’t. I’m not one of those snobs who thinks I’m better off without TV. I just don’t. There’s nothing on cable that interests me. I have Netflix and Hulu, and the news is the Internet.

“Do you have a TV?”

“Yes.”

“Have you been watching the local station lately? Channel 6?”

I’ve seen programming on Channel 6 before. It’s nothing more than just poor quality talk shows that probably nobody watches except old people or those who want something playing in the background while they do something else. Nothing special. “No,” I said. “Why?”

“You should just watch it. They’ve been broadcasting this new show all day and I am hooked.”

She didn’t say anything else. Instead, she just stared at me with wide, green eyes and a smile that very slowly stretched across her face.

I waited for her to say something else, but she just stood there, literally six inches away from my face. That’s when I noticed how close she was to me. She actually managed to get right in my face without me even noticing.

“What is it?”

“Just watch it,” she said. She didn’t even blink, and the smile remained the same.

My door was unlocked; I stepped inside to allow some space between us. In an almost sarcastic tone, I said, “Yeah. Okay. Nice meeting you.” And then I shut the door.

I felt uneasy. Nauseous. A quick chill went down my spine and I had the urge to look through the peephole. Yep, she was still standing there, looking at the door with those wide, green eyes and a big, toothy smile. Actually, she was looking through the door. She was looking at me. Her eyes stared straight through the peephole into mine. And very slowly she turned and walked away.

I did my usual routine of kicking off my shoes, stripping down to my skivvies and grabbing last night’s leftovers as I sat on the couch and turned on the TV to get to Netflix (I have one of those cool Visio TVs with different apps such as Netflix and Amazon and stuff). Curiosity got the best of me though. I decided to check out Channel 6 real quick before going about my routine.

Static.

That’s it. Static.

I watched for a good minute or two. The station must’ve gotten knocked out or disconnected. Thanks, Hannah, this is really interesting.

That night as I was getting ready for bed, all was quiet in my apartment when I suddenly heard a loud BANG. It rumbled throughout my apartment, and my glass of water that I had by my bed even vibrated like in Jurassic Park. Whatever caused the noise shook the whole building, but afterward it was completely silent. I looked out my window to see if maybe it was a small explosion or a crash or something, but the night was still; the city was asleep.

The next day as I was leaving for work, I once again ran into Hannah on my way out. She opened her door just as I opened mine and her face lit up when she saw me. She had that smile and those wide eyes again.

“Did you watch it?” She asked.

“Yeah, but I got nothing but static. I think the station was down.”

“No, that’s the program!” She said excitedly. “Wasn’t it great? I can’t wait to watch it again tonight.”

At this point, I was severely confused and also running late for work. “I gotta go,” I said as I walked down the hallway. She followed behind me.

“Are you going to watch it tonight?”

I snuck a look behind me and saw that she was following extremely close behind me. I quickened my pace and she fell behind a bit but continued to follow. “Probably not,” I said, sneaking a peek over my shoulder every so often. I reached the elevator and called for it. She stood next to me and never took her eyes off of me. I’m not normally one for confrontation but she was beginning to bother me rather badly. I was about to say something when the doors opened. I walked inside and pressed the lobby button. As I turned to face the doors, I noticed that Hannah never got inside the elevator. She stood there staring at me as the doors closed.

That evening, I didn’t see Hannah when I got home from work, thank God. This was why I don’t become friends with my neighbors, or anybody in the apartment buildings I’ve lived in. You never know what kind of weirdos you’d be living next to and I honestly felt safer living around strangers than freaks that I personally knew.

I brought up Netflix and prepared to watch another movie, but the Channel 6 station buzzed in my mind and I felt compelled to change it to that channel and see if they were actually broadcasting something instead of just static like Hannah told me.

I turned to the channel and was brought to a bright screen of static and the loud hissing noise that accompanied it. I stared at the screen for no longer than a minute or two, just like last time. I was waiting for something to start playing, but it was the same scattered noise. I grabbed my remote to change it back to Netflix when I thought I saw something flash across the screen, but I dismissed it almost immediately. It’s TV static. If you look at it long enough, you’ll see something.

I was just finishing watching Netflix when I heard the same loud BANG again. I stared up above me, thinking it was my upstairs neighbor, and I actually said out loud, “What the fuck” but was quickly cut off by yet another loud BANG, which again seemed like it shook the entire building. Not knowing what to do, I walked into my kitchen/living room area and looked around like a confused animal. The chandelier light above my kitchen table rocked side to side slightly. I heard doors outside my apartment shut quietly, and I heard my upstairs neighbor slowly walk from their door, across the apartment and into their living room. After that, it was completely silent.

The next day was my day off. I called up the apartment leasing office and told them about the past two nights with the loud banging noises. They seemed just as confused as I was but I told them there was really no other way I could explain it. They told me that if it continued happening to record it on video and show it to them, but other than that, there was really nothing they could do. That made me wonder if it happened at a certain time of night and decided to see if it would happen again that night.

After the phone call, I went throughout my day of doing nothing like I always do on my days off. I tried reading a book, but was distracted by a slight buzzing in my head that just wouldn’t leave no matter how hard I tried to make it go away. The buzzing sounded a bit similar to TV static, and made me think of Channel 6. The moment I thought of it, the buzzing faded away, and I felt the urge to turn on the TV to Channel 6.

Static.

Nothing had changed since the first two times I’d tried watching it. This time, I actually put in more time and effort of watching it. I had nothing better to do, but this time I was genuinely curious about why exactly there was nothing but static.

Like I had mentioned earlier, if you stare at TV static long enough, you’ll start seeing things. It’s all a part of the mind. I think it’s called, like, pareidolia or something. Basically it’s when you see faces or images in abstract imagery. Anyway, that’s what started happening. I could feel myself getting nauseous again and my vision started to blur a bit. I wanted to look away from the TV screen, but I couldn’t. That’s when I started seeing the flashes. They looked like numbers. I couldn’t really make them out since they flashed so quickly. The hissing noise started to get to me so I muted the TV, but I could still hear a faint buzzing. I thought it was feedback in my hearing, but it sounded distant, like it was coming from something else. Somewhere else.

I shut off the TV and sat on my couch. I must’ve dozed off because when I woke up, it was dark out. I looked at my kitchen clock. 11:59 PM. I sat up and noticed that my TV was on, playing the same static. I didn’t even remember turning my TV back on, but the hiss of the static started giving me a headache. I turned the TV off, and at that exact moment, I heard it again.

BANG

My heart jumped out of my chest and I looked at the clock. It was midnight.

BANG

I stood up. My walls rumbled, the pictures that hung from them shook. I ran to my window to see if I could see anything outside that could possibly be making the noise, but it was too dark and there wasn’t much movement outside.

BANG

There was that third one, on the third night that I’d been hearing those noises when they started. It clicked almost immediately.

I ran over to the door to go out in the hall and see if anyone else heard it. I was sure they did, but when I reached the door, I stopped and listened. Doors shut quietly on the other side of mine. I looked through the peephole at Hannah’s door. I saw just a glimpse of her as she slipped into her dark apartment, and her door was the last to click shut.

I woke up extra early the next morning, quickly got dressed for work and hastily left my apartment and knocked on Hannah’s door. She opened it, dressed and ready for the day, her green eyes still wide, her smile still big.

“Did you hear that banging last night?” I immediately asked. She didn’t even flinch at, what I considered, my strange question.

“Yes.”

“What was it, do you know?”

“Yes.”

I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. She just stared and smiled.

“Well, what was it?”

“Have you watched Channel 6 yet?”

Her question caught me off guard a bit and I stuttered as I tried to repeat my question. She just stared at me. Those wide green eyes and toothy smile. I grew nauseous once again. My headache started to return. I turned and left for work.

The entire day I felt sick and my headache never went away, no matter what I did to appease it all. I decided to leave work early and go home and rest. On my way home, I thought I saw static playing on the TVs at the coffee shop down the street from me.

I tried to take a nap but the persistent buzzing in my head kept me awake. I managed to get to sleep, and when I woke up, it was dark out. I looked at the clock. 11:59. I grabbed my cellphone and turned on the video camera and pressed record and waited. Midnight struck.

BANG
BANG
BANG
BANG

Four times, and the building shook harder than the last three nights. The next day I called in sick for work and emailed the video to the leasing office. From that day on, I still haven’t heard back from them. I’ve been trying to call but I continue to get a busy tone.

The nights grew worse. I started to lose sleep, and came the fifth night came five more bangs. I noticed myself watching Channel 6 a lot more, and I started seeing more images flash across the static. Numbers. They seemed like some kind of countdown. The first time I noticed the numbers they were at the number six. I haven’t seen anything else flash across the screen except these numbers.

Last night (night six) while watching the static, I saw that the number was down to one.

I unplugged my TV. The hissing noise from Channel 6’s static made my head feel like it was splitting open. I ran to the toilet and dry heaved until I almost passed out. The bathroom started to spin and my vision slowly started to blur. The buzzing faded into my head until it was the only thing I could hear. I shouted for help but I couldn’t even hear myself scream. I crawled out of the bathroom and saw that my TV was on even though I unplugged it. Channel 6 was broadcasting its static. The buzzing grew louder but this time it felt like it was coming from everywhere. I grabbed my phone to call the police, but I heard only TV static on the other line.

I looked at the time on my phone. 11:58. I managed to gather enough strength to pull myself up to my feet. I could feel my stomach twist and turn, and my mouth watered with saliva as the urge to vomit peaked. My head felt like it was getting pulled apart. I stumbled to my front door as if I was drunk and unlocked it. I threw myself into the hallway and collapsed to the floor. I for sure thought I was going to die.

That’s when every door in the hallway opened simultaneously. Everybody in each apartment stepped outside into the hallway: men, women, children, elderly people, everyone. Even Hannah stepped out of her apartment at the same moment as everyone else. They all had a large grin on their face, their eyes wide as if they were surprised or excited.

Slowly, they all turned and shut their doors. They stared at their doors quietly, standing as still as statues. I tried calling for Hannah to help me, but the buzzing sound muted my voice. I was convinced that even she couldn’t hear me. I attempted to call the police again, but was too delirious to even unlock my phone. I looked at the time. 11:59 switched to 12:00 midnight.

BANG

The buzzing in my head—or wherever it was coming from—immediately disappeared without a trace. I looked up.

BANG

What the fuck.

BANG

Everybody, at the same time—

BANG

—smashing their heads against the doors—

BANG

—the walls, harder and harder and HARDER AND HARDER

BANG

And that made six.

I stared in disbelief at what I just saw.

“What the fuck is happening?!” I screamed. Slowly, everybody turned and stared at me. Stared at me with those wide, excited eyes. Stared at me with those grins that stretched past their mouths, their teeth seemed to have grown in size. Everyone looked almost cartoonish. Some people even had blood trickling from their foreheads.

And they just stared.

Like cattle in a factory, they all turned simultaneously to face their doors again, opened them, and walked inside their apartments. The hallway echoed with the clicks of the doors closing, and I was left in silence, sitting in my own piss that I involuntarily released out of fear and confusion.

I didn’t sleep last night. I couldn’t. All I could think about was what I had seen in the hallway. All I could think about was Channel 6. All I could think about was that fucking static. I even put my ear up against each of my neighboring walls, and from each wall I could hear static on the other side. Or, at least I think I could.
It’s now today. The seventh day. I wasn’t prepared for what the seventh day would bring me.

I wanted to get out of my apartment building. I’m in no shape to go into work, so I decided to go for a walk and clear my thoughts, or attempt to. As I opened my door, it was as if I pushed a button to open everyone else’s door. Everyone, including myself, stepped out of their apartment at the same time. We all shut our doors at the same time. Everyone stood in front of their door and stared across the hallway, stared off into the distance past across the hallway. Big smiles. Big eyes.

I stood there for what seemed like hours watching everyone. I slipped in my earbuds to listen to music, but when I pressed play, I heard nothing but static and ripped my earbuds out of my ears.

I mustered up the courage to walk down the hallway toward the elevator. I took a quick peek behind me. Every single person in the hallway followed, Hannah at the front of the line. I could feel her breathing down my neck, that’s how close she was behind me. I picked up my pace and so did they. My heart was racing and I nearly tripped over myself as I turned the corner to the elevator. I pressed the DOWN button and the doors opened immediately and I stepped inside and turned around. Everyone crowded in front of the elevator but nobody got inside. Somehow I managed to find words to speak. “Are you going down?”

“No. We’re going up.” Someone said.

“To the top floor?” I asked.

“Higher,” Hannah said with her big, proud grin.

The doors closed.

I walked through the apartment building lobby, out of the apartment building doors, and didn’t manage to get more than thirty feet from the building when I heard a woman nearby exclaim, “Oh my God!”

I looked at her then looked at where she was looking.

Up. The top of the building. Hundreds of people on the roof standing at the edge.

They were all holding hands, and in one swift movement they walked over the edge. They didn’t jump, they just…fell.

It was a graceful scene as they all fell without care. Nobody flailed or thrashed in fear or at an attempt to grab on to something. It was as if they were waiting to be caught in the hands of God like a net. And then it was over. Hundreds of lives, gone in an instant. Men. Women. Children. People of all ages, hitting the ground in unison. Their bones sounded like the crack of a baseball bat as it hits the ball, louder than I’ve ever heard before.

The woman screamed. I can’t even remember if I reacted, but I was in definite shock. I ran to the bodies surrounding the building, but I knew they were all dead. Nobody could survive a fourteen-story fall. The first body I saw was Hannah’s. Her green eyes were still wide in excitement, her smile still bigger than ever.

Now I’m in my apartment. Everyone in my building is dead, and there are men in suits outside my door. The headache is worse than ever, and I’ve already vomited six times today. I have Channel 6 playing in the background despite the hiss of the static, and I have blood trickling down my face from when I banged my head against my bathroom mirror. Banging my head against something seems to help the headaches and nausea go away. I hit my head against the mirror enough to crack it, and there were multiple reflections of me. Me and my wide eyes and big smile.

—
Credits to: photofreecreepypasta