/x/ - /x/

Dionaea House -
http://www.dionaea-house.com/

This is my absolute favorite creepypasta ever due to the immersive nature of it. It will occupy you for an entire night and before you know it, the sun is rising and you're still searching through ancient LiveJournal blogs to find out what the hell is going on in that house. A 12/10 rating from my side and I would love to talk to anyone about it.

Borrasca to this day has been the most terrifying thing I've read.

Thank you anon I'm just going to sleep with the lights on now

Anybody know the name of the old one about a kid who's being stalked / semi-groomed for a rape and killing by some local nonce, but it's all told from the innocent kid's point of view? Shat me up proper, that did.
In the first chapter he wakes up outside in what is obviously a grave, but just assumes he's been sleepwalking.

I saved like 10 creepypastas from a creepypasta thread, I'll dump them and hopefully make some anon out there happy.

Whatever seem like you can't dump here because of spam protecting, I'll upload them all to voila: https://volafile.org/r/e3u6ratc

>>20
someone please tell me there's a sequel to this one. i love fae-related creepypasta.

When I was a little girl, if you’d asked me what I wanted to be, ‘starving artist’ wouldn’t have even been on the list.
Most likely I would have told you ‘a dinosaur’ or ‘an astronaut’ – and later, when I realised that children couldn’t become dinosaurs and brown girls from New Zealand couldn’t become astronauts, I would have said ‘a teacher’ or ‘a nurse’.
At school I got progressively worse at every subject but English and Art, but in my teens my aunty got me a part-time job as a cleaner at the local hospital. I thought at the time that the money wasn’t too awful, and I was good at it. I enjoyed cleaning; even if sometimes what I was cleaning was explosive diarrhoea or blood-laced vomit.
After a while you got used to most of the smells. Well, except for Clostridium difficile – otherwise known as ‘C. Diff’. But thankfully I rarely had to clean up after one of those patients.
Eventually my minimum wage salary let me quit school and rent a tiny, grimy, one-bedroom place in a block of concrete flats. When I wasn’t working or sleeping, I made art, to sell down at the markets on Saturday morning.
And so I became a poor, part-time artist.


There are certain staples every poor person needs in their cupboards. Potatoes and rice were mine; both were dirt cheap and could be made into a variety of dishes. Growing up with equally poor parents and strictly enforced gender roles meant that mum had taught me early on how to cook dishes that would stretch for several meals.
“Rice is great,” she had said, “You can have it sweet for breakfast and you can have it plain for lunch and dinner.”
And cabbage. Everything seemed to have cabbage in it.
But I still had my little luxuries in my tiny flat; a jar of peanut butter, some wild Manuka honey comb from my uncle up north and a big jar of raw sugar for my cups of tea.
You’ll understand then, why I was upset when ants started coming inside.
They were really small things, some of the smallest ants I’d ever seen. When I got up in the morning, they would be swarmed around the tiniest crumb of dropped food, dividing it up and carrying it back to their nest in a steady brown-black pilgrimage of little bodies.
I didn’t begrudge them at first – I knew what it was like to be hungry. And I could appreciate more than most people that they were cleaning up my mess, doing me a service.
But when they ate a hole clean through the paper of my spare bag of raw sugar, I decided I’d had enough.


Borax and sugar, I discovered, was a good home-made ant killer.
We had plenty of borax-based cleaning products at work, for clearing drains and dissolving really stubborn filth. So I mixed up a solution as the internet instructed me, then left it in a saucer on the kitchen bench.
It didn’t take long for my tiny unwelcome guests to find it; an hour later, a pair of ants ambled across the clean white formica and found the saucer.
According to my research, they would feed on it, then carry it back to the nest, where others would join the chain, until the poison had filled their home. All going well, they would be dead within a week, and I wouldn’t have a bug problem anymore.
So when one ant supped at the poison, then settled down on the edge of the saucer beside a companion, I wondered if I’d mixed it too strong and killed the ant outright.
But continued observation showed it was still alive, grooming its antennae and legs, patiently waiting under the apparent supervision of its friend.
Using the opportunity to study a rarely quiescent ant, I took out my sketchbook and started drawing them, while I perched on the sole chair in my flat.
By the time I was yawning and craving my bed, the two ants were still sitting patiently on the edge of the saucer.
In the morning, when I emerged for a cup of tea after my shower, the saucer remained untouched – only the body of the poisoned ant remaining, its little legs curled up against its body in strangely foetal death pose.
My attempt to poison the nest had failed.


The next week, they ripped another hole in the sugar bag (which I’d placed inside a plastic bag) and emptied half of the contents.
Incensed, I hung the bag from a hook in the laundry roof.
The next morning, the empty bag lay forlornly on the floor, not a single grain of sugar remaining.
Frustrated, I went out and bought some proper ant bait from the supermarket – along with another bag of sugar. When I got home, I placed the bait on the floor of the pantry and the sugar bag in a bowl, which was in turn placed in a larger bowl full of water.
The family of sugar thieves was about to get their comeuppance.
I slept fitfully, the bedroom door wide open, irrationally listening for the sounds of tiny intruders. Some part of me was convinced that they were conspiring against me; I had fragmented dreams of oversized ants crawling through my cupboards, chewing holes through glass and plastic, eating all the food they could find.
Eventually I got up, unable to sleep, and stumbled to the kitchen for a glass of water.
As the light flickered on, I saw movement.
The sugar bag had been removed from the bowl and lay sideways on the bench. Ants scattered madly across the counter, scurrying away to any crack or cranny they could find – their mouths no doubt full of my sugar.
Thinking quickly, I grabbed a glass from the sink and placed it over the top of one of the trailing ants, who had just emerged from the nearly empty bag.
I’d caught one of the little thieves.


It was definitely watching me.
Wherever I went, it positioned itself so that it had a clear view of me through the glass. If I came close, if I looked at it, the ant would rear up on its legs and tap the glass with its one good antennae – the other one had been bent by the glass coming down on it.
“I’m not letting you go,” I told it, “Not until you stop thieving my sugar.”
Tap, tap, tap.
I realised that it was much, much bigger than the ants that had first come into the house. This one was glossy and dark, as though freshly polished with bootblack. The enlarged features lent its face anthropomorphic qualities that made me uncomfortable keeping it in the glass prison.
“I could kill you, you know,” I continued, “but I’m not going to. I’ll make you a deal; I’ll put a little bowl of clean sugar outside the front door at night and you can eat that. Just leave my stuff alone.”
The ant stared at me through the glass.
“Okay?”
Tap, tap, tap.
With a sigh, I lifted the glass. The ant’s good antennae wiggled furiously for a second, then it industriously trundled away and disappeared into the crack between the stove and the bench.


Whether it had truly understood me, I don’t know, but the outside feeding bowl was working.
At night the ants would crowd around the bowl, then chaingang the entire contents back to their nest. As though satisfied with this arrangement, they left my kitchen alone.
I laughed at the whole idea; it was like a tiny, insectoid mafia racket. So long as I gave them their cut of the sugar on the regular, they left me alone.
But even though I was happy enough with the deal, someone else wasn’t.
My neighbour Charles.
An older gentleman of European heritage, Charles didn’t have much time for people like me. If I had my cheap portable stereo up too loud, he would hammer on my door with his walking stick until I turned it down. I couldn’t even watch T.V. at a decent volume, so instead I just watched pirated movies on my crappy phone with headphones in.
The commotion outside definitely included the strident, petulant voice of Charles yelling about something.
Opening the door, I found him on my doorstep, a smashed sugar bowl kicked halfway down the concrete path and the squashed bodies of fat ants strewn around my threadbare doormat.
“You stupid darkie,” he roared at me, “you bloody ignorant savage!”
“Evening, Charles.”
“What the hell are you doing feeding ants, you stupid woman?”
“Keeps them out of the house,” I started explaining, but he cut me off.
“I’ll tell the ruddy landlord about this. He’ll have your guts for garters – you’ll be evicted by the end of the week, you mark my words.”
“Goodnight, Charles,” I said, smiling tightly and closing the door in his face.
He ranted for a while after that, then fell silent, heading back to his flat.
In the morning, all the bodies of the ants were gone, and a completely repaired sugar bowl sat neatly on my doormat.


I didn’t hear anything from the landlord, nor from Charles. I didn’t dare feed the ants again, for fear of causing more trouble.
Almost three weeks after the incident, a lone fat ant wended its way across the kitchen bench and sat beside my cup of tea.
With its one good antennae, it touched the surface of my cup.
Tap, tap, tap.
Then it ambled away, unconcernedly, and disappeared down the crack it had crawled from.
That night I left a bowl of sugar outside, and in the morning there was a surprise for me.
Sitting in the empty bowl was a beautiful creamy-white pendant.
I’d tried my hand at bone carving, but despite my artistic talents, I’d never been very good at it. Whoever had made this piece was a true artist; it was a flawless double spiral covered in tiny, intricately etched whorls and patterns, much like the ones worn by my ancestors.
And every morning after that one, a new bone carving appeared, just as beautiful and cunningly crafted as the last.


They sell well at the market, the pendants.
Well enough to keep my little friends in sugar for a lifetime.
The police never found out what happened to Charles. They say that forensics could find nothing – no sign of forced entry, no signs of a struggle. It was as if the old man had simply disappeared.
The new neighbour turned up on Saturday, a sour-faced old woman. On the very first night she bashed on the wall and yelled obscenities when I turned on my T.V.
I can’t wait to take her to market.

>>24
is the horror that someone literally just ate a potato for breakfast?

Here's my story:

>be 16
>be black and have family down in Alabama
>they farm and own a huge amount of land down in Huntsville
>uncle owns a big house and a bunch of trailers they put out in the woods for hunting or camping
>down south cousins suggest that we go out there to camp
>know I'm a city kid from Chicago so they tease the fuck out of me
>collect food, kill a pig and some chickens, and bring necessities to camp out for a few days
>we get to the camp and it's obvious something is weird
>air has this weird electric smell like right before a storm, like ozone
>we think nothing of it and unpack and go down to a little creek to swim for a few hours
>All of a sudden some older white guy and a white teenager come out of the bushes
>he has a shotgun in the crook of his arm and says hello and ask us what we're doing this far back in the woods
>tell him about my uncle, who he knows, and say we're camping out
>he tells us we need to be real careful out here and stick together there was a big animal in the woods
>His son, who is my age asks if he can stay and hang out with us
>he says OK

I'm going to stop greentexting because the story is fairly long and the format is harder to write in.

So we end up playing football. Dicking around with me, there's the white kid "Tanner", five of my cousins, and then four of their friends. In total, there were five girls and six boys. We all were around 15-17.

We ended up just dicking the day away. So, we head back to the camp and pulling out some stuff for a campfire, even though the trailers both had kitchenettes. Tanner says that his family's property sits up against my uncle's. He wants to run home and ask his dad if he can come out camping with us. My cousin Rooster says he's going to go with him since it's going to get dark soon. One of the girls also wants to tag along.

It's about 7 o'clock, and it's starting to get pretty dark. They take flashlights and take the trail toward Tan's property. The rest of us chill. We make smores, drink and kiss on the girls.

About thirty or forty minutes later, there's the smell of ozone again. You could smell it over the smell of the fire we had started. This really nasty, coppery smell like right after you've had a nosebleed and it's stopped. It wasn't exactly like dried blood, but it was that nasty metallic, back-of-your-throat smell.

We immediately think that it's some kind of electrical malfunction, or someone left a hotplate on or some shit. We search the trailers and nothing is on, and we can all smell it. All of a sudden, we can hear people booking down the path toward us, and Rooster, Tan and the girl all come running into the clearing, out of breath. And they don't even break stride; they all run into the trailer, right by where the fire is.

We all get the fuck outta there and into the trailers. They end up calming down; even Rooster is crying his fucking eyes out at this point. All the while, the fire is guttering lower and lower, so my other cousins say fuck it and are about to go outside to get the generator out of a shed between the trailers.

Tanner goes, "Fuck no! Lock the front door, ain't nobody else going outside!" He's been crying too, and his eyes are bloodshot and puffy and his pants are dirty as shit.

He goes on to tell us that they went up to his house. His father said sure, he could go out camping, but to make sure they were careful on the way back, and that maybe they should take one of the hunting rifles just in case.

Evidently, Tanner had seen something in their yard a few days before. One of their pigs had come up, ripped up and half eaten. They assumed it was just some big cats or coyotes, even though they don't usually fuck with live animals.

He had gone upstairs and packed his stuff, and told his dad they would be OK without the rifle because coyotes avoid people. So they started walking back toward where we were camping.

So, Rooster finally stops crying and shaking; the girl already had, but she was just staring out the window with a dumb look on her face. He says they had gotten halfway into the woods toward the camp when they started to hear shit in the forest. It was almost pitch black by this time, so they weren't sure at first what the fuck it was. The girl says that she heard something in the bushes right off the trail and they all beamed their flashlights over there and there was someone standing back in the woods in a little hollow. Rooster said they shouted at him and told him that he was scaring the fuck out of them and what a dick he was.

He says that's when he realized that the guy was facing away from them. So they keep walking, and they start smelling the nasty coppery ozone smell. They say that they look off into the forest on the opposite side, and it's a dude standing in the forest, backward slightly closer to the path.

So now they start powerwalking and Tan keeps going, "I should have taken the fucking rifle."

As they're telling the story, the smell is still super strong even inside the cabin.

They say that after they started walking faster, a kind of low gibbering had started coming from both sides of the wood. And as they started booking it back to the trailer, the girl said she had flashed her flashlight out into the woods to the side of them and had seen something jerking itself through the woods. The gibbering just got louder and louder, and when they could see the light from our camp fire, something had come out of the woods about 40 yards behind them onto the track, and they had just flat out ran as hard as they could to the trailer.

So we're out in the fucking woods, and we're assuming at this point it's some rednecks or some shit trying to fuck with us.

All of a sudden, my other cousin, Junior, starts going on about how he went to school with a native kid that was telling him about the 'Goatman' or some shit. We promptly tell him to shut the fuck up because we don't need any spooky talk right now.

But he just keeps going on and on about how it's the fucking 'Goatman,' and how we're in his woods and blah, blah, blah. Now at the time, I had never heard of this goat man or any of that, but then a couple years ago – the year before I graduated from college – I had a Menom for a roommate and I ended up asking him about it. And to sum it up, it's basically a fucking man with the head of a goat and he can shape shift and he gets among groups of people to terrorize them. It's also supposed to be kind of like the Wendigo, and it's bad mojo to even talk about it and even worse if you see it.

Keep in mind, I didn't know this back when I was sixteen. So my cousin is going, "The goat man's going to get in and fucking get us." The girls are all terrified and my cousins and I are all fucking trying to figure out if it's just some hillbillies or if it's some animal.

So all of a sudden the smell just goes away. Like to this day, I haven't even experienced anything like it. Like, usually smells fade away or lessen. It just literally was there one second and then not the second.

So it's after an hour, making it around 9 or 10. We've stopped shitting bricks enough to go back outside and stoke the fire again. We figure it was just some assholes trying to fuck with us, so we don't go back home, because we think if we do, they'll chase us through the woods or some crazy shit.

Nothing else weird happens that night. And we stay another night, and for the main part of the night nothing happens. At about 1 in the morning, we're outside getting drunk and telling ghost stories. As someone is finishing some 2spooky story – I don't remember what about – the smell comes back. It's so fucking strong, that one of the girls literally starts vomiting.

I stand up, and you can actually feel how clammy the air is. I say we should get inside and this isn't right; we should have just fucking left.

We all go back inside, and we're standing around. My cousin just keeps going on about how it's the goat man. And my cousin Rooster tries to shut him the fuck up, and all the while I'm just feeling that something is wrong, and I can't figure out what the fuck it is.

We end up sitting in there for a while; the smell is just as strong, and we're terrified and all huddled in this camper. We end up cooking brats for everybody because nobody wants to go outside. It's one of those packs with four brats. We have a total of 3 packs. I grill them up on the stove and give everybody a hot dog. I get mine. After a while, one of my cousins gets up and goes over to the pot to get another one.

He starts grumbling about about how I get two brats and everybody else only got one, and I look at him like he's fucking stupid. I tell him that everybody only got one because there were only 12 brats, if he wants more he should open up a new pack and cook some more.

That's when the girl that had been out with Rooster and Tan just starts screaming, "OH JESUS, OH LORD, GET IT OUT!" She's crying and shivering, and then it dawns on the cousin standing up what the fuck is wrong. Me and him both glance around the room, and then I feel my heart fucking sink. I run the fuck out of the cabin and the girl runs out with us. The trailer door is banging against the side of the trailer as everybody books out of the cabin.

One of my cousin's friends ask us what the fuck was wrong. I start counting us. There's only 11 now.

"I shit you not," my cousin verified. There had been twelve people in the cabin. But being that everybody didn't really know each other well, nobody had really noticed the whole fucking time that there was an extra person. And then I realized earlier that I had kind of noticed something was off. You know how when you're just dicking around having a good time that you don't sweat the smallest shit, and you don't always keep track of certain stuff? I'm dead sure that someone else had been in the trailer with us, and that they had been there for at least a fucking day, eating with us. What makes it worse is, I could figure out which one because I don't think anyone ever actually interacted with the other person/the Goat-man.

The girl kept praying to Jesus and we're all sitting outside; eventually we get big-ass sticks and go back in the cabin, but there's nobody in there. We count again, and there's 11 people. We go back into the trailer and lock the door. We explain what the fuck happened, and the girl says that she realized too, and that when he was about to say something, the person sitting next to her had grabbed her leg hard and leaned over toward her and said something she couldn't understand.

So we are pretty much scared as fuck as we huddle together, and I fall asleep. When I wake up, the sun is just coming up, and half the people are asleep and the other half are packing our shit up.

We all want to walk back home, but like four people want to stay until the sun is all the way up. And some people think that we're just fucking around and still want to stay at the trailers. I just want to get the fuck out of the woods.

The girl's name was Keira, the one that the Goat-man had touched. Anyway, I asked her if she really thinks it was something bad, and she says she just wants to go home and she doesn't want to be out in the woods alone for another night.

So we decide to split up; the four that want to go can go, but I have to stay because I have the keys to the cabin and it's my uncle's and I have to lock up. I'm super pissed at this point, because I feel like people aren't taking this shit seriously, and I definitely didn't want to be out in the woods for another night. I spend the rest of the day trying to convince the rest of the people – now 4 girls and four guys – to get the fuck out of dodge. Tanner leaves with them to go get a rifle and says he's going to be back. So there are just 7 of us left by 4 PM.

At around 5 PM he hasn't made it back yet, and we're getting extremely fucking antsy, and the only reason I stopped begging them to go back was because he went to get a gun.

it's about 5:30 PM or so, when the one cousin that did stay says that the girl Keira is outside. We all look outside, and sure enough, she's standing by the firepit with her back to the cabin.

I'm thinking to myself, if she was so fucking scared, why the hell would she come back? And then I get this nasty feeling in my gut. Keep in mind, the whole time the coppery smell has been gone. Now I realize I can smell just a twinge of it.

I say this to the rest of them and everybody – and these are the people that wanted to stay in the fucking woods after we had the goddamn Goatman in our midst – is laughing at me and asking if I set this up to scare them.

I'm looking at them like, "I'm not fucking bullshitting you at all right now." I ask them why the fuck would I play like that? So one of the girls goes outside to get Kiera. She gets halfway to her and stops cold. Keira starts heaving; I don't know how the fuck to describe it. Sort of like if someone with their back turned was laughing without actually making any sound. It was this fact that made me realize there was not a fucking sound in the whole woods; it was dead silent.

This was like later in September, so it was still fairly hot at the time, but it was super chilly some days too. And you could usually hear big-ass geese honking or some kind of birds or squirrels chitchatting.

So I step out the door and tell her to come back in the fucking trailer right goddamn now.

She backs up into the trailer and we lock the fucking door. We pull down all the shades except one, and put a guy there in a chair to watch her. She stands there for another 20 minutes or so. The guy turns to say that she's still there. And there's a HUGE fucking bang on the door.

We all jump the fuck up and scramble around the living room of the trailer. The banging is super fucking loud.

So now my cousin is holding one of the girls and the other two are kinda giggling with nervous laughter and me and the other two guys are shitting brix.

Then we hear Tan. He's screaming.

"LET ME THE FUCK IN, STOP FUCKING PLAYING!"

So we go over to the door and open it, and he stumbles in with a rifle. There's nobody else outside.

Evidently, he had walked up to the campsite. Nothing weird happened in the forest, but he had seen a girl. Mind you, he said it was not Keira standing there. When he had gotten to the edge of the clearing, she had turned toward him with the slackjawed look and just stared him down, slowly tracking him as he walked around the outside of the clearing towards the camp. He said it wasn't till he was almost halfway to the trailer he had realized that she was getting closer to him. She had started off by the fire, and without him even seeing her move she had been turning, inching closer. He said he just ran the rest of the way back to the cabin thinking it would open. And when he got to the door and it was locked, he turned and it was about half the distance to the door.

He looks around the room and then gets super pale. He pulls me to the side and whispers in my ear, "You know there are only seven of us in here, right?" I get that feeling where you stomach drops to your nuts. It had been back inside the trailer while we were sorting out who was going where, and then when we all went outside to talk earlier in the day. It has just slipped right back in.

We looked out the window and there is nobody out there. So we recount everyone and then basically, I go over and ask everyone how many people were here earlier. And everybody says 8. I say, "Well, how many are here now?" They all do the count and then realize there are only now seven people in the cabin.

So Tan had brought back a couple boxes of ammo and his rifle. And he had told his dad that there was some kind of animal in the forest because he didn't think his dad would believe him if he said it was Goatman. He says that his cousin is supposed to be coming down in a few hours and that in the morning we can all go back to his place and his cousin will drive us home.

Now I'm really fucking terrified, but I at least feel better because we can be American and shoot the fuck out of whatever it is if it comes back. But then my cousin gets into this huge argument with one of the girls because she thinks that I'm trying to be funny and prank them, and that she's getting really scared and that I'm not funny. He keeps telling her I'm not that kind of person, and she says, "Well, how do we know the girl wasn't just Tanner in a wig? Or if it's really the Goatman, how do we know that this is the real Tanner and that Goatman just didn't kill Tanner in the woods and take his gun?"

So we fucking get into a huge argument about this, where me and Tan are like, "we could seriously be in danger because at the very least someone has been sneaking themselves into our fucking trailer without us knowing and mingling with us, and at worst, something bad is in the forest fucking with us."

One of the girls is crying and saying she wants to go right now, and we're trying to tell her we shouldn't because none of us are walking through the woods in the middle of the night. At this point the sun is starting to go down and it's getting a little cloudy out.

We eat something and turn on the radio for a while, but we can't really get a station out there with anything decent. So we turn it off at about the time that Tan's cousin shows up. He was like 19, I think. At this point, the sun is just barely over the horizon and he has one of those heavy duty lantern flashlights and another rifle. He walks up to the trailer and we whisper to Tan asking if he's sure that's his cousin and he says yes.

The guy looks behind him and all around the camp, then walks in. He kind of glances at all of us and looks a little confused.

He says, "Where's your other little buddy at? I figured she would meet me up at the cabin. Is she a little slow or something?" He also asked whether we had been cooking blood in the cabin, because it smelled like blood and hot pans all the way up the trail. We are all like fucking "NOPE." But we ask him what the fuck he's talking about with the girl he saw.

He had come down the same trail Tan had been using and he had come up on "one of youse guy's buddies" standing in the middle of the trail, looking at him slack jawed. He had asked her a bunch of questions, but all she did was just look at him. Then, she smiled at him and he said he kept walking. She couldn't seem to keep up with him and kept lagging a little behind him. He said he asked her if she was hurt or something, and if she needed any help. But, she had continued to stare. Eventually, he had been walking and turned around a bend in the trail. But when he turned around and went back to see if she was okay, the trail was empty. He'd assumed she had taken some short cut through the woods to our trailer.

We tell him the whole story of what's been going on. I half expected him to say we were full of shit, but he just listened and then sat down on the couches in the living room.

Tanner's cousin gets back to the girl. He says, when she had kept trying to lag behind him, it had kinda weirded him the fuck out, so he tried to keep her in front of him, but no matter how slow he walked, she was always lagging a little behind. And that he smelled this nasty smell, and it got stronger as he got to the camp. Eventually it got really strong. She had said something really low that he didn't catch, and when he had turned around she had been right the fuck up on him, and he stepped back from her.

It was at this point he asked her if she was okay, and if she wasn't, him to carry her back the rest of the way, and she just kept staring. He said he reached out for her, as in to grab her on the shoulder, but he must have "misjudged the distance" because she was off to the side of where he had put his hand, like she had moved while he was looking dead at her.

So at this point, we know this shit's real, unless Tan is playing a joke, which we can tell he's not because he's almost pissing his pants.

So they load up their rifles, we eat some more, and we just kind of sit around until about 11. To this fucking day, every time I think about this, I really pray to God that it's some huge prank that my cousins played on me and just never revealed so I would shit for the rest of my life.

At 'round 11, the stink of copper turns into an actual nasty gross blood-like smell, like cooking blood and singed hair. Tan and his cousin, Reese, get the fuck up instantly and grab the rifles.

There's like a half-knocking, half-clawing at the door, and I shit you not, there's this voice, and it sounds like when you see those YouTube cats and dogs whose owners teach them how to "talk." It says in this halting, weirdly toned voice, "Let me the fuck in, stop fucking playing."

It made my fucking nuts creep up against my body, and one of the girls just starts crying and calling on Jesus.

It was so fucking obviously not a person talking. It didn't have the right cadence, and that's some shit that I never realized until that moment, but all people have a certain cadence when they talk, no matter what language. All people have a certain kind of rhythm to talking.

This shit didn't have any kind of cadence or rhythm. One of those YouTube cats, that's what the fuck it sounded like outside the door. So now I'm in full on terror mode. We keep yelling outside, "Who is it? Stop fucking around, man!" and it just keeps saying, "in" or "Let me the fuck in" for almost 15 minutes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qff9V27Weaw

It sounded like this almost, just not funny. Sorry for being on a tangent, but if you can't imagine how this shit sounded, then you can't imagine how fucked up the whole situation was.

So then the smell goes away for a while. And for the next hour or so, you can hear someone basically creeping around in the woods and shit. Every couple minutes it'll come back into the door, and say something.

Finally when the smell fades away, it's around 2 in the morning right now. Reese says, "Man, fuck this!" and opens the door and walks outside with his rifle.

He fires a shot into the air, and says something to the effect of, "In the name of Jesus Christ, go away!" He fires two more times, and then from the woods right up against the river across from the trailer, it sounds like something is slowly jibbering and hooting.

Then it starts screaming and it sounds almost like a woman and a cat in a bag screaming together. Like I seriously have never heard any shit like that, and you can hear the brush over that way start to shake, Reese fires over into the treeline and then starts backing into the house.

We lock the door, and we can hear this shit keening and screaming. Reese says something had come out of the bushes, super low to the ground and crawling toward the cabin. He had shot at it.

Pretty much, that was how the rest of the night went; it was literally screaming constantly for the next two hours, and we could hear shit moving out into the treeline. But it never came back up to the cabin until everyone had finally fallen asleep.

Tan had been sitting in the chair watching the door with his rifle; nobody else heard or saw this, and he told me two days later, after the whole thing was over.

He said he had been nodding off after the screaming and noises finally stopped, and he had been almost asleep when he saw someone come out of the bathroom and then lay down in the middle of the floor and go to sleep. He just assumed it was one of us and he had nodded off.

Then he said he kind of realized something was wrong, and while pretending to be sleeping, he counted us. There were 9 people in the cabin. He basically didn't want to try to shoot at the fucking thing in the cabin and have it kill us all then and there, or have Reese wake up and start shooting and then we kill ourselves. So he just stayed awake all night, pretending to be asleep.

He said sometimes, it would stand up and kind of do this weird jittery thing, or heave like it was laughing. But then it would lay back down.

The story closes pretty weak, because from my perspective nothing happened. We woke up. And I noticed that Tan was a little jittery, and that he was avoiding looking at all of us. But we ate some breakfast, packed up and started walking to his house. He stayed last in the cabin and said he'd lock up and bring me my uncle's keys; to just start walking and he'd catch up. Which I didn't really want to fucking do.

We got a little bit up the path, and when he came running up, basically we just jogged back to his house. His cousin took us home.

There was a window in the bathroom. Tan had gone back to lock up and looked in there. We were too stupid to lock a screenless window. The window was fucking up when he went in there.

I'm guessing it had been doing that all along, waiting for us to fall asleep or slip up and then getting in among us. It walked with us all the Goddamn way back to his house, and then he said it lagged to the back of the group and looked him dead in the eyes before walking into the woods.

In the last decade and a half it's become infinitely easier to obtain exactly what you're looking for, by way of a couple of keystrokes. The Internet has made it all too simple to use a computer to change reality. An abundance of information is merely a search engine away, to the point where it's hard to imagine life as any different.

Yet, a generation ago, when the words 'streaming' and 'torrent' were meaningless save for conversations about water, people met face-to-face to conduct software swap parties, trading games and applications on Sharpie-labeled five-and-a-quarter inch floppies.

Of course, most of the time the meets were a way for frugal, community-minded individuals to trade popular games like King's Quest and Maniac Mansion amongst themselves. However, a few early programming talents designed their own computer games to share amongst their circle of acquaintances, who in turn would pass it on, until, if fun and well-designed enough, an independently-developed game had its place in the collection of aficionados across the country. Think of it as the 80's equivalent of a viral video.

Pale Luna, on the other hand, was never circulated outside of the San Francisco Bay Area. All known copies have been long disposed of, all computers that have ever run the game now detritus buried under layers of filth and polystyrene. This fact is attributed to a number of rather abstruse design choices made by its programmer.

Pale Luna was a text adventure in the vein of Zork and The Lurking Horror, at a time when said genre was swiftly going out of fashion. Upon booting the program, the player was presented with a screen almost completely blank, except for the text:

-You are in a dark room. Moonlight shines through the window.

-There is GOLD in the corner, along with a SHOVEL and a ROPE.

-There is a DOOR to the EAST.

-Command?

So began the game that one writer for a long-out-of-print fanzine decried as "enigmatic, nonsensical, and completely unplayable". As the only commands that the game would accept were PICK UP GOLD, PICK UP SHOVEL, PICK UP ROPE, OPEN DOOR, and GO EAST, the player was soon presented with the following:

-Reap your reward.

-PALE LUNA SMILES AT YOU.

-You are in a forest. There are paths to the NORTH, WEST, and EAST.

-Command?

What quickly infuriated the few who've played the game was the confusing and buggy nature of the second screen onward — only one of the directional decisions would be the correct one. For example, on this occasion, a command to go in a direction other than NORTH would lead to the system freezing, requiring the operator to hard reboot the entire computer.

Further, any subsequent screens seemed to merely repeat the above text, with the difference being only the directions available. Worse still, the standard text adventure commands appeared to be useless: The only accepted non-movement-related prompts were USE GOLD, which caused the game to display the message:

-Not here.

USE SHOVEL, which brought up:

-Not now.

And USE ROPE, which prompted the text:

-You've already used this.

Most who played the game progressed a couple of screens into it before becoming fed-up by having to constantly reboot and tossing the disk in disgust, writing off the experience as a shoddily programmed farce. However, there is one thing about the world of computers that remains true, no matter the era: some people who use them have way too much time on their hands.

A young man by the name of Michael Nevins decided to see if there was more to Pale Luna than what met the eye. Five hours and thirty-three screens worth of trial-and-error and unplugged computer cords later, he finally managed to make the game display different text. The text in this new area read:

-PALE LUNA SMILES WIDE.

-There are no paths.

-PALE LUNA SMILES WIDE.

-The ground is soft.

-PALE LUNA SMILES WIDE.

-Here.

-Command?

It was another hour still before Nevins stumbled upon the proper combination of phrases to make the game progress any further; DIG HOLE, DROP GOLD, then FILL HOLE. This caused the screen to display:

-Congratulations

—— 40.24248 ——

—— -121.4434 ——

Upon which the game ceased to accept commands, requiring the user to reboot one last time.

After some deliberation, Nevins came to the conclusion that the numbers referred to lines of latitude and longitude — the coordinates lead to a point in the sprawling forest that dominated the nearby Lassen Volcanic Park. As he possessed much more free time than sense, Nevins vowed to see Pale Luna through to its ending.

The next day, armed with a map, a compass, and a shovel, he navigated the park's trails, noting with amusement how each turn he made corresponded roughly to those that he took in-game.

Though he initially regretted bringing the cumbersome digging tool on a mere hunch, the path's similarity all but confirmed his suspicions that the journey would end with him face-to-face with an eccentric's buried treasure.

Out of breath after a tricky struggle to the coordinates, he was pleasantly surprised by a literal stumble upon a patch of uneven dirt. Shoveling as excitedly as he was, it would be an understatement to say that he was taken aback when his heavy strokes unearthed the badly-decomposing head of a blonde-haired little girl.

Nevins promptly reported the situation to the authorities. The girl was identified as Karen Paulsen, 11, reported as missing to the San Diego Police Department a year and a half prior.

Efforts were made to track down the programmer of Pale Luna, but the nearly-anonymous legal gray area in which the software swapping community operated inescapably led to many dead ends.

Collectors have been known to offer upwards of six figures for an authentic copy of the game.

The rest of Karen's body was never found.

This semester, I took my first figure drawing class. Forget starting off slow with a bowl of fruit. As soon as the door clicked shut, an old woman in the middle of the room dropped her robe, revealing her wrinkly tits for the world to see. I was aghast.

I didn’t know what to do. Was I supposed to look? Not look? If I looked, then where? Her sagging mammaries? Her face? Her eyes? What if she looked back? Then, I’d be staring at a naked old woman and a naked old woman would be staring back at me. I couldn't think of anything more awkward than that. Except maybe if she was my grandma.

“Pick a spot and get your sketchbooks ready. We’re doing five-minute poses,” instructed the professor, as he motioned towards the easels set up in a circle around the model. He opened up a newspaper and started reading.

I sat there nervously, holding a charcoal pencil in my hand as the geriatric nude struck a pose. To my surprise, I found her to be quite charismatic. For such an old woman, she displayed the kind of dignified poise you'd expect from a ballerina. Smiling, she watched me as I began to sketch her elegant features.

DING!

Her second pose was just as graceful as the first: arched back, bent knees, and head turned in my direction. I immortalized the moment in my sketchbook. The way the light gleamed off her chest, her soul-piercing brown eyes, and the shadows clutching her in a lover’s embrace. Maybe I’d impress her by showing her my work after class.

DING!

With more flexibility than a Yoga instructor, she stretched out further and contorted herself for the third pose. She chose to face me again, as though she was as captivated with me as I was with her. In five short minutes, I was able to capture her very essence on the page.

DING!

Her torso began to crackle as she twisted it sideways. Her earthy eyes remained locked on mine, but her smile had faded. Had I offended her somehow? Was my artwork not good enough?

DING!

My stomach dropped and she moved into her fifth pose. Her upper body began to twist towards the other side of the room, but her legs and head remained in place, making her appear as though she’d just been in a wreck. Her fingers bent outward. I could hear snapping noises as her bones popped out of their joints, causing her fingers to elongate to unnatural lengths.

My hands trembled, barely able to keep hold of the pencil as I watched the horrid mess of misplaced limbs. I didn’t want to look at her, nor at my sketchbook, but somehow, my hand flew seamlessly over the page, as though forced to trace the inhuman shape I was witnessing. I tried to stop it, I really did. I slapped my free hand over the one holding the pencil. I pushed. I pulled. No matter how hard I tried to stop, I kept drawing.

The model’s hawk-like eyes stared me down with contempt. The cold gaze felt as though it was burrowing into me, examining every inch of me. Not just on the outside, but on the inside, too, like an x-ray. It burned. It burned under my skin. My joints began to ache. It could feel the pressure of an unseen force trying to pull my bones apart. And through it all, my hand still scribbled in my sketchbook.

DING!

"All right, let's take a quick break and then we'll do a half hour pose," said the professor, still looking at his newspaper.

The model's body rebounded back into place like an elastic band.

I felt an instant wave of relief. The pressure was gone, but I was still sore.

She gave me a knowing, devious smile, slipped into her robe, winked, and stepped out of the room.

It was only then that I noticed my fellow students exchanging anxious stares and rubbing their now rigid, almost atrophied hands.

As I nervously paced around the room and rubbed my own hands, I peeked at the other student's sketchbooks. Blood drained from my face as I realized that, in every single sketch, the model's head was turned towards the viewer, as though she'd been facing every single student in class at the same time.

The door swung open and a younger woman stepped in, apologizing for her tardiness. Whoever - or whatever - the old woman was, she wasn’t a model.

I really don’t want to go back to class.

Doki Doki Literature Club is a great horror VN that's free to play that just came out.

ddlc.moe

I guess it's kind of a spoiler to say it's horror but there are multiple content warnings for disturbing content when you launch the game for the first time anyway.

Nothing scares me like skinwalkers, this is first story I read and it remains the scariest one I've read
http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Anansi%27s_Goatman_Story

>>30
>>Doki doki literature club
>>cute animu girls

Thanks anon! Will check this out.

>>30
Damn, that was spooky. Thanks for the suggestion.

It took me a week to find where you keep your wifi password. A whole week! I was really worried you’d thrown it away, but lo and behold, there it was in the cutlery drawer of all places. Everything about the way you organize things confuses me. I guess because you live on your own now you just put things any old place. I know there was someone else before, I heard you talking about him on the phone. Johnny, I think? Jimmy? Anyway, I know because you said it was tough being alone. But you’re not alone, of course. You have me!

There’s a crack in your roof where I can see down onto the street below. Don’t worry about the roof, by the way – yes, it's pretty cramped, but I like my spaces small. I’ve actually stuffed a few things up there to make it smaller (just bits and bobs from the recycling, I don’t think you’ll miss them). I can sit with my face against the wall and see down onto the street. That’s where I saw you meeting up with all those people wearing black. It would have been weird anyway because you never meet anyone, but they were all rubbing your back and holding your hand and stuff. I was scared you were going to bring them in but you just went off together so that was okay. I don’t know what I would have done if the house had filled up with people.

You know, it really explains a lot that there was someone else before me. Like the fact you have two sets of drawers in your bedroom, or how you’re living in such a big house all by yourself, and do weird things like leave the wifi in the cutlery drawer or watch the same TV show all day on a weekend.

I’m not one to talk, mind. I’m addicted to my toys - like the big lump of blu-tack I found a while back which is great fun to fiddle with but doesn’t taste too good, or the cigarette lighter that’s fun to flick on and off, or the tube that has all the patterns in you can change. I could look down that thing for hours. I often have! That’s what I normally do when you’re home. Or I just sit back and listen to you do the washing or run a shower or something like that. I crawl up the walls and hang there with my ear to the pipes and listen to the water rushing by. That kind of thing makes me happy. Plus you never have anyone around so once I got your schedule memorized I could move around pretty free.

I know what we have: It’s a symbiotic relationship. That means you help me by giving me a warm place to stay and wifi, and I help you by eating all the spiders.

Of course, there’s no need to thank me! I fell asleep under the towels in your airing cupboard once (before I found the roof) and I saw you trying to get rid of one that was living under your sink with a broom. I have never seen so much ridiculous fuss in my entire life. But it makes no difference to me how many legs something has, so I just eat them up whenever I find one, and any other thing that makes its way into the house without permission (aside from myself, of course!).

Since I only pay rent in spiders I try to keep the things I take to a minimum, but I can’t say I feel too bad about stealing your socks. You have so many socks! Why would one girl need so many? I get a lot more out of them then you do, anyway. I like to take them apart by the threads and then wrap all the threads around my fingers and pull them tight till the tips go purple. I can nibble my own finger-tips and not feel a thing. It’s pretty great.

I try not take too much food either. I’ve found I can usually survive off the things you leave out, or throw away (why don’t you eat banana skins? Another habit of yours that confuses me a lot. I like to open my mouth all the way and drop them in whole, no chewing). I’ve never needed too much food to get by. I really, really, really like butter though. Not to eat so much as just to play with. You once left a block out by the window in the sun and it went all melty while you were at work, so I sort of started playing with it. Once I’d stuck my finger in once it was kind hard to stop! I had it looking like a puddle by the end. But then I realized it was five and you’d be home soon, so I had to press it back into a rectangle as best I could. But then I heard you opening the door – boy, I was so startled! I went into the cupboard under the stairs (you know, the one you never go in as it’s full of men’s shoes and coats and things) and I watched you come in through the doorway. But then came the weird part: you didn’t even notice the butter. All you did was make a cup of tea and then give up halfway through and start crying. Then you ordered a chinese and barely ate any before throwing it away.

You see what I mean about your habits. I’m sorry but it’s just weird.

Sometimes if I’m having a bad night I like to get under your bed while you’re asleep. It’s nice because I can hear you breathing, and then I can match my breath up with that. I lie there for ages, gasping in and out, and if you get up for the bathroom or anything I have to go completely still and hold my breath. I don’t know why I do it – I guess it’s fun. You’re the first person who’s company I’ve ever enjoyed.

You cooked dinner the other evening. I noticed because you played music, which you never do, and you made something with took almost an hour and a half with about a million ingredients. I crept down to the top of the staircase and I could see you bouncing around doing moves with the spoon. It was so funny I had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing!

Then I saw something that got me really scared. You’d laid two places at the table.

I thought there was someone else in the house and climbed all the way up to the ceiling thinking they’d see me. As I was hanging there I saw you serving two plates and I couldn’t move for the panic. Another person! I just knew I wouldn’t like them as much as you. That they'd ruin everything and make me go all crazy like I used to be. I didn't know what to do. I was ready to hurt them - really, really hurt. That's how scared I was.

Then you sat down. You lit the candle on the table and started eating by yourself. Nobody else showed up, and after you were done you took the other food and threw it away. Even though I was relieved, I felt kind of bad that the other person never showed up. You didn’t seem sad, though. It was like you’d expected it to just be you.

After you went to bed I went through the bin and ate some of the food you threw away. It was delicious.

I knew something was wrong the next day because you didn’t leave for work, and then you ran a bath in the middle of the afternoon. After you’d been in there for ages and ages I started to get this horrible bad feeling. I crawled down to the landing. The bathroom door was open a crack, so I peeked through.

I saw your hand. It was hanging, not in a natural way, and there was this long red line going down it and then I realized –

I ran back upstairs.

I’m a coward. I know I’m a coward. I hid under my pile of stuff and started to cry.

I thought about running away. I thought about the colour a pink bathmat goes when it’s covered in blood. I thought about how much I wanted to be somewhere else. But most of all I thought about you, and how little sense you make.

What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry I lit your roof on fire.

It was the only way I could think to get people to come. It actually worked better than I expected – that recycling stuff sure did burn. I ran down to the cupboard under the stairs and curled up with my hands over my head until I heard them kick the door down and carry you out. There was a lot of confusion and bad language, but they found you and I heard one say you were still breathing.

So my favorite place in the whole world is gone now. Most of my things as well, though I did think to grab the pattern tube. The rest is just a big black wig on top of your house. But I’m not scared. You’ll get better, and when you come back, I’ll still be here. I don't think it's nice to be alone.

>>22
seconding. i really like creepypasta where they incorporate hints referring to old indigenous folklore/mythology. does anyone know what the 'protection' symbols the original writer posted are from?

>>472
this one is actually pretty cute to me. saved.

>>472
Holy shit, I like this one

>>29
Not bad at all

>>472
this is too cute, I also want a little roof creep to leach off of my wifi and look after me

>>16
thanks for this thread OP and introducing me to this!!!!!
Borrasca is awesome. Though the ending was very sudden and I didn't find the twist all that believable the way it was written but the writer is cool and I read all her other stuff.
She even has a no sleep eye-friendly Website layout colourwise
https://ck-walker.com

So, I love creepypastas now.

>>587
OP here, thanks for being interested! I agree that the twist was kind of… idk, I felt it was just for shock value, the story had great atmosphere until suddenly RAPE FARM FOR INBRED HUMANS

>>588
That ending was really shitty and ruined it for me. Up until then it was quite atmospheric.

I guess what bothered me the most was that truth is actually stranger than fiction. Similar has happened in my country and it's being covered up all the time. I'd post about it but it's not a ~spooky creepy pasta~, it's just really, really sad and infuriating.

>>591
That's true. Real events are so horrifying and devastating.

I think this author tries to incorporate familiar tragedies into her stories (crime, mental illness) but if it's not executed all that well and hits home too hard, it's just a bad read.

What I like about creepypastas is the human touch. It feels more personal. Short horror stories are a great genre anyway. And it's just fun, even having to read or start a couple bad stories until you get a good one and fishing around in a big pool of writing. Even bad stories are entertaining in a way or sometimes a good story has just the right amount of flaws to be all the more loveable. But I guess that's obvious.

>>17
I'll have to read Dionaea House, too, but not tonight lol

>>594
btw this is the sequel to Borrasca, imo it's worth the read
https://ck-walker.com/borrasca-v/

>>19
Dunno if you're still around, but I have this and will post it just in case. The part that gets circulated most is part 1 but there are 9 parts.

>>604
Damn flood detection

>>605
Also forgot to number them. 4/9

>>606
5/9

>>607
6/9

>>608
7/9

>>609
8/9

>>610
9/9

>>749
This is so dumb. These posts are essentially, "I think I'm special because I sit on my ass on imageboards all day instead of sitting on facebook all day". Top fucking lol.

>>749
lovely read.
but to sum this up, the guys are just mad people aren't aware or critical of the environment in which they live. also they've got a major hatred of small talk.
that's what i got from it all, anyhow.

>>749
>I have a theory that there are only a fixed quantity of souls on planet Earth that cycle continuously through reincarnation.
I had this same exact thought as a little kid but never knew anyone who shared the same belief. Of course, I don't believe it anymore but this was a little odd to see.

>>751
More like awful, entitled read because the girl in their PE classes doesn't care about how they shitpost on 4chan all day.

>>752
I want Patchy to sit on my face

"Has anyone heard of the Left/Right Game?"
https://redd.it/7asz8x
I've been binging creepypastas because I'm sick and bored and I've been through a couple really bad (so bad!) but high-rated ones and now finally, I found a rly good one and it's a series!

>>749
I tried to tell them about the banker cartels and the white genocide and the ZOG but they just stared at me like I was this creepy person.

>>972
Oh and, this is pretty fun to read so far. Good post.

>>974
Yay, I'm glad! This thread introduced me to creepypastas and they're fun

The Spire in the Woods

https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/1nyt4a/the_spire_in_the_woods/?utm_source=reddit-android

>>972
I stayed up until 9 am to finish this lol
It was a good read, reminded me of Stephen King, but the last part really fell flat imho.

All of a sudden this portal opens like the laziest Deus Ex Machina and from there it just devolves into "you're the chosen one!!! you're the most special person on earth" which is a trope I really can do without.

Aside from that, it was solid.

>>985
Same. Binged it. Yeah that makes sense, the ending was a bit odd. Glad you liked it!

>>986
If you haven't, you should read The Long Walk, it feels very similar!

>>987
Thank you, I will

I got pretty into this but the last two or so chapters just fell flat for me. I liked that the Mc realized how gross he had treated Aline, but I thought that would somehow tie into the clockmaker's story. Am I missing something, or was it just not wrapped up in a satisfying way?

>>1074
Which of the stories are you replying to?

Has anyone watched the now-cancelled Channel Zero on Syfy?
It's a TV show based on creepypastas, one pasta per season.

>Candle Cove
>Nowhere House
>Butcher's Block (originally Search and Rescue Woods)
>The Dream Door (originally Hidden Door)

>>1338
That was cute. Lizzie got BTFO'd

Hwo to make Jeff the Killer as a clay sculpture: https://youtu.be/pnyb_URzbsA