CREEPYPASTA.COM – Scary Paranormal Stories & Short Horror Microfiction

First off, submissions will re-open on March 20th and remain open until April 15th. I’ll make another announcement when I’ve completed scheduling and replying to all the sorted submissions, as per usual.

Please note that if you have chosen to hold back your parodypasta submissions until the last possible moment for whatever reason, if you want ANY chance at getting your story included in this year’s April 1st Parodypasta collection, you must submit your parodypasta BEFORE the end of March.

Now, on to the actual meat of this post:

AS OF THE MARCH 2014 SUBMISSION PERIOD, CHECKING “YES” ON CRAPPYPASTA WILL NOT BE A GUARANTEE OF A POSTING THERE.

ONLY STORIES THAT I BELIEVE HAVE THE POTENTIAL TO BE REWRITTEN SUCCESSFULLY WILL MAKE THE JUMP TO CRAPPYPASTA.

I think that’s pretty clear. However, for those of you who are curious about the reasoning for this change and don’t mind an epic TL;DR situation, read on.

One frequent discussion in the comments both here and over at Crappypasta is what, exactly, makes a good character. Some people seem to eschew any detail about the character’s traits or life, preferring them to be a blank slate for the reader to imagine as their own proxy within the story. Others like characters to be their own developed beings, not necessarily needing them to be a vehicle for the reader’s self-insert. With such different views causing people to bicker back and forth about which details and writing POVs are acceptable, I thought it might be helpful for any aspiring writers if we had a discussion about fictional characters that we love.

Don’t limit yourselves just to horror or even solely books. Comics, movies, games, whatever – tell us who your absolute favorite fictional character is, and then tell us WHY. What about that character hooked you? What tactics did the creator(s) of said character use in order to make you care enough about this fictional entity that you would choose them as your all-time favorite? Go in depth if you want, but please at least give us some reasoning behind your choice – simply naming your favorite isn’t really what we’re looking for here.

Have fun, and I look forward to reading your answers!

FROM NOW ON, IF YOU IGNORE THE FAQ AND ASK ME FOR ANY SPECIAL TREATMENT, YOU FORFEIT YOUR SUBMISSION.

Did I get your attention? Good. For the sake of the main page, the rest of this post is under the ‘read more’ button – however, that does not mean that you can claim ignorance. If you’re considering submitting, make sure that you read this post.

Westley was rich. Not in the manor in which he was stuck up or thought he was better than everyone else, but in the manner where the only friends he could find were those who really only cared for his money and not him. That being said, life was rather difficult for him. He was a senior in high school now, with acceptance into his first choice school on scholarship. To many of the less impressive, less well-off students in school he was well on his way to becoming the most secretly hated student on campus. Still, it made it easier to weed out those friends of his who weren’t in fact friends at all. They would treat him well, but he was well aware of the whispers and glances of envy that he’d been receiving from those who claimed to adore him. And he wasn’t about to allow them to spoil his last few days of school.

His parents were going away on holiday, you see. And they had assured him that while they were away, he could have the house to himself for the summer to do with it as he wished, so long as he cleaned up the mess. He’d decided to give himself one final hoorah; a commemoration for making it through the most confusing and disheartening four years of his life, and he decided to do so with five of his truest and least malicious friends.
He chose his compatriots carefully; there would be Alisson, his long time crush who, despite her disinterest in him, had always been very loyal to him; Rodney, who had been in theatre with him and always pushed him to do his best, regardless of his shy demeanor; Micheal, who occasionally made comments about their English teachers rear end, and seemed more intrigued by what his groin wanted then gossip about the spoiled rich kid; Lester, who rarely spoke but sat with him at lunch and seemed thankful when Westley packed extra food for him; and last was Gretchen, a foreign student with very good English who, for whatever reason, had a thing for the sweet little rich boy before she knew of his wealth.
He’d asked them to come over, after convincing his parents that their night wouldn’t be complete without drinks and assured them that nobody would be leaving while intoxicated, at 8 sharp after their final day of school.

The two girls arrived first; they had become friends themselves through their mutual companionship with Westley and arrived together. Lester was next through the door and then Rodney, who was followed quickly by Micheal.
After a brief greeting by each guest, Westley took a good look at his group; a strange combination of faces surrounded him, but they were the closest thing to a gang he’d ever get, and it made him happy that they had chosen to begin their final high school summer by his side. He lifted his bottle of beer in the air. “Here’s to making it.” He offered, and everyone returned the gesture with theirs, cheering in agreeance. He was just about to begin telling them of his plans for the evening, when a sudden ringing echoed through the massive, endless house.
Westley’s brow furrowed. The doorbell? But everyone was already there… “What the hell?”

He sauntered from the dining hall and through the foyer, to the door peering through the peep hole. A youth who couldn’t have been much different age from himself stood there in a navy hoodie, despite the ninety degree weather, head down as though in prayer. Westley was confused; he couldn’t see the youth’s face, but he was certain he didn’t know him. And moreover, he felt like something simply wasn’t right.
Slumped over his shoulder, in a pink hoodie which also hid a face, was a female with long, blonde locks that hung past her chest. She was holding her stomach, where deep red liquid had seeped through her sweatshirt.
Westley bit his lip. He could clearly see that she was injured, and badly in need of help, but he just didn’t feel right about the whole thing. It was a small town; everybody knew everybody. How were there two youths that he should have gone to school with standing on his steep, and he hadn’t a clue who they could have been?
He kept the chain on the door, but cracked it just enough to draw his head through the crack. “Can I help you?” He asked, heistant.
“Please, My girlfriend is hurt. You have to help us.” His voice fluctuated, but there was not shaking to it. No panic. It felt rehearsed.
“Who are you?” Westley asked. “I know everyone in town, but I’ve never seen you…”
“Please, sir. You have to help us.” Demanding, but not terrified. Steady.
“What happened?” Westley asked.
“Car accident. Please help.”
Westley took a moment to think. “I’ll call an ambulance for you. Just wait here.”
He went to close the door, but a hand that seemed too strong for such a narrow youth swung out and held it opened. “I have to tell her mother, sir. Please, let me in. Let me use our phone. I have to tell her family what’s happened.” He insisted. There wa an urgency, but not one of panick, but of anger. He was frustrated with Westley.
“I don’t know…” He started.
“what’s going on?” The Voice was soft and dainty, and it came from behind him.
Alisson came upon his shoulder, and the rest of the pack was sure to follow. Westley shrugged. “They need an ambulance. I told them I would call.” He offered.
“I need to call her family.” The young man insisted. “To let them know what happened.”
“Let them in.” Alisson offered.
“I don’t think I should. Something doesn’t feel right.”
“Come on, dude,” Micheal chimed in. “You going to let them lovely thing die out here?”
Westley hesitated. “please wait out here. I’ll go call an ambulance.” He insisted before closing the door on the couple and vanishing into another room in the maze of a house.
Rodney frowned. “What’s his problem?”
Micheal shrugged. “Hell if I know. She looked hot though. I say we let them in.”
Alisson shoved him. “Don’t you ever use your other head?” She questioned. “Look, I agree that they shouldn’t have to sit out there, but it’s Westley’s house. If he says he doesn’t want them inside, we have to respect that.”
Rodney lifted an eyebrow. “So we should just let them sit out there and die?”
“Ali is right.” Said the blonde with the light German accent. “Have some respect.”
Micheal rolled his eyes. “You just want to get in his pants, Geretch.” He offered. “You know she shouldn’t have to sit out there as much as we do.”
“But it is not your house!” She insisted.
The four of them were so busy arguing amongst themselves that they seemed to overlook the young, silent boy in the group as he made his way to the door. Lester wrapped his fingers around the handle, and released its hold, swinging it open. The room fell silent as the door swung wide open. “Come in.” He offered, and everyone stared in awe at the open threshold.
A smile crossed both of their lips, as though on cue and they lifted their pale heads. Their flesh was blue and pale like death, but that wasn’t their distinguishing feature. No, their eyes, solid black all the way through, like voids into another world. Four devilish black eyes lay upon the room, and with said invitation, they vanished before the groups eyes.
Westley returned to the room within seconds of their vanishing, to a room with an entirely new aura. Those who had been against leaving the teens in the cold had certainly changed their outlook now. “The ambulance is on its way.” Westley offered with uncertain assurance. “What did I miss?”
Micheal raised a shaking hand to the doorway. “They…. They vanished.” He offered, amazed and terrified all at once.
“How do you…?” Westley started.
“It was Lester!” Gretchen accused. “He told them they could come in, and they vanished.”
“You were going to let those… those things into my house?!” He shouted at the silent youth. But he gave that some thought, and turned to Gretchen. “Wait: what do you mean ‘vanished’?”
Alisson interjected. ‘Gone. Poof! Up in smoke. “They vanished right in front of us like some sort of ghost.” She offered as explanation, though it raised more question in Westley’s mind. “Whatever they were, they sure as hell weren’t Normal.”
Westley felt a sickness creep through his body. It started at his knees, then worked its way to his stomach, heart, and stopped just shy of his esophagus. He wanted to vomit. He had no idea what had happened, but he got the feeling that his little friend had just invited a nightmare into his home. And if that was all they needed to hear was an offer of entry, he was certain they hadn’t left. They were inside, somewhere. “They are here.” He muttered to himself.
“Here?” Rodney questioned.
He looked up at them. “In the house. They… they must have needed to be invited in.” they returned his declaration with blank stares. “Don’t you get it? They couldn’t enter without our permission, and they got it!”
“Are you trying to say that we’re dealing with some sort of… vampire or something?” Alisson questioned. It just seemed silly to her. “That’s ridiculous. Look; maybe we just imagined this whole thing. They probably just… I don’t know, left? She looked like she was in bad shape. Maybe they just went to another house for help.”
“Or maybe they are going to drain our blood and leave us for dead.” Micheal Retorted.
Gretchen crossed her arms over her full chest. “We should stay together either way. We’ll be safer if…”
A door swung open, and with a gust of wind a shade of mist, Gretchen went flying across the room and into the void that was once their kitchen. She screamed the way there, until the door slammed shut behind her, and silence befell the room.
The group stared at the door with fearful amazement. “Gretch?” Westley muttered, but after several seconds, there was no response. “Hey, Gretchen…” He tried again, but not a sound came from the room.
He inched closer, the other four following close behind him. His hand inched toward the door, slowly. He was careful and hesitant as he reached out for the only barrier between the group and the monsters inside. But as he finally gained the courage to turn the knob and push the door open, he realized that the room was just as barren as they had left it.
“G—Gretchen?” His voice shook as he called her name, but there was no answer.
“Maybe she got scared. I can’t say I blame her…” Alisson offered.
Westley shook his head. “No, she has to be here. They have her.” He insisted. “She couldn’t have just up and run, there’s something inhuman in here. I can feel it.”
Micheal rolled his eyes and pushed forward. “Very funny, Gretch!” He offered. No response. “Look, we get it; Funny joke, haha. Now come on out.” He insisted. Nothing.
Rodney crossed his arms. “I don’t think it’s a joke, Mike.” He offered. “If it was, those were some pretty spectacular special effects, don’t you think?”
Micheal shook his head. “No, this is too messed up! It has to be a joke. Some stupid prank, one last hoorah before we go our separate ways. Westley’s probably in on it too, that’s why he invited us here, right? Right?!”
Westley took a step back. His friend sounded almost threatening, and it made him uncomfortable. “I had nothing to do with any of this.” He insisted. “I swear.”
Mike sneered. “Oh shut up! You’re the one spouting off all this nonsense about some crazy creatures coming in here. It’s straight out of a horror movie!”
“We are all scared!” Alisson interjected. “But this isn’t anyone’s fault! If Westley was a part of this, he would have let us know by now. He wouldn’t let it go this far.” She insisted. “Right, Wes?”
“Of course!” He insisted. “When have I ever tried anything like this? Come on, this isn’t me!”
Mike was just about to continue his accusations, but the door closed behind them and, when they tried to force it open once more, it simply wouldn’t budge. Panic filled the room, as the ever present evil that now occupied that house overwhelmed the remaining five.
They turned, ready to try the door leading outside, but stopped dead in their tracked. Something blocked their way. A young boy, about their age, with solid black eyes and a malicious grin. “Going somewhere?” He asked.

What do you want?!” Rodney shouted.
“Calm down, sweetie.” The voice came from behind the group. Female, and full of malice. “It’s just a little fun.”
They turned to face the falsely injured girl before shifting their gaze back to the other creature in the room once more.
“Where’s Gretchen?” Westley insisted. But to his question, they simply gave a vicious giggle and disappeared.
The female figure appeared behind Rodney, wrapping her arms around him before vanishing yet again, pulling the boy with her. “Rodney!” Alisson shouted.
A hand grabbed her arm and, with a shriek, she was pulled through the outside door and vanished without a trace. Micheal rushed to the door and pulled on it, shouting her name endlessly before he sunk to his knees, tears swelling in his eyes. “What’s happening?! Where are they taking them?”
Westley would have responded, but he was in shock. He simply stared out the window of that closed door in terrified astonishment, horrified by the events. Three left, he though, Just three more of us. We are going to go wherever they are going. We are going to be killed or tortured or… who knows what will happen to us. We will vanish just like they have.
Micheal was now back on his feet, determined to reunite with the others. He slammed his body into the door, but despite his efforts, it simply wouldn’t break. They were trapped in the room with no hope.
But something was happening to the paralyzed Westley. He body was, literally, disintegrating before his eyes. He watched as his hands and feet vanished, and then his arms and legs, and then his torso began to leave him. “Mike…” He muttered, too stunned to explain.
Micheal halted to turn to his friend, but he was gone before he could reach him, and then he was gone. Mike was now desperate. He grabbed a pan from the cupboard and slammed it into the glass panes on the door, shattering it, but before he could leave, the glass reappeared before him. “What the….”
Before he could finish this thought, a light shined down upon him, and he two was gone.
And then there was one. One boy who had been silent throughout this whole endeavor. One boy who had let the evil in. He stared with wide eyes as his friends vanished one by one, and now he stood alone in the kitchen of a house he did not own.
The black eyed children appeared behind him, each with a hand on his shoulder. “Ready?” They asked in unison. And to that, he nodded, and the light came and took them away.

Credit To – Liz loveless

Chatroom log transcribed by *name expunged* on *date expunged*. Screen names presumably substituted by account holders’ real names for easier reference. Whether incident described was real or fabricated cannot be determined, as transcriber has vanished without a trace.

*

[11:29:09 PM] – Jon has joined the chatroom

[11:29:14 PM] – Matt has joined the chatroom

[11:29:16 PM] Jon: holla

[11:29:20 PM] Matt: holla!

[11:29:22 PM] Matt: haha

[11:29:31 PM] Matt: what the crap was sabatini talking about Tuesday?

[11:30:02 PM] Jon: I wasn’t in class Tuesday.

[11:30:03 PM] Matt: about the futurists

[11:30:09 PM] Jon: I was sick.

[11:30:13 PM] Matt: oh. you were ditchin

[11:30:22 PM] Jon: no I was sick. swear to god.

[11:30:22 PM] Matt: :D

[11:30:33 PM] Jon: came down with a cold or something.

[11:30:40 PM] Matt: whatever ditcher

[11:30:45 PM] Matt: holla Jimi!

[11:31:30 PM] Matt: nice to see you too. fuck.

[11:31:31 PM] Matt: holla! >:(

[11:31:33 PM] Jon: Jimi’s idle again.

[11:31:40 PM] Matt: hate how he does that. just logs in and walks away

[11:31:42 PM] Jon: or he’s toking up.

[11:31:51 PM] Matt: haha

[11:32:10 PM] Jon: what’s your deal with Sabatini’s class?

[11:32:59 PM] Matt: the futurist manifestos. supposed to have read em but I didn’t make any sense out of em

[11:33:04 PM] Matt: something about cars and graveyards and shit

[11:33:21 PM] Matt: and you know how he just throws the material at us and expects us to learn something like we got mind-reading powers

[11:33:34 PM] Jon: what you put into his classes is what you take out of it.

[11:33:41 PM] Jon: he expects each of us to decide what’s significant about the material.

[11:34:19 PM] Matt: shit I coulda just not signed up for the class and bought the book and read it on my own time then

[11:34:21 PM] Matt: >:(

[11:34:27 PM] Matt: hey bro I gotta skate ill see ya l8er

[11:34:35 PM] Jon: ok later.

[11:34:36 PM] Matt: see ya Jimi!

[11:34:49 PM] – Matt has left the chatroom

[11:39:40 PM] – Jimi is no longer idle

[11:40:02 PM] Jimi: jon you there?

[11:40:19 PM] Jon: yeah.

[11:40:26 PM] Jimi: the neighborhood is gone

[11:40:27 PM] Jon: Jimi how come you don’t answer my calls?

[11:40:32 PM] Jon: what?

[11:40:40 PM] Jimi: the neighborhood is gone

[11:41:05 PM] Jon: I don’t follow you.

[11:41:29 PM] Jimi: somethings wrong

[11:41:35 PM] Jimi: can you see outside your windows?

[11:41:51 PM] Jon: what you been smoking Jimi?

[11:41:59 PM] Jimi: can you see outside your windows?

[11:42:18 PM] Jon: yeah.

[11:42:26 PM] Jimi: what do you see?

[11:42:31 PM] Jon: street lights.

[11:42:38 PM] Jon: Jimi what’s your problem man?

[11:42:49 PM] Jimi: i dont see street lights

[11:42:55 PM] Jimi: i dont see anything. just black. the neighborhood is gone.

[11:43:22 PM] Jon: Jimi if you’re tripping again I’m coming over there to beat your ass. I’m serious.

[11:43:58 PM] Jimi: im not tripping i swear. everything is just gone.

[11:44:20 PM] Jon: the lights on your street probably just burnt out

[11:49:00 PM] – Jimi is idle

[11:50:29 PM] Jon: you still there?

[12:19:53 AM] – Jon has left the chatroom

*

[10:54:20 PM] – Jon has joined the chatroom

[10:54:28 PM] Jon: Jimi how are you today? Everything all right?

[10:55:19 PM] Jon: Jimi talk to me buddy. You feeling all right?

[10:59:12 PM] – Jimi is no longer idle

[10:59:25 PM] Jimi: theres nothing outside

[10:59:58 PM] Jon: Jimi do you want me to come over?

[11:00:25 PM] Jimi: no dont come over

[11:00:29 PM] Jimi: stay there

[11:00:58 PM] Jon: Jimi what the fuck man? What’s going on over there?

[11:05:58 PM] – Jimi is idle

[11:07:06 PM] Jon: I’m getting tired of this Jimi.

[11:10:54 PM] Jon: grow up.

[11:30:01 PM] – Matt has joined the chatroom

[11:30:08 PM] Matt: holla!!!!

[11:30:14 PM] Matt: holla Jimi :D

[11:31:07 PM] Matt: Jimi you aint been at school in three days. Spring break isn’t for another month yo

[11:31:00 PM] – Jimi is no longer idle

[11:31:09 PM] Jimi: matt can you see outside your windows?

[11:31:23 PM] Matt: yeah I see ladies dancing

[11:31:39 PM] Matt: and theyre callin your name Jimi! They want yuh!

[11:31:41 PM] Jimi: i cant see anything. its pitch black outside my house.

[11:31:50 PM] Matt: for real?

[11:31:52 PM] Jimi: the neighborhoods gone. i dont know where i am.

[11:32:01 PM] Matt: haha what?

[11:32:02 PM] Jon: Jesus is he still going on about that?

[11:32:11 PM] Matt: whats he talking about Jon?

[11:32:30 PM] Jon: he’s being an asshole. He was babbling about it yesterday too.

[11:32:51 PM] Matt: haha Jimi whatre you on man? You take your meds?

[11:33:22 PM] Jimi: im not on anything

[11:33:56 PM] Jon: Jimi I’m coming over.

[11:33:58 PM] Jimi: im fuckin scared and all you guys do is give me shit

[11:34:09 PM] Jimi: no i told you dont come over

[11:34:10 PM] – Jon has left the chatroom

*

[11:58:12 PM] – Jon has joined the chatroom

[11:58:14 PM] Jimi: one was scratching on the window a minute ago

[11:58:27 PM] Matt: welcome to the twilight zone Jon haha

[11:58:39 PM] Jon: Christ Jimi what happened?

[11:58:40 PM] Matt: you’re missin out on some crazy shit

[11:58:51 PM] Jon: what happened to your house Jimi?

[11:59:02 PM] Matt: whats up with his house?

[11:59:07 PM] Jimi: did you go to my house jon?

[11:59:18 PM] Jon: it isn’t there. Just a foundation.

[11:59:19 PM] Jimi: i told you to stay away

[11:59:30 PM] Jon: Jimi what happened?

[11:59:31 PM] Matt: Jon are you serious?

[12:01:13 AM] Jimi: theres movement outside now. i cant see anything but i can hear things.

[12:01:53 AM] Jimi: i hear people talking outside real quiet. im scared to go near the windows.

[12:02:17 AM] Jon: Jimi when did this happen?

[12:03:11 AM] Jimi: did you see davan kellys painting?

[12:03:25 AM] Jon: yeah I think so. The scary one, right?

[12:04:15 AM] Jimi: he invited me over a couple times as a critic. he painted about a dozen of them and he wanted to know which one was scariest. i pointed to that one with the twisted face like a nightmare peeking out of the dark and told him it was like looking at a bad dream.

[12:04:59 AM] – Matt is idle

[12:05:02 AM] Jimi: and i dreamt about the thing in his painting that night. it wore shadow like a cloak and the face was distorted like something laying at the bottom of a pool when the waves havent settled.

[12:05:45 AM] Jimi: it just stood staring at me

[12:06:00 AM] Jon: damn.

[12:07:06 AM] Jimi: davan called me over again and when i got there he had all these new paintings, all worse than the one i picked before.

[12:07:40 AM] Jimi: i never saw anything so horrible

[12:07:56 AM] Jon: that bad, huh?

[12:09:11 AM] Jimi: no no no

[12:09:29 AM] Jimi: not poorly done horrible. never want to see again horrible. you shoulda seen them. they were almost alive

[12:13:42 AM] Jimi: i saw the thing in my sleep again, and there were others. they all stared at me like i was interrupting something and i still couldn’t make out their faces enough to see their eyes but davan said youre not supposed to look them in the eyes because youll freeze up and thats how they get you.

[12:14:30 AM] Jimi: davan saw how bad they made my skin crawl and he smiled

[12:15:10 AM] Jon: I haven’t seen Davan around campus. Did he lock himself in his studio?

[12:15:12 AM] Jimi: and after class one day he told me the things were from his dreams. he used to dream about them as a kid and they used to scare him, and then one day he stopped seeing them.

[12:15:59 AM] Jimi: but he started painting them and somehow they came back. he said he could make them appear in his dreams more vividly the more he painted them.

[12:16:28 AM] Jimi: he had this theory that when we sleep sometimes we see glimpses of other worlds and it might be possible to bring part of those worlds into ours

[12:18:56 AM] Jimi: davan told me that sometimes the paintings would show a twitch of movement or change slightly when he looked away. or he’d be walking past the studio door and hear his name being whispered in there. he said it scared him at first but he got used to it after a while and figured he was progressing.

[12:19:30 AM] Jimi: he was crazy. i think he wanted to meet one of them in person.

[12:18:37 AM] Jon: is he there with you?

[12:19:04 AM] Jimi: no hes gone and im next.

[12:21:00 AM] Jimi: he called me over for one last critique. he said it was really important to him and i didnt believe the shit he said before about the paintings moving. i didnt believe him. i thought he was just nuts but we were pals and i just wanted to help.

[12:26:00 AM] – Jimi is idle

[12:29:00 AM] Jon: Jimi you still there?

[12:29:11 AM] – Jimi is no longer idle

[12:29:31 AM] Jimi: davan opened the door and smiled like everything was normal. all the lights were out in his house and i started to ask him why but thats when i saw the shadows

[12:31:44 AM] Jimi: they moved like there was people swimming in them

[12:32:10 AM] Jimi: he invited me in but i turned and ran

[12:34:12 AM] Jimi: that was last weekend and this monday i woke up thinking it was the middle of the night but it was one in the afternoon and i couldnt see outside.

[12:39:12 AM] – Jimi is idle

[12:49:01 AM] – Matt is no longer idle

[12:49:10 AM] Matt: jesus man you weren’t kidding

[12:49:32 AM] Matt: Jimi you got some weird crap happening in your neighborhood

[12:49:39 AM] Jon: did you see his house Matt?

[12:49:56 AM] Matt: no man nothing there to see. like someone just picked it up and carried it off

[12:50:04 AM] Matt: what’d I miss?

[12:50:12 AM] Jon: scroll up and see for yourself.

[12:50:30 AM] Jon: Jimi try calling me on your phone.

[12:53:43 AM] Jon: Jimi you there?

[12:53:55 AM] Matt: wow

[12:55:00 AM] Matt: what do you make of all this?

[12:55:30 AM] Jon: well I can’t say he’s tripping on anything because that doesn’t explain the missing house.

[12:55:55 AM] Jon: keep him company for a while. I want to see if it’s the same at Davan’s place.

[12:56:11 AM] Matt: ok

[12:56:31 AM] Matt: Jimi you still there?

[12:56:35 AM] – Jon has left the chatroom

*

[02:09:30 AM] – Jon has joined the chatroom

[02:09:40 AM] Jon: it’s the same at Davan’s place! There’s nothing there!

[02:09:57 AM] Jon: Jimi you holding together?

[02:11:29 AM] Jon: Matt you still there?

[02:14:48 AM] Jon: Matt don’t fuck around I mean it.

[02:14:40 AM] – Jimi is no longer idle

[02:14:55 AM] Jimi: goddammit i told you not to come over here! why wont you listen to me?

[02:15:10 AM] Jon: Jimi calm down.

[02:15:30 AM] Jimi: did you think i was fuckin kidding? i told you to stay there!

[02:15:49 AM] Jimi: they came for me because i went to davans place! they get your scent and they come for you like when sharks smell blood!

[02:15:56 AM] Jon: Jimi have you been talking to Matt?

[02:16:45 AM] Jon: did you try calling my phone?

[02:20:21 AM] Jon: somebody please talk to me.

[02:20:49 AM] – Jimi is idle

[02:38:00 AM] – Matt is no longer idle

[02:38:04 AM] Matt: jon

[02:39:00 AM] Matt: jon you awake?

[02:39:09 AM] Jon: Matt what’s up? Where did you go?

[02:39:29 AM] Matt: nowhere jon

[02:39:55 AM] Jon: Matt what’s the matter?

[02:41:07 AM] Matt: drew came over. I was telling him about the situation and jimi was quiet for a long time.

[02:43:00 AM] Matt: it got drew, jon

[02:44:01 AM] Jon: what got Drew?

[02:44:50 AM] Matt: i dont know what it was

[02:45:33 AM] Matt: it got dark outside all of a sudden and drew wanted to step out and get a better look. We thought it was an eclipse

[02:46:11 AM] Matt: he opened the front door and there was nothing but blackness on the other side like the bottom of the ocean

[02:46:32 AM] Jon: is he okay?

[02:48:01 AM] Matt: this thing just appeared all of a sudden and stared him right in the eye like a snake. i dont know what it was but it was pale and gnarled and i think it was smiling

[02:49:03 AM] Matt: drew froze and just stood there staring at it and before i knew what was happening the blackness slurped him up

[02:49:27 AM] Matt: i flung the door closed as fast as i could

[02:49:28 AM] Jon: jesus

[02:54:27 AM] – Matt is idle

[02:55:57 AM] – Matt is no longer idle

[02:56:12 AM] Matt: i don’t know what to do. theyre out there right now looking for a way inside

[02:56:43 AM] Matt: theyre smiling at me through the windows

[02:56:57 AM] Matt: jon i don’t know what to do

[03:01:57 AM] – Matt is idle

[03:12:54 AM] – Jimi has left the chatroom

[03:14:07 AM] – Matt is no longer idle

[03:14:14 AM] Matt: i think jimis gone jon

[03:14:49 AM] Jon: shit something weird is going on over here.

[03:15:26 AM] Jon: hang in there matt. I’m going to haul my laptop out to my car so I’ll be gone just for a minute. I got to get out of here.

[03:15:38 AM] – Jon has left the chatroom

*

[03:27:54 AM] – Jon has joined the chatroom

[03:27:55 AM] Matt: please jon its inside

[03:28:08 AM] Jon: back and I’m in my car in the campus parking lot.

[03:28:17 AM] Jon: Matt what was that?

[03:29:59 AM] Jon: Matt talk to me.

[03:32:55 AM] – Matt is idle

[03:45:02 AM] Jon: somebody answer please.

[04:03:01 AM] – Matt has left the chatroom

[04:41:28 AM] Jon: shit i cant see anything the headlights don’t work at all

[04:50:11 AM] Jon: matt, jimi, please talk to me

[04:52:06 AM] Jon: please i dont want to look at them

[04:59:47 AM] Jon: please somebody

[10:07:17 PM] – Brian has joined the chatroom

[10:07:47 PM] Brian: hey guys whats goin on in here?

[10:10:14 PM] Brian: anybody home?

[10:14:03 PM] – Jon has left the chatroom

Credit To – Mike MacDee

Unless you wish to experience endless nights without sleep, the painful insomnia sent from the devil himself, don’t look. If you’re one of those lucky enough to fall asleep after such an experience as mine, then you’ll realize it soon. You’ll soon wake in the middle of the night screaming with the agony from the torturous nightmares you’ll have no choice but to endure. But there is one way to save yourself. You simply cannot look. Please. Please heed my advice, friend…

Don’t look into your bedroom mirror at night while the lights are off.

On one wretched night I had been out late with some friends at a batchelorette party. In order to stay up for the fun I had drank about five cups of coffee. The biggest mistake of my life. We ended up staying at a club until about one in the morning and then by that time we had decided to go home. Well, once I had arrived at my house I had realized just how wired I still was from all of the caffeine. I was wide awake. That was going to be a problem. I had to be up by seven in the morning to get ready for my friend’s bridal rehearsal, so I really needed to get some sleep. And unfortunately for me, I tried to.

I went to my room and quickly changed into a comfortable T-shirt and some shorts. Then I walked over to a large full-length mirror I had in my room and stared at myself for a moment, taking in the view of myself in my nightwear. Content that I was just about ready for bed, I began to turn toward my bedroom door, but stopped dead in my tracks for a moment when a strange feeling washed over me. I shuddered and scanned the room with confusion. I didn’t know why, but I had the feeling that I was being watched. I mean, I know everyone sort of has that kind of paranoia once in a while, but this somehow felt different. It felt too real…as though someone were actually standing in my room and staring at me, drilling holes into the back of my head. I turned my head and looked behind me, but no one was there. My reflection wore the same confused look that I did. Trying to shake off the feeling, I headed over to the bathroom.

I walked into my dark bathroom with the intent of brushing my teeth before going to bed. I slid my hand along the wall and searched for the lightswitch. I always had trouble finding it for some reason, but it only took a couple of seconds. My fingers soon met something on the wall, but it felt strange. It was cold and soft. Definitely not a lightswitch. I quickly retracted my hand, a surprised and perplexed expression forming on my face. There shouldn’t have been anything on that wall except for the light switch…

In a quick motion I pushed the bathroom door open wide hoping to shed some more light and find whatever my hand had touched on the wall. My head spun back to the wall and I jumped when I thought I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. It was only for a split second, but I could’ve sworn that I saw something protruding out of the mirror. I quickly found the lightswitch and sighed with relief when the light poured out from the overhead bulbs. I then turned my attention immediately to the wall. All that was there was a lightswitch. Nothing else. I leaned up against the doorframe and looked around as I raised a nervous hand to my neck. My eyes surveyed the scene and landed on the mirror that was directly in front of me. My reflection was as perplexed as ever, looking really uncomfortable and almost worried. I moved my hand to my forehead and wiped my sweaty brow, forcing a little laugh as I scolded myself. I was being ridiculous, acting like an easily frightened child. I shook my head and reached for my toothbrush.

When I walked back into my room, I noticed just how much of a mess my bed was. There were clothes strewn about it and about a million shopping bags from the previous day’s spree littering it. Had it really been like that this morning? I actually left it like that? I felt like such a slob, but really didn’t feel like organizing the mess at two in the morning. I went and retrieved a couple of blankets from the closet and found a spot on the floor a few feet in front of my full length mirror that wasn’t scattered with articles of clothing. I folded the blankets into a sort of makeshift sleeping bag and finished it off by plopping my pillow down at the end. It looked so comfortable, and I was certain that I’d be able to fall asleep in no time at all. With that thought in mind, I went to close my bedroom door and shut off my overhead light and then shuffled into my cozy cacoon. I laid on my stomach and crossed my arms over my pillow as I faced my mirror, gazing back at myself in total comfort. I looked so relaxed, and soon I closed my eyes. The clock read 2:13 AM.

After a couple of minutes of lying in silence, I heard a car door slam in the driveway next door. I knew the sound had been made by my neighbor since a couple of seconds later a spotlight illuminated, casting a stream of dim light through the blinds of my window. I was usually okay with the spotlight as it had never disturbed my slumber before but due to my new position on the floor the light had found a clear path to my eyelids, penetrating them to the point where I had become mildly annoyed. I slowly opened an eye and glanced up at the window. I sighed, waiting for the light to die out, but it didn’t. Feeling more annoyed, I rolled my eyes and in an instant they rested on my mirror.

At that moment, my breathing stopped. I couldn’t close my eyes and I couldn’t look away. I was frozen. Staring back at me through the glass was my reflection. On any other occasion this wouldn’t have chilled me, but this time it was different. My reflection…

Its eyes were watching me. And I don’t mean the average look your reflection is supposed to return. Oh no, this was something completely different.

Its eyes were wide open. Much wider than I could ever make them.

The sight paralyzed me, but only momentarily. I just figured that I had startled myself. Trying to avoid eye contact with my own image, I closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep. The clock read 2:25 AM.

I didn’t make any progress in my attempts as the minutes continued to pass. The clock ticked steadily in its place on the wall.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The light from my neighbor’s driveway still hadn’t turned off. My aggravation was beginning to build. At this rate I wouldn’t get any shut eye! Feeling hopeless, I opened my eyes and nearly jumped out of my skin when I looked into the mirror again.

My reflection was staring at me with those same wide, intense eyes. But it wasn’t only that…

Its eyes were now completely bloodshot and its mouth was contorted into a menacing scowl. It looked like a rabid predator staring at its prey after days of looking for it. It was terrifying, but that wasn’t the only reason the view had alarmed me…

I didn’t know if it was just my imagination or not…but it looked as though my reflection had gotten closer to the mirror.

I was so scared I could hardly move, but I had to avert my eyes. I had to! I quickly pulled the blanket up over my head, my breathing now heavy. I tightly closed my eyes, praying that I had only imagined the image. It had seemed so real, and so evil, like it actually wanted to hurt me!

But the very thought was insane. It was an image in a mirror, my reflection! It wasn’t real… It was just a copy…it was just another me!

At that moment I heard the all too familiar creaking sound of my bedroom door being opened slowly behind me. I froze under the covers.

I lived alone…

With a shaky hand I lifted the blanket just slightly to peek out. I peered into the mirror at the door behind me and my eyes instantly grew wide in fear. The door was slightly ajar, but that wasn’t the part that terrified me.

My reflection wasn’t in the mirror anymore.

I was now breathing heavier than I ever had before, my whole body shaking in fright. I sat up and quickly reached for the baseball bat that laid on the floor beside a pile of magazines. I heard the door creak again and I spun around to face it, the bat now in hand and ready to be used if necessary.

“W-who’s there?!” I stammered loudly, the fear in my voice ringing out. There was no answer. I repeated myself, now on the verge of tears, and still there was no answer. I was about to slide out of my covers when the door suddenly slammed shut. I jumped and dropped my bat, falling backward onto my elbows, inches from the mirror.

My fear level was through the roof. My heart was beating uncontrollably. I had a major headache now and I began to quietly sob. And that’s when I heard it. A low growl. It gurgled into my eardrums, a guttural sound, and it most certainly was not that of a human’s…

Then I felt the hot breath on the back of my neck. I never had the chance to scream.

My neighbor’s spotlight died out. The clock read 3:00 AM.

Credit To – Whacko12

I don’t remember much about my childhood, like most people. Those memories are always vague and eventually you realise whatever you ‘remember’ is probably just a reconstructed memory. You don’t have much choice in the matter, and are usually convinced that your memory would never fail you.
The first memory I have was when I was 5. I’m not sure if it’s real or not, but that’s when I think I met Michael. I never had any friends, so I was glad when I met him. He called me Jack, and I liked it. As uncertain I am if I remember our first encounter, there is no doubting the strong bond we immediately formed.

I won’t bore you with the details of what we did every day for the past few years, but I will outline some of the things we did together, to assure even the most sceptical among the readers of our friendship.

Michael, being a slightly effeminate child didn’t have many friends at school either. He was bullied, and the highlight of his day was coming home and sharing a cup of tea with me, all the while telling me of his woes and lessening his burden. The tea, unlike my words of consolation, was make believe.
Another one of his favourite activities was cutting my hair. He would style it in all sorts of ways and I enjoyed each one of them. Fortunately for him, my hair grew inexplicably fast and he often got a chance to restyle it.

There was one thing that constantly strained out relationship, though. Don’t get me wrong, Michael and I had absolutely no hard feeling towards each other. It was his parents. I don’t think they approved of me, and I couldn’t tell you why even if I tried.

It wasn’t just disapproval; I began to think they hated me. The longer our friendship lasted, the worse it got. It pains me to even think about it, so I won’t dwell on this for long.

As quickly as our relationship had initially flourished, it began to diminish after two years. Michael grew to become a stocky football player, and I remained exactly the same as before; scrawny and completely incapable of competing athletically.

He made new friends and started to ignore me. This hurt me a lot, especially since I was there for him in his time of need. His abandoning me was the last thing I expected and it hit me hard. I felt like I had no one left in the world.

As I sit in the corner of the room and write this, I can see Michael and his friends watching T.V. Sometimes it seems like he notices me and looks my way, but I know better. I have now resigned to my fate; He created me, but forgot to destroy me.

Credit To – Vish P

When we are speaking of the supernatural, of the disturbing, of the grotesquely weird and disgusting, we consider only the monsters themselves. We see the twitching limbs and sharp teeth, the death and the despair, and the heart-stopping terror of the moment of death. We rarely look past this, into the real question and mystery. I could spend all day debating back and forth about any number of spooky topics, but I want to take a moment to discuss something else.

Recently I was going through a dusty old corner shop near where I live. It’s a small antique business, and I’ve found a couple jewels there before, and for bargain prices. The old man who runs the place doesn’t know the difference between an old piece of junk and an arcane artifact. I take advantage. But what I found there on this day was a stack of old books stacked haphazardly on the counter, as if they had been tossed down without a second thought. I started going through the pile, expecting to find a few old story books, maybe a diary at best. I was just leafing through a book of old nursery rhymes when I noticed an old, thin volume tucked between the other books.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I carefully removed the odd little thing from the stack. Made out of worn leather, it wasn’t more than 15cm in height, and couldn’t contain more than a hundred thin pages. I was unconvinced this was anything more than a short novel or someone’s old notepad. Judging by the lack of a title, probably the latter.

I opened the cover carefully, turning to the title page. Written in delicate, beautifully flowing handwriting were the words “The Father.” My interest peaked; I carefully lifted the thin paper and turned the page. To my surprise, I found a short verse, four lines long, with no title and no author’s name.

“From Mother’s womb we did not come,
Father’s hand is what was done.
To heaven’s gate we did not crawl,
Into the deeps we did not fall.”

I knew that this was not just any old children’s rhyme. There are no nursery poems which dismiss the mother of the child so quickly and easily. It’s usually “listen to your parents and do what they say. Obey God’s will and you will be rewarded.” This little verse was clearly saying just the opposite.

I closed the book, taking it up to the counter. The man gave me a strange look when he saw it, like he was wondering what a young person like me was going to do with such an old book. He just shrugged and let me buy it after a minute, but gave me that look again on the way out. It was like he was judging my personality.

I drove home, eager to investigate the rest of the book’s contents. I wanted desperately to know what the verse meant, and thought perhaps the idea might be made clear by the rest of the writings. About ten minutes after I opened the book at home however, I was even more confused than before. Each page of the book contained a verse of poetry, and each poem was of similar style and voice, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

“With fire’s blaze and ice’s chill,
In darkest night and deepest still,
He comes to those close to death,
And finds the souls he likes best”

Now what do you make out of that little piece? Does it make any sense? It didn’t to me, and I gave up and went to bed after an hour or so at it, leaving the book on the table. I figured I would be able to figure it out in the morning.

I dropped off almost immediately, and found myself in a strange dream. I’m in a gray-walled room, standing against one of the walls, as if I had just stepped through a doorway. All around me is perfect frozen silence, not like anything I’ve heard before. It wasn’t the pregnant pause at the theater, of the soft silence of falling snow. It was as if the entire universe had simply stopped rotating, and left behind the most complete and utter silence ever to exist. The atmosphere sent crackles of electricity up my spine, making me grow ever more tense and nervous. I began to feel watched and a little sick standing there.

Then the silence was shattered as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed eerily throughout the space. I found that I was able to move, and turned my head to see a man approaching. He was dressed in regular clothing, blue jeans, and a gray sweater, pulled over a slim, angular frame. I couldn’t tell you exactly what he looked like, because his face seemed a bit blurry. It was as if he weren’t a real person, just an idea. I didn’t notice it at the time, but just remember that there was something unsettling about him.

He walked towards me, smiling with his blurry mouth, like a generous host. Except he didn’t really walk, he almost glided, with a slight hitch after every couple steps, like his muscles refused to obey him. I noticed that it wasn’t just his legs either, every few seconds his entire body would spasm, twisting in an unnatural way.

I watched the figure draw near with increasing dread, but then he simply vanished, faded away. I barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before I was slammed into the ground, staggering from the impact. I looked around, and found I was standing by a table, and on the table was the old book, open to the title page. The words “The Father” seemed to shimmer slightly. I watched in horror as a dark liquid began to run from the letters, staining the page, drenching the paper.

The smell hit me, and I gagged on the odor of blood. The liquid bubbled up from the pages, running out of the book and onto the table, forming a puddle. It spread outwards rapidly, spilling drops onto the floor of the room.

Then the screaming started. A hundred wailing voices all crying out, all begging to be freed, pleading for mercy, and over was all is the sound of laughing. Laughing, whole-hearted and happy, overlaying the sound of all those keening voices. The sound turned my stomach, making me cough and retch from the combination of scent, sight, and sound.

Everything went still again. I looked up to see the image of flames, dancing on walls, and a boy, trapped in the fire. His black hair falling over his face, and a knife is in his hand. Blood stained the ground around him, a single hand reaches from the flames, grasping at life, but it’s already too late. The still image flickers, and the figure I saw earlier is crouching before the boy. He’s offering a hand, as if in salvation.

Another image appears, a little girl, lying with her head bashed in. Her skin is black and blue from bruises. The figure appears beside her, lifting one tiny pale hand in his own large one.

There’s a man who’s badly wounded, shot and cut. He’s lying in a makeshift hospital bed .There are bandages wrapped around his head, covering his eyes. The man appears beside him, whispering in his ear.

The image changed again and again, each time another person was shown in despair, on the brink of death. Each time, the man appeared beside them, as if offering help. There are too many to count, too many to comprehend. I felt as if my head was being filled up with knowledge that I had no place for, that I didn’t understand.

Finally, the image became one of me; pouring over the book at my table. The book is highlighted, brought into sharp focus. The pages ruffle, blank and white, without a word written on them. A thousand hands reach up, tapping the book, adding a verse to the collection. Each page is filled, one after another. Then the hands change, becoming paws and claws, long hooked fingers, blades. They all grasp for the book, but it hovers just out of reach.

Then, the tome settled back onto the table, drenched in blood, and the pages fly backwards, until only the title page is visible. The words “The Father,” written in the beautiful thin handwriting. It seemed almost alive.

I woke up in bed, gasping for air. I leapt to my feet, throwing off the covers and practically flew to the other room, scrambling to the table. The book was still there. I’m conflicted. I want to throw the thing out the window or set it on fire, to destroy it, and never see it again. And yet I want to keep it with me, and make sure that no harm comes to the precious object. I feel as if the object is tied to my life, that it is the single most important object I’ve ever possessed.

Since then I’ve tried to leave it behind several times. I never had the heart to destroy it. I always threw it in the trash, or set it along the road. Once I left it at a café table, in the hopes a waitress would, perhaps, take a liking to it and rid me of the thing. But it always comes back. Even if I left it behind hours before, someone brings it back to me, or I arrive home to find it inexplicably on my kitchen table. Once I left it across town before going to the coast for a couple days, and when I came back my house was broken into, and the book was set carefully on the mantel. I’ve long since given up.

It doesn’t seem to harm me in any way. It just seems to follow me about, like a puppy. I’ve grown attached to the object, reading and rereading the verses again and again. Gradually, I’ve worked out the meaning behind them by comparing the dreams, and researching the entity known as “The Father” online. He’s hard to find any mention of at all, and it was months of digging before I found anything that seemed remotely related.

There were several reports by a shady internet group about supposed “captured creatures.” I’m sure you get the idea. The suitably called “monsters” were interviewed, and the audio recorded. Either the files leaked or their purpose all along was to be published, but I was able to listen to them. In each recording, the monster will mention “The Father,” as though refers simultaneously to a despicable entity and a treasured family member. The recording were removed only days after I found them.

Based on these and a few other strange articles I found, I have come up with the following description:

The Father appears only to humans in extreme situations where they are about to be killed or consigned to a fate worse than death. He appears only to certain individuals, based on some personal method or choice. At this point, he will ask the individual a question. What the question is exactly, I don’t know; it seems to be different for everyone. The individual answers the question immediately, and based on the answer, The Father will either leave them to their fate, or change them. If he changes them, the person will then become something more than human. They become what normal people define as monsters. This is the truth.

I said at the beginning that people look only at the surface of monsters. I mean this in more than one way. People don’t look deeper than the appearance of the creature, the terrifying, heart-stopping entity, so they don’t see that most every monster was once human like them. And second, they don’t bother to ask where the monsters come from, how they can exist in the first place. Maybe, if one person were to ask this question, the truth would be apparent. Monsters are not born, they are created.

The Father is the one who makes the monsters.

“The Father appears when all else fails,
To those who have no other hope
He’ll ask you one question only,
Yes to stay, no to go”

Credit To – IHaveNoName