The Cross

December 15, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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We recently moved into this little house in a small, quiet town in Maine. It’s not like I wanted to go, but I guess it was okay because I think I needed a change from the city life.

The day we arrived at the house, I was actually pretty excited. It was a small cottage-type house, and it felt really cozy. My parents had bought the house without letting me see it, so this was my first time inside it.

My mom immediately showed me over to one of those large fireplaces that older houses used to have in the kitchen for cooking and warming the room. I thought it was really neat, but one of the first thing I noticed was a little indent in the back wall of it with a metal cross. My mom thought we could put something “prettier” there, and threw the cross into the back of a cabinet. I didn’t think anything of it, and then went off to explore the rest of the house.

I found the room in which I decided I wanted to be my room. My mom and dad approved, and I set up my bed and moved all my boxes into it. I set up the essentials, like my TV, and just lounged around watching movies for the rest of the afternoon. Then it was bedtime.

It was really strange sleeping in that house. It was pretty much empty, since we still hadn’t unpacked all our stuff. But after a while, I eventually drifted off to sleep. Around midnight, I awoke to the sound of soft crying. It sounded like a little girl, probably no older than 6. I had no sisters, so I dismissed it as the neighbors, and put myself back to sleep.

The next morning, I asked my dad if he had heard anything last night, considering he is a light sleeper. He told me no, and so I told him what happened. He said to forget about it, it was probably just me hearing things.

As day turned into night, I grew tired. It was bedtime. But, yet again, I woke to crying at midnight. Same voice, but just a little bit louder. Once again, I just told myself it was nothing and went back to sleep.

As the days passed, the sobbing grew slowly louder. My parents started to notice it, so we decided to meet the neighbors, to see if it was them. Surprisingly, they didn’t have kids, never mind 6 year old girls. We were perplexed.

Weeks passed. The crying continued. Still no explanation. I decided to research the house and the previous families. The town files said the history of the house dated back to the 1700′s, which would explain the fireplace. I then noticed a little note in the original family’s file. It said that a little girl named Elizabeth had died in the fireplace when she fell in while her mother was cooking. She was 5.

I ran all the way back home, and rushed in the house and told my mom what I had found. She said that I was being ridiculous, and that ghosts didn’t exist. We did nothing.

Over the course of a month, the crying continued. Every night, at midnight, it grew louder. It got to the point where we couldn’t sleep. Our names started to get called. We started to see shadows. And yet my mom continued to tell me my mind was playing tricks on me. Even my dad started to notice the activity. Nothing could convince her to do anything about it.

I had had enough. I told my mom we needed to do something. Then it hit me. The fireplace. The little girl. The haunting. The cross.

I pulled the cross out of the cabinet, and placed it back in the little indent on the back wall of the fireplace. I told my mom the connection I made, and she responded by telling me I was going crazy. The cross was just trash, left by the other family. I refused to believe her.

That night, nothing happened. Nothing.

The house stayed quiet. The calmness continued. I had solved the problem. The cross was what the spirit needed. It was her memorial. But, every now and then, I see shadows and hear noises, even with the cross in place. Sometimes I think it might be something more…

Credit To: Alex

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Submissions Status: OPEN!

December 15, 2012 at 1:02 AM

…until January 15th, 2013. Then the form will be closed again (I am not sure how long the closed period will be next time, as it will depend on how many submissions have come through and how far in advance we’re scheduled at the time of closure).

The new submission form is up and running, and after a small hiccup where I discovered it was actively removing formatting from submissions (so everything was looking wall’o’texty – I mentioned it on twitter, but if you were one of the few who submitted in the first 30 minutes after midnight EST, please resubmit as the form totally broke your submissions and made them ugly), it seems to be functioning properly now.

If you did not receive a response to your prior submission at this point, you either checked ‘no’ for crappypasta and were rejected, or your submission did not make it through properly. This new form SHOULD be sending confirmation emails – though do make sure to check your spam folder, I know that Gmail at least already shunts our emails to spam – so we should be able to avoid lost submissions more easily. Due to the amount of people who seemingly refused to pay attention during the submission process, confirmation emails have been turned off. People were repeatedly clogging up the submission queue with pointless replies to the confirmation emails even after I added BIG RED LETTERS to the confirmation message telling people NOT to reply to the confirmation email. Congratulations, your refusal to read a couple sentences ruined it for everyone else. 

Other changes:

  • There are now tooltips. If you’re confused about what to enter for a certain field, hovering over the tiny “?” boxes will pop up a little explanation about that particular part of the form.
  • You can now (optionally) choose tags! This means that if your pasta is about a common topic, like Slenderman, or is a parodypasta, you can now tag it as such. This will allow your pasta – if accepted – to appear when somebody clicks the relevant topic in the tag cloud. Tags currently only exist for popular and recurring Creepypasta topics, so if none of them apply to your submission, simply ignore that option entirely.

The shiny new submission form is up and active here!

IMPORTANT UPDATE: THE RICH TEXT EDITOR DECIDED TO DO THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF ITS INTENDED PURPOSE AND INSTEAD BROKE ANY SUBMISSION THAT USED IT. IF YOU USED THE RICH TEXT EDITOR [ONLY POSSIBLE IF YOU SUBMITTED ON THE 15TH], PLEASE RESUBMIT. THE RICH TEXT EDITOR HAS BEEN REMOVED FROM THE FORM. HOPEFULLY THIS TIME, THINGS ARE ACTUALLY GOING TO WORK CORRECTLY!

(Also: 160 submissions so far in less than a day, I really hope this slows down because I don’t think I can handle it if I end up with almost 5k submissions in one month, holy crap you guys)

Quiet Acres

December 15, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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A thousand miles away, there is an attic. No one knows about the attic, for a very good reason. If you were to stand outside the building the attic is in, you’d be hard pressed to find the courage to enter the crumbling, ragged building. Outside, on a plaque that’s been torn at and faded by wind and water, is the origin of the reason no one enters. “Quiet Acres Mental Institution,” it reads. Many of the letters are gone. If you were to walk inside the creaking, boarded up door, you’d be met with darkness. A single candle lights by an unseen hand, and the wind blows the door closed behind you. At least, you hope it’s the wind. Looking around you, you see a rickety spiral staircase. A thousand cobwebs. A mirror that you think you see a flash of a face in. But you pass it off as nothing. Just a trick of the light. Or so you hope. You take the candle with you as you go up the staircase that creaks under your weight.

Up, up, up you go. You hold the candle before you as the wind howls at the windows and screams to be let in. Cold drafts threaten to extinguish the flame, but you keep going. Creak, creak, creak go the stairs. Let me in! Let me in! Cries the wind. You feel something cold and almost cloth like brush your hand. You gasp and pull away from whatever it is. Just a cobweb, you think before continuing. You hear someone calling your name. You whip your head around, looking frantically. There it is again! A voice like a breath calls your name, coming closer and closer. You scream and run the first way your feet go-forward. Your name is called again, and you can hear the insanity as it laughs. You’re getting closer and closer to the attic. A door creaks, then falls down before you. The voice calls your name again, sounding but a few paces behind you. You vault over the door and run, run through the cobwebs.

Your heart is pumping, beating so you think it’ll just burst out of your chest. you’ve reached the attic, but you don’t know that. Room 113, it reads on the ancient plaque. You open the unlocked door, and slam it behind you. “Hello,” A voice says. You whip around and scream a sound that you’ve never heard yourself make before-one of pure fear. On the ground before you is a young girl, not older than seven. She looks normal enough, but you can see the hot light of insanity in her eyes. She has a circle of candles and broken dolls around her. She laughs, a sound that chills you to the bone. “I’m crazy, if you’re wondering. Everyone says I am.” She rolls her head back and lets it loll there like a rag dolls. “You should leave. I have this urge to just wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze.” You start to back away. “Do you know why I’m the only one left here? I got lost. I got lost, and found myself here. I couldn’t unlock the door, and I starved.” She smiles sweetly. “Would you like to stay with me? We can be insane together!” You find the window behind you, and freeze as the little girl walks towards you slowly. “Or you can fall. Either way.”

Suddenly, she seems to fly towards you. Her face, as blank as a sheet over a ghost, has no eyes, no features. “Join me!” She hisses somehow. You wordlessly shake your head and take a final step backwards. The little girl laughs as you stumble and pitch backwards, as you fall down, down, down. You watch as the little girl smiles as you fall. As the candles fade into darkness. Then, you feel a terrible crunch and everything goes dark.

Next time someone enters the Quiet Acres Mental Institution, you call their name, haunt their minds, and never let them escape.

Credit To: Hannah

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