Scary Paranormal Stories & Short Horror Microfiction

Creepypasta

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After writing my account of an horrific experience I had as an 8 year old child, many have encouraged me to speak about the aftermath. I’ve been hesitant to do so as I have felt unsettled since I broke my silence. Sleep has not come easy to me these last few nights. My scepticism, however, remains resilient and as such I will tell of what I experienced in the other room.

This won’t be as long, as what occurred only took place over a few days but that was more than enough for me.

If you recall, after that unwelcome nightly visitor left me, I was moved into another bedroom a year later. This room was much larger than the previous one and had a warm and welcoming atmosphere to it. Some places feel bad. The room before felt foul, but this one did not.

Thankfully I was given a normal bed, the previous one was taken apart and thrown out (a welcome sight I might add). I loved my new room, I enjoyed the space for all of my toys, I was happy that the place was large enough to have my friends drop by, but most of all I was relieved to just be out of that uneasy, foreboding part of the house.

On the first night I slept more soundly than I had done for a long, long time. Of course I still moved my bed several feet from the wall. I told my mother that I and my friends liked to use the gap between the bed and wall as a hiding place when we were playing.

I awoke the next day feeling refreshed and relaxed. As I lay there watching some of my favourite cartoons on a small portable television, I noticed something odd. An old dark brown armchair which had always been there, sat at the foot of my bed, large and looming. It was frayed and worn, having been given to us as part of a suite by my cousin, but it had been used many times even by then. The chair itself was not unusual, but what unsettled me was that I could have sworn that before I had went to sleep, the chair had been facing away from the bed. Now, in the cold light of day, the chair was facing me. I assumed one of my parents had moved it while I slept, probably looking for something which had been left their before we switched rooms.

The second night was not as restful. It was around 11pm and I could hear my parent’s television from the other side of the house. The room was largely in darkness, the only illumination an orange hue drifting through my window from the street lights outside. I lay there content. Content, until I heard something quiet, yet unmistakable.

At first I thought it was the sound of my own breath exhaling and inhaling as I rested, but when I stopped for a moment, the quiet almost inaudible sound of someone else in the room breathing in and out did not cease. It continued, rhythmically and without pause.

I lay there in the darkness, but while I was still recovering from the terror instilled in me from my experiences in my previous bedroom, I was not entirely afraid. The breathing was so distant and unlike the wheezing I had heard during my encounter with that thing in the wall, that I remained calm, and even at that early age I believed that it was so subtle, that it was probably my imagination playing tricks on me.

Still, I took no chances, I stepped out of bed, walked across the room and turned the light on. The sound had gone. I stared at that old worn armchair facing the foot of my bed, which was within reaching distance of where I slept, and turned it around to face the other way. I had no real reason to do so, but something about it sitting there filled me with dread.

The third night I was not so fearless. Again, I awoke in darkness. Lying on my back I stared up at the ceiling which seemed to happily absorb the dim orange light from the street. The tree outside my window swayed in a calm breeze casting a strange collection of improbable moving shadows across the room.

I could hear nothing but the long and distant hum of the city’s night traffic. Just as I began to drift back into sleep, I heard it; a creak from the bottom of my bed as if something had moved, or shifted its weight on the floor.

I raised my head, peering through the darkness, but saw nothing strange. Everything sat as it had done throughout the day, nothing was out of place. I cast my gaze across the room; some comics on the floor, a few boxes which had still to be unpacked, the armchair unmoved still facing away from the bottom of my bed; there was nothing sinister here.

I was now fully awake, glancing over at my television considering whether or not to enjoy some late night TV. I’d have to keep the volume low of course as my older brother would hear it in the next room and no doubt tell me to switch it off.

Just as I sat up fully in bed, I heard it again. A low creak, accompanied by a sound. The sound of the slightest of movements. I looked again at the room. The dim orange shadows cast by the leaves hanging by my window now took on a more menacing form.

I still saw no reason to be afraid. I stared at the chair at the end of my bed and saw nothing unusual about it. It’s quite common for the mind to take a moment to fully come to terms with what it is seeing. It takes time to put the full horror of what is in front of you together, into a moment of cold, bitter realisation.

Yes, I was staring at that old worn armchair in the dark, but what I was also staring at was the person sitting in it!

In the dim light I could only see the outline of the back of its head, the rest obscured by the spine of the chair. I sat motionless, staring, praying, hoping that my eyes were being misled by their surroundings. The slow creak of movement as it shifted in its battered throne chilled me to my very core; this was no mere trick of the dark.

Then, it shifted onto its right side. I knew what it was doing, it was turning to look at me. It was difficult to make out, for even in that room it seemed darker than everything around it. I saw what looked like a collection of long fingers slip over the crest of the chair, and then another. The room was silent but for the sound of this thing shuffling in its seat, and the crash of my racing heart.

At first I could only make out the outline of its forehead, but then it began to rise up revealing two pin points of light in the dark recesses of its deeply set eye sockets .

It was staring at me.

I screamed, and within a moment my brother and mother came into the room, switching the light on, asking if I’d had another bad dream. I sat speechless, barely acknowledging them, staring intently at the now empty armchair.

I was only in that room for another few days before we suddenly moved. I saw nothing for the remaining nights, except for my last sleep in that room where I awoke to the warm air of something breathing into my ear. I jumped out of bed, turning the light on. The slow rhythmic breath of something unseen remained, louder than before. I spent the rest of that night on the couch in the living room.

Two years later I slept soundly in my bed, in our new house. There had been no other incidences, and I was sure I had left behind whatever strangeness had plagued me, in that little average suburban home.

I was, however, left one parting gift. My tormentors (and in my opinion the watcher in that armchair was a different entity to the thing in the elongated room) had one last surprise in store for me. Like an animal claiming its territory, I was not entirely out with their grasp.

For one last, terrifying moment I felt the presence of those, things. I lay their sound asleep, two years since those horrifying experiences. I was in the throws of a nightmare and suddenly, happily found myself awake, safe and sound in my bed. The room was darker than usual. I breathed a sigh of relief as one does when waking from a nightmare.

But the room was so dark.

I could see nothing at all, as if something had snuffed out the light. I chuckled to myself, realising that I must have pulled my blanket up and over my face while sleeping. The cotton blanket felt cool against me, but the air was a little too warm, almost stifling. Just as I was about to remove the blanket for some air, I heard it: For the last time I heard it.

The rhythmic breathing of the watcher at the end of my bed.

Fear gripped me, followed by anger and despair. Why could I not be left alone? I then did something most peculiar. I decided to speak to it. Perhaps this thing did not mean to harm me, perhaps it was unaware of the terror it had caused. Surely a young boy deserved some mercy?

As the breathing grew louder and closer, I began to cry. I could feel its presence on the other side of the blanket, its breath hanging over me like a stagnant wind.

Through the tears I uttered two words, words which surely would put an end to all of this:

“Please stop”.

The breathing began to change, it became more animated, quicker somehow. I could hear something shuffling next to me, standing close by. The breathing then moved, first back to the foot of my bed, and then slowly across the room, through the door, into the hallway, and then gone.

Half crying, half elated, I lay in the still darkness, my face still covered by the blanket. You may consider this a victory of some sort, but I do not. If those things were real, I know now beyond a shadow of a doubt that their intentions were not misconstrued, they were twisted, filled with malice. I would normally never use such a word to describe anything, but it’s as close to evil as I hope I ever come.

How do I know that? I’ll tell you how. Moments after that thing seemed to have left the house, something pressed forcefully down on top of me, pushing the blanket with great strength against my face. I could feel a large hand with long thin fingers wrapping the covers around my skull, its nails imprinted upon me like razor sharp ridges. I managed to slide down into the gap between the bed and the wall, quickly making my escape, clambering and screaming out of my room waking my family.

Make no mistake, that thing in the darkness tried to smother me, smother me to death.

Credit To – Michael Whitehouse
Note: This story is part of a series. You can read the first installment here – Bedtime
Look forward to more installments being posted over the next few days!

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Rating: 8.8/10 (276 votes cast)
Bedtime II: The Aftermath, 8.8 out of 10 based on 276 ratings
  • Mr. Dafuq

    Holy shit! Even better than the first one! Way creepier too. 10/10

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    Rating: +3 (from 7 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      I’m glad you liked it. There are 3 more parts coming up over the next week so I hope you enjoy them :)

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      Rating: +13 (from 13 votes)
  • THEN WHO WAS….nevermind…

    This may sound corny but ive never been so excited about a creepypasta sequel (outside of Miracle City). I liked this one as well. It didnt make me brace myself like the first but still it was good!

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    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Thank you so much. Hope you like the other parts :)

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      Rating: +3 (from 3 votes)
  • Cobb

    Hmmm…. well it’s really not up to the mark set by it’s predecessor. There isn’t any plot change, so it sounds cliched, and the story is riddled with spelling errors. I want to like this, considering bedtime 1,but unfortunately, I don’t. 7/10.

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    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Hi Cobb. Thanks for taking the time to read. I actually agree with you about this part. I hope to make further revisions of this in the future. It was initially intended just as a little epilogue to the first story, but now it is the second part of an overall story.

      I hope you’ll like the further parts as they do not follow the pattern of the first two.

      Thanks anyway :)

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      • Cobb

        You’re welcome, Michael. I’ll be sure to check out the next one. Thanks for taking my feedback so well! :-)

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  • https://www.facebook.com/betonunesneto Alberto N.

    Simply epic! Just like the first, this had me glued to the screen from beginning to end, with no time to stop and think; I was just fully immersed in the story. Nearly flawless grammar and spelling really add a lot to your stories. Most of the time, I was holding my breath, anxious, heart racing! Congratulations, another job well done!

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    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      That’s very kind of you. I really hope you like the subsequent parts :)

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  • Lorraine

    Your stories are epic. Truly terrifies me.

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    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Thank you!

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  • Anonymous

    OMG this was so scary but the first one was much better…

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    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Thank you for reading, and I’m really glad you enjoyed it. I first wrote this as a little coda to the original story, but the subsequent parts are written in similar detail to ‘Bedtime’, so I hope you like them.

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      Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
  • PAPUCHA

    I read the whole thing on wattpad :)
    Was amazing.

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  • Ziaheart

    I’m so confused. In the first part, the parents took your old bedroom and then endured it for 10 days before moving. Here, you are given a new bedroom, your parents presumably moving into your old one, and yet you stay in that room for two years before another thing happens and another two years before you move. Did your parents move without taking you and your brother with them or something? Or did I read it wrong? Or did you forget to take the finale of the first part into account?

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    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Hi Zia, thanks for reading. With hindsight there are a few things I should perhaps make clearer in the story. I moved to the other room a year later, in the story we moved 11 days after that.

      Hope that clears that up, and thanks for commenting :)

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  • yvanna

    Really great story!!!! full of suspense :)) Im actually thinking that somehow while Im reading this a scary face would suddenly pop-up .. you know how it is with some scary sites :)) Anyway congrats Michael Whitehouse. Truly a fantastic work :))

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  • Kat

    Your stories are soooo suspenseful and scary! I really enjoy reading your works. You are a very talented writer. Now to read Bedtime III!

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  • lollipop_gestapo

    Goddamn I say, goddamn.

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  • Anonymous

    I absolutely loved the first Bedtime. I read it not long after I first started exploring this site, and even after reading dozens of stories since, it still stuck out to me for its originality and descriptive prose. I recently reread Bedtime and it still again impressed me, which is something that many pastas fail to do the first time. I thought it was a good standalone story, but I was damn excited when I saw that there were sequels! So far this is the first one I’ve read, but I intend to read the rest shortly. Anyway, I felt that this story was a little rushed and a little less descriptive than the first, like it’s missing something. That being said, I think that if this pasta were tweaked just a little, and some minor spelling errors were corrected, it could be even better. I loved it nonetheless… You’re one of my favorite writers here. :)

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  • Aaron D

    so did these things really happen or is it just like a story, because it seemed so real like a war story from a ptsd stricken war vet. anywho this story was sick it was awesome

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  • Faith

    I really loved the first Bedtime but this one was even better.

    Rally creepy and frightening. Especially because.. My room is so small I can’t move my bed anywhere but against the wall and one night I swear I felt a gnarled thin hand with long finger nails against my face. I jumped so quickly I scared my poor dog! Anyway, bravo! God Bless!

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  • Eliza Scott

    I love how you took a relatively mudain topic but transformed in into an immersive horror

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  • :)

    Omg… So you spoke to the thing? Okay… I would proberly be to busy wetting my pants…. I dont get it though, because if you told it to leave and it left, how did it touch your face or whatever?

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    • Anonymous

      It could have been the one that was in the wall, not the chair cuz there were two of them remember?

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  • my

    much scarier if he woke up on the armchair facing himself sleeping on the bed.

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  • shinydragonmist

    could it be the watcher became your guardian and when y sent it away the other entity came back

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  • Shinra

    The only criticism I have is that you need to use “there, their and they’re” properly. But I enjoyed this story a lot and about to read III :)

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  • dylan

    Oh shit… I have a chair at the end of my bed…

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  • http://icecream-chan.tumblr.com karina

    i love this so much! cant wait to read the next!!

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  • ThisMotherIsTwisted

    Best stories I have read yet. Really creeped me out!!!! I’m moving my bed tonight lol well done sir!!!

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  • Maddy

    I like all the new stuff, but the story on it’s own is really effective. Sequels and stuff just don’t work with me, but that’s my opinion, I guess…
    Something positive now, I love this creepypasta!

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  • Ghost14

    Damn it. I need to stop reading these damned things at night. I read both this one and the first one. I sleep in a loft with a bed underneath up against a wall and with an old chair across the room. Damn it all to hell.

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  • bootleg bill

    Poorly written. Nothing original here. Sad. Learn some grammar.

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    • tytiger10

      Are you okay? Mentally?

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