Scary Paranormal Stories & Short Horror Microfiction

Creepypasta

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Rating: 9.4/10 (5699 votes cast)

Bedtime is supposed to be a happy event for a tired child; for me it was terrifying. While some children might complain about being put to bed before they have finished watching a film or playing their favourite video game, when I was a child, night time was something to truly fear. Somewhere in the back of my mind it still is.

As someone who is trained in the sciences, I cannot prove that what happened to me was objectively real, but I can swear that what I experienced was genuine horror. A fear which in my life, I’m glad to say, has never been equalled. I will relate it to you all now as best I can, make of it what you will, but I’ll be glad to just get it off of my chest.

I can’t remember exactly when it started, but my apprehension towards falling asleep seemed to correspond with my being moved into a room of my own. I was 8 years old at the time and until then I had shared a room, quite happily, with my older brother. As is perfectly understandable for a boy 5 years my senior, my brother eventually wished for a room of his own and as a result, I was given the room at the back of the house.

It was a small, narrow, yet oddly elongated room, large enough for a bed and a couple of chest of drawers, but not much else. I couldn’t really complain because, even at that age, I understood that we did not have a large house and I had no real cause to be disappointed, as my family was both loving and caring. It was a happy childhood, during the day.

A solitary window looked out onto our back garden, nothing out of the ordinary, but even during the day the light which crept into that room seemed almost hesitant.

As my brother was given a new bed, I was given the bunk beds which we used to share. While I was upset about sleeping on my own, I was excited at the thought of being able to sleep in the top bunk, which seemed far more adventurous to me.

From the very first night I remember a strange feeling of unease creeping slowly from the back of my mind. I lay on the top bunk, staring down at my action figures and cars strewn across the green-blue carpet. As imaginary battles and adventures took place between the toys on the floor, I couldn’t help but feel that my eyes were being slowly drawn towards the bottom bunk, as if something was moving in the corner of my eye. Something which did not wish to be seen.

The bunk was empty, impeccably made with a dark blue blanket tucked in neatly, partially covering two rather bland white pillows. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I was a child, and the noise slipping under my door from my parent’s television, bathed me in a warm sense of safety and well-being.

I fell asleep.

When you awaken from a deep sleep to something moving, or stirring, it can take a few moments for you to truly understand what is happening. The fog of sleep hangs over your eyes and ears even when lucid.

Something was moving, there was no doubt about that.

At first I wasn’t sure what it was. Everything was dark, almost pitch black, but there was enough light creeping in from outside to outline that narrowly suffocating room. Two thoughts appeared in my mind almost simultaneously. The first was that my parents were in bed because the rest of the house lay both in darkness, and silence. The second thought turned to the noise.  A noise which had obviously woken me.

As the last cob webs of sleep withered from my mind, the noise took on a more familiar form. Sometimes the simplest of sounds can be the most unnerving, a cold wind whistling through a tree outside, a neighbour’s footsteps uncomfortably close, or, in this case, the simple sound of bed sheets rustling in the dark.

That was it; bed sheets rustling in the dark as if some disturbed sleeper was attempting to get all too comfortable in the bottom bunk. I lay there in disbelief thinking that the noise was either my imagination, or perhaps just my pet cat finding somewhere comfortable to spend the night. It was then that I noticed my door, shut as it had been as I’d fallen asleep.

Perhaps my mum had checked in on me and the cat had sneaked in to my room then.

Yes, that must have been it. I turned to face the wall, closing my eyes in the vain hope that I could fall back to sleep. As I moved, the rustling noise from underneath me ceased. I thought that I must have disturbed my cat, but quickly I realised that the visitor in the bottom bunk was much less mundane than my pet trying to sleep, and much more sinister.

As if alerted to, and disgruntled by, my presence, the disturbed sleeper began to toss and turn violently, like a child having a tantrum in their bed. I could hear the sheets twist and turn with increasing ferocity. Fear then gripped me, not like the subtle sense of unease I had experienced earlier, but now potent and terrifying. My heart raced as my eyes panicked, scanning the almost impenetrable darkness.

I let out a cry.

As most young boys do, I instinctively shouted on my mother. I could hear something stir on the other side of the house, but as I began to breath a sigh of relief that my parents were coming to save me, the bunk beds suddenly started to shake violently as if gripped by an earthquake, scraping against the wall. I could hear the sheets below me thrashing around as if tormented by malice. I did not want to jump down to safety as I feared the thing in the bottom bunk would reach out and grab me, pulling me into the darkness, so I stayed there, white knuckles clenching my own blanket like a shroud of protection.  The wait seemed like an eternity.

The door finally, and thankfully, burst open, and I lay bathed in light while the bottom bunk, the resting place of my unwanted visitor, lay empty and peaceful.

I cried and my mother consoled me. Tears of fear, followed by relief, streamed down my face. Yet, through all of the horror and relief, I did not tell her why I was so upset. I cannot explain it, but it was as though whatever had been in that bunk would return if I even so much as spoke of it, or uttered a single syllable of its existence. Whether that was the truth, I do not know, but as a child I felt as if that unseen menace remained close, listening.

My mother lay in the empty bunk, promising to stay there until morning. Eventually my anxiety diminished, tiredness pushed me back towards sleep, but I remained restless, waking several times momentarily to the sound of rustling bed sheets.

I remember the next day wanting to go anywhere, be anywhere, but in that narrow suffocating room. It was a Saturday and I played outside, quite happily with my friends. Although our house was not large we were lucky to have a long sloping garden in the back. We played there often, as much of it was overgrown and we could hide in the bushes, climb in the huge sycamore tree which towered above all else, and easily imagine ourselves in the throws of a grand adventure, in some untamed exotic land.

As fun as it all was, occasionally my eye would turn to that small window; ordinary, slight, and innocuous. But for me, that thin boundary was a looking glass into a strange, cold pocket of dread. Outside, the lush green surroundings of our garden filled with the smiling faces of my friends could not extinguish the creeping feeling clawing its way up my spine; each hair standing on end. The feeling of something in that room, watching me play, waiting for the night when I would be alone; eagerly filled with hate.

It may sound strange to you, but by the time my parents ushered me back into that room for the night, I said nothing. I didn’t protest, I didn’t even make an excuse as to why I couldn’t sleep there. I simply and sullenly walked into that room, climbed the few steps into the top bunk and then waited. As an adult I would be telling everyone about my experience, but even at that age I felt almost silly to be talking about something which I really had no evidence for. I would be lying, however, if I said this was my primary reason; I still felt that this thing would be enraged if I so much as spoke of it.

It’s funny how certain words can remain hidden from your mind, no matter how blatant or obvious they are. One word came to me that second night, lying there in the darkness alone, frightened, aware of a rotten change in the atmosphere; a thickening of the air as if something had displaced it. As I heard the first casual twists of the bed sheets below, the first anxious increase of my heartbeat at the realisation that something was once again in the bottom bunk, that word, a word which had been sent into exile, filtered up through my consciousness, breaking free of all repression, gasping for air screaming, etching, and carving itself into my mind.

“Ghost”.

As this thought came to me, I noticed that my unwelcome visitor had ceased moving. The bed sheets lay calm and dormant, but they had been replaced by something far more hideous. A slow, rhythmic, rasping breath heaved and escaped from the thing below. I could imagine its chest rising and falling with each sordid, wheezing, and garbled breath. I shuddered, and hoped beyond all hope that it would leave without occurrence.

The house lay, as it had the previous night, in a thick blanket of darkness. Silence prevailed, all but for the perverted breath of my, as yet, unseen bunkmate. I lay there terrified. I just wanted this thing to go, to leave me alone.

What did it want?

Then something unmistakably chilling transpired; it moved. It moved in a way different from before. When it threw itself around in the bottom bunk it seemed, unrestrained, without purpose, almost animalistic. This movement, however, was driven by awareness, with purpose, with a goal in mind. For that thing lying there in the darkness, that thing which seemed intent on terrorising a young boy, calmly and nonchalantly sat up. Its laboured breathing had become louder as now only a mattress and a few flimsy wooden slats separated my body from the unearthly breath below.

I lay there, my eyes filled with tears. A fear which mere words cannot relate to you or anyone else coursed through my veins. I would not have believed that this fear could have been heightened, but I was so wrong. I imagined what this thing would look like, sitting there listing from below my mattress, hoping to catch the slightest hint that I was awake. Imagination then turned to an unnerving reality. It began to touch the wooden slats which my mattress sat on. It seemed to caress them carefully, running what I imagined to be fingers and hands across the surface of the wood.

Then, with great force, it prodded angrily between two slats, into the mattress. Even through the padding, it felt as though someone had viciously stuck their fingers into my side. I let out an almighty cry and the wheezing, shaking, and moving thing in the bunk below replied in kind by violently vibrating the bunk as it had done the night before. Small flakes of paint powdered onto my blanket from the wall as the frame of the bed scraped along it, backwards and forwards.

Once again I was bathed in light, and there stood my mother, loving, caring as she always was, with a comforting hug and calming words which eventually subdued my hysteria. Of course she asked what was wrong, but I could not say, I dared not say. I simply said one word over and over and over again.

“Nightmare”.

This pattern of events continued for weeks, if not months. Night after night I would awaken to the sound of rustling sheets. Each time I would scream so as to not provide this abomination with time to prod and ‘feel’ for me. With each cry the bed would shake violently, stopping with the arrival of my mother who would spend the rest of the night in the bottom bunk, seemingly unaware of the sinister force torturing her son nightly.

Along the way I managed to feign illness a few times and come up with other less-than-truthful reasons for sleeping in my parents’ bed, but more often than not I would be alone for the first few hours of each night in that place. The room where the light from outside did not sit right. Alone with that thing.

With time you can become desensitised to almost anything, no matter how horrific. I had come to realise that, for whatever reason, this thing could not harm me when my mother was present. I am sure the same would have been said for my father, but as loving as he was, waking him from sleep was almost impossible.

After a few months I had grown accustomed to my nightly visitor. Do not mistake this for some unearthly friendship, I detested the thing. I still feared it greatly as I could almost sense its desires and its personality, if you could call it that; one filled with a perverted and twisted hatred yet longing for me, of perhaps all things.

My greatest fears were realised in the winter. The days grew short, and the longer nights merely provided this wretch with more opportunities. It was a difficult time for my family. My Grandmother, a wonderfully kind and gentle woman, had deteriorated greatly since the death of my Grandfather. My mother was trying her best to keep her in the community as long as possible, however, dementia is a cruel and degenerative illness, robbing a person of their memories one day at a time. Soon she recognised none of us, and it became clear that she would need to be moved from her house to a nursing home.

Before she could be moved, my Grandmother had a particularly difficult few nights and my mother decided that she would stay with her. As much as I loved my Grandmother and felt nothing but anguish at her illness, to this day I feel guilty that my first thoughts were not of her, but of what my nightly visitor may do should it become aware of my mother’s absence; her presence being the one thing which I was sure was protecting me from the full horror of this thing’s reach.

I rushed home from school that day and immediately wrenched the bed sheets and mattress from the lower bunk, removing all of the slats and placing an old desk, a chest of drawers, and some chairs which we kept in a cupboard where the bottom bunk used to be. I told my father I was ‘making an office’ which he found adorable, but I would be damned if I’d give that thing a place to sleep for one more night.

As darkness approached, I lay there knowing my mother was not in the house. I did not know what to do. My only impulse was to sneak into her jewellery box and take a small family crucifix which I had seen there before. While my family were not very religious, at that age I still believed in God and hoped that somehow this would protect me. Although fearful and anxious, while gripping the crucifix under my pillow tightly in one hand, sleep eventually came and as I drifted off to dream, I hoped that I would awaken in the morning without incidence. Unfortunately that night was the most terrifying of all.

I woke gradually. The room was once again dark. As my eyes adjusted I could gradually make out the window and the door, and the walls, some toys on a shelf and…Even to this day I shudder to think of it, for there was no noise. No rustling of sheets. No movement at all. The room felt lifeless. Lifeless, yet not empty.

The nightly visitor, that unwelcome, wheezing, hate-filled thing which had terrorised me night after night, was not in the bottom bunk, it was in my bed! I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Utter terror had shaken the very sound from my voice. I lay motionless. If I could not scream, I did not want to let it know I was awake.

I had not yet seen it, I could only feel it. It was obscured under my blanket. I could see its outline, and I could feel its presence, but I dared not look. The weight of it pressed down on top of me, a sensation I will never forget. When I say that hours passed, I do not exaggerate. Laying there motionless, in the darkness, I was every bit a scared and frightened young boy.

If it had been during the summer months it would have been light by then, but the grasp of winter is long and unrelenting, and I knew it would be hours before sunrise; a sunrise which I yearned for. I was a timid child by nature, but I reached a breaking point, a moment where I could wait no more, where I could survive under this intimately deviant abomination no longer.

Fear can sometimes wear you out, make you threadbare, a shell of nerves leaving only the slightest trace of you behind. I had to get out of that bed! Then I remembered, the crucifix! My hand still lay underneath the pillow, but it was empty! I slowly moved my wrist around to find it, minimising as best I could the sound and vibrations caused, but it could not be found. I had either knocked it off of the top bunk, or it had…I could not even bear to think of it, been taken from my hand.

Without the crucifix I lost any sense of hope. Even at such a young age, you can be acutely aware of what death is, and intensely frightened of it. I knew I was going to die in that bed if I lay there, dormant, passive, doing nothing. I had to leave that room behind, but how? Should I leap from the bed and hope that I make it to the door? What if it is faster than me? Or should I slowly slip out of that top bunk, hoping to not disturb my uncanny bedfellow?

Realising that it had not stirred when I moved, trying to find the crucifix, I began to have the strangest of thoughts.

What if it was asleep?

It hadn’t so much as breathed since I had woken up. Perhaps it was resting, believing that it had finally got me. That I was finally in its grasp. Or perhaps it was toying with me, after all it had been doing just that for countless nights, and now with me under it, pinned against my mattress with no mother to protect me, maybe it was holding off, savouring its victory until the last possible moment. Like a wild animal savouring its prey.

I tried to breath as shallowly as possible, and mustering every ounce of courage I could, I reached over slowly with my right hand and began to peel the blanket off of me. What I found under those covers almost stopped my heart. I did not see it, but as my hand moved the blanket, it brushed against something. Something smooth and cold. Something which felt unmistakably like a gaunt hand.

I held my breath in terror as I was sure it must now have known that I was awake.

Nothing.

It did not stir, it felt, dead. After a few moments I placed my hand carefully further down the blanket and felt a thin, poorly formed forearm, my confidence and almost twisted sense of curiosity grew as I moved down further to a disproportionately larger bicep muscle. The arm was outstretched lying across my chest, with the hand resting on my left shoulder as if it had grabbed me in my sleep. I realised that I would have to move this cadaverous appendage if I even so much as hoped to escape its grasp.

For some reason, the feeling of torn, ragged clothing on the shoulder of this night time invader stopped me in my tracks. Fear once again swelled in my stomach and in my chest as I recoiled my hand in disgust at the touch of straggled, oily hair.

I could not bring myself to touch its face, although I wonder to this very day what it would have felt like.

Dear God it moved.

It moved. It was subtle, but its grip on my shoulder and across my body strengthened. No tears came, but God how I wanted to cry. As its hand and arm slowly coiled around me, my right leg brushed along the cool wall which the bed lay against. Of all that happened to me in that room, this was the strangest. I realised that this clutching, rancid thing which drew great delight from violating a young boy’s bed, was not entirely on top of me. It was sticking out from the wall, like a spider striking from its lair.

Suddenly its grip moved from a slow tightening to a sudden squeeze, it pulled and clawed at my clothes as if frightened that the opportunity would soon pass. I fought against it, but its emaciated arm was too strong for me. Its head rose up writhing and contorting under the blanket. I now realised where it was taking me, into the wall! I fought for my dear life, I cried and suddenly my voice returned to me, yelling, screaming, but no one came.

Then I realised why it was so eager to suddenly strike, why this thing had to have me now. Through my window, that window which seemed to represent so much malice from outside, streaked hope; the first rays of sunshine. I struggled further knowing that if I could just hold on, it would soon be gone. As I fought for my life, the unearthly parasite shifted, slowly pulling itself up my chest, its head now poking out from under the blanket, wheezing, coughing, rasping. I do not remember its features, I simply remember its breath against my face, foul and as cold as ice.

As the sun broke over the horizon, that dark place, that suffocating room of contempt was washed, bathed in sunlight.

I passed out as its scrawny fingers encircled my neck, squeezing the very life from me.

I awoke to my father offering to make me some breakfast, a wonderful sight indeed! I had survived the most horrible experience of my life until then, and now. I moved the bed away from the wall, leaving behind the furniture I had believed would stop that thing from taking a bed. Little did I think that it would try to take mine…and me.

Weeks passed without incidence, yet on one cold, frost bitten night I awoke to the sound of the furniture where the bunk beds used to be, vibrating violently. In a moment it passed, I lay there sure I could hear a distant wheezing coming from deep within the wall, finally fading into the distance.

I have never told anyone this story before. To this day I still break out in a cold sweat at the sound of bed sheets rustling in the night, or a wheeze brought on by a common cold, and I certainly never sleep with my bed against a wall. Call it superstition if you will but as I said, I cannot discount conventional explanations such as sleep paralysis, hallucination, or that of an over-active imagination, but what I can say is this: The following year I was given a larger room on the other side of the house and my parents took that strangely suffocating, elongated place as their bedroom. They said they didn’t need a large room, just one big enough for a bed and a few things.

They lasted 10 days. We moved on the 11th.

Credit To: Michael Whitehouse

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Rating: 9.4/10 (5699 votes cast)
Bedtime, 9.4 out of 10 based on 5699 ratings
  • http://Facebook Valkerie Nightstalker

    wow…. just…. wow…

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    Rating: +218 (from 254 votes)
    • the grim sleeper

      wow oh wow,

      i just wonder how,

      the wurds fall in place like a sillohuet of kitty cats,

      jelly fish wearin’ its hat,

      mad hatter!,

      more like a rad hatter,

      out to all the ghosts!

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      Rating: -168 (from 340 votes)
      • Anonymous

        The ending was great, I love that the parent got to experience what the child was going trough for all that time.

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        Rating: +281 (from 295 votes)
        • min

          this story just creeped me the fuck out… and for that my friend, i raise you a toast

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          Rating: +167 (from 179 votes)
        • Katastrophe

          Good post

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          Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
        • http://ok Mr Jaffa cake

          That was the most horrifying story ever this aint fake like that SLENDERMAN dis is real ive always been scared of sleaping but now its nice but this story has blown my mind

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          Rating: -49 (from 95 votes)
      • The Operator

        I’m pretty sure that comment must have been written by a junkie suffering from slendersickness.

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        Rating: +122 (from 174 votes)
        • sweet deadlyshadow

          i agree with them i do think its great tht the parents got to expirence it

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          Rating: +27 (from 55 votes)
        • Paddy

          There is no such thing as “slendersickness”. Just the effects of his power over you, making you weak.

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          Rating: -38 (from 66 votes)
        • Paddy

          As the Operator you should know this :P

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          Rating: -27 (from 49 votes)
        • ABEL

          You would know… Operator…

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          Rating: -10 (from 28 votes)
        • Anonymous

          Give me the right
          Area code, and a number
          I can use
          Directory don’t have it
          Central done forgot it
          Got to find a number to use

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          Rating: -17 (from 31 votes)
        • Anonymous

          This dumb as shit

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          Rating: -66 (from 72 votes)
        • Anonymous

          agreed

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          Rating: -6 (from 6 votes)
      • Anonymous

        I just lost 50 IQ points reading that @the grim sleeper

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        Rating: -11 (from 75 votes)
        • Anonymous

          Thanks Annon, your comment may of just given me cancer

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          Rating: -24 (from 34 votes)
      • Anonymous

        Cool

        It’s interesting to say the least 10 out of 10

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        Rating: +27 (from 33 votes)
      • shadybanana

        What you just said is one of the most insanely idiotic things I’ve ever heard. At no point, in your rambling incoherent response, were you even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this comments section is now dumber for having read it. I award you no upvotes and may God have mercy on your soul.

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        Rating: +23 (from 51 votes)
        • Anonymous

          Love the billy Madison joke! :D

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          Rating: +9 (from 13 votes)
        • Anonymous

          A simple wrong would have done just as fine…

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          Rating: +14 (from 20 votes)
      • Anonymous

        Yea fuck you dude you arent artsy

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        Rating: -10 (from 18 votes)
    • Anonymous

      This is too good.
      Best tasting pasta, so far.

      *standingovation.

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      Rating: +78 (from 86 votes)
    • slarti

      Ha! Thats just a classic poltergeist. Just a man with a magic box. There no ghost or poltergeist, just a desperado with a little special tool. Aka juses sayten..

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      Rating: -38 (from 44 votes)
      • Anonymous

        A man with a magic box? Are you implying that it was the Doctor?

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        Rating: +53 (from 65 votes)
        • Anonymous

          The doctor can climb into my bed any day!

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          Rating: +83 (from 95 votes)
        • Doctor

          Guess!

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          Rating: +14 (from 18 votes)
        • Anonymous

          When you say the doctor do you mean the doctor from black ops zombies?

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          Rating: -47 (from 61 votes)
        • The Tardis’s sister

          that comment… The doctor is awesome do not imply he was the doctor

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          Rating: +10 (from 12 votes)
        • DoctorIsHere

          The Doctor can visit me nightly anytime he wants :)

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          Rating: +10 (from 14 votes)
    • Anonymous

      Werid

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      Rating: +10 (from 16 votes)
    • Beastasaur66

      My house is over 200 years old. When I move into the spare room like you, this happened to me too, but It tried to Push me off the top bunk and onto the floor. As my pillow fell down, i swear, it went though the floor! It was tugging me to the ground! I passed out as it grabbed my neck and touched my cheek, almost like you. I woke to the sound of my father knocking on the door, and as he was about to take a step in the room with the floor, I screamed stop, and he did as I said. I threw another pillow down. Nothing. He came in asking what was happening.
      I swear this is true. About a month later I found the pillow that went through the floor. It was in the basement, covered in blood and scratches. My mother wondered what happened to it and just threw it out. Nothing since then happened to me. I still live in that room, though now I have a carpet where the so called beast seemed to appear from

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      Rating: -23 (from 75 votes)
      • MacKenzie

        yeah sure

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        Rating: +21 (from 41 votes)
        • Richard

          Well I can’t attest to the above story, but I’ve heard a story from an acquaintance of mine that was about exactly the same type of thing. normally I’d discount such nonsense, but the look that accompanied the story was dead serious in a way that couldn’t be dismissed so easily. Of course sleep paralysis and waking nightmares could be an explanation, this is one of the more believable creepypastas
          I’ve read.

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          Rating: +19 (from 21 votes)
      • Anonymous

        Cool story bro.

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        Rating: -3 (from 15 votes)
      • Witness

        Thankfully God has mercifully kept me from ever having experiencing something so horrific…But when I was younger, I had a dream. I was lying in the top bunk of a bunk bed, which was strange considering I had long ago given those up, I was sleeping, cuddling someone. But something made me realize it wasn’t someone but something. Just some dark, featureless creature aside from two mouths full of sharp teeth for a face. We struggled and I cast it off my bed where it fell into this gaping hole in my floor that I knew was Hell. As much as I’d like to say it was just a nightmare… Just thinking about it brings these feelings that tell me that maybe it wasn’t.

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        Rating: +12 (from 20 votes)
        • Anonymous

          something like that happened to me yet when i was 5.there was rustling of papers coming from under my desk witch was across from me since i lived in a long narrow room like you and sometime a pressure from under my bed came feeling like a small hand witch scared me when i heard how similar your story was.

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          Rating: -4 (from 6 votes)
        • Anonymous

          seems like this happens to people who sleep on the top bunk of their bunkbed

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          Rating: +6 (from 8 votes)
        • Anonymous

          i dont get it why dont people believe it….paranormal activities are real nothing is fake….believe your eyes….believe your mind….believe whats in front of you…take a closer look

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      • Anonymous

        me too. accept mine was at the window and i was out after 3 days.

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      • Amber of angels

        Hi, sorry for the people that do not believe you, but I do, because I have seen things in my house. This is why I do not go to sleep without music, because then I can block the sound out, but I have seen people in my house and shadows and I even had a dream of my mom dating my ex step dad 3 years before she deforced my dad. I have also heard a kid laughing at me while I am doing chores….. No one in my family, but my sis and mom, believe me….. Mom has felt them and sis has had things move around…. But anyway I just wanted to say I believe you.

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        Rating: +5 (from 5 votes)
        • Generic Internet Commenter

          I know exactly how you feel. Its hard to explain and almost unbelievable. But two years ago I was in my house alone. I was doing homework when I heard a sound come from the kitchen downstairs. At first I thought oh my parents are home. I went to go say hi but when I went down there. Nobody was there. Then about a week later I took a picture of the kitchen are since we were selling the house and something caught my eye. I saw the face of what seemed like a teenage girl in the window. I got paranoid at that time and asked my mother why that appeared. She thought I was ready and told me that for years ive been followed by a teenage girl. That she is suppose to be my guardian angel and appears when bad stuff is going to happen to me. I thought it was a load of crap since nothing happened. I saw here several times throughout my years but didnt give any attention to it. But 2 years passed and since I share a room with my little brother we have a bunk bed. One night it was like 3 am, I awoke to the sound of rustling. I thought my brother was just moving around but what scared me was that we sleep with our door closed but it was open. Once my eyes adjusted to the dark I could swe through the crack the silhouette of the girl there watching me. Since I got use to her I didnt scream I just closed the door and went back to bed. Now heres the scary part. Like the story my bed was next to the wall. I started feeling somw scratching on my arm and someone pulling me. Thats when I wanted to scream but my voice was muffled. No scream came out. I struggled to pull myself away from the grasp. Eventually I did and I couldnt see exactly what it was except for a hand that was going back into hiding. I turn and see the girl standing in front of my window motionless. Lets just say I start paying more attention to when I see her around. Thats my horrifying experience.

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          Rating: +5 (from 5 votes)
      • Kirstin

        Whoa…. That’s just…. whoa. Put up pentacles and triquetras, along with other Wiccan protection symbols… they really work, I promise. Crucifixes, not so much, but they can’t hurt you if you use a Wiccan protection symbol such as a triquetra.

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        Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
    • Anonymous

      Oh wow

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      Rating: -1 (from 3 votes)
    • http://creepypasta michael myers

      yea, i didn’t read it :)

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      Rating: -20 (from 26 votes)
    • Anonymous

      I can’t….the story was badass but now I’m extremely paranoid because my beds up against the wall….shit

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +35 (from 37 votes)
      • Avie

        …. so is mine … *smh*

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        Rating: +10 (from 12 votes)
      • lovemandi

        Shit mine too, and I’m on the top bunk .___.

        VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
        Rating: +20 (from 22 votes)
        • Anonymous

          Mine too, dang it…

          VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
          Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
        • Anonymous

          I have a bunk bed and i sleep in the bottom and its against the wall……shoot…..

          VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
          Rating: +8 (from 10 votes)
    • Anonymous

      This was a Great story

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +4 (from 6 votes)
      • Anonymous

        Mine to NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

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        Rating: -5 (from 5 votes)
    • anal thrasher

      such wow
      much scare
      many scarey

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      Rating: -5 (from 35 votes)
      • Anonymous

        Were you so scared you forgot how to spell?!

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        Rating: +5 (from 11 votes)
        • Anonymous

          That was a meme. Doge, tbh.

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          Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
      • Anonymous

        oh wow

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        Rating: -1 (from 1 vote)
    • The midnight marinara hooded figure

      It could have been a monster

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +3 (from 5 votes)
    • Anonymous

      This is really a wow story it is amaizing!!!!!!!!!!!

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      Rating: +4 (from 4 votes)
    • http://none Deeno

      SUDDENLY CAREBEARS FLY EVERYWHERE!

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      Rating: +1 (from 3 votes)
    • Anonymous

      very good book

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      Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • Burdicus

    Very well written. Definitely suspensful. It left me wanting more. I wish there would have been some sort of explanation as to what this thing was or why it was harassing the inhabitants of that room, but I guess no knowing it part of the charm.

    Overall, very well done. You got a 9/10 from me.

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    Rating: +199 (from 205 votes)
  • Beefnuts

    I thoroughly enjoyed that!!

    VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
    Rating: +32 (from 36 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Thank you. I’ve been overwhelmed by the response to my stories.

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      Rating: +35 (from 41 votes)
      • Charlie

        Excellent, I enjoyed reading this and the great grammar added to the realism of the story itself. Bravo!

        VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
        Rating: +28 (from 32 votes)
      • Mitchell

        You sir, are an amazing author. I thank you for leaving me paranoid as fuck everytime i read one of your stories!

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        Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
    • SlenderMan

      Dude I love your name ^-^ Beefnuts epic man just epic

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      Rating: +5 (from 13 votes)
      • random kid

        AW YEA SLENDY

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        Rating: -4 (from 12 votes)
      • Chuck Norris

        Good story, but slendy I kill u fool

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        Rating: -6 (from 18 votes)
  • me-sama

    im 14 and hate the dark and i don’t think i can sleep to night … my bead is pushed up to the wall thank you for reigting this thow .

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    Rating: -58 (from 98 votes)
    • Brandon

      If you’re 14, then you should fix that spelling and grammar.

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +107 (from 125 votes)
      • Sean

        Not everyone speaks english…

        VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
        Rating: +11 (from 53 votes)
        • Kayti

          Eeople who don’t have English as a native language usually have spelling and grammar down if they have English as a second language. Plus, he was not careful with his eyes and things of that nature, so you can assume he was just being careless and lazy, like most 14 year olds. (and yes, I am 14 as well).

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          Rating: -19 (from 43 votes)
        • Gingerbread

          I’m 15, English is my second language and I really don’t see how this has anything to do with grammar and spelling…

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          Rating: +23 (from 41 votes)
        • anonymous

          Says the person who spells people “eeople” and I “eye”

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          Rating: +9 (from 13 votes)
      • Anonymous

        that is quite true

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        Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
    • David

      im 15 and i don’t give a shit

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +77 (from 81 votes)
      • Bruce

        And I like turtles

        VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
        Rating: +57 (from 71 votes)
        • http://creepypasta.com tytiger10

          I like trains!

          VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
          Rating: +22 (from 44 votes)
        • Hey look its ME!!!!!!

          His has gotten way off track where did trains come from?

          VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
          Rating: +6 (from 20 votes)
        • florence.

          NYEEEOOOOOOOWWW.

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          Rating: +5 (from 11 votes)
        • http://creepypasta.com Sarah

          I like this pasta, and the excellent bread, but the sauce, that was the best part.

          VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
          Rating: +10 (from 16 votes)
        • http://Youareinasearchpagenow tytiger10

          *A random train hits Bruce. Wow I have been waiting for like 5 months for that.

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          Rating: +8 (from 8 votes)
        • Anonymous

          who doesnt?

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          Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
    • Mistystar

      Same with me. I don’t like what’s in the dark, not necessarily the dark, too. My bed’s pushed up to the wall too.

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      Rating: +4 (from 6 votes)
      • The Man in Red Stains

        Pshhh I never use my bed I sleep on a sofa in my room XD

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        Rating: +1 (from 5 votes)
  • Aurelia

    I liked this a lot! It was very gripping and creepy and I enjoyed every word.

    VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
    Rating: +31 (from 41 votes)
  • Mr cannon

    I…AM….PLEASED.

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    Rating: +54 (from 68 votes)
    • PWAL

      That’s what she said.

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +33 (from 61 votes)
      • Slenderman

        He

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        Rating: +9 (from 11 votes)
      • Anonymous

        Epic. I’m glad I’m not the only one who thought that.

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        Rating: +6 (from 6 votes)
    • Anonymous

      ever been to plasnewydd mr cannon?

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      Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

    Hi everyone. Thank you for the kind words. There are actually 4 other follow-up stories to this. I’ll submit them to Creepy Pasta, but if you would like to read them now then you can find them here:

    http://www.wattpad.com/6852431-bedtime-watty-awards-2012-the-aftermath

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    Rating: +44 (from 50 votes)
    • indigo

      just finished reading this story and all the follow-ups, and i am in awe. i don’t think i’ve been this creeped out in a while. excellent work!

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      Rating: +11 (from 13 votes)
    • Anonymous

      This was sooo good! By the way you wrote this it really makes it sound like an experience you actually had.

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      Rating: +3 (from 3 votes)
    • serenawitchwriter

      hey I remember reading this on wattpad. why did you cancel your account?

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      Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • Akai no Yuki

    I love it! Just one question. When he says they lasted 10 days and we moved on the 11th what does he imply?

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    Rating: -1 (from 27 votes)
    • Hopen

      that his parents were harrased by the thing and they decided to move after enduring it for 10 nights

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      Rating: +29 (from 29 votes)
    • JustanotjerFan

      He implyed that after 10 days in the room,the parents got scared and moved out the 11th day

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      Rating: +4 (from 4 votes)
  • Danielle

    Holy shit, this is prolly the second one to ever really scare the piss out of me, next to the Russian sleep test.

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    Rating: +18 (from 20 votes)
    • Anonymous

      What the fuck is prolly?

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      Rating: 0 (from 4 votes)
      • Anonymous

        Must have meant probably.

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        Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • raymond

    This was one of the best stories I’ve ever read mkay

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    Rating: +5 (from 11 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      That’s really kind of you to say that.

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      Rating: +8 (from 10 votes)
  • Cavoto

    That was fantastic. Incredible vocabulary and use of basic mechanics. You have written a truly great suspenseful pasta. 10/10 easily.

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    Rating: +19 (from 21 votes)
    • Danielle

      10/10 would read

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      Rating: +12 (from 12 votes)
  • LollipopGestapo

    Holy fucking shit. This was absolutely terrifying. This made me very uneasy. I have always hated sleeping alone in the dark, and this drew in all of those fears. I’m 24 years old, and I will still undoubtedly be sleeping with the door open. Dear lord. Bravo. Really, good form. ten out of fucking ten.

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    Rating: +19 (from 21 votes)
  • http://facebook.com/nicolasjauvin Gingerbread

    Very good! So well written and detailed, truly creeped me out as I read this laying in my bed pressed up against the wall with my window nearby at 3 in the morning! Very nice job sir, hope to see more from you :)

    VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
    Rating: +12 (from 16 votes)
  • Keiren

    This scared the hell out of me. My brother and I had bunk beds when were kids, and this totally brought back the fear I used to have that something on the upper bunk was going to lean over and get me at night. Of course I never felt that comfortable when we’d switch beds, either…

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    Rating: +2 (from 8 votes)
    • Not my real name

      So glad i got a new bed.

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      Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • PuddingTea

    Good show! Nine out of ten pumpkins!

    VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
    Rating: +5 (from 9 votes)
  • Moo

    WOW WOW WOOOOW! I loved it! The ghoul kind of reminded me of an old Are You Afraid of the Dark monster that lived in the walls. I used to be utterly terrified of that idea! Now you’ve managed to reignite that fear with 10X more intensity! This story was AMAZING! Your writing is so professional! I can’t wait to read more of your stories!

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    Rating: +8 (from 10 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Thank you, it means a lot to me when people enjoy my stories. I am currently trying to become a professional writer. I’ll be self publishing my first collection online called ‘Bedtime and Other Tales of Terror’ soon. Fingers crossed I can get a publisher interested in it. If not, then I’ll just write for the love of it :)

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      Rating: +14 (from 16 votes)
      • Archfiend

        I pity the person who doesn’t see the gift and potentail you have. This story is far greater than most horror stories or even movies. This story alone, is even greater than the horror story series that I’m making! You Deserve a pat on the back!

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        Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
  • Anonymous

    There were a few times when I was reading and suddenly I realized I wasn’t breathing. The suspense really made me only want to keep reading. What brought me out of my trance, however, was that you kept using the word “breath.” You used it so much, and at times you meant “breathe.” There is a difference. I might have passed out if not for those few errors. Just might want to do one more run through when checking your stories. Other than that, bravo.

    I also look forward to a story with a villain who maybe has a motive and an explanation for why it is doing these things. Who knows, I might write one, then someone can criticize me.

    VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
    Rating: +8 (from 14 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Thank you for the kind words. You are quite right, there are a couple of typos which I need to correct. Thank you for pointing them out!

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +8 (from 10 votes)
    • Dovahween

      I felt the exact same thing. While reading I found my breathing pattern changing over and over. Never have I read such a short story that put me in this kind of trance. I like this a lot. I think I’ll spread it around a little.

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      Rating: +3 (from 3 votes)
  • Xaoh20z

    Epic i just don’t understand what you meant by they lasted 10 days.. but u moved on the 11th.

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    Rating: -12 (from 14 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Something happened to them in that room…

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +6 (from 8 votes)
    • Suzanne

      The parents saw the thing, too, so they left.

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      Rating: -2 (from 6 votes)
  • Nick Wagner

    Wow only I’m prity shore that you wouldnt remember all that detail @ 5 other wize great job

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    Rating: -14 (from 18 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      This story is based on an experience I had as a child. I remember the whole ordeal vividly. It still haunts me.

      VA:F [1.9.22_1171]
      Rating: +31 (from 33 votes)
      • Abby

        The experience you described is almost exactly the same as what I went through as a child, except mine was accompanied by sleep paralysis and I didn’t tell anyone or even let on that I was having nightmares until many years later. If you know any more about the science/superstition behind this, I would greatly appreciate any info you could pass on to me.

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        Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
    • Anonymous

      Pretty sure he was 8.

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      Rating: 0 (from 2 votes)
  • Manny Pacquiao

    WHO IS WALL MONSTER?!

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    Rating: +23 (from 29 votes)
  • iDeceiver

    I loved this one. I wish there were details on the appearance of the creature though. But I guess it adds to the mysteriousness. 10/10

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    Rating: +5 (from 5 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Thank you, I’m really glad you enjoyed it. This is the first story in a 5 parter. As soon as Creepypasta.com starts taking submissions again I will send them in. If you click my name it’ll take you to my Facebook where the rest of my stories are :)

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      Rating: +5 (from 5 votes)
  • Lanie

    Actually I’m not that into supernatural stuff. But this one – to sum it up – was simply WOW! Couldn’t stop reading. Also I just HAD to follow the link to the follow-up-stories). Will comment as soon as they are uploaded here as well.

    For this part: 10/10

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    Rating: +1 (from 3 votes)
    • https://www.facebook.com/GhastlyTalesPresents Michael Whitehouse

      Thanks so much for taking the time to read the other stories. I hope you liked them :)

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      Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • http://www.creepypasta.com epicwolf

    Oh my god thats scary

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    Rating: +4 (from 8 votes)
  • YumPasta

    A very well written Creepypasta.
    This truly is a terrifying story, but I wish I could know what the creature wanted or how did it look like.
    Regardless, 10/10
    BEST PASTA EVER

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    Rating: +12 (from 12 votes)
    • Anonymous

      Creature? It’s a pedophile or rapist…

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      Rating: -1 (from 15 votes)
  • dapplemii

    This is fantastic! I loved the ending.

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    Rating: +3 (from 3 votes)

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