Scary Paranormal Stories & Short Horror Microfiction



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Halloween Giveaway!

Once again, is having a small Halloween raffle!

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Latest Video Pasta

Post-Its by Ciaran Lovejoy / CreepyPastaSr

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Discussion Post

Join us for the October 2014 discussion post - this month, we're talking all about Halloween!

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Beings & Entities

The stiff autumn wind bullied brittle leaves across the sidewalk and into the empty street on Angela’s way home from the daycare center. She wrapped her too-thin cardigan tightly around her as the leaves were marched swiftly to the opposite curb. Their colors had drained from bright fingerpaint yellows, oranges, and reds to a dull, crunchy brown. Once they danced, she thought. Now, they merely scuttle. Her brow furrowed for what felt like the hundredth time that day as she wrenched the cardigan even tighter. Her pace became brisk to match the air, her heels making curt interjections with each step.… Read the rest

Note: This is the second story in a two-part series. Please read The Stalker – Part 1 if you haven’t already!

My bus arrived late the next morning – a blessing to me since I probably would have missed it otherwise. I barely managed to stumble out to the bus stop after sleeping through my alarm, hair a mess and still wearing the same clothes I had fallen asleep in the night before. I checked my phone as the bus rumbled towards the school: I had no fewer than 200 new text messages, all presumably from Emi, along with 20 missed calls from the same.… Read the rest

Transferring to a new school in the middle of the semester really sucks. First off, it’s a logistical nightmare jumping into the thick of seven new classes and getting caught up with all the material that may or may not have been covered in your old school. More importantly for a slacker like me, it makes developing a successful social life virtually impossible, at least for most of the remaining year. Everyone already knows each other and has formed up their little separate cliques… the school clubs and activities are running full steam and not really gunning for new members… and then, of course, there’s the omnipresent fact that you’re the freaking “New Kid” and everybody knows it.… Read the rest

You lie on your bed, huddled under the covers with a fresh book from the library. Your eyes feel somewhat droopy but you are reluctant to put it down, the story too enticing to pause so you can sleep. It’s nearing the end anyway, you reason silently; not even thirty pages to go. Might as well finish it now.

Your eyes skim over the paragraphs, fighting to stay awake.

“She stares at him furiously, blinking back tears as she wills herself not to cry, to show The terror he so deeply craves.”

You pause. “To show The terror”? You look back, thinking you’d spotted a minor capitalization error, but now “the” is lowercase.… Read the rest

I’m a sleepwalker. I’ve woken up on the floor, in the hedges outside, and half-hanging out of the refrigerator with orange juice spilled down the front of my shirt – just to name a few. Most of the time it would end in uncontrollable laughter for my two roommates, and thankfully over time my embarrassment wore off.
Last fall, however, that all changed.
My roommates and I attend college in a fairly rural Midwest area, so the nightlife consists mostly of house parties and bonfires in cornfields. One Saturday night, my roommates and I were driving down a gravel road to the family farm of a friend when our high beams hit something about 200 yards down the road on our side.… Read the rest

I’m writing this down upon my psychiatrist’s advice. She wants me to write as if I’m telling my story to a friend. Perhaps she’s right, maybe I do just need to let it all out, and what better way to do it than on a computer, away from prying eyes. After a week of nearly sleepless nights I’m willing to try anything.

She says it’s a relapse of my post traumatic stress disorder. She diagnosed me with PTSD eight years ago after the event that I’m about to speak of. My shrink tried every trick in the book to get me to tell her what had happened, and I repeatedly refused.… Read the rest

August 1st marks the tenth anniversary of the day the hunters came, though none of my family celebrates this anniversary. I’m only telling this story because I owe it to those men who saved us that day.

I’ll be honest. It was my fault. It was all my fault.

Ten years ago I was a sadly unpopular, unattractive, loner girl in my high school. I had no friends growing up in rural Montana and no extended family to visit. I was raised by a single mother all of my life and together we both took care of my younger brother, Matthew.… Read the rest

My basement has never exactly been a welcoming place. It’s unfurnished; there’s no carpet and the walls consist of boring, exposed bricks. There’s a set of old wooden stairs on one end that creaks whenever anyone uses them. Behind the stairs is a storage area that begins about four or five feet off the ground and goes maybe fifteen feet further back underneath the garage. The place is a dump, as my brother NEVER cleans it, and toys and tools and random things are sprawled out across the entire basement floor—and that’s an accomplishment considering how huge it is. It’s not very wide but from one end to the other it’s at least eighty feet in length, including the storage space.… Read the rest


I never really understood them because I never had them. This is why when I did, I was surprised. It was like all of the horrors of reality seeped into my brain with no way of getting out.

At first, I didn’t even know they were nightmares. I would be watching a man from a third perspective. I never saw his face because he was always turned away from me but from what I did see, he was handsome. He had straight black hair, about 6’2’’ and looked fairly toned. He was always wearing a black suit with a red tie and it was nice and sunny outside.… Read the rest

He was an exceedingly average man. He had sometimes done good deeds and had sometimes done bad deeds. He had built up bad habits and good habits, neither outweighing the other. He was just average.

If anyone had asked him he couldn’t have said why he decided to go through the Museum of Modern Art in the middle of the day in the middle of the week. It was almost completely deserted, his footfalls echoing as he walked from room to room. He didn’t see anything he particularly liked; or anything he particularly disliked for that matter.

He walked into one room and drew up short as he saw the statue against one wall.… Read the rest

“Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there,” the man at the bar said to me, nursing a fresh two-fingers’ worth of Ketel vodka in a tumbler he cradled between his thick, calloused fingers.

“‘He wasn’t there again today. Oh how I wish he’d go away,’” I answered, drawing his sleepy but surprised gaze from the basin of his drink.” Antogonish by William Hughes Mearns. That’s what you were quoting right?”

He studied me for a moment as if seeing me for the first time and trying to size me up. Most of the terminal drunks who typically dragged their sorry carcasses into the tavern this time of the night amused themselves by ogling my tits or hitting me with slurred promises of unimaginable sexual pleasure.… Read the rest

I haven’t got much time left, but I’m going to try and write as much of this down as possible. right now I can hear it looking outside. It must have gotten Anthony too, making me the only one left. The story and events I am going to tell you may cause you to doubt my sanity, but I pray that you will be open minded and listen with the up most attentiveness! For by the time I finish writing out this tale, I’m sure that the Thing will have found me and I shall pass into the long line of victims it has claimed.… Read the rest

Hello there. My name is… well, honestly, I don’t remember. It’s been many, many years since anyone’s called me by it, and so I’ve simply forgotten. Not that it matters, I suppose. It is not my intention to make note of myself to everyone. I am not the subject of this excursion. This is just a little bit of advice I’ve decided to put to paper and release out into the world. Whoever finds this note may have their name as the author. It matters not to me.

Goodness, it is strange to actual write again. I haven’t done it in ages, so please excuse the poor handwriting.… Read the rest

Anna is forced to share a room with her sister Emma in a new house.
She’s upset that Emma keeps waking her at night…playing and laughing by the window with her “imaginary” friend “Jumby”


Anna – Lily Muller
Emma – Sophia Muller
Jumby – Billy Shultz

Producer – Michael Harry
Cinematography – Jeffrey Kim
Camera – Adrien Bertolle

Art Direction & Costume – Rachel Mcintosh
Edit – Micah Scarpelli
Color – Seth Ricart

Music – Kenny Inglis
Location Sound – Louis Gordon
Sound Design & Mix – Eric Hoffman

Production Assist – Michael Kelly

Jumby from daniel garcia on Vimeo.… Read the rest

My sister has been gone for 25 years now, I think it’s finally time to tell her story.

It was summer, my sister, Ella and I had barely lived on the farm 6 months. Our father was off in the military, having been gone about 2 years by this time, we missed him dearly. The farm sat in the middle of no where, with miles and miles between our family and others.Our mother worked hard to raise us two, her work only increased due to the fact she also tended the farm. We tried our best to help our mother with the daily chores, feeding chickens, collecting eggs, giving the animals hay and slopping the pigs.… Read the rest

Everybody at one point has been scared by a younger/older sibling.

I can pinpoint multiple times my younger brother has gave me a good jump. Yet the best scares I have ever received had to come from my older sister. Before we moved away from our childhood home in New Jersey, my sister had to watch my younger brother and I on some nights while our parents were out. My brother being very young at the time fell asleep early-ish. I did not really like to go bed when I was younger so I would cause the most problems. My sister would counter-act this by locking me in my room and turning off the flow of electricity into that room.… Read the rest

When I was seven years old my ten year old brother Jamie was kidnapped, or so they say. The police claimed whoever had taken him were ‘professional’ in doing so. That I had been incredibly lucky to have not been taken as well. They described the kidnapper in this way because no finger prints were ever found on any of the furniture. My brother had never made a sound at the time and most importantly, there was no sign of a break in at all. None of the windows had been broken, the doors weren’t busted. Nothing.

Several days before his disappearance my father found a painting while rummaging around in the attic.… Read the rest

On the walls hung portraits of her family members who watched and made sure Evita didn’t cause any trouble when she was home alone. The same smile took over their faces in each one—the forced, wide, teeth-showing, nothing-can-ever-be-better smile—not exaggerated but fabricated.

The three friends were sitting on the floor, encircled by five lit candles, their hands resting on a Ouija pointer. It strafed to the left, slowed to a stop, and pointed at the letter “K”.

“S. U. C… K?”

Evita looked up at Daisuke, who concealed a smile and kept his eyes down. Claire was looking around the dark room.… Read the rest

My hands shake as I write this. I’ve long given up any hope of anyone ever believing me, or offering me any form of meaningful help. All I can do is stay here and hope I never see it again. I don’t know why, but for some reason I’ve come to believe that if I can’t see it, maybe it can’t see me. That makes sense, right?

You have no idea what I’m talking about. You’ve probably already dismissed this as the senseless scrawling of a madman. Believe whatever you want, I can’t help that. All I can do is tell you what I saw, and what horrible things I have come to know about this world.… Read the rest

“Mr Leaves was here” – those were the first words out of my daughter’s mouth that morning. I dismissed the chatter as normal for a seven year old girl. It didn’t seem strange to me that she would develop a new imaginary friend, especially under the circumstances; change can do that to a kid, forcing them to create something to hold on to, making the world seem more secure.

We had decided to move away from the city, to find somewhere a little less hectic, somewhere we could call home. As a doctor, I had to wait until an opportunity arose and was delighted when an opening appeared in the sleepy town of Windarm.… Read the rest

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