Creepypasta

Scary Paranormal Stories & Short Horror Microfiction

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Dreams & Madness

I’m not sure why I’m writing this right now. I’m not even sure if I am writing this now or, if I am, whether the words I’m seeing in my mind’s eye are the same as the words my hands are typing. I suppose the only way to find out is to check tomorrow and see if this is still here. If it is, and it still looks like this, then I’ll know it wasn’t some dream I was having with my eyes open.

‘Dream’. Even looking at that word right now makes some guttural part of me tense up. I’m not surprised though.… Read the rest

I awoke to the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. I smiled to myself, relishing the quasi-rational excuse to sleep in. I could see light through my closed eyelids, and hear the seagulls squawking nearby. If it wasn’t about to rain, I would probably encourage myself to get up and outside to do some yard work. Spring was finally managing to punctuate a particularly long and snowy Maine winter. I had things to sweep and rake and plant outside, but it would have to wait for another Saturday. I stretched my legs out while cozily snuggling further under the blanket.… Read the rest

I’d like to advise that I don’t condone repeating the efforts I’m about to detail. I can’t stop anybody from acting upon curiosity, but my actions haven’t done any real good for my well being. I wouldn’t expect another individuals experience to fair much better. I’ll get back to that subject later on, but I’ll first give you my actual story.

There’s a feeling that I’m sure many have experienced, even on a small scale. Before one is about to sleep, there’s a sensation in which the body feels like it’s sinking downwards, falling into nothing. This has been simply named a “falling sensation”, or at least I’ve never heard by another other name.… Read the rest

Just Your Average Night
By Julie Oliver

“Ok, time for bed” … is what I said to the empty living-room. It was getting late, and the internet no longer amused me. I picked up my cell phone, rooted through the couch cushions until I located the remote, and turned off the television that had been nothing but background noise for the last few hours.

I made sure the front and back doors were securely locked, walked around the back of the couch, and turned off the only light. A tap on the screen of my phone created just enough light to keep from busting a toe on an errant table leg.… Read the rest

As I entered the facility, I could all but bite down the aggravating anxiety that arose from my gut as I approached the main desk. The receptionist who resided behind it glanced up with a half-hearted smile.

“Hello,” I began rather foolishly, “I’m here for the dream weaver experiment; I saw in the paper yesterday that volunteers were requested?”

The short, stout woman nodded affirmatively, passed me a clipboard and pen and instructed me to fill out the provided questionnaire. As excitement overcame paranoia, I perched on a nearby chair and began to fill it out appropriately – it consisted of generalised medical questions and a sleep-related survey, asking me how long I generally slept, and at what time I would awake from my slumber.… Read the rest

The first to go was my sight.

When thinking of the experiment in my mind, I was hoping that my sight would be one of the last senses to switch off. I wasn’t sure if the drug shut them off in an order, or if it was more of a random cycle. I it would only be temporary, but I prepared for an uncomfortable, but potentially interesting experience. I had been fascinated with sensory deprivation for a long period of my life, but a chlorinated pool wouldn’t satisfy me. I wanted something that would truly degrade my senses. I had acquired an experimental sedative, one that was used for a complete paralysis of sensation.… Read the rest

“Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.” -Edgar Allan Poe

In a dream Joseph saw himself sleeping. His twelve year old body tucked in a thick comforter, on top of his old hand me down mattress. Even as he stood by his bedside, looking at himself, he could feel the warmth of the comforter. “Curious” he thought to himself, he decided to explore this dream. He looked out his window, the moon still bright, and with a bit of concentration he passed through the window, like a ghost in a movie.… Read the rest

I awoke that night to Echo, my dog, barking up a storm. He was perched on the edge of my bed, facing the door and yapping away like crazy. I scratched him behind the ear to get him to calm down and guided him to his usual spot on my bed.
In hindsight, him barking was the first warning.
My brain, overactive as it is, was curious as to why he was behaving so oddly. Echo rarely barked at anything, so it was unlikely he was barking at nothing. Perhaps there is a skunk in the yard, I thought to myself.… Read the rest

At the incessant crash and rumble of the storm outside, you jolt awake, shaking off the tendrils of confusing, light dozes.  Your bed is positioned by the windows that you forgot to close; slashes of lighting illuminate your untidy room, spatters of rain fly in.  You go to close it but stop, leaning halfway out, enraptured by the storm.  You are overwhelmed with an almost indescribable feeling, the feeling a fierce storm brings.  A churning stomach, bewildered eyes, a sense of powerlessness against this great beast that claims the sky as its own before slinking away, defeated by the dawn that battles through the cloud.… Read the rest

The notion that our existence was crafted so eloquently without the guiding hand of a supreme being is equally as indigestible as that of an omnipotent, omnipresent God. I have always believed this uncomfortable paradox was the catalyst for my pursuit into the study of the human mind. What secrets must be kept, locked away for millennia, which could illuminate the answers to the questions that constantly plague each and every one of us? Those core doubts and emotions, buried deep within and kept chained to our subconscious minds, that taunt us with their vague yet constant nagging . Whose pervasive wailings are droned out by the inane and petty chatter of our everyday lives.… Read the rest

ORANGE THREE

_________________
PART ONE

The red fabric seats held nothing but dust. That made him uneasy. He didn’t know what to expect, but he did expect someone. The letter told him the exam would be held the following day, at the old theater, and that he should take a seat in the main auditorium. It also told him he would be safe, but little else. A voice through speakers was the only entity welcoming him. “Please sit,” it said. “Where?” he asked, but there was no reply, so he just strolled down the aisle and stopped more or less in the middle.… Read the rest

A Childhood Dream Destroyed

There is no God. There is no Heaven. There is no Hell. There is only this fucking Dorito disguised as a GODDAMN Greasy lookin chicken nugget from McDonald’s Hell, where it was banished for all entirety. What the fuck is this? Who would do this? What has this world come to? Thanks Obama.

Ever since I was a little boy all I ever wanted, was to buy my own bag of Doritos. My mom would never let me eat them. Oh how I longed for my own bag of Doritos. I would sometimes imagine the smell of opening the bag, that sweet, sweet smell invading my nostrils, SMELLIN like a fresh home cooked ham in December.… Read the rest

One month ago, on a rain-slicked street

My mother and I got a bite to eat

But on the way back, I slipped and fell

And I suppose the car coming didn’t see me well

Because the next thing I knew, as I lifted my head

I was staring at the sheets of a hospital bed!

I could not move my legs, nor my right arm

My left was okay (it escaped from harm)

My mother came in, with a frown, and then

Said “honey, I’m afraid you’ll never walk again.”

A feeling came over me, not sadness or hate

But instead overwhelming apathy took place

“Oh well,” I thought, “I guess I’m done.… Read the rest

My name is Robert Krandall, and I play a marginal part in the following story. I am attempting to post on this site for scary stories on behalf of the author, my friend Jonathan Tally. Jon is currently serving a prison sentence for manslaughter. I hope that seeing this published in a public forum will help ease his mind. His mental state has deteriorated considerably, as you’ll see. I am not a superstitious person, so I have no trouble seeing it as the hallucinations of a mentally disturbed individual. If you are superstitious, I recommend not reading it.

So here it is, reproduced, word for word, from Jon’s letters he wrote while in solitary confinement.… Read the rest

I’ve never had nightmares like this before. I’m not a fan of horror, I’m not depressed, I haven’t even been under any especial strain lately. I’m just a good person, and I’ve always had good, normal dreams. You need to understand that what happened to me wasn’t something natural.

God didn’t put that thing inside of my head.

It was eerily life-like, this nightmare, but I’m sure you’ve heard that before. I woke, in the dream, and was still perfectly aware of each of my senses. When I sat up, I felt the air shifting against my face; I could have counted the creases in the duvet as it crumpled to accommodate for my movements.… Read the rest

Ms. Hanson is quitting her job at the end of the school year. She’s only taught fourth grade for three years, but she’s already had enough. She’s had enough of the clueless administrators who’ve never set foot inside a classroom telling her how to do her job. She’s had enough of the brainless, irresponsible and self-righteous parents refusing to punish their spawn even when they hit their teachers or trash the classrooms. Most of all she’s had enough of the violent, thieving, vandalizing, foul-mouthed and ungrateful little brats that fill Winterfield Elementary. In its youth the school had suffered through a number of rat and cockroach infestations, but as far as Ms.… Read the rest

Content Warning: Explicit Gore

Since I was a child, I had always felt the need to move my hands and fiddle with objects. My parents would always pester me about it, how I couldn’t do well with keeping them still and picking up and messing with things.

This affected me in more parts of my life than I would think of. I had difficulty making friends, as I would typically touch and tangle with belongings that weren’t my own. This was because I began to grow a intolerable, unrelenting madness when my hands didn’t move, even a short period of time.… Read the rest

I have never been a sucker for ghost stories. I’ve never believed in ghosts, and I don’t think—honestly, I do hope I’m right—I ever will. I also don’t believe in demons or angels. It’s all just a bit too far out of my imagination for me to think it is all true. Therefore stories of demon possession or seeing some angelic creature—it’s all bull to me. However, I have heard some that were unexplainable. Some stories that might leave you wondering. I know that some of the people that experienced these will spend the rest of their life searching for the answers to their questions, but all the same they’ll never find them.… Read the rest

Unsent email found in a fifth floor office of the Morpheus-Delta Research Facility. Account belonged to Cal Rooker, Security Chief.

*

– Subject: RE: back from vacation! –

Sorry I haven’t got back to you in so long. Been real busy over here.

Glad you had fun in Jamaica. We got your card all right. Ginny was tickled pink. She’s not used to people remembering her birthday (I’m a forgetful ass myself). I gave her a kiss for you. I think I’ll have to take a rain check on our golf game this weekend though.

How’ve I been? Oh, not so good.… Read the rest

They call him “The Hatter”. His face is only a rumor. His body is an urban legend. But, his intentions are always clear; once the invitation arrives, he will be waiting, likely with a knowing smile and lashing tongue.

Marcus was an unexceptional man. He worked eight hours a day in some indistinct office, punching numbers, balancing accounts, and taking phone calls. He kept to himself, preferring to spend his evenings alone, sinking into a good book rather than the revelries of bars and nightclubs. Though he had his eyes set on Janet from accounting, Marcus seldom spoke with her, and their relationship was best described as accidental.… Read the rest

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