creepypasta.com

The Hiker

I was through hiking the Appalachian Trail last year, when I got lost and found myself off the trail, in a strange, dark hollow with heavy moss and one running stream. It was getting dark, and starting to rain. I found a cave just above the creekbed, and there were no bear-tracks, so I went in for shelter. 

Sometime in the night, a bear DID come, right into the cave, and I had no way out! Keeping my head, I crawled deeper into the cave and found a passage too small for the bear to fit. It led to a long crawlway ending in a little alcove.

I had no light, and was terrified. But the sound of the bear in the bigger room faded away. This new room was cozy, with what felt like mounds of soft moss and crackly leaves all over the floor. A breeze blew through, and the leaves, though I couldn’t see them, seemed to move all over, they tickled me all night long, making it hard to sleep.

The next morning I crept back out to see if the bear was gone - he was. So I exited back into the hollow. I had a terrible rash all over my body from the itchy bedding I had slept on, and couldn’t stop scratching as I gathered my stuff and went down the creek looking for a road and some directions back to the trail.

I found another trail along the creek, and in a few hours, it ended at a dirt road. There I rested, trying to decide which way to walk for help. My skin was bleeding in spots now, and pustules were forming at the itchiest places. I thought I might need some cream or something.

A Game Warden jeep came around the bend, and when the Warden saw me sitting at the trailhead, he stopped.

“You planning on going up there?” he asked, gesturing up the trail I had come down.

“No, actually-” I began, but the itching on my skin made me stop short to scratch.

“Well, if you are, just stay the hell clear of Spider-Nest Cave.”

–
Credited to BlackEyedClown.

The Witches Tunnel

Close to where I live there is a forest, which holds a dark secret; The Witches Tunnel, a cluster of trees that have intertwined, clasping hands with each other to form a dark passage. It is said deep within the forest lives an old witch with eternal knowledge.

Walking through during the day is unsettling, a walk through this tunnel at midnight in the dead of winter when the moon is full is a different experience entirely. The branches will twist and sway as if trying to grab you and you’d swear they were alive. There will be no sound except the wind whispering in your ear, telling you to turn back. What looks like a distance of a few feet will take you nearly an hour to travel, if you turn round the entrance will be barely visible, a mere speck. Turning back now, however, would be a very bad idea, you must keep walking.

Eventually you will come out the other end, only this won’t be the same forest as it is in the day. The moon will be so big you could almost touch it and where its light manages to pierce through the dense foliage you’ll see the ground is alive with insects, one big crawling mass. Grotesque, mocking shadows will surround you in a thick blanket of fear.

As you continue, the path will split in two. Look for a crow in the the trees, she will indicate which path to take and serve as your guide. If you ignore her and take the other path, you will be doomed to walk it for eternity as punishment for your insolence. The correct path leads to a break in the trees overlooking a small lake, thick with fog. Remain here until the fog clears, then walk to the shore. Glancing at the deep black water you will see yourself reflected, only many years older. If you see nothing, you have already failed. You may ask your future self one question and it will answer truthfully. Ask wisely however, some things you are not supposed to know.

When you have your answer turn round and you will see the crow has reappeared, only now in her true form, a sunken-faced old hag propped up by a gnarled branch. She will turn and begin walking and you must follow her, a few yards behind. Be careful not to lose sight of her as you will become lost in these forbidden woods forever. She will stop beneath the tallest tree in the forest and her boney finger will beckon you over. Approach her, but do not look her in the face, lest what you see behind those ageless eyes drives you insane. In return for letting you into her wise woods, she will ask a favour of you. This could be anything, from reading a certain book to committing a murder. Promise her this favour and she will lead you out of the forest.

Upon leaving the forest return home immediately and go straight to bed. The next day, rise at dawn and return the witches favour. If you do not do so within twenty-four hours she will return to you that night. She won’t kill you herself, that would be too easy. No, she will whisper in your ear whilst you sleep, invading your dreams and filling your subconscious with dark suggestions. You will create your own death, tearing yourself apart both mentally and literally.

The witch does not forgive.

–

Credited to Nathan.

The Portraits

There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After a what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached, and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning. As he looked around, he was suprised to see the walls adorned by many portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.

Face down in an unfamiliar bed, he turned blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.

DAY OF ALL THE BLOOD

THIS IS THE STORY OF A DAY WHERE THERE WAS ALL THIS BLOOD. A MAN WAS WALKING AROUND AND BLOOD STARTED COMING OUT OF HIM EVERYWHERE. THERE WAS SO MUCH BLOOD THAT IT FILLED UP AN ELEVATOR. HE WENT TO THE STORE AND THERE WAS JUST BLOOD ALL OVER THE PLACE! PEOPLE WERE SLIPPING IN IT AND THEY WERE ALL GROSSED OUT. HE TRIED TO GO SWIMMING AND ALL OF THE SHARKS WENT NUTS AND BITTENED EVERYBODY. HE GOT CHASED BY ALL THE VAMPIRES EVER. ONE TIME THE BLOOD GOT A KID AND A DOG. AT THE END OF THE DAY EVERYONE DECIDED THEY WOULD SEND HIM TO SPACE SO THAT HE WOULD STOP GETTING BLOOD EVERY WHERE. THE SCARIEST PART IS THAT THE MAN WAS YOU!!! (OR HE WAS A LADY IF YOU ARE A LADY) AND YOU FORGOT THAT THIS HAPPENED

–
You should probably go visit bogleech.com today.

More-Than-Historical Monument

Somewhere in Brooklyn, New York exists a narrow old-style 12-story building. It looks as though it was built sometime in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s, however the only documentation of the building was in the early 1900’s, when it was first noticed. Nobody really knows where this building came from, but nobody has really bothered to tear it down or do anything with it for as long as it’s been around.

In May 1902, a couple of teenage kids explored the building. Inside, they found a single hallway on each floor of the building. Down each hall there were several doors on each side of the hall. On some floors, there were 31 doors; on others, 30. One even had 28 doors. All the doors, the halls, and the stairwells appeared to be very worn out. For some reason, all the doors had the same rusty labels on them (the label read “1902″), and they were all unlocked. All the rooms looked to be the same; old, dusty, and appearing to fall apart. The first 5 floors of the building were the same, but the teens said that they couldn’t go down the whole 5th floor hallway; they said that there was something about it that seemed to give them chills, practically immobilizing them.

4 months later, they went mad and committed suicide.

After this incident, local scientists began to conduct experiments concerning the building. They sent in mental patients for a period of time, then obesrved their behavior for a period of 6 months afterwards. All but 3 patients were able to emerge from the “haunted” building. It has officially been reported that only the truly heartless and insane are able to go into the building and emerge unharmed (considering that they were already insane before they went in).

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Perfectown

I was exhausted. I had just gotten home from another day of forced monotony that we call a job. I wanted nothing more than to kick back with a cold beer and watch the hockey game. I walked to the fridge and grabbed a beer before shambling to the entertainment room. Still warm. Damn. I sat down in my comfiest recliner. The footrest sprung up, and I pushed the back down far enough so I could just see the TV. I grabbed the remote and hit the power button. The TV flickered on, filling the room with the sound of hockey. It wasn’t the same without the cold beer.

I reluctantly sat back up and got out of my chair, and made my way to the stairs leading up to the attic.

I pushed the door open and stepped into the dark, musty room, thick with the stench of mold. I grabbed the flashlight that I kept by the attic door and clicked it on. I made my way around all the boxes, coming to the back of the attic. There I found the fuse box. I set the flashlight down and began to tinker with the fuses. A bit of light caught the corner of my right eye. I thought nothing of it, being too predisposed with my task. I finished fixing the fuse and turned to my right to grab the flashlight. But it wasn’t there. I put the flashlight down with my left hand. That’s when it hit me. Where did that light I saw come from? I recollected the flashlight and walked to the right of where I was. It didn’t take me long. I came to the side of my attic, where a crack in the wall was shining a brilliant white. I thought that maybe this was the end of my house, and the crack led to outside. But that was impossible. There was way more house below this light, and it couldn’t lead outside. It was nighttime.

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Creepy Pasta With A Side Of Sauce

This thing on? I guess it is. I can see the little light on the recorder and it isn’t flashing just yet. This is a…well, OK. It isn’t a last will of any sort. It’s a recording of the freaky stuff I just saw. Saw and ate. Oh god, that was bad. Not the previous phrase but the food. Well, OK. Let me start at the beginning. As in a few hours ago and what the hell I did at that café. If it was a café in the first place.

Got a call from an old school friend. She wanted to meet me for a bite to eat. She’s a damn hot chick and I hadn’t seen her in a good long time. Course, I kept in contact over the ‘net – with a body like hers I’d have been stupid not to. Plus, I was hoping to get lucky with her. Oh man, I’m drooling. Uh…yeah, OK, so where was I? Oh yeah, I go to the meeting place and it’s something that looks like an abandoned building. All hollowed out. I think to myself this isn’t the place. Look at the address: 13 Kent Street. It synched with the numbers on the building. Funny thing is, this is a building in the middle of a busy city.

Abandoned, but people were walking outside. Asking me what I was doing here and who was I meeting. Of course, I told them to fuck off – it’s my own business to be hanging around out here. Damn, if I only knew then…but damn, I wouldn’t have run. She was stunning. Came towards me and I knew then that I would be having fun soon. Of course…well, I shouldn’t say. Took my hand with hers and said that it was great to see me in the flesh again. I asked what we were doing here…and why everyone avoided it. She avoided the question by kissing me…and I can’t really remember what happened after that – except we were in the building.

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Huntsville Camping Trip

I went camping about 3 weekends ago in the Huntsville national forest in Texas. Me and 3 friends that came home for the weekend, they are all in college and usually we all get together at least once a year, old friends from high school. For the camping trip we planned to go backpacking deep in the forest, live off of fish that we catch and animals that we can trap. We have been doing this for awhile in Texas and in numerous places, Arizona, Colorado (if anyone is familiar with the Spanish peaks there), New Mexico, so we‘re pretty much used to anything you‘d encounter out there.

It was my turn to pick where we went camping, so I chose Huntsville (more accurately it’s Huntsville/New Waverly). So we drive up there park our car in a camping park spot and start walking off into the forest. We had some laughs along the way, everyone catching up with each other’s lives. We walked until it started to get dark and set up camp where we stopped. Everyone gathered wood to make a fire and we set our tent up. And we do what we always do: try and scare each other with weird stories.

Around this time we started to smell something very faint. It was noticeable, but not overbearing. We couldn’t put our finger on what it was, so we just carried on. Mike had to go piss and he walked off in the forest. A second later he come running back, piss all down his jeans like he’d missed really bad. Immediately we all crack up and throw some jokes at him. Then we noticed that he was white as snow and trying to catch his breath. He starts screaming for us to follow him, and runs off.

We all get serious and go follow him, not knowing what the problem was. We start to hear a faint scream and crying in the distance, in the direction we were running. It was pitch black away from the camp and Mike had the only flash light (we left ours at the camp, he had his from his trip taking a piss), so at this stage we didn’t have much choice but to follow the light, which was frantically pointing here and there in front of him.

The scream gets closer and Mike starts to slow down. We then notice a ratty old cabin that looked like it was abandoned, except for a faint light that we could see from one of the old mildew covered windows. The crying was intense: whoever it was couldn’t breathe enough to let out a full yell. We all followed Mike up to the front door and we could all hear the crying from inside. As soon as he knocked on the door it stopped.

We all waited and heard really heavy footsteps walking fast to the door. There was a giant slam against the door and the sound of a bolt unlocking. Then nothing. We waited for a bit, knocked a few more times, but still nothing happened. We walked around the house (there was no fucking way any of us were leaving each other’s side) and noticed a window, which was a good way up. Alex took a deep breath and said asked us to give him a boost so he could see inside. Me and Mike lifted him up to the window. We watched him brush away dirt and webs from the window and place his face close to the window to try and see something.

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The Lodge

I live in a small town in Upstate New York. No more than 600 people sleep here, and less call it home. I moved up from Brooklyn about five years ago and immediately fell in love with its charm, its closeness, and as is the subject of this tale, its mystery.

One day not long ago as I was walking down the town’s only avenue past a used book shop that only sells books you’ve never heard of, and across from the building that doesn’t seem to know what it wants to be; sandwich shop, art gallery, grocery all in recent memory, I tripped on one of many uneven sidewalk slabs. As I picked my possessions and myself up off the biting fall cement, I noticed a large sign above an abandoned building I must pass daily; a building that was not out of the ordinary to me at all. The sign was what gave me that start of unfamiliarity, as it declared the building a “Masonic Lodge” in its old, carefully flowering print.

It was the first time I had seen the sign on this building in my then-four-years of inhabitance.

“It’s probably just an old sign someone found and hung up there,” I thought to myself. But even as that thought resounded around my head I could tell that it wasn’t quite right. No, there was another motive behind the appearance of that sign, and now I was determined to find it. I went about asking locals (those who had lived there longer than my years, that is) if they had ever seen the sign before, who owned the building, had they ever seen anyone go into it, that sort of thing. To my surprise, not one of the questioned had noticed the sign, and when I pointed it out to them they were visibly startled at its unannounced appearance. You see, in this town, no one does anything without someone else hearing about it. Something as large as a building-wide sign going up would have been remembered by at least one person, but no one could recall it. As for my inquiries of ownership and use of the building, no one knew who held the deed, and no one had ever seen anyone go into or out of it.

I decided that I would have to investigate myself. Obviously the best way of doing this would be to break into the building at night, armed with only a flashlight and a tape recorder, to document my findings. In hindsight I’m not exactly sure why I chose the night to explore this old, abandoned would-be Masonic Lodge… perhaps the writing of a story was sneaking into my subconscious.

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Paris

My Grandfather’s brother lived most of his life in Paris, France. On the few occasions I’ve met him, it was very clear that he was a disturbed individual with some sort of something bothering him all day and night. I figured he’d had a stroke or perhaps he was just plain senile. After a few meetings with my grandfather’s brother, I became curious. My grandfather hesitated to tell me the story, but I talked him into it.

Now it’s a well known fact that beneath Paris, there’s over 400 miles of ancient catacombs, going deep underground. It’s a subterranean labyrinth that many people have explored and got lost in. My Grandfather’s brother, Alex, had no plans of exploring the catacombs. He had recently graduated college and was engaged to his future wife. Things were going just swell for him.

Alex said that he was off to fetch some food for dinner and decided to try a different path to the store. He took a wrong turn, and kept going, and before he knew it he was lost in Paris. The next part was blurry. He was in a very shady neighborhood with very poor lighting. The last thing he remembers is walking to the side of the road for a smoke. Next thing he knew, he was in total darkness and up to his waist in water. He had fallen into a recently opened hole leading to the catacombs of Paris.

He’d noticed the passageways began leading downward, not what he wanted. Eventually he claims to have found a large empty room, he decided to rest there. He couldn’t sleep, and had lost almost all hope at this point. He was tottering on the edge of passing out, but he heard something. He (painfully) stood up, held his breath, and listened. He could hear footsteps and heavy breathing, what sounded almost like wheezing. He called out for help, and the footsteps and breathing stopped. The catacombs were deathly silent except for the occasional droplet of water. He stood like that for about an hour, listening for a response. Eventually the footsteps began again, and once again, he called out for help. This time he got his answer.

A scream rang out that he claimed to be too feminine to be a man and too deep to be a woman. The shriek was loud and lasted a long time. Beneath that he could hear the footsteps with increased tensity. He jolted up and ran away from the yell, blindly struggling through the catacombs. The scream didn’t seem to be getting any further, and he kept running for all his life, no matter how much it hurt to do so. Eventually the shriek faded, but the footsteps were as loud as ever. He ran through the catacombs for what he said seemed like hours, and eventually came across a ladder.

He climbed the ladder, and from what it sounded like, the mystery thing did not follow. He took out his lighter and shined it down to see what had been chasing him, but it moved away upon seeing the light, and Alex hauled ass up the stairs. He found a manhole, but it would not budge. He yelled and banged for a while, and eventually some passers-by heard him and the police came to his rescue. He was a good thirty miles away from his apartment, in a residential part of Paris.