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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.

The Library

As I crossed the threshold of the library, I noticed that all sounds of the street stopped. I shrugged it off as being well soundproofed. I slowly weaved my way through the aisles, finding nothing that drew my attention. As I drew deeper into the depths of the building in, the lights grew dimmer until eventually, the onl light came from candles in brackets along the wall. The books grew darker too, though not in the same sense. They grew… more arcane. Scared, I turned around to leave. I walked briskly back the way I came, but the overhead lights never returned. I retraced my steps, and took different turns all to no avail.

Was that…. movement? My gaze tracked to the end of the aisle I was in and saw a shape moving slowly away from me. I chased after it, calling out. As I got closer, the shape sharpened into that of a man. I asked him breathlessly how to get out of the library. He didnt move. Then, out of nowhere, he whipped his head around. I only caught a glimpse of his face before I threw my arms up to protect my own, and he bit me. Caught my arm good. Down I went, and scrambled away from him. I managed to find my footing, and ran like hell.

My lungs felt like they were about to burst when I finally stopped. I had no idea where I was. I was scared, and exhausted. Before I knew what I was doing, I laid down and went to sleep.

I would love to give you a time when I awoke, but I don’t know for sure. I had lost all sense of time. I dragged my aching body to my feet and stumbled down the hallway. I noticed it getting brighter, the books more lighthearted. I looked up, and saw an ancient lightbulb. I started to run down the hall, glancing upwards as I ran. The lights grew brighter until I caught glimpse of the doors. I ran towards them, freedom so close I could taste it. As I stepped up to the doors, they stayed still. They didnt open. I reached my fingers into the crack in the doors and tried to pry them open. They wouldn’t budge. Locked? I thought. But that idea was shattered as an older man walked to the doors and they slid open for him. He threw me a glance, and I thought I recognized his face. As he tipped his hat to me and walked out into the world it hit me. That man in the aisle. He was leaving. I walked to the open doors behind him and tried to walk out. As I strode towards the open doors, I hit something. It was like walking into a wall, but all that was in front of me was air.

I hurried to the librarian to ask for help. No matter how loudly I asked, she ignored me. She glanced up once, but it was like she was looking past me… Through me. I tried to shove a pile of books over to get her attention, but I couldnt move them. Se calmly reached over, and picked the top book off the pile. I had to figure out what was going on. She stood up and began to walk away, and I grabbed her arm, pulled her back. Her arm didn’t move, but she sort of seemed to be looking for something, and followed where I led. I led her to a table,, and let her go. She looked at the table, and under it, but seemed to decide she didn’t find what she was looking for, and went back along her way.

So thats my story. I’m still here today. We haven’t been busy. But you never know. You may come in sometime, looking for a book. I may take your hand and lead you deeper and deeper into the library. You may catch a glimpse of me and ask for help out. I may just get my freedom, at the cost of yours.

I’m waiting for you.

–
Credited to TheCoffinDancer.

The Elevator

In a dilapidated office building somewhere in Connecticut is one of the few elevators in the Western world that has a button labeled ’13′ amongst its choices of floors. If you enter after midnight, crawling through the loosely boarded up window on the South side of the building, you will find the elevator doors standing open, with soft florescent lighting and muzak spilling from it, even though nothing else in the whole of the building seems to have power.

You can, if you choose, pick through the debris of raucous teenaged parties and office meetings past. The path seems to be mostly cleared through the broken, dirty, stained and vintage office furniture and burned out joints, cigarettes and crushed beer cans, all the way to the light in the door.

All of the buttons work in the elevator, and will take you to its designated floor–despite the creaking of the cables–though there seems to be a layer of grime on their plastic covers. All but the button labeled ’13′, which seems to glow brightly.

No one’s quite sure if that one goes to the thirteenth floor. But there’s a story about a group of high school teenagers who had a party after their prom there, in the early nineties. A dare was made, and four of them piled into the rickety elevator, taking it to the thirteenth floor. When they came back down again, they were pale and shaking, but all of them swore they’d seen nothing more than a normal office floor, covered in dust and shadows. Two of them died in an accident on the car ride home that night. Another, three weeks later, took a bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet, climbed into a hot bath, slit her wrists and dropped her hair dryer into the water with her. The fourth disappeared from the face of the planet two months later. None of them said anything of what they’d seen on the thirteenth level of the building, and when asked, would only ascertain (loudly, if necessary) that nothing had happened.

But you can, if you so choose, crawl in through the window and see for yourself.

–
Credited to Flea.

Quiet

I never saw the ocean till I was nineteen, and if I ever see it again it will be too goddamn soon. I was a child, coming out of the train, fresh from Amarillo, into San Diego and all her glory. The sight of it, all that water and the blind crushing power of the surf, filled me with dread. I’d seen water before, lakes, plenty big, but that was nothing like this. I don’t think I can describe what it was like that first time, and further more, I’m not sure I care too.

You can imagine the state I was in when a few weeks later they gave me a rifle and put me on a boat. When I stopped vomiting up everything that I ate, I decided that I might not kill myself after all. Not being able to see the land, and that ceaseless chaotic, rocking of the waves; I remember thinking that the war had to be a step up from this. Kids can be so fucking stupid.

I had such a giddy sense of glee when I saw the island, and it’s solid banks. They transferred us to a smaller boat in the middle of the night, just our undersized company with our rucksacks and rifles and not a word. We just took a ride right into it, just because they asked us to. The lieutenants herded us into our platoons on the decks and briefed us: the island had been lost. That was exactly how he put it. Somehow in the grand plan for the Pacific, this one tiny speck of earth, only recently discovered and unmapped, had gotten lost in the shuffle; a singularly perfect clerical error was all it took. It was extremely unlikely, he stressed, that the Japanese had gotten a hold of it, being so far east and south of their current borders, but a recent fly over reported what looked like an airfield in the central plateau.

We hit the beach in the middle of the night. I’d heard talk of landings before, and I’m not ashamed to tell, I was scared shitless. I don’t know quite what I expected, but it wasn’t we got, that thick, heavy silence. Behind the lapping of the waves and the wind in the trees, there was… nothing, no birds, no insects. Just deathly stillness.

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The Never Ending Road

In Corona, California there once was a road known by most locals as the Never Ending Road. Specifically, the road’s true name was Lester Road. Now, over twenty years later, the landscape of Corona has changed, and the Never Ending Road is no more. However, years ago, Lester Road was an unlit road that people claimed became a never ending road when driven at night. The people who made such a drive were never seen from again.

The legend became so well-known that people refused to even drive Lester Road during the day. One night, like many teens my age, I drove up Lester Road, but only a short distance, and in my headlights it did look like it went on forever. Frightened, I quickly turned around, because if I continued up the road, I thought I might never return again.

Perpetuation of the legend convinced local law enforcement to investigate. Lester Road took a sharp left turn at its end, and there were no guard rails. Beyond the curve lay a canyon, and on the other side of the canyon was another road that lined up so well with Lester Road that when viewed from the correct angle, especially at night, the canyon vanished from sight, and the road seemed to continue on up and over the hill on the other side of the canyon. Upon investigation of the canyon, dozens of cars were found, fallen to their doom, with the decomposing bodies of the victims still strapped to their seats.

The Blood Mirror

There is rumor of a great palace unfound deep in the deserts in Egypt. A massive complex of four-thousand rooms protects the single most prized possession of ancient Egypt. The Blood Mirror.

It is said every thousand years, a great hero of mankind must make his way down to this mirror, and stand before it in pick blackness at 19:06 June 6th (6/6 – at 6:66) and behold their own death. Their own image appears to slowly distort, screaming a horrible silent scream as their teeth and skin melt away leaving streams of blood to run down the mirror and pool at the bottom.

Gazing into this pool of blood on the other side of the mirror of their own blood will allow them to view the Antichrist’s birthplace, which they will then scream out in horrible screams of pain for an hour and six minutes, before their heart stops.

If the Antichrist isn’t stopped, all of mankind is doomed to an even worse fate.

it has been exactly 940 years from June 6th since this last happened, the next date is 2066, but the location has been lost. The hero will find this place, but we must be there to hear his screams, or we are lost…

06/06/2006

The Lost Cavern City

Deep beneath the New Mexican desert, there is a lost city in a dark cavern. Many have journeyed to the deep city, some have returned, some have not, completely vanished without a trace. As for what happened to the builders of the city, no one knows for sure. What I do know, is that I have walked the rubble strewn streets, and I have heard the cries in the dark, inhuman shrieks. I have no clue what these creatures that make these sounds are. I’ve been told that pictograms in the cavern suggest they were slaves to the builders, but like I said no one knows.

Eventually the random cries in the dark began to take a toll on me and I fled the cavern, returned home, and until today told only a few close friends of what I’d seen, and heard. Now, as I walk down the darkened streets of my hometown, I’ve begun to hear the creatures again. They are calling me back to the cavern.

The time is coming.