Scary Paranormal Stories & Short Horror Microfiction

Creepypasta

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This message is my map, and this map is my message.

The earth here is thin. I move about it so freely, and the ease of it is a delicious thing, but it is also frightful. I dig my inscriptions by feel and touch, and because I know the earth, I know that this will be massive for your senses.

Here in this layer of the planet, I am inbetween my people and your people. I float about in this soft soil like a drifting bubble, weightless and yet handled so delicately within my surroundings that my fragile dome will never burst. I am fit to drift along in euphoria. I would do this forever, if granted the chance, but I have responsibilities to my people, and to our Mother.

If I were to glide about, dreamlessly, in this infinite expanse of softrock, a few fathoms beneath your manmade pave-veins, I would lose myself in the arms of Mother, and she would love to have me lost. That exquisite moment will not arrive until your end-time comes. For now, I must finish the task I have been chosen for by our matron. She was born from the hardrock and the fire at the very core of Mother, and so I cherish and love her for choosing me to finish this map for our people.

If I were to abandon my quest and return home now, I could be in the heartfire of earth within two of Mother’s circles. Perhaps that holds no meaning for you, but because I have lurked just beneath the pave-vein in your greatest den and homestead of New York City, I know that the word I must use is “years.” You measure your core by a finite passage of time in units. We measure ours by Mother Earth herself, as you once did before in history, before you created the deathly grid and thought yourselves too intelligent to honor Mother. This is what saddens her, and this is the cause of the war between my people and your people.

It has taken me over one thousand of your years to reach the earth just below your pave-veins and grids of softrock. At first, I did not understand, and I would glide along through the thin places as your slow moving metal boxes with the rubber feet would adhere to the limited paths that you have provided for them. They are lumbering beasts, unable to dig, deaf and dumb constructs that are reflective of their creators. I do not pity you, because if you had used her gifts the way they were meant to be used, you would be as my people are now.

I traveled up from the heartfire at the core, and I learned your grid. I have traveled it, mapped it, and meticulously crafted the crooked places above the soil. They are illogical. Why you take the softrock from Mother’s ample womb and move it to create your own veins is beyond me. It is disgusting, and it gives me more purpose to fulfill what the matron has sent me to your thinplace for. Mother’s veins are designed to be flowed through, to be embraced and traveled as they were created. What you do to her is an abomination.

We hear her soft whimpers at night when we try to sleep, and it pains us. The core of fire at her heart is our resting place, and now it is plagued by the agonized wails of the planet. She hid her grief and pain from us, but the noise was too great for us to sleep. You have made us restless.

It took time for us to coax her in to revealing the source of her sorrow and anguish. That source is you and your people. You have assaulted the most beautiful of beautiful things, and for this, we hate you. You have brought this on yourself.

By the time one of your geologists finds this long message, riddled throughout the endless tunnels and archways within Mother that I have dug, it will be too late. The map is already almost finished. What I dig now is only superfluous to our real motivations. I dig this message now to provide an explanation, a reason for what we are about to do. We feel that we do not owe you this. Mother feels differently, despite her scars, and so we honor her wishes.

The dig from the core has been long. When I first began in the expanses of hardened molta, I moved slowly. Her screams chased me through the trenches of stone and furious flame as your years passed, and you continued to wound her further. Her pain was my pain, and so my progress quickened. Feeling the shudders of Mother, she caused me to burn bright, to blast through the hardrock and reach the thin places where I can move like one of your bullets.

The number of trenches and veins that I have burned through her is incomprehensible to your kind. They are all pathways for my people to travel from the core of fire to your thin place. I have mapped her for them, and so they need only unleash our message to you in the boughs of the clouds. You will see the sky burn as bright as our home at her center, and all of you will perish.

It will take us some time to overgrow your atrocious pave-veins with our earth, but we will help her. We will blast them in to oblivion as easily as we will blast from the map beneath your beasts on rubber. We will reap the cause of her pain away in one ascending windfall, and then her wails may soften. Eventually, she will be gleeful and throbbing with life once more, and we will fall fitfully asleep, as we should be now, if it were not for your people.

This map is my message, and I am growing tired of your thin place in the crust beneath your metropolis dens. They are an affliction on Mother’s perfect face, and because you have marred her beautiful cheeks with her own tears, we will rend you with the very fire that we were born from.


Credited to Violent Harvest, who also deserves some congratulations!

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Core, 5.1 out of 10 based on 69 ratings
  • http://thehungryreader.com Krepta

    It’s lyrical and beautiful, but I wouldn’t call it scary, or even creepy. I’m just curious what the being telling the story is; a magma bulb, perhaps? Maybe I’m inured to threats from unknowable inhuman entities by now; maybe I always have been.

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    Rating: +5 (from 5 votes)
  • Damien

    Sounds like the Chtonians are pissed…

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  • CN

    I trailed off, it was the same thing over and over again. coldpasta.

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    Rating: +1 (from 7 votes)
  • Anonymous

    10/10.

    Absolutely amazing. VH, this might be the best pasta you’ve ever written.

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    Rating: +1 (from 3 votes)
    • Lee

      Wow. How bad are the others? It seems like a bleeding heart rant. Not creepy. Repetitive. Irritating.

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      Rating: -1 (from 5 votes)
  • Horace Horrible

    This pasta is dildos

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    Rating: +8 (from 8 votes)
  • Horace Horrible

    Violent Harvest, I am dissapoint

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    Rating: 0 (from 4 votes)
  • Violent Harvest

    Thanks to all of those who take the time to read this website. Sometimes stories are hit or miss, and everyone likes something different…. but even if your criticism is harsh, I am thankful that you took your personal time to examine something that I, or some other author on this website, in fact, created.

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    Rating: +8 (from 8 votes)
  • Violent Harvest

    Oh, and krepta, to answer your question, I pictured the protagonist as a very small and persistent ball of fire. As it digs upward, closer to the surface where the planet suffers greatest, it begins to grow in stature and burn until it appeared in my mind as a sort of pissed off “phoenix” type thing that wanted to burn New York to the ground.

    That image pretty much compelled me to write this in one sitting, and although I agree it’s not the conventional sort of creepy, the general thought or idea that Mother Earth could employ a different sentient being to hold human beings accountable to her intrigues me.

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  • itsamutiny

    i think it was (mostly) pretty well written, but it wasn’t creepy. i felt like terms like “pave-veins” and “softrock” detract from it a bit because it isn’t clear what they are and the pasta isn’t long enough to explain them all. i thought it had an interesting plot though, that there are entities living in the earth’s core tht are ANGRY at us.

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  • anon

    BUT WHO WAS MOTHER?

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  • Violent Harvest

    Yeah, those terms are pretty vague, I agree, but when you put it in the perspective that this thing is not human and doesn’t communicate in terms of the upper world, “veins” and the thickness of the earth are the only finite measurements of their existence. I coined the terms deliberately to try and demonstrate the difference between a being that communicates by burrowing through the earth, rather than one that communicates with a keyboard or pen and paper. This was an experiment in the oblique and abstract for sure. Thank you for the feedback.

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    Rating: +3 (from 3 votes)
  • swuuuu

    BUT WHO WAS VOLCANO??

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  • PaperPasta

    I loved it. Very well written VH.

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    Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • Failure

    Fail personificated-earth pasta is fail.

    Though I do like your writing style.

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    Rating: -1 (from 1 vote)
  • ur mom

    but WHO WAS THE WHIMPERS!? no in all seriousness it didnt really understand it but it was very intrestin if that makes sense lawl 5/10

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    Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • Sydnee

    If this creepy pasta is meant to personify volcanos? Then yay you did it. If not, be more clear. It’s okay writing, but kind of a purple prose and not understandable.

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    Rating: +1 (from 3 votes)
  • Anonymous

    “I trailed off, it was the same thing over and over again. coldpasta.”

    This. It couldn’t hold my attention at all

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    Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • ncslayme

    The idea of this was quite intriguing, not so much creepy as i would say interesting in the idea of a second species and the idea of earth being sentient herself.

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  • Archfeared

    Very well written and a change from the “normal” supernatural entities.

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  • Archfeared

    Oh, and congratulations on your publishing opportunity.

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  • Metathrash

    Yeah, what itsamutiny said. Cool story, not creepy, but good.

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  • anon

    More like, BUT WHO WAS VOLCANO

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  • Anathema

    slightly reminiscent of lovecraft, but very much in your own tone and words.
    very nice piece.
    i would have like it to be shortened though; it would heighten the tension and the fear we should be feeling.

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    Rating: 0 (from 2 votes)
  • knives

    It’s funny when people criticize stories for not getting the point across, when in reality their minds are too puny to comprehend what they are about. 10/10

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    Rating: +1 (from 3 votes)
  • WHARRGARBL

    THEN WHO WAS LAVOS?

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