Scary Paranormal Stories & Short Horror Microfiction

Creepypasta

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I huffed and puffed under my breath as I stared into God’s Mouth. I felt like the Big Bad Wolf ready to interrupt the innocent little pigs as they hurriedly fortified their makeshift homes. I grinned at this thought and then turned my head to look for Margaret. She was a couple of feet down the hill from the entrance of the cave, holding a walking stick close to her petite breasts. “Hurry up!” I called down to her. I turned back to the cave, still grinning. An old, rotted sign outside read ‘God’s Mouth Cave: Keep Out!’ What a tired cliché.

Margaret finally made it to the entrance and stood beside me, almost doubled over and out of breath. I looked down and smiled. “Check it out!” I laughed. “God’s mouth. Wonder where Jesus’ anus is?” I chuckled to myself. Margaret was less amused.

“Give me the damn water bottle,” she said, exasperated. The open bottle met her lips, and for a moment I felt peaceful in a way, watching her drink the water. Actually I take that back. The ‘peaceful’ comment, I mean. It was more of a feeling that was sort of hard to put my finger on or give a name, but I could settle for a nice ‘content’. Content seemed to be one of those words that manifest itself when natural, human words seemed to fail. Again, an utter cliché, but it felt good to feel a strange, mixed-up sort of happy for once.

I sighed and turned my flashlight on. I pointed it into the cave. Black. God’s Mouth. This seemed like the antithesis of a Holy Spirit. I turned again to Margaret. “You ready?” I asked. She was finally standing straight up. She nodded. I clapped a friendly hand to her back and we walked into God’s Mouth.

The inside was not unlike the preview I had glimpsed outside with my flashlight. Dark, dismal, and endlessly black. It seemed to stretch endlessly, no matter how I positioned my flashlight. The rocky terrain was damp and imposing. The last natural light slowly disappeared behind Margaret and I as we made our way deeper and deeper. I found it strange how soft and compelling the world around me now appeared, despite the stalactites, stalagmites, and other various rocky formations being so jagged. It seemed that even amongst the pointed teeth of God I could lay down and rest there forever. It was comfortable.

Apparently Margaret didn’t agree. She shivered uncomfortably under my arm. I raised my eyebrows. “Need your coat?” I asked. I tried to look at her and make non-verbal communication as explicit as possible until I realized that we were lost inky blackness of the Mouth. I bit my lip and waited, but she didn’t respond. For a couple minutes we walked in silence. She stopped and stood motionless. I stopped, too.

“Why the hell are we even in here?” she said. She sounded irritated. I shrugged – more to appease myself than her – and shoved my flashlight under my face. Bladed shadows obscured half my face, the other half illuminated in a wretched mask. “Spooky!” I cried, chuckling. She didn’t move.

I sighed. “I thought you wanted to go,” I said. I noticed how my voice echoed against the cave walls at any volume. “I mean,” I began again, scratching at my chin, “You did say you wanted to go see some nature for our vacation. And you did sound impressed when I told you about my visit to Mammoth Caves a couple years back. So…” My voice trailed off. I could still sense her irritation.

“No,” she said. I frowned. “No, you wanted to go here. I wanted to go to a beach or something. But no, a cave. A cave, Nathan!” She sounded more like the Big Bad Wolf now. “I know that you have this weird fetish for spelunking or something, but I don’t really want to be dragged in to it. Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to go on a trip and get into nature and fresh air, but this,” I could hear her arms flail and gesture about in the thick air. “This is cave air, not fresh air. This air is practically fermenting! Plus, isn’t this illegal? Can we please just leave?”

We both stood there. The only sound that could be heard was the electricity in the air being stifled and smothered by the damp atmosphere. Finally, I began to walk. I didn’t hear Margaret follow me, but I kept moving forward. Then, “Nathan,” she said, “Stop. Please stop.” So I stopped.

“I’m sorry,” she said. I could hear her moving closer to me. “I’m tired and I’m not used to running and climbing around and the like. I’m just tired.”

“It’s okay,” I said. She gripped my arm. “Really. It’s fine.” I shook my head. “Which way is out? I don’t remember.” I could feel Margaret physically pause. Neither of us could remember. Somehow, in the confusion of our argument, I’d forgotten which way we had been moving. Idiot, I thought to myself, I should have brought a goddamn rope or something to trail from the entrance of the cave. I had to take action, so without much thought, I turned 180 degrees and said, “This way.”

We walked for what seemed to be hours. My feet were tired and sore, and I could hear Margaret’s groans from behind me. She held my hand tightly. I felt terrible. This was my fault.

Then, I froze. “Hey. Hey,” I said, “Put your hand out. Feel this rock.” I could hear Margaret’s bare palm press against the stone. “Isn’t this, like…abnormally warm?” I said. She didn’t say anything. I began to work my way along the wall, feeling it as I went, shining the flashlight in front of me. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain on my head as the ceiling of God’s Mouth met with my scalp.

“Ow! Shit!” I shouted.

“Oh, Nick, are you okay?” Margaret asked. She seemed on the verge of panic now.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Please, calm down. We’ll get out of here soon, I promise.”

I started again, pointing my flashlight upwards now to see the ceiling above me. It seemed to be getting narrower. That was strange. “Listen, uh, Margaret, babe,” I said through clenched teeth, “I think we gotta turn around.” Margaret sighed next to me.

Again, we walked for a decent length. I kept my flashlight pointed upwards this time. Sure enough, the space in the cave seemed to become smaller and smaller. If there was any resonating light left in God’s Mouth aside from my flashlight, I’m sure Margaret would have been able to see the whites of my eyes, spreading in panic. We were completely lost.

I let go of Margaret’s hand and began to feverishly feel my way along the walls. “No, Nathan!” I heard her shout. I kept going. We had to get out. If we were lost, nobody would be able to find us.

I kept feeling along the wall until I abruptly hit a corner. “Fuck,” I said aloud. “Margaret, this seems to be a dead end.” I spun around on my heel. “Margaret?” No answer. Shit.

I began to repeat my process again, almost running as I felt the wall run past my fingertips. Cool, damp rocks and jagged spears. Suddenly, I found myself at a corner again. “Fuck fuck fuck,” I shouted. “Margaret!” I was belting her name out now. In the corner of the cave’s maw where I had been thwarted so many times already, I heard a noise. It sounded like muffled static from a television. I pressed my ear against the rock. It seemed to be getting even warmer now. I heard the faint sounds of Margaret on the other side of the rock. She was screaming.

“No no no,” I said. “No no no no no.” I began running haphazardly into the walls around me. With dawning realization came a wave of sheer horror. There was no entrance. There was no exit. Only these four corners and me.

I could feel blood begin to trickle from the cut I managed to get by bashing my body into the cave’s walls. They were closing in on me. They were coming in for the kill, and soon they would be pressing in on my skull and crushing my rib cage.

I sat there for hours, waiting for death. My flashlight was becoming dim and blinking. Finally, I felt the soft touch of these rocky walls press against my back. I began to cry as I lay down on the ground. I let my flashlight roll on the small hills of stone. As I quietly stayed prone, tears dripping down my face, I turned and looked at the flashlight. Its last, fading beams of light pointed at something not far away from my face. I squinted in the darkness. My eyes widened and I felt tears fall even harder from my face. The rocks were piercing my skin now and blood dripped from all sides.

There, in the last light of my flashlight, was the appetizer. The spotlight shone on a hand whose nails were painted red, and I screamed in agony as I watched God’s Mouth chew its latest meal.

//
Credited to The Abracadaver

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Rating: 7.6/10 (213 votes cast)
God's Mouth, 7.6 out of 10 based on 213 ratings
  • M.Bison

    God: “THIS IS DELICIOUS…. YES! YES!”

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    Rating: +22 (from 22 votes)
  • ShermanPoh

    This is ridiculous. If he was crushed to death, how come he is telling the story? If you are going for this kind of ending, narrate it in THIRD PERSON, not FIRST PERSON.

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    Rating: -29 (from 49 votes)
    • Anonymous

      I don’t see where it says “my diary” or “my last letter” or anything of the sort. Tons of authors use first person. It’s you. You’re the one being crushed. I’m the one being crushed, lost. It gives it a more personal feeling. You feel for the character because you are the character.

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      Rating: +9 (from 11 votes)
    • Abcde

      You ever seen Sin City, dipshit?

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      Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
    • http://deliriletterari.blogspot.com CMT

      Or first person and present tense, dead man talking is no good.

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      Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
      • you know it

        I love first person writing because you never know if the person is really going through it or if they are just insane..

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        Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • Anonymity

    This sounds much alike to The Cave creepypasta. With the spelunking caves and sort of an evil, ancient entity–which crushed (or chewed) the protagonist to death.

    So anyway,

    6/10

    TL;DR = Reheated Pasta

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    Rating: +5 (from 7 votes)
    • AmeliaBee

      Nah, this was way better than The Cave. Somehow, the cave itself closing in is scarier to me than just some monster going abloogy-woogy-woo.

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      Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • Anon

    old pasta is old

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    Rating: -1 (from 3 votes)
  • YuXuanify

    Agreed with Sherman.

    Also, Who was GOD?

    But seriously, I can see what you were trying to execute, the idea was quite refrshing, but not executed well enough.

    There is not enough details and several loop holes.

    Eg, what Sherman said, how did they find this place? Of all places, why did they decide to spleuk this?

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    Rating: -2 (from 4 votes)
  • MisterNP

    His name went from Nathan to Nick, then back to Nathan? Lololol.

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    Rating: +16 (from 18 votes)
    • MythikTryal

      Nick was the name they used in Jackal’s cave. Forget the title, but yeah. Plagiarism in some areas, I believe.

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      Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • Sera

    I can make up unintentional reasons why writer wanted to use 1st person:
    – more personal than third,
    – third person would be like, the God’s point of view.

    You could just pretend that you’re channeling into his thoughts.

    But why is he called Nathan and Nick at the same time

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    Rating: +1 (from 3 votes)
  • Amy (ha!)

    Predictable much?

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    Rating: 0 (from 2 votes)
  • Shang

    God’s Mouth: Om nom nom

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    Rating: +6 (from 6 votes)
  • Anonymous

    why did his name change from nathan to nick?, also when was it mentioned that margarets nails were painted?

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    Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • http://sandgate.thecomicseries.com Tekkactus

    What’s with all the spelunking pastas lately?

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    Rating: 0 (from 2 votes)
  • Rodina from the forums

    Eh, typical crappy sacrilegous Jewish writing.

    What, you didn’t know? Abracadaver is a Jew.

    That right there is why this story is a steaming pile of horseshit.

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    Rating: -19 (from 23 votes)
  • http://jack.is/ Jack Aviado

    I like it in first person. It makes it easier for the reader to imagine they are the protagonist. Nice story. Unexpected twist. Could have used more to build up the terror and pain of being crushed by jagged rocks.

    I actually thought it was going to be another psych story, featuring claustrophobia.

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    Rating: -1 (from 1 vote)
  • Ericho

    It had some tension building up, but not great. I would give it a 6/10 as it was fairly confusing. Was God’s mouth the actual name of the cave? Or did they actually know they were in God’s mouth? The previous CP here about a cave was better. The best was probably the end. I liked the imagery a bit.

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    Rating: -1 (from 3 votes)
  • No name

    That is what happens when you speak the Lord’s name in vain.

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    Rating: 0 (from 2 votes)
    • o_0

      God eats you…?

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      Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • sticky16

    Not creamy at all. 4.5/10

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  • egads

    the hell am i reading
    1. the monster comes from nowhere
    2. you put a strange emphasis on things i almost felt like i
    was reading a sex short story at first
    3. you spend so much time on the above point you made it
    needlessly long and still had no time to build tension

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    Rating: -5 (from 5 votes)
  • JesusLOL

    Yeah, Pop and I had fun designing this cave. Great source of ground meat for pizza.

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    Rating: +11 (from 11 votes)
  • Zombie

    This is nice. I don’t mind the first person. I like it

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    Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • KatieBug

    Brilliant. Amazing. Delicious. This is one of the best pastas ever. Great grammar and details. At first I thought predictable, but I soon realized I was wrong. 10/10. ♥

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    Rating: 0 (from 6 votes)
  • Apple

    So, at one point, she called Nathan, \’Nick\’. Just pointing that out.
    You mentioned her breast size, but not her nail colour, so it is not entirely clear as to whether the cave \’ate\’ her or not.
    Good writing, overall.

    7/10

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    Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • Superfly

    Ugh… this was not tasty pasta. Not necessarily really bad, just… bland. Plus I didn\’t like the way that the narrator talked.

    5/10

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  • annonymouse

    Er, yeah. I\’m pretty sure that \"Nick\" isn\’t a short form of \"Nathan\".. Maybe \"Nate\" instead?

    I too am confused by the random mention of nail colour, less so by the first person point of view.

    6.5/10 – a bit undercooked, although still edible.

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    Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • http://saoupdfhodfh.com Clint

    I hate the way you write. Your little comments to the reader make me want to never read again. If you can’t figure out a way to convey an idea without being “cliche”, but decide to convey it anyway with the sidenote that you know it’s cliche, you are not a good writer. I’m not gonna say you can’t be a good writer, but right now, you’re doing it wrong.

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    Rating: -5 (from 7 votes)
  • Flash37

    SO MANY CAVE PASTAS

    Imo I think the “nails painted red” thing was referring to blood. Cause I mean really how can some random cave chew summat up and not get something bloody. >.>
    I can see that the author was trying to be funny. Never should an author try to be funny in creepypasta. It doesn’t work. Even if you make the main guy a clowner, it just doesn’t work.

    Anyway, due to my religion, I dislike this pasta quite a bit. And that is all.

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    Rating: -13 (from 13 votes)

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