Scary Paranormal Stories & Short Horror Microfiction

Creepypasta

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At my young tender age, painting was the only psychoanalysis I ever needed to retreat to, or how common people call it therapy. Every hour in the morning until the sun rises, my brush strokes back and forth. It tells a part of a story I wish to tell, but I am only full of fear. The brush strains itself dry with repressed fear as its ink.

What did I paint this time in the morning?

 

A bird.

A bird.

My first night under the new full moon in the summer was an everyday moment. The repeating cycle forced upon the cold shadows of what used to be formal civilization. I tried to close my eyes, entering into a tranquil state, relieving myself from the pain of familiar faces.

Entering the other side of my mind, the visions and experiences to which my emotions created.

A dream. One night I entered.

One night I took in the unexpected.

One night I envisioned a corrupt identity.

Visions blurred around, but at once I reasoned to the fact I was falling into deep space. My eyes closed shut, to let the feeling sink in. Unsteadiness arose when my bare feet felt cool slabs of brick.

This is quite strange, I thought.

I’m outside.

There I was on my hands and feet, rising up to wave around, feeling any possible walls in this pitch-dark environment. Only two walls reached my grasp, side by side. If there was a passage, there was a way out. I took a light step forward with one hand on the wall. Light was up ahead, and my hand lost touch at the end. Something rushed by inches from my face. My eyes deceived me, for that was not a train, creature, or being, it was a coach.

A coach? Have I gone mad?

The rush of wind trailing behind caught my legs, forcing them back down on the pavement. Whatever this place was, nothing of modern living was shown. Old street lamps in black lighted each corner. All of the buildings were in a crimson color; to where I stood was an abandoned alley.

My Lungs dropped abruptly, choking and wheezing for a gasp of air. Grey paste retched out of my system, relieving the pain my lungs had.

“Oh! The indecency!” said a woman above me. The paste stained her dress and petticoat. She scrunched her little nose, tossing her head the other way. People treaded across the grey puddle, all mimicking the woman’s disgusted face.

Retreating to the alley was the only choice now. There was a stinging pain across my head and heavy shoulders dragged me down. Rest was inevitable now.

 

Very little time had passed in my struggle to rest. The night grew darker with nobody around. I had very shallow strength to walk, but it was not time to worry about.

The well-kept perfection of nothing out of place chilled my knees. There stood lit lamps, cool breeze, no quarrelsome ruffians or pestering chats. Everything kept in place.

I stood up at the sound of a slow clacking noise down the pavement. On a corner across the alley, stood a lamp where a shadow grew closer.

 

It was a woman.

night2

The woman clicked in her heels quickly, clutching both arms in the cold. She lifted her head up to catch a glimpse of the night sky. Such an illuminating beauty she was. However her eyes encountered a different story. They sunk in deeply, losing color in the iris of what should have been hazel. The woman lowered her head on the lamppost, exhibiting weary highlights of indigo and violet in her hair. Outbursts of sobbing were all she did.

“Get the damn girl…Wait! There is no…either that filth…. YOU HEAR ME? DEAD!”

Unknown thoughts stung me various times, burrowing its messages in my head like swarming wasps. I kept bashing at my forehead, believing this was a demented illusion. Every vein retracted inside. Something was pulling strings, since I could not even twitch. The strain held back blood from my beating heart. It would skip for seconds until it ceased to beat at all. Death nearly took me away, but the hidden force released me and I collapsed.

Faint laughter was heard from the entity.

“…Lucky…sense…here…he…here…. He’s here. Fufufu-hahaha………such…queer…you…are…”

At the corner, the woman ceased to stop wailing. What stopped her wails was the sound of another’s footsteps. She flinched at its shadow coming near the lamppost.

The lamppost shined on a tall man in a dark cloak with his fingers in white and sharpened at the tip.

His face is what shook me.

Only a white bird mask covered his face. There was little skin on his right cheek, and red meat dangled on the side. The woman looked at the damage with sad eyes. I listened deeply to the woman’s voice of anguish, hearing not a hint of what I could understand. The man spoke softly to calm her down. She stomped a heel, yelling at him in frustration. He took a hard slap from the woman and yelled in agony of the dangling meat ripping away. His white hand seized her arm. She whimpered at his impatience, hearing the dark tone in his threat. But the man could not bear seeing her forlorn.

He openly embraced the woman, soothing her fear with words.

“You…ignore…happiness. Have…”

The entity returned.

I had enough of the message it tried to send.

“This cannot change on what I believe in. Possessive thoughts are for the driven.” I told the invisible being.

What was I saying…?

“Fools? You. Better…even the girl…DAMN LIFE-“

“SHUT UP!” I covered my ears, no to believe the insanity in me.

“Would…you…to be happy?”

“Happy?”

“Yes…only…to…rid…pain…slaughter…his…cherishment.”

There was a moment I had, looking at my right hand.

EVERYTHING HAS AN END.

 

The wretched bastard fooled me by being apologetic. Every day she visited less and less, until a note was written to me on how she was happy in Lock Haven, with him as her betrothed. Bitter days raised and desolate nights set. That was an end to our friendship. And my madness as an animal opened.

“End…it.” The entity murmured.

I tightened my right hand into its very grasp with crimson trickling down.

There was a blade in my hand.

Not a damn would be given over the pain; I slit the rest of my palm and held the handle in my left hand. The woman had been given the man’s cloak for warm comfort. They walked separated paths after dealing with conflict. I paced forward in her direction. She seemed detached of worries over any possible danger in the night.

 

I pounced upon the woman’s petite figure, stuffing my fingers in her mouth to block any uttering shriek.

My blade punctured her face numerous times. The absolute rush of releasing my demented rage was everything to me!

Pride. Wrath. Melancholy. Emotions representing harsh cloaked feelings.

Sympathy. Joy. Care. Emotions those are full of untouched beauty.

All the colors splattered around and mixed their contents to make sheer and brilliant crimson! Everywhere! EVERYTHING!

But everything has an end.

The man had dashed to her muffling cries, kicking me right off the woman. He pulled out a sword to finish me, but it turned to ashes. The man and woman disappeared.

And so did the world.

 

Dark dust rose with fog surrounding me. The dust formed a cloak; under its shadow was a hideous face with deep holes scowling in disgust.

The dust formed a cloak; under its shadow was a hideous face with deep holes scowling in disgust.

Its neck creaked each inch, raising the head toward me. The being slurred:

“Envy has. …Become… Your master….”

The face outstretched itself, growing long teeth and a slick tongue. It charged right at me.

The face outstretched itself, growing long teeth and a slick tongue. It charged right at me.

“NO!”

My lungs peaked at its height in an attempt to breathe. I was alone in bed, looking at the alarm clock.

5:09.

The sun has not risen yet.

My right hand seemed empty, no cuts, and no blade. Not even a dark thought that stung my head. I let out a deep sigh of solace. There was no need to go back to sleep. I had a conjecture over her happy ending. It was her fault for choosing that man. My only loss of regret was not choosing to see her again. Without a helping hand, she could have been lost. Seeing them both happy was enough to make me repulsed.

 

The thought made me chuckle a little.

“Five more minutes of sleep would do…”

 

Misery had always been The Artist’s great friend. Even in the lowest of times, I can’t help but reflect back on those dark times in my paintings.

Look, I even painted the moon, with one side dark and one side light.

Look, I even painted the moon, with one side dark and one side light.

 

 

Credit To – Atzin

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Rate This Pasta
Rating: 5.8/10 (175 votes cast)
Night, 5.8 out of 10 based on 175 ratings
  • Rage_Quitter

    I’m afraid I had to give this only 3/10, as I really couldn’t follow the story, if there was a story.

    The paintings were nice though.

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    Rating: +14 (from 14 votes)
  • TokyoBoosh

    I don’t know… I actually found this really really hard to follow. I don’t know if it’s just me having a moment though.

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    Rating: +7 (from 11 votes)
    • http://www.creepypasta.com derpbutt

      No, I found it a bit hard to follow as well at first, but I thought that was the intention – it’s all very dreamy, which fits what the pasta is about. I knew that the writing style would mean that a great number of people would dislike it, of course. Whenever I post pastas where the author tries to use any sort of style beyond basic YA-style narration, they tend to get negative feedback.

      But I like to encourage people who try something different, especially when I feel that it’s still enjoyable and they clearly made effort. I’m aware that this one won’t be to the taste of many of you, but if you don’t like it – deal with it and wait for tomorrow.

      Or you can just look at the pictures, if the writing is too hard to deal with :)

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      Rating: +12 (from 26 votes)
      • J

        Stuff that is written like this and not “in YA-style narration” is not favored because most of the time when people want to read a story, they want to know what is going on at all times so they can comprehend plot points, developments, dialog, etc. It’s like watching a movie that just shows endless artsy shots and expects you to “get” what the director was going for. It’s annoying. If I want to not really understand what I’m reading, but would enjoy reflecting upon and looking deeper into it, I’d just crack a book of poetry.

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        Rating: -2 (from 8 votes)
    • ẠbracadaveЯ

      Ah shit. Sorry. I meant to click the other thumb, the up one. That was /definitely/ me having a moment. But nah, I couldn’t really follow it so well either, and I usually like that sort of thing.
      But yeah, sorry about the vote thing, I dunno what the fuck I’m doing right now. Momentary spazz. That number’s meant to be whatever-it-is-now + 1. Gah.

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  • Then Who Was…nevermind o.O

    What the hell???…..i tried….i really tried to read this mess…

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    Rating: +2 (from 4 votes)
  • http://creepypasta.com tytiger10

    um……. I don’t know what to say about this one.

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    Rating: +4 (from 4 votes)
  • http://www.deweydeweydewbah.deviantart.com deweydeweydewbah

    ..what?

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    Rating: +3 (from 5 votes)
  • Aaron

    Interesting concept, but overall not very good

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    Rating: +2 (from 4 votes)
  • darkorchid

    The story is okay, but the paintings are beautiful. The last one is my favorite. 4/10

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    Rating: +4 (from 4 votes)
  • Awkward Thursdays

    I am positive that I don’t understand this… There has to be some connection somewhere… The contrast with what the narrator sees in the paintings and what I see seems prevalent…

    1st:
    Narrator sees a bird
    I see a man in a mask carrying a woman

    2nd:
    Narrator sees a woman
    I see a woman with no face

    3rd+4th:
    Narrator sees a dust man
    I see Jeff the Killer (just kidding)

    Last:
    Narrator sees a moon
    I see a face

    That’s gotta be symbolic or something, the first and last paintings…

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    Rating: +4 (from 4 votes)
  • Awkward Thursdays

    Wait… Obviously the first painting is the man who took his woman, which led envy to overwhelm him. In his dream, he killed her, but the last painting (a woman with half a dark [bloody?] face) leads you to believe he actually did it and was reliving an experience in a dream.

    I could be wrong though. Anyone else have insight?

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    Rating: +4 (from 4 votes)
    • Ismael Zuniga

      That’s what I was getting! I should have read your comment first before I posted mine, because it’s the exact same thing you’re saying.

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      Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
  • Brickis

    I tried hard to follow this story but couldn’t. The paintings where nice though…

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    Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • http://DerpsWorld.com Derp

    You’ve got to be kidding me. This is what passes for creepypasta these days?

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    Rating: -2 (from 8 votes)
  • Palpino

    I personally found this one to be one of the better pastas posted after the break. While it was rather hard to follow at points, I was fine with it since we were in a dreamlike state. I really enjoyed the style of narration and it reminded me of the movie Sin City. Very original and the paintings sealed the deal for me.

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    Rating: 0 (from 4 votes)
  • Awkward Thursdays

    If you guys don’t understand it, read it again, trust me. It actually isn’t bad at all. Not too hard to follow either.

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    Rating: 0 (from 4 votes)
  • https://twitter.com/Star_Kindler Star Kindler

    I don’t know if I can say I like this one. I don’t know if I can say I dislike it either. I think I’ll have to read it a couple more times. I think what it is trying to do is mimic the dream state, especially that of a darker dream or nightmare. If that is what this story is trying to do, it does it, well, not amazingly, but definitely better than passably. I’ve had dreams like this, that look as if they should have a narrative structure that makes sense, but that don’t when you look back on them.

    That said, I don’t know if that makes it a good story. Although, like derpbutt said, I definitely appreciate the attempt to do something different. And the paintings were a nice touch. No rating yet, I haven’t decided what to give it.

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    Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • d0su

    The story was different, a bit lacking. Still, I think it was mostly intended as a way to introduce the paintings, which are amazing. 6/10

    I swear the second picture is actually a Slendy pic. Does anyone else see the legs, undershirt, and tie against the “tree trunk”?

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  • http://crappypasta.com the cake

    i enjoy madness. :) i like it better when its logical madness, which is an illogical statement, but to be fair, all stories of madness are created by a human with basic reasoning skills, giving it a verb of unavoidable logic, making it more enjoyable to the other humans who are incapable of escaping what we perceive to be madness. true madness – this story – will look like child’s writing to most. I enjoy the twisted psychological dive you’ve taken into insanity though. keep it up. I’d say try not to lose yourself, but that would make your stories even better. and as a reader, ur sanity is small price to pay for an enjoyable story.

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    Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
  • Len Lye

    I’ll admit, I’m a fan of this. I’ve always been a sucker for the abstract and the art is phenomenal, fantastic use of bleak colors.

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    Rating: +1 (from 3 votes)
  • Alice~

    Okay. I don’t quite understand, but what I did get, I loved.

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    Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • Lina

    It was actually really good, just difficult to follow if you didn’t understand the dreamy concept. It seemed to drift, just like a dream, which fit the theme of this pasta. I had to read it twice but it’s good! The paintings are very beautiful~ keep up both good work!

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    Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)
  • lollipop_gestapo

    I actually followed where it went, and instantly liked it because the author decided to include artwork. Watercolors are my favorite medium, and I found myself looking at them again & again. I’m assuming if the author is an artist first, and a writer second, then perhaps people are finding it confusing because they’re not getting the right visuals. Chances are, the author had a beautiful visual of what happened, and just a bit of difficulty putting the words on paper.

    That being said, I really did enjoy it, even through the strange writing. I gave it a 7/10, Because yay stories with pictures!

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    Rating: +2 (from 4 votes)
  • http://MuchGames.com EmoFang

    Nice story.Pictures need more blood and gore.

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    Rating: -5 (from 7 votes)
  • UMadBro(x

    Whoa. o.o

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    Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)
  • Ismael Zuniga

    I can only guess what this story is about. Did the woman the narrator saw in his dream someone he loved? What I’m getting from this is some sort of betrayal. That woman was someone he loved, who left him for a different man (Re-read the paragraph after “EVERYTHING HAS AN END.”) Then, he started hearing voices(?) which was his insanity

    (“SHUT UP!” I covered my ears, no to believe the insanity in me.)

    Which led to him killing that woman. He was envious of the relationship they had, because it was supposed to be his(?)

    “Envy has. …Become… Your master….”

    But I could be completely wrong. I give this a 9/10

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    Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)
  • http://innegri.tumblr.com Stephanie

    I liked this one a lot….not gonna lie it was a little hard to follow but it was really good if youre insightful about it. You can interpret it any way you like and you will end up enjoying it honestly…

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  • http://topofthegames.com Rapha1405

    Well, it’s the story of a dream… I think it’ll be a good narration for an english class in school, teachers would love this^^ The paintings are nice and the story… I don’t know it just a dream. Well written I have to confess and in some way interesting but I as a matter of fact I don’t really liked it, no idea why. Call me ignorant, but this one is too much for me.

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