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The Well

February 4, 2017 at 12:00 AM

My grandfather grew up on a chicken farm outside of Krakow, Poland. He passed away a few years ago at the age of 82. A few days before his passing on, due to an aggressive form of stomach cancer, he sat me down next to him in his old rocking chair and said in his familiar polish accent “After I took the boat to New York, I promised to leave this story behind”.

He didn’t look up as he spoke to me, simply staring into his cup of black coffee. “It’s been 70 years….and I must tell someone before I meet God”

“I was born in a small, quaint, empty town, which despite the Nazi occupation, still functioned. We lived in this two-bedroom farmhouse, my father, mother, and my brothers Michal and Igor. I’m sorry, you never got to meet any of them. Anyway, Michal and Igor were twins, identical twins actually, and we had heard rumors of the Nazi fascination with identical twins. This forced us, and we already lived in a secluded part of the countryside, in the last occupied house in the town, to be even more reserved. In order to not go into the occupied towns, we basically ate only chicken, and eggs for every meal, and whatever Mama could gather from the garden. It was lonely, but we survived. “

“The only two things which were really hard on me were the fact I had to sleep in the basement, due to Michel and Igor being toddlers, they required my father and mother’s attention. The basement was cold, with only a small window and moonlight was the only light I got. Because of this, I always delayed going down there until I was absolutely exhausted, so I wouldn’t have to lie there awake. On the nights that I couldn’t manage to sleep, I would look out of the window, which gave me a small view of the garden and the large abandoned water well. This was my daily activity throughout those lonely war-torn nights. In general, it was boring and uneventful, but occasionally I would catch a glimpse of a family, or even just a man, or two lovers, sneaking their way through our garden up to our front door. They always looked rushed and frightened, and sometimes wore tattered uniforms. What would follow were horrible sounds of banging and pleadings for whoever lived here to open up, followed by an argument between my Father and Mother over whether we should let them in.”

He moved in the chair to adjust himself

“You see son, we didn’t know it, well I at least didn’t, that we lived fairly close to the Auschwitz Concentration Camp, and those people were escapees”

“Well did your father let them in?!” I asked impatiently.

“No” he said “It would have been a death sentence for them as well as for us. The Nazis didn’t like Poles, but they tolerated us, and it was easier to hide Michal or Igor than an entire family. My father did what he had to do in order to keep his family alive. As the war went on, less and less people began showing up in the middle of the night. Only our chicken and vegetables began to disappear. Losing our only supply of food would not have been possible, and at this point my father knew it was probably the escapees, so he built a fence around our property. Despite this, the chickens continued to disappear. They weren’t killed, they were simply, gone. Just vanished from their cages and pens.”

“One night I decided to stay up myself in order to see if I could find out the answer. I battled my tiredness until the wee hours of the morning, and despite the poor lighting and rain, I caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a human figure run across the garden. I rushed upstairs to tell my father and he ran outside with a knife, the best home-defense weapon we could afford, but we found nothing. No one.”

“The next day we did find something though, footprints, leading from the chicken cages, to the water well. They were made in the wet mud from the rain, and they were of bare feet. No shoes. No socks. Just feet. My father had mercy on the man who was trying to find refuge and left him a note, indicating that he had 2 days to leave and then he would begin to seal the well”

I waited impatiently for my grandfather to tell me the fate of the man.

“The following night, I conjured up the idea to take a blanket down the well to the man since winter was creeping in. I waited until my parents were asleep and I snuck outside. I shouted down the well something friendly, indicating to the poor man my intentions were benign, and I began my descent, hands and feet clinging to the pegs which were attached to stones. As I was approached the bottom, I smelled something absolutely horrific, and I pulled my father’s flashlight from my pocket and tried to shine it on the man, coming to the realization of just how large this well was, since it used to supply water for the entire town and its families. Families which no longer remained.”

“But I found no man, only…..a hole. A hole in the stone, where the wall of the well had collapsed, opening up to some type of crevice. Only 2 meters wide, and 3 meters deep and tall, inside sat not a man. Inside was a family, with only a skeleton like creature as the only survivor. The light reflected off of his sunken eyes, and grayish skin. Face covered in blood, with chicken carcasses scattered around. A pile of decomposing chickens, next to a woman, a son, and a daughter, the children who must have been barely 5 years old. And they seemed to have been dead for weeks. The man, if he even could be called that, just stared at the light, and I stared back, incapable of breaking his stare. I did not feel threatened by him for he lacked any sense aggression. He simply sat there crouched over, without a sound, next to the putrefying body of his loved ones, and chickens he could have only been using as his source of water, as their meat was not eaten.”

“He was empty, devoid of whatever in us makes us human. He should have realized his family was dead long ago, but he was still bringing food for their corpses. He couldn’t accept it. He did finally turn his head though, when I shined the light back onto the corpse of his daughter. He stared at her, and sat down closer to her, and continued to stare”

“You can leave now, I’ll open the gate so you can escape. My father will seal the well in the morning ” I said to him. “Please leave now” My young voice and advice didn’t seem to have any effect on him.”

“At this moment I decided it would be better for me to just climb back up the well and leave, hopefully the man would follow and escape. As I began my climb I shined the light on him one final time……”

“What did you see Grandpa?” I shuttered

“A tear fall from his eye, he had become a man once again. He broke free from the delusion, only when he saw the body of his dead daughter, which had been hidden by the darkness. He realized he had been bringing food, not to his family, but to corpses”

“That night it rained again, but I found no footprints leaving the well in the morning when my father sealed it”

My High School Had a Second Basement

February 3, 2017 at 12:00 AM

I grew up in a small town in New Jersey and attended the local public high school. It was senior year, and my friend Jack was in charge of setting up chairs for an assembly later that day. I got roped into helping him, but it wasn’t too bad because I got to skip my fifth-period math class.

We eventually ran out of chairs, and one of the janitors gave us a big ring of keys and told us to get the rest out of the basement. Ever since I was a kid, I marveled at those rings with dozens of keys jangling together. They could take you anywhere. Jack made the mistake of letting me carry the keys down to the basement. While I was walking over to a stack of chairs, my foot hooked around the leg of a folding table, and I fell flat on my stomach onto the hard concrete, knocking the wind out of me. The keys skirted across the room and disappeared into the behind the row of metal folding chairs.

“Shit!” I groaned, bringing myself to my knees and hoping I would be able to breathe correctly again soon.

“You better find the keys,” Jack warned from behind an armful of folding chairs. “I’m going to take these upstairs. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Turning on the flashlight on my phone, I crawled around on my hands and knees on the dirty floor. Nothing. With a heavy sigh, I began to move some of the chairs out of the way to search along the edge of the wall. The keys were nowhere to be found. Just when I was about to give up, I saw a hole in the floor about the size of two fists behind where a group of chairs had been.

Not wanting to stick my hand into a filthy, strange hole in my school’s basement, I set my phone on top of it and took a picture. The angle was awful, but in the corner of the frame I could make out part of the keyring, which had caught on something jutting out from one side of the hole. Begrudgingly, I stuck my hand inside and fumbled around for a little bit until my fingers wrapped around the keys. As I was bringing my hand back up, I felt a stinging pain on the side of my thumb. I quickly pulled the keys up and wiped my hand off on my jeans. Coating the keys and my hand was a thick gray mucus. I gagged and made a mental note to have Jack return the keys. I discovered that the pain I felt was from a thin, inch-long scratch running up the length of my thumb.

I went to delete the picture on my phone when I noticed a blurry object resting at the edge of the photo. It seemed to be a tiny, hand-like structure with a small palm branching off into three bony fingers capped with razor-sharp claws.

I figured I would take one more picture to prove that my eyes were playing tricks on me, but when I saw the image, it took everything I had to refrain from sprinting upstairs and going home for the day.

My phone screen displayed an image of the hole leading into a small tunnel which soon opened into a good sized room below the basement. There were no doors or windows that I could see, and as far as I could guess, the only way in or out of that room was through the hole in the floor. Hundreds of what appeared to be needles poked out from the walls and ceiling. A few reached up into the hole, which is how I must have cut my hand.

Just as I was trying to think of a place I could go to get about six tetanus shots, I noticed that the large mass on the floor covered with that gray slime was actually composed of hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny creatures. They were the same color as the gray mucus and had two stubby arms and three spindly legs that looked more like tendrils. Each one had a wide mouth full of rows of teeth that bore an unsettling resemblance to the needles coming out of the walls.

I showed Jack when he came back down, and we grabbed more chairs than was safe to carry up a flight of stairs and hauled ass out of that basement. We showed our friends the picture, which was then circulated throughout most of the school, and rumors about the room beneath the basement ran wild in the halls.

For weeks, I was plagued with recurring nightmares about the hole in the floor. It was always the same: I would find myself in that room of the basement, having lost the keys. It played out almost exactly the same as it did in real life, except, when I reached into the hole for the keyring, my hand was yanked inside. I was laying on the concrete, shoulder-deep into the room beneath the basement, screaming as millions of needle teeth gnashed the flesh on my arm, ripping muscle and skin roughly from the bone. The nightmare was horrifying, but on the nights when it seemed the most real, I often awoke to find small needle marks on my body.

I had this dream for months, and it was really starting to get to me. I began to see more holes in various places in the school. The needles in these reached almost to the mouth of the opening, and I didn’t need to look inside to know that I would find another sea of those writhing monsters within.

Graduation couldn’t come fast enough. While I was packing for college, I found one of those holes in the wall of my closet. I covered it with a whole roll of duct tape and nailed a piece of plywood over it for good measure.

I went to college in St. Louis, and moving halfway across the country helped a lot to put my mind at ease. When I visited home during Christmas break my freshman year, the hole in my closet had been plastered shut and painted over, leading me to believe it was just a normal hole my frightened mind had convinced me was something more.

I live in St. Louis now and have been adjusting to life in the “real world” pretty well. I just got a job I really enjoy and seem to be succeeding at, and I’m planning on proposing to my girlfriend soon.

I had chalked up the holes to stress and paranoia. I’ve had several new phones since then, and I haven’t been able to find that picture again. Maybe my mind had exaggerated the whole thing. I was comfortable believing that the whole ordeal could be explained by nightmares and anxiety, but when I was walking downtown today, I passed through an alley on my way home from a restaurant. There was something peeking out from behind a dumpster.

It was a hole leaking gray mucus, big enough for me to crawl into. The hole, on the side of an abandoned building in the older part of the city, went down into the ground. Long, shiny needles peeked out from inside and shone in the moonlight.

I sprinted all the way home. Leaning on the wall to catch my breath, I felt something sharp poke into my back. To my horror, I found a small hole beginning to form on the wall of my kitchen.

Credit: K. Brown

I’m Downstairs

February 2, 2017 at 12:00 AM

The clock struck midnight. I was on my laptop in my bedroom, browsing through YouTube videos. However, my browsing stopped when my phone vibrated. I saw that I received a text message from my friend, Ben.

“Hey man I’m outside by the back door. Can you let me in?”.

I knew he was lying. For the last few weekends, he had been messing with me. One weekend he told me he was parked in my cul-de-sac when in reality, he was in his bedroom. The following weekend, he told me he was coming over to hang out. When I came outside to greet him in his car, he floored it out of my neighborhood. I wasn’t going to let him get me this time. I sent a reply back.

“I know you’re just messing with me again.”

He immediately replied back.

“No I’m being serious this time, I am by the back door.”.

“Nice try, I know you’re not there.”

I placed my phone down and continued my search. About a minute later, my phone vibrated again.

“I’m downstairs.”

“Ben, you can’t troll me three weekends in a row. However, I’ll give you an A for effort.”

I placed my phone down again. I wasn’t going to play his little game. As I was about to continue my search, I started to hear something from the deafening silence of my dark house. I faced the doorway behind me and listened closely. It sounded like footsteps, silent footsteps walking around downstairs. It was nerve racking. I couldn’t believe it. Was my mind tricking with me or was Ben actually in my house? I grabbed my phone.

“Are you joking with me man?.”

I continued to listen as my phone vibrated again.

“No, I told you I was downstairs, but you didn’t believe me.”

I was quite relieved that it was him, but I was pissed off that he broke into my house. I could hear him walking around downstairs still as I waited for him to come into my bedroom. I grabbed my phone again.

“Aren’t you going to come upstairs? I can hear you walking around downstairs. Just come up here already.”

I sent the message and waited for him to respond. I was starting to get a little annoyed after a minute of waiting. I got up from my bed and went to the doorway. I proceeded to shout downstairs.

“Get your ass upstairs already! Stop fucking around!”.

I sat back on my bed as I began to hear him walk upstairs. Suddenly, my phone vibrated again. It was a text message from Ben.

“You know I was fucking with you, right?”

My heart dropped. I looked up at the doorway to see my killer smiling at me.

Credit: Matthew Stacks

The Man In The Window

February 1, 2017 at 12:00 AM

Things had been tough for my mom and I, ever since my dad left us two years ago. At least I was old enough to get myself to and from school and I new my way around a microwave, but I wasn’t old enough to get a job and the bills were piling up. My mom decided to get a second job. A night job. Maybe part time and not something to brag about but it would keep our heads above water.

I remember the first night like it was yesterday. My mom apologizing up and down for having to leave me alone. I told her I’d be fine and honestly I was pretty excited. She wouldn’t be home until late and that meant I could stay up late. There was a monster movie marathon on so who would complain?

It was just around nine-thirty and I was right in the thick of some Japanese gore fest when I swore I heard something outside. Maybe it was my mind playing tricks on me. Maybe the movie got to me. Either way, I HAD to check it out. I hesitantly peered out of the living room window, looking to the left, then the right, and nothing. Then, I noticed, directly across the way, a man, standing in his window, just staring. I couldn’t really tell what he was staring at but it freaked me out anyway. I stood at the window for at least a minute, as long as my heart could bare it, and he didn’t move. That was it for me that night. I was done with the monster flicks, done with the freaky dude in the window and tried to fall asleep.

The next morning I told my mom about the man. First, she was upset I was up so late and then she asked if I’d been watching scary movies. Needless to say, I got the “it was all in my imagination ” thing and that was that.

That night, after my mom left, I didn’t feel comfortable alone. It was like that feeling of someone watching you and just after nine again I swear I heard something. It was just like the last except there was no horror movie marathon. Against what my brain was screaming at at me I pulled myself again to the window. There he was! The man, just staring out of his window. This time I darted away as quick as I could and ran to my room. It was so weird. It got the hair on my neck standing on end. The next morning I told my mom but she just brushed it off, saying he was probably just a nervous old man and it had nothing to do with me.

I wasn’t so sure but what could I do? My mom left for work that night even though I begged her to stay. I tried to take my mind of the man. I watched t.v., I played music, I even did all of my homework, but still I wondered if he was out there, staring from his window at me or God knows what.

My curiosity got the better of me and I made my way to the window. My fear was realized in that moment because there he was, the man in the window, just staring. I tried to keep my presence a secret and see just how long he would stand there. My heart felt like it was going to leap out of my chest but I stayed there at the window, in some sort of weird staring contest. Then it happened. He moved away from the window and I breathed a sigh of relief. My mom was right. I was worried about nothing.

Suddenly, his front door opened and my comfort changed to dread in an instant. I watched from my window, trying my best not to be seen, watching him walk down his driveway, then across the street, then up my drive way. I choked in fear and ran for the telephone. I dialed 9-1-1 and waited, my heart jackhammering a million miles an hour. Finally, an answer! I explained to the lady that I thought someone was trying to break in my house and she said help would be on the way and asked for my address. I managed to get out the first three numbers when I was grabbed from behind! I dropped the phone and felt these dirty, greasy hands wrap themselves around me. I screamed as loud as I could and shook myself, trying to break free but I was lifted from the ground. I could feel the hot breathe on my neck, smell the stale, rotten stench of my attacker. I couldn’t help but start crying, screaming my lungs out for my mom, for anyone, for help.

Then there was a a thud and I was falling with the man towards the floor. We hit and his grip loosened. I rolled away and scrambled behind the couch. Then I heard a voice say “It’s ok, You’re safe now.”

I looked up, shaking and bewildered. There were two men. One on the floor, who wasn’t moving and another, standing there with a baseball bat.
“You’re ok.” he said again. “I’m your neighbor from across the way.” My jaw dropped in confusion. “I’ve noticed a strange man lurking around your house, every night for the last few days and was concerned you might be in danger. I noticed your mom leaving and knew you were here all by yourself.”

The police arrived shortly afterwards and between our two stories the mysterious assailant was taking into custody. I thanked my neighbor as much as I could and from that day I always felt safer when I looked outside and saw the man in the window across from me.

I’ll Never Work a Closing Shift Again

January 31, 2017 at 12:00 AM

I used to work for a Subway next to a liquor store along a fairly busy road. I hated the job, but I was only working there on Friday and Saturday evenings to make some extra money. The customers were friendly enough, referring to me as “the blue-eyed girl” as we didn’t have name tags. My coworkers were alright as well, being fun and interesting people, but my boss was a jerk. Luckily I didn’t have to see him often because he was only around during the mornings. Yet, he’d always find a way to make my job more stressful.

My boss would constantly say that our store was doing poorly in profits and would make it so that only one person would be working for hours alone. I have no idea what he was talking about because whenever I was working I felt as though every resident in our city would make an appearance at some time during my shift. Luckily I had a coworker with me until about an hour before close, something I was truly grateful for. But that all changed after minimum wage went up. My boss figured he’d save the money he was losing by cutting hours even more. So instead of working with someone until 8:30 pm or 9 pm, I would be alone from 6 pm until close, something that worried my mother and boyfriend. They didn’t particularly like the thought of me being alone in the store for that long as I’m a girl. I didn’t like the thought of it either, but what could I do?

I dreaded the following weekend when the new schedule would be in effect. On Friday my boyfriend agreed to stay with me until close, but on Saturday he couldn’t and so I begrudgingly made my way to work for 5 pm on that day. I worked with someone else until 6 pm and then they left. I was now in the store alone. I was hoping it’d be dead in the store since a football game was on that night, and this proved to be true. Not many people came in. So with the spare time I started cleaning things early as I knew it would take a lot longer to get everything done without anyone else helping me, and I’d bring many empty containers to the back room to wash them, returning to the front whenever I would hear the door alarm go off signaling that a customer had just walked in.

This went on for a couple of hours, and I hated every moment of it. I was in the back around 9 pm trying to finish washing some things when I heard the door alarm go off. We would be closed in just a half hour, so this was the point in my shift where I truly despised getting any customers. I finished rinsing the bowl I was washing and then reached for a paper towel, walking to the front to greet my unwanted customer. Much to my surprise, no one was there. I didn’t see any cars out front, but I looked around the store briefly before returning to the back room. Whoever it was, they must have decided they didn’t want anything. Not that I minded.

A couple of minutes passed and then I heard the door alarm go off again. I briskly walked to the front expecting a customer to be standing there looking at the menu, but when I got there I did not see anyone standing there ready to order. Instead I found a man sitting on the far end of the store at the back table. He appeared dirty with scraggly hair and mud all over his pants. He tracked some in I could see, and wasn’t too happy about it knowing that I’d have to re-mop the floors. Despite my irritation I greeted the man.

“Hello, sir. Are you waiting on someone or wanting a minute to look over the menu?”

He kept looking back and forth, from wall to wall, and occasionally out the window. He almost appeared disoriented, but would look at his phone every once in a while as though he were expecting a message from someone. He was fiddling with something in his pocket but wouldn’t take it out. Most importantly, he didn’t respond to my question, and I was getting pretty annoyed.

“Well, we’ll be closing in 20 minutes, sir. Please keep that in mind.”

Again, he didn’t respond. Just kept looking everywhere and anywhere but toward me. With an irritated sigh I walked to the back room and began preparing the mop bucket, filling it with water and floor cleaner. This probably took about 2 minutes. Once it was ready I wheeled it toward the front and quickly noticed that the man wasn’t there anymore. He couldn’t have left the store, however. I would’ve heard the door alarm go off if it had been opened. I grabbed my mop and looked toward the ground where I then noticed the set of muddy footprints leading toward the bathroom door. Great. I’ll have to mop the bathroom again too.

I began mopping the trail leading toward the table where the man had sat and then all the way toward the bathroom door. As I finished cleaning the floor directly in front of the door, I heard the faint muffled cries of someone on the other side. I leaned in until my ear was almost against the door itself and listened silently. I could hear quiet sobs mixed with some words like “no” and “I can’t”. What on earth was going on in there? I took a step back as quietly as I could and then was surprised by the sound of the door being unlocked. I immediately jumped away with mop in hand, and was a good 10 feet away when the door opened.

The man emerged and stood there for a couple of moments when he saw me standing there. Then for the first time…he looked me straight in the eye. This sent a chill down my spine. I held onto the mop nervously, almost defensively. His stare was blank and yet somehow sorrowful. He didn’t say anything and quickly walked out the front entrance setting off the door alarm. I turned and saw him make his way down the road, never looking back.

I took a breath, loosening my grip on the mop and looked back toward the bathroom door. I reached for the handle and slowly opened the door, quickly peering around inside before actually entering. When I walked inside I found a giant muddy mess all over the floor, as though the man had been walking in circles in there. I sighed and quickly mopped up the filth and turned to leave when I noticed the garbage can lid was on the ground beside it. I reached for it, bending over the can itself in order to retrieve it when I happened to notice something shining inside. I could feel my face grow pale when I reached in and retrieved an open switchblade. The only other thing in the can was a crumpled piece of paper. I reached for it and slowly opened it. The words on it still haunt me to this day…

435 WILSON ROAD. BRUNETTE. BLUE EYES. SATURDAY 9 PM. $1200.

I closed the store early that night. I didn’t finish washing the dishes and didn’t bother sweeping or mopping the back room. I just locked the door, put the food away, counted my drawer, and left. I quit the next day. I told my mom about what had happened and she called the police. I gave them my description of the guy as well as the knife and note I had found. They thanked me for my information and told us that they’d do what they could to find the guy. My mom still freaks out about it and won’t let me get another job. I don’t go out as often and I feel nervous every day. I always feel as though I’m being watched or…hunted. I still wonder about that note sometimes, but in all honesty I don’t want to know. Whoever wrote it…whoever wanted to hurt me…I don’t want to know. I may never know anyway. But one thing I do know is that I’ll never work a closing shift again.

Credit: Charmberry

Creepypasta

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    • [do_widget id="categories-6"]
    • [do_widget id="taxonomy_dropdown_widget-5"]
  • [do_widget_area sidebar]
    • [do_widget id="wprp-2"]
    • [do_widget id="text-24"]
    • [do_widget id="text-22"]
    • [do_widget id="text-9"]
    • [do_widget id="text-43"]
    • [do_widget id="categories-2"]
    • [do_widget id="taxonomy_dropdown_widget-6"]
    • [do_widget id="text-44"]
    • [do_widget id="text-38"]
    • [do_widget id="recent-posts-3"]
    • [do_widget id="text-53"]
    • [do_widget id="links-5"]
    • [do_widget id="archives-4"]
  • [do_widget_area widgets_for_shortcodes]
    • [do_widget id="wpp-5"]
    • [do_widget id="text-46"]
  • [do_widget_area wp_inactive_widgets]
    • [do_widget id="gdrts_stars_rating_list-9"]
    • [do_widget id="gdrts_stars_rating_list-7"]
    • [do_widget id="gdrts_stars_rating_list-6"]
    • [do_widget id="gdrts_stars_rating_list-5"]
    • [do_widget id="gdrts_stars_rating_list-4"]
    • [do_widget id="gdrts_stars_rating_list-8"]
    • [do_widget id="gdrts_stars_rating_list-10"]