July 2014 Creepypasta Book Club: Cults, Conspiracies & Secret Societies – PLUS “The Secret World” Giveaway [Winner Chosen, Congrats to Kristela!]

July 1, 2014 at 12:00 AM

Welcome to possibly the longest-named post on the entire site! It fits, because this is going to be a long post – I’ve got a lot of ground to cover about the whole book club idea before we begin. Exposition, go!

Today we’re going to start the “creepypasta book club” that was discussed in previous announcement posts. If you’re not familiar, the idea is to read some books together that will help cultivate inspiration and nurture more original ideas in our writers. I don’t believe that I’m overestimating when I say that lately, a solid 75% of the incoming submissions are simply retreading the same few topics – I suppose that, for whatever reason, serial killers, haunted games, and fanfics of previously-created Creepypasta “characters” are extremely trendy right now.

The problem is, though, that after the 5000th rip-off of Jeff the Killer or the latest attempt to copy-and-replace Ben Drowned with the writer’s favorite game franchise, these stories get mind-numbingly boring. New ideas and inspiration are CLEARLY necessary now, because I for one am absolutely sick of reading about serial killers. I’m not sure if it’s just because they’ve been so in lately in pop culture (what a strange thing to say, but it seems to be true – Hannibal, Dexter, Jeff the Killer, so on and so forth), but we’ve gone way past the point of oversaturation.

You guys need to find something new to write about.

So that’s where this book club idea comes into play. Every month, I’ll select a general theme and give you guys one or two books to read. Now, to avoid confusion, this won’t be about reading already established “creepy” fiction like King or Chambers. Though we may do that another time, the book choices for the inspiration club will be, primarily, nonfiction (though some selections will definitely be “nonfiction” – we’re going to indulge in some pseudoscience and conspiracy books because, after all, we’re trying to get ideas for fiction anyhow). This will hopefully allow you guys to expand your comfort zone of creepy into realms like secret societies, cryptozoology, high-risk exploring like mountaineering, ancient cultures and pseudeoarchealogy, aliens, mysterious disappearances, and more.

The other added benefit of using nonfiction is that spoilers won’t be a concern. Since this post’s comments will act as the discussion forum for our book club, we need books that people can easily discuss at all sorts of different points of progress without ruining each other’s experience.

So, yes, to alleviate some of the confusion and concerns that initially came up when I presented this idea:

THIS POST is your book club. The comments here are where you should air out all your thoughts and ideas that spawn from reading the suggested books. There’s no requirement for how fast you progress through the book(s), whether you read both books or only one, or even if you finish the book(s) or not, so please feel free to jump in and discuss the books whenever you’d like.

If this takes off and you guys want it, perhaps in the future we can try and organize some sort of chat at the end of the month, but for now please don’t worry about that and just post here whenever you have things to talk about regarding this month’s books.

Okay, all that said – here are the two books I’ve selected for July 2014. As stated in the title, this month we’re going to explore the world of cults, conspiracies and the theorists who love them, and secret societies.

It should be said that these books were chosen with mature readers in mind. If you are under 18, please do check with your parent/legal guardian before reading these books. I’d really prefer to avoid a pitchfork-mob of angry parents who find this topic inappropriate for their kids. I’d also like to say that the opinions expressed in the books are, of course, the opinions of their authors and the people profiled only – I’m not advocating or co-signing any of the groups covered in these books. I’m not telling you to believe in the Illuminati or anything, I just think such topics are a cool and fun thing to learn about and will probably inspire some people to write better pastas.

The first book is by Jon Ronson, a British author/humourist that I personally really enjoy. Them: Adventures with Extremists is exactly what it says on the tin – Ronson meets and spends time with a lot of famous faces in the world of conspiracy theories and extremist beliefs. David Icke, Alex Jones, Omar Bakri Mohammed, and more – as Ronson says, the only criteria was that the people/organizations he features have been called ‘extremists’ at some point in their careers. Each episode gives you a look into the beliefs, day to day lives, personalities, and habits of the the various extremists that he profiles. If you’re interested in writing a character-driven story about conspiracies, cults, or societies, this book will be helpful. It also tends to be rather irreverently funny, which is a plus.

As a bonus, Jon Ronson was recently on WTF with Marc Maron, where he gave some behind-the-scenes details on this book (they also delve into The Psychopath Test, another book I’m considering for future months if this book club turns into a long-term thing) as well as more personal opinions and anecdotes. You can stream/download the episode here for now (it will eventually become a premium-only episode, so keep that in mind – based on the pattern, I’m guessing it will go premium-only sometime in August).

If you want to go more in depth, the second suggestion is Arthur Goldwag’s Cults, Conspiracies, and Secret Societies: The Straight Scoop on Freemasons, the Illuminati, Skull & Bones, Black Helicopters, the New World Order, and Many, Many More.

Unlike THEM, this book isn’t really a narrative – rather, the author has researched many of the world’s more infamous and interesting cults, conspiracy theories, and secret societies, and he’s done nice write-ups on each. The entries are organized thematically and can easily be read out of order if you’re so inclined. Beyond the organizations in the title, he also covers the origins of the Assassins (it’s not just a random word), Area 51 and all it encompasses, the Yakuza, the Kennedy assasinations, etc etc and so on. This book is really useful and interesting if you’d like to get a sort of crash course in this month’s topic.

Lastly, to celebrate the first book club post, I’m giving away ONE online game code for Funcom’s online game The Secret World.

Since the raffle is over (congratulations to Kristela A. for winning!), I’m putting the rest of this entry under a cut. The main page has so many stickied posts at the moment that I think it’s necessary to de-clutter wherever I can.

How to Write a Vidya Gaem Pasta

April 1, 2014 at 2:00 PM
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(A last hurrah to the Haunted Game ‘genre’, as it were.)

So, you’re wanting to write a video game crappy – erm, creepypasta? Think you have what it takes? To be honest, you probably don’t. But fear not! With just the submission form (who needs proofreading? Or drafts? Hell, who needs edits? Not you, that’s for sure!) and this handy guide, you’ll be writing terrible pastas in no time!
Wait, did I say ‘terrible’? Like, out loud?
I meant ‘beautiful’.
Yep.
Totally.
————–
First of all, you’re going to have to pick a topic! Maybe you should go for something well known? Maybe try your hand at more obscure games? It’s your choice! Let’s get creative!
(And by ‘get creative’, I mean ‘write the same shitty pasta that’s already been written a thousand times before’. But that doesn’t matter. Whatever.)
>Try a Pokemon pasta! They were the most popular video game pasta subject for a reason, you know. Don’t know anything about Pokemon? Doesn’t matter – just as people who have never played Pokemon can pick it up easily, you don’t need to know anything about it to write a pokepasta! Just throw in some peekachoos and charozords and you’re all set!
>Maybe a Minecraft pasta? Just like how you can do so much in Minecraft, you can write so much about it too! ..Or you can just write about Herobrine! ‘Who’s a hero brown,’ you ask? Why, only a slightly original monster that was mutated into a cliched horror monster by thousands of bad fan misinterpretation!
>Try your hand at a Legend of Zelda pasta! Hey, you remember that one ‘ben drowned’ pasta you read about a year ago? Well, let’s write that again, but with all grammar or decent writing absent! I’m sure it’ll get thousands of upvotes! (read: downvotes)
>Something a bit more obscure? Why not? You could be contributing to the large amount of stories that only make sense to a small, unknown group of people! A scary story… about lawyers? Farming? Why? Why the hell not?

Wow, that took a while! Time for deciding the name of the pasta! This is nice and simple!

[GAME NAME]: [DESCRIPTIVE WORD] [WORD RELATING TO THE PASTA]

Sounds relatively simple! Let’s try it out a bit!
Pokemon: Bloodied Diamond
Minecraft: Curse of Herobrine
Ace Attorney: The Demonic Testimony

Do you like those names? I like those names. Let’s move on!

Of course, your main character has to get their game in some way. What’s that? Introducing the character? No, no, no, no, no. You’re doing it all wrong.
>”I got it from a garage sale/market sale/yard sale” – The oldest and best one in the book. If 99% of people write it this way, then it can’t possibly be bad, can it?
>”Some shady guy/girl/being of unidentifiable gender gave it to me” – Sometimes, we just want to skip the boring introduction and get straight to the action, and there’s no better way to do it than this.
>”I downloaded it online” – Who goes to garage sales anymore? Keep up with the times with this new, hip trend!

Moving on to step number three – of course, because this is a creepypasta, the game has to be haunted, right? But what’s it going to do?
>Absolutely nothing out of the ordinary – because hey, if you put in no effort here, you can use that effort later, right? That’s how it works, isn’t it? Right? Right?!
>A couple of graphical glitches – because nothing makes your viewers tremble more than the screen flickering a little or some colours changed. This is a true fact.
>Noises. – More specifically, weird noises. Glitchy sounds. Muffled screaming. The usual.
Okay, those are some basic ones, but why not step it up? Add some blood! Lots of blood! Also, make sure to use some of these words at least three times in the story…
>Hyper-realistic
>Bloody
>Demonic
>Ghostly
>Scary
Alright, we’ve got some scary shit going on, but if the main character ran away now, the pasta would stop half-way, right? Let’s choose an excuse for them to stay around.
>”I thought it was just a glitch”
>”I thought it was just a glitch”
>”I thought it was just a glitch”
Just kidding. You get no choice on this one. Trust me, this is for the better.
Alright, now just fill in the rest of the story using more glitches (as always, consider adding more blood and hyper-realism to your story), until WHAM! Something really scary happens! This can be anything – hell, it doesn’t have to be scary. Just as long as your main character responds fittingly. Or, alternatively, not-so-fittingly.
How will your protagonist respond to the sheer creepiness? How will this story meet its conclusion?
>Throw their console out – Destroy their DS! Pulverise their Playstation! Erm, throw a TV out the window? Whatever. It works.
>AND THEN THE PROTAG DIED – Dead things are creepy. People dying are creepy. Why not kill off the protagonist? I’m sure that, with the large amount of characterization we gave them earlier, it will really shock the readers. Honest.
>YOU’RE NEXT – Did you know that all creepypasta readers have a constant fear that there’s a monster behind them? Use this to your advantage? Everyone’s terrified of walls!

Alright, now we have the main story and –
Oh?
Did you think that was finished?
Oh no, this is the fun part. Now we add some… er… personality to your story. And by ‘personality’, I mean ‘bad writing skills’. I mean, let’s face it, nobody really misses punctuation. I sure don’t.
Choose one of the following typing quirks – I mean, writing styles.
>capital letters. get rid of all your capital letters. no-one likes them at all. too old fashioned.
>WHY NOT HAVE LOTS OF CAPITAL LETTERS? BE NEW AND DANGEROUS. MAKE YOUR ENTIR STORY CAPITAL LETTERS. (Obviously, don’t use this one with the previous one.)
>Make Every Capital Letter Refined And Pronounced. This Makes You Seem Posh And Smart.
And at least one of these. You can have more, if you want to be EXTREME.
>Motherfucker, let’s get some fucking swears up in here. Swears are bitchin’ as shit. It makes you sound fuckin’ hip and cool. Fuck yeah.
>No punctuation ever at all because seriously having things just constantly flow is so much easier and better in every way wow
>Waht if you where unabel to spel things right? Sonds fun!
———————
Congratulations! If you’re reading this, you’ve most likely just finished writing your first video game pasta! Now just publish your beautiful (read: horrendous) story (read: crap heap), and watch it get thousands of upvotes (read: downvotes) like it deserves! Good luck!

Credit To – Yu “The Operator” Meigns

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Succession Of Nightmares

August 8, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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Nightmares.

We all have them, one time or another.

Everything has a dark side, our dreams were meant to be a place of jubilation, and contain our most wonderful fantasies.

This is kinda like an award. Some of us work our asses off all day long, and then come home to a nice cozy bed. Sleep by itself is a nice gift for our turmoils, but dreams make sleeping hard for us to want to wake up sometimes.

But there is of course a darkside…there is always a darkside.

Nightmares have a certain way of creeping up on us when we don’t want them to…its almost like they know…

Some may say that nightmares are our own fault. Watching scary movies, or reading scary stories can fuel our nightmares.

But….what if there are things out there…that can control our dreams?

What if there are beings who can purposely give us nightmares.

What if these things are there to drive us insane…to the point where we want to sleep forever.

Now is when I tell you about my nightmares…

A couple weeks ago I started to get really into reading creepy stories. All humans have this certain want of excitement…but sometimes we take it way to far. You know what I’m talking about. Surfing videos on the internet late at night, reading creepy stories, or making our own stories.

You know how it works. You sit there, tired in front of your computer. The room is dark, the voices in your head are telling you to shut off the computer and finally get some fucking sleep. But then it happens. You find a video that has a creepy description. Perhaps a video about a ghost encounter, or a video of aliens.

This is how my nightmares started.

My friend Zack has a youtube account where he plays video games and gives them commentary. You know, a “Let’s Play.”

But one day he decided to do something different. He narrated a story off of a website called “creepypasta.com.”

I have heard of this somewhere, I know I have. Its hard to surf the interent for so many years and not hear about something so popular.

He told a story of a man called “Slender Man.” Now I had obviously heard of this character. I’ve seen the MarbleHornets videos, and I’ve seen the fan art, and the so called “pictures.”

The story was interesting, and it made me want to read more, so I did.

Within a few days, I had read all the populare stories that this website had to offer. “Squidward Suicide” “Ben Drowned” “Dead Bart” “Jeff: The Killer” “The Tails Doll” “Smile Dog” And all the Pokemon hacks.

These stories…they give you a feeling of terror. You start to notice all the small things around you, all the creaks and moans. You look over your shoulder and think you see a shadow of some sort. Nothing…huh…silly you.

You finally get the courage to go to sleep, and then you start to understand the position you just put yourself in.

I understood what I was doing to myself…but I didn’t stop.

I saw them all…I saw all the creatures from those stories in my dreams.

I saw the Smile Dog try to make me spread the word…I saw Jeff telling me to go to sleep…Squidward staring at me with his bloodshot eyes…

Jerking myself awake everytime I encountered one of these freaks got old real fast.

But then, the nightmares begin to get so much more real.

No longer was I imagining the characters from the stories…but now…my nightmares were taking their own shape. Contorting themselves to make me even more uncomfortable.

One night, I was laying soundly in my bed. It was almost like an out of body experience. You see, I had a bird’s-eye view of myself. It was as if I was laying on the ceiling. I was laying on top of the covers, and my eyes were closed. I must note that I was not breathing. No snoring, no indication of my stomach rising and lowering. In fact, I was utterly motionless.

My room was pitch black as it usually is when I fall asleep, but I could see myself perfectly. Its as if I had some type of night vision, but it wasn’t all green and shit like it usually is.

Then my eyes shot wide open. It startled me a bit. I just stared up at the ceiling. It seemed as if he was looking at me, like I really was on the ceiling.

A drop fell…a ruby colored drop of blood fell onto my face. Then another…and another…and another…
The drops began to fall slow, but then they picked up speed, similiar to when rain begins to fall.

The version of myself laying on my bed then begins to smile. The blood soaks his teeth, and started to drip into his eyes. But he did not blink or close his mouth. Just let the blood fall on him.

Suddenly, the view switched to me being on the ceiling. Now I was the one laying on the bed.

On the ceiling…was a bloody, mangled, wounded version of me. My eyes were missing, and my teeth were missing as well. But I had the same smile as the version of myself on the bed.

My hands and legs were pinned to the ceiling…almost…as if I was being crucified.

Then the view began to slowly zoom in on my face. Blood still fell, and my view was being distorted. I wanted to see what was going to happen, so I tried my best to see. The view then zoomed in on my face at an alarming rate, and then I spoke.

“I am your God now.”

I woke up. Breathing fast and hard. I felt paralyzed, like I was stuck.

I felt liquid around me. Did I really just piss the bed from this nightmare? Or….or was it blood? I quickly jumped up and found out that I had knocked over a cup of tea in my sleep, and I was laying in it.

Sometimes when I have dreams I feel as if the interactions of objects in the real world affect my dream. In one dream I was being stabbed repeatedly in the arm, and I could actually kinda feel it. I awoke to my friend obnoxiously poking me in the arm with a pen. I thought that him poking me in the arm made the stabbing from the nightmare be all the more real.

Since dreams and nightmares are derived from our brains, we can experience things in our dreams that seem real. When you eat something, you can taste it. This is because you remember how the object tasted.

This dream made me not want to sleep anymore that night, so I didn’t.

But that wasn’t the end.

I had this same nightmare over and over again for a few days. Happening the same way everytime. There wasn’t anything I could do. I couldn’t change the dream even if I wanted to.

This nightmare scared me everytime. You think I would have got use to it…but I didn’t.

I began to think about ways I could avoid this nightmare. This was my first thought.

I can’t remember ever having a nightmare while I was napping during the day. So my frist plan was to sleep during the day, and stay up during the night. Hopefully this would work.

First day, no nightmare. I was relieved. I thought that I had found the solution. I had no problem sleeping during the day, I didn’t sleep much as it was already.

Second day, my plan failed. The same nightmare happened again, but this time. There was no smiling from the body on the ceiling…actually…there were no emotions at all. My head was missing…more blood fell quickly this time making the dream end faster. My body laying on the bed looked down, and my decapitated head was laying in my lap. And it was smiling.

I’m pissed now. What, I just can’t fucking sleep anymore? Fine, I won’t. I’ll stay awake! Yes, that will work. I’ll stay awake until I pass out from exhaustion. I won’t encounter the nightmare unless I absolutely have to!

I wrote this…quite a while ago…back when the nightmares first started. It’s been about a week since I decided I wasn’t going to sleep.

I’m so tired…I don’t think I can stay awake anymore. My bed…sounds so heavenly right now. I guess my plan didn’t work how I thought it would…

I’m going to go to bed now…I think I could stay up for a few more hours but…I don’t want to.

I want to see my smile…I want to see my bloody body hang from the ceiling…It sounds so interesting to me now…Oh how that blood felt so refreshing cascading on my face.

I have a bottle of pills…extra strength…I’m going to take them all with some alcohol…

I don’t want to be awake anymore. I’ve been awake for a couple days…and I now realize how horrifying it is.

I’m seeing all those creepypasta characters in real life now…I’ve gone completely fucking insane.

I know they won’t be there in my dream…they were never there before.

I’ll sleep forever…so I can look and smile at my God for the rest of days.

I just swallowed the pills…I’m going to have a quick drink, then I’m going to bed.

Why not join me?

It will be your God soon enough.

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The Man with the Cane

June 30, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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(Note: this is a followup of Grad Night in the Haunted Mansion. It is recommended you are familiar with the original story before continuing)

Recently I read a story posted on a Disney forum I frequent, an account of three friends who tried to spend a night in Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion back in the 80s. Since I don’t know the author’s name or gender, or even if said author is reading this, I’m not sure how to address him or her. Hopefully whoever put the story out there in the first place will see this.

I tried tracking the author down, and apparently the story had been posted on several forums and sites under different usernames – I’m not sure when it was reposted or where it originated, nor how long it’s been circulating.

But regardless, I read it at first thinking nothing of it but a half-assed ghost story. It was well-researched, sure, but there were certain details that were off and raised doubts. I almost dismissed it entirely when there were utilidors mentioned – because only Walt Disney World has those – but that was before the Prop Rooms got brought up.

My own story has lot of similarities, and I doubt its coincidental. I’m not sure how much this will clear things up, but that realization has prompted me to share my knowledge, maybe get a few things off my chest.

I grew up in Orlando, and have pretty much lived my whole life in close proximity to Walt Disney World. My mother met my father while working as a Cast Member at the Magic Kingdom, and now I work there myself (though I’d rather not say where). For as long as I can remember, I’ve listened all kinds of urban myths and rumors circulated among cast members at the parks, mainly through my parents; Mom got her start there back in the 70s, not long after the Magic Kingdom first opened, and in 77 she finally got bumped up from retail to attractions, which she had hoped for since she’d been hired. Her first role was a hostess at the Haunted Mansion, a position she thoroughly enjoyed until one August night that same year, when she encountered the Man with the Cane.

The way she tells it, she was a little on edge that night: earlier in the day, a 4-year-old boy had climbed over a railing surrounding the Cinderella’s Castle moat and drowned. It was the first death to have happened in the park’s short history. Management tried to keep the incident as quiet as possible – so the other guests weren’t disturbed – but word of it quickly spread among the cast members, and this was fresh on my mom’s mind as she worked the loading area for the mansion. Guests would come through from the stretching rooms and board their doombuggies, blissfully unaware that a life had been lost in their midst.

She was working until late, the crowds getting lighter and lighter as the night dragged on, until they were down to one stretch room. The guests were coming few and far between, so there were long periods where it was just her watching the empty doombuggies flow endlessly out one dark corridor and down another, listening to the eerie music and sound effects.

It was during one of these lonely spans of time that she saw him: from around the corner came a doombuggy that was occupied by a man, sitting right in the middle of the car. She described him to me as being gaunt, almost emaciated-looking, dressed in a rumpled suit, hands resting on the handle of a cane set in front of him. He stared straight ahead with pale blue eyes set far back in his head, his expression bitterly grim. He didn’t so much as twitch an eyebrow when my mom tried to get his attention, waving at him and saying hello; he just kept staring at some fixed point right in front of him as the doombuggy moved past and on into the rest of the ride.

Immediately my mom noted his car number – 67 – and called the operator at unload on the phone to ask him about the man he had sent her. The operator responded that he hadn’t sent her anyone, at which point both of them became very confused and mom got a little scared. Together they got in touch with their lead, and the three of them proceeded to wait at unload for the man to come around.

Sure enough, car 67 arrived, but it was empty.

There was no way the man could have sneaked out without anyone noticing. There are dozens of security cameras around the ride that would have caught it. My mom never got to review the footage, and to this day she’s not sure if there even is any, but she is thoroughly convinced that what she saw was a ghost. It spooked her enough that she had a hard time working late at the mansion, when there were periods where she would be all alone and felt as if someone else was in the room with her, watching her, and requested transfer shortly thereafter. She ended up on the Tropical Serenade (which is the Enchanted Tiki Room today) a month or so later.

But mom was only the first to see this apparition. Stories of the Man with the Cane began to circulate among CMs working at the Haunted Mansion, and every so often someone would catch a glimpse of him, usually riding alone in a doombuggy but sometimes walking in a backstage area of the ride, often only seen reflected in a mirror. He was always described the same way: gaunt, dressed in a suit, sunken eyes and holding a cane. Some say he’s the ghost of Yale Gracey, one of the imagineers that built the Haunted Mansion, while others have claimed that he’s much older, the spirit of a pilot whose small test plane went down on the land WDW would be built on, back in the 1940s. Needless to say, it became a local legend among the Haunted Mansion staff, and even those who didn’t see him were unnerved that they might, especially if they had to work alone at night.

So of course this was all going through my head when I went to work at the mansion myself, in the early 2000s.

Unlike a lot of people, I’ve never been a big fan of the Haunted Mansion, though coming from a Disney family I know a lot about it. I think the main reason is because I’ve always felt a bit uncomfortable around it – I blame my mom’s ghost story, of course. Looking at the facade from a distance is fine, but from the moment I pass the gates into the line, I get this prickle of inexplicable worry in the back of my brain, like that feeling you get when you’re in a dentist’s waiting room about to get a tooth pulled – you know it’s going to happen, and it won’t be fun.

Of course the ride isn’t really that scary, but that irrational feeling doesn’t go away until I’ve left the area behind. I think that’s why I opted to take the position as a hostess in the mansion – like mother like daughter, I guess. Plus, I think it had to do with trying to overcome that stupid childhood fear.

Anyway, I got the job and it was pretty normal, for the most part. My position in the attraction would shift, being a outdoor greeter at the mansion gate one day, a monitor at load or unload the next. I got used to it after awhile, and even started to like the job, despite that nagging tension I mentioned earlier.

My supervisor, a senior CM on the ride, was a woman named Karen (and yes, I realize it could be a coincidence, but I’m not so sure anymore). She was the one that basically got me acclimatized to the ride, and became a sort of mentor. She was a little severe and seemed high-strung, like she was always on the alert for something to happen. She’d get on anyone’s case if they made a shortcut of anything on the ride, citing safety reasons. But she seemed to like me well enough, showed me some level of concern due to my apparent unease about working the attraction at night.

I mentioned to her off-handedly once that working the mansion made me nervous due to the stories of the Man with the Cane. I recall it was just the two of us standing in the “Servants Corridor,” which is a CM-only passage from the load area to the outside, and it was just around closing time, so it was just the two of us in that flickering gloom. She became very interested and asked me a few questions, and I told her my mom’s story and how it had spooked me.

She stared at me long and hard as I talked. It was just starting to make me feel uncomfortable when she said, very softly, “I’ve seen him too. Just once. November 5th, 2000.”

She didn’t elaborate, didn’t expand on anything. Before I could ask her any more about it, she changed the subject to the tasks at hand for us closing the ride and walked away. I never did get a chance to broach the subject again, because she seemed to be all business following our conversation.

I’m not sure why I didn’t look up the date she mentioned sooner. I guess it never crossed my mind. Not until later.

After that, Karen seemed to take an odd interest in me. She had some measure of clout with the rest of the cast, and got leeway to go through plenty of backstage areas, so she started showing me all of the various nooks and crannies of the Haunted Mansion, very deliberately pointing out details like a tour guide. I got to learn the ins and outs of the attraction fairly well, and even had a chance to walk through the entire thing at one point with lights-on, thanks to Karen. In a way, I felt weirdly accepted, almost initiated… It’s hard to describe, but I was grateful anyway.

Which brings me to 2004, and the main reason I tell this whole story.

I’d been at the Haunted Mansion just under a year by that point, and my initial worries and irrational fears had finally begun to subside. I hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary during my time spent in the attraction, whether on set or backstage. Any notion of real ghost sightings was just the occasional in-joke between CMs, and even I wondered if my mother had just made it up to scare the people that worked with her and it had stuck around as a local legend since.

It was a February night, and I had just come back for my last shift of the evening. I was assigned to the load area and the crowds were relatively sparse, since it was around parade time and the route at Magic Kingdom passes through Liberty Square. Those riding either had no idea it was happening or ducked in to take advantage of the lull it caused.

I had grown pretty accustomed to being a grim, spooky maid by now, since the Haunted Mansion is the one attraction where CMs don’t have to smile. I escorted the few guests that came through into their doombuggies and walked the moving conveyor belt at an easy pace. The people coming through gradually became fewer and fewer, which seemed odd considering it wasn’t really that late at night.

And then the inflow stopped. There was a good five-minute stretch after I sent the last couple guests along where no one came down the corridor; just me, all alone, with the constant loop of familiar haunting sounds and the never ending line of doombuggies.

I started to get that itch of worry again as my mom’s story popped back in my head, but I tried to push it down. Another couple minutes of nothing, not even another CM to accompany me (usually there’s more than one of us in there), and I really started to get nervous. I was just reaching for the little shortwave radio we kept on hand to communicate when it crackled to life, making me jump.

It was Karen’s voice on the other end. “I’m at unload,” she said. It was hard to tell over the crappy receiver, but I think she sounded on edge. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

“For what?” I asked. Last I checked, Karen wasn’t on duty at unload, or on the ride in general that night.

Even before she responded, I had this terrible feeling I knew exactly what was about to happen, and I looked up as she said something else I don’t really remember.

There he was.

Just like in my mother’s story, he came gliding down the line in a doombuggy that should have been empty. Thin, near skeletal hands folded on the head of a black cane, a dusty suit and a face that reminded me of some scavenger bird. He was so still, he could have been a statue – apart from the fine, wispy hairs on his head, nothing on him moved. He didn’t blink, and his blue eyes didn’t even twitch; it was like he was boring a hole in the back of the car in front of him with his gaze.

Now I was on the verge of panicking, seeing a childhood terror before my very eyes. I stumbled back as the car passed me by, wanting to run but fighting with the logic that this was all definitely some elaborate prank. The man was lifelike, sure, but he was way too still to be real. It could have been some old animatronic from the Hall of Presidents for all I knew, just made scarier and set here to freak me out.

I mean, I certainly didn’t FEEL that way, but my brain was going a mile a minute and that was the best explanation that came to me in the moment.

The moment passed and off he went, without a glance in my direction. I watched it go with my heart going crazy in my chest and Karen shouting at me over the radio for confirmation. I picked it up and choked out what I’d just seen.

There wasn’t even a pause before she responded: “Get in the next car. Now. Don’t lose him.”

Surprisingly enough, I did just that. I was maybe two or three buggies back from the one I’d seen him in, but without even thinking I hopped on the ride and let it carry me into the depths of the attraction. I hissed to Karen that “this had better not be a prank or I swear to God I’m going to report you, because this isn’t funny.” She kept assuring me it wasn’t (which didn’t help) and that it was important I watch my surroundings and not lose him. She said she was keeping tabs via the security cameras.

The ride carried on as normal, just me and a possible ghost somewhere in an endless line of empty clamshell cars. Nothing happened as I went through the library, the music room, and up the stairs surrounded by cobwebs and giant day-glo spiders. I recall gripping the safety bar tighter than I ever had on any roller coaster, looking around every side to make sure I saw him coming – prop or no, I did not relish the thought of seeing him suddenly loom out of the shadows around me if he somehow slipped out of his doombuggy.

As my buggy reached the top of the stairs and turned to face the Endless Hallway, I caught sight of a figure in the shadows behind the floating candelabra and my heart went into my mouth. It opened a door on the left hand wall and slipped inside, closing it behind; in the same instant, I thought I heard a strange bellowing sound that I could only discern because it wasn’t part of the normal attraction audio.

I relayed this to Karen. “Get out,” she responded quickly. “I’ll be right there.”

In hindsight, I feel stupid for just doing what she said. Yet I got out anyway, pushing up the safety bar and stumbling onto the floor. I figured this would trigger the sensors and force the ride to stop on an alarm, but everything kept running. They must have been disabled, I realized – the man had apparently gotten out too without setting anything off.

I stood for a bit at the entrance of the hallway, too scared to go down it but eaten up by not knowing what was happening. I’m not sure where the courage came from, but when Karen didn’t show up right away I got fed up and moved down the hall toward the candelabra, pushing past the thin black scrim that gave the corridor its misty quality. The “endless” effect of the hall is created by a large mirror at the far end; this close to it, I could see my opaque reflection walking to meet me.

Most of the doors down there were facades, and I was never shown a backstage entrance from this area, so I had no idea what to expect. I turned and tried the door I thought I’d seen opened, the one closest to the mirror, which proved to be fake; I tried the one to the left of that and got the same result, which confused me even more… I was so certain it had been the furthest door. My hand was already on the next door’s handle when a beam of light came bobbing through the scrim and Karen stepped through, flashlight in hand.

I immediately rounded on her and demanded to know what the hell was going on. I was scared out of my mind, so it probably came out more pleading than angry.

Karen just sighed and shook her head. She pushed past me and turned the handle on the door. It opened onto a stark, narrow stairwell leading down and to the right.

“You know this ride just as well as I do,” she said, looking back at me. “Did you know that this was supposed to be here?”

I shook my head, no.

“Good,” she said, gesturing for me to follow behind her. “Neither did I.”

I tried to protest as she started descending the stairs, and followed only because I didn’t want to be left alone in the corridor. Karen seemed pretty stoic, which was some small comfort as we went down the darkened stairs, her flashlight showing the featureless gray walls and dirty black steps. It wasn’t a very long stairwell, but I was sure it would take us below ground level, making it a possible access point to the utilidors I didn’t know about.

I had so many questions, but most of them went unsaid because I felt this tense urge to be quiet, not just from Karen’s body language but the faint sounds I heard coming from the bottom of the stairwell – the best way I can describe it was the bellow I had heard before, this wheezing keen, like a person doing a bad impression of a dog’s howl. I know it sounds dumb, but it was so out of place that it gave me chills.

The sound stopped just as we reached the bottom. The stairwell ended at a utility door marked with a sign: “CAST MEMBERS ONLY.”

Karen hesitated, and I think I saw her visibly shudder as she opened the door. Not once did she look back at me.

This is why I tell this story: the hallway past the door was almost identical to the one described at the Disneyland mansion. It was a long, straight passage lined with doors, themed just like the hall above with the demon-eye wallpaper and flickering candles. And just like the other story asserted, the doors all had plain, white signs mounted on them, marking them as Prop Rooms.

I say “almost” because, looking back and comparing accounts, there were two main differences: first, the hall had eight doors compared to the six at Disneyland; and instead of the hall ending at another utility door, it was a dead end wall, with a mirror in an ornate oval frame hung on it.

At the time, I was more confused and unsettled by that fake-sounding whine that seemed to come from down the hall. Karen tensed and started marching along, ignoring the closed doors. Hesitantly I reached for the handle of the first Prop Room, but Karen said “Don’t bother. It’s locked.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. “How do you know?” I cried. “What is this place? Why are we here?”

Karen looked over her shoulder at me, and she looked weary and grim. “I don’t really know,” she said. “But we followed that thing down here, and I want answers. I need you to watch my back.”

The way she said “that thing” stuck out to me – I assumed she meant the Man with the Cane, but she didn’t refer to him as a “him.”

Then it hit me that the shadow I’d seen in the Endless Hallway might not be what I thought it was…

That recurring howl startled me just as I thought of this. It was louder than before, and even more plaintive. I peered down through the flickering gloom and saw the door closest to the end of the hall was slightly ajar.

Karen pointed her flashlight in that direction and started walking quickly, making me have to pick up the pace. I almost slipped on a wet patch, and realized the whole floor past Prop Room 1’s door was damp, water having soaked into the thin carpet. Strangely, there was no mildew smell, just just something chlorine-like: if you’ve been on any of the water rides at a Disney park, you know the smell I’m talking about.

We pretty much made a beeline to the open door. Some parts of this hall were not up to the usual Disney quality of repair – besides the wet carpet, there was an empty space for a candle sconce beside Prop Room 4, a bunch of exposed wires poking from where the fixture should be. Karen only stopped once, to tentatively test the handle on Prop Room 7, which was locked. Water leaked out from under this door, and I figured this was the source of the soggy floor.

Prop Room 8 was open just a crack, not enough for me to see what was in the room. Karen turned to me again and held up a hand, a clear sign she wanted me to stand back. I wasn’t about to argue with her, because I really didn’t want to be the first one to open the door into that dark room.

She stepped up and opened the door very, very slowly. The hinges made no noise, no the slightest creak. She opened it just enough to peer in with her flashlight on, though I couldn’t see anything with her bulk blocking the way. I kept looking back down the hall where we had come, just feeling like I needed to make sure nothing came up behind us.

Then, while I was turning my head to look, the howl happened again – so loud, so close and with so much more whining agony it nearly gave me a heart attack. I had a moment to realize it had come from the room Karen was looking into before her body suddenly jerked forward into the darkness, like she had been yanked off her feet, and the door swung closed.

I freaked out and rushed to the door. It wouldn’t budge, the door was locked. I pulled and tugged at the handle and kicked at the door while screaming for Karen. My adrenaline level was so high I couldn’t even THINK about trying something more logical than that, I just knew I had to get to Karen because I suspected something horrible was in that room with her.

Something splashed on the soggy floor near me and I felt drops of water spray my ankles. I froze, my breath catching in my throat, and looked. Nothing was there, but I swear I saw a depression in the damp carpet right near me. Glancing down the hall, I saw only the empty corridor we had come down, but movement in my periphery made me look the other way, toward the mirror on the wall.

The Man with the Cane stood behind my gaping reflection, so close that he could have rested his chin on my shoulder; at that same moment, I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck.

I completely panicked and bolted down the hall, pretty sure I screamed the whole way. I shot up the steps two at a time, nearly tripping on the skirt of my uniform as I tried to put as much distance between me and the man as possible. Soon I had flown out of the door and back into the Endless Hallway, and I turned to run through that artificial darkness…

Or would have, if I hadn’t turned the wrong way in my blind terror and collided with the full mirror reflecting the hall.

when I came to, several of fellow CMs were huddled around me where I had sprawled on the floor. I was disoriented and sick with dread and could barely explain to my concerned rescue party what I was doing there. They told me later a guest riding the ride had seen me lying there and had asked when they had added a “dead body” to the attraction, which brought them to me; checking later confirmed I had been unconscious for several minutes.

I was whisked off to get first aid, unable to get a word out in time about Karen and the hidden corridor, dazed and confused as I was. Thankfully my run-in with the mirror had not done any long-lasting damage – either to myself or the mirror – though I suffered a serious concussion and was forced to take a leave of absence to recover.

When I returned to active duty at the mansion, the old feeling of unease was in my gut again, stronger than ever. That first day back, I was so on edge that I would jump at the slightest breath of cool air or sound of my name being called by another CM. Everyone was really kind and welcoming, but I know I came off like a nervous wreck.

Karen was conspicuously absent, of course. I started asking about her right away, and the other CMs said they had no idea where she’d gone – word was she had either transferred or quit, though no one I spoke to had seen or heard anything concrete. Management seemed unable to give a straight answer either, since they claimed didn’t know. It was like she had vanished completely.

Frustrated, I went back to the Endless Hallway after hours and tried all of the doors along it. All of them were stuck tight, and appeared to be facades. Blueprints and layouts I managed to procure after revealed no sign of an access point from that scene to anywhere else. It made no sense.

I could tell by the end of the first day the other CMs were thinking I was a basket case, I could see it in their sidelong glances. One of them, a friend of mine who I’ll also leave anonymous, said he had no reason to blame me, and said everyone just felt relieved I hadn’t died too.

That gave me pause, and I asked him what he meant.

He seemed surprised I didn’t know, but explained that the night I’d gotten hurt and Karen had “retired,” another CM had been in an accident backstage. The man, dressed as Pluto, had been struck by a parade float and killed. Those working outside had immediately gone into damage-control mode, halting the parade and keeping things as quiet as possible to the guests.

I put in a transfer request the following day.

Thing is, throughout all of this I worked to convince myself that everything I had experienced that night was the result of my head injury, weird dreams and hallucinations I had while I was out cold or semiconscious, coupled with the short-term memory loss. I had to, because for a long time after I couldn’t bring myself to look in a mirror, out of fear I would see something behind me that shouldn’t be there. Even now, it sometimes makes me uncomfortable.

It was the only logical explanation I could come up with, the only way I could convince myself to keep working at Disney World. And it succeeded, made perfect sense.

Until I read the grad night story.

Now it’s all come back, nagging at me, telling me everything I saw and felt that night were all too real. Putting all of this down has only helped refresh my memory, and it scares me. I keep glancing over my shoulder, worried I’m going to see the gaunt visage of the Man with the Cane standing there, staring at me. I also keep thinking about the way Karen jerked through that door, like something had grabbed her and pulled her in…

I’m not sure how much this will clear up, but it needs to be done. Something bigger is going on here, hidden under both Haunted Mansions in both parks. I would go so far as to say something evil. And with everything in mind, I’ve done research, compared accounts.

The day my mom saw the apparition, someone had died; the date Karen had mentioned – November 5th, 2000 – another in-park death, this one on Splash Mountain; and someone else had been killed the night I saw him.

With that last accident in mind, by 2004 eight people had died on Walt Disney World resort property. There were eight doors in that hidden hall.

The author in the grad night incident described a fatal accident happening the same night. Looking that up, there were six deaths at Disneyland counting that one as of 1983, and six Prop Room doors mentioned.

I fully understand this is speculation and the whole thing could be coincidental, but at this point I doubt it. I understand now why Karen rushed over to the mansion when she heard someone had died: she’d put the pieces together. She knew, somehow, the Man with the Cane would appear.

Who he is, what his role is, and what he wants I don’t know. Is he anything like the Hatbox Ghost at the Disneyland mansion? I have heard Disney is putting old Hattie back into the attraction soon, but I get the feeling whatever they add won’t be what those three kids saw backstage in 1983.

That’s really the worst part of it, the not-knowing. All of this just raises more questions for me, and the only reason I haven’t left WDW is to keep my ear to the ground and hope get more information. I owe Karen that much.

All I can say is I have a feeling… that if someone manages to find either of those hidden corridors now, beneath their respective Haunted Mansions, those gloomy hallways will have grown much longer, and have more Prop Room doors.

Credit To – CrackedMack

The author also produces a podcast called “Midnight Marinara” – if you’re curious, please visit any of the following links:
Midnight Marinara Homepage
Midnight Marinara @ YouTube
Midnight Marinara @ SoundCloud

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The League of Creepypasta Supervillains

April 1, 2015 at 4:00 AM
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Introduction:

In every major city in the world there is an old abandoned warehouse that is home to the local League of Creepypasta Supervillains. This league varies depending on the location, but today we going to focus on a very special league that makes its home in Burlington, Vermont. This supervillain group is composed of some of the very well-known villains on the internet including Jeff the Killer, Slenderman, Jane The Killer, Black Eyes Kids, and the organization leader, Ben (Drowned).

Today we join our antiheroes as they attend the annual League evaluation. You see, to stay in the LOCS, each member has to prove that they are scary enough to be part of the organization. If they can’t prove their worth, they are moved to the League’s sister organization, the Alliance of Trollpasta Supervillains. Once there they must undergo thorough training in the scary arts until they are creepy enough to be accepted back into the League again.

As the head of the Burlington League, Ben (Drowned) is issuing all of the tests on this fine Halloween Eve. And so another year of evaluations is set to take place.

The Evaluation:

Ben (Drowned) Looked over his recruits with an obvious look of distain. He always hated evaluation day because his group of supervillains always barely made the cut. He shook his head as he paced back and forth in front of them.

“Well it’s that time of year again when I have to put you maggots to the test. Of all the supervillains I could have received from headquarters I got you sorry pathetic excuses for creepypasta terrors. Did you know that the London branch has Jack the Ripper? As in the real guy? And what do I get stuck with? You rejects! You better have improved since the last evaluation or being transferred to the AOTS will be the least of your worries. Do you understand?”

All of the members said, “Sir, yes sir!” in unison except for Slendy who held up a sign that said the same thing as he didn’t have a mouth to speak with. Ben (Drowned) sighed and put a clipboard he was holding to eye-level so he could read the names of the members he had to evaluate first. When he read it he grumbled something to himself and then said louder, “Black Eyed Kids, I need you to step forward now!”

There were many BEKs in the world as they were the unfulfilled souls of children and teenager so naturally each organization had a few. In this particular branch there were four: Blinky, Pinky, Inky, and Clyde each named after the Pac Man ghosts by headquarters as they had long forgotten their original names. Ben (Drowned) felt this was a mockery of his organization by headquarters as his branch held the bottom of the barrel supervillains. But since it was an order from above, there wasn’t much he could do about it. This added to his annoyance over his position in the organization. He was part of the Zelda franchise for God’s sake. Couldn’t they cut him some slack?

At the moment Ben (Drowned) was thinking of renegotiating his contract with Headquarters the BEKS stepped forward, each staring at him with their soulless black eyes. Ben (Drowned) was unfazed. Their eyes might have been soulless but the way they were placed on the children made them look more like oversized Precious Moments dolls than anything else. He tapped his fingers against the clipboard and gave each one a glance up and down.

“You BEKS are as lame as ever I see,” he began, noting that they had updated their clothing to reflect the latest trends among adolescents, preteens, and teens.

“But I won’t hold your apparent lack of ghost apparel against you as you have other assets to work with like, oh I don’t know, THE THING YOU WERE NAMED AFTER.”

At this he got in the face of each one and yelled, “What the heck is with those cute eyes, huh? You are supposed to be terrors of the night, not some anime Chibi rejects!”

The BEKS immediately changed their eyes to something more fitting their description and then they each said in unison, “Sir, yes sir!”

Ben (Drowned) grunted.

“That’s more like it. Now, each one of you will give me a report of your best scare of the year. I will start with…Inky.”

Inky, a BEK with long black hair and a blue baseball cap gave a salute and stepped forward.

“Sir, yes sir. I will now tell you about my best scare, sir!”

Ben (Drowned) rubbed his temples, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to hear.

“Just get on with it.”

Inky nervously shuffled in place.

“Eh…Yes sir. Well last Tuesday I think I really scared this kid who was at the supermarket with his mom. But then I felt kind of bad so I invited him over to my place to play a game of hide and seek with the other BEKS. His mom was kind of getting worried though so I brought him back without his memories and put him somewhere the mom could find him. But you could tell she was really worried when he was gone. I must have given her the scare of the century! I did good this time boss, didn’t I?”

Inky’s look of enthusiasm was met with a deadpan expression from Ben (Drowned).

“That has to be THE LAMEST excuse for a ghost story I have heard since…well the last time you gave me a report. Get back in formation before I get angry.”

Inky gave a quick salute and scrambled back to the lineup.

Ben (Drowned) let out a heavy sigh and called the next recruit forward.

“Blinky, it’s your turn to report. I hope your story will be more thrilling than the last.”

The BEK wearing a red baseball cap with short, wavy black hair stepped forward.

“Yes sir! I think you will be pleased with my report. A few weeks ago I morphed my body into the shape of a professor and taught a class about parasites! You should have seen how scared the students were when they left. Even I was a bit grossed out by the topic. I think this is my best scare yet!”

Ben (Drowned) glared at the recruit for a few moments in silence, letting his disapproval of Blinky’s antics sink in.

Then he barked, “I am not sure how you managed to beat the complete and utter lack terror present in the last story, but somehow you did. In fact that story was so bad, that I am almost inclined to say it is good out of sheer irony. Now get back in the lineup and reflect on being a better ghost will you?”

Blinky nodded furiously and then got back in formation.

Ben (Drowned) sat looking at the next name on the list for a few moments before continuing on. He considered not calling her name at all as he was certain she had nothing valuable to report but he knew that would be against the rules of headquarter so he called her forward anyway.

“Pinky, get out here and tell me about your progress. I say progress because I know for a fact you haven’t been terrorizing anyone. Well, give a report anyway.”

Pinky, a BEK with shoulder length black hair parted into two braids which sat on each side of her face and wearing a pink baseball cap stepped forward.

“Yay, I love story time!”

Ben (Drowned) rolled his eyes.

“Unfortunately, I know this all too well. Get on with it.”

Pinky grinned.

“A few days ago, I went to the arcade and played DDR with a group of teenagers. It was so much fun! I managed to hide my eyes pretty good too. One guy even said I was pretty. I might have a boyfriend! Of course he will need to get over the whole me being a ghost thing. But anything is possible with true love, wouldn’t you agree? I am so excited to introduce him to the other BEKs. I’m inviting him over for a gaming day at my place next week.”

Ben (Drowned) let out a heavy sigh.

“I would tell you to stop dating the people you are supposed to scare, but I’ve given up on trying to teach you any kind of common sense. It’s not worth the effort. Just…just get back in line before I say things I don’t mean.”

Pinky said, “Okay!” And then giggled as she skipped back into formation.

Ben (Drowned) look down at his clipboard trying to ignore the pinching sensation beginning to form at the sides of his temples which he feared might be another stress induced headache coming on.

“Alright, I saved the best for last. And I use that word in the context of the rest of you of course who have somehow managed to do worse than when you reported to me last year. This is a feat I thought was impossible. But oh how I was proved wrong. Clyde, please tell me that you have at least one thing noteworthy to report. Just one thing.”

The BEK in question, who had short spiky black hair and wore an orange baseball cap, stepped forward.

“I’ve got a good one for you sir!”

Ben (Drowned) remained expressionless.

“Oh how the word ‘good’ has lost its meaning to me over the years of working with you people. In case, do carry on.”

Clyde gave a sideways grin.

“This one is a killer. You see, a few weeks ago, I made myself look like an obese plumber and I stormed into the girl’s dressing room of a high school. To add to the effect I told them that I needed to fix a leaky faucet. I think some plumbers crack was visible in the back of my getup too which added to the overall creepiness. They all screamed upon seeing my fat, harry, sweaty plumber form. Of course I think a lot of it was due to the fact that I was a guy in the girl’s locker room. But let me tell you, they all were running and screaming within minutes of me going in. It was great!”

Ben (Drowned) had to physically keep himself from tossing the clipboard on the floor in front of him and storming away from the group of rejects in defeat.

After taking a few deep healing breaths he thought long and hard about what he was going to tell the BEKs.

Then he leaned in close to each one and shouted, “Somehow each of you has managed to get the lowest scare rankings in the history of our organization. The ONLY reason this surprises me is because I really didn’t think you could do worse than the last time, but your latest adventures have really taken the cake. You’ve all earned yourselves one way passes to the Alliance of Trollpasta Supervillains unless you can think of one good reason why I should torture myself by keeping you here!”

Pinky giggled and twirled the end of one of her braids around her fingers.

“Oh, I know. We recruited more members. Doesn’t that give us an automatic pass no matter what?”

Ben (Drowned) nodded.

“Unfortunately…yes. That is how you sorry excuses for creatures of the night end up passing your test every year and continuing to annoy me with your presences in this organization. As a formality I am going to tell you how to improve, although I doubt any amount of advice I give will be of any help to you.”

“Sir, yes sir!” They said in unison, eager to receive their evaluations.

Ben (Drowned) mumbled some words under his breath and then pointed at Inky.

“I’ll start with You! When you haunt kids and take them away, DON’T BRING THEM BACK. I don’t care how sad or lonely they are. That is ghost lesson number one.”

“Yes sir!” Said Inky, happy to receive her orders from the boss.

Ben (Drowned) put a checkmark next to her name and then pointed at Blinky.

“As for you, giving educational lessons to the youth is NOT IN YOUR JOB DESCRIPTION! Next time, turn into your ghost form and scare kids the way you are supposed to. Do you understand?”

Blinky gave an earnest salute.

“Sir, yes sir!” He said and then wrote down the advice on how he could improve on a small notepad he had brought to the meeting.

Ben (Drowned) put a checkmark next to his name and then pointed to Pinky.

“And as for you…I don’t even know where to begin. There is so much wrong with your approach to scarring people that I wouldn’t have enough time to list everything. But you can start by scaring kids and STOP TRYING TO DATE THEM. Are we clear on this?”

Pinky let out an exasperated sigh.

“Fine. I’ll cancel my date with Travis. He probably wouldn’t understand that I’m a ghost anyway.”

Ben (Drowned) put a mark next to Pinky’s name and then pointed to Clyde.

“Last but certainly not least, is you. Out of this entire group of BEK idiots you have the most potential. But your approach is always wrong. Let me just inform you, that walking into the girl’s locker room disguised as a fat plumber is NOT SCARY IN THE LEAST. Next time, appear in the locker room in your ghost form and I don’t know, add in some wailing sounds or something for effect. Do I need to spell it out for you?”

“No sir! I’ll do better next time sir!” He said, after giving a quick salute.

Ben (Drowned) checked his notes to make sure they would meet the organization’s approval and then turned back to face the members of his branch with a large frown on his face.

“Although I would like to believe that you idiots will follow my advice, I have my doubts. Now I will move onto the next evaluation before my headache gets any worse.”

He looked at the next name on the list and then said, “Jeff The Killer, please step forward and tell me your best scare of the year. Hurry up. I don’t have all day.”

Jeff stepped forward and stared at Ben (Drowned) with his yellow, lidless eyes.

“Sir, yes sir! Jeffy The Killer is reporting in.”

Ben (Drowned) took a good look at Jeff from top to bottom and then rubbed his forehead with his thumb and index finger. His headache was getting worse by the second and he still had a long way to go.

“I have told you this multiple times, Jeff. Stop wearing clown makeup. And stop making your body appear white to add to the effect. If you look like a clown, you character will be too similar to the joker and the organization doesn’t want another lawsuit on their hands.”

Jeff stuck out his lower lip in a pouting motion.

“Aww, why so serious?”

Ben (Drowned) promptly smacked Jeff over the head with his clipboard.

“And that’s another thing; stop using the Joker’s catchphrases. It is going to get us in trouble with DC comics. Do you understand?”

Jeff shrugged and snapped his fingers. No sooner had he done so, all of the clown pain melted away. However, the white ghostly complexion still remained. Ben (Drowned) tapped his foot impatiently.

“You’ve gotten rid of the clown makeup. Now the pasty, white completion has got to go. Come on. Stop wasting all of our time.”

Jeff let out a sigh and snapped his fingers again. His skin turned into a pale blue color with darkened edges.

“I like my white skin though, Benny. I would only do this for you.”

Ben (Drowned) shot Jeff a look.

“Do NOT call me Benny. You know that I hate that. Now, get on with telling me about your best scare of the year.”

Jeff laughed manically and then said, “Oh this is a good one. It will put all of the other reports to shame, I can guarantee that!”

Ben (Drowned) huffed.

“Yes, well I’ll be the judge of that. Go on.”

Jeff rubbed his hands together as if he was plotting something wicked and then said, “Three months ago I snuck into a man’s house and starting making ghostly noises. You know, the door slamming. The floorboards creaking. All of the standard stuff. I did this every night for a month. Then I started letting him hear the unsettling noises during the day, everywhere he went. The guy thought he had lost his mind! Then at the last minute I appeared and told him to Go To Sleep. Unfortunately, he was completely crazy by then so for some reason he thought I was funny. I ended up being his personal jester for a few weeks until they carted him off to the loony bin. But before that, he really was scared. You should have seen the look on his face hearing the same creepy noises night after night. It was classic!”

Ben (Drowned)’s expression remained unchanged.

“So you mean to tell me that your biggest accomplishment this year is helping to push an already mentally disturbed person off the deep end? Oh but it doesn’t end there. Your victim thought you were funny. They even sounded like they enjoyed getting carted away to the funny farm. It isn’t our job to entertain crazy people! Get back in formation right now so I can give you your full evaluation.”

Jeff cocked his head to one side.

He muttered, “Hmm…I thought it was a good one for sure,” before floating back to his space in line next to the other organization members.

Ben (Drowned) stared Jeff down and roared, “You barely passed this year’s evaluation on account of the fact that your approach was creative. But like usual, your execution was WAY OFF. You are a mascot pasta. Your job is to scare your victims; not drive them to the loony bin. And you certainly don’t entertain them for laughs. Do you understand?”

Jeff brought his head up from its sideways pose and gave a lazy salute.

“Whatever you say Benny.”

Ben (Drowned) Smacked Jeff with his clipboard again and then checked Jeff’s name off of the list.

“I told you not to call me that. Anyway, off to the next member. Let’s see here…”

Jeff glanced at the next name and turned pale. It was the first time since the meeting started that he genuinely felt intimidated. He tried not to let his discomfort show as he called the next name.

“Jane The Killer, please step forward.”

Jane slinked forward from the lineup of organization members, giggling insanely as she went.

“I like it when it’s my turn to play.” She said between crazed chuckles.

Ben (Drowned) cleared his throat.

“Well, you aren’t really here to play, are you? Just give me a summary of the best scary thing you’ve done this year so we can get this meeting over with.”

Jane giggled some more and then said, “Before I came to the meeting, I set all of your houses on fire. I liked watching them slowly burn to ash one by one. I felt that it went well with that old kid’s song, so I sung along as the houses burned. Ring around the rosie, Pockets full of poesies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down. See, see how well it goes? It was ever so delightful. Judging by the way all of you are looking at me right now, I think I did a good job of scarring people. That should give me an automatic pass for sure.”

Ben (Drowned) remained silent as he immediately took out his cellphone to dial in a 5-8 emergency. Two men in suits showed up in front of him a few minutes later and waited for further instruction.

Ben pointed toward where the company houses were located with a grim look on his face.

“Jane set the organization housing units on fire. Get all of the personnel gathered and fix the problem as quickly as possible. Use supernatural building techniques if necessary. I expect a complete rebuild by the end of the meeting.”

The two men saluted and ran off to gather more men to complete the task. With the immediate problem solved, Ben (Drowned) instructed Jane to get back in line and await her evaluation. Jane complied, laughing insanely as she went.

Ben (Drowned) shot Jane a look and yelled, “You crazy little pop tart. You are full aware that it is against organization policy to scare or harm fellow LOCS members. That little stunt of yours has surely earned you a one way ticket to the Alliance of Trollpasta Supervillains. That is unless by some miracle you can think of way to redeem yourself.”

Jane was silent for a few minutes, enjoying the extreme fear she had driven into the hearts of her fellow teammates.

Ben (Drowned) impatiently tapped his fingers against the main face of his clipboard.

“I’m waiting.”

Jane gave a creepy smile and said, “I recruited a new member a few days ago. She is my new special friend. According to organization rules, that means I get an automatic pass. Here she is!”

Jane held up the famous haunted Ragedy Anne doll Annabell. Annabell gave a salute with one of her patchwork arms.

Ben (Drowned) shook his head.

“I don’t even want to know how you managed to get your hands on that…thing. Very well. As Annabell will probably up the scary level of our organization, you get a pass by recommendation. But don’t you ever pull a crazy stunt like that on fellow organization members again. Have I made myself clear?”

Jane giggled.

“Oh I won’t cause any more trouble for the organization. Annabell and I will be too busy making new friends.”

The thought of Annabell and Jane causing trouble together sent a chill up Ben’s spine. He shook off the feeling as he placed a check next to Jane’s name and moved on to evaluate the last member on the list.

“Slenderman, it is your turn.”

Slenderman came floating forward from the lineup, his back tentacles moving in all directions as he went.

Ben (Drowned) gave him a look up and down and rolled his eyes.

“You are still wearing that suit, I see. How many times do I have to tell you that dressing like that does not make you look intimidating?”

Slendy held up a sign that read, “It makes me look stylish.”

Ben (Drowned) let out a heavy sigh.

“Well headquarters doesn’t really impose a dress code, so I can’t fault you on wanting to keep up with the latest fashion trends.”

Upon mentioning fashion, the BEKs all giggled in the line.

“Anyways,” Ben (Drowned) continued, “Get on with telling me about your best scare of the year so we can end this meeting and all go home. Well that is provided the organization cleanup team has fixed the company houses by then.”

He shot Jane a look after saying that, who simply chuckled and started to brush Annabell’s hair.

Slendy nodded and held up various signs which together spelled out his story.

All together the signs read, “You are going to love my story. Four months ago, I snuck into the theater four times and watched all the latest releases for free. Last week I double parked my bike on the way back from giving candy to children at the park. On many different occasions I jay walked right in front of the cops. Of course they couldn’t see me as I was in invisible at the time, but I still did it. I even…”

Slendy paused for dramatic effect and then held up some other signs that read, “Didn’t show up for work! You know because I took that office job as a hobby. Isn’t my social disobedience scary?”

Ben (Drowned) pinched the bridge of his nose, deep in thought about what he should say next. His headache was almost reaching a nuclear level at this point. After taking a few calming breaths, he walked up to Slenderman and shouted, “You are a creepypasta mascot like Jeff. Your job isn’t to be a rebel on your days off. It is to scare people. I don’t care how you do it…I don’t even want to know what you are doing until next year’s evaluation. My heart wouldn’t be able to take any more bad scary stories until that time. But however you figure out how to scare people…do it! Now get back in line so I can give you your full report.”

Slenderman held up a sign that said, “K den,” and floated back into line next to his other teammates.

Ben (Drowned) towered over Slendy and barked, “The next time you are at the theater, scare the people watching the movies while you are there! While you are double parking your bike or jaywalking scare any police officer you come across! When you are at the park, strike terror into the hearts of children; DO NOT GIVE THEM CANDY. While you are working at your office job, take some time to intimidate your office mates. It isn’t that hard to figure out but I’ve spelled it out for you. Do you think you can do those simple tasks at the very least? Huh?”

Slenderman nodded furiously and held up a sign that said, “I’ll do my best.”

Ben (Drowned) rubbed his temples and put a check next to Slenderman’s name before continuing on.
“Once again, you barely passed your evaluation. The only reason you passed is on the promise of improvement. You better work hard to scare some people or I am shipping you off to the Alliance of Trollpasta Supervillains for extra training. Do you understand me?”

Slendy held up a sign that said, “Sir, yes sir!”

Ben (Drowned) took out some headache suppressant medication he kept in his pocket and downed a few pills before continuing on.

Once he started the pills to take effect he said, “Your evaluations are over. You are free to take the rest of the day off or oh, I don’t know, actually go out and scare some people.”

Ben (Drowned)’s cell phone vibrated. He answered the call, made some confirmation noises, and then flipped it close, ending the call before turning to face the recruits again.

“It looks like all of the company houses have been rebuilt. You are now also free to return home if you like. So all that being said, this seventh annual evaluation meeting of the League of Creepy Supervillains is officially closed.”

The organization members all gave a final salute and then wandered off to either take the rest of the day off, head home, or work on their various scaring techniques.

Ben (Drowned) watched them all leave, the headache starting to fade if only a little bit. The only highlight of that entire ordeal was that the organization had gained a somewhat credible member in Annabell. He would call her into the office and take care of her paperwork later.

For now he just wanted to forget everything that had just taken place. He returned to his company home, popped in the Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, and used it to connect with another Zelda player somewhere in the world. As the player made their way to the Happy Mask Salesman, Ben popped up behind him in his ghost form and said, “help me. I…am Ben.” Ben watched as the player dropped his controller and screamed. He smiled. It was the perfect end to any meeting.

Credit To – Emma Lee Downs

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The Remover

March 28, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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Author Note: Written by Kenneth Kohl (kowale). This is a long read that began as a single short story (Part 1). More parts of the series were provided and it was eventually combined into one large work. The Remover has gathered a considerable fan base since its original posting, and has since been incorporated into a full-length novel of the same name. What follows are the original posts that appeared on Creepypasta Wiki.

Admin Note: As this is a longer-than-usual story, I’ll be creating an index to aid those of you who may want to read this story in smaller portions.

Also, if you are reading this from an index page, please click the ‘read more’ button. For the sake of not stretching out the archives, main page, category pages, etc, this story will display only until the end of chapter one. Beyond that, you’ll need to visit the individual pasta page, which can be found here, or by simply clicking ‘read more’.

INDEX

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Comment Section

Part 1

When I left my office, I already had a premonition that something awful was going to happen that evening. I’m not psychic. I am quite perceptive, though, and the signs were easy to read. I had worked late – nine o’clock and already dark – and my ordinarily enjoyable walk to the parking lot struck me as a little bit menacing. I parked in a lot that was about a ten minute walk from my office. In the early evening on a crisp autumn day it’s a pleasure to stroll there and take in the sights of downtown Indianapolis. Occasionally I’d take a detour and walk along the canal, checking out the street art. This was past nightfall, though, and right in the middle of a hot and humid August. There were only two sorts of people in downtown Indy that night – those who had to be, and those who had no place else to go.

My walks always took me past the Wheeler Mission. There was a flashing neon sign reminding me that “Jesus Saves” every ten seconds. The mission was a magnet for the homeless. A lot of my sort of people ended up there, but some others as well. Addicts, mentals, criminals on the run and looking for a meal and a place to stay. According to the mission’s rules felons were usually turned in, so the police visited regularly. None of the city’s finest sitting outside that night; just a collection of bums waiting to scam some loose change off of whoever happened to be out on this humid night.

One of the panhandlers called out to me. “Hey! Can I talk to you sir? Can I ask you a question? Are you afraid of homeless people?” He was young, maybe pushing thirty. He was clean-shaven and had a number of tattoos running up his arms and neck and ending just shy of the bottom of his dirty red baseball hat. The design hinted at a former stay in prison.

Every one of them always has a story. It’s typically well practiced and smooth. A bum tells his story so many times that he begins to believe it himself. He gets into his character and will debate at length on the subject of why he needs money. The stories can get quite elaborate and sometimes amusing, if you have the time. But unless you want to be followed all the way back to your car or to the door of your office it’s best to just say “No” or “Sorry.” That night, I was feeling antsy and just wanted the conversation to end quickly, so I opted for “Fuck you.”

Red Hat responded in kind. At first he stopped in his tracks, looking sort of stunned. Then he started following me. “You think you’re better than me? Don’t you walk away from me.” Then he grabbed at the back of my shirt. That’s when I knew for sure that things were going to end badly.

I shrugged him off. I could have easily outrun him at that point, but I didn’t. I don’t know if it was pride or arrogance; or if it was due to the fact that I was tired, irritable and in an excessively bad mood. I did start walking faster, though. I hoped that he would tire of the game and go back to his roost outside the mission. I hoped that the situation wouldn’t go any further.

Then I saw a chance to end the game. There were two routes to my car – one being along a well lit, albeit virtually deserted street and the other a slightly shorter route through a small alley behind the Robertson Parks church. I aimed myself toward the alley. I could still hear Red Hat shouting behind me, but I was doing my best to ignore him. “Where you going man? Stop! I want to talk to you,” he said. I had a pretty good idea that when he saw me heading towards the alley, he thought that he had me beat. How stupid did he think I was? I knew that once we were alone, I’d have the upper hand. I could either disappear into the shadows or, if necessary, kick his ass. What I didn’t know, however, was that he had a couple of friends waiting for him.

They must have seen us head off and circled around the block. It’s like they were expecting me to walk through that alley. For them, it was the perfect place for an ambush. I’ll have to admit that I was startled when I first saw them. I had allowed myself to get too distracted. Not only by Red Hat, but by the anxiety that I’d been experiencing since leaving my office. The two buddies, dressed similarly and tattooed like Red Hat, stood at the far end of the alley. In addition to seeing their silhouettes I could smell them from where I stood. I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw them. Red Hat closed the distance behind me and pushed me further into the alley. Then the other two approached and boxed me in.

One of them pushed me and laughed. “What now, Chris?”

“Now we teach this little shit how to respect people,” Red Hat replied.

I had backed up against the wall of the church. “Trust me guys. Bad idea,” I said.

The one who had previously been quiet came forward and shoved me – hard – back into the wall. I remember feeling the back of my head bounce off the brick. Then he punched me in the stomach. As he drew back his arm to get ready for another swing, my arm flew out and I grabbed his head, palming his face like a basketball. I pushed backward and twisted his head as he fell. That’s when I saw Red Hat’s knife.

Red Hat had drawn his arm back as if he were going to pitch a softball underhand. He had the point of the knife aimed at me. He lunged, but I managed to grab his wrist and deflect his thrust. At this point I could no longer see the first of his two buddies – the first to punch me – but the other one landed another blow directly to my nose. That diverted my attention long enough for Red Hat to bring his knife around for another attempt. A thousand thoughts were racing through my mind. How could I have let myself get drawn into that situation? Why did they pick me? Why that night? How was it going to end? How was I going to handle the cleanup after it was over?

Between all of the distractions and the surprise punch to the face, I must have missed seeing the knife until the last moment. It sunk deep into me. Low, directly below my ribs and angled upward into the place where a normal man would keep his liver. The guy had been in fights before. He was a pro. I felt pressure, but not any actual pain.

Then I felt myself becoming very hot and my vision faded to white.

When the numbness went away, I surveyed the scene in the alley. One of the guys – the one who managed to land a punch on my face – was running around the corner of the church screaming. Around me, there was blood all over the ground and even sprayed up onto the wall of the church. The guy whose face I had grabbed was lying prone nearby, his head cocked at an unnatural angle. His neck was clearly broken. It was Red Hat who surprised me most. He was lying at my feet eyes open, mouth frozen in a perverse smile, and throat ripped open. He looked like he’d had a date gone bad with a table saw.

And all I could think of was how long it had been since I’d last eaten.

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