Creepypasta Stories

Good Sons

It was summer 1997 when I moved to Evansville, Colorado. It was supposed to be a pit stop, a cheap place along my route, hopefully to make some money to take me the rest of the way to California. I had some friends living in San Francisco that I’d planned

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I Took A Job in Northwest Vermont: Entry One: The Witch’s Children

I took a digital archiving job with the van der Voort Estate Historical Society. It’s an old manor home dating back to the 1800s on a soft cliff overlooking Precipice Bay in upstate Vermont. I’m majoring in Library Science with an English minor at Castleton University but was feeling pretty

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The Unhinged

Read Part One here THERE ONCE WAS A PREACHERALL SKIN AND BONESNO ONE KNEW HIS FIRST NAMEHIS LAST ONE WAS JONES This clusterfuck all started on Halloween. At an emergency Town Hall meeting, we’d all come together to discuss the obvious: we were starving. At the rate we were going,

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The Mother of the Mojave

The sun was a jagged, bleeding wound on the horizon as Miles and Sarah pushed through the Mojave. Their old Jeep Wrangler rumbled with a comforting rhythm, the air conditioner fighting a losing battle against the dry, oppressive heat of the Nevada desert. They were happy. More than happy—they were

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I Drive a Taxi Between the Realms: Entry One: Dering Wood

‘I need a cab, at Lexington square, Richmond, Virginia,’ the text reads. “Where are you headed?” The reply doesn’t come right away. This is nothing new–not in my job. Sometimes, my fares are not so forthcoming with their destinations–something quite perplexing to me, given that they are requesting my services.

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A Speaker Of The Trees

Martin pressed the record button on the handheld unit and held it close to his mouth as he ducked under the rope the patrol officers had strung between the trees. “October fourteenth, 1972,” he said. “George Washington Park, Centralia. Arrived on scene at approximately nine forty-five in the morning. Initial

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My Lady Kudzu

The chirping of a blue bird woke Robert out of his blank eyed stare. His eyes refocused, as his old hands went to rub them back into reality. Their disappointed scowl still staring bluntly ahead. Robert found himself sitting on his porch. He was fatter and older than he ever

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Followers of the Flaming Hand

The camera didn’t look like something that should still work. Didn’t feel right from the start. When my sister handed me that box on my birthday, I could tell it’d be a pile of garbage. She’d always been a cheapskate, the woman can’t walk past a yard sale without stopping.

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Looking to Kill a Dog

The day was edging toward dusk, the sun casting long shadows across the backyard. I remember the cicadas’ hum filling the air, marking the middle of summer, a relentless reminder of what should have been carefree days. I am posting this because I need help, and someone else might have

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