Creepypasta Stories

The Angels Burned

When I was a kid, my stepfather asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. “A magician,” I answered quickly with worldwide clarity. He huffed at that answer. “That ain’t a job, son. Wearing makeup and doing a little dance at parties ain’t a job to seek.

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Mann Tracht, Un Gott Lach

Nothing was working. Garlic, one of the hokier vampire myths, was completely useless. He was prepared for that. It had bounced ineffectually off the tumbling wave of raking claws and gnashing teeth, crushed fragrantly under their mass. “No big deal.” he thought to himself, as he ran down the musty

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The Black Rock Chapel Horror Part 4

Read Part One here Read Part Two here Read Part Three here Inside the hallway to the sanctuary, the clutter of overturned mahogany and discarded crucifix trinkets littered the long crimson-hued carpet that lined the main hall. The sight that disturbed the two clergymen most about the chaos displayed before

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ghost town

Home Alone

These events took place 20 years ago and are still fresh in the memories of those who have lived it, who even resorted to drugs to eliminate them from their minds. The names have been changed in this story for obvious reasons. The story we are about to tell you

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It’s Inside Your House

It wakes you. Not the moan of a withered hag or the fleeting voice of a dead man, but the low trill of wind slipping past your window. Air being pressed into a hushed breath. The shadows meld themselves back into your bedroom. You blink. The blurred, hazy object of

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I am the Boot

When I was a teenager, I read George Orwell’s seminal novel, 1984. Written during the late 1940’s, Orwell’s work depicts a dystopian future under a brutal authoritarian regime. Many aspects of the story turned out to be eerily prophetic, predicting developments such as the emergence of the surveillance state. For

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The Dark Waters of Apa Moarta

Said to be christened Apa Moarta, or ‘Dead Water’, by a passing Romanian caravan in their native tongue, and tucked away in a far-flung, scarcely populated, staunchly isolationist region of untouched Russian countryside…beyond the grotesque, fantastical stories shared by the more ignorant and morbid of the younger generations, there’s not

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One Last Crimson Heart

One last crimson heart. That’s all there was. John stood in the storage closet-like room, barely breathing. The only light was a sliver from the hallway and a flickering incandescent bulb strung up in the center of the room. Directly under the fleeting yellow light sat a green box atop

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Matrimony

When Matt originally proposed the idea, I thought he was joking. Crash a wedding? Like in the movies? Pull a Vince Vaughn? I loved the idea, but the thought of actually sneaking into a random wedding to pick up chicks, well… it just wasn’t possible. Someone would realize we didn’t

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