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📅 Published on January 6, 2020


Written by Seth Paul

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Estimated reading time — 12 minutes

I’m not the most careful typist when it comes to the Internet.  Let’s just say I am grateful for sites that buy multiple misspellings of their website so I don’t go to the wrong place.  I’ve typed Goggle, Gooogle, and almost every version YouTube I can think of, and my typing only gets worse when I’m rushed.  Really, though, the worst moment was  when, while trying to find some tips on how to host a dinner party, I typed in the wrong words for the search “house cooks.”  The internet is truly a disturbing place.

But the worst that happened with those were either weird search sites, photos I never want to see again, or places I know are just trying to get my credit card number.  But this was different.

I will admit, I’m a sucker for a good, bone-chilling horror story.  I love creepypastas as much as the next person, and sometimes I just need something to help me stay awake.  It was 2 in the morning, and I had just finished having a good swearing fit at some online gamers who were clearly using bots. I had the lights low, and was just browsing the internet for random stuff.

I typed in CREEPYPASTA into Goggle…I mean, Google.  I clicked the search.

Huh.  Weird.  Only one site that came up talked about “Things to Chill Your Soul and Make Your Blood Run Cold.”  Sounded like just what I wanted to see, so I clicked on it.

The site itself, when it came up, was about average for the kinds of creepypasta sites I see, but the main screen didn’t have a list of stories…it was just a bar, to type in text.

I went back to the Google search, and realized I had made a mistake in typing…I had put in CREEPYOASTA, not CREEPYPASTA.  But what was weird, usually Google catches those kinds of mistakes and makes suggestions about what you really meant to type.  Not this time.  Just the one site.

I went back to it.  I thought maybe it was having problems loading, and that the real stories would show up.  No, just that bar, sitting in the middle of the page.  Waiting for me to type something.

So, I typed in, “Helo.”

I hit enter.  Nothing seemed to happen for a second or so.  But then, my writing disappeared, and some red text appeared on the black background under the bar.

Sorry, I don’t recognize “Helo.”  Did you mean “Hello,” or “Halo?”

Damn.  Me and my spelling.  I typed in “Hello” again, this time making sure I got it righy… right.  Funny that a website caught my mistake, but not Google, huh?

Hello to you.  What would make your blood run cold tonight?  Let me know, and I’ll give you what you ask.

It must have been some kind of search bar, for all the stories on the site.  Cool way of presenting them, actually.  I thought about it for a little while, and smiled as I typed in, “Trapped in house by something.”

Let me get right on that for you.

The typing bar vanished and a little spinning circle came up.  It sat there for a long time, and I thought maybe the site had broken.  Then, the spinning stopped, and the text appeared again.

Here are your results.

I tried to scroll the screen to see what was available, but nothing was there.  The screen was blank.  I guess there weren’t any stories about that…weird, since I assumed there would be at least one.

I typed in “Haunted Asylums.”  The screen spun once more.  It spun once again.  Same thing.  No results.

I typed in “Creppy Infestations.”  I realized I misspelled it when the red text came up and asked me if I had meant “creepy,” and I retyped it.  Once more, no results.

I decided I was going to give this thing one more shot.  “Body Horrors.”  More spinning, then the red text.

I sighed.  Maybe the site was just new and I stumbled across a beta test, and it wasn’t ready yet.  Or maybe it was just crappy.  I began to think about just going back to my old, regular sites and look for something actually…

There was a knock on the door.

I jumped.  I checked the clock, just to make sure.  2:39. There shouldn’t be anyone near my door… I barely got people stopping by during the day.

I got up from my seat at the computer desk and looked down the hall, towards the staircase.  The hallway was dark, so I switched on the lights.  If it was an intruder, maybe they would see movement and take off.

There was another knock, louder this time.  But just one.  One loud thud.

I moved down the hall, to the top of the stairs that led down to the front door and the two thin glass windows on either side of it.  I looked down, but due to the light, I couldn’t see out those windows.  All I could see was the reflection of the stairs.

I went back and shut off the light, and went to look down again.

Something… red… moved by the door.  Bright red.  There was another thud.

I gasped and leaned against the wall.  I tried to think of something I could use to defend myself, but I didn’t keep a baseball bat or anything next to my bed.  The only thing close would be a knife in the kitchen.

The kitchen downstairs, where I would have to pass by the door.

I waited another moment, but I didn’t see any more movement.  Cautiously, I moved down the stairs, thankful they were carpeted and not squeaky, and kept my eye on the door, walking backwards to the kitchen.

When I got there, I crawled low, scooting across the tiles until I got to the drawer with all the silverware.  I slowly got it open, pulled out the biggest knife I could find, and looked toward the front door again.

I heard another thud.  But it didn’t come from the front door.

It came from the window above my head.

I didn’t want to look.  I felt my heart pounding.  But I was almost too scared NOT to look.  I had to know.  So I did.

I dropped the knife.

Above me, peering in through the window, was what looked a man, but a man who had been dragged through a blender.  The red I had seen was his bloody, raw flesh, skinless, faceless almost, his lipless mouth showing all his teeth.  His white, milky eyes should have been blind, but they were not.

They were staring right at me.  Another thud, and a thick, bloody, brackish mess stayed behind on the window.

This couldn’t be happening.  Nobody that injured could be alive.  For a moment, my heart felt like it actually had stopped, but somehow I moved without even thinking.  The knife was back in my hand.  I checked the sliding door to the patio, which was locked, and I went back to the front door.  I raced to unlock it and get out.

I saw a flash of red, and the thud once again.

How had it moved so fast?  I backed away from the front door, looking back into the kitchen.  No sign of it.

I went to go unlock the patio door.


It was unlocked.

I just saw it.  I had been locked.

Or was I imagining things?  Maybe I was…there was no way that thing was real.  It couldn’t have been.

But the window still had that stain on it.

Real or not, I didn’t know how long it would be before it broke in.  I wasn’t safe here.

I opened the back door and ran, ran towards the woods past the patio, past the backyard.  There was a path there that I walked a lot, I knew it well.  There was a 24-hour Tim Horton’s I could get to, I could call the cops, I’d be safe.

Behind me, I heard shuffling.  I heard a moan, but not a deep one.  It was high-pitched, and it stuttered, like when you yell into a moving fan.  I looked back and saw the shape loping after me.  It was fast, but not faster than I could run.

I took off into the woods, finding the trail, and running as fast I could go.

I started getting winded, and slowed down.  I no longer heard the moaning, or any noises coming from behind me, but something else was wrong.

I should have come up to the Tim Horton’s by now.  These woods weren’t that big.

I was still on a path, but as I looked ahead and behind me, things weren’t right.  Ahead there was a fork, splitting off to the left and right.

But this path didn’t have a fork.  It never did.  It was just one path that ended at the road on one end and to a small park on the other.

I thought about going back, but I didn’t know if that thing was still chasing me or if it had given up.  But this split in the path was even more concerning.  It wasn’t like this in the morning, and there hadn’t been any construction crews that I had seen.

I had to make a decision.  I couldn’t stay at this intersection.  It was getting cold, and I was tired, and nothing about this seemed right.

I shook my head and took the left path.  At worst, I would end up at the road somewhere.

But I didn’t.  The path kept winding, twisting, turning, and the woods just seems to get bigger with every step I took.

I did eventually reach a road.  But it wasn’t the road.  It was an overgrown mess, weeds sticking up through numerous cracks.

I saw a building a short distance up the road, and I headed for it.  I eventually came to a loop around, with a dry, broken fountain in the middle, on the top of which was an angel, limestone tears darkening its front.

The building itself was old, crumbling, with broken windows, surrounded by woods and unkempt gardens.

I saw a sign, covered with vines, by the side of the road.

“State Hospital for the Unbalanced.”

I was not going in there.  Even if that path led me to it, I was not going in.

I walked the other way down the road.

Two beams of light shot into my eyes.  I realized it was a car.

I called out, waving my hands.

A horn beeped.  Help was here.

But the horn kept beeping.  In fact, it wasn’t stopping.  It was like someone had fallen asleep at the wheel.

Now that the lights had evened out, I saw it wasn’t just a car…it was a truck.  And with the size of the road, the woods were so thick that there was no way to get out of its way.

I looked around for the path I had come in on.  But either I didn’t see it in the dark, or it was gone, swallowed by the trees.  Either way, the truck was not slowing down, or stopping.

I had no choice.  I ran to the fountain, trying to get to one side.

But the truck was still coming.  And oddly, it looked bigger.  Like it was still going to hit me to even in the turnaround.

I ran up to the front door.  I waited a few more seconds.

The truck barreled right through the fountain, sending stone and debris flying.

I finally had enough.  I opened the door, and went in.  I ran as far as I could, then heard a loud crash behind me.

I looked back, expecting the truck to be flying towards me.  But there was nothing.  The door was fine.  A window allowed a small amount of outdoor light into the room, and I went back to it.

The road was clear.  The fountain was fine.  Everything was fine.

It couldn’t have been real.  It must have been late… something was very wrong with me.  I was sleepwalking, or hallucinating, or something else.

I sighed with relief, then tried to open the door.

It didn’t budge.

I pulled the handle, over and over again.  Nothing.

I looked behind me.  Darkness went on, barely even ten feet in front of me.

I had no phone, no flashlight, no lighter, no nothing. Nothing but the kitchen knife from…

The knife.  It wasn’t in my hand.

I looked back out the window.  There, by the fountain.  Shining in the moonlight.  I had dropped it when I thought that truck was going to hit me.

I couldn’t break the glass of the window.  It was barred, and as broken down as the building was, the bars were bolted in tightly.  I pushed on them, but they didn’t move.

I heard a noise down the hall.  It was faint, but as I watched, I saw a small beam of light coming from far down the way.

I didn’t want to go.  I just wanted to be back at my PC.  It was much better when I could just read about this stuff and imagine.  Living it was something else.

But I felt edgy here in the dark.  It began to feel like I was being crawled on.  I thought I could hear whispers, and the shadows seemed to move.

The light was all I had.  So I went towards it.

The sound got louder as I got closer.  It was some old recording, some slow-moving big band number.  In the light, I saw it was a nurse’s station, brightly lot with gas lamps.  A nurse sat at the station, writing something down on a clipboard.  She wore a gray dress, with a small white hat.  Behind her, on a table, an old Victrola played the music I was hearing.

She looked up from her work and smiled.  “Hello.  Are you lost?”

I gulped, knowing none of this was right.  But I nodded anyway.

She kept that pleasant smile.  “Not to worry.  The doctor will be able to direct you where you need to go, I’m sure.”  She picked up her desk phone.

Then, the bright lights went out, and everything went blue and flickered.  I saw the nurse at her station, and behind her, a man who hadn’t been there before, holding a scalpel to her throat, pulling it across, forming a large, second grin across her neck.  Then, it went dark again.

A light came on further down the hall, illuminating a long hallway, doors along all sides.  I heard incoherent yelling, people moaning, and orderlies shouting for people to shut up.  But I saw no one.

A door near me opened.  I looked in.

A doctor leaned over a bed in a small cell, where a young woman was strapped down.  He shouted, “Yes! Yes, of course!  This one will respond well to the treatment!”

The doctor whipped around to face me.  He had a face that was mostly smiling, yet deformed, like the Joker, but with almost no eyes or nose.  Just a huge smile.  He pointed at me.

“And you will help me!”

I shut the door.  Another nearby opened up.  I tried to shut that door, but it wouldn’t move.

This wasn’t a cell, but some kind of operating room.  A patient was strapped up to the wall, like they were on an operating table, but arms outstretched, covered with a sheet, and with blood staining the sheet in a thin line.  They whimpered slightly.

That same doctor danced around the patient, laughing, the smile almost cutting his head in half.

“They’ll be cured!  Soon they will all be cured!  Or dead!  Either way, they will be at peace!”

I ran away from the door, and a third one opened, on the other side.  I didn’t stop to look, but something shoved me, and I fell over, landing inside the room anyway.

A man stood in the corner, facing away from me, wearing a straitjacket.  I coughed, winded from the shove, and he turned to me.  He looked like he was having a strange acne outbreak, but was otherwise fine.

“It’s in me.  It’s in me!”

As he shouted, he opened his mouth, reached in, and pulled something from his throat.  A large, hairy spider came out in his hand.  He held it out to me, and as he did, it jumped from his hand, and sank its fangs into my arm.

I screamed, brushed it away, and stood, stomping it to paste.

The man clapped and yelled.  “Now it’s in you!”

I ran from the room, and a fourth door opened.  This room looked different from the rest… familiar.

My office, my computer, and next to it, the clock, reading 4:00 in the morning.

I ran to it, and the door shut behind me.

On-screen, the CreepyOasta site was still up.

I want to say that is the end of the story.  I really do.  I want to say that I woke up at my desk, and it was 6 in the morning, and I was going to be late for work, and that was the scariest thing that happened the whole time.

But it isn’t.

I hope this gets out somehow.  I’ve tried to go to other websites, but every time I type, I just end up being redirected to CreepyOasta.  Just that screen, with that text bar.

But I think I managed to send out an email at long last, with this attached…I’ve written this on my PC outside of my browser, but for a split second, maybe a break between wherever I am and the world I knew, I was able to send this out via Goggle.  I hope my spellchecker deals with most of the spelling issues.  My typing was never good, but it’s gotten worse.

I cannot leave this room.  My door, which used to lead to a hallway, is now locked shut.  The door has one of those little sliding windows in it, like the kind you see in prisons, or in mental institutions.  It looks so out of place jammed in my little room.

I covered the window with a sheet.  All that is out there is blackness, no woods, no city, no nothing.  But I covered it because it came.  It pounds on the window.  It never stops.

For a week now, I’ve been coughing, and pulling those hairy spiders from my mouth.  My stomach is killing me, what with all those scratchy, hairy legs crawling around in there.  I smash them, and my rug is starting to get stained with all the green pus and sludge that makes up their insides.

But the bite has been the worst of it.  At first, it just was red and painful, but then it turned white, then black.  Then it itched.  When I scratched, the skin came off in strips, and underneath was something hard, shiny, and black.

Then the acne appeared on my face, and the same thing happened.  I scratched it, and now…

Now I can see out of them.  All six of the bumps on my head.

Other parts of me are rotting, and the skin underneath is something else.  Hard.  Shiny.  Hairy.  It looks familiar.

My hands are nearly gone.  The skin flakes as I type, my fingers covered with a hard, armor-like shell.

My only companion is CreepyOasta.  I did try to talk to it, but I haven’t in a few days.  I got an answer I didn’t want, and I know soon, things will never be the same for me.

I realize now I asked for this.  Me and my desire to play around on a site I didn’t vet first.  Me and my careless spelling.

But even though I typed and typed into the text bar, I asked question after question, and never got a response.  Until I wrote… carefully, and decidedly…


And it wrote back the only thing I’ve heard from it since.

I’m sorry.  I don’t recognize that.

Credit: Seth Paul (Chilling Tales for Dark NightsFacebookTwitter • Amazon)
Edited by Craig Groshek

This story is a CTFDN Original, produced in collaboration with audio horror group Chilling Tales for Dark Nights, which has been making quality horror since 2012. For more original stories and audio horror tales, visit their official YouTube channel or their Simply Scary Podcasts network today.

Publisher’s Note: The authors request that anyone who desires to narrate, perform, or adapt this story to any other format, or feature it on a YouTube channel, podcast, or other platform, contact them for permission before doing so. Use of the author’s work without this permission is strictly prohibited. You may reach the authors here. Thank you!


🔔 More stories from author: Seth Paul

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