Please wait...


Estimated reading time — 10 minutes

I know this may seem abrupt and rude but I saw you through the window. I let myself in to share a tale with you. Don’t be frightened, I just felt that I might spare a moment of your time. You see, I need to unburden myself to you. I know that you know–some call me a creation of madness, of magic, a beast, a monster, a wraith… that may be so, but at this moment you may call me an acquaintance. My name is Yes, I see you standing there trembling as you are. I smell your fear and I know that you also pissed yourself and it’s running down your disgusting legs. And I see that you do know as I stand here with you–I am fully enthralled with thoughts of a sinful nature or fulfillment of filthy grotesque demonic fantasies…

To tell you the truth, I have no pity for humanity. I think you should just forget what you think you know! You know nothing! You are only familiar with a grand facade and we hide well the evidence of our comings and going. You should know that there is a bit of reality within ancient myth and folklore. Truth, within your dreams and superstitions. We take what we want, when we want it. In your human minds we are the things that linger just beyond the edge of the light. And as though we were never there; We hide within your own shadows. How else do you think I got into this room? We enjoy twisting reality and bending your wills to us. There is a darkness that is beyond your understanding. There is a place where shadows are made from the essence of evil that has no boundaries. I’ve slept in the quiet there and from it I gained stealth. Using this is how I let myself in. We can’t be seen moving silently through windows, through walls; creeping death with blood thirsty visceral fixations. And then we open veins! Vermilion rains, cascading and gushing like macabre and morbid fountains!

It’s a treasure to behold! How horrid a sight it must be to see us wearing their life blood. The faces of darkness just before they die grimly grinning through bared demonic teeth. Child, there are evil laughing immortals en-cloaked in blood and blackness everywhere.
When dawn comes we fly as a vapor away into the abyss and back to our home that which is hell. And yes there is a hell. It is a place between your dimension and ours, but we can exist in all dimensions. You see, I have no soul or humanity left within this illusion of flesh? I have no spirit; for the most part you could say… I am a spirit, albeit a dark one… And no I am not a ghost or specter. I am an eidolon. I am a thing that should not be, and I’m an adopted child of the Grigori.

The Grigori are the beings that the holy men call The Watchers. They are the angels turned demons that were cast down out of heaven. I am not a true Grigori. They are far more ancient than I am and they are far more powerful. For eleven hundred and seventy five years I have been as I am now. Others that are like me, have been here since the very beginning of the creation of the universe and everything in it. You may call me an unfortunate, for I had humanity once and lost it through human curiosity. But I have learned to love my transformation and embrace the power and even my hunger!

Don’t you see? Human bodies are just like clay jars. They contain an immortal essence that is devoid of human understanding or comprehension. You call it spirit but really have no idea what spirit is or what spirit does. My essence is now trapped between a state of life and death simultaneously. It was horrible what happened to me but you learn to accept what you are–over time. If you’re wondering how I came to be this way, it came about from accepting old magic and the shedding of a little blood. At one time, I was a man and I loved my life as a man. I was a writer, a scholar, a craftsman and farmer and I had a wife and children. This accursed existence was brought about by my folly and acceptance of unspoken practices. The knowing of the forbidden intrigued me and haunted me and this was true from the time I was a boy, until I grew to be a man. Even now in darkness I ponder those things.

I had a lust for ancient mystical objects and texts and found wonder in the devices of their dark and wondrous rituals.
It happened that a tome of considerable length came into my possession. It was housed within a local monastery that had been there for countless ages. I would go there often to read other sacred words by candle light in those darkened catacombs. I felt comforted there amongst the ancient books. One day I stumbled across this leather bound book by accident. It was hid just beneath a shelf I had been thumbing through and it stuck out, just enough for me to see a bright red letter “G”. It was as though fate wanted me to find this book and in doing so it changed my destiny and my life forever. Intrigued by this bright red letter “G” I pulled the book free and examined it and cleaned the cover of dust. This book appeared to be made out of some sort of pale, soft leather and the words were written in a deep shade of red; bold and emblazoned across the front cover was the word “Grigori”. I raised the cover to read the opening page to find the preface was a poem written in Latin. The words peaked my interest, so I hid the book among my own things and stole it away from the library.

Nos descende, et pulverulenta luteo cum sordidus coccino maculata dentes!

Velimus accipere, accumsan corpora iaculari;

Immortalitatem constant vitam tempore, sed mortalitatis est cheap!


Lupis ovium destruentes et daemoniorum?

Which translates into:

“We the down and dusty dirty with grimy, crimson stained teeth!

Take what we want, and throw the bodies on the heap!

Immortality cost a life time, but mortality is cheap!

Demons be the wolves and the destroyers of the sheep!”

Whoever or whatever had penned those lines had meant what they had written–in that deep shade of red.

One night, I started reading those cryptic esoteric verses and discovered that this tome was indeed different from any other. I had thought that this manuscript held rituals to bring forth demonic forces to do the readers bidding. Little did I know that, that was my misinterpretation of the words, but I was oblivious to the danger. My interest grew and grew, until I could no longer contain curiosity. I decided to try to invoke the demons with no understanding of the peril that eventually befell me. Because I wanted to quench my thirst for knowledge and I wanted to know What was beyond this existence, and in doing so, I doomed myself to more than mere possession.


I did as the ritual told me. I made the many symbols as instructed on the floor. I lit four candles placing each one in the direction of the four winds. I also fasted for 30 days before this only drinking consecrated water and eating tiny portions of holy unleavened bread.
When I had everything as it was supposed to be, I spoke aloud the incantation:

“Dicam quod a principio venit ad me priorem.
Adducam tibi, quae nosti sapientiam.
Me geram, ut scientia Dei possit esse aliquid abs te esse immortalem.
Haec mando vobis, ut de me ut signaculum sacrificium offero.

Roughly translated it means.

“I will say from the outset of the previous one that came before me.
I bring to you, which gives the wisdom to know.
That you may give me knowledge and I shall hold it to be a god and to be able to be made by you as an immortal.
These things I command you, and the sacrifice I offer of myself is to be as a seal… blessed be”

I recited this three times but nothing had happened. No signs or wonders; no magic, no mysticism. I sat on the floor and waited for hours and still nothing happened. I had done something wrong, so I gave up and promised myself that I would leave well enough alone. I had no idea that I had awoken a beast and there was no way on earth or in hell that I could put it back to rest. I found out much too late that the beast was not it’s own entity but a part of me that had became detached and transfigured. I had unleashed the darkest side of my essence.

The next few nights I sat fearful and transfixed. My love seeing my restlessness asked to walk with me that evening. So she and I went walking into the warmth of that summer night. We could see clearly because he moon hung high above us. As we ventured on I remember feeling as cold as death. A feeling of impending doom washed over me, and I shivered to the bone. She held tight to my hand and we walked on further into the night. The brightness of the moon went behind the clouds and the clouds covered what was once an empty sky. Moments passed and she and I, intertwined in our passion did not notice that we were being watched. From out of the pitch black of the night something quickly snatched her from my arms from out of the darkness. She momentarily clasped tighter to my fingers–and then she was gone. In the distance I could hear the sound of her screaming and then only silence.

Hurried and frantic I threw on my clothes; I then screamed her name into the dark. But there was nothing but quiet… horrible quiet… Running quickly back to our home or what was once our home. I found my resting children had been murdered in their sleep. Their tiny bodies in lifeless pieces strewn across the floor in pools of thick crimson. Fearing for my own life I searched for a weapon to protect myself. I grabbed the only thing I could find which happened to be a long pole that I used for hauling buckets from the well. I stepped out of the door and then something foul sprang upon me. Its weight toppled me and knocked me hard into the ground. I stood up as quickly as I could to my feet and tried to keep my wits about me. It stalked around me in the dim light of the moon; making low grinding noises deep within it’s throat… It stopped it’s pacing and stood for a moment; sniffing at me like a rabid dog. I yelled in its direction. I think I even called on God to remove the vile thing from my sight, but it did nothing.


I held aloft the great pole, and warned it of my intentions. And as I was just about to destroy the beast, it jumped forward and again knocked me to the ground. It laid on me, pressing me against it and breathed hard in my face. The smell of rotting death filled the air and I could hear it’s teeth clicking together as it bit gleefully at my face. It held me fast as I tried to free myself but the more I tried, the harder it pushed me into the unforgiving ground. It was then that I could tell by the light of the moon the shape of the beast. Its body seemed to be no more than a shadowy mist in humanoid form, but it felt as solid of the ground it held me tightly to.

I tried to push it off of me and then it leaned over and whispered into my ear–a metallic grinding utterance, “Once you open the gate, it can never be closed! Once you enter it you can never leave! Once you are ours, you are always ours! Now be still and accept your fate!”
It then reared its head back and bit deep into my shoulder and tore at my flesh. And as quickly as it had bitten me, it released me and laughed as it faded away into a thick luminous fog that evaporated over then permeated my body. I lay on my back for hours it seemed and I prayed to myself for death to take me quickly but death eluded me. That is when I fell into a deep, dead sleep.

When I woke, I found that I had been moved and was now in a strange room. Excluding a few candles it remained dim and I was lying on a cold stone floor. I moved to a sitting position and quickly surveyed the room. There was a door and a table and chair but nothing else.
Suddenly the doors opened and a young girl come into the room wearing a long blue robe trimmed in black and she wore a mask that looked like that of butterfly’s wings. To me it sounded like millions of tiny rain drops as she made her way toward me caring a covered tray. She left it on the floor beside me and then left me alone. I lifted the lid and a familiar scent filled my nostrils. When seeing what it was I threw it on the floor and yelled for help, but no one came. It was tray of raw human flesh. They left me alone for quite sometime. Occasionally the young girl brought me flesh, and I fought and fought my hunger until eventually I gave in. I didn’t know how long I had been in that room. All I remember of that time is the new hunger and a growing need to feed. It was not a vampiric need but a carnal and instinctive need. Giving into it is what you see as you stand shocked and frightened here with me and I am the end result.

My last day in that room a tall thin man wearing a gray cloak entered in and came to stand beside me. And before him as he walked I could hear the sounds of an invisible orchestra playing music. He walked to me and offered me his hand and as I took it, he says very calmly in deep resonant tone, “So you are the keeper and reader of the Grigorical Tome?” In bewilderment I told him that I wasn’t a “keeper” of anything and how I came about owning the damned book. He stopped me and he continued, “Did you not complete a ritual created by we; those cast down by God? Our children the Nephilim were to keep the tome and only they could possess it’s power. Because you read aloud those words you are now one of us. You have given up your mortality and humanity. Welcome to what you might have once called “hell”. Soon you will meet our master and the rest of us. We have such wonderful things to show you! My name is Amdusias! I am controller of twenty-nine legions of Pandemonium. Now come with me! I will show you to the others. Today is a great day for us and for you. Today is the celebration of your rebirth!” After saying this, he let his cloak fall, revealing to me his true form. Then he lead me down a long hallway into the darkness and I have never really looked back.

And that leads us to the moment at hand. I can see you’re wondering if I am going to leave and let you alone. I’m not very sorry to tell you that now you know the truth about us and our grand illusion–you are doomed! I entered here to feed and I cannot let you live…


Grigori “I Am Damned!”

Benjamin J. Branham © 2003-2010

Please wait...

Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.

33 thoughts on “Grigori”

  1. Hmm, I don’t really understand all of the negative feedback on this, I personally thought that this was a brilliant pasta. The author obviously did his research beforehand, and it paid off! The only issue that I can point out is the spelling, as it did interrupt the flow of the story a little bit… a bit of a proof read and it would be a solid 9/10 from me:) Other than that, very tasty pasta, and PLEASE keep submitting more stories!!

  2. Heya author. (If its really you), I really liked this. The subject matter is extremely interesting to me, and I thought you had a cool, fun, creative idea. Coulda used some editing and a rewrite or two. As far as criticism, I thought many themes were handled too quickly, and could have had more depth. The ending is pretty predictable, but sometimes that’s unavoidable and it seemed so here. I also feel obliged to point out that you wrote “I am not a ghost or specter” but unless im mistaken, Eidolon is an ancient greek word for ghost. Lol

    1. Thanks for your appreciation and your criticisms. They help me grow as a writer.

      Eidolon means in one definition an idealized person or thing and in another it refers to specters or phantoms.

      I meant it as, a thing that should not be. Which is keeping with both definitions in a sense. Thanks again.

  3. Random-Reader-Ren

    The part that’s in latin is not written correctly I checked and you have a slight misuse of the words, but for me it is a good story

  4. I was wondering if there is anyway to get CreepyPasta to upload a revision of this story? I have an edited copy that I would like to showcase in this one’s place.

        1. I have sent the revised copy to creepypasta via a reply to the acceptance note that was sent to me.

  5. The Fallen a summary- “Aaron Corbett learns on his 18th birthday that he is a Nephilim, the child of a human/angel pairing, and that he is being pursued by a group of angels called the Powers. The Powers believe that all Nephilim are an abomination and affront to God. However, there is a prophecy that a Nephilim will be born that will redeem all the Fallen.”

    My story uses words like “the fallen” and “nephilim” but the similarities stops there.

  6. This is not based off of any book. I wrote this short story in 1999 and revised it sometime later. It is still in revision. I also have the copyright as 1999. I just read a review for The Fallen and it is no where the same as my writing and it was published in 2003.

    Do not ever accuse an author of any sort of plagiarism without proof.

  7. Sheesh, you guys are a little harsh. If you look at the story overall, it was entertaining, yes there were grammatical mistakes, but that doesn’t really take away from the story. It was an interesting tale, and i’d like to read more about this grigori creature =)

  8. I liked the idea of the story, and I also liked how their wasn’t some huge fiery earthquake or something right after the ritual. It’s always better to build up the suspense.

    I agree that the part with the wife was a little drawn out, but over all, I enjoyed the pasta. More detail into the monster would have been appreciated. 7/10

  9. Because that is how WordPress works. It shows you the person who created the post. Why is this just suddenly hard for people to understand? It’s been like this since the beginning, but suddenly there’s a bunch of comments asking about why WordPress works like it does. Ask the devs?

  10. tasty but a little while how should I say This? Its good but random. Also, why are you the one who always makes the storys on here, derpbutt?

  11. I respect that response immensely.

    So much so, that if you want constructive criticism on something else you write, I’d be happy to provide it.

    This piece, though, is still really bad, and I don’t see anything you can do to repair it – basically you have to just start from scratch here.

  12. Actually, I never made that comment! .I don’t quit and one of my roommates is going to get his ass kicked out if he doesn’t leave my computer alone.

    I like my story and I wouldn’t have contributed it here if I didn’t and I have a couple more I’ve been considering on contributing as well.

    Here is the bottom-line: People are entitled to their opinions and I will keep on writing regardless of a few harsh criticisms. That is life. Some people are going to be critical of your work no matter what you do. I don’t want it removed..I was happy when I got the email accepting it and I am still happy to see it on creepypasta. It would have been a waste of time writing it if I didn’t like what I have written.

  13. Ben, if you want me to remove this, you’ll have to reply to the acceptance email and let me know. I don’t accept takedown requests from random comments because it might not actually be the author, just someone pretending and screwing around.

    I didn’t think it was that bad (clearly), but I do get annoyed when people submit something and then are so thin-skinned that they ragequit writing over a few criticisms. It’s your prerogative, obviously, but NO Creepypasta has ever gotten 100% positive feedback. When people reply to criticisms with “well this was never good and it wasn’t finished and [insert a bunch of excuses that read, to me, like you’re probably just trying to save face] instead of taking the critique in stride and applying what people are telling you towards becoming a better writer, it just feels like… why even submit? If you didn’t think it was finished and you didn’t like it and you think I shouldn’t have posted it, why on earth did you take the time to submit it for consideration? If you’re not happy with a piece, submitting it to me is basically just wasting my time.

  14. I’m not pursuing a career in writing. I write because I enjoy it. it is a way for me to relax and to create and use my imagination. And this is a rough draft. I may not be the best writer in the world and I never claimed that I am. I gave my best shot and that all anyone can do. You’re entitled to how you feel. I don’t write for you. I write for me and if you think it’s crap then that is just you. I never thought highly of it any way and I appreciate that everyone took the time to read it.

    I will ask creepypasta to take it down since it is not very good. It took a lot of courage for me to have this added here in the first. Thanks for reassuring me that I’m not a good writer and thank you for stepping on me. I suppose I deserve it. Once I figure out how to have it removed it will be gone and “killed with fire”.

    1. Calm down. You can’t expect a story to get a 100% positive rating.
      Instead, take the comments positive feedback and the constructive ones and use them to become a better writer.

      8/10 for this story btw. It’s not perfect. But keep trying.

  15. Telling everyone that everything they do is wonderful does not help anything. I realize that it isn’t “nice” to tell someone that the crap they produced is, in fact, crap, but I don’t care if I hurt their feelings. If they lack the self-awareness to realize that they have no talent in the field they are pursuing, someone should really tell them.

    I can’t draw, and I know I can’t draw, so I don’t try to get my drawings published. Maybe this Ben dude has talents in another area, and maybe he really is a great author, but he just produced a turd this one time. I don’t know, but I’m not going to coddle anyone when they submit their art on a public forum.

    Get off your high horse and say what the author did right instead of telling me what I did wrong. Like I said (well, really, alluded to) before, I could dissect this and tell you, point-by-point, what is wrong with this, but it would take much more effort to fix this than it did for the author to write it. It is really poorly done, and I don’t feel like investing the effort to give anything more than “kill it with fire.”

    1. You could be a little bit more nicer. (OK, alot more nicer.)

      And I don’t really think you can “dissect this and tell you, point-by-point, what is wrong with this,”. If you can, please point out two things bad about this pasta in a nice way.

      I will not read the things you point out or reply, but others might.


  16. It had potential but the writing never really arose to the occasion. There was a lot of switching between tenses which is an immediate red flag.

    Be careful when adding in too much detail. The whole bit with the wife, for instance. It was almost as if you were somewhat confused by what genre this was; horror or romance? I would have left out the lovemaking bit, I felt it was kind of cheesy.

    Other than those things there was definite potential. Keep practicing! :)

    1. SavvySofritokins

      Negative. Stephen King, And Clive Barker put love making in their short horror stories and they still manage to stay in the genre. Besides, how scary is it that in the most intimate of moments you are being hunted and your love is taken from you? Pretty freakin’ creepy if you ask me!

  17. Better writing by a third grader? You need to learn how to review literature correctly! You never condemn a writers work like that. How would you know that parts were missing? Are you inside the authors head? Maybe you would prefer that it were written is the guise of Stephanie Myers?

    If you had actually taken the time to read it, you would have found that this is a story being told in first person about the narrator. Also, it has not been edited properly but that doesn’t make it a bad bit of writing. I think this is more a rough draft than a finished piece of literature. I honestly don’t even think you read it. It’s written in a mash-up of modern and classical writing styles and the story itself is well thought out and researched. BTW there is nothing missing because the narrator is telling the tale his way.

    Writing is meant to be fun, imaginative and it is meant to be shared and if it were not acceptable Creepypasta would have sent it on to the CrappyPasta website. Someone here had to read it and approve it.

    Also, you are one naysayer out of 7 billion people on the planet. Just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean you have to be so harsh. All you may have succeeded in doing is smashing an artist’s work, dreams and self esteem. How would you feel if you were done that way? Lets see what you’ve got! What do you have to offer that is so much better? Let’s see the writings of that third grader you mentioned.

    The internet is full of trolls like you that just write horrible things to hurt other people. Youtube and countless other sites, aside from this one, are missing you.

  18. Holy crap that was awwwwwwwwful. Horrible. Abysmal.

    1/10. Hell, 1/20. I’ve literally seen better writing from a third-grader.

    I wanted to like it, but that was… it was… ugh. I feel like I don’t have the vocabulary to express just how much was wrong with this. Not just the terrible mechanics, but the story itself was broken and missing really important parts.

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published.

Scroll to Top