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Her Eyes

Estimated reading time — 4 minutes

I never knew something as simple as a knock on the door could forever send me into a frozen state of terror. It all started with a cold and rainy autumn evening. The wind was blowing fiercely, whistling through the little cracks in the windows and door frames. I was sitting by myself in the living room, watching a terrible homemade zombie flick when I heard a dull thud of foot steps walking up the stairs to my porch.

I muted the television, sat upright, and turned my ear towards the front door. I heard the storm door open then slam shut within two seconds of it opening. I quickly stood up, stumbling over the small ottoman sitting in front of me. I turn on the light in the entryway then peek through the curtain on the little door window to see who was there. No one. I glance out further to see that I had left my driver’s side window cracked open. I curse under my breath and grab my keys from the side table and run outside to my car. I quickly roll my window up, then run back into the house, soaking wet.

I hastily shut the front door, as to not let any heat escape. As soon as it latches, the knocking begins again. Annoyed, I sigh, thinking I forgot to latch the storm door. I turn the knob, ripping the door open when I see a child standing in front of me on the porch. Startled, I gasp loudly, clutching my chest. The child, a girl no older than 10 years stood on my porch, in a raincoat, looking down to the floor. “Are you all right?” She says nothing. I take a step closer to her “Hey, can I help you with something?” I’m starting to panic inside a little because something seems terribly “off” about this girl. Then I notice, she’s completely dry. Not a single drop of rain has touched her coat. I look around to see that my porch is flooded where the wind had blown the rain against my house. Even if she had been on my porch this whole time, she still would’ve been drenched.

I stand there, staring at this child who wouldn’t even look at me.
“Little girl. Please answer–”
“May I please borrow your phone?”
Her voice is calm and kind of deep. She never takes her eyes off of the ground. I inhale sharply, surprised by her sudden question. I weakly ask, “Who do you want to call? Do you need the police, your parents, who?” I’m trying to stay calm, but my voice is shaking. Something is terribly wrong, but I can’t figure it out.


The girl stands very still, and starts sniffling. “May I come in? It’s so cold. Do you have any food?” I stare at the girl, confused by her monotone voice. I don’t feel comfortable letting her inside my house. I feel bad because she’s a child, but something about her terrifies me. I tremble, “What is your name? Where do you live?” The rain suddenly stops. Like turning off a faucet. The wind stops, also, making the neighborhood twenty times quieter. I get shivers down my spine. The girl slowly lifts her hooded head, finally making eye contact. I try to scream, but the only thing that comes out are aggravated breaths of terror. Her eyes. Oh my god. Her eyes. As black as the abyss that she had likely crawled out of. Her pale white skin glowed a soft white, making her eyeballs so much darker. She stepped closer to me, “Please let me in, I’m so cold.” I stare in fear, when the wind and rain turn on like a switch behind her.

I slam the door in her face, running to my phone. I dial 9-1-1, barely holding on because I’m shaking so much. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” I try to explain what’s happening, but just sound crazy. “There’s a girl. On m-my porch. Not wet. Black eyes. Oh my god.” I hear the lady from 9-1-1 trying to calm me down. “Ma’am? Ma’am? Calm down please, I can’t understand you. You said there’s a girl on your porch?” I stutter, “Y-yes. She’s out there. IT’S out there. She has black eyes and wants to come in. I won’t let her in!” I hear her knocking on my door. Each knock louder than the rest. I cry out, “Leave me alone! I’m not letting you in!” The knocking ceases. I sigh in a small relief. The woman on the phone asks me where I am and if I need a police officer to come. I say “Yes, please hurry.” Then hang up. Ten long minutes later, I see police vehicle lights dancing on my living room wall. I sigh in relief, and hear a loud banging on the door. I run, a little hesitantly, and answer it. “Thank god you’re here, officer–” I gasp. No officer. Only his car, sitting in the rain, driver side door wide open. I walk out onto the porch, frantically searching everywhere for him. I run to the back yard, dripping with rain water, shouting, “Officer! Officer, where are you?!” I run back to the front of the house when I see that awful girl standing in front of me, glaring at me. She sounds aggravated now. “Let me in so I can use your phone. I’m lost. Please help me.” I dart up the porch stairs, shoving her out of my way, throwing her off the porch. I look back to see her ankle twisted in an impossible angle. She doesn’t scream or cry, she just stands up, limping towards me, dragging her ankle behind her. I scream in horror, slamming and locking the door behind me. The knocking continues. I just want it to stop. I have to do something. I run to my kitchen, open the silverware drawer and pull out a sharp knife. The knocking will not stop.


I walk toward the front door, raising the knife above my head, and grabbing for the door knob. I quickly open the door to see the Officer standing in front of me, his gun drawn, pointing at me. Out of instinct, he fires, shorting me in the chest. I drop the knife, and fall to the ground. He enters the door and kneels beside me, yelling into his radio that he needs backup and an ambulance. He puts pressure on my chest as th blood pours out of me. I look behind him to see the black eyed girl standing directly behind him, looking down at me, smiling with her sharp teeth glistening. I’m choking on my own blood at this moment. Gasping in terror, my eyes widen. They never close again. The last thing I ever see is that girl and her harshly blackened eyes, smiling down at me like she just won a prize.

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16 thoughts on “Her Eyes”

  1. Creepypasta girl

    I have seen someone like that but they asked me to give them a ride it was freaky any way great pasta 10/10

  2. I probably would have just let her use my phone or whatever, but thinking that makes me feel like a dumb blonde in a horror movie.

  3. Eww, it’s so freaky imagining seeing something like that.I never heard of this till I saw an episode I think is called Monsters and Mysteries.I thought it was really was horrible the way the man describes his unreasonable fear of two young boys asking for help.If you haven’t seen it you should check it out.Im def not saying it is real, Lol, just that it was a cool creepy story.(I’m sorry.I just remembered that story is in Creepypasta in written form.)
    I like the way the child in this story seems to trick this woman into getting shot by accident.Thinking about this fkkd up looking kid smiling “like she just won a prize” was awesome. Ty for giving us a decent BEK story.

  4. Every time I tried to imagine what the “little girl” looks like, I can’t help but think of something like this:

  5. Nonsense besides the shit grammar and poor use of tense. The biggest flaw in your story is that you die in the end. How the fuck did you write this story if you died, no way in hell did you get access to a computer and internet, if you did maybe you should have written about your time in hell, would have been better than the shit I just put myself through.

  6. So… since this is in first-person… the author died, then wrote this and posted it to Creepypasta? Or, since it’s partially in present-tense, he was writing everything down as it happened? Either way, I’m annoyed at the utter implausibility. Actually, “annoyed” might be far too lenient a word.
    Also, “Black-Eyed Kids” have been done to death. No pun intended. I can’t stand puns.

    To use the genre’s popular vernacular: pasta was very stale, evidence strongly suggests it was recycled out of either leftovers (like the old pub tradition of an “All-Sorts” barrel where the more well-off patrons’ dregs were tipped out to be served as a cheap medley to the lower classes) or even previously-digested dishes – who knows, perhaps it was a bit of both – and the sauce was not only well and truly off but also entirely the wrong flavour.

    Next time, I’m ordering Chinese.

  7. Those eyes. Oh god those eyes! One of the most overused phrases in creepypastas. It really detratcts from the story to read.

  8. Vague pasta and also hard to understand. Also this story doesn’t seem to be original. This pasta also seems to be rushed

    Pasta Rate: 6/10

  9. As far as Black-Eyed Children pastas go, this is by far one of the more creepy ones. I’m going to say besides the sort-of cliche phone call and ending, the errors most people are going to point out are small proof reading errors…Since I’m not a grammar-king myself, I decided to let the nazi’s do their work(I do not mean that in a mean way)…This is definitely an average pasta, but certainly one of the few that made me shiver in a while.

    Here is a little bit more detail:

    I liked that the setting you provided was straight forward. That way I wasn’t trying to picture what it looked like outside the protagonist’s house, thus getting lost in the story.

    I also liked how you heard the knock, then all of the sudden the wind forced the door open then slammed it shut. However, you could have maybe added a bit more detail so we knew for sure it wasn’t just a bad storm.

    One thing I did note is that if your gonna throw your audience into the story like that, give us something first. You don’t have to slowly pick up suspense because the pasta is relatively short. However, you should give us SOMETHING. You could give the character, some…well character so we relate to the characters fear and feel bad when the character dies. You could provide a valid reason why the character should be terrified of a child with black eyes.

    You may disagree but, in a story, actually in this case specifically, a person may feel bad for the ANTAGONIST

    …For all we know, the child could be a color-blind with a hevily dark brown eyes, with enlarged pupils, albino child who asked for some food and the use of a phone because she was lost. The storm stopped because you hit a weak spot in the storm which is common in storms heavy enough to force open a door. And you know what you do? You dial the cops on her, shove her down as hard as you can and try to charge a knife at her. That’s one good way to make somebody feel different, she probably stood behind the officer smiling because someone helped her. In a person who didn’t know any better, they would think you’d deserve to be shot. And I’d agree.

  10. Nice story. Seems a little too condensed towards the end (the being shot part almost reads like it’s no big deal because it’s so short) but otherwise it’s a nice read.

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