Share this creepypasta on social media!Creepy Pasta Chef
Estimated reading time — 15 minutes
It was a very hot Floridian day in August, almost unbearably hot. That was the day when my family and I bought a new house. I wanted nothing more than to go back to New Jersey. My friends, my family, my school, and my life were all up there. Never mind the fact that it had a much nicer temperature! No matter how much I screamed, kicked, or pouted, there was no going back to the place I once loved. I understand that it was all because my dad needed to find a new job where the working conditions weren’t cruel, but man, why here? Why in this isolated, muggy, swampy, piece-of-junk place? Of course, their answer was always “Daddy was able to find a really good job down here. I know you may not like it now, but it is best for the family.” My response was always “Ok.”
We didn’t have time to bring all of our stuff from the old house down here, so we had to load up our one family station wagon to the brim. People driving by must have thought we broke the two back springs because of how loaded it was! Talk about a painful ride, we only stopped once. We had no room to move, and I didn’t even want to go to this new house. I didn’t understand why my dad’s boss was so insistent that we move down there immediately. Maybe he had to fill a really important job, or something.
After an eternity, we had finally arrived to this treacherous house. I was the last to enter through the door, but the first to skim the whole place. Every room was small. The living room was small, my parents’ room was small, my room was small, the bathroom was small, and so was the kitchen. The only thing big about this place was the land it sat on. All twelve acres of it was ours. We really didn’t need all twelve but I should probably start looking at the bright side.
After a few hours, we had gotten everything we could fit in the car into that house. N,o we had not unpacked everything just yet. That would be a tomorrow project. I was starting to feel a little bit better about moving here but not one-hundred percent. Whatever, I’m sure everything will be fine.
Three weeks went by and everything was set up in the house. The town that my father was working in turned out to have a few stores, which is where we purchased the remaining things we still needed. I will say, with everything put together this house was starting to turn into a home. I would never say this out loud, but I am beginning to like it here.
Later that night, my parents and I had turned on the TV. I was slightly surprised that we got reception out here, even if it was mediocre. During one of the commercials, there was a loud bang upstairs. It sounded like one of the paintings I had recently hung up. I told my parents that “I got it” and I ran upstairs to examine the damage.
As I suspected, the painting had fallen. I picked it up and put it back on the wall. I thought it was strange that it fell since it looked sturdy on that wall, but strange things do happen.
When I was walking back downstairs, I heard a crack. It didn’t sound like it came from where my foot hit the floor, but I thought nothing of it and continued.
My parents asked “What was it?” and I told them “It was a painting I hung up, as I suspected.” My mother nodded and my father turned the TV back on.
It got late quicker than I had expected. As the hours grew, I grew more and more tired. My parents were already sound asleep and I was the lone survivor watching TV. I finally gave up and went to bed.
All night long I kept hearing strange noises, noises you wouldn’t expect to hear. I heard what I thought sounded like footsteps moving all over the house. I even thought I heard the faintest knock on my door. I thought nothing of it and convinced myself that I was just hearing things. I know I was tired, but it did sound very real.
Later the next morning when I was heading downstairs from my bedroom, that damn painting was on the floor again. I was shocked neither my parents, or I, heard it and picked it up last night. My parents are very heavy sleepers, but we heard it from all the way downstairs and with the TV on. These strange occurrences were starting to bother me.
At exactly 9:00 at night, my dad got a call on his cellphone. When he hung up he had a confused look plastered on his face.
He said “I just got a call from my boss. Apparently tomorrow morning I have to go to an urgent meeting at 7:00am. He gave me very little information, but what I know is that it’s far away. A little over an hour.”
My mom asked “Well did he tell you anything else?”
He replied with “No, he did not.”
My mom had a surprised look on her face, which quickly dissolved to a happy one.
“You know, we could probably have a little fun while we’re up there. Get a hotel, grab some dinner, roam around, and maybe a little more.” she said.
My dad’s face also turned into a happy one.
He replied with, “That’s actually a good idea. I think we’ll do that.”
He immediately went on his computer to reserve a hotel room.
While all of this was going on, I wasn’t exactly certain I wanted to be watching the house. There was something strange about it. Those weird things happening mixed with a feeling of being watched didn’t sit in my stomach well. I’d given my parents a hard time for the move and I felt as if they would be in better spirits if they got some time away.
I covered my emotions with a smile and said “That’s a great idea! I can watch the house while you guys are doing your thing.”
My dad said “Well since you asked….” and laughed.
Way too early the next morning, I got up to wish my parents good luck on their travels and to assure them that I was responsible enough to watch the house on my lonesome. They both gave me a hug. They also reminded me of their cell numbers, and told me when they would be coming back, around 9:00 am the next morning. I wished them goodbye, they did the same, and that was that.
Since I was still weighted with tiredness, I immediately went back to bed. When walking upstairs to my room, guess what wasn’t on the wall? That painting. That painting, more specifically portrait of my parents and I, was on the floor once again. How could that be? I didn’t hear anything, and it was definitely on the wall when I got up. Man this place is weird.
After hanging it up again, I continued to my room, shut the door, and jumped straight into my bed. God I was glad to be back in the comfort of my own bed. I layed down, and shut my eyes.
Why can’t I sleep? I am tired and I felt like I could have fallen asleep any second but something was keeping me up. My own mind was not allowing me to go back to bed. This was strange since I don’t have any sleeping disorders. Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes later I still lay there with my eyes shut but my brain zooming with thoughts. I was not even sure what those thoughts were about because of how fast they went by! My efforts were fruitless, and eventually I got up.
After exiting the room, to my relief, that painting was still on the wall it was intended for. I went downstairs and straight to the kitchen, for my stomach was asking for food. I opened the refrigerator to find less food than I had expected. There hasn’t been one time where that refrigerator wasn’t filled with a plethora of food, and my parents went to the grocery store recently. All of these things really started to irk me, so I grabbed a quick bite to eat and headed outside to explore the land we now owned. Hopefully this would help me keep my mind off of these things.
Stepping outside felt great. It wasn’t brutally hot out, in fact it was actually quite nice. I was out in our plot of woods for quite some time, maybe an hour and half? Every minute was worth it though. I found some excellent climbing trees that would give great views, cool caves with spiders in them, but I also found a fort…..This fort was pretty cool but there was one thing that seriously creeped me out about it. It had new groceries in it, unexpired. Those groceries came from the store my parents got theirs from, and I remember seeing a few of those items in my own refrigerator. What. The. Hell.
A sense of terror filled my head and I should have listened to it. I should have immediately found a way to contact authorities or get help. But I didn’t. For some reason, I ignored it. Maybe even forgot about it. Why? I couldn’t tell you to this day.
After seeing that, I decided that was enough outdoor time and I went back inside. When I arrived, I was met with the TV turned on, and volume one-hundred percent. I rushed to the TV’s plug and unplugged it. Ouch! That killed my ears!
Almost the second after unplugging it, I heard something fall from upstairs. I knew exactly what that was, the painting. I somewhat wearily walked upstairs to see, and sure enough, that’s what it was. I hung it back up, and to my dismay, the TV downstairs turned on again, full volume.
What the f*** is going on? This is really creeping me out.
Since I was paranoid of someone being in my house right now, I went to my room to get my baseball bat. I walked down the stairs, making sure I was inaudible. I looked around everywhere and listened but I didn’t see or hear a thing. These occurrences were really hard to explain, but I figured I was being a bit ridiculous thinking someone was inside the house.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I headed to the TV. I unplugged it. After unplugging it, I didn’t hear anything upstairs fall, even after five or so minutes.
“What a relief!” I said aloud.
Shortly after saying that, I realized I shouldn’t have. There was this incredibly creepy laugh coming from the basement. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever heard in my life. It was higher pitched but not adolescent. It sounded somewhat like a clown playing a joke, but it also sounded demonic.
I don’t know why, but I thought I had to be brave. I slowly walked towards the basement door with my baseball bat in my hand. I could still hear it, faintly. When I opened the door, the laughing ceased.
I screamed at the top of my lungs “I’ve got a baseball bat and I’m gonna kick your f***ing ass!”
I stormed down the stairs, worried I may break them. When I reached the bottom, it was blacker than black. I could not see anything other than the rays of light entering from the open door upstairs. I looked around as best as I could, ready to swing that bat in a millisecond. There was nothing that looked out of the ordinary, until I heard something. This something was coming from the ground and it sounded like water. The sound was produced by me stepping right into it. I looked at the floor closely, and I could not believe what I saw. It was blood. I lost all of my courage when I saw that mess of blood on the floor.
All of a sudden, I hear that same terrifying laugh, but on the stairs I recently descened. When I looked, I saw nothing but a black shadow, and then I barely saw anything. This thing had closed the door. I immediately ran to the door but when I heard the click of the lock, I stopped.
I was locked in the basement. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I even go down here? I looked under the door to see a pair of what looked to be running shoes just waiting for me to open that door. Though I had been very stupid during this whole thing, I wasn’t going to seal my fate because of more stupidity. I slowly, quietly, and carefully walked down those steps to the ground.
Something caught my eye, so I walked over to examine what it was. It was a bloodied, rusty knife. I felt as if I could have barfed, but luckily I was able to keep it down. This scared me so much I ran around the room blindly swinging at anything down there. I hit the walls, some pipes, the washing machine, and a few other things. None of the things I hit were living, which allowed me to relax slightly more.
An hour, maybe two, maybe more passed by. There was no way I could stay down here the whole time. That guy isn’t going to just lock me in this basement and run away, he has far worse intentions. He is looking to kill. True he might steal stuff but he wouldn’t purposely creep my family (more specifically me) out just so he could steal a few things. Plus with that ever so creepy laugh, no way he was just going to steal.
I had to do something. My parents could be brutally murdered up there while I listen.There were no openings down here to escape through. I thought that maybe if I took that knife I could dig my way through this cement wall and get outside, but I quickly realized that would not work. The only option of escape was to go through that door where that person was standing.
Slowly, I walked up the steps. I peered under the doorway from as far back as possible, and I saw those same pair of running sneakers I saw earlier. Almost no difference. I was torn about what to do but I had to do something. Maybe if I was able to knock him over by opening the door I would have the upperhand on him and could possibly hit him with my bat. That was the best idea I had. Failure could mean death, though. There was no room for error.
I grabbed my bat and headed back up those stairs as quiet as I could be. As I expected, he was still there, waiting for his next victim. When I was close enough to hear his heavy breathing, I kicked open that door so hard I nearly fell back down those steps. He was pushed far back. I shut the door and when I saw him, I nearly dropped my bat.
He was incredibly tall, at least six foot six. His skin looked as if it had been bleached. He had the darkest hair I had ever seen, and he had a huge smile revealing his blood-stained teeth. Out came that same horrifying laugh. I screamed so loud I shook the whole house. My bat was ready to hit this creep and when it did, it sent him flying back about four feet against a wall. He was on the ground, blood pouring from his head, and clearly dead.
Fear completely overcame me, so much so that I dropped the bat. I went straight to the floor and wept my eyes out. I couldn’t think straight, my mind was a tornado. I was dizzy. I felt sick to my stomach, so much so that I vomited everywhere. My job wasn’t over yet, I still had to call the police. I walked as fast as I could with my tear-stained face to the phone. I dialed 911 and waited to hear a voice.
It was taking longer than it should have, until finally I heard a voice say “911, what’s your emergency?”
I tried my best to hold back my emotions and speak clearly.
I said “Someone entered my house and, and, and, they were trying to, to kill me! P, P, Please hurry!” I couldn’t speak anymore, the tears came down like a waterfall.
Eventually, when I stopped, I went back to the phone and tried to speak again. When I picked up the phone, I felt breathing behind me.
“Well now you are calling the cops on me?!” He laughed and then said, “They won’t save you!”
My mouth dropped and my eyes were wide. I turned around to see the guy about three inches from my face giving me his horrible smile. I ran straight for the door. He grabbed me by the neck and started to choke me. I was eventually able to conjure up enough energy to punch him in the face. His grip had stopped and he was taken aback. I ran straight for the door and right before I shut it, he was coming after me with a kitchen knife.
I wasn’t athletic, but I must have ran as fast as Usain Bolt away from that house. I looked back once to see him peering through the window, knife in his right hand, the phone I called the police on in the other, and that same smile he had, plastered on his face. I could not hear him, but I could tell he was laughing again with that terrible laugh. I booked it to the woods and went deep enough so he couldn’t see me.
I finally found a tree, which I hid behind. It took me a moment to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. When I had done so, I went closer to the house making sure he was still in there. At this point, I had a pretty good distance between me and that guy. But when I was looking at the window he watched me through, he had disappeared.
What should I do? This guy was probably a runner considering his stature and his running shoes, and he saw where I went in those woods. I went what felt like three-hundred meters deep into the woods and headed in a different direction to throw him off. Maybe it would be best if I was off the ground where he wouldn’t think to find me.
I walked for I would say seven minutes and found the perfect climbing tree. I climbed to the very top, being careful to remain quiet and not fall. Luckily this was a very tall tree, and when I reached the top, I could see a chunk of landscape. I could see where I just was, and my house. When I looked closely, I noticed two sets of footprints leading from my house to the area I originally was in the woods. One set was mine, so the other must have been his. He was looking for me.
I wasn’t confident with my decision to climb this tree. What if he had found me? I would be done with. I just closed my eyes and prayed to god that I would make it through this whole thing, alive.
Several minutes went by and I started to hear rustling. It was getting closer. There was no option from here on out other than to stay in this tree. I looked down and I saw that man. He was looking around with the biggest kitchen knife he could have found in his hand. God I hope this guy didn’t look up the tree. He continued walking steadily looking around every nook and cranny until he stopped right at the bottom of the tree I had climbed.
He was looking around for what felt like an hour just from that position. I was keeping as quiet as humanly possible. The man looked to his left, to his right, behind him, and repeated. Finally he continued on his way, walking away from the tree. What. A. Relief. I was so happy he didn’t see me, but still vigilant to make sure he didn’t come back.
A few more minutes passed by until I saw someone walking from the woods back to my house. Out of the blue, I heard sirens roaring down the street. It was the police. Three of their cruisers raced into my driveway. Almost simultaneously, eight police officers leaped out of their cars yelling “Get down! Drop your weapon!” with guns in their hands, all aimed at him.
The man who walked out of the woods, clearly the smiley faced creep, actually did what he was told and went to the ground. A few officers rushed over with handcuffs while others had their guns aimed on his head. When the two officers who were bringing him to the car picked him up, the guy started to fight back. The officers tased him and that put an end to that.
I was so thankful that this horrible nightmare was over. When they put the man in the car, a different set of officers with flashlights came calling my name and looking for me. I got down that tree so fast I basically fell. My legs and arms pumped, and I ran straight towards one of them.
With the remaining air I had left, I yelled “I’m here! It’s me, Joseph!”
The officers all ran towards me. They said “Oh thank god you survived. Are you hurt?”
I told them that I wasn’t and I also thanked them for catching him. They replied with “That’s good, and you are welcome, we are just doing our job.”
They brought me to one of their cars so I would have some time to calm myself down. It worked.
Not long after they put me in, I saw my parents’ car race down the road and straight across the lawn. They were repeating, “Where is my son?!”
The police officers brought them straight to me and the both of them gave me the biggest hug I had ever received. They told me how sorry they were and how they would never make me babysit the house again. When we were all able to calm down we got out of the car and headed back inside, where we were met with police officers cleaning up my house. I thought that was very kind of them.
I later heard an engine roar to life. I looked outside to see the cruiser with the man in the back. He was staring at me with the same face he always had. I could not hear what he was saying, but he mouthed something along the lines of “Just wait.” and then giggled uncontrollably. This creeped me out, but I knew I was safe from that guy and had nothing to worry about.
The next day, we saw that man on TV. It was a mugshot of him. My parents were seriously creeped out by his height, skin, and evil smile.
The news anchor said “Police were able to arrest this man last night and charge him with several things, but most importantly, murder. According to police, he had murdered a couple while they were sleeping a few weeks ago and had attempted to kill another family last night. When interrogated for five hours straight, he simply giggled the whole time giving no information, all with a smile on his face. This man has been sentenced to death by lethal injection, and…” My mother turned off the TV.
We all looked at each other and said nothing, but everyone knew what the other was thinking.
A few years passed by and everything was back to normal. No more weird noises, the house was cleaned up, the whole family was happy, and I finally liked the house. We tried our best to push that incident aside, but we made sure it didn’t happen again. Almost immediately after “the incident”, my dad installed cameras both inside and outside the house, which were being monitored 24/7.
It seemed as if my two parents had completely forgotten about what happened, because we agreed to never talk about it, but I for one never got over it.
There were many questions that were left unanswered that I had wanted to solve. A few of them I did, but a few I still don’t know to this day. I now know where all of the blood came from. It all came from that couple he murdered. He murdered them with that bloody knife and he was also a cannibal, being the cause of his bloodied-teeth. I know why there was that hut of his back with our food in the woods, too. He was obviously stealing it and we somehow didn’t notice.
I now know why all of those strange noises and things were happening. What I don’t know is why he didn’t just kill me. He could have easily walked up behind me and stabbed me rather than making an effort to lock me in the basement, and try to freak me out. Also, why was there a pile of blood on the floor? I don’t know how he could have transferred so much blood. I had a few more unanswered questions, but there was one more I had to answer. Indefinitely, what was it that he said to me in the police cruiser, and what did it mean? I am pretty confident that he said “just wait”, but what does that mean? It’s been three years now and nothing. Whatever, he’s just a creep.
I turned on the TV in my room and was greeted with “Breaking News! A man has escaped the local prison today, and is loose. He has very pale skin, dark hair, and is six foot six in height. Here is his mugshot from when we was imprisoned. Be on the lookout for this man!”
I rubbed my eyes once, twice, a third time, a fourth, a sixth, etc…. I still saw that man who tried to kill me and my family. His mugshot was the exact same one I saw a few years ago, with that terrible smile. He is loose. He could kill again. He could come back to this very spot. Now is when I finally understood what “just wait” meant.
CREDIT: Creepy Pasta Chef