Please wait...


Estimated reading time — 14 minutes

Allen hurriedly gulped down the last of his milk when he heard the doorbell ring.

“Mom! Chad and Mike are here, I’m leaving for school,” he shouted at the ceiling of the kitchen. He grabbed his backpack off the counter and headed for the door.

“Wait!” His mother rushed down the stairs, half stumbling in the process, stopping him just as he grabbed the door handle. She looked haggard and a worry line creased her brow. Red rimmed eyes gave testament to the fact that she had been crying for some time. His mother absentmindedly adjusted Allen’s scarf with a nervous, shaky hand. “Remember to hurry straight home today, okay?”


“I know, Mom. Mary’s coming today.” At the mention of Mary, a choked sob escaped his mother’s throat. Not wanting to see her so distraught Allen tried to cheer her. “Look, why don’t I just stay home today?” he ventured.

“You can’t, honey. You know the rules,” she managed to squeeze out, fighting to quell even more tears. “Now hurry and go.” With that she gave Allen a quick hug, and opened the front door with a sharp jerk, much like yanking off a Band-Aid so as not to prolong the pain. With a forced smile she ushered Allen out into the cold. As she shut the door behind him her sobs returned unbidden. She collapsed against the door, unable to support her own weight. She slid slowly to the floor, the whole time murmuring through her tears, pleading, “Please don’t forget…please don’t forget…”

* * * * * *

The brisk fall air sent an immediate shock to Allen’s system. He pulled his coat tighter around him, watching his breath curl away in wispy tendrils before turning his eyes to his fellow 3rd grade buddies.

Mike was wearing his usual cocky grin and the ever present glint of mischief was in his eyes. He was the trouble maker in the trio, and as such he was always up for an adventure. By rights of being younger (“Only by a month!” as he was always quick to point out) he was the defacto second in command behind Allen.

Then there was Chad. The kids at school had many names for Chad. They ranged in creativity from “Stupid-head” to “Chard the Tard”, but they all expressed the same point. Chad was slow. Allen’s mother had once told him the technical term for it. To the best of Allen’s recollection it was “high function-something idiot something”. The kids at school chose to focus on the idiot part. What mattered the most to Allen and Mike was that of all the people in Willow Falls, Chad was the most sincere, the most innocent. They took care of him like a younger brother.


“Chad…your shoes are untied again, man!” Allen cast an exasperated look towards Mike. “Why didn’t you help him out?”

Mike, looking hurt and indignant at the same time, responded, “I tried, but you know he only lets you do it.”

Allen let loose a sigh that clearly stated how heavy the burden of the world weighed on his shoulders and bent to tie Chad’s shoes.

“Loop once, loop twice, and it all looks nice!” Chad sang his shoe tying song as Allen went about the work. “Friends to the end,” he rhymed again once Allen had finished. Most people found Chad’s chosen manner of communication irritating, but to Allen and Mike it is was one of his more endearing qualities.

“Chad buddy, you really need to learn to do that on your own. I might not be around to help next time.” Allen’s gentle admonishment was met with a warm smile and enthusiastic nod of Chad’s head. “Alright, Triumphant Trio, off to school!”

“I’m not a fool, I go to school!” chimed Chad as he fell in with the others.

Together the three youngsters made their way down Birch Lane heading for Willow Falls Grade School. Willow Falls was a quaint little town, no more than 100 families, and thus the walk from Allen’s house to school was relatively short. The boys made good time, all the while chatting about whatever it is that interested boys of their age. Chad would chip in with a well-timed rhyme causing all three to laugh. Considering what day it was, the boys were in rather high spirits.

“…and that’s when I pulled her hair!” Mike was in full story telling mode as he regaled his two friends with his latest misadventure involving his neighbor Sally. Arms swung and hands gestured to emphasize every point by pantomiming his actions. Despite the cold, he was working up a nice flush in his eagerness to relate the tale. Allen listened intently, nodding sagaciously. Chad, not fully grasping all the nuances of the story, took his cues from Allen. “Then she got this weird look in her eyes and started leaning tor-,” Mike stopped talking abruptly.

Allen looked up to see what had made his friend pause. He saw it immediately. They were coming up on the gate. The malice emanating forth from the gate was so evident that even Chad was able to recognize it.

“Chad hate bad gate,” he stated in a choked whisper. Both Allen and Mike nodded their agreement to Chad’s simple assessment, but words failed the other two boys. This was The-Gate-That-No-One Opened. Standing 8’ tall, the gate loomed over any who passed by it. The truly intricate details that went into the ironwork were only visible upon close inspection. Most however, never got that close. Even Mike, the brave one, would not come within more than a few feet of it. The hinges on the gate had long since rusted, and the gate had looked ready to topple over for years. But it had not. Instead it maintained its constant vigil, forever standing sentinel to that which was behind it.

On the other side of the gate, a worn cobblestone path ran straight for 15 feet or so before rounding a bend and disappearing behind the giant hedges. No one knew exactly where the path lead, for on the other side of The-Gate-That-No-One-Opened was The-Park-That-No-One-Entered. Located in the geographical center of Willow Falls, the true name of the park was lost in the annals of the town’s history. In the middle of the massive park, rising above the hedges and sitting on the crest of a hill, stood the willow tree. Some quirk in the lay of the land made the willow visible from anywhere in town while the rest of the park lay shrouded in secret behind the surrounding hedges. The town founders had likely seen the tree and named the town after it. That was just speculation of course, just as it was the general consensus that the path behind the gate most likely led to the willow tree.

With an unspoken agreement, the boys hastened their steps, eager to escape the unnatural silence and icy dread that overcame all who crossed the gate’s path.

“Maybe we should just go back home today.” This from Mike, the brave one.

“No, we have to go to school,” answered Allen. “You know the rules. We all do.”

“Yeah, but…” he let his protestation trail off and instead turned his attention to stepping on every dead leaf that came within reach of his feet.

“School’s the rule,” Chad intoned with his head hanging and hands in his pockets, the walking picture of dejection. The boys continued down Birch Lane.

* * * * * *

It had been another typical day at WFGS. At recess, some of the other third-grade boys had devised a new game. They thought it would be funny to stuff a sock down Chad’s pants and try to get him to chase his “tail”. Chad, always hoping to please, had gleefully complied. Misunderstanding their teasing laughter for encouragement had caused him to try all the more enthusiastically. If there was one talent Chad did have, it was his ability to completely focus on one task to the exclusion of all else. This only lent fuel to the laughter as he doggedly spun in circles, determined to catch the sock. Mike and Allen were quick to intervene. One of the boys was sporting a growing black eye where Allen had punched him. Mike, fresh from the principal’s office (“My second homeroom,” as he liked to call it), already had his name on the board.

“At least it wasn’t Pin the Card on the Tard again.”

“Yeah,” agreed Allen. “Hey don’t look now, but they’re at it again!”

Ignoring Allen’s advice, Mike whipped his head around just in time to catch Sally and her group of friends peeking his way. They quickly ducked their heads back together and returned to hushed whispers laced with intermittent giggles.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with Sally,” Mike said with a look of consternation on his face. “Ever since yesterday she’s been acting weird and looking at me funny. Maybe I-“

Mike was cut short as the 3 chimes of the P.A. system declared an upcoming message from Principal Ladsen. Ms. Shoemaker, with her stern hair bun and horn-rimmed glasses immediately set to shushing everyone. Due to what day it was, quiet and attention were quick in coming. The eyes and ears of the twenty-three nine-year-olds in her class were focused on the loudspeaker in the corner. The same was true for every classroom throughout WFGS.

Some slight feedback was followed by a hiss and a pop, trailed by Principal Ladsen clearing his throat. Finally, he began to speak.

“Alright everyone, listen up,” he commenced rather unnecessarily. “We all know what day it is, so I need you all to go straight home. Don’t dally in front of the school, or stop on the playground. As soon as the bell rings, in about five minutes or so, you children get right back to your houses. That’s all.” Three chimes indicated the message was over.

The principal’s proclamation had set a noticeably somber mood through the halls of the school. In the back of the class, a small, timid hand raised slowly in the air.

“Yes, Stewart?” Ms. Shoemaker was slightly taken aback to actually have some form of interaction from the normally withdrawn Stewart. “What is it?”

“Ma’am, um… if it’s so important we go home right away…I mean…um…why can’t our parents just come pick us up?” His voice quavered quite a bit.

“Because,” she said around a sad, understanding sigh. “It’s not allowed. You all know what the Town Charter says. You know the rules, straight home.” As if to help punctuate her answer, the bell chose that moment to ring. She had to raise her voice to be heard over all the scooting chairs. “Now remember, children! Straight home!” Her voice had become shrill as it chased the children out the door, “Don’t forget!”

* * * * * *

The halls of WFGS were eerily quiet. The chattering and general hubbub of an entire school’s worth of youngsters were replaced by grim looks and muttered whispers quickly hushed. The clatter of hundreds of shoes was supplanted by hesitant, slow steps, heading for the exits. Allen and the other members of his threesome followed along swept up in the silent, inexorable tide. Even Chad seemed to pick up and reciprocate the mood.

No one stopped at the playground. The usual groups did not gather at their usual spots. The hopscotch area was forsaken, children walking past it without a second glance. The words of the principal were heeded. The children had been trained well. They were prepared for this day. Within 5 minutes the schoolyard was completely deserted. The only sound came from a squeaky swing as the wind slowly pushed it back and forth.

* * * * * *

The Triumphant Trio turned onto Birch Lane. Few words passed between them. Heads ducked, a few furtive glances exchanged. Every now and then a chilly fall breeze would whip around them, carrying a few leaves across the sidewalk. Other than that, the boys walked in silence.

Almost as if they could sense its presence, and all of the same mind, the boys crossed the street in order to skirt the gate. Despite his better judgment, Allen risked a glance. In the distance, on the hill, the willow tree danced in the wind. Its massive low hanging branches skipped across the ground. Allen imagined that he could hear the branches clacking together, even over this great distance, and to his young ears the noise sounded like macabre laughter. It gave Allen the impression that the tree was eager, full of glee for the upcoming events.

A shiver ran itself along the length of Allen’s spine, and he quickly jerked his gaze back down, staring at the pavement as he placed one foot in front of the other. He wished he hadn’t looked.

Soon, not as soon as they would have liked, the trio were outside Allen’s house. The air had already grown noticeably colder, and the light was starting to wane, fading faster than usual. Shadows of streetlamps and trees began stretching across the pavement, long skinny fingers searching, searching.

Mike, the brave one, barely looked at his friends as he gave them a perfunctory wave. He quickly turned on his heels and high-tailed it to his house across from Allen’s. Allen couldn’t blame him; he felt the urge to run home himself. He turned his attention to Chad.

“Alright, buddy. Remember, head straight home, okay?”

“I won’t be late for my dinner plate!” Allen couldn’t help but smile despite the situation.

“Straight home, Chad.” Chad gave Allen his usual grin and enthusiastic nod before turning and heading home. His house was at the end of Birch Lane, on the other side of the curve, just out of view. For a while, Allen stood and watched, torn between walking his dear friend home and heading home himself. He had just made up his mind to escort Chad when his attention was drawn by a frantic banging.

He turned and looked at his house to see his mother pounding hectically away on the window. When she saw she had his attention she began forcefully gesturing, and the look in her eyes left no doubt about her intentions. Allen regretfully put all thoughts of chasing Chad from his mind and bounded up the stairs to his porch and into the safety of his home.

If Allen’s mother hadn’t gotten his attention in that instant, if he had just kept watching Chad as he rounded the curve, if he had looked a moment longer, he might have seen his best friend trip.

* * * * * *

Chad had skinned his hands in the fall. It was okay, though, he fell often. He was used to it. His shoelaces had come undone again. They were the culprits behind his loss of balance! He looked around expectantly, waiting for Allen to tie his shoe for him. Then he remembered what Allen had said this morning. Allen wasn’t here to help him.

A fierce light of determination began to glow in Chad’s eyes. An idea began to formulate in his slow mind. He would tie his shoes himself and make Allen proud. With his giant grin on his face Chad eagerly set to work.


“Loop once, loop twice…”

* * * * * *

Allen’s mother reached through the gap in the door and pulled her son into the house. She hugged him tightly. After she had satisfied herself that he was indeed real and home safely she pushed him out to arm’s length and glared at him.

“What in the world were you thinking?!” she demanded. “I told you to come straight home!”

“I was just going to make sure Chad got home and then I was going to run right back!” he protested.

“No Allen! No! You know the rules!”

“Okay, I’m sorry! I got it. Mary’s coming.”

* * * * * *

Throughout the town of Willow Falls, all the preparations for the night were the same. Doors were locked, curtains were drawn, and parents gathered up their children. They huddled together in whatever room they felt the most secure, hoping the events of the night would pass quickly. It was no different in Allen’s home.

He and his mother sat in the living room, lights dimmed. She hadn’t let him out of her sight since he’d gotten home. Every few seconds she looked his way, verifying he hadn’t disappeared.

* * * * * *

Sometime between the late afternoon and dusk, Willow Falls changed. The cold deepened even more. Darkness seemed to envelop the town, bringing with it an unnatural silence. The wind slowed, and then eventually petered out altogether. No birds chirped, no squirrels squeaked. It was as if the town was a void, no sound, no movement, and at the epicenter of this lifeless black hole stood the willow tree.

In that dead, deafening silence, the town waited. In that silence, the heavy, oppressive silence, Time itself held its breath. And into that silence came a squeal. The cry of tortured metal reverberated throughout the town as centuries-old rusted hinges were forced to grind against each other. On and on the sound came, setting nerves on edge and jaws to clenching. After an unbearable amount of time, the squealing thankfully stopped. The gate was open.

For half a heartbeat all was deathly still again. Then the whistling began. A slow haunting tune that carried on without end. A horribly unnatural sound that never paused for breath. It came under the doors, through the walls, found its way under pillows and through fingers, found its way in despite all efforts to keep it out. A ceaseless barrage of a nightmarish melody that searched out every soul, eroding strength and engendering despair. The whistling was the herald. Mary had come.

* * * * * *

Allen and his mother clung to one another. Eyes were squeezed tightly shut against the terrible, incessant whistling. The tune blotted out all else, muted all thought, leaving only the desire to cower in fear.

When the first footstep was heard on their porch they both held their breath. Slow, even paces took the steps one at a time, not in the least of a hurry. One by one the heavy steps came closer to the door and stopped.

The knock came, causing his mother to jerk and let out a little scream. She squeezed Allen to her all the tighter, rocking back and forth, whispering “No no no…” to herself over and over again as if it were her mantra of protection.

Another knock, not at all ungentle, almost shy.

“Please…” came the voice, a little girl’s. “Please…let me in. It’s so cold, and I’m hungry.” It was a pitiful plea that tore at the heart.

A third knock.

His mother was in tears now as she pressed his head to her chest. “Just go away, Mary.” She quietly pleaded.

“Please, it’s so cold. I’m hungry.” A fourth knock. “Please…”

“Leave us alone!” his mother shouted, fear lending power to her voice. On the other side of the door came an infinitely disappointed sigh. The weighty footsteps turned and slowly receded back to the road, leaving them to their isolation. Allen and his mother shared a look that communicated much. They were relieved that their trial was passed, but they knew they were not the first, nor would they be the last.

The ritual was repeated again and again throughout Willow Falls. Always the timid knock, followed by a heart-wrenchingly pathetic plea for shelter from the cold. And always hungry, always so hungry. The whistling continued on.

* * * * * *


Success! He had finally wrestled the tricky laces into a knot. Chad was extremely proud of himself, and he couldn’t wait to tell Allen. Chad stood with a rare smile of self-satisfaction. Few and far between were the moments when he accomplished something on his own.

It was then that he noticed the whistling. He had forgotten! His mother, the principal, Allen, they had all told him to go straight home, but he had tripped. He had been so focused on tying his shoes that he had lost track of time. His house was only two doors down. He could see his mother in the window screaming through the glass, willing him to get his feet moving. He could still make it home, he still had time.

He took a step. Too late.

“Please…” the voice came from behind him. He could see the despair in his mother’s face, hands clutched to her chest. She was sobbing. He knew he should run. He knew it, but he couldn’t make his body work. Fear paralyzed him. “Please look at me.”

“N-no…” he stammered. His heart raced in his chest. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, matching his mother’s.

“Look at me please!” the voice beseeched.

“I’m not supposed to. I should have gone home.” No rhyming now, he was too terrified. His eyes watched his mother through the window. Her face drained of all blood, her eyes rolled back, and she fell out of view. “Allen told me to go home. My momma is w-waiting.” By now his whole body was trembling.

“Look at me.” Not a plea anymore.

“Allen told me…” His slow mind, dimmed further by terror, barely registered the warm stain spreading down his pant leg.

“Look at me!” The final command sapped the last of his meager resistances. His body was no longer his own. He managed a few whimpers as he was forced to turn and look at Mary.

* * * * * *

The whistling was different now. Still haunting, yet a subtle undertone was different. Something had changed.

Allen’s mother noticed it just as he had. She scooted to the window and pulled back the curtain just enough to peek out. She gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, poor Martha!”

Martha? That was Chad’s mother! Panic filled Allen’s heart. Before his mother could react he yanked back the curtains so forcefully that they fell from the rods. There! Mary was just out of his field of vision, but he could clearly see the small inert form that was being dragged behind.

“Chad!” Allen beat his fists against the glass. “Chad!” Logic and reason were forgotten in worry for his best friend. He raced for the door, prepared to charge out into the cold. His mother was faster and tackled him from behind.

“No! Stop, Allen! You can’t help him, baby!” For a moment they wrestled around, but she used her superior weight to keep him pinned to the floor.

“I told him to go home! How did he forget?” Guilt and shame drained Allen of any energy he had left to fight his mother. “I should have walked him home! How did he forget?”

* * * * * *

Somewhere in the middle of The-Park-That-No-One-Entered an innocent, simple-minded boy began to scream. It was a scream of anguish, a scream of terror, a scream of pain. The scream carried on until it was drowned out by another scream. This was the scream of tortured metal as the gate once again began its harsh journey. The whistling stopped. The gate closed, not to open for another year.

The wind began to blow, leaves began to skitter. Birds chirped and squirrels squeaked. It was as if Time began to breathe again and life returned to the dead void.

Somewhere another boy sat, lost within himself, lost to his grief. His eyes wide open, staring at all, seeing nothing.

“How could he forget?”

Loop once, loop twice…

Someone always forgets.

Credit: The Fox God

This story was submitted to by a fellow reader. To submit your own creepypasta tale for consideration and publication to this site, visit our submissions page today.

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.

89 thoughts on “Mary”

  1. oh i loved this and yes it was sooo involving that I almost missed my bus home.
    Like everyone I have questions.. lots of them but i realize some of them are best left unanswered, however one thing I did feel should have been explained are the rules. Mary comes and the whole town knows when she comes so what were the rules? Why couldnt it have been a public holiday and everyone stayed in? Obviously there is some background story to that, some unwritten rules that forces them to follow the normal routine but I felt that should have been clarified. Till end I felt why couldnt the kids stay in or maybe leave early from school for that one day?

    1. Allen offers to stay home at the beginning of the story and his mother says he can’t because of the rules. I felt like that would be a satisfactory way of conveying that everyone had to go to school that day, as you picked up on. I didn’t want to have an exposition heavy narrative where the characters were forced into unnatural dialogue to explain things. I tried to be more subtle to give you enough to get the border pieces of the puzzle without giving up the middle.

      Thanks for reading. I’m glad you liked it, and I’m also glad you didn’t miss your bus.

  2. Hello The Fox God.
    Im sorry to comment on a post so old but I just found this and it’s without a doubt one of my all-time favorite pastas. I know that you intended Mary to be left to us but I was wondering if you could at least tell me if I was on the right track? I believd that Mary is not a person but is rather an entity associated with the willow tree and the founding of the town itself. I believe she has always been there and when the kids are supposed to be in school as per the rules of the town, that was completely intentional. It’s all about the children and the town is under the understanding that there needs to be some sort of offering to keep the community going. It just alleviates some of the guilt by letting them know what is at stake. That’s my take anyway. I was just wondering if that’s what you were going for. Again I absolutely loved it!

  3. I thought this was a really good pasta. Like another poster commented, its almost like a Stephen King short story.
    I think that if there was any more real information about Mary and who she was, I dont think I would have been as creeped out. Sometimes too much information ruins a story. I confess that I would love to know why this happens to the town, but I leave that to the author to tell. 10/10.

  4. Fantastic story! The whole town set by specific standards, you already know that something terrifying happens periodically. Has that creepypasta feeling to it. Full 10 for me

  5. Candlejack's Wife

    The author has broken my heart D:
    My 5 year old is autistic and one of my worst nightmares is for him to get bullied and not even be aware of it. Poor Chad, I was hoping against hope that the inevitable wouldn’t happen.
    9/10 though, still great.

  6. Wow. I’ve been reading endless more recent pastas in the last few days, hoping to discover a gem, and I stumble upon this. It’s the first time in a while I’ve felt in complete suspense during the entire story. It’s so creepy without needing to explain much. Although I would love to know about Mary and the rules, it was definitely the right decision to leave them out, and have the audience think up their own disturbing back stories. I’d love if you wrote a separate piece that simply stated the rules. Very well written too. Brilliant job. 10/10

  7. I really liked this one. Most are kinda cheap thrills. This one, reminds me of Stephen King stories – it’s real enough to be “normal everyday America”, yet there’s a twist that allows enough matter to keep a story going.

  8. Goal in life: get submission approved

    No offence to anyone, but to write a comment you have to scroll past comments; take half a second to see if your question hasn’t already been asked. Maybe it makes me a douche, who knows, but I would hate to be the author answering a question I answered literally a scroll away.

  9. This was a very neat pasta. I enjoyed it very much, and it gave me some chills here and there. I felt pity for young Chad as he was dragged away, as I was supposed to, and I shared the despair of Allan. The build up for this story was well put, the main sights of grammar and spelling as perfect. I will admit I was a little disappointed with the loss of description of Mary, though I realize it was the authors goal to leave the reader with a couple questions. That put, this was a good read, and I enjoyed this pasta. 9/10 From me.

  10. Excellent pasta! My compliments to the chef, that really hit the spot. Too many cooks these days try to explain all their ingredients, and far too many hungry people miss out on the fact that the most delicious fear of all is the Unknown. Unknown is real, and trying to explain it will only make you a fool and leave your pasta overcooked.

  11. Just wondering, is the Legend of Mary real, and is Willow Falls real? If so, I want to learn more about it, you, dear author, efficiently made me want to nom more of this story.

  12. This was superb. It isn’t often that you grow to like a Creepypasta character as much as Chad; most of them are typical college dorks or deadbeat dads, but he was so well-developed, funny and warm that it was really evocative to have him taken. Please do write more of this calibre.

    PS. I also had a bad dream based around this story after reading it. I don’t think I can give a bigger compliment than that.

  13. Will there be another story based on the town but in a different time period? This was a great read n I ask because I would like to see where else this story can go

  14. Loved the story, one of the best iv read on the site, no spelling or grammar issues that i saw and the mystery of “you know what day it is” makes you keep reading. I am curious as to why they didn’t just suspend school that day or just lock down the school and have all the kids stay the night. I’m guessing its a buffy vampire like rule of she can’t enter a home uninvited.
    Also maybe its part of an agreement they have to abide by that they have to go about the day as normal.

  15. Good writing, cool fun idea. I had a few problems tho. First, (and I know this is nitpicky) no nine year old ever does anything sagaciously. That made me laugh and yanked me from the story. That was not the spot to indulge your healthy vocabulary. Also it was incredibly predictable. And my biggest problem is this: what exactly is the big deal? This whole town seems as slow as chad. Why would a whole town cower in fear of an entity that is easier to get rid of than a band of Jehovah’s witness’s? Sorta ruined the story for me. “Let me in!” “No thanks, we dont want any!” And its over. You can do better than this and we both know it. What attacks willow falls next? 1960s night of the living dead zombies you can just walk around or push over? Great writing and idea but this needed more development, and needed to be better thought out (more development) great potential tho. 7/10 keep reading and writing

    1. Shape Shafter,

      First off, thanks for the comment. It’s flat out hilarious. I nearly snotted myself in front of my boss because I was trying to hold in my laughter (being honest, not sarcastic).

      Secondly, your criticisms are valid. I’ll try to address them if I can, starting with sagaciously. You are absolutely right; no 9 year old has ever does anything sagaciously, and that is exactly why I used that word. I was attempting a tongue in cheek jab at the fact that kids always think they are more worldly than they in fact are. My three year old tells me constantly how things “actually” work. It was supposed to be in the same vein as, “a sigh that clearly stated how heavy the burden of the world weighed on his shoulders”. I was hoping that the reader would perceive that as a 9 year old Allen knows next to nothing about females. The joke (or attempted joke I should say) was that the reader knows that he doesn’t know, while he (Allen) doesn’t know that he doesn’t know. Maybe I went too meta with it. Sounds like I got the intended result but for the wrong reason. Mea culpa.

      By predictable I assume you mean Chad’s death was telegraphed from the moment he tripped and fell, if not earlier. Very fair assessment. I wasn’t shooting for a Shyamalanian twist (at least when they were good anyway), but rather a genuine emotional connection between the reader and the boys. I was hoping you would feel the tragedy of Chad’s death just as much as Allen did.

      As for Mary, the last line, “Someone always forgets.” was intended to convey that Mary always gets someone. Every time. Without fail, for whatever reason, at least one person gets taken every time. The parents are left to hope their kid gets home safely, or are they the one? Then you get the nonstop whistling that means something other is coming and suddenly it’s knocking on your door…I was shooting for constant tension with that whole section. Sorry if it missed the mark.

      If nothing else, at least you appreciated my writing style. Hopefully the next time I get the itch to write something it will be better.

  16. Absolutely fantastic story. I’d love a sequel! Maybe where Allen (and mike?) go into the park to try to get back Chad? But you’re the author.

  17. I don’t get why some people are saying that the fact Mary’s backstory wasn’t developed is a bad thing. The author gives us just enough information for us to understand the concept of her character but still gives our imagination free reign on what exactly happened to her.

    The door is left wide open for a Prequel as well. Great story, 9/10.

    1. Thanks! Sounds like you were picking up what I was putting down. More often than not I am disappointed with the explanations in horror movies or stories. The creature rarely lives up to fear that I’ve built in my head. I didn’t want to do that here. Instead I tried to leave just enough breadcrumbs and allusions to foment some conclusions that the readers could draw for themselves.

      As for the next segment of The Legend of Mary, a prequel would be the most likely way to go. As I said previously I’ve played around with some ideas to have Allen try to get into the park, but I just don’t know what he would find inside, and I wouldn’t want to cheapen the story and Chad’s death. A prequel would involve the founding of Willow Falls. In the intervening years since I’ve written Mary I’ve had some pretty solid ideas about what Mary is, and what Its relationship to the town is. I would probably flesh those out more and definitely go into detail about the rules and Town Charter. The only thing is, and hopefully this doesn’t make me sound like a pretentious ass, I simply cannot write unless I’m inspired. I’ve tried, and it feels like work, and it only leads to rubbish that I’m never happy with. I had to write Mary. I didn’t have a choice. Mary pretty much wrote itself. I haven’t felt that way since.
      The truth is that I’m supremely satisfied with this story, and I don’t see myself writing anything else about Mary and the tragic town that It terrorizes.
      But who knows, maybe I’ll have another dream.

  18. This was beautiful. The Horror. The Suspense. The Sadness. I love it. Thank you for whipping up a great story!

  19. Awesome!!! Please write more pastas! One of the best I’ve read! But one bit of advice, you should have put in detail who Mary was or why she’s there, besides that 10/10!

  20. I can see this story continuing. Very well written. I was completely entranced the entire time. Hope to see more of Mary soon!

  21. What was Mary? Was she a lost soul that died sometime in the town’s past and is now seeking vengence? Or am i overplaying it?

  22. Amazing. Scary and sad! i don’t know how to react! I liked the whole idea of Not looking. It has precedence in other works of great literature and adds the image of frightening monsters or creepy ghost girls or Medusa like characters

  23. The only thing that threw me off about the ending was, the fact that there was another boy somewhere, and ending in someone always forgets.

    I guess What they forgot just seemed to confuse me. Sometimes, I can be a bit slow on the uptake. But all in all this was a really engaging story, I just wish I understood the plot a little better. However, that is my flaw, not the authors.

    1. The ‘other boy’ is Allan, not a new character – that would be crazy. It’s written to dettach the reader from the protagonist and emphasise the despair and loss he is feeling.

      As for someone always forgetting. I could be wrong, but surely it means that Mary successfully takes a child every year – the question is just who it’s going to be.

  24. Wow, I have never commented on a pasta before but I LOVED this one so much I felt the need too! It was delicious!! So eloquently written~

  25. Not bad. Very well written. For me, though, didn’t accomplish the goal of creepiness. I felt the back story over powered the pending doom. Spent a very long establishing the characters then the climax was short and the reward even shorter.

    1. Po-po,
      Sorry this missed for you. I spent most of the story on the boys because I was hoping to create a genuine emotional connection between you and them. I was hoping the succinct climax would be the emotional equivalent of a gut punch. Maybe I’ll get you next time. Thanks for the feedback!

    1. That was intentional on my part. I wanted Mary and Its relationship to the town to be a complete mystery to leave you with more questions. I tried to drop enough breadcrumbs throughout the story to leave a basic outline of what was going on. I didn’t want to spoon feed everything. That’s my personal preference when I read. I knew it was a tactic that not everyone would appreciate, but I had to stay true to my vision. Thanks for the feedback!

  26. I just wanted to thank everyone for taking the time to read my story and for any feedback you may have left. I’ve already told him this but it warrants being said again; Thanks Derp for starting this site and giving us a venue for our stories, and I’m glad to be a part of this community, not just as a commenter anymore, but as an author too.

    I’m in the Navy and six years ago I was out to sea with my submarine. I had a dream about an abandoned schoolyard playground and a gate that was spewing malice. I woke up with the name Mary emblazoned on my mind and spent every free moment I had writing over the next day and a half. This is not the first thing I’ve written, but it is the first thing that would fall under the creepy genre and it is by far my favorite. Up until now only my immediate family and one close friend have ever read this. I’ve been on Creepypasta for over a year now, I don’t even remember how I stumbled across it, but it took me a while to work up the courage to submit this.

    I’m glad so many of you appreciated my story. I look forward to reading more wonderful pastas and being part of this family for a long time to come.

    Oh I remember how I found Creepypasta. I had just watched an episode of Freakazoid. A Google search of Candle Jack took me to the comments pa

    1. i love the story but could you make one of chads bully die instead i felt like crying when i read the part that says he died not really a part but you know what i mean and i know i sound like a jerk but please rewrite the part were chad die and have one of the bully die instead i know im asking for alot so pleas just change that tiny part thanks

      1. Laughing Jack,

        I know how you feel. When I wrote it I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go through with it. I knew from start that Chad would be the one to die, that’s why I wrote him the way I did. I was hoping to make a character that would pull at your heart strings. When I finally got to his death scene I struggled with it. It was sad and cruel, but ultimately, for the sake of the story, Chad had to die. The tone would be completely different if a faceless bully had meant his/her end.

  27. Very well written, except for the whole time I read on because I wanted to know who the heck Mary is!

  28. Very well written,long but not too long,perfect fusion of of emotion,fear,and terror.10/10.Will read again.

  29. That… That was amazing. No competition that that was my favorite creepy pasta. I actually felt really bad for chad, and an actual emotion connection to a creepy pasta is a first for me. Very well done.

    1. Thanks, Neo! I think there are far superior stories on Creepypasta than Mary, (Psychosis is phenomenal), but I’m glad it moved you in some way. Happy endings are great, but I find that sad endings always stick with me, so that’s what I was going for with Mary.

  30. That was a brilliant pasta! I haven’t really been hooked on many of the newer stories but this one is definitely a favourite – Chad’s fate was tragic, and there’s so much mystery around the ominous Mary… A really well written story :D

  31. You are a well spoken author; I enjoyed your use of language. I was engrossed for the entire story, though the ending was a bit of a let down. The tension was built wonderfully, but just sort of trails off. Personally, I think it would have been chilling to have allowed Allen to pursue Mary and Chad back to the park, perhaps to glimpse a small bit of horror that would cause him to bolt home. But I respect the hands-off approach; allowing the reader’s imagination to fill in the blanks. 8.5/10, a tasty pasta!

    1. MrSandman,
      Sorry you felt let down by the ending. I’m glad you liked the tension build up, I was hoping it came across that way as I wrote it. To address your concern, if Allen had ran out into the night Mary would have taken him as well. Maybe I could have written something that would have done a better job of explaining that. I achieved what I was going for with the ending of this story, I don’t think it would have been as poignant if I went past where it ended in the confines of this one. I have toyed around with the notion of Allen trying to get into the park, either the next day or years later as an adult. I haven’t really fleshed anything out, but it’s been rambling around in my head. My fear is that anything I did write would ultimately detract from this story. Thanks for the feedback, though!

  32. To-kill-or-not-to-kill

    I’m a little confused here, though. This creepypasta is flawlessly executed. A dash of creepiness here and and some spice of suspense there. The mystery ingredient baffles me slightly. Supposedly, Mary is an entity that tries to lure people with her innocence-than consuming them. Willow Falls revolves around the rules and the iron gate is a one-time deal. The mystery haunting Willow falls is ever-so mystifying. But, I’m dreadfully confused of Mary and the ending. Will someone explain this to me? Moving on, I would definitely love to eat your other pastas and hope they fill me in with the same delicious fear.

    1. TKONTK,
      I’d love to explain what you’re confused about, but you’ve pretty much summed up how I was hoping everyone would feel when I wrote Mary. I wanted people to think, “Who is Mary? What are the rules? Can they not leave because of the rules?” Give me a specific question and I’ll answer it if I can. Glad you liked it otherwise.

      1. To-kill-or-not-to-kill

        Please excuse my denseness. What I wanted you to explain was what was meant to be hidden.This pastas left me confused in a good way. This wasn’t a concept that was easy to grasp but easier to understand, when you put a lot of thought into it. I must praise you for your skills in writing this perspective. While Mary had a large role ion this, we were more empathetic to the townspeople themselves. By focusing on the townspeople, you did a very good job. This pasta would not be the same if you just zeroed in with Mary. Still questions are meant to be answered so I’ll let the most common one stand out: What is the legend behind Mary? Don’t mind me for asking but will you write a sequel or shall e leave ourselves drowning in the mystery of Willow Falls?

        1. Right now it’s about 85% that I will not write a sequel or prequel. I haven’t really been inspired to write, so anything I forced would not live up to the standard that I set for myself with this one. Maybe one day that will change though.

  33. I really enjoyed this. It was quite sad as well. Though I really must applaud you for creating three very distinct voices for your characters here. It made them feel quite alive, increasing my involvement and eventual sorrow. I feel like, as a story, I liked the focus on Allen and his grief, but I find myself wondering if it would have been creepier to focus more on the myth of Mary. I think that would sacrifice some of the beautiful storytelling aspects though. Guess you just left me curious! The descriptions were also straightforward, but very well executed and appropriate to the story. Very engaging story, very emotionally laden. I enjoyed it a lot! Happy writing!

    1. Thanks Katherine. I was hoping (and dreading) to get a review from you. In my opinion they are always spot on, and I was really worried you’d hit me about comma splices! You’re absolutely right that the Legend of Mary has the potential for more creepiness, but I didn’t want to explain everything when I wrote this. I’ve always subscribed to the notion that I could never write something as scary as what the reader sees in their head. I took great pains to never describe Mary, or use any gender specific pronouns just for that reason. I don’t even know what Mary looks like, or what Mary is, although I have some vague ideas. I was more worried that whatever I tried to write would be too banal and detract from the story. In the years since I’ve written this I have come up with a list of rules that would be explained in the Town Charter. Maybe I’ll write something about the founders and the origin of the town if I ever get inspired like I was when I originally wrote this story.

  34. IlluminatiExposed

    Excellent! I really believed that the main characters were young children. The mounting sense of the town having something terribly wrong with it as the story progressed gave me chills.

    1. I think they were young children. There are several indications that show that they were either parents or children

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Scroll to Top