12 Oct The Indigo Village
CHECK OUT MORE STORIES SORTED BY:🏆 Top-Ranked Stories 📅 Recently Published 📚 Category ⌛ Length 📝 Author 📖 Title 📅 Published on October 12, 2012
"The Indigo Village"Written by
Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed, adapted to film, television or audio mediums, republished in a print or electronic book, reposted on any other website, blog, or online platform, or otherwise monetized without the express written consent of its author(s).Looking for author contact information? If available, it will be featured at the conclusion of the story.
Estimated reading time — 8 minutes
Case Number 31
Name: Emily Coles
Location: Elliot Gram’s Institute of Mental Illness
You want to know about the Indigo Village? Well, I’ve been there you know.
No seriously, I have. I even stayed there for a couple of weeks. You know, just to get away from it all.
Where is it? How should I know?
Yah, I said I’ve been there but I don’t know where the fucking place is on a globe, if that’s what your asking.
I was on vacation with some friends up in Europe. We were touring the shit out of that place. France one week, Spain the next, a stop in Switzerland just for laughs, just the regular college bullshit.
We were in Poland at one point, final days of our trip. It was me, Angela, Ethan, and Scott. We were at the airport about to board a plane to…well I can’t remember where but it was our final stop before we flew back to the States.
So we get on this plane, and we take off. A little while later, the pilot came on and told us we were about to reach our destination. Looking out the window I could…
What? Anything unusual about the plane? What kind of a fucking question is that? The actual trip? I ate shitty food, watched a shitty movie, and took a shitty dump, so no, the trip was not abnormal. Now can I continue?
As I was saying, looking out the window, I could make out tiny farms and tiny houses. Now normally, that would not attract my curiosity, but all these farms and houses were lit up. And I mean brightly, lit up. Think of Vegas at midnight lights. Now multiply that by a hundred. These lights were the next best thing.
Scott, who was sitting next to me thought it was really something. Me, personalty couldn’t give less of a fuck. I was never one for sights.
So why was I in Europe? Do you want me to finish the story or not?! You’re one bad interviewer.
Anyways, even though I didn’t care about the lights, I do remember asking myself a question: Why were they all the same color? And I’m guessing you don’t need me to tell you what color they were.
You want me to say it just for record? You little prick. It was indigo. They were all indigo.
So we landed in the airport, and we went through all the luggage bullshit and they checked our passports and you know, airport business. We were at the gates when one of us, I think it was Ethan, asked where we were. No one had an answer.
Don’t ask me how we managed to fuck this up, but we had no idea where we were. We got on a plane, and left. That’s all we knew. We weren’t crazy.
We decided to ask one of the security officers, but he didn’t speak English. I tried some Spanish, but that didn’t get us anywhere either. After looking around for a bit, we we saw a small black sign that read:
Welcome To The Indigo Village!
In really stupid font. It was in English, which also confused me, but I didn’t really think about it then. We didn’t know what the hell the Indigo Village was, but we were too tired to care. We decided to get a cab and head for a hotel somewhere to rest and get out bearings.
The Village isn’t as small as you’d expect a village to be. It didn’t have skyscrapers or anything
but it wasn’t a village. Just a regular downtown city I’d say. With low building. And lots of lights.
Now, things began to seem odd when I noticed that there were no cars in the parking lot of the airport.
It was around midnight, but it’s an airport. And there were people inside of the airport, so it was a little weird.
The next thing we noticed was that there were no cabs. What kind of an airport didn’t have a taxi service?
But we were tired, and didn’t want to wast our time trying to communicate with the locals, so we just walked out the passenger exit and continued downtown.
We walked for about fifteen minutes, heading towards the center of the village, where the indigo lights were really bright, when a silver car pulled up next to us. The driver’s window went down and a guy with black sunglasses poked his head out.
What did he look like? Well, he had blonde hair, tan skin, couldn’t see his eyes but I think he was in his mid thirties maybe. You keeping a record of this too? Jesus Christ.
He spoke English and asked us if we needed help. Angela was cautious and asked who he was, and he said he worked for some hotel. We asked for some ID and he gave us one.
No sorry, I wasn’t the one looking at it. Scott was, and he said it looked normal enough. He told us to get in, and he’ll get us there in ten minutes.
I didn’t like the situation so I told the guy we didn’t need any help. The others agreed and we started walking again. Then this guy drives at the same pace we’re walking in and says something like, “But you will need help soon, and I might not be there to offer my help”
Ethan told him we’ll manage and we kept walking. He kept trying to convince us, but we ignored him and kept walking. Eventually he gave up and left us alone. After walking for another twenty minutes, being guided by the indigo lights everywhere, we finally reached the downtown area. The lights were beautiful on the way, but they left me with a headache when we reached a shabby hotel.
Yah, I remember the name…uh…the Golden Crow Bunker. It was in a different language but someone translated it. It wasn’t a bad place. Looked clean enough and the service there spoke English, so we decided to stay the night.
Me and Angela took room A41 and Scott and Ethan took room B11.
We went to sleep almost immediately after opening the rooms. Me and Angela didn’t even change, we just flopped in our beds and slept.
Did anything happen? Uh…well, for the majority of the night…no. But when I woke up, Angela wasn’t in the room. Her stuff was gone, and her bed had been made. I remember thinking she was downstairs in the lobby eating breakfast or something but then…
I got up, got into the shower, and got dressed. I opened the curtains to see the Village in the sunlight, but…it was still dark.
The lights were still on, and there was no sun. I was confused and decided to check the time but my phone was dead, and there were no clocks in the room. I put on my shoes and decided to go downstairs.
The lobby looked the same, but it was empty this time, with no staff. I rang the service bell a couple of times but no one responded. Giving up, I decided to go to the guy’s room to check if they’re awake.
I walked along the hallway that I saw them walk down to get to their rooms but…there was no room B11. In fact, there was no B level at all. All the doors were labeled A. But I could’ve swore that the manager said B11. I figured I heard it wrong and searched for room A11.
Ha! You guessed right. There was no room 11. The rooms were all even numbers. I felt lost then, and decided to get out of the hotel to see if I can find them outside.
Your right, I did leave my bags, but I figured we’d be back to get them. I was wrong.
Outside, it was pitch black, and the light from the indigo lamps and bulbs wasn’t as bright as it was before. I also remember the weather being cold. Yah, I could see my breath. I called each of their names for some time, hoping I’d get a response. Nothing came up, so I made up my mind and started walking down the road, hoping I’d bump into one of them or something.
I walked for maybe…I don’t know…forty minutes? An hour? Couldn’t tell ya. I didn’t find anyone, and I mean ANYONE. The whole street was empty. When we were walking down here before, we could see some people, some families. Not a lot of them, but there were some.
I kept walking…and walking…and walking. All the building looked the same. All the trees were in the same spot. And I remember that every time I looked back, the indigo lights would get duller…and duller. I remember asking myself out loud, “How long till this damn street ends?!”
And I heard an echo. It sounded just like me but it asked something different. It asked:
“Do you want it to end?”
I looked around for a bit, but I didn’t stop walking. I didn’t want to stop. Eventually, after a lifetime of walking, I reached one building that didn’t look like the others. It was white, where all the other building where a beige sort of color. It was pure white and it looked like a church or cathedral. There was light inside. Normal light, not indigo light. I hurried my pace and walked up the steps to enter the building.
The door was open so I decided to walk in. Inside, there were seats like a church. They were made of wood, and they rested on red carpet. It was warm inside…and cozy. The seats were separated by a lane down the middle. I walked down the lane, and looked around me for…I don’t know…something. Anything.
The ceiling was tall. Taller than the building itself on the outside and I remember asking myself why that would be. And on the far back wall, down the lane, there were pictures. Pictures of random people. The frames were really close together, and they covered up most of the wall.
Looking at the pictures…some of the people looked happy. Some looked sad. Other looked confused, and a lot of them were scared. Those were the worst. The looks on their faces were pure fear…as if the moments before the picture, they saw something truly scary. Gives me the chills just thinking about it. Especially when I remember their eyes.
Those eyes saw something…bad. Only way I can describe it.
Yah…I’m fine. No, it’s alright, we’re almost done anyways.
There were families and individuals and couples in the pictures. And then I looked around and something caught my eye. Something familiar. I looked up and saw Scott in one of the pictures. He looked confused. One of the confused pictures.
Do you understand why that’s wrong? No one took our pictures when we got here. How the fuck did Scott’s face end up in a frame, up on a wall of a random church?
…And then I saw Angela. She looked happy in her picture. Smiling, like someone told her a funny secret. A little grin. Next to her picture was the man that pulled up in the silver car and offered us help. It was him, with the sunglasses. He looked happy too.
Now searching for faces I could recognize, I began seeing people that I knew. I saw my mom, my dad, people who died a long time ago. Even the hotel manager here in the Village. I even saw some passengers that were on the plane with us. And then I saw Ethan. He looked afraid. His face was twisted up into a weird position and his eyes were looking into something horrifying. It was disturbing to see him like that.
Then I heard a door close behind me. I turned around and saw…me.
Your looking at me like I’m crazy, but that’s what I saw. It was me, or someone who looked just like me. They came up and stood about ten feet from me. They sounded just like me when they said, “I know you’ll miss them…but they belong here now. You can stay here too…just not now”
Then, Indigo lights filled up the church…and my look-a-like disappeared. I was drowning in the indigo lights. They were really bright…and cold. I turned around and saw every single person that was in a picture in front of me…body and all.
Then…I woke up.
No, not like from a dream. I woke up in a hospital. St. Peter’s Care and Service, in Chicago. Confused? So was I. And the things they told me didn’t make sense.
Apparently, I was in an airplane crash. One that was coming from Poland. The plane was about to land, and the pilot lost control and we crashed. I was out for three weeks.
Everyone died from the plane crash. Amazingly, all I got was a minor concussion and a second degree burn on my leg. Doctors said it’s a miracle.
Me? I don’t know what happened to me…I tried telling them about Scott, and Ethan, and Angela…but they said I was just in shock. After a week, I asked them to find out the names of everyone in the crash. Their names were in there but when I tried to tell them about the Indigo Village, and the church and…everything, they just shook it off.
Eventually, I was giving off such a negative and disturbing feeling, that they brought me to a psychologist. After three weeks of sessions, he diagnosed me with insanity and sent a court order to have me put here.
I’m not crazy…It was just all I can talk about for a long time. Every time I slept I would imagine those lights…see the pictures. And they go ahead and name me insane.
There’s nothing much I can do about it now…it’s alright here. Boring, but it’s alright.
Oh yes…yah, thank you. But, before you go, just a question, if i may?
How did you hear about the Indigo Village?
More cases…more people like me? And the same description of the Village?
So…I’m not crazy?
Hahaha. No, it’s nothing it’s just that…
Maybe we’re all crazy.
Credit To: D.A.
🔔 More stories from author:
Rate this story:
Creepypasta.com is proud to accept horror fiction and true scary story submissions year-round, from both amateur and published authors. To submit your original work for consideration, please visit our story submissions page today.