Author: Horror/creepy short stories

So sorry!

I know, I know. It’s been a while since I’ve posted. The first time actually that I’ve gone on a hiatus so everyone’s concern is understandable!

There’s a lot going on in life and I’ve been a bit overwhelmed with all my responsibilities. It got to the point where I didn’t even have the time to go onto my usual sources (reddit, so on) to source for the stories. I’ve been trying, but life’s got me so tired that by the end of the day I just wanna head to bed to sleep. It pained me a ton to have to skip my Halloween event this year but I just couldn’t find the time for it. I’ve been wanting to type this post for a long time but I guess there was a part of me that hoped that I could find time to return.

So I know what’s everyone thinking – what’s gonna happen now?

I do have plans to return. I’m gonna try my absolute hardest to bang out a spanking Christmas event to make up for it all. But for now, I’m still trying to sort it all out on my end so I’m aiming for the blog to resume operation maybe in early-mid Dec. No promises but I’m gonna try. 

So for now, thanks everyone for your messages of concern! I don’t have the time to run through them all but sorry if I’ve worried anyone. You guys mean a ton to me and just to be clear – I’ve not forgotten about this blog at all.

Talk to yall again,

Fifteen

So sorry!

I know, I know. It’s been a while since I’ve posted. The first time actually that I’ve gone on a hiatus so everyone’s concern is understandable!

There’s a lot going on in life and I’ve been a bit overwhelmed with all my responsibilities. It got to the point where I didn’t even have the time to go onto my usual sources (reddit, so on) to source for the stories. I’ve been trying, but life’s got me so tired that by the end of the day I just wanna head to bed to sleep. It pained me a ton to have to skip my Halloween event this year but I just couldn’t find the time for it. I’ve been wanting to type this post for a long time but I guess there was a part of me that hoped that I could find time to return.

So I know what’s everyone thinking – what’s gonna happen now?

I do have plans to return. I’m gonna try my absolute hardest to bang out a spanking Christmas event to make up for it all. But for now, I’m still trying to sort it all out on my end so I’m aiming for the blog to resume operation maybe in early-mid Dec. No promises but I’m gonna try. 

So for now, thanks everyone for your messages of concern! I don’t have the time to run through them all but sorry if I’ve worried anyone. You guys mean a ton to me and just to be clear – I’ve not forgotten about this blog at all.

Talk to yall again,

Fifteen

Creepypasta #1629: Why I’ll Never Work At Appl…

Length: Long

I was never one to believe in bad
luck, or curses, or voodoo, but when a mysterious man showed up one night for
dinner at the Applebee’s where I was a waiter, I couldn’t help but wonder.

It
was a Thursday night and I had just started my evening shift. Tammy, a 40-something
waitress who wore the tightest tops they sold at Walmart and smoked menthols on
her breaks, was complaining about a family of four who had only left her a 10%
tip.

“Those
little shits dropped French fries all over the floor!” she complained. “And the
Dad spilled his lemonade. Twice! I’m tellin’ ya, next time I’m ….” Tammy’s
eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and she lowered her voice to just above a
whisper. “Oh my Lord Jesus, would you look at this…”

I
turned toward the front door to find the source of Tammy’s amusement. It was an
older man, 60’s maybe, who had tripped on the rug in front of the waitress
stand and was struggling to pull himself up.

“Five
dollars from my tips tonight if you pretend to help him up, then drop him,”
Tammy quipped. “Fifteen if he breaks something.”

“Tammy,
that’s terrible,” I shot back, shaking my head.

The
man got up on his own. He wore a dark, ill-fitting suit with white pin stripes,
the kind you might find at a Salvation Army for $25, and was missing most of
the hair on his head, save a couple tufts on the side and back. The white shirt
beneath looked two sizes two small, accentuating the bulge at the man’s waste.

“If
Genevieve seats Pin Stripe in my section, I’m quitting,” Tammy said, looking at
her watch. “I’m dead serious.”

But
Genevieve didn’t seat him in Tammy’s section. She sat him in mine.

“He’s limping! Paul, he’s
friggin’ limping…” Tammy hissed from behind me.

I
ignored her and shuffled over.

“Can
I get you something to drink?” I asked in the kindest tone I could muster.

“Water,”
he said solemnly, looking around the restaurant.

“Oh,
are you meeting someone? I can seat you somewhere else?”

“No.
Here’s fine.”

“Okay,”
I responded, checking to see if he’d moved the menu at all. He hadn’t. “I’ll be
back in a minute for your order. Take your time.”

I
made my way to the bar and got his drink. On the way back, Tammy stopped me.

“Paul,
he’s staring down every person that walks in. Like, boring holes through them.
And he’s squinting as he does it. This guy is a creeper.”

Tammy’s
gossip skills were top notch, so I didn’t really doubt her. Still, she was
annoying. “He’s probably just bored. Don’t you have tables to see to?”

“I
guess,” she replied, sighing. “Ruining all my fun. This guy is the most
interesting thing to happen here since Antonio got fired.”

“I
bet,” I said absently.

The
man ended up ordering chips and salsa, and that was it. I filled his water a
couple times, but he didn’t ask for anything otherwise. He just sat there,
checking out everyone that walked in. After I watched him squint at a Mexican
family as they were being seated, to the point where it made them obviously
uncomfortable, I reluctantly began to agree with Tammy.

This
guy was a creeper.

I
kept an eye on him the rest of the night, but all he did was stare at customers
and eat his chips. After about three hours, he got up and limped out the door.
He’d left the exact amount of his bill on the table, in cash and change.

The
only other thing notable about that night was the dad of the Mexican family,
who’d consequently been seated two tables down from Mr. Pinstripe, ended up
throwing up all over their table. After I cleaned up the mess (the joys of
being a waiter, I tell ya), I noticed his chicken was bright pink in the
middle.

***

My
next shift was two nights later. Tammy met me at the door, waving at me to
follow her. I was supposed to clock in as soon as I walked in, but Tammy was
insistent, to the point of grabbing my elbow and pulling me behind her. We
stopped at a spot near the kitchen, with a view of her section. She put her
hand on my shoulder and pointed a shaking hand toward a nearby table.

The
man was back.

He
was wearing the same pin stripe suit, the same tight white shirt beneath it. He
was sitting at the table, staring at absolutely nothing, eating chips and
salsa.

“Hmm,”
I said, trying to sound disinterested. I really wasn’t in the mood for Tammy’s
antics. “So?”

“So?
SO?” Tammy adjusted her bra before putting her hands on her hips, like she was
about to scold a child. Then, she paused. “Oh, you weren’t here last night.”

“Co-rrect.
I had the day off. What happened?”

“Oh
my God. Creeper happened! He was here last night, too. And Genevieve sat him in
my section.” She rolled her eyes. “I think she’s mad because I sort of called
her fat on a Facebook post…”

“You
know she has hypothyroidism, right?”

“Oh
baloney! Yeah, she says that, but….” Tammy shook her head. “Damnit Paul, this
isn’t about Genevieve! That guy is strange. LOOK at him.” She glanced over at
his table.

I
obliged, grudgingly. Mr. Pinstripe was holding a chip in his hand, piled so
high with salsa it appeared to defy the laws of physics, then shoved the whole
ensemble into his mouth.

“Well,
maybe he…”

Before
I could finish, there was a crash from behind me. Tammy and I turned to look.
Carl, the night shift manager, was on his back on the ground, tangled up with
Susan, a new waitress who’d just started that day. Carl was howling, clutching
at his ankle amidst the wreckage of a full tray of spilled food.

“See?”
Tammy said, “He’s bad luck!”

“Who,
Carl?”

“No,
Salsa and Chips! Ever since he’s been coming, shit has been going wrong. That
guy threw up on your shift two nights ago….”

“Tammy,
that’s…”

“…
and last night, something in the kitchen caught fire! Almost burned the whole
place down!”

“Really?”

“Yes!
Luckily we had that fire training last week, and someone put it out with the
fire extinguisher.”

“I
didn’t even know we had one. Who was it?”

“Marvin,
I think. And I guarantee you, Carl’s ankle is broken. GAURANTEE IT. This guy is
bad ju-ju.”

I looked over at the man, Tammy’s
words echoing in my head. Bad ju-ju. Most of the people around him
had gotten up to check out what the noise was. Some were still sitting, albeit
a little flustered. But the man was simply staring straight ahead, enjoying his
chips and salsa.

About
forty-five minutes later, every system in the restaurant went haywire.

The
lights dimmed down to almost nothing, and the air conditioners kicked on full
blast. It sounded like a lion roaring in the ceiling. And then “Welcome to the
Jungle” started playing through the sound system, cranked up to full blast.
Everyone was either covering their ears, trying to warm up, or running for the
door. The new waitress, Susan, the one who crashed into Carl, tried to serve
someone a steak in the confusion, and the customer ended up slicing his finger
with the knife pretty badly, to the point he had to leave the restaurant and go
to the hospital for stitches.

It
was a madhouse.

Carl
was in the office icing his ankle, so the servers had to take care of finding
out how to turn everything off. Tammy ended up getting the air conditioner
taken care of, and I figured out how to turn the music down, but the lights
refused to un-dim. Flat out refused. The customers that stayed had to finish
their meals in the relative dark.

And
in the darkness, Mr. Pinstripe remained perfectly calm. But you already figured
that out.

At
one point, I think he may have been smiling.

But
as weird as those three nights were, nothing could have prepared me for what
happened on Monday night.

It
was about 8:45 p.m. Mr. Pinstripe was back, same suit, same shirt, same salsa
and chips, and sitting in my section, to boot. I’d just refilled his water and
turned toward the door when I saw Tammy walk in, a man on her arm.

Tammy
was off that night, but she was the type of person to go eat at the place she
worked on her days off. That was just Tammy. And I was pretty sure the real
reason she was there was to show the guy off. To whom, I’m not sure, but you
could see it in Tammy’s eyes. She was dressed to the nines. Skin tight dress,
two sizes too small, hair pulled up into a messy ponytail. Heels she couldn’t
properly walk in. But, I’ll give it to her, her makeup actually didn’t look
like a child had applied it, for once.

When
she walked in, Mr. Pinstripe turned and stared at her. His eyes were squinted
down to almost nothing.

Tammy
stared back.

Genevieve
met her and asked where she wanted to be seated. Tammy pointed to an empty
table in my section.

Next
to Mr. Pinstripe.

I
shuffled over to the waitress’s stand, trying to stop Genevieve, but it was too
late. She obliged, leading Tammy and the guy, a bulky red-headed dude wearing
an Affliction shirt, to the table Tammy had requested. They sat facing Mr.
Pinstripe. I turned toward the kitchen immediately, not wanting to be a part of
whatever was about to happen. My week had been stressful enough.

I
hadn’t made it very far when I heard a loud voice ask, “What’s so
interesting?”, loud enough to be heard over the music and the din of
conversation. I knew it was Affliction who’d asked it. And I’ll give you one
guess who he was talking to. I sprinted back toward my section.

“Actually,
nothing,” Mr. Pinstripe answered. “Nothing at all.”

“Oh
yeah?” Affliction said, standing.

“Tell
him, Ryder,” Tammy goaded. “Tell that weird fuck where he can stick it.”

“And where is that?” Mr. Pinstripe
said calmly. “I’m dying to know.”

“UP
YOUR ASS!” Affliction shouted, overturning his chair and charging Mr.
Pinstripe’s table.

And
then it happened.

To
this day, I still don’t know where the knife came from, whether it was
Affliction’s or Mr. Pinstripe’s. And I guess it doesn’t really matter. All that
matters is that the two men ended up locked together, fighting, both holding a
portion of the four-inch knife’s handle, in the middle of Applebee’s on a
Monday night.

With
Tammy, predictably, in the middle.

It
only last for about thirty seconds, and I’ll never forget her scream. Or the
amount of blood that poured from the puncture wound in her neck.

The
restaurant erupted in chaos. Affliction tore his shirt off and pressed it
against Tammy’s neck, but it was saturated with blood in a matter of seconds.
He picked her up in his arms and charged out of the door. The rest of the
patrons were screaming, hiding under their tables, or running for the exits.
Carl hobbled out of the office on a pair of crutches and I shouted at him to
call the police.

When
I looked around for Mr. Pinstripe, he was gone.

After
a quick look around the store, I made my way out the side door, where customers
park while waiting on their pick-up orders, and found Mr. Pinstripe casually
walking away.

“Hey!”
I shouted, half-jogging toward him.

I
expected him to run, but he didn’t. He turned slowly around, facing me.

“The
cops are on their way. If you don’t stick around, you’ll be leaving the scene
of a crime.”

“I
supposed that’s true,” he said.

“How
can you be so calm after what just happened?” At first, I didn’t think he was
going to answer. I think he did because we’d established a good rapport over
the several nights I’d served him, even though we’d never really spoken.

“Do
you want to know the truth?” he finally asked.

“Yes!”

“Because I knew it was going to
happen,” he started, a thin smile on his face. “Or, something like it. I’m a…”
He paused, looking up at the moon, which hung full in the sky. “I’m a shifter, I
guess you could say.”

“What’s
that?”

“I
prevent horrible things from happening by shifting negative energy around.”

The
confusion must have showed on my face. “I don’t…”

“The
guy that threw up, Carl’s ankle, the music and lights fiasco…”

“That
was you?”

“….
that was me.”

“Why?
How?”

“Because
something worse would have happened if I hadn’t.”

I
just stared, waiting for an explanation.

The
man crossed his arms. “You knew Antonio, right?”

“Yes,”
I answered. He was one of our cooks.

“You
weren’t working when Carl fired him, were you?”

“No.”

“I
figured. When he got fired, right there in the kitchen over the burger he’d
burned for the second time, he said he was going to get revenge. So he went
home, and he started googling news articles about work place shootings. And
then he got a crazy idea. So he went and bought an AR-15. And he didn’t do
anything with it. Not for a week or so. But four days ago, when I walked into
your Applebee’s for the first time, he was sitting in his truck with the AR-15
in his lap. He would have killed seven people that night, including you and
Tammy.”

I
was speechless.

“But
he didn’t do it, because I diverted some of that negative energy into the guy
sitting two tables over from me. Sorry about the vomit, by the way.”

“What
about the next night? And the next?”

“Sometimes
I don’t get all of the negative energy. In Antonio’s case, he was filled with a
vast reservoir of it, one of the largest I’ve ever felt. That second night he
was planning on coming back after closing. So I had to keep coming back until I
got rid of all of it.”

Something
about the way he said it made me believe it. Every last word of it.

“It’s
gone now?”

“I
believe so.”

“But,
wait a minute. People still got hurt. Carl has a broken ankle. And Tammy’s
seriously injured.”

“Tammy’s
dead. She didn’t make it.”

“What?!”

“I
hate it,” he said, sounding genuine. “I really do. For Carl, being hurt is
better than being dead. He would have been one of Antonio’s victims as well.
He’s the one who fired him, after all. But in Tammy’s case… well, sometimes the
universe just won’t give up when it’s someone’s time. She was just bad ju-ju,”
he finished, winking at me.

A
moment later, sirens disturbed the stillness of the night.

“I’m
running out of time,” he said.

“Please,
wait a minute. You have to explain the salsa and chips.”

He stifled a laugh, then said,
“there’s really nothing to that. I just really love salsa and
chips.”

He
turned to leave.

“Wait.”

He
turned again, exasperation painted on his face.

“Last
question. Where are you going?”

The
man reached into an interior pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a haggard
notebook. He flipped to a page in the middle.

“Ellisville,
one town over.”

“What
for?” I asked.

“There’s supposed to be a school
shooting tomorrow.”

Credits to: Creeping_dread (story)

Creepypasta #1629: Why I’ll Never Work At Appl…

Length: Long

I was never one to believe in bad
luck, or curses, or voodoo, but when a mysterious man showed up one night for
dinner at the Applebee’s where I was a waiter, I couldn’t help but wonder.

It
was a Thursday night and I had just started my evening shift. Tammy, a 40-something
waitress who wore the tightest tops they sold at Walmart and smoked menthols on
her breaks, was complaining about a family of four who had only left her a 10%
tip.

“Those
little shits dropped French fries all over the floor!” she complained. “And the
Dad spilled his lemonade. Twice! I’m tellin’ ya, next time I’m ….” Tammy’s
eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and she lowered her voice to just above a
whisper. “Oh my Lord Jesus, would you look at this…”

I
turned toward the front door to find the source of Tammy’s amusement. It was an
older man, 60’s maybe, who had tripped on the rug in front of the waitress
stand and was struggling to pull himself up.

“Five
dollars from my tips tonight if you pretend to help him up, then drop him,”
Tammy quipped. “Fifteen if he breaks something.”

“Tammy,
that’s terrible,” I shot back, shaking my head.

The
man got up on his own. He wore a dark, ill-fitting suit with white pin stripes,
the kind you might find at a Salvation Army for $25, and was missing most of
the hair on his head, save a couple tufts on the side and back. The white shirt
beneath looked two sizes two small, accentuating the bulge at the man’s waste.

“If
Genevieve seats Pin Stripe in my section, I’m quitting,” Tammy said, looking at
her watch. “I’m dead serious.”

But
Genevieve didn’t seat him in Tammy’s section. She sat him in mine.

“He’s limping! Paul, he’s
friggin’ limping…” Tammy hissed from behind me.

I
ignored her and shuffled over.

“Can
I get you something to drink?” I asked in the kindest tone I could muster.

“Water,”
he said solemnly, looking around the restaurant.

“Oh,
are you meeting someone? I can seat you somewhere else?”

“No.
Here’s fine.”

“Okay,”
I responded, checking to see if he’d moved the menu at all. He hadn’t. “I’ll be
back in a minute for your order. Take your time.”

I
made my way to the bar and got his drink. On the way back, Tammy stopped me.

“Paul,
he’s staring down every person that walks in. Like, boring holes through them.
And he’s squinting as he does it. This guy is a creeper.”

Tammy’s
gossip skills were top notch, so I didn’t really doubt her. Still, she was
annoying. “He’s probably just bored. Don’t you have tables to see to?”

“I
guess,” she replied, sighing. “Ruining all my fun. This guy is the most
interesting thing to happen here since Antonio got fired.”

“I
bet,” I said absently.

The
man ended up ordering chips and salsa, and that was it. I filled his water a
couple times, but he didn’t ask for anything otherwise. He just sat there,
checking out everyone that walked in. After I watched him squint at a Mexican
family as they were being seated, to the point where it made them obviously
uncomfortable, I reluctantly began to agree with Tammy.

This
guy was a creeper.

I
kept an eye on him the rest of the night, but all he did was stare at customers
and eat his chips. After about three hours, he got up and limped out the door.
He’d left the exact amount of his bill on the table, in cash and change.

The
only other thing notable about that night was the dad of the Mexican family,
who’d consequently been seated two tables down from Mr. Pinstripe, ended up
throwing up all over their table. After I cleaned up the mess (the joys of
being a waiter, I tell ya), I noticed his chicken was bright pink in the
middle.

***

My
next shift was two nights later. Tammy met me at the door, waving at me to
follow her. I was supposed to clock in as soon as I walked in, but Tammy was
insistent, to the point of grabbing my elbow and pulling me behind her. We
stopped at a spot near the kitchen, with a view of her section. She put her
hand on my shoulder and pointed a shaking hand toward a nearby table.

The
man was back.

He
was wearing the same pin stripe suit, the same tight white shirt beneath it. He
was sitting at the table, staring at absolutely nothing, eating chips and
salsa.

“Hmm,”
I said, trying to sound disinterested. I really wasn’t in the mood for Tammy’s
antics. “So?”

“So?
SO?” Tammy adjusted her bra before putting her hands on her hips, like she was
about to scold a child. Then, she paused. “Oh, you weren’t here last night.”

“Co-rrect.
I had the day off. What happened?”

“Oh
my God. Creeper happened! He was here last night, too. And Genevieve sat him in
my section.” She rolled her eyes. “I think she’s mad because I sort of called
her fat on a Facebook post…”

“You
know she has hypothyroidism, right?”

“Oh
baloney! Yeah, she says that, but….” Tammy shook her head. “Damnit Paul, this
isn’t about Genevieve! That guy is strange. LOOK at him.” She glanced over at
his table.

I
obliged, grudgingly. Mr. Pinstripe was holding a chip in his hand, piled so
high with salsa it appeared to defy the laws of physics, then shoved the whole
ensemble into his mouth.

“Well,
maybe he…”

Before
I could finish, there was a crash from behind me. Tammy and I turned to look.
Carl, the night shift manager, was on his back on the ground, tangled up with
Susan, a new waitress who’d just started that day. Carl was howling, clutching
at his ankle amidst the wreckage of a full tray of spilled food.

“See?”
Tammy said, “He’s bad luck!”

“Who,
Carl?”

“No,
Salsa and Chips! Ever since he’s been coming, shit has been going wrong. That
guy threw up on your shift two nights ago….”

“Tammy,
that’s…”

“…
and last night, something in the kitchen caught fire! Almost burned the whole
place down!”

“Really?”

“Yes!
Luckily we had that fire training last week, and someone put it out with the
fire extinguisher.”

“I
didn’t even know we had one. Who was it?”

“Marvin,
I think. And I guarantee you, Carl’s ankle is broken. GAURANTEE IT. This guy is
bad ju-ju.”

I looked over at the man, Tammy’s
words echoing in my head. Bad ju-ju. Most of the people around him
had gotten up to check out what the noise was. Some were still sitting, albeit
a little flustered. But the man was simply staring straight ahead, enjoying his
chips and salsa.

About
forty-five minutes later, every system in the restaurant went haywire.

The
lights dimmed down to almost nothing, and the air conditioners kicked on full
blast. It sounded like a lion roaring in the ceiling. And then “Welcome to the
Jungle” started playing through the sound system, cranked up to full blast.
Everyone was either covering their ears, trying to warm up, or running for the
door. The new waitress, Susan, the one who crashed into Carl, tried to serve
someone a steak in the confusion, and the customer ended up slicing his finger
with the knife pretty badly, to the point he had to leave the restaurant and go
to the hospital for stitches.

It
was a madhouse.

Carl
was in the office icing his ankle, so the servers had to take care of finding
out how to turn everything off. Tammy ended up getting the air conditioner
taken care of, and I figured out how to turn the music down, but the lights
refused to un-dim. Flat out refused. The customers that stayed had to finish
their meals in the relative dark.

And
in the darkness, Mr. Pinstripe remained perfectly calm. But you already figured
that out.

At
one point, I think he may have been smiling.

But
as weird as those three nights were, nothing could have prepared me for what
happened on Monday night.

It
was about 8:45 p.m. Mr. Pinstripe was back, same suit, same shirt, same salsa
and chips, and sitting in my section, to boot. I’d just refilled his water and
turned toward the door when I saw Tammy walk in, a man on her arm.

Tammy
was off that night, but she was the type of person to go eat at the place she
worked on her days off. That was just Tammy. And I was pretty sure the real
reason she was there was to show the guy off. To whom, I’m not sure, but you
could see it in Tammy’s eyes. She was dressed to the nines. Skin tight dress,
two sizes too small, hair pulled up into a messy ponytail. Heels she couldn’t
properly walk in. But, I’ll give it to her, her makeup actually didn’t look
like a child had applied it, for once.

When
she walked in, Mr. Pinstripe turned and stared at her. His eyes were squinted
down to almost nothing.

Tammy
stared back.

Genevieve
met her and asked where she wanted to be seated. Tammy pointed to an empty
table in my section.

Next
to Mr. Pinstripe.

I
shuffled over to the waitress’s stand, trying to stop Genevieve, but it was too
late. She obliged, leading Tammy and the guy, a bulky red-headed dude wearing
an Affliction shirt, to the table Tammy had requested. They sat facing Mr.
Pinstripe. I turned toward the kitchen immediately, not wanting to be a part of
whatever was about to happen. My week had been stressful enough.

I
hadn’t made it very far when I heard a loud voice ask, “What’s so
interesting?”, loud enough to be heard over the music and the din of
conversation. I knew it was Affliction who’d asked it. And I’ll give you one
guess who he was talking to. I sprinted back toward my section.

“Actually,
nothing,” Mr. Pinstripe answered. “Nothing at all.”

“Oh
yeah?” Affliction said, standing.

“Tell
him, Ryder,” Tammy goaded. “Tell that weird fuck where he can stick it.”

“And where is that?” Mr. Pinstripe
said calmly. “I’m dying to know.”

“UP
YOUR ASS!” Affliction shouted, overturning his chair and charging Mr.
Pinstripe’s table.

And
then it happened.

To
this day, I still don’t know where the knife came from, whether it was
Affliction’s or Mr. Pinstripe’s. And I guess it doesn’t really matter. All that
matters is that the two men ended up locked together, fighting, both holding a
portion of the four-inch knife’s handle, in the middle of Applebee’s on a
Monday night.

With
Tammy, predictably, in the middle.

It
only last for about thirty seconds, and I’ll never forget her scream. Or the
amount of blood that poured from the puncture wound in her neck.

The
restaurant erupted in chaos. Affliction tore his shirt off and pressed it
against Tammy’s neck, but it was saturated with blood in a matter of seconds.
He picked her up in his arms and charged out of the door. The rest of the
patrons were screaming, hiding under their tables, or running for the exits.
Carl hobbled out of the office on a pair of crutches and I shouted at him to
call the police.

When
I looked around for Mr. Pinstripe, he was gone.

After
a quick look around the store, I made my way out the side door, where customers
park while waiting on their pick-up orders, and found Mr. Pinstripe casually
walking away.

“Hey!”
I shouted, half-jogging toward him.

I
expected him to run, but he didn’t. He turned slowly around, facing me.

“The
cops are on their way. If you don’t stick around, you’ll be leaving the scene
of a crime.”

“I
supposed that’s true,” he said.

“How
can you be so calm after what just happened?” At first, I didn’t think he was
going to answer. I think he did because we’d established a good rapport over
the several nights I’d served him, even though we’d never really spoken.

“Do
you want to know the truth?” he finally asked.

“Yes!”

“Because I knew it was going to
happen,” he started, a thin smile on his face. “Or, something like it. I’m a…”
He paused, looking up at the moon, which hung full in the sky. “I’m a shifter, I
guess you could say.”

“What’s
that?”

“I
prevent horrible things from happening by shifting negative energy around.”

The
confusion must have showed on my face. “I don’t…”

“The
guy that threw up, Carl’s ankle, the music and lights fiasco…”

“That
was you?”

“….
that was me.”

“Why?
How?”

“Because
something worse would have happened if I hadn’t.”

I
just stared, waiting for an explanation.

The
man crossed his arms. “You knew Antonio, right?”

“Yes,”
I answered. He was one of our cooks.

“You
weren’t working when Carl fired him, were you?”

“No.”

“I
figured. When he got fired, right there in the kitchen over the burger he’d
burned for the second time, he said he was going to get revenge. So he went
home, and he started googling news articles about work place shootings. And
then he got a crazy idea. So he went and bought an AR-15. And he didn’t do
anything with it. Not for a week or so. But four days ago, when I walked into
your Applebee’s for the first time, he was sitting in his truck with the AR-15
in his lap. He would have killed seven people that night, including you and
Tammy.”

I
was speechless.

“But
he didn’t do it, because I diverted some of that negative energy into the guy
sitting two tables over from me. Sorry about the vomit, by the way.”

“What
about the next night? And the next?”

“Sometimes
I don’t get all of the negative energy. In Antonio’s case, he was filled with a
vast reservoir of it, one of the largest I’ve ever felt. That second night he
was planning on coming back after closing. So I had to keep coming back until I
got rid of all of it.”

Something
about the way he said it made me believe it. Every last word of it.

“It’s
gone now?”

“I
believe so.”

“But,
wait a minute. People still got hurt. Carl has a broken ankle. And Tammy’s
seriously injured.”

“Tammy’s
dead. She didn’t make it.”

“What?!”

“I
hate it,” he said, sounding genuine. “I really do. For Carl, being hurt is
better than being dead. He would have been one of Antonio’s victims as well.
He’s the one who fired him, after all. But in Tammy’s case… well, sometimes the
universe just won’t give up when it’s someone’s time. She was just bad ju-ju,”
he finished, winking at me.

A
moment later, sirens disturbed the stillness of the night.

“I’m
running out of time,” he said.

“Please,
wait a minute. You have to explain the salsa and chips.”

He stifled a laugh, then said,
“there’s really nothing to that. I just really love salsa and
chips.”

He
turned to leave.

“Wait.”

He
turned again, exasperation painted on his face.

“Last
question. Where are you going?”

The
man reached into an interior pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a haggard
notebook. He flipped to a page in the middle.

“Ellisville,
one town over.”

“What
for?” I asked.

“There’s supposed to be a school
shooting tomorrow.”

Credits to: Creeping_dread (story)

Creepypasta #1628: My Girlfriend Talks In Her …

Length: Medium

I’m infatuated with her.

Utterly
infatuated.

And it wasn’t at a healthy level.
Far from it. I would think about her every moment she was away. I would
sometimes sit on my couch and just stare at my phone waiting for her to text.
I’d tell myself “Don’t contact her. Don’t. It will come off as too
strong.” But then I’d still find myself clicking her name on my contact list
before my inner voice would continue, “You don’t want her to know how
desperately smitten you are with her. It’s unattractive. It will scare her off.
No, you must wait for her to call you this time.”

But
it was excruciating and exhausting. Almost unbearable. I once heard that the
ancient Greeks believed that falling madly and irrationally in love with
somebody was a curse that you would wish upon your enemies. I could never
understand what they meant. After all, isn’t falling head over heels in love
the ultimate goal nowadays? But now that it’s happened to me, I have to say…
the ancient Greeks were right. This is a curse. I was barely in control of
myself. Almost as though my infatuation with her had… possessed me.

The
two of us were sexually active together but still in the “dating” phase. We
were at that make or break era of a blossoming relationship where we’d either
have “the talk” and formally be in a relationship or we’d start to slowly drift
apart. The latter of which I don’t think I’d be able to cope with. Honestly, I
wouldn’t be able to. Almost everything about her captivated me. The way she
held her hand over her mouth when she laughed. How she’d caress the pendant of
her necklace when she was frightened. How she’d twirl her hair in her finger
when she was excited. All of it. Her smell. Her smile. Her eyes.

Yeah,
I know. It probably makes you sick reading about it. I feel the same way. I was
never the hopeless romantic type. But now I can’t stop fantasizing about her.
I’d think about us doing the long three-hour hike up to that magnificent view
from one of our first dates. To that first kiss, as we overlooked the lights of
the city. But this time I’d get down on one knee, bring out the ring, and…
well… you know what would happen next.

Alright,
fine. I’ll stop. Yes, this is a girl I’d only been casually dating for a couple
of months. I shouldn’t be thinking about proposing yet. I know that. I’m just
barely able to control myself any longer. I feel as though I’m losing power
over the decisions I make.

And
that brings me to why I’m here writing this out at the moment. It started with
the first real thing that troubled me about her. We’d never actually spent a
night together. No matter how late she was over, once either of us showed signs
of being tired, she’d up and leave. She wouldn’t leave awkwardly or in anger.
Just a casual kiss good night, a smile, and a “call me soon”.

It
was something I didn’t really even notice the first few times she did it. But
after almost 8 weeks of dating, it was becoming strange. I’d have to ask her
about it.

It
took drinking almost an entire bottle of wine before I had the courage to do
it. She looked almost defeated when I asked and lowered her eyes in
embarrassment. “I knew this talk would come eventually,” She started. She took
in a deep breath with a long drawn out exhale. “Recently….“ she paused again.
“I’ve started talking in my sleep.” She shook her head in embarrassment. “It’s
called somniloquy, I looked it up.”

I
shrugged and laughed out loud. My demeanor seemed to say “That’s it?”

“No,
Stephen… listen” she said. She wasn’t laughing. “It’s bad. It… It’s completely
out of control. It’s not just random words or gibberish. No. It’s horrible. I
say horrible disgusting things.” She was starting to raise her voice, breath
heavy, and tear up.

I
approached her and held her. I told her it couldn’t be that bad. I told her to
spend the night. I told her she was probably exaggerating.

I
was wrong.

That
night she stayed at my house. But she warned me of something before falling
asleep. “Whatever you do, don’t wake me up. It makes me really scared and
disoriented if that happens. And don’t respond to me. Just ignore it.” I nodded
and agreed. “If it becomes too much,” she continued, “just leave the room and
sleep on the couch. I won’t mind.”

I
told her not to worry about it. I told her that it wouldn’t be a big deal. I
told her I wouldn’t leave to the couch. I’d stay beside her in the bed.

But
I was wrong.

I
couldn’t even last one night.

We both fell asleep without
incident. I don’t know how many hours passed, but I woke up in the dark with
the sensation that someone was watching me. And then I remembered… She was
with me. She was actually spending the night. I smiled.

But
then I noticed the shadowy outline of her sitting up on the bed. She was
looking down at me. Staring.

It
creeped me out. I’ll admit it. Her posture was entirely different. It was as
though it wasn’t even her at all.

Then
she spoke.

It
wasn’t her voice that I heard. It was much lower and gravelly. Like something
out of a horror movie.

I’ll chew the skin from your
bones.
” She said.

I
froze.

At
first, I just kept looking at her. This was not at all what I expected. I
thought it would be more like the way Tourette’s is often portrayed. Just
random swearing and shouting. I honestly thought to myself… what will I do if
she attacks me right now? What if she really does try to chew the skin from my
bones?

But
then she just lied down and went back to sleep.

I was creeped out. I tried to lie
back down and ignore her but struggled. I couldn’t even close my eyes without
thinking “Maybe she’s sitting up again and staring at me.” And then one time I
rolled over to look at her…and she was.

Her
face was pressed right towards mine. Her breath was foul and rotted. Something
that was most certainly not normal for her. She spoke again, in the same voice
as before.

If you don’t move to the couch,
you’ll be dead by morning.

That
did it for me. I sat up in a moment and headed for the living room.

She
made some sort of wheezing sound as I left. I think it was supposed to be
laughter.

I
was lying on the couch, but I wasn’t going to be able to fall back to sleep. I
was far too shaken.

I
was staring out towards the window, hoping to see the first few hints of the
sun rising.

And
then I thought I heard something. From the bedroom.

I
listened.

And
then I heard it again.

Stephen.” It was that same
low and gravelly voice. It sounded like a witch.

I
tried to just ignore it at first. But then it continued.

Stephen.

Still
I said nothing.

I know you can hear me, Stephen.
You’re awake now. Why don’t you come back into the bedroom?

The
voice barely sounded human.

Or maybe you’d prefer if I come
to *
you*?

I
still didn’t say anything. I was told not to. But I listened. If I heard her
start walking towards the bedroom door, I’m not even joking, I would have run
right out of the apartment. But she had asked me not to respond to her sleep
talking. So I didn’t.

And
then I heard her once more.

Sorry if this spoils your plans.
She began laughing. “The two of you were supposed to walk that trail again.
she started. I wasn’t even remotely prepared for what she’d say next.

You’d both be so tired when
you’d reach the top. You’d look over the city. Then you’ll get on one knee, and
bring out the ring.
” She began laughing.

And
that’s when I realized this wasn’t just a problem with sleep talking. It was
something much more. Something supernatural. I had never told anybody about my
proposal fantasy. There was simply no way she could have known about any of it.

This
was no longer about merely talking in ones’ sleep. This was about possession. I
can’t go back into the bedroom. I have no idea what would happen if I did.
Instead, I’m going to wait it out, holding up in my living room until the sun
rises. I have a couple more hours yet. I can hear her laughing occasionally in
the bedroom. It’s still not her voice. Still that same low pitch cackle.

But
as I sit on my couch writing this out, here’s what scares me the most…

Maybe my infatuation and utter
obsession with her wasn’t normal. I said before that I felt like I was losing
control of myself. More so I believe than the typical falling in love story.
No. I fear that the infatuation I felt was the entity slowly taking control
of me. Of it controlling my thoughts, fears, ambitions, and
anxieties. Maybe once I become completely absorbed, a transfer would occur, and
she would be free of it.

I
know I should leave. That I should open the front door, get in my car, and
drive away from here. But I can’t. I can’t leave her. I’ve already lost
control.

I’m
infatuated with her.

Utterly infatuated.

Credits to: RyanMatthews_ (story)

Creepypasta #1628: My Girlfriend Talks In Her …

Length: Medium

I’m infatuated with her.

Utterly
infatuated.

And it wasn’t at a healthy level.
Far from it. I would think about her every moment she was away. I would
sometimes sit on my couch and just stare at my phone waiting for her to text.
I’d tell myself “Don’t contact her. Don’t. It will come off as too
strong.” But then I’d still find myself clicking her name on my contact list
before my inner voice would continue, “You don’t want her to know how
desperately smitten you are with her. It’s unattractive. It will scare her off.
No, you must wait for her to call you this time.”

But
it was excruciating and exhausting. Almost unbearable. I once heard that the
ancient Greeks believed that falling madly and irrationally in love with
somebody was a curse that you would wish upon your enemies. I could never
understand what they meant. After all, isn’t falling head over heels in love
the ultimate goal nowadays? But now that it’s happened to me, I have to say…
the ancient Greeks were right. This is a curse. I was barely in control of
myself. Almost as though my infatuation with her had… possessed me.

The
two of us were sexually active together but still in the “dating” phase. We
were at that make or break era of a blossoming relationship where we’d either
have “the talk” and formally be in a relationship or we’d start to slowly drift
apart. The latter of which I don’t think I’d be able to cope with. Honestly, I
wouldn’t be able to. Almost everything about her captivated me. The way she
held her hand over her mouth when she laughed. How she’d caress the pendant of
her necklace when she was frightened. How she’d twirl her hair in her finger
when she was excited. All of it. Her smell. Her smile. Her eyes.

Yeah,
I know. It probably makes you sick reading about it. I feel the same way. I was
never the hopeless romantic type. But now I can’t stop fantasizing about her.
I’d think about us doing the long three-hour hike up to that magnificent view
from one of our first dates. To that first kiss, as we overlooked the lights of
the city. But this time I’d get down on one knee, bring out the ring, and…
well… you know what would happen next.

Alright,
fine. I’ll stop. Yes, this is a girl I’d only been casually dating for a couple
of months. I shouldn’t be thinking about proposing yet. I know that. I’m just
barely able to control myself any longer. I feel as though I’m losing power
over the decisions I make.

And
that brings me to why I’m here writing this out at the moment. It started with
the first real thing that troubled me about her. We’d never actually spent a
night together. No matter how late she was over, once either of us showed signs
of being tired, she’d up and leave. She wouldn’t leave awkwardly or in anger.
Just a casual kiss good night, a smile, and a “call me soon”.

It
was something I didn’t really even notice the first few times she did it. But
after almost 8 weeks of dating, it was becoming strange. I’d have to ask her
about it.

It
took drinking almost an entire bottle of wine before I had the courage to do
it. She looked almost defeated when I asked and lowered her eyes in
embarrassment. “I knew this talk would come eventually,” She started. She took
in a deep breath with a long drawn out exhale. “Recently….“ she paused again.
“I’ve started talking in my sleep.” She shook her head in embarrassment. “It’s
called somniloquy, I looked it up.”

I
shrugged and laughed out loud. My demeanor seemed to say “That’s it?”

“No,
Stephen… listen” she said. She wasn’t laughing. “It’s bad. It… It’s completely
out of control. It’s not just random words or gibberish. No. It’s horrible. I
say horrible disgusting things.” She was starting to raise her voice, breath
heavy, and tear up.

I
approached her and held her. I told her it couldn’t be that bad. I told her to
spend the night. I told her she was probably exaggerating.

I
was wrong.

That
night she stayed at my house. But she warned me of something before falling
asleep. “Whatever you do, don’t wake me up. It makes me really scared and
disoriented if that happens. And don’t respond to me. Just ignore it.” I nodded
and agreed. “If it becomes too much,” she continued, “just leave the room and
sleep on the couch. I won’t mind.”

I
told her not to worry about it. I told her that it wouldn’t be a big deal. I
told her I wouldn’t leave to the couch. I’d stay beside her in the bed.

But
I was wrong.

I
couldn’t even last one night.

We both fell asleep without
incident. I don’t know how many hours passed, but I woke up in the dark with
the sensation that someone was watching me. And then I remembered… She was
with me. She was actually spending the night. I smiled.

But
then I noticed the shadowy outline of her sitting up on the bed. She was
looking down at me. Staring.

It
creeped me out. I’ll admit it. Her posture was entirely different. It was as
though it wasn’t even her at all.

Then
she spoke.

It
wasn’t her voice that I heard. It was much lower and gravelly. Like something
out of a horror movie.

I’ll chew the skin from your
bones.
” She said.

I
froze.

At
first, I just kept looking at her. This was not at all what I expected. I
thought it would be more like the way Tourette’s is often portrayed. Just
random swearing and shouting. I honestly thought to myself… what will I do if
she attacks me right now? What if she really does try to chew the skin from my
bones?

But
then she just lied down and went back to sleep.

I was creeped out. I tried to lie
back down and ignore her but struggled. I couldn’t even close my eyes without
thinking “Maybe she’s sitting up again and staring at me.” And then one time I
rolled over to look at her…and she was.

Her
face was pressed right towards mine. Her breath was foul and rotted. Something
that was most certainly not normal for her. She spoke again, in the same voice
as before.

If you don’t move to the couch,
you’ll be dead by morning.

That
did it for me. I sat up in a moment and headed for the living room.

She
made some sort of wheezing sound as I left. I think it was supposed to be
laughter.

I
was lying on the couch, but I wasn’t going to be able to fall back to sleep. I
was far too shaken.

I
was staring out towards the window, hoping to see the first few hints of the
sun rising.

And
then I thought I heard something. From the bedroom.

I
listened.

And
then I heard it again.

Stephen.” It was that same
low and gravelly voice. It sounded like a witch.

I
tried to just ignore it at first. But then it continued.

Stephen.

Still
I said nothing.

I know you can hear me, Stephen.
You’re awake now. Why don’t you come back into the bedroom?

The
voice barely sounded human.

Or maybe you’d prefer if I come
to *
you*?

I
still didn’t say anything. I was told not to. But I listened. If I heard her
start walking towards the bedroom door, I’m not even joking, I would have run
right out of the apartment. But she had asked me not to respond to her sleep
talking. So I didn’t.

And
then I heard her once more.

Sorry if this spoils your plans.
She began laughing. “The two of you were supposed to walk that trail again.
she started. I wasn’t even remotely prepared for what she’d say next.

You’d both be so tired when
you’d reach the top. You’d look over the city. Then you’ll get on one knee, and
bring out the ring.
” She began laughing.

And
that’s when I realized this wasn’t just a problem with sleep talking. It was
something much more. Something supernatural. I had never told anybody about my
proposal fantasy. There was simply no way she could have known about any of it.

This
was no longer about merely talking in ones’ sleep. This was about possession. I
can’t go back into the bedroom. I have no idea what would happen if I did.
Instead, I’m going to wait it out, holding up in my living room until the sun
rises. I have a couple more hours yet. I can hear her laughing occasionally in
the bedroom. It’s still not her voice. Still that same low pitch cackle.

But
as I sit on my couch writing this out, here’s what scares me the most…

Maybe my infatuation and utter
obsession with her wasn’t normal. I said before that I felt like I was losing
control of myself. More so I believe than the typical falling in love story.
No. I fear that the infatuation I felt was the entity slowly taking control
of me. Of it controlling my thoughts, fears, ambitions, and
anxieties. Maybe once I become completely absorbed, a transfer would occur, and
she would be free of it.

I
know I should leave. That I should open the front door, get in my car, and
drive away from here. But I can’t. I can’t leave her. I’ve already lost
control.

I’m
infatuated with her.

Utterly infatuated.

Credits to: RyanMatthews_ (story)

Creepypasta #1627: The Trees Are Different Her…

Length: Medium

I’ve never been much of a people
person. That’s why I decided to live alone in the middle of the woods.

The
little a-frame was cozy and cute, but, most importantly, it was cheap. Huge
pine trees towered over the tiny cabin. The area was certainly scenic, but
there was something unsettling about it as well.

Apparently
the locals found the area just as eerie as I did. Whenever I made my trip to
the nearby town for groceries, I’d hear a different story from everyone I met.
Some folks said it was haunted, others spoke of government experiments gone
wrong, and some simply advised me to leave as soon as possible.

Of
course I didn’t listen. In fact, the spookiness added to the appeal. No one
buys an isolated cabin in the woods without expecting a couple ghosts.
Unfortunately, the little cabin failed to live up to its reputation. At least
not until Fall.

I
moved in at the height of summer. It was so humid that even breathing was a
challenge, and the mosquitos were far happier about my arrival than I was. I
didn’t dare even touch the outdated wood-burning furnace.

Upon
the falling of the first leaf everything changed. A biting chill filled the air
and the morning’s brought a blanket of frost to the forest floor. I finally
decided to try out the furnace. Axe in hand, I ventured out into the forest to
find some fuel.

Most
of the trees were old and far too big to cut down, I realized. Walking further
and further into the dense woods, I made sure to keep track of whatever
landmarks I could find. Eventually I found a tree that looked adequate.

I
pulled the axe back and, probably with more effort than necessary, swung it
into the side of the tree. Then I realized that chopping down a tree was much
harder than I’d expected.

After
an hour I’d gotten about halfway through the small tree. I dropped the axe and
sat down on the ground. Analyzing the blisters on my hands, I decided that I’d
finish the job tomorrow. Besides, I wasn’t feeling cold anymore.

I
began to walk home, but soon realized that finding home wouldn’t be as easy as
I’d thought. Almost every landmark I’d seen was gone. The burned tree, as well
as the one with the broken branches, were nowhere to be found.

Frustrated,
I began wandering aimlessly, just hoping to find something I recognized. It
wasn’t until I felt the bite of night air that the fear began to set in. With a
shiver I realized that I had no idea where I was. I could be miles from my
house at this point. I sat down for a moment to think. Weighing my options, I
recalled being told that the best thing to do when lost is to stay still. Then
I remembered that I didn’t have a flashlight.

While
I sat there, wasting my time, a strangely shaped rock drew my attention. It was
definitely familiar, I thought absentmindedly. With a jolt I realized that that
rock had been one of my landmarks.

I
stood up and walked towards it. Sure enough, not far away, I saw the triangle
roof of my little cabin peeking out of the trees. Too sleepy to pay attention
to my surroundings, I simply crawled into bed without even changing my clothes.

I
woke up in the morning to the sound of my teeth chattering. Wind howled and my
bones were stiff with cold. Finally, I managed to drag myself out of bed. It
soon became clear that this was not the same cabin I remembered leaving
yesterday afternoon.

Sure,
it looked the same, but there were also some very obvious differences. For
instance, there was a tree root going through the wall. All my personal
belongings were still there, but the wooden floors were dark with rot.

The
tree root disturbed me the most. I definitely would have noticed if it had been
there before, and it was causing a draft. I couldn’t explain what had happened,
but I still tried my hardest to combat it. A couple rags and old clothes
blocked out the draft, and the mushrooms and fungus weren’t too difficult to
wash off the floor. However, I couldn’t do anything against that rotten wood
smell that seemed to permeate even my own belongings.

I
was scared and didn’t want to do anything, but I couldn’t deny the fact that I
needed warmth. Axe in hand, I walked off into the forest.

After
only ten minutes of walking, I came across a small tree with axe marks in the
side. The same tree I’d been chopping yesterday. How it had gotten so much closer,
I didn’t know, but I started chopping all the same.

After
some time I hit something harder than the surrounding wood. Leaning down, I
found something white and chalky encased by the tree. With some effort, I
managed to peel back some wood with the axe. I felt my heart rate hasten when i
realized what it was.

Encased
in this tree, was a very clear vertebrae. Thoughts raced through my mind.
Something must have died there a long time ago, I told myself. The tree must
have grown around it. The image of a decaying body being slowly swallowed by a
tree flashed in my mind. It was probably a deer, I told myself. Then I went
home.

That
night was even colder than the last. I twisted and turned in my sheets, trying
to protect myself from the biting night air. By morning my fingernails were
purple and my skin was pale. As I walked out to the woods with my axe, I took
little notice of the trees. Which were now propped up above the ground by their
roots, as though standing on spindly legs.

Shaking
with cold, I pulled my axe back. But when I swung it forward, I never felt the
dull thud of wood. The axe blade never reached the target, but instead planted
itself firmly in the flesh of my lower calf.

I
didn’t understand what had happened at first. Shock and cold made numbed the
pain, and the blood didn’t start flowing right away. After the first drop fell
onto the morning frost, I began to panic. I fumbled around, searching my
pockets for my cell phone. With a muttered curse I realized I’d left it at
home.

I
pulled myself up, holding onto the tree branches for support. Blood soaked my
jeans and dripped onto the ground. Then the tree moved.

Hazy
and confused by blood loss, I made a weak attempt at escaping. The tree tore
its roots from the ground, along with several other trees. Together, they
formed a sort of railing. With as much surprise as I could muster in my current
state, I realized that they were helping me.

The
trees helped me with every step, roots and branches moving alongside like
snakes. When I finally got home, I grabbed my phone and dialed 911.

Before returning from the hospital,
I stopped at the store to buy an electric space heater.

Credits to: AdelaideOfThePasture (story)

Creepypasta #1627: The Trees Are Different Her…

Length: Medium

I’ve never been much of a people
person. That’s why I decided to live alone in the middle of the woods.

The
little a-frame was cozy and cute, but, most importantly, it was cheap. Huge
pine trees towered over the tiny cabin. The area was certainly scenic, but
there was something unsettling about it as well.

Apparently
the locals found the area just as eerie as I did. Whenever I made my trip to
the nearby town for groceries, I’d hear a different story from everyone I met.
Some folks said it was haunted, others spoke of government experiments gone
wrong, and some simply advised me to leave as soon as possible.

Of
course I didn’t listen. In fact, the spookiness added to the appeal. No one
buys an isolated cabin in the woods without expecting a couple ghosts.
Unfortunately, the little cabin failed to live up to its reputation. At least
not until Fall.

I
moved in at the height of summer. It was so humid that even breathing was a
challenge, and the mosquitos were far happier about my arrival than I was. I
didn’t dare even touch the outdated wood-burning furnace.

Upon
the falling of the first leaf everything changed. A biting chill filled the air
and the morning’s brought a blanket of frost to the forest floor. I finally
decided to try out the furnace. Axe in hand, I ventured out into the forest to
find some fuel.

Most
of the trees were old and far too big to cut down, I realized. Walking further
and further into the dense woods, I made sure to keep track of whatever
landmarks I could find. Eventually I found a tree that looked adequate.

I
pulled the axe back and, probably with more effort than necessary, swung it
into the side of the tree. Then I realized that chopping down a tree was much
harder than I’d expected.

After
an hour I’d gotten about halfway through the small tree. I dropped the axe and
sat down on the ground. Analyzing the blisters on my hands, I decided that I’d
finish the job tomorrow. Besides, I wasn’t feeling cold anymore.

I
began to walk home, but soon realized that finding home wouldn’t be as easy as
I’d thought. Almost every landmark I’d seen was gone. The burned tree, as well
as the one with the broken branches, were nowhere to be found.

Frustrated,
I began wandering aimlessly, just hoping to find something I recognized. It
wasn’t until I felt the bite of night air that the fear began to set in. With a
shiver I realized that I had no idea where I was. I could be miles from my
house at this point. I sat down for a moment to think. Weighing my options, I
recalled being told that the best thing to do when lost is to stay still. Then
I remembered that I didn’t have a flashlight.

While
I sat there, wasting my time, a strangely shaped rock drew my attention. It was
definitely familiar, I thought absentmindedly. With a jolt I realized that that
rock had been one of my landmarks.

I
stood up and walked towards it. Sure enough, not far away, I saw the triangle
roof of my little cabin peeking out of the trees. Too sleepy to pay attention
to my surroundings, I simply crawled into bed without even changing my clothes.

I
woke up in the morning to the sound of my teeth chattering. Wind howled and my
bones were stiff with cold. Finally, I managed to drag myself out of bed. It
soon became clear that this was not the same cabin I remembered leaving
yesterday afternoon.

Sure,
it looked the same, but there were also some very obvious differences. For
instance, there was a tree root going through the wall. All my personal
belongings were still there, but the wooden floors were dark with rot.

The
tree root disturbed me the most. I definitely would have noticed if it had been
there before, and it was causing a draft. I couldn’t explain what had happened,
but I still tried my hardest to combat it. A couple rags and old clothes
blocked out the draft, and the mushrooms and fungus weren’t too difficult to
wash off the floor. However, I couldn’t do anything against that rotten wood
smell that seemed to permeate even my own belongings.

I
was scared and didn’t want to do anything, but I couldn’t deny the fact that I
needed warmth. Axe in hand, I walked off into the forest.

After
only ten minutes of walking, I came across a small tree with axe marks in the
side. The same tree I’d been chopping yesterday. How it had gotten so much closer,
I didn’t know, but I started chopping all the same.

After
some time I hit something harder than the surrounding wood. Leaning down, I
found something white and chalky encased by the tree. With some effort, I
managed to peel back some wood with the axe. I felt my heart rate hasten when i
realized what it was.

Encased
in this tree, was a very clear vertebrae. Thoughts raced through my mind.
Something must have died there a long time ago, I told myself. The tree must
have grown around it. The image of a decaying body being slowly swallowed by a
tree flashed in my mind. It was probably a deer, I told myself. Then I went
home.

That
night was even colder than the last. I twisted and turned in my sheets, trying
to protect myself from the biting night air. By morning my fingernails were
purple and my skin was pale. As I walked out to the woods with my axe, I took
little notice of the trees. Which were now propped up above the ground by their
roots, as though standing on spindly legs.

Shaking
with cold, I pulled my axe back. But when I swung it forward, I never felt the
dull thud of wood. The axe blade never reached the target, but instead planted
itself firmly in the flesh of my lower calf.

I
didn’t understand what had happened at first. Shock and cold made numbed the
pain, and the blood didn’t start flowing right away. After the first drop fell
onto the morning frost, I began to panic. I fumbled around, searching my
pockets for my cell phone. With a muttered curse I realized I’d left it at
home.

I
pulled myself up, holding onto the tree branches for support. Blood soaked my
jeans and dripped onto the ground. Then the tree moved.

Hazy
and confused by blood loss, I made a weak attempt at escaping. The tree tore
its roots from the ground, along with several other trees. Together, they
formed a sort of railing. With as much surprise as I could muster in my current
state, I realized that they were helping me.

The
trees helped me with every step, roots and branches moving alongside like
snakes. When I finally got home, I grabbed my phone and dialed 911.

Before returning from the hospital,
I stopped at the store to buy an electric space heater.

Credits to: AdelaideOfThePasture (story)

Creepypasta #1626: My Apartment Defies Logic

Length: Medium

I moved in this month and noticed
the cracked paint and old steam heater, realizing immediately the building is
quite old. The oven and fridge are new, most people that buy a place and revamp
it change them out, but it was pretty clear the rest hadn’t been fixed up for a
very long time. The stained wooden floors bear scars of moved furniture and
worn pathways from decades of use. The first thing I noticed however, and the
most peculiar feature of all are the doors.

The
front door, closet door and bathroom door are all old, dark wood with peculiar
and ornate handles. A pattern of weaving lines are engraved around the brass
knobs that appear to be Art Deco, likely from the 1920’s. Below each knob,
inset in the metal plate are keyholes for the antique “skeleton” style key. I
was assured by the realtor the one key opens and locks each door of the
apartment, and that the front door is in fact secure. Hell, for a $900 1
bedroom in Brooklyn, I wasn’t too concerned. 

After a few days of sweating
profusely, lifting cabinets, beds, dressers and cardboard boxes after calling
in favors from friends, I was in my new home. All was fine until the third
night, when I woke up to a startling, loud thumping from the ceiling above my
bed.

I
sat up, annoyed the upstairs neighbor was being so noisy at 3 AM and I switched
my light on and stared angrily at the ceiling. After a few seconds of listening
to the thumping, I grumbled and stood on my bed, ready to pound back, but then
it shifted. If first sounded like stomping movement from one side of the room
to the other, but then it reached the corner of the room and began descending
the wall. 

I stared in fearful confusion at the source of the sound as it passed
down the entire wall to the wooden floor, continuing impossibly under my the
wooden floor near my bed before fading fainter and fainter until it was
inaudible. I need to clarify, it was the same forceful banging the whole time
but it sounded distant, as if the wall of the next room being banged on was
drifting further away.

I
sat on my bed and stared at the walls and ceiling, wondering if the neighbors
on all sides had somehow colluded in an elaborate game to annoy me. I tried to
fend off the illogical notion of what I had just witnessed, the impossibility
that someone or something was circling my room like an insect crawling around a
cube. I considered pounding back but something nagged at me, telling me that
whatever made the pounding was no longer there. I was unnerved and beyond
confused, but that was just the beginning.

A few days later I was locking my
apartment door after a terrible day at work, which is done with the key from
the inside. I was fiddling the annoying key, trying with impatient, scrambling
hands to get the mechanism to click. In order to lock and unlock the peculiar
old locks, you need to insert the key and rotate it to the right (to lock it),
making a few twists around until you hear a click. The stress of the day caused
me to fumble this task a bit, and I twisted it in aggravation a few times after
I heard the click until I heard another. I thought nothing of it at the time,
but this information is key to the what happened next.

I
sunk into my dingy old couch to decompress, and began a binge-watching session,
placing an order for delivery as I wanted to simply hide in my room and forget
the shitty day I’d had. After an hour of waiting, my phone rang and I answered
to hear my pad thai was just three flights down. I rushed to the door and
unlocked it with the left spin of the key and when I opened it, I yelled out in
shock at the impossible sight of a hallway that shouldn’t be there.

The
view from the front door is always of the other tenant’s door across the hall.
To the right is a short hall that leads to a stairwell. The walls are a
yellowish white and the doors seem mostly modern aside from mine. What I saw
out the door was none of that. What I saw, directly out my door was a long hall
of smooth stone that led into complete darkness at least 30 meters in. I stood
there for a few moments, trying to understand the peculiar sight. My hairs all
stood up as the dusty, cold air from the corridor chilled my body. It simply broke
logic, and dread scratched at my brain as it tried to understand.

I
peered into the deep, dark hallway that shouldn’t exist, my blood chilling by
the second, and I nearly jumped into the air in fright as my phone rang again.
I couldn’t even speak, I just stared into the darkness then extended my phone
to light up the hall that couldn’t possibly be. I began walking into the space
slowly, testing the cold, stone ground as if in any second it would collapse
and I would awaken from a peculiar dream. I kept walking, and the phone’s light
met no wall ahead. I kept looking back to the shrinking rectangle of warm,
yellow light from my apartment, making sure my open door was still there. I was
somewhere that by all means should not exist, and the very real terror of being
stuck there began to rise. Then I heard those footsteps.

They
were quick and staggered, slapping echoes of bare skin on the cold stone floor.
They were fast, and I quickly realized they were rapidly approaching. I spun
around and sprinted faster than I ever had back to my door, praying to reach
the warm light before the source of that running could reach me. I nearly dove
through the threshold and slammed the door shut. I nervously missed the keyhole
with my trembling hands a few times before I was able to get it in and spin the
key wildly to the left. I finally heard the click of the locking mechanism and
collapsed to the floor, panting, sweating and nearly pissing myself from the
impossible event I had experienced.

I
ran my fingers along the edge of the old door frame, feeling the strange
texture before noticing the chipping paint and I scratched at it as a chunk
fell and engraved script along the front was revealed. I pried away more of
that old, lead-based paint, revealing engraved words of some archaic language
I’d never even seen before. Terrible, dark thoughts entered my head as I traced
my fingers down the carved, gnarled wood of frame. I envisioned agonized
screams and violent tortures too graphic for me to type, and these thoughts
grew more gruesome and vile until I yanked my hand away with a gasp.

I’m
not quite sure what that passage was the key unlocked, but it is something that
should not exist. I built the courage to peer through the keyhole just once,
and I screamed at the sight of an eye directly on the other side, a wide pupil
like a goats in a webbed, red iris, staring wide back at me. I don’t believe in
anything but science and the folly of man, but I know what I saw, and it defies
the laws of nature.

After
an hour of replaying the events in my mind, I built up the courage to insert
the key once again into the brass plate and turned it to the right until I
heard that first click, my left hand pressing firmly on the door to hold it
shut. When I peered through the keyhole then, I saw the neighbor’s door once
again. I cautiously opened it to see the apartment floor and the stairwell as
it should be.

It sounds impossible but I was in that
hallway, and it was very much real. I saw that blood-red eye of something I
never wish to meet, but curiosity is eating me alive. I’m going to try turning
the key in the bathroom door past the click of the standard “unlocked state”
and will try to keep you updated, for now I just need to try and calm my
nerves, and purge my brain of the strange, dark secrets of this apartment.

Credits to: mrmichaelsquid (story)

Creepypasta #1626: My Apartment Defies Logic

Length: Medium

I moved in this month and noticed
the cracked paint and old steam heater, realizing immediately the building is
quite old. The oven and fridge are new, most people that buy a place and revamp
it change them out, but it was pretty clear the rest hadn’t been fixed up for a
very long time. The stained wooden floors bear scars of moved furniture and
worn pathways from decades of use. The first thing I noticed however, and the
most peculiar feature of all are the doors.

The
front door, closet door and bathroom door are all old, dark wood with peculiar
and ornate handles. A pattern of weaving lines are engraved around the brass
knobs that appear to be Art Deco, likely from the 1920’s. Below each knob,
inset in the metal plate are keyholes for the antique “skeleton” style key. I
was assured by the realtor the one key opens and locks each door of the
apartment, and that the front door is in fact secure. Hell, for a $900 1
bedroom in Brooklyn, I wasn’t too concerned. 

After a few days of sweating
profusely, lifting cabinets, beds, dressers and cardboard boxes after calling
in favors from friends, I was in my new home. All was fine until the third
night, when I woke up to a startling, loud thumping from the ceiling above my
bed.

I
sat up, annoyed the upstairs neighbor was being so noisy at 3 AM and I switched
my light on and stared angrily at the ceiling. After a few seconds of listening
to the thumping, I grumbled and stood on my bed, ready to pound back, but then
it shifted. If first sounded like stomping movement from one side of the room
to the other, but then it reached the corner of the room and began descending
the wall. 

I stared in fearful confusion at the source of the sound as it passed
down the entire wall to the wooden floor, continuing impossibly under my the
wooden floor near my bed before fading fainter and fainter until it was
inaudible. I need to clarify, it was the same forceful banging the whole time
but it sounded distant, as if the wall of the next room being banged on was
drifting further away.

I
sat on my bed and stared at the walls and ceiling, wondering if the neighbors
on all sides had somehow colluded in an elaborate game to annoy me. I tried to
fend off the illogical notion of what I had just witnessed, the impossibility
that someone or something was circling my room like an insect crawling around a
cube. I considered pounding back but something nagged at me, telling me that
whatever made the pounding was no longer there. I was unnerved and beyond
confused, but that was just the beginning.

A few days later I was locking my
apartment door after a terrible day at work, which is done with the key from
the inside. I was fiddling the annoying key, trying with impatient, scrambling
hands to get the mechanism to click. In order to lock and unlock the peculiar
old locks, you need to insert the key and rotate it to the right (to lock it),
making a few twists around until you hear a click. The stress of the day caused
me to fumble this task a bit, and I twisted it in aggravation a few times after
I heard the click until I heard another. I thought nothing of it at the time,
but this information is key to the what happened next.

I
sunk into my dingy old couch to decompress, and began a binge-watching session,
placing an order for delivery as I wanted to simply hide in my room and forget
the shitty day I’d had. After an hour of waiting, my phone rang and I answered
to hear my pad thai was just three flights down. I rushed to the door and
unlocked it with the left spin of the key and when I opened it, I yelled out in
shock at the impossible sight of a hallway that shouldn’t be there.

The
view from the front door is always of the other tenant’s door across the hall.
To the right is a short hall that leads to a stairwell. The walls are a
yellowish white and the doors seem mostly modern aside from mine. What I saw
out the door was none of that. What I saw, directly out my door was a long hall
of smooth stone that led into complete darkness at least 30 meters in. I stood
there for a few moments, trying to understand the peculiar sight. My hairs all
stood up as the dusty, cold air from the corridor chilled my body. It simply broke
logic, and dread scratched at my brain as it tried to understand.

I
peered into the deep, dark hallway that shouldn’t exist, my blood chilling by
the second, and I nearly jumped into the air in fright as my phone rang again.
I couldn’t even speak, I just stared into the darkness then extended my phone
to light up the hall that couldn’t possibly be. I began walking into the space
slowly, testing the cold, stone ground as if in any second it would collapse
and I would awaken from a peculiar dream. I kept walking, and the phone’s light
met no wall ahead. I kept looking back to the shrinking rectangle of warm,
yellow light from my apartment, making sure my open door was still there. I was
somewhere that by all means should not exist, and the very real terror of being
stuck there began to rise. Then I heard those footsteps.

They
were quick and staggered, slapping echoes of bare skin on the cold stone floor.
They were fast, and I quickly realized they were rapidly approaching. I spun
around and sprinted faster than I ever had back to my door, praying to reach
the warm light before the source of that running could reach me. I nearly dove
through the threshold and slammed the door shut. I nervously missed the keyhole
with my trembling hands a few times before I was able to get it in and spin the
key wildly to the left. I finally heard the click of the locking mechanism and
collapsed to the floor, panting, sweating and nearly pissing myself from the
impossible event I had experienced.

I
ran my fingers along the edge of the old door frame, feeling the strange
texture before noticing the chipping paint and I scratched at it as a chunk
fell and engraved script along the front was revealed. I pried away more of
that old, lead-based paint, revealing engraved words of some archaic language
I’d never even seen before. Terrible, dark thoughts entered my head as I traced
my fingers down the carved, gnarled wood of frame. I envisioned agonized
screams and violent tortures too graphic for me to type, and these thoughts
grew more gruesome and vile until I yanked my hand away with a gasp.

I’m
not quite sure what that passage was the key unlocked, but it is something that
should not exist. I built the courage to peer through the keyhole just once,
and I screamed at the sight of an eye directly on the other side, a wide pupil
like a goats in a webbed, red iris, staring wide back at me. I don’t believe in
anything but science and the folly of man, but I know what I saw, and it defies
the laws of nature.

After
an hour of replaying the events in my mind, I built up the courage to insert
the key once again into the brass plate and turned it to the right until I
heard that first click, my left hand pressing firmly on the door to hold it
shut. When I peered through the keyhole then, I saw the neighbor’s door once
again. I cautiously opened it to see the apartment floor and the stairwell as
it should be.

It sounds impossible but I was in that
hallway, and it was very much real. I saw that blood-red eye of something I
never wish to meet, but curiosity is eating me alive. I’m going to try turning
the key in the bathroom door past the click of the standard “unlocked state”
and will try to keep you updated, for now I just need to try and calm my
nerves, and purge my brain of the strange, dark secrets of this apartment.

Credits to: mrmichaelsquid (story)