Category: creepy

Creepypasta #1428: Why I Will Never Walk Outsi…

Length: Medium

The following is a story that happened to me about two years ago. I couldn’t explain it then and I can’t explain it now.]

I live in Oregon City, Oregon. It’s a short drive south of Portland. I live on the outskirts of where it sits somewhere between suburban and rural housing. I have neighbors, but they’re not exactly “next door”. I was 19 at the time of this story.
I used to have a problem with sleep. I don’t know what it was, but I’d get mentally crippling anxiety and I’d go for a walk to calm my mind. I live on a single lane road that follows a stream through the woods so, needless to say, the scenery mixed with the quiet trickle was always quite calming. It was summertime and I remember it to be a particularly rough night for me. I remember telling my dad that I was going for a walk as I hurriedly slipped on my shoes and hustled out. I still remember the look on his face as I tried to escape in the midst of my own mental panic.

He looked worried about me. My late night walks had gained frequency at the time and I knew it was starting to concern him. Nevertheless, I shut the door behind me and proceeded into the dark. I remember it being clear skies but I don’t remember stars. The moon must have been full as well because I could see the road without light but I don’t remember seeing the moon itself that night either. I remember I just started walking.

Talking to myself about everything that had my anxiety spiked. I’m sure I looked insane, rambling to myself, but sometimes it helped me process the issues by just talking it out. From my home to the main road is about a mile. I was about 2/3 of the way to the main road when I heard something rustle in the bushes to my right. This wasn’t uncommon.

I’d jumped deer, raccoons, a bobcat, and even a few coyotes on my walks, but I still liked to know what was around. I pulled out my phone and flicked on the light.

For context, there’s a hill to my right that goes up. This is where I heard the noise. To my left is a 10 foot drop into the creek. I shined my light into the bushes to see what I was dealing with. Usually these things either freeze or scamper off in my experience which helps me know what it is. Nothing.
There was nothing there. I don’t know what set me off but my hair started to stick up. I felt scared. I tensed and I realized that the creek should be audible as the water ran over the rocks but I couldn’t hear it like I normally could.

Something clearly was wrong. I heard a branch snap in the bushes again. I moved my light back and just saw lights looking back. Two small red lights, like eyes. I moved my light to see if it was a reflection off something. It wasn’t. Instead it started to get closer. I ran. I fucking RAN.

I ran in near silence. I don’t know if I screamed. I know it didn’t matter. I couldn’t hear my own shoes hitting the road. I couldn’t hear my own breathing or my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I ran faster than I ever had. All I heard was what sounded like an animal with human bare feet chasing me.

I don’t know what primal survival instinct kicked in but something told me I needed to find light. Not the light on my phone that could be squashed but something bigger. The first place I went for was home. There’s a large barn light out front of my family’s house. It’s bright and covers the whole driveway.
I ran like hell was on my heels because for all I knew, it was. I just remember hearing it getting closer as I ran. It was running me down but I feel like it was toying with me.

Its footstep pattern didn’t sound like an all out sprint. More like a light gallop. It wasn’t until I rounded the last corner and the light became visible that it all of a sudden picked up pace and started to close the distance. I ran full sprint to the light pole as it gained. I heard it’s furious steps come to an abrupt stop, but I didn’t turn back.

I tackled the tar covered wooden light post as best as any 19 year old kid can. I stayed there clutching that disgusting, sticky post, waiting for the end. Waiting for this thing to tear me apart.

It never did. I sat there for an hour in the silence until my phone rang. I had three messages and two prior calls. All from my dad asking where I was. I lied and said I fell asleep in a field up the road. I realized I could hear the world again and assumed that meant it had left.

I ran inside the house and locked the doors. To this day, I don’t walk alone on my road. Day or night. I know what you’re probably thinking, “it was probably just your mind playing tricks” or “it was probably just an animal”. I’ve seen animals. I know what animals are near my home. This was nothing that has ever lived here.

This story made me think back to some of the other things I’d seen and experienced out here. Things I couldn’t explain. A fully grown deer, burned from the inside out for instance.

The only way you’d have known is from the single area in the ribs that had burnt through the perfectly preserved flesh and bone. Moments where I’d find myself seeming to slip through time. My alarm would go off at 6AM and I’d wait outside for my ride for three hours just to come back in and see it was only just turned to 5AM. Shadow Figures by the side of the road. A couple unexplained deaths. The list goes on.

I’m telling you, something strange and terrifying is out here. Some nights I wonder, do my doors and windows really keep whatever it is out, or is it still just toying with me? 

Credits to: SonicSparx (story)

I reached into my closet to find some clothes …



A thin bony hand grabbed my wrist.

Submitted by:

‘The gray sweater matches your eyes,’ it said in a thin, scratchy voice. ‘I think it would match your pink jeans.’

Martyr by ivan stan

Martyr by ivan

Creepypasta #1427: Are You Reading This On You…

Length: Short

Are you reading this on your phone?

Do you have
the light turned down as to not disturb the person sleeping next to you?

Do you bring
the phone closer and closer to your face as your vision blurs when you get
sleepier and sleepier?

Are you
laying on your side?

Is the
charger plugged in?

If you
answered any of these questions with “no”;

then it’s not you I’m watching.

Credits to: EdgarAllan_Poet (story)

Creepypasta #1426: Midnight Cigarette

Length: Medium

if I ever stop smoking, there are three cigarettes I always thought I could
never give up; the one with my morning cup of coffee to get me ready for the
day, the one right after sex to slowly get me back from base beast to homo
sapiens and the one at midnight. The one that helps me say goodbey to the day
and ready for sleep. That’s what I always told myself.

midnight cigarette had always been a special kind of ritual. I’d nearly always
smoke it outside, except when it rained too hard. Then I would stand in front
of a window overlooking the street. But if dry, I’d sit on the step of my front
door and smoke it. Not wolfing it down like I would my countless daily
cigarettes, but actually enjoying it. In the summer, the scent of the tobacco
would be complemented with that of asphalt cooling down after a hot day, the
faint, strangely pleasant, stench of rotting garbage. In winter, that
unmistakable fresh yet dead smell of below zero temperatures combined with the occasional
whiff of wood smoke from those lucky enough to still have an actual hearth.

night, a particularly cold one, I was enjoying my midnight smoke when I heard
the clacking sounds of heels against the pavement. I turned to see a man
walking down my street, his black cowboy boots causing the sound that made me
look up. He wore a scruffy long black coat and as he got closer, a sickly,
haggard face came in view. A neighbor’s dog started barking. I felt like
throwing away the butt of my cigarette and go inside before he could pass me,
but before I knew it, he was sitting next to me on the stoop and asked if he
could have a cigarette with me.

tried to say it was time for me to head in, but he was already lighting up, so
I did the same.

night, isn’t it?” He said, inhaling deeply.

colder than I like.” I replied, doing the same. “But nothing will keep me from
my midnight cigarette.”


like these are important, you know. Keep you sane. More important than you
might know. See, me? I take a midnight stroll each night. Nothing will keep me
from that.”

watched the smoke of my cigarette curl up towards one of the street lights and
tried not to notice his smell, which was more like an odorous absence of smell
than a proper scent. He smelled like nothing. Not that he didn’t smell of
anything, but he literally smelled of nothing.

seen you passing through here before.” I said, desperately wanting the
conversation to be over.

pick my routes carefully. Speaking of which, at the little park, where you
usually go right to the grocery store, you can also go -”

said a word I couldn’t hear. Or remember. It slipped my mind as soon as he’d
said it, but for some reason I knew what he meant. The neighbor’s dog kept
barking incessantly. He stubbed out his cigarette and stood up.

Have a great night. And please, do stay sane.” He grinned and walked away.

night I felt feverish. That word. -. It kept pounding through my head and
leaving it right away again. Over and over.

-. You can also go -. The sensation was sickening and eventually I had to rush
to the bathroom to vomit. After that, it got better. Only the occasional heave,
for that was what it felt like, heave of the word entering and leaving my head.

he knew I indeed usually went right at the little park to get my groceries I
don’t know. I didn’t much care to know, to be honest. But the next day when I
went out to do my shopping, there it was. There – was. The little park. A
seesaw, a climbing rack on one side, then a dog lane. Then a slide and a couple
of benches. A low hedge of shrubs. Sidewalks all around, then streets. I’d have
to turn right at the end of the park, cross the street and there’d be the
grocery store. But suddenly, there was another direction. I could, indeed go -.

did not want to go -. Even looking at this new direction gave me a splitting
headache and made me want to repeat the rush to the bathroom from the previous
night. Then there were the sounds and smells coming from that direction, blown
my direction by a wind that felt neither hot or cold but both at the same time.
Sounds and smells as alien and unnerving as the sight of the new direction

can also go -,” he had said. But why the hell would anybody want to go to a
place that was so incomprehensible I felt my sanity wavering just by looking at
it from a distance?

A kid in
a tripod raced by. “Out of the way mister! I’m going fast!” she yelled and rang
her little bell twice. I let out a scream, which startled the kid, who swerved
and turned straight -, drove through – and crashed against a tree on the other
side. She started crying, her mother rushed towards her from behind me and
suddenly – was gone. I couldn’t see anything more out of the ordinary than the
usual left, right, up and down. After seeing to that she was fine, she was, the
girl’s mother walked up to me and asked if I was alright, if she didn’t drove
over my toes or something. 

“Just daydreaming,” I said, “she startled me,” and I
even managed a somewhat convincing smile.

I did my groceries in a daze, and came home with things I didn’t need at all
and missing things I was going out to get.

then on, I couldn’t help but seeing ways I could also go -. I’d walk somewhere,
and there it was. Just like going up or down or left or right or straight on.
Another option I’d never noticed before. Looking at that direction made my head
hurt and my stomach churn, but at the same time it was very hard to look away.
There were things there. Lurking, shapeless things waiting for me to finally
turn towards them, to take the plunge. Whispers came from there that beckoned
me in impossible, unpronounceable words.

went by with – being just around, for lack of a better word, the corner. Months
of resisting the pull of that new direction. Vivid nightmares visited me, where
I did turn – and ended up walking through an endless nothingness where dry,
cold tongues licked my skin and gusts of a wind I could not feel brought
mutterings of words I could not understand but sickened me to my very core.
When I woke up from these dreams I felt like screaming and throwing up at the
same time, but I never did.

started seeing a therapist. Dealing with the dreams, the constantly
encountering new indescribable ways to turn, the nagging beckonings, ate away
at me until I had no energy left and became prone to severe panic attacks. My
friends worried about me, my doctor called it a ‘burn-out’, which, apart from
the reason why, was not a bad diagnosis. One of the few things still keeping me
from losing all grip on life that delicious midnight cigarette. Watching the
smoke go up and wishing, sometimes with actual hope, that that night I’d
actually sleep without dreaming.

do you talk to a therapist about things you can no more describe than a colour
somebody has never seen before or taste somebody has never tasted? You grasp at
words, that’s how. You try to make comparisons, even though you know they’ll
never fully understand. So we talked mainly about other things. Things more
easily understandable, such as fear of death. Fear of losing control. Fear of
the unknowable.

know it is not real, right?” my therapist said one session. “The
direction you see? That word you can’t say so you just use the word “hyphen”?”

“No.” I replied, which could either mean “No, it is not real” or “No, I don’t know it
is not real”, hoping to bait her into thinking I meant the first.
Unfortunately, she saw right through that.

is no such thing as, as you put it, “hyphen”. I personally think it is a mental
manifestation of an underlying fight-or-flight syndrome, a direction you
envision where you can always escape to.”

I don’t want to escape there. If anything, I want to flee from there and never
see it again.”

things can be ambiguous,” she replied. “I think you should just try going
there, so you can see it is not real. Take the plunge.”

don’t want to,” I nervously replied, noticing I was crushing the paper cup of
water from the coffee machine in my hands.

don’t want to, because hyphen is your optional space. Your fleeing direction.
You don’t want to lose that option.”

knew it was no use trying to explain then. But I also knew that for this to
ever be over, I’d indeed have to go -.

a week later I did. I turned -. There was a wave of vertigo. Then I stood
hunched over on the place I’d been before, hands on my knees, staring at what
had been my lunch before splattered on the sidewalk, face moist with sweat. And
– was gone. No more unknown directions, no more strange smells and sounds. Just
all good old three dimensions. That night, for the first time since ages, I
actually enjoyed my midnight cigarette. I could feel spring coming. I felt
light. Reborn. The pull gone. The next morning I woke up and found the
nightmares were gone as well. Such a relief came over me that I cried for an

was allowed this relief and happiness for another week. Told my therapist that
she’d been right, that it was indeed in my head and confronting it made it go
away. She was baffled by the sudden change in me, but happy enough to discharge
me. That same night I sat on the step of my front door, lit my cigarette,
inhaled deeply and still actively enjoyed the comforting lack of any
indescribable directions. Then a neighbor’s dog started barking. A faint
clicking of heels against pavement came my way.

like these are important, you know. Keep you sane,” he said as he sat next to
me. “And you still relatively are, I see.” I did not look at him, but stared at
the burning end of my cigarette. 

“But you turned -. I know you did. And
although you obviously don’t remember what happened there, what happened at
that special place, someday you will.” He took the pack of cigarettes lying
next to me, shook one out and and lit it, the lighters flame illuminating his
sickly face and wicked grin for a moment. “Someday you’ll be back. And – is
waiting for you.” He stood up and walked off, the click-clacking sounds of his
heels fading in the distance.

I’ve since stopped smoking, but
there is still one cigarette I can never give up. And now, even if it pours, I
have it outside, at the step of my front door.

Credits to: StrenghtThroughJoy (story)

Creepypasta #1425: Pay With Pain

Length: Short


Surf Hut “Pay with Pain” Terms and Conditions

To be eligible for our offer:

1. Spend at least $50 at any Surf
Hut store

2. Show our staff a scar, bruise or
similar injury to receive a select discount off your next purchase

Disclaimer: Surf Hut does not
advocate the taking of any excessive risk.

Like I needed another reason to hate
working retail- we now have another stupid in-store promotion to shill.
Because of course staff enjoy poring over customers’ gross

across the counter, I spy two of our more annoying regulars heading my way.
Ugh, wonderful. The couple are your typical insufferable adventurers. Every
week, this chick comes in to buy something, toting a new scar from
rock-climbing or jet-skiing or whatever it is Instagram sponges do instead of

“Hey, welcome
to Surf Hut!” I drone in a fake retail demeanour. “How’s it going today?” I’m
painfully aware of the fact that she’s wearing a stylish tied-off plaid shirt–
and I’m wearing an oversized uniform.

“Hiya!” she
responds cheerily, depositing several items of clothing onto the counter. “I’m
going great, thanks for asking!” Fighting to maintain my professionalism, I
begin scanning through her pile of beachwear.

“Oh- and
could I please get the discount promotion thing?” Still smiling, she points out
a series of dark blue bruises across her left thigh.

here fell off our motorbike while we were down in Phuket” teases her
singlet-clad boyfriend. The girl rolls her eyes playfully and, much to my
disgust, ramps up the PDA while her boyfriend finishes paying.

yuppies,” I mutter bitterly once they’re out of earshot. If only life were as
easy as surfing, canoodling with your lover-boy, and shopping for bikinis.

Some girls
just have it all.

Rory and I
exit the store together. No longer in view of onlookers, I let the smile slip
from my face like a mask.

salesgirl was a bitch,” growls Rory. I don’t reply, instead staring at my feet.
Suddenly, Rory wraps his arm around my neck and pulls me in close, holding the
receipt up to my face.

“See, babe.
You did fucking amazing, as usual. We’ll never have to pay full price for this
shit again!”

“I… guess
so,” I whisper nervously as we enter the parking garage.

“Speaking of
our next haul…” Rory muses, pulling a switchblade knife out of his pocket.

“Now, I know shark attacks are rare, but hear me out…”

Credits to: GuyAwks (story)

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