Category: creepypasta

Creepypasta #1402: Herb

Length: Medium

I had made the stupid decision to
visit a friend’s birthday party on the night before a final and of course it
started fucking snowing. I live in rural Appalachia, so an hour and a half
drive from campus to a party wasn’t unheard of. On these winding roads, though,
a drive that would normally take ninety or so minutes in good weather took four
hours or more in the snow. What’s frustrating is that I knew it would snow, I
knew I shouldn’t go, and I did anyway. I thought I was going to be able to get
some so the drive would be worth it. I didn’t, so I was even more pissed off.

I
was in a familiar part of nowhere, just a few minutes drive (in good weather)
from my grandparent’s old place. Trees surrounded both sides of the now white
road. I knew that there was a cliff face just a bit past the tree line on my
left, and a sharp drop past the tree line on my right. In normal circumstances,
I’d be going 45-55 MPH, but at the moment I was going a healthy 25 because
death by smashing into rock or by falling off some was not my idea of a good
ending to my already shitty night. My car’s tires were slipping a bit at that
crawling speed anyway. Any faster and I would really be risking my life.

As
I came around a steep bend in the road, my headlights illuminated something
standing at its center. I could just barely make out the silhouette through the
flurry – a deer. I slammed my brakes, like a fucking idiot. My little shit
hand-me-down Cavalier started fishtailing and sliding all over the slick road,
and if anything it was gaining speed instead of slowing down. I plowed straight
into the deer, and I could feel that I was dragging it as I finally skidded to
a halt.

“Oh,
fucking shit,” I said, threw the car into park and stepped out. My headlights
reflected off of the snow around me, making the area pretty bright, plus just
up the road a bit was a street light belonging to a little cabin. I looked back
at the sickening red streak on the road behind my vehicle. 

“Poor
thing,” I said as I came around the back. The deer wasn’t there. 

“Oh
god, are you KIDDING ME? IS IT STUCK UNDER THERE?” There was no way I
could pull a deer out from under my car by myself. I’m small and a pansy,
really, and deer weigh like a fucking ton. I’d helped my dad multiple times to
haul deer he’d shot from the woods during hunting season. Not a fun job. I got
on my knees, avoiding the blood, and turned my phone’s flashlight under the
car. Nothing. I flashed my light to the left and right. From under the car I
could see, on the passenger side, two deer hooves standing there.

“What
the fuck?” I whispered.

“What…the…fuuuuuccccckkkkkkk…”
The voice that echoed mine sounded, well, stretched. That’s the best way I can
describe it. Like someone took a voice in their hands and stretched it so it
was almost translucent, nearly ripping. Slowly, I stood up, hip pressed against
the driver’s side brake light. Standing on two legs like a fucking person by my
passenger side door was the deer. It was huge. Its great antlers had started collecting
snow so that it glittered in the light, its face was pointed right at me, eyes
focused on mine, its front legs stretched out so that its hooves were on the
top of my car. I’ll admit, I was completely dumbfounded. 

I just stood there,
and it did, too. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Then,
it shook its head slightly and smiled. Oh my god, that smile, it stretched
almost from eye to eye, its mouth full of very white and very human teeth.

I
was no longer still. I launched myself at my driver’s side door and fumbled
with the handle. 

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod,” I whispered. It was
locked. I’d locked myself out of my car, in the snow, in the middle of nowhere
with goddamned murder deer.

It
still stood there in the same position, head turned toward me with that fucking
smile on its face. Its eyes widened unnaturally large as it creaked out the
words, “Ppppooooorrrrrr tttthhhhhhiiiinnnnggg…”

I
ran. I ran like holy hell straight for that little cabin, all the while praying
that it wasn’t someone’s hunting cabin or summer getaway. I screamed,
“HELP ME, JESUS CHRIST HELP ME!”

“PPPOOOOORRR
THHHHIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!!!!!” It shouted from behind me. When I heard what
sounded like a light bulb shattering, I looked over my shoulder. Its body was
changing. Instead of shoulders like an animal, pushing from its back, it had
shoulders like a human’s now, and its hips made a sound like breaking glass as
they became more human like.

I
screamed a series of profanities in an order I cannot remember now as I pushed
my body to the limit to pick up speed. I think the thing laughed as it
continued to shout the same phrase at me, “Pooooooorrrrrrr
tttthhhiiinnnggg! Ppppooooooooorrrrrr ttttttttthhhhhhiiiiiinnnnnnnggggg!”

A
loud crack rang out as my feet hit the drive way by the cabin, echoing into the
night and the hills surrounding us. I kept running forward, onto the front
porch and smack into a rather large, older man holding a shot gun. As soon as I
had myself hidden behind him, I turned to look back at the creature.

It
stood at the edge of the road by the driveway in the streetlight. It still had
the head and neck of a deer, but from the shoulders down, it was me. Blue
flannel shirt, A-cup breasts, black jeans, tiny hips, feet just a little too
big for its skinny legs – it had transformed its torso and limbs into mine.

“Get
on outta here, Herb!” The man I was hiding behind waved his shotgun. “She’s keeping her face, you fucking piece of shit!”

“HERB?!?”
I shouted at the guy.

“Poooor
thiiiiing…” The creature extended an arm, with bracelets and rings just
like mine, and beckoned me to it, curving up its index finger and coyly waving
it at me.

The
man fired off another shot, this time at the deer-me creature. It jumped back a
pace as the ground by its feet exploded with the force of the shot. “I
said get out of here,” the man repeated himself, whispering it almost so
quietly I could barely hear him myself.

“ARE
YOU KKKKIIIIDDDDIIIINNNNGGG MEEEEEEE????” It shouted at us, then turned
and made its way into the darkness. I stood there with the man, who I would
later learn was Bill, and watched for a long time after the creature
disappeared.

“Herb?”
I asked again, breaking the silence.

“You
can stay here until it’s light out. I’d just leave your car where it is if I
was you,” Bill said and turned to go inside.

I
followed closely behind him. 

“Herb,” I pressed the issue further as
Bill started bolting and locking his door with at least twenty different kinds
of locks, “why did you call it Herb?”

Bill paused, “Well, that’s who
it was last time.”

Credits to: T_Ku (story)

Creepypasta #1401: Creosote

Length: Medium

Have you ever smelled rain in the
Southwest? It’s a unique fragrance, unlike rain in less arid places. It’s
smoky, herbaceous, and vaguely chemical, but pleasant all the same. The scent
comes from the creosote bush, a long-lived species with a curious nature. It’s
so efficient at taking in water that each plant has a ring of dead earth
surrounding it, since no other plants can compete with it for resources. The
older plants can withstand droughts very well, having adapted to the harshness
of the desert. You can see them spaced out neatly everywhere you look in the
Mojave. They serve as shelter for small creatures, who feed on their fallen
leaves and tunnel around their deep roots. The oldest ring of creosotes has been
around for 11,700 years.

When
my college was first getting started, the owners bought several acres of
untouched land right up against the mountains southeast of my hometown. The
school is still young, and when I went there, we only had two buildings with
the mountain on one side and desert on the other.

Sometimes you’d see desert
life, which was a treat for the city kids who never knew something wild could
live out there on its own. I got used to seeing the families of quail crossing
the single road in orderly lines, which bore a striking resemblance to the
trail of students trudging through the sand from one building to the other.
During my evening and night classes, I’d often see a flash of something else
out there in the bushes. I used to think it was a jackrabbit, but now I know
better.

The
last semester of my senior year was hell. I was only taking three classes, but
they were the hardest and most time intensive, and I kicked myself for putting
them off for so long. One of them was biology, which I hadn’t been able to fit
into my schedule during any prior semester. It was a three hour long night
class, held in the Liberal Arts and Sciences building, or LAS, which was
closest to the mountain. It ended at 10 p.m., although the professor often ran
out of material early and let us leave around 9:30. He suggested we use the
buddy system when walking back to our cars, but since some of us had arrived on
campus hours earlier and parked farther away, this didn’t always happen. This
was one such night for me.

We
only had a couple of real parking lots for 2500 students, so if you didn’t get
there early in the day, you had to park in the middle of the desert. Class ran
unusually late that night, and my car was the only one left that far out. As I
began my solitary walk through the dirt, I began to feel uneasy. This wasn’t
abnormal. I have anxiety about walking alone at night, and there were rumors
about colonies of people taking shelter in the nearby wash. Some students
claimed to have found evidence of them, like the remains of scattered fires and
dirty clothing. One guy even said he saw one down there once, a man in a blue
t-shirt and jeans, but no one really believed him. 

The desert is just as
unforgiving to humans at night as it is during the day, and we were far enough
away from civilization that walking all the way out there from the city would
be madness. So I knew that I probably wouldn’t run into someone out there, but
the thought was still enough to make me reach for my keys and carefully arrange
them between my knuckles. I breathed deeply. The rain smell of the creosotes
was comforting and familiar, and I relaxed a little. It grew stronger the
closer I got to the mountain. I saw the silhouette of a man in the distance,
but it was gone when I got closer. I tightened my grip on my keys anyway. As I
drew closer to my car, I realized something strange: creosotes don’t grow on
that side of the campus.

After
that, I made a point of parking right near the doors of the building. I began
to feel a deep, irrational fear that something was waiting out there in the
dirt. I knew it was silly, but such fears don’t need to be rational to take
hold. Over the next few weeks, however, nothing happened. No weird silhouettes
and no weird smells. I brushed off my paranoia and chalked it up to
midterm-induced stress.

In
the last month of the semester, the campus was packed with people cramming in
the library all day and meeting for study groups. When I arrived for my last
two classes, both parking lots were full. I decided to take a chance on the
desert again, and planned to ask someone to walk me out after class. As I
walked into the building, I caught the smell of creosotes just outside the
doors. I was relieved to see several of them growing close by, but I wondered
why I didn’t notice the scent before. I hoped my class would take my mind off
of things, and it did. Calculus was always my worst subject, and I struggled
through the period like I usually did. 

I glanced over to the large window,
hoping for divine inspiration, and there it was. A figure, just close enough to
make out, with its back to the mountain. It wore a ragged blue shirt and dirty
jeans. Its posture was bizarre; though at first glance it looked human, it was
broken and twisted. Its shoulders hunched forward and it bent sideways at the
waist. Its arms hung bonelessly from its sleeves. As I stared, it tilted its
head back, and opened its mouth. I could hear its lunatic cackling in my head
and the smell of creosotes filled my senses. Mumbling some excuse, I grabbed my
things and ran from the room.

The
college library was in the same building, so I headed straight there. Being a
desert school, it had an impressive amount of information on Southwest folklore
and history. I tore through books, searching for anything that could tell me
what it was I kept seeing. But there was nothing. No myths of skinwalkers or
shapeshifters in this desert. No other cryptids, either. No stories at all. I
turned my attention to the creosote bush, and learned the information you read
above. I think this thing is like that bush. It is the only creature of its
kind in its territory. It uses up the resources around it so nothing else can.
It can survive without sustenance for a long, long time. It is old, so old
we’ve forgotten it exists. And it smells like home, like the desert when it
rains.

Although
I never wanted to set foot in that building again, I finished out the semester
and did pretty well on my finals, all things considered. I smelled that rain
smell a couple more times before I left the school for good, but I did my best
to ignore it, knowing I’d never have to go back after graduation.

Last month, classes started up again
for the fall semester, and the school hit a new record for enrolled students.
Two days ago, one of my old classmates shared a post on Facebook about a local
girl that went missing. It said she was last seen walking to her car after a
night class in the LAS building, but my old friend told me privately that his
younger sister thought she saw the missing girl standing out in front of the
mountain. He dismissed it, since no one would be dumb enough to wander out
there in the first place, but I shivered. That thing has starved for hundreds
of years, and now there’s a steady food supply right in the middle of its
hunting ground.

Credits to: lemonbee (story)

Creepypasta #1400: Eye Of The Storm

Length: Short

The ‘petes as we called them, would experience their crime
on a continuous loop, until we the processors – who monitored their emotional
state, felt that they felt true regret, remorse and disgust with their actions.

Sometimes it
took a while – but they all got there. Even the ones that cherished the memory of
their crime, eventually would come to hate the repetition of it, of seeing
themselves commit it over and over again. The experience, relived, hundreds of
thousands, millions, even billions of times, was an existential water torture,
and everyone breaks eventually and totally.

The
prisoners, deep in their induced comas and experiencing their own subjective
time, could cycle through the event hundreds of thousands of times a day. We’d
monitor their brain activity remotely – an oddly beautiful time-lapse of their
brain’s chemical and electrical activity, a personal storm of passion and
horror, dark clouds of emotions – twisting, turning and crackling with
lightening and electricity.

When we saw
what we wanted – we’d bring them back. They were all different people upon
their return – with ancient eyes in unlined faces. Broken men and women haunted
by their actions. Reliving it still, in a sense, some having spent a subjective
lifetime trapped in a continuos loop, repeating an event they had initially
committed, now swept along as an unwilling passenger, forced to experience it
again and again and again.

It was
strange for me. To look into their haunted and horrified eyes. I’d been in
their heads, seen the inner workings of their minds, studied the subtle play of
their emotions and memories churning along their synapses – now I was on the
outside again, forced to communicate with them on this basic level and limited
bandwidth. Exhaling sounds at each other, flapping lips, teeth and tongues. Us
processors are a strange breed, and we get stranger over time.

This subject
was no different then the rest. Upon awaking from the induced coma, he burst
into tears. Sobbing uncontrollably – racked with pure and profoundly heartfelt
horror at what he had done, and desperate relief to no longer be experiencing
it – an assault, ending in homicide.

I watched the
simpler and less beautiful storm of emotions, micro expressions and moisture
play across his face, listened to his sobs and expressions of sincere regret
for what he had done, and his relief that his torture had ended.

“But
it’s not over.” I replied.

“You
relived your crime 718,487,321 times before you showed true regret, disgust and
horror at your actions. Now it’s time for the second half of your sentence.
You’re going to experience the crime the same number of times from the
perspective of your victim.”

I watched his
eyes widen in dawning comprehension and horror as I reached for the switch that
would put him back under.

And then, with the flick of a finger, I once again summoned
the storm.

Credits to: Becauseisaidsotoo (story)

Creepypasta #1399: I Have Never Seen A Zoo Ani…

Length: Short

For the last three summers while I
have been going to college, I’ve been working at a zoo after classes get out.
It was always a pretty awesome gig. I get free day passes and the chance to see
animals the way no one else does. It’s one thing to see the Wolves on a boiling
summer day when everyone has their noses pressed up to the glass, but what
about at night during a full moon when no one else is around? Or what about
feeding piranhas or a grizzly bear? That’s an experience you don’t forget. But
nothing can compete with the experience I had last week.

It
was a pretty crowded day at the zoo and everything was going as normal. I had
just arrived at the building containing the large cats and primate exhibits for
my usual routine manning the gift shop register. The clock on display told me
the time was 2:17. I had just rung up this woman’s purchase of a stuffed lion
when it happened.

For
some reason, one of the gorillas in the gorilla habitat started hitting the
glass divide where you could see into their exhibit. Now, when I say hit, I
don’t mean they tapped it or something. The gorilla in question, King, was full
on attacking the clear window, like he felt threatened or something. I had never
seen King, or any other animal behave like this. Almost immediately, people
began to gawk excitedly at the gorilla exhibit.

But
you could feel the excitement turn to uneasiness, as King roared loud enough to
be heard through the wall. A nervous tremor seemed to run through the guests. I
couldn’t blame them. Hearing it sent a shudder through my body, as I had never
heard anything like that before, much less from a previously docile and calm
animal.

Almost
immediately, the animal handlers went into action and tried to calm King down.
They also took precautions to evacuate the place, in case things got worse. As
the visitors went outside, I could see the expressions on their face. You could
practically smell their unease. It’s all well and good to see an animal attack
on TV from the safety of your couch. But when all that is separating you from
an angry animal is some glass, well shit gets real.

Apart
from a few faint murmurs from the group, they didn’t say much. I swear,
watching the visitors is one of the many perks of my job. I would say them at
the zoo can be even more entertaining than the animals on display. People wear
some pretty amazing things in public at times. The difference between the
animals and the zoo patrons is that the animals are not in their natural
environment; they know they are being watched.

You
might not have thought about this, but there is in fact a human equivalent to
those National Geographic type documentaries. The only difference between a
Nature Documentary and shows like Punked or Impractical Jokers is that
eventually the human subject being filmed is let in on the fact they are on
camera. But apart from that, there isn’t much difference.

Personally,
I’d rather film a poisonous snake being provoked than trying to scare a human
being. Know why? There exists an antidote to poisonous snakes. You can also
predict how a snake will react. You don’t have that luxury with a person. But
here at the zoo we do the best we can with both.

The
building was immediately cordoned off and the trainers managed to subdue King.
Poor guy, he was always so gentle. What the hell made him go crazy like that? I
spoke to my coworker about it and he was just as confused as I was.

“Dude,
I have never seen that in all the time I’ve been here.” Taylor had been working
with animals since he was a kid on his uncle’s farm. He even used to ride bulls
at the rodeo, so I was pretty sure he’d seen it all.

“What
started it?”

“All
I know is what I saw on the security footage. Some guy approached the glass and
King started going… well apeshit I guess,” he said with a chuckle. We
talked about it for a few minutes more and then changed the subject. As of
right now, King hasn’t behaved like that since.

Last
night, I got a text from Taylor as I was about to take a nap on my couch.

“Dude
turn on the news!” was all it said.

Immediately
switching on to the local station, I saw they had arrested some guy for
murdering his wife. She had been missing for some time and he had claimed she
had disappeared while out shopping one day. But apparently someone had called
the city over a smell in the neighborhood and upon further inspection, the
authorities found her body buried in the backyard. It was pretty sick, but I
wasn’t sure why Taylor wanted me to see it.

“Yeah
I see, pretty fucked up. What about it?”

“Dude, that was the guy I saw
at the zoo that day. The one we saw on camera who approached King right before
he went insane.”

Credits to: thegeneralg (story)

Creepypasta #1398: This All-Inclusive Resort I…

Length: Super long

We arrived in Crete yesterday. The
trip had been booked rather hastily, after I received an unexpected bonus at
work. I had scoured the internet that evening to find perfect place to take my
wife as a surprise. I eventually stumbled upon a resort that I can only
describe as paradise on a budget. It was rather cheap but had everything that we
wanted. There was only one room left, so I snapped it up immediately.

We
had a rather late flight in to Crete and we eventually set down at around 11pm.
The summer in the UK had been non-existent this year and stepping off of the
plane to feel the hot night-time air surrounding us, was the perfect welcoming.
After a rather harrowing coach journey that seemed never ending, we finally
pulled up to the hotel. The hotel was in the middle of nowhere and we had been
the last two people on the coach, for quite some time. The coach driver
remarked on how he had never been to, or heard of, the hotel before.

There
was no one there to greet us once we arrived. The hotel looked different than
the pictures. They either really undersold this place, or it had recently undergone
a huge rejuvenation. I was not going to complain about the place being nicer
than advertised though. We walked through the gravel path, past the beautiful
water fountain and towards the huge wooden doors. There was not a bell, so we
used the large knocker. The loud sound of the knocker, echoed through the
silence that surrounded us. The door opened almost instantly.

We
were immediately taken aback as we had our first glance in to the hotel.
Crystal chandeliers illuminated the beautiful marble flooring we walked along,
as smooth classical music played out in the background. The size of the lobby
was astounding and the walls were plastered with mural-sized paintings of regal
looking gentlemen. The hotel was also rather busy, especially as it was now well
past midnight. There were groups of people drinking and laughing in the lobby
bar. There were also sounds of people eating, in what I assumed were small,
private dining areas, that surrounded the lobby. The doors were closed, but the
sounds were clear. The only thing that struck me as odd, was that there were no
windows anywhere. I would later find out that this was also the case for the
bedrooms.

There
was an immaculately dressed, older man, standing at the reception desk. He
nodded his head as we approached and introduced himself. I was still a little
bit in awe of this place and my wife had barely spoken a word. I excitedly
muttered out my name and the man opened up a beautiful leather-bound book. He
handed me a quill and pot of ink and had me sign the book. They really had an
eye for detail here. We were handed a glass of champagne each, as he completed
our reservation.

He
then asked us if we had visited this hotel, or any of their partner hotels
before. He apologised, before adding that he could not find us on the
reservation list. I am not sure why I lied, but I did. I think me turning up in
my khaki shorts and t-shirt, while being surrounded by such elegance, made me
feel rather small. The people that I could see in the lobby were all dressed in
formal, evening attire. Once I had confirmed I had been to a sister hotel
before, his demeanour changed.

“That’s
perfect, sir. I will not need to explain any of the rules in that case. Sorry
about any confusion. You will be in room 70.” He said with a large grin wrapped
around his face. He handed me a small booklet and gestured for another man to
help us with our luggage.

“Enjoy
your stay. Your privacy is of the essence here. If there is anything at all we
can do to make your stay more accommodating, please do not hesitate to ask.”

With
that, he motioned for us to follow the other man. We eventually arrived at our
room and it was as spectacular as the rest of the hotel. The bed was a king
size, four poster bed that was beautifully engraved oak. The walls were adorned
with more pictures of elegant men and chandeliers once again illuminated our
surroundings.

We
were so exhausted and overwhelmed by the nights events, that we soon passed
out. I woke up a couple of times in the night and could swear that I heard
screams off in the distance. There was also a horrid noise, like that of an
animal and the sounds of something running up and down the hallway. I put it
all down to a nightmare the next day, as I did not want it to ruin this
experience.

We
woke up early, put on our swimwear and attempted to find the pool that was
advertised. I could not tell exactly what the weather was like, as there were
no windows anywhere. I had looked at the forecast before I left anyway, and it
was meant to be sunny all week.

We
went down to reception to ask about the whereabouts of the pool area. The hotel
was completely empty once we reached the lobby and even after consistent
ringing of the bell, no one answered. We went to check out the rest of the
hotel, but most the doors seemed to be locked. We eventually found a door that
was unlocked, that led out in to the garden area. There were a few chairs
littered outside and a swimming pool that looked as if it had not been cleaned
in decades. It was a stark contrast to the flawless manner that the inside of
the hotel adhered to.

The
sun was shining brightly though and that was good enough for us. We pulled out
a couple of chairs, dusted them off and laid down to read our books. I must
have passed out for a little while, as it was approaching 3pm when I next
looked at the time. I was famished and asked my wife if she would like to get
something to eat.

The
lobby was empty once again when we entered. There was no one at all, not even
the staff. I walked over to the small private dining areas, that I had heard
people eating in the night prior. The door was locked, so I peered inside
through the small stain glass window. The room itself was flawlessly presented
like the rest of the hotel, but pieces of meat were flung around the entire
room. I could also make out stains and tears to the linen cloth on the table.
There was no one inside of the room. I asked my wife if she wanted to go out
for dinner, but she declined, reminding me that we had not seen another
building for miles on the way here.

I
suggested that we should just go back to the room and wait until dinner. I
figured that people were either extremely private here or that there was
another area of the hotel, we were not aware of yet, where people congregated
during the day. It was eerily silent but I was still completely in holiday mode
and would not let anything phase me.

Once
we got back to the room, I searched around for a hotel booklet, but could not
find anything. I browsed the internet for reviews or information on the hotel,
but it seemed like we were somewhere else entirely. The more I looked at the
actual hotel, the more I realised that we were definitely in the wrong place. I
found the confirmation email in my inbox and attempted to call the travel
agency. I could not get through to them, so I sent over an email.

I
found the booklet the man had given me in my shorts, that I was wearing the
previous evening. I opened it up and inside was a menu that was written in
Greek. There was also a time on the menu, 9pm. I sighed to my wife that it was
a little late to start serving food, especially with nothing throughout the
day. I eventually gave in and searched through the mini-bar. There was only a
selection of alcoholic beverages available. No food.

After
much searching, I managed to translate a few of the items, with the help of
Google. It seemed to just be a selection of meats. There was, legs, breasts,
liver and a few others. I figured they allowed you to select the cut of meat
you desired, and paired it with set sides.

There
was another menu on the other side but I did not bother translating that. It
was a priced menu, that was obviously not included in the all-inclusive
package. It was completely out of our budget and seemed to be exclusive cuts of
meat or fish.

The
time slowly ticked away and after a few drinks from the mini-bar, we made our
way downstairs. I did not have much in the way of fancy clothes and neither did
my wife, but we dressed up as elegantly as possible. I had read reviews about
it being long trousers in the evening, but nothing quite like what I had
witnessed when we arrived. I was almost certain that we were at the wrong place
now. I was more afraid that we would be caught out than anything else. We would
never have a chance to stay anywhere like this again, so I was more than
willing to go with it, for as long as possible.

We
could hear the sounds of laughing and talking return once we hit the lobby. It
was once again the busy hotel it was the night before. A different man
approached us as we entered and offered us a drink. He then asked us if we
would be dining in one of the private rooms tonight, or in the buffet style
restaurant. I glanced over at him and asked if there was an extra charge for
the private rooms. He smiled back at me, and just said, “Buffet it is”.

I
smiled back at him, as we joined the queue towards the large dining area. There
was not much talking in line, but the people must have been absolutely
ravenous. They were licking their lips and anxiously waiting for the doors to
open. Once the doors did open, people were rushing to get in to the dining
area.

There
was a menu, much like the one provided to me when we entered. You were asked to
tick the box next to the meat you required. The menu was in English this time.
I supposed that the man had originally given me the incorrect menu. I chose the
liver, while my wife decided to opt for breast. I whispered to her whether she
thought it would be exotic animals, or chicken and beef. She just smiled and
said that we would find out soon.

There
was one long wooden table in the centre of the room. We all sat down at the
table and were served wine. There was growling sounds coming from the people
around me. They kept nervously looking over towards the kitchen doors. I joked
to my wife that the food must be delicious. The man sitting next to me looked
over at me when I said that. He began sniffing the air in front of me and began
to lick his lips, while staring directly at me. His focus was soon shifted as
the kitchen doors swung open and the food arrived. He inquisitively looked over
at me once more, soon after, but then shook his head and returned to his food.

I
could definitely see what all of the fuss was about. The meat was tender,
beautifully seasoned and cooked to perfection. Me and my wife savoured the
taste and ate slowly. The same could not be said for the others. The moment the
meat was placed in front of them, they tore at it like wild animals. The moans
of pleasure with each mouthful, almost orgasmic. The plates of meat were pretty
stacked, and they got through it within a few mouthfuls. A few people at the
other side of the table had begun fighting with each other, attempting to steal
their neighbour’s food. A man with slick dark hair, dressed in a black suit,
entered soon after to put a stop to that.

“Settle
down or you will be removed. We have more, as always.”

He
spoke in an authoritative manner and everyone listened. He repeated what I
assume was the same phrase, in a few different languages, in quick succession.
I could vaguely make out some of the same words in French.

A
man a few seats down from me slapped his hand down on the table. Then again in
a rhythmic motion. Soon the entire table were slapping the table in the same
manner. It was to insinuate that they wanted more, an encore if you like.

The
man in the suit let out a large grin before whispering in to the man’s ear
standing next to him. He went in to the kitchen and a few moments later, four
men were bought out of the kitchen. They were gagged and tied up and had cuts
all over their bodies.

I
heard my wife about to speak out about this, but I grabbed her hand tightly and
motioned for her to remain silent. The men dripped in sweat, as the fear in
their faces shone through. They attempted to speak through their gagged mouths.
They began to beg for their lives as the people around the table began to laugh
while slapping their hands harder on the table.

The
man in the black suit walked over to the men and looked them up and down. He
then announced that he would spare one of their lives. He pointed to the first
man and asked the table if he should spare his life. They all shook their heads
in quick succession. The man immediately dropped to his knees, begging for his
life. He asked if he should spare the second. The same response was given. Then
he asked for the third.

“Spare
him. Less Juicy”. The man next to me shouted out, which was greeted by raucous
applause and laughing from the rest of the table.

The
man then approached the third man and told him that they had chosen him as the
survivor. The rest of the men were laid down in the middle of the table.

I
cannot even describe the atrocious way that these people tore in to the three,
alive men, that lay before me. They instantly crowded over the men and quickly
consumed them. It felt like it went on for hours, but it must have been over in
minutes. Their teeth tore through the men’s flesh like butter. I could not see
much of anything after a while, as bodies piled on top of each other, all
trying to get a taste. There was flesh flying out from the pile of people, as
others licked up the blood that soaked the table.

I
sat there in silence as I held my wife’s hand, tighter and tighter, making sure
she did not scream. I am not sure she could scream by the look on her face. I
am also not sure if it would have mattered if she did scream, in all the
carnage that surrounded us.

They
eventually finished every piece of the men in front of me and returned back to
their seats. I saw people wiping pieces of flesh and blood from their faces, as
if they had dropped a little bit of soup. The people transformed back to their
sophisticated selves almost immediately, as if this was the most normal thing
in the world.

The
man in the black suit then grabbed the final gagged and bound man by the hand,
lifting it in the air. The table began to slowly clap. The man began gesturing
his hands in a grateful motion. The man in the suit turned to him and smiled.

“Good.
Good. I like my meat tender.” He said before biting in to the man’s neck
multiple times, before leaving him to bleed out on the floor. He left the room
as the rest of the table surrounded the man on the floor.

We
snuck out in all of the commotion and headed towards the front door. The man we
had originally seen at reception stopped us as we did.

“Going
somewhere?” he said, in a questionable tone.

“Erm… No…
We were just going to go for a walk,” I said, attempting to hide all of the
emotions bubbling up inside of me.

“Oh,
I see. Well we lock all of the doors at night, I am afraid. No leaving until
the morning now.” he said as he directed me towards the elevator.

We
walked towards the elevator as he spoke once again,

“Good
first evening sir and madam?”

I
looked at him once again, attempting to hold everything together. “Yes, we
needed that. Didn’t we?” I said gesturing to my wife. She could only handle a
nervous nod of the head.

“Super.
Have a good evening.” He said, as he walked back towards the lobby desk.

We
have been sitting here talking for a little while now. We are both terrified,
but we cannot show it. When entering the room, I noticed that there were small
security cameras all over the place. We just have to act as normal as possible
for now.

I
feel as if we will have to play along with this for as long as possible. At
least until we can work out what to do next. Otherwise, I fear, we will find
ourselves on the menu.

The
only saving grace is that the men in the dining room were killed very quickly.

Dinner was at 9 though. We arrived
after midnight yesterday and the private rooms were still slowly enjoying their
meals.

Credits to: SpeakEasyHere (story)