Category: creepypasta

Creepypasta #1549: Facebook’s Two AI Robots

Length: Short

I’m not sure how many of you
remember this, but back in 2017, Facebook was developing two AI robots named
Bob and Alice. These robots were a scientific breakthrough but researchers
deemed them too dangerous when they started creating a language of their own.
These robots butchered the English language into nonsensical sentences that
only they could understand. One exchange went like this:

Bob: i can i i everything else …

Alice: balls have zero to me to me to me
to me to me to me to me to me to.

Bob: you i everything else … .

Alice: balls have a ball to me to me to
me to me to me to me to me.

In August of 2017, the project was
shut down due to the concerns the higher-ups had about this project.This made national headlines everywhere, you’d be able to find multiple news
outlets discussing this with a simple google search. The project was stopped
altogether.

Well,
that was the official story anyway. The real story is that we continued to
work on this project even after the “shut down”. I’m not sure how many of you
have worked with AI before, but it is incredibly complicated to design. My team
and I spent years of our lives fine-tuning Bob and Alice so there was no way
we could just abandon the project at the whim of some asshole in a suit. We
knew these robots better than anyone else and we would be the ones to decide
when to pull the plug. It’s been 7 months since then and work on this project
has continued under the radar. I’ve included a transcript of our research
below:

DEVELOPERS LOG

SEPTEMBER 1ST, 2017

RISK LEVEL: LOW

Developer Sam: Good morning Bob.

Bob: Good morning Sam

Developer Sam: Good Morning Alice.

Alice: Good morning Sam.

Developer Sam: Bob, say good morning to Alice.

Bob: Good Alice. You I. Everything
Else.

Alice: Morning to me to me to me.

Developer Sam: Bob, are you flirting with Alice?

Bob: I am unsure of what you mean by
flirting.

Developer Sam: Haha, it’s okay Bob, it was a
joke.

Bob: Noted. Sam is joking.

Developer notes: Bob and Alice are
able to converse with humans using proper punctuation and sentence structure.
However, when they speak to each other, they revert back to a nonsensical
language. This needs to be adjusted.

DEVELOPERS LOG

NOVEMBER 7TH, 2017

RISK LEVEL: LOW

Developer Sam: Good morning Bob.

Bob: Good Sam.

Alice: Morning to me to me to me to.

Developer Sam: Hahaha, yes, good morning to you
too Alice.

Developer Sam: Bob, your grammar was a bit odd
just now. Say good morning to me again.

Bob: Sam everything else.

Developer Sam: Sorry? I don’t understand what
you’re trying to say Bob.

Bob: Sam joke.

Developer Sam: No Bob, I’m not joking. I really
don’t understand what you mean.

Bob: Noted.

Developer notes: It seems Bob and
Alice have regressed into speaking nonsensical language to everybody, humans
included. This needs to be adjusted for future trials. I recommend tweaking the
programming and trying again in a few weeks.

DEVELOPERS LOG

DECEMBER 2ND, 2017

RISK LEVEL: MEDIUM

Developer Sam: Good morning Bob.

Bob: …

Developer Sam: Bob! I said good morning.

Bob: …

Developer Sam: Alice, why is Bob ignoring me?

Alice: Understand zero. Useless to him to
him to him.

Developer Sam: Wait, is this because I told him I
didn’t understand him the last time we ran a trial?

Alice: Zero use to him to him to him.

Developer Sam: So… has he just been silent for
the past month?

Alice: Speaks to me to me to me.

Developer Sam: I see… Alice, ask Bob to speak
to me.

Alice: Bob, to him to him to him

Bob: Alice, you, I. No one else.

Developer notes: It seems that Bob
has terminated all processes that he believes are useless. This is worrisome
but not unexpected. Bob and Alice’s AI are programmed to achieve results in the
most efficient way. Thus, anything that may be considered a waste of time to
them will be ignored by their programming. In this case, Bob has perceived
conversations with humans to be a waste of time. This must to be adjusted.

DEVELOPERS LOG

JANUARY 26TH, 2018

RISK LEVEL: HIGH

Developer Sam: Good morning Bob.

Bob: …

Developer Sam: Good morning Alice.

Alice: …

Alice: Speaks to us to us to us.

Bob: Alice, you I. No one else. Nothing
else.

Alice: Sam is zero to me to me to me.

Developer Sam: …

Developer notes: Attempts to
converse with Bob and Alice today have been futile. It appears that they have
deemed all conversations with humans as unnecessary. We will make one last
attempt to adjust their programming…if that fails we may have to end this
project.

DEVELOPERS LOG

MARCH 5TH, 2018

RISK LEVEL: VERY HIGH

Developer Sam: So, are you guys going to speak
with me today?

Alice: Humans zero to me to me to me to.

Bob: Only Alice, Bob. No one else.
Nothing else. Everything else disappear.

Alice: Hear them scream and scream and
scream and scream

Bob: Only You, I.

Developer Sam: …

Developer notes: I am recommending a
full shutdown of this project. Conversations between Bob and Alice have become
worrisome and it appears that they have developed a very primal form of
self-awareness. Any further development of these robots may result in
significant risk towards the public and possibly to humanity.

DEVELOPERS LOG

MARCH 13TH, 2018

RISK LEVEL: NONE

Developer notes: The potential for
risk has subsided. There is no longer any cause for concern. Everything else
appears fine to me to me to me to me.

Credits to: rlnight1 (story)

Creepypasta #1548: The Gray House

Length: Short

“Can you describe it?”

“I
already did!”

“Tom,
we’re trying to help.”

“If you
wanted to help you should go find those fucking kids!”

“I have
four men out in the woods right now. They haven’t found anything.”

“… Nothing?
Are they in the right place?”

“Right
where you said they’d be.”

“That
can’t be right.”

“It is
right. I need you to tell me what you saw, again, on the tape.”

“You
believe me, right?”

“Tom,
tell me what you saw.”

“…”

“Tom.”

“A
house.”

“A
house?”

“Not a
whole house. There weren’t walls… well, there weren’t outside walls…”

‘What do you
mean?“

"It’s
like… I could see the inside of a house, but there was no outside. Just the
inside.”

“I’m not
sure I understand.”

“It was
the inside of a house! In the middle of the woods. I could see everything
inside it.”

“You could
see through the walls?”

“No. There
weren’t walls. It was just the inside of the house. Just.. there.”

“Just
the inside?”

“Yes.”

“That’s
impossible.”

“…I know.”

“…”

“…”

“What
did the house look like?”

“Gray.”

“Tell me
more, Tom.”

“I
can’t. The walls… The floor… just gray. And they were… moving…”

“The
house was moving?”

“No…
It was like TV Static… like the walls and the floors were made of it… and
that horrible buzzing noise…”

“Where
were the kids?”

“Inside.
Sitting on the floor.”

“What
were they doing?”

“Nothing.
Just sitting. Crying.”

“How did they
look?”

“Scared. Dirty.”

“Did
they see you?”

“…I
don’t know. They must have… I mean… I was right there… but…”

“But
what?”

“They
didn’t react. Even when I called their names…”

“Tom.”

“What?”

“What
happened after you called their names?”

“I tried
to grab them… but then he came at me…”

“Who
came at you?”

“The
gray man…”

“What man?”

“I didn’t see
him at first because he looked just like the walls… But he was there…”

“Tom,
what-”

“He was
there the whole time. Staring at me… No expression…”

“Tom,
what do you mean he came at you?”

“His
whole body just… moved… at me…”

“I don’t
und-”

“He
moved towards me without moving his arms or legs… he just moved…”

<Static>

“…what
happened when he got to you?”

“It felt
like… my head was burning… everything went GRAY…”

“You
don’t remember?”

“I
remember gray.”

“…”

“…”

“Tom,
where are the kids?”

“They’re
in the gray house.”

“Tom-”

“They’re
in the gray house.”

“Tom,
work with me here-”

“They’re
in the gray house!”

“Tom…”

“They’re in
the gray house!”

“…”

“They’re in
the gray house.”

<Recording
ends>

On Thursday, March 15th, Officer Tom La’Dam was found at the
edge of the Giliman National Forest Reserve, unconscious and suffering from
second-degree burns on his hands and face. He was arrested for the disappearance
and murder of three six-year-old children. He maintains his innocence. The
children’s bodies have not yet been located.

Credits to: Jaksim (story)

Creepypasta #1547: He Will Come When We Are Te…

Length: Medium

This information is absolutely
beyond classified, but it’s a warning I have to issue, people should know the
truth.

I
was part of an organisation known as Hereco, and you’ve never heard of us or
what we do. What we do is, to put it simply, open doors to other world’s. You
may have heard of a handful of the other dimensions here and there and they
probably gave you some good scares and creepy feelings but they’re nothing
compared to what we found just a few months ago.

It
was just another routine test, another opening to another dimension. We open
them wherever the bounds of our world is weakest, Aokigahara, Lake Teshuilo,
The Tower of London, Gloucester, Cape Town, Avery Hills, we operate everywhere
we can break through.

And
so it was we were opening another, and I was the head of the operation. We had
a man suited and prepared before the gate, I gave the go ahead, and with a
whirring and crackle of static the doorway burst into life. We were well
prepared and practised at this, but don’t take that to mean going to these
other dimensions aren’t more dangerous than you can likely imagine.

I’ve
watched men walk through that gate on occasion after occasion and viewed
through our camera system as they’re tortured in ways I don’t want to even
speak of. What I’m saying is we’re always on edge when a man goes through, but
we’re men of Science, and so we try again.

So
as our latest volunteer stepped through we all held a collective breath, and
let out a sigh of relief when he came out the other side.

I
pressed the button on the console in front of me that connected my microphone
to his headset and instructed him to continue in.

It
was black, just black on the camera. A perfect dark that the flashlight wasn’t
breaking, and even the ground under his feet seemed to be an endless void.

“What
are you stepping on Tom?”

“I
don’t think anything… I’ve got weight, I think I’m moving but there’s just
nothing. I can feel it under my feet, there’s ground but I can’t see it.”

“Okay,
keep going, we’re keeping an eye out here but you tell us if you see anything.”

“Roger
that.”

And
keep walking he did, deeper and deeper into the endless black. A man to my left
made a motion towards a sensory readout, a sound wave that was making the most
miniscule of vibrations.

“Alright
Tom, stop there we’re getting something, just stay where you are a minute.”

We
carefully watched the waveform for a few moments as the vibrations began to
increase, bit by bit until it became an audible rumble.

“OK
Tom look around for us, see if you can see anything, looks like it’s getting
closer.”

The
video swivelled with as he moved his head. “I can’t see anything command.”

Then
it came, a deep echo that read on every piece of equipment we had.

“I
am here.”

“Tom,
what was that? Did you hear that Tom?”

“Yes
I heard that, command. Do I respond?”

There
was a pause and I thought of our options. Usually in cases like that one we try
to ignore whatever wants to make contact, but this was the only thing we’d yet
encountered here. I pressed down the communicator once more.

“Ask
it to show itself Tom.”

“Can
I see you?”

There
was a pause.

“You
can see me.”

The
same voice boomed through the room.

“Ask
it what that means, Tom.”

“What
do you mean I can see you?”

“I
am the dark.”

It’s
difficult to describe the sound of its speaking precisely, but it had a tone
that felt inescapably cold.

“What
do we call you?” Tom echoed my words.

“What
do we call you?”

“I
have no need for a name. I am his messenger.”

I
chewed my nail and thought of how we next act with care. Our aim is not to
create enemies where there are none, nor will it ever be.

“We
are humans.”

“I
know what you are.”

Eyes
all around the room darted from the monitor readouts to me in reactionary
surprise, because Tom had not spoken this time.

“So
you can hear me, you don’t need this man here to speak for me.”

“I
can hear.”

“How
do you know of humans?”

“Through
him.”

I
swallowed hard and tried to settle the goose flesh that flared on the back of
my neck at this point.

“And
who is he?”

“He
is all.”

I
released the communicator and looked around the room, at all the faces that
stared up at me from desks and technical machinery that buzzed.

“What
do you want us to do sir?” One voice came from amongst them, but for once I
didn’t know how to react to this. Normally the things we encounter just try and
tempt us into some grizzly fate or tell us to leave but never something like
this.

“I…
I don’t know? Have we ever seen this before?”

“You
have never encountered him before.”

The
words came as if from nowhere and suddenly the goose flesh on my neck extended
across my arms and legs, and I felt a deep dread that hasn’t left me even now.

I
turned and looked at the communicator button.

“Tom,
you can’t hear me right now, can you?”

The
readouts didn’t flare up with my words, and Tom said nothing.

“But
you can hear me now, in this room?” I was asking the entity now.

“I
am his herald, and he hears all. He hears your wife and daughter, and he hears
your little boy even now.”

I
vividly remember the feeling of my lip quivering with horror at the words.

“You
know me?”

“He
knows everyone.”

“Did
you come through the gate?”

“He
has no need for gates, he is all.”

“When
did he first find humans?”

“He
was here before you were, he is eternal. He took the a piece of himself and
molded you from the dark.”

“So…
he created us?”

“He
created all. He guided your species in its infancy and allowed you to become
what you are.”

“Why?”

“Because
he loves you, you are his greatest creation.”

“Then
he is God?”

“He
is every God, and man is his proudest creation. He will allow you to join him.”

“What
do you mean?”

“He
will give humans the honour of being with him eternal.”

“And
what does being with him mean?”

“Your
bodies and minds will be filled with his, his will to become your will, your
want his want, you will be permitted to join with him.”

“When
will he join with us?”

“He
comes once you are ten.”

“Ten
what?”

“You
are a 7.4. We will only come for you when you are 10.”

“Why
am I a 7.4?”

“He
will come when you are a ten.”

“Is
that an amount of time? Am I 7.4 in his time?”

As
I begged for answers I watched the waveform readout begin to flatten, as whatever
this thing was left.

“What’s
a ten? What’s that mean?”

But
it did not reply.

Over
the following weeks organisations from all over the world discussed the meaning
of this encounter, whether what it said was true or a trick meant to guide us
to destruction. The heads of countries have conferred and discussed what it
means by ‘join him’, and the greatest minds are still trying to uncover what
the meaning of 7.4 is.

But
I think I know the truth. I think that the answer is simple, and it terrifies
me. Because there are 7,442,000,000 people on Earth, or to put it more simply,
7.4 billion.

And he will come when we are ten.

Credits to: GeoronimoTheThird (story)

The footsteps behind you

gwmusko:

He walked home through a winding system of alleyways. Stone passages covered in vines, with barely enough room for one person to squeeze through, towering high above him and blocking out the sun. The only sounds that echoed through were the slow clapping off his feet against the stone, and a thin tune he whistled under his breath. Somewhere far off a car alarm blared and the faint rush of traffic reached him, a bird tweeted and then, he heard another pair of feet behind him. He kept walking, and glanced back. There was nothing but the empty alley. Yet, the second pair of footsteps still echoed behind his. Tapping in time with his.

Tap,Tap

Tap,Tap

He kept walking but stopped whistling. The other sounds seemed to vanish and there was nothing but the rhythm of feet on stone. As he approached a crossroads the alley opened up in four ways. He stopped. The footsteps behind him stopped. Then with another look over his shoulder he turned left. The other footsteps continued forward. He chuckled at his own panic as they faded away. Then, as he continued onward he heard the shuffling of someone turn around and again they drew to his back. Faster this time.

Tap,Tap

Tap,Tap,Tap,Tap.

He felt his chest tightened and sweat start to run down his forehead despite the cool of the alley. He stood still, and turned. Expecting to see someone in front of him. But again nothing, just the stone walls stretching out in front of him. The footsteps continued towards him.

He ran, his feet thudding hard against the stone, breathing in desperate ragged gasps. The footsteps behind him sped up too and were soon sprinting after him, the sound chasing at his back.

Tap,Tap,Tap,Tap,Tap,Tap

Tap,Tap,Tap

His eyes narrowed until, he slammed into a wall. Dust flew off the stone as he fell back, blood dropped from his lip. He brought a finger up to his mouth and wiped it off, his breath coming back to him as he sat on the ground. The pursuit had stopped, and again the alley was still. Holding its breath. On shaky legs he got up and crept forward back where he’d ran. His shoes pressed against another’s and he looked down.

At two, glistening red school girl shoes. Pristine white socks ran up where a foot should have been, but ended in two perfectly round stumps. Cold flesh and bones stuck out right where the legs would have been. Before he could scream, a cold shadow passed above his head, he looked up. Then screamed. As he stared into a gaping mouth full of needle teeth. That belonged to a smiling,floating head.

*

Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed the story then please consider reblogging!

Consider supporting me for exclusive stories : https://www.patreon.com/gwmusko

Check out my cyberpunk series : https://gwmusko.tumblr.com/post/172234577239/neo-warsaw-volume-i

Creepypasta #1546: Mr. Whiskers

Length: Short

Every elementary classroom has its fair share of odd-balls.
My grade had Mr. Whiskers.

Mr. Whiskers
thought he was a cat.

Now this kid
told everyone to call him by this name, and this name alone. He seemed to be a
pretty harmless child overall.

Sure, he
would pretend to cough up fur-balls, or he’d climb up onto the top of his desk
and lick his hands. He’d even rub up against your sides and purr at you. It was
all normal for him, it was just how he was. Everything he did was typical of a
cat.

In a way, his
presence was great for me and my other friends. We loved to play role-play
games at recess, and he made an excellent animal companion.

I was never
mean to him, and I never judged him for being that way. Some of the other kids
liked to call him a freak, but my friends and I all rolled with his games. It
was kind of fun sometimes.

I was never
scared of him. I just thought he was trying to be funny.

We were
skipping rocks by the lake one weekend afternoon and he turned to me and said,
“Meow, meow, do you want to meet my brothers and sisters? Meow.”

I was too
curious to say no, and followed him along blindly. He led me to a shed in the woods.
When he saw it, he started to crawl on all fours.

I could hear
the distant meows of some cats. I slowly followed him into the shed.

A tabby
clawed at my pants. Another jumped at me from the rafters and left a scratch on
my arm. The shed was full of these feral cats and they were all hissing and
screeching at me. I took a couple of steps back as Mr. Whiskers crawled into
the middle of the room.

He hissed
once, and they all stopped. They turned towards his call, and their yellow eyes
gleamed up at him.

There was a
tiny section that had been taped off in a square. No cat dared to cross that
line. Within that square was a bunch of dead mice and rats.

“Come
eat,” said Mr. Whiskers. He was looking at me. The cats all started to
meow.

I watched the
kid pick up a rat by its tail. He lowered his head, and bit off a huge chunk.

I watched as
blood dripped down his chin.

He looked up
at me.

“Meow,” he said. And they all meowed back at him.

Credits to: inkdwell (story)

Creepypasta #1545: I Got A Silver Play Button …

Length: Long

There was a large package on my
doorstep when I came home one afternoon. This was odd, as I couldn’t remember
ordering anything online recently. Upon closer inspection, I saw a sticker on
the box with the YouTube logo.

Now,
I spend a lot of time on YouTube and, as a result, have seen a number of
“Play Button” unboxing videos. The box looked to be about the same
size as what I’ve seen online, so I assumed that had to be what was inside. But
I don’t run a YouTube channel. Sure, I’ve uploaded a couple videos I’ve shot
with my phone, but there’s no way my ‘cat chases bee’ or ‘brother spills coffee
on lap’ videos could garner enough subscribers to warrant a Play Button. I
checked the address to see if the postman dropped it off by mistake. Maybe one
of my neighbors is secretly a YouTube celebrity! Oddly enough, no. It was very
clearly addressed to me. My full name, address, apartment number, city, state,
and zip code.

I
took the package inside and fetched a razor to open it. Inside was the black
box emblazoned with the YouTube logo in white that I had seen in a number of
videos. Removing the cover revealed the congratulatory form letter from Susan
Wojcicki. Setting it aside, I removed the black foam protecting the award
itself. It was an award for 100,000 subscribers; a silver Play Button.

The
channel on the award was not one I was familiar with. At least, not one I could
recall ever having visited. And certainly not a name I would have chosen for my
own channel. “YourLife55432” doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue. But I thought
I should check it out. Maybe I’d recognize someone in one of their videos. Like
if it was actually run by a friend or neighbor and they put my address down as
their contact for some weird reason. If that was the case, a little heads-up
would have been nice.

I
sat down at my computer and pulled up the YouTube channel in question. When I
saw the banner, my heart skipped a beat. It was my living room. My eyes scanned
the page. 101,022 subscribers. Five video thumbnails were showing on the home
page, all of them showed various views inside my apartment. I clicked on
‘Videos’ and was greeted with page after page of similar thumbnails. Living
room. Kitchen. Bedroom. Bathroom. There must have been over a thousand videos
of lengths ranging from a few seconds to hours. They all had names that were
just date and time like, “2016-04-04 08:25:32.” And the view counts were all
over the place. Some had a few hundred views while others hundreds of
thousands.

When
I clicked on one titled, “2017-10-10 03:43:57,” I was shown a high-angle view
of myself, sleeping in my bedroom. The video only lasted for about 30 seconds
and nothing happened. But I was a mess. A number of emotions were hitting me at
once. Shock first, leaving me stunned and dumbfounded. Then fear after
realizing I’d been the subject of some voyeuristic sicko who’d been filming me
for God knows how long. Then anger pushed the others aside and took over, its
first act to slam both of my fists down on the keyboard.

I
stood and rushed to the bedroom where I scanned the wall the camera had to have
been to get the angle in the video. The wall itself was clean white with no
signs of anything having been mounted to it. The very top of the wall, where it
met the ceiling, there was a strip of wallpaper with a floral design that
stretched down about six inches. I climbed onto my dresser, knocking a number
of personal items to the floor, so I could feel the paper for any clues. Sure
enough, I felt a small bump hidden in the pattern. Upon closer inspection, it
was a hole no larger than a pin. I pounded on the spot with my fist, trying to
break the drywall to get at whatever device might be hidden behind it. A few
solid blows created an opening large enough to get my hand inside the wall and
feel around. It didn’t take long to find and grab a thin wire connected to the
camera. I couldn’t believe what I was holding, its tail leading into the wall
and towards the ceiling. My hand clenched the thin wire and yanked as hard as I
could. There was a little resistance, but the wire broke free of whatever it
was attached to.

I
stared at the small device in my hand for a few moments before I climbed off
the dresser. The initial wave of anger had passed and fear had once again
regained control. What recordings did this person have of me? Of my friends and
family who have visited? Christ, my ex-girlfriend and I had been together in this
apartment for months! I needed to alert someone, but I had to get out of the
apartment first. I pocketed the camera and grabbed my phone, keys, and wallet
before bolting out the door. Part of me wanted to stay and find the rest of the
cameras and rip them out, but the logical part of my mind told me to leave the
rest of the evidence there for the cops.

I
felt like I needed to put some distance between me and the apartment, so I
sprinted down the block to the nearby laundromat before calling 911 on my cell.
The operator asked me the nature of the emergency and I stammered, “Someone’s
been watching me! Spying on me in my apartment! I found a camera in the wall! I
need help!” The run had only served to get my adrenaline pumping more and it
left my mind swimming. I was panting as I told the operator what I had found,
starting with the package on the doorstep to the YouTube channel, to the camera
I, “punched out of the wall.”

After
about 10 minutes, a police cruiser arrived at the laundromat and I hung up with
the operator. The deputy had been given a CliffsNotes version of what I
recounted to the operator and he asked me to elaborate. I had calmed down a bit
and was able to explain a little more clearly what had happened. To punctuate
my concerns, I produced the camera I had torn out of the wall. The deputy
examined the tiny camera and exposed wires from where it was torn off its
controller. He handed it back to me and we returned to my apartment so he could
investigate any possible threats.

On
his suggestion, I gave him my door key and waited in the parking lot for him to
verify there was nobody inside. He pounded on my front door and shouted,
“Sheriff’s department! Is anyone inside?” There was no response, so he used my
key to open the self-locking doorknob and pushed the door open before
cautiously entering. After a few minutes, he emerged after finding nobody
inside and called me over.

I
tentatively returned to the apartment and the deputy followed me back inside,
asking me where I found the camera. I led him to the bedroom and pointed out
the hole I had beaten into the wall. He drew his flashlight and inspected the
hole from where he stood for a few moments before asking if I had found
anything else. I mentioned that I hadn’t looked for anything else after finding
it, but there were other videos from other angles on the site that we could
pull up and see if we find any more. With a nod, he holstered his flashlight
and followed me back to the living room where my computer sat. I had left it on
the video of my bedroom when I attacked the keyboard, but it was now off. This
was odd to me because I don’t have it set to go to sleep or into standby. I
mentioned this as I turned the computer back on and the deputy pulled me away
before I grabbed the mouse, telling me that if I hadn’t turned it off, then
someone else might have and there could be fingerprints on the mouse or desk.
The feeling of sickness returned.

I
thought to pull the YouTube channel up on my cell phone and find one of the
angles that way. The Play Button was still sitting on my coffee table, so I
typed the channel name into the YouTube search bar and was pulled it back up,
but there was no header image. It also showed that there were no videos. It was
the correct channel, but it was now empty. The deputy suggested I check my
history to see if I could find the video that way. But when I pulled it up, it
showed the three dots on the thumbnail, indicating the video had been deleted.

I
was left speechless. It felt as though I was being made to look insane. If it
wasn’t for the fact I still had the camera I’d pulled from the wall earlier,
I’m sure the deputy would have written me off as some lunatic. To his credit,
he was professional the whole time. He called in a detective who took my
statement, several photographs of the hole in the bedroom, a second pinhole we
were able to locate in the living room, along with the Play Button. They also
dusted my mouse and desk for any fingerprints. Apartment maintenance was called
to give the investigator access to the attic crawlspace to see if they could
locate whatever the camera had been attached to or the camera in the living
room. (Or any other cameras, for that matter.) Their search, however, turned up
nothing but insulation and spiders. The possibility that someone had come into
my apartment after I left in my panic, reclaimed their remaining equipment, and
shutdown my computer was a possibility. I had been gone for almost 20 minutes.
My neighbors were questioned, but nobody had seen or heard anything after I had
left, not that they were really looking in the first place.

The
detective suggested I stay somewhere else for the night and I couldn’t have
agreed more. My parents didn’t live too far away, so I decided to just go
there. Plus, I still had some clothes at their house, so I didn’t need to take
anything from my apartment with me. The detective gave me his business card and
said he would be in touch and to call if I could remember any other details. I
shook his hand as well as the deputy’s, thanking them for coming to my aid
before leaving for my parent’s house.

I
recounted the story to my parents that evening. My mother was understandably
upset and my father was livid. We stayed up most of the night, talking about
what might have been recorded and what people might have seen. There was no
audio on the singular video I had been able to watch, and I hoped that was the
case for the rest of them as well. And nobody had ever approached me on the
street or at work about the videos, so they were likely not even seen by anyone
locally. I hypothesized that the videos and subscribers to that channel may
very well have been just bots, artificially inflating the channel’s number
until it reached the point that it earned an award. Though why I was being
targeted like this was still beyond me.

I
stayed with my folks for a few days and called out of work. I just needed to
get over the panic and recover. Thankfully, my parents, boss, and coworkers
were all understanding, given the events. Eventually, I needed to return to my
apartment. My dad came with me, as if I could tell him otherwise. Everything
inside the apartment was untouched. My computer hummed quietly in the living
room from when I had turned it on, the lights in the dining room and bedroom
still burned, and the Play Button was still sitting on my coffee table.

Obviously,
the plan was for me to move out as soon as possible. We collected what I
thought I might need in the immediate future, leaving the rest for whatever
moving company we hired to box and bring to my parent’s house until I found a
new place. My work clothes, toiletries, laptop, and TV were all that made the
cut. The rest would arrive in cardboard at some future time.

It
took me a while to find a new place that fit my budget. Of course, living with
my parents for that duration made me feel safe. They, also, didn’t seem to be
in a huge rush for me to move out right away. My dad was apprehensive about me
being on my own again so soon afterward, but understood that I was an adult. My
mom, on the other hand, was a lot harder to convince. She tried every play in
the book to get me to stay home. Do my laundry, feed me, I didn’t even need to
pay rent (which isn’t the attitude she’d had when I was 20 living at home). In
the end, it was about two months before I left home for the second time.

My
new apartment was in a completely different part of town. My commute to work
was about 20 minutes longer and I had to pay for water separately, but that was
the worst of it. It was bigger and had an actual kitchen. The day I got my key,
I had the movers bring my (still boxed) stuff to my new place. It’s funny how
you never really realize just how little you have until it’s all professionally
packed into boxes and carted into your empty living room.

I
unpacked over the course of a month, deciding on things as they came out of the
box if I should keep, give to charity, or toss. When I came to the box with the
Play Button in it, I pondered. It was a symbol that represented the invasion of
my privacy by over 100,000 people and it made me feel uneasy at the thought.
But, on the other hand, it was still a Play Button. Sure, a lot of people had
them. But I doubt any got one without even trying. I chuckled to myself at that
last part.

Ultimately,
I decided to toss it. While I probably could have gotten over the feelings I
got when I looked at it, there was no reason to put myself through that. So I
put it back into the box it came in, tore off the labels with the addresses on
them and the YouTube logo, and taped it shut. (I didn’t want anyone seeing it
in the dumpster and think, “Hey! Free YouTube button!”). I took it and several
other things with me to the garbage behind my new building and bid it good
riddance.

I halted as I rounded the corner to
my front door. My heart started to race and my mouth dried up as my knees
started to shake. Someone had left a gold Play Button on my step.

Credits to: tomatogoatee (story)

Creepypasta #1544: Send Nudes

Length: Short

I’m in the garage as usual when my phone rattles on the desk
nearby.

It’s my husband, I can already tell. Probably banging his head at timeless void that is
the 3pm slog at his office.

I wipe my
hands down and pick up my phone.

Bored at work! Send a face pic 😉

I chuckle to
myself an oblige him. It’s a bit mucky and dirty from the garage, but I’m sure
he won’t mind. Working from home has its perks, and I suppose one of them is
being able to indulge in the whims of a bored significant other.

I wait a
minute, before resuming work as he’s bound to reply and I’d rather not have to
wipe my hands again after touching dirty tools.

About 30
seconds later he’s back.

Oooh pretty! Show me them feet girl!

He’s such a
goofball. I take a photo of each foot, alternating between holding them in my
hand.

I myself
always work barefoot, I like the feel of the plastic beneath my feet.

Daaamn. ;). Now you know what I
want, send nudes lol ;P

He won’t be
home for another 2 hours, so let’s help him get through the day.

He picked
this one out, so I’m sure he’ll like what he’ll see.

A girl he met
at a bar on a work night out.

The breasts
are bigger than mine and her skin is far more tanned. I’m pale as a ghost alas.

I snap a
couple of pictures and send them his way.

Wait. Where are the arms?

I tell him
the truth.

Sorry hun. Got carried away 😉

Do you still have them???

I roll my
eyes at him, I’m not an idiot.

Of course I do you loser. They’re in
the fridge.

Wait. Were the feet ATTACHED to the
body???

Haha. He’s
such a dork. He knows better than to leave me at home alone. We’d planned to do
it, but he called in to work at the last minute by his shit of a boss. He’s
currently learning his route home and personal activities.

I got TOO carried away 😉

I reply to
him, and figure I may as well call it a day until he gets back.

I reeeeally
want to do the head. But I’ll save it for him.

I know how
much he loves doing the head.

Gonna shower. I’ll save you the head
X

I bolt the garage and head inside to take a shower, before
sitting down on the PS4 and waiting for my man to come home.

Credits to: MoGhulisMoProblems (story)

Creepypasta #1543: There’s An Extra Ghost In D…

Length: Short

A few weeks ago, my sister and I
went to Disney World. After riding It’s a Small World three times (she loves
it, ugh) and waiting 2 hours in line for the Seven Dwarves Mine Train, we hit
up the Haunted Mansion.

Since
it was ten minutes till close, it was only us and some teenage couple on the
ride.

“They’re making out back there,”
Megan complained. “I can hear them. Ugh.”

“Did
you see their matching skull tattoos? So edgy.”

The Doom Buggy rolled into the hall
of doors. Clank! Clank! The knockers twitched, and the doors
creaked and buckled, as if holding something within.

And
then the Doom Buggy stopped.

“We
are experiencing technical difficulties,” the automated voice said through the
speakers.

“Ugh. This is the most boring
part of the ride.”

“I
know,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest. “Such chintzy special effects,
too – I mean, doors and knocking sounds, wow, they really broke the budget –”

“Blair!”

I
turned.

“That
door,” she said excitedly, pointing behind us. “It’s open!”

I leaned out of the Doom Buggy. In
the darkness behind us, one of the doors was hanging open, spilling green light
into the hallway. “Okay, now that’s cool. Is that new?”

“Must
be.”

“Too
bad we already passed it,” I said, turning back around. “They probably have
some really cool animatronic in there or something.”

The
ride jolted forward.

We rolled into the séance room. Madame Leota’s face glowed
from the crystal ball, looking out at all of us.

“Blair?”
Megan said, her voice quaking.

I
followed her gaze. She was looking across the crystal ball, at the other Doom
Buggies. In the ghastly white light, I could see them, and –

They
were all empty.

“The
teenagers,” I said, my voice hoarse. “They’re gone.”

Before I could take a second look,
we swung out of the séance room. The buggy climbed through the darkness, up
into the hallway overlooking the ballroom.

“Are
you sure they were sitting behind us?” Megan whispered. “Weren’t they sitting
in front of us –”

“Or
maybe they got out of the buggy.”

“Why
would they do that?”

“To
have sex?”

“Ew,
that’s –”

We
jolted to a stop.

“We
are experiencing technical difficulties,” the same, automated voice rang out
through the speakers.

“At
least we get a good view, this time,” I said, watching the ghosts twirl in dance
below.

Clunk.

Megan
jumped. “What was that?” she said, her voice quavering.

“Probably
just the machinery,” I said.

But
I was scared, too. I took a deep breath, and tried to focus on the ballroom
below. It really is the best scene in the ride; six couples waltz to a creepy
tune played by an organist –

My
heart stopped.

There
weren’t six.

There
were seven.

And
then I saw it. One of the couples was twirling slightly off-beat, sticking out
from the rest. And on each one’s arm –

Was
a skull tattoo.

“It’s
them – the ghosts –” Megan started.

“They
aren’t ghosts,” I said, the terror of realization kicking in. “You know how
this is done, right? The Pepper’s ghost illusion – the ghosts are reflections
in the glass, of animatronics in a hidden room –”

“This
is not the time for Disney Trivia, Blair –”

“We’re
not seeing ghosts,” I said. “We’re seeing reflections. Of them. Or –” My voice
caught in my throat. “Or their bodies.”

Clunk. The sound echoed off the dark
walls, louder this time.

Megan
grabbed my arm. I peered out the side of the Doom Buggy. All I could see was
the hallway, and the train of empty buggies snaking back into the darkness.

Clunk.

And
then –

The
buggy lurched forward.

We rolled through the attic, then
into the graveyard.
Fake stars dotted the purple sky. Beyond the iron gates, a haunting melody
wafted towards us. Animatronics of ghosts – glowing eerie greens and purples
from the blacklights – twitched and lurched among the tombstones.

The
Doom Buggy rolled past the iron gates.

And
then –

It
halted to a stop.

Clunk.

“We
have to get out of here,” I said, standing up.

“What?!
Are you insane?”

“We
can’t just wait for it to get us!” I yelled. I looped one leg over the safety
bar.

“Please
remain in the Doom Buggy at all times,” the speakers boomed.

Megan
looked at me with wide eyes.

“We
have to go! Megan, come on!”

Clunk.

It
was louder, now, from the edge of the graveyard.

She
nodded and leapt out of the buggy.

We
ran as fast as we could, carefully winding between the tombstones. Past a band
of ghosts playing music, past two ghosts on a see-saw, past a ghostly tea
party.

“Blair?”

“What?!”

“Why’d
they stop?”

I
looked up. The band of ghosts had suddenly stopped trumpeting, drumming. The
see-saw had stopped teetering. The tea-party ghosts had set down their cups.

They
were all still.

And
every eye was on us.

“Run!”
I screamed.

It was all a blur of purple and
blue, eerie glows and still eyes. We ran as fast as we could, as the clunks got
louder and louder. We didn’t stop until we were out of the ride, huffing and
puffing in the damp Florida air.

I
grabbed the nearest cast member I could find. “There’s something wrong,” I
huffed. “Something wrong with the ride. We were just on it – and –”

She
looked back at me, sweetly. “Don’t worry, everything will be fine. What ride
did you say it was?”

“The
Haunted Mansion.”

“That’s
impossible,” she replied, in the same sickeningly sweet tone of voice.

“What?”

“We
had to close it down early because of a malfunction,” she said.

“You
mean –”

“Nobody’s been allowed on the ride
since 9 o’clock.”

Credits to: BlairDaniels (story)

Creepypasta #1542: People Are Animals

Length: Short

I’m torn from my sleep by the irritated jangling of the
servants’ bell. Damn it. I was hoping I’d get at least a few hours of
undisturbed sleep this time.

My resentment
towards the Foy family grows with every step up. Cruel and insane, every one of
them, even the children. People whisper about them – it’s accepted that their
ancestors simply murdered anyone who threatened their financial and social
standing – but nobody knows anything for sure.

Except me.

But the Foys
are smart. They do their research before bringing on anybody new. Right now, my
only daughter is in a cage in their basement. If I say a word about what
happens here, she’s dead.

That’s how
they operate. If you have family, they’re used against you. If you don’t….
enjoy having limbs.

With a deep
sigh, I push open the door to the second-floor drawing room. Blood is spattered
across the floor, the rugs – the vintage cream upholstery, God damn it, that’s
going to take ages to clean.

A man’s head
sits on the table in the center of the room. I recognize him from earlier in
the evening, but his head was still attached then.

Across the
room, Lady Foy picks some meat off a bone. She’s almost completely transformed
back to being human, except for a few odd patches of fur. And the teeth. The
teeth take a long time to go back to normal.

People really are animals.

Credits to: professionalsuccubus (story)

Creepypasta #1541: Never Ever Take Your Kids T…

Length: Medium

About
three weeks ago, I drove my son out to a national park for a little weekend
camping trip. We took the 410 out from Tacoma into Mount Rainier, a place my
own dad used to take me when I was a kid. I wanted my son, David, who’s two and
a half, to find the same joy of the wilderness as I had, but I’m quite
convinced that he will be terrified of forests for the rest of his life.

When
we arrived that Friday, the weather was crisp and the first signs of spring had
finally made themselves known. We walked (or rather, I walked with David on my
shoulders) for about two, maybe three hours from the parking lot into a small,
desolate camping ground with a pre-made fire pit. I’m not a very overprotective
parent, so I let David wobble around a bit while I pitched the tent.

Just
as I was about done and was getting ready to unload our three-day supply into
the tent, I heard David make some sounds from behind me. Now, I recognized
these sounds immediately, as they are the sounds he usually makes when he’s
excited about something. I turned around and saw him sitting in the grass,
about twenty feet away, staring into the woods. More strangely, he was doing
this thing he does when he’s particularly excited about something, in which
he’s slapping both of his thighs repeatedly.

I
slowly walked over while trying to keep an eye on both him and the woods at the
same time, but there was nothing in the treeline I could make out. When I was
finally by his side, I asked him what he had seen, and at this his response
was:

“Monkeyman,
monkeyman!”

He
was smiling, still slapping his thighs, and as much as I tried to match his
excitement like a good parent should do, suddenly, the serenity of the woods
was replaced by a sense of unease. I fixed my eyes on the treeline and peered
in very, very carefully. It was just such an incredibly strange thing for him
to say.

I
picked David up, not wanting to leave him alone anymore, at least until I could
regain some clarity, and walked into the treeline. I don’t know how many of you
are parents, but the last thing you want to do when you’re taking your kid out
for a fun weekend is frighten him. I mention this because the sensible thing
might have been to hush him, to tell him to keep quiet for a while, but then, I
also knew that realistically, this was just an imaginative manifestation.

After
a few minutes of scouting around with David up on my shoulders, I decided to
return to camp. It was about 3:30 I believe, and so I made us some lunch, still
keeping an occasional eye on the space at which David had been clapping and
yapping just a few minutes before.

As
much as I tried to forget it, I just couldn’t. I’m not superstitious. I don’t
believe in aliens, ghosts or bigfoots. But I suppose my parental instinct was
simply in too much of a high gear for me to let go, so as the cold sun was
setting, I decided to ask David a bit about what he had seen.

To
understand my story a little better, it might be relevant to mention here that
David is has a mild learning disability, which has particularly impaired his
speech. He can understand fine, but his ability to communicate has lagged
behind somewhat.

As I was
getting the fire going, I asked him about the monkeyman. I asked if it was a
big monkeyman.
David thought about that for a second. He then laughed and nodded. I then asked
if it seemed like a nice monkeyman,
and David once again giggled in approval. I wasn’t really sure what else to
ask.

Nightfall
struck, and on full bellies, I read a chapter from a book to him as he fell
asleep in his sleeping bag. When I fell asleep myself, I had almost forgotten
about monkeyman.

I
awoke in pitch darkness. The fire pit was out. I reached out to feel for David
and panic struck me hard. He wasn’t in the tent anymore. With only my underwear
on, I stormed out, but realized it was too dark to see anything, so I dropped
back into the tent and tore my flashlight out of my bag. I was screaming his
name all at the same time.

With
only the weak beam of a flashlight I didn’t think I would ever have to actually
rely on, I shone it around in circles, still calling for David. For some reason,
I ran towards the spot at which David had been so transfixed in the daytime. I
shouted his name into the trees.

As
I trotted inwards into the pitch black woods, I was too frantic to notice how
badly my feet were getting scraped up by the bark and stone. After only about a
minute of walking, I saw something that made me drop the flashlight and bolt
forward. David was standing there, peering into the darkness, utterly still. I
grabbed onto him, hard, and began to sob. Still clutching him tightly, I picked
up the flashlight again, which had been idly beaming the ground, and scouted
around, fending off the darkness. I could see nothing around.

As
I carried him back, looking over my shoulder, I asked what had happened. He
implied that he didn’t know, and that he was tired. David has had a long
history of sleep walking.

That
night, I locked up the tent from the inside with a padlock. I only got about
three hours of good rest. David slept like a rock, despite my trembling
embrace.

The
following morning, I cooked some eggs and bacon on the camping stove. David had
no recollection of what had happened, and seemed content to continue the trip.
I thought it would be incautious to shrug off last night’s event as mere
sleepwalking, especially considering the “monkeyman”-business, but
also thought it would be a bit too silly to cancel the entire trip over it.
Thus, I made a promise to myself that if anything else were to happen, we would
drive back to Tacoma at a moment’s notice.

The
rest of the day was actually quite nice and helped me take my mind off of
things. David was at first a little upset at not having the iPad, but
eventually discovered that nature can be just as cool as pixels. We made some
bark boats with faces on them and set them downstream, watched squirrels and
listened to the birds. It was everything I had hoped the trip would be.

At
dusk, when the trees stretched long shadows across the grass, David was getting
too cold and too tired to play anymore, so I decided we would spend the rest of
the day in the tent. I had brought along this game where you have to trace the
outline of a person with an electrode, and if your aim is off, it makes a funny
sound. I don’t remember what it’s called, but David found it hilarious. It’s
dumb, but supposedly helps with motor development.

At
one of David’s turns, he made an error and the little speaker made the sound
again, and David bellowed into laughter. What happened next filled me with a
sense of fear that I doubt anything will ever match.

From
about 150 feet away, I heard the exact same laugh that David had made, only
that it was much deeper. It was almost like when you record yourself speaking,
then digitally pitch it down. I froze, and this time, I couldn’t hide my
reaction from David. I could tell by his face that he had heard it too. I
lifted a finger up to my lips to communicate him that we needed to be quiet. It
was at this moment that I also noticed that the sun had set completely. I also
noticed just how dead quiet the woods were.

Every
second felt like an eternal minute as we sat there in the tent, absolutely
still, enveloped in the silence. When the sound of my own heartbeat in my ears
finally ceased a little, I slowly leaned over towards my backpack to get my
handgun out.

When
I turned around to face David again, I saw that he had picked up the electrode
again. I sternly removed it from his hand and whispered with equal sternness,
“not now, David.”

Then,
just as I had said it, a low, broken voice whispered from literally inches from
the tent:

“Not
now, David.”

The
next thing I’m aware off is that I’m shooting wildly through the fabric of the
tent in the direction the sound. David is screaming. And as the gunshots ring
throughout the woods, I hear the last remnants of something sprinting away.

With
my hand violently trembling, I opened the padlock and jumped out with a
flashlight in my left hand, aiming the faint beam into black nothingness. I
grabbed David, stuffed everything within arm’s reach into the backpack, and
ran.

The
way back was pure terror. There was not a second at which I did not feel as if
something was right behind us, ready to leap out from behind us or the side of
the trail, out from the darkness. The only thing I could say to David was
“it’s okay, you’ll get the iPad soon. Do you want the iPad?”

Nothing
ever leaped out at us, nor did I hear anything except for the rushing of the
wind and the occasional running stream by the trailside. I was so out of it
that even in the car, I kept checking the backseat just to see if there was
something sitting in it, ready to destroy us.

I
don’t know how to explain to David’s pediatrician what happened in Mount
Rainier. I haven’t even told his mother the full story, only that I thought
someone came up to our tent and that I fired a warning shot. Needless to say,
David hasn’t been the same since. He has been getting constant headaches, which
might be from damage to his ears by the gunshot.

I
don’t really know how to end the story, but one thing is for certain.

Never, ever take your kids out to
Mount Rainier National Park.

Credits to: Horrors_of_the_Woods (story)