Category: creepypasta

Creepypasta #1316: Strange Old Mrs. Ippy

Length: Medium

Mrs.
Ippy was our town weirdo and a stranger to everyone, despite having lived here
her whole life. She spent her days sitting in the rocking chair on her porch,
silently watching as we walked by. Always alone and older than anyone could
remember, people often whispered rumors about her being a witch. Despite this,
she was considered harmless. That is, until they found Melissa Bigley’s body
hanging in the woods behind her house, with Mrs. Ippy holding the end of the
rope in her bony fingers. We all watched as Brooks, the girl’s father, squeezed
the life out of Mrs. Ippy in a fit of rage, and then strung her up like his
daughter before her. And then the next day, we were shocked to find Mrs. Ippy
back on her porch, wearing the exact same clothes, rocking in her chair as
though nothing had happened.

No
one knew how she’d survived. It was assumed the grief-stricken Brooks had
misjudged her level of “dead” and the tightness of the rope he’d used to hang
her corpse. To see her sitting there, as though mocking Brooks for his
incompetence, awoke something in us all: outrage, and a burning desire for
justice.

If you’ve
never seen a mob in action, count yourself lucky. A mob – that is, a real mob,
not the peaceful protesters police like to gun down with pepper spray for no
good reason on TV – is a terrifying sight both to those participating and to
those watching. They become a wildfire, and whether you like it or not, you get
caught in the swell. Bloodlust replaces wisdom, and bestial instinct replaces
humanity. You no longer have friends, family, or neighbors: you have an inferno
that won’t be snuffed out until everything is burned to the ground. You become
a whole. A single-minded entity with one goal. In our case, the goal was clear:
revenge.

I
can’t remember if I did any of it myself. I remember the rage burning in my
chest, I remember the sensation of warm blood splattering on my skin, and I
remember screaming until my voice crackled and gave out. Whether or not I was
one of the people who cut off Mrs. Ippy’s limbs, I was part of the whole, which
makes me just as guilty as everyone else.

When
it was over, all that was left of Mrs. Ippy was a pool of blood and pieces of
her body strewn about her yard, left there for the dogs to eat. And, once the
mob disbanded, a collective wave of shock snuffed out the embers or our
wildfire. There were no whispers as we started to return home, and the reality
of what we’d done sank in. I felt drained, as though I’d run a marathon in
under ten minutes. I think everyone else felt the same, because we all took
lethargic steps away, somehow both in a rush, but unable to rush.

We might
not have heard it if shock hadn’t muted us, but from behind us came the
strangest sloshing noise, like someone chewing gum made of molasses. Brooks was
the first to turn around, and the guttural scream that came out of him made my stomach
feel as though it were tumbling down a hillside. How could I not look?
Just like it’s impossible not to push a button labelled “do not push”, I had to
turn around and see for myself despite the warning from both Brooks and my
guts.

Strange
spires were emerging from Mrs. Ippy’s lawn. Spires made of pulsing red material
slowly building into arching shapes. Each had a single beige spot at different
locations, and it wasn’t until the beige began to spread out that I realized
what they were: pieces of Mrs. Ippy. Her skin stretched out over the growing
forms, until they were entirely covered in her flesh. Then, they molded into
her shape, with any excess skin melting down and hardening as though to give
the illusion of sagging skin.

With
a knot in my throat, I started counting: one Mrs. Ippy…two Mrs. Ippy…three Mrs.
Ippy…four Mrs. Ippy…five Mrs. Ippy…and more kept growing. Twelve Mrs.
Ippy…thirteen Mrs. Ippy…there was no end to them.

I didn’t
know what to expect. It was all so surreal. Were they going to form a mob of
their own and rip us apart?
I didn’t have the energy to run, even if I wasn’t too scared to move. I stood
there in terrified anticipation, trying to keep the fear from spilling out of
me. Trying to stay in control. Like a child about to get scolded by her
parents, I braced myself for whatever was to come.

Mrs.
Ippy. That is, the thirty-or-so Mrs. Ippys all standing in different parts of
the lawn and porch, slowly raised their right arms and stretched out their
index fingers, all pointed towards the same person: Brooks. She…they said
nothing, merely looked at him with accusing eyes. He tripped as he tried to
back away, his face draining of color. I think we all knew what Mrs. Ippy was
trying to say, although no one wanted to admit it. To admit the truth was to
admit our own guilt. As long as it remained unspoken, we could justify our own
actions as “justice”, but if we admitted we were wrong, then…

They
took a single step forward.

Brooks
held his head in his trembling hands.

He
was surrounded now. Mrs. Ippys on one side, the disbanded mob on the other, and
his shaking form at the center. It was hard to read what everyone else was
feeling. In the mob, we’d been single-minded, but now, I could see a mix of
concern, confusion, and loathing, but beneath the surface emotions, I think we
all had a twinge of fear and guilt running through us.

Brooks
cracked. “I did it!” he shouted, “It was me!”

The
horde of Mrs. Ippys took another few steps towards him.

Brooks
crawled towards his wife standing nearby, wrapped his arms around her leg, and
groveled like a child. “It was an accident! You know how she got. Always
disobeying us! I was just trying to teach her a lesson…but then I went too
far,” he choked up, tears streaming down the sides of his face, “I-I didn’t want
you to hate me. I had to blame someone.”

Brooks
had been purposely loud that day, so we had all seen Mrs. Ippy holding the end
of the rope. We just hadn’t realized she intended to untie it. We hadn’t
realized he’d been trying to frame her.

“She’s
old,” cried Brooks, “no one would have missed her! No one batted an eye!”

He
was right. No one had come to her defense or insisted on a fair trial. We’d
stood by and watched the so-called grieving father squeeze the life out of an
innocent old woman, and then we turned on her when we thought she’d somehow
survived and wanted to mock us.

Brooks’
wife let out a gasp and kicked her leg back to try and knock him off as he
begged for forgiveness.

“It’s
not my fault! It’s not my fault. I’m sorry.”

The
crowd of Mrs. Ippys closed in on him. And, just like we hadn’t stopped him from
killing her, no one stopped her from dragging him away. No one kept the
thirty-something Mrs. Ippys from tearing him limb from limb in front of us, not
even his wife.

We
just kind of slowly returned home at our own pace, trying to forget the horrors
we’d seen.

Today,
Mrs. Ippy still sits on the porch and watches us as we walk into town. I’m not
sure what happened to all the other Mrs. Ippys, though. My best guess is they
re-assembled at some point, but I don’t think I’ll ever know.

I’m not brave enough to ask her.

Credits to: manen_lyset (story)

Creepypasta #1315: Mime Time

Length: Short

You
know what sucks? Being the best in the world at something and it being utterly
unmarketable. I’m an incredible mime. I can fake climbing a rope like you
wouldn’t believe. But mimes don’t rake in the cash like they used to.

And
busking is hard. On a good day I might take in thirty bucks. No matter how many
walls I’d walk into or jump ropes I’d skip, my act just wasn’t making money. I
was going to lose my apartment.

I’m
crediting my desperation for me not noticing how creepy the man was. I guess
when your diet mostly consists of 99 cent tacos, you don’t think twice when you
get offered magic gloves. But he said they’d make me put on my most memorable
show ever. So I took them.

The
next day, I set down my money bucket, slipped on the gloves, hit the play
button on my stereo and got to work. I started with the rope climb. Then
something amazing happened. As I closed my hands around the invisible rope, my
fingers latched onto something solid. I could feel the rope in my hands. I gave
it a strong pull. My feet came off the ground and I hung there, dangling from a
rope that wasn’t there. It was incredible. And I was rewarded by the sound of
clapping and applause. A small crowd had gathered, staring in wonder as I hung
in mid-air.

So
I continued my show. I sat on chairs that weren’t there, leaned impossibly
against walls. I even rode an invisible bike through the ever-increasing crowd
to uproarious cheers. And my money bucket was filled with cash.

And
then I tried the classic: The invisible box. I crouched and stretched out my
hands, feeling the walls around me. I faked hysterics as I pounded on the
walls. The crowd loved it. I gave a flourish of my hands to the crowd and got
up from my crouch.

And
my head slammed into the ceiling. I stifled a yell. The crowd laughed. I put my
hands out and pushed on the invisible walls, but they wouldn’t budge. I began
to pound and kick and slam myself against the walls of my invisible prison, but
nothing worked. I tried to take the gloves off, but it was like they were fused
to my skin. I gave up the mime shtick and yelled for help. But my mouth
produced no sound.

Then
the walls began moving inward. I tried to brace myself against them as the box
grew smaller and smaller. The crowd cheered loudly as I pushed with all my
might, trying to stop the walls’ terrible advance until I could feel it on
every side, squeezing in on me like a vise.

And as my breath left me and my bones
cracked and as the jubilant laughter of the crowd turned to terrified
screaming, I couldn’t help but think that this was definitely my most memorable
show ever.

Credits to: Lloiu (story)

Creepypasta #770: Playing Rough

fifteenhours-creepystories:

Length: Short

From the way he acted and the way he
spoke Nathan knew he was a spoiled brat. Get me this. Get me that. Constant
commands. But Nathan didn’t care, soon the boy’s parents will be back and he
could go to Grace’s party.

Occasionally he glimpsed up from his
phone to watch the little boy Bran as he ran room to room. “The little
shit has way too much energy.” He muttered, and went back to Facebook,
which was filled with photos from the party. That’s when he noticed the time.
“Shit.”

“Alright Bran, that’s enough. Come
on you need to go to bed.”

“No!” The brat screeched.
“I want to play!”

“You need to go to bed! You
parents will be back soon.”

“No! No! No! No!” The boy
replied, running in circles around the couch.

“You’re annoying me now kid! Get
to bed!” Nathan grabbed at Bran but he wriggled and ran to the kitchen.
Nathan made chase but was met with a crash and high pitched cries. Cutlery was
everywhere.

“Look what you’ve done, now I have
to clean this fucking mess up!”

Nathan knelt to deal with the
silverware, cursing under his breath. The boy was still crying, holding his
knee.

“Go to bed now!” Nathan
screamed as to be heard over Bran’s cries.

The cries stopped suddenly.

“No.” The boy whispered in
Nathan’s ear. “I told you. I want to play.”

Nathan felt a hot pain shoot through
his Achilles tendon. He tried to stand but he collapsed, his foot crunching and
spurting with blood.

Bran stood over him with a bloody bread
knife, smiling.

Nathan’s hand shot up but was met with
another slice. He backed away from the boy, crawling slowly.

“Wha… What have you done? You
stupid little brat, when your parents come back they’ll…”

The boy butted in. “They’ll get
rid of the body…” He stopped smiling. “They always do.”

Credits to: CreamySpudz

Creepypasta #1314: The Most Obscure Disney Fil…

Length: Short

TRIGGER WARNING: CHILD AND ANIMAL CRUELTY AND DEATH

For
supposedly being the happiest film company on Earth, Disney films were filled
with all sorts of frightening moments.

Anyone
remember the Coachman’s horrific grin in Pinocchio, followed by the
painful-looking donkey transformation? What about the infamous segment
from Fantasia with
the enormous demon on Bald Mountain? Or Dumbo’s drunken Pink Elephant
hallucinations that scared us away from drinking alcohol?

If you
were frightened by any of the above scenes, or any other similar scene in a
Disney film, be thankful you never saw The
Pathway to Hell.

Never
heard of it? Don’t worry. I can’t find a single person online who has.

I
only saw it once, when I was six or seven, during the mid to late nineties. I
remember my mom bringing it back from a random thrift shop and putting it on
for me.

I
know for sure it was a Disney film, because I explicitly remember seeing the
Disney logo on the VHS cover, and previews for other Disney films before the
actual film started.

That
film terrified the ever-loving crap out of me. I remember constantly covering
my eyes and praying it would be over soon, but I couldn’t stop watching it
anyway. I felt drawn to it, like a moth to a flame, despite me feeling
increasingly frightened more and more as the film continued.

The
film was about a pair of kids, a boy and a girl, who lived on a farm with their
grandparents somewhere in the northern United States, like Montana. They were
told by their grandfather not to visit the well on the far side of the yard.

The
kids disobeyed their grandfather and visited it anyway. A bunch of demons came
up out of the well, stole the boy’s head, and now the girl had to go down and
find it.

The first
few minutes of the film was animated in the typical cutesy Disney style. But
after the girl went down to Hell (and yes, they did refer to it as just that),
it suddenly switched to a more twisted and surreal appearance, similar to that
of Stephen Gammell’s infamous illustrations for the Scary Stories to Tell in
the Dark series.

I
still remember how Hell was depicted in the film perfectly. It was mostly gray
with a few reds and blues here and there. The rocks looked like skulls, and the
trees looked like hands. The latter constantly reached over and tried to grab
the girl as she ran through all of this with a terrified expression.

Throughout
the film, the girl constantly encountered various obstacles. Some of the demons
she met ended up helping her, while others were less helpful. There was no
possible way of knowing who was friend or foe.

The
first creature she met was some sort of eyeless pig/rat/bug thing that made a
screaming/laughing sound like a demonic Donald Duck as it tore away the girl’s
dress, and she ended up spending the majority of the film in her underwear.

I
don’t remember most of the other obstacles she encountered, save for the Kitten
Eater.

The
Kitten Eater was an enormous pale-skinned obese being that sat on a chair
clearly too small for him. He had no facial features other than a pair of black
jelly blob eyes and an enormous wide mouth filled with sharp teeth.

True
to his name, he had a cage full of adorable blue-eyed kittens all drawn in the
traditional Disney style sitting next to his chair. The kittens were all mewing
in a heart-wrenchingly realistic manner as the Kitten Eater would reach down
into the cage, pull out a frightened kitten, pop it into his mouth, and and
chew it up with the sound of crunching bones. I even remember him wiping away
blood in one shot!

I
remember when the girl saw the Kitten Eater, he spoke to her in this horrible
deep distorted-sounding voice, lower than any human voice I’d ever heard,
before grabbing her by the back of her panties and trying to swallow her.

There
was also the Devil itself. I use “it” because I couldn’t tell if it was a male
or female. I remember it having long stringy hair, pale corpse-like skin thinly
stretched over a lanky skeleton, empty black eye sockets, and sharp fang-like
teeth. It spoke in a horrible high-pitched screeching voice, that sounded a lot
like that horrible screaming sound red foxes made, except forming words.

I
remember there being a strange song that played as the Devil and its minions
tossed the boy’s severed head around in one scene. Speaking of which, that’s
another thing I remember quite vividly.

See,
the boy’s head was alive while it was separated from his body. As the Devil
held the head, it cried and begged the Devil to return it to its body. I also
remember the film constantly cutting back to the farm where the headless boy’s
body continued to walk around, picking up random stuff like rocks and placing
them on its neck stump trying to replace its old head.

After
it got to the scene where the girl finally makes it to where the Devil is
keeping her brother’s head, my mom came in and saw what was going on in the
movie. Then she noticed me looking petrified as I continued to stare at the
screen. I think she then realized this film was too much for me, as she took it
out of the VCR, put it back in its case, and returned it to the store, so I
didn’t get to see how the movie ended.

I
never saw or heard anything about that film ever again. I never found another
copy of it, neither can I find any info about it on the internet. It seems to
have just vanished from existence, despite being from probably the most famous
animation company on the planet.

But
I still remember that film explicitly well, even twenty years later. It’s been
haunting me for years. Right before I wrote this, I asked my mom about the
film, and she said she remembered it too, but didn’t know anything about it,
which proves I didn’t imagine or dream it. I have no idea where that VHS of the
film is now, or even if there’s more than one copy.

If you have a copy of the film,
please provide proof of some kind. Like a screencap or a picture of the cover.
Just so that I can show the world that I’m not crazy, and that Disney’s most
nightmarish animated film ever really did exist.

Credits to: SummerAndTinkles (story)

The ‘creepypasta’ tag on Tumblr pisses me off …

The fact that the tag is dominated not by actual creepypastas but by cringy and frankly weird fan art is just 

image

This is NOT what creepypasta is. 

I mean just look at the related tags c’mon

I can’t, you guys. I can’t. 

Creepypasta #530: Cage

fifteenhours-creepystories:

The year was 2014 AD. A lonely man sits in his
windowless laboratory, tinkering with his newest project. The man, one Dr.
Arthur Garvin, was a software and robotics engineer, working for the Rockwell
BioMechanical Logistics Corporation, out of Langley, Virginia. He sat alone in
his lab for 11 hours Monday through Friday working tirelessly to provide the
company with more technological advancements, to keep his own job. He was a
special kind of scientist, working both in the computer program and robotic
side of his field, but he was nevertheless anxious about his job.

He pulled his hands out of the robot on the table in front of him, wiped his
brow, and let out a breath. Assessing the progress of his robot, he was a bit
impressed at his own work. Gleaming steel covered the hydraulic systems and
wires that served as the functioning components of the limbs. The chestplate
was open, exposing an experimental micro-reactor, the size of a football, which
would provide the necessary energy for movement. 

His design was in its final
stages, having been done and redone; streamlined for performance and cost. The
robot was considered to be the Mark III in Garvin’s XR Series Automatons, and
it would have the same motor functionality of the average human being.

Garvin decided to take a momentary break. Looking around, he took in the state
of his lab. There were various robotics strewn about, past failed projects hung
up on the wall. Many of the humanoid robot corpses were half-destroyed or
disassembled for parts. Mechanical arms hung like moss from their robotic
willows. The view usually never phased Garvin, but in comparison to his XR-III
on the table, the battered old robots seemed even more corroded. The sight of
them hanging on the wall became more macabre, as Garvin imagined the dead bots
crying out to him, jealous of his newest child. He shook the thought, as it
frightened him too much.

Returning to the XR-III, Garvin saw the human-like qualities he had so worked
for in this design. He wanted desperately to create an automaton that could act
with the smoothness of a human being. As much as he would’ve liked for the
robot to be human by itself, it could not happen. Garvin knew he would need a
computer program to guide his robot, and the XR-III would be the first of his
bots to feature a computer brain.

Garvin finished the mechanical improvements he had been making, and the robot
was complete. He only needed to upload the program he had designed. Walking
past the rack of failed robots, Garvin logged into his computer terminal, and
pulled up the program. 

Keep reading

Creepypasta #1313: Janus

Length: Short

Chief Wells,

The four suspects
were detained and brought in for questioning by Private Investigator Daniel
Reed at 9:30 AM on July 23, 2017. According to Reed, the pertinent information
regarding the murders of the 8-year old Wilkinson twins is as follows:

SUSPECT
1: MATTHEW WILKINSON, FATHER OF THE VICTIMS

“I
can’t believe you’d think I’d do this to my own children. I am at a loss for
words right now. How much more pain do you people plan on putting me through?
I’ve told you: the last time I saw Abby and Michelle was before they left for
school that morning. When I was driving home from work, I got the call from the
police that they had found my little girls in the woods. My God. There was so
much blood…”

SUSPECT
2: OLIVIA WHITE, DISCOVERED THE BODIES

“I’m
telling the truth. I was doing my afternoon jog along the forest trail and
decided to veer off the beaten path. It was hard to miss them. Those poor
girls… I called the police as soon as I ran back to my car, where I could
finally get a signal.”

SUSPECT
3: PATTY SMITH, TEACHER, LAST ONE TO SEE THE VICTIMS ALIVE

“No. I didn’t like
the little brats. They always yelled and screamed until they got what they
wanted. But they didn’t deserve this. I
watched them walk home at the end of the day because teachers in our district
are supposed to make sure that the kids who don’t take the bus get home safe. I
would have escorted them further if their father hadn’t come to pick them up.
Now, before you call me irresponsible, I’ve had parent-teacher conferences with
this man before. I am 100% certain it was Matthew Wilkinson.”

SUSPECT
4: BURT LAWSON, PRIME SUSPECT IN SIMILAR HOMICIDE CASE ONE WEEK AGO

“We
really gonna do this? Again? I’m just gonna tell you the same thing as last
time. I didn’t do it, but I know who did. You need to find Janus. He’s a local
actor. He killed the Stevenson boy a week ago and slipped away right under your
noses. He’s predictable, too: makes up fake identities and impersonates people
until he gets away with it, then lets someone else’s life get destroyed. His
one weakness? Can’t name his identities for shit. He just ends up taking
whatever he used to kill his victims and rearranges the letters into a name.
I’m telling you. He’s one sick $&@!.”

We tried looking
for this Janus character but our teams found nothing. Personally, I think the
testimonies point towards the father, but we need more evidence to convict. It
makes me sick to know that we still can’t identify the killer, even after four
other homicide cases.

I’m sure we’ll
solve it soon. I’ll let you know if anything else turns up.

Best,

Officer Shawn Cai

Credits to: ShadowScribe (story)

READ ON FOR AN EXPLANATION:

Officer Shawn Cai (rearranged to become ‘chainsaw’) is the killer. 

Creepypasta #517: Dreamscapes

fifteenhours-creepystories:

My
dreams are different, and people tell me they’re cool.

Nearly
all of my dreams are recurring, but not in the traditional sense. I’m not naked
in class or flying or being chased by something. Instead, the settings of my
dreams are the recurring part.

Almost
every night in my sleep I go to one of a handful of places: a theme park in the
middle of a city, an enormous, sprawling shopping mall, a forest with a large
glade in the middle, to name a few.

I
take in my surroundings- the trees, the shops, the rides, and I have the most
vivid memories of the experiences I’ve had there. Seeing the costume shop
reminds me of the Carnival mask I almost bought there. Hearing the cars on the
tracks brings back the time I swallowed a bug on the second loop of the roller
coaster. My mind has gone to these places for years while my body rests.

But
a week ago the trees in the forest were withered and dying. On Monday the
Round-Up ride at the amusement park had collapsed. On Thursday the concessions
stand was on fire, and I woke up smelling burnt popcorn. Last night I found a
wing of the mall abandoned and dilapidated. I slipped on beads from the
chandelier that had shattered on the ceramic tiling, and this morning I had bruises
from where I’d hit the ground.

My
dreams are different, and people tell me they’re cool. But now they’re
collapsing, and I’m afraid they’re taking me with them.

Credits
to: Promiscuous_Sinatra