Category: creepypasta

Creepypasta #1460: You Can See It Through The …

Length: Medium

I’m home from school by 3:40 pm if I
run, which I always do. I have two hours to search the house and then hide my
tracks: Mother will return by 5:35, bringing Tommy from daycare and groceries
for the day. She’ll have packages “from the butcher” that bleed fresh juice
through the plain brown paper, and there will be no labels. I will pretend not
to notice.

I’ve
been searching for three months now. That’s about when Tommy moved into my
room, and he talks in his sleep. That put things in perspective, made me think
back on all the little moments I hadn’t had a place for. How do you define a
slow-burn thought, something that wriggles its way from suspicion into
certainty? And what do you do when you can’t get rid of it?

I
have to know.

There’s
rot in a twisted person that seeps through the cracks. They can smile, they can
joke, they can take their children on bright picnics in the cold September
daylight but they can’t plug every leak. Across the checkered picnic blanket,
Mother smoothed the blue cotton of her sundress but I could see her wiry hands
wring the hem as if searching for a neck. I said nothing, asked Father to pass
the egg salad.

I’m
on my own against a house full of monsters. I rarely sleep at night since Tommy
moved in with me. He lies in the bed across the room, and in the black hours I
can hear him whisper his vile thoughts, things no sixth-grader should hear –
let alone her five-year-old brother. Tonight he wants to know how my intestines
taste, wants to know if the fat of my arm will sizzle on the spit roast and if
it will still be crackling, bubbling, salty when he tears at the muscles with
his sharp, greedy teeth.

I
couldn’t search at all that day. They came home early, said we were going out
for a nice picnic dinner while the weather held. I had to wait till Tuesday to
search Father’s dresser, to check the wood for false panels, the stitches and
pockets of his jeans for notes, stains, razor blades, anything. I have to be meticulous,
and precise: a single paper replaced wrong could tip them off, and then who
knows what they would do.

I
was in the kitchen two days later, helping Father with supper as he prodded the
roast “beef,” ready for carving. His fingers lingered on the flesh and the
blade, his eyes glazed longingly across the meat, and I knew he was savoring
the moment where he would cut, and the blood would ooze from the seam. How many
people has he cut to pieces, and how can he not spill a drop on his perfect
starched-white shirts?

They
can see me watching. They know I’m not like them, and they’re trying to change
me. I eat all of the “meat” they serve for dinner, I tell them it’s delicious,
and that night I stay very silent when vomiting it out.

Whenever
Tommy picks a fight I’m the one who gets in trouble, like they’re mad that I
won’t hurt back. Last time Father spanked me, sent me to bed early. I slept
huddled under the bed, terrified, wondering if this was the night they give up
on me. Wondering if tonight’s the night that Father comes in with the cleaver
and drags me to the butcher block, splits me top to bottom and pulls out my
guts, dumps them into the skillet while our cat swats at the pieces that drag
along the floor.

I
don’t know how long I have, but I need something concrete, something that will
lock them away forever. Father’s dresser was the final spot on the main floor.
All that’s left is the basement, and I think I know where.

I’ve
been avoiding it. The door behind the freezer, sandwiched in the corner against
the damp concrete walls. The door that bangs, creaks, thrashes on its hinges.
Something’s behind the cracks of that door. Maybe someone. At nights, when we
are all together, there’ll be a shudder, or a moaning from the basement. A loud
slam against the walls, the pipes, the guts of the house, and Mother will give
Father a pointed look and he will pull a key from under the kitchen sink. He’ll
disappear into the basement and the sounds will shut off like a switch.

Several days later, new moans come
from the crack beneath the door, echo through the house, but only when I am
alone. Their next victim? Some new poor soul that I can’t save – or haven’t
been willing to? All this time I’ve searched the house for bloody knives or
gnawed bones, twisted photos or a scalp of hair, because I’d rather find those.
I’m not sure I can handle finding a mutilated corpse, and I know that
I can’t handle finding someone staring back at the coward who could have saved
them.

I
am haunted by his eyes. In my dreams the captive rattles and moans and the
whirr of the freezer shuts off; the concrete crunches underfoot as I reach the
door and turn the knob. It creaks open, and I see a man or woman, naked,
scarred, blood and pus oozing from opened creases in their gray skin. I stand
in the doorway and they look back, and a million guilts pass between us. It’s
my fault, I let this go on, I could have stopped it. I could have saved him, or
the woman before him, or the five before that. And in that moment, me standing
and him lying, dying in the dirt, I hear the back door and I turn in time to
see Mother at the top of the stairs, drawing out her knife.

I
wake, drenched in sweat and frozen to my core. Mother is calling me to wake up
or I’ll be late for school – I hear the ice woven through her singsong voice. I
smell the “bacon” and eggs. I lie back in bed. There are no other places left
to search: today I’ll have to open the door.

At the breakfast table, I pick
around the meat but they are waiting. I have to eat it. I choke on the strip
the first time, the second as well, it’s so stringy and gamey and oh someone
help me,
 I can feel the strands of flesh. I gag and
they look at me, false concern hiding their contempt.

Father
asks if I’m okay. I look pale this morning, he says.

“I’m
fine, Father.” They glance at each other, a quick flick of the eyes, and I know
they are not convinced. I want to scream. I am so sick of being toyed with.

Tommy
reaches over from his high chair, a tiny fat fist offering me his own broken
pieces. “Sissy don’ be sad, you can hav–” and then he screams. I’ve twisted his
hand, shoved him away, and he’s slipped out of the chair. I’m already running
from the table.

Father
comes to me at the back door as I’m tying my shoes. I can still hear Tommy
wailing into Mother’s shoulder, the sick little bastard. He wants them to hurt
me. I’m sure they do, too.

He
asks if I want to talk about it.

I
don’t respond. I can’t look up at him, don’t want to know what mad glint I’ll
see in his expression. I brace for the hit, the slice, for him to punt me down
the stairs and lock me behind the door. It’s only a matter of time before I’m
next.

He asks about the last few days.
Asks about school. Says he and Mother are worried. His voice is smooth –
syrupy. Is there something you want to tell us, he says. I say
nothing. I’m done acting for them, done hiding.

The phone rings, Mother calls from
the other room, Rayou, that’s the office. He checks his watch,
I hear him sigh. Here it comes. Spare me the prelude, stop making me squirm,
just do it already.

He
tells me he needs to go, but we’ll talk tonight. Then he says that he loves me.
And he kisses me on the forehead before walking out the front door. I wait
until he’s gone to scratch frantically at the spot he touched.

It
has to be today. They’re going to do it tonight, going to kill me or torture me
or peel my skin away and replace all my parts with something else. It has to be
today.

I
run harder than I ever have on the path home from school. The living room is
quiet, silent, the air thick with forced serenity. I walk past the pastel throw
pillows and wall hangings, cutesy pictures of our family. I see myself alone in
every photo, among gleaming nightmare eyes and pointed, slicing, bloodstained
teeth. A moan comes from the basement and I slip the backpack from my
shoulders.

It thuds against
the carpet, and an answering knock comes back from below. I set my lunchbox
down, pull my jacket off and drop it behind me on the way to the stairwell.
It’s been a drizzly fall day and I’ve tracked mud across the white carpet. Oh
well. No point behaving any longer. They kill me today if I can’t get out.

I
pull the key from under the sink.

The moaning and thudding gets worse
as I enter the dining room. My shoes squeak on the hardwood floor and every
sound could be Mother, home early because she knows, they know, and
I don’t have the time. I know I don’t. I’m not strong enough
for this but I have to do it now.

The
wet air crawls across my hands when I crack the basement door. It’s like
walking into water, into rot, and the walls are slick with dew or damp or maybe
blood. My feet are shaking and I skid on the steps; I have to hold the hand
rail as I stammer my way down. Another moan, inhuman, agony. Another step down.
Again I fight the urge to turn back, to run. I reach the bottom and a wave of
nausea hits me, from a stench I can’t smell but know is there, must be there.

I
could dash back up into the light. Stay with a friend. Hide in a closet until
Father stops looking. But he won’t. They won’t ever let me go. And even if they
did, I owe it to the next person behind this door. Even if I can’t save this
one.

Another
step across the cold floor. Another hacking gasp from behind the door, a thud,
a stammer, a flutter of the heart. Every noise is a punch to the gut, a wild
guess at what torture lurks behind it. I get flashes, ideas of what Mother or
Father or, please God, not Tommy have been doing to this one. Lashings?
Beatings? Screws in the flesh or weights on the chest or endless razor-slash
games on the puckered canvas of skin?

I reach the door and it falls
silent. I turn the key, but can’t bring myself to open it. They use razors, I
just know it. Dark drops pooling on the thin slices, intricate red lines across
his naked body and when he twists in pain, the cuts tear open and it flows
everywhere, it can’t clot, not fast enough and they eagerly lick it clean, red,
salty, don’t make me look, I don’t want to know, but I do, I have to, I
have to know,
 and maybe after everything else that’s why I finally
throw open the door.

It’s
a tiny room, four by four feet. A water heater. Pipes leading out into the
house, a single blinking light, then the tank kicks on and shudders to life,
rattling the pipes. The new water flowing through sounds like a rushing or a
roaring or a moaning.

A
moaning. Oh, God.

I punch the tank at least twice,
maybe three times. No, no, no, I scream, I cry, I wail. I slip
and fall over, slump against the doorframe with my hand still on the hot metal,
utterly spent. Utterly lost. No.

I’m
still there when Mother finds me. There’s a call, shouting. She sits down,
reaches, pulls me into a hug. For the first time in years, I want to hug back.
Father comes with Tommy and they huddle around me, on the floor of the
basement.

I
can’t reach for them, can’t look at them. Just up at the water heater and its
smooth, sterile metal. My final chance. My last holdout. My family really did
have a dark secret. I was just looking in all the wrong places.

You can deny, you can blame, you can
search for the filth in others. But there’s rot in a twisted person that seeps
through the cracks. And oh God, am I cracking.

Credits to: SprocketSaga (story)

EXPLANATION BELOW: 

The author was under the assumption that her family members were cannibals who capture people and hide them in the basement. She also thinks that the food served during meals were made from the meat of these victims. However, at the end of the story she realises that the noises that she’d been hearing were actually being made by a boiler in the basement i.e. her family weren’t evil after all. The reality is that the author had been imagining it all by herself. 

Creepypasta #1459: The Top Bunk

Length: Short

I turned 10 today. I’m almost a man now, like Dad! I’m VERY
grown up.

It means I
get to stay up late, until 9:30; plus Mom told me I’ll have new jobs around the
farm. AND… I get to sleep in the top bunk finally. The top bunk always seemed
so cool by itself, but also my brothers get really annoying. I have 4 of them,
so it’ll be great to sleep further away, without their feet in my face.

My dad always
told me he didn’t feel it was safe for “a little kid to sleep up there all
by himself”. I guess he was afraid I would roll over in my sleep, and fall
off? I don’t know.

But not
anymore! Tonight is my first night up here. It’s cool!

My dad comes
in to kiss me goodnight. “I love you, monkey. Have a safe night’s
sleep.”

He looks up
at me, his smile gone. “Hey buddy, can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure,
Dad. What’s up?”

He puts his
hand on my head, and rubs my hair just like he always used to, when I was
little. It’s sorta annoying, because I’m a big kid now, but I like when my dad
goofs with me.

His face
doesn’t look goofy though. “Bud, you have a special job now. Sleeping in
the top bunk means you’re like the guard on the watchtower, ok? Watching over
your brothers. If anything happens, it’s your job to protect them. Ok,
soldier?”

I roll my
eyes. “Dad, I’m 10 – not 5. But yeah, I’ll protect them”. I laugh and
stick my tongue out at my dad; I expect him to smile back. He doesn’t.

It’s now been
at least an hour, since my dad kissed me goodnight and turned off the light.
I’m wide-awake, laying here staring out the window.

I guess this
is what being a big kid is like? Thinking…

Thinking
about, how dark it is outside.

Thinking
about, how from up here on the top bunk, I can see all the way out past our
yard, the chicken coops, and out to the cornfield.

Thinking
about, how the full-moon up there should be nice, ‘cause it lets some light
down, but really it just makes the whole property glow kinda creepy.

Thinking
about, how that scarecrow in the field is REALLY creepy.

Thinking
about, how if someone wanted to, they could sneak onto our property and hide in
the cornfield, and then kill us all in our sleep – Mom says I watch too many
movies.

Thinking
about, how my mind plays tricks on me. Just like Mom says! There isn’t any
scarecrow in the field after all. Just my “imagination”.

Thinking
about, how if someone was very fast, they could run from that cornfield and get
to my bedroom window, in a couple seconds.

But whoever that guy in our yard is, he’s not very fast –
he’s running all wobbly, like his legs are made of straw.

Credits to: lukkynumber (story)

Creepypasta #1458: I Worked At A Small Toy Sto…

Length: Medium

About 10 years ago, I was hired on
as a part-time employee for the holiday months at a locally-owned toy store.
For the sake of the story and anonymity, I’ll call it Kelly’s Toys. I was
attending college and needed a part-time job. The manager took a liking to my
dry humor and my people skills. The job was surprisingly stressful, however. I
honestly had not anticipated how busy the store could actually get during the
holidays. Needless to say, time flew. It was now the beginning of January, and
my manager asked me to stick around as a permanent employee. I reluctantly
accepted. The place had grown on me.

I
worked a closing shift to accommodate my daytime classes. This meant I had to
stick around after the store closed to re-shelf the disorganized clutter from
throughout the day, take inventory of the back stock and lock up before going
home. The store was pretty big, obviously not Toys-R-Us size or anything but
substantial for a locally-owned toy store. I began to despise the little kids
that ran around the store and threw toys around the aisles during the day. I thought,
maybe I hated their parents more for not disciplining them.

It
was a Thursday night and the kids had been particularly obnoxious today. The
action figures and toy guns aisle was always the worst. There were Nerf darts
and toy rifles all over the place. My co-worker Andrew took the P.A. microphone
off its hook from the back office and announced that Kelly’s was now closed,
and people needed to make their final purchases and leave the store.

The
two cashiers from the front let me and Andrew know they were taking off and
that all the customers had left the store. We begrudgingly began our nightly
routine of straightening up the store. Andrew grabbed a stack of books and
started walking to the books section to re-shelf them. I headed in the
direction of the greeting cards, avidly avoiding the dreaded guns and action
figures aisle. As I walked past the front windows of the store, a loud pounding
on the glass made me jump out of my skin.

A
woman stood outside the store with a frantic look on her face. She was clad in
a long black overcoat and stocking cap, holding her wallet and clenching her
teeth against the cold night air. I could see her breath puffing out in little
wisps. I heard her shout, “My son is still in the store!”

I
gave her a puzzled look and shouted back, “That’s impossible! We’re
closed!” But this woman… she stared at me frantically, waiting for me to
search the store. I shouted across the aisles to the other side of the store to
Andrew. 

“Hey, are there any customers in here?” I could hear Andrew
laughing from the books section near the back of the store.

I
looked back at the woman and threw her a shrugging motion. I lipped out ‘Sorry’
to the woman, who, with a defeated look, turned and walked towards the parking
lot and disappeared past the sterile light of nearby streetlamps.

An
hour later, Andrew and I were getting close to finishing our closing tasks.
Like well-oiled machines, we worked from the front to the back of the store
autonomously, not speaking much in the process. Midnight rolled around. At
Kelly’s, the lights were programmed on a timer, which was set to automatically
shut off at 12:00 AM. Normally nobody would be in the store at midnight, but
the holiday hours had the store open an hour later than normal, closing at
11:00 instead of 10:00. Since the store had been unusually busy today, things
took a bit longer than expected.

The
lights snapped off in the store, leaving me and Andrew standing in the dark. I
sighed and struggled to make out my surroundings in the store. I could see parking
lot lights filtering in from the front of the store but wasn’t enough to
penetrate further than halfway to the back of the store. 

Then, I heard
footsteps on the other side of the toy guns aisle. I called out to Andrew, who
would have been closer to the light controls, but there was no response. I
turned the corner and squinted, hoping my eyes would adjust to the darkness. It
appeared that nobody was there. I called out again, only louder this time. This
time Andrew called back, but his voice was all the way back in the puzzles and
board games section, which was easily fifty feet in the opposite direction.

I
felt my stomach knot up and I held my breath. In the darkness, all I heard was
the pounding of my heart. It slammed over and over into my eardrums. As my head
leveled out and my rational mind took over again, I realized it. The kid. That
kid must actually be in the store after all. I suddenly felt angry at the
sneaky kid, so I spoke into the blackness: “Hey kid. You can’t be in here. Your
mom is looking for you.” Silence answered back.

There
was a clattering of plastic discs as a pile of Frisbees fell off a shelf a few
aisles away. I clenched my fists and ran in that direction, more confident now
as my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I charged around the corner and saw
the discs on the floor. At the end of the aisle I just barely caught a glimpse
of a figure running toward the back storage room and employee lounge. I smiled
to myself because the employee-only area was locked with a combination keypad.
The kid would be trapped in the back corner of the store.

“Listen
kid, the store is closed,” I spoke firmly. “Come out, right now.”

To
my surprise, the door to the employee lounge was propped open with a mop
bucket. My fear crept back into my mind as I stood outside the door hesitantly.
“Hey, Andrew! Come over here!” I shouted, loudly enough to be heard through the
whole store. But Andrew didn’t answer.

It
was possible that Andrew had entered the maintenance hallway in the back corner
of the store, which was where the box was located to flip the lights back on.
It required a key to open. Andrew had the only key between the two of us. I
took solace in the idea that he was getting the lights back on, and waited a
few more moments before a loud crash startled me off my feet. The crash came
from the front of the store. It sounded like a shopping cart had been tipped
over. I turned and ran to the front of the store and looked around, and found a
single cart on its side in the middle of the checkout area. I scanned around
until another noise startled me again. It was a pounding on the glass again. I
looked up and it was the mother, from earlier.

I
ran over to the window, hoping I did not look as frantic as I felt at that
moment. The mother was holding a cellphone and shouting something. She said
with a voice muffled by half an inch of safety glass: “I found him! He hitched
a ride from a friend! Sorry about that!” My heart sunk to the floor and my
mouth went dry. I looked into the darkness of the store behind me and it seemed
to swallow all the light around me. 

“An….drew…” I managed to choke out. The
silence in the store was now deafening. I took a step forward and bumped into a
candy display. A case of Tic-Tac boxes crashed to the floor, echoing through
the silence.

I
stood on the line drawn on the floor by the parking lot streetlamps, unable to
pass the threshold into darkness, into the back end of the store. Andrew was
still missing and I honestly was not sure what to do. Eventually I gathered a
little courage and took a step back into the darkness of the store. I walked
back to the employee lounge, calling Andrew’s name. The door was now closed and
the mop bucket was spilled out across the floor. I stopped at the door to the
storeroom, which was now open.

I
stepped into the storeroom and was greeted by the cool, stale air. I could hear
a box moving around near the back of the room. I stepped on something, maybe a
fallen broom handle and I stumbled. There was a sound. Someone – or something
was climbing the shelves in the back end of the room. A moment later, the
lights in Kelly’s suddenly came back on. My eyes took a second to adjust to the
sudden brightness. There was nothing there, except a few distraught boxes, and
a jump rope, hanging off one shelf near the ceiling, swinging gently as it if
were recently disturbed.

The
vent cover (which was easily ten feet off the ground) hung open and I could see
blackness inside the ventilation system. There was no noise anymore in the
room… just the gentle whoosh of the central heating system trickling warm air
from the open vent. As I stepped out of the storeroom, Andrew came running up,
out of breath. “Hey man, thanks for switching the lights back on, dude.”

I
looked at Andrew with a blank stare. I then decided I was no longer interested
in who or what was in the store. I wanted to get as far away from Kelly’s as
humanly possible. We closed the store, locked the doors, and walked to our
cars.

I resigned from the store the
following day. I wanted to focus more on my studies, and at this point, I had a
perfect excuse. To this day I am still baffled by what I saw and heard that
night. And I really cannot explain what truly happened. I am confident there is
a logical explanation for what I experienced, and how the lights came back on.
I just don’t know what it is.

Credits to: RaidensReturn (story)

Creepypasta #1457: The Witch Tree

Length: Short

Everyone
knew about the Witch Tree which stood behind my school. When the school
foundations were laid, an ancient grave was unearthed, so those old bones were
buried in a bag beneath the old gnarled branches of the very tree from which
the witch had hanged.

It
was common knowledge that if someone ran three times counterclockwise around
the tree, on the midnight of Halloween, The Witch would emerge and stab her
disturber to death.

Late
one rainy October the 30th I sneaked out of my house to meet five or six other
kids from my class, and watch popular jock Mikey try the ritual out. But no
witch met him. Only distant thunder.

“Maybe
the witch waits til later, when you’re asleep.” I suggested.

“What
do you know about anything, Beetleborg?” Laughed Mikey as he shoved me into the
mud. He always called me “Beetleborg” as I wore a “Big Bad Beetleborgs”
back-pack when everyone else wore a Power Rangers one. I was an odd kid, and
this was the sort of thing I did.

I
was kind-of right about The Witch biding her time, as Mikey began to see her
outside his window on stormy nights, clutching her knife and staring through
his soul with cold dead eyes.

Mikey
never invited me to his slumber-parties, but these stopped soon afterwards
anyway, as Mikey woke everyone up screaming about the witch trying to climb in
through his window. People started to make fun of Mikey; it’s fascinating how
fast someone can topple from their perch of popularity.

Mikey
was a mess afterwards; jumpy, edgy. He’d scream when someone dropped a pencil
on the classroom floor during a thunderstorm. The other kids stopped finding
this funny and began to avoid him completely.

“You
gotta help me, Beetleborg! You know about witches, right?” he begged, a year
later, my back rammed against a locker.

“I
know they’re peaceful, misunderstood; nothing like you describe.” I never saw
The Witch; no-one else ever did, besides Mikey. That was the problem; nobody
ever believed him.

Mikey
still lives with his dad in the old neighborhood. He could never hold down a
job, and drifted into petty crime, though he always claimed he was framed; that
the witch was playing her games when stolen jewellery kept turning up in his
room. He became a total social pariah.

I’ve
just heard that Mikeys gotten himself confined to the psychiatric ward. Turns
out he’d tried to break the witch’s curse by burning her tree to ashes one miserable
windy night, and when that didn’t work, he torched the school.

I’m on my way to visit my old schoolfriend
now. He doesn’t want to see anyone, but I’ve phoned his dad to ask what room
he’s in; maybe I can figure out which window is his, by counting them along.
It’s stormy tonight, he could use my company. On the car-seat beside me is my
Beetleborgs back-pack, with my large plastic dagger and old witch costume
inside.

Credits to: Hack_Shuck (story)

Creepypasta #1456: Good Afternoon, California:…

Length: Medium

“Good afternoon, California!” called
out my TV. I had been working on grading papers for so long that it blended in
as background noise, just like it had the past 12 times that it introduced
advertisements. 

“Stay tuned. Next up: You won’t believe San Francisco’s new
trend!” 

Wouldn’t I? I’ve seen some shit. I chuckled to myself. 

“LAJEHWFUIEWKHWFIUEKRJHFIU.
AKJBCSKDJHFVIUSLDHF. FJSHFEWSLJHFEWSUHJL. JGCFIYAGFSUBYGVFMNSBVDHKFJ.
FKJSDHGVIURGHIURKJHGIURKEEGH.”

Fucking ow. A
jumbled cacophony of noise topped by screeching was rudely emitted from my
previously benevolent stereo set. I quickly reached for my remote control and
turned the volume way down. After a few moments of my screen being covered in
rainbow bars, I was about to change the channel and find a new channel to run
in the background as I worked. Then, the screen cut to black, and a single word
appeared: ALERT.

Alert, eh? Is this one of those
mandatory system tests?
 I
hadn’t seen one of those in a while, maybe since I was a kid. And
aren’t they supposed to tell you when it’s a test? Whatever.
 Whatever
this was would surely be more interesting than grading the rest of Jenna
Martinez’ test. Jenna was doing very poorly anyway.

“ALERT.” The television repeated, this
time in a slightly different font and accompanied by a voice. The voice was
male and somewhat distant, as if he was speaking through a walkie talkie or
over some kind of radio.

“This message is brought to you by
the Department of Defense of the Race”
 came
more text, and the voice followed.

I’d
never heard of such a department. Now I knew this wasn’t real. At this point, I
would have changed the channel were it not for the fact that I was slightly
amused. I chuckled. Whatever this was, it was weird and a little creepy, but at
least it had my attention.

“This is not a test.”

Are they even allowed to do that?
Someone down at the broadcasting station is about to get their ass handed to
them.

“For your safety, all humans are
suggested to carry out the following instructions.”

My
eyes were glued to the screen.

“At this time: please secure all
entrances to your home. This includes all possible entrances such as doors,
windows, and hatches.”

What the hell? This is one dedicated
prank.
 I wondered if they’d address
it on tomorrow’s news or try to sweep it under the rug. Probably the latter.

*“Turn off any and all electronic
devices. This includes lights, phones, and this television when our emergency
broadcast concludes.” *

Alright. That’s enough. I was starting to get a very
weird and ominous vibe from all of this. I listened to my gut and pressed the
button on my remote that would take me back to whatever channel I was
previously watching. I am not that person that always dies first in horror
movies. The screen went black for a moment, as it does when I change the
channel, and then-

*“Turn off any and all electronic
devices. This includes lights, phones, and this television when our emergency
broadcast concludes.” *

Shit. I pressed some random numbers
on my remote to get to some random channel, anything that wasn’t this. 3-4-2.
Black. *“Turn off any and all electronic devices. This includes lights,
phones, and this television when our emergency broadcast concludes.” *

Motherfucker. Looks like I’m going
to have to ride this shit out.
 I
put down the remote and waited for my next set of instructions.

“Do not look out any windows. Employ
all shades and curtains. Cover whatever openings you can. DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE.”

I
glanced around my living room. My windows were shut and the curtains were
already pulled closed. Benefits of being a bit of a shut-in… not that I was
actually concerned. No way this was real… haha.

“Enclose yourself in a room with
minimal entryways and windows.” “Do not respond to anyone or anything outside
of your home, no matter who they appear to be.”

What is with that wording? Like hell
I’m ignoring my mom if she comes knocking on my door.

*“Do not attempt to investigate
anything you hear outside. Do not leave your home until further announcement.”
*

This was getting to be too much. One
more set of “instructions” and I was going to call the station and give them a
piece of my mind. What is this garbage?

“DO NOT GO OUTSIDE.”

I
reached for the phone. Just like that, the words disappeared from the screen.
For a few moments, I was met with the same screen of colorful bars as I’d seen
before the broadcast. Then, it was over. Black. I tried flipping to other
channels. Black. Black. Black. I decided to give my buddy James a call. I
wanted to know if he’d seen the same shit I had. As I reached for my phone once
more, I heard the doorbell ring.

Cautiously,
I rose and walked to the door. I did so more gingerly than usual because of the
broadcast’s warnings, but I was not about to ignore the doorbell in my own home
just because some silly TV prank told me to.

I peered out my door’s
peephole. Had it been this dark out just a minute ago? I
suddenly wished I’d paid more attention to that instead of Jenna’s abysmal
exam. I was greeted by… nothing? I could have sworn I’d heard knocking. My eyes
scanned once more. My glance swept up and down, and – oh! Down! There they
were! Two… children? Once boy and one girl. They can’t have been older than 12
or younger than 8, in my best estimation. Both smiling directly up at me,
meeting my eyes with theirs as if they knew exactly where I was. *Had I said
something and forgotten? Did they hear me behind the door? *

On
any other day, I’d have opened the door for them right away. I’m not heartless,
these are children, after all. If they wanted to sell me some sort of cookie,
I’d at least have the decency to answer by politely telling them I’m on a diet
(I’m always trying to be “on a diet.”) But today was different. As much as I
was ashamed to admit it, I was still chilled from what I had heard and seen
moments before on my TV.

“H-hello?” I stuttered, then quickly
felt ashamed. These were children. Why was I acting scared?
“Hello?” I quickly corrected myself.

“Can we come in?” They asked at the
same time. I was dumbfounded. This was such a sudden question. Can
they?

“W-why?”
I responded, half without thinking. Damned stuttering, giving me away. I’ll
admit it: I was nervous. Was that such a crime? I had two kids on my doorstep
and no idea what intentions they had.

“We’re
lost,” They said, once again at the same time. It was like they had this shit
rehearsed. “We have nowhere to go.”

“Where
are your parents?” I asked. I felt like Satan himself for not letting these
children take refuge in my home, but at the same time, something was off. I
just couldn’t. Something felt so wrong.

“We don’t know. We want to call
them. Please let us in.” I noticed at this point that they weren’t just saying
things at the same time, they were saying things at the exact same time. I’ve
seen my nieces and nephews of similar age try to do the very same in their
little school plays and fail miserably. What the fuck is happening
here? Right. They want a phone call.
With that, an idea bloomed in my head.
“Let me go get my phone. Then I will hand it to you guys and you can use it
right there to call your parents. Just don’t run away with it. I’ve got
security cameras.” I lied.

“No.”
I thought I saw something like malice flash in their eyes for a split second.
“Please. Let us in.”

In
an instant, my mind went over everything that had gone down in the past 15
minutes. The broadcast, the children, the very illogical logic of it all. I
came to a simple conclusion: *I am not that person that always dies first in
horror movies. *

“No, thank you. Try somewhere else.
I’ve got to go.” Without waiting for a response, I rapidly turned and ran
upstairs and into my room. I didn’t even bother with the lights before ducking
under the covers and securing myself beneath multiple pillows. Much to my
displeasure, I heard muffled banging coming from my front door. This went on
for about 5 minutes before relenting. I stayed in fetal position under the
covers for about an hour, though, or until I heard a barely audible “Good
evening, California!” from my TV. 

I steeled myself and got out of bed. I made
my way downstairs and, bracing myself, peeked out my front door’s peephole once
again. Nothing. A delivery truck rolled down the street. The sun was starting
to set. Wait. What? Had it not been dark just before? 

I walked
into my kitchen, opened up my secret drawer, and began rolling an especially
fat joint. This one is going in the vault. No matter how much
I smoked, though, I was never able to erase one question from my mind:

After I told them no, did I really
see the children’s eyes go black?

Credits
to: shinjiteita (story)

Creepypasta #1455: A Day Off In Hell

Length: Short

Hell
is a room with two doors.

The
first shuts behind you as you step inside. It locks into the frame, never to
open again. The second door stands at the opposite wall, a solid implacable
barrier, its purpose utterly inscrutible.

As
soon as both doors are closed, your torment commences. The room houses a single
unique punishment, dealt out at the deft sadistic hands of your custodian. You
will scream, you will cry, and as you watch your wounds heal just enough to
keep the pain fresh, there will be nothing you’ll want more than escape.

Once
you have endured 24 hours of punishment, you are permitted a day off.

The
second door will swing open, revealing a bare, soft lit room. Any time you wish
you can pick yourself up and shuffle, unimpeded, through the doorway into the grey
stone room. The space is featureless except, as always, for two doors.

As
the door shuts behind you, your wounds will heal, your pain will subside and
for 24 hours, nothing will happen. There are no special comforts, but in the
quiet absence of ceaseless torment you drink every second like ambrosia.

Here’s
the thing however. When your time is up, when the second door opens and you are
pulled inside, you will be in a new room, with a new tormentor and,
importantly, your new punishment will be noticeably worse.

Some
take a while to notice the pattern. Some notice immediately but just can’t take
the pain. They dash through the door as soon as it opens, eager for a day of
peace. Those people have it the worst. They descend quickly beyond the realms
of imaginable suffering, and their yearning for release will only make those 24
hours more inadequate. All of them will start to think of their earlier
punishments almost fondly, lamenting that they ever set foot in the grey room
but unable to stop.

But
the real trick is played on those who learn restraint. Those who realise the
bone rending torment they’re undergoing is better than anything beyond the grey
room. Their heart breaks a thousand times, every moment they decide not to step
into that next room. Their soul shatters the moment they decide they’re going
to stay in that room.

Hell
is a room with two doors.

The first shuts behind you as you step
inside. It locks into the frame, never to open again. The second door stands at
the opposite wall, open and waiting. Reminding you with every agonising second,
that this is a Hell you chose.

Credits to: NeonTempo (story)

Creepypasta #1454: Don’t Whistle Back

Length: Long

Okay so, something strange happened
and I need to tell someone about it. Just in case something happens again, you
know? It’s probably nothing or just some prankster kid but it creeped me out.

Last
night I was packing up in the bedroom while my girlfriend made dinner. She has
this really awesome chicken Alfredo and wanted to cook it one more time before
we moved out. Our lease was up and we were glad to be finally moving into the
newly purchased house I’m writing this from. I had a podcast playing on my
phone as I packed, just listening to the sounds of people arguing about video
games. But because because the apartment was directly above a laundry room, the
bedroom was usually pretty warm thanks to all those dryers. 

With all the moving
and sweating plus this heat, I wanted to keep the window open. Unfortunately
we’ve had all sorts of weird noises going on ever since we lived here but I’ve
learned to deal with most of them. We live in a downtown neighborhood of a
pretty decent city in Colorado so it isn’t fantastic but it isn’t terrible and
the rent is high but we also have covered parking and a semi-working
dishwasher. Plus, ten minutes from work!

The
noises. There’s a guy who seems to honk his horn, I’m guessing to alert a
friend inside another apartment? There are several on this street, but he just
honks the horn ten, twenty times over the course of a few minutes. Like someone
clicking the key fob to lock their car door, that kind of honk. Just every few
seconds, somewhere nearby, HONK. Really sucks when you’re trying to sleep at
midnight but at least it never lasts long.

We
were in a no pets apartment but clearly people weren’t listening to that rule.
Someone had birds based on the amount of chirping we could hear. On the
weekends I think someone let a dog roam around their balcony, we could hear it
whimpering and barking from somewhere above us at every car that passed.

There’s
a school nearby so we found kids getting high and blasting the stereo in our
tiny parking lot to be a big problem too. We were pretty close to the ground
and that stuff made our whole apartment shake along with the bass. We could
also hear every announcer of every sporting event or gathering the school ever
had on their field thanks to their super loud announcement system, usually late
at night.

There’s
even a church of some sort nearby that place, the kind that has huge gatherings
and loud celebrations all the time. Great for trying new food and meeting new
people and seeing new stuff, not so great for having a quiet peaceful nap on
the couch. But I’m originally from a bigger city so I actually like the sounds
of traffic and far off sounds of the city. It’s all the unusual unique sounds
that break that peaceful backdrop, you know? I enjoy being around people, even
if I don’t really like to talk to them. Knowing that city life is happening
nearby and that humanity is there if you need it is comforting I think, even if
maybe a bit unrealistic.

And
then, there’s the whistler. Every few seconds I would hear a whistle. A short
burst, just two notes? One lower and one higher, but both pretty high because
of you know, whistling. This guy just would not stop. I kept picturing the
whistler as a guy calling for his dog, walking around holding an empty leash.
It sounded like a pig call, that sooie sound like you imagine a farmer yelling?
But it was happening over and over, for ten minutes or more. Seriously, it was
aggravating and loud. Maybe a few blocks away? Hard to tell, but even my pretty
decent phone speaker was getting whistled out by this guy.

Now
I admit that maybe I’m a jerk for this because I realized later that maybe it
was just a guy calling for his dog or something. It was dark out already and
how would I know? I really should have thought of that earlier, maybe I could
have avoided this whole thing.

So
anyway, I whistled back at him. I just repeated the same whistle. I’m pretty
good at whistling, I can do the whole Andy Griffith theme but I can’t do that
thing where you whistle with your fingers. But when I whistled, the other
whistling stopped, immediately. It kind of surprised me and everything got kind
of still. My podcast was still rolling but outside the window everything was
quiet and I started to get a little nervous. Maybe just me being anxious but it
was unnerving. 

After a beat I shrugged and tried to shake it off, I still think
I’m being kinda silly, it’s probably just me being paranoid and exhausted from
all the packing. I turned away from the window and heard the whistle again,
except this time it sounded closer? It was definitely louder. I jumped, I admit
it. I wasn’t expecting it and the whole vibe was creeping me out. The podcast
wasn’t really helping either, usually that kind of distraction is great for my
overactive imagination.

I
turned back to the window and the door to the bedroom opened from behind me and
I jumped again. My girlfriend laughed at me as I yelped and she just said
“dinner’s ready!” and then mocked me for jumping. I was unsettled, okay? It was
unsettling! 

During dinner I told her about the weird whistling I had been
hearing and why she had made me jump when she opened the door. She told me she
had heard that guy before and had also whistled back, but hadn’t heard him get
near or anything. “I’ve seen a lot of missing dog posters up and we saw the
guy putting them up, he was whistling and calling for his dog near where I
work, so maybe it’s that same guy looking for his dog around here?”

She
works in the next town over and drives a half hour every day so this seemed
pretty unlikely to me but I had seen a lot of this guy’s posters. I hope he
finds his dog, he must really love it to drive all over and print up that many
flyers I thought.

After
dinner we got back to the bedroom and moved enough boxes out of the way to go
to sleep but we heard the whistling again. It sounded just as far as it had
been originally and was going the same speed, short two tone whistle, a few
seconds, again, repeat. Assuming it started up again after I heard it last, the
guy must have been whistling like that for over an hour. It wasn’t exactly 3
seconds apart or anything, just relatively close together, and every so often
just a beat long enough that maybe you thought it stopped before you heard it
again. 

After a few minutes of the whistling my girlfriend rolled over and said
something very detailed about doing serious harm to whoever was doing all the
whistling and making her lose sleep and we tried whistling back at it again. I
know, you’re thinking we’re crazy but I didn’t know, okay? I just figured it
was some kid playing some game with a friend or some guy looking for a dog way
late at night. They didn’t seem to be moving around much so a kid seemed likely
to me. My girlfriend and I were joking around and I was full of Alfredo and
enjoying her smile, so we laughed and whistled back. 

After a moment it whistled
back again, just once, and louder. I remember an uneasy feeling in my stomach but we laughed in surprise and whistled again, mine coming out as
a sloppy raspberry thanks to all the laughing. Again after a beat the whistling
got closer. It might have been just a block away, on the other side of our
apartment building. We had no idea what direction it was coming from but I
guessed maybe I could see the whistler from the window if I looked, though I
had no inclination to go to the window while snug in bed.

The
whistling getting so much closer seemed to have finally made my girlfriend feel
a bit paranoid. She frowned and said that we should probably stop and I agreed,
the whole thing gave me that uneasy feeling. Maybe I just have problems with
anxiety, worrying about nothing, I thought. But then we heard the whistle
again, still closer and louder, but shorter this time? More impatient? The
picture of a red faced bald man carrying an empty leash whistling back and
expecting a response, frustrated and whistling angrily again kept coming to
mind. There were three or four more whistles at that speed and then silence.
After a minute I felt my girlfriend relax and I felt sleep creep up on me too.

But
then there was a banging noise from our living room. It’s a one bedroom
apartment so I hopped out of bed and peeked into the living room. We don’t have
any weapons or anything but we also don’t live on the ground floor and have a
bunch of locks on our front door so I was assuming something fell over, not
that we had a burglar or anything like that. 

Everything seemed fine and my
girlfriend came out of the bedroom with me. The door chain was still in place
and the porch door was still locked and closed. The lights were all out but one
window on a wall perpendicular to the door had the curtain pulled back to let
in enough light to see around our couch and TV which were also still standing
and unmarred.

Then
we heard the whistle again. That same two tone sooie noise, coming from outside
our door. We are in one of those apartments where the stairs and entrances are
outside so we can walk straight up to our door, there’s no outside entry or
hallway outside the door or anything and the staircase is pretty echoey. I
can’t be sure it was right outside our door but it sounded like it to me, it
was loud enough that it sounded like someone was standing right there. The
whistle shrilled three times, impatient and angry, that picture of the furious
bald man with spittle flying from the corners of his mouth with squinting dark
eyes filling my mind. The door BANGED and the door chain rattled, my girlfriend
jumped and grabbed my shoulder, squeezing my hand tight but not moving or
making a sound. 

I squeezed back and felt something clench my gut with terror
and rooting me to the floor. The whistle kept going in bursts of three or four
for a few minutes before it stopped completely. We risked a look at each other
and heard it again after about a minute, somewhere else nearby, still coming in
a burst of three, still sounding angry, but much farther away. After a second I
opened my dumb mouth to ask my girlfriend something that I don’t even remember
now. After one word the door banged again and the whistling happened again,
this time it was loud. So loud I winced, the chain on the door rattled and
vibrated and something pounded on the door. 

Each angry loud whistle was
accompanied by a bang of something hitting the door hard. We stood there for a
long time, not moving and not saying anything, just clutching hands together
very tightly.

I
honestly don’t know how long we stood there, I didn’t check afterwards. But we
heard the whistling again, farther off again, sounding more like it had the
first time I heard it. There was one more single whistle and then a few minutes
later they started up again like they had, just constant, one every few
seconds. Except the two tones blended together now, each time the whistle
happened it got a little longer and a little lower, stretching into one long
droning note. 

I made sure the door locks were still in place and we crept back
to bed, crawled under the covers, and didn’t say a word until we woke up the
next morning. By the time we fell asleep the whistle sounded like one low
unbroken note and I wondered if maybe it had just been the wind.

Then
today, we moved! Just across town but now I’m a bit farther from my job,
girlfriend is closer to her job, and we live in a much nicer place. Things have
been crazy hectic around here but we managed to get the bed setup right before
the air conditioning died. The rest of the unpacking has been done with open
windows of course because a breeze is necessary around here. But it’s nighttime
now and my girlfriend is sleeping beside me and the window is still open. 

Before I started writing this I googled the guy looking for his dog? There are
reports that he’s been missing for a day or two but I found his Facebook page
and it does seem like he really loved his dog.

It’s
been getting pretty late and the peaceful sounds of the wind out the window
have been making me drowsy. But a second ago when I went to close my laptop and
turn in for the night, I could have sworn I heard that whistle again, coming
from somewhere in the house. I jumped a little, like when you see a coat draped
over a chair in the dark and think it’s a person. 

After a moment reason took
hold and pushed away my paranoia. It’s late and the wind has been going all day
and we’re in a brand new house with brand new noises. I’m exhausted from moving
all day.

It’s probably nothing.

Credits to: sniperguygaming (story)

Creepypasta #1453: I’ve Been Seeing A Man In M…

Length: Medium

My
parents have returned home and both the police and my neighbors haven’t seen
the man ever since I left. I’ve been on the road for the past few days and I
just want to stop running. My parents informed me that they got a hold of a
revolver now and all I want to do is just go home, sleep in my own bed, and be
done with this madness.

I’m
starting to think that all of this has all just been in my head. The guy hasn’t
made any notable appearances in my life since that night and maybe that video
he sent was just from the first two nights I saw him. I don’t know. I guess
that’s been the problem ever since the start of this is that I have just been
over reacting to this whole phenomenon. Maybe this guy is just some deranged
burglar, maybe he came to my house thinking I was somebody else, I don’t know
for sure.

Tom
and I have been on and off the road, only stopping to get food or to piss. A
lot of comments have been telling me to either stop using Reddit and to stake
it out and confront the man myself. I’ve come to realize that I have been
making a poor choice documenting everything that has happened on Reddit; God only knows if this man has been using it to his advantage. But more importantly
I’ve been hiding and running away from him all this time. I thought was finally
time I confront him myself. Now I am not going to make an effort to contact him
or find him, but If he decides he wants to come and attack my house, my family,
and myself, then he will finally meet his maker.

However,
I thought a good start would be to pay the 7/11 guy a visit today, and we
decided to confront him. I just needed to be sure that it wasn’t him. We parked
in front of the 7/11 at about 8 at night, about 3 hours ago. This is the
conversation we had to the best of my memory.

Tom:
Is this the guy?

Me:
Yea this is him, lets just go in and ask him a few questions. We just need to
scare him a little and see how he responds.

Tom
took his pistol from the backseat and put it in his holster.

Me:
Dude is that necessary? Look man we aren’t even sure if this is the guy we
can’t just pull a gun on him and make him shit himself.

Tom:
Just taking some precaution is all, and if this is the guy then we gotta be
careful.

And
with that Tom got out of his car and started walking in as I followed.

As
soon as we walked in he asked-

Cashier:
Hey boys how are we doing today?

We
both gave him a stern look so he responded-

Cashier:
Hey guys come on what’s sour mood?

I
looked at Tom and he looked back at the cashier and asked-

Tom:
Lovely day isn’t it?

I
could see that the guy was getting visibly nervous and began to sweat a little.

Cashier:
Hey man I couldn’t help but notice that gun in your holster, pretty nice gun
that’s an m1911 colt right? My dad had one of those.

We
didn’t break eye contact.

Me:
Yea I would say it’s a pretty nice day isn’t it. How’s your day going well?

I
went directly in front of the counter and got face to face with him.

Me:
Hey can ask you something?

I
could see the cashier swallowing and he coughed-

Cashier:
Uh yea sure what is it?

Me:
Do you drive here to work by any chance?

Cashier:
Oh uh haha negatory my friend drops me off.

I
looked at Tom and he looked back at the guy.

Tom:
You best not being lying to us.

The
cashier broke-

Cashier:
Look guys, I don’t want any trouble, if you are here to rob the place that
doesn’t concern me, I’m just a guy who works here alright just take the money
and go if that’s what you want.

Me:
We aren’t here to rob anything, just asking a couple questions if that’s
alright with you.

Cashier
folded his arms and said,

Cashier:
Sure ask whatever you need what’s up?

Me:
When does your shift end?

Cashier:
Oh usually around 3 in the morning. Hey what’s all this about boys are you guys
undercover cops or something?

Me:
Have you seen a gray Volkswagen in the past couple nights you’ve been working
here?

Cashier:
Actually I did, the night before you came in there was a guy who came in after
you the other night.

Me:
Did he buy anything?

Cashier:
Yea he bought some cigarettes and dipping tobacco. He didn’t say much but he
said he had a long night ahead of him.

Tom:
I take it he gave you I.D.?

Cashier:
Yea he did.

Me:
What was his name do you remember?

Cashier:
I think it was Nathan Silverstein or something like that.

Me:
Nick Sullivan?

Cashier:
Shit I’m pretty sure that was his name, what’s it to you by the way?

Tom:
Can we see your I.D. for a second?

He
showed us his I.D. and this guy seemed to be completely innocent.

Me:
Alright man thank for your time, the police might come later to ask for your
camera feed from that night but I appreciate your help.

We
left and that was the end of it. Finally after all these days of running we
finally got a decent lead on this guy. We called the police and they are
currently going over the tapes. This was an amazing feeling now that we will
finally have a good lead on this guy now. I can finally go home.

Tom
has been such a good friend the past couple days. He has stuck with me through
thick and thin even through these rough times, and I am eternally grateful for
what he has done for me in this time of need. After a long day of traveling he
told me that his girlfriend has been awfully worried about him, and this made
me feel even worse about the situation. Finally told him that we needed to part
ways, and that I wanted him to go home and rest and that I apologized for
putting him in danger. 

He told me not to sweat it and that it was a pretty
exciting experience for him despite it maybe putting our lives in jeopardy. I
gave him some money to help him with his troubles. He is going to his
girlfriend’s house he said and he will be staying there for a while until this
gets completely sorted out.

No
more running, no more fear, no more stalking. I am finally done with this guys.
I can’t wait to go home, see my family, and be safe and sound in my home again.
I want to thank you all for your support through these past few days. It has
really meant a lot.

At
some point I got texts from my parents saying it was safe to come home. When I
called them everything sounded normal. However my Mom sounded somewhat worried
and flustered about the whole situation when my dad put her on the phone. I
asked her what was wrong and she had simply told me “I’m just under a lot of
stress” and followed it by “Just come home please we miss you”. I feel really
sorry for them, I don’t know why but I somewhat blame myself for all this shit
happening. If they haven’t seen the stalker at all, then this must have to do
with me and me alone. I must have done something to cause this man to torment
my family.

As
we speak Tom has just left back home and I am finishing this last update at
starbucks. I’ll call an uber and I’ll finally be home. If the guy gets caught
I’ll link you guys to a news article or something but this is the final update.

Thank
you all for the advice and enthusiasm. Peace.

Edit
12:12 am: 

Just came home and there aren’t any cars in my driveway. I’m a little
worried. Calling my parents.

Edit
12:14 am: 

Alright no answer from my parents. Gonna try the garage code now.

Edit
12:16 am: 

Welp my parents must have changed the garage code or something. I’m
banging on the door and no one is fucking answering.

Edit
12:18 am: 

Jesus it’s fucking cold haha.

Edit
12:21 am: 

Alright well lights are turning on in my bedroom so they are
obviously home.

Edit
12:24 am: 

Have a nice day everyone!

Edit
12:34 am: 

LOL guys I’m just kidding ya’ll need to chill.

Edit
12:35 am: 

More updates to come guys lots and lots of updates.

Eidt
12:38 am: 

JUST WAIT FOR 3:24 AM EVERYONE!

Credits
to: Opinionson (story)

Creepypasta #1452: I’ve Been Seeing A Man In M…

Length: Medium

Last
night when I posted the third update, many people in the comments had told me I
needed to stop using Reddit as it would only lead to find my location, so I
didn’t. I turned off my laptop and put my phone on airplane mode for the past
day. I decided my best course of action would to be to calm my nerves and
finally get some shut-eye. I signed off of Reddit, jumped into my buddy’s
couch, and finally went to sleep.

At
approximately 3 in the morning my friend woke me up telling me I needed to
check something out. I immediately grabbed the revolver I had left on the table
next to the couch, and we went to the front porch. In the distance I we could
see a car parked all the way down the road. I’d say it was about 300 yards and
still visible because of a street light. The following was the conversation
best I could remember it.

Tom:
See that car down there, I was dozing off and the moment I snapped out of it
the thing just showed up out of nowhere it was just sitting there.

Me:
How long do you think it’s been there for?

Tom:
I’m not sure, I saw it there and stared at it for a good 2 minutes, after that
I took my flashlight and started flashing it on and off, after that the car
shut off and some guy got out and waved and had walked into the woods.

There
is a wooded area near my buddy’s house that if you walk through it you can go
walk into a large open field in his backyard. There is a fence dividing the
field and from his backyard but it can be easily hopped.

Me:
Do you think we should go check it out?

Tom:
No, this guy could be going into the woods and coming back round towards my
back door, you have to stay here and I’ll go check it out.

Me:
Alright if it’s a Gray volkswagen we need to leave immediately. I want you to
record the license plate and look inside to look for anything notable. That
means ropes, knives, duct tape, anything sketchy we need to get out of here.

Tom:
Alright wait inside and defend the house. Make sure no one gets inside.

I
went back inside and stared out the window as Tom approached the vehicle with
his 12 gauge. I went to the back of his house stared out his backyard window
and saw some figure start walking across the field. This was particularly
strange as there were no houses visible in this field and he just seemed like
he was walking towards nowhere. He climbed over a hill and he was no longer in
view from the window. I went back to the front window to look at the car and
Tom was checking it out. I felt relieved for the slightest moment as I felt
like maybe just maybe, I was overreacting. Then his home phone rang.

I
looked at it and saw the caller I.D.and it was my area code, not Tom’s. At this
point I had my phone still on airplane mode so I assumed it was someone from my
neighborhood/family trying to contact me. I felt almost intrusive seeing that I
was answering a call to a home that was not even mine, but now was not a time
to take chances so I answered.

I
picked up the phone:

Me:
Hello?

Caller:
(Silence for a few seconds)

Me:
Excuse me who this?

Caller:
Oh excuse me sir my apologies. Is this the owner of the household?

Me:
No I am just a friend of the owner he is currently outside who is this?

Caller:
(Silence for another few seconds)

At
this point I just felt that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you
realized you fucked up. I just revealed that I am here alone and whoever is
calling just realised that.

Me:
Hello?

Caller:
Who else are you with sir is it just you?

At
this point I was shaking and I could barely speak without stumbling my words. I
decided the best things to do was lie like no tomorrow.

Me:
Um, no we are having a party and there are a couple other people here. I ask
again sir who is calling.

Caller:
Are you sure about that I was just walking by and saw that there are only two
cars in his driveway.

At
this point I completely lost my shit.

Me:
Listen just fucking tell me who you are why the fuck are you calling this house
so late.

Caller:
(More silence)

Me:
Hello?! Can you please just fucking tell me?!

Caller:
I apologize sir I may have the wrong number. Tell whoever owns this house to
call back. Thank you.

Then
he hung up.

Tom
had come back and said the car was not a Volkswagen and had a license plate. He
said the windows were tinted and the doors were locked so there was really
nothing he could make out. I told him about the caller and he said he had no
idea who’s number that was. He called back, no answer. He called from a
restricted number, no answer.

An
hour passed by as we were sitting on the porch and we heard an audible slam
from his back door. We both looked at each other and he motioned to follow him
around back. We saw nothing out of the ordinary. We looked around everywhere
for footprints, but still nothing. When we had gone back to the front porch
after countless minutes of searching, it was approximately 4 in the morning at
that point. It wasn’t until 10 minutes after we got back to the porch that we
noticed that car 300 yards away was gone and we hadn’t even noticed.

I
haven’t gotten any sleep since last night. I told him that I wanted to leave
his house because I need to keep moving, and he said he wants to come too. He
locked up all his doors, brought some guns, and we drove off at 6 in the
morning. Police still haven’t done jack shit despite all the valuable
intelligence I gave them, and I’ve been on the road all day with my friend. I
drove a lot and he slept in the back. We are currently at a McDonald’s as I
type this. We were joking saying if we do end up getting kidnapped, murdered,
attacked, these posts will make one hell of “Based on a real story”
script.

I’m
just tired guys. Tired of being stalked, tired of being hunted down, and tired
of making these goddamn posts. I just want this to be over.

If
anything happens tonight, I’ll let you all know. Bye for now.

Credits
to: Opinionson (story)

Creepypasta #1451: I’ve Been Seeing A Man In M…

Length: Short

Hello
again everyone,

If
you have not read my last update I have since left my hotel and I took an Uber to my friend’s house an hour away. As I got in the Uber the driver had been
waiting for me to come out and I got into his car. I nearly shit myself as he
turned on his car to find that the car the one directly across from it in the
parking lot was a grey Volkswagen. I couldn’t tell if it was the same one from
the night before, because A) this one had a license plate and B) I have never
gotten a good look at it up close before so it could just be any other person’s
car. 

As we were leaving I looked up to the hotel and in one of the rooms there
was clearly a figure looking out the window. I’m not jumping to any conclusions
right now as to whether it was him. I’m not sure if it was the same room as
mine. I’m honestly keep questioning myself at this point as to whether all this
shit is real or just paranoia. Maybe the guy actually did find me and I was
just about to be slaughtered, maimed, or worse, or maybe this is just a classic
case of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon and I am just finding ways to freak
myself out.

One
thing that is for sure is that this guy is definitely still hunting me. I got a
text from Mr. Sullivan, Nick, or whatever the fuck he wants to call himself and
I am still petrified after seeing it. At exactly 8:34 pm today, he sent me a
video and the only other thing he’s said in the text was “I see you”.

I
am sure this is my house. Now I want to know when was the video
taken. It probably was not taken last night as police were all watching my
house, so that means he either took it the first two nights or as recent as
today, and I’m really hoping that it’s the ladder. If he took it today that
means he probably still thinks that I am staying there. Unfortunately though,
this guy seems far from stupid, and if he has stalked me enough to know my
garage code he most certainly must have noticed I am no longer coming back
there. Either way he is trying to terrorize me and he is probably trying to get
me to flee my house for his perfect moment to strike.

In
some twisted way I expected worse. I don’t know what makes this psychopath
tick, maybe dead animals, maybe dead people, or just seeing his victims crumble
under all the stress he is inflicting on them. What I am dreading is if he
actually manages to find me at my friends place. This guy we’ll call Tom (not
his real name obviously) took up the mantle of protecting me, and if this guy
manages to find me I will never forgive myself for putting this on him. I
offered to pay him money but he refused, so for the past two hours we have just
been doing nothing but drinking beer and playing video games to calm my nerves.

Tom
is a bit of a hick I would say. He loves dipping, sitting on his front porch
drinking beer, and he has a pretty large collection of guns (probably the best
friend to have in a situation like this) just as you guys have been begging me
to get a hold of. So all in all right now I am feeling the most secure I’ve felt
out of all the days since this shit has started.

I
have informed the police about my situation and the video and they told me they
had not seen a car park near my house at all in the past day. I gave them the
number and they told me they will do their best to try to triangulate its
position.

Now
that it’s getting late my friend and I have decided we need to start securing
the place in case of intruders. His house has security alarms, he lives on a
relatively busy street so no one can park near the house without parking in the
driveway, and he has been staying off of social media as I have asked him to do
for my safety.

The
anxiety hasn’t stopped, but this is the first time I have a friend by my side
to help me with this situation so I feel a little better. He gave me one of his
pistols and we started shooting in the range in his backyard despite having
never shot a gun before. We are currently on his porch just talking as I write
this down.

I
am very grateful for all your support for the past couple days guys. Updates
will come as always everybody. Have a good night everyone, hopefully nothing
notable will happen for once.

Now we wait.

Credits to: Opinionson (story)