Category: favorite

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 #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)

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 #1312: The Lolita Next Door

Length: Long

I’ve been next door neighbors with
Kurt for several years, and as far as I can remember, he lived in with only one
long time relationship that has been over for more than five years now. We
usually acknowledged each other by a short noncommittal “How’s it
going?”, just small talk, whenever we see each other. We weren’t close by
any standards, but we looked out for each other the way neighbors naturally do.

I
was coming home from work around 5pm when Kurt got out of the elevator just
several minutes after I did, and walked to his apartment. He had his hand on
the back of a small woman, or rather a girl walking beside him, carrying a
small luggage. He noticed me looking and grinned.

“Hey
there, Rob. This is Lia, my girlfriend.”

I
smiled and looked over at the girl, because really she looked so young. Well,
not young young as in like a little kid, but too young for Kurt. She looked
nothing over 18 and Kurt is nearing his 50s. She was quiet but when introduced
to me, she faced me and gave me a coy, but radiant smile.

“Hi,
I’m Rob.” “Nice to meet you.”

She
had olive skin and long, straight jet black hair, her head barely reaching
Kurt’s shoulder. I was pretty sure she came from somewhere in southeast Asia.
Her eyes were dark and enigmatic. She really was so unusually beautiful I had
to catch myself from staring too much. I excused myself a little after that,
and all three of us entered our own apartments.

“So.
Have you seen her?” said Will one Sunday afternoon, another tenant from
the building who works the same job that Kurt has. Will was pretty much the
only guy I could spend time with in the building who wasn’t twice my age.

“Yeah
I have, a couple days ago. Saw them enter,” I replied “Why?”

He
snickered. “I bet that girl is barely legal. Bet he got her from those..
what did they call ‘em? Mail order brides?” Then he laughed outright.
“Bet she thought he was loaded or something. Girls from third world
countries always think we’re all loaded here.”

I
didn’t answer, although I kinda wanna agree with him, about the age part. I
couldn’t really give a shit whether Kurt met Lia through a mail order bride
website or whether they just clicked online or what. Live and let live right?
However, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Being neighbors with Kurt for
years, I know what an asshole he is to women. Let’s just say, I’m glad the only
woman he lived with for years has finally left him. But here we go again..

Days
passed before I actually saw Lia again. I saw Kurt regularly, every time he
goes to work. That one time I did see her, Lia was looking through a slightly
opened door as Kurt left for work. Watching his back as he pressed the elevator
door. She caught me watching her, and gave me a small smile before closing the
door.

“The
Lolita next door,” Will told me with glee one afternoon.

“What?”

“Kurt’s
new girl. I’m sure she’s a Lolita. Barely legal. Come on, it makes sense right?
Also probably why he hides her in there.”

“You’re
sick,” I gave him a disgusted look. “Maybe she doesn’t wanna go out.
She’s in a foreign country after all. With sick assholes.” I gave him a
pointed look.

But
the name stuck. The Lolita next door. Almost everyone referred to her that way
since. The intrigue about her is a quietly circulating rumour in our small
apartment neighborhood. Why doesn’t she go out? Doesn’t she speak English? And
to those of us who know how Kurt treats his girlfriends, we wonder if she’s
alright.

It
was a Saturday afternoon when she actually started talking to me. I
was sitting by the railing of the balcony overlooking the backyard of our
building when she quietly approached me.

“Hi.”

I
damned near dropped the cigarette from my lips.

“Hey,”
I spun around and faced her. She was smiling at me tentatively. She was small
and unassuming, like how I first met her. Although, she still had that air of
enigma around her that made me feel mystified for whatever reason.

“Do
you mind if I stay out here with you for a few? It’s really stifling hot inside,”
she asked me, no trace of shyness. A hint of an accent, but still I scratched
off my guess that she doesn’t speak English well. As for the heat.. that’s how
Arizona is. Can’t blame her though. I nodded at her, and she stood by, leaning
on the railing next to me. There was silence for a beat, and I broke it.

“I
sort of made deductions. Correct me if I’m wrong, but are you from southeast
Asia?”

She
nodded at me, her eyes closed as she felt the weak breeze on her face.
“Malaysia. We only get two seasons a year, but I didn’t realize it could
get this hot in the US too.”

I
was fine talking about the weather, however the question that left my mouth was
“Is that why you left? Because of the seasons?”

She
just smiled. “Partly. Mostly, I was looking for variety.”

I
didn’t know what she meant, but she prevented me from asking more when she
suddenly spoke.

“I
know what the people here say about me. I know they call me Lolita,” her
smile grew. “I know they think Kurt bought me from my homeland,” she
opened her eyes and looked at me, holding my gaze. “I came here, of my own
volition. And I’m 20 years old. I can tell you were itching to ask.” she
ended the speech with a little smile.

I
sputtered a little before admitting I was curious. “Is that why you came
out to hang with me? So you can say this?”

“Not
at all. I stepped out because I saw you hanging out here looking forlorn and I
realized I was too. Kurt doesn’t come home until 5pm. I get lonely by myself
too.”

We
both heard the sound of Kurt’s car pulling in. With a smile, she walked back to
her door and stepped in without word. Somehow,
I felt like she became more of a mystery after talking to me that afternoon.

Ever
since that afternoon, she’d made it a habit to come hang out with me every
weekend on that balcony. I learned more things from her through those
conversations. Although, on an unspoken agreement, we never let Kurt see these
hang outs. She always excused herself whenever we hear his car pulling in.

“I
am morbidly curious about snow. I only ever saw it through television. And I’ve
always wanted to experience living somewhere cold,” she stated one very
hot afternoon. “Kurt promised me he will take me to a place where there is
snow. That was one of the reasons why I came here to be with him.”

I
didn’t say anything about this. As far as I know, Kurt never left our state,
let alone our city, in all the years I’ve lived next to him. I also know that
it never snowed in Arizona. That promise wasn’t looking too good, in my
opinion.

Despite
that, everything seemed okay, and I was prepared to quell the rumours about
this Asian girl they dubbed Lolita in our small apartment community.

That
was, until Kurt caught in on us that one afternoon. I’ve only realized he was
standing there watching us while Lia laughed at a joke I said. I had no idea
how long he had been standing there, watching quietly. His gaze had a menacing
glint to it, albeit him being quiet. I felt uneasy, and so did Lia.

“Hey,
Kurt. Just chatting up Lia because she got bored in there.”

He
just nodded, and Lia walked to their door and entered without a backward
glance. Kurt lingered for a few seconds, looking at me and making me more
uneasy before he finally entered their apartment.

That
night, I heard Kurt’s muffled angry shouts. I would have said it was an
argument but I couldn’t hear Lia speaking at all.

I
never spoke to, or saw Lia again ever since.

I
feel like I messed it up. The only consolation I tell myself, is that I never
thought of actually stealing anyone’s girlfriend. I admit I did like her a
great deal but I respect that she’s with Kurt. But I worried about her absence,
and I couldn’t even ask Kurt about her in fear of him thinking there was
something between Lia and me. Besides, there obviously was some antagonism
between us, on his end at least. I would really prefer to avoid trouble, if I
could help it.

I
still saw Kurt regularly leaving for work and his other errands, but now not
even a glimpse of Lia or her shadow can be seen. I was starting to really worry
about her. To avoid trouble, I asked Will to try and find out what’s going on
since he worked with Kurt, and he agreed.

A
few days after that, Will said he asked Kurt and was informed that Lia was
doing well, except for some occasional headcolds. Kurt started to look at him
suspiciously so he decided to quit snooping around on my behalf after that.

She
didn’t look well at all when she opened their door that one time I passed by it
on my way to work. She didn’t step out, but merely called my name. I stood
staring at her, and at the blue and purple bruise blooming on her cheekbone. I
couldn’t say anything. She looked skinnier and even smaller than before. In
spite of this she smiled at me, a bit sadly and quietly said, “Please
don’t make anyone else check on me, Rob. I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” She
closed the door, leaving me stricken on that spot.

It
troubled me to no end that I might have gotten her beaten up just because I
snooped around carelessly. I couldn’t concentrate at work all day, and I was
torn between calling the cops on Kurt. I didn’t want to risk putting Lia in any
more danger but I was also afraid calling the cops on Kurt might put her in
danger as well.

That
night, I heard sounds of intense arguing again. Kurt’s yelling voice was
standing out. Faintly, I could hear Lia’s quiet sobs.

It’s
not my business, it’s not my place to meddle, I chanted to myself repeatedly,
the only thing I thought to assuage my guilt over not interfering. And then I
thought, Tomorrow. I’ll report him to the cops tomorrow.

I
fell asleep with this in my head, Lia crying and Kurt yelling, raving mad.

I
was first woken up by the warm weight pressing on my abdomen. It was dark in my
room, but I could see the silhouette sitting on top of me, the side of her face
visible from the street light close to my window. Lia. In the shadows, the
enigma I always felt around her was ever more present. We stared at each other
for a beat, a thousand questions running through my mind. Like, Did I ever give
her a key to my apartment? but before I could ask anything she leaned close and
started kissing me. I felt the strangest sensation as soon as I tasted her
tongue. There was lust, of course, but another thing I couldn’t quite put my
finger on. I felt the heady sensation of my body floating away. It wasn’t
bad…until she broke the kiss. It felt like I came crashing down on my bed.
She gave me a sad little smile.

“I
really like you, Rob.”

I
woke up with a start, sweaty and panting like a dog, as if I’ve been running. I
looked around in my dark room, a little disoriented and yes, also disappointed
to see I’m alone. I decided to get up for a glass of water and found my whole
body feeling weak. I slipped back into bed and remembered how angry Kurt was
last night. At the moment though, I couldn’t hear a thing from their apartment.
I hoped everything was alright and I fell back asleep.

I
was woken up abruptly that morning, by the commotions next door. The ambulance
siren was loud against my window. It propelled me to my feet, my heart pounding
hard as dreaded thoughts bounced around my head: It’s happened. Someone
reported him. Is she the one who did? Is she okay?

I
walked to the door mechanically, to see what’s going on, when I stepped on a
piece of paper on the rug. It must’ve been shoved underneath the door.

It
was a short letter.

Rob,

You
were a wonderful person and certainly the only good thing I knew in this place.
For that, I am forever grateful.

I
really like you, Rob.

I
really tried hard to be patient with Kurt. I just wanted to change my life so I
took a chance with him.

He
promised me he will take me to a place where it’s cold, where there is snow. He
failed me. It would’ve been the only consolation I could’ve accepted.

I’m
sorry. I am just too sick of the warmth.

I
will never forget you. I hope you can forgive me.

Lia

Her
message didn’t make sense at first but after rereading it several times, it
gave me the sinking feeling that this is her suicide note. I dreaded going out
there only to find them carrying her lifeless body.

Regaining
some composure, I stepped out and found a bustle of rescue team walking in and
out of the place. One of them approached me and stopped me from coming any
closer, from inspecting. But not before I saw them carting off a body on a
stretcher.

The
body was covered, but I was not prepared to see Kurt’s arm dangling to the
side, the fingertips blue.

From
what I found out, his body was left a shell of what it used to contain. He was
lying spread eagle on the living room floor, eyes open, mouth agape, and
completely naked. His face was untouched, although to the bafflement of the
medical team, he was completely devoid of blood. His body was cleanly ripped
open, his insides missing. All except for his heart, which was found a shrunken
pulp, like raisin, in his chest. Not a drop of his blood was found in his
apartment, neither his innards were found.

And
Lia? She was nowhere to be found. Not a trace of her that even indicated she
ever lived there with him. The letter she left me took on a sinister note. I
could connect the dots, obviously, but I couldn’t reconcile the Lia I know with
the idea of the monster that had the capacity to do that to Kurt. I had trouble
sleeping for several nights after that. She was a heavy burden on my thoughts.
I don’t know what or where she is, and I was torn between the need to know and
the bliss of ignorance.

I
never told anyone about her letter. After the shock of the circumstances of
Kurt’s death, Lia was once again the quiet rumour circulating the small
community, but this time as the tale of horror. They were horrified, knowing we
harbored a monster. I didn’t try to quell the rumour, nor did I feed it.

It
took a while before I started to sleep at ease, to live normally again. I
carried the feeling of mixed fear and hope that she will come back for me.
Which is crazy, I know.. I still dream about her. I never actually kissed her,
but I could remember how she tasted. The one thing I was sure of, is that she
was quite adamant in living somewhere cold. As much as I want to see her again
despite the horrifying incident, I’m more compelled to stay in the hot and
sunny deserts of Arizona for my own safety.

I picture her standing in the snow,
while I live under the safety of the scorching sun. The entire memory I had of
her constantly reminds me of how strong appearances really can deceive us.

Credits to: catfishstalker (story)

Creepypasta #1311: I Said No

Length: Medium

You would think someone would accept
“no” as an answer.

I
told him no. Not once, not twice, but three times. I told him to leave me alone
and stop following me. I was on my way home and I didn’t need this guy
following me. But he just wouldn’t let up. I guess walking home alone at night
in a not so great neighborhood was a poor decision on my part, sure. But I
hadn’t had a problem in the five years I’ve lived in the area. Almost everyone
knew me and I them. Granted, everyone minded their own business and didn’t
intervene in personal lives but we looked out for each other the way neighbors
did. Just enough to keep the neighborhood decent. I guess that’s why Charlie
was looking out his window right then.

Charlie
is an elderly man-about late sixties, I think- and he’s lived in my apartment
complex longer than anyone else. He’s the guy you go to if the landlord isn’t
picking up or you wanna run a problem with your apartment by someone. He’s very
nice, albeit quiet, and from what I’ve been told, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. He’s
even found humane ways to deal with a fly problem we had back in 2015. The guy
was a saint from what I knew. He was also the first apartment in front of the
complex; he could see everything going on outside before anyone else.

The
guy following me persisted and when I stopped at the complex gate, he made a
grab for me. I’ve taken self defense classes, I’ve read up on how to protect
yourself. Hell, I was even in the process of becoming a gun owner. But even
with all that in mind, sometimes you just freeze. That’s what I did. He grabbed
for my arm and neck and I froze. I wanted to fight and scream for someone to
come out but it all got caught in my nerves. I wasn’t sure how to react. Until
I heard the gate open and suddenly the guy wasn’t anywhere near me. I nearly
fell forward if it wasn’t for someone else helping me steady myself. I’m sure I
looked nearly comical with fright. Charlie was there, holding onto my elbow and
shoulder to keep me upright.

“Are
you alright, Katie?” I wanted to answer but all I could think was how the
hell did he get out here so fast. He wasn’t in the best of shape and I should
have seen or heard him coming from his apartment before he got there.

“I-I’m
fine.” I felt like I was trembling. That’s when I noticed the crumpled
body a few yards from me. It was the guy who had been following me. His arms
looked bent in a painful way and how the hell did he end up over there.

“I
think you should go inside. Forget about this guy, I’ll take care of him.”
I don’t know why I listened. But I did. Charlie only stopped me for a second as
I went through the gate, careful to close it. “Did you say no?”

I
looked up at him and noticed something was very different about his demeanor.
Usually, he was slightly hunched over and relying on something for support; his
face was always soft and gentle. Now, he was standing straight up and had a
hard look that scared me almost more than the other guy. “What?” I
croaked out.

“Did
you say no? Did you tell this guy to leave you alone?” His eyes were
green. They were a dazzling green during the day. Looking at them now I
couldn’t make out any pigment, just black. I felt very uneasy and I’m sure I
looked like a terrified kitten.

“I
did.” I nodded. “I said no.” That seemed to be enough for him.
He nodded and motioned for me to go home. I listened. My apartment was down the
path and down another to the right. I walked as quickly as I could manage with
my trembling legs. Faintly I could hear a groaning sound followed by a quick
pop!. There was a gurgling sound then like something was being torn. And not in
the way clothing sounds when it’s being shredded. I mean torn like there was a
lot of resistance and it took effort, effort no human could have. More sounds
came and a heavy growl that struck in my chest. There was one scream then
nothing. I had made it to my front door but couldn’t make myself go in. I don’t
know what I had just heard or what Charlie meant by “take care of
him”. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

The
next day, I woke up to police sirens and a knocking on my door. More like a
pounding really. I hadn’t slept nearly at all that night. The sounds replayed
over and over until I had to take a sleeping pill to make myself sleep. The cop
at my door was a woman in her late thirties. She said she had a few questions
about last night. She asked if I knew about the man they had found behind the
apartment complex.

“What
man?” I asked her. My body was rigid and I was so sure she knew. She told
me they had found the body of a man behind our apartment building. Another
tenant was walking their dog and found the body torn to pieces. They called the
cops who were going door to door asking questions. I shook my head and said I
didn’t even know there was someone back there. Someone in the complex had told
her they had heard what sounded like an animal last night but they couldn’t be
sure. The cop then asked if I thought of anyone else she should talk to. 

“Charlie.” It slipped out before I could say anything. “He’s
sort of the manager of the complex. He might know something.” She looked
up at me.

“I
already talked to him. He claims he might have heard a dog or even a coyote. He
suggested I should speak with you since he saw you coming home around the time
we suspect the man was killed.” I felt myself pale. “But the security
footage from the front gate shows you arriving at 9:30 and we suspect the man
was murdered around 11. Thank you for speaking with me, ma’am.” I nearly
choked as she left. I closed the door carefully and leaned back against it. I
did not get home last night at nine-thirty. My work shift didn’t end till ten p.m.
How the hell did the security footage say nine-thirty. I needed to talk to
Charlie.

Part
of me was terrified to see him. He did something to that man and had completely
lied about it. Had he tampered with the security feed too? No, he was a nice
old man, I told myself. He couldn’t have done anything like that. But I had to
check. When I was sure there weren’t any police lurking around, I made my way
across the complex. I took the same path I had taken the night before; the
sounds I heard echoed in my head as I approached the front gate and took a
left. Charlie’s door was shut as I approached but opened before I had the
chance to knock. Looking down at him, it was like last night hadn’t ever
happened. He didn’t look like the looming dark figure from last night. He
looked like the hunched up, gentle man I’d always known him to be.

“Charlie.”
That’s all I got out before he stopped me.

He
put one hand on my shoulder and I resisted the urge to shrug it off.
“Katie, don’t worry about it. You said no. You told the man no and to
leave you alone. Don’t worry about it.” Something in his tone was near
calming and seemed to melt away any stress I had. “Go home and lay down
for a bit. You look like you need some sleep. Just remember,” the hand on
my shoulder squeezed and suddenly it felt like there were clouds muffling my
brain, “you said no.” He turned my around and proceeded to gently
nudge me back towards my apartment. I followed and before I could figure out
what just happened, I was back in bed with the front door bolted shut.

I
don’t know what Charlie did or why he did it or what the hell I heard that
night. I don’t know what Charlie did to me or how he seemed to just change that
night into someone terrifying. But I know one thing: the man who had followed
me had been stalking me for months. His name was Jacob Kristy and when
investigators went to his home, they found pictures of me. Pictures of me and a
dozen other girls. When the cop I had spoken to before came to question me
further I told her I had no clue who he was or why he was following me. I
honestly didn’t. She didn’t seem to want to press further and told me to to
take care of myself. I wanted to talk to Charlie about it, about who this man
was and what he had probably planned to do with me if Charlie hadn’t showed up.
But every time I tried, Charlie would just remind me I had said no. And that’s
all that mattered.

I
don’t know why he refused to talk about it or who or what Charlie is. I do know
I am grateful he stepped in and did whatever he had to do. Even if it costed
the man his life.

I also know, telling someone
“no” when they want something from you should be more than enough.

Credits to: GoAskZombieland (story)

Creepypasta #1310: Seventy Years Ago, A UFO Crashed In Roswell, New Mexico

Length: Medium

Not a weather balloon or a satellite
or any other clandestine, top secret human-made object. No. It
was a goddamn UFO and I’m tired of repeating myself, of the ridicule, of the
cover-ups. I’ve got alien-lore running in my blood, see. My grandfather owned
the ranch adjacent to the one where it crashed, then my daddy after him, and
now me. I’ve grown up around countless tales told and retold about what
happened that night exactly seventy years ago. Some I’ve memorized by heart.

I think the detail that always stuck
out to me was the one about the beings. According to my grandfather, there were
three aliens. One died at the site, one died in custody, who the hell knows
where the third one went. And that’s what gets me; where is that
one, did it escape, is it still living out there, somewhere in the desert? Is
it afraid? Or plotting revenge? Sometimes, late at night, I’ll stay up
speculating about what happened to it. I’d like to think that it’s still out
there somewhere, watching, waiting.

At least, that’s what I believe.
And daddy always told me all that matters is the belief.

I’m sure you all know that in early
July 1947 some thing crashed into a field in Roswell. And
you’ve probably heard all about the debris and the speculation and those who
were labeled conspiracy theorists for contesting those speculations. But have
you heard about how the animals still avoid the crash site to this day; how
compasses go crazy when you walk through the area; that,
sometimes, at night you can hear a strange, keening sound boiling up from the
ground, like something is buried way, way beneath the surface?

Now, if you’ve ever seen Breaking
Bad
, you know just how damn desolate New Mexico can be; you can hide a
lot
 out there, even whole flying saucers. And sometimes I wonder…what
if they never took the thing, what if they left it right where it was, hidden
in plain sight, or, at least underneath it? What if that’s why
strange things still happen around here? Thoughts like those kept me up for
longer than I’d like to admit, so I did the only logical thing one could do in
this situation, I figured out how I could profit off of it.

And
I started giving tours, letting those who want to believe peruse my land, scour
the sky. Make a decent buck off it too. But I’m not here to brag about my
business savvy, no. I’m here to write about something else I saw, last night,
slipping between the stars, obscuring the moon. Told myself I’d finish it
before the tour tonight. So here we are.

There
were only three of us that night including me, which was odd, figured the
anniversary would attract more people out. Then again, I suppose the thrill
that Roswell once held in the consciousness of most Americans has dwindled in
recent years.

So
it goes, I guess.

The moon was waxing gibbous, so it
wasn’t exactly ideal UFO-watching conditions, but I didn’t get any notice of
cancellation, so at exactly 11 PM I left my house to meet them. And for those
wondering, I find the best time to gaze up is on nights when the moon is new
and the sky dark. You’ll see more, much more.

I
saw them standing by the edge of my property dimly lit by the light of the
moon. As I got closer I could see that it was a man and a woman, but it wasn’t
until I was right next to them that I saw it might’ve been a dad and his daughter.

They
guy was wearing a black suit and, at first, I felt anger and fear rise up
thinking back to all the stories I heard of the Men in Black. But he didn’t
seem the type, leaning carelessly against the fence, reading something on his
phone. And he had no tie. That was something both my grandfather and daddy were
adamant on; they always wore black suits, black ties, black shoes, black hats,
black sun glasses and drove black cars. Always. Only their shirts were white.

The girl next to him—in her teens,
maybe younger or older—had one foot propped up on the bottom rung of the fence.
She looked pissed. She was wearing a faded black Wolves in the Throne
Room
 shirt, jeans, and those token red high-tops. The shirt looked a
few sizes too big for her and I looked at the man wondering if it might be his.

“Hello!”
I called over to them, waving. The guy looked up from his phone and waved back,
smiling, but the girl stayed where she was, a look of complete indifference on
her features.

“Hey!
Nice night,” the man replied.

“So,
let’s have names. I’ll go first, I’m Taylor.”

“Edward,”
the man said, then looked over at the girl, she looked away, clearly in a bad
mood, so he continued. “And this is, uh, my niece Elanor.”

I
paused for a beat, thrown off by his hesitation in naming the girl, then said,
“Oh, like Eleanor Roosevelt?”

But
she sighed and replied, “No. Like Elanor Gardner…daughter of Samwise Gamgee.”

“Uh…Samwise—”

Edward
cleared his throat. “Her parents are big fans of Tolkien.”

“Oh,
like the Lord of the Rings?”

“Yep,
exactly,” Edward said. “I’m surprised they didn’t name you something more
overt, like Arwen or Galadriel.” He laughed, “Right, Elanor?”

She rolled her eyes, “Right,
Edward…and it’s Elle now, remember?”

Edward smirked, “Oh, yes, how could
I have ever forgotten?” I thought the girl, Elanor, Elle, was
going to give him attitude again, but instead she looked up at him, beaming. “I
told her dad I would take her to a super fun place.”

“It
was between this or Area 51,” Elle said.

“Which
is still an option, if you want to go.”

She
sighed, long and heavy, “I told you, I don’t want to die.”

Edward grinned brightly. “And I told
you, you’ll be with me.”

I
looked between them, both amused and bemused, then said, “I take it your niece
likes aliens and the sort?”

Edward
burst out laughing. Elanor rolled her eyes and said, “Absolutely loathe them.”

I
laughed lightly, unsure how to read the two, wondering for a moment if the guy,
Edward, might’ve kidnapped the girl, then said, “Shall we?”

I
took them out to the area the UFO crashed. Of course, we couldn’t technically
cross over into the crash site proper, but we got close enough. Edward was
carrying expensive looking binoculars, his leather shoes crunching against the
rocks and dust and dirt of the desert.

“You
ever seen a UFO before,” he asked me, handing the binoculars to Elanor, and
then looked up himself.

“I’ve seen…things,
unexplainable things…whether they’re from out of this world or not is still up
for debate.” I glanced at Elanor; she wasn’t looking at the stars, but the
moon, and I glanced up too just in time to see a cloud race across its face.
“You?”

Edward
was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Seven.”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve
seen seven truly unidentified flying objects. Eight if you count the one over
Black Mountain, but I’m not so sure—”

“You’ve
seen exactly seven UFOs?”

Edward looked down at me and nodded,
“Yeah. At least, we didn’t have any documentation on them at
the time. Now we do of course, but I’m sure you could imagine our…frustration
at finding things we didn’t know about.” He suddenly flicked his arm out,
checking his wristwatch.

“What
is it you do again?” Instead of answering, he walked over to the girl and
tapped her shoulder.

“Elle.”
He took the binoculars from her, held them up to his face, and pointed them directly
above us. “Ah, and here it is, right on time.”

“Here what is?”

That,” Elanor hissed beside
me, pointing up with her right arm, guiding my gaze.

And then I saw it, this thing up
there, shaped like a triangle, gliding across the sky. I could tell it was
there from the way it blocked out the specks that made up the Milky Way. But it
wasn’t until it slid across the surface of the moon that I gasped. It was
like nothing I had ever seen before, and I’ve seen some
strange shit out here at night.

Suddenly, a sound rang out from
above us, underneath us, around us, and I yelled, covering my ears, moving to
crouch. You know that sound the Tripods make from War of the Worlds,
that loud, booming, horrifying shit? That’s what it sounded
like, that’s the only thing I can compare it to. It was loud, so loud,
and I shook my head, trying to rid myself of it. Next to me, Edward stood stock
still, gazing up, as if he couldn’t hear anything at all and, for a moment, I
wondered if I was really hearing anything or if the sound was being projected
into my mind from whatever that thing in the sky was.

But
then I saw that Elanor was looking at Edward and her face was a mask of terror.
She stopped suddenly, glanced at me, then up, then back at her uncle,
“Edward…I’m scared.”

“I
know. But it’s okay, I’m pretty sure that’s a T-33. So, they won’t be coming
down here. They’re just watching.” Edward paused for a beat, then said, “And
waiting.”

“And
waiting?” I heard myself say. “For what?”

“For the signal to invade or abduct.”
He grinned sinisterly from underneath the binoculars. Elanor made a displeased
noise and he chuckled. “Only kidding, E. Only kidding.”

As
we watched the triangle disappeared behind the clouds and back into obscurity.
Edward, looking over at Elanor, suggested we headed back, that it was late. I
glanced at the girl—it looked like she might cry—and nodded in agreement.

We
walked back to my house in relative silence, Edward glancing up every so often,
then checking his watch. Elanor trailed behind him, her head down, like a sad
puppy, and, as soon as we arrived back, she immediately went to Edward’s car, a
black JEEP, and shut herself inside.

Edward
turned to me, “Sorry about that.”

I held up my hand and said, “Oh,
it’s no problem, I know how teens are.” He nodded, then opened his mouth to say
something, but I cut him off, unable to stop myself. “What was that
thing? Do you know? Was it…was it really a UFO?”

Edward
opened his mouth again, closed it, thought for a moment, then said, “Just…be
careful. And thank you for the tour.”

Confused,
I said, “Yeah, yeah sure, you’re welcome. Hope you get home safe.”

He
smiled, turned, and got into the JEEP. I waved them off as they drove down the
dirt road in the direction of Colorado, and stood watching them until their
headlights died away into the darkness.

This
morning, I woke up to my phone pinging and flicked it on to half a dozen
notifications. Apparently, everyone who was registered for my tour tonight
cancelled and then four men took their spots. One of them messaged me. Told me
he was excited to talk to me. To pick my brain.

Whatever that means.

So,
that’s it. I saw something unexplainable last night, something that is
indicative of something dark and sinister and hidden. But that’s not what
terrifies me…what terrifies me is knowing that they’re just up there, waiting
for the right moment, and those who know about them down here don’t seem too
concerned. Shouldn’t we be concerned? Shouldn’t we question everything?

And
with that in mind, don’t listen to me; go see for yourself.

Go
out at night.

Look up.

Credits to: darthvarda (story)

Creepypasta #1309: Heather From Millwood Drive

Length: Short

Early
March, 2010

She
was just sitting on the guardrails one Saturday morning, looking bewildered and
confused as if she had just gotten off the bus at the wrong stop. It looked
like she had been crying, because she had. Her blonde ponytail was starting to
unravel, and the light blue, plaid summer dress and short red cardigan she wore
were not protecting her from the icy air of the early spring day.

The
sight of the girl made Laura worried. She wondered why any parent would send a
child out on a cold morning, dressed like that. Did they even know she was out?
Had something happened, and did she need help?

Laura
called in her dog, retracting and securing the leash, before approaching the
child. Getting closer, she could tell that she had seen this girl before, but
she couldn’t quite place her. It was not one of her children’s classmates, or
any of her friends’ kids, she was sure of that.

“Is
everything alright?” Laura asked.

The
girl looked up. She had unusual eyes, bright blue with a darker circle around
the iris. Her face was really familiar, somehow, still Laura was at a loss as
to where she knew her from.

“I
think I’m lost,” the girl said in a shaky voice. “I was just going to
the post office for my Mum, and just suddenly there was this road, and I didn’t
know where I was. It was really scary. I tried finding the way back to our
house, but I can’t see it anymore. And suddenly it got really cold.”

She
must be new to the area, Laura thought. Maybe her mother didn’t remember how
far the post office was, or didn’t realise her daughter had changed from
pajamas to a favourite dress that was wrong for the season. It was probably the
latter, or at least she hoped so. The child wasn’t dressed to be outside at
all, even for a short walk. Looking more closely at her outfit, Laura noticed
that she wasn’t even wearing socks, only a pair of old-fashioned T-bar sandals,
similar to the ones Laura had worn herself at that age. All her clothing looked
new and clean, though.

“Where
do you live?” Laura asked. “I mean, do you know your address?”

The
girl looked a bit surprised. “Of course I know,” she stated.
“It’s Millwood Drive number 16. I’ve always lived there!”

Laura
was surprised by the answer. Millwood Drive was close by, on the other side of
a small copse. Having three daughters of around this girl’s age, she thought
she knew the face and name of all the girls in the area.

“It’s
just on the other side of the trees,” Laura reassured the girl. “I’ll
walk you there. You’re not afraid of dogs are you?”

“No,”
the girl said with tiny smile. “The only dog I’m scared of is Mrs.
Berwick’s. It bit my sister once, so she had to have a tetanus shot! Yours
looks friendly. Can I pat her?”

“She
is very friendly,” Laura confirmed, releasing a bit of leash so the golden
retriever could greet the child. “Her name is Wendy. She really loves
meeting people.”

“My
name is Heather,” the girl said, scratching Wendy behind the ear.

That
seemed right, actually. Laura still couldn’t remember exactly when or where she
had seen her before, but somehow she remembered that as being her name. She
took off her jacket, and draped it around Heather’s skinny shoulders.

“My
name’s Laura,” she said. “Laura Stockwell. I’m Caitlin, Nicole and
Emily’s mother.”

Heather
shook her head. “I don’t know them.”

That
didn’t seem right, Laura thought, as they started walking towards Millwood
Drive. The local school was smallish, and her girls seemed to know everyone’s
names. Even if Heather went to a private school somewhere else, it was odd that
she didn’t know children who lived less than ten minutes away, in a semi-rural
area. She seemed to be isolated, for some reason.

It
was also bad news if Mrs. Berwick had gotten another dog, after the last one
was put down for attacking a home care assistant three years previously. Mrs.
Berwick was over eighty years of age, with very poor knees. Although she had
owned dogs for most of the sixteen years Laura had lived in the area, none of
which had been well behaved, she should know better. Irresponsible dog owners
was something that really rubbed Laura the wrong way, along with irresponsible
parents.

Millwood
Drive came into view around the bend. Laura had decided to walk Heather all the
way to the door, and if possible talk to her parents. Maybe she could get a
small impression of what kind of people they were.

“Which
house is yours,” she asked.

“That
one,” Heather said pointing. “It’s the one with the big oak tree
behind it. But… why?! It’s
not supposed to look like that! And what are all these strange cars doing
here? What
is going on?!" Heather started crying.

Laura
felt the blood freezing to ice in her veins. The Newgates. She had never paid
attention to the street number, but she knew very well who lived in that
house. Everyone
knew that. Everyone knew about the tragedy that befell them
over thirty years earlier, and which in some strange way felt even more
sinister now, shrouded in the fog of the past.

Laura
had lived on the other side of town when it happened, but it had been all over
the news. She had recognized the couple the first time she saw them, after she
moved to the neighbourhood, although they were quite elderly by now. The
Newgate family had gained a sort of fame they had never wanted, that summer
evening many years ago, when their oldest daughter disappeared without a trace
on her way to the post office.

It
wasn’t possible.

It shouldn’t be
possible. Still, there she was, looking exactly like she had done in her
picture on the news. Heather, with the blue eyes. Missing since 15 of June,
1974.

Credits
to: TassieTigerAnne (story)

Creepypasta #1308: Playground God

Length: Short

Children are funny. Do you ever
think about the things you talked about on the playground? Or the games you
played? They’re all so bizarre when you think about it, but to the eyes of a
child they’re such magic.

In
second grade, the playground was a wild place. As always, the children divided
themselves into two groups: the storytellers and the players. The players, as
they called themselves, would take the field and the slides, running around and
playing tag or horses or whatever other games kids found amusing. The
storytellers would take the jungle gym or the swings and sit around to relay
stories to each other. It worked out well, if you felt tired you could listen
to stories, but if you felt energetic you could frolic on the half dead grass.

I
was usually one of the kids to play, but unfortunately for me I had an awful
cold, so on that day I decided to join the storytellers.

They
were sitting inside the spider web jungle gym, which, at the time, seemed
gigantic. I pushed my body through one of the opening, and joined the group
just in time to catch the next story. One of the stranger kids from my class
stood up and started spinning a tale with extreme gusto.

“Did
you know that we’re standing on a burial site?” He began.

A
girl raised her hand. He pointed at her and she asked “What’s that?”

“It’s
where they bury dead bodies!”

Everyone
gasped. One of the kids jumped up and said “Ewwwww!”, but soon sat down as the
boy continued talking.

“The
reason for this is because there’s a magic creature who lives here, and he will
give you anything you want! But fiiirst… you have to KILL someone!” He swiped
his hand at the girl who had asked the question and growled, causing her to
scream. He laughed.

“There
are some rules. He only appears at night, and if you summon him without killing
someone, then he kills you!”

“How
do you summon him?” Another kid asked.

“Hmm…
well you have to hold hands with someone and spin around in a circle while
chanting his name! His name is.. Um… ka-… hm..” He seemed stumped, and the
other kids were growing a bit restless.

“Kathoosa.”
I said. It came out of me without me even thinking, like something else was
putting it into my mouth. He looked pretty happy with that answer. “Yeah!
Kathoosa! We must all honor Kathoosa!”

Despite
the creepy story surrounding him, all the kids seemed excited, and we all threw
their arms up and yelled “Kathoosa!”

Unlike
most playground stories, Kathoosa stuck around, and everyone was eager to add
onto the story until we had a very clear mythos for him.

“He’s
a god!” a girl named Kelly added at the next recess. “He’s going to get mad at
us if we don’t give him stuff!”

“But
how do we give him stuff?” Asked the original creator of Kathoosa, Rico.

Kelly
hummed in thought for a moment before pointing to the center of the sand
covering the spider web floor. “Bury it right here! This can be his church.”

So
it was agreed, and each recess we brought offerings such as crayons or drawings
or even pieces of our lunch. It became mandatory to bring at least one thing
for Kathoosa, and Rico, who had deemed himself the leader, had to give you the
okay to put it in the sand. If it wasn’t good enough then you couldn’t join the
group for the day. The items were always gone the next day, which was probably
just the janitor’s doing, but we were excited by it.

The
players started noticing our weird behavior, and gradually started coming to
ask us what was going on. We let them in without an offering for their first
day to initiate them. After all, Kathoosa would understand if we were getting
him more followers. At the height of the year, all of the players had joined
us.

We
all noticed that the more we honored Kathoosa, the better things started to be.
The grass got greener, our grades got better, and our teachers seemed to get
nicer. Hell, some kids even claimed that they were having a better time at
home. Kathoosa seemed to be making our lives better in every aspect.

And
then a boy named Daniel’s dog died. He missed school that day, and the next day
when he came in his eyes were still obviously puffy. We were all very saddened
by this news, and as does every religious human, our eyes turned to our god in
this time of loss.

The
meeting in the spider web that day was solemn. We had a moment of silence for
Daniel’s dog, and then Rico spoke up.

“This
is bad.” he said. “Kathoosa needs blood. We haven’t given him and blood and
he’s getting mad.”

“Do
you mean we have to kill someone?” I asked in a whisper. He shook his head.
“No, just blood. Someone needs to give their blood. Anyone?”

It
was silent. No one wanted to do it, but I was prepared. I was ready to give
anything to Kathoosa. I already had a scab on my arm, it was meant to be. I
raised my hand.

Everyone
silently acknowledged my sacrifice. I peeled the scab off my arm and Rico held
it over the sand until the red liquid dripped onto it, and then we all buried
the small red spot with more sand.

It
became a weekly thing, and I was named “Royal Sacrifice”. Silly name, I know,
but I felt important. I’d usually peel off a scab to drip the blood, but if
there was no scab we’d use safety scissors to carve away a new wound. Other
than that grisly detail, our usual meetings and offerings stayed, and so did
our prosperity.

But
like all children’s games, Kathoosa only lasted that year, and the next almost
all the children had forgotten him.

Life
went on. Rico and I began dating as we entered high school, and we were the
hottest couple for all four years. I blossomed into a beautiful woman, always
thin, always with perfect hair and makeup. My grades were always perfect, and
so were Rico’s.

In
our senior year, Rico and I won prom king and queen, but unfortunately that
same night Kelly was found murdered. They never found the culprit.

After
we graduated, both of us got into the universities of our dreams, and on that
same night Daniel was found murdered.

We
got married, we had kids, we began successful careers, and all our former
classmates died one by one.

It’s
been twenty years since we discovered Kathoosa, and everyone forgot about him.
Everyone but me and Rico. We are the only ones who have never forsaken him. We
continued our rituals and our offerings from second grade onwards, and we
prospered. When we began middle school, we snuck into the elementary school at
night in order to do the rituals. By the grace of Kathoosa we were never
caught. We continued this through high school.

I
got so used to the popularity. I was so perfect, I didn’t want to lose at
anything. When a rumor came out that a cheerleader at our school was going to
win prom queen, I cried. I sobbed. I couldn’t lose that, I couldn’t! You have
to understand, I was not ready to lose such a title when I was the one who was
sacrificing a piece of myself every week to be who I am. Rico was as distraught
as I was, but he had a plan. Kathoosa was a sacrificial god, and he would give
you anything if you gave him a life.

It
was easy to pick our victim. All of the people who had forgotten Kathoosa were
our enemies. How could they do that to him?! Kathoosa deserved to be honored,
but they turned their back on him, and now it was time for them to pay up for
all of the years they missed. Kelly was easy to knock out, and light enough to
drag to the playground. We weren’t afraid of being caught, we had the
protection of Kathoosa.

We
removed her skin cleanly and removed all her limbs, and buried her body neatly
in the center of the spider web.

Kathoosa
blessed us. We arrived at the prom as soon as we washed the blood off of our
bodies, and we won. The cheerleader cried, and I laughed at her tears.

From
then on sacrifices became routine whenever we wanted something big. All of our
success was paid for in the blood of heretics. Rightfully so. We’re happy, and
our children will enjoy the same success as we have, for we are teaching them
about The One True God.

Children are funny. Do you ever
think about the things you talked about on the playground?

Credits to: spooktibbles (story)

Creepypasta #1307: Bus 330

Length: Short

November 14, 1995, Beijing. It was near midnight and the
weather was unusually cold. The last bus of the day was slowly moving across
the outskirts of the town. Since it was the last bus, only few people were on
it.

As the bus
turned a corner, the driver saw two men waving under a lone street light. Oddly
enough, the driver was not expecting any more passengers in this middle of
nowhere. Nevertheless, he let them on. 

In fact it was three people. 2 were
wearing traditional Chinese robes that have long gone out of fashion, and they
were carrying a man with absurdly long and messy hair, with his face looking
down. The three sat at the back seat of the bus, and the passengers were
frightened. But the driver tried to calm the passengers by saying they were
probably movie actors who had drunk too much and forgot to change, and everyone
took his word.

Everyone
except an old lady, who constantly looked back at the three men with suspicion
and fears in her eyes. As the bus approached the next stop, the old lady
suddenly stood up and frantically started to accuse the young man behind her for
stealing her wallet. The young man was confused and everyone tried to calm the
situation. But the old lady was stubborn, and forcefully dragged the young man
down the bus, claiming that she was taking him to the police station not far from here. 

After they got out the bus, the young man, furious that he missed the last bus
of the day, was about to throw a fit with the old lady, but saw that the
expression of the old lady had suddenly turned calm and relieved.

“Young
man, I just saved your life. Those three men back there, they aren’t humans.
When I looked at them, a wind from the window blew over their robes, and they
don’t have any legs at all!”

The next day, the bus company reported that bus 330 never
returned. Four days later, the bus was found hundreds of kilometers from
Beijing, with 4 severely decayed bodies inside. How the bus got there, and how
the bodies were so severely decayed in such short amount of time, no one knows.

Credits to: TheQinDynasty (story)