Category: medium

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

Length: Medium

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What
are you stepping on Tom?”

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

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

“Roger
that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I
am here.”

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

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

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

“Ask
it to show itself Tom.”

“Can
I see you?”

There
was a pause.

“You
can see me.”

The
same voice boomed through the room.

“Ask
it what that means, Tom.”

“What
do you mean I can see you?”

“I
am the dark.”

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

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

“What
do we call you?”

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

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

“We
are humans.”

“I
know what you are.”

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

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

“I
can hear.”

“How
do you know of humans?”

“Through
him.”

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

“And
who is he?”

“He
is all.”

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

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

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

“You
have never encountered him before.”

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

I
turned and looked at the communicator button.

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

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

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

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

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

“You
know me?”

“He
knows everyone.”

“Did
you come through the gate?”

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

“When
did he first find humans?”

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

“So…
he created us?”

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

“Why?”

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

“Then
he is God?”

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

“What
do you mean?”

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

“And
what does being with him mean?”

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

“When
will he join with us?”

“He
comes once you are ten.”

“Ten
what?”

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

“Why
am I a 7.4?”

“He
will come when you are a ten.”

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

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

“What’s
a ten? What’s that mean?”

But
it did not reply.

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

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

And he will come when we are ten.

Credits to: GeoronimoTheThird (story)

Creepypasta #1541: Never Ever Take Your Kids T…

Length: Medium

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

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

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

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

“Monkeyman,
monkeyman!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not
now, David.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Credits to: Horrors_of_the_Woods (story)

Creepypasta #1537: I Wasn’t Invited

Length: Medium

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE

When my friends got a Facebook
invite from Darren White, I was pissed, I didn’t get one.

I
remembered him from school. He was the guy everyone bullied. They called him
Wiggy, because he was already going bald by age eleven.

“Did
you know Wiggy invited me to his stag do?” Stuart said to me while we
drove to work.

“Really?”
I said, “he didn’t invite me. Are you going?”

“Yeah,
I think so, I owe him an apology for how I treated him in school.”

He
wasn’t wrong there. I can’t even count the amount of times Stuart and our
friends made Darren’s life hell. There was the daily robberies of his lunch
money. The time they tied him to a tree, which resulted in him being punched
and kicked by students in the year above, and even the younger kids. I remember
finding him on my way back to class, undoing the knots as he tried his best not
to cry. When the ropes relented, his facade broke down and he ran home. I
shouted after him, he didn’t respond.

There
was this other time, in Chemistry class, when Josh distracted him and Eric set
his bag alight using the gas taps.

“Darren,
your bag!” I shouted.

His
face crumbled as he tried his best to put it out. And to make things worse, the
teacher gave him detention for messing around.

Christ,
was high school not kind to him. You may ask why did I hang out with people
that were so horrible? I admit it, I was a coward. They were friends to me,
really good friends at that. On several occasions they saved my ass, whether it
was from the bigger kids or others in my class, they protected me. I wanted to
tell them to stop bullying Wiggy, but I couldn’t, I was a coward.

“When’s
the big day?”

“Next
week,” Stuart said.

“That’s
a bit last minute, isn’t it?”

“I
guess so, but I owe it to him.”

“Who
else has he invited?”

“No
idea, I only found out yesterday.”

“Can
you ask him why I’m not invited?”

“I
don’t think that’s appropriate, do you?”

“What
do you mean? I was always good to him.”

“Yeah
you were a little snitch.”

“Hey!”
I said irritated.

“Come
on, I’m just joking. Does he even remember you?”

“I’d
hope so.”

We
arrived at work and all I could think about was Darren and how pissed off I was
I wasn’t invited. Stuart went to do some optimisation in the server room and
left his phone. Idiot didn’t even keep it passworded. I opened his Facebook,
looking for the invite. There was a short chat conversation from Darren.

*“Hey
man, long time no see. I’m getting married next month and wanted to know if you
want to go to my stag do?”

“Wiggy?”

“Still
using that name, are we?”

“Sorry
man, couldn’t resist. Yeah, I’d love to go. Been a long time since I tied you
up. A stag do seems like the perfect excuse ;)”

“Very
funny. It’s next week. I’ll send you the details later.”

“Cool.”*

That
was it.

I
remembered his username and quit the app. Thankfully just before Stuart
returned.

“Forgot
my phone,” he said, picking it up and leaving.

Later
that day I tried to add Darren to my Facebook friends. Hours passed and nothing
in return. I was so confused. I checked his profile. Only a couple of photos
were public. He looked the same as before, but now completely bald. To my
surprise, there was a mobile number. I punched it in and waited.

It
rang for what seemed like minutes before a voice I barely recognised answered.

“Hello?”

“Is
that Darren?”

“Speaking,
who’s this?”

“It’s
Karl. Karl Westfield, from school.”

“I
don’t want to speak to you.”

“Please
don’t hang up!” I said.

The
line was silent.

“I
have just one question.”

I
heard nothing in response.

“Why
did you invite Stuart to your stag do and not me? I was good to you!”

Heavy
angry breathing was the response.

“If
you don’t want me to go, that’s fine, but please tell me why?”

“Fuck
off,” he said, and the line went dead.

I
tried to phone again, but it just rang until the voicemail picked up.

“He’s
hired a minibus,” Stuart said, as we drove to work.

“Sounds
like fun,” I said, still upset from the call I had the night before.

“We’re
going to Dover. He says he has a cottage there and that he’s hired some
strippers.”

“Great.”

“Come
on, man, don’t be upset. You were never really one of the cool kids, you just
hung on to us.”

“Fuck
you,” I said, irate.

“Chill
out, man, it takes a lot to be as cool as me.”

“You’re
34 years old, how can you still feel that way?”

“You’re
just jealous. He’s invited Eric, Gaz and Topshelf too. You’re the only one he
hasn’t.”

“That
makes no sense, he hated you lot.”

“We’ve
all grown up since then, Karl. Look, I know we weren’t that nice to him, but
time heals, doesn’t it?”

I
didn’t reply. We didn’t speak for the rest of the journey. I did my best to
avoid him until the shift was over.

“Hey
man, remember to do the server backups tomorrow. I’m not going to be around to
do it,” Stuart said on the phone.

“Yeah,
I’ll remember,” I replied, still pissed off at him.

“Darren’s
picking us up early in the morning, so I won’t have time to do it. But, it
won’t be a problem for you, will it, you’ve got nothing planned.”

I
wanted to shout at him, to tell him he was being a prick, but I didn’t.

“I
won’t forget.”

I
parked my car a few roads down from Stuart’s house. I got there around six in
the morning. I drank from the thermos of coffee I’d prepared. I was tired, I
never got up this early.

I
almost fell asleep before I saw the mini van park outside the house.
Immediately I perked up. The others were already inside, drinking and laughing
with the man they bullied as a child.

They
thumped on the door for at least fifteen minutes until Stuart emerged. His hand
already held an open beer. Anger filled me, but I bided my time. A couple of
minutes later the minivan left.

I
followed. I stayed as far back as I could in my rental car. Not wanting to
arouse suspicion using mine. The van took left and right turns around the
suburban roads until it entered the motorway. The vehicle didn’t break sixty as
it cruised down the highway.

The
van left the M2 and onto the M20. We were definitely heading to Dover. They
pulled off at a service station. I parked at the back of the car park. I
watched them leave, entering the small building. I was busting for a piss, so I
relieved myself in a bush. By the time I finished, the minivan was on the move
again.

I
kept my distance, trying my best not to get too close. After around thirty
minutes, the van left the motorway and joined the A20. The road snaked along
until I could see the ocean to my right. I hadn’t been this far south since I
was a child, it brought back childhood memories I had long forgotten.

The
van stopped at Avcliffe, and so did I. Stuart, Eric and the guys got out. They
were drunk, singing songs and trying to get Darren involved, who in turn
ignored them.

This
was my time. I left the car and strode towards them.

“Hey!”
Stuart said, “What the fuck are you doing here? You weren’t invited!”

“I
want to speak to Darren,” I demanded.

They
swarmed around me and said, “He doesn’t want you here. Do you know what he
called you? A coward!”

“Eric,
please let me talk to him.”

Darren
left the vehicle.

“What
the fuck are you doing here?” he asked.

The
rest of them laughed and replied in unison, “Ooooooo.”

“I
don’t understand, why did you invite them? I was the only one who ever looked
out for you.”

He
shook his head.

“Please
leave, Karl.”

“What
did I do?” I lamented.

“Fuck
off and go home, please.”

His
face was serious, it was obvious he’d not been drinking.

“I
hate you, you know that right?”

Everyone
laughed again.

“Enough
sight seeing, get back in the van,” he demanded.

When
he stared back at me, his face appeared sad and lost.

“Go.
Check my Facebook,” he said to me one last time and got in the van.

The
others followed.

Confused
and upset I returned to the car to see the van pull away.

I
sat for what seemed like ages, staring down at my phone. I was angry at Darren.
I was never Darren’s friend, but it was me that untied him from the tree. It
was me that stopped his bag from going up in flames. Always me. But his hate,
it was aimed at me.

I
unlocked my phone and navigated to his Facebook page.

“Today is a great day," it started, and that made me
more upset.

"Today is the day I get my
vengeance.”

*“Today
I right the wrongs that have bothered me since I was a child.”

“I
love my family and I love you all.”*

Beneath
the post comments asked if he was okay, and to not do anything stupid.

Before
I finished reading I heard distant screams.

I
started the car and raced forward.

The
van was no where to be seen. A group of people gathered on the edge of the
cliff. I stopped the car and got out.

“He
just drove off,” I heard someone say.

I
approached the edge, my stomach dropped as I saw the white minivan in flames on
the beach below.

I
realised why he didn’t invite me. He wasn’t getting married. It was his
vengeance. It was his closure.

Credits
to: ecrowe (story)

Creepypasta #1535: ∞ – 1 = ∞

Length: Medium

I was once walking down the old
district of my hometown, a really popular place for tourists. In the
twenty-seven years I had lived there, I had strolled down the alleyways
countless times, to the point where I knew every corner by heart. That is why I
knew something was wrong when I noticed a very tall and imposing building,
standing in the place of what I remembered as a residential dead end.

Intrigued
by this unexpected apparition, I took out my cellphone to take a picture, which
I could possibly share later. However, when I touched the screen to save the
image, the screen simply froze, and the device shut itself off. Many attempts
to simply gain some kind of view of the building followed, in the hope that
this was a simple technical malfunction. None were met with success, except
one.

One
where the building could not be seen on the screen.

This
was a huge red flag which I simply ignored. I should have known better. I
should have talked to somebody else about this. But I didn’t.

I
approached the building.

From
up close, it didn’t seem very outlandish or anything. The whole thing was made
out of hard, solid concrete, and patterns showing odd pictograms were repeating
themselves along the walls. Above the door, three symbols were engraved: two
empty circles, and a filled one.

Feeling
a bit apprehensive, I stepped inside.

The
bland exterior of the building hid a very luxurious interior. The shelves,
counters, walls, ceiling and floor were all made out of pristine acacia wood.
Books of all colors, shapes and sizes populated the spaces in racks lined up on
the walls. A thick and flawless blue carpet drew a linear pattern across the
floor of what seemed to be a library. I could also distinguish a flight of
stairs leading down to a dark room in the back.

However,
there was not a soul in sight.

I
walked up to the counter and rang a little copper bell, hoping someone could
answer the many questions I thought up in the past few minutes.

The
library itself answered.

One
of the books immediately fell out of the shelves. It was named “Welcome to the
Library.”

The first page read:                                                                                  

“This
is a collection of thoughts and dreams. Here, concepts which can only exist in
the human mind such as time travel, instant teleportation, alchemical
constructs and the like are documented methodically. While it is not advised
for a mere mortal such as you to wander too long in this place, you may, if it
is what you wish, acquire a membership card. We would advise against it, as it
was a simple accident that you found your way in here; however, it is not our
duty to prevent access to knowledge.”

Of
course, I wasn’t going to let go of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to gain
knowledge of unfathomable concepts, which I could then showcase to the world,
in the hope of gaining immense recognition. I was sure there was a catch,
though.

“What
is the price?” I asked out loud.

The
page turned itself and showed these words:

“The
Library does not accept mortal currency, as it is useless to its functioning.
The main problem is that it would be technically impossible for these books and
their contents to exist according to physical laws. The sole reason why you are
able to touch, see and feel this place is thanks to every intelligent mind in
the universe thinking about the subjects we mentioned previously since the dawn
of time. The only thing we ask of you is that you occasionally think about the
Library and its contents, and that you visualize it like you were here. That
way, all of the knowledge here will never be lost.”

Inconceivable
truths at the simple price of having to think about them from time to time
seemed like a good bargain. I asked for a membership card. It simply fell out
of one of the pages of the welcoming book.

“You
now have access to the many tomes and resources present in the Library. Enjoy.”

I
was initially thrilled about what secrets this mysterious place may hold, but
was soon disappointed.

Out
of the hundred or so books I pulled out of the shelves, most of them were
simply bearing strange glyphs and symbols, and the few that actually made sense
were simply displaying impossible paradoxes or shapes, like the ones you see in
optical illusions.

I
decided to head down the staircase at the back; maybe I could find something of
interest in the lower floor.

The
basement was completely empty, besides a yellow book thrown on the floor, and a
computer which seemed to be turned off on a desk.

The
tome seemed to be a travel guide, according to the maps displayed on the back.
The title was simply “∞”.

As
I was about to open the book, the computer turned itself on and showed the
following:

“As
we can see, you are not satisfied by your experience in the Library. This was
expected; after all, you are very far from the enlightenment required to
understand at most a tenth of the knowledge contained here. The Book of
Infinity has the ability to provide you with comprehension of the glyphs you
have encountered here. However, we strongly advise you to step back now and
exit. If you open this tome, you, too, will belong to the imaginary plane the Library
exists in, and will need to never be forgotten by the world in order to pursue
your existence. You are not ready for this yet. Patience is a virtue. This is
your last chance to leave, you have already seen too much.”

I
didn’t listen. How could I keep living a normal life after all this? It didn’t
take long before the so-called “Book of Infinity” lied open on the desk.

Inside
were series of small sun symbols alternating between black and white, and a few
pictures of a desert-like landscape. What really made these images stand out
was to notable absence of any obstacles, rocks, vegetation or hills. It was
just sand everywhere. The sky was illuminated by three suns, two white and one
black.

Another
important detail: the book had infinite pages. When I tried to get to the
beginning or the end of the tome, pages just kept sprouting from thin air.
There were no page numbers; only sun symbols.

I
didn’t really know what to expect when I opened the Book of Infinity, but it
was just as nonsensical as the other documents of the Library.

“Well,
this whole ordeal was entirely useless,” I thought to myself, as I climbed back
up the staircase.

It
wasn’t over, though.

The
steps just kept on going forever. I lifted my head and saw that the end was out
of sight. My heart started beating a little bit faster. The symbol “∞” came
back to my mind.

I
decided to walk backwards, and soon found myself back in the basement. However,
let’s say it was a bit different.

Copies
of the Book of Infinity were littered on the floor everywhere. All of the walls
of the room had been broken down. I was now in a field of yellow travel guides
which kept on going into the distance for all of eternity, to the point where
it was impossible to see the acacia planks which once formed the basement. The
computer was still standing on its desk, with a black ∞ symbol covering the
whole screen.

The
stairwell was still standing behind me, mocking me with its unending steps.

I
furiously tried to think of a potential solution to escape this madness. I
wondered: if infinity was a perpetual sequence, perhaps removing one element
from said sequence was the key to my escape.

I
took a Book of Infinity and tore one of the pages apart.

One
random tome in the distance exploded in a blast of pages flying everywhere. The
computer’s screen went black. And most importantly, one of the steps of the
stairwell vanished from existence.

Feeling
hopeful, I climbed back up the stairs, already thinking about victory. My heart
was probably about to jump out of my chest.

I
burst out in a short cry of joy when the immaculate blue carpet from the main
floor came into view.

A
very short cry of joy.

Outside
the Library, there was an endless plane of sand, with no obstacles in sight.
Three suns illuminated this barren landscape: two white and one black.

And
I just felt, in the very bottom of my soul, that no matter how many grains of
sand were present, only one was missing. The one I needed to get back home.

For
a very long period of time now, I have remained imprisoned in the Library. The
Librarians, as it is how I called the strange presence which welcomed me in
this place, have never contacted me again. I know that I am entirely dependent
on my family and my friends, who are still wondering what happened to me. If
they were to die or to forget me, my existence would cease, as I am now the
Library and the Library is me.

It’s
not all that bad though; I can comprehend every book in here now, and I know of
truths beyond mortal comprehension, which I cannot describe in any human
language. I may also control the computer in the basement just like a normal
one. It is how I managed to get in touch with you, dear reader.

My
purpose was not to simply entertain you with my story. Sometimes, I can feel
myself fading. I occasionally forget some things from my past life. I know
that, out there, all the people who knew me are starting to forget me.

Please,
I beg you. Every month, every week, or even every day if you can, think about
me. Think about me, stuck in an endless desert with three suns. Do not let me
be forgotten.

I
want to exist.

And
if you really care, imagine that I will once open a book, and that a single
grain of sand will drop out of it. Perhaps, if your will is strong enough, dear
reader, I will be able to find my way back home and support the growth of
humanity with my newfound knowledge.

It
might take a while.

But
I can wait.

∞ –
1 = ∞

Credits
to: oneirical (story)

Creepypasta #1533: The Boy Tied To The Tree

Length: Medium

I
was good with kids. I liked them but they seemed to love me so I ended up doing
a lot of babysitting work when I was seventeen. Childcare if you want to make
it sound more professional on your résumé. It was an easy way to make money,
usually just by playing. I liked their weird little minds and the bizarre
things kids would say so it was fine by me. But after I babysat George, I
stopped.

George
wasn’t the problem. George was lovely. He was six and still had big cute chubby
cheeks. The best thing was he mostly played on his own and then all I would
have to do was just keep an eye on him. I would read a book nearby while he got
lost in his own world.

Both
his Mum and Dad had important jobs and if the long hours they worked didn’t
show it then the size of their house did. It was 4 stories high and the lawn in
the garden stretched way back with different types of trees each side.

It
was summer and so I was looking after George most days during the school break.
The weather was good so we played outside a lot. Well, I kept an eye on him as
he ran around, imagining adventures from the looks of it, or playing with his
toys on the grass, marching his dinosaurs amongst the flowers.

After
a while George always seemed to play in the same area at the end of the garden,
next to one particular tree. It was the tallest tree, a big thick oak tree with
roots that came out of the ground like varicose veins. I just guessed that was
his favourite spot.

I
noticed he started using the name Jack a lot in his games. Then he started to
look as if he was talking to someone. I’d never had an imaginary friend myself
or looked after a kid who’d had one before. I didn’t know much about child
psychology then but he was an only child with workaholic parents so I guess it
made sense.

One
afternoon the clouds were becoming darker and it looked like it was about to
pour it down so I called George to come inside. He angrily said that he didn’t
want to because he was playing with Jack. It took me by surprise; this was the
most disobedient I’d ever heard George be. I kept my calm and asked, “Why
don’t you and Jack both come inside then?” George said Jack couldn’t come
inside because he was tied to the tree. I put on my stern voice and furrowed my
eyebrows, something I hadn’t had to do with George until then, and I firmly
told him to come inside. He looked back at the tree, nodded, and then dutifully
marched in.

Later
that day it occurred to me that George only said the name Jack when he was near
that favourite tree of his.

Later,
when George was eating the banana sandwiches I’d made him for lunch, I asked
him why Jack was tied to the tree. He said that he had hurt one of the maids,
so the master had tied him to a tree as a punishment. I thought maybe he’d been
in the same room while his parents watched Downton Abbey or something. I think
I still only found it interesting at this point, funny even, kids and their
imaginations.

After
that I noticed that George had started to whisper to Jack. When George had
‘played’ with Jack before it always used to seem like fun but now it seemed
different. I would strain my ears to hear but I couldn’t make out what George
was whispering. I asked him what he was talking about with Jack and he would
just answer “Nothing at all.” Something about the rhythm in how he said it felt
wrong, like it was just being parroted back but I thought he could’ve picked it
up from a movie or anywhere.

Not
long after I had to use that stern voice with George again. I found him routing
around under the kitchen sink, in the cupboard where the bleach and all the
other poisonous bottles was but he was after the saws. Hacksaws, coping saws
and a hand saw. My mind twirled like I was drunk on a carousel while I tried to
make sense of it. He’d made a pile of the saws next to him on the tiles. He
looked up at me and his eyes widened when he recognised the horror on my face;
the horror which was quickly turning to anger. Then I really shouted at him. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” “You mustn’t ever mess with
these ever! These are very dangerous!” “This is such a naughty thing
to do!” Those sorts of thing; I felt my own parents discipline from years
ago channeling through me. He looked up at me all the while with his bottom
lip wobbling and when I finally had finished, he burst into tears. I hugged him
and told him it was just because I was so worried and that he was a good boy
really.

He
said that he had just wanted to help Jack.

I didn’t
know what to do. I was no therapist but I thought, hell, if I played along with
it maybe I could stop anything like this happening again. “Did Jack ask
you help him?” George didn’t say anything. “Why don’t I talk to
Jack?" 

"No!” George’s eyes widened.

"Why not? I just want to explain to him how he got you in to trouble. Then
he won’t ask you to do it again." 

"No! Don’t… He’s my friend.” I
didn’t like how stubborn he was being and not just because he was being
difficult. He wasn’t usually like this. He seemed scared. 

“If he is your
friend then he’ll understand.” I turned and started to walk to the garden.
George followed behind me.

I
reached the tree and positioned myself looking at a place where I guessed an
invisible child might be and ignored my feelings that this was ridiculous.

“Jack.
I know you wanted George to help you but he mustn’t go near the saws or tools
because it’s dangerous and he’ll get into trouble, so I’m sorry but he can’t
help you.” I turned to George. “Ok, now I think we should go
insi-" 

I stopped in shock as I felt a sharp pain in the back of leg. It
felt like something had pinched me. I immediately looked back but there was
nothing. Something felt bad, like the air pressure around us had dropped, and
when I turned back to George he looked like he was about to cry. "Let’s go
inside.” I said flatly and held his hand.

The
weather turned quite bad for the rest of the week so we stayed inside. What
ever had caused that pinching feeling had made a mark but I reasoned with
myself that it was more than likely an insect bite. A nasty one. Maybe.

There
was an old photograph I’d walked past a hundred times, framed and hung in the
hallway of the house. I’d never stopped and properly looked at it before. It
was a picture of the house staff from 1898. Amongst the butlers, cooks and
maids there was a little boy. It might have been the contrast or saturation
from the old-fashioned photography but his eyes seemed dark and unpleasant. My
eyes ached as I focused on him for too long, as if I was waiting for him to
move. I tore myself away from the picture and went to find George.

Three
days later I was tidying up when I found a kitchen knife in George’s toy box.
It was the biggest one from the knife rack. My heart jerked like a car crash
collision. I marched back into the living room and George looked up from where
he was playing on the floor. 

“You! You come with me right now!” I yelled, my
voice wavering and failing at every point it could. He followed behind me as I
stomped back to the play room.

“What
the hell do you think you’re doing with-“ I looked down and the knife wasn’t
there. It was gone. I started to dig through the toys, clawing through the
bears and cars, but I couldn’t find it. Pain burst and spread up the back of my
leg and I snapped back up straight. I turned around just in time to see the
knife hit the floor like it had been dropped. George jumped from the noise of
the crash the knife made as it landed about two metres away from him. Between
us. We both didn’t say anything. I felt blood trickling down the back of my
leg.

“I’m so sorry! I let him free! I shouldn’t have done it! I helped Jack get free
from the tree. I shouldn’t have! I’m so sorry. He’s a nasty boy! He’s a nasty
boy! I’m sorry!”

I
grabbed George. I grabbed his coat, grabbed my bag, and took him straight out
through the front door.

His
Dad was incredibly pissed off that he had been dragged out of a meeting and
called back home from work to find us sat on the porch steps. I think he
thought I wasn’t noticing his eyes rolling as I couldn’t explain properly what
had happened. I was definitely meant to notice the dirty look he gave me when
George started crying that he didn’t want to go back inside the house ever
again. That’s when I left. I walked away down their gravel path and didn’t look
back as I heard George start wailing.

I
didn’t ever go back to look after George. I was pretty sure they would’ve
wanted me back after how unstable I must’ve seemed. I declined any other offers
of work from other parents.

I’d
be lying if I said I didn’t feel guilty for leaving George. It definitely
weighed heavy on my thoughts over the weeks and months and then years. It did
get easier to not remember sometimes but I couldn’t forget.

At
the time I didn’t admit it to myself but looking back it was 100% the reason
that my choices led me to getting a degree in Child Psychology at university
and now I’m doing particularly well in the field. My secret personal penance of
sorts.

I thought I might get some
closure on it all when one day I had a familiar patient, assigned to me at his
parent’s request. This was unusual but when the boy walked into my office,
eight years older now, I understood. He doesn’t want to be called George any
more though. He only answers to Jack. I asked him where George is. He said he’s
tied to the tree.

Credits to: Stanier0 (story)

Creepypasta #1532: My School Doesn’t Have A Fo…

Length: Medium

There
isn’t much of a worse feeling to a high school student than walking into class
late. The piercing stares from everyone in class, including the scornful eyes
of the teacher, as you walk across the room to find your empty desk is enough
to make you go crazy.

So
naturally, I’m late to my third period almost everyday.

Now
listen here, I know it must seem hypocritical to complain about the dreadful
feeling of being late, but it isn’t always my fault when it comes to third
period. The hallway perpendicular to the one that houses my classroom is always in
total gridlock. That hallway has one of the only stairwells leading out from
the basement, with the other one being at all the way on the other side of
basement, so most students exit through that one. And let me tell you, waiting
for everyone to disperse before being able to cut through takes a helluva long
time.

But
today, or yesterday, I guess, I don’t think it was my fault that I was late to
my third period. Or to any of my other classes.

Like
always, as soon as the bell rung in second period, I bolted in an attempt to
beat the gridlock early. But when I got to the basement, something seemed off.
There wasn’t a single student in sight. I thought it was odd, but I was also
more focused on being early to my class, so I trudged on. My class was empty
too. Strange, I thought, there’s no way I could be this early. But I decided to
wait for the teacher or someone to come in and tell me we were supposed to meet
in the library or something. I did think it was strange that the teacher left
her door unlocked with all the lights on, but that just made me deduce that
someone would come by sooner.

No
one came. For the entire period.

For
the first 15 minutes, I kept thinking that someone would come fetch me, but as
soon as 25 passed by, I knew no one was coming. Sweet, I thought to myself. I
get to have a free period and work on whatever I wanted, and I had the perfect
alibi.

Not
sweet.

I
checked my phone and the allotted time for the class went by, so I went on to
head to my next class. Like before, there wasn’t a single person in sight. Now
I started to feel kinda weird. The basement has never been this empty before.

What
happened in my third period repeated in my fourth. And my fifth. And my sixth.
By this time I knew something was up. But there wasn’t anything I could do. The
bells were still ringing. Was I the target of some prank or something, that the
whole school was in on? It was a long shot, but I kept repeating that over and
over in my mind to feel better.

The
day was over, so I had nothing other to do except leave. I wanted to check the
front office first to see if anyone was there. Like everywhere else, empty.
Screw it, I thought, and went to head out the front door. I couldn’t see any
buses through the glass, and the strangest thing happened. The door wouldn’t
budge. Yeah, it’s one of those self-locking doors that needs to be unlocked via
a button in the front office, but that was only on the outside. There was no
reason why I couldn’t open the door. I tried for about 10 minutes before I gave
up.

I
sat on the steps in the main corridor for a long time before I decided to wander
the school, I don’t remember how long. My phone said the time was 8:19 PM, but
it was still light as noon outside.

I
wandered for a while after that. I left my backpack near the front door because
I didn’t want to lug it around everywhere. Each floor, I wandered each floor
multiple times until I noticed something strange on my third journey around the
fourth floor.

There
was no fourth floor at my school. It only had three levels. I ran up and down
the stairs twice, counting the floor levels all the while. One, two, three, and
four. There was definitely a fourth.

My
heart began to race. It had never occurred to me to look up in the stairwell.

When
I reached the fourth floor again, I nearly fainted. I brushed off the other set
of stairs on the fourth floor because I didn’t realize I was on it. I looked
up, and saw that the stairs continued on for quite some time.

This
time, I did faint, and didn’t wake up until midnight. Like before, the sun was
still shining bright outside.

I
could see where the stairs ended, but it had to have been at least ten more
levels until the top floor. I didn’t bother looking at the other floors; I
headed straight for the top.

The
top level was strange. Something about it just seemed… off. There weren’t any
windows, and it smelled like hot metal. But the strangest thing was that it
kept going. Kept going past where the hallways should’ve connected. See, all
three floors in my school are circular, so if one were to walk around the whole
circle, they would find their class easily. But that’s what unsettled me the
most. It wasn’t a maze of intersecting hallways or anything, it was just a
circle, and it kept going. I walked for maybe five minutes when I realized that
I should’ve been back at the stairwell by now.

I
wasn’t having any of it. I started running the other way and didn’t stop until
I found the stairwell again. Strange, it seems like it took longer to reach the
stairwell than it should have.

I
knew there was a computer lab on the third floor, so I went there. I had to
break in, because the doors were locked. The computers all still worked and
were connected to wifi, despite my phone not having service. I tried to contact
authorities and everything, but nothing went through. Everything else works, I
just can’t contact anyone who means something to me. So I decided to come here
and tell my story. This happened yesterday.

I
plan to explore the 14th, or 15th or whatever the hell floor it is and all the
floors under it tomorrow. I don’t know how long I’ll be here, so I might as well.
But for right now, I’m gonna try and find somewhere nice to take a nap, or
maybe get some food in the cafeteria.

Catch you all next time. I hope.

Credits to: Nostrodum (story)

Creepypasta #1531: 9 Out Of 10 Cannibals Agree…

Length: Medium

TRIGGER WARNING: CANNABALISM

A single engine private plane,
skimming low over the Alaskan wilderness. Glacial waters as clear as a polished
mirror, reflecting the vast primordial forests and savage peaks which loom
above us: a testament to the stoic grandeur of an Earth which existed long
before humanity and will continue to endure long after the footnote of our
existence has been forgotten. For one glorious moment it feels as though the
world was created just for us, but that was before the engine stalled
mid-flight. Before the violent plummet and the mercy of a deaf God, before the
ground accelerating toward us, all happening much too fast to regain altitude
before the crash.

An
explosion so loud it was silent — light so bright I saw nothing. Bone-jarring
impact, everything lurching so bad it felt like my soul must have been ripped clean
from my body. I wish I’d died the second we hit the ground. I wish my husband
had too, but he lingered in that broken body until nightfall. Our hands had
never clasped so tightly as when sealed together with his blood, and no words
were as precious as those escaping between his shallow breaths.

“Promise
me that you’ll survive,” he’d said. “Whatever it takes.”

I
wasn’t in much better condition than him. One of my legs was broken, several
ribs had snapped, and three of my fingers were still clinging to the bottom of
my seat where I’d braced for the crash, now a dozen feet away. I didn’t expect
to last the night, but I still made that promise. I’d like to think that hope
gave some small comfort before his eyes closed for the last time.

After
that came the war between slow starvation and my desperate hope of being saved.
A hungry animal could easily find me first though, lured by the scent of
charred flesh and fresh blood which teased my nostrils. But there was another
war going on below the surface: my human dignity against my will to survive.

I
lasted almost four days before I took the first bite. Just a mouthful, holding
the strip of his skin in my mouth and wetting my parched throat with his blood.
By the end of the week I’d become more methodical, stripping the flesh clean to
roast, cracking the bones for their marrow, wasting nothing. By the end of two
weeks, there was nothing left of my husband.

I’d
given up on ever being rescued, instead starting the long walk back toward
civilization. I was amazed at how quickly my leg had healed, and as I trekked,
I felt myself filled with a restless vitality which I could only attribute to
my will to live.

I
barely slept at night, barely rested during the day. It’s almost as if I’d
spent my entire life being sick, but I’d gotten so used to the feeling that I
thought that’s how everyone is supposed to feel.

I
can tell you right now, that life is a lie. Your blood is not supposed to pass
sluggish and unnoticed through your veins, its power dormant. You should feel
the electricity of your flexing muscles, each explosive fiber primed to your
will. Those pristine wildernesses were not where I had been banished to die.
It’s where I came alive.

I
don’t know how long I traveled in such a state, falling into a a trance from my
single-minded determination. I think my husband’s spirit must have been guiding
me though, because I found sudden understanding in navigating from the stars,
just like he learned from the navy.

Eventually
I found what I was looking for: a couple of campers fresh from the big city. I
was so relieved at hearing another human voice through the trees that I surged
forward like a wild thing. All my pain and sacrifice had been building to this
moment. Elegant French words, a woman’s laughter, a way home — this is what I’d
kept myself alive for.

But
when I saw them… him panting and sweating to move his grotesque belly, her
screaming and carrying on as though I was less than human… well it just goes to
show you that sometimes you need to take a step back in order to see things
clearly. After everything I’d been through, I couldn’t feel anything but pity
and disgust for these torpid creatures, willing victims of what their
artificial life had deformed them into.

The
husband was bigger, but the wife tasted better. Cleaner. I lived more vibrantly
in those next few nights — feasting and regaining my strength from their unused
bodies — than all the years they’d wasted on being half-alive.

I
wasn’t only getting stronger either. I started catching my thoughts slipping in
and out of French. I’d thought my husband had been guiding me through the
woods, but now it seemed more appropriate to say that I had consumed some
aspect of him, just as I had done with the French couple.

I
was hungrier than ever. Gnawing, incessant hunger almost as soon as I’d
finished, like my stomach threatened to digest itself if it didn’t get more. I
tried eating some of the trail mix and granola bars in their packs, but it
tasted like so much sawdust and dirt. Even the beef jerky tasted like cardboard
(although that’s not unusual by itself).

Human
meat. And it was obvious that the more I ate, the more I needed it. The
prospect of returning to my frail old self? Unbearable. But the idea of living
in the woods, biding my time in agonizing solitude while waiting for my next
chance meal? I don’t think that’s any better.

Unless
of course, I go back to my old life without giving up what I need to survive.
And such easy targets, there at the kindergarten where I used to teach.

I
didn’t even waste time stopping at a hospital. My wounds had mended on their
own, all but the missing fingers. I only stopped off at home long enough for a
shower and some new clothes before heading back to the school.

Surrounded
by a sea of little shaggy heads, not even reaching my waist. I could almost
taste them. The other teachers were shocked to hear what happened of course
(their version was lighter on the details), but despite their generous offers
to help, I insisted that I wanted to be back in the classroom as soon as
possible.

“See
guys? I told you she wasn’t dead!” That was Roddick. He likes to finger-paint.
I hope it doesn’t have a bad flavor.

“What
happened to your hand? Ewww gross! You’re gross!” I’d be lying if I said this
was the first time I’d contemplated Tiffany’s horrible demise.

“You
don’t have to come back. We were having fun without you too.”

“Oh
don’t you worry.” I squatted down to Sandy’s level. “Having me around will be
even more exciting. Now take these and hand one out to everyone in the class.”

I
may be hungry, but I’m not an idiot. I’d never be able to take more than one or
two children before causing such a scene that it became impossible to continue.

“What’s
she handing out? What is it let me see!” Tiffany shouted.

“It’s
a permission slip,” I told her. “We’re going on a field trip. You, me, the
whole class. We’re going camping.”

It’s not just the taste that makes
children special. It’s their innocence. And if I ever want to start over and
live a normal life, then I’m going to need to eat until I’m innocent again
too.

Credits to: TobiasWade (story)

Creepypasta #1528: Anyone Else Keep Getting So…

Length: Medium

For like the tenth time this week,
Spotify has automatically put a couple terrible songs in my playlist: “Falling
Needles” and “Echo Dance”. Both are by a band I’ve never heard of before called
“Tytusphere”. I have no idea how the songs keep ending up on my playlist, but
they somehow keep coming back even after I delete them.

Remember
back when the iPhone 6 was released, and it came with an entire shitty U2
album? Remember how strangely intrusive it felt to have music you didn’t want
sort of shoved down your throat? That’s exactly how I feel about these two
songs. Every time I put my playlist on shuffle, I start anxiously awaiting to
see when these tracks come up.

Yeah,
it ain’t even a matter of “if” they show up…it’s WHEN.

If
I’m at the gym, or in my car, or just putting on background music while I do
stuff around the house, it isn’t long before “Falling Needles” or “Echo Dance”
is playing and I have to skip past it. I have had to delete them both so many
times now that I’ve just stopped bothering. If they come on, I skip them.

No matter how many times I delete
them, though, I find them nice and snug in my playlist. I didn’t
fucking download anything “7 minutes ago”. It’s like it just appears and acts
like I put it there.

I’m
not sure how to describe these songs other than “ear rape”. Do you guys know
what binaural beats are? Like the things you can zone out to and it’s supposed
to help something in your mind? These songs are kinda like those: low,
stuttering hums. Every time I listen to one of the songs too much, it feels
like the noise is tickling my brain. “Falling Needles” has a sort of weird
noise going on with the hum, and “Echo Dance” actually sort of has a bassline
to it.

They’re
not long tracks by any means. Do you see what I mean, though? Imagine you’re at
the gym, getting pumped up with your favorite songs, and then all of a
sudden…THAT noise comes on. I swear, anytime I hear that low hum, I cringe.
Like, physically cringe. That’s how negatively these songs have been affecting
me.

The
tracks keep coming back, and they’ve been doing so for maybe two weeks now.
It’s freaking me out quite a lot, but I don’t know what else to do other than
just keep skipping them whenever they come. But I swear, it’s like the more I
skip the songs, the more persistent they get, like as if they have minds of
their own. I’ll skip “Echo Dance” and then, hey, five songs later I’m listening
to “Falling Needles”, and then four songs later I’m back to listening to “Echo
Dance” again, and so on and so forth until I’m skipping the tracks every other
song. It’s infuriating and frightening.

I’ve
tried using a new Spotify account, but both songs followed me and ended up on
my new playlists. I’ve tried switching to Pandora, but have come across the
songs there as well, regardless of which station I start playing. And it’s not
like there’s a station for “Mind-numbing Beep Music”. I’ll admit, I’m very
concerned about this, mostly because it’s been coinciding with something else
going on in my life that’s been rather disturbing. If you guys don’t mind, I’m
gonna get a little personal here, because I feel like these two things are
connected somehow.

I
keep having these really vivid dreams, you see. In them, I’m doing something
mundane, like cleaning my house or taking a walk…but no matter what I’m doing,
there’s this person watching me do it. It’s a woman, I believe, but I can’t
tell with 100% certainty because this person hardly has a face. She has no
eyes, just two cavernous holes where her eyes should be. There is just flat
skin where her nose should be. Her mouth is wide and lipless, but she’s always
smiling. It looked like something had torn her face apart. She won’t lunge at
me or even come anywhere near me in these dreams. She’ll just stare (if an
eyeless person even could stare) in my direction, as if paying very close
attention to everything I’m doing. It almost feels like there’s some sense of
longing behind the way she watches me. Every now and then, she’ll start calling
for someone named Andrew, but I don’t know an Andrew.

It
sounds like typical nightmare-stuff, but there is something especially off with
it: I associate that woman in my dreams with the sounds of Tytusphere. Whenever
one of those two tracks plays, I’ll immediately think of her, which is odd,
because I don’t usually remember my dreams in such a way. It feels like those
songs and the Faceless Woman go hand-in-hand.

Like
any sane person would, I’ve tried to find any information about Tytusphere
online. Every time I’d click their name on Spotify, the entire program would
crash. The only thing I can find about them is their Bandcamp page, which has
one single track up titled “Your Favorite Song” that sounds remarkably similar
to the two songs that have been haunting me these past couple weeks.

I
wish there was more information, but most of it is written in complete
gibberish. Like the songs, though, I can’t help but feel like that gibberish
means something more. I just have no idea what it could be. I’ve listened to
“Your Favorite Song” a few times over. It’s pretty eerie. If you give it a
listen yourself, watch out for the really loud part about forty seconds in, it
actually gave me a pretty good fright the first time I went through it.

The
more I listen to it, though, the stranger I feel. It gives me a really weak
feeling, like I have some sort of flu or something.

I know for a fact that people on
here have had issues with songs before, so I’m wondering if anyone has any advice. Is there any
way to stop Tytusphere from showing up in my playlists? Am I the only one who
feels weird after listening to “Your Favorite Song”? Is anyone else going
through something similar? I could really use a helping hand, here, guys.

I
look forward to hearing from any of you.

I
wrote everything you read above last night and decided to wait until today to
post it. Since then, something new has happened to the Bandcamp page: the
Faceless Woman, the one in my dreams, is now the “album art” for Tytusphere’s
track.

It
is without a doubt her. I nearly shit myself when I checked the page today and
saw her there. No eyes, no nose, no mouth…that’s exactly what I’ve been seeing
in my dreams for weeks now.

I
can’t stop looking at her. I feel so terrified and disoriented. The beeps from
the Tytusphere songs are stuck in my head, just going off like alarms.

I don’t feel like myself. I’m afraid
that listening to these songs has done something horrible to me, it’s put
something in me that shouldn’t be there. I feel like it’s her.

Can
ANYONE here help me? I’m seriously begging you. Anyone who has had experience
with shit like this, do you have any advice? Is there any way to get her out of
my head? Andrew, are you there? How can I stop this? Andrew, are you there?
What IS this band, and what are they trying to do?

I
just can’t get the songs out of my head. They won’t stop playing.

Maybe
I can tear them out.

Credits
to: hartijay (story)

Creepypasta #1527: I’ve Been To Hell. Here’s W…

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE

Length: Medium

Downward Spiral

I
didn’t even notice I was in Hell my first year. Everyday life seemed the same,
minus one particular detail. Nothing good happened… ever.

I
had a secure job, relationship, and life. It fell apart. All of those little
doubts I had about myself ate away at me until they were full blown paranoia.
Then, it became reality.

My
company kept suffering loss after loss, until the problems were eventually
pinpointed to being solely my fault. After I lost my job, I lost my fiancé to
my best friend, and no one seemed to be on my side. Every person in my life was
cold and distant.

Even
the little things that didn’t matter were awful. Food was always tasted
terrible, my favorite shows were cancelled, and something in my apartment
always needed to be repaired. Each day was cold with rainy overcast, and the
nights were eerily dark, with no stars or moonlight. There is absolutely no
enjoyment in Hell. But, the first year is child’s play compared to the
rest. 

Silence

During
the second year, I came to two possible conclusions. The first was that I had
gone completely insane, and the second was that I was no longer in the same
world I was born into.

It
started in the morning when I powered up the TV. The morning news was on, but I
couldn’t hear anything. I turned the volume up to max, still nothing. I set the
remote down, and I couldn’t even hear it hit the table. I started to panic, and
immediately assumed I lost my hearing. I spoke aloud, but I was able to hear my 

voice just fine. 

I
walked down to the corner store. Everyone stopped what they were doing, and
looked directly at me. Everything froze, like time was standing still. My
stomach turned. A sea of people stared in my direction, but their faces were a
jumble of features. Eyes, noses, and mouths all swirled in a mess of flesh,
hair, and teeth. 

Even
if I wanted to speak with one of these monstrosities, I couldn’t. They remained
still. Dead silence was everywhere I went, and every person stopped and turned
in my direction. Always watching my every move with their misplaced eyeballs.

Hell
was studying me, and it only got worse.

Seclusion

If
you’ve ever wished you could be in complete seclusion, I’ll be the first to
tell you it’s not worth it. One day, out of nowhere, I was completely alone. No
jumble-faced people, animals, cars, or life in general. The world was a hollow
reminder of what used to be. With no other plan in mind, I started wandering.
The depression stated to wear on me. Always alone. I had no idea what was going
on or where I was. Eventually, it was too much, and the loneliness weighed me
down. I gave up.

I
jumped off the tallest building I could find.

I
felt the entire impact of the fall. I heard my bones shatter, but death never
came. After three agonizing days of lying on the cold, black, asphalt, the
excruciating pain started to fade, and my body remained in tact. Even though it
should have been completely mangled.

Shadows

The
suicide attempt seemed to “accelerate” things. But, I was awarded with one
luxury, and I use that term lightly. I could hear sounds again. It wasn’t worth
much in an empty world, but nevertheless it had returned. But, like everything
in Hell, there was a reason.

My
hearing allowed “the shadows” to terrify me on unimaginable levels.

I’m
not really sure what these things are, but I can try my best to describe them.

You
know that feeling when you are walking in a dark room, or going down a flight
of stairs in a creepy basement? The feeling that something is right behind you,
so you start moving a little faster to get to the light. Multiply that fear by
100.

I
would catch glimpses of them out of the corner of my eye. Tall, black, humanoid
figures darting quickly behind buildings or trees. I could feel them getting
closer. The creeping paranoia consumed me.

One
night, I was taking a shortcut through an apartment complex. The entrance doors
were open, and a flickering florescent light partially illuminated the narrow
ground-floor hallway. Halfway down the corridor, the lights went out, and
darkness washed over me. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up, and
I had the unmistakable feeling of something behind me.

I
prepared to run, but it was too late. With a high pitched howl, one of the
shadows had me. It’s cold, dead, hands wrapped around my arms as it sank its
teeth into the top of my skull. The pain was indescribable. I thrashed around
in agony as more shadows emerged from the open apartment doors. In my fit of
pain and terror, I pulled my head free from the fangs and stumbled to my feet.

I
ran for what seemed like hours. I learned quickly that traveling in the evening
was no longer an option. I barricade myself in any shelter I could find, every
night. The shadows always paced outside my doors, until they would leave each
morning as the dull, grey, cloud-covered sunlight drove them off.

Abyss

Eventually,
my nomadic lifestyle was impossible to continue. I unlocked the door of the
small 2 bedroom house I had been sleeping in, and walked outside. It was
raining, it was always raining. Despite all that I had been though, what I saw
took me by complete surprise.

The
first change was the gates. Black, iron bars had surrounded the neighborhood.
They extended from the ground, and rose impossibly high into the sky. I was
trapped.

The
second thing I saw were the jumble-faced people. They had returned. Dozens of
them were lined up on the street in perfectly straight rows. They were
different, though. In groups of four, dressed in black robes, they walked hand in
hand towards a massive, swimming pool-sized hole in the ground. Without
hesitation, a group of four would fall in, and after a few seconds, the next
group would follow suit.

I
turned around to head back inside the home, but I couldn’t. The iron bars had
somehow closed-in and were just a few feet away. I looked back towards the
people and saw the bars across the street had moved in closer as well. It was
pushing me towards the hole. I panicked and grabbed the bars with both hands
and began to shake them. They didn’t budge. I started running the entire
perimeter, looking for any way out.

The
bars began to move, ripping through earth and concrete, pushing me closer and
closer to the dark abyss. By this time, the rows of people were gone. I planted
my feet in the ground and began pushing with all my strength. The bars
continued to force me closer to the endless hole, despite my efforts.

After
a few moments, it was too late. I was right on the edge. I remember clawing at
the ground, begging for help. I accepted the inevitable fact that I was going
to descend into the darkness. But, just before I fell, a flash of light blinded
me. Electric pain filled my chest.

I
woke up in the emergency room back on Earth. According to the paramedics, I was
only dead for a few seconds. I began rambling about all that I had seen and
been through. No one seemed to acknowledge or believe me.

This
story is not a lesson. I am not telling you to change your life or be a better
person. This is a warning.

If nothing is going well in your
life, it might not be coincidence. You may be in Hell.

Credits to: Rha3gar (story)