Category: short

Creepypasta #1402: Herb

Length: Medium

I had made the stupid decision to
visit a friend’s birthday party on the night before a final and of course it
started fucking snowing. I live in rural Appalachia, so an hour and a half
drive from campus to a party wasn’t unheard of. On these winding roads, though,
a drive that would normally take ninety or so minutes in good weather took four
hours or more in the snow. What’s frustrating is that I knew it would snow, I
knew I shouldn’t go, and I did anyway. I thought I was going to be able to get
some so the drive would be worth it. I didn’t, so I was even more pissed off.

I
was in a familiar part of nowhere, just a few minutes drive (in good weather)
from my grandparent’s old place. Trees surrounded both sides of the now white
road. I knew that there was a cliff face just a bit past the tree line on my
left, and a sharp drop past the tree line on my right. In normal circumstances,
I’d be going 45-55 MPH, but at the moment I was going a healthy 25 because
death by smashing into rock or by falling off some was not my idea of a good
ending to my already shitty night. My car’s tires were slipping a bit at that
crawling speed anyway. Any faster and I would really be risking my life.

As
I came around a steep bend in the road, my headlights illuminated something
standing at its center. I could just barely make out the silhouette through the
flurry – a deer. I slammed my brakes, like a fucking idiot. My little shit
hand-me-down Cavalier started fishtailing and sliding all over the slick road,
and if anything it was gaining speed instead of slowing down. I plowed straight
into the deer, and I could feel that I was dragging it as I finally skidded to
a halt.

“Oh,
fucking shit,” I said, threw the car into park and stepped out. My headlights
reflected off of the snow around me, making the area pretty bright, plus just
up the road a bit was a street light belonging to a little cabin. I looked back
at the sickening red streak on the road behind my vehicle. 

“Poor
thing,” I said as I came around the back. The deer wasn’t there. 

“Oh
god, are you KIDDING ME? IS IT STUCK UNDER THERE?” There was no way I
could pull a deer out from under my car by myself. I’m small and a pansy,
really, and deer weigh like a fucking ton. I’d helped my dad multiple times to
haul deer he’d shot from the woods during hunting season. Not a fun job. I got
on my knees, avoiding the blood, and turned my phone’s flashlight under the
car. Nothing. I flashed my light to the left and right. From under the car I
could see, on the passenger side, two deer hooves standing there.

“What
the fuck?” I whispered.

“What…the…fuuuuuccccckkkkkkk…”
The voice that echoed mine sounded, well, stretched. That’s the best way I can
describe it. Like someone took a voice in their hands and stretched it so it
was almost translucent, nearly ripping. Slowly, I stood up, hip pressed against
the driver’s side brake light. Standing on two legs like a fucking person by my
passenger side door was the deer. It was huge. Its great antlers had started collecting
snow so that it glittered in the light, its face was pointed right at me, eyes
focused on mine, its front legs stretched out so that its hooves were on the
top of my car. I’ll admit, I was completely dumbfounded. 

I just stood there,
and it did, too. We stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Then,
it shook its head slightly and smiled. Oh my god, that smile, it stretched
almost from eye to eye, its mouth full of very white and very human teeth.

I
was no longer still. I launched myself at my driver’s side door and fumbled
with the handle. 

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod,” I whispered. It was
locked. I’d locked myself out of my car, in the snow, in the middle of nowhere
with goddamned murder deer.

It
still stood there in the same position, head turned toward me with that fucking
smile on its face. Its eyes widened unnaturally large as it creaked out the
words, “Ppppooooorrrrrr tttthhhhhhiiiinnnnggg…”

I
ran. I ran like holy hell straight for that little cabin, all the while praying
that it wasn’t someone’s hunting cabin or summer getaway. I screamed,
“HELP ME, JESUS CHRIST HELP ME!”

“PPPOOOOORRR
THHHHIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGG!!!!!” It shouted from behind me. When I heard what
sounded like a light bulb shattering, I looked over my shoulder. Its body was
changing. Instead of shoulders like an animal, pushing from its back, it had
shoulders like a human’s now, and its hips made a sound like breaking glass as
they became more human like.

I
screamed a series of profanities in an order I cannot remember now as I pushed
my body to the limit to pick up speed. I think the thing laughed as it
continued to shout the same phrase at me, “Pooooooorrrrrrr
tttthhhiiinnnggg! Ppppooooooooorrrrrr ttttttttthhhhhhiiiiiinnnnnnnggggg!”

A
loud crack rang out as my feet hit the drive way by the cabin, echoing into the
night and the hills surrounding us. I kept running forward, onto the front
porch and smack into a rather large, older man holding a shot gun. As soon as I
had myself hidden behind him, I turned to look back at the creature.

It
stood at the edge of the road by the driveway in the streetlight. It still had
the head and neck of a deer, but from the shoulders down, it was me. Blue
flannel shirt, A-cup breasts, black jeans, tiny hips, feet just a little too
big for its skinny legs – it had transformed its torso and limbs into mine.

“Get
on outta here, Herb!” The man I was hiding behind waved his shotgun. “She’s keeping her face, you fucking piece of shit!”

“HERB?!?”
I shouted at the guy.

“Poooor
thiiiiing…” The creature extended an arm, with bracelets and rings just
like mine, and beckoned me to it, curving up its index finger and coyly waving
it at me.

The
man fired off another shot, this time at the deer-me creature. It jumped back a
pace as the ground by its feet exploded with the force of the shot. “I
said get out of here,” the man repeated himself, whispering it almost so
quietly I could barely hear him myself.

“ARE
YOU KKKKIIIIDDDDIIIINNNNGGG MEEEEEEE????” It shouted at us, then turned
and made its way into the darkness. I stood there with the man, who I would
later learn was Bill, and watched for a long time after the creature
disappeared.

“Herb?”
I asked again, breaking the silence.

“You
can stay here until it’s light out. I’d just leave your car where it is if I
was you,” Bill said and turned to go inside.

I
followed closely behind him. 

“Herb,” I pressed the issue further as
Bill started bolting and locking his door with at least twenty different kinds
of locks, “why did you call it Herb?”

Bill paused, “Well, that’s who
it was last time.”

Credits to: T_Ku (story)

Creepypasta #1400: Eye Of The Storm

Length: Short

The ‘petes as we called them, would experience their crime
on a continuous loop, until we the processors – who monitored their emotional
state, felt that they felt true regret, remorse and disgust with their actions.

Sometimes it
took a while – but they all got there. Even the ones that cherished the memory of
their crime, eventually would come to hate the repetition of it, of seeing
themselves commit it over and over again. The experience, relived, hundreds of
thousands, millions, even billions of times, was an existential water torture,
and everyone breaks eventually and totally.

The
prisoners, deep in their induced comas and experiencing their own subjective
time, could cycle through the event hundreds of thousands of times a day. We’d
monitor their brain activity remotely – an oddly beautiful time-lapse of their
brain’s chemical and electrical activity, a personal storm of passion and
horror, dark clouds of emotions – twisting, turning and crackling with
lightening and electricity.

When we saw
what we wanted – we’d bring them back. They were all different people upon
their return – with ancient eyes in unlined faces. Broken men and women haunted
by their actions. Reliving it still, in a sense, some having spent a subjective
lifetime trapped in a continuos loop, repeating an event they had initially
committed, now swept along as an unwilling passenger, forced to experience it
again and again and again.

It was
strange for me. To look into their haunted and horrified eyes. I’d been in
their heads, seen the inner workings of their minds, studied the subtle play of
their emotions and memories churning along their synapses – now I was on the
outside again, forced to communicate with them on this basic level and limited
bandwidth. Exhaling sounds at each other, flapping lips, teeth and tongues. Us
processors are a strange breed, and we get stranger over time.

This subject
was no different then the rest. Upon awaking from the induced coma, he burst
into tears. Sobbing uncontrollably – racked with pure and profoundly heartfelt
horror at what he had done, and desperate relief to no longer be experiencing
it – an assault, ending in homicide.

I watched the
simpler and less beautiful storm of emotions, micro expressions and moisture
play across his face, listened to his sobs and expressions of sincere regret
for what he had done, and his relief that his torture had ended.

“But
it’s not over.” I replied.

“You
relived your crime 718,487,321 times before you showed true regret, disgust and
horror at your actions. Now it’s time for the second half of your sentence.
You’re going to experience the crime the same number of times from the
perspective of your victim.”

I watched his
eyes widen in dawning comprehension and horror as I reached for the switch that
would put him back under.

And then, with the flick of a finger, I once again summoned
the storm.

Credits to: Becauseisaidsotoo (story)

Creepypasta #1399: I Have Never Seen A Zoo Ani…

Length: Short

For the last three summers while I
have been going to college, I’ve been working at a zoo after classes get out.
It was always a pretty awesome gig. I get free day passes and the chance to see
animals the way no one else does. It’s one thing to see the Wolves on a boiling
summer day when everyone has their noses pressed up to the glass, but what
about at night during a full moon when no one else is around? Or what about
feeding piranhas or a grizzly bear? That’s an experience you don’t forget. But
nothing can compete with the experience I had last week.

It
was a pretty crowded day at the zoo and everything was going as normal. I had
just arrived at the building containing the large cats and primate exhibits for
my usual routine manning the gift shop register. The clock on display told me
the time was 2:17. I had just rung up this woman’s purchase of a stuffed lion
when it happened.

For
some reason, one of the gorillas in the gorilla habitat started hitting the
glass divide where you could see into their exhibit. Now, when I say hit, I
don’t mean they tapped it or something. The gorilla in question, King, was full
on attacking the clear window, like he felt threatened or something. I had never
seen King, or any other animal behave like this. Almost immediately, people
began to gawk excitedly at the gorilla exhibit.

But
you could feel the excitement turn to uneasiness, as King roared loud enough to
be heard through the wall. A nervous tremor seemed to run through the guests. I
couldn’t blame them. Hearing it sent a shudder through my body, as I had never
heard anything like that before, much less from a previously docile and calm
animal.

Almost
immediately, the animal handlers went into action and tried to calm King down.
They also took precautions to evacuate the place, in case things got worse. As
the visitors went outside, I could see the expressions on their face. You could
practically smell their unease. It’s all well and good to see an animal attack
on TV from the safety of your couch. But when all that is separating you from
an angry animal is some glass, well shit gets real.

Apart
from a few faint murmurs from the group, they didn’t say much. I swear,
watching the visitors is one of the many perks of my job. I would say them at
the zoo can be even more entertaining than the animals on display. People wear
some pretty amazing things in public at times. The difference between the
animals and the zoo patrons is that the animals are not in their natural
environment; they know they are being watched.

You
might not have thought about this, but there is in fact a human equivalent to
those National Geographic type documentaries. The only difference between a
Nature Documentary and shows like Punked or Impractical Jokers is that
eventually the human subject being filmed is let in on the fact they are on
camera. But apart from that, there isn’t much difference.

Personally,
I’d rather film a poisonous snake being provoked than trying to scare a human
being. Know why? There exists an antidote to poisonous snakes. You can also
predict how a snake will react. You don’t have that luxury with a person. But
here at the zoo we do the best we can with both.

The
building was immediately cordoned off and the trainers managed to subdue King.
Poor guy, he was always so gentle. What the hell made him go crazy like that? I
spoke to my coworker about it and he was just as confused as I was.

“Dude,
I have never seen that in all the time I’ve been here.” Taylor had been working
with animals since he was a kid on his uncle’s farm. He even used to ride bulls
at the rodeo, so I was pretty sure he’d seen it all.

“What
started it?”

“All
I know is what I saw on the security footage. Some guy approached the glass and
King started going… well apeshit I guess,” he said with a chuckle. We
talked about it for a few minutes more and then changed the subject. As of
right now, King hasn’t behaved like that since.

Last
night, I got a text from Taylor as I was about to take a nap on my couch.

“Dude
turn on the news!” was all it said.

Immediately
switching on to the local station, I saw they had arrested some guy for
murdering his wife. She had been missing for some time and he had claimed she
had disappeared while out shopping one day. But apparently someone had called
the city over a smell in the neighborhood and upon further inspection, the
authorities found her body buried in the backyard. It was pretty sick, but I
wasn’t sure why Taylor wanted me to see it.

“Yeah
I see, pretty fucked up. What about it?”

“Dude, that was the guy I saw
at the zoo that day. The one we saw on camera who approached King right before
he went insane.”

Credits to: thegeneralg (story)

Creepypasta #1397: There Was A Bomb Threat At …

Length: Short

Of course, I immediately called for a Lock-Down drill, and
emailed all the parents, but those first few moments were chaos.

It started
with my secretary. He and I were talking about the weird weather of The Great
Lakes area, and all the odd Lake Effect Snow we’d gotten since January. The
phone rang as I was in the middle of telling the time my porch collapsed under
the snow. He picked it up and his face turned white, “Carol, you’d best
listen to this.”

A voice told
me about a bomb, a teenaged voice. He (She?) said that there was bomb in the
school, and at what time it’d go off, then she hung up.

We replayed
the recording a few times after calling the Lock-Down drill, and freaking out
quite a bit, then sent the police to check the lockers.

The police
found nothing, so we assumed it was just some kid who wanted to get out of a
test, and the search took 3 ½ hours so we had to modify the schedule a bit,
but everything smoothed out.

We even found
out where the call was made from (a payphone in the high-school next door), and
we’re investigating that a bit.

Of course the stupid kid had to ruin my plans and call
yesterday. Now I need to start all over again.

Credits to: angry_experiment (story)

Creepypasta #1395: Why You’re Afraid of the Th…

Length: Short

I have to run past my hallway closet at night.

It’s bad in the daytime, to be sure,
but not as bad as it is when the sun goes down. With the
daylight illuminating my path, I can walk past the door and be okay as long as
refrain from looking directly at it.

At night,
though, I have to break into a jog whenever I venture down the hallway.

I swear it’s
colder just in front of the door. And I always feel like I’m being watched.

Can you honestly tell me that you
never feel the same way? Are parts of your house just off-limits, because you
know you don’t know what’s in there?

Ghosts are
real. Don’t scoff. Think about it. Ghosts are bodiless entities that find a way
to haunt certain places. How can anything with no physical manifestation exist
in a particular location?

By living in our heads. It’s
believing that ghosts are real that makes them real – that’s
all a haunting is. Add in the terrified reactions that we have, and it all
comes together – we’re haunted by the thing that has possessed our mind and
causes us fear.

So I run past
the haunted hallway closet.

And of
course, I know how silly it actually is.

Because I made sure all the bodies were dead before I put
them there.

Credits to: ByfelsDisciple (story)

Creepypasta #1394: I Am Never Going On Pintere…

Length: Short

While I admit I have never liked
Pinterest, I was never afraid of it. At least until last recently.

We
all know have at least one person who worships Pinterest. It is usually either
your aunt, coworker, or obnoxiously productive friend. Either way, the story is
always the same.

You
see them constantly on Facebook posting recipes for stuff you didn’t want in
the first place, but the second you see it, you crave it all day long. The last
thing you need after your afternoon coffee fix is someone blowing up your feed
with recipes for sriracha flavored everything or the millionth way to make
guacamole. To add insult to injury, they are never easy recipes. They might as
well tell you to go out and grow your own wheat, it’s that complicated.

The
Crafts and DIY section is just as bad. I mean don’t get me wrong, I love
amazingly over the top Halloween decorations as much as anyone, but those
crafts are like that one Lego set you had as a kid. The one that said it was
easy to assemble, but halfway through you realized there were pieces missing
and the directions made absolutely no sense. Which was why an hour after
beginning, you had to suppress the urge to pick up the half completed Lego set
and throw it against the wall out of sheer frustration.

That’s
Pinterest summed up in a single emotion. Hence the website called Pinterest
Fails, which is a far more honest and entertaining use of your internet time.
To be honest, I would bet money 99% of the stuff that people post on Pinterest
never gets made or cooked. It’s like any other list people make; something gets
written down in a moment of excitement and then is immediately forgotten. Or at
least that’s what I’ve been hoping.

I
was at home last week on a Saturday night. My date had just flaked out on me
for the second time, and being an incredibly productive user of time, I found
myself indulging in the time honored pastime of looking up random shit on
Wikipedia.

I
was delaying the inevitable walk to the kitchen to cook when I saw it.
Sometimes being on the internet is like being caught in the middle of a bar
argument; shit can escalate quickly. You start out looking for the address of a
new restaurant and before you know it, you have wasted an entire afternoon on
some mindless clickbait.

How
exactly I wound up in that section, I still don’t know. But somehow, I ended up
going from a page depicting tenderizing a steak to instructions for how to
properly dispose of a body. Everything was there; from what chemicals to use,
how deep to dig the hole, and where exactly is the ideal location. I couldn’t
help but get a chuckle at this. Thank God someone on here had a sense of humor.
I mean come on, this couldn’t be real right? No one would seriously post this
for real.

Shaking
off any lingering suspicion, I carried on. I saw something below the post on
how to dispose of a body scene and read on.

It
was a picture of a crime scene. Blood smeared all over the walls, broken glass
scattered on the floor, and a human looking shape wrapped up in a white sheet
sitting on the floor. Below was a caption.

“With
the help of Pinterest, I was able to clean this up in nothing flat thanks to
the latest tips for getting rid of hard to eradicate stains. In the past, my
carpets had been ruined countless times, but now my carpets look brand new in
no time flat! Not to mention, this will make some great fertilizer for my
Tomato plants. Well done Pinterest as always!”

Ok,
this was starting to get really weird. Someone was trolling Pinterest users
pretty hard now. But hey, this was the internet. So I kept scrolling down when
something else caught my eye.

“How
to never get caught poisoning someone,” was the title of the next posting.
Skimming through it, I saw it had the names of some ways to poison someone,
using various household items. Now this was pretty fucked up. All of these
posts were all from the same, just some obviously fake account with a bunch of
random letters and numbers. How had no one reported this yet?

I
immediately flagged it as violating the community guidelines, then I logged off
the page and closed my laptop. I sat there in silence for a few minutes, then I
got up and made myself some dinner. For the next few days, I tried to forget
about what I saw. It was all a joke, it had to be. But I just couldn’t get it
out of my head. Out of sheer curiosity, I went back to Pinterest last night to
see if it was still there.

The
articles from before had gone, but the poster had just uploaded a few new
pictures. When I saw them, I almost knocked my laptop on the floor in shock.

“My
new DIY project, such amazing potential for this space. What do you guys think
I should do with it?”

It was my apartment space. Right
there for all to see. My living room, kitchen, and bedroom. I immediately got
up, dead bolted the door, and checked everywhere to make sure nothing or no one
was in my apartment. Later, I called a locksmith to come and change the locks.
But I won’t lie, it terrifies me that some random Pinterest user got in my home.
I still don’t know if there’s anything more I should do.

Credits to: thegeneralg (story)