Category: short

Creepypasta #1459: The Top Bunk

Length: Short

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure,
Dad. What’s up?”

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

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

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

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

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

Thinking
about, how dark it is outside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Credits to: lukkynumber (story)

Creepypasta #1457: The Witch Tree

Length: Short

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Credits to: Hack_Shuck (story)

Creepypasta #1455: A Day Off In Hell

Length: Short

Hell
is a room with two doors.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hell
is a room with two doors.

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

Credits to: NeonTempo (story)

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

Length: Short

Hello
again everyone,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now we wait.

Credits to: Opinionson (story)

Creepypasta #1448: Not Today, Satan

Before Mom turned off the lights and shut my bedroom door, I
did my usual routine of running and jumping onto the bed to keep myself safe
from the monsters that my parents said didn’t exist under my bed.

Safe and snug
in the comfort of my blankets and pillows, I whispered to myself, “Not
today, Satan.” I giggled at this as I took pleasure in my safety.

But then there was a croak from my closet as the door slowly
shut upon itself. “There is always tomorrow.”

Credits to: catteallinna (story)

Creepypasta #1446: Runner’s High

Length: Short

It’s hypnotic.

That thud,
thud, thud against the pavement as your feet fall beneath you. The in and out
of breath as your lungs keep pace with your muscles. The stinging of sweat in
your eyes as the sun pulses through the fringe of your lashes.

The knowledge
that if you stop, if you slow, they’ll catch you. They’ll catch you the way
they caught Rebecca and Joseph and little Molly. They’ll catch you and hold you
and ask you questions until they’re done. They’ll catch you and throw your body
on the pile with the rest. They’ll catch you and begin again with the next one.

It’s hypnotic, to run with purpose.

Credits to: Middlenameredundant (story)

Creepypasta #1444: The Cave

Length: Short

“Come on honey, we’ll be safe in here.” I reassured my
daughter as we made our way into the cave. “The storm won’t last long, then
we’ll be on our way.” She still looked petrified.

Since my wife
and I got divorced, every weekend I get my daughter from Friday night until
Sunday night. And she never seems to have much fun with me, so this weekend I
decided to take her camping. It was going well until this brutal storm started
out of no where. Sheets of rain were pouring down, it seemed to be lightening
right over us, and the wind was so strong it blew our tent away. So the only
thing I could think to do was bring her to this cave for shelter.

She was
terrified to be in here, I could tell. She was afraid that there might be some
dangerous animals deeper in, and to be honest I was too. But I had to keep her
feeling secure so I didn’t let my fear show.

“Daddy, are
you sure there’s nothing else in here?” She asked.

“Absolutely
sweetheart.”

“But how do
you know?” She questioned, staring into the darkness of the cave.

“Hey!” I
shouted. “Anything there!”

It echoed
back…. “Hey anyone there….hey anyone there…..

We listened
for a moment.

“See,” I
said. “Nothing but us.”

She began to
smile in relief. “I like the echo,” she said with a giggle. “Hello!” She
hollered into the darkness.

The echo
rolled back…… “hello….hello….

I had to
smile, at least she was kind of having fun.

“See, no
storm can keep us down.” I gave her a pat on the head. “Were alive and having
fun!” I belted out waiting for the echo.

It echoed back…… “Not for long!….”

Credits to: thatdudethedude (story)

Creepypasta #1443: Weary

Length: Short

John turned off the bedroom light. A night light cast shapes
of bounding rabbits on the walls and ceiling, scaring away only some of the
shadows.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Bunny?”
He leaned against the door jamb and closed his eyes, resting for a moment. It
had been a long day.

“Do aliens
get tired?”

He smiled and
opened his eyes. His breath stopped when he saw something dart into the closet.
He stretched his eyes wide and blinked hard, assuming it was just exhaustion
causing his mind to play tricks.

John pushed
himself off the wall. “I’m not sure,” he answered, approaching the closet
casually so as not to alarm his daughter. He peered behind the door. The
interior was dark; the only features were of hanging clothes and familiar toys.
He smiled at his unease—he really did need sleep—and slid the door closed.

“Your
imagination is infectious,” he told her, approaching her bedside.

“What does
that mean?”

“That means I
bet you’ll have the bestest dreams,” he answered, tapping her tiny nose with a
finger. He leaned down close to her. “Why did you ask me if aliens get tired?”

“Because that
one’s not good at hiding.”

He saw her eyes shift to something behind him. He quickly
turned to see it standing at the foot of the bed: large head, black eyes,
spindly arms and legs. It seemed startled. Then it was gone.

Credits to: muahtorski (story)

Creepypasta #1441: Homemade

Length: Short

I’ll admit, considering the current economic climate, my
wealthy parents, and incredible luck at my finance job I wholly expected to
wind up with a string of good girls turned bad through my 30s. Nothing
personal, just the continuing business of money for sex – the only difference
being taking a girl out to the best restaurant in the city instead of tossing a
hooker a roll of cash.

You can
imagine my surprise when I wound up hitched to a kindergarten teacher by 33.

Naturally, my
friends and coworkers joked about knocking her up or having some kind of sick
fetish only she could satisfy. But my reasoning was far more innocent.

To put it
frankly, she cooked better than any chef I’d ever met.

I’ve watched
her work in the kitchen. She doesn’t use any fancy ingredients or techniques,
but somehow manages to create these fantastic dishes that warm the little soul
I’ve got left. Spaghetti Carbonara. Prosciutto and arugula flatbread.
Bacon-wrapped you-name-it. It was through her food I fell in love.

She always
laughs when I ask for her secret. “Oh, silly, it’s homemade! Of course
it’s gonna taste better!”

It’s been
hardly a year now, and we’re finally expecting. I never even knew I wanted a
family, but she’s changed me for the better. I couldn’t imagine what life must
be like for the others, with their vapid trophy wives. To think I planned to
become one of them, it’s like I’m a completely different person.

We’ve even
moved out to the suburbs. Can you believe it? Me, an ex-stockbroker, spending
weekends painting a picket fence and pulling weeds. My family would have
disowned me long ago if they hadn’t seen the way I look at my wonderful wife.

I could hire
someone to do the yard work, sure. But I’ve found there’s something rewarding
about manual labor. Something far more fulfilling than charming bankers and
running numbers.

My proudest
work thus far has been a quaint little shed in the backyard. My wife intends to
use it as a curing house and smoker for all the meats she knows I love. I keep
telling her to quit her day job and open up her own restaurant – lord knows we’ve
got the money – but her passion for teaching will never go away.

Which is
rather surprising, all things considered. We recently lost our child-to-be, and
while I’ve spent the last week unable to get off the couch, she’s hardly taken
a day off. And to be around kids the whole time? I’ve no idea how she can
handle it.

I suppose she puts her grief into cooking, since the only
time she leaves the kitchen is to visit the smokehouse or fill me up with more
food. Of course, if you ask her what keeps her going, she’ll tell you she’d
never dare leave her little piggies at school unattended.

Credits to: Zchxz (story)