It started the night my old TV turned itself on.

I was dozing off on the couch when the room was bathed in the cold, flickering glow of static. At first, I thought the remote had been pressed accidentally, but it was sitting untouched on the coffee table.

The TV was ancient, one of those boxy models I’d picked up at a yard sale for nostalgia’s sake. It didn’t even have streaming capabilities—just a built-in VCR and rabbit-ear antennas.

As I stood to turn it off, the static shifted. The white noise seemed to shape itself into faint whispers.

“Hello?” I said, half-laughing at myself.

The whispers stopped.

I turned the TV off and went to bed, chalking it up to some electrical glitch. But the next night, it happened again.

This time, I didn’t get up immediately. The static didn’t just flicker; it pulsed, almost like a heartbeat. And then I heard it clearly.

A voice, distant and muffled, said, “I see you.”

I froze, my hand hovering over the remote. “Who’s there?”

The voice crackled back. “You can hear me now.”

I yanked the plug from the wall. The TV went dark, but my reflection in the screen lingered longer than it should have.

The Messages Over the next few days, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I’d catch glimpses of movement in the corner of my eye, hear faint whispers when I was alone.

Out of morbid curiosity, I plugged the TV back in one evening. It turned on immediately, no static this time—just a black screen.

And then the messages began.

Words scrawled across the screen in jagged white letters, like someone was typing them out live:

HELLO. DO YOU REMEMBER ME?

My hands trembled. “I don’t know who you are,” I whispered.

YES, YOU DO.

Suddenly, an image flashed on the screen: a playground. Rusted swings creaked in the wind, and a crooked slide loomed in the background.

My stomach dropped.

It was the playground from my childhood, the one behind my elementary school. I hadn’t thought about it in years, but the sight of it brought back memories I’d buried long ago.

“Who are you?” I demanded.

The screen flickered again, and the words appeared: I WAS THERE.

The Playground I didn’t sleep that night.

The next morning, I drove to the old playground. It was abandoned, overgrown with weeds, and eerily quiet. As I wandered through the rusted equipment, flashes of my childhood came back—playing tag, climbing the monkey bars, the laughter of kids echoing in the air.

But there was something else. A darker memory, just out of reach.

Then I saw it. Carved into the bark of a tree near the edge of the playground was a name: Evan.

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. Evan had been a boy in my class, quiet and shy. We weren’t exactly friends, but we’d played together on this playground a few times.

One day, Evan disappeared. The teachers told us he’d moved away, but even as a kid, I remember thinking it felt... off.

The police had been at the school for weeks after, asking questions, searching the area. But Evan was never found.

Why was his name carved here?

The Truth That night, I turned the TV on again. The static returned immediately, but this time, it was different. The whispers were louder, overlapping voices speaking in a language I couldn’t understand.

And then, Evan’s voice cut through the noise.

“You left me.”

“No,” I said, my voice shaking. “I didn’t—”

“You ran away. You let it take me.”

Images flooded the screen: the playground at dusk, Evan sitting alone on the swings, and a shadow moving toward him. It was massive and unnatural, its form flickering like a glitch in reality.

I remembered now.

I’d seen it that day. A hulking, shifting presence emerging from the woods. Evan had called out to me, but I was too scared. I’d run, leaving him behind.

The last image burned into the screen was Evan’s face, pale and terrified, as the shadow swallowed him whole.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face. “I didn’t know—”

“It’s still here,” he said.

The TV screen went black, but the whispering didn’t stop. It filled the room, growing louder, more chaotic, until it was unbearable. I covered my ears and screamed, “What do you want from me?!”

And then, silence.

The TV flickered back on, and a single message appeared:

RUN.

The Shadow The lights in my house dimmed, and a cold wind swept through the room.

And then I saw it.

A shape in the corner, darker than the shadows around it, twisting and writhing like smoke. It was the same thing I’d seen on the playground all those years ago.

I bolted for the door, but it was locked—every window, every exit sealed shut. The thing moved closer, its form glitching in and out of existence.

I grabbed the remote and turned the TV back on. “Evan!” I shouted. “Help me!”

The static roared to life, and his voice came through, faint but clear: “The playground. It’s the only way.”

I didn’t question him. I threw open the window, climbed out, and ran to my car.

The Final Confrontation When I reached the playground, the air was heavy, electric. The shadow was there, circling the swings, its form more defined now—tall, humanoid, but wrong in every possible way.

I stood frozen, unsure of what to do.

Then, Evan’s voice came again, this time from everywhere and nowhere. “You have to end it. Bury it.”

I realized he meant the tree with his name carved into it.

Grabbing a rusted shovel that leaned against the old shed, I began digging at the base of the tree. The shadow roared, its voice like grinding metal, and lunged at me.

But as my shovel struck something hard and metallic beneath the soil, the shadow froze.

It was an old, rusted box. Inside was a small notebook, filled with Evan’s handwriting—drawings, notes, and one phrase repeated over and over: “It feeds on fear.”

Summoning every ounce of courage, I held the notebook up to the shadow and shouted, “You can’t have me!”

The shadow screamed, its form unraveling, and with a final, deafening roar, it vanished.

Epilogue The playground was quiet again. I buried the notebook beneath the tree and carved one more word into the bark: Forgiven.

The TV hasn’t turned on since. But sometimes, late at night, I swear I hear a boy’s laughter drifting through the static.

Pt.6

I adjusted my tie, the fabric damp with sweat from the sweltering afternoon heat of nerves. The official’s black SUV idled a few feet away, its engine humming steadily. The man who had just stepped out looked like someone who belonged in a covert war room rather than standing on a patch of dead grass in the middle of nowhere. His suit was immaculate, his stance authoritative, and his eyes—cold, calculating.

“Fitz, isn’t it?” he said, extending a gloved hand.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, shaking it firmly, though my palms felt clammy against the leather.

He surveyed the plot of land before us, a bleak expanse interrupted only by the presence of a single house.

The house, although just an entanglement of bricks and wood, sat as if it had a life of its own. It gave off the image of a child’s dollhouse- pristine and plastic. While it was all of these things, it was also haunting. In a way I could never describe with words. It loomed and breathed with its parapets reaching towards the sky as if repenting for its artificial perfectness.

My gaze was interrupted.

“This land will soon host a thriving suburban community,” the official began, his voice even but tinged with something that made my stomach churn. “Perfect homes, picket fences, happy families. And your job, Fitz, is here.”

I frowned, glancing at the house. “Here? Why this place, of all spots?”

“Because that house is a cage,” he replied. “And cages need guards.”

The words settled like spoiled milk in my gut. He paused, turning to me with an expression that was both grim and exciting. Let me give you some context. This location… this experiment is classified beyond your clearance. But since you’ll be the one overseeing the area, you’re entitled to a fragment of the truth. Consider it…need-to-know.”

He gestured toward the house, its presence growing more sinister under the dimming light.

“Several years ago, our team, working in tandem with CERN, constructed a machine designed to break barriers—to tear open a portal. A gateway to a world beyond ours. We wanted to achieve what no one else had: controlled access to alternate realities.”

I felt my throat tighten, but I forced myself to speak. “You succeeded?”

His lips thinned into something resembling a smile, but it wasn’t reassuring. “Not exactly. What we opened wasn’t a portal to a new world. It was a door to somewhere far older. Somewhere darker. Hell, if you’d like to call it that.”

The word hit like a slap. My instinct was to laugh it off, but the gravity in his tone and the sheer emptiness of his stare kept me silent.

“Creatures emerged,” he continued, pacing now, his polished shoes crunching over dead leaves. “At first, they were grotesque things—inhuman, terrible to look at. We barely contained the initial breach. But two of them…” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “They adapted.”

“Adapted?” I repeated, my voice cracking slightly.

“They learned. They understood us. They shed their monstrous forms like snakeskins and walked into a nearby town looking almost… human. Almost.”

A chill ran down my spine. “But something was off?”

He nodded. “Yes. They couldn’t mimic what makes us human. They lacked what we might call a soul. Their movements were slightly too precise, their expressions hollow. It was enough to unsettle anyone who interacted with them for too long. It took considerable effort, but we eventually tracked them down and brought them back here. They didn’t fight us. In fact, they made a deal.”

“A deal?”

“They wanted what we have—normalcy. A life. So we offered them a compromise. We built them a cage, disguised as a house, and allowed them to live out their so-called ‘human’ lives. They’ve stayed compliant because they crave the illusion of being like us.”

I stared at the house, its windows now dark, like vacant eyes. “And the… deal?”

“The only condition they placed on us was the opportunity to have a child. A human child, to complete their mimicry of a perfect family. Of course, we didn’t agree to that. So instead, we are carefully selecting the people that will live directly to the right of the house. Divorced dads that have kids who visit. This way THEY can interact with children for a short time before their visit with their dad ends and they leave. Until next time. This keeps the children safe, all while making THEM happy.”

I swallowed hard. “And they agreed to this?”

He sighed heavy but answered intently. “They agreed, but we don’t know how long they will be satisfied with that arrangement.”

I felt the sweat on my forehead hit my eyelashes and I slightly jumped from the sensation. “What if they break the deal?”

“That’s why you’re here, Fitz,” the official said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “The surrounding suburban development isn’t just a housing project. It’s a containment zone, a testing ground. Should they—or anything from that portal—become a problem again, the government can isolate the area. Control it. But we need boots on the ground to monitor for any… deviations.”

“So I’m bait,” I said bitterly, the weight of the assignment finally sinking in.

“You’re insurance,” he corrected. “The weekly reports are mandatory. Observe the house. Document anything unusual. And, Fitz, a word of advice—don’t go inside unless absolutely necessary.”

He started to walk away and quickly turned back to me with a full hand held out.

“I almost forgot. Here is your new identity. Your name is Greg Thomas. Here is a I.D, passport, birth certificate, and a fake job description along with a story made up for your past. Practice it well. You can’t make a mistake.”

He turned on his heel and strode back to the SUV, leaving me standing there with the oppressive silence of the house pressing in around me. The vehicle’s tires kicked up dust as it sped away, leaving me alone with my new reality.

I looked at the house again. For a moment, I thought I saw movement behind one of the upstairs windows—a faint silhouette that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

I didn’t believe in hell. Not really.

But as I stood there, staring at the house that shouldn’t exist, I felt a creeping certainty.

Maybe I didn’t have to believe in hell for it to come to me.

I've seen things like Comic con and other conventions but haven't seen one about Creepypasta's. This isn't a local thing and people around the world know what a Creepypasta is, so I'm just curious about it.

I'm not saying that the creepypasta is bad in general, but I feel like the creator should've put more effort into the creepypasta ti make it look more horrifying. And also, I've heard that some people really don't like the creepypasta. But if you had to rewrite this creepypasta, what would be your version on Sonic.EXE?

the protagonist, tom, was having a relatively bad day, when he got a game, and a letter in the mail. he opened the letter, and read it half way through, before he got bored, and threw it away, and grabbed the game. tom looked at the game title, and said "a creepypasta sonic game? let me guess, hyper realistic blood?" tom then started playing the game, and he got to sonic while playing as tails, but as soon as sonic opened his eyes, tails burst into laughter. tails couldn't stop laughing about the way Sonic's eyes looked. then, tails went to tell everyone what happened. sonic.exe then walked away, felling embarrassed. after that, sonic.exe went to attack knuckles, but knuckles said "it's not Halloween, take the costume off" then sonic.exe said "I'm going to take your soul" and knuckles said "how? are you going to use dark magic, or your hands?" then sonic.exe just walked away. after that, sonic.exe went to Dr robontick's base, but Dr robontick came out with his flying car that has the wrecking ball, and he he hit sonic.exe with his wrecking ball, saying "take a load of this!" and after that, Dr robontick started laughing, and tom threw the game in the garage disposal.

So I remember hearing this story when I was younger about a girl who had like a string coming out of her ear and one day at school she cut it off and went blind and paralyzed but I looked it up and I nothing showed up so idk if I made it up or something...

I only ask because my daughter has this baby doll from a parenting class - you know the ones that cry randomly and you have to feed it or change it or whatever? Well I guess the little switch that's supposed to make it stop crying wasn't working and the damn thing was keeping everybody up in the middle of the night. So I got up and my daughter was in the kitchen like screaming at the thing to shut up, so I went to take the batteries out but I couldn't find the battery cover. And we all just wanted to sleep so I decided to just break it and pay to replace the doll.

So I started punching the thing in the chest trying to break the little speaker box inside and it wasn't working. But then the doll's skin started turning purplish like it was bruised and when I kept punching it it started to bleed. I thought that was weird but the thing was still crying to I figured the speaker was in the head. So I started whacking the thing's head against the kitchen counter and it still wouldn't shut up. Then it's face started turning purple and blood started splattering all over the place and my daughter was getting upset. Fuck.

So I took it out to the garage and threw it on the ground and grabbed a sledgehammer and just came down hard on its head. The thing exploded like a fucking paint bomb! Red everywhere. Pieces of its head all over the place, little chunks of grey matter, it was disgusting. Fortunately that did the job and it stopped crying so I put it in a plastic bag and dumped it in the garbage bin on the curb. It was weird though because dolls aren't supposed to bleed, right?

one Stormy night, Marvin was sleeping, when he heard a loud, and somewhat angry knocking on his door. Marvin goes and opens the door to see Mr Goodman standing on his porch, glaring at him. Marvin says "the fuck do you want?" Goodman then starts yelling about how he never pays his house payment, and tells Marvin to pay it. Marvin then says "I'll go hippdy hop with joy to go get the payment" in a rather sarcastic tone. then Marvin closes the door, and goes to sit in the living room. after a while, everyone else gathers in the living room, when Mr Goodman comes in the living room with a gun, and shoots out the lights. Marvin says "cutting the lights out....how original." then, Jeffy says "can I go to the bathroom?" and Goodman says "FOR WHAT!?" then Jeffy paused and said "to open the chamber of secrets....WHAT DO YOU THINK!??" then Mr Goodman throws a book at Jeffy, who yelled "OUCH" then Jeffy goes to the bathroom, and calls the police. after a while, chef pp come up behind Mr Goodman, but he doesn't say anything, then, chef pp starts twirling a pan in his hand thinking "should I... should I... should I..." then, chef pp knocks Mr Goodman out, and waits for the police to come. eventually, the police get there, and they take Mr Goodman, and throw him in jail, and everyone comes to laugh at Mr Goodman.

As you lay motionless in the night, desperate to get some sleep for the morning you can't help notice the ever so silent creaking of the house settling. You open your eyes for what seemed like the millionth time and look around, you can't see two feet in front of you and whatever relaxation you had was now starting to creep in your mind as paranoia. The exhaustion and the cool breeze of the fan put you back into the safety of slumber. As you enter the dream and it becomes lucid, meaning you can think and control it. You start to think of why every so often the fan seemed to blow tiny bits of saliva at you.

Someone’s nightmare turns into reality.

Their mother is doing well though. Right?!

https://youtu.be/vREdlDlGmOU?si=YBOtm6ZIWgFg6qJR

i remember reading this creepypasta years ago and loving it but i can’t remember the name and only a few details. basically the character explains how to get to a secret place in your car. there are rules one of which is you can’t get out the car. you weren’t allowed o stay too long and i believe if you did the “people” who lived in this “secrete place” would start to stare at you” anyway at the end he gets stuck there because he got addicted to going there. i know that’s not much to go on but anybody have any ideas on the name?

I think it’s one of the best creepypastas

So ive a fan of backrooms and scp, that sort of stuff and i would like to try creepypasta that are not too scary so i can get a feel of it. If there any good funny creepypastsa aswell can you suggest some along with some normal ones, also where might i read them at?

Maybe someday i can even make youtube videos about this sort of stuff but im not sure how "worth it" doing so would be or what apourch to take.

By chance is there a beginners guide i missed? and sorry for my bad wording/spelling.

*Based on the book "A Half-kept Promise," by Franki Johnson* Copyright © 2023 by Franki Johnson

Prologue

My name’s Joshua Hernandez, but everybody calls me “Pajarito” or “Pac.” Well, except for my boss, Bill Harthwright - he likes to call me “‘Rito.” I’ve been at the Whispering Oaks Ranch in San Marcos, Texas for the past five years. Or, at least that’s what’s on the official record.

But really, I was born right on the ranch to my mamá, Maria Luisa. She didn’t even know she was carrying me on that hot August day, twenty-three years ago.

That morning, mamá said she was getting ready for the day but had some awful stomach pain. She was on the phone with my abuela Ixchel - who was recovering from surgery in a Tampa Bay rehab center. She called her every morning; just before they served their stale breakfast.

The call was always right after Walter Mercado’s Telemundo show finished, ending with “Mucho, mucho amor.” It was my grandma’s favorite. 

Something my abuela said stuck with mamá. She said, “Walter says, ‘I am born and make my debut every day. Others pile on the years.’ Isn’t that so poetic?” Mamá got heated and asked, “Yeah, but what does it mean?” Abuela just told her to, “Wait and see.”

That’s when the pain got worse and she groaned, “Lo siento, mamá. Tengo salir, tengo mucho dolor en mi estomago. (Sorry, mom, I have to go, my stomach is in a lot of pain.)” Nothing she took could ease the pain, not even epazote.

After lunch, she was sprinkling sawdust in the stables and sweating hard. Bill came by with some cold water. He spilled a little of the drink on himself and he and mamá laughed at the mess together. And wouldn’t you know it– that’s just when mamá’s water broke.

“Luckily, over the sawdust,” she always chuckled when she told the story. Bill and the other stablehands brought her into the guest room and called for a doctor. But as soon as they called, I made my debut into this world, screeching like a baby bird. Mamá said I kind of looked like one, too, with how pink and hairless I was. That’s why everybody calls me “Pajarito.”

Chapter 1: The Girl Who Was on the Mountain

Mamá’s memory isn’t so good now. A few years after my abuela passed, she was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s. She’s only fifty-three now, but her memory fades bit by bit. That’s why I get up early to spend time with her and make her breakfast before work. Today it’s a tray of huevos divorciados with a hard bolillo roll, a cup of black coffee, and two packets of sugar.

I knock on the door and hear a soft, “Come in, mijo.”

Mamá wasn’t looking at me. She stared out the window, wearing her old pink nightgown. It was still dark, but I could hear the birds fluttering outside. I set the tray down on a side table and looked at her.

She said she didn’t know my father’s real name even before she got sick. I think that’s a good thing. She remembers meeting him at a party; he was a big man dressed in black and his dark, piercing eyes looked at her and only her. When he moved over for her to sit with him, mamá saw he only had one leg. 

He plied her with gifts and golden trinkets, promising her the most beautiful things. She fell in love with him, or, at least who he pretended to be. 

He brought her to the Northern mountaintops; a long ways away from her home in the cornfield. She didn’t know how she got there so quick, but she did. And then, well, I happened. 

But it was like he knew she was pregnant before she ever did. He turned into a real monster and kept that poor girl trapped in his mountaintop home. But just like she didn’t know the real him - he didn’t know Maria Luisa. 

My mamá packed a rucksack and a broken vase shard before saying a prayer and trekking down that mountain, barefoot and pregnant. She promised herself that she would stay alive for her family and would never let my father take her again. 

Exhausted, mamá passed out in the cornfield. Her two brothers found her gripping the treasures against her chest. When she awoke, she had them sell off the jade and gold jewelry and used that money to give her family a better life. Her older sister stayed behind, but mamá took care of her just the same.

That simple girl from Flores, Guatemala outsmarted a man, trekked down a mountain, and kept the treasure. It sounds like a fairy tale. The only person left to tell that story is my mamá. My abuela and tios, Francisco and Mateo, passed a few years back, and I never met my Auntie.

Just the same, I’m Maria Luisa’s boy and damned proud of it. I’ve worked here on this ranch practically all my life. Bill and Juan Harthwright - the ranch owners, are still around; the old buzzards. But they always treated us like family. We break bread together, spend the holidays together, and get covered in horse shit together.

Even now, they make sure we’re taken care of. They pay for mamá’s caregiver while I’m gone. But I still make sure I’m around when I can.

I gently placed my hand on her shoulder and asked, “Buenos días, mamá. (Good morning, mom) Did you sleep well?” She turned to look at me and grabbed my hand, “Por supuesto, Mijo, (Of course, my child) when I have you.” I kissed her forehead and sat on the bed.

She looked at me and asked, “Did you eat?” I shook my head, “Not hungry, you eat up. Got a long day ahead of you with Deja.” Her brow crinkled, “Quién? (Who?)” There was a lump of ice in my chest, but I swallowed and said, “You know Deja... the one with the long braids.”

Her face relaxed, “Ah, que bonita (ah, the pretty one). Yes, I remember. She likes to move around a lot… I’ve noticed you looking at her.” I carefully placed the cup of coffee in her hands and playfully asked, “Do you like to move around?”

She took a sip before saying, “Le sigo la corrienter… (I follow along…) eh, I like sometimes.“ I replied, “Well, it’s good for your body, mamá. I love you.” 

She smiled up at me with recognition, “I love you too, mi tz'ik. Dio te bendiga…(my little bird. God be with you...)”  I smiled at the rare Kekchi she used, it was always so soft and sweet. Then she looked down into her black coffee and murmured, “...I promise.” Confused, I asked her, “Promise what, mamá?”

Then came an interrupting knock on the door. I decided not to stress over what mamá had said. So, I grabbed my bags, threw on my leather boots, and tucked my Ruger into its holster. 

I opened the door to mamá’s caregiver, Deja. She's a beautiful dark-skinned woman with thick lips and deep-brown eyes you could melt in. Today, she plaited her black hair and wrapped it in gold and green wires. I always loved seeing what she did with her hair. Hell, she’d even look good bald. 

Deja greeted me, “Hey Pac! How’s it going?... Pac?” I shook my head to stop staring, “Oh, sorry! I’m no good in the morning if it ain’t about horses.” She smiled, showing her pretty gap teeth, and waved her hand away, “No worries, I’ll take care of your mom. You go focus on the stables.” She winked and my heart melted.

She dug in her bag, “Oh, before you go - I got something for you. Your mamá made it the other day. It was cool to learn about these dolls, so maybe I’ll have to put one under my pillow.”

Deja handed me an object wrapped in tissue paper, grazing my hand as she passed it to me. It was a little doll with stick arms wearing a colorful traje and a cinta for its hair. I remember having one a long time ago, but this one was new. I smiled at her and tucked it in my back pocket, “Thank you kindly. For everything.”

Chapter 2: The Whispering Oaks Ranch

I waved goodbye then hopped in my dusty truck, making my way to the Whispering Oaks Ranch. Despite the name, there’s nothing too quiet about the ranch. Not with the horses whinnying, crowds screaming, and all the machinery going ‘round at all hours of the day.

I do like the horses, though. I don’t get to train them too often but I do have Corazón. She’s a warmblood mare about my age and I’ve taken care of her since I was a little niño. We’ve both gotten on in years but she can still run like the wind. 

While Corazón is my main girl, there are a hundred other horses we got.

There’s one Chestnut mare, in particular, who is a problem in the stables. Her name’s “Nutmeg,” and she’s got a fire in her eyes and a thirst for blood. Ask me how I know and I’ll show you the teeth marks from that time I offered her a carrot. 

Flat-handed, mind you.

That hell-spawn is the responsibility of Dallas Harthwright, Bill’s nephew from Austin. Even worse is that she’s extra mean now that she’s carrying a foal and Dallas barely keeps a handle on her. At least, if Bill ain’t around. When he’s nearby, they’re as sweet as peach pie.

Other than that, Dallas is a real show-off. That ain’t too bad when there’s guests, but he don’t know when to turn it off. Right now it’s summer and nobody would dare be out in this heat. So he graces the staff with that attention.

One summer, Juan asked for Dallas’ help in selling extra grass seeds. So, this fool left the ranch’s number on a stall in some trucker bathroom offering, “Ass for Grass”. The line was tied up for a whole week with a ton of perverts. Though, the place did make a few sales for its troubles.

Dallas also has a habit of pranking the rest of us. His favorite is finding dead snakes and hiding them in our toolboxes. Once, he even clipped some to our lariats just before we set off to ride. And I say once because he barely missed a kick to the head from one of the mares. Scared him straight, I suppose.

There was also that time he hid the tractor by the creek during the off-season. Surprise surprise; it slipped halfway into the water.

Bill made Dallas take apart the whole damn thing and wash it top to bottom, change the oil pan, and grease the wheels. He didn’t let Dallas stop until his hands were cramped and tired. 

The creek is dried up now and I’m pretty sure it’s starting to become a sinkhole thanks to the summer heat. Either way, I doubt Dallas would try that trick again.

I still don’t know how Bill tolerates that man– even if he is blood.

Still, Dallas is a mild disturbance compared to the natural dangers of the ranch. Whether it's coyotes or entitled guests; there’s always something wanting to take you out.

A scared horse can kick you in the head and send you straight to el paraíso before you can even blink.

Rattlesnakes without god-damned rattles are popping up all over and ready to strike. And you know why they’re like that? Because colonizers brought over some hogs, they escaped and ate the noisy rattlers. So now they’re regular, rattle-less snakes.

I pulled up next to the Harthwright’s two-story house and noted how much cooler the air is than normal. I slung my bags over my shoulder and stepped up the rickety wooden steps of their porch. I could already smell the fresh coffee.

I knocked on the door and Bill opened it. He’s an albino man with tomato-red skin, just a little taller than me with curly wisps of coarse white hair and a curly beard. He’s wearing his black and red outfit with a bolo tie and a wide-brimmed hat. Bill completes the look with a pair of sunglasses to protect his deep red eyes. Looks like a country-fried Santa Claus if you squint.

I never understood why he stays in Texas. But Bill always says, “Not ‘een God can take me outta God’s country.”

The older man grunted and put a hand on my shoulder, “How yer’ doin’ ‘ere, Pa-ha-reeto? Enjoying the cool breeze?” His breath smelled of coffee and tobacco chew. 

I smiled and clapped my hand on his other shoulder, “I can enjoy it after a hot cup of coffee and a concha.” Bill kissed his teeth, “Well, yer better be faster than uh hare on ah oil slick, son.”

He let me into the house and I snatched a pink concha from a box on the table. Juan always buys huge boxes from the local panaderia, Gordipan. I figure he has stock in the company with how much he’s bought. Next to the box is a metal dispenser filled with hot lifeblood– glorious coffee. I poured some into a styrofoam cup and sat at the table.

There’s a smattering of dirty paper plates covered with the remnants of biscuits and gravy in the trash.  an old gallon of vinegar filled with Bill’s homemade hot sauce sat on the center of the table.

There are a few others sitting with me. There’s Phil, an older lanky brown-haired guy with a trucker cap. He’s hunched over his dollar store puzzle book, drawing lines with a tiny pencil. He nodded at me and gave a thin-lipped smile before returning to his puzzle. 

Phil doesn’t say much. But he’s our local traveling veterinarian and one of the few left here that works with large animals. Right now, he’s staying to assist with our foaling mares overnight and enjoy most of the ranch to himself. 

I heard in passing that Phil used to be an actor. I’m not much of a theater fan myself. I’m more into watching those supernatural shows about ghosts ‘cause they don’t cost an arm and a leg to see. 

I was always into supernatural stuff; when me and Dallas were kids, Bill gave us a camera to play around with. Told us it could detect ghosts and evil spirits. Then he had us strap it to a tree at the edge of the property. 

It took us a whole week to realize we weren’t looking at flesh-hungry ghouls in the night; but into the glowing eyes of a giant stag. Still, when those things are in a rut and making their calls at night, you’d swear a demon just sprung up out of the earth. 

Then there’s Emily, a blonde sharpshooter with a powerful voice. Her daddy owns the biggest Vietnamese crawfish place in San Marcos, but she prefers fresh air over steamed water bugs. Emily’s real smart, too. Doesn’t shoot every coyote she sees - only the ones that get too brave and want to try out some fresh horse meat. 

She was scraping up the last bits of gravy onto a fluffy biscuit when she looked up and asked, “Hey Pac, how’s it goin’?” I reply, “Just fine, Emily. Just fine.” Her pair of hunting buddies are by her feet - two Corgis named Tater and Hash

And finally, there’s the wild-eyed Dallas Harthwright. He has night vision goggles strapped to his forehead as he plays the five-finger filet with his whittling knife hovering over a napkin in the corner. Everybody ignores it, probably hoping he slips up so we can get some peace and quiet for a minute.

A few dozen other folks walk in to toss out their dirty plates and grab their walkie-talkies. We greet each other in passing as I finish my coffee and stare at the whiteboard for what we need to do today.

Running a ranch takes a lot of work. It’s more than cleaning stables and feeding horses. We need to check and repair fences, mow the edges, and keep this place running. On top of that, today we need to move the wheel line sprinklers around the property for the pastures. That was a job for me, Bill, and Dallas after we took care of the stables.

Juan Harthwright is in the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe and holding a cup of coffee. He’s a little shorter than me with short black hair that’s starting to gray and dark brown skin like my abuela. He’s dressed in a blue version of Bill’s outfit with a vest.

Juan nods his head at me before taking a sip of his decaf coffee, “Hola hijo, cómo vas con tú mamá? (Hey kid, how are things going with your mom?)” I frown, “Mas o menos…mas o menos (so-so…so-so).” His eyes soften as he sets down his mug on the table, “I’ll be sure to visit soon, okay?” I smiled, “Yeah, that will be great, tío. Muchas gracias. (Thank you.)”

Bill grabbed his keys and downed the remaining coffee left in Juan’s mug, He looks at the table, “Rippin’ an’ rarin’ ta go?” Juan whistles then says, “After you put on some sunscreen, jefazo (boss).” Bill’s face scrunches up behind those big sunglasses as he tucks a gob of chew into his cheek, “Don’t matter none. Not when ah been lippin’ it fer damn near forty years.”

Juan cocked his head and raised a brow at the man. Embarrassed, Bill turned on his heel to find his sunscreen.

The gang hooped and hollered as Bill walked off. Juan set his eyes on us and pointed his finger at a door then put it to his mouth.

We zipped our mouths shut, grabbed our walkie-talkies, and shuffled to the yard. I shoved the rest of my snack in my mouth as we left.

Bill came out a few minutes later while Dallas and I loaded his truck with rope, shovels, pipes, and some hacksaws. We all squeezed into the cab and set off to the pasture.

Whispering Oaks is about eighty acres with plenty of natural ponds and creeks. There’s ziplining, little cabins for campers who only want to rough it a little bit, and a lot of other fun stuff for them to enjoy and for us to maintain. We take good care of the property, but everything else is pretty much a jungle.

We hopped out of the truck and looked at the map in Bill’s hands, noting plots where old lines were buried and what to avoid.

The pasture is divided into four paddocks. In the center of the two vertical halves is some concrete with shelter, water, and some dry feed.

Emily is already around guiding the horses to the next paddock. Her corgis are right at her heels. They’re well-trained dogs, but it gets dicey when you have a hundred horses with the instinct to stomp the wolf blood out of those little puppies. Still, the trio and a dozen other stablehands rotate the horses to the next pasture, so we can get to work.

I saw Corazón munching grazing and walked towards her with a treat bucket in hand, ensuring she would see me coming. She stopped to look at me as I squatted down, curled my hand into a loose fist, and presented my knuckles to her.

I whispered, “Hey girl – how ya doing? Ready for the day?” She sniffed my hand and I slipped a rope halter over her muzzle and walked her to the concrete center between the paddocks. A bunch of other folks had done the same.

I tied her to a pole and opened my grooming pack. I asked, “Ready for your beauty treatment, lady?” She snorted happily as I brushed her from mane to tail. I chuckled, “Good, good. You about to get some fresh grub too once we finish.”

Once she was all gussied up, I pulled out the treat bucket and let her gorge. You’d think she was still a filly with how smoothly she moves. I breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed the warmth of the rising sun.

Then I heard whinnying and Dallas’ hooping and hollering, “Come on girl! Let’s do this!” I turned to see him riding Nutmeg with no saddle, no brindle, no nothing. Just embarrassing. I turned away and led my girl to the next paddock and put the temporary fencing back in place.

Chapter 3: Soured Land

Then me, Dallas, and Bill worked on the sprinkler system. First, we shut it off at the source and then mowed the paddock edges. We started digging once that was done and then replaced, removed, and refit the water lines for hours. Last thing we had to do was put down some grass seeds and flush the system.

Bill had Dallas and me push an overseeder around when we were struck by a nauseating, hateful smell. It was worse than spoiled milk left in a locker over the summer, mixed with raw sewage, then steamed into an ass cake.

I almost hurled and Dallas had the nerve to grin and say, “Aw, shit, Pac. Do we need to get you a new pair of pants?” Then he really smelled it and covered his mouth with a bandana. I pinched my nose closed as tight as I could but my lungs burned like someone took a candle to them. This smell sure wasn’t here before.

We powered through with the overseeder until we found the source. It was hard to miss– all the nearby grass was rotted into a cloud of gray dust. Then we saw something strange moving a little way over. At first, we thought it was a brown paper bag that drifted over but it just kinda moved in place.

I waved down Bill as I choked on my bile.

When we got closer, we saw it wasn’t a bag. It was a whole snake, bloated up like it had an allergic reaction. Its fangs were hanging out its wide-open mouth like it was mid-strike. 

I signed the cross across my chest and even did the malocchio just for good luck.

I looked the whole thing over and saw its tail with rings and a little button on the end. It’s a juvenile rattlesnake with a now-rare rattle. So now something or someone else is targeting them. I turn to eye Dallas suspiciously.

I grabbed my walkie-talkie to let everybody know what’s going on. Bill interrupted me, angry and redder than ever, “Boy, I swear if you had somethin’ to do wit’ this I’mma whoop yo ass so hard you’ll be knocked straight back to tha womb.” He whipped his hat off and his voice shook a lil’ bit from all that hollering. And I can’t blame him. 

Dallas put his hands up in surrender, “Hey! I had nothin’ to do with this, Unc. I swear!”

Then Dallas had some nerve. He looked at the decrepit thing with a foolish smile, “But it does look kinda cool…How the hell did this happen?” He put his goggles over his face and inched closer to it while me and Bill backed away. Bill hollered, “If you’on’t getcho’ ass back ‘ere, son! We ain’t got time tah be ‘vestigating aliens round ‘ere. Leave. It. Alone!”

Too late. Dallas went and prodded that thing with the end of his shovel. The papery skin cracked open as soon as he touched it like the world’s worst piñata. The prize? A puff of black dust and its jerkied organs. Dallas held his bandana tighter to his face, coughing as he waved his hand at the smoke.

A bird let out a strange squawk in the distance and it half-sounded like laughter.

Now much further away, Bill shouted, “Don’t touch it agin, nah, fool!” He hobbled as quickly as he could and I ran after him to get to the truck. Bill turned, “I’ll take care of tha truck, you flush out them lines. Ain’t no sense tryna’ come back ‘ere rightna’ wit whatever THAT shit is.”

I stopped in my tracks, then turned back to the sprinkler and let it run clean. As soon as the sprinklers were set, Bill drove by and shouted, “Get in n’ toss Dallas’ stuff in the bed. He ain’t finna touch’ nunna this shit til he gits wrenched orf.” I hopped in the cab and haphazardly threw his stuff into the truck bed.

Bill shook his fist out the window and shouted, “Git in tha back, ya idjit!” Dallas straightened up and walked steadily towards us. I thought he looked mostly fine but, just in case, I rolled up my window as he walked past. He squished himself into the corner of the bed as we drove back to the house.

Everybody else was filing in for lunchtime, so Bill parked a ways away and led us to the shaded backyard. He pointed towards the glove department, “There’s some bags in ‘ere, toss ‘em to Indiana Jones.” I open it and toss a ball of crumpled old grocery store bags to Dallas. The fool hollered back, “I ain’t sick!”

Bill turned so fast, “The hell you ain’t! Put yer garments in ‘ere so we can burn ‘em.” And Dallas had the nerve to say, “I just bought these!” Bill eyed him, “Looks like you’ll have tah go shoppin’ in ‘Les boutique LOST AN’ FOUN’!’, 'cause you ain’t bringing that SHIT in my house!” Dallas crossed his arms and shook his head. Bill sighed, “Fine, we ain’t finna’ burn em…but they shole as hell finna’ be covered in some sanitizer, that’s fer sure.”

Dallas rolled his eyes, jumped out, and started stripping. Bill turned off the car and told me, “Git some warshclothes an’ dish soap fer ‘im.” He got out of the car and told Dallas, “An’ you is finna stand yo’ ass in dat bucket over dere wit a hose. We’ll wipe it down after...hope you got uh tetanus shot.” He pointed at an old rusty basin with a dry towel hanging out of it.

Dallas swung his arms in the air, “Aw, damn! Why you gotta say it like that? I’mma get all cut up and cooked in there.” Bill slammed the door shut and pointed his thumb back to the road, “Oh, boo hoo. I’m fixin’ to cut n’ cook YOU up! You shole wasn’’t worried befo’!”

Dallas snarled and folded the towel into the basin to protect his feet and ran the hose in. He set down a pack of cigarettes and his lighter on top of his boots. Bill turned to look at me and said, “Gon’ head na. Git ta steppin’.”

I made my way into the kitchen, evading all the other ranch hands. Juan held Tomás on his hip; a chunky, black-haired baby, about eleven months now. Juan swayed with him while stirring a big pot of his special frijoles charros. The child whined as his father worked.

He shushed his baby boy, and asked him, “Pobrecito, qué pasa, bebe? (Poor boy, what’s going on, baby?)” I stepped into the kitchen to grab some dish soap and asked for some washcloths that he didn’t mind losing. He sighed, “Dallas again?” I nodded and replied, “It’s to be expected at this point.”

Juan danced around with Tomás, “Tienes razón, por ahí. (You’re right, over there.)” He pursed his lips in the direction of the counter. On it was a tomato-stained plastic container with some ratty but clean rags on them. Then he moved to the freezer, grabbed a pacifier, and offered it to his son, “Por tus dientes, mijo. Te ayudará. (It’s for your teeth, my child. It will help you.)”

I slipped out the materials for Dallas’ bubble bath. Bill made him scrub himself top to bottom three times before he could, “Wrench off” and get some victuals. And he still kept those damn goggles right on his head.

Dallas tossed on an old pair of overalls and started to move toward the house before Bill stopped him, “Aht, aht! I’ll bring you a plate an’ a dixie cup.” He moved his eyes towards me,”‘Rito keep an eye on ‘im.” Dallas rolled his eyes, “Oh, come on!” Bill hollered back, “Yer lucky I ain’t firin’ your ass fer pokin’ round with that crazy thang!” Then Bill stomped back to the house.

I leaned against the back porch and stared at Dallas who had snuck a cigarette to his lips. I raised a brow, “You ain’t had enough toxic sludge in your lungs today?” He grinned, “Hard to kick a habit even wit’ dusty lungs.” I waved him off, “Uhuh, just stay downwind from me.” He shrugged, lit his cigarette, and took a big puff.

Bill returned with three big paper plates and plastic cups on a tray. They were topped with frijoles charros, tortillas, and some coleslaw. Juan also cut us each a piece of his honey butter cornbread. The cups were filled to the brim with sweet tea and ice. Bill passed me a plate, grabbed one for himself, and stepped away for Dallas to grab his meal.

I thought about what to even say to the rest of the crew as we sat there in the quiet and enjoyed our meal. When Dallas scraped the last bits of beans into his mouth, I spoke up, “So, what are we going to say about all this?”

Bill paused and scrunched his mouth, his face turning red because he didn’t reapply sunscreen. He looked up at the sky as clouds started to shade the ground. Then he said, “Maybe we ‘on’t need ta say anythin’ ‘bout it jus’ yet. They can see fo’ themselves an’ me an’ Juan can see what’s wrong with tha soil over there. Jus’ gotta think about how to explain it…”

The patio door opened and Juan walked out, gently guiding little Tomás by his arms, “Explain what, jefazo (boss)?” Bill sputtered and turned to look at Tomás, “Hey, there’s ma lil’ man-man!” The baby giggled upon seeing his father and Bill sat him on his lap.

Juan tapped the top of Bill’s hat and leaned over, “You’re avoiding the question, miel (honey)…and your sunscreen.” Bill opened his mouth to reply, but then the sky went dark with clouds that threatened to black out the sun. It's like they were running from something.

I looked up and saw a big black bird hanging on the oak tree. It didn’t have eyes but, somehow, I knew it was staring back at me. The bird hopped on its one foot and flew to safety before the weather worsened. I signed the cross on my chest, Dios mío.

Then the wind whistled and screamed like a banshee, making me press my hands to my ears in distress. My heart was thumping and my head was pounding as that nauseating smell struck again. Dust stung my eyes and mouth. I could only feel a deep dread inside of me as I tried to stay upright. 

Immediately, Bill clamped his hands to Tomás’ ears and the baby shrieked. Juan covered the pair with his body as the wind picked up. It pinned me against the stairs and forced Dallas to cling to the tree. His cigarette flew right outta his mouth.

Together, Bill and Juan pushed into the house for Tomás’ sake. I managed to wedge myself into a corner but Dallas was still holding on for dear life. Bill shut the door and he yelled, “Hold on fer dear life, boy!” Dallas hollered back, “Yep! Got a pretty good handle on that!” His hands slipped and I could see his nails scrape up some tree bark, “In theory!”

Bill loosened his belt and space-walked himself back to the porch column, “Hand me tha end of that hose, ‘Rito. Left tha ol’ lariat back in tha truck.” Stiffly, I felt around and edged myself over until I gripped the hose. I shouted out, “This ain’t no damn tornado!”

I moved closer to Bill, “Catch on three! One… two… three!” And tossed the hose as hard as I could but the wind smacked it back to my face. Dallas still clung to the tree but he couldn’t for much longer.

I heard the clink of metal and a thud as Bill muttered, “Modesty be damned, boys!” I looked up and saw Bill’s pants on the floor. I damn near thought he had gone commando with how white his legs were against his tighty whities.

He looped his belt around and offered his hand, and I knew what I needed to do. I yelled again, “One… two… three!” And tossed the hose back and Bill managed to loop his belt around it.

Bill led the charge down the steps as I lifted and we rushed against the screaming wind. Dallas’ sweaty hands slipped just as we arrived and he shouted a shrill scream. Bill didn’t even think, he threw himself and anchored himself to his nephew. I shimmied down the hose and added my weight, too.

Then the wind stopped and it was light again. The smell started to fade away. We stared at each other in awe. 

We took in Dallas’ wind-chapped lips, my blistered hands, and Bill’s…mostly bare bottom. Bill lifted his pants back up and gestured for his belt back. Dallas unbuckled the belt from the hose and passed it to his uncle, murmuring, “Thanks Unc… Pac.”

We looked at the ground as Bill made himself decent. Then he tipped his hat and said, “We will never speak of this incident agin. You boys awright?” We nodded, eager to forget what we had seen, “Yessir.”

Then the walkie-talkie blipped. Emily’s panicked voice came through, “Uh, hoss….you need to come down to the stables right now. Something awful happened!” I heard folks hollering in the background.

Bill looked up and shouted at the house, “Y’all alright dear!?” Juan responded, “Yes, we’ll be alright for now. I got Tomás so don’t worry, jefazo (boss).”

We hopped back in Bill’s truck and gassed it to the stables. When we got out, that’s when we knew Dallas couldn’t have had anything to do with that rattlesnake.

The stench of death permeated almost every stall, even worse than what we smelled before. Black, putrid blood and bile spilled out onto the sawdust. Nearly every damn horse was swollen up like a balloon.

Emily pointed at Phil on the floor with a group of others as we walked over, “Here.” 

Phil clutched a crimson-stained towel in his gloved arms. He peeled back the cloth to reveal a dead-eyed foal, bloated like it had been rotten for weeks. Phil shook his head and said, “This ain’t no encephalitis.” Then he looked up at the ceiling and said to no one in particular, “What the hell could a’ done this?”

Bill sucked his teeth. Then he told us to send out any survivors to the pasture with blankets and some ear protection.

I checked and saw that Nutmeg made it. She was whinnying in panic and I don’t blame her, I looked down to see black liquid spilling out of her. Dallas put his hands up real gentle-like and spoke softly to her, “Hey, girl it’s okay. I got you.” 

She calmed down when I moved in front of her and called Phil over. I think I didn’t visit Corazón’s stall first because I was afraid of what I would see.

But I was right to be afraid.

Across from Nutmeg’s stall, Corazóns body lay bloated on the ground. I rushed up and called for Phil’s help but I knew from the black blood and milky-white eyes that my girl was gone. I had to break away.

We gathered about an hour later and Bill drew on the stable wall with Phil’s pencil, “Thirteen horses left.” I looked him in the eye and said, “I think it’s time we tell them what happened.”

Dallas spoke up, “And I ain’t have nothing to do with it, y’all.” I nod, “Yeah, this ain’t one of Dallas’ fuckups for once.” Dallas opened his mouth to protest but Bill put a hand up, “You know damn well he right.” Dallas crossed his arms across his chest but said nothing more.

Bill tried the walkie-talkie, “We’re finna come back in so errybody can catch up.”

Folks gathered in the Harthwright’s house, shaken up and covered in filth. Phil was on the porch trying to talk to someone about an “Aviary issue,” but the call kept dropping. He went off for a little bit before everyone got into the house. Probably needed to get clearer reception. Phone signals and the internet never work great on a farm, but even this was unusual today.Tomás is wrapped tight across Juan’s chest with a cloth and a giant pair of headphones strapped to his ears. Everyone gathered around the dining table as we talked about the horses.

Juan’s jaw dropped for a second before he composed himself.

Then we told them about the bloated snake, the rotten grass, and the dust. When I brought up that it was a rattlesnake, Dallas asked, “How the hell do you know it’s not a gopher snake? I was right up on it and I ain’t see that!”

I looked at him, “Well, yeah. You were too busy tryna’ cause trouble. But I looked at its tail and saw a little baby rattle on the tip. It’s a juvenile.”

There was silence then Phil piped up, “Every horse we have left is between four to fifteen-years old. No foals, no yearlings, none. If whatever this is going from reptiles to horses…what’s next? Us?”

Juan’s body stiffened upon hearing the age of the animals that died, and he looked down at Tomás. He stood up and commanded us, “Everybody, stay inside, call your families, and board up the windows. If it’s a twister, we can’t be outside right now.”

so I remember listening to this podcast when I was younger and it's a very vivid memory of mine because it was one of the creepy pastas that really set my interest into horror. Anyway, the bullet points of the story goes something like this. (to what I can remember.) basically there's this little orphan girl and her parents died in a car because whenever she falls asleep anything that she dreams about comes true. what I can really remember from the story is when she was sleeping one day all of the orphans got caught up in the basement and it flooded with blood and I think two of them like drowned. Another time one of them got stuck in the wall and then died. But the story ends with one of the older kids having to give her a shot that would kill her so then she wouldn't hurt anyone else in the orphanage. I've been trying for a really long time to find out who wrote this so I can listen to it again because this is one of the creepy pastas that I really loved.

Post 1 - https://www.reddit.com/r/creepypasta/comments/1gxb7wu/i_work_for_a_company_that_knows_everything_about/

Post 2 - https://www.reddit.com/r/creepypasta/comments/1gy6nc8/i_work_for_a_company_that_knows_everything_about/

I needed a change of clothes. My blood had soaked into my white button-up, turning it shades of pink and deep red. I looked like I had just risen from the dead, which was fitting because I strangely felt full of life.

I felt a kind of joy I hadn't felt in such a long time. That childish joy when you find out school is canceled because of snow or that joy you feel when you finally get something you've wanted for months. It was extremely misplaced. I was at a loss as to how I could feel so free in such a terrible situation. I can't describe how overjoyed I felt when I opened the front doors leading into the parking lot. The air outside filled my lungs, it felt new, it felt clean, and it was refreshing. Was it always this way? I spent a long time taking it all in before a new feeling came and took over with an urgency I couldn't ignore. I grabbed my mouth as I realized the feeling was ready to spill out of me all over the concrete. My body hunched over next to a small bed of flowers now ruined by me.

Many of you advised me to refrain from going to the hospital. I probably have a concussion and against my body's warnings, I agree with you. Time is of the essence here. Your best friend doesn't just body press your head into the floor for no good reason right? 

I looked at the Christmas card for a moment trying to focus my eyes on the text again which was growing incredibly difficult.

A long time ago I learned to keep at least an extra T-shirt in my car in case of emergencies like getting stuck in a surprise rain storm with no umbrella or something of that nature. I fought to get my damp blood-soaked shirt off of my body. It was like I was peeling off a second set of skin. It clung to my arms as I tried pulling it off and I felt so tired I had to take breaks. When I finally got it off and slipped my T-shirt on I sat in the driver's seat of my car and looked at my head in the rear view mirror. I looked pretty bad. Dry blood ran across my forehead and was intermingled in my hair. I couldn't see the wound but felt around and it felt like it wasn't bleeding much anymore but it was still definitely exposed and tender to the touch. It couldn't be seen but I didn't have a way to get the blood off of me, without a shower. But I had a baseball cap. I slowly lowered the cap onto my head, scraping my head wound in the process turning my insides some more. I looked at myself again and smiled, determining whether I looked deranged. A small chuckle slipped out and quickly turned into a tear-jerking laugh. I don't pass for normal in the slightest. I look shadier than I did with the bloody shirt on, but I laughed anyway. I enjoyed the site of myself laughing like I'd never seen myself laugh before. I felt insane, I felt so different and I had no idea why.

I tried to drive, Tried to take a right, drifted far left, and rolled up on a nearby curb.

I shouldn't have tried to drive. I dug through my cupholder where I kept random change and took all the quarters out then headed for the nearest bus stop.

I waited alone for a while before the bus arrived. I took my time getting on to the bus making sure not to skip a step. I must’ve been taking too long to get on because the bus driver was glaring at me. I avoided eye contact and lowered the brim of my cap. 

 “How much is it t—” 

“two-fifty” He quickly cut me off.

 I pulled a handful of quarters out of my pocket, dropping some on the floor. “Oh sorry I—” 

Tap, tap, tap

He tapped on the farebox. I got down to pick up my change and as I stood back up a bit of relief washed over me. The bus was mostly empty, just a dingy-looking man sleeping, a tired woman in a suit, and two kids listening to rap music way too lou—TAP, TAP, TAP—it hurt my head. “Hey! Two-fifty, come on man we gotta go.” I looked down at my hand and started trying to count the change but I was finding it immensely difficult t—the lights were burning my eyes, and the music was splitting my brain apart. Everything was clouded in a tiny white mist. I—screeching— The bus jerked forward before I threw all my change into the farebox giving up on counting. I caught myself grabbing a balance bar. The kids laughed, and I smiled, but they didn't. I made my way to the back of the bus and took a seat. 

I tried to zone out my surroundings. The world around me was overwhelming. Closing my eyes I tried to ease my ever-growing headache. Taking deep breaths to ease this strange sense of anxiety I had. I felt like I was being wa—it's quiet now—I opened my eyes. They all looked away. 

The kids cut their music back on to a new song and the tired woman opened a book.

But the sleeping man was no longer sleeping… He was staring at me. His full body turned around staring at me. He winked at me. I looked down to ignore hi—“SHUT THAT SHIT OFF!” he shot up to his feet and marched over to the kids. “I said shut that fucking shit off!” He then snatches their Bluetooth speaker and starts to smash it against some seats. It explodes into pieces in his hands. One of the kids hails the bus to stop. When it does they run off the bus wearing an expression of anger and fear. He just kept on smashing it. Over, and over, and over, and over, an—I felt happy—a calmness came over me with every piece that flew off of the speaker. I watched as the woman annoyingly packed her book back into her bag and exited the bus. Over, and over, and over, and

 “Do you want to try?” He appeared next to me, his eyes egging me on. The remains of the speaker in his hand. 

“Here, give it a try. You look like you've had one hell of a day. I'll even hold your cap.”

He holds out his other hand. I sat there for a second confused but still compelled to take the speaker. I slid off my cap and fresh blood rushed down my forehead. My wound opened up again. 

He takes it. Tries it on. It fits him well.

“Go on. Give that thing a swing.”

I hesitated looking over at the bus driver who was just staring straight through the rearview mirror. I half-heartedly swung the speaker into the metal balance bar. Not even a dent. 

“Come on man. What the fuck was that? Swing that thing!” 

-drip- 

I put a little more into it, but still, no pieces come off of it. 

“I said fucking smash it! We don't have all day!”

-drip- 

I swing, harder this time, breaking off small pieces from the speaker. 

“Harder!” 

-drip- 

I swing

“I said Harder!” 

-drip- 

I swing harder. 

“FUCKING DESTROY IT!” 

—Blood pours down our faces— 

My heart races. I throw the speaker onto the floor and start to smash it into a corner of the bus. It felt… good.

I felt alive.

Something inside of me broke loose. A repressed anger was now free leaving behind only bliss. 

I couldn't stop myself, I didn't want to stop myself, I just wanted to be—Screeching— 

“Sir, This is the last stop, it's time to go!” I open my eyes. I'm sitting in the back of the bus alone. I went to wipe my forehead but hit the brim of my cap.

“Hello! This is the last stop you have to get off the bus!” Was I… I look up at the driver who is shooting daggers at me in his rearview mirror. I heard you shouldn't sleep with a concussion. I stand and make my way to the exit at the front of the bus. 

I pass the pieces of the destroyed speaker on the way out.

So there's this one about a woman who's severely devastated about the loss of her twin brother that she creates a maze of arcade cabinets in her home that are all linked together and meant to be played one after the other. I think it was called something along the lines of the Pentinyar (spelling?) arcade. I can't seem to find a reading anywhere and if this sounds familiar, could someone point me in the right direction?

Listen to my encounter with a monster in the woods. Two of us vanished and have never been found.

The Story

A family stumbles upon chilling secrets in Lemp Mansion. What they uncover will haunt them forever. #LempMansion #Haunting #GhostStories #TrueCrime #Paranormal #SpookySeason

https://www.tiktok.com/@grafts80/video/7443408089199562026?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc

Its summer kids are normally playing but you don't see them you search troughout the school and you see them all drawing in a classroom you see that they are all drawing a strange creature,you try to talk to them but they just keep drawing they seem to be in some sort of trans,finally they stop drawing and they all start looking at you and they are saying("The twirl spined creature is going to come soon").You search on the internet to see if this creature is in a sort of cartoon,but you turn up empty handed but while you are researching this topic you find out that your school is not the only school where this happened,this strange phenomenon has happened in Georgia,Mississippi,Alabama or Texas.In all of these schools students go missing and are found dead is remote locations miles away from the schools

And I’ve got the title and a good bit of it done

title: parasite

And if y’all have questions then feel free to ask

My son is such a mothers boy and I hate him for it. He treats me so well and always remembers me, he even forgets that he has a wife and that she needs to be cared for now. My son always comes round to my house and cleans up the whole house and I shout at him for being a mothers boy, I am disgusted by it and he still does it. Every time he treats me well I become so angry, that I start to attack him physically. How could he be such a mothers boy. He is treating me too well.

I am trying to remind him of all the things I use to do to him as a boy. I use hang him by his legs above the ponds and let all the speaking fishes bully him and laugh at him. I brought home pets for him to get close to and then when he had an emotional connection to him, the pet knew what to do. The pet would kill itself because it knew my son really loved him. The pet and I had planned this and I would start to laugh at my son for grieving, and the dead pet would also start laughing at my son.

I tried to remind my son of all the horrible things I use to do to him, but he is still a mothers boy. Then I would phone his wife and tell her how much of a mothers boy he is being. I would tell her how much he is pampering me and showering me with gifts and I am angry with him. His wife then gets angry with him and she is also disgusted by how much he is treating me. His wife told me how she is jealous of me and that she never gets treated like this.

So i devised a plan, I will swap skins with her and she will swap her skin with me. We will both look like each other and when she wore my skin, she looked exactly like me. Then when she lived in my house she got use to being in my house. I looked exactly like her and then she told me that my son at first did notice something was off, but then ignored his thoughts. She then told me that they slept together while she looked exactly like me and that's when my son realised it wasn't me.

He sussed it out and what a mothers boy, I hate my son for being a mothers boy.

I used to (still do) listen to a lot of creepy pastas on YouTube to fall asleep and I remember hearing this one story about a guy who lived in apartment and all I can remember is he was very confused cause a lot of things moved and I’m pretty sure I remember something with a coffee cup… and then a little time later, there was a new story on YouTube about a girl living in apartment and things moved and it was basically the two combined but like two different dimensions and it was creepy blah blah.. but the thing is I cannot find it. I don’t really know what to search or what to look for.. I listened/listen to mostly Clancypasta, creepyPastaJr. and corpsehusband, so I’m pretty sure it’s one of the three, but I cannot locate the story or the YouTube videos. Do anybody remember this or have a link to it? Please help I want the nostalgia. I need to hear the story or read the story again. (I can’t remember exactly but I think it would have been between 3 or 4 years ago?)

Just called this number: 4586664355

And I'm addicted I need more

Hello all, I'm new to reddit and I'm here to tell you about my strange discovery in the forest of Oregon. For a bit of Backstory my name is Curt and I'm an amature Cryptozoology, and when I say armature I mean amature. I believe in Bigfoot and Nessy and UFOs, and I know something here or there about mythology.

Any how, I have lived in Oregon all 40 years of my life and I had always been curious about the massive forests all around where I lived, what could be hiding in those trees just out of sight? Such curiosity is how I found myself searching local folklore on anything strange or unheard of in the forests nearby. One day in the fall of 2006 I found myself in a small diner outside of Junction city, a small farming town north of where I lived. I was sitting there drinking my coffee when overheard two older gentlemen speaking to each other at the other end of the bar table.

“ I'm telling you Bill I saw it, It was looking right at me.” “ ah horse shit Frank, you were probably drunk knowing you.”

“I swear Bill, gods Honest truth. It was just like the stories your dad use to tell us.”

“ my Pa was as much of a drunk as you are, probably more.”

As they continued to speak to each other I moved down the bar towards them. “excuse me gentlemen? I couldn't help but over hear your conversation. Tell me what did you see?”

The skinnier of the two, Bill, rolled his eyes at me, but Frank continued.

“ I saw the Lurker.” He said excited that some one cared to hear his story.

“the lurker?” I asked unsure of what he meant. He leaned in close and said.

“The Lurker is a local mystery, it lives in the woods, watching us.” He paused and took a swig of his Beer.

“I was out stalking one of the local trails, looking for white tail. While I was trudging through the brush I hear a loud cracking sound in the trees ahead. I stopped to see what it could be, thinking it was a Cougar or a Deer. When I saw one of the trees move as if it turned away from me in that brief moment I saw two gleaming Orange eyes like two burning coals.”

Bill let out a scoff. “More likely you saw someones tail lights.”

“ I know the difference between tail lights and eyes Bill!” Frank exclaimed as he shot his head In Bill's direction.

“How do you know that it's the Lurker?” I interjected.

“ folks been seeing it for years and it's always described the same way.” Frank continued.

“What did you do next?”

“Nothing, I blinked and just like that it was gone again as if it had never been there. Then I made my way back to my Pick-up and headed back home.”

I sipped from my coffee as contemplating Frank's tale, the exhilaration of finding something unknown crept up my spine.

“Where was this?” I asked, trying to downplay my excitement.

Frank looked at me with a twinge of suspicion in his eyes.

“Why do you want to know?”

“morbid curiosity, I'm doing research for a blog on folklore.”

Frank scratched the back of his head uncomfortably.

“Alright, it was on a game trail out by Fern ridge. It's not far from a hiking trail that's visited often.”

I thanked him, payed for my coffee then left. I was actually familiar with the hiking trail Frank had told me about, so I headed straight there. I arrived at Fern Ridge later that afternoon and made my way down the hiking trail towards the woods. Soon enough I found the game trail that Frank had told me about. As I made my way through the underbrush, I felt the tingle of my hairs standing up in excitement. The foliage got thicker and thicker as I continued, suddenly, I lost my footing and fell into the bushes. When I looked down towards my feet I saw a huge hole that I had slipped into.

I got up, brushed myself off and inspected the hole. It was about 3 feet wide and about 1 foot deep, I was lucky I hadn't really hurt myself. Then I noticed that there was a bunch of loose soil both in and around the hole. it looked like the hole left by a tree being uprooted, only there was no fallen tree nearby. I felt a shiver up my spine, I couldn't tell you why. I shook my head thinking an animal had just been digging in the dirt. But as I looked up the trail I saw another hole about 15 feet away, and another, and another. If I didn't know any better I would've said they were footprints. I felt a lump forming in my throat and the sudden urge to follow the trail growing in the back of my head.

Against my better judgment I began to follow the foot trail of “foot prints.” The excitement of finding something truly undiscovered too enticing to ignore. As I continued a little voice in my head began to implore me not to follow, but that voice was little more than a whisper. Soon, I found the trail lead to a small clearing, the prints stopped exactly where I was standing. I look around and saw no trace of the prints I looked about and saw that the Sun was starting to set, I must have really lost track of time.

I turned around making one last pass at the clearing, when a cacophony of screeches shot up from the trees just to my left. I nearly jumped out of my skin as a murder of crows came bursting from the trees circling another the clearing. They flew into the air like a black cloud, slowly spiraling towards the ground. Feeling a sudden pull drawing me towards where they were landing. As I made my way closer, my skin began to crawl as I felt the putrid stench of rot in the air. My heart stopped as I looked down, there laying in the middle of the clearing was a body, torn to pieces, entrails strewn around like streamers.

I turned away, retching up what little I had in my stomach. I pulled myself back up, my eye locked with the dead puffy eye in the shattered remnants of its skull. One of the larger crows landed there cocking its head at me curiously. It squawked and pecked at the wet puffy eye, pulling it free with a wer sucking sound. It quickly gobbled up the eye, I was to shocked and filled with disbelief to move. The crow tilted its head at me again, and for a brief moment I could have sworn I saw a glint of orange in the birds eye. It screeched and flew away, as it did all of my senses slowly returned to me I felt my arms start to move frantically to my phone. I scrambled to dial, 9-1-1, A woman's voice immediately answered.

“ 911 help line please state the nature of your emergency.” “hi….I….oh god…I'd like to report a dead body!”

“OK sir please tell me your name.”

I felt my tongue glued to the roof of my mouth as I tried to answer.

“ my name is C-Curt, Curt Walsh! I'm out off a game trail just off Fern ridge…I was going for a walk and I found….oh God I can't even tell…ma’am it's bad…please..send someone.”

She tried to calm me down, but all I could do was hear the Crows, they began to squawk in a more full chorus.

“ Curt I need you to tell me if the officers and paramedics can get to you.”

The birds squawking grew louder, I clutched my head as my ears began to ring.

“I…..I…what!?” I shouted into the phone, she responded louder.

“can the Paramedics and Officers get to you?”

“I….I'm not sure I'm off the usual trail about a quarter of a mile!”

The birds kept calling out trying to drown out all other sounds. My ears began to ring louder the woman's voice was a muffled mess I felt an ear piercing yell tear out of my lungs.

“SHUT UP!!!!”

suddenly the birds all stopped and cranked their heads towards me. There was an uncomfortable silence made all the worse now that the noise was gone. The crows spread their wings and took to the sky flying towards the slowly sinking sun. As I watched I heard the woman. “ Curt?! Curt? Are you ok?”

I placed the phone back to my ear. “ y-yes…..sorry there was a group of crows…they…led me to the body…and they were being loud…I'm sorry.”

She hesitated then in a soft voice replied. “It's Ok….the officers are on their way, can you help them find the body?”

“uh, yes… I can go off the trail and lead the officers here.”

She spoke softly over the phone. “OK would you like me to stay on the call with you until then?”

I stuttered my mind still a whir with the sound of the crows and the discovery at my feet. “Yes…please…miss?” “Lizz.” She responded softly. “My name is Lizz.”

As I walked back to the main trail I spoke to Lizz, explaining why I was out there, and how the Crows had led me to the body. She spoke softly to me trying to keep me calm. She seemed sweet and kind over the phone, I would have asked her for more pleasant company bit given the circumstances I decided now was not the time. As I reached the trail a half hour later I saw the lights flickering from the officers and paramedics.

“Alright I'm back at the main trail, thank you Lizz, for the calming conversation.”

She spoke softly and said “It's alright Curt, I hope you are OK and the Paramedics can help you.”

I felt a pang in my stomach as I knew the conversation was ending. I blurted out. “Could I get your Number!”

She chuckled over the other end. “Well this is the strangest way a guy has ever asked for that but sure, why not?”

I pulled out my pocket book and wrote down the number she game me. We exchanged pleasantries and the call ended. Soon I brought the Officers and the Paramedics around to the clearing, the began to investigate the body as I told them the whole story. How I had been out there following some tracks, how the crows startled me and I followed them to the body. One of the officers looked at me strangely, he was an older man maybe in his late Fifties. his name badge gleamed in the flash light ‘Lesky’

“You a journo?”

I shook my head slowly. “No, why do you ask?”

“cuz it sounds like you were looking for the Lurker.”

I felt my stomach twist slightly. “I was…is there a problem.”

Lusky slowly adjusted his cap. “listen kid, people who go looking for old ghost stories usually find nothing but trouble. So do me and my guys here a favor and quit while you're ahead.”

A new twinge of morbid curiosity tingled up my spine.

“What makes you say that?”

He pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket. “the last time some city slicker came here to look for the Lurker, he wound up dead.” His eyes trailed to the macabre strewn corpse. “and it was about as pretty as this.”

I raised my eyebrows “what are you saying a local legend did this.”

“all i'm saying, is that there's something in these woods…and it wants to be left alone.” A thin trail of smoke left his mouth, as he flicked his barely started Cigarette onto the ground stomping it into the brackish mud. He turned away from me and started telling his men to finish up as the Paramedics where almost finished packing up the body.

“ am I done here?” I asked one of the other officers, He nodded to me. “if you are feeling well enough to drive you can head home now, we may call you in for another statement once the coronary report comes in.”

I nodded, thanked him and turned around to leave. as I slowly made my way to back towards the edge of the clearing I caught something just off the other end. Two gleaming lights, like burning coals. I blinked my eyes and shook my head, they were gon just as soon as they appeared. I shuddered thinking my mind was playing tricks on me as I made my way back to my car I couldn't help but Shake the feeling I was being watched.

So, I remembered this creepypasta that’s set up in a script format.

The narrator mentions that a “fan” sent a Creepypasta, that turns out to be this creepy love letter. Then they mention hearing someone break in and hides in the closet, but they are found and kidnapped.

I think it was read by a female narrator on YouTube.

Those who have read ‘my dead girlfriend keeps messaging me on Facebook’, what’s your interpretation of what happened to the narrator after he shares the photo outside of their door?

Do you think the girlfriend killed them to bring herself back to life? Or killed them to have them be with her in death as well? Or what?

The story is about a guy who can’t go to sleep at night or some creature will kill him, or the creature only appears at night or something, he moves away from home and flys somewhere thinking that there’s no way it could follow him, and he also decided to get a job at a night club for further insurance, and eventually he’s typing his story when he gets killed by the creature at night.

There was an old tree that had no bark in the Alaskan wilderness that people have claimed to cause "Other worldly events." There was three outcomes that would happen if you used the black sap that dripped down the tree constantly. It is said if you drink the sap you would be forced into a constant state of paranoia, and it would only get worse as time went on, shadows in your room, more hazards on the road when driving, and your skin getting pricked or your hair pulled when being alone. You would disappear without a trace around 1 year of drinking it. The second outcome would happen if you were to rub the sap on your body, everything would appear fine until you go to get a nights rest, you would start dreaming of this black endless void, you would never wake up, trapped in the void with no way of waking up or getting out. The third outcome was the scariest though. If you took some of the sap, gave it to an animal or another human they would die a few days later and you would be constantly haunted by their presence, you would see them in the corner of your eye, in the mirror, just behind the shower curtain and in your dreams. You would hear their screams of agony constantly for the rest of your life, only getting louder as the months went on. You would be driven insane and eventually force yourself to rub the sap on you to be put in the endless void for peace.

Creepypasta: The Carolers

It had been 1 year since I lost Rebecca, she was the love of my life. Rebecca was the kind of girl bring joy to an entire room. Her favorite holiday was Christmas and we would go all out every year together. Rebecca had stage 4 Breast cancer and the doctor said flat out that there was nothing to do but to cherish the time we had left together. It was around the same time I threw away my one-year AA chip into the garbage. I said to myself, I got clean for her and now I’m going to lose her so what’s the point?

The next couple of months after she died I spent most of my time at the dive bar which led to two of my DWIs. Shot after shot down the hatch to forget about everything. It was December 24th, 9 pm, Christmas Eve. I had to give up the home that Rebecca and I had lived in for so many years because the memories were too painful. After my third DWI, the judge ordered me to put a breathalyzer in my car, so I decided to start walking everywhere I went. I left the bar and walked home to my apartment. I was holding back tears looking at all of the Christmas ordainments set up. I was thinking in my head, “why did it have to be her? Why not me? I was the fuck up.”
I got to my apartment and walked up to the third floor where my place was. I opened the door, put my jacket on the hanger, and grabbed a beer from the fridge.

I dozed off watching TV when suddenly I heard a knock at the door. I walked over to the door asking myself who would be at the door at this hour of the night. Since my door didn’t have a peephole, I had to open it to see who it was. As I opened the door, I saw three men and three women wearing Christmas attire. They started singing Christmas songs and I realized they were Christmas Carolers. It wasn’t even 5 seconds into the first song when I slammed the door. I remembered how much Rebecca loved Christmas carolers and I wasn’t ready for that. Although I slammed the door in their face I heard their voices singing through the walls. At this point, I decided to go grab something a little stronger. I pulled out a bottle of Vodka from the liquor cabinet and made myself a drink.

A couple of drinks later I passed out from the intense amount of alcohol I had consumed. I woke up to a loud banging sound coming from my door. I was still a bit drunk and feeling groggy from the liquor nap, forgetting about the carolers from earlier. I walked over to the door, opening it to see nothing. I said to myself,

“Fucking kids.”

I closed the door and turned around to see a shadow in the darkness of my apartment. I stood in shock. My fight or flight kicked in and I was in complete flight. The shadow of the person then fled into the bedroom. I grabbed my phone and ran into my closet to hide.

I dialed 911 to inform them of an intruder. What I heard on the other end of the phone chilled me to the bone, it was a Christmas Carol, the same one that the carolers were singing from the hallway of my apartment. I started sobbing to myself, thinking about the choices I’d made following Rebecca’s death.

I don’t know how long it was till I decided to exit the closet but when I did I booked it to the door and the apartment hallway. I ran to the stairway at the end of the hallway to find that it was locked from the other side. I turned around to see five of the carolers from before standing at the other end of the hallway. I looked closer at them and noticed that they had unnaturally large smiles from ear to ear and their eyes, oh god their eyes. It was as if they were looking into my soul.

The five carolers started moving towards me and they weren’t walking, it was as if they were levitating towards me. I started banging on the locked door to the staircase. I used all my body strength to break the door open and I don’t know if it was just the adrenaline rush or me being piss drunk but instead of using the stairs like a normal person, I jumped out the window from the third floor.

I woke up Christmas morning in the hospital in the ICU. I was covered in bandages and my leg in a cast. A nurse walked into the room to check up on me. I asked the nurse,

“What happened?”

The nurse looked at me with a stern look and told me that I had jumped through a third-story window onto the concrete. She informed me that I had received multiple severe cuts from the glass window and I had broken my leg from the fall. She also told me that when I arrived I was hyperventilating and screaming about some “Evil Christmas Carolers”. That’s when everything from the night before came back to me.

The nurse handed me the remote to the TV in my room and told me that the doctor would come see me in a bit. After she left I decided to watch some TV, thinking maybe the movie Elf was on. Although Rebecca’s passing destroyed my view of Christmas, I still enjoyed watching Will Ferrell in that hilarious costume. I turned the TV on to see the local news to a breaking news story. The reporter claimed that three murders had taken place last night in my area. All of the victims were and lived alone. Neighbors were questioned by the news team asking if they had heard anything strange last night, to which one responded,

“Yeah, I heard a faint sound of what sounded like a Christmas Carol at like 2 or 3 am. I don’t know if it’s relevant but it was weird.”

My jaw was wide open. I was thinking that what happened last night was a very vivid nightmare and I had a panic attack because of it, causing me to jump out that window. A day later my parents picked me up from the hospital and brought me back to their house to take care of me while I recovered from my injuries. I think I’m going to stay with them much longer than that and I’m thinking about reconnecting with my sponsor and AA, I just don’t feel all that safe alone anymore.

Update:

It’s been 4 or 5 months since the incident and I made a full recovery from my injuries. I started going back to meetings and had a month clean from the booze. I’ve also started to overcome the pain from Rebecca’s passing and I’m moving on with my life. I miss her but she is not here anymore and I am.

I started going out with a new woman named, Maria. She’s not all that enthusiastic about Christmas which may be a good thing.

If I’ve learned anything from this experience, it is that things can go bad in life but it can always be worse. I’m just hoping next Halloween goes smoothly.

Authors Message: Hi I’m Sean the writer of this story. This is the first creepy pasta I've ever written and I hope you guys like it! Happy holidays!