Inspired by https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CYiU5BbbA4g

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on 2023/12/17, a intermous Shock video named caillou_gets_grounded_because_of_his_stupid_name.mp4 was posted on Youtube by a youtuber named Flashgiboz1276, and tooken down on 2024/2/19, i later recalled of what it was, it started with Caillou and Boris on the left with a peep officer on the right, but when Caillou was about to say the video and audio both got fucked up, It then flickered at 0:48 and left me seeing a black screen with a music box playing, i thought this was over, but suddenly a Red facless caillou apeared in the center of the screen, and then... The Music box became earape the video began to glitch with a Living apearing behind caillou, until it cuts to the 'This video was made with FlashThemes' scene. I felt wierded out upon seeing this, so I check the comments and this is what it is, "dude wtf is dis shit", "Caillou gets da depression", "is this red", "some sort of december fools joke". so if you see this kind of video, watch it at your own risk.

An old greenhouse leans in one corner of the back yard. It's panes cracked, mottled with moss. The wildness it once contained has since escaped, almost consuming it. Across the way, a tired wooden shed stands slumped, paint peeling and window clouded by webs spun in dusty layers. The mice have burrowed an entrance around the back.

An overgrown lawn gives way to a flower bed encircling the edges, while below lies a half-collapsed decking area, sagging under the weight of its years. Along the left, leading to the shed, a row of stepped planting areas, once brimming with vegetables, now just home to an abandoned birdbath and a spindly pear tree. A narrow path, cracked and winding, divides the garden.

The garden lights, some blue and others pink, each cast their own soft glow which lends the place an otherworldly hue, as if something magical might stir amongst the weeds. But there are no pixies or fairies that lurk in this garden.

As the moonlight dances across the garden there's a rustling in the flower bed. Wally, once a brown haired rabbit with a white stripe on his nose and a floppy left ear, gently hops onto the lawn. Now his translucent form shimmers in the moonlight. He rises a little, lifting his head and sniffing at the tense night air. He is followed by Mini. A tan coloured hamster with a white band of fur around her middle. She approaches the edge of the flower bed wall, as high as a single house brick, and softly tumbles down and rolls towards Wally. The pair have become friends during their time in the garden together.

Slinky the ferret sleuths about in the jungle that spills out of the greenhouse. He enjoys spooking the mice that flit between the shed and the greenhouse. His ghostly body slinking and darting through the various plants and weeds.

A pair of Whippets, Billy and Milly, curled up together on the free-standing hammock set out on the decking. Their love for each other as strong in death as it was in life. They spend the nights snuggling close and lazing around. The only thing they miss is the heat of the sun beating down on them. Tonight, they snuggle particularly tightly with one another.

At the end of the footpath towards the family home, Bruno the short haired German Shepherd stands proudly, occasionally glancing up at the bedroom of his once loved friend, silently lost in memories of 'walkies'.

The once loved family pets of the years can feel the weight of what's to come. There's a sombre mood in the air. Bruno glances up at the empty bedroom. The members of the household have since moved away or perished of old age. The house abandoned, barely standing in its decrepit and derelict state. Itself now a victim of the relentless forward march of time.

The spirits stare at the house and remember what once was. They've seen the notices on the doors and remaining windows. Now they can only linger until dawn, waiting for the trembling of the wrecking ball to bury their memory for good.

So… after the investigation, the police found that I wasn't at fault, but recommended that I stay off the internet for a while. If you were wondering why I haven't posted in a while, that's why. But anyways, I've been going to therapy for what I saw. The therapist assured me that I wasn't at fault, and I wasn't. But ever since then, the person who emailed me, started doing other stuff, we'll, at least I think it was him. But I started getting pizzas delivered to me. I had to move so I could leave the harassment.

But the real story starts with me going to a tech store. My laptop has been running low on space, so I had to get an SD card. I went to the store and purchased ONE SD card. When I went back home, I saw a second one. I thought to myself “That's neat, they accidentally gave me a second one”. So I Put the free one first. I noticed that it had a .mp3 file. I turned it on, and it played a beautiful melody off harps. I was listening to it, when all of a sudden, the music turned into screams of multiple people. It sounded like the screams at the end of the DVD. I immediately shut it off, and threw the SD card away. I didn't want to deal with that again

I plugged in the brand new one to get more storage space. It was doing well, until my laptop froze. It was like that for a little while, I thought it was just the game I was playing rendering too many things. But then, an image appeared, an image of a mangled body. It was the body of a man, his arms were twisted in places that I thought wasn't possible, but here it is, right in front of me.

I tried all I could to get it off of my computer, but it just wouldn't leave. Eventually the picture faded. After that, I looked in my files, and I saw a virus. I deleted it, and went on with my day. But by then, it had already infected my laptop. I went back on and played more games, when my whole screen was bombarded with videos of gore. People being murdered, terrorist attacks, animal attacks, and stuff that hit close to home, videos of suicides. I waited for the videos to be over with, and afterwards, I had to factory reset my laptop. Afterwards, I got on my phone, trying to erase those memories, when I got a text from a random number. I love to troll with them, so I went to it. It wasn't a scam telling me that my package was delayed, or I needed to renew my car insurance, but it was just a link to a YouTube live. I clicked it out of curiosity and it was a live video of a still camera looking into a house. I thought it was weird and I looked in the comments, and there were like 20 or so people. I looked into the channel, thinking it was just an ARG, but there was just one more live, it was a live of just pure gore. Hardcore stuff. Stuff that stays in your mind for a long time, if not forever. It was brutal, but they weren't known videos like other cartel videos. They looked like they were made just for this, the watermark was just “c: 2024” I thought I remembered that darn smiley face, then it hit me, it was the same one from those emails.

I went back to the other live feed, and saw that the house had changed. It was a different house. I then got multiple texts from the number that sent me the link to the live. They sent me multiple pictures and GIFs of gore, so much that I couldn't focus and one single one, then it stopped. I blocked the number, but that didn't stop more texts. I got one last text from a number that sent me a download link to a mistake, called Amber Alert. I've heard about it, I know that it was illegal, so I blocked that number also. After that, I went back to the stream, and it showed my house, and people were commenting “criminal.”

I’d been working for the agency long enough to know when I was being fed a sanitized version of the truth. But when they briefed me about this particular operation, it didn’t matter how much they polished it up, something about it stank.

I don't know if I am allowed to post this here, so I am trying to ask first. Over the years I have come across a few CreepyPastas that I have really enjoyed. Honestly, most have them have been narrated be people on YouTube. Would a post asking about one or several of these lost stories be allowed on here?

Thanks for your help.

Discover the chilling tale of the Ghostly Bride, a spirit that haunts a historic church every November. #Paranormal #GhostStory #HauntedPlaces #HistoryMystery

https://www.tiktok.com/@grafts80/video/7437099684478455082?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7397566127821604382

Narrated

I’ve always had a strange relationship with the internet. I guess it started as an escape—a place where I could get lost in something, forget about real life for a while. But I’ll be honest, the deeper I’ve gone, the less comforting it’s been. I like the idea that there are mysteries hidden out there, little corners of the web that no one talks about, secrets tucked away for people who know where to look. But sometimes, the internet has a way of staring back at you.

It was a Friday night when I first found The Forgotten Ones. I was alone, as usual, clicking my way down the rabbit hole of obscure forums and hidden websites, looking for something interesting, something mysterious. I was reading about an ARG (Alternate Reality Game) that had apparently popped up and disappeared almost immediately, leaving only cryptic, half-finished posts behind. People on one forum were saying it was a hoax, while others claimed that the “players” had gone missing after the game shut down. It was late, and I knew I should go to bed, but something about the whole thing hooked me.

A link popped up in one of the threads, posted by an anonymous user whose profile looked brand new. It didn’t have a description—just a simple URL and a warning: “For the truly forgotten.”

It felt like an invitation. I don’t know why, but I clicked it.

The page loaded slowly, as if it hadn’t been touched in years. The design was old-school—grey background, plain black text, and a strange, almost uncomfortable silence. No autoplaying ads, no social media icons, nothing that suggested it was a modern website. Just a plain header at the top that read: "Welcome to The Forgotten Ones."

At first, I thought it was just some abandoned forum, one of those dead sites people used to use before social media took over. But there was something about it that kept me there. The posts on the main page were strange—short, disjointed sentences with no context, like bits of conversation ripped out of time. Names were displayed beside each message, but they weren’t typical usernames. They were titles, almost like roles or statuses. Names like “The Lost Echo,” “Wanderer #9,” and “Memory Faded.”

Curiosity got the best of me, and I clicked on one of the threads. The title was simple: "I can’t remember who I am."

The post itself was even stranger:

“I’m not sure how long I’ve been here. Time feels… different. If you’re reading this, please help. My name is… no, I don’t have a name. But I need someone to remember me.”

There was a reply underneath it, from another user called “Shade of the Forgotten.” They responded simply, “Welcome. We’ve been waiting.”

I felt a chill run down my spine. I’d seen a lot of weird stuff online before, but this was different. It didn’t feel like a joke or an ARG. It felt real, like someone had poured their actual thoughts, their fears, onto the page.

I clicked through more threads, each one somehow darker than the last. One was titled “Can you see me?” The original post was just a single line:

“Please, if you’re out there, just let me know you can see me. I don’t want to be forgotten.”

There were replies beneath it, from other users with names like “Echo,” “Lost,” and “Wanderer.” Their messages were cryptic, almost like fragments of a conversation that had been cut up and shuffled around. “I can’t see you, but I feel you,” one said. Another replied, “We’re all here, but no one remembers.”

It was unsettling, but I couldn’t look away. I’d stumbled onto something that felt… wrong, but in a way that I couldn’t quite define. It was like I was peeking into the thoughts of people who had somehow fallen through the cracks of reality, left to linger in this forgotten space.

After what felt like hours of scrolling, I noticed a pinned post at the top of the page titled “Rules of The Forgotten Ones.” Something in me hesitated before clicking it, but I couldn’t stop myself. The page loaded, and a list appeared—simple, but oddly desperate.

1. Do NOT post real names.
2. Do NOT share photos of yourself.
3. Do NOT ask for others’ locations or share your own.
4. You must never close the forum while a post is still loading.
5. Do not attempt to contact users outside of this forum.
6. If you begin to feel watched, do NOT interact with anyone in the real world.
7. Do NOT attempt to remember others for too long.

The final line at the bottom of the post was written in all caps: "FORGETTING IS SAFETY."

My stomach twisted as I read the rules, my mind racing to make sense of them. Some of them made no sense at all, like the one about feeling watched. But one thing was clear—the people here were serious, deadly serious, and I was beginning to understand why.

I should have closed the site, I should have clicked away and forgotten all about it. But a message notification popped up as I hovered over the tab to leave. It was from someone called Echoed Voice.

"I see you found us, Sam."

The screen went cold, and I felt my pulse quicken. How did they know my name? I hadn’t registered, hadn’t shared anything personal. I glanced around my room, as if the answer might be hiding in the shadows.

I tried to tell myself it was a coincidence, that maybe I’d left my name somewhere online, and they’d found it. But it didn’t feel like a coincidence. It felt like someone had reached through the screen and whispered my name just to get my attention.

I typed a quick response, my fingers trembling.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?”

The reply came instantly, almost like they’d been waiting for me to ask.

“You’ve already forgotten, haven’t you? We all forget, eventually. But I remember you.”

I felt the hair on my arms stand up. I was scared, but at the same time, I was hooked. I wanted to know more, even though every instinct told me to close the browser and walk away.

After that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about The Forgotten Ones. The messages haunted me, echoing in the back of my mind whenever I was alone. I began spending hours on the forum, scrolling through post after post, reading the disjointed fragments that felt like messages from another world.

Each day, the posts seemed to grow darker, more personal. I started seeing threads with titles like, “Why do I remember you?” and “The ones who watch.” They felt like warnings, but I couldn’t turn away.

Then, one night, I received another message from Echoed Voice.

“Are you still here? I can’t see you, but I feel you watching. Don’t forget me, Sam.”

The words left me feeling uneasy, but I responded anyway, ignoring the part of me that knew I shouldn’t. I wanted to ask how they knew me, how they seemed to know what I was doing, but all I could type was:

“I haven’t forgotten.”

The screen flickered, and a new message appeared, this one from an account I hadn’t seen before—Shade of the Forgotten.

“Be careful, Sam. The more you remember us, the more we can see you. The more we see you, the harder it is to leave.”

For the first time, I felt real fear. It was as if something was warning me, like I was teetering on the edge of something I couldn’t understand.

But instead of closing the site, I stayed.

The next night, after tossing and turning for hours, I found myself sitting in front of my laptop, staring at The Forgotten Ones forum. I hadn’t planned on visiting it again. In fact, all day, I’d been telling myself to just forget about it. But as soon as the sun went down, the curiosity crept back in, insistent, pulling me back like a gravitational force.

This time, as the page loaded, the site seemed different somehow. It was as though the colors were just a shade darker, the shadows around the text a bit deeper. It was probably my imagination, but it unsettled me nonetheless. And the forum seemed… quieter. There were no new posts, no new responses. Just the same eerie, fragmented messages from the night before.

I forced myself to click on the pinned post labeled “Rules of The Forgotten Ones.”

The list was the same as I’d remembered, but now the rules felt more like warnings, almost pleading. The final line, "FORGETTING IS SAFETY," seemed to stand out, almost glowing, as though trying to urge me to heed its advice.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to understand this place, to figure out why it existed and why it had this pull on me. So I started reading the posts again, combing through every message, every cryptic fragment, searching for something that would make sense of it all. But with each post, I only seemed to sink deeper into confusion.

After a while, I noticed one thread that I hadn’t clicked on before. It was titled, "The Ones Who Remember."

I clicked on the thread, and the screen took longer than usual to load. For a moment, I thought my computer had frozen, but then the text appeared, stark against the dark background.

"If you’re here, you’re one of us now."

That was the entire post. But it felt like it had been written specifically for me. Like whoever had posted it knew I was there, staring, unable to look away.

Underneath the message was a reply from someone I hadn’t seen before—a user named “Watcher.” Their message was simple but unsettling.

“Remembering is dangerous, Sam.”

My breath caught. I didn’t remember ever giving my real name, and I certainly hadn’t registered on the site. How did they know who I was?

I could feel my pulse quicken, and my hands started to sweat. The cursor hovered over the browser’s exit button, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I needed answers. So I typed a response.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?”

The response came almost immediately, as if they’d been waiting.

“We know all of you, Sam. You’re the one who’s forgotten us.”

I stared at the screen, feeling a chill run down my spine. How could I have forgotten something I’d never known in the first place?

I was about to type a reply when another notification popped up. It was a private message, from Echoed Voice.

"Do you want to remember, Sam?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. Something about it felt wrong, but the need to know more overpowered the fear gnawing at me. I typed out a single word:

“Yes.”

The screen flickered, and for a moment, it went completely black. When the page reloaded, I found myself staring at a new thread. The title read: "The Rules Are For You."

The post inside was a list—a new set of rules. I scanned through them, my stomach twisting with each one.

1. You must not tell anyone about The Forgotten Ones.
2. Do not attempt to delete this forum or remove it from your history.
3. If you see someone familiar in a post, do NOT reach out to them.
4. Do not keep any lights on when reading the forum at night.
5. You must not look away if someone speaks to you here.
6. Always remember: the closer you get, the harder it is to leave.

The final rule was different, written in a strange, almost frantic font that stood out from the rest.

1. Do not try to remember us.

I sat back in my chair, feeling a wave of nausea. My hands were shaking, and I realized I was gripping the edges of my desk so tightly my knuckles had turned white. None of this made any sense, but I couldn’t deny the creeping feeling of dread growing inside me.

I reached for my phone, half-considering calling someone, anyone, just to break the silence around me. But then I remembered Rule #1: You must not tell anyone about The Forgotten Ones.

The rational part of my mind told me it was a stupid rule, probably just part of the elaborate prank someone was playing. But there was another part of me—a deeper, quieter voice—that warned me not to break it.

Hours passed, or maybe minutes—it was hard to tell. I kept scrolling through threads, each one revealing something new, something worse. Every post seemed designed to burrow into my thoughts, each reply a thinly veiled warning or invitation.

Eventually, I stumbled upon a thread simply titled, "Faces We’ve Forgotten."

I clicked on it, almost out of reflex, and a new page loaded, showing a list of messages, each one more cryptic than the last.

“I don’t remember his name, but I remember his face. He watches me from the screen, just a shadow now.”

“I tried to forget, but he won’t let me. I see him in the reflections, watching, waiting.”

“They come for us when we remember too much. Do not let them see your face.”

I felt a chill crawl up my spine. The words were starting to blur together, each post a distorted echo of the last. The more I read, the harder it became to shake the feeling that I was being watched.

And then I saw it. A post written by someone named “Silent Witness.” The name seemed familiar, like a half-forgotten memory, something buried in the back of my mind. The message was simple:

“They’re with you now, Sam.”

My vision swam, and for a moment, I felt dizzy, like I’d just stepped off a moving train. How could they possibly know? I was alone in my room, the door closed, the lights dim. But the sense of being watched had grown stronger, a suffocating presence that seemed to fill the air around me.

In a panic, I closed the laptop and stumbled back from my desk, breathing hard. The room was silent, but I felt as if someone were right behind me, just out of sight.

And then my phone buzzed.

I snatched it off the desk, my heart pounding. The notification was from an unknown number. I hesitated, staring at the screen, half-tempted to just turn the phone off. But curiosity won out, and I opened the message.

"Why did you leave, Sam?"

It took me a moment to process the words. I hadn’t told anyone about the forum, hadn’t mentioned it to a single person. So how did they know?

Another message popped up before I could even think of a reply.

"You can’t leave, Sam. We won’t let you forget."

I wanted to throw the phone across the room, but instead, I turned it off and tossed it onto my bed. My mind was racing, a storm of fear and confusion that wouldn’t settle. Was this just some elaborate prank? But no one knew about the forum—not a soul. And the messages, the names… they felt real, like whispers that had followed me back from the darkness of that site.

I tried to avoid the forum after that night. I really did. I told myself it was nothing, just a weird corner of the internet that had gotten under my skin. But over the next few days, the strange sense of being watched only grew stronger. Every time I walked into a room, every time I glanced out a window or caught my reflection in the mirror, I felt it. A presence, just out of sight, just on the other side of my vision, watching, waiting.

Finally, unable to resist, I opened the laptop again and went back to The Forgotten Ones. As soon as the page loaded, I felt a sick sense of relief, like I’d come home after being away too long. I hated that feeling, but I couldn’t deny it. Something about the forum had claimed me.

The first thing I noticed was a new message notification. It was from Watcher.

"Welcome back, Sam. You’re starting to remember."

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. The words on the screen felt like a trap, like something that would pull me deeper if I so much as acknowledged it. But then another message appeared.

"We’re with you now. Do you feel us watching?"

My hands were shaking, and my vision blurred as the room seemed to close in around me. And then I felt it—a cold whisper on the back of my neck, a brush of air that sent a shiver down my spine.

I turned, but there was nothing there. Just my empty room, dimly lit and silent. But as I looked back at the screen, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t alone anymore.

I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the shadows creeping around me, closing in, whispering things I couldn’t quite hear. And whenever I managed to drift off, I’d be pulled awake by the feeling that someone was there, hovering just outside my vision.

The next morning, I went through my day like a ghost. Work was a blur, conversations were meaningless noise. I caught myself glancing over my shoulder, checking every corner of the room. It was ridiculous, and I knew it—no one was there. No one could be there. But the feeling never left.

As soon as I got home, I couldn’t resist. I opened my laptop and typed in the URL for The Forgotten Ones. The page loaded slowly, and I noticed that familiar sinking feeling as I took in the dark background and the eerie, broken conversations. It was like stepping into another reality, one where nothing made sense and the only rule was to forget.

My message box had several new notifications. I hesitated, my finger hovering over the touchpad, but my curiosity won out. I clicked.

The first message was from Echoed Voice.

“It’s time, Sam.”

That was all it said, but the words felt ominous, like a quiet threat. I swallowed hard and checked the next message. This one was from Watcher again.

“The rules are for your protection, Sam. Breaking them brings us closer.”

My heart raced as I read it. Breaking the rules? I hadn’t broken any—at least, not intentionally. But then I thought back to the rules I’d read. No sharing your real name. I hadn’t done that, right? Not intentionally, anyway. No sharing locations. And yet… they knew my name. They’d known I was there.

A third message popped up, interrupting my thoughts. This one had no sender name attached, just a single word:

“REMEMBER.”

I felt an icy chill race through my veins. The urge to respond was overwhelming, but I didn’t know what to say. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but every word I typed and deleted felt wrong, inadequate.

Finally, I settled on a single question:

“Who are you?”

A response appeared almost instantly, as though they’d been waiting for me.

“We are the Forgotten, Sam. We are the echoes left behind when the world looks away.”

The screen flickered, and my room seemed to darken. I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears as I read their message over and over again. The Forgotten… echoes left behind. What did that even mean? But before I could type another question, another message appeared.

“When you remember, we can return.”

Something about those words made my blood run cold. Return? To where? To here? I closed the laptop, desperate to break away from the screen, to regain control over my thoughts. But even after shutting it, the words lingered in my mind, twisting into something darker.

The following nights were worse. Every time I tried to sleep, I’d feel that same suffocating presence, the shadows whispering, moving just out of reach. And the strange sense of being watched grew stronger. I’d catch glimpses of movement in my peripheral vision, but whenever I turned to look, nothing was there. My reflection in the mirror seemed different, somehow… not quite right. Like I was being replaced piece by piece by something darker, something that knew me too well.

After another restless night, I woke up with a new message notification on my phone. I didn’t recognize the number, but the message made my stomach turn.

“It’s almost time, Sam. Don’t look away.”

I tried to ignore it, to push it from my mind. But it was impossible. The words echoed in my thoughts, haunting me even as I tried to go about my day. By the time I got home that evening, I was a wreck—physically, mentally, emotionally.

Without even thinking, I opened The Forgotten Ones. It was like my hands had a mind of their own, my fingers moving across the keyboard as though they were being guided by someone else. The page loaded, and I was met with a new post at the top of the forum.

The title read: “The Ritual of Remembrance.”

The post itself was short, just a few lines, but each word seemed to resonate deep within me.

“To remember is to let them in.”

“To remember is to give them form.”

“Only the Forgotten can return.”

I felt a shiver crawl up my spine. I knew it was insane, but a part of me believed every word. Something dark and forgotten was reaching out to me, trying to pull me into its world.

The next line made my heart skip a beat.

“If you’re reading this, Sam, it’s already too late.”

My screen flickered again, and this time, the entire forum seemed to shift, as though the text and images were rearranging themselves. I watched, transfixed, as new threads appeared, each one titled with a single word: Remember. Remember. Remember.

One by one, I clicked through the threads, each one showing strange, distorted images—faces I didn’t recognize, scenes I couldn’t place. But somehow, they felt familiar, like half-formed memories clawing their way back to the surface.

As I stared at the images, something strange happened. My vision began to blur, and I felt a strange tingling at the back of my head, like someone was whispering directly into my brain. I blinked, trying to shake the sensation, but it only grew stronger. The images seemed to shift and pulse, warping into something darker, something more alive.

And then I heard it—a voice, faint and distant, echoing through my mind.

“Sam, do you remember us now?”

My breath caught. The voice was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. It was like someone I’d known a long time ago, someone I’d forgotten. But I didn’t want to remember. I could feel that instinctively, deep down. Whatever was waiting for me in those memories, it wasn’t something I wanted to see.

I tried to close the laptop, to turn away from the screen, but my hands wouldn’t move. It was as if they were frozen in place, held there by some invisible force. The voice continued, growing louder, more insistent.

“Let us in, Sam. We’ve been waiting so long.”

My vision blurred, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. I wanted to scream, to break free from whatever was holding me, but I couldn’t. I was trapped, helpless, as the shadows closed in around me.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The voice faded, the images on the screen returned to normal, and I found myself staring at the plain, dark background of The Forgotten Ones once again.

I took a shaky breath, my mind racing. I needed to stop this. I needed to get away from the forum, to delete it, to erase every trace of it from my computer. But as I reached for the power button, a new message popped up on the screen.

“You can’t leave us, Sam. We’re with you now.”

The days that followed were a nightmare. Every time I left my laptop closed, a part of me felt lighter, safer. But at the same time, the whispers, the presence… it was like a pressure building up inside my mind. It felt like something was clawing at the inside of my skull, urging me to go back to the forum.

I tried to resist it. I went to work, kept busy, and even slept with the lights on—anything to feel normal again. But it was only a matter of time before the itch returned, too powerful to ignore.

One night, I gave in. With shaking hands, I opened the laptop and typed in the URL. The site loaded slowly, like it was struggling to reach me, pulling itself through an unseen darkness. When the page finally appeared, the first thing I saw was a new notification.

It was a private message from Watcher.

“Do you remember us now, Sam?”

I swallowed hard, my eyes glued to the screen. I didn’t know what to type, didn’t even know if I should respond. But there was something about the question that felt deeply unsettling, like they were asking more than they seemed to be.

Before I could decide, another message popped up.

“You’re close, Sam. Close to remembering. And when you do, we’ll be right here, waiting.”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the laptop across the room, to delete the site, to break free. But instead, I did the only thing I knew how to do—I kept reading.

The forum was darker than I remembered. Each thread seemed to pulse, the words taking on a life of their own. One of the posts, titled “The Price of Remembering,” caught my eye. My fingers moved toward it on their own, clicking the link.

Inside was a single message:

“The more you remember, the less of you remains.”

The words echoed in my mind, reverberating through me like a warning. It felt like a plea, like someone trying to tell me to stop before it was too late. But I was already in too deep. Whatever was happening, whatever this place was… I needed to understand.

I scrolled down, reading replies from users with names like LostEcho and SilentSteps. Each one told a story of remembering something, someone, they had lost, only for that memory to consume them.

“I remembered his face, his voice. But when I looked in the mirror, it wasn’t me staring back anymore.”

“I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t forget. And now, he’s here, whispering, taking pieces of me every night.”

The stories blended together, each more chilling than the last. I could feel my pulse quicken as I read, the words weaving themselves into my mind, clawing their way into my thoughts.

And then I saw it—a reply at the bottom, written by Watcher. My breath caught as I read his words.

“Sam, if you’re reading this, it’s already too late. You’re one of us now.”

The feeling of being watched was unbearable now. Every time I glanced in the mirror, every time I looked at my reflection in a window, I felt it—a presence, lurking just beyond the glass. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was no longer alone, that something was with me, watching, waiting.

One night, as I was brushing my teeth, I caught a glimpse of something strange in the bathroom mirror. My reflection was… wrong. It looked like me, but there was something off about the eyes, something darker, almost hollow. I blinked, and the image returned to normal, but the unease lingered.

I stumbled out of the bathroom, heart racing. The shadows in the room felt alive, shifting and pulsing as though they were reaching for me. I knew it was insane, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching me from within the darkness, waiting for me to remember.

That night, I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I could hear the whispers, faint and distorted, like voices from another world. They were calling to me, urging me to remember, to let them in.

The next day, I woke up to a new message on my phone. It was from an unknown number, but somehow I knew it was them.

“You can’t forget us, Sam. We’re with you now.”

I felt a chill run down my spine as I read the message. They were relentless, clawing their way into my life, into my thoughts. I tried to ignore it, to push it from my mind, but the whispers only grew louder, more insistent.

That night, I opened The Forgotten Ones again. I didn’t want to, but it felt like I had no choice, like something was pulling me back to the forum.

A new thread had appeared, titled simply “The Return.” I clicked on it, my heart pounding.

The post inside was from Watcher.

“When you remember, we can come back. We’re waiting, Sam. So close now.”

I felt my hands tremble as I read the words. The presence in my room seemed to grow stronger, pressing down on me, suffocating. And then, I heard it—a voice, faint and distant, echoing through the darkness.

“Sam… let us in.”

My breath caught in my throat. The voice was familiar, like something I’d heard a long time ago, something buried deep within my memories. I tried to ignore it, to push it away, but it was relentless, clawing its way into my mind.

And then I saw it—a shadow in the corner of my vision, shifting and pulsing, growing darker with each passing second. I turned, but there was nothing there. Just the empty room, silent and still. But I knew I wasn’t alone.

The next few days were a blur. The whispers followed me everywhere, their voices growing louder, more insistent. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw glimpses of something dark, something that wasn’t me. It was as if my reflection was changing, becoming something else.

One night, as I was brushing my teeth, I saw it again—the figure in the mirror, staring back at me with hollow, empty eyes. I froze, unable to look away, as the figure seemed to move, shifting closer, closer, until it felt like it was right behind me.

I turned, but there was nothing there. Just the empty room, silent and still. But I knew that something was there, lurking just beyond my vision, waiting for me to remember.

That night, I dreamt of shadows, of faces I didn’t recognize but somehow knew. They whispered to me, calling my name, urging me to remember, to let them in. When I woke up, I felt a strange, heavy presence in the room, like something had followed me back from the dream.

I stumbled out of bed, disoriented, and caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. For a moment, I didn’t recognize myself. My face looked… wrong. Hollow, empty, like the face of a stranger.

And then I saw it—a faint shadow in the reflection, hovering just behind me, watching.

The next time I opened The Forgotten Ones, a new message was waiting for me. This one was different, written in a strange, almost frantic font that seemed to pulse and shift as I read it.

“Remember us, Sam. Remember what you took from us.”

I stared at the words, a deep sense of dread settling over me. What had I taken? What were they talking about? But the memories were hazy, like fragments of a half-forgotten dream.

And then, slowly, pieces began to surface. Faces, voices, memories I couldn’t quite place. They were people I’d known, people I’d loved, but somehow… forgotten. I didn’t understand how, didn’t understand why, but I knew, deep down, that they were the ones calling to me, the ones reaching out from the darkness.

They wanted me to remember, to give them form, to let them return.

The screen flickered, and a final message appeared.

“You can’t escape us, Sam. We’re with you now. Always.”

I closed the laptop, my heart pounding, and looked around the room. The shadows seemed to shift, pulsing with a dark, malevolent energy. I could feel them pressing down on me, surrounding me, waiting.

And then I heard it—a whisper, faint and distant, echoing through the darkness.

“Sam… it’s time.”

The shadows were closing in. I could feel it, creeping along the walls, moving in the periphery of my vision. Every time I tried to ignore it, it only grew louder, more insistent. The voices in my head, the whispers from the shadows—they were everywhere now.

It started with little things. A flicker at the edge of my vision, the feeling of someone behind me, even though the room was empty. But then it escalated. One night, I woke up to find the curtains in my bedroom drawn open. I was sure I had closed them before going to sleep. I got up and checked the windows, half-expecting to find someone standing outside, watching. But there was nothing—only the darkness of the night, the quiet hum of the city outside.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, something was watching me.

That’s when I saw it again. In the bathroom mirror.

I’d been brushing my teeth, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts, when I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my eye. My reflection… was different. At first, I thought it was just the lighting, but the longer I stared, the more I realized something was very wrong. My face—my own face—looked… unfamiliar. The eyes were hollow, like empty sockets, and the skin appeared stretched, as though someone had been wearing my face like a mask.

I turned sharply, my heart racing in my chest, but when I looked back at the mirror, everything was normal. The reflection was mine again, as if nothing had happened. I was shaking, my mind on the edge of panic, but I tried to tell myself it was just a trick of the light. That’s what I told myself. But deep down, I knew it wasn’t.

The nightmares had become more vivid, more real. In my dreams, I was never alone. There were faces, eyes staring at me from the darkness. And the whispers—they were louder now, clearer. Sometimes, I would hear my name called in the night, soft but insistent, as if someone was just on the other side of the wall.

But when I would wake up, no one was there.

The presence was real, though. I could feel it—the weight of it. The air in my apartment felt heavier, thicker, like something was pressing down on me. The shadows had taken on a life of their own, twisting and moving when I wasn’t looking. Every corner seemed to hide something, a figure waiting, watching.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to know what was happening. I had to confront whatever this was. So, I logged back into The Forgotten Ones.

The screen flickered as the page loaded, and I was greeted with a new message. It was from Watcher, as always.

“You’re close, Sam. So close now.”

I didn’t hesitate. I clicked the message. My heart pounded as I read it.

“It’s time to remember, Sam. Time to open the door. The more you remember, the more we return. We’re waiting, Sam. All of us.”

I stared at the screen, trembling. I knew, deep down, that something was about to happen. Something I couldn’t stop. And then, the next message appeared.

“Do you remember us yet, Sam? Do you feel it? The shadows are closer now. You can’t escape.”

I shut the laptop, panic rising in my chest. But I knew it wouldn’t do any good. They were already here, already inside my mind. I could feel them.

It wasn’t long before the encounters started to get… physical.

I woke up in the middle of the night, unable to breathe, my chest constricted as if something was pressing down on me. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The room was suffocatingly still, but the air felt thick with something cold and unnatural.

And then I heard it.

A whisper.

It was barely audible at first, but it came from the corner of the room, just behind me. My heart raced as I strained to hear it. The voice was faint but unmistakable. It sounded familiar, like someone I had once known, but the words were distorted, twisted.

“Sam… remember us…”

The voice was closer now. It was almost as if the whisper was in my ear, hot breath against my skin.

I spun around, but the room was empty. No one was there.

Except the shadows.

They were different now. They moved, twisting and shifting, as if something was hiding within them. I watched in horror as the shadows seemed to stretch toward me, dark figures rising from the floor, creeping closer and closer.

In the corner of my vision, I saw a face—familiar, but wrong. The eyes were hollow, sunken, as if it had been staring at me for a long time. I couldn’t look away. My body was frozen in place, unable to move as the figure seemed to approach, its mouth forming a silent scream.

Suddenly, I was jolted awake, my heart pounding in my chest, the sweat dripping down my face. I was back in my bed. The room was still. Silent. The shadows were gone.

But I knew. I knew they were still there.

The next few days were a blur. I couldn’t focus on anything. Work felt like a distant memory, and I was too consumed with the constant feeling of being watched. Every corner I turned, every mirror I looked into, there they were—those eyes, staring back at me, hollow and empty.

It was happening. The memories were coming back. Slowly, but surely, they were returning. Faces I couldn’t place. Voices I couldn’t identify. The shadows were growing stronger, their presence invading every moment of my life.

I couldn’t escape it. The forum, the shadows, the whispers—they were all I could think about. And the more I remembered, the stronger they became.

One night, I finally gave in. I logged into The Forgotten Ones again. This time, I didn’t hesitate.

The message waiting for me was chilling.

“You’ve remembered, Sam. You’ve opened the door. We’re here. We’re with you now.”

I stared at the screen in disbelief. The words were like a weight on my chest, suffocating me. And then, the screen flickered.

And I saw it.

A face.

It was my face, but not. The eyes were hollow, the skin stretched too tight. The figure on the screen grinned at me, and for a moment, it felt like it was reaching out of the screen, toward me.

I screamed. But no sound came out.

I turned away from the laptop, my breath catching in my throat. The shadows were closing in around me now. I could feel them, pressing in from all sides. They were here.

And then I heard it, loud and clear, echoing through the room.

“Sam… it’s time to remember. It’s time to join us.”

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. The shadows had consumed me, had taken me. I was lost in them… Now, a part of them.

I closed my eyes, and I remembered.

I was the kind of teenager who couldn’t keep a finger from the edge of a flame. If it was dark, hidden, or cursed, I’d hunt it down just to see what was lurking. I thought I was invincible—until I wasn’t. That all changed my junior year in high school. It’s a night that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life.

One Saturday night, I was lazily scrolling through a site I won’t mention here. It had a forum about the dark web. I’d never been on the dark web before, but reading the simple instructions made me chuckle. It was shockingly easy. I figured, “Why not?” It’d be something to brag about at school. So, I followed the steps (steps I won’t list here for your safety) and soon found myself staring into the hidden parts of the internet.

It was pretty boring at first. The documented sites were underwhelming—lots of cryptic jargon, but nothing mind-blowing. I expected much worse. Most of the URLs were just a random mix of letters and numbers, like someone had smashed their keyboard. It made sense, though—the real dark stuff probably stayed hidden. Feeling mischievous, I typed in a string of random letters and hit “Enter.” To my surprise, a page opened.

It was stark, with a crude drawing of a hangman’s gallows in the center. Beside it was a chat box, which instantly blinked with a message: “Hello!”

I scoffed. This had to be some automated bot, right? I replied, “Wussup?” and leaned back in my chair. The response was immediate: “Not much. Pretty bored TBH. Want to play Hangman?”

“Like the children’s game?” I typed back, grinning at the screen.

“It can be for grown-ups too!!! :(” it replied, as though insulted. I laughed, entertained by the absurdity. I agreed to play, and the screen filled with smiley faces. Then it asked a strange question: “Who is your best friend???”

I was taken aback, but I answered jokingly, “You, silly!”

“Noooooo. Seriously. Who’s your best friend in the whole world???” it insisted.

I hesitated, but for some reason, maybe out of arrogance or just plain stupidity, I typed, “My mom.”

The response appeared instantly. “<3 That’s sweet! Alright, let’s PLAYYYYY.”

The page reloaded, and the hangman’s gallows shifted to the center. Blank dashes appeared below the gallows, spelling out a long phrase:

`-- --- ---- ---- ------ ---- -- -----, --- ----- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---.`

“Good luck!!!” the chat box blinked at me. I shrugged. Easy enough. I typed in the vowels, and letters began filling in:

`I- -OU -A-E -O-- E-OU-- I--O A- A----, --E A---- -I-- -A-E I--O -OU.`

My curiosity kicked in, and I wondered what would happen if I guessed wrong. I typed “Q,” figuring it was a safe bet.

Instantly, a head appeared on the gallows. But this wasn’t some cartoon head. It was disturbingly detailed, the face twisted in a silent scream. My stomach dropped. The chat erupted with messages:

> “LOL!!!!”

> “Nice one, loser!”

Sweat prickled on my forehead. I couldn’t explain it, but I had the sudden urge to finish the game fast. I typed “B,” and it populated correctly:

`I- -OU -A-E -O-- E-OU-- I--O A- AB---, --E AB--- -I-- -A-E I--O -OU.`

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. This was ridiculous, but my heart was racing. I hit “C” and watched, horrified, as a torso appeared, covered in scratches that looked almost… real. I could swear I saw the faintest hint of movement.

The chat blinked again: “NOT SO EZ HUH???”

A surge of frustration pushed me to try “D.” An arm appeared next, desperately reaching for the noose around its neck, fingers outstretched as if trying to claw away its fate.

I was beginning to panic. I punched in “E,” only to see another message:

> “Reusing a letter counts as a wrong guess!!”

The other arm appeared, also reaching in desperation. I was almost out of guesses.

I typed “F,” “G,” and “H,” watching as each correct letter populated the phrase:

`IF -OU GA-E -O-G E-OUGH I--O A- AB---, -HE AB--- -I-- GA-E I--O YOU.`

One guess left. I was terrified to enter the next letter, afraid of what might happen if I lost. I forced myself to think, to solve the puzzle. Left to right, figure it out, I urged myself.

The next word clicked: “YOU.” I typed “Y.”

`IF YOU GA-E -O-G E-OUGH I--O A- ABY--, -HE ABY-- -I-- GA-E I--O YOU.`

I was close. My fingers hovered, and I typed in “V” for “GAVE.”

As soon as I hit enter, the figure on the gallows completed. He dangled lifelessly, the blue face and bulging red eyes staring out at me, frozen in a final, silent scream.

The chat filled with laughter: “LOL,” “EZ,” “Good game!”

I punched the keys angrily: “SHUT UP.”

The screen went dark for a second. Then, a final message appeared:

> “Sore loser :( Want to play again??? Just tell me your 2nd best friend!”

“What the hell…” I typed quickly. “Why?”

> “Cause u lost the first game! duh!”

I moved my mouse to close the browser, my stomach churning, but just as I did, a last message appeared:

> “Go check on ur mum ;) GG EZ!”

I froze. Did it know I was closing the page?

The room suddenly felt suffocating. I stood, shaking off the fear. “It’s just a creepy bot,” I muttered, “just some sick joke.”

I walked down the hall toward the kitchen. As I passed my mother’s room, her door was slightly ajar. I was about to keep going when I heard a faint creak inside. Peering through the crack, I felt the blood drain from my face.

She hung there, her face twisted in a grotesque mirror of the one on the screen.

Her death was ruled a suicide. I never told anyone about the hangman game. What could I even say? At her visitation, I stood by her casket, my insides twisted with guilt. This was my fault. I killed her. The red line across her neck was barely visible beneath the makeup, but I could still see it, clear as the letters in the phrase I had lost.

As I turned to walk away, something in the corner of the room caught my eye. It was a flower arrangement, tucked in the shadows as though hidden away. There was a small card attached.

My hands trembled as I read the message: *If you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze into you.* A small smiley face was drawn beside it.

Without thinking, I tore the flowers down, crushing them beneath my feet as I began to scream. People stared, horrified, as I fell apart there on the floor.

I gave up my old habits after that. Deleted all my social media, avoided every website that once thrilled me. Now, I warn anyone who will listen: don’t follow curiosity down dark rabbit holes. Because sometimes, the dark finds you first.

Word peace is not good for the world and will only destroy it. For things to evolve we must stray away from peace and a bit of war and destruction can do some greater good. We are loving in the most peaceful times that the human race has ever experienced, this cannot carry on. Peace has it own negativities and its own down sides. There was one town which had experienced a long term peace and through out the generations, it's town residents became weak and dumb. There hasn't been much evolution and things become too normal and numb.

World peace is also a killer of jobs and services as they will not be needed anymore. The most tragic aspect of world peace is that human beings will start losing their instincts and humanly shape. We adapted to stand on two feet as there was no world peace and it made it easier to hunt or run. As humans start to lose their instincts and humanly bodily functions due to world peace, they also start to turn into something else. This town has experienced long periods of peace and we must go in there and check out the damage. It's not good to have long periods of peace.

As we stepped into this town everyone had literally effectively turned into dolls. They have turned into smiling dolls that sometimes wave. They had lost their humanly functions and bodily shape so much, that they look like dolls now. They just stand or sit where ever they can find space. They wave a lot and just smile and they look do warped. This is one of the effects of long term world peace. We pick the dolls up and round them up into vans and they don't fight back anymore. They have no sense of urgency or care anymore.

We started to lit the town on fire and release aggressive dogs into the town. Some of the doll like manifestations turned back into human as they screamed in pain. Majority of these doll manifestations just stood there and smiled. They had lost their instincts to scream. Our job is to be the aggressors, the villains, the dictators and we must keep peace at bay. Some level of peace is fine but too much of it is bad. It's just like anything in life, too much of one things will eventually become bad for you.

Then as I went into the office and hang up my uniform, I get a word from my boss. There is too much peace in my own home....

My wife and I had been married for about forty-four years, when she passed. We were each other's closest friends and were basically inseparable. The four-year anniversary of her death is coming up, and I have gone to visit her every morning since her funeral.

But I am afraid today may be my last day visiting.

When I showed up this morning, I noticed something. Just under her name inscribed in stone, was now my name, scratched into the stone with tomorrow's date just below it.

Facebook, like always, was a mix of family updates, memes, and random rants. My cousin Darren had his usual complaint about a restaurant charging a 10% service fee. He posted a photo of the receipt showing he left no tip, proudly bragging about how the service charge was enough. His buddies, a group of meatheads, piled on with praise, showering him with likes for his “rebellion” against the system. I scrolled past, shaking my head. Same old Darren.

Uncle Mark was at it too, arguing over pineapple on pizza like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. I didn’t even bother to comment. It felt like every conversation in my feed was growing more irrelevant, more exhausting.

But then I started noticing something else—the AI art. It began with surreal landscapes, otherworldly and strangely beautiful. But soon, portraits started filling up my feed. Faces that didn’t seem quite real—too perfect, too smooth. The lighting was always off, and the eyes… they never blinked. They stared through me, not at me, in a way that made me uncomfortable.

It seemed harmless at first, just another trend. But the more I saw it, the more unsettling it became. These images felt like they were missing something essential—something human. And that’s when I saw the first set of extra fingers—not on the faces, but on the hands. At first, I thought it was a glitch, a simple mistake. But the more I looked, the more I saw it—six fingers instead of five. Hands that looked too perfect, too flawless, like they had been designed that way, but wrong. It wasn’t just a freak accident. It was something intentional.

I try to brush it off. Maybe it’s just a fluke, some glitch in the system. But then, the faces don’t stay in my feed. They start popping up in other places—real places.

I’m walking down the street, lost in thought, when I glance up at a billboard for a new skincare brand. And there she is—her face, smiling down at me. It’s her. The woman from the AI art. The same unnervingly perfect face, the same eyes that don’t seem to blink, the same strange coldness. But now, her features have shifted slightly. Her smile is too wide, her eyes too bright, too alive. And then, I see it. Her hand. On the ad, it’s holding a product, but there are six fingers on her hand. I blink, rub my eyes, and when I look back, the image is perfectly normal. The hand looks like it’s supposed to be there. The fingers are fine, no extra digits. But I can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right.

I try to move on, but it follows me. Later that day, I pass a bus stop. Another face. This time, it’s a man—his expression too perfect, his smile too wide, and then I see it: the hand. This time, it’s not just the six fingers, but the hand itself is too smooth, too flawless. No creases, no wrinkles, like it was sculpted from marble. The fingers stretch unnaturally long, the extra one curling perfectly, like it was made that way. I can feel a chill run down my spine.

The faces are everywhere now. Not just on Facebook. I can’t escape them. They’re in the ads, on posters, and in the streets. The six-fingered hands are following me, showing up in the most random places, reminding me that I can’t look away. But I try to convince myself it’s just my mind playing tricks. Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m just stressed.

Then, it happens.

I’m on the tram, zoning out, scrolling through my phone again, scrolling through more of the same AI art. More faces. More images. But then I look up and stop. The person sitting across from me—I can’t look away.

They’re not just any person. Their face is too symmetrical, too perfect. The skin is unnaturally smooth, and the eyes—they aren’t just big or wide; they’re too wide. Unnaturally so. It isn’t like a person trying to look surprised or exaggerated in expression. No, these eyes are almost like they were generated, something no human could naturally possess. They stare back at me with a cold, calculating intensity.

But what really freaks me out? Their hands. They’re gripping the pole with five fingers, but as they tighten their hold, I see the sixth finger—just like the AI art I had been seeing online. It isn’t a deformity, a rare condition, or a trick of the light. This isn’t an anomaly. The sixth finger isn’t just a mistake. It’s perfectly formed—a fully functional, fleshy, human-looking finger, but out of place. Too wrong. Too impossible. The skin of the hand seems unnaturally smooth, with no creases or lines—like it had been sculpted or designed.

But there’s more. The person’s mouth—something is wrong with it. It’s like it doesn’t belong. It’s too wide, the lips a little too full, stretching in a way that makes the face look like it’s trying too hard to be real, but missing that crucial human flaw. The face has that same uncanny perfection I’ve seen in the AI art, but it’s here, in front of me, like a glitch in the real world.

I blink, trying to focus on something else. But I can’t tear my eyes away. I watch as this unnatural person stares at me, unblinking, unmoving. Their eyes aren’t just looking at me—they’re penetrating me. It feels like they’re pulling something from me, draining me in a way I can’t explain.

Before I can react, the tram jerks to a stop, and the figure stands up. The sixth finger scrapes the pole with a chilling sound, then they walk off. I can’t breathe. My head is spinning. I have to look away, but all I can see are those cold, empty eyes, still burning into me from behind my eyelids.

I can’t take it anymore. I need something to calm me down. I get off the tram, my hands shaking, my pulse racing. I can’t even think straight. I stop at the bottle shop, desperate for something to quiet the storm inside my head. The door chimes as I enter, and I make my way toward the spirits section.

I grab a bottle of vodka, something simple, something familiar. I don’t care about the brand. I just need something to numb the panic I can’t shake. My hands are still trembling as I approach the counter, my breath shallow.

The cashier, a tall man with sharp features, looks up at me as I place the bottle on the counter. For a second, I think I see something in his eyes—a flicker of recognition? Something cold, distant, almost unnatural. Then he smiles, but it’s not a friendly smile. It’s too wide, like the smile of the faces in the AI art.

His gaze lingers for a moment longer than it should, and my heart skips a beat. He leans in slightly and says, in a low, almost whispering voice, "Careful, mate... once you see them, you can’t escape."

I freeze. I swear I hear his voice shift, like it’s not quite his own. The words feel wrong. I try to laugh it off, thinking maybe he’s just being weird, but something about the way he says it, the way his eyes lock onto mine, chills me to the core. His smile never wavers, but his eyes—they’re not just eyes. They feel like they’ve been generated.

I don’t know what to say. I grab the bottle, muttering a quick thanks, and rush out of the shop. My hands are shaking, my heart hammering. I’m not even sure if I believe in what just happened. But something’s wrong. I feel like I’m being pulled into something—something I can’t stop.

When I finally get home, I try to put it all out of my mind. I drink a few shots, but the panic doesn’t subside. The faces are back. The six-fingered hands, the eyes, they’re everywhere. More images, more posts, more notifications. It’s like they’re haunting me, seared into my thoughts, never letting me go.

And then it happens again.

That night, I’m lying in bed, in the dark, my mind racing. I can’t shake the feeling that something’s coming. I check my phone one last time. And there it is. The face again, the one I saw on the tram. But this time, it’s not a photo. It’s standing in my bedroom. At the foot of my bed.

The six-fingered hand reaches out toward me. I try to scream, but no sound escapes my mouth. I can’t move. The face leans in closer, and I feel it—it’s draining me. Not just my breath. Not just my body. It’s pulling something deeper. My soul.

The phone buzzes. I glance down at it, and I see a notification from Facebook, clear as day.

"You wouldn’t look away, now there's nothing left inside you.”

The next morning, I wake up to an empty room. The faces are gone. My phone is silent. But something’s wrong. I don’t feel like me anymore. When I look in the mirror, cold, lifeless eyes stare back—straight into my soul—or what’s left of it, anyway.

When you see those perfect, symmetrical faces, those eerily perfect eyes, the six fingers that shouldn’t be there—don’t look too long. Don’t stare too hard. Because once you do, they’ll notice you. And once they see you, you’ll never be able to forget them.

And they won't ever forget you, either.

Part I: https://www.reddit.com/r/creepypasta/comments/1gg9ts6/the_volkovs_part_i/

The following morning the pair of us met up before our first class in the school courtyard.

Eldid was quick to make an appearance as everyone witnessed us cuddling up to one another and laughing together. His face darkened when he saw me. 

‘Tristrian,’ he said curtly. 

‘Nice to see you too,’ I told him. 

He looked like he was going to make a snide remark, but Desdemona cut in first. ‘Screw you, Eldid,’ she snapped. ‘Tristrian is off limits. Remember?’

‘Sister, please,’ he said with a meaningful look between her and me.

‘You have a lot of brazenness speaking to me after what you did,’ she accused. ‘What you wouldn’t even admit to!’ 

Desdemona turned to me. She took my hands and then encircled her arms around my neck. She kissed me.

‘Come on, kiss me back,’ she whispered, pulling away a little bit. And I did. 

As we parted, she met Eldid’s stare. Eldid said nothing. Dionysia, who’d just joined him, took him by the arm and led him away wordlessly. 

A surprising number of students took note of the exchange. This included some of my friends, who approached me as Eldid and Dionysia left. 

Enid clapped her hands together and gave me a big smile. ‘I’m so glad to see you back together again!’ she cried. 

Ronnie shared his enthusiasm. ‘I get the feeling everyone is going to be whispering about you for a while. Again.’ He looked like he wanted to say more but right then the bell rang and the surrounding students began to disperse off across the courtyard.

Desdemona ultimately succeeded in exposing what Dionysia and Eldid had tried with me, as she explained during a warm evening meander through the Italian Plaza.  

‘Esther would likely have figured the truth herself in short order. She knew the two of them were hiding something,’ she explained.

‘You know what infuriates me though? Esther was mad about them for being stupid and careless. She hardly cared about the possibility of you being killed, or Nailah either. She was disappointed in them for their disobedience.’ 

‘She approves of my relationship with you about as much as they do. I actually wonder if Desdemona tried what she did partly to please our mother. It just sucks.’

She sighed as I massaged her back. ‘I guess at least she is mad at them. She’s as angry as I’ve ever seen her. Dionysia and Eldid are going to have a hard time winning back her affection. You should try to stay away from them, though.’ 

Her eyes darkened. ‘I wish there was some way for me to… Make them understand the awfulness of what they tried. They shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this!’

I didn’t think it was a good idea for Desdermona to lash out at her siblings. I expressed my concern to her and found her unreceptive. Whatever she was planning to do, she’d already made up her mind about it. 

‘Whatever you do, please be careful,’ I asked. ‘Promise me.’ 

She did. She sounded somewhat earnest. I worried for her, but I knew there wasn’t much I could do. Desdemona had made it clear more than once I wasn’t to interfere with her handling of family matters. 

With her being more open about everything, I managed to get Desdemona to explain how the supernatural side of things worked for the Volkovs.

‘My family made a pact with a demon called Cambion well over a thousand years ago. That part you know. It is why we’re so powerful,’ she continued. ‘And beautiful, and lucky, and strong and all the rest. It's all part of the blessing he provides us with.’

‘Each of us lives well over a century - though some longer than others. Normann? I believe he’s over two hundred years old. My mother, too. They don’t like sharing their real ages to me. In fact, they won’t speak of their lives at all past a couple decades ago.’

‘What about the patriarch? How old is he?’ I wanted to know. 

‘Um - I’d guess at least twice my mothers age.’ ‘

Four hundred years old?’ I repeated. ‘Wow.’ 

‘As we grow older we grow more powerful. We do age and die - some of us more quickly than others. It depends on how frequently and fervently we worship Cambion, and how much he personally favors us. The Patriarch tends to live the longest.’

Desdemona admitted she didn’t like the sound of living so much longer than everyone else. 

‘I want to be normal, like everyone else,’ she complained. ‘And I know I’m never going to have a shot at a normal life if I go on living twice as long as everyone else does.’

Her words made me hopeful. They provided me with something I could use to persuade her to free herself her curse. 

‘Tristrian. Can we talk?’ 

I froze. I was sitting outside a coffee shop in the Italian Quarter, enjoying the afternoon sun while I deliberated over an English assignment on my laptop. Emily had wanted to meet me to speak about something important which she wouldn’t discuss over the phone. 

‘I told you I suspected the Volkovs were involved in John’s death. And how I believe Normann was the one responsible for what happened.’ 

I shut my laptop quietly, turning my full attention to her. 

‘Ian was involved too. As it turns out, he played a part in our father’s murder and then helped cover it up.

I felt my hands tighten on the table. ‘He did what?’ 

‘I didn’t want to believe it,’ she continued. ‘I’ve tried to find any evidence to prove the theory wrong. The more I looked, the more proof I found I was right, until there was no doubting it. 

She paused to tap a couple of times swiftly on her phone, then held it out to me. 

On the screen I saw an email. The name of the sender was a jumble of letters and numbers. The receiver I couldn’t identify.

‘I hacked into Ian’s mail account,’ she said without preamble. ‘Which is what you’re looking at right now.’

When I eyed her disapprovingly, she pushed the phone into my hands and instructed, ‘just read it, okay?’

The email was short and to the point:

I've made it easy. You make sure he is at the right place at the right time. Check the back door is unlocked and the alarm is switched off. Then give the call to my friends and they’ll take care of the rest. Got it?

By the way,

I’m not going to ask you nicely again. 

‘He’s worked his way into Normann’s circle of elitist friends,’ Emily explained. Her words were blunt and to the point. ‘He may have started as a reluctant accomplice, but the money Normann offered him got to his 

head. Now he does whatever Normann wants.  They seem to have a good relationship.’

Our uncle had promised a better future for us in Avalon. He recommended Emily to the prestigious Samara University and offered her enough money to provide for her for the next couple years. For me the deal was similar. A nice school, a fresh start. He promised to support me financially with whatever education I desired after I graduated.  

Ian was a withdrawn person, quiet and always busy with work. He respected my personal space and most of the time he let me do whatever I wanted. I can’t say I was very close to him, but besides Emily, he was the only real family I had left. 

After John’s murder, our uncle had changed. I sometimes wondered if he felt somehow responsible for our father’s death because of how reluctant he was to discuss anything about John after his passing.

‘Are you sure about this?’ I asked. 

She replied immediately. ‘I am. I’ll show you the other evidence if you want.’ 

The other evidence was a bit to sift through. It included more communications between Normann and Ian, further proof tying these interactions back to Ian, and some conversations with someone else where Ian said some pretty awful and threatening things about my father. 

Put together, the evidence was convincing enough for me. I didn’t want to believe Emily, but what I saw was undeniable.

‘He’s caught up in whatever Normann is planning. As a key player or a pawn in his schemes? I don't know.’ 

‘What is it you are going to do once you find proof?’ I asked uneasily. ‘You’ll take it to the police, right?’

‘He will get what he deserves. I promise,’ Emily assured me. 

‘But he’s not the only one who has to pay,’ she continued swiftly. ‘The Volkovs are all evil. The world is a darker place with them in it. I intend to see their empire destroyed - every business they’ve built in this town and everything of value to them.’

I shifted on the chair uncomfortably. 

‘They’ll all suffer,’ Emily emphasized. ‘Him and Normann and the rest of them. Imurela is going to make sure of it.’

‘You’re fine with working for him now?’ I asked. 

She threw up her hands. ‘No! I hate working for him. But I don’t have a choice. And don’t tell me you wouldn’t wish to see Ian and Normann face retribution for what they did to John.’

I sighed. 

‘What does the Goatman want you to do? Is he using you to hurt people?’ I asked her.

She looked down unwillingly. ‘I can’t tell anyone that. He’s sworn me to secrecy.’

‘Emily -’ 

‘He promised me once the Volkovs are dealt with, our deal is over and me and you can both leave this town forever. We’ll start a new life somewhere else. All of this will be just another bad memory.’

She took one of my hands in hers and squeezed it tightly. ‘All you have to do for now is keep this a secret.’ 

We both fell silent for a while. Emily looked tired and a little scared. The more I examined her, the more her appearance perturbed me. 

‘Emily, please don’t hurt her.’

She didn’t have to ask who I was referring to. 

‘You should stay away from her,’ she told me.

‘That’s not going to happen,’ I said. 

Emily threw up her hands. ‘How can you stick by her when you know what her family has done? 

I don’t know what’s wrong with you!’

‘She’s just a kid.’

Her gaze made me tense. ‘Given the deal they’ve made they’re hardly people anymore, are they?’ She asked cuttingly. ‘Besides, you have no idea what she’s done for them.’ She added, ‘You know, I suspect she’s been helping Esther gather dirt on people she can use to exploit them.’ 

‘I know Esther has questionable ways of doing business with people. I also know Desdemona doesn’t like or agree with her mother’s actions. She would never do that,’ I told her.

‘I bet she would.’

‘But you don’t know, do you? You don’t know if she’s actually done anything?’

She sighed begrudgingly.

‘Come on. Just give her a chance,’ I pleaded. 

‘No. She’s one of them,’ Emily repeated stubbornly. 

‘I won’t let you hurt her.’ 

‘You can’t stop me.’ She clasped her hands together on the table. ‘Are you afraid I’ll uncover something about her, something she’s done?’ She leaned forward. ‘If I do, and I expect I will, she’ll pay for her sins with the rest of them.’ 

‘You’re getting good,’ Desdemona spoke breathlessly. It was one late afternoon and we were practicing fencing at the school gym. We were one of a number of regulars who sought to hone their skill to a more competitive level. 

It was one of the fights I thought I’d won. I let her lunge in on and force me toward the back of the miniature piste. In between two of her wild cuts I saw an opening and jumped forward to jab her in her chest. 

I pointed the saber at her, pressing it slightly into her torso. 

‘I win,’ I said, and playfully asked, ‘do you surrender?’ 

With her characteristic lightning quickness she danced out of the way of the blade. Then she turned my saber to the side with her own while dashing forward. 

The sword fell out of my hand. I looked down at it stupidly, and Desdemona pointed her saber at me.  

‘Ow. That was unfair,’ I said as I rubbed my wrist. 

‘We fight dirty,’ Desdemona replied. ‘If you’re ever going to be part of my family, you must always remember that.’

Desdemona put her saber down and came over to me. She winced as she plucked up my hand and examined it. ‘Sorry, that was a little too rough, I think. Are you okay?’ 

I repeated her words to myself silently, my annoyance melting away.

Part of her family. I loved the sound of that more than I could say.

Chapter 5

The forest floor beneath her feet should've hurt, thought Jessica as she almost ran through the dark trees. "It must be the adrenaline," she thought. Currently, she was running from an unknown figure that had appeared out of nowhere. It was dark, the mist was thick. She could hear the strange cries coming from the looming figure that was always just out of eyesight. The branches whipping her face barely registered. Her screams for her friends seemed to go nowhere. Where were they? Why wasn't anyone helping? The moment she stopped to catch her breath, something struck her left shoulder. She spun to the ground and tried to retreat on all fours. She was struck again in the same spot. Her screams came out meek and useless. She was alone. Shaking and panicking combined to dominate her senses, but suddenly, all was still. She didn't know why the tormenting had stopped. But the figure climbing out of the fog and the trees before her seemed to have something to do with it. She wanted to run, but her body just wouldn't respond. She wanted to cry, but only a whimper escaped. Paralyzing fear was all she had as her eyes focused on the approaching shadow. For a brief moment, recognition flooded her mind, and sadness took the place of her terror... "Dad?" She was suddenly standing in front of campfire coals whose smoke was tickling her nose. A firm hand was shaking her by her left shoulder. "Oohhh no, what did I do?" Was her groggy response to James's firm attempt to wake her from her sleepwalking. "I'm so sorry! I'm so -" James cut her off and pulled her close. "No, it's okay, you didn't do anything. You're fine, you're fine." She relented and finally began to cry. As much from the relief that her nightmare wasn't real as her embarrassment at what had happened. Jessica had worked for years to get control of her emotions, and thus, her night terrors and sleep walking. Even though her friends all knew about some of it, she could never bring herself to tell them the full truth of it. God willing, she never would. When Jessica was 12, she lost her father. That was why her mom and her moved across the country. That was why Jess was in therapy. That was all anyone needed to know. "Hey, c'mon, lay back down." James was gentle and comforting as he guided her back to the tent. She wanted to feel mortified, but all she could feel was James's comforting grip. "Thank you, I've been so good lately. I'm embarrassed, but I'm glad you were here." James quickly fixed the bed and guided her into it. "Could you maybe just hold me for a while until I fall asleep?" She was too tired to care or be embarrassed anymore. She just wanted to feel safe. James just smiled and nodded as he pulled his sleeping gear next to her and quietly took the big spoon position. The two were soon asleep, this time with no bad dreams. While the coals gave up their last bit of life, and the darkness outside grew deeper still as the moon disappeared below the horizon, the thing that drew them all hear watched patiently from the edge of the trees.

Chapter 6

"So!? Are you gonna tell me, or am I gonna have to drag it out of you?" MacKenzie was as impatient as ever after last night's events. "There nothing to tell, really. He was sweet, and he did exactly what I asked him to." Mac was quick to give her the third degree. "And what EXACTLY did you ask him to do?" The accusation was clear. MacKenzie was surprisingly traditional about these things. She wanted them to finally admit their feelings more than anyone. She just didn't want them to make any stupid decisions in the process, unlike most of the people their age. Jess tried to turn on her to get the spotlight off. "What about you and Ky!? Sharing a tent? I heard you two giggling. Explain yourself!" MacKenzie rolled her eyes. "C'mon, you know the answer. We only kissed and cuddled. Standard procedure." MacKenzie was dead serious about waiting and to his credit, Ky didn't seem to mind. "Well, that makes two of us." They continued walking, and Jess relented a little. "I had another episode." She let it hang in the air for a moment, Mac just nodded knowingly. "I can't even tell you what caused it, but he handled it amazingly. He was so gentle. And I felt like I could be honest with him. For the first time that I can remember, I wasn't embarrassed after. He just held me, and there were no more bad dreams." MacKenzie's low squeal of joy was cut off by Kylar jogging back to update them on the trail ahead. "Hey ladies, how we doing?" His enthusiasm was palpable. He didn't even notice the smiles or the looks they were exchanging. "Right, we're over halfway to our next stop on the tour..." He smiled like he could barely hide a secret. "This will be the most interesting one, I think." Before they could ask a follow-up question, Kylar just nodded and mumbled under his breath, something about "so cool" before jogging ahead again to catch up with James. This stop was about a teacher who had gone missing when they were kids. He had been suspected of killing a little girl whom the boys had known. It was a huge deal in the town at the time. The three of them ( MacKenzie, James, and Kylar) were around 9, and it happened at a park close to James's house. The teacher, Mr. Lawrence was probably the most famous of the missing people for the boys and MacKenzie. They had known him after all. They all knew the girl too, Sarah-Beth Johnson. She was a kind and outgoing girl who always seemed happy. MacKenzie, James, and Kylar had all known Sarah-Beth to some degree. Only Kylar really knew Mr. Lawrence before. In fact, he was the one who got Ky interested in the disappearance mysteries and the mist in the first place. He was doing research on it for a paper when the Johnson girl was found. When Kylar heard that he'd eventually become a victim of the fog, he knew he needed to know more. No one could figure out why Mr. Lawrence had done it. He was the nicest, most thoughtful teacher that the school had to offer. The only reason he was initially suspected was because the poor girl was so violently strangled, and Mr. Lawrence was the only unmarried man, with no alibi who lived alone and was within walking distance of the playground where she was found. It wasn't long before the whole town nearly lynched the man, and he lost everything. He sold his house, his life insurance policy, and cashed in his 401k, all to pay for his attorney's fees, supposedly. He was living in his car and camping a lot to save money while he fought the murder charge. "One day, he decided to set up camp on one of these trails... the very trail we're on now, in fact." Jessica was fascinated with Ky's knowledge and his personal connection to the case. "Wait, so why did he come all the way up here?" She asked between breaths. "At the time, everyone in the town assumed he was guilty. He couldn't get any rest or even avoid being attacked if he stayed where there were a lot of people. So, constantly changing locations seemed to work best." Kylar's voice sounded kind of sad on that last point. It was obvious he didn't feel the way everyone else did. MacKenzie was unusually quiet, and James seemed un phased by it all. "The really crazy part, though? I haven't even told you yet." This peaked Jess's interest. "He was wearing an ankle monitor when he went missing. You know, like one of those house-arrest kind? It was a condition of his bail." If she weren't out of breath, Jessica would've had a million questions in response. She didn't love scary, but she really enjoyed a good mystery... and this was definitely a good one. "We're taking a break... I've got a... bazillion questions!"

I had many secrets which only I knew and no one else. Some were personal and others had been told to me in confidentiality. There are times though where I want to say something but I hold my tongue. Then one day I walk past a forest and they look so trustworthy. I thought to myself that maybe I could tell my secret to the trees. I know it sounds silly but just the act of saying something will be enough to me, and trees won't say anything to anyone. Trees cannot talk to humans and so I thought I was safe.

I remember going to the first tree and it was all silent and lonely. I told my first secret to a tree and I told the tree about how I use to get covered in purple rabbit puke. There was a time when I was a child where the rabbit were puking this weird purple like substance. As children a group of us use to allow these rabbits to puke on all of us. It didn't smell or feel like puke at all, but it came out of their mouths. Then because of the purple puke substance that came out of rabbit mouths, and we would start floating in the air.

Then I started floating down as i didn't have enough of the purple puke on me. I got this urge to do something and I don't know why I did it. I went and got a hook and I stabbed the feets of the other floating children, and I anchored them down to the ground. The purple puke then got into their system through the wound and that's when things got even more weird. Their internal organs started to come out of their bodies and started floating around the air.

Even their eye balls started to come out of their bodies and it started to float in the air. That's when I started to freak out, and i don't know why I wanted to anchor them down with a fish hook connected to their feet, it was just an urge. I thought that it would have looked awesome really but I highly regretted it.

Then when the purple rabbit puke wore off, it was just dead bodies all over the ground. It felt great telling this to the tree. Then a couple of days later a guy started following me and he started to harass about the secret that I told the tree.

How could he know as I only told the tree? But he kept harassing me about it. Then he told and he said "we are the children who you anchored down to the ground and trees gave us a home. Trees can talk to each other"

They must have fused together to make one body, they want to get revenge.

I wasn’t thrilled about going to Matt's lake house at first. Sure, it was beautiful—big glass windows that looked out over the dark water, wooden floors that creaked just right, and that kind of secluded, eerie quiet you only find deep in the woods. But after the year I’d had, a weekend with friends was just what I needed. So when Matt sent out the group text about a weekend away, I forced myself to say yes.

We arrived just as the sun was starting to set, casting an orange glow across the lake. I could tell everyone was happy to be there—Matt was already hauling firewood, Emily was unloading snacks, and Josh cracked open the first of many beers. The air was heavy with pine and lake water, and for a moment, I felt glad I'd come.

That night, after dinner, we settled around the fire pit out back. The sky was moonless, and the only light came from the flames and the occasional flicker of a flashlight someone would use to find their drink or shift their seat.

Then Matt started telling the story.

"I don’t tell many people this," he said, his face half-lit by the fire. "But something happened here a long time ago. A kid went missing. My parents bought this house from an old couple who said they used to hear voices coming from the lake. My dad thought it was just the wind, but sometimes…" He trailed off, watching our reactions.

"Sometimes what?" Emily prompted, clearly spooked already.

Matt lowered his voice. "Sometimes, if you’re alone outside, you can hear it too."

We all laughed, but I could tell he wasn't kidding. I didn’t believe in ghost stories, but that lake, surrounded by pitch-black woods, suddenly felt a little more intimidating.

The night wore on, and eventually, everyone started drifting off to bed. I was staying in the smallest room on the second floor, with one small window that looked out over the lake. As I got ready for bed, I felt uneasy. There was something about that still, dark water that I couldn’t shake. I pulled the curtains closed and climbed into bed, trying to tell myself it was just Matt’s story getting to me.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up. The house was dead silent. No creaks, no wind, nothing. I glanced at my phone: 3:15 a.m. Then I noticed the curtains were open, and my heart dropped. I was sure I’d closed them.

As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I saw something out on the lake. It looked like a shadow—a figure standing in the water, just barely visible under the faint starlight. My pulse hammered as I watched it, willing it to be a trick of my imagination, but it just stood there, motionless, facing the house.

I don’t know how long I stared at it. A minute? Five? I finally forced myself to look away, telling myself it was nothing, a trick of light or some kind of tree reflection. I closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come.

Around dawn, I finally drifted off. I woke up later than everyone else and found them already downstairs, making breakfast. I hesitated before bringing it up, but eventually, I asked, “Did anyone see something…out on the lake last night?”

They exchanged glances, and Matt raised an eyebrow. “What kind of something?”

I tried to laugh it off. “Probably just a weird shadow.”

We spent the day swimming, hiking, and trying to enjoy the lake like we planned. But I couldn't shake the image of that shadow. And that night, I was on edge. I kept my curtains open this time, wanting to be sure there was nothing out there.

Somewhere around 3 a.m. again, I woke up. This time, I heard something. A soft sound, like footsteps on gravel, or someone shuffling through sand. My heart raced as I strained to listen. Then, the unmistakable sound of someone—or something—scraping at my window.

I sat up, barely breathing. I didn’t want to look, but I couldn’t help it. When I finally turned, there it was—the shadowy figure from the night before, standing right outside the window. It was closer this time, so close I could make out details. Dark, wet hair matted to its skull, empty, hollow eyes staring straight at me.

I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I just sat there, paralyzed, as it reached a hand up and dragged its fingernails slowly down the glass, making a sound that went straight through me.

Then, it turned and walked back to the lake, disappearing into the water.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, sunlight was streaming through the window. I was alone. I rushed downstairs, but no one believed me. They laughed it off, told me I’d just had a bad dream.

But when I looked outside, I saw something chilling. There, in the muddy ground beneath my window, were wet footprints leading up from the lake and back again.

The I‑70 Strangler is the nickname of an unidentified American serial killer who killed at least eleven young boys and adult men in Indiana and Ohio between June 1980 and October 1991, dumping their bodies near Interstate 70. The killer met his victims in popular gay bars and other similar establishments within a four-block radius in Indianapolis.

All of the victims were later found naked or partially clothed near Interstate 70, often dumped in rivers, streams and ditches in the rural countryside.

Each had been strangled to death. Though officially unsolved, a serial killer named Herb Baumeister was seen as the prime suspect in the case in April 1999 by law enforcement.

According to investigators, bodies related to the I‑70 Strangler case stopped being found in 1991 after Baumeister bought the Fox Hollow Farm, which he would use as a burial site for his subsequent victims.

But the case is not about the I‑70 Strangler. It is about the serial killer Herb Baumeister and the occurrances that took place in the Fox Hollow Farm, his house.

The oldest of four children, Herb Baumesiter was born on April 7, 1947. He was an American businessman and a serial killer, active in the 1980s and early 1990s. Baumeister’s childhood was generally normal until he stepped into puberty and adolescence.

One of the weird things related to him is that he had the rare disorder called urophilia. Urophila is a mental disorder in which the person will get sexually stimulated when he thinks of or comes into contact with urine (very strange, isn’t it?). Herb would often relish in thinking how it would be to taste human urine and urinate on the class teachers’ desks multiple times.

Apart from urophilia, he also had a fascination with dead animals. Walking to school one morning, he found a dead crow in the road and he picked it up and put it in his pocket. When he got to his classroom, he surreptiously slipped the crow onto the teacher’s desk when she wasn’t looking.

It’s not that his parents turned a blind eye to his strange behaviour. Frustrated and concerned, they had him submitted for mental examinations. The tests revealed that there was possibly a multi-personality issue and schizophrenic tendencies.

Unfortunately, he was left untreated which was probably the deadliest decision of the doctors and his parents. Then he continued to step into madness.

His fascination with dead animals developed into squeezing the animals, so he could feel their bones crushing from the power of his hands. The sensation aroused him.

In 1971, Herb and Julie married. What Julie didn’t know, and perhaps Herb wasn’t quite aware either, was that he had homosexual tendencies.

Herb had other tendencies too in regards to his mental health and Julie would soon find out about that. They had been married for six months when Herb’s father checked him into a psychiatric hospital and he spent two months there. Herb was suffering from deep depression and he would fly into unprovoked rages.

He started working a variety of jobs and did well, but his co-workers thought he was very bizarre. He lost a job working as a Program Director for the State Bureau of Motor Vehicles after he urinated on a letter addressed for the governor. After eight years of marriage, Julie and Herb decided to start a family.

Their first daughter, Marie, was born in 1979, followed by their son Erich who was born in 1981 and then their final child, another daughter named Emily was born in 1984.

The following year, 1985, the body of a seventeen-year-old man named Eric Roetiger was found in Indiana. It is believed that this is one of Herb’s first victims, so at some point previously he had started picking up men. Herb started having problems with the law.

He got arrested for a hit and run while he was intoxicated. Later, he was arrested for conspiracy to commit theft and he managed to beat the charge. Baumeister set his sights on starting his own business in 1988. He had worked at a thrift store for a time and he and Julie discussed opening one of their own. His father had recently died and Herb went to his mother to ask for a $350,000 loan to open a SAV-A-LOT Thrift store.

The store was wildly successful and Herb opened a second one in 1990. The body of twenty-six year old Steven Elliot was found shortly before this and this would be another possible victim of Herb. Despite clearly having some major issues, Herb was a good father.

He tried hard to make sure his kids grew up in a “Leave it to Beaver” type home. That was the kind of childhood that he had, so the family spent a lot of time together, almost cloistered.

The Baumeisters had few friends and we venture to think that was because Herb was odd in a bad way. The family had been successful with their three SAV-A-LOT stores, but their fortunes began to turn. Balancing the three stores and raising three kids was taking its toll. Herb was spending long hours away from work and no one knew what he was doing, but he would smell like alcohol when he returned.

Read full of part 1 - Serial Killer – Herb Baumeister: The Fox Hollow Farm (Part - 1)

George Clooney lmfao. I was going through People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" list with my fiancee, and as soon as we came across the picture of George Clooney I freaked out and yelled "THIS MAN!?" lmfao, it looks so insanely similar to him that I'm convinced the art for "This Man" was created with George Clooneys face. Does anyone have any further information on "This Man" and the creation / making of?

Whatever that thing is, I believe it just wants what you have, it wants to exist, but it has one major problem: it either does not have any identity or it is unaware of its own, therefore, it feels the need to assume yours. A typical freaking parasite.

It does not matter which medium it uses. It can strike anywhere, anytime and anyhow, therefore, to help you with awareness and prevention, here are some of the methods I have witnessed it use: a prepaid call or sms coming from your own number and on your own mobile phone or landline, a video or audio call or message or post coming from your own profile regardless of the social media application used (even this one), a call on the intercom of your own apartment, an email from your own email address, a letter mysteriously delivered at your address with your own name as the expeditor, and even mail pigeons landing near your windows with rolled papers around their necks. I believe that the last method, even though rare, proves the antiquity of that entity AND PLEASE, if you intend to upvote, downvote or comment on this post, verify and ensure that the poster is NOT your own username.

There is no concrete profile that can be established when it comes to its victims, as it does not discriminate between you or your 9 year old little brother or daughter with a cellphone or tablet. Once it targets you, it contacts you, and if it gets your response, you disappear within a certain amount of time, never to be seen again.

How do you know all that? You might be wondering. Look, I want you to know that I am not very proud of what I am about to reveal concerning myself. Know that out there, some people with tremendous financial means, influence and power, do not have your best interest at heart, if they have one that is. Unfortunately, I happened to work for them at some point in my life and witnessed the extent of cruelty they are willing to reach in the name of progress, so please understand that I cannot mention names. Among the many atrocities they managed to lay their hands on, is that entity they chose to name Kevin, a name it never responded to. Like I mentioned earlier, it seems to lack any identity of its own, and does not have any appearance whatsoever until it assumes the one of its most recent victim for a period of 34 minutes at most.

Since I never worked on the field, I have no idea how those evil people keep track of that thing, after deliberately releasing it out there for their 'research' purposes, but I chose to risk my safety if it can save at least one life, even just one. I made that decision the day I saw that report. There is one report of an analysis, video call hacked and included, that I will never erase from my mind.

On a Saturday afternoon, while at work, an innocent mom of two received a video call from 'herself' that she unfortunately picked up. The guys from the IT had hacked her phone screen and her front camera, thus allowing us to see the concerned look on the innocent mother's face. The phone screen was entirely black until she said the usual 'hallo' thus providing the entity with what it always seeks, a response. At that moment, the sound came on, and movements could be observed from the screen as if the caller was walking. Soon, voices of an adult woman greeting people, a teenage boy asking his mom where her car was and an enthusiastic young girl, followed. After a few seconds, the entity revealed itself as her doppelganger, standing in front of her house, smiling maliciously to the camera, with her own kids playing in the background. Crushed with terror, fear and disbelief, the mother muttered a simple 'who' unable to complete her question, before screaming the name of her children in an indescribable distress and in vain. Her car was later found abandoned in the middle of a road leading to her address with no trace of her, as the last clues she left behind were frantic calls to one of her neighbors, her son and the police. No strange call was found in any history on her phone, probably erased by the IT guys or the entity itself.

Even those evil people are not immune to that strange being, and to be honest with you, neither them nor myself know of any defensive mean against that entity in case of even an involuntary response. Prevention is the only way I know to avoid its deadly grasp. I sometimes hear knocks on my front door at various times of random days, and since it has already proved that it is not bound to electronics, I avoid any verbal response and simply open the door. Often, it is really a human being, a delivery person, an acquaintance, a family member, or a friend, but sometimes, there is nobody at the door, or maybe nobody that I can see.

I just made my first reddit-story video, if you could check it out it would mean a lot to me. Please tell me what needs to improve.

Video in the comments:

Chapter 7: "Lonely House"

I start to make my way to the address written on the note, nothing really happening on the way. I make sure I have all my items, mainly my gun just in case I find that thing in that house. I just want to find something to stop it and save Ethan. I arrive at the address and I walk behind the house, scouting out for where the isolated house is. 

“You have to be kidding Jason” I hear a voice behind me say. I turn around to see Jane leaning against the back of the building.

“Why are you spying on me again Jane?” 

“I need to make sure you don’t do anything stupid like trying to spread rumors about this creature or try to kill it.”

“Come on Jane, why do you want to keep this under covers?”

“Because I want to protect people from themselves. Me, Isaac, and the rest of the police force don’t want this to be uncovered because all that’s going to do is cause outcries and protests. People will live in constant fear!” She lectures me like she knows best.

“They should live in constant fear of this thing!” I shout back.

“That thing you hate so much is Noah, Jason! He’s still a person deep down who's just doing this because he’s angry! His life was taken from him!”

“So he’s taking others! You should know best out of anyone what its like to lose someone to this monster!” I snap back. 

“Leave Mark out of this Jason. What the hell do you think you’ll find? Ethan is a lost cause Jason. WHat you’re doing is driving yourself to insanity.” I sigh, taking a deep breath before pointing my gun right at her temple. 

“Is this insane enough? I’m entering this house and you can not stop me Jane.” She stands there, her toothpick still in her mouth. She stares at me right in the eye. 

“It’s funny you call him the monster when you’re threatening to kill me right now. If you pull that trigger, you’re no better than Noah or Lucas.” I put the gun down before walking off into the woods without saying anything else to her. I can feel her eyes watching me walk away

With all that, I enter the forest with my gun pulled to my side. I keep aware of my surroundings even though it’s dark and gloomy. I look around with my phone flashlight, seeing the house in sight after a few minutes of walking. It's definitely an isolated spot. The surrounding areas are filled with dead plants with a type of ritual thing there. 

I approach the spot, crouching in front of the ritual sight. It’s covered in blood and seemed quickly abandoned after the completion or in the middle of it, impossible to tell. I pick up a water bottle, one I recognized as Silvia’s. I opened it, the water must have been here for a long time. It smelt though which makes me think it’s some type of holy water so I brought it with me, thinking it’ll be effective against the creature if I encounter it. 

I stand up, looking around and seeing a tombstone. 100% handcrafted. On further investigation, it was one for Noah Interstuck. It was all bloody and made of wood. I can’t tell who made this though. 

Suddenly, I hear a scraping noise from inside the house. WIth every passing second, it gets louder. I stand up, pulling the gun in front of me and walking forward to the house. A screech noise now comes from the house, scratch still there. I walk to the window slowly to peek inside the house, trying to see what it is. I see nothing at first but that's when I hear the noise from behind me. My spine chills before I look behind me to the sight of that thing.

I fall backward in fear, grabbing my gun and pointing it at the creature. It doesn’t talk or make noise, just stares. Its arms are still so long they lie against the floor, its lifeless eyes basically glow white in the dark. It’s unsettling smile doesn’t move an inch, it just stays in its crooked smile. 

I shot my gun into it multiple times but it does nothing. They impact it but no blood, no nothing comes out. It doesn’t even react to the bullets being fired, it just stares. It doesn’t talk. After a few more seconds, it grabs my gun with its sharp fingers and crushes it. It doesn’t do anything else, just stare over top of my body. 

“What are you! If you’re gonna kill me, just do it! Where is the Watcher? Do you communicate with it!?” It doesn’t say anything in response, just stares at me. Suddenly, it lifts its hand and writes on the wood wall. 

“No” I looked up and read the message aloud to myself. When I glance back in front of me, I see nothing. It’s gone. I slowly get up, not bothering to grab the gun as it clearly does nothing to it. I take a minute to catch my breath and process what just happened. I glance back at the house, still wanting answers so I start to ender the house.

With the door open, i see a beaten down house and a crotched down stalker. Again, it stares at me which makes me feel uncomfortable. I look around and it barely looks like a livable space. It’s really just a messy house with a couch and bed put together and a television. No food or water or anything really not that I expected there to be any. It’s like the creature lives here though.

It suddenly crawled to me. I stay still, unsure what to do as it grabs my shoulder, digging its sharp, long fingers into them. I wince in pain as blood starts to pour from my shoulder as it starts to lift its fingers and write on my shirt with my blood. All it says is “GO AWAY” and the “ha, ha, ha” following it. The creature then stares at me, expectantly as I back away. I grab the thing of supposed holy water and I splash it at it which does nothing except make the thing angry. 

It disappears but when I turn behind me to run, it’s there. It stares down at me before slashing my face which causes me to fall back. It grabs my legs and drags me no matter how hard I try to fight back. I realise it’s dragging me back the trail I went on. After the few minutes of walking, I see the outside of the forest with Jane still leaning against the building, toothpick in mouth when I am tossed to the ground. It stares back at me, Jane witnessing this unfold but not doing anything. It stares down, its eyes just so distorted and its smile so unsettling. 

That’s when it pulls the front of my shirt off and writes deeply into my skin at the top right corner “LEAVE ME ALONE” before stopping, dropping the fabric back. After reopening my eyes, them being closed due to the pain, it’s gone. Nowhere in sight. Not its long arms or anything. It clearly didn't want to kill me or else it would have. I glance back at Jane who is now approaching and crotches in front of me, rolling her eyes but also a little concerned. She calls in back-up though I don’t remember what happened after that, having blacked out. 

What in the world is the song playing in the beginning of this video I can’t find it. Camera Shy: https://youtu.be/W-HWhEdsKYU?si=oDk7AHPCjkYvSBMH

My buddies and I have been working on this series for over a year. We were inspired by older Creepypasta long form audio focused videos. Feedback is always appreciated! More to come

01_PROGNOS_CHRONICLE_sleep_terrors

https://youtu.be/D_pF7o1Vbp8?si=cJ_7S39BR3WNCSA1

Author's note:

Before you read this, this is supposed to replicate the old 2010s creepypastas when Sonic.exe was basically everywhere. So if this story comes off as cliche in some aspects, you know why.

I know most people won’t believe this, but I feel like I need to share what happened. I’m not sure if this has happened to anyone else, but I haven't been able to shake what I experienced.

It was a few years ago, back when the LittleBigPlanet 3 servers were still online—2019, I think. It was late, somewhere around 8 or 9 PM. I was sitting in my bedroom, working on a costume in Create Mode. My laptop was beside me, playing some YouTube videos as background noise. I was getting pretty focused when I suddenly heard a new video start. I glanced over, half-expecting some random clip, but I froze when I saw it was a movie I hadn't thought about in years: Sackboy and The Seed of Destruction. I remember watching it when I was younger.

What’s even stranger? It was July 31st, the fourth anniversary of the movie’s release. I figured, why not? It seemed like the perfect time to revisit it, especially since I was playing the same game the movie was made in.

So, I let it play, turning my attention back to my costume. A few minutes passed, and I was almost done when the sound from my laptop suddenly cut out. I looked over and saw something strange. In one of the scenes, Captain Z was supposed to be grinning menacingly at the camera. But this time, he wasn’t grinning. He was just... staring. His model didn’t even move. No breathing animation. It was as if he was lifeless.

I figured it was just some glitch, so I skipped forward. When I rewound to check again, the scene played as normal—Z was grinning again, just like he should have been. I shrugged it off, but a nagging feeling lingered.

I continued working, finishing my costume and beginning to build a small house to display it in. I was going for a “tea party” theme, trying to make everything look fancy. As I finished adding the roof, the movie went silent again. I looked over, now feeling a bit uneasy. Z was back on the screen, staring at me. This time, it came with a faint buzzing noise, like static on a bad connection.

I tried skipping forward and rewinding, and the scene played normally again. I tried to dismiss it, telling myself it was just a glitch, but the atmosphere in the room had shifted... Still, I pressed on, letting the movie continue as I finished my creation.

About 30 minutes later, after decorating the inside of my house, the silence returned. I looked over. This time, Z was supposed to be preparing to shoot at Sackboy, right before the bus fell on him. But instead of facing sideways, he was staring directly at me. The buzzing noise was louder this time, almost deafening.

I’d had enough. I switched the video off and opened something else. I went back to my popit, saved my creation, and decided to take a break from Create Mode. After browsing the community section, I saw a level that caught my eye. It was one of those overly copy-and-pasted "destroy the city" levels. You know what I’m talking about.

When the level loaded, I thought I saw a silhouette of a sackperson in the distance. It was only there for a second, just long enough to make me question if I’d seen it at all. Maybe it was just a loading glitch. But by then, I was on edge. The music, which was supposed to be calming, felt too... unsettling.

The glitches started small, but they intensified as I played. The models would flicker to grey for a split second, then disappear. The buzzing sound from the movie was back, faint at first, but growing louder the farther I progressed. I thought I was imagining it. I was just paranoid, right? I told myself to ignore it.

But then, my jetpack just... disappeared. My sackperson fell to the ground. I hadn’t pressed the circle button. My finger wasn’t even near it. Confused, I tried to move, but nothing happened. No buttons responded.

The level started to glitch wildly. Then, without warning, the entire map disappeared, leaving me falling into a blank Create Mode floor. My sackperson was stuck, unable to move. I mashed buttons until the popit menu finally opened, but it only let me access character customization. Confused, I selected it, and my heart sank.

There, sitting in the “My Costumes” section, was Captain Z. His expression was empty, like he’d been waiting for me. I tried to exit, but it forced me to equip his skin. Now, my sackperson, dressed as Z, turned to face me. I tried to rotate my controller to make it look away, but the character wouldn’t budge, just staring through the screen.

Then, a faint, raspy whisper called out from the game. My eyes snapped to the bottom of the screen where subtitles appeared. "Are you a believer of the paranormal?" it read. 

I didn’t even have time to react before a piercing scream erupted from the TV, shaking the screen. My character’s model distorted, morphing into a horrific version of Captain Z—a malnourished, morbid figure. His eye was a dark, empty pit, his mouth torn open and stretched unnaturally wide. His stomach was ripped open, exposing intestines that spilled out. His legs twisted inward as if barely supporting his weight. His right arm was torn off his body, and the skin on his left leg had melted away, exposing bare bones.

The world around him was in black and white, every color drained. Lifeless sackpeople lay scattered across the floor, their bodies broken and oozing black blood.

The walls were covered in the same black sludge, spelling out the words "ESCAPE", "HELP", and "ASCEND".

I couldn’t take it anymore. I yanked the PlayStation's power cord from the outlet, watching the screen go black as I sat there, heart pounding in my chest.

As stupid as it sounds, that wasn’t the last time I played LittleBigPlanet.

What Now?

What Now? is the second installment to my multi chapter creepypasta/horror story Called "A Lost Cause" which can be read throughout my posts on reddit. Chapters 1-4 is pinned on my profile and 5-6 is posted somewhere though the ending to chapter 6 is changed then in that post.

I've been looking for this creepypasta, but I can't seem to find it.

I distinctly remember typing "spore" into the creepypasta wiki and finding this story 10-ish years ago. I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility that it was deleted or removed for being bad quality.

What I remember about it is that the author was playing Spore and encountered a couple of glitches. He looked them up on google and encountered some (forum (?)) posts that described them. The final glitch he encountered in the story was his creature dying in creature stage and wouldn't respawn, effectively softlocking the game. When he looked this glitch up, he found an ominous post about it and when he reentered the game every single other creature on screen was looking at the dead body of his creature. That's how the story ended.

I hope this rings a bell to someone else!

Discover the eerie phenomenon of the November Lights in the Appalachian Mountains! What could they be? #Paranormal #AppalachianMysteries #NovemberLights #Mystery #UnexplainedPhenomena

https://www.tiktok.com/@grafts80/video/7436728614403525931?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc&web_id=7397566127821604382

I like the stories more based in reality like these:

Borrasca

Penpal

I’m a cop and I keep getting called to the same house

I feel like there are a couple more of these that I can’t think of at the moment…

But I also can get into the more out-there ones if they’re well done, I like these:

The Left-Right Game

I’m a guard stationed at a secret government prison

My job is watching a woman trapped in a room

Looking for any recommendations based on these. Preferably ones that have an audio version available somewhere as I like to listen while I work. Thanks in advance!

SCI-FI Creepypasta

Watch here : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXz6mLLPCYE

For the people that will move in after us... please.. don't open the box in the attic. Don't !! It still haunts me to this day... 10 years after I opened it the first time. It consumes me every day. I'm not alone anymore. We are not alone...

Check my story here : The Box in the Attic

Dive into the haunting world of Scottish folklore with the story of the kelpie, a legendary water spirit shrouded in mystery and fear. This in-depth video explores the origins, meanings, and captivating tales surrounding this shape-shifting creature, often depicted as a powerful horse lurking near Scotland’s lochs and rivers:
https://youtu.be/v8vUg_W8rjw