/r/Narratemystory

Photograph via snooOG

Have a story you want narrated? Looking to narrate someone else's story? You've come to the right place!

Have a story you want narrated? A nosleep? A hilarious TIFU? Come to Narrate my Story to request it to be read!

To help keep things easy to navigate, please tag new posts as follows:

[NARRATOR WANTED] if you want to find someone to narrate your story, poem, whatever. In your post, please include specifics about age, gender, or anything else you're looking for.

[NARRATOR AVAILABLE] if you're a voice talent looking for a project to narrate or provide voice work for. Include your age, gender, type of work you specialize in (if any), and a link to an example of something you've recorded.

[FINISHED PROJECT] if you (either the narrator or the author) are posting a completed project to share with everyone!

Subreddits:

/r/writerschoice
/r/nosleep
/r/recordthis
/r/recordthisforfree
/r/voicework
/r/creativerecording

/r/Narratemystory

929 Subscribers

1

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Jack's CreepyPastas: My Parents Sold My Soul

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The Things We Do for Family | Creepypastas to stay awake to

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1

My Father, The Horned King

My father leaned forward, his mighty horns brushing against the near by trees. The velvet shimmer of short black fur cast a dancing sheen of eveningā€™s sunlight across his marvelous body. He breathed in slowly, deeply. The wind which came racing along the mountains and caressed his forest flowed steadily into him. The fortitude of life was his alone in that moment. His emerald eyes narrowed before he cast his gaze upon me.

He spoke to me with an earth rattling gravitas, and the whispering of forest animals stopped to heed their kingā€™s words. ā€œSoon a day will come where I decay and the madness will corrupt me, as it does all our kin. When the day comes, you will need to make a choice, my cub.ā€ He then quietly arose, standing tall and strong like a great hemlock. ā€œThese lands have been cleansed and blessed by the blood of our family time and time again as kin have killed their father.ā€ He began to stride forward, and I quickly hopped off my rock to join him by his side.

My father continued to speak, ā€œYou will have to kill me. And when I die, so too will a part of you. You will lose an innocence that can only be given once and never earned back.ā€

ā€œBut I donā€™t want to kill you,ā€ I whispered, my voice trembled and was barely audible over the rustling brush. The very thought of it sunk itā€™s fangs deep into my heart.

My father stopped and turned toward me. The rocks sunk into the moist earth beneath his feet. ā€œThat is a choice that you must make, even though it will be painful.ā€ He lowered his head, and his eyes locked onto mine. Beautiful accents of gold raced through his eyes, and then he touched his soft snout to my forehead. ā€œThe hardest battles are the ones we have yet to face.ā€ The breath of his words wrapped around the thorns of my mind, dulling their unwanted sting.

My father bowed his head, lowering his horns to the ground in front of me. ā€œGrab on, child.ā€ He beckoned. I climbed up on my fatherā€™s side and came to rest upon his shoulders, holding onto his antlers. He slowly lifted his head, and me, high into the brisk air to be bathed in the setting western sun.

Night was fast approaching as my father continued to lead us across the moss laden earth. Shadows stretched and twisted, merging into a single dark mass. My father moved silently, his black fur blending into the darkness. Only the glow of his eyesā€”reflecting the moonlightā€”and his sharp white teeth betrayed his presence.

The air soon brought a chill, carrying with it the scents of pine and dew. My father made barely a sound as he moved. Each step was light and deliberate, as though the forest itself shifted to accommodate his passage.

ā€œWhere are we going?ā€ I asked.

ā€œTo a place that remembers,ā€ he answered simply, not looking back.

A shallow mist cautiously rose from its slumber, drifting upward but still hugging the forest floor. My fatherā€™s footsteps sent delicate swirls to dance alone in the fog. I watched the spirals be birthed from nothing, lived their brief moment of grace, and then returned themselves to the whole once more.

I then listened to the emerging whispers and murmurs all around us. Tiny voice crawled forth from the smallest cracks and darkest crevices, a melody that was orchestrated by the march of the night. The chirps and calls echoed in the boundless expanse. Ā 

The rise and fall of my fatherā€™s shoulders as he breathed became the pulse of the night, a rhythm steady and strong. With each deep inhale, the mist seemed to draw closer, wrapping tighter around us; with each exhale, it loosened and drifted away, like the tide ebbing and flowing against the shore. I felt myself drifting too, becoming weightless and untethered, lulled by the gentle cadence of his breaths. My eyes fluttered shut, and I slipped into a place between waking and dreaming, where the boundary between myself and the forest blurred and disappeared altogether.

The edges of my awareness began to wash away. I felt as though I began to lift, to drift upwards. I moved outwards, and my being felt at peace. I moved through the membranes of the forest as a spirit, feeling the heartbeat of time pull me forward, further away. Soon, I encroached upon a budding darkness, but I did not feel fear.

My body materialized at the edge of the abyss, and I stood upright, alone. An ethereal glow bloomed from the nearby dream lilies and the air hummed with a power that I can only describe now as ā€œcompleteā€.

Ā I turned back toward the abyss for a moment, feeling like I was deep under water. My vision shifted back, and I was in the presence of the past guardians.

They did not speak, but their presence filled the space between us. I felt their gaze like the weight of the forest itself, pressing gently yet firmly, urging me to look deeper, to see beyond what was merely visible. My breath caught, and I glanced around, searching for my father.

He was nowhere to be seen.

A soft murmur rose up, a ripple in the silence. The guardiansā€™ eyes shiftedā€”each one reflecting something different. I saw in their eyeā€™s scenes of the forest in bloom, of fire, of storms that tore through the canopy, of creatures both small and great falling and rising again.

ā€œDo you know why youā€™re here?ā€ one of them whispered, sounding like the rustle of wind through dry leaves.

A figure stepped forward, its antlers gleaming with a soft, golden light. ā€œNot yet,ā€ it said quietly. ā€œBut you will.ā€

The others shifted, and I could feel the weight of countless seasons, of every breath and every heartbeat they had ever taken, layering themselves over me. The air grew thick, and I struggled to keep myself upright. My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to stand tall under their scrutiny.

Visions of millions of years of growth flashed before my eyes. I watch the first fingers of my home break the soil as they began on a journey to craft everything weā€™ve ever known. I watched the first creatures emerge from the waterā€™s edge, and as more crawled and slithered from beneath the rocks. I watched the first predator take a life, and I watched that predator die of old age, only to be consumed by that which it once ate.

Ā I watched as fires and floods brought my home to the precipice of existence, and I saw the forest recover time and time again. I saw the beauty of my home. I saw the majesty of my forest. I saw the owl and the mouse, the fox and the rabbit, the raccoon and her precious young. I saw everything I came to love.

Then I saw him, my father, or what was left of him. He was hunched over on all fours, looming like a broken shadow over the mangled remains of forest creatures. His breaths came in harsh, ragged gasps. His once-glorious fur now clumped upon his ruined body. It clung to him in filthy, matted patches. Deep gashes crisscrossed his form, crimson cervices cutting through his hide like lightening cuts the sky. Every streak leaked blood that soaked into the greedy earth.

His fangs, sharp and stained, bared in a twisted snarl, and dark red saliva dripped in slow, viscous trails from his maw. The regal antlers that had once crowned him as a symbol of authority were reduced to charred, crumbling remnants; blackened and brittle, as if burned from the inside out. His eyes, once shimmering pools of emerald and gold, were now clouded over; a wild, frenzied grey that saw nothing, recognized nothing.

ā€œFather!ā€ The word slipped from my mouth before I could catch it, my voice breaking through the silence like shattering glass.

His head snapped up, and the air around him seemed to ripple. For an agonizing second, those vacant eyes locked onto me. Then he movedā€”sudden, violentā€”charging at me with the force he used to raise mountains. The very earth seemed to tremble under the weight of his fury.

His mouth yawned open, wider and wider, until it stretched beyond the limits of flesh and bone. The jaw unhinged as it opened so wide that the entire shape of his head folded back, and I could see the hollow darkness of his inner throat. He was close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath, the sickening stench of decay mixed with the blood of all the things I had once loved.

Deep in the void of the throat, two shimmering emeralds cloaked in gold pushed forth. The wet face of my father twisted and writhed its way through the throat, stopping just halfway up.

My fatherā€™s voice, small and weak, barely manage to escape from deep within the decaying throat ā€œStop me when it is time, or this is what I will become.ā€ Hearing him like this, so diminished, sent a shiver down my spine and a set a sorrow deep into my bones.

ā€œFather, I-ā€œ

His gaping jaws snapped shut.

I awoke with a burning fear, sitting upright and panting heavily. The world stayed cloaked in my dream like haze. The earth around me felt different now, the ephemeral connection between worlds growing and fading and growing again as the events of the dream weaved their images once more in my mind. Ā 

ā€œDo you understand now, cub?ā€ My father spoke in a slow and tired tone that matched my reverie. He laid next to me. The break of dawn was upon us, and we sat on the edge of a goliath cliff that rose far above our home. Iā€™d been here once before, when the mountain spirit committed its body to the earth it lived to protect.

I stared at the forest Iā€™d been borne to protect. Visions of the fox, the mouse, the owl and the rabbit laying mangled at my fatherā€™s feet gnawed at the corners of my eyes. ā€œI understand now, father.ā€ My voice came out in near whisper.

The first light of dawn spilled over the edge of the world, reaching out with delicate fingers to caress the treetops below. I felt its warmth settle on my skin, but it did little to chase away the chill that gripped my mind. The remnants of the dream still lingered, curling like smoke in the recesses of my heart. The specter of my fatherā€™s ruined form and his flesh, broken and twisted, his eyes blind with rage, loomed over me.

A single bird called out, its voice clear and pure. Others soon followed, their songs began weaving together a gentle greeting to the waking forest. Their melodies floated on the breeze, lifting and falling, until the whole woodland hummed with the delicate harmony of morningā€™s arrival.

I turned my gaze to him, my king, my father. His presence solid and whole beside me. He sat bathed in the light of morning. His glorious mane swayed with the breeze, shimmering like obsidian dust. His emerald eyes stared far below, And I could see that he was deep in thought. Ā There was no trace of the monster I had seen. And yet, something in the air around him felt different; charged, like the presence before a storm.

ā€œFather,ā€ I whispered, the word trembling in the space between us. The vision of his jaws stretched impossibly wide; of glistening eyes sunken deep in darkness, flashed before my eyes. ā€œWhat I sawā€¦ is that what you fear youā€™ll become?ā€

He did not answer at first. His gaze was distant, watching the horizon as though it held the answers he sought. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and delicate, like the wind brushing through the canopy.

He spoke softly but resolute, ā€œThe vision you were shownā€¦ what did you see?ā€ His question hung in the air, beckoning a tale I would rather forget. I breathed deeply, as father does, and steadied myself.

I recounted the details of my dream to him, the darkness, our family, the memories from the beginning of our home. I told him of our forest, and of his ruin.

He breathed deeply, then turned to look at me, the glimmer of dawn reflected in his eyes, transforming them into whirlpools of roaring gold. ā€œI trust in you, my child. I trust in you to bring me peace when I can no longer find it.ā€ Droplets of the morning dew gathered and fell from his eyes, feeding the hungry cliff.

Small flowers emerged from where they fell, their petals unfurling like tiny suns. Their scent drifted through the air; it was sweet and soft, wrapping around me like the quiet embrace of moss-covered roots. Feelings stirred in me, emerging from somewhere deep inside. I felt like a hollowed log of a once mighty tree that still remembers the warmth of the life it once held.

The silence that followed was filled only by the symphony of the waking forest. Birds sang their morning hymns, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves, whispering secrets only they could understand. Yet, beneath this serene facade, a storm brewed within me. A tempest of fear, anger, and sorrow fighting for dominance.

I glanced at my father, his majestic form at once both the meaning of strength and the harbinger of my greatest challenge. The knowledge tore at me, the desire to preserve and protect clashing with the inevitability of my purpose.

"Why me?" I finally asked. It wasn't just about duty anymore; it was about the tearing of my soul between what must be done and what I desperately wished could be different.

Father sighed, a sound so laden with millennia of grief and acceptance that it nearly broke me. "Because you, too, are made of this forest, of its past and its future. You hold within you the spirit of every guardian that has walked these paths before you. And just like them, you will rise to meet your fate, however cruel it may seem."

I turned away, looking over the vast expanse of trees and mist, the land that had nurtured me and would one day demand my ultimate sacrifice. My heart ached with a profound love for this place, and a fierce protectiveness surged through me, grounding my resolve.

ā€œHow will I know when it is time?ā€ I asked.

My father rose to his feet, and he quietly walked away from me across the narrow cliffā€™s edge. ā€œYou are the only one that will know when it is timeā€ he said while facing away from me.

Ā 

Years slipped by like leaves carried on the swift currents of the river. Each season etched its passage into the land and into my being. I grew, both in stature and spirit, my body hardening with maturity and age, my mind sharpening against the whetstone of wisdom passed down through generations. Slowly, the buds of my youth burgeoned into the proud antlers of a prince, branching skyward with the weight and promise of my lineage.

Soon, the forest changed with me. The trees thickened, their branches interlocking in a protective canopy above. Animals, great and small, recognized my passage through the underbrush, nodding their heads in respect and caution.

Yet, as I ascended toward the zenith of my destiny, my father succumbed to the twilight of his reign. The vibrant emeralds of his gaze dimmed, veiled by the milky mists of time. His once formidable antlers, emblems of his regal splendor and strength, commenced their melancholy fracture and splinter, relinquishing shards of his storied grandeur with each waning moon. The velvet of his pelt, once as dark as the abyssal night, now speckled with the silver of waning stars like the embers of a fading celestial fire.

He moved slower, conserving the vitality that once seemed inexhaustible. I watched him, my heart torn between admiration for the life he had led and a creeping dread for the role I would soon have to play.

As the years mounted, so too did the signs of his impending madness. His moments of clarity grew rarer, often replaced by distant gazes and hushed words to unseen spirits. The forest's whispers grew louder, a chorus not of welcome, but of warning.

On a crisp autumn dusk, as the sunset cast the sky in a tapestry of orange and crimson, I discovered him by the riverbank, gazing into its vigorous currents as if beholding visions veiled to mortal eyes. His coat caught the twilight's last gleam, and for an ephemeral moment, he stood regal and resplendent, a sovereign of a bygone era.

ā€œFather,ā€ I called out, my voice a stable timbre against the tremble of encroaching fears.

He turned, his penetrating gaze slicing through the encroaching dusk between us. ā€œIt is nearing, isnā€™t it?ā€ His voice was a golem of sorrow and resignation, echoing the fall of leaves in the silent forest.

ā€œYes, Father,ā€ I conceded, the memories of my juvenile self resounding within me.

The silence between us, dense and fraught with the echoes of an ancient past, seemed to stretch into eternity. I held his gaze and witnessed his mind slip. I watched as the king lost connection. And I watched the madness wash over him.

His teeth then bared in a snarl, a primal display of raw power and imminent collapse. The growl that rumbled from his throat was not just a sound but a deep, resonant dirge for the end of his era, vibrating through the crisp autumn air.

He took a step closer, his movements heavy and uncertain. He seemed to grow, regaining the stature of his past. The forest around us responded by holding its breath for fear of incurring the wrath of its mad king.

My father stood before me, his mighty form casting shadows across the clearing. Each breath that left his nostrils sent a gale of air rippling through the field. His low growl rumbled deep within his chest, the resonance spreading through the ground and reverberating in my spirit. The grey ash of his eyes now blazed with a bright, burning ferocity that made the very sky shudder. And when he charged, it was as if the entire forest moved with him.

I braced myself, feeling the weight of his prominence cascading down on me. His antlers, once the symbol of peace and protection, now carved through the air like twin scythes. I reeled and fell under the first swing, feeling the wind whistle above my ears, and I barely rolled away from the next one as his hooves struck the earth with ground-shattering force.

A deafening roar erupted from him. There was no recognition in his gaze, only madness and wrath, a primal force unleashed. He lunged again, faster this time, his jaws snapping at my shoulder. I twisted away, but not before the jagged teeth tore through my flesh. Pain flared hot and sharp. I shoved my father back as I moved away.

ā€œStop, please!ā€ My plea fell on deaf ears as he continued his assault. He was a tempest of rage, a maddened creature beyond reason or remorse. Blow after blow rained down upon me, and I could feel myself weakening, my muscles aching from the sheer effort of avoiding, falling, and enduring.

I screamed. A sound like the symphony of thunder and falling boulder, of crashing waterfall and splintering tree ruptured in the silent forest.

And then it happened. A moment of clarityā€”a sliver of hesitation. He paused, his head rearing back as if fighting against an invisible chain that pulled him to a standstill. Summoning every ounce of strength, I lunged forward. My claws struck true, sinking deep into his sides. My hands met inside his chest and I gripped his erratic heart.

A deafening roar split the air, and he staggered, but instead I pulled him in close. Blood, rich and dark, poured from the wound, soaking into the earth. He struggled and bayed, scratched and tore, then began to slow, and whine. The mad king soon whimpered and swayed, his great frame trembling as he struggled to stay upright.

ā€œFatherā€¦ā€ I whispered, my voice breaking.

Slowly, he turned his head toward me. For a brief, beautiful moment, I saw itā€”the faintest glimmer of recognition. His eyes, once clouded with rage and pain, softened. He slowly, gently placed is soft snout on my forehead, and then spoke his final words ā€œMy cubā€¦ā€

And then he fell. The forest seemed to hold its breath as he crumpled to the ground, his massive body collapsing like a mountain cleaved in two. Silence swallowed the clearing. The vibrant, living pulse of the forest dulled to a heavy stillness. I stood there, panting, my limbs shaking from the exertion and the shock of what I had done.

Time became meaningless. Days passed as I remained at his side, watching him. A cold numbness seeped into me, anchoring me to the spot. Grief wrapped around me like the thick roots of ancient trees, binding me to the earth.

And soon the forest stirred. One by one, the creatures of the wood began to emerge. Tiny birds fluttered down from the canopy, delicate fawns stepped forth from the underbrush, and even the smallest insects crawled over the moss-covered rocks. They all came, drawn by some unseen force, their eyes reflecting the sorrow that now hung thick in the air.

The first bird landed gently upon my fatherā€™s still form. It cocked its head, studying him with something akin to reverence before it delicately plucked fur from his mane. A fox padded forward next, its nose quivering as it sniffed at his side. With a soft whine, it took a small tuft of fur between its teeth and turned back into the forest with her pups. A bear and an old rabbit then shambled towards him together. The bear lowered its head as it approached his ribs. It looked down at the old rabbit by its side, then back to my father. The bear pulled a loose tuft of his hair and gently dropped it in front of the rabbit. The old rabbit took the fur and sauntered out of the clearing. The bear remained and sniffed my fathers wounds.

I watched as he cleaned the blood from my fathers fur and returned to woods.

Slowly, they gathered around him, each taking a small partā€”a piece of flesh, a drop of blood, a tuft of hair. No part was taken with malice or hunger; it was a ritual, an act of communion. They consumed him with a gentleness I had never seen in nature before, as if honoring the life he had lived and the power he had wielded.

I watched as bit by bit, my fatherā€™s body disappeared. His once-proud form was returned to the earth and sky through the creatures he had once ruled over. The last to come were the insectsā€”beetles and ants that worked tirelessly until nothing remained but his skeleton, gleaming white in the soft light of dusk.

And then, when it was all done, they all withdrew. The clearing fell silent once more.

For a long time, I stood alone beside my fatherā€™s remains, feeling the void of his absence. Yet another night crept in, and still I remained. It was not until the first light of dawn broke through the canopy that I noticed it; a tiny green shoot pushing its way through the soil between his ribs. Slowly, impossibly, it climbed toward the sky.

The shoot thickened, its leaves unfurling with each passing hour, until it stood as a young sapling. I watched in awe as it continued to grow, roots delving deep into the soil, branches stretching wide. Within days, the sapling became a tree, its trunk twisting and turning as it wove itself around my fatherā€™s skeleton. As the tree grew, it steadily consumed what remained of our king, our father.

The bark was a deep, rich brown that shimmered with gold in the evening sun. Leaves of the darkest green, like emeralds, covered the mighty treeā€™s branches. The wind which came racing along the mountains and caressed the forest flowed steadily across the leaves.

A mighty hemlock now stood where my father had fallen, its roots embracing his bones, holding them tight. The forest seemed to exhale a sigh of relief, a breath of renewal that swept through the trees and stirred the air. And though pain still gripped my heart, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me.

My father was gone, but he had not left me. He would always be here, in this place of memories and dreams. His essence had returned to the soil, to the sky, and to the very life of the forest.

I rose slowly, feeling the weight lift from my shoulders as I turned to leave the clearing. The hemlock stood tall and proud behind me, a guardian of its clearing. I glanced back once, and for a fleeting moment, I thought I saw himā€”the outline of his form shimmering in the dappled light, his eyes soft and kind.

I breathed deeply, feeling the fortitude of his life. ā€œRest well, Father,ā€ I whispered, and the wind carried my words through the leaves, through the trees, and into the endless embrace of the forest.

The forest has changed in the long silence that followed that fateful day. The years have crept upon me like the quiet passage of seasons, one flowing effortlessly into the next. Moss and time have covered my wounds, and the agony of losing my father, once a sharp-edged torment, has softened into a distant echoā€”a note of sorrow carried gently upon the wind. Now, I stand beneath the mighty hemlock that rose from his death, its branches a testament to all that was and all that has yet to be.

It has been centuries since I saw him fall, since the soil drank his essence and gave birth to this magnificent tree. The roots have sprawled deep and wide, entangling with those of the ancient oaks and birches, weaving a subterranean web that whispers secrets only I can hear. And from this placeā€”this sacred, unchanging glenā€”I have watched the world shift around me.

I was here when the humans first came. At first, they were little more than a curiosityā€”a stumbling band of creatures who could not read the language of leaves nor understand the speech of birds. They moved with an awkward urgency that startled the wildlife and drove them into the deeper recesses of the woods. Yet there was something about themā€”something resilient and curiousā€”that drew me closer.

I remember watching them from the shadows, eyes glowing faintly in the night as I observed their strange rituals. They built small, fragile shelters from branches and leaves, huddled together around the warm, flickering light of fire. They ate together, sharing food from the forest that they worked all day to gather.

Years passed, and their numbers grew. They felled trees, cutting deep into the flesh of my forest. I seethed at first, a raw anger bubbling within me, and I came close, so very close to driving them out. But something stayed my hand. There was a look in their eyes that reminded me of the creatures of my home, the fox, the owl, the rabbit, a look of fear and awe and longing. A look that spoke of a deep yearning to understand and belong.

Curiosity quelled my anger, and I began to approach them, inch by careful inch, until one night, a child with hair the color of dying leaves found me. His wide eyes, full of wonder and innocence, met mine without fear. He stretched out his tiny hand, and I, against all reason, lowered my head. The touch was tentative, light as a mothā€™s wing, and yet it burned with an intensity that surprised me.

That was the first bond I forged with a human.

The child returned often, babbling words I could not comprehend, drawing symbols in the dirt that meant nothing to me. But I listened, and I watched. I began to see patterns in their speech, shapes in their signs. I learned their tongue, first in halting, broken sounds, then in smooth, flowing sentences. And in time, I spoke to them. Quietly, at first, afraid to startle them.

They called me many things: a spirit, a guardian, a god, a friend. I call them fragile, fleeting, and impossibly brave. They welcomed me into their village, and there, I marveled at the things they built; not just the structures of stone and wood, but the worlds they created within themselves. Stories flowed from their lips like rivers, carrying me to places Iā€™d never seen.

One night, a young woman sat beside me, a book cradled in her lap. She spoke of letters, of words etched in ashen water that could capture a voice long after it had faded. I listened as she read, her voice weaving a tale that held me captive. And for the first time in a long time, I felt something new stir deep within me. It was an urge to leave my own mark, to speak of what my life has been.

She taught me to read and write in the still hours of the nights. My claws, once meant for tearing and climbing, awkwardly grasped the quill as I scratched out letters on parchment. I fumbled and struggled, but with each stroke, a new story was told.

Years bled into decades, and still, I remained. The child who had first found me grew old and passed into dust, as did his children and theirs after them. But I stayed, as eternal as the forest around me, watching as human hands shaped and reshaped the land.

Now, I sit beneath the hemlock tree, my fatherā€™s tree, quill in hand, parchment spread before me. My fur, once sleek and strong, has become grizzled and weathered, streaked with the silver of countless moons. The hemlockā€™s branches sway gently overhead, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the pages.

I write these words a final time to honor what was and what is. To speak of the life I have lived, the beings I have known, the humans I have come to cherish.

But they are also something more. They are creators, destroyers, dreamers. And in their stories, I have found a reflection of my own. I have watched them rise and fall, seen them weep and laugh, struggle and endure. I have mourned their losses and celebrated their triumphs. And now, I set my tale down beside theirs.

My forest is quieter now, the voices of the wild less frequent, but there is a new song that fills the air. Itā€™s the sound of childrenā€™s laughter and voices as they tell their own stories under the shade of my fatherā€™s tree.

The hemlock stands tall, its roots intertwined with the bones of the one who gave me life. As I write, I can almost feel him here beside me, his presence as strong and comforting as it was all those centuries ago.

I am the last of my kind, the lone keeper of this place. I never did split my soul to continue the cycle. But through these words, I will endure. And perhaps, when I too am gone, someone will read this and remember. They will know that once, there was a guardian of the forest who walked among them, who watched, who learned, and who loved.

And that someone is now you. With you now lies the tale of my father, my forest, and my life.

I trust you to bring the world peace, because I have already found mine, my sweet sweet cub.

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2024/10/03
00:52 UTC

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Jack's CreepyPastas: The Secrets Of MK Ultra

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My Grandmother Survived the Holocaust | Feelspastas to weep to

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An artist's final creation comes at a terrifying cost... šŸŽØšŸ©ø Can Max Bradley escape the torment of his own mind? Watch The Artist's Last Masterpiece: Don't Scream for a chilling creepypasta experience you won't forget! šŸ˜±

0 Comments
2024/09/22
21:28 UTC

2

A Mother's Obsession | Creepypastas to stay awake to

0 Comments
2024/09/19
22:04 UTC

1

The next episode in the story just released. Check it out on my YouTube channel! šŸ˜ˆ Hallowed Ground Part 4 is out now šŸŒš

0 Comments
2024/09/18
19:29 UTC

1

Human Narrator | The Boone County Crawler

0 Comments
2024/09/15
04:34 UTC

1

Jack's CreepyPastas: The Revenge of Lonnie Campman

0 Comments
2024/09/12
10:30 UTC

1

Hey, horror fans! šŸ‘» Just dropped Part III of my Hallowed Ground series, and this one gets seriously eerie. An abandoned cemetery with secrets buried deepā€”things are about to get dark. If you're into chilling stories that keep you up at night, don't miss this one! šŸ˜ˆ Iā€™d love to hear your thoughts!

0 Comments
2024/09/09
22:59 UTC

2

Behind the Curtain | Bedtime stories to dream to

0 Comments
2024/09/09
15:30 UTC

2

The Congolese Giant Spider - J'ba Fofi

0 Comments
2024/09/07
00:31 UTC

1

"A Story To Scare My Son" Creepypasta

0 Comments
2024/09/06
21:05 UTC

1

Just dropped Hallowed Ground Part 2: The Cemeteryā€™s Darker Secret ā€” Iā€™d love to hear what you think! šŸ–¤ What would you do if the shadows werenā€™t just shadows? Let me know after you watch it!

0 Comments
2024/09/05
16:00 UTC

1

The Swedish Yeti That Ate A Park Ranger

Hey all! Here is a video I produced the other day in partnership with u/rukania and JadeWidow.Drives in a new series of 'spooky night drives'.

Come hop in the passenger seat as we explore the dark and twisting back roads and I'll tell you all about The Skonvik Wildman.... Enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_V5DEoX3niQ

0 Comments
2024/09/05
02:29 UTC

1

Redmoon.mkv -- A cursed video | A User Submission Creepypasta

0 Comments
2024/09/04
19:46 UTC

1

I just uploaded a new Creepypasta that's under 5 minutes. What do you think of it? Trying out shorter stories.

0 Comments
2024/09/02
21:55 UTC

2

"The Cemetery Has A Silent Watcher" I found a forgotten cemetery and saw a mysterious man in a black coat by an ancient grave. Strange things happened each time I visited, culminating in a Halloween night reveal of a dark family secret. šŸŒ•āœØ Uncover the mystery in "Hallowed Ground"āœØšŸŒ•

0 Comments
2024/08/30
22:20 UTC

2

Jack's CreepyPastas: The Cult Of Whispers

0 Comments
2024/08/30
10:48 UTC

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