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There are times when you feel as if you’re being watched. Usually you are not, at least that’s what you think. Sometimes it is a pressure on your neck or an itch you can’t scratch away. “What could it be?” you ask yourself. “Nothing, I hope.” Is it the Boogeyman? Your childhood closet monster? A ghost? ...maybe. You tell yourself that none of those things are real, only mere figments of your imagination. You will continue to think so. That is, of course, until it’s too late.

“Whom the Gods would destroy, they first make mad” Prometheus, The Masque of Pandora

It had been a long, tiring day at work. It was quiet as I waited alone for the train. It was a bit after midnight, and so dark that I could only see the square foot around me that the small light illuminated. Fortunately, I wasn’t stuck waiting long for the train. Eagerly, I ran in the second the doors opened.

The detective escorted the parents through the mortuary. “I’m so very sorry for this. I have to warn you, this will be a rather large shock. You need to prepare yourselves.”

“Anna! Wake up! My angel is here!” “What?” I eased one eye open until I was squinting at my brother. I would have opened them farther, except I couldn’t. He was shining a damn flashlight in my face. I shooed my little brother away that night, barely even bothering to look. That was the biggest mistake I have ever made.

Alone… You never have thought of the concept alone before, but as you are in your bed, unable to sleep your mind starts to wander. You think about what you did or what you are going to do tomorrow. Then, you start to think of darker subjects, subjects you wish you had never thought of. You wonder if you are the only one if the house awake at this hour. You wonder if you are the only one awake…in your room. Right there you hear small and subtle creaks in your kitchen.

It was the normal routine for me- wake up, get ready, work for hours, go home, eat, and sleep. By 'normal routine,' I mean 'painfully repetitive routine.'

Winter break!

There are tons of stories out there about hacked Pokémon games. Some of them really quite neat such as the one about a version where you get a ghost as a starter. Some are ridiculous, silly stories about individuals dying after playing a game, or the game talking to them. God, don't these writers know less is more when it comes to these stories? Ah well, I digress.

It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son James was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. James has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Fido, when I heard what sounded like James talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye…

An average Saturday, the clear skies of the day fade into the abyss that is night. On many occasions this wouldn't be a problem at all, but tonight, you feel scared. Frantically looking in car windows as you walk for something you know isn't there, any sound cursed at your ear. You want to go home. As you walk down the sidewalk on the way to your house, the creepy vibe you feel grows, as does your fear. You look to a parking lot to see what looks like chalk, but only one word. It reads…

You know how Fox has a weird way of counting Simpsons episodes? They refuse to count a couple of them, making the amount of episodes inconsistent. The reason for this is a lost episode from season 1.

You know it was weird. Things like this always are actually. So when people die, they leave wills, and distribute their material things amongst others. Sometimes, strangers do it too, and you're left with a confused feeling. Everyone has that friend or something, and you promise each other your things when you die. Or it's your roommate's stuff that they left behind when they have no family. Stuff like that.

Being a devout fan of Creepypasta’s true story section, I felt compelled to share my story with other users. While it is nice to provide all of you with a chilling, and entertaining story, keep in mind I have a much greater goal in mind.

My father told me a story once. I'll never forget it, for a few reasons. I think its the first story he ever told me, as a child. Its also the story of how my grandfather died. But honestly, that isn't the reason. You hear stories, on TV, or sometimes you over hear something in a public place. People talk about ghosts and aliens, and you think to yourself “that ain't real. They're making it up, or they're mistaken, or they're crazy.” or something like that. You just can't believe it.

It was a cold, rainy day in December. There was less than a week until we got out of school for winter break. Usually my teachers don't give us work before a break, but my bastard of a History teacher decided he'd assign us a 2000-word report due the day before we got out. I knew I wasn't going to be there then; I was going up to the mountains in North Carolina to spend Christmas and New Years' in Lenoir with some old friends I hadn't seen since I moved.

(This is the typed version of a handwritten transcript that I was given access to. The transcript itself is from a voice recording, but I have no idea where that is, or how the person who wrote the transcript obtained it. Due to the sloppiness of the handwriting and some water marks, some of the words are indecipherable, or maybe they were unintelligible from the recording. I cannot go into detail as to how I came across this transcript.)

A couple of months ago, I began my classes at Chico State University. As I was preparing for my freshman year, I was able to find everything that I needed, except for a laptop. I’m not exactly very good at letting a dollar go for something, especially when I could get that something for less.

This is a prequel to Abandoned by Disney — Suggestion: We could use another person at check-in during peak hours. Suggestion: Please move the hot dog cart away from the main water slide. Also please have water slide staff keep an eye out for children who just ate. When anyone gets sick in there, three or four people have to go through it before we know about it.

You are alone. A scared, fearful little creature in this dank and dark forest. I can smell you. I can feel your heart beating, every single one of them. I just love to dance to the rhythm as it quickens when you hear a sound. What as that? A squirrel? A fox? Perhaps it was. Or perhaps it was me.