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We all know what Hollywood is; it’s the place of dreams and wonder, of glimmer and shine. At the same time, we know that behind the glittering façade, there’s a rotten waste that must be isolated and cut out like a cancer, so the fantasy can be maintained. Those surgeons who deal with Hollywood’s malignant backstage are known as ”the behind guys.” They’re a secretive bunch, obviously, and my father was one of them.

Click, click, click, thunk! It could not comprehend what it saw above us. A scarlet red sky greets us as we finally left the dusty old warehouse. Dark buildings casted their shadows over the old and empty streets, only letting red light stream into view at specifical parts, showing what I wish not to see, almost like a spotlight on a stage. To be honest I'm glad that the package I have to deliver can walk by itself. The thing would be way too heavy to carry.

I panicked my palms were sweating I felt dizzy and I couldn't breathe I felt a hand gently tapping my shoulders it was Logan I couldn't even think about blushing or smiling. " It's gonna be okay we will find Cathy," said Logan " No! let's ditch Cathy it's too late for her we need to leave now" said Danel " Danel calm down okay we need to find Cathy," said Logan " No! I knew this was a bad idea, but you wanted to go because Anna was coming" said Danel " Because ...of....m.me" I said

I wake up feeling a small pain on my upper back. It’s tiny, but noticeable. I know what to expect now. It’s going to be yet another small scratch that seemingly came out of nowhere. My logical mind tells me that it was only me scratching my back while asleep, or my skin just being too sensitive for the sheets and getting cut. I believe my mind, but I still have an eerie feeling about these small scratches. I get up, hobbling over to my bathroom door, sliding it open, hopping up on the counter,…

It is the Summer of 2022, and I cannot escape the heat. The heat that is the crowded, cloying musk of Kilkenny city on a sweaty Saturday night. It grimes against my mind like the late June humidity on my skin. I had been robbed of what felt like half the Summer, having suffered a bad case of Achilles tendinosis, and had spent most of May and June endlessly stretching and pacing like a caged cat in a bid to nurse it back to functionality.

Everyone has that feeling some time in their life. Some able to explain the phenomenon, and others simply cannot. That unknown feeling of someone, or something, watching you. That experience where either dread or curiosity can get the best of you.

The warnings first came through on social media. It was a fairly ordinary Sunday morning as I sat behind the intriguing screen of my computer. For some many hours I had been checking my feed on Facebook, when an article caught my eye. Now, I'm not some sucker who gets drawn to obviously fake messages spawned by trolls online, but hey, it was Sunday and I was bored. One of my friends had shared an article entitled 'The end', and if I had half my wits about me then I wouldn't have even…

Here they come, around the corner, sliding into the driveway in their family sedan. They’re back from the market, the father’s pockets no doubt lined with fresh 50s. The tires roll easily along the gravel, and I pray that lying somewhere in that collection of pebbles and stones is a glass shard, or a rock sharp enough to pierce the tires.

Moving to a new place was a big thing for me. 3 hours away from home, 3 hours away from the town I loved, the house I grew up in and the ex boyfriend who had been the thing to drive me away. In a way I was looking to escape. New start, new life, new me, that was what I decided when I moved away.

I wake up because I really have to pee. Sliding out of my bed, I sneak past my roommate and into the bathroom. I'm really glad I woke up to pee. I always do, but not being able to wake up from deep sleep to pee is a symptom of frontal lobe abnormality, a symptom of maladaptive social behavior: antisocial. It's funny how so many people use that word incorrectly; the words they mean to use are ‘social anxiety’ when they say antisocial, because antisocial is the psychiatric and correct term for…

James Nichols was a detective in mid-New Jersey. He lived with his wife and two kids, and was a happy man, aside from his insomnia and occasional sleepwalking. Just part of the job, he guessed. He had heard stories things like PTSD from certain cases, generally the more traumatic ones, obviously. With all these tales of people that had had their psyches ruined for life, he was thankful and guessed he got off easy. One night as he was going to sleep, he went and took the new prescription sleep…

Since the 1990s, people from all over the world have received a series of strange phone calls dubbed the ‘Wake Up Calls’, from an unknown caller. These calls at first, according to witnesses, seem like mundane calls from telemarketers or people calling the wrong number. Though shortly after, usually after the 3rd or 4th call, the calls seem to take on a more eerie and bizarre air about them.

"Mister Germain told us he tripped and fell down the stairs" the doctor said. I thought it was weird, but I played it cool. "Is he okay?" "Yes, he is fine, he broke one arm and a few ribs, but he will be alright" answered the doctor. "I see, thanks doc" I followed the doctor to Germain's bed in the emergency ward. He was lying on bed still, the doctor gave him a prescription for painkillers and the report copy, then we got out and went back to my car.

Larson woke up startled in the middle of the night. He clutched his chest with his tiny hand trying to dull the sharp pain in his heart. As he gasped for air, he desperately tried to remember what his nightmare had been about. He looked over at his alarm clock and discover it was 4:58 AM. He began sobbing and thought about calling out for his mom to come calm him down, but he couldn’t bring himself to make a sound. That’s when he realized that he was not the source of the sniffling and heavy…

Jennie and I were an item for a little less than two months. I knew that we probably wouldn't last. I mean, come on, she was Jennie Matthews, who every guy wanted and every girl wanted to be. The new girl but already the queen of the school, with her looks and her uncanny way of knowing everyone's secrets before they knew them themselves. And I was Nathaniel Twining, straight-A student, nearly fifteen and the guy that everybody wanted to partner in classes just because I got the grades.

It's all white... The room I'm in and the rest of this building is probably also all white. I don't know where I am. This cold blinding white, everything is this pale color, every object, all the furniture, every.... Everything. I'm all alone, in this unending place with only one color. At first, I didn't see it as much of a problem, I am quite introverted after all. Put other people in this room and I would find it all the more terrifying.

After cleaning the shop, packing the last of my gear, and loading it onto my pickup. I closed up and locked the door. I made sure to hang a sign on the door that read, “Gone Fishing.” I was all set to leave. I took another look at the place, knowing I wouldn’t see it for at least a week. I loved coming here, to work, and to serve my customers, but I was headed on a long-overdue vacation.

“What’s up with her, Sammy?” Steven grunted, puffing on his half-burned cigarette.

“Where are my smoking glasses?”

(Authors note: This is a rewrite of my first ever pasta from the creepypasta wiki. I hope you all enjoy!)