Most read stories

First, let me introduce myself. My name is Anthony Salaria, and this is my story. I used to think the world was a big place. Now I know better. The world is only as big as the distance between you and whatever is trying to kill you.

The clock was ticking. Like a pickaxe in my skull. It's now 2:45. Fifteen minutes until I hear your footsteps; not that bare feet can make much noise on that gravel road. Seventeen minutes until I hear your broken nails on the wooden door. Blindly scratching away, trying to find the handle. Twenty minutes until your voice is calling out to me. But it will be strangled, like always. It's hard to talk with maggots eating at your vocal cords.

Time has forced my hand to finally publish these truths. Other men of science plan to go where I have been, and I cannot let them witness what my colleagues and I have. I only regret coming out with the truth now— many years after our expedition —but even more do I regret doing this to my comrades without consulting them. I hope all of you can forgive me.

6/29/1316 ... My name is Edith, and I have not prayed in four months. I used to. God knows, or perhaps He does not, that I used to. Every morning, before the rooster crowed, I would kneel on the cold floor of our cottage and press my hands together until my knuckles whitened, and I would speak to Him the way my mother taught me, soft and grateful, the way you speak to someone who is listening. I do not kneel anymore. The floor may be the same cold stone it always was, but I have changed.

I've been such a coward. Never before have I stooped this low. Never before have I done something like this out of fear. Yes, it's all because of a fear that can thoroughly be explained and the reason is an understandable one. But somehow the feeling I got from doing it hasn't left me. It's like it's slowly rubbing my back, poisoning my skin. It has burned itself deep into my soul and the chills I got from that day still haven't disappeared in the slightest. I dislike this feeling.

My name is Victor. I am a resident of a quiet village near which there was a forest, there were many stories and myths about it.

Blood of the Damned - Shadows over Riga - The Nosferatu Experiment © Andre M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved ( Nightscribe & Royal Road Edition ) Disclaimer: No warranties! Latvian Proverb: “Skopais maksā divreiz.” Translation: “The stingy one pays twice.” This proverb warns against being overly frugal or cheap, as it often leads to higher costs in the long run. Chapter 1: The Risky Summons

Do any of you know one of these old roblox games? That was called “HERE, where the world is quiet.” That was one of those old obscure games on the internet as you were scrolling on the Roblox website. It was made by an account, known to be made by one of the admins of Roblox. They were being claimed as a myth, but however, this has since been debunked. Now let’s get my experience going.

In the quiet of the night, I was not summoned. I was birthed the way mold takes root on bread—a silent growth feeding on whatever Clara left behind. The first thing I knew was the sound of her crying. It echoed through the house at three in the morning like a banshee's wail, filled with grief for her late husband, Mark.

I was driving home from work late one night, tired and ready to let my head slam down onto my soft pillow. It had been a very long day. Sales were slow, and I had just finished a meeting with my employees to figure out how we could improve them. I'm the owner of a Tech Start-up. We design customized automated machinery for various construction and Manufacturing industries.

Smoke covered the midnight moon, while cheers could be heard all across a small farming village. Bonfires were lit all around the main road. Young and old folk alike celebrated as the Fire Runners, dressed in dark clothes adorned with bright red and yellow ribbons, moved among them, their faces covered with masks whose abhorrent features imitated the unholy visage of demons and monsters. They were performing what was locally known as the Devil’s Dance, an ancient pagan tradition, much older…

The room was, as always, a mess: the bed was unmade, at least four mugs of unfinished tea sat on the windowsill, a backpack lay on the floor, and clothes hung over the chair. Some trash was scattered under the bed. But the owner of the room clearly had no plans to clean up. And where exactly was the owner? He was sitting at the desk with his gaming PC, hunched over as usual, frantically clicking the mouse and typing on the keyboard. The sound of gunfire came from the speakers.

Every person has their own fears. Spiders, reptiles, darkness, or even death. But have you ever heard that people are afraid of silence itself? Yes, you could say that silence is peace, a state of stillness. But sometimes, something can happen in silence that no spider or monster can compare to. Today I’m going to tell you why something can happen in silence that I’ll remember for the rest of my life — and I’m afraid to recall what I saw. My name is Tom, I’m 20 years old, and I’m a single…

Stacy was a diligent office worker-meticulous and thorough. It was a typical, sunny summer day, just like any other. She sat at her desk, buried under a pile of documents to sign and a long list of emails to send. Nothing indicated that her peace was about to be shattered. Her colleague, Michelle, walked into the office, announcing that there was an issue with the ventilation system and that the computers were running louder than usual, though no one knew why.

I didn't open the door. On mine and violets life I didn't, but my head was pounding the same way as it did when I went through a door.

'Love.' They say it's the purest form of giving without expecting anything in return. To be unconditional, understanding, and patient. Love can be the sweetest thing of all, but it can also be the most dangerous weapon in the world.

I wrote this creepypasta when I wasn't in the best mental state, take this as a warning

My name is Mark, and this story takes place back when I was in college. I had a solid group of friends who shared my love for hiking and camping. It was no surprise to anyone that we often spent our free time exploring the outdoors. One chilly fall Sunday, we decided to hike a new trail we’d never tried before in a national park. For privacy and legal reasons, I won’t name the park; I’ll simply call it “The Park.”

Amelia loved everything new, mysterious, and unusual anything unconventional and alluring. She loved music that made adults react with disbelief. She dressed like a Goth; in short, she defied all conventions. Her best friend, Diana, shared her musical passions. The girls liked to experiment, not only with their image but also with new experiences.

Call me tasteless but I enjoyed running Southern Fried Murder. Growing up, I loved horror movies, especially slashers, but as I got older I became more drawn to true crime… To the real life monsters walking among us. Like most people, I was initially drawn to the sensationalized Bundys and Dahmers of the world but the local cases scared me more. I became more intrigued by the murders and vicious crimes that happened in my neck of the woods here in the American South. These were also the crimes…