Library

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

I really like Mario games, and I still do to this day. I have so much love for everything in the games, but the Mario game I enjoyed the most was 'Luigi’s Mansion.' That game freaked me out at times, but it was very enjoyable to play, and it’s really cool to hear about it now after first seeing it.

I was 32 when I married Ashley, the love of my life. The daughter of two wildly successful divorce lawyers, she carried her wit as well as she carried her elegance. Taking after her mother, she was blessed with strikingly Baltic features, and taking after her father, she was perhaps the sweetest and most genuine soul I had ever met. In other words, she was perfect.

I remember that first day… I was out of the house and went to the convenience store. There was always an advertisement on the window and there was this one poster everywhere. I took a good look at it, not really understanding it but it had fun, colorful, goofy characters and a box below it. I decided I’d look at it after getting snacks, I came out of the store and had a sudden feeling of dread reaching for the box but I didn't mind it. I picked up the box and brought it home to look at, I…

When I was a kid I used to play down by the creek that was behind my house. I'd throw rocks, play with plastic army men, make little houses out of mud and sticks having them sink into the creek. On a particular hot day in July when I was about nine I was sitting by the edge of the creek. I had my feet in the water trying to cool down as the day was unbearably humid. I had my eyes closed and didn't hear her walk up. "Hello" I heard an older voice say. I open my eyes and see a thin middle aged…

I hate Mondays. It’s a generic thing, but I just loathe having to go to work after the weekend. Anyway, I’m done with it, so I guess I can’t complain now. I recently purchased a house for a surprisingly good deal out in the woods. It’s a pretty nice place, other than sometimes the cellular mysteriously goes out for hours at a time.

It was three years ago. I was 20 and couldn’t keep a job. I was just too lazy, I guess. I finally got one, though. It was at the Hubert Amusement Park, I was Hubert. Being the park's mascot wasn’t a high-paying job, but at least I could live dressing up as a clown. Every day, I would dress up as Hubert and go to the park. Like any clown, Hubert had pure white skin with red markings on his face, frizzy blue hair, a squishy red nose, and baggy rainbow overalls.

Every single night, at midnight, I am startled awake by the sound of something moving in my living room. At first, I thought it was house noises until I heard crying in the hallway. I called an exterminator to see if I had some type of animal living in my walls. Nothing was found. The exterminator recommended security cameras in case someone was breaking and entering.

Its been 6 hours since I sent my message. Seen, but no reply. Something must have happened. Maybe he’s hurt? It’s not unlikely that he tripped and hit his head. His apartment is a mess after all. I push my chair out, arising  into a panicked loop as I walk a figure eight around my room. My feet kick against bottles and cans, my foot swings and an old pizza box is sent flying, launching stale crusts across the room. Maybe he’s ignoring me? No, of course not. He’s not like that.

They say that only the truly desperate would invite the Devil for dinner. Not because of the meal itself, but because the entire ritual is a gamble—a dangerous game where the stakes are your very soul. If you play it right, though, there’s a chance you can walk away with exactly what you desire. The trick is in the details.

I've worked as a lunch lady/cafeteria worker for close to a year now and it's the best job I've ever had.

I do not know this man. I do not know this man in the mirror. The one staring right back at me, moving his eyes to reflect wherever I look. He does every single thing I do. Makes every single face, pokes back at fingers aimed against the glass, and turns his back when I turn mine. To the untrained eye, it looks as any normal reflection does; behaves as any mirror is designed to do. There is nothing obviously out of the ordinary that would arouse suspicions otherwise.

I was always told to stay out of the old garden behind the house. My parents kept saying it was unsafe, overgrown, and full of thorns. I believed them, as children believe their parents. When I grew up and moved back into the family home after they passed away, I decided to clear out that forgotten space. I wanted to reclaim it, make it mine.

I didn't remember how I got there. One moment, I was somewhere ordinary—a grocery store, maybe my car—and the next, I was standing in the polished hallway of a sprawling mansion. The floors gleamed like polished obsidian under chandeliers that glittered coldly overhead. The place was immaculate, almost painfully so, but something about it felt wrong.

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.

It was a quiet, cold, windy night in the cornfield I was in with my dog. My father told me to search through the somewhat small yet vast cornfield. My father was always scared of people that weren't us in his field. We both grew up hearing stories of our family members encountering unexplainable shit in forests, old buildings, and that very cornfield my father sent me to search. I remember how my father used to tell me experiences he had in that field. Like seeing the stalks move on their own…

Under gravel and twisting roots there lies an intricate system of life, hundreds of sizes smaller than our species. Like pale, empty veins they stretch out to dig downwards into damp soil. It is dark. Darker than sunless skies. The realm underground is the realm of corpses. They settle between debris like shells pushed under sand by careless ocean waves. Deeper, and deeper. While you walk overhead on solid ground, thinking of the casual facets of life, corpses are clawing overhead themselves,…

Henry had always been a bit different. As a child, he was quiet, more interested in books and toys than in other children. He grew up alone, but he never seemed to mind. His mother, Grace, worried that her son wasn't making any friends, but Henry always reassured her that he was fine just the way he was.

I used to think grown-ups always knew what was right. They seemed to have all the answers, like they were in control of everything. Back then, I thought there were rules for how things worked, even in little moments—like the way someone should look at you, or how a touch was supposed to feel. But nobody ever explained what it meant when something felt… different. When a look lingered too long, or a hand stayed where it shouldn’t.

It was a cold, uneventful evening, just like every other since the quarantine had started. I was scrolling through random VRChat worlds, bored and alone in my room. Most of the worlds were empty, just floating in digital silence, but one caught my eye. The world was called "Nyras’ Crypt"—no description, no tags, just the name. I figured it was probably some forgotten fan-made map. Curiosity got the better of me, and with a click, I joined.