Library

When I was about five years old I was alone with my friend back in school and we were playing a game in a corner of the school where the cameras couldn't see us fully. We were playing a game we made up call twin phones, what you have to do is you have to act like you hear a phone ring and as soon as you 'actually' hear it, pick it up and say "Hello? Nice to meet you I am (Whatever you picked as your name)." Then you would wait for the other person to speak and then 'hang up'. We were playing…

The morning came gently, the way it often did in late spring - without urgency, without noise, as if the world itself had decided to stretch before speaking. Sunlight spilled across the small street in soft, slanted lines. It touched the rooftops first, then the windows, then slowly made its way down to the pavement where it shimmered faintly like water. Somewhere in the distance, a bicycle passed, its wheels clicking in a steady rhythm that faded as quickly as it arrived.

Martha still felt as if she were trapped in some nightmare. She saw people who bowed deeply to her time and again, only to vanish moments later. Magical carriages and coaches appeared and disappeared into thin air. She looked up at the sky, and suddenly, the image of a man in a hat appeared before her eyes. He looked like a vampire, baring his sharp fangs and smiling malevolently. Then, just as suddenly, the whole vision vanished. Martha felt her strength returning. By some miracle, she managed…

"Pass the coffee." Carl pulled away from the scope of his rifle, and grabbed the insulated container of coffee from a makeshift shelf to his right. Behind him, his father whittled away at a piece of wood, a vague animal shape just beginning to gain definition. Carl passed over the coffee, and his father took a swig from the stainless steel vessel. "Any deer? They should be getting up now." Carl peered out from the wooden shack that was their blind. "Looks like a few are making their way from…

The date was perfect. The kind of perfect that makes you look for the catch. The food was good, the laughter was easy, and the chemistry felt natural. Still, I couldn't help but notice their pants. They were ill-fitted, sagging in the back in a way that looked almost like a diaper butt. It was a bizarre silhouette for someone so otherwise put together. "You look great," I said, leaning in. "But are those pants a little uncomfortable? They seem to sit a bit weird on you."

5/4/2015 ...

I remember one day, slumbering comfortably. I was experiencing a great dream. Full of colors, and bright lights. But that's when I woke up in the middle of the night. I was sweating, everywhere, and anywhere. I wiped my head clean, and noticed something strange. My door was slightly open, showing the light outside. Then I got a frightful epiphany, I must hide. The next day I fell fast asleep, exhausted from work. But the same thing happened once more, Woke up, sweaty, door open.

"Breaking news tonight. Authorities have discovered the remains of four local Yakuza members in the Port District." The news anchor’s voice crackled from the TV. Her face flickered ghostly blue against yellowed, peeling wallpaper. Bad reception. Static danced across her eyes like digital maggots.

A wail. I hear it drone through the trees. I want to leave. I want to explore. I want to leave, and see something more. Someone I want to meet. I want to see people. I follow the wail. It is loud, not piercing, not uncomfortable. There are people here. I want to see them. I want to see and meet them. they are wailing. I see them there through the trees. They sit there, they wail. It does not feel uncomfortable. There are two people sitting there. They sit outside of the trees.

I have 847 hours of field recording across three years of this work. I can tell you the exact timestamp — 2:14:37 AM — when a door opened by itself in a farmhouse outside Carbondale. Baseline decibel reading before it moved, the spike, the return to baseline in 0.4 seconds. Filed, labeled, cross-referenced with humidity readings and structural reports. Probable explanation still listed as HVAC pressure differential, confirm with building superintendent. The superintendent retired in 2019.

Dusk is just falling over the town of Evil Shade. The alleys are emptying, and the streets are becoming completely deserted. For some time now, the residents have been alarmed by strange, inexplicable events that usually occur late in the evening. Witnesses of these unsettling incidents report encounters with someone or something, after which they feel as though all their energy has been sucked out of them. They complain of muscle aches, headaches, and remembering very little of the…

We bought the house in March, which my mother always said was the worst month to make decisions. Too late for winter clarity, too early for spring hope. The month where you mistake exhaustion for certainty.

I’ve been thinking about that ever since. Weekend census was low. That’s the whole context you need. Mostly post-op and trauma overflow, half the lights dimmed in the corridors, the particular quiet of a floor that’s running on minimum staff. I was doing mobility checks alone, which is normal on a slow weekend. You develop a rhythm. Room to room, clipboard, chart check, get them moving if they can move, document, next one.

Last night it was on my counter. I don’t sleep well anymore. Haven’t since October, which is when Eleanor died.

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

Back in the early 2000s, I worked as a truck driver. I drove everywhere—from my hometown in Georgia to Alaska—and I’d seen it all. One day, early in my career, I was on a routine drive. I’d been on the road for a few days, and everything was going as planned. I stopped for a tank of diesel and rested for the night. The next morning, I got back on the road.

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.”

This story is inspired by SCP-096 created by Dr Dan, and takes place in the SCP Foundation universe. The cover image was created by dekades8 on DeviantArt and edited by me. Yeah, hey, I don’t know where this will go. If this goes through anywhere, then I guess I got lucky. one. Last. TIME. If you’re reading this, don’t go looking for what I saw. I mean that. Don't look at its face, and this means no photo will be attached.

5/2/2015 ...

It's been a week since my wife died, and it was my fault—all of it. I still remember that day, detail for detail: the sound of metal and nature meeting, the smell of gasoline and pine needles meshing together, and the revolting taste of iron that danced on my tongue. I survived for one reason, a sickening reason: at the time of the crash, I was inebriated. As for my wife... she died on impact. I tried everything, pleading and even praying to God that she wasn't dead; I guess God ignored my…