Library

Are you unsatisfied with your life? Are you unhappy with all the little things you own? Then come visit the underground store once. Here you can find a solution to every problem. We are eagerly awaiting your visit. A new store has opened in the shopping center near my house and I, having nothing better to do, decide to go check it out. In all honesty the recent ads have been freaking me out a bit, the shop's mascot just looks wrong.

Disclaimer: This is a retake of a pretty obscure classic creepypasta called America’s Funniest Videos Banned Episode by Owlbeseeingyou. If you’ve been watching TV on a Christmas night in 1992, you may have captured something weird; I know I did.

I feel the cold object in the palm of my hand as it's being handed to me. A key. I've saved up enough for my own place and feel a sense of joy as the small object almost freezes my hand. However the temperature of it changes quickly as the warmth in my hand turns the object lukewarm. The old man before me, still seems a little on edge. "You remember what I've told you before right? You can still give back the key if you don't want this place."

I've always wanted to be a writer. I've always so desperately tried, to then always fail. I've written stories about dragons, stories about strange civilizations, and yet it seems to be that all my hard work has been for naught. I grasp to every chance to write something, be it a competition or just for others. And I always end up getting hurt, again and again and again and again and again. Perhaps they've been right all along, I just don't have any talent.

"Vincent, I got a job for you!" someone shouted from the other side of the bathroom door. "For me!? Can't you give it to someone else!?" "They asked for you, it seems to be one of your clients!" "Damn it, I want to go on vacation for once." His colleagues started to laugh. "That's the downside of being famous in the business" yelled one of them over the showers noise.

I want to tell you about what happened with my sister and her boyfriend.  It was a long time ago now, but I still feel like someone ought to know. My sister’s name is Diffie.  I mean, her real name is Eugenia, but no one calls her that.  You know how it goes.  When this all happened, she working part-time at the Food Ministry downtown and living upstairs in our parents’ big old farmhouse.

Tap. Tap. Tap. My footsteps echo through the dark hallway. I swallow hard as I get close enough to the door. Damnit... Does it really have to be done? I can feel my arms tremble. Just before coming here I dressed warmer, but the cold is still entering my body. "Come on, come on." I whisper trying to get some motivation into my body. One minute. Two minutes. "Fuck..." I press the doorknob down and look down the stairs. I have no choice but to go down. Step. Step.

It's Christmas eve and I'm still working late, typing away at my computer. You shouldn't pity me, I chose to do so. I didn't really have any other plans and the extra pay seemed a lot better than sitting at a crowded dinner table with people I barely know. For a moment I stop and look out the window. Why does it have to be snowing now of all years? Now I kinda regret not staying home... I pull my attention back to my computer and continue my work.

I never saw the faces of the men who kidnapped me. I'd been too busy working when the gang of them burst through the front door. Like smoke from an explosion, the kidnappers spread through the entire building. They demanded victims and turned our world upside down searching for them. They didn't speak outside of grunted demands and language so blue that if you could see the words spilling from their mouths, it'd be a dam breaking.

I am not a professional at investigating anything paranormal; I am a nonprofit journalist who documents incidents, and I was told to investigate Luigi’s Shadow, something everybody thought was a joke until it wasn’t anymore. By then, all of the original bedroom attacks before the game release had been archived and usernames had gone inactive, but by this point, the reports weren’t by gamers anymore. There’s new information that nobody knew until now.

Perhaps it's just my world, but it might also be yours. Everyone here wears a mask. A real mask, maybe the one given from the beginning or one changed or even stolen. Our masks decide everything for us: our emotions, jobs, school, friends, relationships, chances in life and even crimes. Our whole identity really. Without our masks, we can't live since there isn't really anything underneath it. We all get our first mask just after birth after all.

It's loud and crowded in the office today. I don't know why, but honestly I don't really care and just continue with my work. Suddenly someone taps me on my shoulder and I look up. It's Jimmy, one of my colleagues. I quickly look away again, ignoring him and continuing my work. "Hey, I want to talk to you about something." "Sure." He sighs, seemingly annoyed about my answer: "It's something I would rather discuss in private."

My brother has always been very kind. Not just to me, but also everyone and everything around us. We live together with our uncle in a nice house with a big garden. Honestly, the house might be a bit to the bigger side. I'm pretty sure we could fit another small family here, but I'm happy with just the three of us. My uncle is a pretty good cook too! And my brother and I do quite good at school and both have some friends. Even so, something is wrong. It has to do with my brother.

Before I start this story, I should point out that I believe in the paranormal. I have seen ghosts throughout my lifetime, and I even believe in aliens—I mean, I’ve seen UFOs flying around. My belief in them only grew stronger after hearing a story my dad shared with me. Let me just jump into this; I don’t want to ramble on.

The past is not dead. It is not even past." — William Faulkner • I don't remember who called me about the funeral. I assume it was Aunt Lillian's neighbor, or maybe someone from the church, but the truth is, I picked up the phone, I heard my name, and everything after that is a smear of static and vowels. Now I'm standing on the porch of my great-aunt's house, our family's house surrounded by pines, decay, and a smell I can't name but instinctively hate. The front door is already open.

“This is still dumb,” says George.  He holds up the stack of note-cards, squints at them through the flicker of the firelight.  “I mean, it’s real dumb.” Our campfire has started to burn low in the gathering dark, and the embers swirl up and away in a sudden gust of autumn wind.  I shiver, and I pause the video I’m recording long enough to pick up another log.

This story was archived and was sent to me by a 12-year-old woman from a small town in coastal South Georgia, near the Florida line, who just lost their family due to mysterious circumstances. Here’s their story: My parents have been gone for quite some time, and I always prayed for them to come home. I live alone, and I sat on the couch, holding my blanket until I saw my front door open slightly.

Nineteen straight days. That’s how long this storm’s been sitting on top of us. The view outside my duplex is nothing but a grey smear, I can’t even make out the other houses. Roads are flooded, power’s out. It's just canned food and cold water now. They tried having us work from home at first, but that didn’t last long. Paid leave’s not the worst outcome, I guess even torrential storm clouds have silver linings.

“Jalen, you sell drugs?” “What? No.” “Family sell drugs?” I laughed. “You for real right now?” His stoic face answered for him. “Not that it should matter, but I don’t really have a family. So, no, they aren’t kingpins in the drug game.” “Consider yourself lucky. No family is the way to go. No hassles. No buying gifts for ungrateful nieces and nephews who think just because you own a coupla properties, you’re Diamond Jim Brady. Gives me heartburn just thinkin’ about it.”

When I was a child, I recall a show called Fear the Devil; it was something that my parents allowed me to watch. They thought it was just another biblical show in a similar vein to content like VeggieTales and The Beginner’s Bible. It was created in 1999 and ran for thirteen episodes before it was pulled from the air. Private schools and churches refused to play it, and anyone who discussed it in too much detail risked being kicked out permanently.