#creatures

Blogs seemed to be growing in popularity lately. I never really seemed interested in them, but I followed my friend's blog all the same. He lived somewhere in Canada, and I lived in London at the time, so it was nice to have a way to keep updated on what he was up to. Before too long, though, I noticed something strange in his posts. I can't see anything strange at all before the 28th of January in 2001... 01/28/2001

Have you ever heard of Elf on the Shelf? It was a children’s book released in 2005 that follows an elf who reports to Santa on who’s been naughty or nice. Later on they made it into t.v. movie and now it’s a really popular game with kids around Christmas time. I’ll never forget that elf. The one that terrorized me only a few weeks ago. I consider it a miracle I’m still here today to tell you about it.

The cops had everything about the kidnapping of Joey wrong. Their prime suspect, Scooter the Clown was a well known children's entertainer in town. He performed at parties, like Joey's all the time. At the precinct I am an insignificant ant flailing for the attention of titans. Finally, a cop turns to me and says, "Are you lost little boy?" On cue, my silence held no longer.

3:20 in the morning. The cold pasty light of the computer monitor was splashed against the cheaply wallpapered walls of my dorm room, casting thick shadows that clawed at the corners of my eyes. My fingers gently ran across the keyboard in front of me. The biology paper was due for tomorrow, and I had foolishly decided to leave it until now. Desperate to finish, but equally desperate not to wake up my room mate, who was annoyed at me enough already.

The farm was left to him after his mother passed away five years ago. He was still in Afghanistan however, so he was unable to make it to the funeral. When he returned back home a year after his mother’s death, there was nobody to meet him at the airport; but Derby Matthews didn’t mind. He never did. Retired now, with fifteen years of military service as a field surgeon under his belt, Derby tucked himself away on the large, lonely farm for what he assumed would be the rest of his life.

I was driving home late one summer evening. It was dark and everyone was in their beds. My eye lids felt heavy as I struggled to pay attention to my driving on the dark and empty country road. I knew this road so well I probably could drive home with my eyes closed. It didn't sound like a bad idea as I sleepily nodded.

On every college campus there is a hallway. Nondescript, tucked away, often on the top floor of a building or off of another hall where only a few classrooms have been placed. It melts into the background of every student’s life; drowned out by the music department or wedged between two lecture halls. Occasionally, a lost freshman will wander down it, running late for their first class. Should such a lost soul wander through that hall, all they will find is a single, empty classroom. This room…

BOOM! Kaitlyn bolted up in bed in a cold sweat. She nearly fell out in a panic, and then managed to right herself. After catching her breath, she managed to calm down and glanced at the clock. 12:30 AM. Fucking great. She knew that she always took at least an hour and a half to get to sleep, and she had to be to work at 4:30.

Of places that you would think to be haunted and creepy, hospitals and nursing homes, at about one a.m., are the worst. Death and illness run the halls of these institutions on a daily basis. The walls become infected with it. The floors and fixtures are run down by it. Each room becomes a cell of this thing and at times, makes it appear living. Let me tell you a story about a particular room, one that has become known as the death room. That room is 210.

"Same as always Sir?" I habitually queried of the wispy man at my counter. The deep blue flannel look was new, but everything else about him was carved from a solid block of routine. The same haircut that failed to cover the bald spot on his head, the same muck encrusted work boots, and the same patient smile hid behind his oxygen tubes all adorned him neatly.

When people who died and come back to life say they saw a bright light, they are full of shit. It’s not necessarily their fault though. The mind has a difficult time figuring out things it has never experienced, therefore the mind cannot understand. I’m one of the special, select few who have experienced death and rebirth…often.

Let me start by pointing out that I have been told, and have figured out on many occasions, that I have an over-active imagination. That being said, I have thought a lot about the night that this story will focus on and I can't talk myself into believing that it didn't happen. As the title says, this is a true story. I do write Creepy Pastas, but this story is true, it really happened, or so it did as far as I'm concerned. I don't share this with many people, so feel good, you're in a way,…

When Felix Agnus put up the life-sized shrouded bronze statue of a grieving angel, seated on a pedestal, in the Agnus family plot in the Druid Ridge Cemetery, he had no idea what he had started. The statue was a rather eerie figure by day, frozen in a moment of grief and terrible pain. At night, the figure was almost unbelievably creepy; the shroud over its head obscuring the face until you were up close to it. There was a living air about the grieving angel, as if its arms could really reach…

There it is! In between the static. It's faint, at first, buried deep in the hiss, but after you hear it, after you know it's there it becomes so loud you want to cover your ears and scream. I can sound the words out for you, but that's it. We never got the romanization down. It sounds like: Ip thoc ko ial preg iad tow dez vago tet.

When I was a small child, I was terrified of the dark. I still am, but back when I was around six years old I couldn’t go a full night without crying out for one of my parents to search beneath my bed or in my closet for whatever monster I thought was waiting to eat me. Even with a night light, I would still see dark shapes moving around the corners of the room, or strange faces looking in on me from my bedroom window. My parents would do their best to console me, telling me that it was just a…

Let me start off by saying that as far as I can remember, this is all true, it’s not ‘creepypasta’ or anything like my previous posts, there’s no satisfying conclusion or an explanation, so if that’s what you’re here for, I’m sorry but you won’t find it, but this is how I remember it. It’s a story of two incidents that occurred in my mother’s house separated by years of normality, the latest of which happening in the early hours of the morning beginning the 26th of December 2011.

On several occasions my interest in the supernatural has taken me to some of the most prestigious seats of learning in the entire United Kingdom. From the venerable halls of Oxford and Cambridge, to the more humble surroundings of inner city colleges and schools, my pursuit of evidence to substantiate such claims has rarely been fruitful. However, while exploring the University of St Andrews in Scotland, I found a rather interesting tome hidden away in a dark and musty corner of the campus…

When most people think about their childhood, they have happy memories of their pets, or the trips they went on, or the books, films, shows or games they grew up with. They always think that their current life is dull or bland in comparison. We have a tendency to forget that our childhood was always riddled with negativity. No one seems to recall that pets die, trips weren’t worth the grueling hours in the car and those media forms of entertainment weren’t as spectacular as you remembered. If…

It was 10:00 at night and I had a friend over, my friend Noah. He was basically the first friend I made when I moved to this new school. We had spent the whole day at an airsoft war down in the city. We were tired, but not sleepy. We played some games on our PlayStation 3 and did so for about four hours. Now keep in mind that my room is big. It was a fifteen by twenty foot room and what stood out the most was this window that took up a good portion of one of the walls.

“Are you sure the other kids won’t notice?” Conner asked as he looked up to his sister while she smeared the foundation-covered makeup pad over his cheek. The boy winced and pulled slightly away as it came in contact with the ugly, purplish bruise that marred his cheek.