#creepypasta

"The last few nurses we've hired have all flaked on me," Jim said with an exhausted sigh. "Please tell me you don't plan on flaking."

The first thing my granny ever taught me about food was that you never, ever leave the house without a bit of bread in your pocket.

It was Halloween in the year 2015. I remember waking up at 7AM, feeling stoked for Halloween and watching Charlie Brown. I saw people from outside my neighborhood decorating at the last minute because a lot of people like slacking on Halloween.

"Flabbergasted. F - L - A - B - B - E - R - G -A - S - T - E - D. Flabbergasted." Sweat rolled down Natalie's forehead as she watched the three judges chatter amongst themselves. Her heart was beating so vibrantly, she felt like wheezing. Each aching moment was like a nail being gradually driven between her fingernails. After what felt like an eternity of suspended animation, the female judge tilted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and nodded. "Good job, Ms. Flowers."

The room smells like stale iron and wet earth, but I don’t complain. I haven’t complained since the funeral.

Oct 10 - Today is cloudy Starting today, I'm going to keep a diary! My family includes little Jack, my mom, and the "Red Devil" too! My mom and the Red Devil are always getting into fights! It’s a total blast—whenever the Red Devil comes home drunk, a fight with Mom breaks out. Little Jack is really timid and just cries when he sees it, but I actually find it fun! Oct 11 - Today is warm

The laughter didn’t start right away. In the beginning, it was just an odd, harmless hobby. Sarah loved David. She loved his quiet nature, his steady hands, and the calm predictability he brought into her life. So, when David suddenly took an interest in clowning—buying vintage costumes, studying classic mime routines, and practicing face paint in their bathroom mirror—Sarah did her best to be supportive. She even chuckled when he clumsily juggled oranges in the kitchen.

The hallway of the Oakridge Apartment Complex always smelled faintly of stale carpet cleaner and damp plaster. When I moved into Apartment 4B three months ago, I didn’t care about the smell. I was twenty-six, freshly independent, and thrilled to finally have a space of my own. On my very first day, as I struggled with a taped-up box full of kitchenware, a man stepped out of Apartment 4A to hold the heavy security door open for me. His name was Randy.

“That caint be the number. Just caint,” Wes said, taking off his faded John Deere hat and slapping it against his leg. “I dried the corn before I hauled it over. I know what the moisture level is!” “Wes, I’m just the messenger. The machine checks and gives back a level.” “Well, your gosh-darn machine must be broken!” “It’s just recently been recalibrated. I can run another sample if you want.”

I was five when the man in the wolfman mask scared the shit out of me. No, he didn’t eat me. No, he didn’t kill me. He just gave me one good Halloween scare.

This was supposed to be a radio documentary.

Friday, December 25, 2026 “Ahh… Ahh… Ahhn...” If you are wondering, That's Anne. She has been making that sound for as long as I have known her. Years now, I think. It is hard to say for sure. I don't mind it, though. Actually, if I'm being honest, I like hearing it. It means she's happy. Which makes me happy. Right now, she's in the other room. Come to think of it… She's always in the other room. I've never actually seen it. That's a little strange.

EVIL_BILLY57 AKA BILLIAM DALE EDWARDS IS AN ROBLOX HACKER BUT THE ONLY GAME HE WOULD HACK IS DANDY'S WORLD, HE HACK THE GAME IN AN WAY TO MAKE IT THAT 1 RANDOM TOON YOU'RE PLAYING WITH WIIL HAS AN HYPNOTIZED SMILE , CLOSED EYES AND AN SOMETHING USED FOR MURDER, THERE IS NO KNOWN WAYS TO SAVE THAT TOON FROM KILLING THEIRSELF AND WHEN IT HAPPEN, YOU WOULD HAS AN 5 STAGES VIRUS

On the morning of Tuesday the 16th of December 2025, I took a dead woman off the stones below the Old Cross at Ardboe.

Many people say Disney is a shady company for many reasons, but not everyone truly knows what's going on with them. Some people say the tunnels hide something; some say there used to be a tropical resort; some even say Disney kills.

When I read the articles about him. I spent three weeks looking through my window. I was terrified by the thought of him being in the woods. I thought it was hunting me at first, trying to get me into a tragedy; it wanted me to suffer, but I was entirely wrong. I know, what a way to start, but I have been suffering from sudden explosive nosebleeds and migraines.

The following are notes I wrote on my phone during my night shifts in December 2025, mostly on my breaks, sometimes in the toilets, once lying on the floor of a linen cupboard. I've fixed the spelling and nothing else. I'm posting them because the Trust's investigation has closed, and it says what it says, and this says what happened. — Clare

My wife has been buried in the old graveyard at Killevy, under Slieve Gullion, since the 9th of October 2025.

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.

Being a single dad to a seven-year-old like Miya means you learn to pick your battles. When she gets hooked on a new cartoon, you just pray it isn't one of those hyperactive, neon-flashing nightmares that melts their brains. So, when she trotted into the living room one Tuesday afternoon holding a blank white DVD case and asked, "Daddy, can we watch The Hummionds?" I barely looked up from my laptop. "Sure, kiddo. Pop it in," I mumbled, sipping my coffee.