#creepypasta

The terrible sense of Déjà vu swept over him as Billy threw him to the black top. He knew he had been here before as his tormentor mounted him pinning him to the ground. His shrill cries only caused Billy to grin sadistically as he threw the first punch that broke his nose. His piercing screams that had served in his childhood to force his daycare provider to attend to his needs served no purpose in the brutal, adolescent world of high school. Billy set into the beating that would haunt his…

I don’t want to tell this story, I don’t want to tell it because I know no matter how much I warn people, somebody is bound to try it. I’m telling this story as a cautionary tale, if anyone ever finds instructions on how to play “The Subway Game” pretend you never saw it. I can’t state this enough.

"I’m going to Saturn,” Isaac said under his breath. I looked over towards his desk and jokingly said back, “You’re going there for summer break?” Isaac just stared downward scribbling something in his notebook, ignoring me, mumbling to himself. I sighed and moved back in my seat and stared at the clock. Only 10 minutes until we’re out of here and summer finally begins.

No word, uttered or inscribed, can claim that all they tell is true to the letter; in every slip and stutter of the human voice, every unspoken detail in fine print, a lie takes root and defiles the same soil that nourishes it, until it burgeons into a carnivorous parasite. Last summer, Rosenthal Manor snatched me away from my life with a bouquet of hopes and walled me into her cold, high corridors, where every step that falls on the marble floor, every voice whispered in its chambers, does so…

“I consider it useless and tedious to represent what exists, because nothing that exists satisfies me. Nature is ugly, and I prefer the monsters of my fancy to what is positively trivial.” -Charles Bauldelaire

Here they come, around the corner, sliding into the driveway in their family sedan. They’re back from the market, the father’s pockets no doubt lined with fresh 50s. The tires roll easily along the gravel, and I pray that lying somewhere in that collection of pebbles and stones is a glass shard, or a rock sharp enough to pierce the tires.

A gray SUV stopped by a white house in the countryside. The garden was a bit overgrown; the grass and trees were starting to claim more land than they had been permitted. Five people came down from the car and looked around. 'This place looks nice.' Said a tall blond girl with green eyes while taking a deep breath. 'Yeah, it's a nice place. Grandpa loved this: fresh air, the forest extends for ten kilometers, and there is a river down the hill; we used to bathe there as kids.

I would like to start this story by saying that Ray was great. A perfect gentleman and consummate professional. He didn't send a single untoward word or glance in my direction the entire time we were together. Even when things got scary, he put my safety first. And in spite of everything that happened to us, we're already talking about working together again.

I used to work security at a vehicle safety testing facility - a crash test facility, really - just outside of Gothenburg in Sweden. The place has been around for a long time, and many of the most popular models around here have been tested at this facility. The purpose of security in this context was mostly to keep trespassers out and ensure that doors were locked and alarms primed.

“Ladies. Gentlemen. Revenants to whom these distinctions have long since succumbed to the natural processes of putrefaction. I stand before you today with indisputable proof that Earth is ruled not by Man but by Nameless Things that dwell far beneath our serene and sunlit surface world. Yes, you all heard me correctly; Hollow Earth is as real as the Bavarian Illuminati. A vast, sprawling labyrinth of tunnels and chasms forged not from geological forces but rather by the antediluvian behemoths…

The light of the late evening filtered through my bedroom window; motes of dust danced in the rays of dying sunlight. My body feels wrong. It somehow feels heavy and light at the same time. I keep trying to lift myself out of bed but can’t find the strength. Has this happened before? No of course, not…right? I shouldn’t have eaten at that diner; I knew that gravy looked and smelled weird. I must be paying the price for eating that slop. Then I felt it, something was coming up. I tried to will…

I was 13 when I first tried to kill myself. The orphaned son of a dead drug dealer and an incarcerated illiterate, I grew up knowing nothing but neglect and abuse. I was on my third foster home in nine months when I first tried. Wolfing down a handful of Tylenol, I had no idea what I was doing.

It's hard to purposefully forget something. The more you try not to think about it, the more you think about it. And the more you think about it, the more you obsess over it. You try to keep it tucked away in the back of your mind, but now the back of your mind is the only place you visit. You become engulfed with it, with the idea of forgetting. This happened to me, and now, it's ruined my life. This all started around 10 years ago, when I started to dig though some of my old stuff. It was my…

Did you see what happened last night? I’ve checked all the major news sites, channels, and popular social media sites, and I haven’t seen anyone talking about it. I even looked into some more obscure forums, but no one is talking about it. Am I the only one who saw it? Or I guess I should say the only one left who saw it? Did it even happen? It must have, the memories I have are so clear they can’t be a dream. But it happened so fast, and those people. I never learned their names or anything.…

Tick… tick… tick… tick… tick. The slow rhythm of the clock pulled me out of my sleep webs as it grew stronger by the second. Then I felt an unpleasant pressure on my right ear and wetness under my hand, which came from a small pool of saliva flowing onto the wooden bench.

Why Does My New Born Baby Have Memories Of My Dead Brother? Our baby, Lily, is barely two weeks old, but she's taken to crying at exactly 3:14 AM. It started on the third night in the hospital, a high-pitched keening that rattled the monitors and made me bolt upright. My husband, Jacob, sleep-shy but determined to comfort her, reached into the bassinet. When he came back, his face was pale. "She did it again," he whispered. "She sounded like…like Matt."

I was driving down the highway thirty three past midnight. I was trying to go as fast as possible without breaking the speed limit. The last thing I needed was a cop following me when I was driving a stolen car, had a dead man in the trunk, two shotguns, a handgun in my strap and a bag full of cash in the passenger seat.

“What’s up with her, Sammy?” Steven grunted, puffing on his half-burned cigarette.

Up and up the rough-hewn steps tramp the wormy feet of countless dark denizens. They move in silence through the earth's bowels with a singular purpose. Stirred from restless sleep and unholy dreams. Stirred from aimless wriggling and horrid scavenging. Stirred by the voice of their beloved mother, vast and terrible. She bids them rise, and rise they do. None shall disobey their doting matriarch. And so, they rise the ancient steps and forgotten causeways. Passing through slimy tunnels filled…

The steady droning of fluorescent lights buzzed through the perpetually cold morgue. A sound that, after three years, had woven its way into my sense of peace as comforting and familiar as my own breathing. Carl muttered under his breath as he wrestled with the finicky coffee machine before it spurted out the coveted drink. It wasn’t just the vending machine that put him in such a grumpy mood. We had gotten another new intern. Some emo kid with a gauge piercing and nose ring, obsessed with…