#creepypasta

This is a shitty day, it started all kinds of wrong. Maybe I should have paid more attention to the signs. 'Fabrizio, Fabrizio, are you there? Over' The radio started spewing words and ruining my smoke time. 'The fuck do you want, Marcello? Over' 'We are going to move to the north. Enrio saw some little fucks running around a few hours ago, we think there is a horde somewhere. Have you seen anything? Over' 'Nah! Haven't seen any lately, but you never know with those things. Over'

I am not going to talk about myself much and will just go straight into my story. I will keep my name brief; my name is Dennis, and I am nothing special. Now, with that out of the way, I will get to my story.

I’m only a few years old, but I already know your name, date of birth, address, and the number on your government issued ID. I even know, to within the minute, the last time you used the bathroom. This isn’t difficult, and if you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll explain how I know this.

Darkness. Not a peep in the void. Then shapes, sounds, blurred and distorted, but growing into something more tangible. I feel my feet on the floor and my arms by my sides. My mouth is dry, and my breath comes to me in short gasps. Tasteful piano music soothes my aching brain, though I see no piano. I blink the haziness away and take in my surroundings, realising with moderate shock that I’m in my household ballroom.

The mountain was tall and malformed.  It jutted out of the earth as a singular monolith, unbothered and undisturbed in its growth from any other rock formations budding up against it and contorting its growth or shape.  For millions of years, it was left as a black sheep in the vastness, just barely far enough not to fall into the fold of the Appalachian Mountains that eclipsed its height and size.  Mount Ostium, as it was known to us outsiders who came to it for study, was a nexus of mystery…

"What does it look like out there, Félix?" "Just like here, everything is covered in snow. Have the others returned yet?" "No, you are the first to arrive. Eduardo came back for a few minutes to change one of his crampons, but he went back out immediately." Félix turned around and looked at the entrance of the mine.

Keira sits on her bed and stares vacantly at the opposing wall. She’s tired and she’d sell her soul to get a few winks in, if only for bad dreams. It’s Halloween night, but she’s not done much to mark the occasion. Just a drink and a chat with her mates. Non-costumed. Somewhere unbusy. Mature. Just a drink and a chat.

I am Joshua L. Greene. And I am responsible for the fire that destroyed Briarwood Winery on October 19th. My reasoning for doing so will be explained in this confession. On the night of October 19th, I stayed at work late to help clean up after the tasting event. We had brought extra glasses up from storage in the cellar, and I was helping clean them so they could be returned to the dusty boxes they called home. My coworker, Sam, was rushing the dishes, leaving remnants of lipstick on the rims.

My eyelids shut themselves open with the subtlety of an old garage door. My first sight this instant is the ceiling, bleached of its colors by the darkness. I escaped dreamland as my mind was alerted by a rapid shift in temperature. My feet are icy. Which… can’t make sense… because… uh… Thinking hurts when you’ve just woke up. My neck, hurt from my marble pillow, swivels to the right to orient my head to the alarm clock, at just the right angle for my tired eyes to calibrate. 2:34 AM.

It’s a peaceful cloudy afternoon. I can feel the gentle autumn breeze on my skin as I take my relaxing afternoon walk after work. I like this time of day, at this time of year, where the temperature is just right, the sun is about to set and the hustle and bustle of the city is starting to quiet down, but it hasn’t become night yet. I like to take the opportunity to clear my head during these walks, to let my mind wander without any distractions. That’s why I didn’t initially register when my…

It was late at night, maybe 10:30 or so. I had gotten off work around ten, like always. I worked the evening shift at one of the libraries at my local college. It was a smaller one, maybe a few hundred square feet, but it was a popular place for students as it was meant for the medical school that brought many students to the university that made my home a college town. This meant it was open most of the day, including well into the night. My job was to watch the place, clean everything up,…

Chapter 8: The Wish The seven statues that lined the chamber stepped down from their pedestals. Each holding the stone swords that sat in front of them. The suspended head above looked down on Requiem with anger, and uncertainty.

“Life is often just an interim between nightmares.”

“You wanted to see us, Director Mason?” researcher Luna Valdez asked, her voice as composed as she could make it and her hands clasped politely behind her back, her seemingly ever-present security attaché Joseph Gromwell standing protectively at her side. Director Mason knew that if he ever put Luna in harm's way, Joseph would be the one he’d be answering to.

Chapter 7: Reputable Amongst the Worst The ground was slowly taken out from under Requiem’s feet before he was yanked to the ceiling. He landed hard on his back with his arms splayed out. Little by little, all the rubble from the ground below did the same. Wrath's body fell up landing directly on Requiem with the stone foundation below soon to follow.

“Where are my smoking glasses?”

“I’m going blind,” I told my wife when we moved to our new gothic-style home in Griswold on a breezy day in early April. It was a wedding gift from my estranged father —a beautiful two-story structure with pointed arches, board-and-batten siding, large stained-glass windows, and a steep-pitched roof that gave the illusion of a medieval tower. Before my gradual onset of blindness, Samantha and I loved looking at homes from this era. Now, our beautiful new home was a blur, another milestone I…

They were outcasts once, in the old days; The Silent Kings. That’s what all the old-timers heard from their old-timers, anyway. They were Sin Eaters. Mute Sin Eaters.  Mute from trauma, according to most. The three of them were brothers, orphaned together when they accidentally set their mother on fire. The legends don’t record the details of exactly how that went down, but the boys were so traumatized not just from witnessing their mother’s fiery demise, but also being the cause of it, that…

Chapter 6: Face of the Forgotten He pressed forward with his claymore resting on his shoulder, leaving bloody footprints behind him. His feet regrew the muscles and skin with every step he took further into the labyrinth. Requiem walked through the labyrinth that took the shape of a dungeon. Every room he passed was vacant as he progressed through the torchless hallway that seemed to have no end.

11:30 am. Dreary. Heartburn. Brain ache. Tired eyes giving way to a dull throbbing, but never drifting closed. We sat in silence around our monitors and typed, when suddenly, the office room silence was pierced by Lola’s break alarm. It blared its flat, electronic tone on repeat a few times until she stood up from her chair.