#creepypasta

It was the morning after I had said my vows in the shield hall of the Twilight Gate when I first doubted my decision to join the Asundrian Order. A strange notion, I know. Who ever heard of a doubting Sentinel? After all, there are only two types of people in Asunder: the honorable few with unwavering dedication to the cause, and those who gambled away the prerogative to question their choices; no in-between. In truth, there are probably far more stories like mine - bland, told a thousand times…

“Pluggy the Plug-in,” that is the name I keep remembering for some reason, even after those posts of the lost show titled Sammy the Cat. I wonder who that character is; I might as well talk to the creator of the show about it. Yes, it has been a long time since Richard Turner was arrested. Even after my two posts, I never heard anything about him being released.

In 2007 I had taken a trip to Walt Disney World with my six year old son. It was our first family vacation since my husband had passed way, and so I wanted to make sure this vacation was as memorable and fun as possible for my son. My son's favorite movie at the time was 'Pirates of the Caribbean' and as a result we spent many hours in Fantasy Land. Time after time my son insisted on returning to the Pirates of the Caribbean ride, each time he seemed more eager than the last.

It was just like any other day when I received the call. I had been sketching the horizon for the past hour when my phone began ringing with with an unfamiliar number. I would have ignored it if the call hadn't been from my home town. Fast forward 24 hours later, and I'm sitting in a stark conference room and waiting for a team of doctors to arrive. I would have never imagined myself in this position. Who could? My mind was racing, and I wished that the doctor had given me a clearer explanation…

I'm a lucky guy. I've been fortunate all my life, ever since my birth in the heart of Manhattan's Upper West Side, a storied locale steeped in success and privilege.  Opportunity was my birthright, as illustrated by my attendance at Phillips Exeter Academy; there, I nurtured the awareness of just how fortunate I was to swim in such an elite milieu.  Every day there felt like a testament to the luck which had graced my life.

There exists a website known as Parasites.org, and it’s claimed that when you first enter the website, it automatically asks for your name, bank account information, and other personal details like your address. Not providing this information doesn’t do anything, but if you do input your details, the following text appears: "Thank you, customer! Enjoy your parasites! ;)"

# Chapter 1: The Unraveling It started with whispers. Small, unnoticed events—skirmishes on the borders of far-off countries, unusual troop movements, the sudden disappearance of entire villages. The world was too busy to care, engrossed in its own daily struggles and minor victories. But beneath the surface, a darkness was brewing.

I'm not sure I'm allowed to post this here. If there's a better place, please let me know. I really just want to figure out what happened, so I'm trying to share this on as many forums as possible. If anyone experienced something similar or knows somebody who has, please contact me. I'd be grateful for any information because I really think I'm going insane over this.

For my niece's sixth birthday I bought her a Barbie doll. She loved dolls and stuffed animals, and loved playing pretend with them even more. Whenever I stopped by my sister's house I could always hear my niece playing with her toys, speaking to them as if she was having a wonderful conversation and would sometimes make her dolls talk back.

Sarah gambled.  She played video poker and the ponies at the track.  She knew the odds of blackjack if she split a pair of face cards.  She’d played the office football pool--until she was fired for taking one too many three-hour lunches at the casino.  She gambled when she had money and, on credit, when she was broke--before she’d maxed out her credit cards and the debt collectors started dogging her steps.  She gambled when she was happy and she gambled when she was miserable--which was…

Some neighborhood kids and I are going to commit a felony tonight, but it's no big deal. We've been committing a felony for almost two weeks now. We've developed a new pastime, and this all began when Cody Winters told us about the Railroad Game. This is the type of shit that happens when you live in a quaint suburb, filled with kids and teenagers that have nothing better to do.

This happened to me many years ago, but I just can't get it out of my head. Maybe writing it down will help, so here it goes.

As a kid growing up in my neighborhood everyone knew about Farmer Fred’s, partly because it was an abandoned farm in the middle of the Pittsburgh suburbs, but largely due to the fact that it was haunted. A farm in my neighborhood was probably commonplace at the turn of the 19th century, but by the time I was a kid we were surrounded by strip malls, fast food restaurants and housing developments. That being said, there was and is still a good deal of green space, and at least one farm, albeit no…

I have never been as happy as I was on my eighth birthday. My mother handed me a heavily wrapped present containing my very first gameboy and a mint Pokémon Gold edition.

I'll never forget the summer of 1998, or the encounters I shared with my classmates. When I was ten years old, just two weeks into the beginning of the school year, the entire fifth grade was taken on a special week-long camping trip to 'Camp High Hope' in Indiana. Being ten years old, the idea of spending a week away from home, without any parents or siblings, just friends and the other kids from school, was one of the coolest experiences you could ever hope for as a child.

"What do you mean, 'you're almost there'?" Ralf's voice was barely audible through the prattle of the nightly downpour. "Past the exit sign." I leaned closer to the phone holder. "I'll be there in 20 minutes. 30 at most." I tried to come up with a quick estimate how long it would take to unload the hodgepodge of furniture and crates from the estate sale, but Ralf cut me off. "It's Friday, Frank." A pause, then: "We said Saturday."

I want your sickness. You see, I spend my time here, each hour of the day and night, I sit in the shadows just to watch. I study your every move. I know your routine well, in fact. You wake up each night at 03:00, still shuddering from a nightmare, and drag your tired body to the washroom. It gives me such a thrill, this routine, because what you don’t know is that it’s not a nightmare. I am, in fact, only inches away from you.

I’ve gotten into some trouble recently, and I need to tell people about it. I need to know if anyone has experienced something like this. I don’t want to be alone in this. I’m really, really scared. Please, bear with me while I explain what happened to me. For the purposes of this, I’m going to remain anonymous, so I don’t complicate my situation further. You’ll find out why in a little bit. I really appreciate you taking your time to hear me out and help me.

I think Captain Gold is worried that I'm losing it. Sometimes I think I might be. I haven’t seen Marty for days. He was supposed to meet me at the Larrabee last night, but never showed. I’m starting to get very concerned. Casey is gone. I think I lost her a long time ago, but now she’s gone for good. It occurs to me that I’m jumping ahead of myself. I need to stop and recollect my thoughts. There’s a lot I don’t remember, and even more that I do, but it might not be true.

The following story was originally posted across 8 different installments spanning the months from October to November of 2017. They describe the true events that occurred at a now infamous small town gas station. PART ONE