#creepypasta

This story is about a young guy named Finn who lived and survived in a dark thick forest where snow fell often and anything that could move was still and frozen. Finn was ice fishing with his regular gear, near a hut he had found which was made from tree bark and vines growing over a structure formed from ice. He smiled as he reeled in a large catch, and he began to dance. However he slipped on the ice and hit his head on a rock. Looking around for any witnesses of his embarrassment, he saw…

The mind is a complex thing that no one can truly hope to fully understand. You can study it all day long but there are things inside that defy all human logic. In a way we are all prisoners to our own thoughts, and some are hard to escape.

The Spelunker's Cave had been one of my favorite rides since I was a kid. I wasn't a kid anymore. I was almost fourteen. But, I still loved it. My friends did too. Toni, Andra, Caroline, and I piled into the boat, ready for the darkness. Five other boats were lined in front of us. Ours was the sixth and final boat. A long, long line of amusement park thrill seekers awaited their turns.

I need to be extremely clear to you that this is real. There is nothing fabricated in what I am about to tell you. There are what I can only describe as zombies out there, making their way to you right now.

The autumn of 1944 was particularly cold in northern Romania, and Anselo found himself huddled very near the warm glow of his campfire on most nights. He had been traveling for months, trying his best to lead his new Soviet “comrades” through the mountains of his homeland, so that they may be able to help liberate Transylvania from Nazi control. Thus far all he had known was bloodshed and hardship, but it seemed that the Soviets were making ground, and he had heard recently that the Allies had…

The longitudinal study was conducted to observe what has been regarded as the Final Filter of Civilization among 3-dimensional lifeforms. While preceding observations provided valuable insights for the mechanism, this study considered variables hypothesized to be more relevant.

My name is Carl Whitlock, 37, white male. Convict. It’s been my third month here. All in all, things could be worse. If anything, the guilt I feel is worse than these concrete walls, but what can I do about it now, eh? It’s all done, and I can’t take it back.

Curiosity isn’t always a good thing. I once thought discovering everything the world had to offer was my true passion. It turns out though some things are best left alone.

I sat in awe of the message in front of me, illuminating the wall behind my desk in unholy light. “Suspended from further work-related activities.” At first, I was shocked by the sudden change in employment status my life held. Next, I was apprehensive that this was merely a mistake from the Human Resources Department. I grabbed my phone and dialed the number with vindictive fervor, indignant by the way I was treated by the company I slaved away at for 17 years! 17!

I have to write about this here because if I tell anyone in my life they will not believe me. I need to purge myself of these memories, I must share them with you.

The following transcripts were taken from Youtuber "SuperHotTea", discovered on her discarded laptop after she went missing on an undisclosed date. Hi, this is SuperHotTea coming at you with another video. Today I wanna talk about dead Youtubers. Not literally dead ones, don’t demonetize me, but dead channels, the ones that aren’t even close to relevant anymore. THAT kind of dead.

It was finally time.

We had been sailing for months after departing from the port of Whitehill, and had left even the most remote hunting grounds of the whalers behind weeks ago. The charts put us northeast of the Forsaken Islands, but their bleak shores were not our destination. Our route led us farther north than most men had ever sailed, across the desolate black waters of the Northern Sea.

I think it's fair to say that quite a number of us are big fans of Disney, whether or not we like to think otherwise. Disney has always been there with us, shaping our childhoods. And though Disney is home to some of the most beloved classics of our childhood, like Snow White, Pinocchio, Beauty And The Beast and so forth, a lot of people nowadays like to dwell on the more darker aspects of Disney.

There were six of us when we left the trading post and traveled in the western direction, following the river in the shadow of the Inech mountains. The market we had visited was one of the few places in the world where a ragtag group like us did not stand out from the crowd.

Our journey began at the end of everything. The world had ended, but ours had just begun. We had lived our lives in solitude, confined for as long as we could remember, but that was about to change. “Hello? Can anyone hear me?” I asked seemingly no one. After a while, a voice I’d never heard rang out. “Hello! Yes, I can hear you. Who am I speaking with?” The British voice crackled out, and a wave of excitement overcame me.

"Why did I choose this job?" Vanessa wondered. She never wanted to work with people, especially not in mental hospitals. She had always preferred remote work, but for now, this job would do. She handled both day and night shifts because no one else wanted to work with these individuals. She understood why. But who was she to judge? Besides, it was the only way to reduce her sentence. All she needed to do was pass out medication and keep an eye on them—how hard could that be?

Jarren lifted the sheets up over Milli, tucking them in around her as she stared up at him. “Daddy?” she said. “Yes, angel?” “Can I have a song?” He sighed. “I don’t know any of the songs Mommy would sing to you.” “She would sing songs about going to sleep.” He took in a deep breath. “Well, I’ll give it a try. Um… let’s see. Go to sleep, goodnight, it’s nighttime little girl… go to sleep, you’re in bed…” “That’s not a very good song, Daddy.”

Richard removed the lightswitch to the basement stairwell. It wasn’t that he simply disabled it, no. He removed the entire thing. Plastic covering, screws, the switch box—all of it. Though, he had shut off the power to the basement for good measure, too.

I sliced the arms and legs. I sew together each vein. Delicate patterns of lace, and the soft blush of first love. My palms are stained red. The needle slipped in, swiftly as the sleek body of a fish. Sans hésitation A gentle gush of warmth, Flowing freely from each cut. Catching in the cracks of the pavement And between my lovers lips These are only the amateur first strokes Of my watercolour painting. Next are the fingernails. which have endured the brunt for many years,