#creepypasta

Way back in the deep woods there lived a scrawny old woman who had a reputation for being the best conjuring woman in the Ozarks. With her bedraggled black-and-gray hair, funny eyes - one yellow and one green - and her crooked nose, Old Betty was not a pretty picture, but she was the best there was at fixing what ailed a man, and that was all that counted.

Mike yawned. He wasn't use to the late nights yet. It was only his second night shift, as far as I'm aware, and by the time he had crossed the room to grab his sixth or seventh drink of coffee from the machine just outside the office door, I was started to get irritated by him. He was a lot younger than me, about 20 years old, and the age gap annoyed me since he acted like a child most of the time. My usual co-worker for the night shift was on a vacation with our boss, since the two knew each…

We humans pride ourselves on being social creatures of moral thought. We thoroughly believe that we are superior compared to every other animal on the planet because we are able to perform action only based on morals. Charitable donations, helping the environment around us and simple acts of kindness present a portrait that we concern ourselves with the existence of others. And with that, we think ourselves better than creatures. But we’re not superior. The Un-rapture proved that.

There was once a girl, whom I loved dearly…

I’ve been thinking of him-er-her (it?) for the past week. I haven’t been able to sleep. I’ve barely eaten anything. I quit my job. Or stopped going to work is more like it. I assume I’m no longer employed there. My eyes are sunken in. I sit at my computer day and night mindlessly trying to keep myself entertained… or awake, more importantly. For if I sleep I’m afraid I may never wake up. I’m afraid he - she - or, it will get me. I don’t know what I mean by “get”. I don’t believe it was out to…

“Come play with me.” That line… it’s a cliché for the horror genre, is it not? You all know what I mean, the unsettling apparition of a child, or maybe just the voice, beckoning to you. What is it about children that gives them the ability to be so damn creepy? Maybe… maybe it’s the fact that, generally speaking, children are helpless and anyone with a nurturing side to their personality wants to help them and care for them. I mean, if any one of us saw a child in trouble, I’m sure we’d rush to…

I enjoy picking locks… That may sound like a strange hobby, but if you search it on YouTube you’ll get thousands of hits. It has quite a fanbase. I developed quite a talent for locksport by the time I was 16, and could pick just about anything – anything that is found on your average house or shop, that is – but a Multilock or Medco; although, I had succeeded with the latter after almost an hour of sweaty, hand-cramping work.

Somebody once said “We are either alone in this universe, or we are not. Both thoughts are equally terrifying”. It is an interesting thought, and a mystery that may go on forever. The mistake this generation of people make is assuming that they are untouchable, that they know everything there is to know already, and that anything else is merely a bonus. Let me tell you, there is one almighty assumption that people make, a mistake that has been made for thousands of years. A secret which will…

Some are inherently blessed with the ability to spin words into tales, as a glass spinner creates iridescent globes and faerie wings from the thinnest strands of molten sand. They can take the small components and, with ease and finesse, lay them over one another time and time again until the moment that the masterpiece is complete. At this point the light catches on a single aspect, and sets the whole thing shining and sparkling to all who receive it. All in all, it is a beautiful thing.

I was a junior in college in the fall of 2012. I had managed to convince my parents to let me take over their place while they vacationed in the French Riviera (don’t ask, dad worked for a huge company, he was a higher-up.) I aspired to be a musician, and they were willing to do just about anything to keep me in school. I told them, if I was going, I wanted to go all the way and at least get my M.A., and they had no argument, even offered to foot the bill for school, books, etc. However, I was…

I'm always playing the part. Ever since this stupid movie started, the part never really left me. You're probably confused. Should I bother explaining? Honestly, all you'll do is ridicule me. Oh well. All the people I would confide in aren't exactly... around. If you have a few minutes, I can tell you a story that will drive you crazy. Trust me, I mean that.

It began in an attic; dim and eerie with nothing visible past two feet ahead of you. I don't know what I was doing there to be honest, all I know is, I woke up there with no memory of how I happened to be in that room. The worst part of it was… my house didn't have an attic, meaning I was in someone else's home I didn't know of. There was a thick silence that was almost suffocating to me because the smallest of movements that I made sounded throughout the entire room.

It'd been about a month since the fire, the cause of which is still unknown. I don't like to think about it, not because we narrowly escaped with our lives, but because our two dogs didn’t. Since then we’d relocated to an apartment in the city while our house got fixed up. Things hadn't been the same since then. Our home atmosphere, which had usually been warm and lively, had since shifted to a more depressing one that nobody wanted to be around.

I wake up to the sound of sizzling oil and the smell of eggs. I bring my hands up to my face and I am met with caked blood on my wrists. It is not surprising anymore. I hear tiny feet pad down the hallway and my brother opens my door. "Ada, breakfast is ready," Timothy says. I chuckle. He still has not managed to get his lisp under control.

It was two days until Christmas, just one more day until Christmas Eve. I was at Walmart with my older sister Alyssa, trying to find a present for our father. "Eric, how much money did you say you had?" she questioned, rummaging through her purse. "Five dollars and seventy-eight cents," I answered proudly. "Eric," she began, reaching for the top shelf, "if we want to get Dad this Guinness set, we'll need five more dollars."

Timothy had always loved Christmas. It was his favorite time of year. He loved the lights, the music, the presents, the movies, the laughter… he loved it all.

"I had a weird dream last night." "A really. Weird. Dream..." ------ My name is _______. I'm a good guy I think. And I like good people. That's pretty much my sole criteria for deciding if I want to hang out with someone. And I pride myself in my ability to tell good people. Once I decide you're good people, we’re good. Friends for life.

The phone rang abruptly. He paused to look at the screen of his battered cell phone. "No Caller ID." He doesn't usually answer these calls, but after what just happened he thought it could be something important. He slid his thumb slowly across the bottom of the screen to answer, and even slower again, he raised the phone to his ear. "H-Hello?" he said hesitantly.

I had just graduated high school and was planning to head off to college that fall. I had done well enough in high school that I had a couple of different college scholarships at my disposal. However, not every school that I looked at was willing to give me a full ride. After much thought and delegation I decided to attend the University of Wyoming. Why would I apply to such a college you may ask? Well for one thing, the college is in the middle of nowhere! Literally, when you drive there, all…

I grew up in an area where the properties are so large and the families are so wealthy, that they build mansions and walls inclosing themselves in their own private paradises - never interacting with their neighbors unless by some strange coincidence. I was home-schooled until the age of 7, which is where this story ends.