#creepypasta

“Dude, I’m telling you. Dawn is never going to find out. You’ve got all of your bases covered.” “I don’t know man; she seemed pretty suspicious of me hiding the phone.” “Don’t even worry about it. As soon as you get what you want out of Sheila, you can easily ditch her to give your neglected girl all the love she’s missing. You’re golden man! You’re golden.” “Yeah but what if Sheila keeps calling. . . “ “Ok you’re boring me now” Leo interrupts as he blasts the car’s stereo.

Friday: 1pm Deisha opens her eyes while reaching for her cell phone, “Wow, two hours earlier than yesterday” She shrugs as she attempts to roll herself out of bed. “Ah forget it; what’s the point in waking up earlier anyway? I’m going back to dreamland.” Friday: 4:45pm

You’re not going to believe what happened to me. I was alone at an unusually long red light at about 3 o'clock. I swear the traffic light wasn't staying red by coincidence. Anyway, I was sitting there thinking about how busy my day will be tomorrow when a knock on my driver’s side window made me jump. After I turned to see what it was, my heart skipped a beat. The nuisance was a kid of about 15 yrs old who was wearing entirely black. What really startled me however were his eyes. They were as…

What is going on?

I woke up. Sheets were stained with sweat, breath was no longer bated, and unconscious solace began to surcease. Depression kills. Not in a directly physical way, not in a way perceivable by anyone except the sufferer. It made me feel psychotic. It went past the brain tissue, into the atoms of their molecules. I always imagined the electrons painstakingly orbiting a chunk of ice. There was never light in my imagination.

The cold was the first thing I felt. Even before my eyes were open I felt a very deep chill in my core, a thousand spindles of ice sewn between my tissues. I blinked, my eyelids slowly bringing and stealing back the darkness, and with it the desire to keep them closed forever.

The floor was vibrating. The walls shook, pathetically trying to withstand the shifting below the foundations of the apartment complex. The television fell over, coughing up shards of glass in it's last breath. I cursed all the money wasted, calculating the price of the setback in my head. Outside my window lay a contrasting scene of a magnificent Sun shining over the city.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been suspended in the room. I couldn't remember the last time light had elucidated these claustrophobic confines, nor exactly when I realized I was trapped within them. Vague outlines surrounded the silhouettes of objects filling the room, slightly blurred and perfectly still. These things themselves were not strange, but when I saw them, my mind whispered dissimulation: "This is a dream." And as I listened to it, figures of shadow formed within the depths light…

You lay in your bed, comfortably, staring at your ceiling. Your air conditioning is whirring, allowing you to completely relax and slowly drift into sleep. Just as you start to fall asleep your air conditioner cuts off. You can hear everything. You have a relatively large room. You're starting to become uncomfortable, but instead of moving to get into a better position you lay still. Almost frozen.

“So goodbye yellow brick road Where the dogs of society howl You can’t plant me in your penthouse I’m going back to my plough Back to the howling old owl in the woods Hunting the horny back toad Oh I’ve finally decided my future lies Beyond the yellow brick road” – Elton John, “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” Kansas In 1985, the Disney film ’Return to Oz’ was released in cinemas, and a few years later made its way onto home VHS.

You awaken from a hazy dreamless sleep. You hear laughter, deep and booming, as if the source of it is amused. You look to your left at your alarm clock on your nightstand. 6:04 In red digitized numbers.

I was enjoying the quiet until she started screaming.

I guess I’m not really sure what to write down. These past few weeks feel…It’s just hard to put to words what’s going on. I can hear sirens in the distance. Not much time left now. The police’ll be here shortly. Only one more thing left to do, but first I want to leave some kind of a record. Some testament to what happened so when they look back on this insanity, maybe somebody will know I wasn’t crazy. At least, not completely. I’ll write down the facts as they happened, try and give you a…

Will I ever be free? Will I ever be free of this tormenting life after death? To exist as a ghost wandering around in my own despair, just longing to be put back to rest? I remember how peaceful the long rest was. There I was, sleeping in my ancient tomb without a thought to the living. Complete solitude. I was not being a bother to anyone living.

We see the same faces passing by every day, my faithful wife and I. Ghosts walking by our windows, their faces gaunt and pale. Their speech slurred, almost hauntingly so. They held up signs, although most of which read similar messages. “Will work for food,” “Feed me,” “Spare change?” You had to feel sorry for the beggars and homeless on the streets when you run a respected, neighborhood diner.

It was a late night, and I could not remember where it was that I had been prior, but I remember that I had escaped from extreme violence- (perhaps the reason I couldn't remember?) In retrospect, I do, honestly, remember what happened prior, but at the time I didn't, so for the sake of letting you experience the narrative through MY shoes, I did not, in fact, remember.

If cleanliness is emptiness, then Apartment # 17 was spotless. It was located in a solitary building that occupied its own lot at the corner of Forest and Canal streets. Neither the scenery nor the waterways for which the streets were named were in evidence. The lot, however, did sport a drab plumage of tall grass stunted here and there by half-hearted attempts at maintenance, and the city it was located in had a river that ran through the center of it, a wide belt of deep, dirty water that…

I wake up because I really have to pee. Sliding out of my bed, I sneak past my roommate and into the bathroom. I'm really glad I woke up to pee. I always do, but not being able to wake up from deep sleep to pee is a symptom of frontal lobe abnormality, a symptom of maladaptive social behavior: antisocial. It's funny how so many people use that word incorrectly; the words they mean to use are ‘social anxiety’ when they say antisocial, because antisocial is the psychiatric and correct term for…

Its been eight minutes since I sent my message. Seen, but no reply. Something must have happened. Maybe he's hurt? It's not unlikely that he tripped and hit his head. His apartment is a mess after all. Maybe he's simply ignoring me? No, of course not. He's not like that.

As a kid, I loved the Toy Story film, and you know what else I loved? The Genesis game. Played that game every time I got back from school, before I went to bed, every time I got a chance. A fantastic game. It was pretty much Disney's answer to Donkey Kong Country.