#creepypasta

Hello there.

It's hard to purposefully forget something. The more you try not to think about it, the more you think about it. And the more you think about it, the more you obsess over it. You try to keep it tucked away in the back of your mind, but now the back of your mind is the only place you visit. You become engulfed with it, with the idea of forgetting. This happened to me, and now, it's ruined my life. This all started around 10 years ago, when I started to dig though some of my old stuff. It was my…

Honestly, I liked the drive. It was the scenic route and those beautiful country roads were part of the reason why I didn’t mind the commute. Driving became an escape for me. Cathartic even.

I’ve been selling junk on eBay for years—mid-century lamps, Beanie Babies, even a taxidermy squirrel once. My weekends are spent prowling garage sales, looking for overlooked treasures. So when I saw the squat, ancient jar sitting in a patch of weeds at the back of a neighbor’s sale, I figured it might be worth, at the very least, a hundred bucks to some archaeology-obsessed collector. Honestly, it didn’t look like much at first. About as tall as my knee, thick clay, faded patterns spiraling…

You remember Freddy Fazbear's? You know, that popular pizzeria in the '80s with the toy animatronics? Everyone else remembers the birthday parties—the greasy pizza, the arcade carpet sticky with soda, the plastic tokens, and that unbearable, synthesized marching-band tune that played from the stage on an endless loop. They remember the balloons and the paper hats. I remember the silence.

Long black hair draped down in twisted, wet tendrils, her head cocked to one side as the TV blared in front of her. "HEY!" I shouted again, trying to project my voice over the noise, "HELLO?!" Her head didn't move, not so much as an inch, just stayed utterly stagnant, facing away from me, her body sitting upright on my couch. "HELLO!?" I again cried, slowly setting down my keys in the entryway, yet keeping my shoes on as I began creeping forwards hesitantly. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

Halle and I had only been living in Brunswick, Georgia for a few months. We moved here from Tallahassee over the summer and honestly, we missed home. But hey, the area had grown on us. We liked the beaches and the culture. But one place we hadn’t checked out yet was Jekyll Island. Jekyll had a mystique to it to say the least. It had history given that it once served as a vacation destination for many of America’s wealthy elites during The Gilded Age. The opportunity to visit said island arose…

The following are the final excerpts from the journal of Dr. Arnold Richards, who, at sixty-seven years old and in perfect health, was found dead in his bedroom, lying in a pool of his own blood, a single sleeping pill in his hand. The incidents surrounding the events reported in his diary were investigated thoroughly, but the case was never solved.

Please, I don't know what to do. I've tried to tell my wife about this, but she's a science teacher and thanks to my history of practical jokes, she thinks I'm just kidding. There is something stalking me. I don't know what it wants, but almost every night since I started seeing it, it has terrorized me. It doesn't touch me, it doesn't communicate in any sort of way, it just fills me with horror. If what I seem to ramble, please forgive me... I haven't slept in several days.

Polybius is an urban legend about a rare arcade game released in 1981. The game was created by a mysterious company called Sinneslöschen (German for "Sense Deletion") and was a puzzle/shoot-'em-up somewhat like Tempest. It was only released in a few suburbs of Portland, Oregon.

I never regretted working in that charity shop. It was strictly volunteer stuff, only on weekends and a few solitary evenings. The shop was small and cramped, and we never got many visitors, so my lonely shifts were, more often than not, spent quietly sitting at an abandoned counter.

A Creepypasta They say that if someone has caused you unbearable suffering, all you need is a chestnut and three words. But before you try it, you should know the story of Charlie Whitmore. And you should understand that Charlie doesn't forgive. For nearly seventy years, Whitmore Chestnut Farm had been a beloved fixture in the small rural community of Ashbury.

When I was a kid, I was a huge sucker for Barbie dolls. Really. I didn't care for them like other girls did; giving them baths and cleaning them up and going to sleep with them, but I did like playing with them. I was usually playing around with the outfits, having them talk to each other, stuff like that.

You know my name by now; I don’t want to keep starting my posts like this, but... if you are new regardless, the name is Jay. After the L.P.I. incident and the death of Crane, there was something I found when I came back to Super Nintendo World that dated way back before the Junior Playtesting Program experiments. I found something old, something buried underneath layers of dust, rubble, and countless lies. Something I almost missed but am very glad I found it before anyone else threw it away.

Michael sat down on the bench, checking his watch as his leg nervously tapped the floor. The bus was running late today. That wasn’t good for him. He needed to make a good impression at this interview. This job could be a great stepping stone in his career—he had to get it. And if the bus didn’t hurry up, he wouldn’t! “C’mon, c’mon!” he murmured. “Let’s hurry this on up!”

It’s hard to imagine what it is like to be kidnapped. I've tried, often, probably every day for the last four years. Imaging the unlimited scenarios, anything from the kidnapper’s first contact to the actual abduction and the subsequent transport, has plagued me for many sleepless nights. It is hard not to focus on the betrayal he must have felt trusting that stranger. The absolute fear and possible pain he felt while maybe getting dragged away into some van or truck. Thinking of how they may…

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe because if I don’t, it will stay in my head forever, scratching at the inside of my skull like something that wants out. My name is John, and a few months ago I found something I should have left buried. It happened during a trip out west, far from any marked trails, in a place where the silence feels wrong, like it’s not empty but waiting. I came across an old shack, barely standing, hidden between dead trees and dry grass. It looked like no one had…

You may have heard about the Dandy Corporation's modern-day ghost towns. A company as large and as long-lasting as Dandy Co. is bound to make a few mistakes, and when they do, it's often cheaper to just ignore them than to throw good money after bad.

> “Smile for the camera.” — Unknown — - That night, I crashed on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Across from me, Sam lay stretched out, one arm slung over his face. We’d been there for hours, maybe more. No words. Just silence thick enough to suffocate. “You feel it too, don’t you?” he said finally, voice barely audible. He didn’t move, just spoke into the dark.

Day 1: It hasn't been long since the outbreak began, it was originally simple. A few bad cases in Africa and Asia but then it seemed to spread into Europe very quickly. Being a new scientist I am to record the examinations and... Morgue reports of the victims who arrive and to discover what this virus might be. Since I was just invited to Europe they instantly quarantined me and are keeping me in this non-contaminated environment. The walls are a sterile white and the only exit I have is the…