#creepypasta

I just want to start off by saying if you want an answer at the end, prepare to be disappointed. There just isn't one. I was an intern at Nickelodeon Studios for a year in 2005 for my degree in animation. It wasn't paid of course, most internships aren't, but it did have some perks beyond education. To adults it might not seem like a big one, but most kids at the time would go crazy over it.

Tap, tap, tap… Tap, tap. Silence... tap.

It started with the silence. In a house usually filled with the clatter of ceramic lasagna pans, the metallic screreech of claws on hardwood, and the endless, booming complaints of an orange, gluttonous feline, the quiet was heavier than lead.

I think it all started when I dreamt of my own death. I was only 10. This isn’t the first time I’ve died in a dream. We've all felt the jolt of a fall or a hit. Shaking us out of slumber and into the dark comfort of our bed.

Laboratory exploration day 8: Randy: We finally reached floor 3, and it isn’t really what any of us expected. It’s a lot more dirty than we remembered, and there are several broken glass enclosures. There’s paper everywhere, little pages and sticky notes covered in illegible scribbling. Something happened here, something serious. Steven:

Note: This is based on an actual nightmare I had back when Momo was popular. Before we start, I’m not going to make any attempts to call Momo or do the Momo Challenge. I’m not here to do that, as it’s incredibly dangerous, and I’m not trying to get myself or my family hurt. I’m just here to share a nightmare I had a long time ago, back when the legend was popular.

I remember when the nightmares first started. I think it was ten, maybe twelve years ago. We had just gotten a new house, one of those old buildings that cracked and groaned when anything moved inside it, the ones they sell real cheap to poor families like mine instead of demolishing. I was only 16 at the time, and my dad thought that he, my brother, and I could use a rest start away from the city. Sometimes I wish we never started, I wish we never moved out of our old apartment, but sometimes,…

The black light in my hand told me things I should have never known, word by word over a month’s grim fascination.

((The following passage was found on an abandoned jump-drive two miles outside of Philadelphia. Though a somewhat longer passage, it has been passed on to, edited, and submitted by K.B. Miller. Original sources refused to disclose the exact location where such jump-drive was found. Therefore, certain names and events have been changed or redacted.)) **** I can't believe I'm doing this.

At first sight, maybe it was my fault. I refused to move with them to London, wanting to stay in Sweden to finish my astrology projects. I had a lot of plans for the future, but it all slid down into nothing except pure sorrow of mine. Realization of someone being dead hurts, it surely does. Even for a grown up man I’d keep on being mama’s boy who would visit her daily if he could. I didn’t expect them to simply vanish from my life, straight into the coffin, to rot and be forgotten.

I’m writing on here about a missed connection. I was at the Bernard Mall retro game store around 3 pm on Saturday. You were in the fantasy aisle. Your hair was a shining auburn that graced your gentle frame, and when you turned to me. Your eyes lit me up like the mystical northern lights. Their hazel flecks danced even in the dull lighting, and you smiled. And your blushed cheeks a shade of rose so sweet a hummingbird would confuse you for a bloom.

It started with my friend in Japan. He was a hacker and pirate and always left his computer on, along with AIM and MSN. When he logged out on both, I assumed his computer finally died from overload. It was then I noticed all his posts on our favorite sites were gone. All his accounts, all his videos, all his comments.

The clock was ticking. Like a pickaxe in my skull. It's now 2:45. Fifteen minutes until I hear your footsteps; not that bare feet can make much noise on that gravel road. Seventeen minutes until I hear your broken nails on the wooden door. Blindly scratching away, trying to find the handle. Twenty minutes until your voice is calling out to me. But it will be strangled, like always. It's hard to talk with maggots eating at your vocal cords.

Have you ever visited Edinburgh? Beautiful city, no matter what time of year you go. The castle that sits at the centre of the city is awe-inspiring, looking down on the surrounding area from the Mount. The peaks and valleys of the land have resulted in a city that flows with the landscape. Streets that surround can be steep, with the numerous sprawling alleyways even steeper. It is here that we find Fleshmarket Close.

The bell rang and I lifted myself from my seat and headed out of second period. My back was killing me from sitting in the hard, plastic chair for the past hour and a half; I was ready to get out of there.

The picture you’re staring at was taken sometime in the 70’s. It’s the only remaining image I have left of my son, and the artificial being known as "ANTRAN", whom we adopted into our family at the time.

In December of 2015, Marceline Nightingale was declared missing. The lack of evidence, like many other older cases in this town, entices me. Maybe if this one could be solved so could the other ones.

This is the story of Kelly Tristan, a 23-year-old woman who lived alone in a small house at 2605 Pine Road in the small town of Fairview, Oregon. Her disappearance had gone largely unnoticed until nearby residents started to go missing without a trace. When the police went to investigate the area, all the homes of the missing people were completely empty, as if no one had lived in them for quite a long time. Here is what happened… Sunday October 31, 2004

It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not wake up. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren’t being tortured. The only way that they realized they needed to wake up was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to wake up. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their…

My room is tiny. Of course, that’s because it was built for efficiency. I don’t know if you’ve ever stayed in a dorm room, or even seen one for that matter, but I can tell you after having lived in one for the past four years: they’re built like stackable sardine containers. My five star, luxury quality, thousands of dollars per semester, individual dorm room measures in at a whopping 9×12 feet! I mean it’s practically a suite in the Hilton! You’re right, sarcasm doesn’t read easily in a diary.