#creepypasta

For anyone who's reading this story I just want to give the huge disclaimer and saying the story is written on a fictional perspective and written for entertainment purposes, this story also contains blood gore and is made for mature audiences, I've written the story around 20-22 and at the time I was into creepypastas, I basically wrote these stories for fun and I wanted to be on the creepy side so please sit back and enjoy the stories that I wrote.

It was simple, we thought. Take a few chromosomes, slice them up, put them over there, and hey, perfect human being. I’m still not sure what went wrong. Maybe a miscalculation? A misprocedure? Or maybe something beyond our control. Who knows? We (a few of my psychologist colleagues and I) were intrigued by human emotion. Anger, despair, euphoria. Was it possible to lock the mind into one emotion? To lock it into a euphoric state so that no sadness or anger would cloud its thought?…

I wake up. It’s bright in here. Extremely bright. What is this place? A prison? A hospital? There are 4 solid walls, a stiff cot, and a small vent. Is there a door? I don’t see a door. Where the hell am I? How did I get here? Think… what happened? Remember what happened… Where was I last night? Where did I fall asleep? Shit… I can’t think. I can’t think of anything. Is this some fucked up experiment? I can’t think. I can’t even think of my damn name! Who am I?

I have to remind myself. I don’t want to forget. I can’t forget again. For a while now I don’t even remember my own name from time to time, and I forget who my mom was. And my brother. I have to write down everything that happened before I go back there. Back to The Chimes. My name is Sam. My older brother was named Marcus.

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.

The trip was fun. From what we could remember at least. Olivia and I had made the weekend trip down to St. Augustine, Florida with her younger brother John. The four hour drive from Albany, Georgia to one of America’s oldest cities was long and boring. The four-lane highways we traveled along were barren and isolated, surrounded by nothing but miles of impenetrable forest save for the occasional shithole rest stop.

We had just moved into a little ranch house in the suburbs. Storybook neighborhood – quiet, friendly neighbors, picket fences, the whole nine yards. Suffice it to say that this was supposed to be a new start for me, a recently single dad, and my three-year-old son. A time to move on from the previous year’s drama and stress.

I know I have started the previous post like this, but I like to keep reminding people that it’s me writing this; the name’s Jay. The same boy who escaped the Junior Playtesting Program. I know I am breaking my promise to stay away from all Nintendo-related properties, but I want to put this to rest, and that’s seeing what they’re hiding in Super Nintendo World.

Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. In a certain small town Harold, the local gravedigger, upon hearing a bell one night, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time, it wasn’t either. A voice from below begged and pleaded to be unburied. “Are you Sarah O’Bannon?” Harold asked.

A little girl’s parents went out for a business dinner so they hired a babysitter to watch her. “Can I have some ice cream?” the little girl, Holly asked after supper. “Sure” the babysitter, Beatrice said. “Where’s the freezer?” “In the basement, so are the nuts, cherries and candy and stuff.” When she went down to get the ice cream, she looked out the window to see a little girl standing outside. This didn’t strike her as too suspicious and she simply brushed it off.

Identifying Exploding Head Syndrome (EHS) An uncommon phenomenon that causes a person--usually female--to suffer from sudden, loud, and unexplainable noises right on the verge of sleep. Noises which are jarring and can sound like the popping of fireworks, gunshots, the bang of slamming doors, and even loud explosions. In some cases, violent screaming or sobbing is heard.

Sitting at home alone, you find yourself aimlessly searching the internet from the comfort of your bed. While scrolling through your Tumblr dashboard one of your followers post an interesting link. Looking anywhere for entertainment you blindly click it. Your web browser is whisked away to a plain white screen with nothing but a playful whale trying its heart out to eat your mouse cursor. Finally with some entertainment you find this whale to be a companion when you are alone. After several…

I have to say one of the things I hate the most is to have somebody walking behind me, doesn't matter if it's a friend or a complete stranger, I don't like it. I feel insecure, watched and uncomfortable. You might call me paranoid but honestly, for me, it’s unbearable. Let me begin by saying that the reason I practically hate that is because of some occurrences during my childhood. All of the events that I will tell you actually happened so you probably will understand that for protection…

“Relax, son. Close one eye and keep focused on your target.” My father spoke calmly from behind me. I tried to do as he said, letting my muscles relax. One eye closed, ending the double vision I had from having the rifle’s sight so close to my gaze. “That’s good.” He continued. “Now, when you’re ready, hold your breath. Don’t hold it for too long or you’re gonna start shaking. Just enough. Then, slowly squeeze the trigger down. Like you’re milking a cow.” I had to chuckle at that.

Ever wake up in the middle of the night, or randomly check your watch in the daytime, to see the same thing following you around? For me it’s 11:17. I would say one out of every 3 times I check my watch it’s 11:17. You may have another one, like 3:33, or 12:50. If you don’t have one, count your blessings and stop reading. If you do have a time that you can’t seem to shake, follow these instructions.

My basement has never exactly been a welcoming place. It’s unfurnished; there’s no carpet and the walls consist of boring, exposed bricks. There’s a set of old wooden stairs on one end that creaks whenever anyone uses them. Behind the stairs is a storage area that begins about four or five feet off the ground and goes maybe fifteen feet further back underneath the garage. The place is a dump, as my brother NEVER cleans it, and toys and tools and random things are sprawled out across the entire…

When I was a child, I recall a show called Fear the Devil; it was something that my parents allowed me to watch. They thought it was just another biblical show in a similar vein to content like VeggieTales and The Beginner’s Bible. It was created in 1999 and ran for thirteen episodes before it was pulled from the air. Private schools and churches refused to play it, and anyone who discussed it in too much detail risked being kicked out permanently.

September 17, 20-- To whoever is reading: Please pardon my recollections and remembrances, as the events that have occurred in the past 24 hours have been the oddest, most appalling, and most confusing that I, and perhaps any other man, have experienced. The consistent knocking and banging on the other side of the steel door only adds to my frustration.

She sits there, on the cold concrete ground, blood dripping from her nose and tears gushing from her eyes. She’s wearing a crisp white, now blood stained, button up shirt. Her blazer lays on the ground a foot away underneath the bullies foot. Her necktie hangs idle on her neck, swaying in the cool autumn breeze. A blue pleated skirt covers her knees.

In 1988 an unknown broadcast overtook several UHF stations in the Midwestern United States for six consecutive nights. The broadcast would last for only a few minutes and consisted of white static with a gray silhouette of a person in the center of the screen. The shadowed figure spoke with a an androgynous but deep voice and always spoke in whispers.