#sleeping

12/02/11

I cannot tell you when it all began. I have always been plagued by sleep paralysis. I have somewhat learned to deal with it, to recognise it for what it is and wait it out. It always begins with the need to yawn or speak, but my mouth is shut tight. I then try to sit bolt upright, but my arms and body are clamped down to the bed. Sometimes my eyes are open. Sometimes I see things.

It has been six weeks since my first sighting of the wicked old hag. I woke up in the middle of the night and went to roll over, but my entire body was paralysed. I lay there, scared and helpless, contemplating my predicament when I became aware of a presence in the room with me…a presence that I can only describe as pure evil.

Okay.. So, before I begin, I just want to say that this story is true. What I’m about to tell you, really happened to me and I’m not just saying so. This happened when I was a kid. We lived in a smaller house back then and I shared a room with my elder sister. We had a bunk bed and I slept in the bottom bunk. Or, I tried to. For no good reason I was afraid to sleep there.

In the fall of 2011, a man hung himself in a bottling factory of a popular over the counter sleep aide company just outside Chicago. The man worked as a quality control manager and had just been laid off to save the company money. In the morning, the cleaning crew found him swaying in the breeze from the air conditioning system with a note in his breast pocket that read “sleep tight.”

Joseph sat slumped on the sofa, staring into the darkness beyond the patio windows. The only light source being a dim lamp on a side table. Any light would have done for him to ease the fear he had of ‘the Bad Man’. He had hurt Joseph’s neck, and when he had awoken the next night, Joseph wanting to do the same to others. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Smiling, he knew it would soon be time. Another few minutes.

I stirred from deep within my sleep, unsure of what had woken me, but too tired to put any further thought into it. The mist of an unfinished dream swam around my head, distorted and fading with every second.

I read a book as a child. I summed it up and added a few details. --------------------------------------------------------------------- "Mr. Weston the doctor will see you now." The nurse hung up the intercom. Even though Sam was really nervous, he started to laugh at the fact that the lady called him Mister. That was his Dad's name. It was October 31, 1973, and 9 year old Sam Weston was in the hospital, about to go into surgery. He had to have his tonsils removed.

May 18, 2011. My name is Greg, I just moved into my new house in Pennsylvania. Me and my Girlfriend have had the house for at least four months now and we've managed to mold it into what we've wanted for years. My Girlfriend, Carmen works almost the entire day so I find myself with the entire new house to myself with a lot of time to kill. But lets just cut to the chase...

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.

Jake had no love for cats. Especially the one in his home. Of course, it wasn’t explicitly his cat. It was his roommate’s cat: a black and white stray that he’d adopted a number of years ago. But since his roommate was away for a few weeks, the cat was Jake’s responsibility. Each day, he fed her, changed her water, cleaned out her litter box (with far more frequency than his roommate ever did). Small additions to his daily routine that didn’t actually require a lot of effort.

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…

It was a cold, rainy day in December. There was less than a week until we got out of school for winter break. Usually my teachers don't give us work before a break, but my bastard of a History teacher decided he'd assign us a 2000-word report due the day before we got out. I knew I wasn't going to be there then; I was going up to the mountains in North Carolina to spend Christmas and New Years' in Lenoir with some old friends I hadn't seen since I moved.

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…

I was driving home late one summer evening. It was dark and everyone was in their beds. My eye lids felt heavy as I struggled to pay attention to my driving on the dark and empty country road. I knew this road so well I probably could drive home with my eyes closed. It didn't sound like a bad idea as I sleepily nodded.

I remember I would wake up screaming and nearly drown myself in cold sweat. I'd try to turn on a light or get a drink of water, but I couldn't even move. It was only a matter of seconds until my eyes would turn into old sepia camera filters, and "they" would appear. You probably wonder what I mean when I say that. I mean, the figures that defined my childhood, and have stood the test of time. They appeared by my door like always, leaning slowly, stabbing me with those blank, obscured eyes. My…

I need to find Sabrina. Something bad has happened in this house that was once a home. This was no place for a child, especially for one that calls me Daddy. Within the darkness she lies. Where? I do not know, but I will find her. God help me, I will find her.

Let me start by pointing out that I have been told, and have figured out on many occasions, that I have an over-active imagination. That being said, I have thought a lot about the night that this story will focus on and I can't talk myself into believing that it didn't happen. As the title says, this is a true story. I do write Creepy Pastas, but this story is true, it really happened, or so it did as far as I'm concerned. I don't share this with many people, so feel good, you're in a way,…

Let me start off by saying that as far as I can remember, this is all true, it’s not ‘creepypasta’ or anything like my previous posts, there’s no satisfying conclusion or an explanation, so if that’s what you’re here for, I’m sorry but you won’t find it, but this is how I remember it. It’s a story of two incidents that occurred in my mother’s house separated by years of normality, the latest of which happening in the early hours of the morning beginning the 26th of December 2011.

It was 10:00 at night and I had a friend over, my friend Noah. He was basically the first friend I made when I moved to this new school. We had spent the whole day at an airsoft war down in the city. We were tired, but not sleepy. We played some games on our PlayStation 3 and did so for about four hours. Now keep in mind that my room is big. It was a fifteen by twenty foot room and what stood out the most was this window that took up a good portion of one of the walls.