#thriller

Hi, my name is Paul Lipson. People used to call me Henry. As a child, I was born with a Siamese twin. My twin could not see me, but sometimes… sometimes he controlled my body or whispered thoughts into my mind. At first, it was subtle—a hand I didn’t want to move, a voice I didn’t speak—but as I grew older, the whispers became screams.

I used to think the worst part of my job was the blood. The stink of it, thick and metallic, clinging to my clothes, clogging my nostrils. It soaks into everything, wood, concrete, carpet, skin. You scrub it off, bleach the scene, pretend nothing ever happened. But doesn’t lie. It leaves stains, no matter how hard you try to erase them. It tells a story, even when no one don't want to listen. Yet, it's not the worst part, the worst it 's the silence.

Good day. My name is not important. What matters is what I found… and what I was never supposed to find. This document comes from archived police records dated back to the late 1980s. I discovered it by accident while going through old, partially damaged files. At first, I thought it was just another closed case, something routine, something forgotten for a reason.

Cry Baby Lane (or JosephTheSnail’s Cry Baby Lane, as titled on Spiral Nightmares) is a thriller creepypasta that retells the 2011 creepypasta of the same name while correcting many of its flaws, most notably the defamation of the real-life director Peter Lauer by replacing his role with an unhinged character who gradually proves to be even more deranged than initially believed, alongside the disturbing, never-before-mentioned-until-now “actual” (not really) history of a goofy Nickelodeon horror…

Evander Adipocere sat in his darkened office as he sipped on the bottle of ginger ale and felt sorry for himself, he might be being harsh, but there was really no other way to describe it. He was about to lose everything, his business, and his freedom. Evander had never been a bad person, in fact, he considered himself quite good. He donated to charity when he could, was always respectful to people even when they really didn’t deserve it, and tried to limit whenever he’d raise his voice or…

"The last few nurses we've hired have all flaked on me," Jim said with an exhausted sigh. "Please tell me you don't plan on flaking."

From the moment I closed my eyes to the accident I had gotten myself into, I knew that it would never be the same ever again. Never would I have guessed though, that I would survive pretty much unharmed. Well... that's still a bit of an understatement. My arms and legs work the way they're supposed to. But my mind... not so much anymore. I've started to see things. The world and the people have changed since the moment I woke up. It's almost as if I've entered another world entirely.

Smoke covered the midnight moon, while cheers could be heard all across a small farming village. Bonfires were lit all around the main road. Young and old folk alike celebrated as the Fire Runners, dressed in dark clothes adorned with bright red and yellow ribbons, moved among them, their faces covered with masks whose abhorrent features imitated the unholy visage of demons and monsters. They were performing what was locally known as the Devil’s Dance, an ancient pagan tradition, much older…

At the outset, I should tell you I’m a thief. Not a classless “smash and grab” guy or a lowly pickpocket. Those require no planning or strategy beyond “move quickly and be ready to run.” I’m a fourth-generation cat burglar. I’m very good at my job. If everything goes right, you don’t notice I’ve been there for weeks. If ever.

That night, the words of my father lingered on… “Son, never allow wrongdoing without vengeance. Each time someone crosses you, don't simply double-down, but make them pay threefold – they crossed you even if they didn't have to!” …that night, after I finally found him…for so many years he's kept himself hidden under a fake identity, a different address, with his wife and kids. Who would've even thought this man could live a life so familial, so ordinary, so fake?

"Vincent, I got a job for you!" someone shouted from the other side of the bathroom door. "For me!? Can't you give it to someone else!?" "They asked for you, it seems to be one of your clients!" "Damn it, I want to go on vacation for once." His colleagues started to laugh. "That's the downside of being famous in the business" yelled one of them over the showers noise.

Something changed after the first broadcast, but not in a way people could easily name, and that was what made it dangerous, because without a clear shape, fear has space to grow into anything, and anything is always worse than something defined. The world did not stopnot collapse, did not react in any unified or immediate way, and that absence of visible consequence created a fragile illusion that whatever had happened during the night had been insignificant, forgettable, something that could…

Part I

The sidewalk had a way of holding onto things, not objects or anything a person could reach down and pick up, but something far heavier and far more stubborn, something that clung beneath the surface of cracked concrete and refused to fade no matter how much time tried to grind it away, and it stretched through that forgotten part of the city like a scar that had never healed, uneven and silent and wrong in a way that people could feel without ever understanding, which was why most avoided it…

Most kids enjoy Christmas the most. Not me. Maybe it’s because my family is poor, and we can’t afford good presents for each other. My favorite holiday is Halloween. Not only can I dress up as my favorite scary movie character, but I get free candy out of it. It’s a double win.

I actually liked Albany. Sure, the town was far from Georgia’s finest. Far from having any recognizable achievements other than rampant poverty and an exaggerated crime rate. But hey, it beat Bainbridge. At least, there was shit to do here, you know. And Alicia and I were never bored.

When Tom and I first met, he was the kind of careful, deliberate man who made you feel entirely safe in a loud and chaotic world. He anticipated my needs before I voiced them, remembered every small detail I mentioned in passing, and looked at me with a steady, possessive intensity that I mistook for profound devotion. It was intoxicating. Within a year, we were married in a quiet ceremony, and we moved into an isolated, sprawling Victorian house at the edge of the woods—a place Tom insisted…

James Locke had always been a quiet man, the sort whose presence barely registered in a crowded room, and he had grown used to it. There was a strange comfort in being unnoticed, in blending into the gray pattern of city life without anyone truly looking at him.

Xavier Truman drove with one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other drumming against the door in rhythm with the radio. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the windshield, bathing the quiet neighborhood in a warm, nostalgic haze. The radio crackled softly.

Blood of the Damned - Shadows over Riga - The Nosferatu Experiment © Andre M. Pietroschek, all rights reserved ( Nightscribe & Royal Road Edition ) Disclaimer: No warranties! Latvian Proverb: “Skopais maksā divreiz.” Translation: “The stingy one pays twice.” This proverb warns against being overly frugal or cheap, as it often leads to higher costs in the long run. Chapter 1: The Risky Summons