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Please stop writing creepypastas. It's not funny, anymore. Just when I thought the genre was dead, a bunch of brand new chucklefucks start trying their hand at creating the next internet urban legend. Oh, wow, look at you... you live in a small town, right? There's a strange tradition, isn't there? Maybe a figure that's "entirely too" this with "way too many" that... For fuck's sake, just give it up. You want to go viral, to get noticed, reap accolades and secure a movie deal.

Every marriage reaches a point where one partner looks at the other and thinks the same thing. "You are NOT the person I married." Often, this is because someone forgot an anniversary, gained a little weight, or suddenly developed strong political opinions after listening to a few episodes of a popular podcast.

Eric, my precious little boy. Just look at those precious eyes! They're big and bulging out of their sockets, staring in opposite directions. He has such a nice face—sure, he's missing a nose, but there's nothing wrong with that. Now, look at that wide smile and those white, clean teeth. I helped brush them yesterday; don’t they look nice? They look nice to me!

There's a name tattooed on the inside of my left wrist.

"Flabbergasted. F - L - A - B - B - E - R - G -A - S - T - E - D. Flabbergasted." Sweat rolled down Natalie's forehead as she watched the three judges chatter amongst themselves. Her heart was beating so vibrantly, she felt like wheezing. Each aching moment was like a nail being gradually driven between her fingernails. After what felt like an eternity of suspended animation, the female judge tilted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and nodded. "Good job, Ms. Flowers."

There was this tiny indie horror movie that basically nobody had seen. I don't even remember how we found it. Maybe TikTok, or maybe someone on Reddit recommended it. It had one of those titles that sounded way cooler after you finished watching it than before, and it looked like it had a budget of maybe twenty dollars. Somehow it still worked. It wasn't really scary in the traditional sense. There weren't any monsters or cheap jump scares. It was just... unsettling.

I remember when I first woke up here just a couple of weeks ago. It’s probably not like any place you’ve ever seen. Not that it matters anymore, now that I'm stuck here. You see, for the past few weeks, I've been stuck in some sort of hell. Because I have found myself trapped. Trapped in a never-ending expanse of cardboard. I don't know if I'm alone here or not; I'm mostly writing this so my mind has something to do. Hell, I don't know if I’ll even get out of here, wherever this place is.

“HELP!” I yell, at least I believe I’m yelling, the feeling of my skin bubbling, is it bubbling… I don’t know. I can feel it, but I don’t know if it is what I think it is. I am or at least what I believe I am… I don’t know. It’s cold wait what does cold feel like again sigh I think I sighed. My body grows old and decayed, my flesh turning a colour I cannot perceive, my hair falling out of my grotesque scalp or what’s left of it. He… no, IT did this. My senses have been stripped away from me, I…

It's Christmas Eve in snowy 1800’s London, England, and in a small house at the edge of town, there lived a lonely, 7-year-old boy named Isaac. Isaac was a sad child with not a friend to his name. While most children were spending time with their families and eagerly looking forward to opening the presents that were placed with care beneath a beautifully decorated Christmas tree, little Isaac spent this most holy of nights alone, in his cold, dusty attic room. Isaac’s parents were very poor,…

I don't want to burst anyone's bubble, here… so if you believe in haunted "Lost Episode" legends and enjoy living in that world, maybe this isn't the post for you. Don't get me wrong - I hate when people complain about "lack of realism" in entertainment, and I think all kids need to believe in Santa and the Tooth Fairy for as long as possible, but… this is different.

There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached, and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on…

Ever had a fear of monsters under your bed? Like you could have sworn you saw what seemed to be a shadow moving down there, or freaked out when you heard a noise under the bed and was scared to look?

There’s a floor in my apartment building that doesn’t exist. Not Thirteen. That would be too cliché. Although, it doesn’t have a thirteenth floor, but not for supernatural reasons. It just doesn’t go that high. Some of the residents call it Floor Three and a Half, or Three and Three-quarters to invoke a Harry Potter vibe, but both of those are far too whimsical for my tastes. I just call it the Dead Floor, which I know isn’t any less cliché than floor Thirteen, but it feels appropriate.

I was staying at a hotel in Chicago Illinois during a business trip and I was going to stay for the whole weekend. It was an older hotel, one that still used small keys rather than keycards to enter the rooms. I didn't mind, it seemed nice to get away from the onslaught of technology.

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,…

There was a time before history. Before words. Before sanity.

Mark Fischer was infamous in his hometown. Much to his own disdain, he was largely harmless. Even still, he had a notoriety similar to that of a local serial killer that violently forced their way into a place's history. The act that earned him his infamy was not violent, though it did have a certain aggressiveness to it. His act was that he walked every day. He made it his mission to be a one-man parade for the residents of his hometown. He didn’t want to go out every day but didn’t need to…

Hazel Petti was the bane of our existence. By "ours", I don't just mean the students at Clara Perkins Elementary School. Everyone in town had a poor opinion of Ms. Petti, presuming they had the unfortunate luck to meet her. Opinions that ranged from mild annoyance to deep-seated hatred. If you ran a nearby business, no matter what kind, you could bet on Ms. Petti paying a visit now and again. Usually for no other reason than to search for a product or practice to get upset about.

The wind is cold. The late autumn night wind drilled through the battered glass window of the small eatery, scraping against faces with a dull, lingering ache. The diner's old incandescent bulb flickered erratically. Its light fell upon two bowls of steaming rice on the table, and also onto the bowed head of the student. No one knew that this seemingly silent high schooler, always wearing a washed-out school uniform, was already rotten to the core.

You know how Fox has a weird way of counting Simpsons episodes? They refuse to count a couple of them, making the amount of episodes inconsistent. The reason for this is a lost episode from season 1.