A piece of awesome creepypasta is like an awesome bran muffin, in that it will leave you thoroughly shitting yourself. We all have a piece of amazing creepypasta that sticks in our minds long after the tab is closed, and this is the article for those chosen few that really have the goosebump factor. Please note, this is a subjective article and if you disagree with any of the choices made then you absolutely do not need to let anyone know. Not at all.
My cousin and I had gone to San Antonio, and we had heard rumors of some haunted railroad tracks. The story was, a school bus full of children had stalled on these tracks with a train coming. The train was going too fast for there to be time to get the children off. So they all died. When we finally found the tracks, we stopped the car, parking it right on the railroad tracks. We were both a little nervous, and scared, and waited for something to happen. Just when we were about to leave, the car started rolling. We were both too freaked out to do any more than grab each other and gasp, eyes wide, mouths open. After what seemed like an eternity, (but was actually less than five minutes tops) the car stopped rolling. We looked around, and we were off the railroad tracks.
Now, that may not seem spooky, but what we saw next scared us enough to jump back in the car and make the six hour trip home THAT NIGHT. Both of us got out of the car and walked around to the back. After the first six hour drive, our car had accumulated quite a bit of dust on it. That's not scary, no. But what was scary was the little sets of handprints all over the back of the car. All the size of children's hands.
A Mother's Love
One afternoon, a couple was traveling on by car when at a far distance they saw a woman in the middle of the road, waving frantically.
The wife told her husband to keep on driving because it might be too dangerous, but the husband decided to pass by slowly so he wouldn't stay with the doubt on his mind of what might have happened and the chances of anyone being hurt. As they got closer, they noticed a woman with cuts and bruises on her face as well as on her arms. They then decide to stop and see if they could be of any help.
The cut and bruised woman was begging for help telling them that she had been in a car accident and that her husband and son, a new born baby, were still inside the car which was in a deep ditch. She told them that the husband was already dead but that her baby seemed to still be alive.
The husband that was traveling decided to get down and try to rescue the baby and he asked the hurt woman to stay with his wife inside the their car. When he got down he noticed two people in the front seats of the car but he didn't pay any attention to it and took out the baby quickly and got up to take the baby to it's mother. When he got up, he didn't see the mother anywhere so he asked his wife where she had gone. She told him that the woman followed him back to the crashed car.
When the husband went back to look for her, he noticed that clearly the couple in the front seats were dead, one of whom was unmistakeably the woman who had flagged them down.
Sarah O' Bannon
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.
"Yes!" The muffled voice asserted.
"You were born on September 17, 1827?"
"The gravestone here says you died on February 20, 1857."
"No, I'm alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!"
"Sorry about this, ma'am," Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. "But this is August. Whatever you are down there, you sure as hell ain't alive no more, and you ain't comin' up."
The native villagers around these parts say that there's a stretch of tundra just north of here that is occupied by benevolent spirits. These spirits grant insight and warning to whoever visits them at night, once the sun has disappeared entirely and left the world in jet darkness. I drove out to the middle of the frozen expanse of ice and waited, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever commanded these people’s reverence. They send their children out, bundled in furs to keep from freezing, on the eve of their 15th birthday to seek an audience with these spirits. Once they have achieved this, the children run home to their parents to share the news. From then on these children are considered adults in the village. Engaged couples visit this tundra on the night before their wedding. The entire village stays up all night awaiting their return, as it is upon their return that the couple either decides to proceed with their marriage, or to abandon it. The elderly visit the tundra whenever they are sick or ailing, and often make their condition worse by staying all night in the cold. When they return, however, it is most often with an air of sheer serenity.
So I waited, curious to see what phenomenon might inspire people so powerfully. I waited for hours, bundled in my parka and sitting on the hood of my pickup. I waited until I felt that I was going to freeze to death, even in my thick clothing.
I heard the spirit before I saw it. A crunching of snow in the silence made me jump off my truck and spin around. A hunched, gray-skinned man stood a few meters away. Sad, yellowed eyes stared back at me, set inside a skull from which sprouted only a few greasy hairs. He breathed heavily, with a rattle that shook his fragile ribcage, and one of his arms looked as if it had been messily broken and then neglected, allowing it to knit back together imperfectly. Badly scarred flesh marred his splayed legs. The man stared at me for perhaps ten seconds, breathing in the frigid air and exhaling a sickly dribble of steam, before disappearing when I blinked my eyes.
I spun around, looking for the man, but he was truly gone. Approaching where he had stood, I found a pair of bloody footprints in the snow. Frantic with fear, I got into my pickup and headed for the village as fast as the ice would allow. A few villagers were waiting for me when I arrived, knowing that I had gone out and curious as to what might happen. I hastily got out of my truck and, approaching the nearest villager, I demanded, “What is so benevolent about these spirits? What is so insightful? How do these spirits help you?”
“What did you see?” he asked, the look on his face now mirroring the fear in mine.
“I saw a man, horribly disfigured and desperately sick!” I screamed into his face, and the rest of the villagers around us backed away a step. “Why? What does that mean?” I begged him.
“The spirits show only one thing,” the man explained. “They show their visitors, a year in the future.”
When you are admitted to a hospital, they place on your wrist a white wristband with your name on it. But there are other different colored wristbands which symbolize other things. The red wristbands are placed on dead people.
There was one surgeon who worked on night shift in a school hospital. He had just finished an operation and was on his way down to the basement. He entered the elevator and there was just one other person there. He casually chatted with the woman while the elevator descended. When the elevator door opened, another woman was about to enter when the doctor slammed the close button and punched the button to the highest floor. Surprised, the woman reprimanded the doctor for being rude and asked why he did not let the other woman in.
The doctor said, "That was the woman I just operated on. She died while I was doing the operation. Didn’t you see the red wristband she was wearing?"
The woman smiled, raised her arm, and said, "Something like this?"
The Other Watcher
A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. She explained that it was a storeroom, and that it was out of bounds. She reminded him of this several times before allowing him upstairs. So he followed the instructions of the woman at the front desk, going straight to his room, and going to bed. However the insistence of the woman had piqued his curiosity, so the next night he walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. He bent down and looked through the wide keyhole. Cold air passed through it, chilling his eye.
What he saw was a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a woman whose skin was incredibly pale. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door. He stared in confusion for a while, was this a celebrity? The owners daughter? He almost knocked on the door, out of curiosity, but decided not to. As he was still looking, the woman turned sharply and he jumped back from the door, hoping she would not suspect he had been spying on her. He crept away from the door and walked back to his room. The next day, he returned to the door and looked through the wide keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, unmoving. Perhaps the inhabitants of the room knew he was spying the night before, and had blocked the keyhole with something red. He felt embarrassed that he had made the woman so uncomfortable, and hoped she had not made a complaint with the woman on the front desk.
At this point he decided to consult her for more information. After some gentle quizzing and the promise that the explanation would go no further than him she finally said "Well, I might as well tell you the story of what happened in that room. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in there, we find that even now, people get uncomfortable staying there. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which were red."
When I was a child my family moved to a big old two-floor house, with big empty rooms and creaking floorboards. Both my parents worked so I was often alone when I came home from school. One early evening when I came home the house was still dark. I called out, "Mum?" and heard her sing song voice say "Yeeeeees?" from upstairs. I called her again as I climbed the stairs to see which room she was in, and again got the same "Yeeeeees?" reply. We were decorating at the time, and I didn't know my way around the maze of rooms but she was in one of the far ones, right down the hall. I felt uneasy, but I figured that was only natural so I rushed forward to see my mum, knowing that her presence would calm my fears, as a mother's presence always does. Just as I reached for the handle of the door to let myself in to the room I heard the front door downstairs open and my mother call "Sweetie, are you home?" in a cheery voice. I jumped back, startled and ran down the stairs to her, but as I glanced back from the top of the stairs, the door to the room slowly opened a crack. For a brief moment, I saw something strange in there, and I don't know what it was, but it was staring at me.
It wasn’t a big deal at first, you know? It was just another story online, one you’d read in the comments of a YouTube video, designed to scaring you into posting it on eight other videos. You know the kind, where you die a horrible death or your crush will reject you if you don’t spread the word? I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now it’s the only thing I can think about.
The comment started by saying that “she hasn’t left [the poster] alone in days” and “by reading this, she’ll come for you.” I don’t even remember the exact wording because it was late and I was tired and I’d seen a hundred other comments like it before.
I forgot all about it.
Until she started coming after me.
It started with little things. A flash in the corner of my vision, a strange shadow on the hallway floor. Then it got worse. I started to hear whispering when I was alone in the house, giggling, the sound of footsteps. I now know that she was teasing me. Sort of like how a cat will clamp its paw over a mouse’s tail and bat at it before it kills it.
Mirrors were the worst. She liked to stand just out of frame when I was brushing my hair, so when I shifted my head to get the other side, she would be there, standing next to the bookshelf, with her long, tangled hair, matted with blood, falling down her shoulders. And that grin.
Oh, God, that grin.
Her teeth were always bloody. I was never sure if it was her blood, or… I don’t even know.
Every night it seemed to get worse. I would see her on my way to class, in the rear view mirror of my car, dragging her talon-like fingernails across her own, rotting flesh as I stared in abject terror.
For a while I put it off to sleep deprivation. Finals, you know?
And then she came to me.
It was late, so late it was technically early. I couldn’t sleep because all I could hear was her giggling. I covered my face with the pillow and shut my eyes tight, when I felt something cold on my hand.
I was paralyzed with fear. It was sharp and it was cold and it was moving down my arm towards my elbow.
“Come out to play,” she said in that lilting, upsetting voice I’d heard one too many times before.
I screamed and sat up but she was gone. For the moment.
My biggest mistake was when I talked to her. I’d just stepped out of the shower and she was right there when I opened the curtains. I shrieked and stumbled back and she leaned down to me.
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you doing this?”
She told me why. It was because I knew something about her. That altercation ended with a serious head injury that landed me in the hospital.
That’s where I am now.
I can’t take this anymore. I’m just one person, it’s too much. I know what I have to do. I think I always knew.
God, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Her name is Nora. She should be there soon.
Objects and Relics
During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time.
Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm's well (which had apparently dried up earlier that year).
Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera (seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen). After positioning the camera to include both her and her kitchen stove in the image, the tape then showed her turning on the oven, opening the door, crawling inside, and then closing the door behind her. Eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently, after which point thick black smoke could be seen emanating from it. For the remaining 45 minutes of video, until the batteries in the camera died, it remained in its stationary position.
To avoid disturbing the local community, police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well, or why the height and stature of the woman in the video didn't come close to matching the body they'd found in the oven.
The Girl in The Photograph
One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.
His desk was next to the window, and he turned and looked to the grass outside. It looked like a picture. When school was over, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.
He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.
She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said "No." He was devastated.
When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said "No." It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.
The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, "Sorry, no." When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said "No." He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.
Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.
The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up.
He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.
A few years ago, a mother and father decided they needed a break, so they wanted to head out for a night on the town. They called their most trusted babysitter. When the babysitter arrived, the two children were already fast asleep in bed. So the babysitter just got to sit around and make sure everything was okay with the children. Later that night, the babysitter got bored and went to watch TV, but she couldn't watch it downstairs because they did not have cable downstairs (the parents didn't want children watching too much garbage). So, she called them and asked them if she could watch cable in the parent's room. Of course, the parents said it was OK, but the babysitter had one final request… she asked if she could cover up the angel statue outside the bedroom window with a blanket or cloth, at the very least close the blinds, because it made her nervous. The phone line was silent for a moment, and the father who was talking to the babysitter at the time said, "..Take the children and get out of the house…we will call the police. We do not have an angel statue."
The police found all three of the house occupants dead within ten minutes of the call. No statue was found.
Marine Drives Through Amboy
I was driving a shortcut from Twentynine Palms, CA to Albuquerque, NM. Twentynine Palms is located in the desolate high desert east of LA. The shortcut was all two lane road through total nothingness, except for passing through Amboy, CA. Amboy is a nearly abandoned town nearly as far below sea level as Death Valley, with a dormant volcano and lava field on one side and a salt flat on the other. It was also, at the time, a hotspot for satanic group activity.
So I was driving by myself in the afternoon. I stopped in Amboy and snapped a picture of the city sign, just to prove I was there to friends who dared me to take that route to I-40. I got back in my car and proceeded to drive up into the mountain range between Amboy and I-40.
Once I reach the top I am driving north through a canyon with high grass on both sides of the road. Up ahead I see some stuff in the middle of the road. As I approach I slow down to see a red Pontiac Fiero stopped sideways across both lanes, a suitcase open with clothes scattered everywhere and two bodies laying face down in the road, a man and a woman.
I stop a hundred feet or so away and the hair on the back of my neck is standing up. Being a Marine, I reach under the seat and pull out a 9mm pistol and chamber a round. Something seemed very wrong, it looked too perfect as if it were staged. An ambush? Was I being paranoid? Something was just wrong. Getting out of the car seemed unthinkable, it was the horror movie move.
As I scanned the road I saw a line I could drive. Pass the guy in the road on his left, swerve to the right side of the woman, behind the Fiero and I'd be on the other side. I dropped it into first gear, punched it and drove the line I planned.
I passed the back of the Fierro without hitting it or either of the bodies in the road. I continued forward a couple hundred feet and slowed down so I could breathe and let my heart slow down. As I looked up into the rearview mirror I saw that the two bodies had gotten up to their knees and twenty or so people emerged from the tall grass on either side of the road by the car and bodies.
At that moment my right foot smashed the gas pedal to the floor and did not let up until I had to slowdown for the I-40 east onramp.
I will never know what would have happened to me had I gotten out of the car to check on the bodies or stopped my car closer to them. Somehow I do not think it would have been good. Sometimes real life can be scarier than a movie.
Gateway of the Mind
In 1983, a team of deeply pious scientists conducted a radical experiment in an undisclosed facility. The scientists had theorized that a human without access to any senses or ways to perceive stimuli would be able to perceive the presence of God. They believed that the five senses clouded our awareness of eternity, and without them, a human could actually establish contact with God by thought. An elderly man who claimed to have “nothing left to live for” was the only test subject to volunteer. To purge him of all his senses, the scientists performed a complex operation in which every sensory nerve connection to the brain was surgically severed. Although the test subject retained full muscular function, he could not see, hear, taste, smell, or feel. With no possible way to communicate with or even sense the outside world, he was alone with his thoughts.
Scientists monitored him as he spoke aloud about his state of mind in jumbled, slurred sentences that he couldn’t even hear. After four days, the man claimed to be hearing hushed, unintelligible voices in his head. Assuming it was an onset of psychosis, the scientists paid little attention to the man’s concerns.
Two days later, the man cried that he could hear his dead wife speaking with him, and even more, he could communicate back. The scientists were intrigued, but were not convinced until the subject started naming dead relatives of the scientists. He repeated personal information to the scientists that only their dead spouses and parents would have known. At this point, a sizable portion of scientists left the study.
After a week of conversing with the deceased through his thoughts, the subject became distressed, saying the voices were overwhelming. In every waking moment, his consciousness was bombarded by hundreds of voices that refused to leave him alone. He frequently threw himself against the wall, trying to elicit a pain response. He begged the scientists for sedatives, so he could escape the voices by sleeping. This tactic worked for three days, until he started having severe night terrors. The subject repeatedly said that he could see and hear the deceased in his dreams.
Only a day later, the subject began to scream and claw at his non-functional eyes, hoping to sense something in the physical world. The hysterical subject now said the voices of the dead were deafening and hostile, speaking of hell and the end of the world. At one point, he yelled “No heaven, no forgiveness” for five hours straight. He continually begged to be killed, but the scientists were convinced that he was close to establishing contact with God.
After another day, the subject could no longer form coherent sentences. Seemingly mad, he started to bite off chunks of flesh from his arm. The scientists rushed into the test chamber and restrained him to a table so he could not kill himself. After a few hours of being tied down, the subject halted his struggling and screaming. He stared blankly at the ceiling as teardrops silently streaked across his face. For two weeks, the subject had to be manually rehydrated due to the constant crying. Eventually, he turned his head and, despite his blindness, made focused eye contact with a scientist for the first time in the study. He whispered “I have spoken with God, and he has abandoned us” and his vital signs stopped. There was no apparent cause of death.
A few months ago a friend of mine, who is an up-and-coming nature photographer, decided to spend a day and night alone in the woods outside of our town. She wanted to get photos of the woods and wildlife as naturally as she could for her portfolio. She wasn’t afraid of being alone, as she had camped by herself many times before. She set up a tent in the middle of a small clearing and spent the day taking pictures. She filled up four rolls of film on that trip, but when she went and got them developed she saw four pictures that unsettled her, these four pictures were taken from inside the tent, of her, asleep in the middle of the night.
The New Bride
During a wedding reception of a young couple the guests decided on a drunken game of hide and seek. It was decided that the groom was “it” and he eventually found everyone but his new bride. Eventually the man became furious and decided it wasn’t funny anymore and left her there. As weeks went by he accepted that she’d had second thoughts and went on with her life so he did the same. A few years later a cleaning lady dusted off an old trunk in the attic of the building where the reception had taken place, out of curiosity she opened it. Inside the trunk was the rotted body of the missing bride who’d apparently became locked in the trunk she’d hid in. Whether she’d suffocated or starved was unknown, but her face was frozen in a scream and there were huge scratches in the inside of the trunk where she had tried to get back to the man she loved.
Across The Border
There was a couple from Texas who was planning a weekend trip across the Mexican border for a shopping spree. At the last minute, their baby-sitter canceled, so they had to bring along their two year old son with them. They had been across the border for an hour when the boy got free and ran around the corner. The mother tried to find him, but he was missing. The mother found a police officer who told her to go to the gate and wait. Not really understanding the instructions, she did as she was told.
About 45 minutes later, a Mexican man approached the border, carrying the boy. The mother ran to him, grateful that he had been found. When the man realized it was the boy's mother, he dropped him and ran. The police were waiting for him. The boy was dead, and in the 45 minutes he was missing, he had been cut open, all of his organs removed, and stuffed with bags of cocaine. The man was going to carry him across the border as if he were asleep.
In the winter of 1944, with overtaxed supply lines in the Ardennes, a medic in the German army had completely run out of plasma, bandages and antiseptic. During one particularly bad round of mortar fire, his encampment was a bloodbath. Those who survived claimed to have heard, above the screams and barked commands of their Lieutenant, someone cackling with almost girlish glee. The medic had made his rounds during the fire, in almost complete darkness as he had so many times before, but never had he been this short on supplies. No matter. He would do his duty. He had always prided himself on his resourcefulness.
The bombardment moved to other ends of the line, and most men dropped off to sleep in the dark, still hours of the morning - New Year's Day, 1945. The men awoke at first light with screams. They discovered that their bandages were not typical bandages at all, but hunks and strips of human flesh. Several men had been given fresh blood transfusions, yet there had been no blood supplies available. Each treated man was almost completely covered, head-to-toe, with the maroon stain of blood.
The medic was found - sitting on an ammunition tin - staring off into space. When one man approached him, and tapped him on the shoulder, his tunic fell off to reveal that large patches of his skin, muscle, and sinew had been stripped from his torso and his body was almost completely dried of blood. In one hand was a scalpel, and in the other, a blood transfusion vial. None of the men treated for wounds that night, in that camp, saw the end of January 1945.
In rural southern Illinois a toy company began selling "realistic" baby dolls to expectant mothers. But apparently after the mother had her child the toy baby would start crying. Eventually the "rocking motion" advertised to calm it down wouldn't work, and you couldn't get it to stop without shaking it. Eventually when it started crying the parent would have to beat it, and the beatings and thrashings would have to get harder and harder to get it to be quiet. The only thing that seemed to shut the baby doll up permanently was the bash its head against the wall to destroy whatever mechanism triggered the crying. On more than one occasion though, neighbors called the authorities to report child abuse, and when the police arrived they found the bloody remains of infants smeared across the walls and the floor. In most cases the mother couldn't understand why the police were there, she just "got rid of the stupid doll" as she rocked a baby-shaped bundle in her arms.
The New Bride
A young man and his new bride were honeymooning in Paris when she sat him down, deadly serious, and asked him if he would ever leave her were she not truly beautiful. He laughed and complimented her, figuring she was simply being dramatic and wanted to be told how pretty she was. She then grabbed a cloth and rubbed at her face, wiping off the heavy foundation she wore and revealing a grotesque purple birthmark, covering nearly her whole face. Of course he would still love her, he was a good man but before he could stop himself he let out a gasp. His wife burst into tears and fled, and hadn't returned by the time the honeymoon was supposed to end. She had no passport, and no money so fearing the worst the man went to the police. The police thought it was most likely the girl simply had second thoughts about the marriage, yet due to the fact she had no official documents and spoke no french, they launched a hunt. Nothing ever turned up.
As weeks turned into months the man finally gave up on finding his beautiful wife, but his life fell into a shambles, he was so filled with grief.
Unable to hold a job or go on with his life, he took to wandering the world looking for anything that might ease his pain. Years later in Borneo he came upon a freak show in an old shabby building, he went in on a whim. In the last filthy cage he saw a twisted, scarred and mutilated woman rocking back and forth and groaning strange animal-like noises. He screamed as he recognized the birthmark on his wife's face.
Leon Czolgosz, assassin of William McKinley, the 25th President of the United States, was electrocuted for his crime on October 29, 1901, at Auburn Prison in Auburn, New York. Among the personal effects found in his cell was a U.S. quarter stamped with the date 2218. The face in profile on said quarter was not George Washington, but rather a face which has yet to be identified.
Not long before the opening of the French capital's Great Exposition of 1889, a distraught young Englishwoman rushed into the British embassy in Paris and told a story that has reverberated through fantasy and fiction ever since. She and her mother were on their way home from India and, owing to the shortage of accommodations in the crowded city, had taken two single rooms in a hotel. The mother chose Room 342, decorated with rose-strewn wallpaper and plum-colored velvet curtains. Then the older woman collapsed on the bed.
After examining the prostrate guest and talking excitedly in French with the hotel manager, the house doctor told the young woman that her mother was seriously ill and must have some medicine. But the proper medication could be found only in his office on the other side of town. The daughter would have to take his carriage and carry a note to his wife, who would hand her the drugs.
What should have been a simple errand consumed four hours. The driver kept the horses to an amble and seemed to steer in circles, and the doctor's wife took a long time to produce the medicine.
Finally, the frustrated daughter arrived back at the hotel, only to discover that all queries about her mother were met with blank stares. "I know nothing of your mother," said the manager. "You arrived here alone." The doctor was similarly confused by the woman's questions. Frantic now, the young traveler examined the hotel register. Instead of her mother's familiar signature, she saw a stranger's beside Room 342. Insisting on looking at the room itself, she found no velvet curtain, no flowered wallpaper, no familiar baggage — only the luggage of strangers. At this point, she fled to the embassy, where she was received with sympathy — and general disbelief. Trapped in a nightmare, the young woman ended her days in a British mental hospital.
The Vanishing Prophet
A man driving along a busy motorway sees a hitchhiker and stops. The hitchhiker gets in and straightaway announces that the war between heaven and hell will begin soon and heaven will lose. The way he speaks makes a deep impression, but when he says he is an angel, the driver looks round at him incredulously, and at that very moment there is no one there; he has dissolved into thin air. The driver's surprise is immense. Startled, he pulls over to the side of the road. As he sat there, a police officer stopped to see why he was parked by the side of the road. "I'm so shook up I can't drive" he told the cop. "Why, what"s wrong?" he asked. He told the policeman what had transpired. The officer's face was pale as he told the driver that he was not the first one this has happened to this week.
The Facebook Curse
A disturbing phenomenon has recently been reported in relation to Facebook, colloquially referred to by concerned individuals as the "Facebook curse." The exact details of the Facebook curse do not seem to be generally known or agreed on by those with direct knowledge of the phenomenon. What is certain, that is, what is consistent in almost every account of the Facebook curse, is detailed below.
It all starts with a Facebook friend request. The request will be from a named person, but not a person who the individual specifically knows or necessarily recalls meeting at any specific time. If the individual accepts the request, this is when the trouble begins.
Upon acceptance of the friend request, the individual will be taken directly to the main profile page of the new "friend." The page will have the name first seen on the original request but no other text or written information. The profile will be set up like a Facebook page, with the format, tabs, and menus that are on any Facebook profile page, but with no information of any kind beyond the page name. There will instead be many images, most of which seem innocuous but, upon closer inspection, are actually disturbing or unsettling to the individual. Pictures of vaguely familiar houses, empty rooms, shadows or silhouettes of people or animals, and dark roads are often seen on the page. Much of the unsettling aspect seems to come from the sensation that images are familiar but without any knowledge of where or when the image was seen and the fact that most, or all, of the images show a familiar object or setting from a strange or unusual perspective or with a slight deviation from "normal."
An individual who receives the initial unknown friend request is actually receiving the Facebook curse. Accepting the request is the first step in the individual becoming actively cursed themselves. From that point, individuals will start to deteriorate mentally and physically and experience strange happenings that gradually escalate in severity. This includes minor visual and auditory hallucinations and is often centered around the Facebook curse page, that is, the "friend" profile page from the original request. Individuals become obsessed with the page and will be seen to endlessly examine the images. They report seeing the name from the curse page in other settings, for example, in LinkedIn and Twitter recommendations and even appearing randomly in Google searches. Individuals who try to undo the curse by unfriending the curse page have no success, nor can they escape by deleting their own Facebook profile.
It is not clear what ultimately happens to individuals who are subject to the Facebook curse. Curse lore seems to indicate that they die or, more commonly, disappear with no warning or explanation. Most individuals seem to escalate fairly gradually after first becoming cursed but there are exceptions, most commonly resulting from attempts to unfriend the curse page or delete the individual's profile. Friends and family often assume individuals have voluntarily and purposely isolated themselves as a result of their obsession and often stop looking for them or checking in with them because of their bizarre behavior. By the time the curse phenomenon is at its most severe, individuals are often viewed as "crazy" by those around them and so no one really notices what becomes of them.
All individuals agree that there is no way to find the Facebook curse profile page either through a Facebook site search or through an Internet search. The page is only ever seen after acceptance of a random friend request in a name that is recognizably a real name but not that of a person the individual actually knows. Individuals reporting knowledge of the Facebook curse additionally state that deleting the email with the Facebook curse page friend request will allow the individual to avoid the curse, as will actively clicking "Ignore." No individuals reported any consequences from just seeing the curse page friend request or from doing anything besides actively accepting the friend request. All individuals report that it is only upon accepting the request that the individual becomes cursed.
Reported details of the Facebook curse page vary considerably although the basic story is always the same, including from country to country. No known individuals have accepted the Facebook curse friend request and escaped the curse so there is no first-hand knowledge of what the page looks like or what exactly happens to the cursed individual after the initial acceptance. It has been suggested that the friend request will come from someone with a very common name, for example Joe Smith or Sarah Jones in English, but others claim that the name will be very unusual and distinctive. Individuals who have reported knowledge of the Facebook curse all agree that the page will only contain imagery and that the images will be disturbing, but it is not exactly clear what the images will show. Some individuals state that the page will have an endless number of vaguely unsettling images. Others state that the images will be fairly innocuous and irrelevant upon initial acceptance of the friend request. Over time, more and more images will appear, each more frightening and grotesque than the last.
All individuals reporting knowledge of the Facebook curse agree that there is no way to avoid it except to reject or ignore the initial friend request. If the curse is accepted, however, there is no escape and no way to break the curse. Many individuals state that unfriending the curse page will appear to have worked but upon logging in to Facebook again, the curse page will be back in the individual's friend list. It is also accepted that even attempting to delete an individual's own Facebook profile will not break the curse. Individuals who do so will see the curse page name appear in every Internet search and receive an endless flood of emails in the curse page's name. It is not known what the emails will say but individuals are reported to have a compulsion to read any and all emails received from the curse page name.
An interesting aspect of the Facebook curse that all individuals report is that the curse starts to spill over into the individual's life beyond Facebook. In addition to seeing the name from the curse page on Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, etc., individuals will encounter the curse page name in general Internet browsing and even in emails. Many individuals agree that one of the last stages in the curse is that individuals start to receive emails from the name on the curse page, although this is also reported as a consequence of attempted profile deletion. There are even some reports of individuals receiving phone calls where the caller ID shows the name from the Facebook curse page. It is not known what happens to an individual who answers one of these calls. Most individuals will experience some level of supernatural phenomena, for example, footsteps and shadows around their home, feelings of being watched, and even nightmares. They will appear to those around them to be mentally deteriorating, most commonly because of an obsession with the Facebook curse profile page.
Reports vary greatly on the degree to which non-cursed individuals can see the Facebook curse page. Many individuals report that if cursed individuals try to show the disturbing images on the curse page to others, they are ridiculed or met with general disbelief, suggesting that only those who accept the original friend request can see what is on the curse page. Some reports state, however, that it is possible for non-cursed individuals to not only see the curse page but to become cursed themselves. This is generally thought to occur when an individual attempts to friend the curse page through the profile of a friend who is already cursed, generally after mistaking the name for that of a mutual friend.
It is impossible to verify claims of the Facebook curse with absolute certainty because of the absence of any first-hand evidence. However, reports of the Facebook curse come from all over the world. In Finland, for example, individuals reported that the Facebook curse page is always in the name "Matti Virtanen," a "generic" name similar to "John Smith;" all English- and German- speaking individuals also reported that the curse page was in a generic or overtly ordinary-sounding name. Two individuals from Germany and one from the United States reported that the Facebook curse page will always scroll endlessly down showing a basically infinite number of images that gradually become more and more graphic, but also more personally relevant, to the cursed individual. Individuals from Mexico, Canada, and Japan all report that individuals will eventually be unable to stop looking at the curse page and will ultimately go completely insane or die at their computer screen.
People and Places
The Most Important News
Who discovered the existence of the dead? Everyone knows the name of Antonia Simone, but the exact circumstances of her discovery are wildly varied. In 1992, her younger brother Ricardo, was injured in a martial arts accident that left him completely paralyzed. He needed a respirator to live and could only communicate through eyeblinks. She was a computer scientist at the Xerox Palo Alto Research Center and decided to create a computer terminal sensitive to the slightest energy source. She was a student of Kirlian photography and strongly believed the body’s electromagnetic fields could affect sensitive electronic equipment. She created a terminal that could not be affected by traditional means - no keyboard, mouse or other input devices. A veritable black box.
Ms. Simone was devoted to her brother and tried for years to make a computer terminal that would allow her brother to communicate naturally. Distraught over the failure of her terminal, which she thought would free thousands of similarly afflicted people, she killed herself by hanging. When paramedics found her body days later, there on a computer screen was the message: “What took you guys so long? I’ve got the most important news.”
A young girl had a sleepover with several of her teenage friends attending. Shortly before midnight she told her guests that there was a grave in the edge of the woods behind her house and anyone going there on a full moon and standing to close to the grave would be pulled into the grave by the bony hand of the old man buried there. One fifteen year old girl scoffed at the story and after much teasing accepted the challenge of going alone to the grave. As proof she had actually gone all the way she was to stick a large pitchfork into the top of the grave for inspection by all the others the next morning. The girl left and did not return. The others got scared - afraid to wake the adults in the house - fearful they were in serious trouble. Next morning they all huddled together and nervously made their way to the grave. There they found their friend lying dead from exposure beside the grave with her long night gown pinned to the grave where she had stuck the fork through it and into the hard clay covering the grave.
In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.
She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She was, naturally, suspicious, so she went to the police.
When the police paid a visit to the address on the envelope, they made a gruesome discovery, three butchers had been harvesting human flesh and selling it to the starving people.
And what was in the envelope the man gave to the woman? A note, saying simply "This is the last one I am sending you today."
The Old Lady
One day at a shopping mall in the afternoon, a woman was coming out of the mall from a shopping spree. She was in a happy mood. She had gotten to her car and loaded her stuff that she had bought into her trunk. When she was done loading, she shut the door of her trunk and she saw an old lady standing by the passenger side of her car.
The old woman said "Would you be a darling and give me a lift home? I don't have a car and I was walking all day." The woman said "I'd be happy to." So she unlocked the door for the old woman.
As she started to make her way around the car to the driver's side, she started to feel uncomfortable. So when she got in the car, she looked in her purse and said "Darn, I can't find my credit card. I'm going inside to see if anybody found it." The old woman said "I'll wait for you here."
The woman left to go look for help. Then she found a security guard and told him the situation. They went back to the woman's car and the passenger door was wide open. On the seat of the car was a shopping bag that the old woman had been carrying. Inside of the bag was the old woman's dress and a gray haired wig, along with a huge butcher's knife, a video camera, and a roll of duct tape.
You come into possession of an old box. Inside are several glass vials filled with dirt, dust and tiny bits of gravel or cement. The vials are labeled with places and dates such as “Port Chicago 7/17/44?, “Halifax 7/6/17? and “Guernica 7/17/36?. A trip to the library confirms that all are dates of massive loss of life in explosions. A few days later a package arrives with no return address.
Inside is an empty vial labeled with your home town and next week’s date.
You ever seen someone die on camera?
A snuff film is a recording of the actual murder of human being that is subsequently passed around for entertainment purposes. Suicides and accidents don’t count. According to the MPAA, the FCC, the FBI and the ever-lovin’ Snopes.com, there’s no such thing as a snuff film. Yes, this includes Faces of Death. Anything you think might count is faked, falsified, or not made for that purpose, such as those tasteless videos you find on shock sites.
This is a lie.
There are, as best as anyone can tell, between 30-40 snuff films floating around out there. The earliest is a silent film on decaying nitrate celluloid, simply titled La mort d’une fille, and bears the date of 1896.
The latest, judging by the hairstyles and the presence of a “Frankie Says Relax” t-shirt, was probably made in 1983 or 1984 and is on Betamax.
The films vary in violence, but they all include seemingly ritualized sex, followed by the slaying of a girl with dirty blonde hair and piercing blue eyes who appears to be around 19 years old.
Every film has the exact same girl in it.
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 the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning.
As he looked around the inside of the cabin, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by several portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred and malice. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.
The next morning, the hunter awoke - he turned, blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.
The Pile of Photographs
A young girl walking home from school found a small pile of Polaroid photos lying in the gutter. There were twenty in all, neatly wrapped in a rubber band. She picked them up, and as she walked she started to browse. The first photo was that of a ghostly white man on a black background, standing just far enough away from the camera that she couldn’t make out his features.
The girl slid the photo to the back of the stack and looked at the next one. The photo was of the same man now standing a bit closer.
The girl flipped through the next several photos quickly. With each one the man in the picture came a bit closer and his features were a bit clearer.
Turning the last corner to her house, the girl noticed that the man in the photos seems to be looking at her even when she moved the stack from side to side. It frightened her, but she kept flipping them over, one by one.
By the nineteenth picture, the man was so close his face completely filled the frame. His expression was the most horrifying the girl had ever seen. Walking up the driveway, she turned to the last photo.
This time, instead of an image, there were two words: "Close enough."
Hearing a scream outside their house, the girl’s brother rushed to the door and opened it. All he saw was a pile of photographs lying on the doorstep. The top one looked like an extremely pale version of his sister, but she was standing too far back for him to be sure.
A 15-year old boy in a small town in Maryland sat down at his computer after getting home from school one day. He turned it on, logged into AIM, and was then surprised to receive an IM from a classmate of his, who had been absent that day.
It consisted of two words; "Please come." Confused, the boy sent a reply, asking why he'd been absent that day. After two more messages and fifteen minutes with no response, he decided to get on his bike and head over to his classmate's house. It was a short ride, only about five minutes away.
When he got to the house, he found the door was unlocked. Inside, partially dried blood was splattered over the walls and floors, and an unrecognizable figure was crumpled against the far wall. It was missing an arm and a leg, and bloody streaks on the floor lead away from the body and into the kitchen. The boy slammed the door closed, and immediately called 911 on his cell phone.
When the police arrived, they found three corpses, as well as tracks leading away from the house from the back door. The forensics report concluded that the entire family, the boy's classmate and his parents, had been killed sometime the previous night.
You're at work alone, when you suddenly hear the copy machine start up. You walk out to take a look at what's going on and see several copies filling the tray. Picking up one of the pieces of paper you discover that it is a copy of a picture depicting you sitting in your office chair, dead, with your eyes torn out and your throat cut. The others are the same picture, but taken from increasingly bizarre angles.
There is no original picture in the copy machine.
"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness — it's 3:23. "Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not, sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.
Have you ever gotten a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye? A simple movement caught in your peripheral vision. Most will simply dismiss this as a shadow brought about by a flickering candle, or perhaps a pet jumping down from a piece of furniture. Ninety-nine out of a hundred times, these people are right.
But then there's that one elusive sight. It can easily be explained by the above conditions, but something feels wrong about it. A chill down your spine, a slight pain in your side. Maybe even a complete blanking of your mind, only to recede moments later.
Should any of these symptoms be felt, there may be cause for worry. Our peripheral vision is designed to catch motion, even in the dark. This was used to defend against predators in our early days, and as with many aspects of our human nature, it has remained, but weakened.
This view out of the corner of our eyes still alerts us to danger, and although predators have dropped on the list of dangers we may face today, they still exist. Should you ever feel that queer chill in your back, try not to focus on that shadow you saw in the corner of your eye. It might be better not to see.
You are home alone, and you hear in a news bulletin about the profile of a murderer who is on the loose. You look out the sliding glass doors to your backyard, and you notice a man standing out in the snow. He fits the profile of the murderer exactly, and he is smiling at you.
You gulp, picking up the phone to your right and dialing 911. You look back out the glass as you press the phone to your ear, and notice he is much closer to you now.
You then drop the phone in shock. There are no footprints in the snow.
It's his reflection.
The phone rings. I run to get it, thinking it may be my dad, coming to rescue me from Myrlie's house and tell me everything about Elizabeth and then everything would be alright. Mom would stop crying, Elizabeth would just be some girl Mom knew during childhood, and everything would be alright.
I finally reach the phone. "Oh, Elizabeth!" the person on the other end cries. It's not my dad. It's mom.
"Mom? This is Bethany. Not Elizabeth."
"Oh, Elizabeth, you silly girl! Is this one of your made up aliases? Listen, Elizabeth, I've called to say good-bye."
"Mom? This isn't Elizabeth. This is Bethany. What are you talking about?"
"Elizabeth! I know you're a little doped up on the medicine the hospital's been giving you. Ever since the crash I've been knowing exactly what would happen."
"Mom, you're scaring me, please," I beg. But mom will not listen.
"I wanted to say good-bye, to tell you that I loved you, even though you're not the same, and that you will be with us again soon after you...pass away."
"Mom? Is that you? Mom, please! Tell me what you're talking about!" I cry
"We've saved some of your cells, and we'll make an exact copy of you. There are only a few left so the next one will have to be the last. It'll be like it never even happened, Lizzy!" Joy is amidst in her voice.
There was a long silence on the phone. "What do you mean?" I whisper.
"Oh, Elizabeth, you'll be alive once more, you'll look exactly the same. So will Mommy and Daddy. Your thirteenth birthday has come, and you will die tonight, just like all the others. I love you so much, sweetie. Myrlie will give you your poison, then the next one will can be started."
Then she hangs up, leaving me with the haunting monotone "boooop" noise.
My heart is racing. I hear Myrlie's footsteps. I skirt out of the kitchen and run out front. That's when I notice that the doormat is gone. Written in chalk in all capital letters is: "BETHANY: Place of figs; a town of resurrection." Then, "DIGISPUR CLONING."
The next feeling I feel is a piercing ache, silver bullet in the brain.
"Oh, she's beautiful, what will you name her?" the nurse says.
"I don't know. I have a good feeling about this one, perhaps Elizabeth."
A Girl And Her Dog
A beautiful young girl is left home alone with only her dog to protect her. On the news that night, they announced there is a serial killer on the loose in the area. Before she goes to bed, she locks all the doors and tries to lock all the windows, but the one in the basement won't lock. She decides to leave it unlocked, but locks the basement door and goes to bed. Her dog takes its customary place under her bed.
One night a young girl is left alone in the house with only her dog for company, she had been watching a scary movie before she went to bed and decided to have the dog sleep with her in the room. She climbs into bed, and the dog curls up beside it, she let's her hand drop down to stroke the her dog and it gives her a friendly lick, the girl giggles and eventually falls asleep.
In the deep of night she awakens to a dripping sound coming from her bathroom. Half-awake, the girl drops her hand down and feels the comforting lick from her dog and falls back to sleep. She reawakens to the dripping sound, reaches her hand down to the dog where she feels the reassuring lick and falls back to sleep. Once more, she awakens to the dripping sound.
Deciding to find the source of the problem, she drearily gets out of bed and slowly walks towards the bathroom, the dripping sound getting louder as she approaches. She reaches the bathroom and turns on the light. She is greeted by a horrific sight; hanging from the shower nozzle is her dog with its throat slit open and its blood dripping into the bathtub. Suddenly the hairs on the back of her necks stand up as a thought flashes through her mind.
What, or who, was licking her hand?
Many classic horror icons, such as Giger’s xenomorphs, Silent Hill’s Pyramid Head, and other disturbing creatures, share common characteristics. Pale skin, dark, sunken eyes, elongated faces, sharp teeth, and the like. These images inspire horror and revulsion in many, and with good reason. The characteristics shared by these faces are imprinted in the human mind.
Many things frighten humans instinctively. The fear is natural, and does not need to be reinforced in order to terrify. The fears are species-wide, stemming from dark times in the past when lightning could mean the burning of your tree home, thunder could be the approaching gallops of a stampede, predators could hide in darkness, and heights could make poor footing lethal.
The question you have to ask yourself is this:
What happened, deep in the hidden eras before history began, that could effect the entire human race so evenly as to give the entire species a deep, instinctual, and lasting fear of pale beings with dark, sunken eyes, razor sharp teeth, and elongated faces?
… Just be careful out there.
Creepypasta/Awesome Creepypastais part of a series on Creepypasta