File :-(, x, )
Anonymous
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
A knock at the door one morning, and suprise, it's a package for you. You thank the delivery man, close the door, and open the small box. Inside are two things... A wooden cube with a red button on top. The button is covered in a glass enclosure with a hinge, to ensure it is not pressed accidentally, of course. The second item is a typed note, with no address or other identifying feature. It reads "Press this button and we will come to your house the next day, with a cheque for 5 million dollars. We will also take the button unit at that time. As a result of pressing the button, one person, who you do not know, will die instantly." After much thought and anxious pacing, you press the button. The next day, a man arrives with a cheque in your name for 5 million dollars. He takes the button unit from you, but only after ensuring you it will move on to another person...
Someone you don't know.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
A degenerated VHS dub was discovered in the University Library containing five minutes of inexplicable amateur footage. In one continuous shot, the camera momentarily focuses on a doorway on the north wall of a living room before the operator climbs outside of the house through a window to show the exterior white clapboard. The camera then moves inside the house through a second window completely circling the doorway and so proving, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that insulation or siding is the only possible thing this doorway could lead to. A hand appears in the frame and pulls open the door, revealing a narrow black hallway at least ten feet long. The camera begins to move closer, threatening to actually enter it. A voice can be heard, "Don't you dare go in there again, Davy," to which another voice adds, "Yeah, not such a hot idea."
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
Item#: SCP-173
Special Containment Procedures: Item SPC-173 is to be kept in a locked container at all times. When personnel must enter SCP-173's container, no fewer than 3 may enter at any time and the door is to be relocked behind them. At all times, two persons must be looking at SCP-173 until all personnel have vacated and relocked the container.
Description: Moved to Site19 1993, little is known about item number SCP-173's origins. It is constructed from concrete and rebar and was once painted with Crylon brand spraypaint.
SCP-173 is animate and malevolent, if given the chance it will kill anyone within its line of site. Its weakness however is that it does not move while being watched. Despite this paralysis it is still highly dangerous, able to cover at least 2 meters in the literal blink of an eye. It typically kills by either snapping the victim's neck from behind, or grabbing the victim's throat and strangling them. Whatever animates SCP-173 does not give it much force with which to break things; as seen above, a large room with unbarred windows is fully capable of containing it. Its grip however is unbreakable, as when it is not moving the statue is as hard and strong as concrete.
While left alone in its room, one can hear a stone-on-stone scraping from within that is believed to be the sound of the SCP-173 moving about.
The reddish brown substance on the floor is a combination of feces and blood. We don't know (nor wish to find out) where it comes from or how it arrives but SCP-173's container will slowly fill with these substances. In order to ensure that bacterial growth within does not begin to damage the building it is contained in, and to maintain some level of sanitation, the enclosure must be cleaned on a bi-weekly basis.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
Rumor has it that every Halloween during the hours of 2am and 5am, there exists a void. You must stand in front of a mirror in a pitch-black room with your gaze fixated on the mirror. If you remain in the room when the moment arrives, you will feel a chill seize your body. Place your right hand on the mirror and whisper, "I accept." If done correctly, in the mirror there will be a faint image of a fleshless infant with pitch black eyes. He will stare directly into your soul and you will hear the buzzing of flies and nervous whispering. You will not be able to make out the image in the mirror but you will be filled with unspeakable terror. The infant will ask you five questions about events that have occurred within your life. His voice will sound like the rubbing of sandpaper and will be devoid of all emotion. For each question that you answer incorrectly, one of your five senses will be consumed. For each question that is answered correctly, you will be able to recite the name of someone you know. That person will be found dead the next morning, after a night of unimaginable horror, with their flesh removed and their eyes missing.
>> Anonymous
Anyone have "their eyes were completely red"?
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
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 labelled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm's well (which had apparantly 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. The camera then continued to stationarily point at the oven for another 45 minutes until the batteries apparantly died.

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 physical stature of the woman on the tape did not in any way resemble the stature of the woman found in the oven.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
I don't know if any of you have ever spent any time in prison but I was locked up for 16 months back in 1986.
When they assigned me to my cell and walked me in, I saw my cell mate standing against the wall eyeballing me. He didn't have any belongings in the cell which was good, it meant I'd have more room for my own stuff.
Throughout the entire 16 months he never said a word to me. No matter how much I tried to start up a conversation he would never respond.
I never saw him out on the yard either but, in this particular prison, yard time was scheduled in shifts according to your name, just like meal time. I always assumed that he would do things whenever I was out on the yard or at chow because, otherwise, I never saw him do anything other than sit.
Upon my release, I said goodbye to him and, of course, he didn't say anything.
I turned to the guard escorting me out and I said "Well, I sure did like my cell mate. I never heard so much as a peep out of him."
He laughed. Then he turned to me and said "Yeah, how did you like having the whole cell to yourself? With the new prison up in Sandusky, we've got enough room to give everybody their own cells."

Needless to say, I shat bri/x/.
>> Anonymous
>>47588601

need real pic
>> Anonymous
A man, at about the age of 30 went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check-in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and all, 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. So he went to his room, and went to bed. The next night he was curious as to what was in the room, so he walked down the hall to where it was and of course tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. So he bent down and looked through the keyhole. What he saw was a hotel bedroom and in the corner was a woman whose skin was completely white. She was leaning up against a wall and her head was facing the wall. He stared in confusion for a while then went back to his room. The next day, he went back to the room and looked through the keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, un-moving.

At this point he was confused and a little freaked out. He went to the front desk and asked the lady about the room. She sighed and said, "Did you look through the keyhole?" The man told her that he had and the lady said, "Well, I might as well tell you the story. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in that room, and her ghost haunts it. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which are red."
>> Anonymous
GOGOGO! I'm in the mood for a creepy thread

>>47588601
fail for not posting pic
>> Anonymous
>>47589193

Thanks, appreciated.
>> Anonymous
>>47588471

that's a picture from those fucking scary story books...i hate this shit...i probably wont be able to sleep tonight
>> Anonymous
>>47588471

that's a picture from those fucking scary story books...i hate this shit...i probably wont be able to sleep tonight
>> Anonymous
>>47589520
what scary story books?
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>47589286
Someone give us a good pic of a mysterious slab of spray-painted concrete and rebar.

When I first found this pasta it didn't come with an associated pic.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>47588601
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>47589593
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
Some hobo sold it to me for a pack of cigarettes and half a bottle of scotch. Only a few thousand ever made, he said, and this was the twenty-first. Quite the collectable he said. Probably worth quite a bit if I could get it appraised. What the hell.

I brought it home, left it on the table while I went in for a shower. When I came back all the food in my kitchen was rotted and all the pets in my house were dead.

I still didn't know what it was. I put it in my bedroom closet. I was then treated to six nights of the same nightmare: fleeing across a desolate field with the ground writhing and wrippling with the mating throes of massive underground snakes.

On the seventh night I woke up to Sarah's gurgles as she vomited up a live viper. She died of its bite. When I opened my closet I found a... nest.

I burried It in my back yard. The next morning there was a twelve-inch sappling growing from the spot. By noon it had grown two feet. And had eyes. Dozens of them.

I cut the growing thing to shit, dug It up, took it out of town and threw it into a river.

It came back.

It still spits out eye-spiders every couple hours. They follow me and stare and then they make this little mouse-noise and burst. In the beginning I screamed but now I just kinda giggle and gibber. Its such a fucking mess..

Now, I'm going to do the only other thing I can think of. I'm going to dress in my seediest clothing, hit the streets, and see if I can hock it for a pint of LTD. There has to be someone out there as stupid as I am.
>> Anonymous
>>47588209
Black Eyed Children stories scare me. They make me wanna cry.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
In any city, in any country, go to any mental institution or halfway
house in you can get yourself to. When you reach the front desk, ask
to visit someone who calls themself "The Holder of the End". Should
a look of child-like fear come over the workers face, you will then
be taken to a cell in the building. It will be in a deep hidden
section of the building. All you will hear is the sound of someone
talking to themselves echo the halls. It is in a language that you
will not understand, but your very soul will feel unspeakable fear.

Should the talking stop at any time, STOP and QUICKLY say aloud "I'm
just passing through, I wish to talk." If you still hear silence,
flee. Leave, do not stop for anything, do not go home, don't stay at
an inn, just keep moving, sleep where your body drops. You will know
in the morning if you've escaped.

If the voice in the hall comes back after you utter those words
continue on. Upon reaching the cell all you will see is a windowless
room with a person in the corner, speaking an unknown language, and
cradling something. The person will only respond to one question.
"What happens when they all come together?"

The person will then stare into your eyes and answer your question
in horrifying detail. Many go mad in that very cell, some disappear
soon after the meeting, a few end their lives. But most do the worst
thing, and look upon the object in the person's hands. You will want
to as well. Be warned that if you do, your death will be one of
cruelty and unrelenting horror.

Your death will be in that room, by that person's hands.

That object is 1 of 2538. They must never come together. Never.
>> Anonymous
>>47589723
Tom Nook?
>> Anonymous
don't look behind you
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>> Anonymous
>>47589023
MOAR CREEPY-CHAN
>> Anonymous
>>47590084

FUCK
>> Anonymous
In winter of 1944, with overtaxed supply lines in the Ardennes, a German medic had completely run out of plasma, bandages and antiseptic. During one particularly bad round of mortar fire, his encampment suddenly became a bloodbath. The survivors claimed to hear, above the screams and barked commands of their Lieutenant, someone cackling with almost girlish glee.

The medic made his rounds during the fire, in almost complete darkness as he had so many times before, but never this short on supplies.

The bombardment moved to other starts of the line, most men dropped off to sleep in the still dark 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, with 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, tapped him on the shoulder, his tunic fell off to reveal all skin, muscle, and sinew had been stripped from his torso and his body almost completely dried of blood. In one hand was a scalpel, and in the other, a blood transfusion vial.

>> Anonymous
great thread, im shitting bricks
>> Anonymous
>>47590504

I guess tending their wounds was kind of pointless then huh?
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
I have the pic of the creature that snaps necks.
>> Anonymous
need moar creepy thread
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>> Anonymous
>>47591270

Fail
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
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 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.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>47591270

Nice, saved, I'll use that in the future.
>> Anonymous
If you ever find dargaia's nectar, you'll probably be one of the ones who have been looking for it all their lives, and thus won't need any instructions on what to do with it.

Just the same, it's pretty simple, at least to start with. Make sure your affairs are in order (incase you have a bad reaction), and then? Bottoms up.

The coming months are the least pleasant part. You'll find yourself unable to keep food down weeks before you stop needing it. Same with sleep. The color of your blood will be off, making your viens stand out. Expect a few ingrown body parts; little things, just fingers and ears and teeth, usually pressing up against the skin. Make sure you're caught up on your booster shots because you're never going in for a checkup again. Or wearing anything more revealing than a trenchcoat in public, most likely.

Eventually, a little cut on your belly will start 'unhealing', becoming a puss-filled wound in a few days. Over the coming week, Three things will emerge from this.

The first object resembles a greasy black beachnut with maybe a tooth or two growing from it. When you're dead someone will eventually find it and use it to make a new batch of dargaia's nectar. Hide it well, make things fun for future generations.

The second object basically looks like a softball-sized cluster of veins, many of them broken and leaking oily black stuff, all wrapped around something. Then it'll squirm and you'll notice the twisted little skinless fetus in the middle. It will only survive for about twenty seconds. Burn the remains.

The third object will.. well, let's just call it "object 3". It's easier that way.
>> Anonymous
>>47592255
You can plant it anywhere you want. I advise someplace where you don't mind spending all your time and no one else will go. Your back yard or under your cellar works if you don't have any roomates; as long as there's fertile soil. Dig at least five feet down. It won't want to be buried, but just keep piling dirt onto it (if you can still hear it when you're finished you didn't go deep enough).

Its veins (or roots, I guess) will eventually spread in all direction about a foot and a half for every year of your life. Grass and weeds will grow stiff and bony, or black and oily, or take on the color and texture of a spider bite, or rice paper. Wood will be infected too; you'll hear the arteries in your walls pulsing on quiet nights. The ground will rot with dead insect and animal life. Don't mow your lawn; it bleeds like hell.

This is your sanctuary.

No matter what threats or injuries beset you outside, here you will be safe and healthy. Well, what passes for 'healthy' for you now. And if you really hate someone, bring them here. Trick them into coming. They'll get infected, one way or another; a lungfull of spore, a thornprick, a bit of residue on their hand. They will blood-vomit and the blood will have tiny centipedes in it. They'll shit out their own spinal fluids. Their eyes will milk over and hatch; little spines and brambles will grow from the sockets. They'll survive for months or years, doctors will be baffled, it will be completely fucking great.

That's all for starters. You'll learn more as you go. Much more. But if I told you everything now you might not do it.

Whatever you do, just guard it with your life, your very soul. If you think you're in danger of loosing it, dig it up, kill it with a silver needle, let someone else make a new one some day. You'll feel as if you've pierced your own heart, but it's better than letting it fall into the wrong hands.

Because you're a Holder now.

And you'd better not let them come together.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
This is not creepy pasta. I don't want you to just read it and comment on how few bricks you have shat: I want you to go fucking do it. Stand facing a mirror in a poorly lit room. Bathroom mirror without the lights on should do it; it has to be dark enough that you can't make out the color of your eyes. Just stand there looking at your reflection, eyes focused on your eyes. Things behind you, or even other parts of your face, may flicker or do weird shit in your perephrial vision, but dont' look away. Keep focusing on your eyes. The longer you look, the less the face in the mirror seems to resemble your own. Eventually, subtly at first, it begins to distort; I've never known anyone with the balls to wait and see what it turns into.
>> Anonymous
The following story is not terriby creepy when considered in the context of most horror stories: as a means to provide entertainment via works of fiction. However, the freaky part of the story is how true it really is. The sister of my friend James, Caitlin, was a photography student who lived in Maine. I knew her pretty well, as I was close friends with James and would frequent their house. Caitlin, two years ago, went out on a camping trip out in Canada to take wildlife pictures. She drove out with her tent and food and supplies already in her backpack and went off Northwest. She found a very small town in Ontario and parked the car there, and got out and started hiking.
>> Anonymous
>>47593022
She walked away from the town for the entire day. She walked about 40 miles into the wilderness, where there were no signs of man. There were no roads, no paths, no cans, no signs, no markers, no nothing, only 10 miles in. The last 30 were completely void of all humanity. She found a relatively comfortable patch of grass and set up her tent, and stayed there for 3 nights, taking pictures of the woods and the woodland creatures. After those three days she returned to the small town, got in her car and drove back to her house in Maine.
>> Anonymous
>>47593069
When she developed her pictures, she found very odd pictures. There were of course many that she had taken, but on every roll of film (she took about 10 rolls) there were about three or four pictures of her, sleeping. They were taken at different angles, with her in different positions, just sleeping. There was no one who lived out there. If someone cared enough to follow her, it would have been a lot of work. We don't know who took those pictures, and never will. After that trip, Caitlin has been slightly messed up. She's been in the Psychiatric Ward twice in the past two years and is on anti-psychotics. I have seen the pictures though, she is not making those up. (Side note James and I have grown apart too, I rarely see him anymore.)
>> Anonymous
In Portland, Oregon in 1981, an unheard-of new arcade game appeared in several suburbs, something of a rarity at the time. This game was called "Polybius". The game proved to be incredibly popular, to the point of addiction, and queues formed around the machines, quickly followed by clusters of visits from men in black. Rather than the usual marketing data collected by company visitors to arcade machines, they collected some unknown data, allegedly testing responses to the psychoactive machines. The players themselves suffered from a series of unpleasant side-effects - amnesia, insomnia, nightmares, night terrors, and suicide appearing as having been caused by the game in various versions of the legend. Some players stopped playing video games, while it is reported that one became an anti-gaming activist. Cough *Jack Thompson* cough.
>> Anonymous
when i was younger my friends and i used to go to a pool hall a little ways outside of town. we'd all grown up in an apartment complex relatively close by, and we'd been swiping smokes out of the vending machine since we were 10, and shooting pool there since we were 13; and now that we were 18 or 19 the bartenders were pretty good about forgetting how old we were. so this was a place we went to a LOT, i knew and was friendly with almost everyone that walked in the door. one night i was pretty much the only customer in the place, so the bartender and i were playing 14.1 continuous shots before each time the other person broke. since wed been playing for hours i'd done a lot of shots (the bartender not so many :P ) when the door flew open and in walked two of my friends, call them jake and jenny. now jake was just about the biggest badass of a 19 year old id ever met in my life; before that night i would have sworn there was nothing in the world that could have scared him. if any of you have ever read any of the sin city graphic novels, or seen the movie, this kid is a younger version of marv. prettier, i imagine, since his face wasnt all scarred up, but other than that just like him. nevertheless, he was obviously nervous about something. he had both of his arms around jenny and she was just curled up against his chest about as tight as she could get. it was really cold out, and i couldnt see her face because she had it pressed so far into jakes coat, but i could see her shoulders shake as she sobbed against jakes chest.
>> Anonymous
I can tell already, this is going to be one of those that gets 2 posts an hour and lasts until dawn.
>> Anonymous
>>47589761

What's the name of these stories again?
>> Anonymous
>>47593962
jake half carried her over to where the bartender and i were playing and tried to sit her down, but she wouldnt let go of him. i had to help detangle them, and when we finally got her sat down she grabbed both of us and wouldnt let go. so we sat right next to her and the bartender brought her some coffee-+, and we began to get her settled down. when she was finally calm enough to talk, what she jake told me was probably the creepiest thing id ever heard up to that point. but what she told me next was downright scary... and the WAY she told it ill remember for the rest of my life. she spoke totally without emotion. like someone that knew she was going to die and was resigned to her fate, just reading lines out of a script because shed been had told to and didnt know what else to do. all the color that had come back into her face since she arrived drained back out. she didnt start sobbing again, but tears poured out of her eyes and she wouldnt look anywhere but in her lap, and god help me if i never see anyone that scared again ill have no complaints about my life. t seems that jenny had been alone in her house and heard a knocking on her door. expecting jake (they were probably gonna bone) she'd gotten up from the couch and unlocked the door without looking to see who it was, saying 'come on in!' as she returned to her seat.
>> Anonymous
>>47594301
she said as she sat down she looked back because she hadnt heard anyone come in. the door was wide open, and there was a young kid standing in the entryway, his eyes wandering over the house. then he smiled and walked in bringing a shadow or something with him (not really a shadow, i guess, what she actually told me was that when he came in it looked like the night came after him, but im pretty sure if i had just said that people would call it hokey and laugh this story off or say i was just making it up). and then he looked at her, still smiling, and began to speak. but she didnt hear what he was saying, because as soon as their eyes met she felt pure terror, and that the 'world started to go out'. the last thing she remembers before coming to in jakes car were the thoughts 'mistake. die. help.' jake took over after that, saying when he pulled up to her house he could tell something was wrong; said he could just feel it. he was surprised to see the door open and the lights off, so he rushed in calling for jenny or her folks. according to jake, as soon as he crossed he felt different. said it was like the air was thicker and darker, hard to move through, harder to think in, impossible to see. he felt fuzzy and sleepy and scared like hed never been before, but he kind of shook himself out of it and called jenny's name again. when he did, he said he heard a kind of hiss and felt something looking at him. he said he felt HATED by it. he didnt know how long it watched him, but he was terrified until all of the sudden there was a bang loud enough to rattle the doors on the cupboards and the presence he felt was gone.
>> Anonymous
>>47594464
at that point he could see again, although the lights were still out, and what he saw was jenny standing sort of to the side of the couch, just staring off at nothing. he shook her and she didnt respond, he slapped her and she just moaned a little. since he was scared shitless and the lights didnt work, he carried jenny out to his car and decided to drive to the pool hall where he knew there were lights and probably friends. i didnt know what to make of the story. my normal inclination would be to call bullshit, but jakes no actor and i could see he was scared shitless, and jenny was in a state beyond acting. neither was up for the kind of civilized company that would probably be rolling into the bar later, so i told them to head back to my place. they both had keys, so they were going to go let themselves in while i chatted with the bartender till someone else came in (he threatened to throw me a severe beating if i left him alone after what hed just heard). finally one of the other regulars came in and i went out and started up my truck. i was letting it warm up a bit when there was a rap on my passenger side door. for a second i felt a kind of dread that till that point id only imagined could exist, but only for a second. then i went numb. i could still feel the fear, but it was distant. kind of like a toothache that you put that ambasol shit on, it still hurts but youre kind of disassociated from the pain. anyway, i reached over and opened the door (window didnt roll down) and there was THE kid, and he started talking.
>> Anonymous
tl;dr
gb2 /x/
>> Anonymous
>>47594555
'hey, mister, its awfully cold out and im all alone, can i have a ride?' youd think that someone that had just heard all that i had would just fucking bail at that point, but to tell the truth i didnt feel that was an option. it was like it just wasnt allowed for some reason. also, i felt exactly the same thing jake had described when it came to being fuzzy; i was already sort of buzzing and when i saw the kid it was like my brain shut down almost totally. it was like it was very difficult to think of anything he didnt want me to think of. i started to choke out the word 'no' but before i could get it out he spoke again: 'come on mister, its freezing and im so young. besides, you know what its like to be a kid, alone and afraid and COLD. dont you?' and the thing was, he was right. as a kid id run away from home on more than one occasion, and at least once probably nearly died because of pulling that shit at the wrong time of the year. i remember thinking, 'hey, this kid aint so bad. hes just scared, like i was. and if i dont let him in, hell probably die.' i thought about it and all the sudden it popped into my head that if i didnt give the kid a ride and he died id be a murderer, and to this day i think that little boy put that thought in my head. so what i did was leave the door open and put my hand back on the wheel. the boy climbed in and shut the door, and when he did the numbing sensation left me; all the fear came back full force, but i still couldnt think straight, or do it quickly. i remember saying 'where?' and the boy looked at me
>> Anonymous
>>47594288

9001 free internets to whomever answers my question
>> Anonymous
>>47594636
'boy it sure is cold. thanks for the ride. just take me where your friends are going mister. wherever they are going, take me there and drop me off.' 'cant,' i said. he looked straight at me and smiled. 'oh, its ok, mister. just drop me off wherever they are, its ok. i'll be fine.' 'cant. dont have any friends,' i explained. then he looked at me, and i could tell he was angry. his forehead bunched up like he was concentrating and he said 'dont lie to me. why would you lie to me? im just a poor, lonely little boy, whos cold and scared and HUNGRY, and youre lying to me.' and at that point i had to admit to myself, i WAS lying to him. so i put the truck in gear and started driving home. the little boy said nothing on the way; just sat in his seat, looking straight ahead, smiling and humming to himself. my head was still feeling fuzzy, and imo i would probably have done whatever the kid asked me to do; but at that point a cruiser pulled up behind me and flashed its lights. it gave me a little shock, a small fright next to the big one my passenger was causing me, but it shocked me enough that i came back to my senses a little. that kid was pissed, tho. he told me to tell the officer to go away. he said 'tell him your going home and he should leave you alone. tell him to do that and he will.'
>> Anonymous
>>47594751
what i did instead took more willpower than anything ive done before or since. when the officer got out of his car, i opened my truck door, got out and put my hands on my head, walked towards him and said 'ive been drinking. drinking and driving all over the goddamn place.' i heard a shriek from the cab of the truck, a godawful noise i'd never care to hear again in life. as shitty as a dui is, i knew right then that id made the right decision; instead of having to get back in the truck and take the kid to my house to do god knows what with my friends, i got to take a breathalyzer. which confirmed that although i wasnt legally drunk, i did have alcohol in my system, and in my state that will get a minor a dui regardless of whether they are legally drunk or not. and so i got sat in the cruiser to wait while the cop processed my stuff and the tow truck came for my vehicle. while i waited i looked out the window right next to me to see the little boy standing directly outside the window, staring at me. HATING me so badly it made me sick to my stomach then, and makes me shiver to remember it now. and thats pretty much the whole story. before anyone asks, i dont actually remember noticing the kids eyes at all; the whole period of time from when he tapped on my door till i got into the cruiser i remember as kind of a vague fugue state. like a dream i had, but a true dream nonetheless. neither jenny nor jake ever mentioned the kids eyes, either. in fact, neither ever mentioned the kid again, and i didnt share with them my own encounter.
>> Anonymous
>>47594660

scary stories to tell in the dark
>> Anonymous
bump for moar
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
On this very night, ten years ago, along this very stretch of road in a dense fog just like this. I saw the worst accident I ever seen. There was this sound, like a garbage truck dropped off the Empire State Building... And when they pulled the driver's body from the twisted, burning wreck.. It looked... Like this!
>> Anonymous
Anyone else ever have almost-coherent gibberish appear spontaniously in their creepypasta documents, when they know they didn't type it and no one else messes with their computer? In red text?

This time it was "eagbantjaremny". I'd think nothing of it if this were the first time it had happened.
>> Anonymous
f5f5f5f5f5
>> Anonymous
>>47596560

Me again; I just typed that, but it almost looks like pasta..

Anyway, commencing Beauchamp pasta.
>> Anonymous
If you go into this one tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, and the right bartender is behind the counter that night, you might be able to see a very exclusive gallery show of the lost works of one Henri Beauchamp. But, to get in, you have to prove you're a devotee of the artist to get in.

You'll be asked, in clear and perfect English, "What would like to partake of this glorious night?". Answer absinthe, no matter what. Any other drink, from whiskey to water, will kill you as you sleep.

The next question will regard the type, and you MUST answer one of two things: "The stuff that Man himself could not bear to take," or, "The good stuff. The best stuff." If you ask for any other absinthe, in any other way, you will be plagued by nightmares for 13 days. Each night's dream will be more horrible than the last, until, upon the thirteenth dream, your nightmare will follow you, every moment of your waking and sleeping life.

Don't trey and cheat the barkeep: the door locked behind you.
You have to drink what he gives you, doom or not.
That such a powerful man granted you audience should be enough.
Besides, I've heard that the dying complimented his drinks in their death throes.
>> Anonymous
>>47597876
If you make it that far before sealing your fate, the bartender will say, "Be sure you handle this with care; this is the finest I have." From here, you may do one of two things: Say, word for word, "I overestimated my fortitude, and I bid you good eve.". If the barkeep nods, you may leave the door you entered, unharmed and with nothing gained and nothing lost (except the time spent inside).

Or you can go on.

You will be given a glass with a seven-sided rim, with twist ever so delicately around the basin until forming a sleek and simple handle. You will also recieve a very, very, very special absinthe spoon, in the shape of a key; the holes at the key's top serve as the draining point for the alcohol to pour over the sugar cube. And, of course, an unmarked bottle, stripped long ago of its label, scraps of paper sticking to its sides, covered in the rot of the decades past.

The spoon is completely flat, but has two distinct sides: one with a groove along the shaft of the key, and one without. Turn the shaft down, so its groove will be face down. If you attempt this face up, your absinthe will taste foul, your nose will burn, and youe eyes will shrivel in their sockets with unspeakable horrors nt of this world.

Try not to do that.
>> Anonymous
>>47597933
Now, if your spoon is the right way up, begin preparing the absinthe as one would (put the sugar on the spoon, and pour the alcohol over so it gains its color and "special qualities").

Say "cheers" to your friend, the barkeep, and bottoms up. If you don't, the absinthe will burn every innard it touches with the power and pain of sulfuric acid.

If you've done it right, the already dim lights will go off, and darkness will consume the bar. Don't be afraid; the darkness is the cue that you've been approved for the exhibit. Wait out the darkness, and keep silent as the dead, lest the bartender decide to make you so.

Eventually (not too long, two to three minutes), a green floodlight will shine brightly on a door on the far wall of the bar. The bar will be bathed in green, and not just from the floodlight. Little luminescent spheres will gently drift through the room, and the barkeep will no longer be there... nor any other unassuming patron inside before.
>> Anonymous
>>47598014
There's no danger by this point... consider it a safe point. If you didn't finish the absinthe, you don't have to, but you might need the alcohol. Either way, take the spoon and put it in the keyhole of the geen-lit portal's doorknob. It will fit perfectly, and reach the end of the keyhole with a resounding click.

Inside is a small elevator, with the most beautiful woman any mortal eyes can imagine, bathed in the green glow in just such an angle that the light refracts beyond her into the shape of wings.

The Green Fairy herself will ask you, "Going up?", and considering all the trouble you went through, it would only make sense to say yes.

Now, you have one more hurdle to clear. She will ask you, as you cross the line from the bar to the compartent, "How would you compare Beauchamp's surrealism to that of, say, Rene Magritte?" For your reply, you must say, "I've come to see more than art tonight."

I you don't, the green floodlight will blow out, the doors will slam shut, and the elevator will plummet through a seemingly infinite blackness before a read light grows brighter as the elevator nears the very depths of Hell.
>> Anonymous
>>47598154
Now, if your elevator begins to go up, the green light will also fade, but in its place will be the cool glow of the moon. But, before you even recognize it, the elevator will reach the top of its... well, let's call it a shaft to not get too intricate.

Now, I'm not as sure about this as the rest, but I've heard that, if the Green Fairy kisses you on the cheek as she leaves the elevator, you will always be blessed with a creative inspiration: a permanent, ever-changing muse. You can't ask her, you can't kiss her; she has to do it of her own volition. If not... well, nothing, but no reason to do it anyway and anger the woman who is responsible for keeping the Beauchamp paintings safe for so many years.

You will enter, from the elevator, a turn-of-the-century parlor, with a large poster of Henri Beauchamp on the left side of the opposite wall; on the right is a door.

Taking the time to read the poster is a fiarly good idea, as it explains the very significance of Mr. Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920s, always making art to try and be free of all premeditiation, and managed to do so. But, after one night in a tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, he began to paint... patterns.
>> Anonymous
>>47598452
First it was geometric patterns. Then complete fractals. Then images that would be in the newspaper the next day. The next week. Then from fity years ago. 100 in the future, 200 in the past...

Then, on his last night of life, he kidnapped three young girls from theit night, murdered them, and painted his finest masterpieces' reds and yellows with the blood and bile of virgins.

He committed suicide immediately after painting exactly 13 of these.

These are behind the door.

The first six, from the left, show, from left to right: the genesis of the universe, the only true visage of God as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Jesus Christ, the sprawling clouds of Heaven, every Pope from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of Jesus' appearance in his Second Coming.

The other six, on the right, show, from right to left: the cataclysmic of the universe, the only true visage of Satan as viewable to the eyes of man, the true image of Judas, the sprawling flames of Hell, every human-embodied demon from the first to faces not yet recognizable, and a portrait of the Antichrist in his Second Coming.

Now, six and six make twelve. But what of the thirteenth?
>> Anonymous
>>47598575
It's turned around on its wall pin, the image facing the wall. The space around it is roped up at a very wide diameter, and under the flipped image is a sign, in three languages. The top is in the scriptures of the seraphim, the bottom in the runs of the highest demonic orders, and in the middle, in Roman letters.

DO

NOT

TOUCH

Now, like the kiss, I can't say this part with as much certainty, but all the same... I heard that, somehow, as he died, Beauchamp flayed his skin, his organs, his very soul, into some sort of collage. How he took his dead body and created such a horiffic masterpiece, I could never say, nor would I ever dare to.

So... if you make it, maybe you flip the canvas over and tell me sometime? You can tell me about over a drink.
>> Anonymous
Let's talk about spontanous human combustion.

According to forensic evidence, fire (or rather, heat) starts at the core of the body and burns outward. Organs go first. Sometimes the heat come and go in a flash, killing in seconds; at others, boiling fat acts like candlewax to keep the body burning for several minutes. All without any warning or discernable cause. Neither conventional nor paranormal science has much to put fourth in the way of a theory; hence "spontainous". Though very rare, it strikes at random, and its aftermath is horrific.

It probably isn't going to hit you, but if it does, there's jack-all you can do about it. Which is ironic because the only factor linking all known cases is distress. One survivor had fallen asleep on his bed brooding after a divorce; he awoke to find his sheets aflame spreading out from his leg, which was reduced to blacken ruins. Traditional cases tell of SHC taking drunks, who certainly have their fair share of troubles.

Now that I've gone over what is known, I'm not going to waste your time with some bullshit occult theory. Instead, I pose you a question: might the source of a victim's fatal distress be fear? Creeping, brooding dread? Excessive contemplation of ghosts, mirror-worlds, the afterlife, or, say.. spontainous human combustion?
>> Anonymous
I can't say exactly where the Twenty-Ninth is, because like the First it demonstrates a vast multipresence, if not omnipresence, as does its "holder". I'll not name him because I loath having him gaze over my shoulder.

Number 2325 is the size of Rhode Island, and all the little negroids living on it think they're worshiping "the land". In a sense they're correct, but they still haven't figured out why their land demands so much more than anyone else's.

The ninety-eigth is called Gegnaiek. A tree you might call him; though older than the sun, he has found perfect nourishment in homo sapien

You'll notice me personifying these objects at times, speaking as if each is possessed of a certain alien intelligence. In fact, this is only the case with a very few, perhaps a hundred; the rest are merely created to perform a function, or innumerous functions, and with crushing indifference they perform them, incapable of seeing or caring what gnats and flies may be crushed into the gears.

We are the monkeys staring down the gun barrel, the moths bathing in flame, the babies with a playpen full of knives and needles and cyanide. Our doom is wrought by our own fumbling hand, and like the cave-beasts we are, we call the tools of our suicide "wicked" and "evil", pretending our murderers to be the faceless boogiemen who must have set them in our path..

How know I so much?

By consulting object 2537.. The Index.
Though apparently sentient, The Index has never tried to mislead me or do me any harm, merely spelled out on its stiff yellow pages honest and up-to-date information on the Objects. All of them. Location, function, associated dangers.. everything a Gatherer could wish to know. In plain, modern English.

It is the single most dangerous object in existence.