File :-(, x, )
CREEPY THREAD ­
CREEPY THREAD, /b/.
You know you wanna look
>> ­
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
>>87977336
...and?
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
There is a book that has only been spoken of in terrified whispers behind closed and locked doors. It is said that only seven people have ever seen this book over the course of all of human history and only four have opened it. Only one man has ever read it. The book...isn't really a book at all, but a machine. The binding opens and locks, with a grate in the center where the pages can slide through. When the book is opened, and the pages lie flat, they can be shifted into different positions. Each page is made of metal, the words embossed on it. On each edge of the page is a specially cut design; no two designs are the same. It is said that one must find the proper arrangement of each of the five hundred and thirty six pages and go to the "Rock of Chaos", where time is the only constant. It is a place of madness where lightning moves from all directions and the sky itself burns with an insane blue fire. The Rock is the face of an immense cliff, the bottom of which can never be seen by mortal eyes lest they go blind and mad. Somewhere on the face of the rock there is a single hole, an opening just the right size for the book. Properly aligned, the book must be brought to this "keyhole" at the exact moment specified by the stars and spoken of within the book. One places the book in the hole at the exact moment, and unlocks the Chaos Chain. This is a chain of pure ether, which runs from our world deep into that of the Void, and there, at the Throne of Darkness, the Chain binds that dark soul who rules the Void and would wreak apocalypse on us all: Unenon, the Blind Angel of Darkness. What the book says...well, only one man ever read it, and it is said that he locked himself in his room for thirty days before emerging, tome in hand, and swore to take the book to the ends of the earth before he died. He has never been seen or heard from since.
>> Anonymous
>>87976825
>> Anonymous
>>87976825
OP, please explain your pic
>> Anonymous
>>87977550

Such a dumb shit.

Try reading again, if you still dont understand...then god have mercy and get the fuck out of the gene pool.
>> Anonymous
>>87976825

Without the Prestige these are worthless
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>87976825
scary
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
There's a small, inconspicious building called "Padraic Willoughsby and Co." in the industrial district of Birmingham, UK. Most of the time, its doors are locked and the windows are draped. However, on February 29th of every leap year, there will be a small plastic container outside the front door containing business cards. On the front of the card it says in large capital letters, "PADRAIC WILLOUGHSBY AND CO. ENGLAND'S THAUMATURGICAL SPECIALISTS". On the back, in nearly inelligibly small type it says "The blood of the innocent."

Any night after midnight one can come to Paidraic Willoughsby and Co. and slide their card through the door, and the door will instantly unlock. Inside there is an empty room with white walls. No light reaches this room, except for a small sliver from the other end of the room. When you approach this room you will find that it is actually another door. When you knock on it, a voice will ask "What makes a man become exalted?" and you must respond with the phrase on the back of the card: "The blood of the innocent." The door will open and you will come into another room, a kind of lounge. Inside it you will find around 5-10 people, depending on the night, sitting around smoking and drinking brandy, all in late Edwardian period dress. There is absolutely no conversation at all in this room and, it is nearly silent except for the phonograph which plays the exact same record over and over, ad infinitum. If you attempt to speak to one of the patrons, they will promptly ignore you and pretend as if you were not there.

Towards the south wing of the room you will find a large, round table, slightly different from the others. On it will be a quill pen and a document. The document shows all of your personal information: name, birth date, place of residence, criminal record, greatest fears, etc. At the bottom of the document is a long line that asks for your signature. No one knows what happens after you sign it.
>> Anonymous
>>87977336
THEN WHO WAS PHONE
>> Anonymous
>>87977336

I don't get how albinos are scary
>> Anonymous
>>87977977

jesus fuck, he looked through the key hole and saw nothing but red, the women then tells him the ghosts eyes are red. You must see a link here.
>> Anonymous
>>87976825

Take this shit to /x/
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
A young man and his new bride were honeymooning in Paris when his wife went into a restroom and didn't return.
With time the man began to fear the worst and went to the police, the police thought it was most likely the girl simply had second thoughts about the marriage, but they checked it out anyway and found no evidence of foul play
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 freakshow 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.
>> Anonymous
>>87978170
fuck you, the best creepy threadswere from /b/ first
>> Anonymous
>>87978164


Right I get that it was staring at him... Still don't see how that is scary in the least
>> Anonymous
>>87978170

Okay, correlation is there, but end result is fail
>> ­
If you watch long enough, the shadows grow impatient, and move. When in a room alone with your monitor, stare at it. The shadow will slowly close in on you, until you move. Of course, it is afraid of your monitor, as dark cannot snuff out light, but light can indeed destroy the dark. Watch sometime in a room with only internal light. If you stare at them for long enough, the shadows will begin to move. Sometimes you can make out shapes.

These things have lived with you your whole life, and will follow you wherever you may go, unless you command them in the proper authority to leave, and ensure they have no legal right to be there. Few know and understand the proper authority, and even fewer know just what to do.

The shadows are always watching.
>> Anonymous
ahck!! ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!! ahck ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!! ahck ahck? ahck ahckKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!! ahck ahck AHHHHK AAAAAHHH AAAHHHHH ahck! ahck!???!ahck!! ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!! ahck ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!! ahck ahck? ahck ahckKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!! ahck ahck AHHHHK AAAAAHHH AAAHHHHH ahck! ahck!???!ahck!!

ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!!


ahck ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!! ahck ahck? ahck ahckKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!! ahck ahck AHHHHK AAAAAHHH AAAHHHHH ahck! ahck!???!

ahck!! ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!! ahck ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!! ahck ahck? ahck ahckKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!! ahck ahck AHHHHK AAAAAHHH AAAHHHHH ahck! ahck!???!ahck!! ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!! ahck ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!! ahck ahck? ahck ahckKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!! ahck ahck AHHHHK AAAAAHHH AAAHHHHH ahck! ahck!???!ahck!! ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!! ahck ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!! ahck ahck? ahck ahckKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!! ahck ahck AHHHHK AAAAAHHH AAAHHHHH ahck! ahck!???!

ahck!! ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!! ahck ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!! ahck ahck? ahck ahckKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!! ahck ahck AHHHHK AAAAAHHH AAAHHHHH ahck! ahck!???!ahck!! ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!! ahck ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!! ahck ahck? ahck ahckKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!! ahck ahck AHHHHK AAAAAHHH AAAHHHHH ahck! ahck!???!ahck!! ahhhhk ahck ahck ahck? ahck AAAahckKK!!!! ahck ACHHHHHK ahck ahckkkkkkk!!!!
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
Look behind you. What do you see? Invariably, there will be a wall somewhere in your view. Now stare deeply into the space on the wall that lines up best with your eyes. Nothing will happen, but makes sure you are clear on where this particular spot is. That spot contains all the negativity in your mind. Whenever you are on your computer, reading scary stories or whatever you do, sometimes you will get spooked. what do you do when this happens. You check behind you, thats what you do. As you read this now, a feeling of dread will come over you. Check the spot. Nothing again, huh? Thats because right now, all the evil is locked safely in your mind. Some people, upon learning of this "negative spot" resolve to remove the spot in an attempt to remove the negative energy. This is a grave mistake. You must never let harm come to this spot. If you do, you will have released the energy. Now when you sit at your computer at night, you will feel chills even in the summer time. The feeling of dread that only presented itself when you were genuinely scared will now hang in the air constantly. Within a week you and your loved ones will have a string of bad luck. Within a month your computer will begin to act erratic and eventually break down. On the anniversiary of the spots destruction, you will dream of your most horrible fears. The dream will seem to go on forever, and when you wake up you will notice your vision has darkened. Every year on the same day, the dream will repeat itself, and your vision will grow darker and darker. After you go totally blind, dont ever turn your back on that spot again. That is if you can still tell where it is.
>> Anonymous
>>87978328

Yeah, but i guess if you knew a ghost was looking right into your eyes youd be a liitle creeped out.

And lets face it...none of these stories are going to scare us, they just may be a little creepy.

If there is one posted that isnt pasta thats been posted in every single creepy thread to date.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
In the western end of a rural town alongside the Atlantic coast, a mother bore a dark boy who was later raised nearby. This boy spent much of his early life alone, in a playground; he was very different from the rest of the children and administrators in his school, and none would engage in any exchange with him. In his processes in this playground, the boy often behaved idly, with no objective motive for his activities; however, one day, this all changed.

A few boys who had recently become a part of the rural community soon arrived to attend the school; none of them knew why the boy was rejected by the rest of the community; this diminished their latent fear of the boy, and contributed to their ignorance of the dire capabilities he possessed. These boys soon broke into their new home, by inciting a wave of trouble for the community. One night, as the boys had been returning from their routine of debauchery, they encountered the boy, alone in the cold night, seated at the playground with no apparent perception of the boys' presence.

Although it is definitely certain what occurred that night, the next morning, the boys were nowhere to be found; the region's law enforcement performed a routine check into the boy's location and its relevance to their investigation, but knew better than to challenge the boy's abilities. The boys who disappeared that night remain lost, forever.
>> ­
It's early morning. The sun won't be up for another couple of hours. You're fast asleep in bed, lost in a dream, when the phone rings. Rather than waking up, you roll over and cover your head with a pillow.
Hours pass. The sun rises.

The phone is ringing.

When you wake up, your alarm clock is blaring and the phone is ringing. By the time you will yourself to turn the alarm off, the phone has stopped ringing. You realize that it's been ringing all morning.
You slide out of bed and press the blinking red button on your phone as you stumble into the bathroom. The phone beeps, followed by the friendly, electronic voice.

Hello. You have six hundred and sixty-six new messages. Message one. The phone beeps again, and you're not prepared for what comes next.

Screaming.

You spin around, thinking that she's standing right behind you. There's pure terror in her screams, accompanied by other disturbing noises. You stand there, horrified, for about ten seconds. Screaming gives way to hysterical, garbled crying before dying out with the sounds of spilling meat and tearing flesh.

The phone beeps again. You're shaking.

Message two.
>> Anonymous
>>87978602
Terrifying... I think.
>> Anonymous
In light of this catastrophe, as well as several others which remain unknown, the boy's mother, a prominent contributer to the local community, could definitely bear to keep the boy at the expense of the town which her fathers had built; out of fear for the safety of the town's other children, and the threat posed to this objective with the boy's continued presence in the area, the boy's mother arranged for the boy to move in with relatives far away, in an upstanding city along the Western shore.

The boy begged and pleaded with his mother with every passing sunset that he might remain home, in denial of his acts against the missing boys, to no avail. As much as the boy's mother feared for her community's well-being, she knew that her son would never unleash his capabilities against her; alas, only she knew what truly lie behind those gray eyes, what fueled the terror which eminated from their depths, conceived of a mind whose desires no man nor beast could fathom. The boy's mother packed the belongings which were requisite to his journey, handed him the ticket for his transportation, and kissed her boy, one last time; deep inside, she knew that her town's children were at greater stake than her abhorrent family ever would be. Devastated, the boy tearfully succumbed to his mother's whims to rid of him, and remembered a song which she had once sung for him as a baby, to soothe him into a deep repose.

Along his journey, the boy displayed an odd behavior, with several activities as well as in his disposition to interact with objects in an unusual way; he insisted on taking mundane pleasures in the style of an aristocrat, settling upon his fruit concentrate in no less than a chalice. The boy, unknowing of what his new family would be like, hoped to continue this eccentric behavior as a component of his new lifestyle.
>> Anonymous
BUMP FOR CREEPY
>> Anonymous
>>87979396

Upon his arrival in the designated region of his destination, the providers of transportation along the boy's journey were keen to dispose of his presence immediately, having been forewarned by his mother of the perils which lie in keeping the boy longer than needed be. As the boy wandered the streets alone, he came across a smaller provider of transportation domestic to the town; with the small amount of peanuts which the boy's mother had given him for food along the way, the boy solicited the services of this provider in his arrival to his new family's home. But this was no ordinary vessel of transportation; upon its components for rear view hung objects employed in the superstitious determination of the celestial elements relative to the occurrence of favorable events, and its plate of identification was written such that the vessel were illustrated to have been in a new, impressionable state, never to have experienced rot in its time of manifestation. The boy briefly pondered the abundance of these characteristics in the other transportation he had witnessed, and hesitantly descended into its interior, informing its operator of his desired destination.

Late that night, as shadows and cold veiled the establishment the boy would now call home, the vessel arrived to an old home and its operator dismissed the boy, eager to leave his fear of what he had seen along with him. The boy desired to part with the operator as well, and expressed this desire; as the vessel departed, the boy stood alone, in the wind of the silent night.
There, before his feet, stood an abandoned house, and the graves of each of its former inhabitants. Some say that to this day, the ancient house which to which the boy, now an old man, arrived to that night, remains his kingdom, an eloquent dust palace of moribund silence and he, the prince of its opulent decay forever.
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
You feel an itch in your throat.

You try to cough it out, but it just won't come.

You struggle with forcing yourself to vomit. You drink lots of water, but whatever it is, it’s just stuck there.

You reach for the carton of milk in the fridge and sneeze as you raise it up. Something hits the floor with a rattle. You look at the floor and see a small button with a flowery design on it.

Then you look up. On the milk carton, you notice a missing kid. Her blouse shows the same buttons.
>> Anonymous
This right here is ther creepiest shit EVER

http://fenrir-ragnarok.labrute.fr
>> Anon-e-moose
>>87979396
Creepy Bel-Air in progress
>> Anonymous
I don't understand it, when i was younger i used to get the shit scared out of me all the time by the simplest, stupidest horror movies (shit like the blob, or tremors, or even xfiles scared me when i was a kid). Now though, these stories don't do shit to me, does this shit really scare people or is this thread just really disappointing?
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
hey for those who missed it, there was i nice little thread where i rapidshitted over 9000 creepypastas litterally, check it, its called "redsuit' shit pasta collection"
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
I live in the UK. A colleague at work heard this from her boyfriend. He works with someone who said that his sister's friend got the last tube (subway train) home a couple of weeks ago. When she got on there were 5 rows of seats empty but the last row had three people sitting in them. As she was a little afraid, she went and sat opposite these people. She settled down and looked up to see the woman sitting opposite her really staring at her. So she got out her book and started to read but every time she looked up the woman was still staring. The train pulled into the next station and a man got on. He looked up and down the carriage, took a look at her and the people opposite her and came and sat next to her. As the train left the station the man leaned back and said quietly in her ear "If you know what's good for you, you'll get off at the next station with me". She was scared but thought the best idea would be to get off at the next station as he asked as there might be people around. The next stop comes up and she leaves the train with this man. The man says "Thank God, I didn't mean to scare you but I had to get you off that train. I'm a doctor and the woman sitting opposite you was dead and the two men either side were propping her up". According to the guy who told this story, the girl and the doctor called the police who stopped the train at the next station.
>> ­
>>87979861
OP here
I'm creepypastaing all from your stuff.
thanks again, man
>> Anonymous
When I moved into my house, I went down into the basement, and I'll admit it was a pretty creepy dungeon-esque basement, but I had to go there because the washing machine was down there. So I went down there to get the lay of the land, and out of the darkness a fucking empty wheelchair rolled toward me and stopped like a foot away from me. I fucking ran up the stairs, and ever since I payed my little brother to do my laundry for me. The wheelchair was apparently from the previous owner. Other odd things down there include a full fireman outfit and a baby's crib.
>> Anonymous
>>87979489
nice bel-air
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
I live in the UK. A colleague at work heard this from her boyfriend. He works with someone who said that his sister's friend got the last tube (subway train) home a couple of weeks ago. When she got on there were 5 rows of seats empty but the last row had three people sitting in them. As she was a little afraid, she went and sat opposite these people. She settled down and looked up to see the woman sitting opposite her really staring at her. So she got out her book and started to read but every time she looked up the woman was still staring. The train pulled into the next station and a man got on. He looked up and down the carriage, took a look at her and the people opposite her and came and sat next to her. As the train left the station the man leaned back and said quietly in her ear "If you know what's good for you, you'll get off at the next station with me". She was scared but thought the best idea would be to get off at the next station as he asked as there might be people around. The next stop comes up and she leaves the train with this man. The man says "Thank God, I didn't mean to scare you but I had to get you off that train. I'm a doctor and the woman sitting opposite you was dead and the two men either side were propping her up". According to the guy who told this story, the girl and the doctor called the police who stopped the train at the next station.
>> Anonymous
Somewhere in the world is a shelf of books. It might be a shelf in someone's attic, untouched by light for decades. It might be in the basement of a library, kept in a hidden section that even the head librarian knows nothing about. For some reason, the shelf is somewhere different every time someone finds it.

The books on this shelf range from ancient, leather-bound tomes to spiral notebooks, from modern-day paperbacks to books dating from the fall of the Roman Empire. These books are all diaries, all kept by different people from different points in history.

These people have only one thing in common: they were all serial killers. You can read any of the diaries and watch as the writer, at first seemingly normal, slowly descends into madness with every entry and gains an unquenchable thirst for blood and murder. The last pages of these diaries are invariably unreadable - barely-legible scrawlings of murderous men and women who have gone completely insane and lost all grip on reality.

You can read as many of the diaries as you want, if you feel you can stomach the horrific tales of murders and acts of sadism recounted within. Many who have found these books have even read them and walked away, remaining healthy and normal, save for being completely unnerved.

One word of warning. If you stay at the shelf and read for too long, you may notice a book you didn't see before, right at the very end of the shelf. If this happens, you should leave immediately and never return, nor never try to find the shelf again. Because if you open this book, you will find that only the first page has been written on. It is an entry describing how excited the author is to have started a new journal. And it is in your handwriting.
>> Anonymous
>>87977336

k that actually creeped me out
>> Anonymous
>>87978568
the first paragraph scared me... but then the other shit killed the buzz. Stick to first paragraph...
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
you meet a strange man with a gray sack on his head. You ask him if anything is wrong.
He says he just woke up and doesn't know who he is or how he got there.
There are pills scattered on the ground around him and you assume that he od'd.
There is a wallet on the ground next to him..
You remove it and say "it says here on the license your name Can."
"Can?"
"Yes, the picture is defenatly you, Can Dale Jackson
Somehow as the man removed the rope from the ditch beside him, you know he was smiling under crude mask.
He was-
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
You get a phone call from your Mother. Since her car has been in the shop, she asks you to go to the grocery store and pick up a few odds and ends for her. Bread, milk, cereal, and chicken breasts.

After writing down a small list you reluctantly get in the car and pick up the items at the store. The lady cashier makes an odd remark to you, "You know, we're in no danger of a milk shortage." Upon arriving at her house you knock several times. No answer. You decide to try the door. It opens. You place the grocery bag on the counter. Strange. There seems to be six other grocery bags, each with identical contents. In a couple, the chicken and the milk has gone bad. "Mom," you call out, but no answer. You make your way thru the kitchen and into the living room. Sitting on the couch, with her head cut off and neatly resting on her lap, is your Mother.

Naturally you call the police who come over to investigate. They mention that she has been dead for nearly a week. Furthermore, the police psychiatrist is at the scene and talks to you after you give your initial statement. Sitting on the front steps, you overhear the psychiatrist talking with the crime scene investigator. "It's not uncommon for people suffering from schizophrenia to get locked into a series of repetitive behaviors," he says.

You think to yourself, "They can't be talking about me. Schizophrenia? Nah. Repetitive behavior? Do they think I did this?" Suddenly your cell phone goes off. "Hello?"

"Hi hun, it's me. Could you stop at the store and pick up some chicken and milk. Ohh, and I need some bread and cereal too."

"No problem Mom. I'll be right over..."
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
well now that everybody has my creepypasta collection, i am going to start a new one with all the original content i can find probably going to end up deleting that file lol

anyway i challenge /b/ to be more creative than it usually is and just give me their own stories not copy paste, make em yourself.

I'll start
>> ­
I am Thomas's reflection. Every morning, he rises from sleep and walks into the bathroom. ...and he makes faces. I am so tired of the faces. He makes them for at least half an hour. Mocking, ridiculous faces. I have no choice but to mimic his every action, although inside I am seething with anger. He does this every day... well, USED to. One morning he awoke as usual, and entered the bathroom. On this particular morning, against his will, he picked up a pair of scissors. On this particular morning, against his will, he gripped those scissors tightly in his fist. ...on this particular morning, entirely against his will, he plunged those scissors directly into his right eye. Thomas screamed, and screamed. I screamed and screamed too - with one difference. I can't mimic his pain.

Just

his

face.
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87980589
Ever noticed that in the dead of night, after witnessing creepy things, paranormal things, whatever, you always seem to see those things happening around you however it is only restricted to what you have just read or seen.
>> ­
>>87980589
OP here. if the thread picks up, i'll make OC
>> Anonymous
>>87978568
you have to say
"GET OUT NIGGERS OR I'M CALLING THE COPS"
>> Anonymous
>>87980418
hyphail
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
It's midnight and you've been in bed for about an hour, unable to get any sleep. You don't know why, but you suddenly feel uneasy, as if something were about to jump out at you at any given moment. You try to get over the feeling but it gets so intense that you open your eyes and nervously look around your moonlit room, then out into the hall. Everything looks normal so you ease yourself back into a comfortable position and try to get some sleep.

Suddenly, your bedroom door slams shut.

You jump up with a start and run over to open it, but it won't budge. You flick the light switch, but it won't turn on. You call for help, but you are only met with utter silence...... except breathing from behind you.
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
let me give you an example;

One night i was reading these pastas, and one particularly frightening one involved basements, a spectre, the classic lot, however it was worded so cleverly it seemed original

>by the way i will be posting this in segments so i bump the thread
>> Anonymous
>>87979942

you fucked that picture made me shit myself
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
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 and a roll of duct tape.
>> Anonymous
bump
>> Anonymous
>>87979489
>>87979396
>>87979263
i lol'd
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87981216
now afterwords i was walking up to my room and since all of my computers are in the downstairs area of my house i had to walk by my basement and the story did involve someone walking by a basement and seeing something. Well guess what, i was so terrified out of my mind this happened to me. I saw out of the corner of my eye, 6 specks of light i thought at the moment it was just a trick of the light as that room does not have any windows so it is practically pitch black.
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
A boy and his girlfriend went out in a remote area of the town to "have some personal time." Later on, the girlfriend said that she was tired and wanted to go home. He said "okay" and went to get out of the car. Then she turned on the radio and heard that this madman was on the loose after breaking free from the local insane asylum.

He said "don't get out of the car and lock the doors. I'll be right back." So she waited for him. And waited and waited. She tried to take a nap but couldn't because she was worrying where he could be. She heard this "tap tap tap" on the window next to her.

She looked, hoping to see her boyfriend's face to let him in. Instead it was this man's face that was dirty and scarred from cuts. His eyes were bloodshot and rolling in his head, laughing. She screamed when she saw her boyfriend's severed head in his hand and a knife in the other. She turned away and heard it was quiet. Thinking he had gone away she looked again. Only this time....He held the car keys in the other hand instead of the head.
>> Anonymous
>>87979489
iiiiiiiiIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN WEST PHILADELPHIA, BORN AND RAISED, ON THE PLAYGROUND IS WHERE I SPENT MOST OF MY DAYS...
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
There was a girl named Jenna who was having a slumber party. She invited three friends but only one came.

That night, after they did all the fun activities they went to bed. Jenna's friend Mary said "goodnight" and they went to bed. Ten minutes later Jenna heard Mary counting "12345" she didn't pay much attention though she thought that Mary was counting to get to sleep.

At about 3am Jenna woke up to go to the bathroom and heard "565, 565, 566, 567" she reach over and turned on the light and turned around to see a man holding Mary's decapitated head pulling out her hair one piece at a time.
>> Anonymous
http://www.noops.org/guts.html
>> ­
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 symbolizes 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?
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87981687
I decide to leave it alone simply saying to myself that it is just a trick of my optic nerve, that was in my periphreal vision and it dissapeared the second i blinked. The next night i did the same thing. I read that same story (its in my collection) and i saw those 6 specks of light yet again and it reacted the same way. Strangely enough it happened again and again consecutivly throughout the nights that i tried this.
one night i completely forgot to do it and went to bed happy as ever, no 6 dots by the basement door in my periphreal vision.

I remembered the next day to do it and guess what, the predictable happened.
>> Anonymous
op's pic is from somewhere on here >
http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-series
i dont know which file exactly..
pretty much everything on that site classifies as creepy
>> ­
>>87982400
The woman smiled and raised her arm “something like this?"
>> Anonymous
So ur with ur honey and yur making out wen the phone rigns. U anser it n the vioce is "wut r u doing wit my daughter?" U tell ur girl n she say "my dad is ded". THEN WHO WAS PHONE?
>> Anonymous
>>87980642
Reminds me of Mirrors.
>> Anonymous
>>87982509
I WAS PHONE
>> Anonymous
>>87982904
AHHH
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87982445
So one night i decided to investigate this phenomena. I saw the 6 lights predictably but this time i didn't blink, and i turned to them. They didn't dissapear, in fact they acutally stayed where they were,in front of the basement door. I blinked, it was gone.

Now utterly creeped out I practically ran up the steps feeling a slight chill on my back from this sight as it changed from my periphreal to my normal sight, which is not what the optic nerve does when it tricks you.
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
When I was a kid, we used to have an old couch in our house. It was old and pretty tacky. My mom had gotten it at a garage sale or something. One day we decided to up and out the couch. It was when I was young but I remembered it.

Anyhow I was talking to my mom and we brought up the old couch and she told me about something I hadn't remembered for years.

When I was young, maybe four or five I was playing near the couch and a withered black hand reached out to me holding a crumpled paper bag with an unfamiliar hardware store logo on it. I was scared shitless and I didn't touch it. After a few seconds the hand went back under the couch, bag and all.

When I had originally told my mom about the incident she had freaked out and gotten rid of the couch. It turned out it's last owner was an old woman who had died on the couch.

Now is where it gets wierder. I was in town the other day and a grocery store I often visit I noticed a bag with the same logo that was nder the couch. No old shrivelled hand was holding it so I had the balls to open it up and look inside.

It was a bag of razorblades.
>> Anonymous
>>87982509
You are making out with your girlfriend when suddenly the phone rings. You pick up and ask, "Hello?" The voice on the other end says "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WITH MY DAUGHTER??" Just then, your girlfriend says her father's been dead for three years. THEN WHO WAS THAT CHARMING GENTLEMAN ON THE PHONE?
>> Anonymous
>>87983098

lurk more faggot, this is the complete opposite of copypasta
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>> Anonymous
>>87982509
You makin' out wit yo bitch when the fone rings. You say "Wassup" and da nigga on the other end say "Nigga, what the fuck you doin' wit my daughter!?" Then yo bitch say "I don't know my daddy." THEN WHO THE FUCK WAS ON DA FONE?
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87983098
The next night i attempted it again but this time i wore some air tight goggles (the kind olympic swimmers wear to keep the water out of their eyes) so that my eyes won't dry out. I looked rather ridiculous yes but i figured it would be worth it to investigate this phenomena i was experiencing.
>> Anonymous
>>87982509
OH GOD! D:::
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QuK866k6pfQ
5:22 - over 9000:19
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
On the farthest point of Long Island, the last scrap of land that still counts as New York, there sits a tremendous, abandoned building. Protected by its own isolated location, there is also at any given time two to three Security Guards there. However, if one approaches the cast iron gates on the night of December 4th, even those few security guards refuse to work. The gates are left unlocked, and the wind will be utterly still, a nearly opaque fog filling the peninsula. Go directly to the main doors and step within, there will be a single long hallway , the end occluded by that fog. If you look to either side upon entering, you will see a modern operating room through a glass door. The farther you walk, the older the equipment will get, the more old fashioned the doctors will be dressed. As you can finally see the end of the hallway, the screams of the patients will be nearly deafening. The hall will terminate in an open door leading to a single wooden table, a man in woolen medical clothing, stained brown from blood, will be bent over a corpse. The body's face will be covered, and the man will turn silently, screwing the top onto a cloudy jar of liquid, filled to the brim. He will hand this abnormally heavy object to you, before turning back to his work. Instantly, you will be outside of those cast iron gates. From that point on, disease and injury will never affect you, but if you ever open that cloudy jar and pull out the contents... you will find a heart, pulsing and beating loudly in your palm. A sudden feeling of horror and revulsion will pass through you as realization strikes, that you have just pulled your own living heart from your chest.
>> Anonymous
should go to /x/
>> Anonymous
>>87977336

OH SHI-
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87983348
thats the point -.-
>> ­
On the farthest point of Long Island, the last scrap of land that still counts as New York, there sits a tremendous, abandoned building. Protected by its own isolated location, there is also at any given time two to three Security Guards there. However, if one approaches the cast iron gates on the night of December 4th, even those few security guards refuse to work. The gates are left unlocked, and the wind will be utterly still, a nearly opaque fog filling the peninsula. Go directly to the main doors and step within, there will be a single long hallway , the end occluded by that fog. If you look to either side upon entering, you will see a modern operating room through a glass door. The farther you walk, the older the equipment will get, the more old fashioned the doctors will be dressed. As you can finally see the end of the hallway, the screams of the patients will be nearly deafening. The hall will terminate in an open door leading to a single wooden table, a man in woolen medical clothing, stained brown from blood, will be bent over a corpse. The body's face will be covered, and the man will turn silently, screwing the top onto a cloudy jar of liquid, filled to the brim. He will hand this abnormally heavy object to you, before turning back to his work. Instantly, you will be outside of those cast iron gates. From that point on, disease and injury will never affect you, but if you ever open that cloudy jar and pull out the contents... you will find a heart, pulsing and beating loudly in your palm. A sudden feeling of horror and revulsion will pass through you as realization strikes, that you have just pulled your own living heart from your chest.
>> Anonymous
There once was a house haunted by a ghost known as Candlejack. He isnt afraid of kidnapping alot and doesn't afraid of anyth
>> Anonymous
OH SHI-
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>87983353
>> Anonymous
On your 21st birthday, your phone will ring and a voice will come down the line. DO NOT HANG UP THE PHONE.

They will say something like "Happy birthday ____" and then they will say your EXACT NAME.

DO NOT ASK THEM HOW THEY KNOW YOUR NAME.

They probably know you from school, or are related to you, and it would be embarrassing to ask them how they know you name.

Yeh, then you'll probably die about 50 years later.


oooooooOOOOOOOOOOooooh
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
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 three minutes of the call. No angel staue was ever found.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>87984444
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87983348
its called original content genius

anywho
>>87983569
So I saw it, yet again, and did the same thing as the night before. Except this time i walked towards it, it seemed to be going away from me, but it didn't seem like the illusion i thought it was, it seemed to have an aura of being real. as in it seemed to delay before moving as though watching my actions then acting, but it moved like an illision. I hadn't blinked watching it for more than 10 minutes. And suddenly it faded away.
>> Anonymous
>>87984444

THEN WHO WAS PHONE!?
>> Anonymous
>>87984679
its a clown statue faggot
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KF7488WHcok
>> Anonymous
SAGE THIS SHIT /b/ NEEDS NEW CONTENT
>> ­
     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 himself "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, and 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, and 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.
>> Anonymous
>>87984444
Holy fuck! I'm scared to even turn on my fucking phone now. Thanks a lot, asshole.
>> Anonymous
poster of the angel story...that was the coldest pasta i've ever had
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
“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?” “No, Daddy.” 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.
>> Anonymous
MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME! MODS PLEASE UNBAN ME!

513594779455937
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>87985001
>> Anonymous
/r/ing Button Day story
>> Anonymous
?
?
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
Outside of my city, there is an apple orchard, with a small cemetery at the end of it with only about 5 or 10 graves in it. If you visit the cemetery, it is customary to leave a small offering by the largest headstone, even an apple from the orchard will do. If you do not, every night you go to sleep that week, you will see an old man in your dreams.
On the first night, he will appear to be a normal balding old man. He will tip his hat to you and walk away.
On the second night, he will have a knife in his right hand. He will tip his hat to you, and walk off once more.
The third night, he will lick the knife, and laugh, before disappearing.
On the fourth night, he will appear closer to you than before, and lick his knife once more.
On the fifth, he will be practically on top of you.
On the sixth, he will appear as a skeleton dressed in rotted rags, still holding the knife, still making the licking motion.
No one knows how long this continues or how it ends, the victims have all either gone back by then and made an offering, or they have died of heart attacks in their sleep.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
when you see it..
>> Anonymous
>>87978328
how many gallons of brix did you shit before you could type that
>> anonymous
sarah pailin may be president *shudder*
>> ­
>>87985274
you get what you pay for, nigger
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87984777
Now i haven't seen it in a month /b/. i probably will tonight if my theory is correct. But i have another theory tonight for /b/ itself to try my experiment. Take a pasta, any pasta that creeps you out and could potentially happen to you in your home and multiple times too. And check it. then forget about it and see if it happens to you like it did to me. Now the next question, are these apperitions happening because its all in your head? or is it that you just are paranoid and seeing things that aren't really there (yes there is a difference). But what if it isn' the fact that you are any of those things, what if it is just the fact that you are more aware.

food for thought /b/ Good luck
>> Anonymous
Yesterday, a friend of mine called me. It was a John, an old buddy from high school. I hadn't spoken with him for years, and we started to reminisce about all the crap we pulled in high school. A few days later I decided to call him back, and see if we could get together, maybe go fishing or something.

We talked on the phone for a while, and I said to him "Hey, maybe we should get together sometime." He first said that that was a bad idea, but then he agreed. I asked him for address, copied it down, and told him I'd see him in the morning.

The next morning I arrived at the place he said he lived at. There was nothing but rubble there. It looked like there had been a fire there years ago, but nothing got cleaned up, and the plants never regrew. In the middle of the rubble, I found a old rotary style telephone on the floor, not connected to anything. Hurridly, I pulled out my cellphone and called his number.

The telephone on the floor rang.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

I dropped my cellphone in shock, and knelt to grab the rotary telephone. A voice, drenched in distortion and hiss, said:

"I told you this was a bad idea."
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
Abandoned psych ward
>> Anonymous
SAGE THIS SHIT /b/ NEEDS NEW CONTENT
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
abandoned psych ward (different one)
>> ­
I am an executive of a bank in Australia. After being told about this site by a friend, I found to my surprise that a few people have had similar experiences regarding people with pitch-black eyes. Unlike some, though, I didn't feel a sense of dread or a feeling that I was about to die. I felt more an awareness and discomfort, like when you see someone advance angrily toward you only to walk past you.
Anyway, it was September 2, 2000, and one of the roles as an executive is you sometimes have to put in really late nights. My office was on the fifth floor and it was coming up to 12 in the morning. I was the only employee, as far as I know, on the first five floors apart from Ben, another fellow banker on my floor and Stan, who is a security officer.
I decided after finishing the files I was doing that I was going to go home. I said farewell to Stan, who more or less grunted and took the hall to the elevator. I then pressed the B2 level as the B levels are the car parks. As I'm descending, the elevator flashes that it has been called to floor 2. I thought it was very strange, seeing as I said the only other two people on the first five floors where me, the banker and Stan. Regardless, the elevator stops at floor 2 and in comes a tall man with more or less a black crew-cut.
>> Anonymous
So ur with ur honey and yur making out wen the phone rigns. U anser it n the vioce is "wut r u doing wit my daughter?" U tell ur girl n she say "my dad is ded". THEN WHO WAS PHONE?
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87985979
end of story

i thought it was quite fail but tell me what you thought /b/
oh and don't look behind you. It doesn't like to be seen.
>> ­
>>87986356
>>87986356
>>87986356
The first thing i did was open my mouth to ask what sector he was from and who gave him permission, but as I looked into his eyes they where entirely black. The pupils, the retinas everything. I remember not really being spooked about his eyes. To be honest, I just thought he might've had a disability in his eyes. As the elevator slowly starts up moving back on route, he asked me where I was going, and I simply replied, "home." He then asked why, and I more or less laughed and just said I want to go to sleep and see my wife. He then just mummered very softly, like he was talking to himself, "It must be nice to have a home."
I figured he was just being friendly and that he must be renting. As we got to B1, I realized he hadn't pushed the button on where he was going, so I asked, "Where are you going?" to which he replied rather angrily looking at me with his creepy eyes, "Nowhere."
>> ­
>>87986541
>>87986541
>>87986541
Feeling a little annoyed with his outburst that made zero sense at the time, I was glad to leave when we reached B2. As I walked to my car, which was roughly 10 meters from the lift, I saw that he didn't get out; in fact, he hardly moved. He just kept staring at me and where I was walking to. Starting to get freaked out that the guy was some warped-out creep, I ran the little distance to my car and turned to see the lift was on a ascent up to floor 6. Feeling a little relieved, I drove up the ramps and coming to the security door I swiped the card and drove out onto the road.
Now the real freaky part. As I drove down the street, all the lights were out - and this is in Sydney (city of NSW). Then I turn... and guess who is walking just ahead of the car - our favorite black-eyed man! No need to say, I sped home, probably breaking five road laws. How could he have left the building and be ahead of me when he had no car, and went up to floor 6?
It gets weirder. On the videotapes and records, there shows no one using the elevator at that time apart from me.
>> Anonymous
There was a creepypasta thread, a long, long time ago. It was the standard fare on /b/, with the old lineup of the holders, the instruction creepypasta, and WHO WAS PHONE. But this one had an odd bit of creepypasta. It described a site, in vivid detail. A chan, supposedly, where every single human on Earth had a single thread. This thread contained a copypasta-like account of your entire life. I thought was a very interesting bit of original creepypasta, and I saw it occasionally on other threads. And then, tonight, after seeing a cool creepypasta thread, I thought I might look for the thing. I didn't know what to really search in Google. I decided I'd try "Lifechan". No luck. Storychan, Journalchan, and other such chan names had similar results. Then, I pasted the copypasta in its entirety into Google. One result. It was a link to an imageboard thread with over a billion replies. One post showed a user posting the copypasta on 4chan. Years ago. The front page had similar threads. One had just bumped. And I'm pasting the post the bumped it here.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
and more
>> Anonymous
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 nigger 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 nigger statue.”

The police found all three of the house occupants dead within three minutes of the call. No nigger statue was ever found.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
i need the one of the face that is drawn similarly to this one.
>> Anonymous
>>87985303
that one is creepy allright.
>> Anonymous
>>87985001

Lawl a gif
>> Anonymous
>>87985553
shameless self-bump
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
bump
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>> ­
All this shit started when I found that little note.
On a square piece of paper I found at the bottom of a box I was moving out of my basement, it read, “HELLO? PLEASE RESPOND”. I had no idea how long the paper had been there, those boxes had sat in my basement since I moved in. I ignored it until the next morning, when I opened my coffee maker to throw out the grounds, and inside was a sopping wet piece of paper that read “PLEASE RESPOND! PLEASE HELP”. I figured it must have been put inside my coffee maker by whoever was pulling this pointless prank, because it wasn’t there when I put my coffee grounds in.
I found more notes, under my mousepad, inside my computer tower while I was putting in some new RAM, between the layers of tissue of my toilet paper roll, under my DVD player’s disc tray. Places that no one would ever look, places you’d never think of putting a note, places you knew no one would ever look and it would be foolish to put a note, because who knew when they would see it?
But it kept happening, and they all said the same thing every time, begging me to respond and help them. Being the retard I am, one day I just got fed up when I found one inside a cup in my dishwasher (right after I had run it - the paper was dry) I wrote on the back of it “HELLO. I’M RESPONDING. PLEASE EXPLAIN YOUR SITUATION!” and slid it under a crack in my bath-fitted tub.
>> RedSuit !!lk37v7iV14v
>>87987158
well this thread ends with a final bump...


OFF TO PAGE TEN WITH IT!
>> Anonymous
>>87986773
now it made sense.
>> Anonymous
>>87985979
pasta the basements spectre story
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
If traveling through the tip of the thumb of Michigan on a night with a full moon, stop at McGraw County Park. The gate will be closed but you can park in front of it. Bring a set of black clothes and change in the change rooms.
When you come out, there will be an old man with olive colored skin and curly dark brown hair and a mustache selling hot dogs in a cart. If you order one, the man will thank you for your patronage and apologize for your loss saying “I’m sure the wake will be nice.” One of your relatives - not necessarily someone close but still someone you know - will have been murdered that night.
Be sure to change back into your other set of clothes, because if you drive away while still dressed in the black clothes you’ll be pulled over by state police and arrested for the murder of your family member and the clothes will be covered in their blood.
>> Anonymous
>>87987518

Lol I saw this one only a few minutes ago.
>> ­
>>87987594
later, man.
good story, btw.
>> 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 ends 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.

None of the men treated for wounds that night, in that camp, saw the end of January, 1945.
>> Anonymous
bump
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
>>87987136
sorry man. never read that. if you remember a phrase google it
>> Anonymous
This one time, at band camp
>> ­
     File :-(, x)
>> Anonymous
>>87988238
>None of the men treated for wounds that night, in that camp, saw the end of January, 1945.
Yeah, probably due to infections.
>> Anonymous
That creepypasta thread last night already fucked me over.
>> ­
t the edge of the Pacific Ocean, on some abandoned beach in the tropics, there is a large, smooth rock that sits just beyond the reach of the highest tides. It is not cracked or marked in any way, and the smooth black stone reflects even the faintest of light. It's curved and formed in just such a way that if you are very careful, you can climb on top of it from the side, and stand on a flat area at the top. If you stand on the rock when the moon is full and shining, and the water is at its highest point, you can see something in the sea below you. A faint shimmer of light, a flash of something you can't quite identify. It gets brighter, easier to see as you kneel down and lean closer, over the edge of the rock. Once you are leaning out further than would probably be safe, your left leg will slip on the slippery stone, and you will fall forward into the light. There is no splash, no sound; you simply disappear into the ocean. No one knows what happens after you disappear. But there are some who claim to have fallen off the same rock, what seems like a lifetime ago. According to the earthly calendar, they were gone for one day, and then washed up on another beach, sometimes half a world away. But their eyes are hardened, and they rarely speak anymore, only occasionally muttering of fiery paths and gibbering demons.
>> ­
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
     File :-(, x)
my eyes are bleeding
>> Anonymous
There is a moment each leap year, at exactly three minutes past three on the morning of February twenty-ninth. If you possess the courage, await that moment in darkened room, with no other present. At that moment, the darkness will deepen. If you were to hold you hand directly before your face, you would not see a thing. But you must not do so. No, for that would be to waste the moment. Instead you must reach out, into that impenetrable darkness.

And it will reach out to you.

An unseen hand will grasp yours. You must not flinch away, nor tighten your grasp. To do so will only slough away more of the decrepit flesh that covers it, and anger its unseen owner. Remain perfectly still, as the withered fingers move over your palm, tracing unknown patterns. Do not move an inch as it crawls slowly up your arm. And most of all, do not even breathe as it caresses your face, touching what cannot be seen.

Should you remain still through this, the hand will be withdrawn and a voice will speak, so close you can feel its breath on your face, smell the scent of decay it carries. It will ask you for one simple piece of information: your name. Answer truthfully. Answer truthfully, and the presence will retreat, leaving only a whisper in the air as the darkness lifts. "It is done."

From that day on, untold good fortune will be yours, and mysterious power. You will lack nothing, and have everything. But in a year, perhaps two, you will feel your skin begin to decay, and smell the sweet smell of death upon your breath...
>> Anonymous
are you ready....?

Tomorrow is MONDAY!!!! AAAAAAH!

do I win?
>> ­
On the east bank of the Susquehanna River somewhere in central Pennsylvania, there is a small patch of ground where no plants will grow. At the right time of day, at the right time of year, the sun shines directly on this spot. If you stand there at precisely this time, a whirlpool in the river will appear, revealing a trap door leading to a system of identical tunnels. If you can successfully navigate through the maze of tunnels, you will find yourself face down in an alley behind an Irish pub called Kelley's just outside Boston, with no memory of how you got there. In your pocket, you will find a day planner. Important events of the future are described within, but in random order and no dates.
>> ­
Look behind you. What do you see? Invariably, there will be a wall somewhere in your view. Now stare deeply into the space on the wall that lines up best with your eyes. Nothing will happen, but makes sure you are clear on where this particular spot is. That spot contains all the negativity in your mind. Whenever you are on your computer, reading scary stories or whatever you do, sometimes you will get spooked. what do you do when this happens. You check behind you, thats what you do. As you read this now, a feeling of dread will come over you. Check the spot. Nothing again. Thats because right now, all the evil is locked safely in your mind. Some people, upon learning of this "negative spot" resolve to remove the spot in an attempt to remove the negative energy. This is a grave mistake. You must never let harm come to this spot. If you do, you will have released the energy. Now when you sit at your computer at night, you will feel chills even in the summer time. The feeling of dread that only presented itself when you were genuinely scared will now hang in the air constantly. Within a week you and your loved ones will have a string of bad luck. On the anniversary of the spots destruction, you will dream of your most horrible fears. The dream will seem to go on forever, and when you wake up you will notice your vision has darkened. Every year on the same day, the dream will repeat itself, and your vision will grow darker and darker. After you go totally blind, don't ever turn your back on that spot again. That is if you can still tell where it is.
>> OP here ­
OP here. out of creepy pics, but plenty of creepypasta to keep dumping. does anon want moar?

also, post more scary pics, niggers
>> Anonymous
>>87985303

D:
>> button day part 1 ­
Laura was woken by her father; something that he had not done since she was a child. As her thoughts slowly swam back into focus, she was suddenly sure that she had slept naked and he had seen her, but to her relief she was wearing her baby-blue pyjamas. God, what was he doing in here anyway?
“Come on, you,” he said brightly, opening the curtains and letting the sunlight in. Outside, she could hear a lawnmower running, perhaps in the next street, and what could’ve been birdsong. “It’s Button Day, remember? Get dressed, put something nice on. We’re leaving in an hour.”
Laura stirred, her voice groggy. “Dad, what the hell? Couldn’t you just knock? What if I’d slept nude?”
He didn’t look at her, he was too busy admiring his garden from the window. “Oh, you’ve nothing I haven’t seen before. I’m your bloody father, I‘ve wiped your arse many a time before now.”
“Not the point, Dad.“ Squinting, Laura sat up, rubbing her eyes, and remembered what he’d just said.
“Dad, did you just say ‘Button Day’?”
“Well, yeah. What, did you forget?” He laughed as he crossed the room to the door. “You were only talking about it last night.”
>> button day part 2 ­
>>87990413
“Wait - what?” She frowned, not understanding. Something was wrong here. A fine way to start the day, really. She hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, and she was already getting weird shit. “What are you talking about?”
He shook his head, still smiling as he left the room. “Get dressed. Breakfast is ready.”
He left her sitting up in bed, holding the covers to her breasts, a look of confusion on her face. Eventually she got out of bed, and began to pull some clothes on that were to hand. Familiar sounds floated up to her from downstairs: pots and pans rattling, the TV on low, the muffled tones of her family talking to each other, a short, harsh laugh - her brother. No doubt laughing at the TV.
She did her zipper on her jeans, and stood for a second before finally saying out loud, “Button Day?”
>> button day part 3 ­
>>87990492
Downstairs, her mother was washing the dishes, humming to herself. Sunlight filled the room, making it warm and fresh. Her father and brother were sitting at the table, eating toast. There was a plate set for her, and she sat down, pulling it towards her.
Her brother was wearing a crisp white shirt - and he never wore shirts. She doubted that he even owned one. This was one of her father’s, she recognised it.
“What’s with the shirt?” She asked, picking her toast up, and his eyes never left the TV, which was typical of him. A year younger than her at fourteen, he was arrogant and know it all to boot.
“It’s Button Day, isn’t it?” He mumbled through a mouthful of toast, and her mother turned around, and tutted loudly at him.
“Mark, don’t talk with your mouth full.” She saw Laura and sighed. “Laura, you could dress a little better than that. At least make an effort.”
“What for?” Laura said, then looked at the ceiling, irritated. “Oh wait, let me guess. Button Day. Am I missing something here?”
Her mother shook her head, turning back to the dishes. “Don’t be so childish, Laura. It doesn’t suit you. Please make sure you get changed into something else before we leave.”
“I wanted to see Michael today. I’m not going with you, sorry.”
A hush fell over the kitchen as everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at her in surprise. Warily, Laura said, “What?”
“Are you crazy?” Her brother asked. “You can’t go out today, you’re coming with us!”
>> button day part 4 ­
“Laura, you made plans? Today, of all days?” Her father asked, and she pushed back on her chair as a dull anger rose in her.
“Yes, I made plans! What the hell is going on this morning?”
No-one answered her. They were staring at her as if she’d took a crap on her plate. She got up, pushing her plate away. “You know what? Forget it.”
“Laura, stop this, right now,” her mother snapped. “You knew perfectly well what we were doing today. It’s been planned for a long time. Now you can just call Michael and tell him why you’re not seeing him.”
“That’s just it!” Laura yelled. “What do I tell him? I don’t know why I can’t go! It’s just you telling me I can’t!”
“It’s Button Day,” her brother said. “That’s why.”
“Button Day?” She cried. “What the hell are you all talking about? I’ve never heard of Button Day! You’re all acting like-” She suddenly stopped, comprehension dawning on her face. Her family were playing a joke on her. This was all a joke. With a warm rush, a huge weight lifted from her shoulders. Now she understood.
“Very funny, guys,” She said, her voice calm and collected. “You really had me going there.” She turned and left the room, heading for the front door. As she went, her mother called after her, “Laura! Please be back in an hour, we can’t leave without you, okay?”
>> Anonymous
What's the story behind OP's pic? Can't find it.
>> button day part 5 ­
>>87990743
“Yeah, yeah,” Laura called back. “I wouldn’t want to miss Button Day, would I?”
The short walk to Michael’s house gave Laura enough time to feel guilty about how angry she had gotten with her family. As she’d gotten older, her temper had shortened. She planned on apologising later - she had an hour, right? Wasn’t that what her mother had said?
I wonder where we’re going, Laura thought, watching a plane a few miles above cut a white line across the sky. Or was that a joke too? Was it that they really were going out, and it had been a planned thing, and she had simply forgotten all about it?
She could see Michaels house from here, with the white fence and broad front lawn. She began to jog, eager to see him. As she crossed his driveway the front door opened and Michael came out with a look of shock on his face. He had seen her coming up the street.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Laura asked, and to her dismay he suddenly looked a little angry.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.
“What, did we fight, and I missed the memo?”
“You told me this was your family’s Button Day,” he said, and there was movement behind him.
>> Anonymous
Button Day copypasta has a terrible ending, needs to be rewritten.
>> Anonymous
>>87987518

is that the end?
>> button day part 6 ­
Laura blinked, her mouth open in surprise. A blonde girl came to the door, squinting in the light, and slinked her arm around Michael. She was wearing a nightshirt and nothing else, and her hair was tousled.
“Go home,” the blonde said, and Laura backed away, blinking back sudden tears. Michael would not meet her eyes, so she turned and ran.
Her mother caught her just as she was about to run into her bedroom.
She pulled Laura close, holding her as she sobbed. “I know, I know. Let it all out.” She stroked Laura’s hair, rocking her a little. “Men are bastards, aren’t they?”
Laura pulled back to look at her mother, sniffing. “…You know?”
“You’ve just come back from his place in floods of tears. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what happened.”
“He’s got himself a blonde. A blonde! I’ll bet that’s why he wanted me to dye my hair!”
She cried for a little longer, and her mother held her. “There, there. Come on. Let’s get you changed for our trip.”
“…So we are going out?”
“Of course we are, silly! Here we are, this is a nice blouse. Your best, I think. Put this on, I want us looking our best for our Button Day.”
>> Anonymous
I am interested in Button Day

FASTER FASTER
>> button day part over 9000 ­
Laura’s stomach rolled lazily. She suddenly remembered Michael mentioning Button Day, too. This wasn’t a joke. This was real. It was all real, and she didn’t have a clue what was happening.
“Mom, listen to me a minute. Something here is very wrong.”
“I know. You really liked him, I know you did. It’s terrible that he’s upset you, on this day, of all days.”
“That’s just it, Mum - I don’t know anything about Button Day. I’ve never heard of it, and since this morning I feel as if I’m the only one who hasn’t the faintest idea what’s going on!”
“Well, to be honest, I’m no expert. I know it was the Governments idea to combat overcrowding, but other than that-”
“No, no. I mean at all. I’ve never heard of it.”
There was an uneasy silence, in which her mother looked at her for a long time. Her mouth was set in a hard line.
When she finally spoke, her voice was calm. “I know you’re upset, so I’ll play along with your little prank, okay? Just get changed - here’s your blouse - and I’ll see you in the car in five minutes, okay? We’re waiting for you.”
>> button day part 8 ­
Her mother walked away, leaving Laura alone and frightened, her best blouse in her trembling hands.
The next thing she knew, she was in the car. Everything was flowing by in a fluid, carefree motion that made her feel more and more uneasy. What the hell was going on? Why did she not recall anything about this day that everyone was talking about?
She could see everything in absurd detail, slowed down to super slow motion: The fluff on the back of her mothers headrest. A bit of stubble that her fathers razor had missed. A crack in the pavement as they passed. She suddenly felt more lucid than she had ever felt in her whole life, yet she was unable to speak, trapped inside her own body. It was as if she were a puppet, walking on strings made from fear’s own web.
Somewhere deep inside, she was still clinging to an ocean-battered rock of hope, a charred crater of sense that told her that this was all a massive joke, a huge, elaborate hoax. As they pulled up outside the white, box-like building, squat and stern, that hope faded.
“Here we are,” her father said cheerfully, and she felt herself pull the door handle and step out of the car. She stood trembling in the sun like a baby deer, the building bearing down on her as if it had teeth.
Acting as if they were at the seaside, her family got out of the car, chatting animatedly. They set off towards the main entrance, Laura trailing behind. A sign stood over them: GOVERNMENT PROPERTY - KEEP OUT. She saw the security cameras watching them, and hurried after her family, her footsteps flat and dead.
>> button day part 9 ­
The door to the building was made of glass, and as they pushed through into the clean lobby, Laura saw a receptionist busily typing on a computer. The receptionist looked up with a professional smile at her father as he approached.
“Hi, we’re the Krandalls. Here for our Button Day,” he said, and she smiled.
“Go on through, sir. Just keep walking that way.”
Her father thanked her, and on they went, down a long brightly lit corridor, lined with brass plaques which gleamed. There was something engraved on them all, blocks and blocks of text, and she drew closer as she walked to see what it was. She saw her own reflection looking back at her, and in the harsh fluorescent lights, she looked haggard.
Names. Hundreds and hundreds of names, thousands of names, one after another. Hogg. Wilson. Carpenter. Buxton. Bell. Palmer. Rowe. Brown. The list went on, seemingly endless.
Her family walked on, still chatting as if they were on holiday, and up ahead the corridor was coming to an end.
The corridor opened up into a large, white room. In this room, four small, waist high pillars stood, each with a red button on the top. Beyond them was a long polished desk, with three Government officials seated at it. The Government insignia hung on a huge banner over it all. The room was silent, and sterile.
Laura watched her family each step up to a pillar, watching the officials expectantly, leaving a pillar for her. Her very own button. Trembling, she stepped up to the pillar, only to notice with a jolt that the floor around them all was on a slight incline, angled towards a drain behind that she hadn’t noticed when she had first arrived. One of the officials spoke, his voice echoing in the open space.
>> button day part 10 ­
“Krandall family. The Government has deemed this to be your Button Day. We thank you for your sacrifice to your country, and to your people. Your names shall join those in the long Hall in your honour.”
“We’re proud,” her father said, and her mother nodded, sincere. Her brother looked as if he were about to weep with pride.
The official continued. “Then please, in your own time, push your buttons. May God be with you all.”
Her father turned to his wife, his son, and his daughter, and smiled. “I’ll go first, to show you how easy it is.” He pushed the button on the pillar, and it depressed with a loud, satisfying click.
As Laura watched, her fathers face turned red, as if he’d been jogging. She remembered how easily flustered he got with exercise, and assumed he’d just walked too fast down the corridor, or something. That was when a crimson teardrop slid down his cheek, and plopped fatly onto the hard, white floor.
Laura watched, frozen, as blood began to pour from her fathers eyes, nose, ears and mouth. It ran down his shirt, over the belt that she had bought him for his birthday, and down his trousers. It splattered onto the floor. All at once, his eyes burst like over-ripe plums and hung on his cheeks, still connected by red strings. Liquefied brain ran from his eye sockets.
As his body crumpled to the floor, her mother and brother looked at each other and smiled, pushing their buttons at the same time. They turned to Laura, holding their hands out, blood seeping from their eyes and noses, tricking from their mouths. They assumed Laura had pushed hers, too.
>> Anonymous
>>87982564
because it was tripped from it.
>> button day part 11 and FINAL ­
Laura drew in a breath to scream, but the soft pop of her mothers and brothers eyeballs made it catch in her throat. They fell over backwards, landing on top of each other. Blood was being channelled to the drain, which drank quietly.
All was silent.
“Miss Krandell?”
Numb, she saw the officials watching her closely.
“Miss Krandell, overpopulation is destroying our towns and cities. Your country needs your action today.”
She stared wide-eyed at the official. To her side, her brothers hand twitched, the last of the nerve impulses fading. Blood was already congealing in his empty eye sockets.
The official was standing up slowly, and she saw that he was a tall man. Taller than most, no doubt.
“Humanity has called,” he said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. The world had faded away to the button under her fingertips. It was smooth and red. Pushable.
“…Will you answer?”

/button day
>> Anonymous
NIGGER
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>> part 2 ­
>>87990987
nope. here's the next few parts
No sooner had I left my bathroom did I find another piece of paper, floating on the surface tension on the surface of my glass of sprite I had in the living room.
I carefully picked it out of my drink, it read “THANK YOU.” and in larger letters, “I’M TRAPPED”.
I waved it around to dry it off a bit, and wrote on the back of it again, “where are you trapped? how are you sending me notes?” and, not creative enough to think of where to put it, I just threw it behind my couch. I waited and looked, but I didn’t see any other notes for the rest of that day.
The next day I checked my mail, inside of some spam letter was the next note, “IN THE SECOND DIMENSION. BELOW YOU”. I wasted no time in responding “whoever you are, this prank is retarded. give it a rest” and threw it outside, the wind blew it away.
The next note I got was still in obnoxious capital letters, though it was much longer than before and the last sentence seemed to have been squeezed into the remaining space. I think it was a passage from some encyclopedia or textbook. “The first dimension is a defined point in space. The second dimension (this was underlined) is anything that exists with height and width, while the third adds on length. The fourth includes time, the and the fifth is the past: time that has already occurred and is solidified in timespace.” Everything beyond that was too squished in to read. I rolled my eyes and responded again, “How can you read this if you’re in the second dimension? How can you even exist??” I slipped this note into the space in my toaster between the element and the metal casing.
>> Anonymous
This thread fails to deliver.
>> part 3 ­
>>87992042
My reply came when I brushed it out of my hair the next morning before I took a shower. “WRITING IS 2D. VISION IS 2D- TWO 2D IMAGES SUPERIMPOSED.”
That didn’t really get to the point of how I was supposed to “rescue” this person, which I defined in my next note that I flushed down my toilet.
“MAKE ME 3D” was all that was on the new slip of paper I found inside of a chocolate bar I unwrapped, later on. How the idiot was putting these inside sealed products was beyond me but at this point I decided to play along, maybe it was some kind of TV show thing.
“How?” was all I wrote for my reply. I remember exactly where I put it, because it was the last thing I wrote for a long time. I put it in a crack between my length mirror, and it’s wooden backing. As soon as I let go it slid out of sight and I didn’t see any papers again for a year and a half.
Getting dressed one morning for work, I went into my room and adjusted my tie and shirt in my mirror, the same one, only it was now on the opposite side of my room. Looking into it, I noticed a square behind me on the wall. Turning around, there was none. In the instant before I turned around again I thought it must have fallen off, but in the mirror it was still there, still suck to the wall. I touched my mirror thinking maybe it was some sort of warping or optical illusion, but it wasn’t.
>> part 4 and final ­
>>87992125

I lifted my heavy mirror up from the ground and slowly walked backwards with it, nearing myself to the opposite wall on which the paper was stuck. The closer I got, the clearer the message on it became, until I stopped, sandwiched between the heavy mirror and the wall, looking at the paper immediately over my shoulder: “MAKE YOU 2D” it said.
I moved the fuck out of that house as soon as I could. After bunking at my girlfriend’s for a while, I got the fuck rid of the mirror, the toaster, everything. My heart still skips a beat when I see any perfectly square piece of paper, sitting on the floor, all alone. I still live in fear of some day I’ll open up a book or look in the inner lining of a jacket, and a piece of paper will flop out.
I check all my things, now. Constantly. I also don’t drink coffee anymore.
>> Anonymous
bump
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>>87986787
Anonymous delivers.
>> ­
>>87990800
it's from here. http://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-series
>> ­
You just moved into your new apartment, in a very big city. After a year of this life, you have almost given up hope of making any friends; be it at work or any other means. You feel very lonely. After looking for a peaceful place to spend your time, you find a quiet diner on the outskirts of town. The waitress is very attractive. Also, she seems to be the only employee there, ever. You never see anyone else eat there either, ever. The place is perfect for you.
Making love to her becomes a routine. You go there every night for dinner, and then to see her.
You eventually make other friends, and eat at the diner less and less. After some time you stop going completely.
At a bar with your best friend, you tell him about the fun you had with the waitress at the diner. He says he absolutely must see her. You take him there one night, but the building is in a state of ruin. The front door barely opens. The grimy insides of the diner are disgusting, and, behind the counter, is moldy corpse, reeking of pus and rot.
When the police come to the scene, they interview both you and your friend. You are shocked to hear that the body is of a runaway girl from another province. The police tell you this is a homicide, and that she was also raped dozens of times, after she was killed. The police say they can get a match for DNA and eliminate you as a suspect. You are suddenly very worried.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>> scp040 part 1 ­
Item #: SCP-040

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-040 is to be detained in a large room of any make, furnished as to a normal child's bedroom. All personnel in the area are to be armed with pistols and rifles of a nonlethal type, containing tranquilizers of a dosage exceeding one thousand (1000) cc's. Subject is to be given anything it so wishes, so long as it does not defy standard security protocol, and is to be fed three (3) times a day, also whatever it wishes. Subject is to never be left alone, even when unconscious. All personnel dealing with SCP-040 are to be perfectly content with their lives, and have no hidden or deep desires, and will be psychologically cross examined before coming into contact with subject. As long as SCP-040 is kept preoccupied, it will likely abstain from the use of it's abilities, except in the case of contact with someone with a desire. If SCP-040 displays any of its inherent abilities, it is to be immediately tranquillized. Any personnel or objects affected by SCP-040's abilities are to be immediately tranquilized and kept for indefinite study.

Subject is currently contained within Bio-Research Area-12, along with all of the results of SCP-040's abilities.

Description: SCP-040 is a young girl of indeterminate age, although rough estimates would put her in the five to ten (5-10) age bracket. One (1) meter in height, of a normal child's build. Pigmentation is unusual, having light pink hair, and heterochromia, one iris being green, and the other being yellow. The sclera in the yellow eye is also black. Skin is pale, and reacts adversely to an overexposure to light.
>> scp040 part 2 ­
>>87992945
SCP-040 has the archetypal mentality and intelligence of a child of her age, if slightly above average. Psychological tests indicate no mental problems or issues, although at times, subject will display extreme loneliness or delusions of grandeur. When experiencing either, extreme caution is to be taken, as this is when most activity regarding SCP-040's abilities occurs.

Subject is wearing a living organism, which changes according to SCP-040's will, or the environment SCP-040 is in. Garment has been seen to change between various textures and sizes, from being smooth and covering less than fifty percent (50%) of subjects body whilst being exposed to high surrounding temperatures, to being furred and covering over ninety percent (90%) of the subjects body when faced with a low surrounding temperature. Attempts to remove SCP-040 from this garment has proved fruitless. The organism instantly heals all damage to itself, and seems to survive on the dead skin cells and dirt on SCP-040's person. Garment also reacts to danger, and attempts to shield SCP-040 from any and all damage.
>> Anon-e-moose
>>87983255
That pic is the monkey's paw!
>> scp040 part 3 ­
>>87993051
SCP-040 has the ability to forcibly mutate and evolve surrounding matter with sheer force of will, regardless if said matter is organic or not. Entire new life forms have been created by SCP-040, out of organic and inorganic substances and objects, i.e. both living and dead animals and plants, concrete, steel, plastic, clay. Subject has even been know to mutate objects and integrate metaphysical concepts into them, such as time, energy, and dimension. With this ability, subject is quite capable of breaching the walls of its containment, and those of the entire facility, despite what the wall may be constructed of. When altered, or brought to life, subject may or may not resemble its original state, and may also be altered mentally, if subject possessed such faculties beforehand. Most substances or objects subjected to SCP-040's abilities has expressed a fanatical loyalty to her, with the exception of certain humans.

SCP-040 has also shown to possess unconscious telepathy, unknowingly reading the subconscious mind of those around her. When faced with someone with a deep desire or wish, subconscious or not, SCP-040 will change that person into a physical manifestation of that wish. It appears to be a reflex action that SCP-040 has no control over, and when asked about the incident afterwards, she claims to have no memory of it.

Tests have deduced that subject has an abnormally high central internal body temperature and pressure, upwards of one thousand, six hundred and sixty eight degrees (1668) Celsius and six (6) Kilopascals, despite the fact that SCP-040 has a normal external body temperature and pressure.
>> scp040 part 4 ­
>>87993140
yes. yes, it is.

>>87993156
Additional: Subject was found in [DATA EXPUNGED].

All of the additional subjects found alongside SCP-040 were taken into custody for research. The surrounding population was mentally purged after careful questioning regarding SCP-040. Population is still being monitored at present time for any resurgence of ???????????? ??????.

Addendum 040-1: In the interest of keeping SCP-040 content and her relation to the organization in high regard, she has been allowed to keep up to four beings altered by her abilities. All four subjects were created from either toys that had been particularly liked by SCP-040, or from items of furniture in the room. Study is ongoing of interaction between SCP-040 and these subjects.

Addendum 040-2: After attempting to escape several times, SCP-040 has been allowed supervised time outside the facility, though only in the surrounding uninhabited areas. Hopefully, this action will help SCP-040's mental state, and eliminate the urge for further escape attempts.

Addendum 040-3: After examining the subject, it has been decided to educate SCP-040 in fields expected of an average child. This project is for both the mental growth for SCP-040, and to keep subject as mentally balanced as possible.
>> Anonymous
>>87992665

o shi-
>> Anonymous
twat
>> scp040 part 5 and final ­
>>87993440
Addendum 040-4: Tests have begun to examine SCP-040's effect on dead humans. Although SCP-040 had originally expressed distaste at such an action, she has agreed to undertake the activity. All subjects were not resurrected, but remade into completely new organisms, with no trace of the mindset of the original subject.

Addendum 040-5: SCP-040 occasionally talks to SCP-182, and has expressed a liking of the subject, blushing when SCP-182 is either mentioned, or enters the same room.

Document 040-1048: "Agent ?????? was expressly told to confess to any deep desires or urges he had. Tell him he can stop being a research subject if he's able to stop exuding gold from his fingernails and hair."

Document 040-1048: "So… Agent ????????? is physically the exact same…. except for the fact he's now a woman. Well… monitor him for a month or two, and then let him… her, come back to work."

Document 028/005/150/040/151: Agent ??????? was exposed to SCP-028, but displayed no effects. Two days later Agent ??????? acquired SCP-005 and used it to acquire SCP-150, then made his way to SCP-040's chamber. Upon Agent ???????'s entering the chamber, SCP-040 reacted, and Agent ??????? was transformed into [DATA EXPUNGED]. Agent ??????? (now classified as SCP-151) left SCP-005 and SCP-150 in SCP-040's chamber and proceeded to leave the compound. Though not met with violence from SCP-151, all attempts at containment failed.

SCP-151 has been recently contained by Mobile Task Force Omega-over 9000.
>> Anonymous
>>87992421
thank you, anon
>> Anonymous
>>87987865

Partially true. There is a man that sells hot dogs there all night. They're cold though, kind of gross. I've even tried the black outfit. He is fucking creepy though.

Also, Bay City Michiganfag and I frequent the thumb.
>> Anonymous
>>87976825
lol i though it was a chicken..

>_<
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>> ­
You’re slowly stirred awake by the distant ringing as the phone beside your bed pulls you out of your dreams. Your thoughts gather themselves and you groan, reaching over to answer.
As soon as you place the phone to your ear, you’re greeted by the background noise consisting of twisted screams. People in agonizing pain begging for help or death, not that the interference allows you to hear any individual voice clearly enough.
“Get out of the house now!”
The call ends abruptly after what you could have sworn was a voice from closer to you than on the other end. You shift yourself to the side of the bed, sighing while rubbing your eyes. A call this startling and this early in the morning would keep you awake.
Your wife shuffles to the side, apparently also woken by the call. She wraps her arms around you and gives a light kiss on the neck.
“Don’t worry about it,” Her half asleep mumble calms you down somewhat.
Just as you’re about to place the phone down, it rings again. You fumble slightly and drop it. Instead, you feel your wife’s arms tighten around you, preventing you from leaning forward.
It’s then you notice a subtle difference between the arms around you and the familiarity of your wife’s.
“He’s too late to save you anyway.”
>> ­
My grandma fell down last year and had to spend time in a nursing home. While she was gone, I was cleaning up old shit she had accumulated around the house so she could get around better, and mom and I could find any important papers.
I found an old (not really old, like 80’s or 90’s) black and white slide. It was of some guy laying in a coffin. Dead, of course. I thought it was creepy because he looked like me.
I asked my mom if she knew who it was. She said “It’s you.” (she was joking) Then she looked at it and her eyes got huge and she started crying and hugged me and said she was sorry she made that joke. I said “It doesn’t look like anyone BUT me, does it?” and she said “no, it really doesn’t.”
Gramma doesn’t remember anything about the slide. I still have it. I shit you not….it looks like me. Just like me.
>> Anonymous
>>87979489
>>87979396
>>87979263
MOST EPIC BEL-AIR EVER
>> Anonymous
>>87994302
he they make that kid into a fucking cake?!?!
>> Anonymous
>>87979263
>.gif
Oh u
>> ­
A couple was sitting in a movie theatre watching a scary movie, and the female of the group wasn’t having a good time. She’d obviously been bored out of her mind. It’d been a late showing, so there was practically no one there and the room was dead silent except for the screening. About an hour into the show, she feels a drop on her hand.
Ignoring it, she quickly shakes off the feeling and continues to watch the movie, trying to enjoy it. Another drop lands on her hand and furious now, she hits her boyfriend, thinking that he’d purposely been messing with her, be it spitting or throwing water on her. He doesn’t move. She pushes him harder this time, throwing in some obscenities, and to her horror, a red line that she hadn’t noticed until now, starts to seep red and then his head falls off.
Horrified, she lets out a silent scream and that’s when she feels the drip again. Looking at her hand, she can barely make out the color of the liquid, but it’s red. Nervously, she looks up and is shocked to find a body hanging directly above her, it’s neck tied within a noose and the stomach torn open.
>> Anonymous
http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=JZo9gayhTXw&feature=related
>> Anonymous
>>87993572
>Mobile Task Force Omega-over 9000
>> Anonymous
/r/
Creepypasta about absinthe bar in France and the artists gallery of paintings painted using kids blood.
>> ­
Every child fears under their bed. If they don’t, they fear the closet, or maybe that little crack in the almost closed door.
Scientists know that children are more perceptive, they see things adults don’t. They aren’t yet tethered into only accepting what society wants them to accept. They see what is truly there.
They see the monsters.
If you were to borrow a child’s eyes and see through them for a night, you would go insane. To be able to see what you only dimly remember, burrowing into your covers while wearing those train pajamas, hoping to a God you can barely comprehend that “it” doesn’t see you back…would drive an adult crazy. Because Adults forget the rules.
1) Cover yourself. If you can’t see it, it can’t see you. Even if it makes it harder to breathe.
2) Don’t make a noise. Every whimper can lead to destruction.
3) Don’t move. It attracts their attention.
4) Only light can make them go away. Bright light. Flashlights make it worse.
Teens are caught in the middle. They still feel what’s there, but they cannot see… and they forget the rules….
Why do you think there are so many insomniacs typing at their computers, subconsciously praying the light from their monitor will be enough to keep them away?
>> Richard Scabs
     File :-(, x)
>> Anonymous
http://bsalert.com/artsearch.php?fn=2&dt=1&as=1189
>> Richard Scabs
     File :-(, x)
>> part 1 ­
>>87995212
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 try 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.
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).
>> Richard Scabs
     File :-(, x)
>> Anonymous
I HATE CREEPYTHREADS
>> part 2 ­
>>87995931
Or you can go on. You will be given a glass with a seven-sided rim, with each side twisting ever so delicately around the basin until forming a sleek and simple handle. You will also receive 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 your eyes will shrivel in their sockets with unspeakable horrors not of this world. 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.
>> Richard Scabs
     File :-(, x)
>> part 3 ­
>>87996079
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. 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 green-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 compartment, "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."
If 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 red light grows brighter as the elevator nears the very depths of Hell. 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.
>> Richard Scabs
     File :-(, x)
>> part 4 ­
>>87996178
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 fairly 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 to be free of all premeditation, and managed to do so. You see, after one night in a tiny, dingy one-story bar in Paris, he began to paint... patterns. First it was geometric patterns. Then complete fractals. Then images that would be in the newspaper the next day. Then next week. Then from fifty years ago. 100 in the future, 200 in the past...
Then, on his last night of life, he kidnapped three young girls from their homes at night, murdered them, and painted his finest masterpieces in 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.
>> part 5 and final ­
>>87996300
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 makes twelve. But what of the thirteenth?
This thirteenth painting is 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 runes 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 horrific masterpiece, I could never say, nor would I ever dare to.
So... if you make it, maybe you can flip the canvas over and tell me sometime? You can tell me about it over a drink.
'Night, /b/.