Creepypasta/Nosleep

[alvin_11]

http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/File:1281923869157.jpg#file

 

[Riff_6603]

hello bitches!

pictures:

http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Creepy_Images_(Gallery)

disclaimer: not creepy but yea. scroll down slowly

well that made my day!

[electronictokwa]

well that made my day!

Sayang blocked dito sa office 

[dudeofdude]

Heres a good one that will f!@# with your head. happy halloween!


I found a usb stick / The Long Face


About a week ago I found a usb stick on the way to a pc repair business where I work part time. It looked really standard, just a small metal box. I only saw it because the sun reflected off the case. For a second I thought that the pavement had just erupted into light. Anyway, I decided to take it to the police station after work but of course, because I work with computers, the temptation to look at the contents was too much.
There were a few folders with incomprehensible names, and 3 others: "Case Notes", "Training", and "Emails". There were about 100 emails, mostly unconnected, but a few were really interesting. Usually, I wouldn't go snooping through such private information, but I felt such a strange urge. In the end, I kept it. I think I'm going to hand it in to the police still, sometime in the future. I'm going to share with you the more interesting emails, ordered and formatted (where appropriate) for easier reading, and maybe you can help me decide what to make of it.
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
12/04/2012
Subject: Rebecca
Hey Dan
How's it going? I know we haven't spoken lately, I've been busy with uni and there's some drama been going on in my family, and I've basically had no time. Sorry about that. I'm emailing because I need some advice (what's with the [strawberry] hotmail account by the way?). It's about Becky of course. You helped me out so much going through all that [gooey brown stuff] with her. I still think about her practically everyday, but I've taken your advice. It's been difficult avoiding contact, but I've managed. Ok, I still have her number even though she deleted mine, but I blocked her on facebook and all that other stuff. Well, until she [strawberry] emailed me yesterday. She needs help, it's about John, the new guy. I want to punch his head in. She seems really upset. Should I reply?
Thanks, Matt
~~
From: dantheman
12/04/2012
Subject: no
Matt
No lol, doesnt matter why, you dont talk to a bitch until at least a year after ok?
Good luck, Dan
~~
From: Becky123456789
11/04/2012
Subject: Hey Matt, we need to talk
Matt
I hope life is treating you well. It's been a while huh? Any girls in your life? The past week I've been thinking about you a lot. I remember the moment when you said that you never want to speak to me again so clearly. I didn't mean to hurt you like that. I know my old address is blocked, I made this one to contact you. If it's ok, can we talk?
John has been acting weird and I need some help. I'm asking you because... Well Matt, to tell you the truth, I'm getting scared of John and you are the last guy I've been close to other than him for a while, and I don't want to tell my friends because they might judge him. Am I becoming a stereotype? Ok, if you don't immediately want to delete this email, please keep reading and I'll explain, but if you want, continue to ignore me and I will understand, and I really will never to try and contact you again.
Last month John tidied up the bathroom. Sounds stupid I know, but he really went at it. I went in there and it was spotless. The surfaces gleamed, he'd put some sort of freshener down, and everything was exactly in its right place. You know how much stuff I have, we can't fit both our toothbrushes in the cupboards, so we lay them down by the sink? They were parallel to each other, completely straight, completely aligned. I was a bit freaked out, but I was also proud, you know? He just acted nonchalant, like it was nothing.
Soon the rest of the house is super tidy. All the books are ordered alphabetically, everything put away, the magazines on the coffee table stacked up in a square. I'm a bit weirded out, and I ask him what's up? He says that it doesn't matter. Why would he be doing so much for me? My first thought was that he was cheating on me. I have his facebook password, so I checked, and nothing. His phone? Nothing. At the time, I was still suspicious, but not anymore.
A week and a bit ago, I go into the kitchen, and he's rooting through the cutlery draw. He's picking up pieces of cutlery, examing them, and laying some on the counter and putting some back in the draw. The ones on the counter are perfectly aligned. I asked him what the [strawberry] he was doing, and he responded with "we don't need all this cutlery Becky, I'm going to throw these out." I said "John, I know that's [gooey brown stuff]," and he got really angry, really defensive, so I left.
Last night I woke up at about 1, and John wasn't in bed. I heard him rummaging around downstairs. I snuck to the top of the stairs. Remember the coat hanger in the hall? We put a small bookcase next to it, and he was rifling through the books, taking some out. He was speaking to himself, whispering numbers and equations. I said "John..." and he looked up. I said "what are you doing?"
He said "Honey... There are 75 books on this bookcase. That's 3 times 25, which is 5 times 5. It likes 5s."
I was shocked and said "What likes 5s?"
He said "The Long Face," and then started sorting books again, ignoring me. I guess his behaviour over the past month got to me and I snapped. I ran downstairs, shouted at him and tried to put some of the books back on the bookcase. He grabbed at me Matt, he [strawberry] grabbed at me. I couldn't move he was so strong. He pulled his free hand back, and I thought he was going to hit me. He said very carefully, very slowly "This bookcase needs 49 books. 7 times 7. It doesn't like 7s. It likes 5. Ok? I'm going to have to train you up." I was so scared, I ran out of the house.
Wow, that was longer than I thought. I'm staying at Alex's right now. Can you come over? Even if you can't help sort this out, talking would be great.
Hope to see you soon, Becky.
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
13/04/2012
Subject: I don't care, I'm gonna do it.
Dan
I've thought it through, and I'm gonna talk to her. I don't care what you think.
Matt
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
13/04/2012
Subject: Holy [gooey brown stuff], it's worse than I thought.
Dan
Sorry about being a [sausage] in that last email Dan, but I think I still love her. But listen, [gooey brown stuff] has really hit the fan, and at this point I just need someone to tell.
I went round to Alex's (Becky is staying there), and as soon as I knock on the door she flies out and gives me the strongest hug I have ever felt. Her face was so red, I think she'd been crying non stop since she left her house. [gooey brown stuff], I forgot you didn't know. John was being weird and she felt she had to leave. So, I comforted her, and got her some hot chocolate. Alex had [strawberry] off somewhere, she probably didn't want to deal with Becky. Once she had calmed down enough, she asked if I would escort her back to her house and maybe confront John. I was looking foward to that let me tell you.
When we got to her house she told me I should go in first. On the doorstep were 7 neat piles of books. I slowly pushed the door open, and called out to John. There was no answer. Becky had told me before that the house was tidy, but walking in there freaked me out a little. It was like the house had no inhabitants, had never had inhabitants.
We searched around, and I kept calling for John, but he didn't respond. Every room was so [strawberry] tidy and put together, we were both on the edge of saying, let's just go. And then I checked the bathroom. There was a trail of blood leading from the sink to the bath. In the bath was John. He was so pale, his arms slit from palm to elbow. I almost threw up and tried to stop Becky from coming in. But she did. And then she threw up.
We called the police obviously, but while we were waiting I noticed something. John was holding a small book. It looked like a diary. You know those moleskin things? One of those. And I took it, I don't know why. Becky didn't notice. She was pretty shaken up. Still is of course. What should I do with this thing. I can't give it in now? Actually, when are you in town? I'd love to speak in person.
Matt
~~
From: dantheman
14/04/2012
Subject: Meeting up
Matt
Wow thats [strawberry] up. I hope youre ok man. Listen, im still away for like a month. Two at the most. Dont do anything stupid ok? I hate not talking in person, im so bad at it. You'll be alright.
Dan
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
14/04/2012
Subject: The Diary
Dan
I read the [strawberry] diary. I guess it was written by John, and it explains his behaviour. Its not really a diary, more an encylopedeia I guess. Apparantly John believed in this entity called The Long Face. It doesn't really explain what it is, but lists loads of rules for dealing with this thing. It likes multiples of 5s and will seek them out, it hates 7s, stuff like that. Pile things in this arrangement etc. What a freak.
Matt
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
17/04/2012
Subject: I guess freakishness is contagious
Dan
The weirdest thing happened to me today. I was getting rid of some old dvds (holy [gooey brown stuff] remember four lions? Such a good movie), and I noticed there were 5 dvds on one of the shelves in front of me. It made me think of The Long Face. I laughed at myself, but as I went to put the dvd I was holding into the bag, I saw a face. On the bag I mean. The two clips looked like eyes, and the opening looked like the mouth. Yeah laugh if you must. I got 2 dvds out of the bag and put them on the shelf. The face was gone after that. I probably knocked the bag into a different position.
Becky is doing fine now. She wants to move out of her old house but the contract lasts until september, so she is going to try and find some replacement tentants. I know it's very soon but I think I'm going to ask her out again. We should get back together. What do you think?
Matt
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
21/04/2012
Subject: I think I'm losing my mind
Dan
Becky said yes! I took her to that italian place you love and we pretended it was out first ever date. It was great. But listen, this long face stuff is freaking me out.
I keep seeing it everywhere. I'll be walking along and a car will pass, and the front of it will look like a face. I keep seeing faces in the froth of my coffee, in the shapes that buildings make. I'm going to make a confession to you Dan. I've started counting things. The books and dvds first, then cutlery. I think it's because I heard that John counted this stuff too. Everything has to be in multiples of 7. If they aren't, or even worse, if I see a multiple of 5, I see more faces. And each face I see looks angrier and angrier. As I'm typing this I can see the speakers as eyes, the keyboard as a mouth.
I know this [gooey brown stuff] is all in my head, but I can't help it. I'm having problems sleeping.
Matt
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
24/04/2012
Subject: It's getting worse
Dan
You know that drawer that everyone has? Filled with all the [gooey brown stuff] in your house that doesn't have anywhere else to be? Well it's been driving me crazy. I can't know if it's safe if I don't TIDY IT UP.
Matt
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
24/04/2012
Subject: Becky
Hey Dan
Becky caught me putting all the screwdrivers from the drawer in size order. She left, Dan. She left.
Matt
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
26/04/2012
Subject: Why aren't you replying?
Hey Dan
I was walking to work to0day. I saw a car face and I was so sca4red. It was coming towards me and it looked like it wanted blood. I thought it was going to swerve and hit me, and that would be that. I figured out how to stop it though. It was red, so I started counting all the red cars. When I'm counting it seems to get confused. As I was walking into work I was at 20. I pretended I had counted 1 more, but it knew. Tomorrow I'm go7ing to do Blue.
Matt
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
28/04/2012
Subject:
i just want this to stop
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
2/05/2012
Subject:
y did i read the book? People need to be trained to repelu THE LONG FACE. They need to know. But why me?
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
2/05/2012
Subject:
I counted the pages in the diary. 125. 5 timess 5 ttimes 5. Mayb THE LONG FACE wants us to read it. Wat if I miscoutner? 126 is a multiple of 7. I'll do it again
~~
From: Matthew.Howard
2/05/2012
Subject: We had a good one
Dan
I'm going to burn the book Matt. If no one can read about this, maybe whatever [strawberry] evil it is will just dissapate. Hopefully my emails haven't been enough to trigger it for you. Don't come over Dan. We are no longer friends.
Matt
~~
From: dantheman
3/05/2012
Subject: I'm coming over
Matt
I'm back in a week. I'm coming over. Why the [strawberry] haven't you answered your phone?
Dan
~~
And that's it. There are no more emails by Dan, Matt or Becky. I've thought about it for a while, and I reckon something happened to Matt. I don't know whether he succeeded in burning that journal, or what might have happened to it if he didn't, but something must have got him. I keep thinking about that last email. Why wouldn't he answer the phone?
Edit: I trie4d to contact thhese people. It was a bad idea. Removed for your safety.

[DiMarzSiao™]

^ cool s2tory!

[gunlak]

i only have 5 guitars in my room.. I NEED 2 MORE!!

[DiMarzSiao™]

i only have 5 guitars in my room.. I NEED 2 MORE!!

., I thin3k you do!

[Santo Muerte]

The Story of Clifford Hoyt



Clifford Hoyt, age 31, suffered serious injuries in an automobile accident in 1999. After he regained consciousness, he told a terrified nurse that he had died and visited Hell. He expounded on the tortures and anguish he experienced in frightening detail. He refused psychological treatment and was released.

Several weeks later, Hoyt’s neighbors complained to their landlord that strange music was playing in his apartment at all hours of the night. Upon investigating, the building’s owner found Clifford in this condition. Mr. Hoyt was still quite lucid and protested when the landlord attempted to call the police. Concerned for the damage done to his property, he took photographs of the apartment, of which the image above is an example. He left and contacted Mr. Hoyt’s family, who contacted authorities.

Clifford claimed that demons from Hell were still trying to capture him. He explained that his body would burn incessantly unless he played music to scare the demons away. He would only leave the house for short periods of time to get minimal supplies, including large blocks of ice to soothe the burning he felt as he tried to sleep.

Doctors attribute Clifford’s actions to brain damage suffered in the accident. He currently resides in a mental rehabilitation facility in Maryland.

[ierofan]

ahhh this thread is alive again..

[Santo Muerte]

[Santo Muerte]

[dudeofdude]

MUST READ- this is the most beautifully written nosleep story i've ever read.
 The Last Train Home by straydog1980


Do you ever watch other people in the subway? It’s so strange to have to ignore someone who’s right up there in your face. A can of sardines springs to mind, except we’re not joined by a bond of thick oil or brine. Coated instead by a miasma of sweat, cologne and annoyance. Everybody absorbed in their own little worlds. There, whizzing through the bowels of the city at a brisk clip, you’ll find people reading books, newspapers. Maybe on a Playstation Portable. Maybe on a smartphone. Except me. I’ll always be looking through the thick glass windows at the flickering blackness just beyond. There are stranger things in the tunnels than in the cabin. I guess this is the right place to share what I saw that night.
It had been one of those weeks. Actually, it had been one of those months, where the targets piled up like so much dirty laundry. The boss was on my case. Miserable, balding fart with his mortgage and his European sports car, riding us all for another [gooey brown stuff] project for some client across the country. The days and nights lost their meaning. In at work early to beat the crowd. Heading home without ever seeing the light of the sun. Caffeine was my only friend. I got used to rushing for the last train home because the miserable bastard wouldn’t even sign off on the late night taxi claims (it showed up on the work life balance indicators, he’d said).
It had been another mindless day of numbers, slides and text. To be frank, I didn’t even know if the version of the meaningless report I was working on was the fifth or the fiftieth, nor could I have told you the difference between the two. The office had already emptied out an hour before, my last coworkers giving me a commiserating pat on the back as they headed off. I cursed as I stuffed my laptop and swept some papers into my bag. I was going to miss the train. The stale warmth of the building gave way to the bitter cold as I hit the streets running.
The station was empty. Not unthinkable at this time of the night, but eerie all the same. There’s something about a hollow space meant for crowds. I’m not talking about muggers or anything like that. There is an air of the forbidden about these empty spaces. That’s how that night started out. Expectant. Waiting for something to happen.
Not that I cared at the time. The escalators were out for the night. I was wheezing hard by the time I got to the bottom, that old college fitness long buried under an ocean of booze and a mountain of fast food. I thought the last train had already left, resigning myself to a long wait for an expensive taxi ride back. I was about to leave when the train pulled up with the familiar scream of metal on metal. Graffiti adorned the grey skin of the train, tribal tattoos for the modern locomotive. The doors hissed, warm air belched from the cabin. I got in.
The train, strangely, was full. Not packed, but it was crowded. I found myself a seat in between a old man in a large brown overcoat and young lady that wearing a dark formal dress, a large flower pinned to her breast, her face a mask of mascara and eyeshadow, inexpertly applied. Across from me sat a pair of army guys in fatigues, their scalps shining pink under their tight buzz cuts. And many more besides. It was a puzzling thing, to have a cabin so full late at night, and with such a motley crew of inhabitants.
With a shudder, the train pulled out from the station.
I settled back contentedly into my seat. The network connection in the tunnels was never dependable. I had to find another way to entertain myself on the ride home.
The noise from the screech of the rails and the rush of air outside seemed muted. Instead, the cabin was filled with a soft susurrus, the hushed tones of a crowd in a theatre, expectant but subdued. The cabin felt colder than it should have been. Was the heating out again? It couldn’t be. I was certain that the cabin was warmer than the platform a second ago, yet now, it felt like I was back outside in the howling cold. I tugged my jacket a little tighter. I looked at the hodge podge of strange individuals in the cabin. Everybody seemed out of place. Why would there be a gaggle of high school kids, obviously inebriated, this late at night? Or the waifish girl that was wearing what seemed to be a school uniform. I shifted uncomfortably on the sculpted plastic seat. The other odd thing was that I didn’t see a single mobile phone or any other electronic device in sight. I looked up at the row of LED lights that indicated the train’s progress along my route. 4 more stops.
I was still staring at the display when the train whizzed by the next stop. It didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. Just kept going right by the stop. The lights and pillars of the station streamed by in a blur. I jerked upright in my seat, my eyes widening. What kind of train had I gotten on? The rest of the crowd was unfazed by this development. If anything, the low buzz of whispers got even louder as the train progressed.
We were still hurtling through the dark tunnel, the overhead lights flickering on and off, when the little girl in the school uniform affixed me with a curious stare. She crept over to the group of high schoolers and tugged at the sleeve of one of the young men. He must have been a basketball player or something, he nearly had to bend double to bring his ear down to the little girls face. Her jaw worked up and down as she whispered something to him urgently. I heard nothing over the sound of the train. He blinked and took a step back when he looked back in my direction, as though seeing me for the first time. His handsome face twisted strangely. What was it? Anger? No, he looked like he wanted something. He looked hungry. His compatriots noticed the break in the conversation and directed their gazes to the focus of his attention. To me. The same gamut of emotions cycled through their faces. Shock. And then a sharpening, a hardening of their features. They were hungry too.
The feeling spread through the cabin, like a spark arcing from person to person. The two uniformed men, looking up and tightening their jaws. The old man next to me, perking up and scooting down another seat so that he could look at me without straining his neck. Outside, a blur of lights told me that another station had shot by. 3 more stops.
I shrank back in my seat.The tendons straining at the surface of my hands as I clutched at my bag protectively, as though that stupid gesture, grabbing on to my work, the focus of my life, would ground me and take me from this nightmare. It didn't. I felt the weight of their eyes on me, like insects crawling over my skin. Something was wrong. So clearly wrong. This strange crowd, so different, yet each of them was wearing that naked need on their faces.
"Don't mind them, they're just jealous of you." The voice of the young lady by my side. Her voice was soft, mellifluous. "Don't stare back and don't talk to them."
I turned to look at my erstwhile companion. "What are they jealous of? I just wanted to catch the last train home."
"It's the last train home for all of us, too." She smiled. She was very pale. Very beautiful. "But not all of them want to be here. And looking at you, going home tonight, makes them so very unhappy."
"Where'd they all come from? Was there a convention? A meeting?" I cast my eyes around the cabin again, but was stopped halfway by her strong fingers on my chin. Her fingers were icy cold. She turned my head around to face her.
"Everywhere. All around. Most of them didn't want to be here. Except me, maybe. I'd had enough of where I was. I miss my parents. I haven't seen them in such a long time. It took awhile, for me to gather enough courage to go look for them.” She paused, suddenly pensive at what she’d said. “You're not meant to be here, you know. This isn’t your ride." Outside the window, another station went by. My eyes flicked back to the board with all the little lights. 2 stops to home.
The whispering in the cabin had started up again. Louder than before, but still muffled by the sounds of the rails and the rushing air outside. They were talking about me. The atmosphere grew oppressive. It was strange but the attention of the crowd felt like a rock on my chest. My breathing became laboured, each inhalation a struggle. My companion sensed my discomfort.
“I wish I could stop them,” she said, sadly. “It’ll stop when we get to the end of the line, I suppose.” Her eyes lit up at the thought. She turned around and scooted up onto the seat, her knees on the hard plastic, palms on the cold glass. Even with her face pressed up against the glass, there wasn’t a trace of fog on the window left by her breath. If she was even breathing at all. “Here, why don’t you take this, I won’t need it where I’m going.” She fumbled at her dress, detached the white flower and pressed it into my hands. The sweet smell of the lily took my attention away from the pain in my chest.
“We’re here!” She was quivering with excitement as the train began to slow. I looked up at the board overhead. All the lights on the map had gone out. Where were we?
She cupped my chin in her hands. It was only then, with her arms so close to my face, that I saw the network of fine white lines that criss crossed her forearms. She caught the flick of my eyes towards her arms. She shrugged, sheepish. “Practice makes perfect,” she said. She frowned, suddenly serious again. “This stop is for the rest of us. You can’t join us. You have to stay here.” She leaned forward quickly and gave me a kiss on my cheek. Her cold lips burned like an ice cube.
The people in the cabin quickly turned their attention to the approaching platform. I felt the weight on my chest ease. The whispering grew to a crescendo as they pointed and chattered excitedly. The platform drew close. And what a sight it was. I didn’t recognize the tiles or the posters. I must have taken this train a thousand times. I could have closed my eyes and named every station in order and the time between stations if I wanted to, and yet I was lost. There was nothing on the platform that helped in any way. No signs. No directions. What the platform had was people, a milling sea of heads and faces, all expectant, all eagerly waiting.
When the door opened, it let in the roar of the crowd outside. Shouts, shrieks and yells. And tears, so many tears. The passengers burst out of the train, throwing themselves into the waiting sea of people. I saw one of the army boys embracing an older gentleman, also dressed in military fatigues. None of that new aged stuff that looked like it was plucked out of a stage of minecraft. This was old school, with big green and brown blotches. The resemblance between the two was clear. They parted, the younger man introducing his father to his compatriot. The older man hugged him as tightly as he had hugged his own son earlier.
The old man that was sitting by me had found an elegant looking lady in her thirties, her light sun dress looked out of place for the biting cold of winter. Or had I mistaken the man for someone else? I looked again and it wasn’t the old man any more, but a young couple laughing in the prime of their lives. No, it was the same coat and his features, lined with a jealous greed scant moments ago, were now lit with a fierce joy.
Just as the train doors hissed shut, I saw the girl that sat next to me on the train. She was in tears with her arms around a well dressed couple. She waved at me as the train pulled out of the station. I waved back.
My legs shook as I got off the train at my stop. The platform was reassuringly deserted. I watched as the train screeched into the distant darkness of the tunnel. I gingerly touched the numb spot on my cheek where the girl had kissed me. My fingers came away wet. I didn’t even remember the tears falling.
My nose was suddenly assaulted by a rich, thick greenhouse scent. Decaying plant matter. I fished out the lily from my coat pocket, where the strange girl had left it. The pristine white petals were dry to the point of crumbling and speckled black with rot. I let it fall from my fingers and watched it bounce on the station floor. I stared at it for a long time before I began the long trek home.

[marzi]

back to Nopeland guys...

Sent from my Nokia 5110 using Tapatalk 2

[ierofan]

back to Nopeland guys...

Sent from my Nokia 5110 using Tapatalk 2

damn, me too....

[ierofan]

I'm not digging the "visitors at night" stories anymore. I'm digging for those mahihiwagang stories na ngayon... Like the one with the train. hm.... That's good.

[Riff_6603]

back to Nopeland guys...

Sent from my Nokia 5110 using Tapatalk 2

indeed. skipped the pics but gorged through the stories. God, I missed this thread!

OT: @marzi - Sent from my Nokia 5110 using Tapatalk 2? I like your signature better though!

[Santo Muerte]

MUST READ- this is the most beautifully written nosleep story i've ever read.
 The Last Train Home by straydog1980


Do you ever watch other people in the subway? It’s so strange to have to ignore someone who’s right up there in your face. A can of sardines springs to mind, except we’re not joined by a bond of thick oil or brine. Coated instead by a miasma of sweat, cologne and annoyance. Everybody absorbed in their own little worlds. There, whizzing through the bowels of the city at a brisk clip, you’ll find people reading books, newspapers. Maybe on a Playstation Portable. Maybe on a smartphone. Except me. I’ll always be looking through the thick glass windows at the flickering blackness just beyond. There are stranger things in the tunnels than in the cabin. I guess this is the right place to share what I saw that night.
It had been one of those weeks. Actually, it had been one of those months, where the targets piled up like so much dirty laundry. The boss was on my case. Miserable, balding fart with his mortgage and his European sports car, riding us all for another [gooey brown stuff] project for some client across the country. The days and nights lost their meaning. In at work early to beat the crowd. Heading home without ever seeing the light of the sun. Caffeine was my only friend. I got used to rushing for the last train home because the miserable bastard wouldn’t even sign off on the late night taxi claims (it showed up on the work life balance indicators, he’d said).
It had been another mindless day of numbers, slides and text. To be frank, I didn’t even know if the version of the meaningless report I was working on was the fifth or the fiftieth, nor could I have told you the difference between the two. The office had already emptied out an hour before, my last coworkers giving me a commiserating pat on the back as they headed off. I cursed as I stuffed my laptop and swept some papers into my bag. I was going to miss the train. The stale warmth of the building gave way to the bitter cold as I hit the streets running.
The station was empty. Not unthinkable at this time of the night, but eerie all the same. There’s something about a hollow space meant for crowds. I’m not talking about muggers or anything like that. There is an air of the forbidden about these empty spaces. That’s how that night started out. Expectant. Waiting for something to happen.
Not that I cared at the time. The escalators were out for the night. I was wheezing hard by the time I got to the bottom, that old college fitness long buried under an ocean of booze and a mountain of fast food. I thought the last train had already left, resigning myself to a long wait for an expensive taxi ride back. I was about to leave when the train pulled up with the familiar scream of metal on metal. Graffiti adorned the grey skin of the train, tribal tattoos for the modern locomotive. The doors hissed, warm air belched from the cabin. I got in.
The train, strangely, was full. Not packed, but it was crowded. I found myself a seat in between a old man in a large brown overcoat and young lady that wearing a dark formal dress, a large flower pinned to her breast, her face a mask of mascara and eyeshadow, inexpertly applied. Across from me sat a pair of army guys in fatigues, their scalps shining pink under their tight buzz cuts. And many more besides. It was a puzzling thing, to have a cabin so full late at night, and with such a motley crew of inhabitants.
With a shudder, the train pulled out from the station.
I settled back contentedly into my seat. The network connection in the tunnels was never dependable. I had to find another way to entertain myself on the ride home.
The noise from the screech of the rails and the rush of air outside seemed muted. Instead, the cabin was filled with a soft susurrus, the hushed tones of a crowd in a theatre, expectant but subdued. The cabin felt colder than it should have been. Was the heating out again? It couldn’t be. I was certain that the cabin was warmer than the platform a second ago, yet now, it felt like I was back outside in the howling cold. I tugged my jacket a little tighter. I looked at the hodge podge of strange individuals in the cabin. Everybody seemed out of place. Why would there be a gaggle of high school kids, obviously inebriated, this late at night? Or the waifish girl that was wearing what seemed to be a school uniform. I shifted uncomfortably on the sculpted plastic seat. The other odd thing was that I didn’t see a single mobile phone or any other electronic device in sight. I looked up at the row of LED lights that indicated the train’s progress along my route. 4 more stops.
I was still staring at the display when the train whizzed by the next stop. It didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down. Just kept going right by the stop. The lights and pillars of the station streamed by in a blur. I jerked upright in my seat, my eyes widening. What kind of train had I gotten on? The rest of the crowd was unfazed by this development. If anything, the low buzz of whispers got even louder as the train progressed.
We were still hurtling through the dark tunnel, the overhead lights flickering on and off, when the little girl in the school uniform affixed me with a curious stare. She crept over to the group of high schoolers and tugged at the sleeve of one of the young men. He must have been a basketball player or something, he nearly had to bend double to bring his ear down to the little girls face. Her jaw worked up and down as she whispered something to him urgently. I heard nothing over the sound of the train. He blinked and took a step back when he looked back in my direction, as though seeing me for the first time. His handsome face twisted strangely. What was it? Anger? No, he looked like he wanted something. He looked hungry. His compatriots noticed the break in the conversation and directed their gazes to the focus of his attention. To me. The same gamut of emotions cycled through their faces. Shock. And then a sharpening, a hardening of their features. They were hungry too.
The feeling spread through the cabin, like a spark arcing from person to person. The two uniformed men, looking up and tightening their jaws. The old man next to me, perking up and scooting down another seat so that he could look at me without straining his neck. Outside, a blur of lights told me that another station had shot by. 3 more stops.
I shrank back in my seat.The tendons straining at the surface of my hands as I clutched at my bag protectively, as though that stupid gesture, grabbing on to my work, the focus of my life, would ground me and take me from this nightmare. It didn't. I felt the weight of their eyes on me, like insects crawling over my skin. Something was wrong. So clearly wrong. This strange crowd, so different, yet each of them was wearing that naked need on their faces.
"Don't mind them, they're just jealous of you." The voice of the young lady by my side. Her voice was soft, mellifluous. "Don't stare back and don't talk to them."
I turned to look at my erstwhile companion. "What are they jealous of? I just wanted to catch the last train home."
"It's the last train home for all of us, too." She smiled. She was very pale. Very beautiful. "But not all of them want to be here. And looking at you, going home tonight, makes them so very unhappy."
"Where'd they all come from? Was there a convention? A meeting?" I cast my eyes around the cabin again, but was stopped halfway by her strong fingers on my chin. Her fingers were icy cold. She turned my head around to face her.
"Everywhere. All around. Most of them didn't want to be here. Except me, maybe. I'd had enough of where I was. I miss my parents. I haven't seen them in such a long time. It took awhile, for me to gather enough courage to go look for them.” She paused, suddenly pensive at what she’d said. “You're not meant to be here, you know. This isn’t your ride." Outside the window, another station went by. My eyes flicked back to the board with all the little lights. 2 stops to home.
The whispering in the cabin had started up again. Louder than before, but still muffled by the sounds of the rails and the rushing air outside. They were talking about me. The atmosphere grew oppressive. It was strange but the attention of the crowd felt like a rock on my chest. My breathing became laboured, each inhalation a struggle. My companion sensed my discomfort.
“I wish I could stop them,” she said, sadly. “It’ll stop when we get to the end of the line, I suppose.” Her eyes lit up at the thought. She turned around and scooted up onto the seat, her knees on the hard plastic, palms on the cold glass. Even with her face pressed up against the glass, there wasn’t a trace of fog on the window left by her breath. If she was even breathing at all. “Here, why don’t you take this, I won’t need it where I’m going.” She fumbled at her dress, detached the white flower and pressed it into my hands. The sweet smell of the lily took my attention away from the pain in my chest.
“We’re here!” She was quivering with excitement as the train began to slow. I looked up at the board overhead. All the lights on the map had gone out. Where were we?
She cupped my chin in her hands. It was only then, with her arms so close to my face, that I saw the network of fine white lines that criss crossed her forearms. She caught the flick of my eyes towards her arms. She shrugged, sheepish. “Practice makes perfect,” she said. She frowned, suddenly serious again. “This stop is for the rest of us. You can’t join us. You have to stay here.” She leaned forward quickly and gave me a kiss on my cheek. Her cold lips burned like an ice cube.
The people in the cabin quickly turned their attention to the approaching platform. I felt the weight on my chest ease. The whispering grew to a crescendo as they pointed and chattered excitedly. The platform drew close. And what a sight it was. I didn’t recognize the tiles or the posters. I must have taken this train a thousand times. I could have closed my eyes and named every station in order and the time between stations if I wanted to, and yet I was lost. There was nothing on the platform that helped in any way. No signs. No directions. What the platform had was people, a milling sea of heads and faces, all expectant, all eagerly waiting.
When the door opened, it let in the roar of the crowd outside. Shouts, shrieks and yells. And tears, so many tears. The passengers burst out of the train, throwing themselves into the waiting sea of people. I saw one of the army boys embracing an older gentleman, also dressed in military fatigues. None of that new aged stuff that looked like it was plucked out of a stage of minecraft. This was old school, with big green and brown blotches. The resemblance between the two was clear. They parted, the younger man introducing his father to his compatriot. The older man hugged him as tightly as he had hugged his own son earlier.
The old man that was sitting by me had found an elegant looking lady in her thirties, her light sun dress looked out of place for the biting cold of winter. Or had I mistaken the man for someone else? I looked again and it wasn’t the old man any more, but a young couple laughing in the prime of their lives. No, it was the same coat and his features, lined with a jealous greed scant moments ago, were now lit with a fierce joy.
Just as the train doors hissed shut, I saw the girl that sat next to me on the train. She was in tears with her arms around a well dressed couple. She waved at me as the train pulled out of the station. I waved back.
My legs shook as I got off the train at my stop. The platform was reassuringly deserted. I watched as the train screeched into the distant darkness of the tunnel. I gingerly touched the numb spot on my cheek where the girl had kissed me. My fingers came away wet. I didn’t even remember the tears falling.
My nose was suddenly assaulted by a rich, thick greenhouse scent. Decaying plant matter. I fished out the lily from my coat pocket, where the strange girl had left it. The pristine white petals were dry to the point of crumbling and speckled black with rot. I let it fall from my fingers and watched it bounce on the station floor. I stared at it for a long time before I began the long trek home.

Wow, great story!

[marzi]

indeed. skipped the pics but gorged through the stories. God, I missed this thread!

OT: @marzi - Sent from my Nokia 5110 using Tapatalk 2? I like your signature better though!

re-installed Baconreader for Reddit app on my android phone..aside from creepypasta, i also browse subreddits for asian beauties  this way, i can divert my mind from thinking too much of these pastas..

OT: yup, political ads - a good source of lolz

[johnny00]

langhiya pinag umaga ko pa bago buksan ung link ni jeff the killer(1 am na kasi nung nagbabasa ko baka di maka tulog hehe). di pala nakakatakot si jeff parang taong espasol lang.

[Riff_6603]

langhiya pinag umaga ko pa bago buksan ung link ni jeff the killer(1 am na kasi nung nagbabasa ko baka di maka tulog hehe). di pala nakakatakot si jeff parang taong espasol lang.

OT: akala ko may bagong story, potek nakalimutan ko may pics pala sa thread. napamura ako ng di oras tuloy.


meron pang "Jeff is back" pasta pala:

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The following story was written by a detective whom, after analyzing video evidence, witness accounts, and the video claimed to have been watched, developed a story. This is that story.

It was late at night on a typical Tuesday evening. I was surfing the internet as I had two large coffees from my local coffee shop earlier that day and was unable to sleep. After watching pointless YouTube video after YouTube video, I came across a strange title in the related videos bar. None of the characters were of the English language; however, the shapes of the characters seemed to resemble words, although I couldn't quite decipher them. Curious, I clicked on the video.

I suddenly began to hear various creaks and groans coming from my house. I whirled around and grabbed a nearby baseball bat, ready for a fatal battle. To my surprise, there were no intruders in the house, nor any signs of a forced entry. All the doors were also locked. Figuring I was just going crazy, I shrugged my shoulders and lazily walked back to my room.

I had spent a lot of money on a high bandwidth connection, so I was perplexed that the video I had clicked on had not loaded yet. I impatiently clicked the video four more times in an attempt to bring it up. After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, the page finally loaded. The background was black and it completely hid all of the text, except for the username of the uploader and the description, both in crimson red. The username of the uploader was "NightmareSLUMBER" and the description read as such:

How ignorant of you.

You are unaware of my demonic presence in your life.

I will destroy everything you stand for.

Worthless coward.

I am always watching you.

And soon you will come to live with me...

Forever...

Figuring this was simply the idiocy of a twelve year old, I did not heed the danger I was in. The video began with a picture of an abandoned mental asylum (Later found out to be Denbigh asylum). The picture was a long, dark, and tattered corridor extending past the viewer's visual field. The left wall of the corridor had windows separated by columns. The corridor was bathed in an eerie moonlight, only broken by the shadows of the columns. The darkness of the corridor was a pure black, the likes of which I had never seen. I got the vibe that the asylum was hastily abandoned and never cleaned up.

For the first minute of the video, it was simply a still frame of the corridor. There was no sound nor movement. At approximately 1:13 of the video, I noticed a slow but definite movement at the very end of the corridor. The had a human stance but walked very unusually, most noticeably with it's head pointed straight at the ground. The creature accelerated steadily as the video progressed, eventually breaking into a full run. The creature ran head first into the camera, knocking it over. Simultaneously, I heard a very loud bang at the door. There was only one, and it sounded like someone had just run into the door.

I jumped up and grabbed the bat again, when I heard my computer make an error sound. The computer then bluescreened at that point, saying it shut down for safety reasons. The screen then proceeded to make note of the fact that an unknown hacker had been obtaining information about my whereabouts. My antivirus program ran a trace of the hacker's IP address, and came back with a city in Northern Wales; specifically, the hack had been made from an abandoned mental asylum.

Then the power went out. At this point, I became extremely intimidated. My eyes welled up with water as my breathing accelerated. I began to hear someone groaning in pain outside the door. I knew it was a mistake to go look, but I decided to anyway. When I glanced through the peephole, there was nobody outside the door. I could still hear the groaning though. No way in hell was I opening that door.

I flew into a panic attack and immediately attempted to contact police; however, I simply got a busy tone on both the landline and my cell phone. I ran back up to my computer to see if I could hook it up to a generator to ask for help that way, when I noticed that the computer screen was still on. In giant red text upon a black screen, it read, "GO TO SLEEP".

A piercing scream then rang out. It sounded like someone was dying. I raced to the kitchen and drew two knives out of a drawer. This was real. This was actually happening. The screams got louder and more desperate. Under the screams, I began to hear a faint but distinct hysterical laughter.

I ran about the house trying to figure out what was going on. I then heard a sobbing coming from a closet near my computer room. My skin ran cold as I grasped the doorknob. It was cold to the touch. I should have said something before opening the door, but I didn't have the common sense to do so. I whipped the door open to see a young girl, dead and bloody, crumpled in a heap in my closet.

Her stomach had been ripped open and her entrails pulled out. She was entirely naked and coated completely in blood. The wall suddenly was illuminated with a red light. I noticed that something was written in blood on the wall.

"You should have heeded the warning. Time to go to sleep."

I whirled around and saw the figure in the video, head down and everything. I froze in fear. With one sudden movement, almost as if I was watching a video that had skipped a few frames, the figure twisted it's head and looked at me. Then everything went black.


Detective's note:
The victim's body was found in a similar state to that of the young girl in the closet. Despite numerous blood tests, we could not identify the girl. In fact, due to the lack of a missing person's report, the fact that no one came forward to claim her remains or to try to solve the case of the murder, and because no blood test matched anyone we tested, it seemed like the girl never really existed. We have confirmed that the hacking came from the abandoned mental hospital; however, there is no explanation as to how this was timed so close together. We have issued an arrest warrant but no officer wants to enter the ruins in fear of his or her life. The only break we got was a witness sighting of an extremely unusual and frightening creature running into the hospital a few days later. From the witness' testimony, we noticed a shocking similarity between the face of the deranged mental hospital inhabitant and the following image, taken from a site filled with horror stories, with the words "GO TO SLEEP" captioned above it.

Go to Sleep


Numerous murders like this have occurred since, and every single one of the victims has been noted to watch the video a few minutes before the homicide is committed. YouTube officials have tried to remove the video; however, every moderator that tries ends up getting brutally murdered. The case is still unsolved.

Detective's note 2:
After further researching the case, a few discoveries have been made. First, while I have been unable to find the source of the video, last minute accounts of the killer's victims have provided enough descriptive evidence to point to the image used as the background for the video. Although this is a JPEG image and thus by nature is a still image, rumor has it that, if you stare into the picture long enough, the image begins to twist and contort. Continue staring, and you can see a creature beginning to run towards the camera. No one has watched the image long enough to see the creature come close, but enough visual evidence is there to assume that it is the same person seen in the video. The image can be found below. View at your own risk, for your life may be at stake.

Forbodinghallway.jpg

In addition, I have been searching for more information regarding the killer. To my horror, I have found a set of stories online regarding one "Jeff the Killer". The stories dictate a serial killer who develops his psychopathic tendencies at the onset of his teenage years, eventually killing everybody in his immediate family. The most shocking aspect of the story is that Jeff killed his victims in the same brutal way as seen with the Denbigh asylum killer, even going to the extent of both killers communicating "GO TO SLEEP" before murdering their victims. The most frightening aspect, however, is that the image provided for Jeff the Killer is the exact same as the image provided by witnesses for the Denbigh Asylum killer, leading investigators to believe that they are in fact the same person. For further reading, simply search "Jeff the Killer" online and read at your own risk.

The most terrifying fact of all, though, lies in my personal experience. After writing this report, I heard strange sounds throughout my home. Figuring it was nothing, I continued doing research on Jeff. The banging noises got louder and louder. I searched outside, thinking maybe a bird was injured. As I stepped to my door, however, I noticed movement in the window. I immediately attempted to phone police, but got a busy signal. Concerned, I put the phone down and looked toward the door, only to see Jeff staring directly at me with those cold, dead eyes and that horrific, disfigured face. His smile was the most eerie thing I have ever seen. I immediately pulled out my gun and began shooting. Jeff took off into the night.

I know I am in danger, so I have set up constant surveillance around my home to protect myself. I still see bright flashes of light and hear banging noises around my home, along with the rare but still horrifying laughter of which only a true psychotic serial killer can provide. I don't know how much longer it will be until we catch him, but, if he keeps making these mistakes, then we'll have a solid identity and an air-tight case. I feel we are on the brink of taking him in, for I keep hearing laughter and banging sounds that are escalating in volume, and I also am seeing an odd orb of light in the distance. I have radioed fellow police to the scene, but the radio has gone dead. The light is getting closer, and I have my gun ready. It's him. I can see his face. Time tot mntoujiujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujujyhjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj/

Hello everyone. My name is Jeff. I don't like that this story is being published, but oh well. It's not like any of you could catch a demon of my caliber. The detective is now dead. The journal is over. And it's quite hilarious, because, in viewing this document, I have logged every single one of your IP addresses and know exactly where you are. For example: One of you works at a Cousin's on Drexel boulevard, one of you lives in Burbank, one of you lives on East avenue, one of you goes to University and has a roommate named Becky, one of you is going to Iowa, one of you goes to is quite the whiz at the piano... The list goes on and on. I know where you work. I know your friends. Your family. Your loved ones. I know everything. Soon, all of that will be taken from you. Upon reading this message from me, you should start hearing odd noises and feel a sense of fear and dysphoria wash over you. You will become anxious and frantic for no logical reason. The banging isn't the building you reside in. It's something else. Something quite sinister. Something that wants your blood. If I don't get you, I will get those you love and care about. You, the one shivering in your chair and has a girlfriend named Jessica with whom you live with... She's mine.

You aren't safe. Heh. Hahahaha. AHAHAHAHHH!!!!

I think it's time for you to go to sleep. I'll be in shortly.

Sincerely,

Jeffrey the Killer.

P.S. Whomever is the one that's a junior at Kettle Moraine... You're cute. I'll take my time with you.

[marzi]

yo! tapos na siguro yung cleansing period ng mga utak natin. tuloy na natin to mga chong! im sure madami nang mga pastas ang nasa reddit. saw SCP at madami na ding SCPs!

[rebelrhetoric]

http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/File:1281923869157.jpg#file

 

I use this pic to scare my nephews. I call him Danny Boy.

[marzi]

I use this pic to scare my nephews. I call him Danny Boy.

i really love slow internet connection! 

[Drummeroo]

Namiss ko yung Cursed video dito langya

[Riff_6603]

nabuhay ang thread! May nakakapag-nosleep pa ba sa inyo? Medyo nag-evolve na yung ibang stories, parang nobela na halos sa haba yung iba, iba naman madalas third person narrative. Kakamiss yung classic creepypastas.

@Marzi - solid mga bagong SCPs, pero mismo pa din yung yellowstone park kahit medyo classic na. Galing nung twist kay Clef sa huli.