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Author Topic: Creepypasta/Nosleep  (Read 30688 times)

Offline dudeofdude

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Creepypasta/Nosleep
« on: May 25, 2012, 12:42:24 AM »
« Last Edit: May 25, 2012, 04:21:54 PM by dudeofdude »
hanggang ngayon hindi ko parin alam ang tunog ng ipis

Offline Santo Muerte

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Re: Nosleep, Subreddit
« Reply #1 on: May 25, 2012, 03:59:05 AM »
Tutal creepypasta naman ang topic, here's one of my favorites:

The Portraits

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

As he looked around the inside of the cabin, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by several portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred and malice. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the hunter awoke — he turned, blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.


Offline Santo Muerte

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Re: Nosleep, Subreddit
« Reply #2 on: May 25, 2012, 04:02:42 AM »
Another favorite. Medyo mahaba ito pero worth the read:

The Song and Dance Man

There are few now left alive who remember the Song and Dance Man. Time has claimed the ones that survived the long night and I’m sure they went willing to meet their maker. Life takes on a strange tint after a night like that.

The ones still left, Bill Parker, Sarah Carter, Sam Tannen, they don’t talk about it. Sam is lucky. His brains started to turn to porridge a few years back and now he has trouble figuring out how to put on his pants. He got an early reprieve from his memories. He doesn’t wake up night after night, the music still playing in his ears, tears still drying on his cheeks.

The Song and Dance Man came to Belle Carne with little fanfare in the fall of 1956. I had just gotten out of high school and was working as a stockboy at Handy’s Hardware. I was there the afternoon that Sarah Carter burst through the door, making the bell over the door jingle like mad.

“George, you gotta see what’s been set up by the bandstand. There’s this huge tent up and this man standing in front of it yellin’ like a carnival barker.” Sarah was out of breath and obviously had run from the park and all the way down Main Street. Her hair was whipsawed every which way and one strand stuck to the end of her nose. She gave a quick puff and blew it out of the way and waited for me to react. With Sarah, I was always two steps behind and running to catch up. Girl had energy in those days and in an unlimited supply.

I stopped rearranging the nails and said, “There wasn’t anythin’ up there when I walked by this mornin’. When’d it go up?”

She shrugged her shoulders, a quick raise and drop, “Dunno, but it’s up. And you gotta see this guy. He’s all dressed up, head to toe and he can talk. Boy, can he talk.”

I thought about and checked the clock. It was near about 5 and time for me to quit anyway. “All right, let’s go check it out then.”

Sarah grinned from ear to ear and was gone. I didn’t doubt she was telling everyone in the gang, the ones that were still in town anyway. Most of us scattered to the four winds after graduation. Only a handful of us remained in town and only a handful of us were on hand to witness the dance.

I walked down to bandstand by myself, not bothering to wait for the others. Most likely Sarah was already there waiting for us. I met up with Bill as I passed the drugstore, where he worked as a soda jerk. “What the hell is Sarah talkin’ about George? She blew in here and then blew out again before I could ask her anything.” Bill was a big guy, tallest (and heaviest) guy in our class and I just about cracked up the first time I saw him wearing that little peaked paper cap McCleary makes his soda jerks wear. Bill doesn’t really like to be laughed at though and after the knot under my eye went down, I made sure not to laugh at him anymore.

He’s a good guy aside from that temper. He was the best guy on the highschool basketball team too, though he’s one of the few guys who got kicked out of a game. Threw another player halfway down the court. And they were on the same team too. Bill said the other guy elbowed him in the gut. Had to have been an accident, no one would have done it on purpose.

We both walked down the street, Bill smoking a cigarette, a habit that caught up to him in 1995 when they removed his right lung. At the end of Main Street, we crossed Buchanan and entered the park. Normally, at that point, we would have been able to see the bandstand, perched on a hill near the center of the park. During the summer, there’d be concerts: performances by the school marching band, a church choir singing some hymns, that kind of thing. Once a couple of kids from the high school had put together a pretty good rockabilly group, but somehow the parks committee passed an ordinance that banned rock ‘n’ roll in the park. Small towns, you know?

But now, there was a huge, faded yellow tent blocking the bandstand, like the kind in the circus or the kinds those old revival ministers like to use when they’re feelin’ the spirit and they like to feel your wallet too.

There was already a pretty large crowd around the tent and as Bill and I got closer, we could hear the fellow that Sarah had told us about. He sounded like a carnival barker all right. Bill and I walked faster down the path that lead to the tent. We pushed our way through the crowd, up toward the tent and where we thought the man was.

“Come on everybody, it’s getting’ close, getting’ close, we’re goin’ to have ourselves a heckuva time tonight, yes indeed, a HECKUVA time. We’ll be singin’, we’ll be dancin’ I PROMISE that and the Song and Dance Man always keeps his promises!”

We still couldn’t see him, still too many people were blocking the way. It looked like the whole town had shown up to see the Song and Dance Man. Bill tugged on my sleeve and pointed. I followed his finger and got bug eyed. It was Reverend Harper, the Baptist minister. I’ve lived a good long time, but I ain’t ever seen a man that could thump a Bible harder than he. Harper preached against the evils of sin; sin in drinking, sin in smoking reefer, sin in smoking tobacco, sin in lying and most of all, sin in dancing. And here he was lining up to get inside the tent too, ‘cause he certainly wasn’t preaching. We waved at him, Bill waving with the hand that held the cigarette and that old Baptist turned red as the Red Sea and turned and walked away. Bill and I grinned at each other and kept on walking toward the front and toward the Song and Dance Man.

Finally we broke through the crowd and there he was. He stood on an old crate, splintered and lookin’ like it was on the verge of collapsing under his feet. On the grass beside him lay a black fiddle case with gold trim along its edges. It looked old, older than the crate, older than the town. It seemed like something ancient.

He was all angles, all knees, elbows and shoulders. Tall and gangling, his body moving and bopping to the rhythm of his words. He wore a red and white pin-stripe jacket, looking like he belonged in a barber shop quartet. A straw hat sat on his head, always getting pushed back or pulled forward by his long fingered hands. Long, six fingered hands. I started when I saw that. I had read that it some folks are born with six fingers, but readin’ about something and seein’ it are two different things.

His eyes just about flashed blue lightning as he spoke and sparks nearly flew from those white teeth. And he just never stopped talking. Not for breath, not for questions, not for anything. Just kept up that patter like his very soul depended on it.

“All right, all right, all right, we’re getting’ close, getting’ real close, yes we are. Are you ready to dance? Are you ready to sing? Cause I’m ready to play my fiddle, yes I am, yes I am. Gotta fiddle at my feet and I’m ready to play. Ready to make those strings SING, can you believe it?”

He’s clap his hands and that’s as close to a pause he was willing to do.

Sarah and Sam came up to us now, having found us in the crowd. Sarah elbowed me in the rib and said, “What’d I tell you? Looks like he should be in a carnival tryin’ to get us in to see the bearded lady or somethin’.”

Sam nodded his head in greeting to us, which caused his glasses to slide down his nose and he gave them a short push back up to where they belonged. He was as tall as Bill, but nowhere near as built. He was the smart guy in our gang. You had to have someone like him around to tell how to do things like take apart the principal’s car and rebuild it in the school gym. Not that we ever did anything like that.

“What’s he sellin’?” asked Sam.

“A dance, I figure,” I said.

“What’s it cost?”

The Song and Dance Man must have heard him because he said, “What does it cost I hear you ask? Why it don’t cost a dollar and it don’t cost a quarter and it don’t cost a dime. Folks, this will cost you nothin’, just get on in and dance to the song all night long.”

We all looked at each other. Good deal. A little free music and space to dance? There wasn’t much to do in town back in those days and there still isn’t. This was almost too good to be true.

The Song and Dance Man stopped now, a minor miracle in and of itself. He dug deep into his pocket, pulled out a gold watch and checked the time. And then he grinned a grin that must have shown every one of his teeth. He repocketed the watch and said, “Folks, it’s time for the dance so come on in. Come on in, everyone because it’s time for the dance to begin.” And with that, he hopped down from his crate, grabbed it up with the fiddle and darted through the tent flaps.

Sarah, Bill, Sam and I nearly got mowed over in the rush to get inside, but we were still the first ones in. We stopped short when we pushed aside those big old tent flaps, but were quickly driven inside.

It was huge inside. There was a hardwood floor beneath our feet that looked like it must be oak, a dark, dark oak polished to a mirror shine. There were candles in holders all along the tent-pole posts and when I looked up, I couldn’t see the ceiling for all the darkness. It was like looking up at a starless night sky, where the moon didn’t dare show her face.

The crowd kept driving us and more and more people poured in. It wasn’t just the young people either. There was Missus Crenshaw, our Junior year English teacher who was in her fifties. There was Mr. Hoskins the principal. There was the good old Revered Harper, still looking embarrassed, but also like he couldn’t help himself. It really was the whole damn town. Hell, even the mayor was there with his wife, standing and talking with the chief of police.

Soon everyone was inside and the murmur from all the talking was nearly deafening. It was already getting warm in there and I was feeling cramped and claustrophobic. We were all looking for the Song and Dance Man, to see where he had gone. No one looked up, so no one saw him until the first pull of his fiddle bow.

He was there, on the center tentpole, sitting on a small, wooden platform, about twenty feet off the floor. God knows how he got up there, because there certainly wasn’t any ladder goin’ up. He dangled his feet over the edge and held his fiddle in one hand and the bow in the other. The fiddle and bow seemed to be made of that same dark wood that the floor was and gleamed in the candlelight like a thing alive. I almost doubted that the fiddle even needed the Song and Dance Man to make its strings hum.

We all looked up at him and he grinned and jumped to his feet while the crowd gasped, worried he might plummet into their midst.

And then he began to play.

He made those strings sing. I haven’t heard anyone play like that before or since and I thank God for that every day. It made the air around us crackle and spark. It loosened the joints and jolted the mind. You felt the urge to move deep in the bone, buried in the marrow. I grabbed Sarah’s hands and we began to move across the floor and everyone followed suit. Some with partners and some without. Some doing the foxtrot, some doing a waltz and some of us doing the twist. We dance, moved, shucked, jived, rocked and rolled.

I passed Reverend Harper moving his feet in a clunky boxstep with Eloise Grendel, an old battle-axe of a Catholic. I saw the mayor’s wife waltzing with Dan Adams, one of our firemen.

I swirled with Sarah, moving across the floor, bumping and jostling with the people around us. It was hot and getting hotter in there and it wasn’t long before it smelled of sweat and bodies moving against bodies. I felt dizzy, but we kept dancing together, kept dancing and not stopping. It was awhile before I realized that the Song and Dance Man was singing too, but in a language I didn’t understand.

He lorded over us, standing on that platform, making his fiddle sing and sing. His bow rose and fell, slid back and forth, side to side. He played like he talked. No breaks, no pauses, just a manic deluge of tunes while his tongue curled around words that had no business being said in this world.

I gave my head a shake as I spun with Sarah and I realized my legs were tired. My feet ached and my lower back was beginning to throb. I checked my watch and realized we had been dancing for a solid hour. I shook my head again, trying to shake off the dozy feeling that was clouding my thinking.

“Sarah,” I cleared my throat. I had only spoken in a whisper. My tongue felt thick and funny. I tried again, “Sarah.” Louder this time, but she still didn’t respond and we kept dancing. I shook her, but she didn’t respond. I kept shaking her until I realized I was doin’ it in time with the music.

So I just tried to stop. And I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop.

Underneath the fog, I began to feel frightened. I began to see the faces of the other people now. I saw their terror. Reverend Harper’s face had grown redder than it had been before. Sweat poured down his face, but still he kept moving, twirling Missus Grendel around and around, her head lolling from side to side. She had fainted, but her feet were still moving. We moved past Bill who danced with Susie Watkins and I saw her frightened eyes darting around the room, but Bill bobbed his head in time with music and his glassy eyes looked at nothing in particular.

The Song and Dance Man laughed from his perch and kept playing, tapping his feet. His eyes were glowing in that dark, humid place. Glowed and glowed and light glanced off the bow with each sweep.

I heard a scream and swiveled my head to watch a woman drop to the floor holding her leg. She had cramped up. I was envious. She got to stop. She got to rest. My own legs felt like dead wood and the ache in my back had deepened.

Then her partner stepped on her ankle and I heard the crunch from across the room. He was still dancing, his eyes blank and empty as he moved. She screamed again and started to crawl away, but began to stand up instead. She started to dance, bringing her weight down on the broken ankle. Again and again and again. I turned away, but I couldn’t block the sound of her sobbing.

The music ran on.

I checked my watch again and it was three hours now. We didn’t flag. Didn’t falter. We kept up the same speed as the fiddle. The damning fiddle. Rapping our feet against the floor. Never mind the blisters that burst. Never mind broken toes or broken ankles. Never mind that deep pain buried in the spine that refused to go. Never mind old hearts and bad knees.

We kept up that frantic pace as one mass: a bobbing, thumping, jumping creature with one mind.

Reverend Harper died at one point. I watched it happen. He was holding up the still fainted Missus Grendel (whose feet still moved with the music) when he dropped her. And then fell to the floor. He twitched once, his feet beating a quick, staccato rhythm and then was still. Missus Grendel got back up and kept on moving. I watched Harper as I danced, trying to see if he was breathing.

He wasn’t. I swear to you he wasn’t. But he still got back up. He was dead, but he still got back and began to dance again. He turned to look at me, and he grinned the Song and Dance Man’s grin. His eyes were red, filled with blood from whatever had broken in his brain. I watched as a single red tear rolled down his cheek.

I shut my eyes and kept moving.

Harper wasn’t the last. He probably wasn’t the first. The old and the sick were the first to drop. Exhaustion, heart attacks, hemorrhages somewhere deep inside, they died. And then they got back and kept dancing, grinning their grins.

I passed Sam and Lizzie. He had lost his glasses at some point. His eyes darted around, terribly aware. I looked at his leg and I saw a jut of bone tearing through his denim jeans. There was a trail of blood behind him and as he swirled, a spray landed on the legs of the people around him. He stepped on that broken leg, twirled on it, jumped on it. All in time with that fiddle.

The night passed.

I remember stepping on something at one point and realizing I had just crushed Missus Dempsey’s right hand. She was lying on her back on the dance floor. She had been stepped on time and again. I could even see a man’s shoeprint on her stomach. Her head had been caved in, her chest beneath her dress had a sunken look. And still she was trying to get up to keep moving.

The smell of blood mixed with the sweat and I couldn’t breathe anymore. The air was thick and from all around I could hear cries, screams, but nothing that drowned out the fiddle or the Song and Dance Man’s singing.

And then it stopped. I danced one more step and then stopped myself. I looked up at the platform. We all did, craning our necks upward. He was checking his pocket watch.

“All right folks! That’s all for tonight! The dancing is done and the morning has come. You may leave if you can walk and you should walk quick cause this Song and Dance Man is gonna be gone.”

We all stood there, like stunned cattle. And then marched to the tentflaps. No one ran, because they couldn’t. It was a miracle we could walk. Sarah stepped ahead of me and left, but I stayed behind. I turned and looked. And saw at least twenty people still standing there. Harper was among them. They were all grinning, their eyes empty. They stood and made no sign of wanting to leave.

“Go on now friend, the Song and Dance Man has what he wants, but he’d be glad to add you too if you tarry and dally too long.” I looked up at him and saw him smile. And then I turned my back to him and left the tent. When I turned back again it was gone along with the people inside.

That’s the story of what happened. The others won’t tell it or pretend it never happened. Never mind the 21 people that vanished that night, the mayor’s wife included. They’d rather not think about it.

Sarah and I took Sam to the hospital over in the next county, far from folks that knew what had happened, where they had to remove his leg. Sam was quiet before and was quieter still after, pulling odd jobs that a one-legged man could do. Doesn’t move around much nowadays, just sits on his porch, a cane across his lap and massages the stump with his hand. Says it bothers him on cold nights. And warm nights. And wet nights and dry nights.

Bill left and joined the army, stayed in long enough to fight in Vietnam and won a bunch of medals. Came back and settled down to drink and drink hard and if you want to find him, you can find him in Eddie Dixon’s bar. No matter how drunk he gets though, he doesn’t talk about that night.

None of us saw much of Sarah after. She came through the best, but that’s how she always was. She left and went to college, but like Bill, she got pulled back to Belle Carne. She teaches over at the high school now, teaching English to the Juniors.

And I stayed here, plugging away at the hardware store. I ran it for a while, but now I don’t do much of anything. Just sitting around with Sam on his porch, talkin’ about things sometimes. Though not often. Because if I stay too late, stay too long, I’ll see his eyes go glassy behind those coke-bottle lenses and he’ll disappear into himself. And I’ll catch him humming a faint trace of a song and the hairs on my neck stand on end and goosebumps rise on my arms in great knots.

And my foot will start to tap out a small beat on the hardwood porch and a big wide grin will spread across Sam’s face. The grin of the Song and Dance Man.


Offline Santo Muerte

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Re: Nosleep, Subreddit
« Reply #3 on: May 25, 2012, 04:05:57 AM »
Isa pa...

The Gallery of Henri Beauchamp

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.
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).

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.

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, René 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.

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 Monsieur Beauchamp. You see, he was a struggling surrealist in the 1920's, 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. One hundred years in the future, two hundred years 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.

The other six, on the right, show, from right to left: the cataclysm 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.

« Last Edit: May 29, 2012, 03:07:22 AM by Santo Muerte »

Offline dudeofdude

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Re: Nosleep, Subreddit
« Reply #4 on: May 25, 2012, 05:22:19 AM »
ayos! palitan ko kaya title to creepypasta?
hanggang ngayon hindi ko parin alam ang tunog ng ipis


Offline Riff_6603

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Re: Nosleep, Subreddit
« Reply #5 on: May 25, 2012, 05:27:29 AM »
isa pang mahaba pero swabe

The Strangest Security Tape I've Ever Seen

I work at a gas station in rural Pennsylvania. It's a boring job, but it's pretty easy and it pays all right. A few weeks ago, this new guy started; I'll call him Jeremy.

Jeremy is weird. He's about 25 or 26, and he hardly speaks, but he's got the creepiest laugh I've ever heard. My boss and I have both noticed this, but it's never been a problem, so there's not much we can do about it. Customers have never complained about him, and he's always done his job fairly well. Up until a few weeks ago, anyway--that's when things started going missing. Employee theft can be a problem at any business that sells consumer goods, and there's only one person working at a time at this gas station (it's a pretty small place). About two weeks ago, my boss started noticing that we were short on motor oil. At first, it was a few containers at a time, then entire shelves and boxes from the back room. Pretty soon entire shipments would be gone the day after we got them, and it would always be right after Jeremy's shifts. My boss has checked the security camera tapes from every single night he worked, but he could never catch him in the act. Jeremy would lock up at closing, then the motor oil would be gone the next day.

My boss usually takes the tapes home with him to try and catch Jeremy stealing, but his daughter had a softball game last night, so he asked me to watch the tape for him. He offered to pay me overtime, under-the-table, so obviously I took that offer. There are three cameras, so he gave me three different tapes to check. I figured it would be a long night, but I'm trying to save up for vacation, so I really needed the money. I took the tapes home, popped them in an old VCR and sat back.

Two days ago (the last time he worked), Jeremy started at 4 PM. Everything seemed pretty normal at first. He counted up his drawer, switched off with the girl who was working before him, and waited for a customer. The first person who came in was Mrs. Templeton (the timestamp on the video read 4:03), a regular. She picked up her cigarettes and a newspaper, and paid with a twenty. Nothing unusual there. The next customer was some local guy named Ron. He drives a motorcycle, usually comes in every few days. He filled up his tank, got a bag of beef jerky, paid with his credit card, and then left. Next was some guy with a cowboy hat. I'd never seen him before, but we get plenty of strangers passing through, just like at any gas station. He got forty dollars worth of diesel fuel, paid with a hundred dollar bill, and went on his way. I sat back and sighed. The only thing more boring than doing this job is watching someone else do it.

My boss's offer was enough to keep me watching though, so I left the tape on. Everything seemed pretty normal. I had a feeling that if Jeremy was stealing motor oil, he knew we were suspicious of him by now. I didn't expect him to be dumb enough to let us catch him on camera. Things stayed boring and routine until about five o'clock.

At 5:03, Mrs. Templeton came back in; she must have forgotten something. But she didn't. She bought the same pack of cigarettes as before, and the same newspaper. She paid with another twenty. That's odd, I thought, but then again, she's a little absent minded. I thought Jeremy should have told her she already got her smokes, but it's not against the rules to sell somebody the same thing twice. That's when Ron came in again. He bought another tank of gas (for his motorcycle again--I later checked the outdoor camera because I thought maybe he had another car he wanted to fill up) and the same pack of beef jerky. He paid with his credit card again.

No big deal, I figured this was just a weird coincidence. Mrs. Templeton is forgetful and Ron probably owns more than one Harley. That's when the guy in the cowboy hat came back in. I felt a chill run down my spine. "Don't get diesel, don't get diesel," I found myself whispering to my empty living room...but he did. He got forty dollars worth of diesel fuel and paid with another hundred dollar bill. Every move he made was identical to his first visit, right down to the way he scratched his nose before he walked out. Either this guy is rich, owns a lot of trucks, and just moved into town, or something really bizarre was happening. I kept watching.

Every customer for the next hour was the same as before. Every single one. I was seriously freaked out, and then at 6:03, Mrs. Templeton walked back in. She bought her cigarettes and newspaper again, and paid with a twenty again. I thought I was going to lose it. I only watched another half hour before I started fast forwarding through the rest. It was all the same. Every customer would come in at the exact same times, exactly one hour apart.

Now I know what you're thinking. That sneaky motherf****r Jeremy had messed with the tapes. He had run a loop of his first hour of business over and over. That wasn't the case. There are windows around the cash register area that the camera covers, and I watched the sunlight fade as time ran on. Jeremy's routine didn't loop over--he swept, mopped, restocked, and did all his duties exactly how you would expect. But the same customers kept coming in.

I was panicking at this point. Something was seriously wrong with what I was seeing, and I had no explanation for it. I skipped ahead to when he locked up and walked out to his car. He hadn't stolen anything, but I kept watching, just to make sure. I fast forwarded one last time, to about midnight.

At exactly 12:03, out of nowhere, Jeremy's face pops up on camera. I don't mean he moved his head into view, I mean that one second the store was empty, the next second his face was all I could see. He wasn't looking at the camera, he was looking at me, I was sure of it. I screamed and fumbled for the remote. By the time I grabbed it, he was gone, just as soon as he had left. One frame he was there, the next he wasn't. My hands were shaking like crazy, but I popped in another tape. The other indoor camera shows the back area, by the cash register, and I would be able to see how he got up to put his face in the camera like that. I skipped ahead to 12:03, but there was nothing. I would have been able to see him standing on a chair or something on this tape, but he wasn't there. I didn't see him enter the store at all after he left. It's like he wasn't really there. He doesn't know the security code, and no alarms were triggered that night after he locked up.

What I did see, however, was that at 12:03, the motor oil vanished off the shelf. All of it. Same as Jeremy's face, one second it was there and the next it wasn't. I turned that tape off and went to bed, but I didn't get a wink of sleep. My body is exhausted right now, but my mind is racing. That tape was undoubtedly the creepiest, most disturbing thing I've ever seen in my life.

I work in a few hours. My boss asked me to bring the tapes back in and let him know what I found, but really, what the hell am I going to say? Jeremy works the night shift tonight, directly after me, and the plan is for my boss to come in just before I leave and confront him with me (as I'm supposed to be the one who caught him stealing). I have no idea what I'm going to do. I suppose I'll have to show my boss the tapes, but I don't want to watch them with him. I never want to see something like that again. I can't get the image of Jeremy just smiling directly into the camera out of my mind; it was the creepiest look I've ever seen on another human being's face.

Anyway, I'm gonna try again to get some last minute sleep before I have to go in and deal with this. I'll let you guys know what happens...

UPDATE (2:49 PM): Updating from my phone, apologies in advance for errors. My boss just finished watching the last of the tapes. I told him what to expect, but you really can't prepare someone for something like that. He's scared [gooey brown stuff] (I still am too) and Jeremy is due to come in at 4. We've got a little over an hour to get our [gooey brown stuff] together, but neither one of us knows what to say to him. Is he just a f****d up guy who likes to steal motor oil and scare the [gooey brown stuff] out of people? Or is he something else? I don't know if this is crazy, but does anyone think he could have anything to do with the time loop? My boss said he never noticed anything like that in the other tapes, but the way he popped up in this one made me think he knew I would be watching. It's like he wanted me to see what he could do. Like he was showing off or something. The way he smiled into the camera was like a little kid showing you a sandcastle they just built or something. I don't know, I probably sound crazy. I sure feel the part. I'm going to talk to my boss some more. We have to calm ourselves down and figure out how to handle this. I'll update again tonight, but I have a really bad feeling about how this is going to play out.

UPDATE (4:33 PM): No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling him, but his phone has been disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE (5:33 PM): No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling him, but his phone has been disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE (6:33 PM): No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling him, but his phone has been disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE (7:33 PM): No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling him, but his phone has been disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE (8:33 PM): No sign of Jeremy. Tried calling him, but his phone has been disconnected. We're calling the police.

UPDATE (10:58 PM): Holy [gooey brown stuff]. Holy [gooey brown stuff] holy [gooey brown stuff] holy [gooey brown stuff]. I just got home and saw my previous updates. Things make less sense now than ever. Here's what I can tell you. I went to work, Jeremy never showed up, my boss and I decided to call the police, as you're well aware. When I picked up the phone to call, though, the sun went out. I [gooey brown stuff] you not, that's what I thought happened. Apparently I blacked out for exactly five hours, because when I looked at the clock, it was 9:33. I think I got stuck in Jeremy's time loop, and then I snapped out of it at the exact point I blacked out, if that makes sense. But that's when things got really weird.

My boss was right next to me when I blacked out, ready to corroborate my story to the cops. When I came to, the phone was in my hand, but it was dead. Not even a dial tone. My boss was still right there, but he wasn't moving. He was standing up, but frozen. I looked at the clock again, and it wasn't moving. The second hand was stuck on the 12. It was 9:33 exactly. The clock on the register (computer screen) wasn't moving either. My phone was frozen. There was even a customer at the register, waiting for my boss to get him cigarettes. I'm betting that would have been his fifth pack of the day.

I got the f*** out of there. Didn't lock up, didn't turn the lights out, and sorry guys, I didn't grab the security tapes to upload on the internet. Believe me, that was the last thing on my mind. The gas station is on a major highway, and cars were parked all along it, except they weren't parked, they were frozen. The people inside were sitting still as wax statues. I got in my car and prayed that it would start. Thankfully it did.

About halfway home, time started up again. The static from the radio turned into music, like it's supposed to be, and from what I could tell by listening to the host talk in between songs, no one noticed the time freeze, or whatever it was. I was the only one. Well, I'm sure Jeremy noticed as well. I still have no clue where he is or what he's doing. I'm hiding in my room and calling the police again in the morning. I don't know if I ever got through to them before, or if I did, whether they took me seriously. I'm scared for my life at this point. I'll update tomorrow, if I can.

FINAL UPDATE (10:33 AM): I finally fell asleep last night around 4. I have no idea how I did it, I guess exhaustion finally got the best of me. This morning, I woke up to my phone ringing; it was my boss. He'd been calling me since about 6. He woke up when time turned back on last night and immediately called the cops. They came by to see what was wrong and he told them everything. The police around here are all small time guys; they were more concerned with the missing motor oil than anything, but my boss figured he would take it, as long as he had their attention. They decided to go looking for Jeremy.

We keep all our employees' applications on file, and since Jeremy just started working here, his was easy to find. They checked the address on it and headed over to his house. You're not gonna believe what they found.

The address Jeremy listed on his application was an empty lot. Or at least now it is. There used to be a house there, but it burned down in 1993. Being a small town, almost everyone remembers that fire. A family of four used to live there way back when. Rumor has it that they had an estranged son who they never really talked about, but I can't say for sure if that's true. What I can say is true is that after an insurance investigation, the fire was ruled an arson. The entire house was soaked in oil and torched with a Molotov cocktail. The entire family was sleeping when it happened; none of them survived.

They never caught the guy who did it. Rumor has it that when they tried to contact the estranged son, no one could find him.

Anyway, my boss called and told me this, and I freaked out. Then he asked me to come to the gas station. "What are you, crazy?" I said, but he assured me that the cops were there with him. Then he dropped a bomb: the FBI were also in town and they were going to talk to me one way or another, so I might as well come in. It was about 7:15, and I wanted to go back to bed, but I figured I wouldn't be able to sleep much more anyway, so I went down.

Four men in suits greeted me and told me to have a seat. We went over everything two or three times until they got all the details down. I told them about Jeremy, the security tape, last night at work. Everything. Finally, after I finished, one of the agents said, "Oh Christ, we've got another one on our hands." Then they made me sign a bunch of papers saying I wouldn't tell anyone about what happened, so I can't say much more. I might be breaking the law just by posting this.

So now I'm home. I'm not sure what to do with myself. That agent's words when I told him the story are going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

Anyway, I've got to go. I have some errands to run today, and then I have to go in to work to pick up some tapes. My boss and I think this new guy Jeremy (he's a complete creep) is stealing motor oil and I have to watch the security footage to see if I can catch him doing it. I have better things to do, but my boss is paying me overtime, under-the-table, and I'm trying to save up for vacation so I could really use the money. It should be pretty simple; the oil always goes missing right after his shifts. I figure I'll just watch the tapes, catch him in the act, and that will be that.

Offline Riff_6603

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Re: Nosleep, Subreddit
« Reply #6 on: May 25, 2012, 05:54:55 AM »
another one..

I used to own a barber shop. I didn't have any employees. I set it up so that it was appointment only, and as it turned out I didn't need that many customers to turn in a profit, so I was able to manage it alone.

One day, this customer came in wearing a strange suit and a hat. "I need a haircut," he said. He asked me how much. I told him. He gave me double. Industry protip: whenever someone pays double, brace for the worst. So I started cutting this dudes hair. It wasn't dirty or messy or anything, which was weird. Why else would he pay double? As I was cutting, I saw in amongst all his curls, at the top of his head, an eye. I recoiled in horror. It was closed, but it was an eye all the same.

"Keep cutting," said the dude.

So I kept at it, and eventually a whole face revealed itself, though you had to move the hair around a bit to make it all out. It looked like it was sleeping. I wanted to throw up, but I remained courteous. After all, it wasn't this dude's fault that he had this strange disfigurement.

I finished the haircut in silence. The dude thanked me, put his hat back on, covering the face and left.

Every few weeks, the customer came back in, always wearing the same strange suit, and eventually he became more comfortable around me. We even starting having some idle chit-chat.

"So, you got another face there," I said.

He laughed. "I sure do."

He kept returning and I kept cutting his hair. Months later, I realised he hadn't come in a while. I figured that he must have moved.

One night, I was walking from the salon back to my house. I turned a corner. About 200 feet off, I could make out some guy. He was on the same side of the street as I was, and was walking towards me.

I recognised his suit. It was the customer. I waved. He didn't respond. He just kept walking, faster now. It creeped me out. In the darkness, I couldn't see his face. Something was wrong. He was walking awfully fast now.

In one horrible moment, he passed under a street light, and came properly into view. His hat was off. His head was shaved. Everything above the neck had been twisted around 180 degrees. The head lowered. The face came into view. It was awake. And it was smiling.


Offline ierofan

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Re: Nosleep, Subreddit
« Reply #7 on: May 25, 2012, 09:26:43 AM »
Tutal creepypasta naman ang topic, here's one of my favorites:

The Portraits

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

As he looked around the inside of the cabin, he was surprised to see the walls adorned by several portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred and malice. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.

The next morning, the hunter awoke — he turned, blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.



haha [apple]. kinikilabutan ako ngayon. [ice cream]. HAHAHA astig!
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Offline dudeofdude

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Re: Creepypasta
« Reply #8 on: May 25, 2012, 04:21:34 PM »
heres my favorite nosleep

I've come to terms with the fact that everything I know is a dream.

As a preface, please note that this will probably be very long. I don't care if nobody reads it; everyone in the world could read it and nothing would change. I just need to voice my concerns for my own sake. Perhaps by organizing everything on a page I can make sense of things.
Many years ago, I was in a brutal car accident. I was parked in front of a train track, waiting for the train to pass by. I was the last person not to make it across the tracks. For visualization, there was a solid stream of cars on either side. If I had tried to sneak across, I would have rear-ended the person in front of me before successfully clearing them.
I could hear the train approaching, and the black-and-yellow bars lowered in front of me. I am fascinated by trains, so I was delighted to be so close, finally getting a front row seat. The train was about a quarter mile from the crossing when the driver behind me accelerated and nudged me forward a few feet. The bars bent and eventually snapped, and I was knocked joltingly onto the tracks. I panicked and threw the car into reverse, trying to back out. The other car apparently had more horsepower, however, and to my horror my car door aligned perfectly with the cattle guard on the front of the train.
I scrambled to get out of the car, but forgot that my seatbelt was still attached. By the time I unlatched it, it was too late. One fraction of a second of the loudest sound I had ever heard, and then blackness and silence. I was certain that I had died. I didn't feel any pain, and certainly if I had survived I'd be in agony. I tried to open my eyes, but nothing would happen. I tried to make a sound, to wiggle my fingers, or do anything, but I couldn't. It wasn't that I was paralyzed; it was more like I didn't have a body to manipulate. I was just a mind submerged in a pool of nothing.
Gradually, I started to have feelings of sensation. Passing waves of warmth and wetness finally allowed me to determine where the edges of my body were. Almost as soon as I became aware of my physical self, it began to ache. I felt as if every inch of me had been pummeled with a baseball bat--the heavy wooden kind. Even opening my eyes was a spectacular ordeal.
I was in a hospital. So I had survived after all. People moved to surround me. Faces that never fully came into focus hovered above my own, and sounds that vaguely resembled speech seemed to reach me through water. It wasn't long before I felt weak again and my eyes closed.
This fading in and out of consciousness lasted for what felt like a very long time, months even, though the doctors told me it was only a matter of days. After that, I worked on speaking and swallowing food, which seems silly, but it was impossibly tough at the time. Finally, as more and more casts were removed from me, I was allowed to sit up and turn my head, for which I was incredibly grateful.
According to my family and my girlfriend Sarah, all of whom were overjoyed at being able to speak with me, I was asleep for several days on end after the crash. I remember Sarah specifically saying she had missed being able to "stare at those beautiful eyes."
In any case, physical therapy finally escalated to the point where I could be pushed around in a wheelchair. The doctors were surprisingly hopeful that I'd be able to walk again, but it was what they called "cautious optimism." Nobody wanted to tell me I could be independent again and then have to admit they were wrong later. Obviously I was very hopeful myself, though even transferring from chair to bed was a painful challenge. It was around this time that I noticed I never dreamed anymore. When I slept, I only felt the same nothingness that I felt immediately after the crash.
All the days blended together for a while after that. The next memory I can actually separate from the rest is the first time I tried walking on my own. There were staff members holding on to my arms and waist, just in case I fell, and with their help, I made it all the way across the room on my first try. The doctors said they had never seen such a rapid recovery. I was giddy.
Obviously I wasn't out of the woods yet, but soon I was allowed to live at home again with frequent PT sessions, and some weeks after that, I returned to work. Life was almost normal for a while. Except for a very slight limp in my left leg, the side that the train hit me on, I was feeling pretty normal. It was only after about a month of living in my own house that weird things started to happen.
The first thing I noticed was that I felt an occasional stinging on my right forearm, like a thin needle was puncturing my skin. It was a tiny prick, maybe twice a day at most. I figured it was just nerve trauma or something and blocked it from my mind. Feigning ignorance was harder to do when I started hearing things, though. While I was reading in bed one night, I thought I heard Sarah crying. I strained my ears to make sure, and I definitely heard her sobs, but very distantly, like I was submerged in a pool.
I made my way downstairs quickly, concerned that she had hurt herself or something, but she was just washing dishes in the kitchen. "Are you okay?" I asked cautiously.
"Yeah, why?" She asked nonchalantly.
"No reason." I dismissed these things as best I could. After all, how could anyone expect to recover from being hit by a goddamn train without some lingering effects? Every so often, mostly when I was trying to fall asleep or sitting in a silent room, I would hear occasional sounds that I couldn't connect at first. Gradually, I determined that they were hospital sounds--stretchers being rolled across tiled floors, beeping from machines, rapid chatter between nurses and doctors.
Although I figured anyone who had suffered as much trauma as I had would experience some degree of whatever I was experiencing, I decided to bring it up with my doctor. He told me it was perfectly normal for someone in my circumstances, and he could prescribe me a sleep aid if I felt it was necessary. I told him it wasn't a big deal; I was just satisfied that a doctor could explain my symptoms.
The odd glimpses of what seemed to be my past only increased in frequency. When I slept, I finally dreamed again, but it was always the same thing. If I saw anything at all, it was a hospital room. Sometimes there were other people in the room, and sometimes I was alone with the machines.
There was one night in particular in which the dream was more vivid and gripping than usual. My eyes opened wearily to see Sarah asleep on the chair beside my hospital bed. "Sarah?" I croaked. She jerked awake.
"Henry!" She scrambled to my side, clutching my hand. At this point, it occurred to me that I was dreaming. I stared right into Sarah's eyes.
"I'm asleep right now."
She seemed concerned. "No, Henry. You're finally awake. I'm right here. It's been so long."
"Of course you would say that. You're a part of my dream." I smiled, amused. "I'll probably wake up any second." But as I spoke the familiar soreness caught up to me all at once. It practically knocked the wind from my lungs.
"Henry, no." Her distress was now evident. "I don't know what you're talking about. Stay with me, Henry. Stay awake. Look at me." I shook my head defiantly and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I was back in my own bed. It was about 3:00 in the morning. I sat awake, pondering what I had just seen. I thought I heard Sarah crying again, even though I could see her sleeping beside me.
When Sarah finally woke up, she rolled over and laid an arm across my chest. "Good morning, big guy." She smiled.
"If I was asleep right now, would you tell me?" I asked.
"What?" She laughed. "That's kinda heavy stuff to drop on a sleepy person."
"Just bear with me. If I was asleep right now--dreaming, you know--would you tell me?"
"Well, I feel pretty real," she noted, patting different parts of her body. "Do you think I'm not real?"
"Of course not," I said. We got ready for our day. I couldn't stop thinking about my dream, though. I noticed that when I tried really hard to space out at work, and listened closely enough, I could hear the hospital sounds more clearly. I was naturally concerned about this.
That night, I went to bed early, and just as I thought, I was transported immediately to the hospital bed. I felt the thin sheets beneath my fingers. I opened my eyes, and Sarah was reading a book in the same chair as before. I just looked at her for a long time, trying to discern if she was real. She certainly seemed real enough. She turned pages with the same flourish that she always had, and chewed on one of the temples of her reading glasses.
Eventually, she looked up and met my eyes. "You're awake again!" She gasped. "Victoria! Paul! He's awake!" My parents entered the room moments later, looking excited.
I talked with them all for a long time. Of course, my parents, too, denied the fact that I was asleep, but that topic passed quickly. Instead, we discussed my condition. I had been in a coma for almost three months with little response. They had been slowly losing hope for my recovery until my brain showed signs of activity. Since that time, they had been visiting me frequently, hoping that I would wake up. It seemed a pretty convincing story.
After many hours of talking, I had to stop; I was legitimately sleepy. Of course, they all understood and I fell back asleep. Only this time, I didn't wake up in my own bed. I woke up in the same hospital bed a few hours later. I had to think about it for a very long time, but eventually concluded that I must have imagined my miraculous recovery, and had been in a coma the whole time after all.
Since then, I have been making a second recovery, which has been slower and less successful than the first. That's why, for a long time, I was mostly convinced that I'm really awake this time. Nobody walks after getting blindsided by a train, at least not without lots of hard work. I've still only left my wheelchair on crutches, and it's been six years.
It probably sounds like a bittersweet ending, and at one point I agreed. I was prepared to live happily-ever-after in my wheelchair, and maybe even graduate to crutches someday, except for one thing. When I'm getting ready for bed, after I turn off my lamp and my head hits the pillow, I can still hear them; the faint sounds of a busy hospital.
I know that many of you will say "But I'm real. This is real life. Of course you're awake." But that's what you're supposed to say. Nobody's going to tell me "I'm fake. You're dreaming, wake up." I'm still asleep, and I've learned to deal with it. I know that nobody I meet during the day is real, but I'm tired, so I just pretend, and that will have to do.
hanggang ngayon hindi ko parin alam ang tunog ng ipis

Offline DiMarzSiao™

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #9 on: May 26, 2012, 12:48:15 AM »
anyone familiar with the "Bongcheon Dong Ghost" ?

if not.., here's the story:

http://comic.naver.com/webtoon/detail.nhn?titleId=350217&no=31&weekday=tue

← ʍɐʎıɥ

Offline Riff_6603

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #10 on: May 26, 2012, 03:29:59 PM »
anyone familiar with the "Bongcheon Dong Ghost" ?

if not.., here's the story:

http://comic.naver.com/webtoon/detail.nhn?titleId=350217&no=31&weekday=tue

it's in korean pero panalo yung paglingon nung ghost! didn't know it was animated haha!:-o

Offline pedaldeaf3

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #11 on: May 27, 2012, 11:01:41 AM »
it's in korean pero panalo yung paglingon nung ghost! didn't know it was animated haha!:-o

Madami nang na-biktima ng hayup na comic na yan sir riff... :cry:

Still, I wish they made more comics like these... :-D
God is the mighty "RAK" of my salvation "EN" he want's me to "ROL" forward & follow him...

Offline gandydancer123

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #12 on: May 27, 2012, 11:21:10 AM »
in ganda nito ah!
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PEDALS & ACCESSORIES FOR SALE
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Offline Santo Muerte

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #13 on: May 29, 2012, 03:06:00 AM »
moar yummy creepypasta!

The Russian Sleep Experiment

Russian researchers in the late 1940s kept five people awake for fifteen days using an experimental gas based stimulant. They were kept in a sealed environment to carefully monitor their oxygen intake so the gas didn’t kill them, since it was toxic in high concentrations. This was before closed circuit cameras so they had only microphones and 5 inch thick glass porthole sized windows into the chamber to monitor them. The chamber was stocked with books, cots to sleep on but no bedding, running water and toilet, and enough dried food to last all five for over a month.

The test subjects were political prisoners deemed enemies of the state during World War II.

Everything was fine for the first five days; the subjects hardly complained having been promised (falsely) that they would be freed if they submitted to the test and did not sleep for 30 days. Their conversations and activities were monitored and it was noted that they continued to talk about increasingly traumatic incidents in their past, and the general tone of their conversations took on a darker aspect after the 4 day mark.

After five days they started to complain about the circumstances and events that lead them to where they were and started to demonstrate severe paranoia. They stopped talking to each other and began alternately whispering to the microphones and one way mirrored portholes. Oddly they all seemed to think they could win the trust of the experimenters by turning over their comrades, the other subjects in captivity with them. At first the researchers suspected this was an effect of the gas itself…

After nine days the first of them started screaming. He ran the length of the chamber repeatedly yelling at the top of his lungs for 3 hours straight, he continued attempting to scream but was only able to produce occasional squeaks. The researchers postulated that he had physically torn his vocal cords. The most surprising thing about this behavior is how the other captives reacted to it… or rather didn’t react to it. They continued whispering to the microphones until the second of the captives started to scream. The 2 non-screaming captives took the books apart, smeared page after page with their own feces and pasted them calmly over the glass portholes. The screaming promptly stopped.

So did the whispering to the microphones.

After 3 more days passed. The researchers checked the microphones hourly to make sure they were working, since they thought it impossible that no sound could be coming with 5 people inside. The oxygen consumption in the chamber indicated that all 5 must still be alive. In fact it was the amount of oxygen 5 people would consume at a very heavy level of strenuous exercise. On the morning of the 14th day the researchers did something they said they would not do to get a reaction from the captives, they used the intercom inside the chamber, hoping to provoke any response from the captives they were afraid were either dead or vegetables.

They announced: “We are opening the chamber to test the microphones step away from the door and lie flat on the floor or you will be shot. Compliance will earn one of you your immediate freedom.”

To their surprise they heard a single phrase in a calm voice response: “We no longer want to be freed.”

Debate broke out among the researchers and the military forces funding the research. Unable to provoke any more response using the intercom it was finally decided to open the chamber at midnight on the fifteenth day.

The chamber was flushed of the stimulant gas and filled with fresh air and immediately voices from the microphones began to object. 3 different voices began begging, as if pleading for the life of loved ones to turn the gas back on. The chamber was opened and soldiers sent in to retrieve the test subjects. They began to scream louder than ever, and so did the soldiers when they saw what was inside. Four of the five subjects were still alive, although no one could rightly call the state that any of them in ‘life.’

The food rations past day 5 had not been so much as touched. There were chunks of meat from the dead test subject’s thighs and chest stuffed into the drain in the center of the chamber, blocking the drain and allowing 4 inches of water to accumulate on the floor. Precisely how much of the water on the floor was actually blood was never determined. All four ‘surviving’ test subjects also had large portions of muscle and skin torn away from their bodies. The destruction of flesh and exposed bone on their finger tips indicated that the wounds were inflicted by hand, not with teeth as the researchers initially thought. Closer examination of the position and angles of the wounds indicated that most if not all of them were self-inflicted.

The abdominal organs below the ribcage of all four test subjects had been removed. While the heart, lungs and diaphragm remained in place, the skin and most of the muscles attached to the ribs had been ripped off, exposing the lungs through the ribcage. All the blood vessels and organs remained intact, they had just been taken out and laid on the floor, fanning out around the eviscerated but still living bodies of the subjects. The digestive tract of all four could be seen to be working, digesting food. It quickly became apparent that what they were digesting was their own flesh that they had ripped off and eaten over the course of days.

Most of the soldiers were Russian special operatives at the facility, but still many refused to return to the chamber to remove the test subjects. They continued to scream to be left in the chamber and alternately begged and demanded that the gas be turned back on, lest they fall asleep…

To everyone’s surprise the test subjects put up a fierce fight in the process of being removed from the chamber. One of the Russian soldiers died from having his throat ripped out, another was gravely injured by having his testicles ripped off and an artery in his leg severed by one of the subject’s teeth. Another 5 of the soldiers lost their lives if you count ones that committed suicide in the weeks following the incident.

In the struggle one of the four living subjects had his spleen ruptured and he bled out almost immediately. The medical researchers attempted to sedate him but this proved impossible. He was injected with more than ten times the human dose of a morphine derivative and still fought like a cornered animal, breaking the ribs and arm of one doctor. When heart was seen to beat for a full two minutes after he had bled out to the point there was more air in his vascular system than blood. Even after it stopped he continued to scream and flail for another 3 minutes, struggling to attack anyone in reach and just repeating the word “MORE” over and over, weaker and weaker, until he finally fell silent.

The surviving three test subjects were heavily restrained and moved to a medical facility, the two with intact vocal cords continuously begging for the gas demanding to be kept awake…

The most injured of the three was taken to the only surgical operating room that the facility had. In the process of preparing the subject to have his organs placed back within his body it was found that he was effectively immune to the sedative they had given him to prepare him for the surgery. He fought furiously against his restraints when the anesthetic gas was brought out to put him under. He managed to tear most of the way through a 4 inch wide leather strap on one wrist, even through the weight of a 200 pound soldier holding that wrist as well. It took only a little more anesthetic than normal to put him under, and the instant his eyelids fluttered and closed, his heart stopped. In the autopsy of the test subject that died on the operating table it was found that his blood had triple the normal level of oxygen. His muscles that were still attached to his skeleton were badly torn and he had broken 9 bones in his struggle to not be subdued. Most of them were from the force his own muscles had exerted on them.

The second survivor had been the first of the group of five to start screaming. His vocal cords destroyed he was unable to beg or object to surgery, and he only reacted by shaking his head violently in disapproval when the anesthetic gas was brought near him. He shook his head yes when someone suggested, reluctantly, they try the surgery without anesthetic, and did not react for the entire 6 hour procedure of replacing his abdominal organs and attempting to cover them with what remained of his skin. The surgeon presiding stated repeatedly that it should be medically possible for the patient to still be alive. One terrified nurse assisting the surgery stated that she had seen the patients mouth curl into a smile several times, whenever his eyes met hers.

When the surgery ended the subject looked at the surgeon and began to wheeze loudly, attempting to talk while struggling. Assuming this must be something of drastic importance the surgeon had a pen and pad fetched so the patient could write his message. It was simple. “Keep cutting.”

The other two test subjects were given the same surgery, both without anesthetic as well. Although they had to be injected with a paralytic for the duration of the operation. The surgeon found it impossible to perform the operation while the patients laughed continuously. Once paralyzed the subjects could only follow the attending researchers with their eyes. The paralytic cleared their system in an abnormally short period of time and they were soon trying to escape their bonds. The moment they could speak they were again asking for the stimulant gas. The researchers tried asking why they had injured themselves, why they had ripped out their own guts and why they wanted to be given the gas again.

Only one response was given: “I must remain awake.”

All three subject’s restraints were reinforced and they were placed back into the chamber awaiting determination as to what should be done with them. The researchers, facing the wrath of their military ‘benefactors’ for having failed the stated goals of their project considered euthanizing the surviving subjects. The commanding officer, an ex-KGB instead saw potential, and wanted to see what would happen if they were put back on the gas. The researchers strongly objected, but were overruled.

In preparation for being sealed in the chamber again the subjects were connected to an EEG monitor and had their restraints padded for long term confinement. To everyone’s surprise all three stopped struggling the moment it was let slip that they were going back on the gas. It was obvious that at this point all three were putting up a great struggle to stay awake. One of subjects that could speak was humming loudly and continuously; the mute subject was straining his legs against the leather bonds with all his might, first left, then right, then left again for something to focus on. The remaining subject was holding his head off his pillow and blinking rapidly. Having been the first to be wired for EEG most of the researchers were monitoring his brain waves in surprise. They were normal most of the time but sometimes flat lined inexplicably. It looked as if he were repeatedly suffering brain death, before returning to normal. As they focused on paper scrolling out of the brainwave monitor only one nurse saw his eyes slip shut at the same moment his head hit the pillow. His brainwaves immediately changed to that of deep sleep, then flatlined for the last time as his heart simultaneously stopped.

The only remaining subject that could speak started screaming to be sealed in now. His brainwaves showed the same flatlines as one who had just died from falling asleep. The commander gave the order to seal the chamber with both subjects inside, as well as 3 researchers. One of the named three immediately drew his gun and shot the commander point blank between the eyes, then turned the gun on the mute subject and blew his brains out as well.

He pointed his gun at the remaining subject, still restrained to a bed as the remaining members of the medical and research team fled the room. “I won’t be locked in here with these things! Not with you!” he screamed at the man strapped to the table. “WHAT ARE YOU?” he demanded. “I must know!”

The subject smiled.

“Have you forgotten so easily?” The subject asked. “We are you. We are the madness that lurks within you all, begging to be free at every moment in your deepest animal mind. We are what you hide from in your beds every night. We are what you sedate into silence and paralysis when you go to the nocturnal haven where we cannot tread.”

The researcher paused. Then aimed at the subject’s heart and fired. The EEG flatlined as the subject weakly choked out, “So… nearly… free…”


Offline Santo Muerte

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #14 on: May 29, 2012, 03:14:43 AM »
Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv

There is a video on YouTube named “Mereana mordegard glesgorv”. If you search this, you will find nothing. The few times you find something, all you will see is a 20 second video of a man staring intently at you, expressionless, then grinning for the last two seconds. The background is undefined. This is only part of the actual video.

The full video lasts two minutes, and was removed by YouTube after 153 people who viewed the video gouged out their eyes and mailed them to YouTube’s main office in San Bruno. Said people had also committed suicide in various ways. It is not yet known how they managed to mail their eyes after gouging them out. And the cryptic inscription they carve on their forearms has not yet been deciphered.

YouTube will periodically put up the first 20 seconds of the video to quell suspicions, so that people will not go look for the real thing and upload it. The video itself was only viewed by one YouTube staff member, who started screaming after 45 seconds. This man is under constant sedatives and is apparently unable to recall what he saw. The other people who were in the same room as him while he viewed it and turned off the video for him say that all they could hear was a high pitched drilling sound. None of them dared look at the screen.

The person who uploaded the video was never found, the IP address being nonexistent. And the man on the video has never been identified.


Offline gandydancer123

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #15 on: May 29, 2012, 08:38:14 AM »
Quote
haha [apple]. kinikilabutan ako ngayon. [ice cream]. HAHAHA astig!


hahahaha eto din una kong nabasa.kaya nagustuhan ko tong thread na ito..
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Offline Riff_6603

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #16 on: May 29, 2012, 09:50:54 PM »
Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv

There is a video on YouTube named “Mereana mordegard glesgorv”. If you search this, you will find nothing. The few times you find something, all you will see is a 20 second video of a man staring intently at you, expressionless, then grinning for the last two seconds. The background is undefined. This is only part of the actual video.

The full video lasts two minutes, and was removed by YouTube after 153 people who viewed the video gouged out their eyes and mailed them to YouTube’s main office in San Bruno. Said people had also committed suicide in various ways. It is not yet known how they managed to mail their eyes after gouging them out. And the cryptic inscription they carve on their forearms has not yet been deciphered.

YouTube will periodically put up the first 20 seconds of the video to quell suspicions, so that people will not go look for the real thing and upload it. The video itself was only viewed by one YouTube staff member, who started screaming after 45 seconds. This man is under constant sedatives and is apparently unable to recall what he saw. The other people who were in the same room as him while he viewed it and turned off the video for him say that all they could hear was a high pitched drilling sound. None of them dared look at the screen.

The person who uploaded the video was never found, the IP address being nonexistent. And the man on the video has never been identified.

additional info c/o Wikipedia

"The man was identified as a guy named Mike Shemrihen from West Coast, USA. He went to Indonesia to record paranormal videos, because his curiosity of his friend stories. Eventually he never actually come back, and either there is a proof that he enters Indonesia. Only 3 weeks after his disappearance, the video of his was uploaded."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/User:KyleGates/Mereana_Mordegard_Glesgorv

Offline marzi

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #17 on: May 31, 2012, 12:39:46 AM »
^has anyone here tried viewing that video?
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Offline dudeofdude

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #18 on: May 31, 2012, 12:51:17 AM »
creepy overload
hanggang ngayon hindi ko parin alam ang tunog ng ipis

Offline Riff_6603

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #19 on: May 31, 2012, 01:00:42 AM »
^has anyone here tried viewing that video?

tried the 20 sec vid. it ain't that scary though weird and creepy yung feeling. parang ikaw yung pinapanood niya. I don't get scared easily pero seriously weird talaga pakiramdam kahit nasa office ako nanood at madaming tao. still got my eyes though! :-D

Offline gandydancer123

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #20 on: May 31, 2012, 01:01:02 AM »
Quote
^has anyone here tried viewing that video?


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! WALA PA!!!
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Offline Riff_6603

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #21 on: May 31, 2012, 01:12:56 AM »
for those interested (and willing to risk), here's the 2:36 video. pinatry ko sa IT guy namin, the lil' bugger got creeped out. still got his eyes though.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ovwg9fcQMPU
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xf6Geh82vXg
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pp2UY5yvnJo&feature=related

word of advise: red talaga yung screen niyan. if you saw it in another version, then...

EDIT: added more links for the "haunted video". enjoy!
« Last Edit: May 31, 2012, 05:51:12 AM by Riff_6603 »

Offline marzi

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #22 on: May 31, 2012, 03:30:41 AM »
hehe im thinking its another urban legend.

but for the interested, i think the safest way to view it without losing your eyes is to turn off the audio of your pc. the drilling sound as described above may be one of those mind tuning sounds(binaural sounds) that people use to tune up their brain for something.or maybe you can just stare at one portion of the screen(nose, between eyebrows, etc). after nun, balik kayo dito to brag  :-D

try ko yun 20 sec clip mamya pag uwi.
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Offline Riff_6603

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #23 on: May 31, 2012, 03:45:10 AM »
hehe im thinking its another urban legend.

but for the interested, i think the safest way to view it without losing your eyes is to turn off the audio of your pc. the drilling sound as described above may be one of those mind tuning sounds(binaural sounds) that people use to tune up their brain for something.or maybe you can just stare at one portion of the screen(nose, between eyebrows, etc). after nun, balik kayo dito to brag  :-D

try ko yun 20 sec clip mamya pag uwi.

the whole thing is an urban legend. it's just that the video itself is weird or at most borderline creepy. just don't let your imagination screw you up, it could do you worse than the supposed curse - mind you guys..

btw, IT guy here at the office keeps hearing the drilling sound kahit na naka-ipod daw siya. I told him it's just his active mind playing tricks. or is it..

Offline marzi

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Re: Creepypasta/Nosleep
« Reply #24 on: May 31, 2012, 04:00:44 AM »
the whole thing is an urban legend. it's just that the video itself is weird or at most borderline creepy. just don't let your imagination screw you up, it could do you worse than the supposed curse - mind you guys..

btw, IT guy here at the office keeps hearing the drilling sound kahit na naka-ipod daw siya. I told him it's just his active mind playing tricks. or is it..

tama.dahil kung totoo nga naman eh mawawala na yan sa youtoobs servers.still bothered with the binaural background though.ive tried mindfreek and some other apps in ipod na supposed to help you sleep, memorize stuff and be super active at times na antukin ka na. some of them work lalo na yung pampatulog.if this video contains binaural sounds that programs your brain to be psychotic, then lol.
I turn myself into a monster to fight against the monsters of the world.

Earth Crisis - Nemesis