Favourite creepypastas?

[duhherro]

My favs are...


Evaporation -

Water.

Water is the cornerstone of life. It nourishes us, irrigates our crops and waters our livestock. Water is vital for all known forms of life. We rely on it to wash our cars, clean our food and produce our power. It has an effect on almost every activity in everyday life. Without it, civilisation would cease to function. Governments would collapse, crippled by an undefeatable enemy – drought. It would be a matter of days – no longer than a week – before every living being on Earth perished. In short, we cannot live without water.

Two days ago, we were forced to begin doing just that.

I don’t know how it began. Nobody left alive does. During the initial hours of it, theories ranged from the barely plausible, like a new form of greenhouse gas, to the ridiculous, such as a new type of light, one that only evaporated water. I remember those hours fondly – the true enormity of what had happened had not yet sunk in and hysteria had not yet clutched the human race.

What happened?

I’ll put it simply.

The first was that every single drop of freshwater on the entire planet evaporated instantly.

I don’t think I can do this event justice, but I’ll try.

Can you imagine every single river, every single lake, every single natural source of water drying up instantly, without rational explanation? I doubt you can, but that’s exactly what happened. It wasn’t restricted to natural sources, either. As far as I can tell, all the bottled water in the world also evaporated, as did that in water tanks and other similar sources. It also disappeared from other substances, including soft drinks, creating foul sugar compounds that would make those that consumed it quite ill. There was not a single drop of freshwater left anywhere on Earth for anybody to drink.

But by far the worst result of the lack of water was the nuclear reactors.

Without pressurised water, most of the nuclear reactors in the entire world – those that utilise purified water as coolant – had no available sources of coolant, and just under half of these had poor or untested failsafe plans. The resulting effect of this led to catastrophic nuclear meltdown in roughly 46% of water-cooled reactors. The world, already reeling from the unprecedented situation, fell into total anarchy.
International communication ceased after almost exactly twenty-four hours after it began.

But there was a second effect.

The saltwater poisoning.

Many people flocked to desalination plants in the first few hours, hoping for salvation.

They found none.

At approximately the same time as the worldwide evaporation, saline increased by fivefold in every sea or ocean on Earth. Desalination plants were able to cope with this load for approximately twenty hours. Then, fuel began to run low – and with the imminent collapse of civilisation thanks to the multiple nuclear catastrophes, no more was delivered. Thus, the last ever drop of freshwater on Earth was pumped out no later than midnight yesterday.

After the drought came the collapse.

With no water available, civilisation soon descended into anarchy. Governments, typical of authority to the very end, tried maintaining order. It didn’t work. Soldiers rebelled, shooting rioters and runners alike. Those who didn’t die were brutally executed moments after. They turned on each other soon enough, with only a few militaries intact from the carnage. The deserters fled, unwilling to stay and watch the extinction of Earth.

But then came the worst, far worse than anything before it.

There was, in fact, one source of water that hadn’t been touched.

I’m so lucky I realised before anyone else in my town.

It was blood.

Blood, which is over 90% water, was the only remaining liquid fit to drink.

And so some did.

At first, I didn’t believe it. It was too horrific.

Animals went first. The desperate drank the blood of cats, dogs, pets and feral animals of all kinds. Many offered too little blood to be of any value. The situation was made worse by the fact that I live in a rather large metropolitan city and beyond domesticated pets and the odd feral animal, there was no animals to catch and drink from. Perhaps those in the country fared better – I have no way of finding out, and frankly I don’t really care.

I knew then that humans were the only other option.

I first saw it twelve hours ago.

An elderly man, dressed in nothing but a torn dressing gown, slowly made his way down the street that ran in front of my house. He called for help desperately, croaking out that his entire nursing home was dead or dying, that the nurses had fled and that he was looking for help. He was so pitiful that I almost opened my door, if only to offer him some respite from the midday sun, and some of my sparse rations.

If I had been a second faster, I would not be writing this.

Before I could open the door, three people – two men and a woman – pounced from the shadow of a nearby tree. The poor old bastard had no chance. They leapt upon him, frenzied in their dehydration, and set on him with makeshift tools. It was the most terrifying spectacle of my entire life. One of the men had a hammer – he set about bashing the man’s joints in, one by one. Crack. Crack. Crack. I retched bile each time the hammer slammed into bone, so sickening was the crunch. The other had a gardening hoe. He hovered above the elderly man, bringing the makeshift weapon down once, twice. The tool cut through the man’s ankles like a knife through a steak.

The metaphor made me vomit. After I did, I looked back, if only to satisfy my own growing horror.

Oh, how I wish I hadn’t.

The woman, who was weaponless save for her own two hands, had straddled the man’s chest. Her hands were spread on the screaming man’s face as her own companions butchered him. Then, even as I watched, she dug her thumbs into his eyes. He howled like nothing I had ever heard before. She dug harder, pushing inwards and outwards simultaneously. When they were pulled free, blood and some even less discernible liquid splattered all over her. She grabbed them and ate them like fruit. I could hear the chewing sounds from my door. They bent to consume the precious blood and I turned away.

I call them the Drinkers.

There’s one thing I want to make very clear about them. They aren’t zombies. Nor are they affected by some external force that forces them to drink the blood of humans, such as a virus or disease. They are entirely human. I suspect that dehydration affects them worse than it does others and this forces them to drink from humans in a form of pseudo-cannibalism or perish. They represent the dark side of humanity. The Drinkers also seem to recognise each other through some subtle signal. Not being a Drinker, I wouldn’t know it.

As fast as I possibly could, I took my meagre supplies, some small comforts, this journal and my .357 Desert Eagle up into my bedroom. I pushed the bed against the door with my rapidly fading strength and piled furniture on it. The Desert Eagle has a full clip of seven, and I have one spare. Enough for thirteen Drinkers and – well, I’m sure you can imagine.

—

Another six hours have passed. I can really feel the dehydration now. My tongue feels numb and my skin feels like sandpaper. I tried to eat some bread before and I almost choked, with no saliva to moisten my throat. Now I’m hungry as well as thirsty. I don’t even know why I’ve kept writing this. Maybe it’s something to occupy me during the final hours of mankind. Maybe I hold some hope that a solution will be found and somebody in the future will read this and remember what it was like. Maybe I’m just delusional.

—

It’s getting worse. I’m breathing heavily and becoming more and more lethargic. This room feels like a sauna. I can almost see the heatwaves bouncing across the room, becoming more and more intense until I am literally cooked alive. It’s not a pleasant vision. My pen keeps slipping from the page as I suffer random bursts of weakness. I’m scared I won’t even be able to pull the trigger if the time comes.

—

I’m so terribly thirsty. The last time I urinated it burned. I haven’t defecated for a long time now. My vision’s fading in and out and my head feels like it’s going to split open from the intense pressure inside. My skin is so dry and leathery. I know I’m dying, but I’ve still got the Desert Eagle. Maybe I should kill myself before I lose the strength to do so. God knows it’s better than dehydrating to death or letting the Drinkers get me.

—

so thirsty
its dark and i’ve lost the gun
vision almost gone
so THIRSTY
i’m going mad
i’m dying
wait
what’s that
so thirsty
somebody’s knocking at the door
they want to be let in
they say the drinkers are coming
should i
i don’t know
maybe i’ll go get a drink.
i’m so thirsty.

[Special At Specialist]

Great story! Very well written! What happened at the end? Did he turn to cannibalism and drink the visitor? Did he maintain his integrity and die of starvation? Or did he shoot himself to end it all at once?

[duhherro]

Great story! Very well written! What happened at the end? Did he turn to cannibalism and drink the visitor? Did he maintain his integrity and die of starvation? Or did he shoot himself to end it all at once?

Thats why its better to leave it with that kind of ending. Although, it does imply he turns into cannibalism :/



Another one..



The Girl in the Photograph

One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until school let out. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.
His desk was next to the window, and he turned and looked to the grass outside. It looked like a picture. When school was over, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.
He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.
She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said “No.” He was devastated.
When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said “No.” It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.
The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, “Sorry, no.” When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said “No.” He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.
Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when he was suddenly hit by a car. He died instantly, picture in hand.
The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. He saw the picture and picked it up.
He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.

[Special At Specialist]

Ooh, so each finger represents another victim? Another good story! Where do you get these all from?

[duhherro]

Ooh, so each finger represents another victim? Another good story! Where do you get these all from?

Yeah that is right. Uhh, I get them off another forum I go to. Just read them when I'm bored . Great way to pass time hehe



Masterpiece

I've been lying in my room for hours now. It's 5:30 am and there's not much I can do. You know what the worst part of my situation is? I'm in the same room with my parents. They keep looking at me, and I can't help but not look back and try not to cry or scream.

Their eyes are focused on me and their mouths are wide open. There's a strong scent of blood and I feel so paralyzed with fear. Here's the thing. The second I make any hint that I'm not asleep anymore, I'm screwed. I'll die, and there's nobody around to save me. I've been trying to think of a way out, but the only idea I have is to rush for the door, run outside, and scream for help, hoping any neighbors hear me. It's risky, but if I stay here, I'll surely die.

He's waiting for me to wake up and see his masterpiece. You're probably wondering what's going on. I do get ahead of myself sometimes. About three hours ago I heard screaming from the other side of the house. I got up and went to check the noise before I realized I had to use the restroom.

Instead of doing the smart, noble thing and investigating, I used the bathroom first. I could have gotten myself killed right then for my stupid actions. But I actually did my business and took a peek outside the bathroom. There was blood on the carpet. As any other sane human would do, I bolted back to my room, hiding under my sheets like the scaredy I was. I tried to convince myself to go back to sleep, and that this was just some weird, vivid dream or something. But I heard my bedroom door creak open, and like the terrified child I was, I peeked out from under my blankets to see what was going on.

I could see something dragging my parents into the room, obviously dead. It was not human, I can tell you that much. It was hairless, with no eyes and no clothing. It walked like a caveman, with its back slouched as it dragged my dead parents. But this thing was smarter than any caveman.

It propped my father against the edge of the bed, and made him face me. It then sat my mother down in the chair and positioned her towards me as well. Then, it started rubbing it's hands along the walls, staining it with blood. This thing had made what it would probably call a masterpiece.

To finish it off, it scrambled a message onto the wall that I could not read in the darkness. It then positioned itself under my bed, waiting to strike.

The scariest thing now is, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and since then, I can read the message on the wall. I don't want to look at, because it's terrifying to think about, but I feel I need to see before I'm killed.

I peek at the creatures masterpiece.

'I know you're awake.'


Fingerprints

While brushing your teeth in the evening, you catch a glimpse of your wall mirror, covered in fingerprints.

Annoyed, you grab a towel and rub at them. They remain.

Upon closer inspection, you realize that they seem to be on the other side of the glass.



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.


Bogey-Man

My closet door slowly creeks open and out slips the monster that has terrorized me for the past week. It slowly crawls on the floor, extending its twisted, broken limbs one at a time. In the twilight I can make out its naked, pale, translucent body twitching with blood pressure. I think it believes I am asleep as it makes no attempt to silence its labored breathing. I can hear its salvia drip to the floor as it takes ragged deep breaths thick with mucus. It draws near my bed now and I feel its hand grab onto the mattress as it attempts to pull itself up from the floor.

I examine the hand in paralyzed horror, taking in every detail. It resembles a human hand on the most basic level, but it only has three fingers, each of them bony and twisted. The nails are hardened and thick; they have the retched smell of blood meal on them. Its face suddenly jolts into view and I quickly shut my eyes. I saw its face though. Its nose is grossly elongated, and it is missing the lower half of its jaw. Its head is too tall for its face. Veins run through the entirety of its pale face, pumping dark red blood.

In the artificial darkness behind my eyes, I try to pretend it’s not there, but I can feel its wet breath on my face. I listen to its breathing for what felt like an hour. It suddenly stops. I cautiously open my eyes, expecting the welcoming sight of an empty room. The thing is an inch from my face, staring at me with its black souless eyes. It attempts to form a sentence. I cringe as I hear it garble,

“Glad you’re awake, we're going to have so much fun.”


White With Red

One day, a man on a business trip checked into his motel. The receptionist was nice enough when she told him that his room was number 14, but suddenly got very serious. Deadly serious. She told the man to not go in room 13. The man, now baffled, agreed and went to his room.

On his way to his room, curiosity overwhelmed him and he decided to look through the keyhole in the door of room 13. After all, there wasn't any harm, he figured. When he looked through, all he saw was the back of woman with pale white skin. The man decided that was enough and went to his room.

The next day, as he went to check out, he decided to look through the keyhole again. This time, all he saw was red. He assumed she had seen him and put something red over the hole, so he walked away. This decision saved his life.

When he got to the desk, the woman behind it saw the look on his face, and said "you looked through the keyhole, didn't you?"

He nodded. She sighed and said "That room is haunted, one day a man and his wife checked into that room, and the man murdered the wife. But there was something different about these people: they were white all over except for their eyes, because their eyes were completely red."


Bad Dream

"Daddy, I had a bad dream."

You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness—it's 3:23.

"Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"

"No, Daddy."

The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not, sweetie?"

"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."

For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.


Genetic Memory

Many classic horror icons, such as Geger’s xenomorphs, Silent Hill’s Pyramid Head, and other disturbing creatures, share common characteristics. Pale skin, dark, sunken eyes, elongated faces, sharp teeth, and the like. These images inspire horror and revulsion in many, and with good reason. The characteristics shared by these faces are imprinted in the human mind.

Many things frighten humans instinctively. The fear is natural, and does not need to be reinforced in order to terrify. The fears are species-wide, stemming from dark times in the past when lightning could mean the burning of your tree home, thunder could be the approaching gallops of a stampede, predators could hide in darkness, and heights could make poor footing lethal.

The question you have to ask yourself is this:

What happened, deep in the hidden eras before history began, that could effect the entire human race so evenly as to give the entire species a deep, instinctual, and lasting fear of pale beings with dark, sunken eyes, razor sharp teeth, and elongated faces?

… Just be careful out there.


The Tape

During the summer of 1983, in a quiet town near Minneapolis, Minnesota, the charred body of a woman was found inside the kitchen stove of a small farmhouse. A video camera was also found in the kitchen, standing on a tripod and pointing at the oven. No tape was found inside the camera at the time.

Although the scene was originally labeled as a homicide by police, an unmarked VHS tape was later discovered at the bottom of the farm’s well (which had apparently dried up earlier that year).

Despite its worn condition, and the fact that it contained no audio, police were still able to view the contents of the tape. It depicted a woman recording herself in front of a video camera (seemingly using the same camera the police found in the kitchen). After positioning the camera to include both her and her kitchen stove in the image, the tape then showed her turning on the oven, opening the door, crawling inside, and then closing the door behind her. Eight minutes into the video, the oven could be seen shaking violently, after which point thick black smoke could be seen emanating from it. For the remaining 45 minutes of video, until the batteries in the camera died, it remained in its stationary position.

To avoid disturbing the local community, police never released any information about the tape, or even the fact that it was found. Police were also not able to determine who put the tape in the well, or why the height and stature of the woman in the video didn’t come close to matching the body they’d found in the oven.


The Answering Machine

It's early morning. The sun won't be up for another couple of hours. You're fast asleep in bed, lost in a dream, when the phone rings. Rather than waking up, you roll over and cover your head with a pillow.

Hours pass. The sun rises.

The phone is ringing.

When you wake up, your alarm clock is blaring and the phone is ringing. By the time you will yourself to turn the alarm off, the phone has stopped ringing. You realize that it's been ringing all morning.

You slide out of bed and press the blinking red button on your phone as you stumble into the bathroom. The phone beeps, followed by the friendly, electronic voice.

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

Screaming.

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

The phone beeps again. You're shaking.

Message two.