Anyone up for CreepyPasta?

[Sergey]

In a dilapidated office building somewhere in Connecticut is one of the few elevators in the Western world that has a button labeled â??13â?² amongst its choices of floors. If you enter after midnight, crawling through the loosely boarded up window on the South side of the building, you will find the elevator doors standing open, with soft florescent lighting and muzak spilling from it, even though nothing else in the whole of the building seems to have power.

You can, if you choose, pick through the debris of raucous teenaged parties and office meetings past. The path seems to be mostly cleared through the broken, dirty, stained and vintage office furniture and burned out joints, cigarettes and crushed beer cans, all the way to the light in the door.

All of the buttons work in the elevator, and will take you to its designated floorâ??despite the creaking of the cablesâ??though there seems to be a layer of grime on their plastic covers. All but the button labeled â??13â?², which seems to glow brightly.

No oneâ??s quite sure if that one goes to the thirteenth floor. But thereâ??s a story about a group of high school teenagers who had a party after their prom there, in the early nineties. A dare was made, and four of them piled into the rickety elevator, taking it to the thirteenth floor. When they came back down again, they were pale and shaking, but all of them swore theyâ??d seen nothing more than a normal office floor, covered in dust and shadows. Two of them died in an accident on the car ride home that night. Another, three weeks later, took a bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet, climbed into a hot bath, slit her wrists and dropped her hair dryer into the water with her. The fourth disappeared from the face of the planet two months later. None of them said anything of what theyâ??d seen on the thirteenth level of the building, and when asked, would only ascertain (loudly, if necessary) that nothing had happened.

But you can, if you so choose, crawl in through the window and see for yourself.

[Sergey]

On the last day of every month, close the blinds or curtains before you sleep. If in the middle of the night, you hear a tapping noise at your window, donâ??t open your eyes.

If youâ??re one of the unlucky ones, youâ??ll hear that pebble sound at your window. Itâ??s not a friend; just keep your eyes shut. The sound will get louder, the tapping will get faster and faster. Donâ??t let your curiosity get the better of you; donâ??t move. Itâ??ll lose its patience, itâ??ll start thumping the window. Your window will shake and shudder and the noises will only get louder. It will furiously pound the window and shake the panes; donâ??t worry, the window wonâ??t break but for goodnessâ?? sake, DONâ??T OPEN YOUR EYES. No matter how scared you are, no matter how badly you want to scream, pretend like you donâ??t hear, pretend youâ??re still asleep.

After a while, the noises will stop. Donâ??t fall for it, keep your eyes shut. Try to sleep if you can. Donâ??t get up, donâ??t open your eyes, until the sun comes up.

Those who do open their eyesâ?¦well, no one really knows what happens.

[Sergey]

Go to any high traffic bathroom. It must be a high traffic bathroom; otherwise the room wonâ??t have enough latent residual energy to carry out the task. A hotel bathroom is perfect. Make sure itâ??s after 12pm, and make sure you have 2 clove cigarettes. The stronger the cigarette, the higher your success rate is. Sit in the dark and begin smoking one of the cigarettes. Make sure there is a mirror present, and that you look at your reflection at all times. The burning cherry should provide just enough light for this. When youâ??ve smoked the cigarette within a 1/4 in of the filter, the room should be full of smoke. Your eyes will no doubt be watering, but donâ??t blink. Donâ??t take your eyes off of the mirror or your reflection whatever you do. To blink will make all youâ??ve done at this point for naught.

Youâ??ll begin to notice that your reflection will begin to fade into black. The reflection of the cherry from your cigarette will begin to separate into two red eyes. The smoke in the room will begin to condense, and before you even realize itâ??s happened, a shade will be sitting on the ledge of the sink. Heâ??ll ask you for a cigarette, which is why youâ??re instructed to bring two. Give the shade a cigarette, which will light itself once he brings it to his withered lips. At this point, you can ask the shade any question you want, and heâ??ll answer true. You can ask who shot JFK, who was Jack the Ripper. Anything you could possibly think of. Be sure to keep an eye on how much of the cigarette heâ??s smoked. When it gets to the point where it will only take a few more hits to kill it, the smoke from the other cigarette will begin to define more of his features, making him more material than ethereal.

At this point, stand up and snatch out his eyes in one sweeping motion. He should still be mostly smoke, so your hands should pass easily through his head. If you let him finish the cigarette he WILL attack you, almost surely taking your life in the process. The shade will begin screaming and cursing you and the hand holding his eyes will be burning intensely. DO NOT OPEN YOUR HAND! Even though the eyes are disembodied, they can see if they are out in the open. Run to the light switch and flip it on. This will banish the shades physical form and send him back into the ether. Leave the room and wait until 3:00 am to open your hand. The burning will be unbearable until then, but to do so will blow all the lights out in your house, allowing the shade to return and seek vengeance. You will have 4 burn marks on your palm when you open it. All cauterized of course, and mostly healed.

From then on you can never be in a dark room with a mirror, because the shade will be able to track you through the burns in your hand. Heâ??ll have black hell dogs now, given his loss of sight, and they are far more terrible than the shade could ever be. The number of hell dogs depends on the strength of the shade you made contact with. After this, youâ??ll always be cold, no matter how warm it is, and youâ??ll be given the ability to perform minor miracles. Your dreams will always be nightmares, but in them, you will be granted a kind of third sight. Youâ??ll never be able to see anything good, only the most horrific future events. And these events will only be known to you at a point where you canâ??t do anything to stop them.

A small price to pay for absolute knowledge.

[Sergey]

There is a certain road near the Everglades in Florida, which, if you drive down it alone in the rain, day or night, you will suddenly have a very real feeling of being completely lost. Your radio will turn to static, your CDs will skip, and your tapes will play slower than normal. If you try to find a map in your car, it will have mysteriously vanished. If you continue forward down the road for more than a minute, you will find that you canâ??t turn around, and everything behind you is pitch dark. There are no other roads and no other cars. Continuing down the road, you will come upon a fork with no signposts. In the middle of the fork, there will be a man, covered head to foot in various pieces of clothing. The only skin visible will be around his eyes, which will be bright green. You must get out of your car, but do not turn it off or close the door after you. You must approach the man, but stop at least three feet away. You must stand there silently, waiting for him to speak first. If you break the silence first, you will find yourself back on a main road, but you will die within 24 hours. If he speaks first, he will ask you what you require. Tell him that you need to know which road will take you to your destination. He will then ask you what you will offer him in exchange for his assistance.

If you offer him a ride, he and your car will disappear, and you will become the new guardian of the crossroad. If you offer him an umbrella, he will take it and stab you through the chest. If you offer him your love, he will take your heart still beating from your chest and eat it, condemning you to walk the earth without a heart, insane from the pain and loss. You must offer him your loyalty and kneel before him. If you do this, he will close his eyes and bow in return, extending a hand to whichever path will lead you back to safety. If you try to run from him, you will be dead before you reach your car, and your body will be found back in your car in some random location.

[Fat Man]

Hey Sergey!

Where do you get all these stories???

[Sergey]

Hey Sergey!

Where do you get all these stories???

http://www.creepypasta.com/


Here!

[Sergey]

Itâ??s late. You shouldnâ??t be up like this, you know.

Itâ??s not healthy, surrounding yourself in utter darkness, with nothing but a dull monitor to illuminate your surroundings, utterly defenseless. Your internal conscious could already be laughing at me. You could be thinking to yourself that you are entirely aware of where this is going. Well, itâ??s your funeral.

Iâ??m here to warn you. In precisely four minutes and thirteen seconds, something will catch the corner of your eye. Youâ??ll turn your head sharply, attempting to focus your vision. Your cat will slink past, wryly waving its tail. Your relief will overcome you, as you gently welcome your feline companion into your lap. In exhaustion, the poor animal will collapse, a purr of contentment filling the air.

As you continue perusing the internet, you will notice something strange about your pet. You look down, to notice a note has been tucked into its collar. Itâ??s blank. You question this, but return to the internet. Your cat shivers, stretches, and jumps from your lap, scurrying off. The note, which youâ??ve conveniently placed next to your computer, begins to bleed with dark ink. You open the crumpled paper, holding it to the light of the monitor. Itâ??s then that an illustration of an eye will appear.

Itâ??s then you realize that you donâ??t own a cat.

Now, this is retribution. If you have any hope of saving yourself, find a scrap of paper. Draw the eye.

Turn off your monitor. Surround yourself by darkness. Donâ??t you dare close your eyes. Blink, and this will all be for naught. You will be dead before you even felt your eyes close.

Kneel. Fold the illustration, and place it within arms reach of you. By now, you should feel it on you. The eye will be watching. It will choke your breath. You must try. Utter the following: â??I can see you.â?

Drop the illustration, and return to your computer.

Iâ??m sorry to say, the watchful eye will never cease. You will always feel it. Itâ??s watching you now.

Nice shirt.

[Sergey]

Stop. No, donâ??t look. It just encourages them.

You know who Iâ??m talking about. Them. More specifically, her. Keep those eyes focused here, donâ??t look. Donâ??t even glance. Use your peripherals, because I know you see her. Just at the very edge of your vision?

Glance to the left side of the monitor, but donâ??t glance beyond it. There, your peripherals should have picked up a bit more. You saw her in the corner, didnâ??t you? You saw her black hair billowing across her pale face, the loose nightgown she wears over her emaciated frame. Sheâ??s been there for a while, just waiting. Thatâ??s how they spend their time. The spirits of the damned. The ones unfit for heaven, yet avoiding hell. The ones who walk the Earth with their sins on their shoulders. They live in constant, insurmountable, indescribable pain. The story goes that when St. Peter takes pity on a soul who has committed a grave sin, like murder, rape, torture, cannibalism, or worse, he punishes that soul and sends them back to our plane, to exist among the living until theyâ??ve successfully repented for their sins. But first, he rips out their eyes, so that they can covet nought. Then he tears their jawbone from their skull, so that they cannot speak evils.

No, donâ??t look. She has moved closer, but that is only her curiosity. She canâ??t actually see you, not as you could see her. She sees in outlines, in blurs and motions. Her empty sockets let her see a personâ??s soul, yet it is useless to her. She lives not on the person, but on the body. Her spirit hungers for communion of the flesh, but she is eternally denied. Only the Savior can be a proper conduit of communion, to satisfy her cravings. She has tried, though. She has tried often in the past.

She certainly has taken an interest in you, hasnâ??t she? You see, she feeds on the living. She, like many before her, found humans to alleviate her ailments. She starves for communion, but humans like yourself can work as aâ?¦placebo, of sorts. Sheâ??ll try to get you to turn, to see into the voids which take residence over where her eyes used to be. Sheâ??ll pull you in, hypnotizing you with the dark, hollow sockets. Sheâ??ll close in even more, excitedly exhaling on your supple skin. Sheâ??ll jab her rotted teeth into your slender neck and lap the blood with her flopping tongue. Iâ??ll scrape in with my fangs and scoop out your flesh like ice cream. Iâ??ll yelp with glee at the warmth of your innards as I slash into your fatty abdomen. Iâ??ll pull the bones from their sinew and suck the marrow out like a candied filling. Iâ??ll jab my bony fingers into your eyes and take them for my own. Iâ??ll rip your jawbone from your skull and use it as my own. Iâ??ll become whole again, with your help.

But itâ??ll only workâ??
â??if you look.

[Fat Man]

Hey Sergey!

Where do you get all these stories???

http://www.creepypasta.com/

Here!

Thanks!

I just went to the web site. It looks really cool!!!

[Sergey]

Now it's my own CREEPYPASTA!


You are sleeping like you do every night; you can't sleep and you're tired. You sigh and you look at your clock and it says 1:03 and you remembered your parents told you to not stay up past 1:00 or horrible events will occur, but you took that as joke. I yawned and covered myself in your 3 sheets of blankets. You are nearly asleep, but then a faint knocking from upstairs the house. You don't care at first, but the knocking continues on and on. You hear the noise again, and you get slightly paranoid. You can hear screams and cries now. You shiver and get out your knife that you got last week from an uncle.

You also jump up when a scream occurs. You slowly and quietly walk out and turn on the lights in the living room. You are afraid of going up the stairs and you just sit there, but the noise stops. You stand there for a minute looking at those horrid stairs, and you get a strange feeling about those stairs. Then the noise is gone completely and out of your system, but you jump in fear when you hear your father yelling at you. "I told you not to stay up this late!" he yells. You tell him that you couldn't sleep, and your mother interfers saying "And you know the result of staying up this late" and that is when your jaw drops and your start shivering... YOU DON'T HAVE A HOUSE WITH STAIRS!

A grin comes to your parents, "Well, it's you and your parents..." calmy says your father? 'Your parents?' you think to yourself, but you can feel a shadow of death and horror closing around you and it's slowly sucking the life out of you, and you turn and see your parents pale. They both have their eyes open and mouths wide open, and that's when you realize THOSE WEREN'T YOUR PARENTS! The shadow absorbs your very soul and you drop down...

You wake up at the sound of your alarm clock and you get up and can't believe it was all a dream. You go into the living room and your mother asks how are you up so early, you tell her that your alarm clock woke you up and she opens her eyes and asks if your joking, and then you realize a simple thing... you don't have an alarm clock.


My work! What do you give it?

[Sergey]

My damnation came in the form of a bottle.

No, not like that.

When I was a child my best friend lived next to a little junkyard. Great place for a kid to hang out, a junkyard. Full of mystery and exciting discoveries, and if you find anything nice nobody minds if you take it, except your parents, obviously. Well, not my friendâ??s mom. Most of their bowls and plates came from that junkyard. But anyway.

One day a bunch of us were hanging out, dismantling a car. Some of us might have been interested in the parts, I just thought breaking stuff was great. When weâ??d got the engine strewn everywhere we set to work on the interior. Under one of the seats was a little glass bottle, full of some green, bubbly liquid.

Curiosity trumped hygiene in those days. I uncorked it and sniffed it. The smell was pleasant, minty, a little floral. One kid, Jackie, dared me to drink it. It was a double-dog dare. I had to.

The taste was also pleasant, and it warmed me on the way down. My body was filled with a strange, pleasant tingling. Nothing else happened, not until that night.

First effect, I couldnâ??t sleep. I havenâ??t needed sleep since. Itâ??s all right. I get a lot done.

Second effect, a month later. I started to cough things up. I was playing alone in the woods and I hacked up blood. Then there were chunks in the blood. Then I was puking. The entirety of my coiled long intestine came snaking up as I sat there quivering, tears on my cheeks, struggling to breathe, literally puking my guts up. My mouth seemed to unhinge like a snakeâ??s to accommodate my lungs. My heart was on my sleeve. The bloodstain would never have come out if I hadnâ??t abandoned the clothes I was wearing. The police searched frantically for a missing person, but never found a thing.

I wasnâ??t empty when I finished, though. New organs built up inside me. I could feel them, I could see them when I closed my eyes, nameless lumps and spirals springing out of nothing.

Third effect. Two months later. I began to crave the water. I canâ??t possibly describe the feeling of thirsty skin, but it was a desperate thirst. I left my parentsâ?? house one night and walked and walked until I came to a swamp. I moved in. The murky, bug-filled waters feel like home now, as they did all those years ago. I sit under the water, watching the fish and salamanders get eaten by herons, looking at the surface waiting for my prey.

Iâ??m sure you know what the fourth effect was. Iâ??m typing this on the cell-phone of my latest victim. She was delicious. She smelled like fresh melons.