Welcome to Crappypasta! This is the companion site to Creepypasta.com, and here is where you’ll find stories that we deemed not quite ready for the big leagues. If I believe that a story has potential but just isn’t quite there yet, I’ll post it here with some tags explaining my reasoning. The community at large can then offer their feedback and constructive criticism to aid the author in fully realizing their story’s potential.
However, if the community is in agreement that I made an error in judgement and the story should be accepted for the main site as-is, they may upvote the Crappypasta. If a story hits the (undisclosed for obvious reasons) correct ratio of positive to negative votes, I’ll move it to the primary Creepypasta archive, complete with a note of my taste fail!
You may read a more in-depth explanation of this process here.
I use the categories to give succinct feedback on each story posted. Rather than write out comments on every pasta, I make my feelings known via the categories that I assign to each specific post. This is done manually and on a per-pasta basis, so if you received a certain category on your story, that is my feedback to you.
You may read full descriptions of each category and how to interpret them as feedback/criticism here.
Note that due to how the sites have evolved, many categories are now outdated. In the dawn of this website, I didn’t get nearly as many submissions as I do now. As such, I was able to post and categorize every single eligible rejected story, even stories that I personally felt had a snowball’s chance in hell of being moved to the main site.
Nowadays, however, this would be an unrelenting sea of nonsense – most open-submission days garner well over a hundred submissions, and it’s statistically likely that only one or two of those will be more than a short, low-effort, all-lowercase paragraph. To prevent a flood of slush, I now only post stories that I believe have potential to be rewritten or upvoted to the main site.
All this is to say that some categories will almost certainly be archive-only from now on, simply because I can’t imagine a situation where I’d actually be posting a story that would deserve the “THIS IS STUPID” tag – it just doesn’t match up with how the site operates anymore.
The most frequent issues raised by new visitors are those of intended meanness and author permission. Please be reassured that if a story was posted here, it was submitted to me directly (I don’t go trawling the internet for stories to mock) with the author giving EXPLICIT permission for me to post their work here if it didn’t make the cut for the main creepypasta archive.
While we do allow comments that dabble in snarkiness as long as they are still entirely constructive criticism, the mod team will not approve comments that contribute nothing to the refinement of a pasta. Likewise, this means that comments left simply to be nasty or bully the author will be deleted. In cases where a commenter continually attempts to leave abusive comments towards authors, they will likely be banned entirely. This website is, first and foremost, about helping people succeed with their writing projects. Unnecessary nastiness does not help us accomplish this goal and, as such, has no place here.
That said, there will always be people who do not grasp the site’s function and leave comments accusing everyone leaving even benign, helpful feedback of bullying. Such comments are at each individual mod’s discretion on whether or not they will be approved, but if a comment section gets completely derailed due to misunderstanding-based white knighting, I will likely remove the comment chain in order to get the post back on track: we are here to give feedback, not argue with people who can’t be bothered to read this very blurb!
There are several ways for the community to contribute their constructive criticism to the works here:
- Comments: If you want to leave an overall review of one of the pastas posted here, you may use the most traditional method – the comment form. We use DISQUS, so if you want to be an active and recognizable member of the Crappypasta community, I do recommend registering a free account, however commenting without an account is allowed. The comments are moderated, and all commenting guidelines from the main site are in effect here as well.
- Sidenotes: If you want to leave your feedback in a more fine-tuned fashion, please use sidenotes. Sidenotes (also called annotations) should be familiar to anyone who has visited Rap Genius (now Genius) – you can highlight a portion of the story and leave specific feedback for the highlighted portion. You can also simply click the speech bubble after each paragraph to leave your feedback for that paragraph. Sidenotes are only shown and available on the pasta’s individual page, so you will need to click through a pasta’s title in order to access this function. If you wish to retain a consistent identity when leaving sidenotes, you can sign up for a Livefyre account within the sidenote UI.
- Star Voting: This is pretty self-explanatory, I think. Just like on the main site, you can give a pasta a star rating from 1-10. 1 being the worst, 10 being the best.
- Upvote/Downvote: Use the upvote (thumbs up) if you believe a pasta is good enough, in its current, as-is state, to be posted on the main site. Use the downvote (thumbs down) if you believe the story needs more work before it’s eligible for moving to the main site.
- Emoji Response: If you’re on mobile or just don’t feel like typing but still want to give slightly more nuanced feedback than the stars and up/downvotes, you may also use the emoji feedback options. These, like the sidenotes, are present only on the pasta’s individual page, and can be found in between the pasta and the comments section. Eventually, we will be able to display content lists based on these reactions, much like do presently with the up/down and star ratings, so please use this function!
Once I studied abroad in Japan, and experienced a professional but repetitive and boring time at school. Most of my “classmates” were “hard to the bone core” fans of manga and anime. And since I did not share their obsession they often did not even speak to me, nor returned any phone calls or e-mails. I was not really sure why, but couldn’t get an answer to the direct question.
But this isn’t a sad story, although I was bored to tears by them, and quiet pleased that they choose to bother about the only thing they knew: Cartoons for children.
One time I tried to get one of my younger female teachers out on a date and some boost. This failed however, since she choose to be “professional in spare time” and “concerned about things.” I became a bit irritated by that and wrote her a message simply saying: “Very well, fine, I just head down to the nearest cemetery or temple and speak to the dead. I bet that’s more fun and giving than speaking to the living, like you.”
I’d had it.
About two weeks later, after the common silence and boredom, I one evening headed for a nearby temple in my area. Before I got there I stopped at a convenient store and bought a pack of smokes.
The temple was located inside a small park covered by bold trees. I walked towards an “altar” (that´s the best I can describe it,) that stood on a pole above the ground. There laid a frozen orange and next to it stood a plastic doll. It must have been standing there for quiet a while since the dress had lost its color and the plastic had turned pale, almost white. Although it leaned backwards its eyes remained open. I opened my pack of smokes and placed a cigarette next to the child doll before I headed over to the temple.
I walked up the stair and passed under the lightning shaped cloth and a rope hanging down from the roof, and gave the door some abrupt and hard knocks. Then I said, although not loud: “I don’t care who you are. Good or evil, rich or poor. If you look hideous or beautiful, nor how you died. You are invited.” I then gave the door a few more knocks and headed down the stairs.
Before I left, I turned towards the temple building and made a sign with two fingers against my mouth, like if I was smoking, pointed towards the altar and said: “There’s plenty more where that came from at my place,” and I mentioned that I had coffee too. “Want it, you’re welcome.”
Back at my apartment I made two cups of black coffee and placed one cup on my low bookshelf together with a cigarette. I lit one myself before raising my cup and said cheers for the night, to come.
From what I remember, nothing special happened.
During the months that followed, every day life went on just as usual. It simply continued, slowly, without any real ups or downs nor pleasures. Much due to a cruel fact called: Economy.
One Saturday evening I was at home watching a film, when I started hearing footsteps in the narrow stair leading up to the second floor where I lived. When they topped edge I waited for a knock on either mine or the other apartment door. But nothing. No steps or knocks or speech could be heard, just silence. I figured It was since my neighbor had moved out and taken the name tag on the door away. And I kept on waiting for whoever it was to leave.
I continued watching the film for about half an hour when it struck me that I never heard any footsteps going back down. And neither had I heard the door on the first floor open or close. I quickly went and opened my door and turned the lights on in the stairway.
But there was no one there, what i could see. So I turned the lights off again and went back to watching the film. But suddenly an eerie sensation came over me, that did not leave for the rest of the evening.
In the days following this event I started to feel a rejection towards returning home after school. To put it in other words, I had started to dislike my room. Though I had no problem with being alone, in school as well as outside or at home, but now something was different.
One early morning I woke up from a nightmare. I can not remember it clearly, it’s mostly just a darkness that comes to mind, and it took me a while to get rid of the terrifying feeling it given me and get used to the room again. Though I cannot remember it clearly as I mentioned, the dream felt like it came from both outside and inside of me. That it had taken a grip, or become a part of my room. And now I’m no longer sure if I had been asleep or awake.
Nothing more really happened, accept that the eerie sensation came and went. And I thought it was not gonna be any more than this. And that whatever it was, soon would be gone.
But I was wrong.
One night, after experiencing difficulties falling asleep, I suddenly woke up. The room yet again seemed different, and so felt I. And it slowly became clear to me that more where to come this time. And by the foot end of my mattress soon rose a dark, cloud shaped shadow figure. Everything went completely silent accept from a low pitched humming sound. No longer sure If I were asleep or awake I kept quiet. The shadow leaned forward and started floating in the air above me. I felt like my blanket were to be pulled off me, but worse, like I myself were being drawn into it. As if I was being pulled out of my own body. I held onto the blanket and tried to keep my back tight against the mattress, then I gave the shadow that now completely covered me, a hard upward kick.
I don’t know for how long it went on, but finally the shadow withdraw, and I had a quick look around my room that slowly started to feel normal again. I managed to calm myself down but did not get any sleep.
After that night the shadow never returned, and if it ever will, it hopefully knocks first. And the uncanny sensation of my room was seldom felt again.
Whatever it was, I do not know. But regarding my options at school, speaking about company, it was an interesting meeting.
After all, I’m in a way quiet happy that whatever it was choose to pay me a visit. Since it was invited.
May 5, 2013
I’m writing this journal because I’m in an unusually good mood today, and I want to be able to capture memories like this with more than just pictures. I awoke on Monday, seconds after my son started shouting “Mommy’s back! Mommy’s back!” My dog had soon begun barking, and I have no reason why he would have—he probably forgot who was at the door. I was more than a bit confused for a moment until I joyously remembered moments later—today was May 5th, my son’s birthday. My wife, Jane, had just come back to our home in Upstate New York from her business trip in Australia. She had promised to come home early for the sake of her son, who hadn’t had much opportunity in his lifetime to see his mother. In all verity, I smiled more now than I had in all the three months she was away merely at the glorious prospect of getting to see her again. I groggily got out of bed, not bothering to get ready in all my tiredness; It was only seven in the morning on a Saturday, after all.
As I walked out of my bedroom and into the living room of our large apartment, I saw next to my wife’s beautiful blonde hair my son beaming, an ebullient smile that only an eight-year-old could make. To be completely frank, I probably had a similarly goofy expression upon my face. She said how she was going to be staying around for a long while, and that’s what got me into such a great mood. But my dog seemed a bit…skeptical, to say the least.
“Hey honey, welcome back.” I managed, not knowing what to say as she hugged me tightly in response. She talked with me for a few hours about how she loved the trip and even got to see some…she didn’t talk about who she met. She seemed to omit some things that otherwise would have been said. I was happy nonetheless, much too glad to really make a big dilemma out of something small like that. As I write this at my desk she is sleeping peacefully—never write your thoughts down when or where others can get hold of them. I’ll lock this in my strongbox under the floorboard. While that may sound kind of creepy…I keep a lot of things in there like my handgun and such for safe-keeping.
I woke up again—I have been for the past while. As of late, I’ve not been able to sleep very comfortably whilst my wife sleeps in my son, Tod’s room. I’m writing this at my bedroom desk, and unable to sleep mainly due to the fact that she WOULD be sleeping in my room if it weren’t for my son’s recent string of nightmares. He’s been up screaming all night, and I simply can’t relax under those conditions. I’ll ask her in the morning if he’s doing better.
By nightfall of today, May 16th, we were lying together once again. It seems that the nightmares only started with my dog barking viciously every time he;s in the room…oddly enough. He’s not a smart dog when it comes to seeing strangers outside the windows. Maybe it’s my insomnia keeping me up…I ought to get back to bed now.
There’s been this God-awful smell. I know that smell… it’s easy to detect once your clueless dog snagged a bird and hid it from you behind for about a week. Death…and decay. The first thing I thought was that there was some rotted animal that the dog brought in from outside the house (it wasn’t at all unheard of at all to us)—and then I pondered the possibility that Jane got sick in the bed. I was wide awake from the smell now, and as I began to sit up, some heavy feeling like an anesthetic pulled me to bed. Yawning, I fell asleep, Jane’s hand grabbing for mine in her sleepy lull. This morning I’m writing this because even stranger than the smell’s existence, is that it didn’t linger at all. It’s completely gone. Perhaps I had been having some twisted dream that slipped my memory this morning.
More curious, perhaps, is the fact that I’ve been forgetting things…or maybe they were never there. I only just seemed to remember that Jane had a sister…I can’t even remember her name, though. Lately, though, a lot of pictures from the house were missing…All with her and the family in it—or so that’s how it felt. I feel a little like things in the house aren’t how I remember them. I do, however, vaguely remember before the trip that Jane told me she’d be seeing her sister up in Australia. I suppose being alone for months can lead you to concoct some stories in your head.
She forgot our anniversary…that’s my job. It was like she didn’t even remember we had one, honestly. She was asleep when Tod and I awoke at four in the morning, decorating for the anniversary.
“Good morning honey,” I said as she got up at eight o’clock, “Happy anniversary.” I apologized for messing it up the last time by completely forgetting…and telling her how this time we’d go all out with a fancy dinner and a nice day together in the home, “relaxing” as Tod went to visit my brother nearby. I even had a tuxedo prepared for the dinner, which I rented out a week earlier. Her face immediately flushed, then turned dead pale in her nightgown. She looked away and swore under her breath.
Shockingly, this was one of the few disasters she didn’t blame on me. She was extremely apologetic, of course—claiming that the business trip wiped away some of her important memorized dates. Surely, the husband, unlike the wife, is expected—obliged, even, to just forgive and forget those kinds of mistakes that a wife would never let go.
My wife decided to quit work today after we had a talk—so that we could spend more time together, she said. We’re well-to-do enough that we can honestly retire early. It’s very fortunate. However, I told her, we need to be secure: I’ll start looking for a job soon. Though I must say, it is odd to me that she would quit…especially on such short notice. She loved her work. In truth, this was only one of many odd things she’s been doing recently.
Just last night, I heard an odd sound and got out of the empty bed. I saw her in the kitchen snipping bits of pictures that had once been those upon the walls. I recognized them as I peered over her shoulder; she apparently didn’t hear me. She was snipping out her sister’s photograph from different photographs… and now I remember that they were twins. Her sister had the same face and smile, just a different hair from her Jane… braided. What was her name?
As soon as she noticed me, she jumped up and gave me a glare that sent chills down my spine in the dark kitchen. She immediately tossed the clippings away. She didn’t say a word to me as she went back to bed…
I wonder, then, if something happened between the two siblings which she would not tell me about.
We followed through on our plans to send Tod away to a prestigious boarding school, what with Jane’s earnings… In any case, he’s always been an eccentrically detached boy. He’ll be visiting his grandparents frequently, now that he is relatively close. I’ll be sure to talk to Tod as frequently as possible. With our money and time, Jane and I are happily alone for the year I would imagine. I drove Tod to the airport this morning, where he met with my parents and boarded the plane with them to Washington D.C. Jane and I will be able to relax for some time before I need to begin working. I applied for a job related to my wife’s job—government. I have a Bachelor’s in political science, but I’d rather take it easy. I applied for some simple secretary work—short-term but well-paying.
Last night was unbearable—I hardly got any sleep because of that damn stench. This sounds hard to describe only because I truly lack any skills to rationalize it…but while Jane smelled amazing as always—like lilies—that putrid odor…death seemed to radiate from her sleeping body. Was I dreaming with my eyes open? It terrified me. Her lovely scent was layered, surrounded by the odor of decay—though she looked perfectly fine and peaceful. What sick trick was being played on me? I called an exterminator today, but he said that due to a recent outbreak of rodents in the suburbs, everybody’s backed up. I guess pollution is starting to take a bigger toll than the critics stated.
That night, though, during her slumber, I got a different call. It was…interesting, to say the least. A man called me, asking for Jane—but after I told her she was sleeping he began to explain his intentions of calling. Apparently, her sister Janet had been missing for several weeks now, after boarding a flight to visit her sister after she left her business trip to Australia. I was shocked. I told him I’d tell her. After hanging up, I sat back in bed. Something didn’t seem right…
(Did something happen to them…?)
I had a night terror last night…Jane was in my dreams. She looked rotted and frightened…but she didn’t move. She was dead still, hair flailing calmly in the ocean. She was at the bottom, with a brick tied to an ankle. I turned around in terror, my limbs moving in the helplessly heavy force that surrounds oneself in a nightmare. I felt arms wrapping slowly around me—cold and dead. My heart sank as my eyes snapped open.
I know not if I’ve lost my mind. But when I woke up her warm arms were around me. After my panic cleared, it was a living Jane. Once I finally regained control of my breath, I told her about what I had seen, reluctantly. She looked absolutely petrified in terror—as if she’d seen it herself.
She wasn’t at all mentioning the events of last night, it’s now July 7th. Jane was courteous enough to let me rest, and she even made me a breakfast in bed. I was quite content and joyous until I noticed her walking around the house…she seemed completely out of it. She appeared lucid, but she was rigid, and I hadn’t ever seen her like that—pacing around nervously. I brought it up to her, but she didn’t say much about it, just went for a walk afterward. It was enough to make me unsettled, at the least.
I later thought about the call and told her what had happened. It didn’t help make me any less creeped out to get it off my chest. She looked absolutely furious, and I couldn’t piece it together. She said that she didn’t know anything; that she didn’t care because they had a fight once she left for America. I can only imagine what happened to make her this angry at me—her eyes looked like a rabid dog’s…
Her hair, she didn’t take her hair out of the braid she fixed up for bed. I never noticed it before… it looks exactly like her sister’s braiding. Before the trip, I remember Jane would never be the type to braid her hair under any circumstance. She hated the feeling, and so she rejected the very thought.
I came to the conclusion that this woman is not my wife. I want to call the police. It is a speedy conclusion… but it’s better to be safe than sorry, and I’m feeling less and less safe.
I didn’t call the police. I can’t bring myself to because Janet is always watching me…always around where I can see her. I have to wear a smile because she’ll get upset if I don’t…and then the questions begin. She knows I have no excuse to leave the home—we have groceries delivered, and my job won’t start for six months. I don’t know what to do, I’m living alone in a house with a murderer and a false mother of my son, and she’ll kill me I’m sure if I ever pick up the phone… The problem is, the way she looks at me now, I think she caught on to my thinking process. The gun in the floor panel under my desk is gone.
Credit: Adrien Abelard
I bolt up in my bed as I hear screaming and crying coming from my daughter’s room. I turn to my clock and see that it is 3 in the morning. She is throwing one of her tantrums again. I sigh and get up to go calm her. As I walk into her room the sound is so loud it’s almost deafening.
I sit down on her bed and try to comfort her, “Honey please no more, this is the third time this week. This is getting out of hand, please calm down. I need to sleep, you know I have a big meeting tomorrow morning.” The sobbing continued. I know sitting here won’t do anything so I might as well get this over with.
She has these tantrums a lot and the only way I get her to calm down is to read her favorite story to her. I take the storybook off of the book shelf, put on my shoes and jacket, and get into my car. I can still hear her faint crying in my head as I drive into the night.
I stop at the store to grab some flowers for her and get back into my car. I sighed and drove on. I pulled into the cemetery and walked in with the book and flowers. I walk up to 2 graves with the names Alice Cooper and Julia Oswald. These are the graves of my wife and daughter. They both died in a car crash about 8 months ago. My wife has been dealing with the death pretty well, but my daughter has not.
I place one of the roses on my wife’s grave and lie the rest of the flowers on my daughter’s grave. I sit down by Alice and open the book. I flip to her favorite story and begin to read. It is about princesses and being saved by a prince who fights a dragon. A stereotypical fairy tale. Alice always dreamed of being a princess and one day finding her true love, but sadly that won’t happen now. I sit reading every single word in the story, using fun voices for the characters. I just hope Alice will calm down after this.
I sit reading the story to her for a good 15 minutes until it is over. I stand up and kiss the top of the gravestone.-9
“Goodnight princess” I tell her.
I get into my car and drive home. Once I get there I plop into bed exhausted from my journey. I get under the covers and close my eyes.
“Was she okay?” Julia asks.
“Yes dear” I tell her, “She just wanted a bedtime story, maybe now she will stay asleep.”
This is Brian. My therapist tells me to write in this journal, says it will help get my thoughts and feelings out in the open… blah blah blah. Him, like many other people, have been trying to figure why i’m so jumpy and easily frightened to the point of literally having a heart attack, at normal things that most people would not. Take birthday parties for example. When i was nine years old i attended a brithday for a kid named Billy. I remember playing with some kid named Jeff and three kids showed up. I shit you not they just walked right up to the poor bastard and started kicking the crap out of him and pulled a gun on everyone, all because jeff emberassed them or some stupid crap. Thats just the beginning!
When i was eleven years old i used to watch spongebob religously, it was the beez kneez! Then one night i was home late from a friends house and was upset that i had missed most of the new episode. i flipped on the tv to find squidward on his bed with a shotgun to his mouth and the next thing i know he is blowing his brains out! I mean, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? I never watched a cartoon again!
Later that year my mom got a job transfer and we moved to this really cheap really nice house… or so we thought. My parents of all people would always complain about scratching on the walls. Then it moved under their bed. Then on the night my parents were out of town i slept in their bed and woke to some creepy ass creature coming out of the wall! It tried to reach for me but it wouldnt put its arm into the light that my parents UV light was producing… My parents grew pot in their room. We left that house in a heart beat!
Sometimes to help me cope, i tell myself it could be worse and think back to this one point in time when i moved into a pretty crummy apartment complex. They only had a room left in the basement area, which i didnt mind it was pretty secure down there. What i did mind however was my neighbor… He was so freaking loud! Always ranting about how everyone was out to get him and how THEY were watching him, spying on him. His girlfriend would always come to visit the poor bastard till he thought she was out to get him too! So i talked to her about what was going on and convinced her to send in a shrink to come get him.
Normally i would type this out on a computer but after some recent events it was best to hand it off to a friend to type. Incase you are wondering, yes i’m slightly afraid of computers… A few weeks ago some dude hacked my computer asking me to help him with some small favors and he would reward me. They weren’t normal things either, just stupid shit like: Stand in this spot for 10 seconds or place a quarter on the ground at this exact spot. There was a big one where they asked me to move to russia, and i did, after i learned the language of course. After i did said things I was given rewards, sometimes not to my liking… for example, one time I was told to put a single bead on the roof of some random building in town. I went out to the bar that night and met THE hottest and coolest girl in existence. Turns out her abusive/cheating husband had slipped on something and fell face first into traffic. Skipping straight to the point, i was now dating a widow, a hot widow. Do i feel a little guilty for what happened, a tiny bit but hey, from what she tells me he got what he deserved. One night she was over, i got another message from my mysterious friend saying the police had my apartment surrounded and there was no point in running. He then went into epic detail how everything i did was linked together and lead to a masterpiece of an ending. Now I am sitting in prison and will be for a good three years. What did i do you ask? Well… I was growing pot in my apartment. I dont know how exactly this is supposed to be a masterpiece of an ending. Well this was kind of theraputic in a way. Maybe i will write more when i get back from this weird sleep experiment thing they just started. All i have to do is stay awake as long as possible, wheres the harm in that?
Credit: Blake L. Patrick
(I want to start this story off by saying that before this encounter, I had never heard of the Goatman before, or any of his tell-tale signs. It was only later after running a few keyword searches on the internet that I discovered the being whose image still haunts us to this day.)
Even if you’ve never been to west Texas, you’ve undoubtedly heard of the incredibly dry, hot summers that happen nearly every year there. Well the summer of 2004 in Odessa, Texas was no different, temperatures reached 110 degrees at their highest nearly every day, and you had to be creative if you wanted to beat the heat. It was mid-June, school was out, and a bunch of my friends and I, being the typical naïve seventeen year olds that we were, decided to go and spend the week on our own camping. My uncle owns around 100 acres of land just east of the midland and Odessa border, near the outskirts of town. So with his permission we set off hiking through his property.
For those of you who have never been to the desert of west Texas, nearly everything you encounter, from the plants to the animals, has the capability to harm humans. On my uncles property, cactus and thick mesquite trees are nearly all you can see for miles around, at night the coyotes can be heard calling in the distance, and rattlesnakes are a dime a dozen. With that being said, in typical Texas fashion we were armed to the teeth, and feeling invincible. Looking back now, that feeling didn’t last long.
After nearly four hours of hiking, we made it to what my uncle refers to, as the burial ground, due to the excess of deer, and cattle skeletons in the area. There are two fairly wide game trails that come together and criss-cross in the middle of this burial ground. At this criss-cross, my uncle claims that if you stand at their intersection, you would be directly in the center of his property. He built a small hunting shack about 75 yards from that intersection point, because game animals are constantly migrating back and forth on the two game trails making it an ideal spot during hunting season. For all intents and purposes, this was to be our home for the next four days, so we immediately began to set up shop and unpack.
Five of us, Mike, Ronnie, Kade, Kade’s friend Alex who I didn’t know very well, and myself (Brad), panned out and began collecting dead branches and leaves to start a fire. A girl I didn’t know stayed behind, I assumed she was Kade’s friend as well. By this time the sun was nearly set, and only partially visible on the horizon, the coyotes began to howl in the distance, and the fleeting sunlight started playing tricks on my mind. While gathering firewood, although the others were nearby I was relatively alone. As I gathered mesquite branches that had been broken off by cattle, my eyes never left the ground because snakes are inevitable at this time of night, but I heard something that made me stop in my tracks and quickly scan the tree line. The sound was like that of a huge tree branch being broken off in the distance, and for a moment I thought I caught a glimpse of something large off in the distance, but within the blink of an eye it was gone. I can’t really describe the feeling I got, but I began feeling queasy in my stomach, and something told me I really needed to hurry back to camp.
As I walked back to camp, I heard a few similar noises, but I could never see anything when I turned around. I was the last one to get back to the camp, but I didn’t see the girl who had stayed behind, not thinking much of it I began helping start a fire. When the fire was cozy, and everyone was settled I asked if anyone else had heard anything strange while gathering wood. Most of them said no, as I was listening to their responses I noticed that the girl from earlier was back, she was sitting a few feet further from the fire than everyone else, with her head rather low, but before I could ask if she was okay Mike spoke up and said that he also had heard some weird noises, although he didn’t admit to seeing anything like I did. After a couple of hours of sharing stories and a few laughs, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, I walked several yards out into the bushes, and had no sooner started peeing, than the sick, queasy feeling in my gut came back, but more intensely this time.
As I turned to go back to camp, I noticed something off to my left. Barely visible in the bushes, I saw the silhouette of a person, squatted down low. I thought perhaps someone was just using the bathroom like I was, but deep down something didn’t feel right. I turned and started walking back to camp, each step easing the feeling in my stomach, but no sooner had I taken a few steps forward than I began to hear something whispering. At first I could barely hear it, but as I turned around to look behind me, the whispering got louder and became legible, at the same time the sick feeling in my stomach became nearly unbearable. The whisper was calling me, asking for help, A few yards out I could see the same silhouette of a person in the bushes, but much closer this time. I started walking towards the person as they whispered to me pleading for help. When I got closer I could see that it was the girl I thought Kade had brought with him. I hardly knew her, but I was afraid she might have been bitten by a rattlesnake on her way back to camp. As I came within a few feet of her, I discovered this was not the case. She was trembling all over, her hair was hanging down over her face, but in the reflection of the distant fire I’ll never forget what I saw in those burning red eyes, as she slowly raised her twitching head to meet my gaze.
When our eyes met, the sickness in my stomach began to rise, I involuntarily dropped to my knees, and vomited in front of myself, my arms were shaking uncontrollably as I tried to push myself out of a crouch. When I could finally lift my head, she was there staring intently into my eyes, there was an absolute crazed look in her eye, and her mouth twitched uncontrollably. When she opened her mouth, she spoke with an inhuman, guttural tone that sent chills down my back. She said only three words. NOW. I’M. YOU. The last thing I remember is her grabbing me by the neck and dragging me towards its grotesque, twitching face. (Mike’s part of the story begins here, as I later asked him to tell me what happened after my blackout, seeking comfort, but receiving none.)
I was really starting to worry about brad when he finally walked back into camp, if you can even call it walking. As he approached, his head was low, and he stumbled through the bush as if he didn’t quite know how to use his legs. His movements were slow and exaggerated, like he was drunk, but I knew he wasn’t. He avoided interacting with anyone and slinked down a yard or so away from the fire, just outside of the circle of chairs. I had butterflies in my stomach that seemed to grow worse the longer I watched him. I looked around the fire to see if anyone else had noticed this sudden change in him, but everyone else seemed oblivious. As my eyes scanned back to him, what I saw sent a shock down my spine, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead. The creature that was no longer brad had slightly tilted its head, and was intently staring at me through blood shot, glassy eyes with a wicked half smile on its face.
As it slowly rose from its crouched position I tried to stutter out a warning but the best I could do was point. I was too late. The creature jumped onto Ronnie who was the nearest to it. Ronnie had a face of utter shock as the creature struck him over and over, all the while repeatedly screaming in a hoarse ungodly voice, WE COULD BE ONE. IT took all of us there to subdue the creature, Ronnie was keeled over by the fire a few feet away holding his face, when the creature abruptly stopped resisting and looked directly at me with its blood shot, twitching eyes and calmly said, I WON’T STOP UNTIL I’M YOU. Brad’s face went blank, and his body limp. We didn’t stop holding him until a scream came from out in the night. We all got up to look out into the darkness. Just at the edge of the firelight, I made out the burning red eyes, crowned by the horns of a ram that still haunt my dreams to this day. It let out a hoarse roar, before dissipating into the darkness. All night long we stayed in a circle, the creature laughed evil laughs, and tormented us while always staying barely out of sight. Just before daybreak the jests stopped, and Brad began to stir out of unconsciousness. (It returns to my account for the remainder of the story as I regain consciousness.)
As I awoke, I looked around confused, as everyone was staring at me with looks of fear. Ronnie’s face was bruised badly, and almost immediately Mike demanded an explanation. I told them about how Kade’s friend had looked out there in the bushes, and how after I had gone to check on her she had attacked me. After giving them my story they all looked at each other in disbelief. Every one of them swore that there had been no girl here with us. Kade told me that he had only brought Alex and no one else. Looking back on the hike up there I now know they were right, because I can’t remember her hiking there with us. I can’t explain what happened to me, or how this creature was able to trick my mind. I don’t remember hurting my friends, and my relationship with them was never the same. I have never gone back to my uncle’s property, and my dreams are still haunted by the remembrance of the creature’s grotesque face to this day.
Credit: Brad Maples
The Hallway Ghost
I’m writing this because I’m tired of all the silly, cliché “scary” stories I’ve read online. If anything about this story is cliché, it is only because sometimes reality is stranger than fiction. I promise, this story is true, and those referenced in it can be contacted to authenticate the validity. And I must say from the beginning, I still don’t believe in ghosts.
One night in 2008, I was falling asleep in bed with my long-time partner (now spouse), Todd. An old man looking rather ghostly (sort of see-through, translucent) walked from the hall and into our bedroom. He stood at the foot of the bed, looking sort of confused, but certainly not menacingly, then, after a few moments, turned and exited the room back into the hallway. I knew from first seeing him that he wasn’t a real man, and, being a mental health therapist, figured he was a product of hypnogogic sleep, a time during which dreams and reality mix, just as one is falling asleep or waking up. When he first arrived, I said to myself, “that’s odd,” but then quickly figured I was in an hypnogogic state, and thought, “cool, let’s enjoy this.” After that first experience, the man came into the room once or twice a week for about 2 months. At that time, Todd told me he had a weird dream in which an old man walked from the hall and stood at the foot of the bed. He said it had been a reoccurring dream for several weeks, and I told him that I’d been having the same dream. We talked about how much fun it was to cue each other to have similar dreams, and didn’t really think anything about it. Then, one night, when the old man entered the room, our dog, Faust, jumped up and barked at it. I thought, “how odd, the dog is having the same dream as Todd and I have been having,” and thought nothing more about it. Todd and I kept having the reoccurring dream of the old man coming into the room, and began marking a calendar on the days we saw him. The dog continued to intermittently bark at the hallucination (I think it was 3 or 4 times). We racked up quite a few months of frequent sightings, all the same…like a movie that is looped. We probably saw him twice or more per month for over a year. Then our friend Luca came to visit from Italy. After a couple nights, he said, one morning, that he had this odd dream while going to sleep that an old man walked down the hallway and came into our room, lingered a bit, then left. We asked Luca what the old man looked like, and he matched our observed “ghost.” Luca reported several sightings during his month-long stay. And the dog continued to bark.
A young friend, Travis, came to stay with us for a year or so, living in the guest room across the hall from our room. One day, he talked about seeing an old man walk from the hall and enter our room, only to leave after a few minutes. His description of the man matched ours. Todd revealed that he had been “creeped out” while walking through the center of the hall, and avoided it whenever he left for work in the early morning or after dark.
We decided to have a séance right in the center of the hallway. I got my oldest Ouija board (I’ve collected them since childhood), and we lit candles. Todd and I sat across from each other with the board between our knees, and I said, “I’m talking to the hallways ghost.” Travis (being only 19 at the time), screamed and ran into the other room. I said, “are you with us?” The planchette swirled around the board and finally settled on the word, “no.” I said, “so who is this?” and we went on to talk to some Asian boy (don’t, at this point think I believe in Ouija boards, there is a scientific explanation for the phenomenon called Ideomotor Phenomenon…google it if you have doubts). But the strange thing is, after we had our “séance,” the hallway ghost never reappeared. No one has seen him since.
I got thinking about the ghost after he left, and wondered if there might be some history. We bought this house in 1999, and there was an elderly lady living across the street who told us some of the history of the house. It was built buy a very successful logger named Leonard Rhoning. Mr. Rhoning raised a family here and was aging alone in the house. The lady across the street said that one time, shortly before the house was put on the market, she hadn’t seen Mr. Rhoning for several days. She reported she went across the street and entered the house, only to find Mr. Rhoning lying in the hallway unable to get up. Shortly after that, Mr. Rhoning’s children had him put in a home, and placed the house on the market. After I remembered this story, I did a google search on Leonard Rhoning, and found an obituary.
He died the week my hallway ghost first appeared.
Before I start, please do excuse my writing, as its 1am and I’ve not had much sleep prior.
I’m in the Royal Navy; my title is ‘Electronic Warfare Specialist’. We are the INT (Intelligence) Branch for the Navy. The reason I say that is simply because I think it makes the story more believable… With some hope.
The Ship I’m on is called the Fort Victoria. It is a large Oil Tanker which replenishes other Warships. It’s a Civilian ship, but I was put on here as part of my draft. I can’t complain, the layout is a lot better than the Destroyer I used to be on, so is the food.
I’ll run you through how it works on a Warship to give a better understanding of the Environment.
On a Military Ship, it’s a lot different than you may have seen it on cruise Ships and the like. The corridors are narrow, and dark at night, only illuminated by a dull red light to provide the ships company who may not get outside much (Including myself), with a sense of ‘Time’. The Operations Room is also darkened during the night. In the Ops room, we have the usual things you’d expect, a telephone to call up various other internal phones on the ship, and a loudspeaker which lets the bridge, where the ‘Driver’ is, communicate with us. Along with all the other equipment which isn’t necessary for this post.
My story starts with me sitting on the computer in the Operations room. I’m on watch, which just means we stick around and monitor the equipment and provide the Officer of the watch (Man who drives the ship) with any assistance regarding ships around the area etc… It’s around 2300-2330 at this point, therefore everyone is in bed and I’m in my last 15 minutes of my watch before I can go to bed myself.
Every so often, the Bridge will call me up and ask for anything which may be of interest. But after numerous times of the exact same answer of “Nothing serious to report”. I now believe they call up just to make sure I’m still alive, it gets horrifically boring on your own for 6-8 hours.
So, I’m emailing my Girlfriend and if I remember correctly, I was on the internet reading Space theories or something like that, and so my mind was at ease, not thinking about stuff to put me on edge, which may have contributed to my experiences.
I heard the bridge call me on the comms, or so I thought I did. The weird thing about it was that it sounded like utter garbage. Like someone was talking with their mouth full extremely fast. And the fact it was right behind me, the comms speaker is on the other side of the Ops room. And I’m sat in here 12 hours a day to know exactly what it sounds like.
Nonetheless, I completely disregard those points and call the bridge up to see what they want.
“Hello? It’s the On watch EW. What’s up?”
“Well. You just called me didn’t you?”
“No mate, afraid not”
“Ok, no problem. Bye”
That was the exact conversation.
It wasn’t until after that call I started to feel a bit off. But I checked behind all the consoles, and there is no way on Earth someone could of walked in, as the door is key-coded and it makes a very loud noise as someone walks in, not to mention they’d have to walk right past me to get in.
So I’m sat back down, wondering where the hell this voice came from. “Soundproof Ops room. Everyone’s in bed and no one has been in during the last 3 hours.” All this is running through my head.
This voice was RIGHT BEHIND ME. I did not imagine it, I was not tired (This was a different night if I didn’t make that clear) and there is no chance someone could have come in and got out without me seeing them.
I got an overwhelming sense of dread; I felt as though something was standing over me, something WAS standing over me. I felt like this thing wanted me to die. I could feel it. Like when you know one of your mates is sneaking up behind you to make you jump, you just seem to know they’re there. And I had this now. Without looking back, I walked out the Ops room and into the Annex (Room just outside) I sat in there until my Relief came up to sit on watch.
I told him what happened, and in the Navy, with things like that, you just get made fun of. But he was concerned; As I was white and sweating… He knew I wasn’t messing about. He asked me if I heard it say anything, like any words or phrases, but I didn’t. It was just complete garbage.
My second experience was when I was in my Cabin. My Cabin is 4 man, the beds set out as 2 bunks on the left, 2 bunks on the right with space in the middle to get changed etc…
I’m on the bottom bunk on one side; my cabin buddy on the other bottom bunk, the floor has carpet.
For a couple of nights I would be lying in bed, not sleeping, but in the attempt of it. As though I’ve just got into bed. And I’d hear the scuffing of feet on the carpet, going back and forth between the 2 bunks. It’s a very distinct noise. The Navy WILL NOT employ you if you sleep walk and you will be kicked out if you are found to be a sleepwalker.
I know the walking noise on the carpet is not my friend. He’s in the Ops room on watch.
I’ll listen to this scuffing of feet going back and forth, back and forth. Back to my side, and then back over to his. Never stopping. I started to try and dismiss it as machinery, but I knew deep down what it was, it was clear as day.
One night the scuffing stopped, it stopped outside my bunk. My heart sunk into my stomach, nothing happened for about 10 seconds. Then I felt something come from under the curtain into my bunk, not a hand. But I could feel hair, like a beard just breezing over my shoulder as I lay on my back. I waited for a few seconds but I couldn’t take it no more, I lashed out, swinging my elbow into whatever it was. It went.
I looked out of my curtains but couldn’t make out anything, no one was in there playing a joke, and no one had entered or left.
I’m not one to go about telling crazy ghost stories, but after my time on the Fort Victoria. I’ll be glad to get home, away from the Arabian Gulf… And this Ship.