Creepy short-stories
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Creepy short-stories
by corleth Mon Apr 02, 2012 2:34 pm
Anybody whom I keep in close contact with on defias will already know that I'm a huge sucker for the Silent Hill series, Amnesia: The Dark Descent, other survival horrors... anything that's creepy, psychological, dark, paranormal or goose bump-inducing. I guess this section is a good place to put some of my short-stories that touch upon such themes.
In my spare time I enjoy writing what are known as 'creepypastas' for the /x/ imageboard on 4chan. I have about 30 in total that are my own (which I'll post according to demand), and around 150+ that have been written by other users of the board. Mine vary greatly in length, some are just a paragraph long while others are much, much longer. The ones I post will be chosen at random, so they may also vary in quality... if I'm unlucky I might pick out one of the first few I wrote, which are understandably cheesy... all that are posted will all be my own material. They are best read at night. Here's the first...
In my spare time I enjoy writing what are known as 'creepypastas' for the /x/ imageboard on 4chan. I have about 30 in total that are my own (which I'll post according to demand), and around 150+ that have been written by other users of the board. Mine vary greatly in length, some are just a paragraph long while others are much, much longer. The ones I post will be chosen at random, so they may also vary in quality... if I'm unlucky I might pick out one of the first few I wrote, which are understandably cheesy... all that are posted will all be my own material. They are best read at night. Here's the first...
- Spoiler:
- Call Me Tomorrow, Okay?
Still no messages on my phone.
I guess he wasn't going to call me back after all. I can't really blame him, I suppose I came on a bit too far yesterday. I had noticed him long before he noticed me. His shiny black hair and unnatural blue eyes. I wasn't the only one watching him, that's for sure. His movements were elegant, and his smile... I would die for that smile.
Still no messages...
I thought about calling him, maybe apologize for going too fast yesterday. I'm a coward, I know, but I just couldn't bring myself to dial his number. Besides, he'd promised to contact me when he was ready. So I'll wait, I'm patient.
Though... I know what I'll do... I'll just casually stroll past his house. Just to see if he's home. Maybe he's out, that would go someway to explain why he had not contacted me yet. He only lives half an hour away anyway. Perhaps he is shy and afraid to call me? Silly boy. I'll go to him and tell him that he doesn't need to be scared. That I don't mind if he needs time.
He lives pretty secluded, on a farm in the outskirts of town. I can hear those sheep as I approach. My heart skips a beat as I see there's a light burning inside. He must be there, he told me yesterday his parents would be gone for the weekend. They left him to look after the sheep those days. Poor baby, that must be hard work... that probably explains why he was too busy to call me. I'll have to stay here and help him with the sheep until his parents return.
I knock on the door, but he doesn't answer. Maybe he fell asleep. The thought of his beautiful face even more softened by sleep made me smile. I try the door, its unlocked. There's hardly any crime around here, so I guess locking the door is not needed. Trying to be as quiet as possible, I sneak through the house. I want to surprise him. I cringe at every creak the stairs make as I climb them. Finally, I reach the bedroom and carefully open the door.
There he is, lying in bed as I thought. Quietly, I switch on the nightlight on his bed-side table, so that I can see his face. His blue eyes are open, staring into space. His face is one bloody mess. His cheeks have been carved, the skin mostly removed, what remained hanged loosely on the side of his face. He's missing his fingernails, they are laid out on the bed carefully arranged. Words are carved on his bare chest.
I look at him, my hands covering my mouth. He's still the same as I left him yesterday. He must have been so tired that he slept all day, how cute! I softly kiss his face, making sure not to wake him. Then, I carve a new message on his chest, letting him know I'm here when he needs me.
I leave the room, heading back outside. I think its time for the sheep to go to sleep. Tomorrow though, tomorrow I will finally get to meet his parents! I'm sure they'll love me too.
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by Sylphi Mon Apr 02, 2012 2:42 pm
That's......extremely creepy.
MOAR please.
MOAR please.
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by Lexgrad Mon Apr 02, 2012 2:57 pm
Do londoners really know what sheep are :p
Cool story tho bro.
Cool story tho bro.
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by John Helsythe Amaltheria Mon Apr 02, 2012 4:32 pm
First I was like hmm. Then as the story progressed, I became a tad tensed as it worked towards the climax. When it reached the climax, I was like, alright, creepy but, meh. In the end, the final two paragraphs, when I found out that the girl was messed up: O.O
More please
More please
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by corleth Mon Apr 02, 2012 4:48 pm
The story now enters a whole new dimension of creepy! More to come later on.Lexgrad wrote:Who said it was a girl :p
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by John Helsythe Amaltheria Mon Apr 02, 2012 4:52 pm
Haha Lex...fair...and Corleth, you got shitloads of stories, don't make us fanboys wait too long!
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by corleth Mon Apr 02, 2012 9:35 pm
- Spoiler:
- The Jester
It came for me again last night. I was in my bed, staring at my ceiling and trying to force myself to sleep. I hoped it wouldn't return, but I knew it would. It told me that it wouldn't stop.
I've quit trying to explain the scratches and scars to my family members. They think I'm on drugs because I don't leave the house anymore, and I'm growing more emaciated with each passing day from sleep deprivation. The marks all over my body, leaving me looking like a wounded animal...
Last night was like any other visit from the creature. I heard the footsteps creeping slowly towards my room, each loud thump of its feet mimicking my heartbeat and growing faster as my pulse begins to race. Then it stops, and pauses for a moment.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The polite way that it knocks on my door really gets to me. It likes to pretend that I'm its friend. I guess I am. But not by choice. The door slowly swings open and I grip my sheets more tightly. Even though this has gone on for weeks nows, the terror of hearing the hinges on my door give way to the slight pressure it uses to push its way into my room never goes away.
I close my eyes and pretend its not there. I'm not even religious, but I pray to God that its not there. And then I hear it breathing. Long, raspy, wheezing, in and out. When I open my eyes, all I can see are those goddamn teeth. Those holes where eyes should be.
Then it laughs. That fucking laugh. It wants to play. And I have to go along with it.
The first time the creature visited me, it told me I would never live without it. It told me that if I even tried to get away or ignore it, it would fine where I lay at night and bring me to ruin. But after all the attacks, all the mental anguish and all the scarring; that does not seem like a half-bad alternative.
It comes for those that cannot sleep. When you toss and turn, it hears. When you count sheep, it counts outside your door. Thats how it found me. I heard its gentle, playful knock on my door one night, and I invited it in. I was frightened by its appearance, but its soothing, childlike voice offered to play the most fantastic games with me.
I accepted.
This was the worst mistake of my life and I pray you will never make yourself. The first time is always fun. The first time never hurts. But each night its game becomes more sadistic in nature, more violent. Eventually, the only one who sees it as a game anymore is the creature: it will never stop smiling and laughing, with that eyeless head, even as it thrashes you around the room, tearing hunks of flesh from you with each swipe of its pitch black claws.
It comes every night. EVERY night. I know its coming again tonight. I just know it is. I do not even bother bandaging my wounds any more, it will just rip them open again. I do not know what to do anymore. I don't know if it will ever let me go.
I don't know how many more times I can bleach my sheets to get rid of the blood.
All I know is that its coming. And after I'm gone, it'll come for somebody else. It's always searching for a new plaything, just in case it breaks its latest toy. Whether you believe in a God or not, I suggest you pray to something, anything, that it does not choose you. Once it has started, the game will never stop. Not unless you do what I'm about to do. Not unless you end it yourself.
I hate to take "the cowards way out", but I can suffer this no longer... if my life can be worth something, maybe it can serve as a cautionary tale for all those out there. Nobody should have to suffer this much.
So, with one finger on the trigger, I leave you with these fin-- It's already coming down the hall. I can hear it now.
..I leave these as my parting words: Fear the Jester. Fear its laughter. Refuse it and its games. Never open the door. Just go to sleep, or it will find you. And when it finds you, it will never let you go.
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by corleth Tue Apr 03, 2012 5:15 pm
- Spoiler:
- Watching her walk away, I felt my sense of hope go with her. Her long, tangled dark hair dancing in the wind behind her, as she made her way to the car, without so much as a backwards glance. The stinging, chilling feeling weighing down in the bottom of my stomach. She was gone. There was no hope calling out to her. Her mind was made up.
And I was alone.
Two weeks ago. Two weeks ago we were happy. Both fresh into our respective employment, we'd go to work each morning, kiss on the cheek and other couple cliches. Finishing university last year, we'd decided it was time to get serious, and move in together. So we found a house relatively central to where we both work. It was a nice house. Brick walls, white fence, small yard, two bedrooms with a sleepout. Linoleum kitchen. Chipboard. The cheap, affordable first home you'd expect fresh-out-of-study young adults to live together in.
Two weeks ago. It all started.
The bathroom. Typical, right? Perhaps its the ideology of water being the universal conductor, but there, in the bathtub, one morning. It said. A hairclip. With a large tuft of blonde hair caught in it. Just sitting there, wet, in the bathtub one morning. And it wasn't just any regular hairclip. It was very much a small girls. Pink. Glittery. Flower shaped. And it looked as if it had been ripped, quite forcefully, of a young blonde girls head, the way that blonde hair was still caught in there.
I asked my girlfriend, why the hell she put something like that in the bathtub, and where she got it from.
"I've absolutely no idea what on earth you're talking about?" she replied.
"Then what is it doing in here?"
"Maybe I should ask you the same thing?"
"I have not seen this before in my life. And it is creeping me out."
It was. There was something about this.. intruder to our world. This object. Something malignant, and unsettling. Swallowing the momentary silence in the room as we stood there, staring at it, I broke the magic of the moment, and picked it up, tossing it into the small bin we have next to the sink. The room regained its usual calmness.
The two of us had never really experienced anything unusual, creepy, or 'paranormal', if you will, so we immediately seemed to just repress this occurence and go about our day.
The next day. Morning. A scream, from the bathroom. Rushing in, I see my half naked girlfriend there screaming and pointing to the wall.
There on the white tiles, is what looks like a fingerpainting. A little painting of a house. With a fence. And there were four people outside. Three of them close together. And one on the other side of the house. The three looked happy. The one far away was a very sad little girl. My girlfriend grabbed my by the shoulder and asked what we should do?
"Do we call the police?" she frantically asked.
"What can the police do? What can anyone do?" I replied.
What could anyone do? Both of us, we were very certain about our firm disbelief in 'ghosts'. So faced with this. What can one do?
Wanting to calm my girlfriend, I walk over to the sink, and grab a washcloth, and wipe it off the wall. Rinsing the 'paint' out of the washcloth, I suddenly feel overcome with this terrible sadness. Every bone in my body is suddenly hollow and I just feel dread and grief and misery. My girlfriend must've noticed the change because she rushes to my side and holds me tightly.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't know."
"Let's just get out of this house today and forget about all of this."
So we did. A couple more days passed. Nothing happened. Everything normal. Back into the work routine, after the 'fingerpainting' sunday, we continued life, happy as ever, concentrating on work, on each other. Enjoying our lives.
Thursday. We'd both had a long day at work, and were quite drained. We arrived home almost at the same time, and with the usual greetings, quietly settled in for the night. A silent dinner. Drained conversation. Both of us just tired.
"I'm going to have a shower before bed, babe." she said.
"No problem, have fun" I replied with a wry half smile. Giggling, she wiggled her backside at me and walked towards the bathroom, stripping as one would prior to a shower.
Sound of water turning on. My focus on the television. Nothing much on, typical thursday sports and reality shows. A piercing, anguished scream, unlike any I've ever heard breaks the calm. My heart stops in my chest for a moment, until I realise it's coming from the bathroom, and I grab the nearest thing I can, which ends up being a half empty wine bottle sitting on the coffee table, and rushing to the source of the scream. My girlfriend is on the floor, and she appears to be sleeping. I rush to her side, and shake her shoulder gently. "Honey! Honey! Wake up! Babe wake up!"
She groggily comes to.
"Urghhhhhh."
"Babe, what the fuck are you doing on the floor"
She immediately regains full consciousness and begins to cry uncontrollably.
"Those eyes. Oh my god those eyes."
"Eyes? Whose eyes?"
"Those eyes. Oh god get me out of here."
"Whose eyes?! Calm down and tell me."
"Her eyes. Oh my god I can't get them out of my mind."
She was a mess. I couldn't console her. I pick her up, and carry her into the bedroom, still crying inconsolably. Mumbling, about 'her eyes'.
I put my girlfriend into bed, and she seems to calm down quite a lot, and starts to doze off. Picking up the half empty wine bottle, I guess as a makeshift form of protection, I return to the bathroom. Nothing is out of place. Nothing out of the ordinary. There is a scratching noise, however. I've never heard it in the house, before. We've lived there now for almost a year. And never, have we had any noises like this. Faint, tiny scratching.
Like a childs nails on a wall.
Coming from the inside of the bathroom wall. I decide I can not stand to feel the unsettled uneasy dread I am anymore, and I get angry. "JUST FUCK OFF!" I yell. Smashing the bottle into the wall where I estimate the scratching is originating from. Silence again. Not a single noise.
Eight more days pass. Two weeks from the hairclip incident. We both are sitting about, relaxing. Without any warning, every door in the house starts slamming. My girlfriend just freezes, her eyes wide and paralysed with fear. I can't move, either. Just sitting there. Watching all the doors opening and slamming closed, over and over. Louder. And louder. And louder. Footsteps, running all through the house. Tiny footsteps. Childrens footsteps. My girlfriend screams, louder than I've ever heard before.
"HER EYES OH GOD THOSE EYES."
She's staring straight behind me. I freeze, part of me too terrified to turn around, part of me following the gaze of my almost maniacal girlfriend, who is just screaming and screaming and screaming and screaming.
There is nothing behind me.
The doors stop. The footsteps stop. My girlfriend stops. Everything is silent. She gets up, not breaking eye contact with me, but instead of the usual face of happiness and joy and love I'm used to, her face is contorted into a horrific snarl of hatred and disbelief.
"She told me you did it."
"What?"
"She told me you did it."
"Did what? Who?"
"She told me you did it."
Her voice was empty. Deadpan. Cold.
She gets up, and walks out of the door. Watching her walk away, I felt my sense of hope go with her. Her long, tangled dark hair dancing in the wind behind her, as she made her way to the car, without so much as a backwards glance. The stinging, chilling feeling weighing down in the bottom of my stomach. She was gone. There was no hope calling out to her. Her mind was made up.
And I was alone.
It's been a long night, alone in that house. I can not sleep. I can not eat. I sit, here, in the dark. Clutching a knife. Jumping the moment I hear any noise whatsoever, outside or inside. But the house is silent. The air is completely still and there is nothing. Yet there I sit. Huddled on the floor, my knees in my arms, clutching that knife, its blade glinting melodramatically in the darkness.
It's been a long night, and the night has only just begun. I've tried to call my girlfriend, but her phone is off. I can not contact anyone. Anyone I call, the phone line says busy.
I am alone.
I can hear scratching, and it's getting louder.
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by John Helsythe Amaltheria Thu Oct 25, 2012 5:44 pm
Oh right, this. Won't you post more, Corleth?
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by Lexgrad Thu Oct 25, 2012 5:58 pm
We demand spooky Stories Spooky Corleth.
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Re: Creepy short-stories
by Guest Mon Feb 11, 2013 1:08 am
I did enjoy reading your short stories. The momentum / build up is similar to Stephen King's work and that's probably the best fiction author I've had the pleasure of reading.
Thoroughly enjoyed this, truly astonishing
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Thoroughly enjoyed this, truly astonishing
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