Scratch

Excelsior2000 wrote:

This a true story it happened to me a few minutes ago when I got the cat out.
It was about 5 at night I have a broken foot right now so I can't walk to well. My dad was at the store picking up some bacon mix for dinner. My mum took my sister and her friend to trampoline club. I was alone. Suddenly I heard something come up the stairs. I went to see what it was and it was a cat. That sort of cat that if you leave a door open it will come into the house. This cat was called Neo. It was hurt. I decided to put it outside.
Later last night I heard something outside my window I looked out and it was that cat again. I decided to go out and give it too the owners who live a few doors up. later still I looked outside of my and it was there AGAIN. This time right outside my window on the ledge it then jumped right in through my open window. I went to sleep in hopes it would leave but then it cut my face and arm. I was unable to get it off me. You should see how deep the cuts are. I couldn't sleep so I switched on my computer and wrote this post.

Weird. What did you do to the cat?

Garr8 wrote:

I saw Slendy, Jeff, and BEN dance to gangnam style.

Also I am planning on writing a short story about Slendy and Jeff.

Was it on MMD?

I saw it too.

sonicdv wrote:

Excelsior2000 wrote:

This a true story it happened to me a few minutes ago when I got the cat out.
It was about 5 at night I have a broken foot right now so I can't walk to well. My dad was at the store picking up some bacon mix for dinner. My mum took my sister and her friend to trampoline club. I was alone. Suddenly I heard something come up the stairs. I went to see what it was and it was a cat. That sort of cat that if you leave a door open it will come into the house. This cat was called Neo. It was hurt. I decided to put it outside.
Later last night I heard something outside my window I looked out and it was that cat again. I decided to go out and give it too the owners who live a few doors up. later still I looked outside of my and it was there AGAIN. This time right outside my window on the ledge it then jumped right in through my open window. I went to sleep in hopes it would leave but then it cut my face and arm. I was unable to get it off me. You should see how deep the cuts are. I couldn't sleep so I switched on my computer and wrote this post.

Weird. What did you do to the cat?

I didn't touch it. It just slashed at me.

Excelsior2000 wrote:

sonicdv wrote:

Here's a good one.

The Surprise Visitor: A Spongebob Creepypasta

My brother worked at Nickelodeon for a few years, back when we lived in New York. He went missing, and he left some of his tapes behind. Until this day, I haven't been able to muster up enough courage to watch them. My mom wouldn't let me up there for a while, but she was gone. To her "job". A couple of minutes after she left, the idea to go up to my brother's long abandoned room popped into my mind. I walked up the long flight of stairs, up to the dark hallway. I stopped at the end of the hallway. I stood at the doorway of his room, nervous as to what might happen next. I opened the door, and what I saw made me scream in shock. I saw a tape marked "DON'T WATCH" next to a pile of corpses of various animals. I took the tape back downstairs, and popped it into our VCR.

What I saw on the tape started out as a regular "SpongeBob SquarePants" Episode. The main credits played normally, except for the music shifting pitches a few times. When it zooms in on the ocean floor, SpongeBob doesn't even come out of his Pineapple, you see the hand come down, though. During this whole sequence, there is eerie whispering. I wasn't able to understand what it was saying, but it sounded like "The angel of death is coming, and all you can do is watch. Why did you choose this path? You could have done something with your life." Needless to say, I was a bit freaked out having heard that from what is such an innocent show. The opening credits ended, and the title card faded in. It said "The Surprise Visitor" on it. The title card faded out, onto the episode.
When the episode started, there was a strange static sound in the background, and some distortion. The episode began normally, with SpongeBob being his normal, gleeful, self. The beginning shows SpongeBob skipping down a road, with strange flute music playing. The camera comes up on SpongeBob's face. There are holes in his teeth, and his eyes are bloodshot. The camera comes in closer on his face, but then goes down to his mouth. SpongeBob says something, but it is inaudible with all the static that is being played during this part. After that scene, we see SpongeBob nearing the Krusty Krab. The Krusty Krab's usual clamshell sign is snapped in half, with minor bloodstains on the clam shell. SpongeBob walks into the Krusty Krab, and we see a circle of every resident of Bikini Bottom. SpongeBob sits in the middle of the circle, and that is when things get REALLY disturbing. SpongeBob and the people in the circle start reciting a strange poem. Here is what they say:

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;

I'll only stop to rake the leaves away

(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):

I sha'n't be gone long. You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf

That's standing by the mother. It's so young,

It totters when she licks it with her tongue.

I sha'n't be gone long. You come too.

They recite that same poem about 5 times before they all keel over, possibly dead. The camera zooms out from the Krusty Krab, to a dirt road. We see a strange, cloaked, person sitting with knees to his forehead. "Ring around the rosie... a pocket full of posies... ashes... ashes... we all fall down." The cloaked figure stands up, and walks down the road, towards the camera. The animation is freaking out at this point, and there is very loud, strange, music playing. As the cloaked figure gets closer to the camera, we see his face. It was the face of my mother, except fully decomposed. The corpse says "Just you wait until I get home... Jess..." At that point, I was really scared for my mom and I. My mom was still out at her job, and I was home. The episode ended, and I just sat there, crying uncontrollably. I heard the door lock, and then strange voices chanting that terrible poem.

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;

I'll only stop to rake the leaves away

(And wait to watch the water clear I may):

I sha'n't be gone long. You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf

That's standing by the mother. It's so young,

It totters when she licks it with her tongue.

I sha'n't be gone long. You come too.

Interesting it seems to suffer most of the cliches that come to lost episode pastas but overall a reasonable pasta.

At least it didn't have any "Hyper Realistic Somethings".

zubblewu wrote:

hungergamesfanatic wrote:

sonicdv wrote:

I can't tell if you are talking about the above story or the Pokemon stories. Could you restate that (I don't talk offence either way, the above story isn't mine).

pokemon Pastas are kind Of dull in my Opinion

whats with The random Capitalization

hey Why not i Mean like who need Normal capitalization

hungergamesfanatic wrote:

smiling cat Was not scary In The slightest
i Dont think he should Have killed It though i mean It Was just smiling At him  gosh

It was eerie, but I liked it for the writing.
And I agree. If that was me, I would have adopted the cat.

hungergamesfanatic wrote:

samid11 wrote:

hungergamesfanatic wrote:

smiling cat Was not scary In The slightest
i Dont think he should Have killed It though i mean It Was just smiling At him  gosh

It was eerie, but I liked it for the writing.
And I agree. If that was me, I would have adopted the cat.

same Here
did he Think it would Kill him or something

I think he was afraid of what it might do. He might have thought it was possessed or something.

Don't let the title fool you, this is much better then most Video game Creepypastas

The Perfect Video Game

I heard rumors about a video game console, released in the early 90s, that promised the most immersive games imaginable. It bore a strong resemblance to the Super Nintendo, except it had no cartridge slot, no reset button, and only one controller port. It was released in an extremely low quantity; it's possible that less than fifty were ever available. People I talked to who remembered it from their childhood only mentioned the first game in the list. Other games were included on the console, but this one was, they say, the perfect game. Lifelike graphics and sound, even by today's standards, an endless supply of new, fun content, solid gameplay (the controls were responsive to the point of precognition, they recall), and the single controller port was all that was necessary; the NPCs in the game were “smart” enough to be just as entertaining as real players.

It was quite literally a game nobody wanted to stop playing, and the people I interviewed all remarked, somewhat bitterly, that their parents forcibly dragged them away from the television set after a few days of continuous playing and threw the console in the trash. I was intrigued by what I knew so far, so I went looking for more people who remembered this relic of gaming history.

I searched high and low for anybody besides the handful of people I had already talked to, and, after a month of painstaking investigation, I found two independent accounts. They had a much harder time remembering the specifics of the console, but I was able to jog their memory by repeating what I had in my notes. I could see their eyes light up a little, remembering the perfect game, but both of them said, “That's not all it [the game] could do.” Both of them said the interface was “complete”, and I inquired what exactly they meant. After a few days, apparently, the game started having a positive physiological effect; it was as if the actions done in-game were giving the player “exercise”, and the player was able to go without food and water, seemingly drawing sustenance through items collected in the levels.

However, after a couple of days (they had played this game continuously for a week by this point), they started feeling the damage done to their in-game player character; the pain was small at first, and only a slightly forceful reminder to be more attentive. After a short while, though, the pain started getting intense, and the weariness of the constant action was taking its toll on them. “The game was still perfect. It was better than any high you can imagine,” one of them said, but it was becoming physically exhausting to play, and they couldn't tear themselves away from it. “I was almost done with one level, and I was fighting a boss that used a whip,” the other interviewee said. “I remember the whip was a one-hit kill; I had to start the level over, but I remember the searing pain where it lashed me across my arm.” He then unbuttoned the sleeve on his shirt, and I could see a scar twisting around his arm. “Yeah, it was getting that bad.” Both of them said their parents returned to the house nine days into the marathon game session, and forcibly dragged them away from the console and took them to the emergency room. The console was gone when they got back home – thrown away like all the others, I bet.

I could not find any other people who even knew what I was talking about. The rumors had stopped there, and I was left with incomplete knowledge about where I could even find one of these consoles. A sense of dread settled in the back of my mind, though, and I felt it was necessary to pore through newspaper archives from that period. I was trying all sorts of variations on “bootleg console” in an online database search, and what I finally stumbled upon was shocking. There were fifteen separate incidents of people found dead in their homes, sitting in front of their TVs with a bootleg-looking console hooked up to it. They had a “butchered” appearance, most commonly, with some found in pieces, and autopsies revealed that the internal organs had dissolved. One article remarked that the TV was just displaying static, and they could not get the console to power on. Local officials tried contacting the manufacturer of the console, but the owner's manual and the information on a sticker on the back of the console both referenced an address that led to the site of a warehouse demolished over 80 years ago.

Last edited by sonicdv (2013-02-13 20:30:26)

The Download

1%, 2%, 3%

Your download is starting.

4%

Took a while to get this far.

10%

Still a long way to go.

10%, 10%, 10%

Buffering...

Unknown%

What does that mean?

Download failed.

No! You think. You need to download that new game your friend kept telling you about! You start the download again.

1%, 1%, 1%

Download must have had another problem.

2%

"Oh, no" you say, realizing the download still works. Has your voice gotten' deeper?

15%

Come on...

Download failed.

By now, your computer is way below your head. You feel taller.

You start the download again.

1%

Come on!

16%

Wow, the download is going faster.

40%

Almost half way done!

40%

NO!

Download failed

By now you feel stronger and more mature than ever. But you still need to download this game! You start the download again.

1%

You start feeling weaker. Must be cause you've sat at your computer for so long!

33%

Download is really zipping by now! It's going by faster than you can walk! You hear some noises coming from your lawn. Must be those dang kids.

66%

Almost done...

88%, 88%, 88%

Froze again...Download failed.

"Dagnabbit" you cough. You start the download again.

1%,44%

Fastest the download has ever been.

78%

Almost done...

100%

Yes! Wait...you can't breathe!

You gasp and choke before dying a slow, quiet death.

Download complete. Thank you for downloading "thegameoflife.exe"

Memoirs of a Set Designer: A Candle Cove Story

(Some scenes edited for Scratch)

It’s been almost 30 years since I left for Long Island, after retreating from the small uhf studio in Ashland, KY and the life I once knew. Leaving only with a small suitcase and the clothes on my back, I ran and didn’t look back from a childhood paradise that slowly evolved into a traumatizing nightmare. It was then and there, that I was a young adult, down on my luck and barely making enough to pay the monthly rent for the apartment a friend and I shared. I was barely making minimum wage at my first job, where I would flip burgers for nine hours a day in the heat. The small eatery was beside a long stretch of highway, which my superstitious boss used to call "Ghost Road," a place where the ghostly hitchhikers would hail rides from unknown passers-by. I switched my apron in for a fluorescent vest, to start pulling shopping carts into the local grocery store and mopping floors for twelve hours a day, for five days of the week, again—barely making minimum wage. I quit after only four weeks of working to look for a better, higher-paying job, after receiving a notice that I was going to be evicted.

It was while reading the morning paper, three days later that I found an answer. Perhaps this would be the answer to my problem. The small article in the want ads called for pairs of helping hands to build set pieces for kids' shows at the small, nearby uhf studio that was about thirty minutes away. I was excited, and ran for my red sedan, hoping to get there before somebody else could. Something told me this would be my day, and I was hoping it would. After driving for what felt like forty minutes, I pulled into the nearly abandoned parking lot and looked for an unlocked door, or at the very least, somebody to unlock said door. At last, I found a door that would open and was hit by a blast of cool air from the air conditioners being nearly on full blast.

I was about to approach the front desk to ask for more information about the job offering, but was stopped by an older gentlemen in khaki pants and a blue polo, with neatly combed back brown hair and green eyes. When he asked if I was here for the job position and I said yes, he smiled from ear to ear. He gripped my hand like a python and shook it. He seemed overly excited.

“The name's Bob Fields.” He said, still shaking my hand “Or just Boss. I’m so happy that somebody saw the article. Times have been really tough because of the recent tax cuts and stage hands walking off. Please, follow me.”

When he finally let go, my hand was red and numb. I followed him through the halls to the set, trying to shake it off. Mr. Fields was a strange person, but could you blame him? He loved his work and seemed to love the people there like a second family. Arriving onto the set, there were about a dozen people in different parts of the large room, which made me think that they shot different shows in one room at the same time. He showed me around the room and explained the different shows they were working on. It didn’t take an expert to take one look at the set pieces and realize how cheap and awful they were—making it loud and clear how seriously low budget they were. I knew times were tough, but not this tough. The first show that he introduced me to was called “Jumbo’s Circus”, an educational kids' show that showed kids how to count, tell time, identify colors, shapes and other things. It was a very basic show, for the Pre-K demographic. After meeting the director and cast, I declined. It was nothing against them, but it was my extreme coulrophobia which had haunted me since I was a child.

Fields then showed me another show. This one tried to be educational, in the sense it tried to teach kids moral lessons in each episode. Unlike "Jumbo’s Circus" where it was mostly live-action, with people making up most of the cast, this one had a cast consisting of only puppets of different shapes, sizes, textures and colors. The show was called “Sunshine City”, which followed a group of puppet kids, who would deal with real world problems that most kids had never heard of or experienced. Common morals were those such as “stealing is wrong”, “treat others the way you’d want to be treated” and “respect authority”.

The nature of the show was weird to me, and made me feel uneasy. I, again, declined the offer. Fields sighed, and showed me the third show they were working on. It was another puppet show, which was about pirates. The title of the show on the script was "Pirate Place," but seemed to be crossed out faintly in pencil, with the new name written beside it; "Candle Cove." Fields explained the plot of the show, which was about a girl named Janice, who would go on adventures with a pirate named Percy, who wasn’t a really good pirate, because he got scared real easily. The more he spoke about it, the more interested I became. He told me about a boat what that director said, in a dream, had an Ed Wynn-like voice. He conjured up images of a smiling boat with big eyes, that seemed to swallow the sea and sing. I could faintly hear calliope music playing as the waves would crash against the boat. He explained two other characters, the villains. They were two strange puppets. Horace Horrible, who had tall teeth, a handlebar mustache and a monocle. The Skin Taker was a skeleton on strings, which had glass eyes and a cape and top hat. The character of Janice reminded me of myself as a kid, dreaming about going on adventures and looking for hidden treasure on the seven seas. I signed up for the project, and Fields smiled. He introduced me to the director of my childhood dream, Emerson Grimes. Grimes seemed like an okay guy. He was wearing hiking boots, blue jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. He was also wearing a trucker hat, perhaps hiding possibly-thinning hair. He took me to a rec room. At the time, they only had three voice actors: Todd Smith (Pirate Percy), Michael Colon (The Skin Taker) and Leonard Lloyd (The Laughingstock). They were still looking for somebody who was the embodiment of Horace Horrible, and they were sending out the casting director and a crew member to find somebody to play Janice.

A week later, they found somebody to voice Horace Horrible. Grimes found comfort in Jeremy Kirby, who had recently finished working on another kids show for the studio, “Fisherman Fred,” and would have gone on to do backstage work for another strange kids show, “Peppermint Park.” Around the same time, they found somebody to play Janice. She was a Kindergarten student from a nearby school, Jodie Silver. She was quiet and adorable. She didn’t complain much, unlike most kids who auditioned. All you needed to keep Jodie happy was an apple juice box, a peanut butter and banana sandwich and a coloring book, and she was good to go. To help get the ball rolling faster for us, I had gone to local craft stores and flea markets with crew members to get props to build the puppets and the sets. The most tedious must have been building the Laughing Stock, which took us about two weeks to do. Production started about five weeks after I got signed on.

Production had been very rough, and was becoming a challenge. Jodie would often come down with fevers and become overheated because of the intensity of the flood lights, which were always beaming down on her (it was becoming taxing for the stage hands, since Pirate Percy’s head had to be remodeled twice, after the prolonged heat melted his head). We became very concerned about her health, and opted to find a body double so both could be switched out for each other. It was a common trick that many shows did, and we were about to do the same. But Grimes refused, and said that it would be fixed and she’ll adjust to it. In three weeks time, Walter Shay, one of the gaffers, was injured on the set in a freak accident, resulting in a broken leg, leaving him on crutches for the entire show’s run. Much of the crew and I considered abandoning the project because of Grimes’ incompetence. But, like everybody else who had it tough we just bit our tongues and hoped for the best.

After Shay was replaced, things seemed to go back to normal and we were on a normal schedule. Things seemed to be going up for us until episode seven was in production. One of the writers, Abbey Levi, revealed to me during a lunch break that Grimes had been destroying scripts, and replacing entire stories. I hadn't noticed it until she brought it up.

Evidence of his tampering was obvious, especially prior to episode seven which was where it was extremely clear what was going on. Jodie, who knew her script like the back of her hand, would often be confused by stage positions and what she was supposed to do. She would often ask Kirby (Horace Horrible), before takes, what she had to do again (Her parents would go over the script with her every morning and night, so the changes confused her). Originally in episode seven, Percy takes a scroll that explains where to go for the next hidden treasure from Horace Horrible. It was replaced by something of the macabre. It started off as being another episode, with Janice and Percy talking outside a cave, then somehow focused on the Skin Taker, revealing the dark origins of his hat and cape. Grimes told the cast to just go along with it, despite the eyebrows they raised. Michael Colon (The Skin Taker) was the most uncomfortable with the episode, because of both the script and how Grimes wanted him to present the dialogue. It was chilling, but he went along with it anyways. They didn’t show anything explicit or violent, only delivering some lines which were subtle, but still unsettling.

The most infamous scene that most remembered, was Janice asking why the Skin Taker’s mouth moves the way it does. He didn’t say it to her, but to the camera: "to grind your skin". It was this episode where I and the others started to question Grimes’ sanity. I wanted to believe he was just this way because of the long hours he’d work. But the others were trying to show me that it wasn't the case: he was a madman, and something had to be done. The episode resulted in lots of mail from viewers, asking what the heck we were doing and what was going on. It also resulted in our first warning from the studio. If we got two more, then the show was going to be cancelled, just like the future "Sunshine City".

I remember spending long hours in the rec room, working with the writers and crew to jot down ideas and brain storm. Somebody suggested a more comical episode, involving Horace and a record player, and an awkward episode involving Janice’s and the Skin Taker’s birthdays; plus the introduction of a new character, Nathan. Nathan was written as Janice’s next-door neighbor and friend. The ideas were pitched, sent to the studio and approved by Mr. Fields and were aired a few days later. After only one episode, Nathan was gone. Viewers wrote us letters, asking where he went and if he’s coming back. From websites I've examined, Nathan’s disappearance was a big topic and had many theories. Some fans claimed that he was kidnapped by the Skin Taker, having his skin made into a coat. Other believed he went back to the real world, or that he got lost at sea. Those with even darker minds believe that Nathan was murdered on the set. We had finished making episode eleven, and we were set to air it the following Tuesday. Mr. Fields approached us, saying that the ratings and views had been rocky. We had one more chance to prove ourselves. If the next one wasn’t good, then the show would be cancelled. If we could make an episode that would knock their socks off, then we’d be in good hands. Fields took the finished product and we went back to brain storming for ideas.

The next episode was going to be the most jam-packed and longest yet. There was going to be one last showdown between Percy and the villains to be King of the Sea. Along the way, Percy would gain mass amounts of courage, and by the end, become a brave sea captain. In the end, Nathan would sail in on a wooden raft with a group of buccaneers to help Percy and Janice defeat Horace Horrible and the Skin Taker (who would both end up lost at sea, never to return). Janice ends up leaving the world of pirates, to return to the real world, while Nathan would go on quests with Percy and the Laughingstock. She would only show up on occasions to help them, when they got scared the most. It was an idea approved by much of the crew and the cast. After hours of typing scripts, we sent a copy off to Fields and Grimes, hoping to save the show. Fields was out of town, but called us saying it was amazing. Grimes on the other hand, upon receiving the script, had locked himself in one of the editing rooms for several hours. Production for the last episode was in late October, on a calm quiet night in 1971. It was the most terrifying night of my life.

I arrived on the set around 6:30, when the cast and crew for the other shows had left, leaving us on the set alone. A storm was picking up outside, causing the wind to pound against the structure of the building and the lights to flicker. Smith (Pirate Percy) and Levi returned with coffee and donuts (juice for Jodie) and we waited in the rec room until we were expected to get on the set. A few of us were playing cards, while Colon (The Skin Taker) would play checkers and old maid with Jodie. It was around 8:15, later than usual, when Grimes opened the door, telling us to get ready in five minutes. In the few seconds he had his head in the door, I saw a change in him. His eyes were darker, hollower and slightly bloodshot. His skin was much paler and his hair seemed to be falling out. Jodie grabbed onto Colon’s arm and buried herself in his side. You could hear him faintly whisper to her “It's okay” repeatedly. At 8:20, we were on the set, getting ready to go. We all had our scripts and went to skim them. Grimes walked over to us and took them, throwing them in the garbage.

“There’s a change in plans.” He said

“Changes?” Smith asked, raising a brow “What kind of changes?”

“It’s only something minor.” Grimes said “Don’t you worry.”

Grimes turned around, walking for a folder on his chair, still repeating “Don’t you worry” to himself. Coming back, he had a few pieces of paper, each for all of us. I choked, and I could see terror in the eyes of the cast and the stage hands that were looking over their shoulders. One word was written on the paper, over and over again, taking up the page. In bold, cap lock letters: SCREAM.

“Wilson.” Grimes said, calling a stage hand. “Take Jodie to the play room. Don’t forget to give her the new script.”

Tom Wilson looked at it, with his eyes beginning to widen. Jodie looked concerned; it was as if he'd seen a ghost or something. Tom sighed, taking Jodie by the hand to the play room where the young kids on the set would usually go to cut loose on their breaks. Grimes took the rest of the actors and some of the other crew members into a sound room, almost by the force of his disturbance. I remember how he would scream and shout like a lunatic, telling them to scream and cry and shout in the sound booth. I swear that the front desk secretary could hear it. I bet people would have thought the making of a snuff movie was going on if they just walked in the building. I was standing by Grimes, watching in terror as Abbey was crying in the corner, and Shay was doing what he could to comfort her. The fear that Colon had in the infamous Skin Taker episode was coming back. He looked legitimately frightened. He put his hand around his throat, and backed up into the wall. His face was pale and his eyes were watering. He fell down onto the floor, still gripping his neck in terror, staring at the caged microphone, which dangled above his head. Smith and Lloyd were shouting weird almost inaudible phrases. Kirby’s screams sounded like cries for help, as if they were his last words before he’d have his throat cut open, like a cow waiting at the slaughterhouse. The stage hands that were beside me, and one of the writers, Jennifer Hess could only watch in fear. Hess could be heard faintly saying “What is this? Oh my gosh.”, one of the few things we said that could be heard in the episode. I shut my eyes and prayed it would stop. But it was only made worse, giving my imagination fuel and the thought I was making a snuff film.

“Louder!” Grimes demanded, with insanity in his eyes and voice “LOUDER! I want your throats to be bleeding by the end of the take! LOUDER! HARDER!”

Grimes went towards the set to give the other puppeteers directions to shake them and flail them around violently on the wooden and cardboard stage. Throw them. Beat them. Anything you wish. One of the puppeteers, Sandra Letting, would have gone on to describe the night and the episode making as a puppet snuff film. The screams and cries of the actors, combined with the abuse of the set pieces just made it a nightmare.

“I’m surprised Grimes didn’t request that we pour blood out of the Laughingstock’s mouth or have Percy sacrificed to a sea demon, or even have Janice be made into a sweater on camera.”

The cameraman probably endured the worst of it. Not only having to record the abuse of the pieces we spent so much time working on, but also the death like wails from behind it all too surreal. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was recording this disaster to distract him from Grimes murdering the actors. After being gone twenty minutes, Wilson came back with Jodie. Her face and eyes were red. Wilson’s were too. I’m not sure who cried more, him or her. Wilson refused to talk about it. I’m only lead to believe he’s deeply upset for having to put Janice through this heck. But it was a heck she should be happy with, since seeing the destruction of all the puppets she worked with would have broken her heart. The Skin Taker’s jaw was hanging off a hinge. The strings on Percy were broken, as were some of his parts from him being thrown about. The strings that operated The Laughingstock were snapped, and his foam jaw was on the floor in a pool of saw dust. Horace Horrible seemed to be the only one to come out okay.

Everybody left the sound booth in silence. Grimes took the recorded audio and locked himself in the editing room like he did before. The camera men for the ‘puppet death theater’ and ‘Janice’s meltdown’ cracked the door open to give Grimes the footage.His pale arm reached through, snatching the reels before slamming the door and locking it. It was the last we ever saw of him. Smith, with a sore throat, took Jodie home before the storm could get any worse. The rest of us left as quickly as we could, and hoped that Fields or somebody would pack the props up. I went back to my apartment, to pack everything I had up and drove for Long Island. I needed to separate myself from Ashland as quickly as possible. But I learned not too long after that you can’t run from your problems. The rumored curse that plagued the set came back shortly after the final episode aired, and it hit hard.

Grimes disappeared the night the episode aired. Nobody from the studio remembers seeing him leave, nor did anyone in his neighborhood or his wife. His car was still in the parking lot, but every trace of him was gone. The only thing that was left on our side of the set, were the discarded scripts as well as some teeth and large clump of hair, which were scattered about the floor—later being proven to match Grimes’ DNA. He was presumed dead in December ‘72, after several months of looking failed. Shay was injured in a car accident six months after the final episode was aired, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down. Lloyd nearly drowned on a kayaking trip in ‘73. Jennifer Hess, one of our writers, suffered third degree burns in a house fire in the same year. Colon’s son, Trevor, was murdered in the fall of ’81, ten years after the infamous Skin Taker episode was aired. His killer remains at large. And both Wilson and Fields both died from massive heart attacks in ’87 and ‘94 respectively.

It’s been nearly 30 years since that night, and I’m still too afraid to go back to the city, let alone watch an episode again. I’ve been e-mailed on different occasions by people claiming to have information about where to find the episode and the missing set pieces. I just end up deleting them. Nobody’s sure why Grimes did this. I don’t want to say he was just an artist gone mad, because I don’t feel like I can. If you ever find one of us, please, I beg of you, don’t bring up the show. We want to leave the past where it is, and try to forget about it. I still get occasional nightmares and flashbacks to that day and the ones building up to it. When they happen, it makes sleeping and eating almost impossible. To those claiming that they have a set piece, that’s not likely; nearly all the props and footage were incinerated in 1983, when the studio was destroyed in a freak fire. If anything survived the blaze, the location of them is unknown and I’d rather not know where they are. And if anyone who remembers seeing the show was hurt in any way by it, I apologize deeply. But the nightmares you've had because of it, will never compare to the ones I've had and still do.

Last edited by sonicdv (2013-02-13 22:12:53)

This is more of a ghost story, but oh well

The Never-Ending Road

In Corona, California there once was a road known by most locals as the Never Ending Road. Specifically, the road’s true name was Lester Road. Now, over twenty years later, the landscape of Corona has changed, and the Never Ending Road is no more. However, years ago, Lester Road was an unlit road that people claimed became a never ending road when driven at night. The people who made such a drive were never seen or heard from again.
The legend became so well-known that people refused to even drive Lester Road during the day. One night, like many teens my age, I drove up Lester Road, but only a short distance, and in my headlights it did look like it went on forever. Frightened, I quickly turned around, because if I continued up the road, I thought I might never return again.

Perpetuation of the legend convinced local law enforcement to investigate. Lester Road took a sharp left turn at its end, and there were no guard rails. Beyond the curve lay a canyon, and on the other side of the canyon was another road that lined up so well with Lester Road that when viewed from the correct angle, especially at night, the canyon vanished from sight, and the road seemed to continue on up and over the hill on the other side of the canyon. Upon investigation of the canyon, dozens of cars were found, fallen to their doom, with the decomposing bodies of the victims still strapped to their seats.

ah ahahahhahahahhahhaaha That made me Laugh

uh no creepypasta Ever scares Me anymore

Uh, guys. I think I'll just stop for the night here. This is my reaction to reading Creepypasta at night in a nutshell

Better in the Dark

(Swears censored for Scratch)

The fear came in ripples. Even in a house full of people, phone fully-charged, doors open, it came down—shivers and unsteady breathing. ‘My parents aren’t too far away,’ you assure yourself. ‘Just one loud scream and they’ll come running for me.’ You’re on the Internet, reading up on Creepypasta after Googling the absolute crud out of it. Creepypasta Wiki, Creepypasta.com—every single site just about explored, every category uncovered.

You just wanted a little read, that’s all. Just something to do because you didn’t want to go to bed before your parents, and you’re too lazy to get any actual work done. You blink, hard. The screen distorts itself, blazing momentarily, and you wonder if it is a trick of the mind. You must’ve been on this thing for hours. Your eyes water and you’re suddenly aware that if you close them, something will grab you from behind. You mock yourself inwardly, almost sustaining a laugh, but figure against blinking. That stuff’s for chumps. You cringe a little as something rubs on your leg. You reach down to pet your cat, and stop. You look down.

Nothing.




Your throat locks and you can only face the screen, frightened that if you look anywhere else, it will get you. The fear alone locks you in place. Your cat. You need to call him. Silence fills the room, a faint white noise ringing from inside your head. You don’t have the courage to break the barrier—and besides, if you speak, something in the room may wake up. So you just sit, too scared to even call for your cat, unable to look anywhere but the monitor. "It’s ridiculous," you say to yourself, and, just to prove how wrong you are, you look towards the right. Your eyes widen.




The door. Bland white wood, bland silver doorknob. Same state as when you came in—no demon hands reaching in, no faces imprinted on the slate. Only... You don’t really remember closing it. ‘Relax, calm down, relax,’ you insist to yourself, trying to recount your past activities. 9 PM, enter room. Between 9 PM and 3 AM, close the door while reading horror stories because you know that helps you feel safe.




Nausea washes over you in waves, and you try to still your heartbeat, about to close the browser and maybe look up something on Youtube. Your hand slows. What if They switched your wallpaper for images of dead bodies? Of a demon? Of something horrible, something so indescribably terror-inducing that you’ll go insane and shrivel up like potpourri? You instead type the URL into the search box, wondering why you’re being such a wimp. Another thought comes over you.




What if, whatever you type into that box, just one site comes up? It’ll be the last site you see before you die. You decide to stay on that page—it’s just some mediocre story about someone getting disemboweled in the streets. Not scary. You browse through some others, unaware of anything but your own breathing. The words on your screen are all too bright, all too small. Creepypasta to help you sleep. Good ideas abound at 3 AM. You pause, staring down at the clock at the bottom of your screen. Isn’t 3 AM the witching hour?




Something creeks behind you, uneven and slow.




You freeze up, your heart slamming in your chest. The breath you take hurts your stomach, and your hands freeze up on the keyboard. In front of you is a picture from your latest read: A thing (it’s hardly a person) with a white face and globe-like eyes and an enormous, happy smile. You’re certain It’s behind you. It walked like that on purpose and if you look anywhere else, anywhere other than the screen, It will get you. Its smile will brighten even more, Its eyes widen with a look that could almost be called loving, and then poof. You’re gone from existence. You desperately ache to turn off your computer and just go to sleep—it can’t be that hard.




Your phone is next to you, ready to be opened and used to call someone, anyone, just so you can have company. You can’t be the only loser up at this ungodly hour. Besides, your parents are sleeping next door to you. They’ll come in and, just like when you were five, they’ll barge in and scare the Boogeyman away. You look back down at the counter-clock: It’s 45 minutes past 3 AM, so the witching hour thing is 15 minutes away from over, and you probably shouldn’t sleep anyways, since you’ve got school and you’re an idiot. Maybe doing homework would help. You reach under your desk, feeling for your notebook, when you touch something.




Hair. It’s hair. Long woman’s hair and, you know for certain that if you look, it’ll be black. And big black eyes will be staring back at you—faces, the kind that look back.




You don’t feel like homework after all. Your body feels too tight and tired, and you want to sleep so badly that it’s painful. But what about the nightmares? You know for certain that you’ll have nightmares, all vivid and memorable and inescapable. You’ll be trapped in an eternal sleeping hell, and everyone will think you’re in a coma and you’re a goner and they’ll turn off life support and you will be a goner.




You won’t be able to escape. Your fault for reading these things, after all. ‘I read these all the time,’ you desperately explain, as if the monsters needed an explanation. ‘I’ve never died, never gotten cursed. I’m fine, I’m alive, I’m just scared because I’m tired.’ It doesn’t work. You’re an unconvincing liar. You know It’s behind you. You know It’s under you. You know if you stare up at the ceiling that It’ll be staring back with wide eyes, or no eyes, or no face, and It will jump. Or crawl. Or scream.




What if your parents are dead? A blast of cold air hits your knees, your neck, your face, and it’s fall and there’s no air conditioning and it’s a ghost. A ghost is in your room, your parents are dead and your neighbors will be too slow to save you. Yours will be an isolated death, a lonely death. It’ll seem like you killed yourself when really, really, They’re creeping up on you, and They made you, They gave you the reason, the weapon, and you needed to because it was better than being in a room alone with Them. Out of the corner of your eye you see something. You can’t tell exactly what It is but you know It’s pressing something against the window.




They’ll never even bury you. They’ll never even find your house. It’ll disappear from reality, same as anything, and no one will remember you because you wanted this. You wanted to be scared and now you want to cry out and scream. You don’t want to look ridiculous but you want to scream. You can’t. In the one moment you need to, your mouth is sewn shut.




The sun is coming up in two hours, you tell yourself. Hold it together. You can survive this. It’s just fear, the kind that ripples. Your legs go to sleep. Just fear, you say, and you agree. You type Youtube.com into the browser and instantly pops the usual website, the un-scary, video website, and you watch the heck out of some comedy videos until your fears abate. The sun rises, as it’s want to do, and now you can relax.




Your muscles stop tensing and bright sunshine fills the room. You get up. It’s nice to be able to stretch out after a long night of freaking yourself out. You wonder if you should go get an early breakfast, yawning contentedly, and then you see It.




A girl, small and in a white dress, her face white and rotted and oh, it’s real, They were real. The sun hits her and it doesn’t do anything and she’s still there only, only you see her clearly, and it was her hair, you know it, it was her hair you touched and go away, it’s all you can think and she walks. Oh she’s creaking towards you, the same sound from last night, the shuddering, the long, uneven drawl. No, it wasn’t her hair. She was the one behind you. Then... Under your desk....




It grabs your leg. It has no gender. Hair, hair, hair, it’s all over your room now. The thing’s got an interesting face—globe-like eyes and a happy smile and it’s not a woman, no, you wish it were something, an existing thing, but it’s the thing from the picture and now it’s got you. With the only courage you’ve ever kept inside yourself, you scream and throw open the door.




They waited outside for you, so politely. It came down from your ceiling, holding both your parents in Its enormous black mouth, Its crooked limbs almost exactly like a spider’s. This one might’ve been a woman, once, long ago, but the eyes are so black, everything, black and white, and the teeth aren’t there and you imagine It just ate your parents or something, they look like they’ve been mashed so maybe It just swallows and oh gosh It reaches for you. They’re all reaching for you.




The window. If you can just jump, you can just jump, anything, let the window be okay.




Laughter echoes in your head as you realize your mistake. Yes, the demon was holding something against the window. Its face. Its face. The face is smiling and you realize they’re all smiling. Everything. You remember all the Creepypastas, all the demanding chain-letters, all the campfire yarns, and you realize that, in one night, they’ve come to get you. They creak out of your closet. They slide out from under your bed. They smile at you and it’s morning and you can see them. It’s light now.




You wonder why people always associate light with safety. You wish it were dark again. They always make the night look scary, always make the darkness intimidating, but you can’t see your fears as easily. They’re shaded, and they can be passed off as illusions. You can’t do that with the sun shining. They’re all here, standing and accounted for, and you know it. No more convincing yourself. Goner, goner, the Donner Party landing. A funny thought hits you.







Maybe They were afraid of the dark.

EDIT: Woot! 1,800th FTW

Last edited by sonicdv (2013-02-14 10:17:55)