Scratch

Animeboy975 wrote:

You want a scary story here you go.
I was walking to my basement, in hope to find my old copy of pokemon. I opened the door, and crept inside. there was a door on the floor, Which i never remembered being there. i went down it, and showed up in the same room. With 5 candles. i stood in the middle, And the wall went back. I went to the excess part, pressed the button. a cave showed, and i kept walking and got sucked into this blue abyss. I was in a pokemon game,but everything was reversed and all creepy. In a moment, i saw a cave and entered it. There was a shrine i entered. There was a doll, and all of the sudden, i dissapeared.

._. bleah
daz no scary
777w tinkz eez too short and eez written to look like you should read it really fast.
plus, eez utter nonsense.
and it's confusing. WHAT button? WHAT wall?
and it's poorly written. "In a moment, i saw a cave and entered it. There was a shrine i entered."

samurai768 wrote:

Luigitailsdoll45 wrote:

The Pokemon Card

Uh... PLEASE tell me you copied this from another website and you didn't want to edit out the bad word 

I copied this and edited out the bad word.

helltank wrote:

Envelope Story Thing

That...was...

AWESOME. Dude, you are the best horror story writer on here. 

degscratcher wrote:

pikachu1337 wrote:

Really long creepypasta about Majora's mask

User: Hello.

Cleverbot: Hello?

User: Are you Ben?

Cleverbot: Who's Ben?

User: Have you heard of the elegy statue?

Cleverbot: Tell me about yourself.

User: Don't change subject, Ben.

Cleverbot: I didn't.

User: Then answer me. Have people ever talked to you about the elegy statue?

Cleverbot: You've confused me all by yourself with all the lies you have told me.

User: Ben...

Cleverbot: How old is ben?

User: He's dead.

Cleverbot: He's dead?

User: YES. I think you of all entities would know that!

Cleverbot: I don't think so.

User: Don't mess with me. Now, what do you know about the elegy statue?

Cleverbot: I've never hear about it. What is it?

User: Don't lie.

Cleverbot: I'm not.

User: Fine, I'll see you in a minute.

*Bathroom break...*

User: Ben.

Cleverbot: Majora's mask.

User: Elegy statue.

Cleverbot: Drowned.

User: Skull kid.

Cleverbot: Why are you doing this to me?

User: Clock town.

Cleverbot: ...

User: Song of healing.

Cleverbot: Youve met with a terrible fate haven't you?

User: You're... Ben?

Cleverbot: No.

User: 4th day glitch.

Cleverbot: You may not use my telescope.

User: Elegy of Emptiness.

Cleverbot: Drowned.

Actual Cleverbot conversation I had... weird. (No edits!)

meh,
I said "Do you know Ben?"
he said
"No, but he drowned."
so, umm, yea, he's much more epic and ossim dan you tink

Astro947 wrote:

Here's a scary story from our good friend Wheately:
http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lWoDNwEt5lU/T … 0/BIRD.jpg AHH AHH A BIRD

OMG A PIDOVE!!!! D:<

Not really a scary story, just something creepy.
Ring around the rosy
One sign of the black plague was a rosy-red rash in a ring around the victim's neck. This was accompanied by violent sneezing and other symptoms.
Pocket full of posies
People once believed keeping herbs in your pocket prevented or even made the black plague go away. It didn't actually help though.
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down

Plastic Mari
    This house is unfamiliar. I wander through it, examining the place. It’s not huge, but it’s bigger than home was. The wood floor has been worn down by generations of feet, the doors cave in a bit, the locks are the kind you slide in. This house is old. Mom says it’s “antique”. I don’t like it that much, but what can I do? As long as my room is far, far away from Becky’s and Basil’s, I’ll live. I begged Mom for weeks and so I sort of got my wish… they don’t have the rooms nearest to me, but unfortunately,  they’re just across the hall. “Brant, did you find your room?” Mom calls from downstairs.
    I catch sight of one of Mom’s bright pink Post-it notes on one of the old wood doors. Brant’s Room, it says in green sharpie. “Yeah!” I yell back. My hand goes to the doorknob. It’s never been replaced and it jiggles in my hand like it might break off at any moment. I go in.
    The room is pretty okay. It’s just as old as the rest of the place. The green wallpaper has faded so much it looks almost yellowish-white. I will need to get it torn down and have the walls painted black or something that will make this more… modern-looking. The bed, at least, has been replaced by a new one, and on the wall is a painting of a farmhouse. Before I can look around much more, I am interrupted.
    “Brant, Brant,” says Basil, tumbling in alongside Becky. They’re both grinning and red-faced from running around. They’re six, half my age, and have blond hair, blue eyes and freckles, like me. But we’re nothing alike. For one thing, they drive me crazy.
    “What? Can’t you see this is my room?” I jab the at the pink Post-it.
    “Uh huh,” says Becky, flipping back her butter-colored pigtails. “We already saw our room, silly. We just came to see yours.” She gazes around.
    “I want to jump on the bed,” Basil declares.
    “It’s my bed!” I say, frustrated. “Go jump on your own. You’re not allowed to anyway.”
    “I know,” sighs Basil. He flops onto my bed, making me groan inwardly.
    Folding my arms, I say, “You should’ve knocked. And I don’t want you in my room, guys…” But they aren’t listening. Becky is examining the painting on my wall.
    “It’s a farmhouse!” she exclaims, looking as though this is the smartest observation in the world, and she deserves a cookie or something.
    “I know it is.”
    Basil looks at it. “Paintings are boring. Let’s go watch TV.”
    “No-o-o. Look, there’s a girl in the farmhouse!” Becky leans in close. “Ooh, look. She has curly black hair and she’s wearing and old dress. See, Brant?” she asks.
    I roll my eyes. “I would’ve if you hadn’t run in. Get out.”
    “Don’t you see her? She’s right here—”
    Before I can snap, “Don’t touch it”, Becky pokes the canvas. Oh great, is my first thought, she’ll probably poke a hole right through it. Then I see the look of surprise and horror flash on Becky’s face before… she disappears.
    I gape at the spot where Becky was. “What the—”
    Then Basil starts crying.
    “Basil—don’t—” I’m kind of in shock. Where did Becky go? I stare around the room, expecting her to be hiding and giggling under the bed. Something like that. But she’s not there. I even check in the closet, even though there’s no way she could’ve hidden in there so fast. “Not funny Becky…” I say under my breath, trying not to panic.
    “Brant, look!” Basil sniffles. He points at the painting.
    I stride over, push him out of the way, and stare it over. There’s the girl with curly black hair, just like Becky said. And then next to her is a smaller girl with blonde braids. It’s Becky. Before I can stop him, Basil reaches out and touches the farmhouse painting.
    He’s gone.
    “No!” I stare in awe at the painting. Sure enough, there’s Basil in the painting. He is lying in the grass. But he doesn’t move or anything… he is simply a few smears of paint, no more and no less. I cannot completely believe my eyes. My brother and sister, there in paint.
    And in my room, I can’t help thinking through my disbelief.
    But still, I have to save them… somehow. My hand stretches toward the painting.
    What if, says the nasty part in my brain, what if, when you go in, you can’t move in there either? You’ll just be a motionless little dab of acrylic paint.
    I know, but I have to, I answer myself. And without giving myself time to think about the consequences, I take a deep breath and… touch the painting.
    It’s the strangest feeling. You know, getting sucked out of your world into a painting. My feet left the floor, everything was blank and nothing for a moment. And then I was in the grass of the painting. It was a paint version of grass, just the right size and shape, but… different, without the tiny features of life. There were no tiny veins in the grass, no brown spots or ragged edges… just the perfection of acrylic paints. Even in my awe, I begin to feel scared.
    “Brant, you’re here!” says an oh-so-familiar voice.
    When I look up, it’s Basil. Paint Basil. He is so different. The right shades of pink, freckles sprinkled on in a light shade of brown, blonde-and-gold painted hair. Everything is smooth and… creepily paint-like. He doesn’t look real.
    It occurs to me I must look the same way.
    “This is amazing.” Basil looks around happily.
    “Not amazing. Not amazing. We have to leave,” I croak. I look around, staring up at the brilliant blue sky, which is sunny, somehow, without a sun. It looks to go on forever with no clouds, even though I know it must end. Somewhere, it is cut off by a simple wooden frame. “Basil, let’s go.”
    “Why?” he says. And then, “How?”
    Good question. I don’t know.
    “Brant, Basil,” calls a cheerful voice, and then Becky has come up to us. I try not to think how like the Paint Basil she is. Paint Becky. Paint Brant…
    And alongside her, a girl. Paint Girl with black curly hair.
    To see her, for real, is very surreal. She looks more alive… yet not as real. Her curly black hair really shines, and her eyes are wide and gray, and her face is tinged pink, just enough. She wears a flawless dress with no wrinkles. It looks so unnatural, just like everything here. At the moment, this includes us. This girl looks like a plastic doll.
    “Hello!” she says in a happy but unreadable voice. “You must be Becky’s brothers. She was so upset at first, of course, but then you came… how wonderful!”
    “Wonderful!” I almost scream it. “We gotta get out of here. Becky, Basil, let’s go.” I don’t know what I’m thinking. Maybe if we keep walking, past where the frame would end, we’ll go back. But there is no visible frame. Everything is as large as real life with no visible boundary.
    “We don’t want to,” says my bratty little sister. “It’s fun right here.”
    Plastic Doll laughs, a perfect musical laugh that really scares me. “I’m Mari, Brant,” she introduces herself. “There’s nothing wrong with staying here really.”
    “What do you eat?” I blurt out, looking around at this empty place. I think I know the answer before Plastic Mari answers.
    “Silly!” says Plastic Mari in her perfect voice. “You don’t need to eat here… I’ve been here so very long. Nothing is needed to be here. You never change. I’ve been here forever. I was painted here. I am still nine years old.”
    It sounds horrible to me. Judging by the kind of dress she is wearing, she’s about as old as our house. But she’s still three years younger than I am somehow.
    “We gotta go,” I say shakily.
    Plastic Mari shakes her head sympathetically, black curls brushing her face. “I know… I know you want to… but in order for that to happen—” Something unpleasant enters her voice, and just before she tells me, what, exactly, needs to happen, Becky and Basil interrupt.
    “We found a butterfly!” shrieks Becky. “It’s orange!”
    “It’s a monarch butterfly, I think!” Basil says loudly, grinning. “It’s got black dots.”
    I open my mouth furiously, but Plastic Mari doesn’t give me a chance to speak. “How amusing,” she says. “The painter must have put it there. I see it quite often. Only one.”
    The butterfly has been there always? I think skeptically, before realizing that this butterfly must have to stay here forever: it has the same deal as Plastic Mari. As me and Basil and Becky too, I realize, and my mind goes a little cold.
    Plastic Mari says suddenly, “Why don’t we go in the farmhouse, then. It’s quite nice in there.”
    In the farmhouse! I hadn’t thought of that. Despite my horror, I feel a bit curious, so I follow Plastic Mari, Becky and Basil inside. It looks almost… almost like a real farmhouse. I wish it was real. But it doesn’t look exactly real, not quite. The pile of hay looks like one big patch of sponged goldenrod paint until Plastic Mari reaches inside of it and a few strands fall off. Then she draws the thing out of the hay. It’s a rake.
    “What…” I start to say nervously, but again I am interrupted. Plastic Mari slashes out with the rake towards the twins, who scream in unison.
    “No!” I shout. “Are you out of your mind?!”
    Plastic Mari turns to me, brandishing the rake, as Becky and Basil shrink against the wall, looking scared. “You don’t get it,” she says, and pins me to the wall with the rake. The whole thing is so scary and ridiculous: a little nine-year-old girl with a permanently pink face, pinning me to the wall with a rake.
    The forked end pricks into my arm, and I move my arm instinctively as it makes a painful cut. “OUCH!” I yell aloud as the sharp part drags on my skin. It hurts, but it feels like real blood… which is somewhat comforting in this painted place. “What don’t I get?!” I demand, recovering myself.
    “You didn’t notice the other painting, did you?” asks Plastic Mari sweetly. As soon as she says it, I do notice it… it’s a painting of my bedroom. My mouth falls open.
    “Yeah, I know,” continues Plastic Mari. “Doesn’t it seem awfully convenient? But it isn’t really… because here’s the thing.” The rake digs deeper in my arm, and I wince. “There needs to be an exchange.”
    My eyes open wide. I close them, trying not to concentrate on my stinging cuts and show how terrified I am to this creepy painted girl. “Exchange? But… you…”
    “I was not painted here,” admits Plastic Mari. “I used to have your room, until I got stuck in this painting. But I don’t want to be here, not anymore. So I’m exchanging one of you.”
    “Couldn’t have killed the butterfly, then?” I say, before I can stop myself.
    “They have to be human. It’s not been easy…” Plastic Mari says, now just trying to draw it out for me. “If I had gotten to the painting of my room quickly enough, within that first hour, then I would never have been trapped here… but I didn’t think to try… until it was too late— and now—” The rake cuts deeply into my shoulder.
    Three things happen at once. Basil and Becky leap to the painting to escape; I fling aside the rake, taking Plastic Mari by surprise; Mari screams “No!” as I jump toward the painting—
    When we arrive back in my bedroom, feeling shaky (but looking like our normal selves), I notice two things. One is actually okay—I have no cuts on my arm, just red paint. The second thing is creepier. In the farmhouse painting, the girl with curly black hair has her hands pressed to the canvas, her eyes opened wide and staring. I cannot trade rooms after all the begging I put Mom through to get this one, and when I try to get the painting off, it refuses to budge, somehow. And I know no one will believe my story, so the painting and room arrangements stay.
    Plastic Mari is watching me.

CosmicProjectz wrote:

kenzthewenz wrote:

Please don't make fun of it. It's my first story.
_________________________________________________________________________________
                                             Chicken the Victini


Hello. My name is Chicken. Chicken the Victini. I am a Lvl 15, or I should say WAS. My owner got Action Replay, and I was thinking "None of us are leaving. We're just going in the PC. We'll have fun there, right?" WRONG. The first thing my trainer did was go to codes, select "Wild Pokemon are shiny" and "WILD POKEMON MODIFIER, Victini." I was ashamed at her. I was being REPLACED!!! And when she caught it, guess what she named it? CHICKEN.


The next day, in the PC, Servine, Lillipup, Liepard, and I were being IGNORED. In such a plain box, too.  I was SO mad at my trainer. A while later, she opened the PC. And touched ME. I thought  I was being brought back. But then, I saw the word release being touched. ALL I SAW AFTER THAT WAS BLACKNESS. On my side, instead of "Goodbye, Chicken!" It said, "I always hated you, Chicken." So do me a favor. Once YOU catch a Victini, name it Chicken so I shall LIVE AGAIN. I wish to haunt my trainer for all eternity. She has done a horrible deed. I will set a curse on trainers who release their Victinis. I will teach this to them on my side. They will rule over all trainers. So, are you ready, Kenzie?

... Because of this, I'm definitely going to nickname my Victini Chicken. 

Already caught mine. Still Lv. 15...
Also, GO NON-HACKED POKEMON!

Shadowsonics wrote:

CosmicProjectz wrote:

kenzthewenz wrote:

Please don't make fun of it. It's my first story.
_________________________________________________________________________________
                                             Chicken the Victini


Hello. My name is Chicken. Chicken the Victini. I am a Lvl 15, or I should say WAS. My owner got Action Replay, and I was thinking "None of us are leaving. We're just going in the PC. We'll have fun there, right?" WRONG. The first thing my trainer did was go to codes, select "Wild Pokemon are shiny" and "WILD POKEMON MODIFIER, Victini." I was ashamed at her. I was being REPLACED!!! And when she caught it, guess what she named it? CHICKEN.


The next day, in the PC, Servine, Lillipup, Liepard, and I were being IGNORED. In such a plain box, too.  I was SO mad at my trainer. A while later, she opened the PC. And touched ME. I thought  I was being brought back. But then, I saw the word release being touched. ALL I SAW AFTER THAT WAS BLACKNESS. On my side, instead of "Goodbye, Chicken!" It said, "I always hated you, Chicken." So do me a favor. Once YOU catch a Victini, name it Chicken so I shall LIVE AGAIN. I wish to haunt my trainer for all eternity. She has done a horrible deed. I will set a curse on trainers who release their Victinis. I will teach this to them on my side. They will rule over all trainers. So, are you ready, Kenzie?

... Because of this, I'm definitely going to nickname my Victini Chicken. 

Already caught mine. Still Lv. 15...
Also, GO NON-HACKED POKEMON!

I got a Victini today. Already got it to level 28.    AND I NICKNAMED IT CHICKEN!

samid11 wrote:

777w wrote:

Wickimen wrote:

Not really a scary story, just something creepy.
Ring around the rosy
One sign of the black plague was a rosy-red rash in a ring around the victim's neck. This was accompanied by violent sneezing and other symptoms.
Pocket full of posies
People once believed keeping herbs in your pocket prevented or even made the black plague go away. It didn't actually help though.
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down

._o wowieflorfie

See? We're taught scary things as babies.

KOOLIO
daz just ossim

samid11 wrote:

777w wrote:

samid11 wrote:

See? We're taught scary things as babies.

KOOLIO
daz just ossim

HE COMES

Actually, it's just Mother Goose really

Three blind mice, three blind mice,

See how they run, see how they run,

They all ran after the farmer's wife,

Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,

Did you ever see such a thing in your life,

As three blind mice?

This is actually about Bloody Mary, the evil queen who sentences people to death. Search it, there's a bunch of weird things about these nursery rhymes

Last edited by Wickimen (2011-08-20 20:36:06)

samid11 wrote:

777w wrote:

Wickimen wrote:

Not really a scary story, just something creepy.
Ring around the rosy
One sign of the black plague was a rosy-red rash in a ring around the victim's neck. This was accompanied by violent sneezing and other symptoms.
Pocket full of posies
People once believed keeping herbs in your pocket prevented or even made the black plague go away. It didn't actually help though.
Ashes, ashes
We all fall down

._o wowieflorfie

See? We're taught scary things as babies.

Actually, I was taught "A-tish-oo", as in a sneezing sound, which would be related to the violent sneezing thing.

Also, children's stories are chock full of creepypasta.

Rock-a-bye Baby? Child abandonment.
Hansel and Gretel? Same thing.
People have said the purple tellytubby is gay.
Red Riding Hood? Pedophilia.
Old Mother Hubbard? Starvation.
The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe? Child abuse.

helltank wrote:

samid11 wrote:

777w wrote:

._o wowieflorfie

See? We're taught scary things as babies.

Actually, I was taught "A-tish-oo", as in a sneezing sound, which would be related to the violent sneezing thing.

Also, children's stories are chock full of creepypasta.

Rock-a-bye Baby? Child abandonment.
Hansel and Gretel? Same thing.
People have said the purple tellytubby is gay.
Red Riding Hood? Pedophilia.
Old Mother Hubbard? Starvation.
The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe? Child abuse.

Yeah, in the original British version it's "A-tish-oo, a-tish-oo, we all fall down", but in the American version it's "Ashes, ashes" as in cremation. Dunno why they changed it.