Scratch

~The Buskers~
  I kicked at a stone, my breath huffing out in a faint mist. A fresh gust of wind bit into me and gnawed at my bones, and I gritted my teeth, wrapping my coat even more tightly around me.
  Somewhere, music floated to my ears. A folk song, "Green Hills of Glory". Nostalgia. How nice. Well, I had nowhere else to go anyway, unless you count the damp hiding place under the bridge where I slept. So I followed the music, followed the melody.
  And there they were. Two buskers. One was softly playing the guitar, while the other sang. I bent down and saw the box. It was white, with block red letters. "One for luck, Two for riches and Three for insanity."
  Wonder what that meant. I reached into my pocket and dug out three coins, coated with dirt. The leftovers from my usual lunch of bread and weak broth. Should I? It's not like I had an abundance of coins... but then again, neither did they.
  Sighing, I dropped all three in. The singer leant towards me and smiled, a peaceful smile that scared me. It wasn't the sort of peace that promised silence and quiet. It was the sort of peace that promised nothing at all. No pain, no fear, no joy, no hope, no anger, no sorrow, no laughter. A black void.
  And then he leant back and started his song again. It sounded vaguely like "Green Hills of Glory", but I knew it wasn't. The notes were all wrong, and the guitarist was strumming much too fast. It was like the green hills in the song had been covered in dark clouds and rain.
  To my surprise, that was exactly what the busker sang. I shuddered and walked away quickly. The guitarist raised his white guitar in farewell.
  ***
  The next day, I was huddled in front of a small, battered TV. Once a month, I got this privilege from the fruit seller I worked for, though half the time the screen flickered and warped and there were only two channels, both of which were boring.
  The news came on.
  "The gruesome murderer known only as Flesh Reflux left another of his eyeball calling cards at Avenue Three yesterday. We now bring you to Inspector Stift."
  A grave looking man wearing a dark blue uniform flashed onto the screen, speaking into a fuzzy microphone.
  "We have made some progress in tracking the man known as Flesh Reflux. As you know, he extracts the bones from his victims and leaves the flesh alone, except for one eyeball, which he leaves near the crime scene for reasons unknown.
  Through delicate samples, we managed to find how he could extract so much bone without leaving a mark on the body-the nostrils and mouth. Scientists tell us common materials found in many shops can be used to make a machine that would extract bone from a victims through the nostrils and mouth, though it would be crude and painful.
  We hope this killer will be stopped soon."
  The screen flickered and the newsreader was back on.
  "The police urges the public to report this killer and not approach him in any way. He is thought to be armed and certainly dangerous." A small, grainy picture appeared on the screen:the busker from yesterday. The singer, to be precise, though I could see nothing of the guitarist.
  The corners of my mouth twitched. At least I knew what the guitar was made from. Stretching my arms, I walked out of the small, stuffy room and saw the apple seller washing his fruits.
  Casually, I leaned over, took a knife and stabbed him in the back. A sharp bell rang: that meant a customer had come. I walked across the room and opened the door, revealing the singer and guitarist standing side by side.
  "Well?" asked the singer. "We need a drummer. What do you think?" He held up a cardboard box. I glanced down at it, and opened the top. There, lying neatly inside, was a pure white drum, and two pure white sticks.
  I picked up the sticks and the drum. They were harder than anything I'd ever seen or touched.

  But then again, I'd never touched bone.

maybe writing a shugo chara creepypasta. It's proabably gonna be called "The Dream Master." And it's about Utau making a song.

trekkie2000 wrote:

What happened, deep in the hidden eras before history began, that could effect the entire human race so evenly as to give the entire species a deep, instinctual, and lasting fear of pale beings with dark, sunken eyes, razor sharp teeth, and elongated faces?

lets see:
•vampires
•zombies
•diniosaurs.

  lol

Well... that wouldn't really happen. If such a thing really happened, the other countries would scream CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY and before you know it the country would be invaded by screaming madmen and grave soldiers.

And realisticality is a big part of a creepypasta. I mean, if you know something isn't real, you're not that scared of it.

But it's okay. A fairly good story.

I get inspiration from my environment. Lately I've been playing Conway's game of life. Its a real game BTW.

Life
John sat in front of his computer, staring at his screen. Alex, Lily and Ben stood on either side, watching over his shoulder.
"It's this cool game I found," John said, clicking on a bookmarked link. A grid opened up, with a timeline on the bottom and a play and pause button.
"What is it?" Lily asked.
"It's called Conway's Game of Life." John explained. "Its a math game." He drew a figure on the screen with a pen. Then he pressed the play button. The figure blinked and dissipated, leaving a few dots here and there.
"What happened?" Ben asked.
"The game works like this:" John said. "If a cell has 2 or 3 neighbors, it survives, but otherwise, it dies of either overcrowding or loneliness. John played with the controls a bit, then handed them off to his friends. He showed them some tricks, like how to make patterns out of the dying and reproducing cells. Then suddenly Ben sat up.
"I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back." He walked off. A car horn honked outside.
"Sorry, John, Lily and I gotta go." Alex said. He and Lily left.
"Bye guys!" John waved to the twins. He sat there playing a bit when suddenly he felt a soft ache in his chest. He coughed, and it went away. A few minutes later it came back. Then a headache. Suddenly he felt an intense longing for a fellow human. Never had he felt so alone. The room stretched around him and his knees buckled as his brain shorted out. He died of loneliness.
"Cool!" a voice came. "I'll have to try this game when I get home! Thanks for inviting me Ethan!"
"No problem. Seeya later."

Last edited by trekkie2000 (2011-09-17 15:18:27)

trekkie2000 wrote:

I get inspiration from my environment. Lately I've been playing Conway's game of life. Its a real game BTW.

Life
John sat in front of his computer, staring at his screen. Alex, Lily and Ben stood on either side, watching over his shoulder.
"It's this cool game I found," John said, clicking on a bookmarked link. A grid opened up, with a timeline on the bottom and a play and pause button.
"What is it?" Lily asked.
"It's called Conway's Game of Life." John explained. "Its a math game." He drew a figure on the screen with a pen. Then he pressed the play button. The figure blinked and dissipated, leaving a few dots here and there.
"What happened?" Ben asked.
"The game works like this:" John said. "If a cell has 2 or 3 neighbors, it survives, but otherwise, it dies of either overcrowding or loneliness. John played with the controls a bit, then handed them off to his friends. He showed them some tricks, like how to make patterns out of the dying and reproducing cells. Then suddenly Ben sat up.
"I gotta go to the bathroom. Be right back." He walked off. A car horn honked outside.
"Sorry, John, Lily and I gotta go." Alex said. He and Lily left.
"Bye guys!" John waved to the twins. He sat there playing a bit when suddenly he felt a soft ache in his chest. He coughed, and it went away. A few minutes later it came back. Then a headache. Suddenly he felt an intense longing for a fellow human. Never had he felt so alone. The room stretched around him and his knees buckled as his brain shorted out. He died of loneliness.
"Cool!" a voice came. "I'll have to try this game when I get home! Thanks for inviting me Ethan!"
"No problem. Seeya later."

Amazing!  Great work!

bump...

omg this has 666 posts now 667

oh snap, was that my bump?

(off topic!) imnotbob, do u play the tuba, or the baritone?

I play tuba    so i was just wondering. (how many valves does your friends tuba have, 3 or 4?)

Sunrise-Moon wrote:

Flip Book
As a kid, I loved making flip books. They were all I did in art class, whenever I had it. I worked really hard on one particular flip book. It was around 50 pages long, I guess. It had a simple stick figure walking into the page, waving at me, and then walking off. I would look at it at least a dozen times the day that I made it. Then it got boring. You know how kids are, not entertained by one thing for very long. I tossed it under my bed and never gave it a second thought.

A few months later, I was cleaning up my room and swept the stack of paper out from under my bed. I couldn’t quite remember what it was. I flipped through it once and got a sweet taste of nostalgia. I flipped through it once more and noticed the pages hadn’t aged or gained dirty at all. I flipped through a third time. The little stick man walked onto the page, waved at me, but didn’t walk off.

Instead, a second stick man joined him. It waltzed up, having either an item in its hand or a severely disfigured arm; its not like anyone could tell the difference. The second stick man walked next to the first stick figure, stood there for a moment, then whacked the poor fellow upside the head. The stick figure fell, and the second stick man swung his stick at the other man. Again. And again. And again.
That's scary! •_•
What I assume was its blood ran from the stick figure’s rather jagged body. It looked like nothing more than smeared pencil stains. The killer stick man proceeded to bend down, and tear apart the first stick man’s body, limb by thin limb. Once he was done, he bent each one into characters and letters. He set them upon the page to form a single word. He grabbed the base of his own round head and tore it off. Then he tore off his legs, and then one of his arms. His zig-zagged body parts formed themselves into a second word. What I read made me burn the flip book.

“You’re next.”

lol, srry.