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It's Always the Quiet Ones Every class has those kids, you know, the ones that looks fragile and weak. They’re ignored throughout the entire year. There’s a reason why no one bugs them.
I am not one of them, I’m those average students on the side line that can socialize like the average human being. I’m not extravagant. I have friends. I do my work. There’s nothing special about me. Although, last year what happened in one of my classes was different.
Edger was one of them, those quiet ones. He didn’t sit at the back of the class like in those cliché stories you read or see in movies. For the first seven months of that school year he was silent. I don’t understand how those kids get away with not answering questions or not going up to the board to write out problems, on presentation days he’d disappear.
On the seventh month of school I’ve started to notice things about Edger. Heck, I wasn’
Creepypasta: With Friends Like TheseCreepypasta: With Friends Like These
You aren’t normally one to suggest stupid outings for the sake of stupid outings, but you and your friends are equal parts bored and stressed about high school starting up again. What better way to de-stress than spending a night in an abandoned house on the edge of town that’s reputedly haunted? Okay, there’s probably many ways that are all better and far less convoluted, but screw logic, you and three of your friends have made the decision and that’s how it’s gonna go down. Errol is the only one who won’t be coming. He said he’d be pretty busy tending to something that came up, although he wished you, Avril, Nathan, and Gary good luck in your ghost hunting.
“You guys ready to get scared?” Gray sniggers as the four of you look upon the desolate structure. You drove your friends out here, seeing as you’re the only one whose parents let you use their car.
The boards over the windows have lon
Creepypasta: The Hangman's OriginCreepypasta: The Hangman’s Origin
The year is 1887 and you are Will Jameson, a photographer for a fairly well-known New York paper. It is a well-paying and fairly secure position. Your current task is to venture into that dying side of America called the Old West, currently on the verge of collapse under the crushing weight of modernization. The rail systems appear to make the country seem smaller every time they are expanded. Fittingly enough, because that’s how you are travelling to the ghost town you are supposed to take pictures of anyhow, via said railway.
Your economy cab is empty, save for one other male passenger and yourself of course. The interior is dimly lit, and the roaring din of the thunderstorm outside doesn’t do much to help visibility. It just makes you all the more thankful for the oil lantern suspended from the ceiling, without which you would trip over your own feet if you got up. Not like the cramped, sparsely appointed cab would give you enough
The Distorted MirrorsPlease note that this is a biography of my encounters with some rather paranormal entities within my second grade year in elementary school. Now, I just want you to know that this all is indeed true, and it's going to be something I never forgot, and can remember vividly. Well, I guess I'll start with how this all started and stuff, and how vivid one's mind and imagination can be.
So, it was the second grade, like I said already, and I was quite the child, but I was cowardly at times, not that it's unusual or anything. Though at the same time, I did have some sense of bravery. It was when it was close to summer, I had exams, though I honestly cannot remember the name; not every detail was with me then, I'm afraid. Instead of being in a normal classroom like normal people, I was just mortified and reluctant to learn that I would be having to spend my week in solitude, and one thing I definitely don't like is solitude, even at that age; at that age, I was horrified of being in small room
I've Got YouHe was falling.
He made no audible sound as he did. Partly because fear had gripped his voice box to the point where he couldn't make a noise and the other half was that he would only get a harsh mouthful of saltwater in response to his cry.
The water was rushing closer to him. Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty feet. Twenty.
He had tried to twist his body to grip the edge if the cliff face beside him, but the rough-edged rocks just sliced through the thin skin on his fingers and palms, forcing to let himself just plummet down below.
It was crazy, really. The great Altair, master of assassination, was going to die. Not because of the fall he was taking, but because of his lack of being able to swim.
He was most ashamed of himself.
A small grunt came from his clenched teeth as he made contact with the ocean and right on impact, he began to sink. He bucked his legs upward, trying to stop his sinking but they just flailed, not doing anything to help him.
Ever since he was a child, he had alwa
Creepypasta: A Game I Cannot WinCreepypasta: A Game I Cannot Win
So. It’s come to this. Eighty-one years of age, and before infirmity has a chance to claim my life I am forced to play Russian roulette with these five faceless men. But it’s not so bad. I know how this will end, and that takes the edge off my trepidation. I look up at the stairs leading up to the cellar door, seeing as we are in my basement, seated around a battered card table. I could make a break for it. But I smirk inwardly, because this will offer an escape in its own way.
I pick up the revolver and put the barrel to my head.
Nothing. I smile and pass it to the figure to my right. He makes no move to pick up the revolver, as I suspected. I pass the gun to the figure to his right, who again, makes no attempt to pick up the weapon. This repeats until I have passed the revolver all around the table, and none of the faceless men have moved in the slightest.
I pick up the revolver a second time, and put the barrel to my head again befo
Maverick You are sitting on your bed, bundled in your blankets, music blaring in your headphones. Your gaze lifts from your laptop screen and you look out over the room. It's dark. Pitch black to be more specific. The moon is nowhere in sight tonight, an overlay of storm clouds hang overhead. You sigh, storms are not your thing, the loud noise and sudden bursts of light unnerve you a bit. The music stops. "Dammit" you mutter. The song was no where near over. Your web browser must have become unresponsive or YouTube was experiencing problems once again.
You decide against staying on the internet tonight, none of your friends are on skype, and it's 3:30 in the morning. You gently shut your laptop, not bothering to shut it down completely, and place it near your bed. After placing your computer on the ground, you decide to get situated on your bed so that you can try to get a good night's sleep. As you lay your head down, a flash of
Creepypasta: Innocence Proves NothingCreepypasta: Innocence Proves Nothing
Darkness is my friend. It hides me from the light, and shrouds the maze of scars on my body from the gaze of my sinner’s eyes. A maze, or maybe a map, showing the way to true insanity. If I wasn’t insane when I was thrown in this padded room and placed on a 24-hour suicide watch, after what could have been either a week or a year (time has little meaning in the dark) I am indeed resolutely insane now. Accused of a murder I didn’t commit, and damned until the end of time to this little slice of Hell.
But in a peculiar way I am grateful. I never noticed how beautiful the dark is. How lovely things are when you can’t see them.
I don’t know why there is no light source in my cell. No one ever checks on me, maybe a bulb burned out long ago and they just don’t know. The lone time that light, that Hellish light that bares my naked flaws for all to see, pours into my cell is when feeding time comes and they shove in a pl
Creepypasta: The Bite of '87It was a normal day at Freddy Fazzbear’s Pizza. A show had just ended on the main stage and the main animatronic, Freddy Fazzbear, was walking off the stage and turned his attention to the kids. “Hey hey hey hey kids! The show is over now but another will be starting soon in Pirate Cove. Just follow me!” Freddy laughed he led the kids over to part of the restaurant called “Pirates Cove”. “I can’t join you on this pirate ship but Foxy will make sure you all stay safe, right Foxy?” Freddy asked a Fox animatronic that had a hook where his right hand should be and an eye patch over his right eye.
“Yar be right Freddy. I won’t let anything hurt these land lovers.” Foxy said in his robotic pirate voice. “Now ye better get out of here or I will have to make ye walk the plank!” He added.
“Alright, have fun kids!” Freddy said before leaving.
“Now, it will be a while till the show starts so have a goo
RD4 - Ashley's Crappy Rescue 13
Bursting into the camp, he yelled, "GRAB ALL OF OUR CRAP, WE'VE GOTTA MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE! Zombies are after me!" Luis woke with a start. "Whaddya do this time..." He asked, slightly drowsy. "I ACCIDENTALLY SNIPED ONE WHILE I WAS TARGET PRACTICING TO GET MY MIND OFF OF DESTROYING THINGS AND AAAAAAAGH" Leon choked as a zombie grabbed him from behind. Luis sat and watched his friend, laughing. God, was this Spaniard stupid. "Haha, Leon, I think that zombie likes you!"
"Are you having your 'evil issues' again?"
"Oh, OH! CRAP, LEON, THERE'S A ZOMBIE CHOKING YOU!"
Luis pulled out his gun and shot the zombie. Both Leon and the zombie fell to the ground, except Leon was breathing heavily and rubbing his neck. More zombies started appearing down the path by the time Leon recovered, but he recovered in about 10 seconds. These zombies were moving pretty fast. "Ugh, okay... LETS GO! DON'T FORGET THE STUPID PIZZA, LUIS! Ahem, ugh, okay. Good. NOW
Red Riding HoodI want to believe people so badly when they say they won’t bite
that I contemplate climbing into their smiling jaws
thinking that it might be better to be split in two than left hanging.
But always, I draw my red hood and flit back into the forest
running in the shadows of pathways, never stepping into clearings
because I’ve spent my whole life in the wilderness
and I still can’t tell the wolves from the woodsmen.
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