I want creepy pasta. the creepier, the better

I want creepy pasta. the creepier, the better

Self bump for creepy

Bumping again

Bumping for you

i've got no pastas anymore but i got bumps

Contributing 1/2

This actually happened to me a few years back at the University of the Arts in Philadelphia.
My sophomore year, I roomed with a girl named Kara. She was a jazz vocalist, but her main interest was opera. We had a small room on the sixth floor of a dormitory called Juniper Hall. The walls were thin, and her late night singing and voice practices would keep me up late. After a month or so of lost sleep, I convinced her to move her late night practices to the music studios in the Merriam theater building a block away.
Around eight o’clock one evening, Kara announced that she would be practicing late for an upcoming recital and probably wouldn’t be home until around midnight. Great, I thought, that means I can go to bed early (I was beat… I had a horrible day in acting studio, and was ready to pass out as soon as I had dinner). She said goodnight and left, coffee and sheet music in hand.
I made some grilled cheese and soup, gobbled it down, and immediately began to prepare for bed. By the time I got out of the shower, my eyelids were so heavy I could hardly brush my teeth. I pulled on my PJ’s and crawled into the top bunk of our bunk bed. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.
I should take a second to describe the layout of our apartment. When entering the apartment, the bedroom was through a door immediately to the left. Our bathroom was inside the bedroom, just past the bunk beds (UArts is nice in the sense that you don’t have to share bathrooms).

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Anyway, I woke up to the sound of the apartment door closing. I opened my eyes, and groggily checked my phone: midnight on the dot. I rolled back over and closed my eyes. I heard Kara enter the room and stop in front of the bunk bed. Checking to see if I’m actually asleep, I thought. She flopped down on the bed below me, which was strange, as she was a stickler for brushing her teeth and washing up before bed. Then again, exams were just around the corner, and we were all exhausted. The mattress below me creaked, and then was silent. I couldn’t even hear her breathing.
I started to drift off again. I was just on the edge of deep sleep when I was startled awake again by a noise.
A key in the lock. The door opening.
And Kara entering our apartment, humming an opera tune.
The mattress below me creaked.

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Shiiiiit what was that noise then

Here's another

The rainy season began in early summer, and June had been no exception. It did not surprise the man when he discovered rainwater dripping from his dining room ceiling. Shrugging it off, he placed a tall pot beneath the leak and expected it to stop on its own. However, it continued to rain, and before he knew it, the pot would threaten to overflow. He had to dump the water out first thing in the morning and straight after he returned home from work.
Eventually, he began to notice water damage at the source of the leak. The white ceiling had discolored, turning a dull shade of brown. He checked the weather and realized that it would continue to rain sporadically over the next ten days. The man was worried about the ceiling mildewing and becoming an expensive repair, so he called a local handyman.
Unfortunately, the man could not sign to have the repairs done – only his landlord could. It was a frustrating policy. The man called his landlord but could not reach him. He left him a few voicemails, detailing how the damage was becoming progressively worse. The man was clueless as to why his landlord would not return his calls; they usually kept in touch, speaking at least twice a month. Finally, he reasoned that he would not be held accountable for any damages sustained.

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One night, the man was startled awake by a massive thump. He quickly turned on his bedside lamp, and just vaguely, he could see an overturned table and a large shape laying across it. He sprinted out of his apartment and called the police, gagging at the smell.
The man sat in the police station with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a coffee mug resting in his hands. He did know one thing. There had been a dead body in his ceiling, and the water had saturated it so badly that it caved under the weight. So far, the body was unidentifiable due to the rainwater and was being autopsied. While the man waited, he called his landlord and finally reached him, panicking as he explained the situation. His landlord was just as alarmed, and the man pleaded for him to come to the station while he made his statement. The man paused as a detective crossed over to him, and he lowered his phone, wondering if the body had been identified. His blood ran immediately cold, and he shook his head with terror. The body belonged to Richard Thompson, his landlord, and he had died over a year ago. That’s not what disturbed him the most. If his landlord was dead, then who was pretending to be him?

Once there was a kid named Tim

One night his mother misspelled his name while signing a doctor's note and the kid FUCKING DIED

THE END.

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2016 E3 PC press conference

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Last one, you fags need to contribute

Halloween is by far my favorite time of the year, the one wonderful day where walking around with a mask on is socially acceptable. Masks hold quite a unique place in society. A mask can transform anyone into something else, turn an actor into a character, hide the ‘secret identity’ of a superhero, or even allow monsters to walk among men. You never know what’s behind a mask until it’s taken off, but that’s the best part of Halloween; no one is going to take off anyone’s mask. There is no gang of teenagers with their talking dog there to strip away my disguise and reveal the truth underneath. No, this is reality, and on Halloween I’m perfectly able to hide in plain sight.
Of course, wearing a mask has its own special meaning for me; I am not an actor, super hero, or even a monster- not in the fictional terms at least- no, I simply use a mask as a means of entry. Any mask works really, so long as it covers my face; I manage to use a different one every year. All I need to do is walk the streets of my suburban neighborhood, weave my way through various decorations, and dodge packs of trick-or-treaters, until I hear the familiar blaring of loud music. Like a sailor to a siren at sea, I’m drawn to the music, to the party that it emanates from; yes, this is why Halloween is wonderful.

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2/2
No one seems to ever ask questions at the door to a Halloween party, all I really need to do is knock and wave when the door opens- the mask makes people just assume I’m there for the party. Hell, sometimes people just leave their front doors wide open- allowing even easier access to their home. On Halloween no one gives a second glance towards a masked man making his way through their midst, which is what makes my hobby oh so fun.
They are completely oblivious as I approach their food. They continue to chatter and gossip as I add my own special ingredient to their bowl of punch. They continue to dance and play as I stab small, sharp, needles into their chocolates and sweets. It is not until their first friend drops to the floor, either choking on my poison or coughing up bloody needles, that people start to panic. It is the same every year; as soon as I leave the party and hear the chaos rising behind me, an unstoppable grin forms under my mask. Screams of terror are such a pleasant noise for such a pleasant holiday.

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3spoopy5me

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Keep it up b

Fuck that is terrifying way 2spoopy4me

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Actually hilarious

Fuck. That.