Gravediggers | A Halloween Creepypasta

Original Story

Music by Myuu

It was a cold autumn night. A dense fog had rolled across London, it was impossible to see anything more than five feet ahead of you. The mist reduced people to vague, ghostly figures, or disembodied voices.

In short, it was the perfect Halloween night.

Fifteen year old Michael Blake shivered as he walked through the fog with his best friend, John. On John’s insistence, he’d managed to give his parents the slip so that they could perform that time — honored Halloween ritual — to walk through a deserted cemetery in the middle of the night. Conveniently, there was a supposedly haunted neighborhood cemetery nearby.

Trust John to come up with an idea like this, thought Michael. But he wasn’t going to complain. One of John’s ideas had once saved his life. Somehow, John always seemed to know the right thing to do, even if it seemed absurd at the time.

And then, out of the fog, the cemetery gates suddenly appeared before them — old and disused. The iron had rusted to brown so that they looked like twisted pieces of wood that had been bound together. In fact the entire cemetery was in disrepair; the authorities weren’t bothered about it and the relatives of the people in the cemetery didn’t complain.

The cemetery is abandoned and unloved, thought Michael, perhaps just like the souls of its residents. Then he chided himself. Why did he let such weird thoughts enter his head?

John kicked the cemetery gates, which swung open with a loud groan of protest. Michael looked around nervously, but nobody seemed to have heard them.

As they entered the cemetery, John suddenly stopped.

“I almost forgot,” he said casually. “We’ll have to watch out for gravediggers.”

“Gravediggers?”

“The poorest of London’s poor. They’re usually homeless and jobless. They go about stealing from the dead. They rob graves of glasses, watches, even the clothes worn by the corpse, if they’re desperate. And most of them are armed with knives.”

Nice of him to tell me now. Michael shivered. But once again, he didn’t complain, and followed John into the cemetery.

This is so cliché, Michael thought to himself. Two friends performing a Halloween dare get a lot more than they bargained for. He could see the phrase on the back cover of a dozen cheesy horror flicks.

John kicked aside a pebble. It skittered and came to a stop in front of an old tombstone. Despite the fog, Michael could make out the words inscribed on it- Here Lies FRANK JONES
Died as he lived- in the pursuit of justice

He must have been a policeman, thought Michael. It was a strangely comforting notion.

They continued onward through the cemetery. Michael had to admit, it made him irrationally nervous, even though he had thought that he had long since ceased to be afraid of ghosts. But the cemetery itself scared him. Unlike in a typical cemetery, there were trees planted at seemingly random spots, casting long shadows in the foggy moonlight. Birds squawked and chattered in the trees. The idea behind the planting of the trees was that the remains of the dead would give rise to new life. However, the trees had never been trimmed, and at this time of night, they only heightened the uneasiness one would naturally feel in a cemetery. They made the entire place look wild and overgrown. Michael imagined those branches reaching out to grab him…

He shivered and trudged forward, trying to keep up with John, who had gone totally silent. John went through these moods- he would be happy one moment, surly in the next. Right now he was making Michael feel nervous.

Don’t be stupid, he said to himself. It was the cemetery creeping him out, not John. He had no need to be afraid of John, or to be distrustful of him.

In front of him, John suddenly stopped, and pointed to a spot a few feet in front of him. The fog parted and Michael saw a crouching figure. He seemed to be digging into the ground.

A gravedigger, thought Michael. What had John said? Most of them were armed with knives. They were homeless, desperate. What if this man tried to steal from them, or kill them? He tried to pull John back. But John pushed him away.

“Who’s that?” he said loudly, and boldly walked forward. Michael hesitated, then followed.

As they walked up to him, the gravedigger gave a sudden start. He rose up and drew out a knife.

“Didn’t see you there, laddie. You shouldn’t be out here alone at night, a nice lad like you.”

He slowly moved towards Michael, making slow circular motions in the air with his knife.

Michael’s eyes were fixed on the blade- a few inches of metal that could mean his death. He was rooted to the spot with fear.

But as the gravedigger reached him, he crumpled, falling towards Michael. Michael grabbed him to stop his fall, and the gravedigger leaned on Michael like a dead weight. He could see the man’s strangely blank eyes, smell his rotten breath. Then, he pushed the gravedigger away, and he collapsed and lay there as if dead.

In front of Michael stood a policeman. Clearly, it was he who had knocked out the gravedigger. Michael sighed with relief, then gasped when he clearly saw the policeman.

His face was a pale milky white, with a crooked nose and two deep-set eyes that were pitch-black in color. Somehow, it did not look entirely human. The policeman looked unnaturally thin. Corpse-like was the phrase that came to mind.

“That was a close one wasn’t it?”

Michael just nodded.

The policeman moved forward to stand right in front of Michael and frowned down on him.

Michael saw his name tag, and gasped again.

The tag read ‘F. Jones’.

“What exactly are you doing out here?” asked Jones.

Michael stood speechless, staring at him. His heart was thundering- it seemed about to burst out of his chest. It seemed impossible, but it looked as though he had been saved from the gravedigger by the ghost of Frank Jones.

Michael turned to John, his throat dry.

John had gone completely white.

“You explain,” he said to Michael, then turned and fled into the fog.

I should have expected that, thought Michael, staring after John.

Officer Jones followed Michael’s gaze into the fog. But John was no longer visible. It was as if the fog had swallowed him up.

Jones frowned, then turned back to Michael.

“Well, boy? I’m waiting for an answer,” said Jones. He was speaking softly, almost whispering. “What are you doing here? Only gravediggers come here at this time of night. This place is one of their frequent haunts.”

Haunts. Funny choice of words.

Michael trembled. He was about to start speaking, but Jones interrupted.

“Unless…unless you’re a gravedigger.” Jones smiled. His teeth were yellow and rotten. Decaying. Now Michael was sure. Officer Jones was a ghost.

“You’ll have to come with me,” Jones continued. “Oh yes.”

He smiled again, and licked his grey, cracked lips with his grey tongue.

Michael was terrified. Jones thought he was a gravedigger. And what did he mean by “You’ll have to come with me?”

“I… I’m not going anywhere with you!” Michael screamed. “This is a mistake! I’m not a gravedigger!”

But it was useless to argue. Michael could see that Jones did not believe him. An evil fire had lit in his eyes.

“Save your protests for later, boy. You’re coming with me, where you belong!”

And Jones reached for his belt. Michael saw his hand close around his gun. Jones was going to kill him!

And so, without pausing to think, Michael acted.

He pushed his legs forward, falling as if he had slipped over something. Jones was right in front of him and Michael’s legs crashed into Jones’ feet. It was the last thing Jones had expected. He fell right on top of Michael, and as he did so, Michael punched him where it hurt most. Jones howled with pain, and Michael pulled Jones’ gun out of its holster.

I have to move quickly, thought Michael. Before Jones could react, Michael pushed him away, pointed the gun at his face and pulled the trigger. Blood spurted from Jones’ head and into Michael’s eyes, but he didn’t care. He was alive! He’d done it. For once, he’d saved his life without John’s help. He laid on the ground, laughing with relief.

Then he heard footsteps behind him. He got up, but before he could turn around, he’d been expertly cuffed and twisted around. It was another policeman. He stood staring at Michael, his face white. Then, without a word, he walked Michael to a nearby police station. He was taken to a holding cell. For what seemed like hours, he was left alone. Then the policeman who had arrested him walked in.

“What did you do?!”

And Michael told him everything — about the Halloween dare, Frank Jones’ grave, the gravedigger, and the ghost.

The policeman stared silently at him. Then he pressed a buzzer and Michael’s parents walked in. They looked pale, shocked. It seemed they had heard everything.

“Michael, how could you do this?” his mother asked in between sobs.

“I had to protect myself.”

“Why did you leave the house without telling us?” his father screamed.

Michael looked at him sadly. He had reacted similarly- last time.

“It was John’s idea,” Michael said.

“Did… did you say John?” his mother asked. She seemed to have gone even paler.

“Yeah, Mom. He told me to walk through the cemetery with him. He told me about the gravediggers.”

“No Michael!” his father said, clutching at his hair. “I told you about the gravediggers a week ago!”

He left the room with Michael’s mother and the policeman. Michael could hear parts of their angry conversation outside.

“…let him leave the house!” the policeman was saying.

Michael strained to hear his parents’ reply.

“…stabilised…they let us … for a few days… we never dreamed…”

“You should have,” the policeman snapped. “I lost a good friend today.”

And then all was silent for a few hours.

The policeman entered the room again. He grabbed Michael and took him out of the station and into a car. They drove him to the last place he wanted to be. His home for the last few years, until a few days ago.

They took Michael to a cell- his cell, deep within the facility.

They tried, once again, to feed him their lies. They told him that Frank Jones had been a criminal lawyer who had a heart attack while cross-examining a murderer.

They told him the policeman’s name had been Francis Jones. He had been a young, enthusiastic officer. When he confronted Michael, he had been reaching for his cuffs, not his gun.

And Michael had killed him.

Of course, Michael didn’t believe them. Six years ago, they had also lied to him. They told him that John, his best friend, was imaginary! It was a lie! John was real, but he was a ghost. Only Michael could see ghosts. That was why he had been able to see the ghost of Frank Jones tonight.

Six years ago, John had saved Michael’s life by warning him that his teenage cousin, David, was planning to kill Michael and his parents. Michael remembered the feeling of intense relief he’d experienced when he wrapped his hands around David’s neck and squeezed the life out of him- the same relief he’d felt when he shot Jones.

And they had arrested Michael for killing David, when he had actually saved his family! And now he was back in this hellhole for ‘killing’ Jones. Damn them all!

But Michael knew the truth. The policeman he had shot was the ghost of Frank Jones. Of course, shooting a ghost wasn’t a crime! And John… John was not imaginary. Michael knew that John would help him escape this place…someday…

And Michael laughed and laughed, his laughter mingling with that of some of the other souls condemned to spend their lives at London’s maximum security prison for the criminally insane.


Inspired by Anthony Horowitz’s THE HITCHHIKER

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NoEnd House | A Creepypasta by Brian Russell

The original story by Brian Russell can be found here.

Music by Myuu

SyFy Channel Zero NoEnd House is based off of this story.

Let me start by saying that Peter Terry was addicted to heroin.

We were friends in college and continued to be after I graduated. Notice that I said “I”. He dropped out after two years of barely cutting it. After I moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment, I didn’t see Peter as much. We would talk online every now and then (AIM was king in pre-Facebook years). There was a period where he wasn’t online for about five weeks straight. I wasn’t worried. He was a pretty notorious flake and drug addict, so I assumed he just stopped caring. Then one night I saw him log on. Before I could initiate a conversation, he sent me a message.

“David, man, we need to talk.”

That was when he told me about the NoEnd House. It got that name because no one had ever reached the final exit. The rules were pretty simple and cliche: reach the final room of the building and you win $500. There were nine rooms in all. The house was located outside the city, roughly four miles from my house. Apparently Peter had tried and failed. He was a heroin and who-knows-what-the-fuck addict, so I figured the drugs got the best of him and he wigged out at a paper ghost or something. He told me it would be too much for anyone. That it was unnatural.

I didn’t believe him. I told him I would check it out the next night and no matter how hard he tried to convince me otherwise, $500 sounded too good to be true. I had to go. I set out the following night.

When I arrived, I immediately noticed something strange about the building. Have you ever seen or read something that shouldn’t be scary, but for some reason a chill crawls up your spine? I walked toward the building and the feeling of uneasiness only intensified as I opened the front door.

My heart slowed and I let a relieved sigh leave me as I entered. The room looked like a normal hotel lobby decorated for Halloween. A sign was posted in place of a worker. It read, “Room 1 this way. Eight more follow. Reach the end and you win!” I chuckled and made my way to the first door.

The first area was almost laughable. The decor resembled the Halloween aisle of a K-Mart, complete with sheet ghosts and animatronic zombies that gave a static growl when you passed by. At the far end was an exit; it was the only door besides the one I entered through. I brushed through the fake spider webs and headed for the second room.

I was greeted by fog as I opened the door to room two. The room definitely upped the ante in terms of technology. Not only was there a fog machine, but a bat hung from the ceiling and flew in a circle. Scary. They seemed to have a Halloween soundtrack that one would find in a 99 cent store on loop somewhere in the room. I didn’t see a stereo, but I guessed they must have used a PA system. I stepped over a few toy rats that wheeled around and walked with a puffed chest across to the next area.

I reached for the doorknob and my heart sank to my knees. I did not want to open that door. A feeling of dread hit me so hard I could barely even think. Logic overtook me after a few terrified moments, and I shook it off and entered the next room.

Room three is when things began to change.

On the surface, it looked like a normal room. There was a chair in the middle of the wood paneled floor. A single lamp in the corner did a poor job of lighting the area, casting a few shadows across the floor and walls. That was the problem. Shadows. Plural.

With the exception of the chair’s, there were others. I had barely walked in the door and I was already terrified. It was at that moment that I knew something wasn’t right. I didn’t even think as I automatically tried to open the door I came through. It was locked from the other side.

That set me off. Was someone locking the doors as I progressed? There was no way. I would have heard them. Was it a mechanical lock that set automatically? Maybe. But I was too scared to really think. I turned back to the room and the shadows were gone. The chair’s shadow remained, but the others were gone. I slowly began to walk. I used to hallucinate when I was a kid, so I wrote off the shadows as a figment of my imagination. I began to feel better as I made it to the halfway point of the room. I looked down as I took my steps and that’s when I saw it.

Or didn’t see it. My shadow wasn’t there. I didn’t have time to scream. I ran as fast as I could to the other door and flung myself without thinking into the room beyond.

The fourth room was possibly the most disturbing. As I closed the door, all light seemed to be sucked out and put back into the previous room. I stood there, surrounded by darkness, not able to move. I’m not afraid of the dark and never have been, but I was absolutely terrified. All sight had left me. I held my hand in front of my face and if I didn’t know what I was doing, I would never have been able to tell. Darkness doesn’t describe it. I couldn’t hear anything. It was dead silence. When you’re in a sound-proof room, you can still hear yourself breathing. You can hear yourself being alive.

I couldn’t.

I began to stumble forward after a few moments, my rapidly beating heart the only thing I could feel. There was no door in sight. Wasn’t even sure there was one this time. The silence was then broken by a low hum.

I felt something behind me. I spun around wildly but could barely even see my nose. I knew it was there, though. Regardless of how dark it was, I knew something was there. The hum grew louder, closer. It seemed to surround me, but I knew whatever was causing the noise was in front of me, inching closer. I took a step back; I had never felt that kind of fear. I can’t really describe true fear. I wasn’t even scared I was going to die; I was scared of what the alternative was. I was afraid of what this thing had in store for me. Then the lights flashed for a second and I saw it.

Nothing. I saw nothing and I know I saw nothing there. The room was again plunged into darkness and the hum became a wild screech. I screamed in protest; I couldn’t hear this goddamn sound for another minute. I ran backwards, away from the noise, and fumbled for the door handle. I turned and fell into room five.

Before I describe room five, you have to understand something. I am not a drug addict. I have had no history of drug abuse or any sort of psychosis short of the childhood hallucinations I mentioned earlier, and those were only when I was really tired or just waking up. I entered the NoEnd House with a clear head.

After falling in from the previous room, my view of room five was from my back, looking up at the ceiling. What I saw didn’t scare me; it simply surprised me. Trees had grown into the room and towered above my head. The ceilings in this room were taller than the others, which made me think I was in the center of the house. I got up off the floor, dusted myself off, and took a look around. It was definitely the biggest room of them all. I couldn’t even see the door from where I was; various brush and trees must have blocked my line of sight with the exit.

Up to this point, I figured the rooms were going to get scarier, but this was a paradise compared to the last room. I also assumed whatever was in room four stayed back there. I was incredibly wrong.

As I made my way deeper into the room, I began to hear what one would hear if they were in a forest; chirping bugs and the occasional flap of birds seemed to be my only company in this room. That was the thing that bothered me the most. I heard the bugs and other animals, but I didn’t see any of them. I began to wonder how big this house was. From the outside when I first walked up to it, it looked like a regular house. It was definitely on the bigger side, but this was almost a full forest in here. The canopy covered my view of the ceiling, but I assumed it was still there, however high it was. I couldn’t see any walls, either. The only way I knew I was still inside was that the floor matched the other rooms: the standard dark wood paneling.

I kept walking, hoping that the next tree I passed would reveal the door. After a few moments of walking, I felt a mosquito fly onto my arm. I shook it off and kept going. A second later, I felt about ten more land on my skin at different places. I felt them crawl up and down my arms and legs and a few made their way across my face. I flailed wildly to get them all off but they just kept crawling. I looked down and let out a muffled scream – more of a whimper, to be honest. I didn’t see a single bug. Not one bug was on me, but I could feel them crawl. I heard them fly by my face and sting my skin but I couldn’t see a single one. I dropped to the ground and began to roll wildly. I was desperate. I hated bugs, especially ones I couldn’t see or touch. But these bugs could touch me and they were everywhere.

I began to crawl. I had no idea where I was going; the entrance was nowhere in sight and I still hadn’t even seen the exit. So I just crawled, my skin wriggling with the presence of those phantom bugs. After what seemed like hours, I found the door. I grabbed the nearest tree and propped myself up, mindlessly slapping my arms and legs to no avail. I tried to run, but I couldn’t; my body was exhausted from crawling and dealing with whatever it was that was on me. I took a few shaky steps to the door, grabbing each tree on the way for support.

It was only a few feet away when I heard it. The low hum from before. It was coming from the next room and it was deeper. I could almost feel it inside my body, like when you stand next to an amp at a concert. The feeling of the bugs on me lessened as the hum grew louder. As I placed my hand on the doorknob, the bugs were completely gone but I couldn’t bring myself to turn the knob. I knew that if I let go, the bugs would return and there was no way I would make it back to room four. I just stood there, my head pressed against the door marked six and my hand shakily grasping the knob. The hum was so loud I couldn’t even hear myself pretend to think. There was nothing I could do but move on. Room six was next, and room six was Hell.

I closed the door behind me, my eyes held shut and my ears ringing. The hum was surrounding me. As the door clicked into place, the hum was gone. I opened my eyes in surprise and the door I had shut was gone. It was just a wall now. I looked around in shock. The room was identical to room three – the same chair and lamp – but with the correct amount of shadows this time. The only real difference was that there was no exit door and the one I came in through was gone. As I said before, I had no previous issues in terms of mental instability, but at that moment I fell into what I now know was insanity. I didn’t scream. I didn’t make a sound.

At first I scratched softly. The wall was tough, but I knew the door was there somewhere. I just knew it was. I scratched at where the doorknob was. I clawed at the wall frantically with both hands, my nails being filed down to the skin against the wood. I fell silently to my knees, the only sound in the room the incessant scratching against the wall. I knew it was there. The door was there, I knew it was just there. I knew if I could just get past this wall –

“Are you alright?”

I jumped off the ground and spun in one motion. I leaned against the wall behind me and I saw what it was that spoke to me; to this day I regret ever turning around.

There was a little girl. She was wearing a soft, white dress that went down to her ankles. She had long blonde hair to the middle of her back and white skin and blue eyes. She was the most frightening thing I had ever seen, and I know that nothing in my life will ever be as unnerving as what I saw in her. While looking at her, I saw something else. Where she stood I saw what looked like a man’s body, only larger than normal and covered in hair. He was naked from head to toe, but his head was not human and his toes were hooves. It wasn’t the Devil, but at that moment it might as well have been. The form had the head of a ram and the snout of a wolf.

It was horrifying and it was synonymous with the little girl in front of me. They were the same form. I can’t really describe it, but I saw them at the same time. They shared the same spot in that room, but it was like looking at two separate dimensions. When I saw the girl I saw the form, and when I saw the form I saw the girl. I couldn’t speak. I could barely even see. My mind was revolting against what it was attempting to process. I had been scared before in my life and I had never been more scared than when I was trapped in the fourth room, but that was before room six. I just stood there, staring at whatever it was that spoke to me. There was no exit. I was trapped here with it. And then it spoke again.

“David, you should have listened.”

When it spoke, I heard the words of the little girl, but the other form spoke through my mind in a voice I won’t attempt to describe. There was no other sound. The voice just kept repeating that sentence over and over in my mind and I agreed. I didn’t know what to do. I was slipping into madness, yet couldn’t take my eyes off what was in front of me. I dropped to the floor. I thought I had passed out, but the room wouldn’t let me. I just wanted it to end. I was on my side, my eyes wide open and the form staring down at me. Scurrying across the floor in front of me was one of the battery-powered rats from the second room.

The house was toying with me. But for some reason, seeing that rat pulled my mind back from whatever depths it was headed and I looked around the room. I was getting out of there. I was determined to get out of that house and live and never think about this place again. I knew this room was Hell and I wasn’t ready to take up a residency. At first, it was just my eyes that moved. I searched the walls for any kind of opening. The room wasn’t that big, so it didn’t take long to soak up the entire layout. The demon still taunted me, the voice growing louder as the form stayed rooted where it stood. I placed my hand on the floor, lifted myself up to all four and turned to scan the wall behind me.

Then I saw something I couldn’t believe. The form was now right at my back, whispering into my mind how I shouldn’t have come. I felt its breath on the back of my neck, but I refused to turn around. A large rectangle was scratched into the wood, with a small dent chipped away in the center of it. Right in front of my eyes I saw the large seven I had mindlessly etched into the wall. I knew what it was: room seven was just beyond that wall where room five was moments ago.

I don’t know how I had done it – maybe it was just my state of mind at the time – but I had created the door. I knew I had. In my madness, I had scratched into the wall what I needed the most: an exit to the next room. Room seven was close. I knew the demon was right behind me, but for some reason it couldn’t touch me. I closed my eyes and placed both hands on the large seven in front of me. I pushed. I pushed as hard as I could. The demon was now screaming in my ear. It told me I was never leaving. It told me that this was the end but I wasn’t going to die; I was going to live there in room six with it. I wasn’t. I pushed and screamed at the top of my lungs. I knew I was going to push through the wall eventually.

I clenched my eyes shut and screamed, and the demon was gone. I was left in silence. I turned around slowly and was greeted by the room as it was when I entered: just a chair and a lamp. I couldn’t believe it, but I didn’t have time to well. I turned back to the seven and jumped back slightly. What I saw was a door. It wasn’t the one I had scratched in, but a regular door with a large seven on it. My whole body was shaking. It took me a while to turn the knob. I just stood there for a while, staring at the door. I couldn’t stay in room six. I couldn’t. But if this was only room six, I couldn’t imagine was seven had in store. I must have stood there for an hour, just staring at the seven. Finally, with a deep breath, I twisted the knob and opened the door to room seven.

I stumbled through the door mentally exhausted and physically weak. The door behind me closed and I realized where I was. I was outside. Not outside like room five, but actually outside. My eyes stung. I wanted to cry. I fell to my knees and tried but I couldn’t. I was finally out of that hell. I didn’t even care about the prize that was promised. I turned and saw that the door I just went through was the entrance. I walked to my car and drove home, thinking of how nice a shower sounded.

As I pulled up to my house, I felt uneasy. The joy of leaving NoEnd House had faded and dread was slowly building in my stomach. I shook it off as residual from the house and made my way to the front door. I entered and immediately went up to my room. There on my bed was my cat, Baskerville. He was the first living thing I had seen all night and I reached to pet him. He hissed and swiped at my hand. I recoiled in shock, as he had never acted like that. I thought, “Whatever, he’s an old cat.” I jumped in the shower and got ready for what I was expecting to be a sleepless night.

After my shower, I went to the kitchen to make something to eat. I descended the stairs and turned into the family room; what I saw would be forever burned into my mind, however. My parents were lying on the ground, naked and covered in blood. They were mutilated to near-unidentifiable states. Their limbs were removed and placed next to their bodies, and their heads were placed on their chests facing me. The most unsettling part was their expressions. They were smiling, as though they were happy to see me. I vomited and sobbed there in the family room. I didn’t know what had happened; they didn’t even live with me at the time. I was a mess. Then I saw it: a door that was never there before. A door with a large eight scrawled on it in blood.

I was still in the house. I was standing in my family room but I was in room seven. The faces of my parents smiled wider as I realized this. They weren’t my parents; they couldn’t be, but they looked exactly like them. The door marked eight was across the room, behind the mutilated bodies in front of me. I knew I had to move on, but at that moment I gave up. The smiling faces tore into my mind; they grounded me where I stood. I vomited again and nearly collapsed. Then the hum returned. It was louder than ever and it filled the house and shook the walls. The hum compelled me to walk.

I began to walk slowly, making my way closer to the door and the bodies. I could barely stand, let alone walk, and the closer I got to my parents the closer I came to suicide. The walls were now shaking so hard it seemed as though they were going to crumble, but still the faces smiled at me. As I inched closer, their eyes followed me. I was now between the two bodies, a few feet away from the door. The dismembered hands clawed their way across the carpet towards me, all while the faces continued to stare. New terror washed over me and I walked faster. I didn’t want to hear them speak. I didn’t want the voices to match those of my parents. They began to open their mouths and the hands were inches from my feet. In a dash of desperation, I lunged toward the door, threw it open, and slammed it behind me. Room eight.

I was done. After what I had just experienced, I knew there wasn’t anything else this fucking house could throw at me that I couldn’t live through. There was nothing short of the fires of Hell that I wasn’t ready for. Unfortunately, I underestimated the abilities of NoEnd House. Unfortunately, things got more disturbing, more terrifying, and more unspeakable in room eight.

I still have trouble believing what I saw in room eight. Again, the room was a carbon copy of rooms three and six, but sitting in the usually empty chair was a man. After a few seconds of disbelief, my mind finally accepted the fact that the man sitting in the chair was me. Not someone who looked like me; it was David Williams. I walked closer. I had to get a better look even though I was sure of it. He looked up at me and I noticed tears in his eyes.

“Please… please, don’t do it. Please, don’t hurt me.”

“What?” I asked. “Who are you? I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yes you are…” He was sobbing now. “You’re going to hurt me and I don’t want you to.” He sat in the chair with his legs up and began rocking back and forth. It was actually pretty pathetic looking, especially since he was me, identical in every way.

“Listen, who are you?” I was now only a few feet from my doppelgänger. It was the weirdest experience yet, standing there talking to myself. I wasn’t scared, but I would be soon. “Why are you-”

“You’re going to hurt me you’re going to hurt me if you want to leave you’re going to hurt me.”

“Why are you saying this? Just calm down, alright? Let’s try and figure this-” And then I saw it. The David sitting down was wearing the same clothes as me, except for a small red patch on his shirt embroidered with the number nine.

“You’re going to hurt me you’re going to hurt me don’t please you’re going to hurt me…”

My eyes didn’t leave that small number on his chest. I knew exactly what it was. The first few doors were plain and simple, but after a while they got a little more ambiguous. Seven was scratched into the wall, but by my own hands. Eight was marked in blood above the bodies of my parents. But nine – this number was on a person, a living person. Worse still, it was on a person that looked exactly like me.

“David?” I had to ask.

“Yes… you’re going to hurt me you’re going to hurt me…” He continued to sob and rock.

He answered to David. He was me, right down to the voice. But that nine. I paced around for a few minutes while he sobbed in his chair. The room had no door and, similarly to room six, the door I came through was gone. For some reason, I assumed that scratching would get me nowhere this time. I studied the walls and floor around the chair, sticking my head underneath and seeing if anything was below. Unfortunately, there was. Below the chair was a knife. Attached was a tag that read, “To David – From Management.”

The feeling in my stomach as I read that tag was something sinister. I wanted to throw up and the last thing I wanted to do was remove that knife from under that chair. The other David was still sobbing uncontrollably. My mind was spinning into an attic of unanswerable questions. Who put this here and how did they get my name? Not to mention the fact that as I knelt on the cold wood floor I also sat in that chair, sobbing in protest of being hurt by myself. It was all too much to process. The house and the management had been playing with me this whole time. My thoughts for some reason turned to Peter and whether or not he got this far. If he did, if he met a Peter Terry sobbing in this very chair, rocking back and forth… I shook those thoughts out of my head; they didn’t matter. I took the knife from under the chair and immidately the other David went quiet.

“David,” He said in my voice, “What do you think you’re going to do?”

I lifted myself from the ground and clenched the knife in my hand.

“I’m going to get out of here.”

David was still sitting in the chair, though he was very calm now. He looked up at me with a slight grin. I couldn’t tell if he was going to laugh or strangle me. Slowly, he got up from the chair and stood, facing me. It was uncanny. His height and even the way he stood matched mine. I felt the rubber hilt of the knife in my hand and gripped it tighter. I don’t know what I was planning on doing with it, but I had a feeling I was going to need it.

“Now,” his voice was slightly deeper than my own. “I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to hurt you and I’m going to keep you here.” I didn’t respond. I just lunged and tackled him to the ground. I had mounted him and looked down, knife poised and ready. He looked up at me, terrified. It was like I was looking in a mirror. Then the hum returned, low and distant, though I still felt it deep in my body. David looked up at me as I looked down at myself. The hum was getting louder and I felt something inside me snap. With one motion, I slammed the knife into the patch on his chest and ripped down. Blackness fell on the room and I was falling.

The darkness around me was like nothing I had experienced up to that point. Room four was dark, but it didn’t come close to what was completely engulfing me. I wasn’t even sure if I was falling after a while. I felt weightless, covered in dark. Then a deep sadness came over me. I felt lost, depressed, and suicidal. The sight of my parents entered my mind. I knew it wasn’t real, but I had seen it and the mind has trouble differentiating between what is real and what isn’t. The sadness only deepened. I was in room nine for what seemed like days. The final room. And that’s exactly what it was: the end. NoEnd House had an end and I had reached it. At that moment, I gave up. I knew I would be in that in-between state forever, accompanied by nothing but darkness. Not even the hum was there to keep me sane.

I had lost all senses. I couldn’t feel myself. I couldn’t hear anything. Sight was completely useless here. I searched for a taste in my mouth and found nothing. I felt disembodied and completely lost. I knew where I was. This was Hell. Room nine was Hell. Then it happened. A light. One of those stereotypical lights at the end of the tunnel. I felt ground come up from below me and I was standing. After a moment or two of gathering my thoughts and senses, I slowly walked toward that light.

As I approached the light, it took form. It was a vertical slit down the side of an unmarked door. I slowly walked through the door and found myself back where I started: the lobby of NoEnd House. It was exactly how I left it: still empty, still decorated with childish Halloween decorations. After everything that had happened that night, I was still wary of where I was. After a few moments of normalcy, I looked around the place trying to find anything different. On the desk was a plain white envelope with my name handwritten on it. Immensely curious, yet still cautious, I mustered up the courage to open the envelope. Inside was a letter, again handwritten.

David Williams,

Congratulations! You have made it to the end of NoEnd House! Please accept this prize as a token of great achievement.

Yours forever,
Management.

With the letter were five $100 bills.

I couldn’t stop laughing. I laughed for what seemed like hours. I laughed as I walked out to my car and laughed as I drove home. I laughed as I pulled into my driveway. I laughed as I opened my front door to my house and laughed as I saw the small ten etched into the wood.

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Two Scary Stories of the Monsters of Mental Illness

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Unwanted Company

For the latter half of my childhood, I lived in a small town called Burnsley in North East England, emigrating from London for a more peaceful lifestyle. Life was good, I made friends at school, my dad started managing a local butchers and nothing really bad happened often. However, one day at school, I got confronted by three bullies from Year 8, the year above me. They tried to pick me up and shove me in a bin nearby, but a teacher stopped them. I simply dismissed it as them showing Year 7’s dominance, but then it happened more and more and started getting more frequent as the year progressed. I was getting bruises left, right and centre. One time the oldest one cut my lip with a punch to the face. This bullying carried on into the next year.

In the year later, seemingly out of nowhere, I started hearing rumours of livestock dying from local farms, particularly one where my dad’s business gets his cattle from. The corpses appeared to be mangled beyond recognition. My family dismissed it as wolves but I felt slightly weirded out by it all. A month later and a whole wheat farm and the house on the property burned to the ground. The farm was attacked again, my dad was pissed off insanely. The bullying got worse and I found myself struggling to sleep at night, my grades dropped significantly and an incident with a meat cleaver due to drowsiness left my hand gushing blood. I was losing my mind.

Then it happened. One lonely night I was studying hard after school, desperately trying to improve my grades. When I finally left the desolate school at 9 PM, I spotted the same bullies that tormented me the year before, smoking against a wall. Thinking quickly, I ducked into a nearby wheat field and made my way carefully through the rows. That was when I heard running behind me and was knocked unconscious.

When I awoke, the three bullies were standing around me, giving me a mocking look. The oldest picked me up by the collar and slammed me up into a wall. “What are you doing out here when it’s past your bedtime on your own, you stupid twat?” he jeered. I tried to resist, but he quickly equipped a knife out of his pocket. “So you don’t have to get punished by your parents when you get home, I will do it for you,” he said. I closed my eyes, and I heard a strange growl. When I opened them, the bully at the back was gone. The oldest one still held me with one hand and was turned around staring the other one in the eye with I assume a confused expression. All of a sudden, this ‘thing’ appeared out of the sky and soared down, wings open, picked the other one up and took flight again.

The oldest bully got terrified and ran off, releasing me from his grip. I quickly hid behind a stable wall and watched what was about to happen next. The ‘thing’ obviously wasn’t intent on letting him get away, and swooped down, grabbed him and took off far away into the night. As soon as it was out of sight, I ran off through the wheat fields and to my house.

The bodies were found in an abandoned slaughterhouse a year later, stripped from flesh right down to the bone. The next night, the creature came to me in my dreams. I couldn’t take it any more. I convinced my family to move.

We relocated to a small town in the South West. One fateful day, I got a letter through the postbox. What it said will haunt me forever:

“Remember what I did for you back in Burnsley?”


HATE

We are trapped within the darkest holes of our mind. We can’t wait to be free.

My name is Jason Beckett. I’m a 17 year-old senior and the only child of Julie and Ryan Beckett. My family is an “on the road” kind of family due to constant job openings given to my father. My father became a pharmacist at the local CVS. Mom just stays at home while my dad is away. Due to my family constantly moving I never really made friends nor do I plan on making any. It’s not like I ever needed any friends.

We moved to 15 Windham Avenue in an aqua blue house in Mandan, North Dakota. It’s not much like the other houses with their fancy lawns and house decorations. I could care less what anyone thinks about us. If we’re poor, rich, middle class… we all leave anyway.

When I was a child I got into a huge fight with three teenagers who, to what I thought, were trying to kill me. I don’t know why they wanted me dead, maybe it’s because they were in a gang? It was in the middle of the street and the fight was more of me protecting myself after being threatened by them and sworn at. I was shoved backwards and I began to lose my balance. I fell and landed head first onto the sidewalk pavement.

As I lay there bleeding from my skull, everything began to fade. I noticed the three teenagers rush over to me and as I did I saw someone behind them… then I blacked out. When Mom and Dad found me on the floor bleeding out I was rushed to the emergency room where I was given a full body CAT scan. I asked mom what happened to those kids who attacked me… she told me that I was too young to hear, but something “unfortunate” had happened to them.

After the CAT scan was complete, doctors noticed something peculiar and irregular happening in my brain. They said something about my “Limbic System”, the area involving my emotions. I was asked if I hate those boys who attacked me with which I calmly replied with “no, what’s hate? If it’s something bad then no, I don’t hate them for what they did to me. They concluded that I had a rare, maybe new, form of “Psychopathic Personality Disorder” that didn’t allow me to “hate” anyone or anything.

They were fairly surprised as they didn’t know what this meant or what it was causing this since it’s weird that it would target one specific emotion. They told my parents that they shouldn’t be afraid because it only targeted “hate” which could be considered a really good thing. It was just a feeling that will never be introduced to me because of this unknown problem. But I do know that because of this same benefit from my “problem”, not being able to hate others and stay cool headed, there was also a drawback.

Every night I have reoccurring dreams. It’s a dark, almost empty pitch black world that I am thrown into. It always feels like I have never been here although I always have these dreams every night. There is someone… standing in the darkness, unmoving. I could tell there is someone there in this pitch black abyss because although everything is dark… that person was always darker.

Not even the textbook definition can fully explain how this being can even be seen. As if there is no light able to reach this mysterious person but through my presence he is as visible as a sunflower in the middle of a rose field. In these “dreams” it would always just stand there in this abyss, silent and still. It’s always in my dreams… well I say dreams because nothing bad ever really happens. Regardless, it’s an ominous vision.

Pops enrolled me into Mandan High School. I’m a senior so there really isn’t much going for my senior graduation as I share no special bond with these strangers. I usually keep to myself. I got dressed in my jean pants, red plaid shirt, and beanie hat. I grabbed my bag which only had 1 drawing note book, 5 lead pencils (Since I like to draw on my spare time), 3 notebooks, and a textbook involving the human mind that I stole from my dad.

My dad has a fascination for my psychological problem but it doesn’t bother me. I waited at my bus stop and boarded the bus. I was the new kid in town so naturally everyone just stared at me for the couple seconds I got on the bus and sat down. Then they returned back to their daily activities. They were gossiping, texting, talking, and reading like most teens do. I got to school, received my schedule from my school counselor, and headed to my first period class.

Psychology class, who would have guessed I was put in there. The teacher handed out those written on and worn out textbooks but I refused when one was handed to me. I had my fathers’ text book and viewed it more advanced and efficient than the ones offered by this school. “Infinity of the Human Mind” was the name of my… well his textbook.

It gave a lot of information regarding human emotions, knowledge, brain growth, human reactions. But, as the class started I had the urge to just take out my drawing notebook and a lead pencil. I began to draw, but I didn’t know what I was drawing… I… I just drew instinctively. As I drew, I grew tired and began to yawn. I was slowly starting to fall asleep and then knocked out unconsciously on top of my drawing notebook 25 minutes into class.

I was having the dream again. I was in the same dark place with only me and “that” person standing there. I always wondered if it had a face, but every time I got closer… it got farther. As if he, she, or it didn’t want me close. But this one was different, this manifestation of utter darkness did not move when I got closer.

I slowly walked towards it and when I got to as close as skin contact… I woke up. It was 5 minutes before class ended and I was drooling on my notebook. It was closed shut and my lead pencil was no longer in my hand, but placed on top of my notebook. The lead pencil looked worn out as the eraser was completely gone and the tip seemed burnt from use.

I shook the lead pencil and I heard nothing, nothing at all. All the lead was gone. Maybe someone stole all the lead? I didn’t know or care. I could always just get more. Everyone around me was just socializing or listening to music and here I am… sleepy and confused. I wonder what I was drawing before I slept, maybe I finished it.

I grabbed my notebook and flipped through the pages to notice that all the pages I’ve been flipping through so far have been empty. I was sure that when I began to draw, it was on the very first page. I would never start anywhere but the first page of a new notebook. Once I reached the last page I dropped my notebook.

My eyes widened from a sleepy gaze to that of a frightened child. It was that person, in that empty world. But… there was a white spot in the middle of where his face would be. Almost as if his/her/or its face was beginning to emerge from the shadows. The bell rang and psychology class was over. I quickly snapped out of it and slammed the notebook shut and continued to my next class. The image still burned into my psyche and pulsating strangely as if it’s something I miss, want, need, but I can’t have.

The school day was over and I no longer felt drowsy and sleepy. I headed home and that was that, nothing else happened. I told my parents, when I arrived home, what had happened to me at school and what I saw. My mom told me that it was probably just my imagination getting the best of me, my father, on the other hand, thought differently. He had me re-explain in detail what I had seen and he took notes. Shortly after the extensive questioning he walked towards the phone and dialed a number.

I can’t clearly remember what he had been saying, “I think it might… again… limbic system… the three kids… today…”

I didn’t stick around and just headed to my room since it was already 10 P.M. by the time he finished his constant questioning. As I headed to bed I questioned if I would really have that dream again after that whole ordeal at school. I always have these dreams as if they were a daily routine, well they are, to me.

So I just decided to shut my eyes… and fall asleep. Strangely enough, I didn’t have “that” dream again like every other night. Instead, I woke up… having no dream or consciousness of what I dreamed about. It was as if I closed my eyes and then opened them to the dawn of tomorrow. To be honest, I was relieved strangely. I felt like my life was going to take a turn for the better and things would finally change.

Two months had passed since what happened in psychology class and I still don’t have any dreams that relate to that event or in general. I’ve already read my dad’s book five times and learned a lot from it. One part in particular always caught my attention, “The physiology of emotion is closely linked to arousal of the nervous system with various states and strengths of arousal relating, apparently, to particular emotions.

Although those acting primarily on emotion may seem as if they are not thinking, cognition is an important aspect of emotion, particularly the interpretation of events.” Emotions are aroused in relations to certain events… Interesting. Regardless, I waited at my bus stop as usual. The same sunny yellow bus came driving by and stopped to pick me up.

I boarded the bus and sat down, unfortunately next to Zack. Zack is the senior jock who has a tendency of over-showing his dominance on others. I was no exception, he immediately told me to screw off and sit somewhere else. But there was nowhere else to go and in no condition am I getting off.

I told him to “deal with it and stop being such a meat head.” He glared me down as if he has every motive to forcefully kick me off the bus. He shoved me off the seat… I immediately got up to plant myself back on the seat. He shoved me off again and cursed my name for the entire bus to hear. All eyes were on me, I didn’t know what to do or say.

Suddenly, something rushed into me… something… weird… evil… angry… I rushed off of the bus floor and punched Zack straight in the face, seeming as if I had broken his nose. The impact was so strong that his head whiplashed on the glass of the bus window causing a crack to emerge. Zack’s dirty blonde hair and red sports jacket plummeting onto the leather green seat. He was unconscious… I didn’t know what I had done, but I felt glad that I did it.

I turned to see everyone staring at me and then I froze. I was completely petrified and in total shock from who I saw standing amongst the crowd. This “Thing” was standing right by the bus driver before the driver got up to rush to Zack and me. It seemed like more of its face was manifesting from what has happened. The skin was pale white and only appeared on 1/4 of where its face should be. 1 Black empty hole was where its eye should be and in the center of this hole… a crimson red dot just faintly glowing.

Before I could even scream I was pushed and pinned down by the bus driver. I was never the same after what happened that day… just when I thought things would be different. I slipped out of consciousness… and into “its” world.

I’m no longer referring it as my dream world, but a dark world where “it” inhabits it and forever haunts me mentally and now in reality. It stood there again… in this abyss. Its faintly glowing eye pinned straight on me. I don’t know what it wanted but I was angry for the fact that I had no control over anything.

It was that entire things fault, all of it. Every last ounce of what caused this or what has happened to me in my life, all the bad things… its fault. As I kept rummaging through all of these events being blamed towards it… a skin-like mask began growing on its face.

A second eye emerged from that being. Both eyes are now fixated onto me and it began to slowly move towards me. It was striding from left to right as if it has no sense of direction and as it headed towards me its head twisted and shook violently every step it took. All I knew was that I didn’t want it near me.

But no matter what I did, my feet were planted firmly into the darkness. I couldn’t scream or raise my voice high enough for anyone to hear, just a small shrewd whisper calling out for help as if it was all that my body could allow. It was now in arm’s length of my face… it leaned over and directed its eyes straight at mines…and then there was a blood-curdling scream… I woke up.

I was in a hospital bed covered in snow-white sheets and thin wires strapped onto my head. My head was hurting and throbbing a lot. I was in a solitary room surrounded by 1-way glass windows. I can’t see what was happening outside, but whoever was behind those windows could see me. I felt like a hamster in its cage. Was I being observed and experimented on while I was unconscious? How long have I been unconscious? My head hurts… what have they done to me? All these thoughts made me angry… just… angry.

Two doctors and three guards entered through a nearly camouflaged glass door. I asked them who they are and what they wanted. They ignored me. Instead, those three guards pinned me down onto the hospital bed while one of the doctors came towards me with a syringe. Are they trying to sedate me? Why are they doing this to me?

I was scared… then this same strange feeling rushed into me again and in that very same rush… I saw the reflections of “it” on all of the 1 way glass windows… Standing there and mocking me. They all were mocking me and they all had those same faintly glowing crimson dot eyes. I broke free from the three men and lunged for the syringe the doctor was grasping. Before he could even react I snatched it from his hand and pierced the needle into his neck close to his jugular. He landed on the floor with a loud thud and the three guards and other doctor froze in their tracks. What are they looking at? What did I just do?

Blood began to seep out of the punctured neck wound of the collapsed doctor. Did I do that? My hands began to shake and I began to chuckle. I couldn’t have… it was “it’s” fault. I moved and faced the 1-way window to see my reflection only to be greeted by those same faintly glowing crimson eyes. I was rushed with this same strange and foreign feeling again and I quickly struck the wall with my fist. Just punching and punching in hopes of it going away. Cracks appeared but no matter what I did, its eyes were always fixated on me.

I stopped the assault on the window as I heard the opening of the glass door and a rush of footsteps quickly following. The color in my vision turned into a darker hue. The white-tiled floor my feet were planted on was now dark and grey and the same casual hospital bed and its white fabric sheets were tainted with the very same darkness.

My reality was now “its” reality and as I slowly turned my head… everyone became “It” in my eyes. The only thing that was slightly normal was me in my reflection except I began to turn into that shadow. The same white pale skin began to emerge on my face and I grew those same horrendous, ominous red eyes.

I re-faced everyone who entered the room who now took the form of the very being that had haunted me ever since I was young. I walked toward them and as I did I heard the noise of tranquilizers being fired. I slowly began to fall asleep but I kept pacing towards them till I was in arms reach of one of them. I reached out with my arm and clutched one of their shirts…

“I… hate… you.”


These two stories about both creepypasta stories
Content is available under CC-BY-SA.

Unwanted Company

Hate

 

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Scary Story Time: Can Timmy Come Out to Play?

 

This is a story I actually wrote speaking it adlib over the cell phone at one time I was waiting for a ride. It was a very good story, then before I could transfer the story to my google drive, my phone rebooted and it wasn’t saved. I tried to recreate it here. It’s a little different from the original.

A little boy loves to go out and play with others unless the dark friend inside his head starts to get mean to the others.

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