The Moon Children

By Wayne Calhoun

Did you ever hear of the Moon Children? no, I suppose you haven’t. Ha! but see, I’m just an old drunk, you smell the whiskey on my breath, don’t you? Of course you do. So here I sit, just the old man to give you a story. Just the old man who tends a farm on the outskirts of town. The farm that is bordered by Morgan’s Woods. A good two-thirds of my property is entangled by that god-forsaken wood. Everything is unnatural about that place. Everything. It just isn’t right… oh, the drink isn’t necessary to loosen my tongue, but I appreciate it all the same. I just don’t know how I ever could have missed it. How I never could have noticed that WRONGNESS when I was growing up. It just looks wrong, smells wrong, the light barely reaches inside it. and…

Well, there were always stories about savage animals that roamed those woods at night. Some folks referred to such things as The wolves of morgan’s woods. Men who took the shape of monsters. Skinwalkers, the Injuns used to call them. As a child the stories of savage beasts roaming the woods at night were more than enough to dissuade us from venturing too close to the boundaries of our own farm in the twilight hours. Just the idea of being ripped to shreds and devoured by hairy monstrosities… little did they know…

Others claimed the woods were haunted by ghosts who were strong enough in the presence of the moonlight to possess those foolish enough to take a walk into the woods. Used as puppets to commit heinous acts. Then there were even older stories told about trolls and talking trees and other such fairy tale creatures. So with our childish imaginations our childrens’ games outside in the field always ended well before dark. But, if I had known then what I know now, I’d have never ventured beyond the back door!

Visitors to our home never stayed past the first tinge of twilight – making rushed goodbyes, leaving us children to watch them go in wonder. My parents were rather vague as to the details, mumbling about wild animals and such things. But, as I got older, my questioning became more determined.

what happens in the woods at night?”
“what animals stalk the darkness that scare everyone so much?”
“Why are there crucifixes in every room of the house?”
“why do the townspeople take the longest route to town when the road that passes our farm is the most direct?

Of course most questions went unanswered and I learned to just stop asking about it. I went to school, and worked the farm, and every night I was indoors by dark.

Every now and then the horses would get spooked by something and start whinnying and kicking their stalls, and it would be with the greatest trepidation that my father would load the shotgun, grab a lantern and cross the wide yard towards the stables. I still have vivid memories of my mother clutching a cross shakily to her bosom on some of those nights and murmuring the Lords Prayer. My father always returned never having fired his gun and if he ever found anything, he never mentioned it. My father was a large man who had done physical labour on the farm his entire life, and was afraid of no man. The only time I ever saw him look scared was on those odd nights when the horses got riled up for seemingly no reason.
I always remembered that.

And for the longest time, my sister and I learned to just accept the seeming inexplicable dread of my parents and the other townspeople. We just chalked it up to superstition. As I grew into early manhood, though, I became a bit more adventurous. I walked along the edges of the woods and even on occasion went in by myself, although during the daylight! My schoolmates and I often tried to see how long we could stay in the woods before our mothers began screaming for us to get out. There was nothing out of the ordinary during the day, so it seemed. We could never find any wolf tracks, nor traces of any other potentially dangerous animals. Only the raccoon and squirrel, woodchucks, rabbit and deer we hunted during the day, there was nothing scary about that. No wolves, no mountain lions, no bears. Nothing. Besides, the area of Morgan’s Woods directly in front of our fields only lasted about 100 yards before terminating in a huge bog. You could barely see across to the other side. you had to venture far to either side to do any real hunting. In my youth I could never see anything to justify the townsfolks claims of ghosts and monsters and the like. As it turned out, I just wasn’t seeing the forest for the trees, so to speak. I was overlooking the horror everytime I stepped foot in those cursed woods.

My father and sister were both taken by yellow fever the same year I reached My manhood. They were both buried in a small family plot on the far end of the east field. it was now just my mother and I. With this devastating loss, my mother retreated more fervently into her Catholicism, no longer satisfied with the crucifixes in each and every room, she now had the local pastor bless an inordinate amount of holy water which she placed in small bottles and left throughout the rooms of the house and the along the porch. I constantly questioned my mother about this, demanding to know why she was so terrified of seemingly nothing. At first, I thought it was just depression making her overly anxious and paranoid, but no. She was honest-to-God terrified that something was outside watching us. I never saw or heard anything and she never said just what was the matter,

“It’s those damned woods.” she said, clutching her rosary to her chest, “I hate those woods, Joseph. there are things there that have escaped the Lord.” Then she would go back to praying quietly. she would never go into anymore detail no matter how much I pressed.

Day after day I toiled In the fields and my mother soon began to act her old self again, only making vague mentions of the woods from time to time. I still thought it strange to have all the holy water around the house but I decided to just let my mother indulge and in time, I forgot all about the little bottles and my mothers superstitions.

One night in late fall, I was shutting up the barn when I heard the horses neighing uneasily. As I got closer they began making a racket over in their stalls, kicking furiously. It was close to dusk and I had my lantern already lit to make my way back across the field to the house. I reach the nearest stall and held the light on it as I looked in. the horse, Bess seemed to calm when she saw me but continued to make distressed noises along with the other two horses in out stead. I glanced around Bess’ stall but could see nothing save for all the hay she had disturbed with her tantrum. My heart suddenly began to beat faster as I remembered from what seemed like ages ago, the horses freaking out about something. my father had always come to investigate…with a shotgun. Suddenly all those old stories of wolves leapt back into my mind. I tried to calm the horses and eventually succeeded. but I could not locate the source of their disquiet. I searched the entire barn and it was full-on dark by the time I made it back to the house, my mother hysterical, asking where I had been and what I was doing. I wanted so badly to not tell her about the horses. It had been so long since an incident like that had occurred, I did not want to contribute to my mothers growing paranoia. Everything had been going so well for us since Pa and Gale died, I wanted to keep it that way.

I came up with some bullshit excuse, I don’t even remember what it was. it didn’t do any good anyway because three times that month I had to run out to the stables to check on the horses. They were loud enough to alert my mother that something was wrong and she locked herself in her room all but screaming the lord’s pray for over an hour each time.

I never found anything in those stables other than the horses…until, I evertually checked out the horses more closely and noticed that Bess had some strange wounds on her back legs. I figured she had done it from kicking at the stall door and carrying on. Except they looked almost… like bite marks.

******

I didn’t tell my mother about the marks on Bess’ legs, not until things got bad. I wasn’t sure what to think about them myself. I didn’t want to think about it. Rats, I decided. I didn’t believe it but I tried to convince myself that it was rats. small but vicious little nibblings on her ankles, what else could it be? certainly not these big wolves that supposedly stalked the woods at night. Besides, no wolf would have been able to get into the barn or stable. Rats could squirm their way in as they are capable of doing in almost any place. Maybe owls and other birds could come in through the hayloft, but nothing bigger than that. There was never any signs of forced entry, no holes dug around the perimeter. Just the hayloft, and I locked the ladder away inside the barn every night. I remembered my father running to the barn with his shotgun. but he never said why he felt that he needed such protection when there was never any sign of danger. Another thing was that those “barn incidents” were few and far between back in my childhood, but now they were becoming more and more frequent and making my mother more and more hysterical.

I pressed her still:

“What is getting into the barn? will you answer me? Three times this month alone the horses are freaking out. Why?”

“Wild animals.” she answered, distractedly.

“What kind of animals? There’s no signs of any animals in the barn other than the horses!”

“I don’t know, Joseph! something not right! that’s all I know! Its always been like that. everyone knows it!”

I stopped the inquiry there, not wanting to upset her further. My mother went to bed. I couldn’t sleep. I tried, but all I did was toss and turn. I got up and paced back and forth through the house, looking through every window as I passed it. straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of anything that might be moving out there, straining my ears to hear the slightest rustle.

Nothing. It was dead silent. The moon beginning to wane, casting it ghostly pallor onto the east field. I waited and watched and paced all night. The only sounds were my footsteps on the hardwood floors. I didn’t go to bed until well after dawn.

An entire month passed without another incident. things returned to normal. My mother calmed down and became her old self again and after a month of nocturnal pacing I was finally able to sleep at night again. until…Jesus, excuse me. (Loud slurping of liquor)

Ah, So… one night, after things had returned to normal. I was suddenly awoken from a deep sleep. I couldn’t explain it, but it was just this sudden sense of disquiet. Still groggy, I turned my attention to the east field which my bedroom window overlooked. and, God help me…God help me if I didn’t see…if I didn’t see Gale walking across the filed towards the woods. My heart jumped into my throat, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, all I could do was just watch my sister, a child who died years ago, in her funeral gown moving with jerky, stiff movements. As if she were a puppet walking on a stage of grass with the moon as a spotlight.

I…I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything but sit there and stare at my dead sister as she gradually disappeared into the woods.

I sat there in shock for an unknown time before I finally snapped out of it. I got up and checked in on my mother as quietly as I could to make sure that she was still asleep. I went back to my room and got dressed, went downstairs and lit a lantern and loaded my father’s shotgun and carefully, make my way outside. I crossed the east field to the where the family plot was surrounded by Maple trees and shown my lantern around which wasn’t really necessary considering that the moon was so bright it already illuminated what I wanted to investigate, and which confirmed a by darkest fear.

Gale’s grave had been dug up. I dropped to my knees and turned out the lantern. I looked at the horrible scene. it didn’t look like it had been dug up by men with shovels, no. It looked more like wild animals had dug her up. the wooden coffin had been smashed open and the linen and pillow inside ripped and stained with what I can only assume were bodily fluids. The smell made me retch. working a farm my entire life I was used to bad smells and those of dead animals but this was like nothing I had ever smelled before. This was no dead animal or manure or anything remotely natural. I don’t know how else to describe it. It just was something that didn’t fit with this world…I couldn’t kneel there any longer than to just confirm what I had feared. that somehow, impossibly, Gale had got out of her coffin and with a little help at that.

I ran back to the house to get my mother and get her the hell off of the farm. Because I now knew that the things that had been breaking into the barn with more and more regularity were directly responsible for what I had just seen. I reached the house and ran upstairs and woke my mother up.

“Mom, we have to leave the farm, now!”;

“Wha…what are you talking about?”

“Those things. those things from the woods, they’re here!”

Her eyes widened in terror.

“Joseph, they left the woods again?”

“They’re not after the horses…They dug up Gale, mom. she’s gone from her grave. I saw…I saw her walking across the field…and into the woods.”

“No! No! not my baby!” my mother shrieked, clawing at me, trying to get out of the bed, tears streaming down her face. I tried my best to comfort her…but it was in vain.

“Mom, you need to listen. we need to get off this farm. we need to go in town. it will be dawn soon.”

Mother agreed and we sat up the rest of the night in the kitchen, she made tea and we sat mostly in silence. All she said was that the woods were haunted and had been for as long as she could remember. she really didn’t know anything.

At dawn, mom packed and I sent her off to stay with cousins who owned a farm on the other side of town. I stayed behind, despite her sobbing pleads for me to go with her. I kissed her goodbye and told her that I would be with her as soon as I could be. but not before I got to the bottom of this. Was there some secret pact with these ghosts or whatever they were? What happened to make them start coming out from the woods again to bite the horses? To do whatever they did to Gale? no one had gone into those woods. If there was some kind of age-old pact with these things to never go into the woods, then that pact had not been broken to the best of my knowledge. what had set them off? I had to laugh, I had no idea why I was describing the perpetrator so surely as “they”, but that was just what naturally came to mind. One animal or ghost didn’t do this, it was many. That’s something my gut just told me. and I didn’t care. I was going in the woods and I was bringing back Gale and putting her back to rest. I was never a superstitious person, but damned if recent events hadn’t changed that! I filled a small pack with the bottles of holy water that had been left around the house and put on a small crucifix on a gold chain. I loaded the shot gun and dumped as many shells as I could into the pack and into my pockets. satisfied, I made my way across the east field where I had seen Gale and stepped into the woods from there.

The woods were no different from when I was younger. although the noon sun provided very little light through the thick tangle of branches. It was early fall, the hell-fog of mosquitoes had gone, although, in retrospect, I would have preferred those tiny bloodsuckers as opposed to the horror I witnessed. I passed a clump of mushrooms so white that they appeared to be glowing. I don’t know why but I took that as a marker to where the normal woods ended and the… supernatural began. 100 yards in, the ground was becoming softer and wetter and the underbrush more and more tangled. the chatter of birds and other sounds seemed muted somehow. Walking between semicircle of boulders I came as far as I could go; the bog. This morass of foul water, sticky mud and twisted trees stretched off in all directions. It was like a… boundary to a new, forbidden land. But I decided that it wasn’t going to stop me. For a while I walked back and forth along its length. trying to find its end; but to no avail. One end eventually had it dumping into the Racoon Gorge, no luck there. The other end tapered off into such a tangled mess of underbrush and downed trees that it would have taken a year to hack your way through it. No, the only way to the other side was to go through it. Raising my pack and shotgun over my head I slipped in to my knees and then my hips. the mud sucked my boots with each step, every break I made in the gloppy surface freed a cloud of bugs to assail me. I pressed on, and on, and on. after what seemed like ages, the ground began to get more solid and started to rise, I climbed up onto a small island and adjusted myself. I don’t know why, but at that point I opened my pack and poured one of the bottles of holy water over myself. I put the bottle back and continued back down into the slop and towards the next island.

Finally, the bog receded and I came to relatively dry land. It was now late afternoon and I found myself on a rocky patch of earth surrounded by moss-covered trees. Half a dozen smooth rocks were settled here and there but they were in a pattern that looked too deliberate to have fallen there naturally. I walked between them and stooped to examine them.

Cairns. Headstones. I thought. And that paralyzing fear gripped me again. The dead live at night. Thoughts of old stories raced through my head as I dropped my pack and opened it. Grabbing the bottles of holywater. I set down the shotgun and opened one of the bottles. I had no shovel with me, no way to dig efficiently but the ground was very spongy once the stones of each Cairn had been removed. I had enough of the little bottles to empty two onto each of the graves. I did so. nothing happened. of course, I don’t really know what I was expecting but there was no sign that the holy water had any effect on what was underneath the ground. Unsure of myself and aware of the fading light I decided to quickly explore the rest of the island. I pushed through the thick underbrush behind the furthest grave and froze.

There were six more headstones on the other end of the island, practically buried in vines and roots, the underbrush camouflaging them perfectly. shot gun or no, I didn’t want to be here when these things woke up. I would get back to the house and face them on my own turf. And I knew they would come. All of them would come for me this time. I gave them all the reason to. I broke the secret pact. now horses would not sate their appetite. And one of these things would look like my sister…

******

It was time to leave this unholy place. I had no idea if the holy water had any effect on whatever horrors dwelled just below the surface of this ancient burial ground, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out. I had broken the old pact, I had set foot on this cursed land and provoked the wrath of these creatures who occasionally has sucked the blood of my horses.

But no. it was they who had come onto my property and not only defiled my sister’s grave, and turned her into one of them. Needless to say, I had quite an amount of anger welling inside me, but I knew that I couldn’t let that blind me. not here, not now. I needed to focus. I had to make it back to my farm and prepare myself. I knew there was going to be a fight, but it was going to be on my turf. I was going to put a stop to this.

The sun was fading as I slipped back into the murky sludge, holding my shotgun and pack over my head. The sticky muck clung to my boots as if it were alive, trying to drag me down into the depths. But I would not be swayed, not here, not with night fast approaching. Every time that I lifted my head the sky was darker and my heart beat faster in my chest. I had my loaded Remington and yet I was as scared as if I had nothing more than a slingshot.

As I reached solid earth it was full dark. I ripped my foot free of the last clinging glob of muck and swept my gun around the forest. It was dead silent. My breathing sounded like the chugging of a freight train compared to the unnatural stillness and deathly silence the enveloped me. It was as if the entire world was waiting with bated breath.

After several minutes with no sign of anything living…or dead, I began to make my way back through the woods and towards the east field. At that moment the moon came out from behind a cloud that’s when I heard it. A “popping” sound. I didn’t want to look, God knows that I just wanted to turn tail and run full speed back to my house but I looked. And I saw it burst from the bog I had just pulled myself out of. it popped straight up like a jack-in-the-box. A creature that looked like a little boy maybe eight or ten years old, despite the mud clinging to him, I could see he was wearing a very old-fashioned attire. I gripped my shotgun and trained it on him. He didn’t move for the longest time, he just stood there in the water, staring up at the sky. And then slowly, slowly lowered his head and turned to face me. eyes of the palest blue stared at me and into me. It was almost hypnotizing. With a yell I raised the shotgun and fired at it. I hit the thing square in the chest, but it didn’t even flinch. there was a groan, though. But then I realized with horror that it wasn’t coming from the thing I had just shot (that one still continued to look at me with those unholy pale eyes) , the noise was coming from behind him. Two more had popped up out of the sludge and were just finishing up basking in the moonlight. They slowly turned to face me. and they also, just stood there, staring at me. Were they like some kind of bizarre reptiles, having to bask in the moonlight before they could get moving? They were farther back but one looked like a little girl and the other a boy. I didn’t waste my ammo. I ran. I ran as fast as I could thorugh the trees and over fallen logs, I tripped over exposed root and was snagged by vines and creepers, I acknowledged no pain at that point, my only focus was to get out of the woods.

I reached the east field. in the moonlight I must have looked like a mad man; covered in mud, barely able to stand and clutching a shotgun taking ragged breathes. I was a man in his prime, but at that moment I felt as if I was a hundred years old.

Vampires. The word passed through my brain. they had to be, what the hell else could they be? I almost laughed. The wolves of Morgan’s woods, huh? The wild animals that stalked the woods at night. No one ever mentioned them by name, but they existed. And my farm was right on the border of their domain. I stood there catching my breath and another thought occurred to me. Those things rose up from the swamp. they weren’t coming out from under those little headstones. Shock hit me, my extremities went numb. There was nothing under the stones. no bodies. That island was the last remnant of an old burial ground. But all the bodies of that forsaken cemetary had been moved away by the crawling swamp over decades and decades. I had emptied all of my holy water on earth and nothing more.

The sound of my horses in the stable broke my concentration. they were screaming this time and making such a racket I thought the barn might collapse. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a horse scream but it is a disturbing sound to say the least. I ran around the side of the barn to the stables and took a deep breath and pushed open the door. I immediately through myself to the side as I was almost trampled by two of my horses, covered in blood and whinnying in terror as they ran off into the night. They had actually broken through their stalls in their desperation to get away. I got shakily to my feet and heard the unmistakable sound of chewing and slurping. I began thinking of the old stories of vampires. didn’t you have to cut off their head or burn them? I couldn’t remember, and every story you heard was different.

The sounds coming from the last stall were disgusting and produced ugly images. but I made my way to the stall and slowly pushed the gate open. What I saw will haunt me for the rest of my life.

A lone figure was crouched down in front of Bess, her face buried in the horses innards, pulled out handfuls of ropey intestines and shoveled them indiscriminately into her mouth. She hadn’t noticed me. I cocked the shotgun and trained it on her….it. She stopped what she was doing and slowly turned to face me. I went cold. I almost dropped my gun and ran screaming from the stable. But the shock of it, kept me rooted to the spot, unable to make a sound, let alone take any action.

Gale had turned to face me, her mouth still chewing autonomously, her eyes were now a glazed-over, pale blue. And her mouth was no longer filled with teeth that could be considered human. They were more like long, bony spikes and they were chewing off as much flesh from the horse as from her own bottom lip. She just crouched there, staring at me. I finally managed to muster the needed strength and I raise my shotgun. My voice was a shakey whisper, but I spoke.

“You’re not Gale.”

The thing that used to be my sister blinked as if pondering my words and then opened her mouth as if to respond, but the only sound that emerged was a reverberating groan in a voice that was too deep for a little girl and far too loud for any human being to produce. She stood up and I broke from my frozen state. I took aim and fired.

Under normal circumstances, a twelve gauge at point blank would destroy a persons’ head. But, these were not normal circumstances. Gale… That Thing’s possessing her body… that face was peppered with shot, but causing only superficial damage. The impact knocked her down but, only briefly. She recovered and lunged at me, seeming only to have suffered the most superficial damage and I batted her away with the butt of the shotgun but she got right back on top of me, hissing and grabbing, hissing and clawing. I knocked her down again and went for the work bench and fumbled for something sharp. I got my hands on the hatchet just as Gale… the… THING that looked like Gale grabbed me and latched down on my forearm. I cried out in pain and tried to shrug her off but she held on like grim death. Snarling and chewing down to the bone, I let out another cry and brought the hatchet down on her head but there was no immediate reaction. Again and again I opened large lacerations in the top of her head and she finally let go, staggering backward and falling, now I fell on top of her pulled her head back and hacked at her neck again and again and again until I finally was able to twist it off of her neck. the sound of stretching tendons and skin still haunts my nightmares.

I held my grisly prize and turned toward the door. There in the field, six child-sized creatures stood, with more moving through the shadows of the trees further back. I dropped Gale’s head to the ground and began to walk back to the house, leaving the shotgun where it was as it was a useless defense against these things. They made no move for me. They just stood there, watching me. Things that looked like children dressed in age-old attire and covered in filth. I mended my arm as best as I could and gathered the largest knives I could find along with an ax and the hatchet. I sat in the living room and waited for them to come. I knew how to kill them and I had just proved it with all of them watching. They were perhaps unsure of me as prey at that moment, but regardless, I still expected them to come for me.

They stood there all night. Some came up stiffly onto the porch, staring through the windows at me and I stared right back, unable to move, just waiting for the attack. But the attack never came. And at the first trace of dawn on the horizon they retreated back into the woods. Once the sun was fully up, I reburied Gale, trying to make her look as presentable as possible. I wept long and hard as I buried her. My arm was still aching from the wound but I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the remains of Bess in the stable and trying to track down the other horses… I never found them.

I went and got my mother and when I told her that Gale was at peace she didn’t ask for any details, she just cried a lot. Surprisingly, the wound Gale had inflicted on my arm had healed remarkably well. very little scar tissue actually remains. I’ll admit I was worried about that bite and what it might do to me, but I never got sick or turned into a vampire or werewolf or any other kind of monster. Mother and I had decorated the house with crucifixes and bottles of holy water, we had a priest come and bless the house and barn and stables. The things in Morgan’s Woods showed up every now and then but were more secretive about it. I would see them occasionally walking along the perimeter of the woods with that stiff, puppet-like walk. I never went back in those woods but every night when the light of the moon shines like a spotlight I still keep close my vials of holy water and my axe.

******

I’m well past my prime now, approaching old age. My mother died only a few years after these events and I buried her right next to Pa and Gale. It’s just me on the farm now, as it has been for a long, long time. Those child-like things have not aged. I still see them here and there walking the fields and occasionally coming onto the porch and leaving “presents” for me. I don’t even think about what these bloody bundles of flesh are or who or what they might have come from. Are they warnings? offerings? Treats? I have no idea but they never actively attacked me or anything on the farm since the night with Gale. I don’t know what they want….but I imagine that they are just biding their time. I think that they are still waiting for some, signal. And I think one night they truly come for me. I suppose that when you are as seemingly ageless as things like that, you can afford to wait a very, very long time for revenge…

I took to the drink rather fondly, and can you blame me? Hell, passing out in a drunken stupor is the only way this old man can get any sleep on nights like tonight. Nights when that moon is shining this bright. So the townsfolk will tell you not to listen to me and my stories, That I’m just an old drunk. Just a guy who sees funny things… ha! And yet not a single one of them will go near Morgan’s Woods after dark, but it’s not because they’re afraid that they will become marked for… some sinister and unknown purpose… No, nothing like that. You just don’t go in the woods at night. You might get mauled by a wolf!

(Cackling)

– by “Wayne Calhoun”

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31 Days of Halloween: Day 4 The Wanderer on the Tracks | A Creepypasta by Gillard McMorith

On Halloween of 1988, six teenage boys ventured into a tunnel on a local railroad. Only one escaped with his life and a photo. What resulted from that innocent venture was a two-year period of unexplained murders which killed off a good ten percent of my small town’s population. To this day, no one knows the true fate of the five boys and the reason behind the murders that lasted until the fall of 1990, except for me. I’m the lone survivor of the six who encountered The Wanderer on the Tracks on that dark Halloween of 1988. It was supposed to be a simple dare, nothing to it.

Everyone had heard of how, every Halloween, people head into the tunnel and never come out. We all thought it was bullshit. Then again, we were only fourteen, and not very well learned in the way of the paranormal. All we expected was just some crazy dude in a bed sheet. However, what we found was much worse. And what we did made the outcome ten times worse than it could’ve been. I guess that “curiosity killed the cat” really fits when remembering this story. It was me (Steve), John, Andy, George, Bill, and Fred. Explaining our choice of costume is irrelevant. However, let us note that we all brought flashlights and Andy had brought a bucket to collect candy in. Foolish Andy. I remember your death so vividly it haunts my dreams to this very day – and she does, too.

But not for long.

We all had dinner at John’s house, as it was closest to the tunnel. After that, we played some Super Mario Bros. on his NES to pass time until it was dark. When it was, we all departed to complete the dare we so foolishly accepted. I carried a Polaroid to show everyone what was really in the tunnel. We left when it was considerably dark outside. Most of the dads were parading their seven year olds up and down the street getting candy before it got really dark. There had recently been some kidnappings in the area, but we didn’t expect to meet the suspect, so we thought we would be safe.

With each step towards the tunnel it seemed as if it got darker, and when we arrived there, it was pitch black, and it was pretty much only us and the older trick-or-treaters outside. We all stopped at the entrance of the tunnel for a moment, realizing that we may not make it out alive. After waiting one more moment, we hesitantly stepped inside, turning on all of our flashlights. No one really wanted to do this. We felt this more and more as we went deeper into the tunnel. It was weird though; usually a tunnel ended around 500 feet, but it seemed like this one went on for miles.

We went on for what I want to say was another three-thousand feet. That’s when we saw it. At the time, we had no idea what it was. If I had a choice, I would wish that I never found out what it was and what it did.

“The fuck is that?” Bill asked, half-whispering to the rest of us. What we saw looked like a girl that had covered herself in dark paint or make up and had on a plain old nightgown. She was holding what looked like a rod, or staff. Her back was facing us.

“Beats me,” Andy shrugged. “Hey!” he yelled at the thing before throwing the bucket at it. It clanged off of the creature and rolled to the right of the track. Suddenly, it made the most gruesome noise in the world as its head rotated 180 degrees to stare back at us. I hastily took out my Polaroid and shot a picture of it. I put away the camera and shook the developing picture before putting it inside my pocket.

Everyone was frozen in place looking at the creature, seemingly paralyzed. Soon, the creature lifted the rod and threw it at Andy. It was horrifying and amazing, seeing it throw what we now KNEW was a spear with such dexterity, as well as doing it backwards. The spear struck Andy in the chest, dead center in the sternum. His ribcage collapsed and blood sprayed from the entry and the exit. His spine snapped, and he crumpled to the ground. The blood splattered spear was stuck in the ground a good forty feet behind us. It was only a moment before we actually thought to run. We didn’t even try to save Andy. I turned my head and saw the creature ripping open his chest, tearing muscle and organs apart as our dying counterpart screamed in his death throes. It seemed like the creature wanted to separate flesh from bone, as that is exactly what it had done. Andy’s flesh and innards were scattered around his skeleton in a pool of his blood. It was coming for the rest of us now.

Bill was the next one it caught, eviscerating him in the same manner as it did to Andy. Then she got George, and then Fred. It was me and John left. The creature was so close we could feel its putrid breath on our necks. We both heard its demonic growls and screeches as we just barely escaped its furious grabs for our costumes. We kept on running even though the lactic acid had built up so much in our arms and legs, and our breath was ragged, and we were so damn tired.

Soon, we saw the end of the tunnel. Somehow, it was morning, which was so illogical, but John and I were both happy to see the light of day. Suddenly, I heard a trip and stumble. John had fucking tripped. We were outside of the tunnel, and he tripped. I didn’t even need to turn my head to know he would be gored and gutted. I ran a safe distance away behind some trees near my house. His screams echoed through the neighborhood and awoke several families, wandering outside to see what was happening. Everyone who went outside all saw the creature as it tore apart John. When it was done, it swept its eyes across the shocked citizens of my small town and let out a deafening roar that no man or animal could create. It then dashed back inside the tunnel, and everyone ran inside their homes, including me.

For two years after that, the people who saw the creature were found disemboweled and skinned in their homes. Some people tried to move, but I heard them say it was like they were chained here. The creature was holding everyone here, keeping everyone who had seen it captive in this town. I’m the last surviving person who saw the Wanderer on the Tracks, and my time is coming soon. How did I last this long? I don’t know. I bet its teasing me, torturing me, making me shit my pants every time I turn a corner. It’s taken a hold of my life and I can no longer function like other people.

I can no longer go out in the dark. My windows are always closed, the blinds always down, the doors always locked. I’ve tried to kill myself multiple times, but I can’t. It won’t let me. Recently, I’ve been hearing the dying screams of my dying friends. I’ve heard a bucket clanging from outside my window. Tapping on my front door at night. It’s a sign.

It’s coming for me soon.

Original Story

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31 Days of Halloween 2017 | Day 1 | A Halloween to Remember

halloween treeMy friends and I decided to go trick or treating this year. We were teenagers that wanted some candy and to TP houses. We lived in a massive neighborhood, so there was a lot to go around. After two hours of going around the streets, egging and TP-ing houses and a very lucky escape from the police, we were ready to end the night.

We all stopped at a dark street.

“Should we go?” one of my friends asked.

“Ok, one more street,” another friend replied.

I stared down the dark street, unable to see the end. There was something odd about this street, like it didn’t belong. The houses were completely different from the ones in the neighborhood. The houses looked abandoned and there were no lights either in the street or the houses.

“I got a bad feeling about this, guys…” I said.

“Don’t be a pussy, David; we’re just gonna egg some houses and leave. If they do call the cops again, we’ll sneak out of here. This place is freaking pitch black,” my friend replied.

We walked down the coal black street, joking around and telling ghost stories, as I just couldn’t help feeling watched. Houses looked very different, and didn’t look stable. I knew something was up, I just knew it. The light from the other street began to become dimmer and dimmer.

“OK, here.” We took a bag full of eggs and toilet paper. We were cursing and having fun, I almost forgot to be worried. CRACK! A loud noise echoed in the street.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Everybody, hide NOW!” my friend yelled.

I saw all my friends scramble around the block. I hid behind a rusty trash can, looking over the edge. I couldn’t see anything because it was so dark. I only could see a blue outline of the houses. I took out my phone for some light. No signal at all on my cell phone. Didn’t they build over a dozen cell phone towers all over the area?

I shined my light towards the street. CRACK!!! This time it was even louder. I pulled back and look over again. All of my friends were there, standing in the middle of the street.

“So what do you think that was?” I questioned, walking towards them.

They didn’t respond.

“Hello?”

“There something about your soul I cannot take, but I’ll find a way.” They all said at the same time.

“What the fuc…” They all charged towards me.

I ran and ran the darkness seemed to continue on forever. I didn’t hear them chasing after me, but I didn’t stop. I kept looking for a source of light, or just anybody. I slammed my face into a wall. I got up to see a giant skyscraper outlined in blue and a plenty fill of them. It was a city without light. I stood there, completely shocked. A lot of questions flew into my mind: What just happened? Where am I? Can I get back? These questions flooded my mind. A loud growl roared behind me. I turned around to see wolf-like creatures blended in the darkness.

“Shit!” I whispered to myself.

I stood there, looking straight at the creature. I regret my decision after that. I ran as fast as I could. Hearing the creature’s paws hitting the concrete.

I stopped at an alley. “I think I’m OK,” I said to myself.

“You’re far from OK,” a similar voice responded.

I turned around to see an army of people standing. I tried to run, but another group blocked the other side if the alley. A tall man stood in front. He was dressed in black and was wearing a hoodie that block his face.

“What do you want from me?!” I yelled.

“I want your soul, like I did with all your little friends here. I use this realm to capture as many souls as I want.”

“You bastard!” I yelled back.

“You’re different, your soul is special and very hard to get, and what makes it harder that you’re protected, but no soul is strong enough to keep me out. Get ready to become my puppet.”

Then, they closed in on me. I felt like this was the end, and that I was going to be made his puppet and I couldn’t do anything about it. A stereotypical light shone down on me.

“Not him again!” the tall man said.

I woke up in my bed with my bag of candy and leftover eggs from last night. I looked at my digital clock, and it read:

“7:00 AM 11/1/11”

I laid there for a while, and wondered if it was all a dream. Whatever happened, I’m safe now. I got up to get ready for school, and saw a sticky note on my door, saying:

”I haven’t forgotten about you yet.”

 

Original Story: A Halloween to Remember

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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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The Gristers by Unknown

Okay /x/, or whatever creepy board this makes its way on to -I put it here because I thought it’d get to the most people to whom it was relevant.
If you are one of those people who are inherently drawn to horror, you’re in real danger. I don’t know what it is exactly- I don’t pretend to know everything that’s going on, and in fact I, myself, used to be drawn to the more realistic, non-supernatural creepypastas. But… well, let me explain.

About a year ago, I was up at three in the morning, you know, that part of the night where you’re so deep into it it feels like it will never end. Anyway, I was up, clicking around, looking for a good creepypasta I hadn’t read before, really getting myself freaked out. You know the feeling, I’m sure. You LIKE the feeling. That’s the problem.

Anyway, I’m reading, and I hear a pattering sound coming from the kitchen. I had a cat, so I just assumed it was her. But then I glance on my bed, and my cat is there. Now I’ve been freaking myself out for a while here, so I was nearly trembling with fear as I opened my bedroom door. I live alone, in a single bedroom apartment, with just a bedroom, a kitchen, a living room, and a bathroom. My bedroom door opens up on to the kitchen. It was pitch black, the moonlight gleaming off the linoleum. I strained my ears and listened. I heard nothing.

I admonished myself for being such a fucking pussy. It was just random house noises, right? Or maybe a fucking mouse in the walls. I was about to turn around and head back into my room when I heard it again. And I saw something scatter across the linoleum in the kitchen, heading for the bathroom.

It was small, but it was definitely not a rat. The limbs were way, way too long. The torso was far too high off the ground. And the way it moved… it moved quickly, but so awkwardly. In any other circumstance I might have laughed at it. As it was I was scared shitless.

So, you know, I basically freeze for like ten minutes. It was the size of the thing that convinced me to move. No matter how weird, or fucked up it was, it was so much smaller than me. It couldn’t have been that dangerous, right?

So I pop open the bathroom door. Before I turn on the light, I do a quick scan. Nothing. I flick the switch. I look around. Still nothing. I look on the ceiling, even. I throw the shower cutrain open. Nothing still.

What could it have been? My mind started inventing explanations. It definitely had four limbs… maybe it was a big ass spider who had lost four of its legs somehow? That could explain the awkward movement. It was good enough for me. I was about to go back to bed when I thoungt, on a whim, to use my broom to poke behind the toilet, between the wall and the base of the seat.

When I did, I hit something solid, and it scurried out. It looked like a tiny human.

It was pale white, pale as a maggot, with dirty gray streaks running along its skin. It moved on all fours, with long, thin fingers that grasped the ground. Its skull was completely bald and it had no eyes and the skin looked like it had been torn away from the lower half of its face, leaving the exposed teeth and gums. It looked up at me… well, pointed its face in my general direction, anyway, and then scurried, quick as fuck, up the side of the bath and down into the drain. It moved in quick bursts, like a spider, and climbed straight up smooth surfaces like one too.

After it disappeared down the drain, I just stood there, frozen, broom handle still in my hand, for a good five minutes.

I was scared shitless. I slowly backed out of the bathroom, and closed the door, and then stuffed a blanket in the crack between the floor and the door, fearing that it might come out.

Then I sat in my bed and wondered what I could do. I mean, it wasn’t like I could call the police. Or even tell any of my friends. It’s not like they’d believe me.

So what did I do? I made a thread on /x/. This was quite a while ago, almost a year. You might even remember it. It wasn’t anything special, and it didn’t even get that many responses before falling of the boards. I guess people thought I was just joking, which really I would have thought the same thing- my thread, in retrospect, sounds exactly like the type of threads I hate. But besides from all the ‘OP is a fag’ and ‘SAGE’ responses, there was one other one.

“I’ve seen them too man email me”, along with an email address that I’m not going to give out here.

So I email this kid, right? Right away he responds and we start up a conversation in IRC. He introduces himself as Jon, and basically tells me a very similar story -one night a few months ago, reading creepypasta, heard a noise, got up, saw the small pale man. His was a bit bigger -he said it was the size of a cat- but he also told me one other thing.

That I’d be seeing more of them. He said that ever since he saw the first one, he’s been seeing more and more of them -out everywhere, even in the street, during the day. They were everywhere, he said and once you notice the first one, it got a lot easier to see all the other ones. He had no idea what the were, and he hadn’t figured out their behavior yet. He said that usually when he saw them or heard them in his own home, he was reading creepypasta, so they usually freaked him out something awful -but, he said again, he had never actually seen them do anything terrible, just scurry out of sight. But, he said, some got pretty big, and not all of them looked exactly the same.

I still didn’t sleep that night.

But over the next week, and those that followed, I found that I did get used to them. I did see more of them. I’d glimpse them out of the corner of my eye, or see the retreating rear end of one crawling into a gutterpipe, or see their tiny faces staring out at the street from the sewers.

Some, it seemed weren’t even trying to hide. I live in Providence, Rhode Island, which is a small city. On my way to work one day (I take the bus) I was looking out the window and saw a pretty large one, as large as a medium-sized dog, trotting along the sidewalk. People were just walking by it. Actually, I think that a lot of people saw it as a dog. One man stopped to scratch its head.

I’d always email Jon and tell him about all the appearances I saw. I even tried to catch some on camera, but they always heard the mechanical whirring and darted away before my camera could take a picture. I told myself I’d have to take a picture of one of the bigger, slower ones.

But either way, as the weeks wore on, I became more and more used to them. Sure, they were as creepy as shit, and I could never sit down on the toilet and enjoy a long crap anymore because I was paranoid as fuck they’d climb up into the bowl and bite me on the asshole. But they weren’t really doing anything harmful. They unnerved the fuck out of me, but so did big spiders. I could live with them. Jon called them the Gristers, because he said they reminded him of the Grister meme on /x/ for some reason. I’m pretty sure he meant the Grifter meme, but the name ‘Grister’ stuck.

I continued my exchanges with Jon, but I noticed that he was becoming more and more tense. It was hard to tell over the text, but really that was the only way to put it. I just figured that once the novelty of a shared experience had worn off, we didn’t really have much to talk about. Jon wasn’t really my type -he was a steroid-pumping body builder in southern florida who lived with his mother.

But we started discussing Grister behavior, and he said his were starting to act a bit more differently than the ones I saw. He’d wake up at night and they’d be perched at the end of his bed, staring at him with their eyeless faces. They wouldn’t scurry away anymore. He said he woke up one time because one of them had actually started touching his face.

That seemed unnerving. This whole time I had been putting out inquiries on the internet to see if anyone else had experienced this phenomenon -I couldn’t be the only one. But no one came forward. On /x/, most of my threads about the subject got saged, so eventually I stopped asking. But I have an inquisitive mind. I wanted to know what these things did, what exactly they were. I even wanted to capture one. I left out food and mouse traps, but none of these things ever went for it.

My cat would notice them, though. She’d hiss at them, and even chased them a couple of times. All those times I had seen her do that and assumed she was being a dumbass cat, chasing at nothing.

One night, I was walking home from work alone -I work at a call center for a police charity, and my house is about six miles away. I’d had to stay late, so there was no bus to come pick me up, and I didn’t really have all that many friends, so I had to walk. Anyway, I was walking past some old, abandoned brick houses -creepy shit, let me tell you- when I heard some weird, low groan.

That’s when I happened to notice that there were a lot more gristers than usual here. They were mostly ignoring me, but they were scurrying in and around one particular brick house. The groaning sound seemed to be coming from the alley beside it.

Now, a lot of gristers was creepy enough, even without that low groaning noise. What made me decide to investigate? I don’t know. Morbid curiosity. I’m always looking for some creepy/gore stuff to post on the boards. I thought that maybe that the groaning was some kind of wounded animal.

So I approached the side of the house, noting that the windows were boarded up. The groaning… I should have known then it was no animal. It was a low, creaking, gurgling sound. It didn’t sound like any fucking animal I knew.

So I snuck down the alley, and when I saw what was making the noise, I nearly pissed myself.

It was a fat, humongous grister -at least eight feet wide, completely unable to move, with rolls of fat hanging down over its leg. It had no neck, just fourteen chins leading up to its macabre exposed jaw. Dirty drool ran down its chin to cover its obscenely huge belly. Smaller gristers crawled in and out of the rolls of its fat. It rubbed itself with a pudgy claw, making that groaning, gurgling sound, which seemed almost sexual.

It was terrible. I know it doesn’t sound like it -and objectively, I can think that a fat, cooing grister rubbing itself might sound pretty funny, actually. But in the presence of the thing, all I felt was a sick revulsion and disgust. But -BUT- I kept in mind one thing: that I had been looking for a picture of these things. So I busted out my cameraphone and snapped a picture.

I wish I hadn’t. If I hadn’t, I think maybe I could have lasted a little longer.

The minute I snapped the picture, the thing stopped groaning and swiveled its head toward me. All the gristers did, in fact. They all started hissing and screaming at me -a horrible fucking sound, like rusty nails on a chalkboard. I was thoroughly freaked out. To put things mildly, I lost my shit. I ran out of there as fast as I could. Ran all the way home. Gristers didn’t seem so harmless to me, now. That noise they had made was straight out of hell.

I didn’t feel safe with the lights off anymore. I flipped all the lights on, scaring the shit out of my napping cat. I slammed the bathroom door shut and stuffed a blanket around the cracks again. Then I sat down on my bed and looked at the picture I had taken.

There it was. Clear as day. That huge Grister. Just looking at it made me feel sick.

Of course I was going to post it on /x/.

I loaded it onto my computer and sent an email to Jon, with the subject “WILL YOU LOOK AT THIS FAT FUCK” Then I immediately came to /x/ and began typing up my thread. Explaining myself, explaining the gristers. Explaining the photograph. I was just getting ready to post when Jon sent me a message.

“Yo don’t show this shit to ANYONE”

I stopped. I replied to Jon, asking him what he was talking about.

He told me. He said that he thought he had figured out what was making the gristers around him more hostile. He said that he thought that when they figured out that you could see them, they started getting more aggressive. He showed me scratches he had all down his arm from them clawing at him at night. He said that he’d seen a lot more of the bigger ones hanging around his house at night. They watched him through his windows. They knew. They knew he could see them. And they didn’t like it.

And now, I was pretty sure they knew I could see them too.

So what did I do? In the end, I didn’t post the picture. I wasn’t TOO intimidated, but it probably saved a lot of you. I didn’t want to trigger anyone else into being able to see these guys if it had dangerous consequences down the road.

I didn’t notice any behaviour change right away. For a while, in fact. For about two weeks, the gristers acted just the same way they had before. I was beginning to thing that Jon’s problem was his own thing, and that the gristers didn’t know or didn’t care that I could see them.

And then things started happening so fast.

I woke up one night and there were four of them, just perched around my bed, staring at me. I freaked the fuck out and swept them away, and they just hissed that terrible noise at me and ran away.

I emailed this to Jon, who I hadn’t talked to otherwise. He didn’t respond. We hadn’t talked since I told him about the picture, and even rarely before then. After two days -during which the gristers began touching me in my sleep- I got an answer.

Jon was dead. His brother had the password to his email and was letting all his internet acquaintances know. He had commited suicide. Sliced open his wrists in the bathtub.

Jon didn’t seem like the type to commit suicide to me. Had things with the gristers really gotten that bad that they drove him to that? We didn’t really know each other very well, but he hadn’t mentioned anything to me. His brother said he hadn’t left a note. I gave him my condolences.

Now I had no one to talk to about this. I started looking online for more references or anything. All the while, the gristers were getting more and more aggressive. I’d look over my shoulder and there would be one or two on the windowsill, just staring at me. One time I opened the door to my apartment -I live on the third floor- and there was one about the size of a large dog staggering around at the bottom of the stairwell, pale face flashing in and out of the darkness, baring its teeth in a growl at me, pale limbs flashing as it bounded up the stairs. I slammed the door shut. I didn’t go to work that day.

Then I saw it on the news.

The house that I had seen the fatass grister at. I would have skipped right past the news story had I not seen the picture of the house.

The article was titled “EIGHT FOUND DEAD, THREE ALIVE IN ‘RAPE DUNGEON’ RAID.”

Apparently some sick fuck had been using the basement of one of those abandoned houses as a place to keep women prisoner and kill them when they felt like it. It was a terrible fucking story, but one of the things one of the survivors said really struck me.

“We were just so terrified all the time. We never knew when he was going to come in and decide to kill one of us. When he was going to really hurt us while raping us. We were just so terrified all the time.”

Terrified all the time. And gristers had been all over the place. And when I first saw one, I had been reading creepypasta, and pretty freaked out. Same for Jon. Were these things drawn to fear?

Then I read that two of the survivors were being sent to a mental hospital for ‘hallucinations.’

Did they see the gristers?

I stopped sleeping. I didn’t want to wake up to those things staring at me. I stopped eating too. Whenever I wasn’t at work -which was more and more often, as I called out many times when I saw gristers bigger than a cat sniffing around my building for me -I was locked in my room, trying to hunt for information on the internet about these things. I just couldn’t find anyone who has actually seen them.

The gristers were getting more violent. They were starting to scratch me and bite me in those few scant hours that I actually did nod off to sleep. I’d always freak out and sweep them away, and they’d just hiss at me.

After about a week of this, I came home from work and found my cat dead. They had peeled all the skin away from her skull, giving her a look of shock. I quit my job. I cried for days. /x/, I don’t have many friends, and I really loved that cat.

They’re not stupid /x/. They don’t talk, and they act differently from us, but they do have intelligence. I went out for food last week. It was the last time I will ever go out. I was sitting at the downtown bus station, shivering, looking all around me for gristers, when the bus approached. I got up to get on.

And out of nowhere a grister, the size of a normal human, just bent over and walking their weird, loping gait, slammed into the back of the woman next to me and threw her in front of the bus. She had no chance. I saw her slide under the wheels of the bus, I saw her blood and ruined organs squeezed out of her mouth like toothpaste. Everyone freaked out and panicked. As people rushed to her aid the grister turned toward me and grinned. I dropped my groceries and screamed, running back to my house, sobbing all the way.

They’re toying with me.

And that’s when I finally realized why there wasn’t anyone I could really talk to about gristers.

/x/, how many times, when people commit suicide, do you hear it reported that they were “suffering from hallucinations”? Read the reports of people who have been in terrible, frightening situations. Like that rape dungeon, or a war. how many of them “suffer from hallucinations”? Sure, a lot of them are actual hallucinations.

Some of them are the gristers.

And eventually, they figure out that you can see them. And they start fucking with you. And I don’t think everyone who they ‘kill’ is driven to suicide. I don’t think Jon commited suicide. I think they’re smart. I think they know how to make something look like a suicide. You’ll hear about it sometimes. You’ll read in a report about how someone commited suicide, but something just isn’t quite right about it. Like a man who went out and bought a new couch, and then cut his wrists on it.

And /x/, I’m convinced there was nothing special about Jon and me. I don’t think there’s anything special about anyone who sees these things. I think you’re just more likely to see them when you’re really scared, since that’s when they’re drawn to you.

I can hear them right now. It’s about three in the morning. It sounds like a really big one is outside of my apartment door. It sounds like it’s trying to gnaw its way through the wood. And so I’m taking the easy way out. I’d rather have a nice sharp knife slice my arms open than have my skin torn by those teeth.

So please. This is my warning to you. Stop reading creepypasta. I know you love it. I know you love frightening yourself. But you’ve got to stop. Every time you read it -every time you get that feeling of dread in your stomach- you’re drawing the gristers to you.

And if you don’t stop reading, at least, please. Never check out those sounds in the house when you do.

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