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Well, I was happy for 2 days 
Now it's gone. GD GD!
Now it's gone. GD GD!
The Official Creepy Story Thread!
- Thread starter EDITThor
- Start date
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- Oct 27, 2007
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- 1,573
awsome thor you are my IDOL MUHAHAHAHAHA now i shall sacrifice a noob in your honer
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- Dec 2, 2006
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- 970
are you still doing this thor!? 
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- Aug 28, 2007
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Thor falling behind, must find more stories.
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- Jul 19, 2006
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Reading is diff than posting Thor.
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- Aug 28, 2007
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We would never stop reading your stories Thor.
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- Apr 17, 2007
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i like them all i am creeeepy
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- Dec 2, 2006
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- 970
thor adds more!!!
HUZZAHH!!
HUZZAHH!!
The Hitchhikers[blockquote]
There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads, seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them.
They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they're different inside. There's no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp...
Once you possess a hitchhiker's object, you'll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You'll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You'll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won't. You'll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you're doing. You'll smile and nod and they'll get into the car and you'll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box... [/blockquote]
The Old Hotel[blockquote]
There is an old hotel that has been around for hundreds of years. If anyone was to find themselves staying in Room 6 you would find yourself in an unknown place, where exactly at 12:16 AM the power will go out and you'll find yourself in utter darkness. If you chose to stay awake nothing will happen. But if you so much as close your eyes and fall asleep you will find yourself in an unimaginable pit of despair, where creatures of fathomless shapes and sizes roam. You will be trapped here for hours, until the sun comes up. It is rumored that this room is a gate into hell, and demons use the condensed evil of the room to escape into our reality through our minds. Those who have stayed in there rarely speak of it, for even recalling the night will put them in an uncontrollable frenzy. [/blockquote]
Deeper Darkness
[blockquote]
There is a moment each leap year, at exactly three minutes past three on the morning of February twenty-ninth. If you possess the courage, await that moment in darkened room, with no other present. At that moment, the darkness will deepen. If you were to hold you hand directly before your face, you would not see a thing. But you must not do so. No, for that would be to waste the moment. Instead you must reach out, into that impenetrable darkness.
And it will reach out to you.
An unseen hand will grasp yours. You must not flinch away, nor tighten your grasp. To do so will only slough away more of the decrepit flesh that covers it, and anger its unseen owner. Remain perfectly still, as the withered fingers move over your palm, tracing unknown patterns. Do not move an inch as it crawls slowly up your arm. And most of all, do not even breathe as it caresses your face, touching what cannot be seen.
Should you remain still through this, the hand will be withdrawn and a voice will speak, so close you can feel its breath on your face, smell the scent of decay it carries. It will ask you for one simple piece of information: your name. Answer truthfully. Answer truthfully, and the presence will retreat, leaving only a whisper in the air as the darkness lifts. "It is done."
From that day on, untold good fortune will be yours, and mysterious power. You will lack nothing, and have everything. But in a year, perhaps two, you will feel your skin begin to decay, and smell the sweet smell of death upon your breath... [/blockquote]
The Other Earth
[blockquote]
Remember this -
Should you ever despair of life so much that you want to die, you have the means at hand and yearn to end your life, you have written a suicide note to those you will leave behind and you are prepared to die....at that moment, stop.
Get a pair of scissors. Cut away at the note until you end up with a piece of paper in the shape of a key. Go to a door, any one will do. Push the paper key forward and turn your hand as if unlocking an imaginary lock.
The lock is real. Open the door. There you will find it. The other earth. The one that awaits to replace this one when it dies. That death is inevitable, but in the meantime the other earth will belong to you.
Be warned: the other earth is very different from this one. [/blockquote]
Freakshow
[blockquote]A young man and his new bride were honeymooning in Paris when his wife went into a restroom and didn't return. With time the man began to fear the worst and went to the police. The police thought it was most likely the girl simply had second thoughts about the marriage, but they checked it out anyway and found no evidence of foul play.
As weeks turned into months the man finally gave up on finding his beautiful wife, but his life fell into a shambles, he was so filled with grief.
Unable to hold a job or go on with his life, he took to wandering the world looking for anything that might ease his pain. Years later in Borneo he came upon a freakshow in an old shabby building, he went in on a whim. In the last filthy cage he saw a twisted, scarred and mutilated woman rocking back and forth and groaning strange animal-like noises. He screamed as he recognized the birthmark on his wife's face.
[/blockquote]
Ferrari
[blockquote]A man saw a ferrari at a used-car sale and asked for the price of the car. The salesman lit up with a smile and said he'd give it to the man for $500 dollars. The man bought the car instantly on the spot after hearing the ridiculously cheap deal.
The man had the car for months now, but on a cold, winter day as he got into the driver's seat he was startled to see someone in the rear-view mirror. He quickly turned around and saw nothing in the empty seat and quickly shrugged it off thinking he must have imagined it.
As the cold days went by, the car doors started to lock up on him, the engine would stall, and he would hear sounds of something hitting in the back. The man started getting anxious about this bad omen. That horror soon showed itself as he was driving to the airport to pick up his relatives. He looked up and saw 3 bloody bodies in the rear-view mirror staring at him. He screamed and realized that this car is really haunted and fled from the car.
Later he heard the story of the car from the salesman. The police found the car 2 years ago abandoned in an empty airport parking stall where 2 dead bodies were found in the the back seat and another one found in the trunk.
Nevermind that a Ferrari can neither fit this many people in its back seat, assuming it even has one, nor in its trunk. [/blockquote]
There are stories about a certain kind of hitchhiker - they only ever appear at night on quiet roads, seeming to flicker into existence in the very edge of headlights, never carrying a sign, always with an expression of deep despondency on their faces, swathed in a heavy coat and long pants, usually with gloves. If you stop, they will seem cordial enough, polite, but hardly chatty. They will assure you that the next town or city along your route will be a fine spot to leave them. Normal enough. Unless you try killing them.
They die easily enough. But look underneath their clothes, and you will see that their skin is marred with lines of scars, forming repeating patterns that are unsettling to look at, and even more unsettling in the context of their skin. They have no wallets, no identification. If you slice their belly open, however, they're different inside. There's no blood, no muscle, only a hollow cavity containing a single object. The object varies. Examples include a single coin, heavy and golden and engraved with runes nobody could ever decipher. A diamond gem with fractal edges that slice bare flesh to ribbons. A small vase, quite unbreakable, that smells of the ocean and is always damp...
Once you possess a hitchhiker's object, you'll find yourself always driving the quiet roads at night. You'll never mean to, but somehow, you just will. The lure of possessing a second one will hum quietly in your head. You'll strain to catch sight of a figure appearing in your headlights, try to resist the impulse to stop, and sometimes you might. But sometimes you won't. You'll try telling yourself that this is just a normal person on an adventure, someone who ran out of petrol. The logical part of your brain will scream at what you're doing. You'll smile and nod and they'll get into the car and you'll slowly, casually, reach under the seat or across to the glove box... [/blockquote]
The Old Hotel[blockquote]
There is an old hotel that has been around for hundreds of years. If anyone was to find themselves staying in Room 6 you would find yourself in an unknown place, where exactly at 12:16 AM the power will go out and you'll find yourself in utter darkness. If you chose to stay awake nothing will happen. But if you so much as close your eyes and fall asleep you will find yourself in an unimaginable pit of despair, where creatures of fathomless shapes and sizes roam. You will be trapped here for hours, until the sun comes up. It is rumored that this room is a gate into hell, and demons use the condensed evil of the room to escape into our reality through our minds. Those who have stayed in there rarely speak of it, for even recalling the night will put them in an uncontrollable frenzy. [/blockquote]
Deeper Darkness
[blockquote]
There is a moment each leap year, at exactly three minutes past three on the morning of February twenty-ninth. If you possess the courage, await that moment in darkened room, with no other present. At that moment, the darkness will deepen. If you were to hold you hand directly before your face, you would not see a thing. But you must not do so. No, for that would be to waste the moment. Instead you must reach out, into that impenetrable darkness.
And it will reach out to you.
An unseen hand will grasp yours. You must not flinch away, nor tighten your grasp. To do so will only slough away more of the decrepit flesh that covers it, and anger its unseen owner. Remain perfectly still, as the withered fingers move over your palm, tracing unknown patterns. Do not move an inch as it crawls slowly up your arm. And most of all, do not even breathe as it caresses your face, touching what cannot be seen.
Should you remain still through this, the hand will be withdrawn and a voice will speak, so close you can feel its breath on your face, smell the scent of decay it carries. It will ask you for one simple piece of information: your name. Answer truthfully. Answer truthfully, and the presence will retreat, leaving only a whisper in the air as the darkness lifts. "It is done."
From that day on, untold good fortune will be yours, and mysterious power. You will lack nothing, and have everything. But in a year, perhaps two, you will feel your skin begin to decay, and smell the sweet smell of death upon your breath... [/blockquote]
The Other Earth
[blockquote]
Remember this -
Should you ever despair of life so much that you want to die, you have the means at hand and yearn to end your life, you have written a suicide note to those you will leave behind and you are prepared to die....at that moment, stop.
Get a pair of scissors. Cut away at the note until you end up with a piece of paper in the shape of a key. Go to a door, any one will do. Push the paper key forward and turn your hand as if unlocking an imaginary lock.
The lock is real. Open the door. There you will find it. The other earth. The one that awaits to replace this one when it dies. That death is inevitable, but in the meantime the other earth will belong to you.
Be warned: the other earth is very different from this one. [/blockquote]
Freakshow
[blockquote]A young man and his new bride were honeymooning in Paris when his wife went into a restroom and didn't return. With time the man began to fear the worst and went to the police. The police thought it was most likely the girl simply had second thoughts about the marriage, but they checked it out anyway and found no evidence of foul play.
As weeks turned into months the man finally gave up on finding his beautiful wife, but his life fell into a shambles, he was so filled with grief.
Unable to hold a job or go on with his life, he took to wandering the world looking for anything that might ease his pain. Years later in Borneo he came upon a freakshow in an old shabby building, he went in on a whim. In the last filthy cage he saw a twisted, scarred and mutilated woman rocking back and forth and groaning strange animal-like noises. He screamed as he recognized the birthmark on his wife's face.
[/blockquote]
Ferrari
[blockquote]A man saw a ferrari at a used-car sale and asked for the price of the car. The salesman lit up with a smile and said he'd give it to the man for $500 dollars. The man bought the car instantly on the spot after hearing the ridiculously cheap deal.
The man had the car for months now, but on a cold, winter day as he got into the driver's seat he was startled to see someone in the rear-view mirror. He quickly turned around and saw nothing in the empty seat and quickly shrugged it off thinking he must have imagined it.
As the cold days went by, the car doors started to lock up on him, the engine would stall, and he would hear sounds of something hitting in the back. The man started getting anxious about this bad omen. That horror soon showed itself as he was driving to the airport to pick up his relatives. He looked up and saw 3 bloody bodies in the rear-view mirror staring at him. He screamed and realized that this car is really haunted and fled from the car.
Later he heard the story of the car from the salesman. The police found the car 2 years ago abandoned in an empty airport parking stall where 2 dead bodies were found in the the back seat and another one found in the trunk.
Nevermind that a Ferrari can neither fit this many people in its back seat, assuming it even has one, nor in its trunk. [/blockquote]
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2007
- Messages
- 1,067
I'm gonna start writing for this thread 
I'll try and do a story at least once every other day, sometimes it may be longer if I come up with an idea that needs more space to be written on. Of course, comments are always welcome, as I am new to this genre of writing, though I got a warm reception with "Tree of Life".
Credits to good ol' Jack the ripper for inspiring this.
[blockquote]The Ghosts of Old London Alley By Kadath Bird
Next to the old house I live in, there is no garage or neighbour, but before the next house, there is an alley. The alley leads to a gully. The gully is filled with junk, and sludge, and even a little bit of a stream still remains. Sometimes I like to go back there and play paintball with my boyfriend and some of his friends, the broken down cars and trashcans made great cover, and so did the trees, though we usually avoided the water. But we never took the alley down to that gully, we always took the hill behind my friends house.
I got a bad feeling from that alley. Sure, it was never used, to my knowledge, but it bothered me. In fact, it downright terrified me. Why? Well, for starters, at night, hell, sometimes even at day, I hear women screaming. My mum tells me it's just my imagination. A typical response. Another thing is just the fact that no one uses it. I see people pass it, and sometimes they look down that alley blankly, as if they were thinking, they will shudder and then walk on. Back in the 1800's, I suspect that the ground was covered with cobblestones, as you can see their remains sinking in the earth that is there now. A part of old London.
I was in bed on the eve of my 17th birthday, and once again, I heard a woman screaming from that little alleyway. I looked out my window to try and see what was going on, but other than a crimson spatter apparent on the other buildings wall, I could not see into alley because of the darkness, and because of a strange mist. I grabbed my coat, went into the kitchen and grabbed my pocket knife; “Use it for protection, you know how vile men can be..” my mum had told me. I don't think men specifically are vile, but I know that the human race certainly has the potential to be vile. I walked out slowly, very slowly. There was a strange mist, white, except for an odd tinge of red, flowing out from the alley. As I got closer to it, and breathed it in, I smelled gas. Anaesthesia. It was dizzying, but not enough to put me out. More smells, alcohol and iodine, as I got even closer. When I finally stepped into the alley, my shoes clattered against the cobblestone walkway on the floor. My house was no longer next door, but an apothecary took its place. I figured I must have been hallucinating.
The mist finally cleared and I saw a man, clad in a tophat and a flowing over coat packing up surgical gear. There were crimson stains on the cobblestone beneath his feet and on the wall, but there was no body. When he looked at me as he passed, he smiled, I could not quite make out his face. I began to run away down towards the gully. I found myself hitting a wall instead. I remember my mum mentioning that it used to be underground... The man in the coat came back and called, asking if I was lost and needed help. I figured maybe he wasn't so bad. He had surgical tools, maybe he was a police doctor, and not the murderer. Maybe I came too late to stop him. I walked back towards him and told him that I didn't need help, really, I only live about a block away, but he offered a ride in his coach anyways. While we were in the coach, he offered me a vine of ripe grapes. My favourite fruit! I hadn't had them in awhile, and I gladly accepted, and as I was plucking them and putting them down my mouth, I noticed he opened his briefcase of surgical tools. He took out a tool, oddly cyclical. He put it around my throat, a perfect fit. I don't know what he did next, but my world is now black.[/blockquote]
I'll try and do a story at least once every other day, sometimes it may be longer if I come up with an idea that needs more space to be written on. Of course, comments are always welcome, as I am new to this genre of writing, though I got a warm reception with "Tree of Life". Credits to good ol' Jack the ripper for inspiring this.
[blockquote]The Ghosts of Old London Alley By Kadath Bird
Next to the old house I live in, there is no garage or neighbour, but before the next house, there is an alley. The alley leads to a gully. The gully is filled with junk, and sludge, and even a little bit of a stream still remains. Sometimes I like to go back there and play paintball with my boyfriend and some of his friends, the broken down cars and trashcans made great cover, and so did the trees, though we usually avoided the water. But we never took the alley down to that gully, we always took the hill behind my friends house.
I got a bad feeling from that alley. Sure, it was never used, to my knowledge, but it bothered me. In fact, it downright terrified me. Why? Well, for starters, at night, hell, sometimes even at day, I hear women screaming. My mum tells me it's just my imagination. A typical response. Another thing is just the fact that no one uses it. I see people pass it, and sometimes they look down that alley blankly, as if they were thinking, they will shudder and then walk on. Back in the 1800's, I suspect that the ground was covered with cobblestones, as you can see their remains sinking in the earth that is there now. A part of old London.
I was in bed on the eve of my 17th birthday, and once again, I heard a woman screaming from that little alleyway. I looked out my window to try and see what was going on, but other than a crimson spatter apparent on the other buildings wall, I could not see into alley because of the darkness, and because of a strange mist. I grabbed my coat, went into the kitchen and grabbed my pocket knife; “Use it for protection, you know how vile men can be..” my mum had told me. I don't think men specifically are vile, but I know that the human race certainly has the potential to be vile. I walked out slowly, very slowly. There was a strange mist, white, except for an odd tinge of red, flowing out from the alley. As I got closer to it, and breathed it in, I smelled gas. Anaesthesia. It was dizzying, but not enough to put me out. More smells, alcohol and iodine, as I got even closer. When I finally stepped into the alley, my shoes clattered against the cobblestone walkway on the floor. My house was no longer next door, but an apothecary took its place. I figured I must have been hallucinating.
The mist finally cleared and I saw a man, clad in a tophat and a flowing over coat packing up surgical gear. There were crimson stains on the cobblestone beneath his feet and on the wall, but there was no body. When he looked at me as he passed, he smiled, I could not quite make out his face. I began to run away down towards the gully. I found myself hitting a wall instead. I remember my mum mentioning that it used to be underground... The man in the coat came back and called, asking if I was lost and needed help. I figured maybe he wasn't so bad. He had surgical tools, maybe he was a police doctor, and not the murderer. Maybe I came too late to stop him. I walked back towards him and told him that I didn't need help, really, I only live about a block away, but he offered a ride in his coach anyways. While we were in the coach, he offered me a vine of ripe grapes. My favourite fruit! I hadn't had them in awhile, and I gladly accepted, and as I was plucking them and putting them down my mouth, I noticed he opened his briefcase of surgical tools. He took out a tool, oddly cyclical. He put it around my throat, a perfect fit. I don't know what he did next, but my world is now black.[/blockquote]
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2006
- Messages
- 7,122
Wow! Amazing Croutons! Love the ending.
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2007
- Messages
- 1,067
[quote1200939384=Blazing Heat =FL=]
Wow! Amazing Croutons! Love the ending.
[/quote1200939384]
Thank you Expect another one of my stories on Wed. I think it's a good way to keep this thread alive. Thor posts folklore every day, I write my own stories every other 
Wow! Amazing Croutons! Love the ending.
[/quote1200939384]
Thank you
Expect another one of my stories on Wed. I think it's a good way to keep this thread alive. Thor posts folklore every day, I write my own stories every other - Joined
- Dec 2, 2006
- Messages
- 970
these are great stories guys. thanks for keeping the thread alive
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2007
- Messages
- 1,067
Here's my newest story. It's actually meant to be more funny than scary, though it's inspired by folklore, so I'm posting it. It came from my love of irony and reverse psychology
Comments always welcome.
[blockquote]Under the bed By Kadath Bird
You've probably been told as a kid, 'It's not real, there's nothing under your bed'. It's something our parents tell all of us, and eventually the boogeymen all vanish to myth. That's what I have always believed.
But things are different here. My parents are scared. Always screaming, always crying, always whining and moaning and complaining about a monster under their bed. And every night, I have to go in and tuck them in and tell them 'It's not real, there's nothing under your bed'.
If there is something I value above anything else, it's sleep. But when my parents get a'scared there ain't no one who can sleep. But I've learned to drown them out, like white noise. But this night in particular, they were louder. And I couldn't sleep. I picked up a broom and banged the ceiling, and they shushed for a minute. But then the screaming again. I picked up the broom and banged the ceiling again. They stopped, but it only took them a minute before they started hollering again. This time I was mad. I began to stamp upstairs, but suddenly, the screaming stopped, and I stopped on the stairs and listened. They were quiet for a whole 3 minutes, so I stamped back down.
When I got to my room, I snuggled into bed, but was startled awake, not by a noise but a feeling. Something was wet, and falling onto me. I look at the ceiling, and lo and behold, it's covered and blood, and what goes up must come down. So now they were interrupting precious sleep by bleeding on me! The nerve of some people! I stamped upstairs, I shouldn't have to do this twice in one night, and opened the door to their room. As I opened it, I looked upon my parents, but they sure didn't look like my parents. These people were inside out. I heard a noise, sloppy and wet, coming from under their bed. Suddenly, an eye shot at me, and I wondered if this was some kind of gag. I got to my knees, and looked under the bed, and saw a monster, horrible and red. He was feasting upon what was left of my dad. He saw me, but he did not eat me, he in fact, payed me. “Here yah go kid, thanks for staying downstairs tonight. I would've gotten 'em earlier, but I'm damn terrified of children!” I took the money, and stamped downstairs, and placed some napkins on the ceiling. I finally slept, and slept peacefully I did.[/blockquote]
Comments always welcome.
[blockquote]Under the bed By Kadath Bird
You've probably been told as a kid, 'It's not real, there's nothing under your bed'. It's something our parents tell all of us, and eventually the boogeymen all vanish to myth. That's what I have always believed.
But things are different here. My parents are scared. Always screaming, always crying, always whining and moaning and complaining about a monster under their bed. And every night, I have to go in and tuck them in and tell them 'It's not real, there's nothing under your bed'.
If there is something I value above anything else, it's sleep. But when my parents get a'scared there ain't no one who can sleep. But I've learned to drown them out, like white noise. But this night in particular, they were louder. And I couldn't sleep. I picked up a broom and banged the ceiling, and they shushed for a minute. But then the screaming again. I picked up the broom and banged the ceiling again. They stopped, but it only took them a minute before they started hollering again. This time I was mad. I began to stamp upstairs, but suddenly, the screaming stopped, and I stopped on the stairs and listened. They were quiet for a whole 3 minutes, so I stamped back down.
When I got to my room, I snuggled into bed, but was startled awake, not by a noise but a feeling. Something was wet, and falling onto me. I look at the ceiling, and lo and behold, it's covered and blood, and what goes up must come down. So now they were interrupting precious sleep by bleeding on me! The nerve of some people! I stamped upstairs, I shouldn't have to do this twice in one night, and opened the door to their room. As I opened it, I looked upon my parents, but they sure didn't look like my parents. These people were inside out. I heard a noise, sloppy and wet, coming from under their bed. Suddenly, an eye shot at me, and I wondered if this was some kind of gag. I got to my knees, and looked under the bed, and saw a monster, horrible and red. He was feasting upon what was left of my dad. He saw me, but he did not eat me, he in fact, payed me. “Here yah go kid, thanks for staying downstairs tonight. I would've gotten 'em earlier, but I'm damn terrified of children!” I took the money, and stamped downstairs, and placed some napkins on the ceiling. I finally slept, and slept peacefully I did.[/blockquote]
- Joined
- Oct 27, 2007
- Messages
- 1,573
man thats twisted and funny i like that
GJ on that one croutons, the ending was just absolutely brilliant
BTW jester, i have eluded you so far, and i will continue to do so. You'll never catch me alive! (lol, i dont think you even want to)
Also, we need more stories from Thor.
PS. does boogeyman have a scottish accent? 'Cos that would so friggin' hilarious.
BTW jester, i have eluded you so far, and i will continue to do so. You'll never catch me alive! (lol, i dont think you even want to)
Also, we need more stories from Thor.
PS. does boogeyman have a scottish accent? 'Cos that would so friggin' hilarious.
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2006
- Messages
- 7,122
Heh he xD That bleeding part owned!
