In France, a young ambient musician by the name of Charles undertook an interesting new project. He was going to record the sound of himself sleeping, and release it under the name “La Nuit” (The Night). Charles lived alone in a rural area, which would remove things like car alarms, traffic, and…
Have you ever gotten away with something so bad, so horrific it bored deep inside of you, and you ended up with that guilty pain inside of your stomach?
Have you ever attempted to cut yourself on the arm to see how much you bleed, to relieve stress? Have you ever wanted to get away from the people who stand over your shoulder, watching your every move? Have you ever asked yourself this? I think from up until this point this has been the only time I have asked myself this. And the answers unveiled themselves to be entirely positive.
It’s somewhere inside my stomach and I know it. I just have to find a way to release it. Once I release it, the world will be gone. And happiness and sadness will combine to generate true chaos. It’s impossible to never die, so why wait? Let’s just make ourselves dead NOW.
Lately I’ve been having these dreams of tons of cars crashing, making masses of bloodbaths and oil everywhere. Then…then, there’s the man. The man that nobody knows about…IT’S JUST INSANE. Nobody even knows what he looks like; all we know is that he’s there. And he comes and ignites the oil and we all get dismembered from the fire instead of burning and melting.
First, the fire makes its way into your legs. It slowly rips apart the tender flesh into two uneven parts, and the blood drips down the leftover string of meat. You fall down onto your knees, and then plant your face into the concrete. Then it runs around your legs to cut off your circulation entirely.
After you cannot feel your legs, it somehow pushes them over your head and you disassemble your entire skeletal system through breaking your spine. The pain has rendered you unconscious, so you don’t feel the rest, but it digs behind your face and poking outward to make holes. Then it leaves you to die like everyone else.
Then after the fire practically dismembers your entire body, you hear voices. The voices constantly whisper in an outrageously loud voice (for whispering), “BE QUIET. BE QUIET.” It hurts your head so much that your soul disappears. So all you have left is your spirit. And you float around in eternal despair as a spirit, crying and attempting to get the attention of others, but it doesn’t work.
So one day I woke up in my bed to see that my wife wasn’t beside me. This was odd because she usually wasn’t up this early. I knew she couldn’t have run off; it wasn’t like her. I put on my robe and ran downstairs. I saw my wife. She looked at me, smiled, and said…
It was the voices inside of her. I started to think about me no longer having a wife because she’s gone and she’s going to try to kill me. I cried out on horror and fear, and fell on my back.
"Margaret! No! We can work this out of you! Just, let me call an exorcist…or somebody!?"
She fell down on her knees and slowly crawled towards me, her face looking vicious and deadly. Her eyes suddenly faded out of blue to turn grey, and in the blink of an eye they were blood-red. Tears rolling down each cheek, I grabbed the kitchen knife.
"MARGARET, I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS. YOU WERE MY DREAM GIRL. DON’T LEAVE ME."
She continued to walk towards me.
I was done for, I was gone. Or she was, at least. I grabbed the kitchen knife and took aim. I raised it above my shoulder, shook a little, and just as she came to my knees, I let go of the knife, and it landed on her head. It slowly poked in accurately, and I saw a few blood drips running behind the two bones behind her neck. She said “BE QUIET,” again, and I was scared half to death.
"STOP PLEASE. MARGARET, YOU’RE BETTER THAN THIS."
I kicked her in the face, and watched her roll back. The voices came again, she said it loudly enough for me to roll back and break my glass vase on my head. Her chest and stomach were absolutely clear. I raised the knife again.
With all my force, the knife came down and hit her chest, and I heard the *PUCK* as it slit inside of the heart. Blood came gushing onto my face, but it didn’t stop me. I felt good about this.
I was killing evil. I slid the knife out, and did it again to make another coin slot. I lifted it and poked it back in repetitively. I think I must have missed a couple of times, stabbed five times, and poked three times. I soon found myself licking the blood off of my nose and my eyes began to roll back as I said, “BE QUIET.”
'Be quiet,' the voices said. I stopped and as my spirit began to take control, I cut my left arm halfway. My eyes went back into place and the knife flew out of my hand, landing inside the large split in Margaret's chest.
I felt my head, and it seemed completely normal.
But then I noticed something about when dreams become real.
When they do, everything inside the dream happens.
I opened my door to see the many cars crashed.
And also, I realized something else.
I killed somebody.
The “somebody” had an evil spirit inside.
The spirit was inside my house.
I felt the giant anonymous man beside me.
The spirit has lurked around my house forever, never to leave.
Whatever is left of Earth please make it good. Or just never be quiet.
As Beth walked up the staircase, she could have sworn something was wrong. Mister Han had been behaving very strangely today, and that was quite unlike him. He had seemed most reluctant to even look at her when she came in, and now he kept looking. He stared at her as she ascended the stairs, unmoving, unblinking.
Beth feared that she’d never know why, of all the days, Mr. Han wasn’t his usual, bright and cheery self today. The age just gets to you, she thought innocently. Mr. Han had been like a grandfather to little Beth. Her own Grandfather had died and the man, still staring at her as she walked, had been there to fill up the emptiness. She was eternally grateful to him. Every evening she’d come along and spend time with him. Most of the time they played chess, and he’d teach her so many new things. He was cheerful and agreeable for a man his age. Today she had come along to find a very different man, who had not said a word since she had arrived.
She had awkwardly asked him if she could get the chess board from the upper stories of his two storied bungalow, and getting no response, she had walked up herself, determined to get away from the man. His cold gaze frightened her, perhaps he was sick, but he certainly could have answered her.
Her toe jabbed against the last step. She hadn’t remembered climbing up these many steps the last time she had been there. And that was just yesterday! The old man was still looking at her, so she rushed up without worrying about the pain.
She hurried into the room and closed the door. She could still feel him staring, through the door. She turned around to look for the Chess set. It was in his cupboard, wasn’t it?
She turned around and walked towards the cupboard. It was closed. She hated it when it was closed. It was rusty and old and the doorknob was heavy. She’d have to use all her strength to pull it open. She wondered how Mr. Han ever managed. She stood there for a while, lost in thought. Then she realized that something was strange.
She could hear voices; People whispering inside the cupboard. Three different voices mumbled and groaned. Something inside Beth urged her to listen intently. She leaned forward and touched the door.
Someone was pounding the door from inside. She stepped back, too startled to speak or scream. She felt as if something had smelled her out.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! SCRATCH! SCHREECH!
Beth ran. She ran across the room to the door. Opening it, she could still see Mr. Han at the corner of her eye; still strange, still staring. She ran into the bathroom. Maybe she’d be safer there…
She was wrong.
“HELLO. I’m grumpy-face. My brothers call me grumpy-face.” A man stepped out as she opened the bathroom door. His voice was dopey and sad and stupid and indescribable. His face was round and his complexion caramel. His eyes were watery and big. His lower jaw was missing.
The wound looked fresh. Parts of flesh hung out and blood dripped. No wonder he was grumpy face. He couldn’t smile.
Beth finally screamed. She ran right back into the room, forgetting about the horrors that lurked there. Now the horrors had succeeded in breaking the door and escaping their cage. Three men lurked in the room, waiting for Beth. A man with an unnaturally wide smile giggled. Beth turned again and ran right past Grumpy-face down the staircase.
Mr. Han was still in his rocking-chair, staring.
Happy-face giggled again.
Scissor-scribble did his work.
When I was growing up, I lived in an okay place to live. I mean, I’d rather live somewhere where it always rains like Seattle or somewhere around that area. Anyway, I lived in a small town with my family, very religious area which definitely does not suit me well, and I lived in a one story house. I was alone often, so I started imagine things to pass the time.
One day, I thought up a friend. His name was White. He wasn’t a friend really as much as a silent entity. I thought about him so much that it kept me from boredom while I was alone. He was basically something of a doll, except he had hollow carved holes for eyes and a larger hole for a mouth. He wore a suit, a black suit, like the ones you see children wearing at funerals. He just stood there all day. Wherever I went I saw him. It started to bug me but as a child I could only assume it was my imagination.
As I got older, I had more friends and I almost stopped seeing White. Although, one day, things took a turn in the wrong direction. I was in my room and, for reasons unknown, my bed started to shake. At the time I could barely even breathe, so I got up and ran towards my gun. I was so close, too. Instead of making it to the gun, I saw White standing in front of it, staring at me.
I attempted to yell, but I couldn’t talk. I sat down on the floor, despite what was happening, and passed out. When I fell asleep, I had a night-terror. In it, I was in a black room with white numbers shifting quickly to other characters. I knew what it was. It was coding. All of it was so fast.
I turned. Out of nowhere, an old terminal computer sat in the middle of the room. It started translating the coding into text. When it finished translating, I took a look.
It said, “The doors are sealed. You can’t leave me.”
I started clawing at the walls, but they were made out of force. Raw force. Like touching something that’s not there.
You can’t feel the texture or the actual thing. You just feel the force that keeps you from pushing through. I started to scream. My finger nails started to fall out, which to this day has scarred me. In a flash, all of the shifting changing coding on the walls changed to 5 digits. -00000. The echo in the room slowly started to wail into the Dial up Handshake modem sound, getting increasingly louder by the minute. My ears started to bleed. I just sat there in the corner, staring at the computer.
An hour after sitting in this room, I woke up. I have never told anybody about the event. Later on I became more sensitive and spooked by those Dial up handshaking modem sounds. I moved into another house 7 years later, but the visions of White were worsening by the month. I had this bike, and it was a bike that would never break down or fail, but something happened. One day it was raining.
I was used to the rain and biking because I was careful when it rained. The other thing about the event of raining is that it’s when I see White the most, especially in the darkness. One day I was riding my bike and something went wrong. I was going at slow speed and I turn and see White, but I pretend not to notice.
My bike for some odd reason started speeding up to a horrible fast speed. That and the rain together caused me to slide, cutting my jaw open on concrete. I refused to believe some made up thing I had as a child was doing this to me.
Ever since then, things have been getting worst. We were going to move from all of the bad things that happened here, but as soon as we stated we would, things started to break. My old laptop, my porcelain toilet cracked and the inside of the lever broke, the vents started breaking off, and there was even this day where the fire alarms started going off at different times for no reason. We took them down and took the batteries out, but recently put them back up. No problems.
I see White in the darkness of the hall from my room all the time, but he’s changed. His mouth hole is now filled with teeth and muscle. Not a mouth, just the teeth and muscle. His eye holes have eyes that are just hanging there. We hear footsteps all of the time when we try to sleep, and occasionally knocking on walls. The other day we heard a rip go from top floor to bottom, but when we went in the attic, nothing was wrong. I know I’m not insane.
I have no disabilities or mental impairments. I have no heart or breathing conditions, but when I see White, if he touches me my eyes black out and I weaken and drop to the floor. I go to the doctor and he tells me I’m as healthy as possible. I’m writing this story on April 2, 2013.
While I am writing this story the power keeps going out. As soon as I started to compose, everything shuts off. You have to believe me, I want to leave this house. He won’t let me.
So to make up for not posting in a while I will start posting a creepypasta every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. You creeps can send me Creepypastas that send chills down your spine or I can go to the wiki and find one that spooks me and share it with you all.
You volunteer at the mental health clinic. Given the dangerous nature of the residents, they assigned you the rooms of the less violent patients. The suicidal. Those who hear voices. Those that don’t say anything at all.
You become close to a mute man named Arthur. He is a rapt listener, willing…
A young girl is playing in her bedroom when she hears her mother call to her from the kitchen, so she runs downstairs to meet her mother.
As she’s running through the hallway, the door to the cupboard under the stairs opens, and a hand reaches out and pulls her in. It’s her mother. She whispers to her child, “Don’t go into the kitchen. I heard it too.”