Linggo, Setyembre 04, 2011

Creepypasta Post: Fear Edition part 2

Disclaimer, as always.


Awakening by foreverandever:

You’re awoken from a dreamless sleep by a dull thud from the hallway. Your eyes snap open and fix instantly on the door. What made that noise? Breathing hard, fear beginning to twitch in your mind, you realise with a shiver that you’ve kicked your duvet off in your sleep. You quickly grab it, pull it around you and unconsciously begin to tuck it around yourself tightly as you curl up, leaving no part exposed. You become a warm, safe ball: coiled, leaving only a small gap between the duvet and mattress so you can see out, pillows becoming shields between your head and the wall. You are briefly reminded of your childhood, hiding from imaginary bogeymen. But this feels more palpable, more dangerous.

Another thud. This time, it seems louder, deeper, coming from just outside. Trying to keep calm, you run through all the things it Has To Be: the pipes in the wall, which have been groaning for weeks now, with ever-increasing frequency and urgency (they were never this deep or this loud). The blind in the bathroom, left to flap by an open window (you double-check all the doors and windows each night). Perhaps it’s your parents, returning late and drunk (they’re away on a cruise for another week). Your cat, prowling through the house at night (you put it out that evening). Despite all your desperate reassurances, you feel the fear turn to panic, and you pull the duvet tighter around yourself, reducing your field of vision to a thin chink.

Another. The loudest yet, just inches from your door. Your churning brain conjures images straight from your childhood nightmares – masked psychopaths, giant spiders, shape shifting creatures: amalgamations of bone and gristle, twitching their way across the floor, scrabbling with twisted limbs for the door handle, then scuttling in with a burst of speed, claws grasping for your quivering body.

Another. Your breathing is hoarse and shallow now, mere gasps in a suddenly dry throat, lungs closing up, stomach churning and roiling, eyes wide and fixed. Your blanket is still tucked vice-like around you, your body pinioned underneath its futile protection, just inches of cotton between you and whatever is about to burst in, eyes burning, talons gleaming dully, to claim its prize.

Suddenly, in a flash of realisation, you realise what the source of the noises is: the old, falling-apart bookcase in the corridor. One of the legs must have given way, and the tilt is tipping books one by one onto the floor. As you listen carefully, you can hear the quiet riffle of the pages as another tumbles to the ground. There ought to be one last thud and… yes. Silence once more descends, and with it, a soothing calm.

As you sink back into sleep, you glance around the room, still snugly cocooned, seeing the vague shapes becoming defined as your night vision improves. Your desk, chair and television all emerge out of the murk, imposing good, sane reality on the void of night. Then, just before you shut your eyes, you see something that makes the bottom of your stomach drop away into nothingness.

There, on the floor, is your duvet.

Your screams are muffled.

You’re Not Scared, Right? By Shadow Lovely

You are lying in your bed, the dull whirring of your air conditioner is the only thing separating you from total silence.
You know, that particular silence that is so heavy, and so thick, it’s almost the equivalent of a loud noise itself? The kind of silence where you could hear a pin drop three rooms away in; the kind of silence that fills your ears with the sound of your own heartbeat as your ear presses against your pillow. That kind of silence.
The dull whirring is the only noise you can hear, a noise that typically goes unnoticed, until it is the only noise present. It’s comforting, whether you realize it or not. A sort of white noise. But suddenly, your room is back at the temperature specified on the thermostat, and the whirring comes to a stop, as the vent makes a dull clang. To your misfortune, you are not yet asleep, and the silence sets in.
You should be comforted by the knowledge that you could hear anything and everything in your surroundings; making up for the lack of vision provided by the darkness. But you aren’t. It’s this very environment that sets you on edge, causes your heart to beat a bit faster, makes your body tense without explanation, and that makes you aware when you are not alone.
But you are alone right? You’ve been laying there with your eyes closed for almost 15 minutes now, and you made sure everything was normal in your room before you turned off the light; you’re a smart one. All those Facebook quizzes you took have just reinforced what you already know, if you were in a horror movie, you’d survive until the end. You’ve even made a carefully laid plan of what you would do in any of the situations you’ve read about on But that stuff is just nonsense anyway, right?
You aren’t scared. Or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself.
But wait…what was that? Was that the rustling of fabric? But, you didn’t shift in your bed, or make any movement. Did you make that noise? No, you couldn’t have. You’re paralyzed your bed, stiff with an unease that was not present until these very moments. You must have imagined it…you must have.
You roll over to face the wall. Out of sight, out of mind. If there’s something in the room with you, it will just have to accept that you are much to tired to deal with it at the moment. You’re still stricken with uneasiness as you hear rustling again. This time, the rustling is accompanied by a soft thud on the ground.
Your heart seizes in your chest…did you really just hear that? No no, you’ve just gotten yourself worked up about nothing. You really should stop play horror survival games so late at night, it’s messing with your brain. You’re a rational person, stop acting so childish and just fall asleep already.
You close your eyes tightly; silently hoping sleep would whisk you away soon. You’re practically begging for the safety of the nonexistent dreamworld of your own creation. You’re running away in a sense; but there’s nothing there…right? You’re just tired. I know, I know.
As your eyes are clinched tightly shut, you become aware that no matter how much you want to, you can no longer move your arms and legs. Come on now, are you really letting this get to you? What are you? 12 years old? Suck it up and fall asleep already.
Now, more tense than ever, that unnerving sound echoes across the room again. The rustling of fabric, followed by a soft thud on the ground. Unwittingly, you’re holding your breath now, eyes shut as tightly as possible. You have childish urge to pull the blanket over your head. You’re imagining it all! It’s all in your head; I thought you were better than this.
You heart is pounding loudly in your ears now, but not loudly enough to drown out the now repetitive sound approaching from across the room. What’s that rustling!? Maybe you left some paper on the ground. That has to be it! And that thumping? Probably the cat, or the dog, or something. They probably ran in when you weren’t looking before you closed your door. Yeah, you’re just paranoid.
The noise is now within a foot of your bed, and with your back to it, you don’t dare turn around to investigate, not that it’d do much good; the only light in your room is the dull glow of your cell phone on the nightstand next to you, you plugged it in before crawled into bed remember? But you don’t dare turn around and look; there’s nothing there anyway.
Minutes that feel like hours pass as you face your wall, stiff as a board, unable to will your uncooperative body to move. You haven’t heard the noises in a while now, not since it reached the edge of your bed. You know there’s nothing there you silly. It’s this silence. It’s messing with you. You really should have turned on some music or something before you went to bed. Oh well, maybe next time.
Suddenly, a familiar clang echoes through the room, followed by that familiar whirring. You exhale deeply, your body relaxing as you are flooded with relief. Thank God that’s over, now you can finally sleep in peace. That silence was really getting to you. You roll over and open your eyes to check the time on your lit cell phone, it must have been at least an hour since you first went to bed.
You are greeted face to face with his ear to ear grin. Dimly lit sockets where eyes once resided stare intently at you.
Ah, I see you’re still awake.

“Hello.” By apoisonedlogic

The doorbell rings, and you get up from where you sat staring stonily into space. You already know who is at your door, and why he is there. You open it, nodding numbly to the man. You make a note in your head that the man looks… sneaky, but you assume that must be because he’s a lawyer. You show him into your living room, dreading what is to come. The man hands you a CD he produces from his briefcase, and sets what looks like a birdcage on your coffee table. You cannot see what is inside the cage, as it is covered in a blanket of embroidered silk. The man sits as you put the disc into your stereo and press play.

You hear the sound of stressed breathing from the speakers as you take your seat. The lawyer hasn’t said a word, but you know the breathing to be that of your late friend, the last breathes of your friend. You can hear something in the background, behind your friend’s heavy breathes, as if someone, or something, was scratching at a door. You wonder if you’re hearing things, as the sound is barely audible in the recording. You look up as you hear her voice, as if she was in the room with you, as if she was alive.

“The date is September the first of two thousand eight.” Her voice is shaky, every word she speaks is saturated with fear, “This is my last will and testament. Now, I don’t have much time. They’re almost here, so I’ll dispense the formalities and get on with what I have to say. This is the last day of my life, as you have probably already figured out.”

“This began with the death of my uncle. I had never known him very well, only a few times at family reunions and Christmas parties, but he had left me something on his will. I sat awkwardly through the reading of the document until at last, my name was called. I collected a small box of knick-knacks and a covered cage. On the cage was a note saying ‘Please do not unveil the surprise until you are home.’ So I hurried home without taking the silk blanket off of the cage. What was inside the box is of no consequence, but underneath the blanket – I warn you do not take the blanket off until this recording has ended – is an old birdcage. Inside of this bird cage , is a parrot.”

“I was indeed surprised, but there were more shocks to come. When I lifted the blanket, the bird’s eyes were immediately fixed on me. Its beady eyes shone wickedly upon seeing a new face, and it said plainly in a squawky voice, ‘hello’. I stared back at it, and it repeated itself, ‘hello.’ I dismissed it as a cute trick my uncle had taught it. I was very wrong.”

“The next day, when I took the blanket off of the cage, I was not greeted with a ‘hello’. No, on the second day the bird didn’t talk at all. What it did do was breathe loudly, as if it was hyperventilating, or at least copying someone who was terrified. On the third day the bird did not speak, but made the sound of a grown man crying. I was very disturbed, and covered the cage for the remainder of the day.”

“The fourth day, in a voice not unlike my recently departed uncle’s, the bird cried ‘Oh god. Oh god!’ I thought the bird had learned it from listening to the television, and I resolved to never let it hear the television again. I didn’t turn on the TV all that day, but on the fifth day, when I uncovered the cage, the bird screamed. Not a normal scream, mind you, and it was nothing I had ever had turned on the television. It was the sound of a man screaming in terror and pain. It was, I know now, the scream my uncle gave when he was killed. When the bird screams again it will be my scream as they tear me apart, for even now the bird is listening to me. It stares at me coldly where I’ve barricaded myself in the kitchen.”

“As you life depends on it, do not yet uncover the cage.”

“The sixth day, yesterday, when I hesitantly uncovered the cage, the bird was quiet. Perhaps ten minutes later it cocked its head to the side, as if it had heard something I could not. ‘They’re coming.’ it whispered, ‘They’re coming’. Over and over again he repeated in a haunting voice. 

‘They’re coming’”

“Today is the seventh day, and they are here, just as the bird said. I can hear them scratching at the door and crawling in the walls. The bird is waiting to record how I die, I swear, if it could grin it would have been grinning from the moment I uncovered its cage. The noises are getting louder, they’ll get in soon, so I’m saying goodbye now. Take care of the bird; I couldn’t think of anyone else to give it to, I’m sorry. You must take care of him till they come for you. You have seven days.”

The track ended suddenly, and you look around you, startled. You must have been entranced by the disc, for the lawyer was gone. You hadn’t noticed him leave. You stare at the covered cage on the coffee table, and wonder if you had just heard on the CD was real, or just some elaborate hoax. A rustling comes from underneath the embroidered silk. Your curiosity begs you to see what’s in the cage. You slowly raise up the blanket.

When Rain Comes by Jimmy Reinstatler

It begins gently at first, softly falling like a child’s tears.  It is a sad thing, but not so unusual and wholesome in its way.  And the wind lightly blows, almost tenderly caressing your face.  This will not last, but it’s nice isn’t it?

In the beginning there were two and they knew love of a kind.

The rain comes down harder now, no longer a child’s gentle weeping, and not quite an adult’s passionate cries for a lost love.  It is somewhere in between.  Then too, the wind picks up, catching your hair, causing it to fall across your face.  It speaks, in the way that wind speaks, a soft moan, nothing more yet.

Time passed, and the two brought forth children.  The children built and bred and grew.  

Thousands, then millions.

The rain has not changed, it does not fall with greater intensity, but in the distance the faint sound of rolling thunder and the flash of a great light.  The voice of the wind calls out to it, the clouds gather more strongly.

The two were not man and woman, but that is close.  In the full distance of time, they grew apart and so their children suffered.  She was not happy with Him, but She would not leave Him.

The rain falls strongly now, if you were not wet before, you are now.  The wind’s moan has changed to a howl and the lightning grows closer.  The air is charged with possibility.

She loved them, but to Him they were a barrier, something that caused the coldness that had grown between them.  Perhaps that is why She said nothing when they drove Him out.

The storm is a storm in truth now, the rain stings a little as it falls, water dripping from your hair.  The wind’s howling pierces your clothing, finding any gap and driving itself through it, perhaps seeking your warmth.  You should find shelter, but something is about to happen.

Generation upon generation grew, lived, and died.  They forgot Her name and His.  She was still with them though and they still loved Her, in their way, but He, they lost entirely.  He watched from beyond, unable to touch Her.  Sometimes He lashed out at the skies.

The lightning is close now, illuminating the entire night sky, the thunder crackling within a minute or so of the lightning.  It should feel cold, shouldn’t it?  The wind is strong and the rain is fierce, but you are not cold.  There is an energy building.

A crack has formed in his millennia old prison.  He feels it and rages against it, throwing His might towards it.  The crack widens.

You stand there, silently staring at the raging heavens as lightning cracks open the vault of the sky.  The lines of light hang suspended in the air, after they should have ended.  Something is coming.

He feels freedom.  He goes to it; soon He will be with His bride once more.

He is coming.

He is angry.

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