#creepy stories

[helpful-writing-tips]

how to write creepy stories

over describe things

under describe things

short sentences in rapid succession build tension

single sentence paragraphs build dread

uncanny valley = things that aren't normal almost getting it right

third person limited view

limited expressions

rot, mold, damage, age, static, flickering, espsecially in places it shouldn't be

limited sights for your mc - blindness, darkness, fog

being alone - the more people there are, the less scary it is

intimate knowledge, but only on one side

your reader's imagination will scare them more than anything you could ever write. you don't have to offer a perfectly concrete explanation for everything at the end. in fact, doing so may detract from your story.

#creepy stories #writing tips #advice #writeblr #writing advice #writers on tumblr

[dolliedyhard]

GOTOSLEEP.GIF (Jeff the Killer Creepypasta story)

You shouldn’t be up this late… playing on you’re stupid computer.

go.to.sleep… now.

You get a creepy pop-up with a disfigured guy with scraggly black hair and snow white burned skin rising a blood soaked knife. He tells you to “Go to sleep” in blood smeared text.

You refuse to listen to some dumb scare pop-up. With strained shuttering eyes you close the tap and continue your gameplay.

Just as you do so you feel a gust of blissful cold air brush against your neck. “What was that? I shut my window before going to bed…” You questioned yourself. Before you could turn around you are assaulted by a hand covering you mouth and an arm holding you firm in place in you’re chair. You jump in fear and shock to what is happening. Before you could possess what’s happening you hear a hoarse voice speak, “You shouldn’t be so stubborn, next time listen to some good advice.”

”Next time!?” What the hell is he talking about? What the hell is happening!?!?” Your mind racing while you try desperately to scream. Before you could do so you feel a dreadfully sharp pain in your chest, you freeze as you become lightheaded and the pain overwhelms your senses. Before you could even start to comprehend what was happening to you you were snuffed out in an instant. Maybe you shouldn’t be so stubborn next time. Maybe you should Listen to Jeff’s advice.

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #jeff the killer #creepypasta fanart #creepypasta gif #creepypasta stories #creepy stories #spooky stories #jeffery woods #jeff the killer fanart

[sanityshorror]

[follow me into hell]

Gif:

At long last new Julius art!! Become a premium member on KoFi or buy me a coffee to get early access, exclusive content, discord access(18+) and more!!

Update: Realized I forgot his bracelets and fixed that 😭😭

#julius the dressmaker #julius doherty #horror #horror oc #killian lynch #the man with the scarred neck #creepypasta #creepypasta fan art #creepy stories #creepy art #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack #jeff the killer #homicidal liu #ben drowned #liu woods #slenderman #laughing jack #jason the toymaker #ticci toby

[girlfromthecrypt]

It's so hot here that my roommate started shedding his skin. [Short horror story/nosleep]

Marco and I have been living together for over two years now. We never had any issues with our arrangement. We work together to keep the apartment clean, rent gets paid on time and in full every month, and I believe we've actually evolved into being friends over time. Therefore, these problems we've been having really threw me off guard.

It started when Marco staunchly refused to leave his room. I wasn't exactly worried at first. Our area has recently been hit by an extreme heatwave, and since we don't have an AC, I figured Marco locked himself in with a bunch of electric fans. When I went to knock on his door, I could hear them whirring on the other side. It weirded me out that he didn't answer immediately, though. After waiting a couple seconds, I chalked it up to him being asleep, but just as I was about to turn and leave, he called out to me. "Jen?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't dead. "Yeah, it's me! Just wanted to ask if everything's alright."

"Sure, I'm, uh… great."

His voice gave me pause. It sounded unusual, un*like* him. It was garbled and had an almost hissy quality to it. "You going to the store?"

"Yeah," I answered, trying not to make my discomfort known. "Need anything?"

"Can you get me a sixpack and a bag of ice, maybe?"

I told him I would and upon my return, I found a twenty lying on the floor by his doorframe. "Keep the change," Marco shouted.

I placed the items he'd ordered where his money had been and left, hoping things would be back to normal the following day. Perhaps Marco had caught a heatstroke working outside and that's all there was to it. Temperatures aren't normally that high where we live, so nobody's used to this kind of weather. The day after was a Sunday, and I made breakfast for the two of us like I did every week. Unlike every week, however, Marco wasn't waiting in the kitchen for it to be finished.

At first, I hollered for him to come out and eat with me, but when he didn't answer, I carried a plate of pancakes over to his room. I knocked, then asked into the silence whether he wanted any. I received no response, so I set aside the plate and banged both fists against his door. Still nothing. Both irritated and uneasy, I tried the doorhandle. My roommate and I are very respectful of each other's privacy, and I would never do so if it wasn't a pressing matter. It didn't amount to anything either way. Marco had locked himself in. He was definitely there, though. I heard his chair squeak.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "I can call a doctor, or…"

I trailed off when I saw a note being slid through the crack beneath the door right at my feet. I bent down to pick it up. It was in Marco's handwriting, but decidedly messy; like he'd been in a great hurry and practically spewed ink onto the paper.

*Hey Jen, I'm fine but my throat hurts so I can't talk. I'm sorry but I'm not coming out, I don't want to pass it on to you. I don't need a doctor, I bet I'll be fine in a couple days. Don't worry, ok?*

I frowned at the note, but took the news in stride. What else could I do? I told Marco I'd leave the pancakes outside for him, and not long after I'd returned to the living room, I could hear him dragging the plate inside. I found myself rather missing Marco's presence around the apartment. Three days went by without me catching so much as a glimpse of him. I'd have to walk past his door to get to the bathroom, and I would hear him playing the weather report on his little TV inside every time. On the fourth morning, I found another note, this time on the fridge.

*Hey Jen, I'm going out to see my mom. Be back in a week.*

What the fuck? First he's sick, now he's going on a trip. I was beyond confused. I tried to call him, but he didn't pick up. That wasn't really a surprise. Marco is one of those people who don't ever really use their cell phone. Most of the time, he doesn't even have it on him. Nevertheless, it only added to my growing concerns. Another two days passed and I didn't hear a thing from my roommate. I tried once more to call him when I got off work, just in case. It was already nighttime and Marco normally went to bed quite early, so I didn't really expect him to pick up. And he didn't.

Instead I heard a familiar ringtone coming from his room. It only lasted a few seconds before stopping abruptly, like it had been turned off in a hurry. My stomach sank when the realization set in. Why in the world would he lie to me? This didn't make any sense. The whole situation had the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but despite this, I began heading towards Marco's room. His door looked eerie in the dim lamplight of the hallway. I inched closer, hand outstretched to jiggle the handle. Locked. Of course.

"Marco?" I tried, pressing my ear up to the wood. "What's going on?"No answer. I could hear a squeaking noise coming from inside, like a chair being moved."What the fuck, man," I said, stifling the tremor in my voice. "You're clearly in there, I don't understand…"

That's when I had an idea. There were spare keys to all the rooms in a drawer in the living room cabinet. Neither of us had ever used them before, but there they were.

"Marco, if you're not gonna talk to me, then I'm coming in," I declared with all the determination I could muster. He didn't respond.

"I'm serious, I'm getting the spare and then I'm coming in."

Silence.

I bit my lip, turned on my heel and headed for the living room. My heart was thundering in my chest when I returned with the key. I crammed it into the hole with shaking fingers, turning it once, then twice.

*Click.*

I swallowed, steeling myself before I pushed down the handle and nudged the door open. The motion was accompanied by a drawn-out creaking noise that reminded me I should oil the hinges sometime. With my pulse thrumming in my ears, I entered the darkness beyond the threshold. I couldn't see anything except the limited areas that were illuminated by the ceiling lamp shining in from the hallway. In vain I groped around for the lightswitch, then I decided to give up and just proceed. Something stopped me from going back and grabbing a flashlight. I simply had a feeling I shouldn't turn my back on that room.

Both arms outstretched, I ventured further inside, feeling around for Marco's desk. Soon enough, my palms met with the smooth, hard wood and I braced myself against it almost desperately. "Marco?" I asked, an intangible fear compelling me to whisper. My hands started roaming the surface in front of me. I could feel his laptop, powered off and shut, his mousepad and a set of pens and pencils. Then I moved on to the chair. I flinched when I made contact with something dry and soft hanging over it. At first I thought it was a t-shirt, but the fabric felt almost like extremely thin baking paper. I continued to stroke it, and as my hand went down what was presumably the neckhole, I found that it was warm and damp.

Disgusted, I withdrew from the surely sweat-soaked piece of clothing. Remembering Marco's small desk lamp, I mentally palmed my face for not looking for it sooner. It didn't take me long to locate the switch. As the small light came on, its beam fell onto what I'd *thought* to be a shirt, causing me to recoil in shock. It was skin.

There was an entire fucking skinsuit slung over the back of the chair. It was like a snake's shedding, except tan and pink and human-shaped, with two arms and two legs and a tear in the back from which its wearer must have emerged. The remnants of the face dangled from the ragged neck-scrap, and it looked like the dried remains of one of those cosmetic gel masks. I stared at it for a moment, my eyes bulging and my heart in my throat before I started to violently gag. I clung to the edge of the desk for dear life, trying to keep my thoughts in order.

And that's when I heard it. A garbled, distorted hiss coming from right above me. I whipped my head up just in time to catch a glimpse of a figure scuttling across the ceiling and disappearing into the hallway at an inhuman speed. My mind raced, but before I could think of anything better to do, my feet were already carrying me out the door. I burst into the living room, my face burning as panic spread throughout my body. Inwardly, I was yelling at myself to get out, to leave this place while I still could. Despite this, I followed the sound of dishes rattling into the kitchen.

I hastily flicked on the lights and started looking around for the source of the noise. My stomach was churning and beads of cold sweat ran down my face. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that whatever had been hiding in the shadows could be none other than Marco.

Marco, who was somehow able to walk on the ceiling, who had shed his skin and deposited it on the chair at his desk. Marco, who I'd been living with for two years, who had always been kind and friendly and open, who never argued when it was his turn to clean or take the trash out. Marco, who most definitely wasn't human.

Marco…

Marco was staring at me. I could feel his gaze burning holes into my side. I turned to the right, slowly raising my eyes to the kitchen cupboard. Cowering on top of it, not unlike a wild cat, was my roommate. He had pressed himself against the wall, flattening himself to the cabinet on all fours like a master contortionist. His entire body was of a dripping, aggravated scarlet. His face was bright red, his eyes bulging out of his head; it looked as though the lids were missing. Marco's lips had thinned and receded so his gums were on display—I'd never realized how large his teeth were. Dampened brown curls clung to his neck and temples. Rooted to the spot, all I could do was stare at this thing that my friend had turned into.

He—it—stared back, that same hissing sound emanating from somewhere deep in its throat. Slowly but surely, it loosened from its rigidity and began crawling towards me, sticking to the ceiling like an enormous anthropomorphic gecko. The fluids coating Marco's pink body dripped onto the floor in front of me. I must have forgotten how to breathe altogether. My tongue was bone dry, like a dead leaf lying limp inside my mouth.

"Marco," I muttered. "Marco, this is you, right?"

A rumble rolled from his chest, something akin to a growl.

I raised both my hands, taking a step back as he advanced. "You're okay! I swear," I stammered. "I'm not gonna tell. Whatever this is, I promise I'm not gonna tell."

He stopped and cocked his head, neck cracking. His mouth fell open and his tongue dropped out. It was twice as long as humanly possible. I stifled a shudder, keeping my hands up and forcing myself to assume a soothing expression. "Everything's okay. Stop growling. You know me. We live together. I make you breakfast on Sundays and it's your turn to take the trash out tomorrow."

Marco closed his mouth. He crept over to the left wall and began descending, movements fast and spider-like. Once more standing on two feet, he started walking towards me, step by step, the soles of his skin-stripped feet creating a wet slapping sound on the smooth clean floor. I dropped my arms, focusing on keeping my breathing steady until he finally came to a stop in front of me. "You're okay," I repeated. "You're alright. Can you still hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

A nod. Then, he opened his mouth, forcibly shaping the growls and hissing noises into distorted, almost intelligible words.

"My kind is sensitive to heat."

#writeblr #horror fiction #amwriting #horror story #short story #one off #my fiction #my writing #original fiction #original writing #original characters #dark fiction #creepy stories #horror #nosleep author #nosleep

[miss-celestia13]

Don't Wait Around

Original Short Story

Time swiftly runs down. Life will never be the same. Will Paul be able to keep Elspeth from the clutches of the man chasing her? Or will she have to fight to keep her blood from spilling?

Part two of Don’t Fall Asleep.

Click the link above if you haven’t read the first part or you’ll be very confused🤭 thank you to @cassi0-peia for talking through the details of how this would go down with me! Her suggestions helped so much. Thank you 🥰❤️

TW: Violence. Blood. Swearing. Drugs.

Elspeth

“Have you upset anyone at work?”

“No.”

“Have you dated anyone recently that maybe feels slighted and is acting out?”

“No.”

“Any family members or friends with a grudge?”

“No.”

“Have you allowed anyone in here on their own?”

Elspeth was going to respond with another negative, but she paused. She only moved in six months ago, and the landlord would fix issues while she was out to give her privacy.

“Uhm, my landlord. He came to fix the faucet four months ago, and he had to come back twice after when it kept dripping.”

The police didn’t seem impressed with that information, but she didn’t bring anyone home. She met friends and dates outside of her house.

“Do you have his number, Miss Woods?”

She nodded and asked Paul for her phone. He reluctantly passed it over, and she opened the contacts. The officers noted down his name and number and told her they’d be in touch once they’d spoken to him. It wasn’t long before they were packing up. Black dust covered much of the entrances of her flat, and all her belongings were in disarray as she saw them off. The adrenaline had faded long before that moment, and once the door was locked, she slumped to her knees and leaned her head against the wood as Paul observed. All she wanted was to sleep for a week and have this be nightmare over. A sigh that came from the soles of her socked feet rocked her petite frame as she stared unseeing at the ceiling.

“We’ll head out soon, buy some cameras, and I’ll install them,” Paul murmured, eyes locked on her carefully composed expression.

Elspeth didn’t have the energy to respond vocally and only nodded. Someone had replaced her bones with lead and filled them with acid instead of marrow as she slowly got to her feet. Paul didn’t say anything as she walked into her disaster of a bedroom, studiously ignoring the lilacs scattered over the floor. She grabbed sweats and a hoody before going to the bathroom to change into them. Paul was waiting by the door as she slipped her sneakers on, grabbed her wallet and car keys, and followed him into the late afternoon air. He only had his motorbike, and she refused to entertain the idea of clinging to him like a terrified monkey as he wove through traffic.

Her little car hadn’t been moved in weeks, and she worried it wouldn’t start. Luckily, it did, and they were soon on the way to spending too much money on something she didn’t believe would help. Paul directed her to go out of town, and she argued at first, not wanting to be away from home too long, but his reasoning made sense.

“If they’re following you, they’ll know about the cameras before we can buy them. It’ll give them time to formulate a way to get around them. There’s a store in Stockbridge. We’ll go there instead.”

“Fine. Have you heard from Jamie?” She asked, recalling his earlier texts now the immediate danger was gone.

Paul shook his head but didn’t look at her as he replied, making her uneasy, “Nope. He’ll be sleeping off the night shift.”

She knew it was a lie as she grit her teeth to stop the torrent of angry words crawling up her throat from escaping. He would remain evasive if she continued to question him, and she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted to know about whatever Jamie was dealing with. There was enough to deal with as it was. The drive into Stockbridge wasn’t long, and she was soon parked in front of a small electronics store. It was nondescript and unexciting from out front. Just a simple handwritten sign in the window informed patrons it was open. Paul exited the car, waiting for her to do the same before he made a beeline for the door, and she hurried after him.

Tiny and cramped, the shelves sagged under their burdens as she carefully walked between them and kept her eyes trained on Paul’s broad back. He leaned on the glass counter as the man behind it smiled in recognition and welcomed him like an old friend. Elspeth eyed the walls and looked around while the two men spoke in undertones, ignoring the shopkeeper’s gaze when it landed on her after something Paul said. She was being rude, but she was exposed and primed to dissolve if someone asked her the wrong thing. It was best she stayed quiet. Soon, the man was flitting around his shop as Paul directed him, and she was invisible as they talked over all the features. Her mind snagged on the price tag, eyes bugging slightly as Paul agreed it was a good deal. It was half a month’s rent, and her debit card burnt a hole in her pocket as she grieved yet another thing stolen from her. Money could always come back, and she knew her life was worth more. Death offered no returns, and she grudgingly paid it as Paul accepted the large bag. Before she could catch her breath, they were on the road home.

The day was put on fast forward. Paul was finishing with the last camera, a tiny thing that would clip onto her blinds and catch any movement from outside. She felt like she was on a terrible reality show as they sat in the living room, eating pizza that tasted like sawdust and hardly talking. Her brother still hadn’t called, but Paul spent much of the evening texting someone, and when her new doorbell rang, he didn’t seem surprised as he got up to answer it. Her brother’s dulcet tones rattled through the silent apartment, and she huffed as she tossed her half-eaten slice back in the box. Jamie entered with his friend, and the lines of strain around his nonsmiling mouth made her go very still.

“What happened?” She demanded, eyes flicking between the two men and rolling when they glanced at each other before Jamie replied.

“Someone put a knife through my tires. I was with the police half the day, and the other half was spent putting on new ones. They left no trace, and the police are chasing their tails.”

Her heart fucking stopped. Dead in her chest. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out as she tried to make sense of it and came up with nothing.

“It’s fine, Elsa. They’re getting brave. It’s only a matter of time before they trip and reveal something we can use against them.” Paul soothed, but her blood resided somewhere below her feet, and she was so tired.

She wanted to scream, to rage and make something bleed. Her rolling stomach and sluggish heartbeat kept her from doing anything above a whisper.

“If you believe that, you’re thicker than you look... I’m going to bed,” She sighed, utterly sick of life and all its horrendous surprises. Jamie snorted as Paul pretended to be affronted by her calling him stupid. Still, neither said a word as she shuffled to her room and clambered into bed.

Paul

He watched Jamie’s sister wear a path into the floors as she paced and wrung her hands until her skin turned red. Like a caged cat railing against its prison, she grumbled and cut daggered eyes to him and her brother as she complained.

“He lives in the middle of fucking nowhere. Why can’t he come here? If we leave and anything happens...” She never finished the thought, head shaking as she growled at the sky, and he bit back a laugh.

“That’s what the cameras are for, Elsa. It won’t take long. Most landlords wouldn’t give a shit about their tenants.” Jamie tried, but Elspeth was a hurricane draped in human skin.

“Well, he could send a fruit basket or an email or - something!” She spat and actually stomped her foot like a child refused a treat, and he couldn’t contain his grin as she whirled on him.

“I guess you’ll be coming too? Stop laughing, or I swear to -”

“Calm down, princess,” he drawled to make her eye twitch before going on, “You’ll do nothing. And, of course, I’m coming. For all we know, it could be your landlord. Another reason we have to go.”

She deflated like Jamie’s tires and scowled up a storm as she gave in.

“Fine. Fine. Let’s get it over with then.”

Neither man said a word as she got ready, saying more in looks and smothered laughs as she stomped around. He’d known her and Jamie for longer than he’d known himself, and it hadn’t been a question when Jamie asked for his help. They would do the same for him, and it kept his mind off the myriad of issues he stored in the back of his mind, yet to be addressed. It wasn’t long before Jamie drove them to her landlord’s house, and he went through his mental checklist of things to watch for while Jamie rapped along badly to an old song. The countryside blurred as Jamie put his foot down and followed the road to the house on the edge of the woods that guarded half of their town.

The long, winding gravel driveway stretched before them as he rattled off instructions and warned Elspeth to stay calm.

“Pay attention to your surroundings. Don’t eat or drink anything you can’t see being prepared. Give nothing away. Don’t offer anything, either. Don’t wander off alone. Stay calm and alert, Elspeth. Don’t fly off the handle if he says anything upsetting.”

Jamie snorted, knowing how reactive his sister could be when someone said the wrong thing, and Paul knew he’d watch her more than he’d see anything else. It was on him to log every detail to obsess over later. Jamie parked beside a beat-up truck, and they got out of the car almost as one, just as the red door at the front of the cottage swung open. Paul forced a relaxed smirk to his lips and was relieved when Elspeth did the same, her earlier ire locked away for now. Her landlord was a miserly old man, nearing retirement but held on to all his faculties from what he’d managed to parse from Elspeth earlier. He wasn’t much taller than Elsa’s 5’5 height, and his wrinkled, weathered face spoke of long summers outside. His grey eyes lit up as Elspeth greeted him, his smile broadened as he welcomed Paul and Jamie. They were ushered inside, and Paul had to stoop to avoid banging his head on the doorframe as he went in last.

“I wanted to discuss what the police told me and see if I can do anything to help you, Miss Woods. I apologize for making you come out here; my wife is sick, and my... they couldn’t be left alone.”

They were instructed to sit at a small round table in the bright kitchen, and the landlord, or Fred as he preferred to be known, began preparing a pot of tea. Paul’s gaze was trained on the man’s hands as he eased into the spindly wooden chair, holding his breath and praying it would bear his 230lb weight. It groaned, and he decided to sit very still to keep from turning the delicate chair into a pile of matchsticks. Jamie watched him with a shit-eating grin that he leveled with a glare. Elspeth’s honeyed voice broke through his silly thoughts, and he listened as she gave a quick rundown of the situation.

“I don’t remember when it started, but it’s been months. They’ve been inside the apartment multiple times, and I don’t know how. We got cam -”

“Cameron. We got a friend of ours, Cameron, to keep an eye on it whenever we are out. He won’t be able to do that forever,” Paul interjected and gave a slight shake of his head that only Elspeth noticed. He didn’t want anyone but them to be aware of the cameras.

“Yes. Cameron is there now. How much would I have to pay to get you to install new locks?” Elspeth asked.

“Usually, hundreds of dollars, but as this is a special case, I would not charge you. I’m afraid it will take a few days to make it happen.” Fred said as he poured steaming water into the teapot.

Paul tuned Elspeth out as he looked out the window to the massive garden. His mind worked overtime as he eyed the sheer scale of it and wondered how the old man kept it up. He wasn’t versed in the language of flowers and nature, but even he knew the man had created a masterpiece. Pink, purple, red, and orange, greenery exploding amongst the bursts of color, and he couldn’t imagine the patience it would take to care for such a garden. Butterflies fluttered freely amongst the blooms, bumping into fat bees as they filled up on pollen and carried it away. His attention was snagged by something bigger moving around. A flash of white bopped above the shrubs and bushes near the end of the garden, a man Paul thought. But it vanished when he looked back. Distracted by Fred as he set a china cup down beside his elbow, Paul lost track of the figure.

“Is there someone in the garden?” He blurted as everyone else fixed their tea with milk and honey.

Fred’s brows lifted as he glanced out the window and back at Paul, “My son. He looks after the gardens.”

Paul opened his mouth to ask more, but Elspeth was quicker.

“Oh, you mentioned him and your wife. I hope she’s okay and isn’t sick for too long. We won’t take too much of your time. I’m sure you’re stressed enough as it is.”

Fred thanked her and told them everything the police had said and done. It amounted to about the same as they already knew, but an oily feeling spread through Paul as they chatted. He didn’t touch the tea he was served and wanted to knock it out of his friend’s hands each time they sipped the murky liquid. Elspeth seemed to find it too sweet and daintily sat it down in its saucer after another mouthful that made her wince. Only he noticed, and Fred didn’t seem to care whether they drank it. The honey on the table bore no label. A handwritten date was stamped on the side in black marker. He tried to catch another glimpse of the son outside, but he was gone. Time raced ahead, the drooping sun the only clue of how long they’d been there as they wrapped up.

“However long this goes on, don’t hesitate to reach out if I can help, Miss Woods. I’ll call you with the details once I contact my locksmith.” Fred said with a kind smile.

“I will, thank you, Fred. We’ll get out of your way. Hopefully, this’ll all be over soon.” Elspeth returned, but there was no hope in her voice; Paul’s stomach turned at the flat tone of it.

“Yes, I hope for your sake that it’s settled soon. I’ll see you out. Feel free to take a jar of honey with you. We bottle it from our own hives and keep some around for visitors. It’s by the door.” Fred suggested, and Paul didn’t stop Elspeth as she picked up a jar from the wicker basket sitting atop a little shelving unit near the door. She wrinkled her nose and fought a cringe as Fred patted her shoulder. Paul wanted her safely locked inside her apartment before anything else could happen. She was too jumpy for his taste. Neither he nor Jamie took any of the honey, and they were soon waving goodbye to Fred as Jamie drove them away.

Elspeth

Day after day, fell away like leaves, and she chafed at her imaginary bindings every time Paul reminded her she could do nothing alone. He haunted her every step outside the apartment. He screened every call or message she received, and she couldn’t even use social media other than to doomscroll. It was driving her insane. Her cameras caught nothing more than birds, the mailman, or food delivery service workers, and she started to believe she had made the whole thing up. Gaslighting herself to get through the long, tension-fueled days. She should have known it wouldn’t last. Should’ve realized it was the calm before the storm. Woken in the middle of the night, the clatter of Paul bolting out of the house dragged her out of sleep, and her heart was lodged in her throat as she hunkered down like he taught her.

Curled up in the bath, the shower curtain her only shield, Elspeth’s breath echoed softly off the enamel, and her heartbeat was a war drum in her ears as she prayed she would live to see the morning. She didn’t dare move, not when she heard Paul coming back inside and barking at someone on the phone as he pounded on the locked bathroom door.

“Elspeth, they’re gone. You can come out.” He shouted, and she unfurled her tingling legs, blowing hair away from her sweat-slick face as she scrambled out of the bath.

Paul was already in the living room as she went through, biting her lip as he ordered someone around.

“I don’t give a fuck, Stuart. The cameras aren’t a deterrent for this cunt. Do your damn job or her blood is on your hands.” He clipped and hung up, eyeing her carefully, and she desperately schooled her features into something a shade less terrified.

“Sorry, you’ll be fine. I need them to get off their ass and stop pussyfooting around this. An officer will be stationed outside from tomorrow.” Paul explained, and her chest loosened enough to let go of the breath she was holding.

“That’s... something at least. Did you see them?”

Paul clenched his fists, jaw sharp as glass as he looked away and said, “No. It’s a man, though. The way he moved,” He shook his head, meeting her gaze at last, and she silently urged him to continue, “It’s definitely a man, and he left something. Poppies. Crushed and crawling with maggots. Any idea what that could mean?”

She had no response, and Paul heaved a sigh of the long-suffering as he paced. The night was a blur of new silence and tension so tight she knew one wrong word or touch would make her disintegrate. Paul fumed quietly as she dozed on the couch, and she couldn’t see a way out of this. Couldn’t fathom an ending that wasn’t soaked in blood and rotting flowers. Her dreams offered no respite. All the gifts, notes, and fright played on an endless reel until she gave up on sleep entirely as the sun broke through her curtains. Paul made her breakfast, simple fare, but it tasted like ash on her tongue as she forced it down. Her mind kept snagging on Fred. When he’d touched her earlier, she caught a whiff of a pungent scent that she recognized. But her frazzled brain couldn’t make the connection.

An iron cape hung from her shoulders as she and Paul watched old movies, dragging her down, down, down. They’d cleaned her room and left the window on night lock to remove the lilac scent that clung to everything she owned. Half of her wanted to hand herself over to the monster after her, end this now. Still, the other half roared her defiance, battering her hands against her cage and spitting flame at anyone who dared come near. The plain-clothed officer and his nondescript vehicle were parked down the street, and she felt like an animal in a zoo. Imprisoned and gawked at by all who dared enter her enclosure. The day dwindled like treacle, barely a word said as she and Paul readied for bed. She knew he wouldn’t sleep well, would listen for every sound she made, and her shoulders ached, tension building too high in her muscles as she brushed her teeth.

Long past midnight, she finally turned off her bedroom light, gritty eyes stinging as she struggled against the lure of sleep. Promising she would only let them rest, she closed her eyes and thought of dull things, taxes, emails, and energy bills, but it didn’t work how she wanted. Startled awake hours later by Paul hollering, her legs tangled in the sheets, and she collapsed to the floor as she tried to leave her room. Cursing and heart bouncing off her ribs, she ripped the fabric away and half crawled, half ran to see what was happening. As soon as she opened the door, a thick, acrid smoke draped the air above her head, and her head emptied out, everything inside going still as she dropped to her knees and scrambled on her hands and knees to find Paul.

She made it to the kitchen and pulled her sweatshirt collar up around her nose and mouth as she spied the open back door, flames licking around the sides of it. A desperate cry tripped off her tongue as Paul yelled her name outside.

“Elspeth! Stay inside,” A throaty cough interrupted him, wet and raw before he went on, “I don’t know what way he went.”

His coughing worsened like it was tearing him up from the inside, and she couldn’t listen to it; she needed to see if he was okay. She began army crawling toward the back door, eyes nipping with the smoke. A frustrated scream, torn from the bottom of her tattered soul, was her only option as cold hands wrapped around her ankles and hauled her back, nails breaking and splitting as she clawed at the floor and kicked her feet. Flipped onto her back, she saw her tormentor for the first time. He wore a full face mask, not an inch of skin on display, as his gloved hands tightened painfully and dragged her toward the front entrance. Shrieking and sobbing, she pleaded with him as Paul appeared in the kitchen, dazed and clumsy on his feet. She knew something was terribly wrong before he crashed to his knees. Fear for herself faded as her captor chuckled, delighted as Paul failed to stand up.

“You’ll find its best to lie down, Paul. Your muscles are weakening, and the tremors will only get worse. You can’t fight against nature.” The man crooned, voice laced with dark pleasure and punctuated by breathless little moans.

Elspeth kicked out with all her strength, but he held her harder and pulled her roughly behind him. Her head spun, lungs burning with the urge to breathe deeply. She didn’t dare as Paul gurgled and choked. It wasn’t regular smoke. Something insidious resided inside it.

“The police are outside,” She tried, forcing as much false bravado into her voice as possible, “You won’t get far. Leave, and we’ll forget about this. I swear to you, I’ll let you go.”

The man never halted, her words falling on deaf ears, and she understood that the police had been dealt with. When he dropped her legs, she scooted backward on her ass and stared up at the towering male as he cocked his head, hooded eyes glinting with something she couldn’t name. He took a syringe out of his pocket, and her head shook, tears sliding down her face as he straddled her and held her down. The silver needle sparkled in the low light, and a drop of clear liquid dangled from its point as he lowered his covered face an inch above hers and jabbed it into the side of her neck. The pain didn’t register as horror took over, and her hands turned to claws, raking uselessly down his neck.

“Now, now, little bird. It’ll all be better once you wake.”

His rancid breath didn’t help the roiling in her stomach, but the drug worked too quickly. The edges of her vision went snowy, and every blink lasted longer than the last as her limbs turned boneless. Darkness reared up and swallowed her whole as the empty syringe clattered off the floor. Her captor’s words echoed in her mind until it winked out, too, and she knew no more.

Sluggish and slow, her heart beat out of rhythm as her drug-induced sleep wore off. Every muscle and nerve had been dulled and weighted down, twitching fingers, cramping and clenching when she couldn’t lift them. Cracking a blurry eye open, she tried to catch her bearings and wished she hadn’t. Furiously blinking the haze from her eyes, she glanced around, whimpering as she tested her restraints. She ignored the metal table she was strapped to. All around her, above and below, flowers. There were so many types she couldn’t name them all, and all the greenery blocked most of the daylight. Cracks in the canopy told her it was daytime, and she didn’t want to know how long she’d been there. Her wrists burned as she twisted them slightly, finding a little bit of give in the worn leather, and wondered if she could dislocate her thumbs like she used to as a child.

An awareness washed over her as she attempted it and failed. She wasn’t alone. Her breath quickened, her pulse jumping in her throat as he approached her right side, hidden in shadow until he stood over her crying face. He bore no mask, and recognition ignited instantly at the sight of the scars and old scratch marks.

“Why?” She gritted out, mouth dry as a bone as the man smiled a serpentine smile and nodded.

“You didn’t flinch at the sight of me.” He replied and the hopelessness of her situation suffocated her.

Her muffled thoughts screamed as he bent down and sniffed her neck. She pulled as far away as the straps would allow, but it only made him happy.

“Please. If you let me go -”

“Ahh, that won’t be happening, I’m afraid. Your friend will live if they treat him fast enough. But, you, you belong to me. You can’t fly until I break you.”

Her heart trembled, relief and terror battling inside her, and neither winning as his words sank in. He stroked calloused hands down her face, every touch making her jolt and clench her teeth. He murmured under his reeking breath, words of twisted praise and joy. Bile rose up her throat, but she swallowed it, sweat prickling on her naked skin as he eyed her like a trophy. She had no shame to give as he trailed his fingers down her heaving chest, pinching and tugging at her skin as his hand moved south. Her rabbit heart was inconsolable as he grabbed her thigh, fingers digging in before his blunt nails scraped down her knee and to her bound ankles. Massaging her feet, he began to speak. 

“Mountain Laurel, it’s a beautiful but deadly flower. It grows best in mountainous regions but can take to almost any soil if given the correct care. Once it thrives, it blooms, wondrous to see, and my bees love it. It’s beautiful to look at but deadly if you get too close. Or burn it. Your friend will suffer greatly for keeping you from me. Terrible business, but needs must…” 

Frowning, she said, “I don’t particularly care how beaut-“

“Enough, little bird. Stop singing and listen,” His face morphed from serenity to extreme hate, his craggy skin mottling as he glowered at her. 

“I can’t sell my bees’ honey because of this plant. They call it ‘mad honey’. It’s toxic to anyone who ingests it, so I give it away. What my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Did you try the jar you took? It takes time to build up; you should be fine, but I’ll keep a close eye on you to ensure your continued good health.”

Her mind whirled and tripped over itself as she tried to understand it. She hadn’t touched the honey yet, but Paul had. Oh, god, if he died… no, he was fine. He had to be okay, or she’d lose what remained of her sanity. The clinking of metal broke her out of her thoughts, and she could do nothing as her captor held up a sparkling scalpel and nodded, pressing it into her thigh. His panting accelerated as skin split and blood spilled. The tool was so sharp she only felt the pain once he lifted it from her skin. The cut wasn’t deep, but it dropped like rubies down the inside her thigh and dripped to the table. He swiped his thumb along the wound, lifting it to his mouth to taste it. His eyes rolled back, and his possessive groan assaulted her ears. 

“Why the lilacs?!” She blurted as he moved to repeat his actions on her other leg, sobbing when he stopped and met her wild eye, “Why those flowers? What did that mean?” 

The longer she kept him talking, the better her chance of getting out alive. He seemed appreciative of her attempt at conversation, and it settled the thing pacing along her ribs.

“Are you familiar with Greek myth?” 

She shook her head, “No. Only Hades and Persephone.”

His whole face lit up, and he hurried to stand at her head again, the scalpel hanging from his fingers carelessly. 

“Pan and Syringa. Syringa turned into a lilac bush to escape Pan’s advances. I thought it was fitting. You wouldn’t have come willingly. I had to - make you. You won’t be making any transformations that will steal you from me. No, my love, you will ache to be by my side.” 

Tapping her fingers on the table, she sneered up at him and spat, “I will never forget what you did. I will never be yours.”

Shadows danced in his eyes, and she wanted to take the words back when a familiar male voice cut through her frantic breathing. 

“Jonas! Dinners ready, get it while it’s hot.” 

How odd it was to know the world outside her personal hell still turned and went on like she didn’t matter. Suddenly, she knew why she recognized that smell on Fred that day she visited. She smelt it on Jonas every time he was near and had seen the bottles. Fish, blood and bone fertilizer. Opening her mouth, she howled, but it was no use. A blow to the head made her teeth clack together, the sound cut off, and everything went dark as he hit her again. 

It was night or early morning when she woke again; she could hear him moving around the plants and forced herself to stay quiet. The scalpel rested on another small table, mere inches from her fingertips. She tried again to dislocate her thumb, but it was impossible; she needed a hand free to do it right. Frustration smothered her as she stretched as much as her bindings allowed, fingers glancing off the scalpel but too far to wrap around it. A growl slipped free, and Jonas went quiet until his crunching steps came to her. He wore another sanguinary smile, and she wanted to tear it off with her teeth as he tutted and clicked his tongue repeatedly, goosebumps flaring in the wake of it. 

“If you behave, I won’t have to hurt you.” He admonished her like a child. 

“You’re going to hurt me anyway!” She snapped, ice dousing her insides as he glowered and clenched his fists. 

“You’ll thank me for it one day.” He muttered, shifting on his feet as a vein in his temple bulged. 

Changing tactics, she appealed to his need to “help” her, “I need the bathroom. I can’t hold it much longer.” 

His brows furrowed, and he began to smile sadly, but she wouldn’t give up, “please. You’ve taken enough from me. Let me keep some of my dignity.” 

Gaze softening, he considered for a long moment before he replied, “If you try to run -“

“I won’t! I promise.” And she wouldn’t, not yet. 

A weighted pause hung between them as he thought it over and finally began to undo her shackles. She lay very still, not daring to breathe as blood rushed to her extremities, and they tingled painfully. Rubbing at her wrists, he gathered them in hand and hauled her up, pulling her through the jungle of plants to a glass door. It wasn’t until she was sucking down cool night air that she realized he was keeping her in a greenhouse. The darkness was so complete she may as well have been blind as he guided her to a tree and let her go, putting his back to her. She bit back an insult and crouched, relieving herself as cleanly as she could and sighing as the pressure of her full bladder eased. She didn’t have it in her to care she was debasing herself as he grabbed hold of her again, and they returned to the greenhouse. 

Days passed in a daze of fear and anger. He kept her fed and watered like he tended to his fucking plants. And all she knew was Jonas as time slipped through her fingers. He came multiple times a day to check on her and test her, slicing into her skin whenever she displeased him and tasting her blood when she answered correctly. Her answers became shorter and shorter, her mind threatening to break with every night she spent staring at a tiny patch of stars or clouds. No matter how many wishes she made, none came true. Still, she waited. She prayed and gathered her fading strength for a time when he grew careless. 

Her chance came weeks, maybe months later. She wasn’t sure. Another night, another piss under a tree, but they weren’t alone this night. Her brother’s voice shattered the lethal quiet. Barely above a whisper, but they both heard it, Jonas twisted to bare his teeth at her. She was picked up and carried into the greenhouse, thrown to the floor, where she rolled until her back hit the table, and she cried out. Jonas was already gone, the door locked as she searched for something to break it with. Fear for Jamie made her clumsy as she stumbled around her prison, and she knew if she broke the glass, he could return and kill her before Jamie could get to her. Instead, her eyes caught on the scalpel, and it was in her hand before she thought about moving. 

Weaving through the forest of flowers, the scent of lilacs turned her weak stomach, but she followed it to the source. Barrels of them rotted against a glass wall, more hanging above them to dry. Gauging the size of the containers, she clenched the scalpel between her teeth. She gripped the plastic barrel, climbing into it uneasily. Slimy, sticky petals adhered to her skin as she wriggled under until she was buried in them. She wanted to be sick. Wanted to jump back out and forget about escape as the scent thickened in her lungs and choked the air from her. Bugs skittered over her exposed skin, itchy and awful as she screwed her eyes shut. A pained shout from outside made her jolt. She knew that voice anywhere. Planning to run to her brother, she prepared to leave her hiding place when the door to the greenhouse slammed and shattered, glass showering to the ground. The violence of it froze her blood. 

“Little bird, come out, and we can forget this happened.” 

She knew better than to trust that. Holding her breath, she clutched the scalpel in her trembling hands and waited. Measured steps neared her barrel; she counted them and let them slow her heart down. A loud bang, followed by his angry snarl, and she knew he was checking the barrels. One by one, he knocked them over. She couldn’t contain her shriek as hers was overturned, and she tumbled out. Scurrying away on her knees, she didn’t make it far. He grabbed her by the hair, yanking her back so hard she screamed as searing hot pain scoured her scalp. Twisting and leaning away, she couldn’t get him to let go. Another yank, and she collapsed on her back and let him drag her through the greenhouse. Stones, twigs, and dirt scratched and stabbed her back, drawing blood as sweat stung them like bees. 

He wrapped her hair around his hand and straddled her once they reached the table. She only had time to take a single gulp of air as he wrapped his hands around her neck and throttled her. Her hands lifted, punching and beating his face, hands, and neck. Blood pattered like rain on her face as she caught his eye, and he screeched like an animal as he rolled off her. Blinking stupidly at her bloody hands, she saw why. Somehow, she still held the scalpel, and he hadn’t noticed, too lost in fury to check her over. He moaned and whined, clutching his face as scarlet poured between his sliced fingers. She didn’t waste a second. She ran outside. Her weakened legs struggled to hold her up as chilled grass and glass embedded and flattened under her feet, and she shivered as the chill hit her. She wasn’t paying attention to where she was going, falling over something big as she aimed for her landlord’s house. 

The air whooshed from her lungs, wide eyes catching sight of her brother. 

“Jamie, please be okay… please…” she mumbled as she pushed him on his back and saw the knife wound in his side. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but his grey shirt was black with it. He grunted when she slapped him hard, doing it again, so he opened his eyes. Panic stole her courage. Making her stupid as she felt for his pulse, weak but steady as he tried to sit up. She hurried him along, pleading with him to move and biting down on her tongue when he swayed. They didn’t have long, and she couldn’t carry him. Luck wasn’t on their side. 

“You aren’t leaving here alive. Come back, little bird. You can’t hide from me.”

A large rock snagged her attention. She put the scalpel down and picked the stone up. It would have to do as Jonas rounded the bush they were hiding behind and blocked her way forward. Jamie whispered her name, telling her to run and save herself, but she couldn’t leave him to die. Jonas edged closer, blood still leaking down his face, and she clung to the last strands of her hope as she uncoiled to her feet, hand hidden behind her back. Fighting didn’t work. Begging don’t either. Seduction might.

“I don’t want to leave you, Jonas,” she purred, thrusting her chest out and adopting a submissive attitude as he eyed her warily, “Let him go, and I’ll be yours. You won’t have to hide me. I want to make you happy. Will you let me try?” 

“I don’t believe you.” He said bitterly, and her hopes began to die, but she was stubborn. 

Sidling closer, she reached out a hand and cupped his ragged face, smiling like a lover would as she stretched up on her toes. Internally, she revolted; the thought of kissing him was worse than anything he could inflict on her, but she made herself do it. Chapped lips met hers, and he didn’t taste any better than he smelled as he shoved his tongue down her throat. Trying not to choke, she kissed him back, melting into him and letting him take her to the grass. She mounted him, let him hold her hips, and grind her down into his erection as she sat back on her haunches and smirked like a cat. A repulsed shudder rippled through her as he jerked his hips into hers, and her disgust almost broke through her seductive veneer, but it was easily disguised as pleasure. Jonas closed his eyes as she circled her hips, her free hand resting around his neck as he grunted her name. She let him have his fun, and his body went rigid. He was panting wetly as she lifted the rock by inches. 

Holding her down, he bucked and flailed under her; vomit soured her mouth as he opened his eyes. She grinned when shock flashed in their black depths. Slamming with all her might, she brought the rock down on his orgasming face. Flesh and bone gave way to her rage. Splintering and crumbling, she hit him again. Again. And again. She lost count when he stopped trying to get her off. Blood sprayed and squelched under the force of her attack, and shards of bone and skin decorated the rock as she pummelled him again. She was furious, she hated him for making her kill him. She kept going until he stopped breathing. Did it some more to make sure he was gone. Blood cooled and congealed between her sore fingers, making it slippery as she rammed it into his mushed up face. Lost in fright and fury, she couldn’t hear herself roaring and only stopped when someone hauled her off the broken man. His head was split in two, and brain matter and gore replaced his scarred face. She growled and screamed, and the rock fell from her fingers as she was taken away. 

“Elspeth. Stop! It’s me. You’re fine!” Paul’s voice got through to her, and she sobbed anew. 

“How? He said you would -“she demanded as he wrapped his jacket around her shivering form. 

She must have looked horrific if his expression was anything to go by. Exasperation transformed into something lethal as he looked behind her to the dead man. 

“I was in hospital, but they’d seen it before and knew how to treat it. You aren’t the first he’s done this too, Elsa. Just the last, thanks to you.” He soothed, embracing her and loosing a long breath into her filthy hair. 

Her body failed her, and Paul hefted her into a bridal hold as her legs gave out, and she hung onto him. Burying her face in his neck, she let his scent settle her and listened as he walked her to where Jamie still lay prone. 

“We’ve been looking for you for weeks. Jamie put it together. He had keys to your apartment that night he took you. He must’ve dropped them in the alley, and Jamie found them before the police did. They had your landlord’s name and address on the keychain.” 

Exhaustion made her brain foggy as sirens neared the area, and she took her first natural breath in months as Paul kept talking to keep her awake. He explained that they’d decided to act later that day, save her before it ended in a death match, but Jamie couldn’t wait. He left without Paul, unable to sit in safety while she was in danger, and Paul had to catch up to him. She didn’t take much in after that. Jamie’s life bled out as the garden was swarmed by police and federal agents. Paul refused to let her go when the medics showed up and carried her into the ambulance, and she couldn’t fight it anymore. The darkness offered solace she sorely needed. She let Paul’s reassurance follow her into oblivion.

“You’re free. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” 

Three months later. 

“Paul, do you want soda or beer?” She called, smiling as he entered the kitchen of her new apartment.

“Soda. I need to drive home.” He said, leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets, a delicate smile on his lips.

“You can stay the night, you know.” She offered as she shut the refrigerator door and walked to him, handing him the cold can. 

His fingers lingered on hers as he took it, a ghost of a touch that she wanted to last for hours. He’d been there through it all. The breaking, mending, and healing were still a daily battle but getting easier with each new day. He all but moved in with Jamie once he was released from hospital. He’d died on the operating table, and neither she nor Paul had let him out of their sight since his release. Her brother still couldn’t live his life the way he used to. He watched her like a hawk whenever she saw him, and guilt thickened her tongue whenever she was near him. They nearly lost him, and it was all because of her. Because she smiled and thanked a stranger for helping her, she blamed herself despite Paul and Jamie’s reassurance that she was a victim, too. But every time her brother faltered, she felt that blame like an indelible mark on her soul. 

Paul visited her almost daily. To chat or check-in. Those visits lengthened until she was searching for excuses to keep him around a bit longer. He seemed just as reluctant to go and humored her each time she found a reason for his presence. Her therapist helped as well. She only woke screaming in the night a few times a week these days and was looking forward to seeing a time when it wouldn’t happen at all. Her landlord had sold all his properties, packed up, and moved away once he was cleared of any wrongdoing. He had no idea how evil his son was. Had tried to get him help when he first started mutilating himself; the scars were all self-inflicted from what she’d learned, but nothing stuck, and he grew into a monster, unfit for society. His seclusion and horrifying way of showing affection turned him into something she still couldn’t believe was wholly human. 

Taking a life, no matter how awful the person was, it weighed on her, and she feared she was tainted by it. How could anyone love someone death has visited? She didn’t have an answer. But as she and Paul settled down to watch something silly and lighthearted, maybe she didn’t have to. He hugged, smiled at, and touched her any chance he got. Perhaps it was enough that he knew all of her, and he didn’t care what she had done to survive. Life would never be the same, but she thought that was the point, and she had the opportunity to make it what she wanted. It was almost stolen from her, but she took it back and would not waste it. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. If you comment or reblog, thank you for that too. I was very nervous to share something original and still am. I had to give them a new start at the end for this first original story. They’ve suffered enough 🤭❤️

#original short story #original female character #original characters #happy halloweeeeeeen #halloween #spooky #original story #original writing #female writers #women writers #woman writers #writers of tumblr #my writing #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #horror story #short story #stalker #creepy stories #spooktober #writerblr #writers #original content #storytime #original character #creative writing #creativewriters #writerslife #thank you for reading #happy ending

[rooksmoor-manor]

The Founder; or, A Restless Autumnal Dream!

«There was I, once again, wandering through the hallways of that sinister, damned building—trapped in a maze of closed doors. I had lost track of how much time I had spent dragging my feet across a succession of the same frigid, unfamiliar rooms until I finally found a welcome change in the scenery: a flickering light shining through a panelled door left ajar. Never before had such an opportunity been presented to me, so I crept through the door, desperate to finally escape this madness.

Nothing could have prepared me for what I found there. On the other side of the door was a crowded room of people I did not recognise, yet with whom I perceived I shared a strange veiled familiarity. It was like observing the blurred faces of an acquaintance someone introduced to you but once or a distant cousin you once met in your now faraway childhood. They moved slowly and mechanically, paying no heed to my presence there as I walked among them, almost like ghosts or automatons—shadows suspended in time. I finally came face to face with the source of light that initially had drawn me into the room: a majestic fireplace, almost as tall as I, with a fire that raged with the terrifying fury of seven hells. But there was something even more astounding than that, a sight that sent shivers down my spine. Over that inferno hung an immense portrait of myself.

There was no doubt that man was I, yet I could not recognise myself in him. He looked older, with several tufts of ashen hair and quite a respectable number of wrinkles I lacked. A triumphant, complacent expression crowned his face, armed with a fierce, piercing gaze. The attire was also unusual, offensively outdated clothing that no one in their right mind would want even to be caught dead in. At the bottom of the frame were two words engraved; not a name, not mine at least: "The Founder". Yet deep inside, I knew that man was I, but not me. Out of this jarring feeling of myself slowly crumbling, I was overtaken by a sudden, more dreadful realisation: even though the fire raged in the chimney, inches apart from me, I was still cold.

Cold, yes—freezing! Standing in front of an inferno that had not warmed my body, and even less my soul. I tried to scream, yet no air left my lungs. I could not feel my breath or mouth, nothing besides that wretched coldness of the grave. Was I a ghost? Had I perished and found myself in a torturous afterlife? I closed my eyes, still screaming in an agonic silence. When I opened them again, the cold was still there—yet the room was not.

It was now a different kind of cold, the chilly air of a foggy autumn morning before a warm day. The cold of the metal lamppost I was leaning on against my trembling cheek. I tried to straighten myself, stumbling to my feet as I examined the clothing I was wearing, not sure if they were indeed mine at all. I sighed with relief—it was but a dream. Yet my solace was short-lived as I inspected my surroundings: I had been sleepwalking again, this time worse than ever before. Somehow, I had managed to get fully dressed, bow tie and everything, unlock the door of my lodgings and walk for almost a mile, meandering through the narrow streets of London. Hurriedly, I tried to return to my accommodations, hopeful that, in my condition, I had remembered to lock the door yet still bracing for the worst. I grumbled all along the way, complaining about how everything was turning the worst way possible: I could not rest without being plagued by those terrible, and my noctambulism did nothing but deteriorate my health. I was at my wits' end.

I stopped right in my tracks as I passed a large window. I might sound like a madman, but I know what I saw: for a split second, on that window, it was not my reflection that looked back at me—but the man from that portrait, myself. And I laughed. Oh, I laughed and cried and shrieked, yes, as if some unknown force had possessed me, as something inside me snapped. "I will!" I shouted at the skies, roaring with laughter. "I will become that Founder, whatever that means, and do what I must, whatever you, whoever you are, expect from me! Just one night, one night of peaceful slumber, and I will fulfil my duty!". Passerbys kept staring at me, but I did not care, for you cannot comprehend how verily desperate I was.

The following night, I slept undisturbed for the first time in years.»

Brief excerpt preserved from one of the unexpurgated diaries of the Founder.

#dark #gothic #mystery #fiction #story #goth #creepy #short story #halloween #spooky #darkness #horror #dark academia #creepy stories #terror #short stories #dark literature #victorian era #scary #horror story #flash fiction #scary stories #ghost stories #eerie #dark aesthetic #gothic literature #victorian #vintage #dark stories #liminal

[forbidden-creepypasta]

Driving

[The following was found written on a legal pad in the back of an abandoned Ford Escort]

I don't know why I'm writing this. Maybe just to keep the moment when I know I'll step out of this car and out into... that... one moment longer.

I was just driving home from work. I didn't do anything different; left work the same time; took the same roads home; listened to the same dammed radio station. But somewhere along the i-490 something went wrong.

I wish I could say I felt it, that moment when my life packed up its things and left me, and the twilight zone came in to fill its place. But there was no sense of dread, no encroaching feeling of otherness. I didn’t even notice it until half way through my damned cigarette. I was too busy staring out through the windshield trying to avoid an accident on the dull drive home to notice something was wrong with my window.

And then I did notice it. I had my window rolled down a crack, you know just enough to let the smoke out. And through the glass was the road and the cars and the trees in the distance, but where I had it rolled down there was just *nothing* A slice of white at the top of my window.

I did a double-take. Had to tap the breaks to keep from rear-ending some guy in front of me. But then figured, hey it must have been a piece of tape or some other crap that got stuck to my window. I was concerned it was going to fly over in from of my wind-shield so I reached out my left hand trying to grab it. But my fingers just passed through.

I pulled over to the side of the road to figure out what was up with my window; I don’t know what I was expecting, but the further I rolled it down, the more the gash of white grew until I was staring at what seemed to be a blank white wall right outside of my car. But through the windshield, and all the other windows, I could see the express-way, full of cars going by; I could hear them whoosh as they passed me.

I felt like I was in a god damned dream staring at the blank white void outside my driver’s side window. I just couldn’t comprehend it. Don’t know what to say.

Finally I unbuckled my seat-belt and leaned across the steering column to roll the passenger’s window down. Looking back, I could have used the power windows I guess. I don’t know. I was messed up; wasn’t thinking straight.

As I rolled down the second window watched the world outside roll down, like a painting sinking from view, except the bottom of the image was the last to go.

With that window open, and the blankness staring in at me from both sides, I began to notice a decrease in sound too, like it wasn’t coming from the blanked window.

Hesitantly I stuck my arm out the window. Waved it around. Nothing. There was nothing out there.

I stared back at the front windshield, and at the rear, where like seemed to be continuing. What was going on? Were the windows of my cars just TV screens showing a program like I was driving home? What the hell was going on?

I don’t know how long I sat there, slumped against my seat. I know 178 cars went by before I got up the courage, and slowly, slowly opened the driver’s side door.

I saw the slice of white immediately as I eased it open. Was I surprised when what I found outside was just… nothing? Whiteness forever without any horizon? I don’t know. I think I was in shock. I’m still in shock.

I put one foot out of the car, I was worried that I’d fall I guess. Forever maybe, but there was a floor, or ground, or something, even though it was totally indistinguishable from the sky or the horizon. There was no sound when I put my feet down, and stood up. It was deathly silent.

My car… that’s all that I could see my car sitting suspended on a field of white like it was floating in an empty canvas. I could see inside my car too, that disproved the screens theory, I guess.

I didn’t have the courage to take more than a few steps away from the car. I was afraid it would disappear, or I would.

Seized by a sudden sharp terror, in contrast to the dull, ponderous lack of understanding that had gripped my mind, I practically leapt back inside. Rolled the windows back up one by one; watching the scenery of the express-way come back into being like magic, like an old movie background that goes around and around, except these went up and down. The sound came back.

I don’t know how long I sat there, again. Eventually I must have fallen asleep, because I remember waking up. That was right before I started writing this.

Outside; what my lying windows are telling me is outside, the sun has gone down. I’m terrified to open the windows again, but now I’ve found that the car won’t start anymore and the radio is playing nothing but static. I’m going to open the door again. Who knows, maybe this was all a dream, and everything’s all right.

A man’s gotta hope.

Credit to: saevitia

#creepypasta #creepy stories #horror microfiction #horror fiction

[pinkpossibly]

Newest Spooky Stories video out now! It would mean the world if you can subscribe and like my videos! Thank you so much to everyone who has sent me stories and liked what I make! <3

#laney speaks #mine #scary stories #spooky #spooky stories #reddit #reddit stories #ask reddit #creepy #ufo #uap #cryptids #cryptid stories #spooky shit #weird #mystery #unknown #bizarre #weird stuff #creepy stories #ufo stories #alien stories #haunted #paranormal #ghosts

[rotten-whispers]

You wake up in a room

You wake up in a room.

It isn’t the first time that you have been here. The walls smell familiar – like the world Outside. Industrial and stale.

Fear creeps up your spine, making hair by hair stand on end.

The room is empty and white. There isn’t even the barest scrape of humanity lingering, not anymore. Perhaps never. The carpet is unwelcome against your feet, as though pulling you to stay.

And there is a door.

.

You are in a room.

This one is larger, emptier, more frightening. The ceiling is a million miles away, a galaxy above your head. A cavernous cave, with only the skins of teddy bears beneath you, leading a trail into the distance.

The dirt is cold and familiar beneath your hands. Red, metallic, like the world that you left behind.

In the distance, voices seek you out, and there is the tantalizing tang of addiction in the back of your throat.

A deeper, more guttural growling reverberates further in the tunnels, followed by a mechanical whir.

You begin to run.

.

You are in a room.

A gigantic, endless monstrosity. Filled with bustling voices, and faceless beings. Swathed in darkness and terror. They buzz around you, but you cannot understand what they say.

In this endless room, there is equally endless punishment. Again and again and again to the splatter of dripping blood.

As you walk through the room, the beings turn to stare at you, one by one by one.

You are not faceless.

The beings chase after you, their hands pulling at your clothing, driving rivets of blood down your skin.

You reach the stairs and you are falling.

Down, down, down.

While they whisper and skitter overhead.

.

You are in a room.

There is a deepening sense of unease. A clutch of dread in the bottom of your stomach, like a reflection that has come to life.

These halls are wrong – alien. They twist and curve, until you feel as though you have lost yourself.

And perhaps what is chasing you wears your own skin.

.

You are in a room. Down another staircase, your limbs bruised and bloody from the fall. Time has no meaning beneath this ceiling, which wears down and suffocates you, trapping you further inside this place.

Life has no meaning here.

A shadowy figure captures you in its net. Whispering, prying, pulling – unraveling your skin, layer by layer.

You scream, your voice echoing to the endless rooms beyond.

Your blood spills onto a floor that has already been stained, falling into the shadow of thousands upon thousands.

Even when you pull yourself from the carnage, the shadowy figure follows.

Only a heartbeat behind, tethered to the back of every thought.

.

You are in a room. Your hand trembles over the doorknob.

Everything is white. The halls are a labyrinthian mirror of the levels that you have already traversed.

You glance nervously over your shoulder, but there is no hint of the path ahead. There is no sense in any of this, you think.

The hall splits into two equally colorless passages. Each promising endless loneliness, in a world where even the sound has abandoned you.

You turn left without looking back.

.

You are in a room.

There is a monster who wants you. A figure more terrifying than the shadowy creature, the faceless beings, or even the beast that lurks behind your own skin.

You run, but you will never escape the terror until it has been torn from the white walls in a cacophony of blood.

.

You are in a room.

Dripping red with guilt.

But still you walk. Down the trodden paths, into wordless buildings of halls, of faceless walls and whispering nightmares.

Beyond the promise of Eden that begs you to stay. To remain here and give up, until the white walls have swallowed you, and you have melted into this world that holds you prisoner.

Tears well in the corner of your eyes as you turn your back.

.

You are in a room.

Even more alone than before.

Your shadow has left you behind, abandoning the senseless walls for another realm. You plead and beg with the loneliness, but you have grown too different, and it can never return.

Mold grows from the walls as you tread forward, as untouched as the nightmare that you forgot you were living.

Each breath dispenses spores into the air, and you know that they are inside you now. Festering and suffocating inside your lungs, until soon you won’t be able to breathe at all.

But you will be part of something again. And the other growths will welcome you.

.

You are in a room.

It has been difficult to drag yourself this far. Your body is weary, worn, tired. Devoured by blood and bruises and painful, agonizing thoughts.

The person that you were at the beginning of this journey has weakened and cannot go any further.

You find that you are trapped here. The walls pressing you into a small, dejected nightmare.

There is no further that you can go.

.

You are still in a room.

You wonder what the point was. Why you went on this journey, if there ever had been another ending in place.

If choice had ever been offered to you, or if every door had secretly led to the same outcome.

Nobody will ever know.

But you have no choice except to continue.

.

You emerge from a room. Your hands bloody, drenched in the blood of your past self who lies in pieces behind you.

Shredded like the world that you left behind. A world that doesn’t exist at all now, and perhaps never did.

The white walls welcome you like a gentle caress, swallowing your form into the mold. As your hand finds another door.

.

You are in a room.

There is nobody else left. You have lost your shadow, your yesterdays and your tomorrows, and you are naked to the world within.

Dripping with the self that you have murdered, sacrificed to this place for the chance to continue.

And you will continue, yes?

What you are now is not what you started out as.

You have clawed your way from the mouth of another you. Birthed from the entrails of a weaker self.

Your eyes are wild, erratic as they travel the walls around you, searching for the next escape.

For the ending that you have sacrificed everything to find.

Your hand touches the final door

And you wake up in a room.

.

This short story was based on the novel "Boxes"!

Please see the masterpost for trigger warnings and more information !

📦Masterpost, Link to purchase

#shorts #short stories #horror #horror stories #unsettling stories #creepy stories #creepy #unsettling #writing #creepypastas #liminal #nightmares #liminalcore #traumacore #nightmarecore #horrorcore #the backrooms #scary stories

[sleepypotatostudio]

Just read ‘Ted The Caver’ again, never disappoints, sends shivers up my spine every time! If your a fan of creepy stories and you haven't read it I highly recommend. Hell even if you have and it's been a while you should give it another go! One of my all time favorite short stories, I’d say 60-90 min read time.

#creepy stories #ted the caver #creepypasta #scary stories

[vavuska]

Surprisingly put a curse on people require the same stuff you would need to frame someone for murder: hair, hails and body fluids.

#vavuskapakage #witchcraft #witchblr #witchcore #witch community #witch coven #black humor #serial killer #true crume #true creepy stories #murder mystery #murder suspect #crime #crime rp #criminology #creepycore #creepy stuff #creepy stories #creepy shit

[brenna]

Oh! Story time! In high school (~2007) I lived in this fourplex in the country surrounded by woods. When the weather was nice we always had fires. Well, one night I was sitting there staring up at the sky, zoning out. After a few minutes, I look at the fire again and then toward the line of trees. That's when I catch a glance at something. It appeared to be almost humanoid but on four legs, white with reflective eyes. Maybe it was a result of all the Tool music videos my edgy ass watched, who knows? I still don't know wtf it was but I told my friends about it and they codenamed it the polar bear and every time they'd come out for a fire, they'd traipse off in search of it. It was like our own little urban myth or something.

Oh, man. The reflective eyes would have had me scared af. I don't fuck with creepy eyes on creatures. And humanoid but walking on all fours?? nope nope nope.

#bro #idk what that was #but it's spooky af #creepy stories #sitting around the fire #genderqueer-hippie #asks

[sanityshorror]

Question for y'all regarding my characters that I'm curious about

‼️Link to purchase The Man with the Scarred Neck (extreme horror/splatterpunk book) is in my pinned post)‼️

#creepypasta #horror #julius the dressmaker #the man with the scarred neck #julius doherty #killian lynch #horror books #horror oc #creepypasta fandom #creepy stories #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta oc #splatterpunk

[rhees-rapture]

#aesthetic #rhee's rapture vibes #aesthetic vibes #horror #chill vibes #anti hero #dark moodboard #dark aesthetic #dark academia #anime and manga #horror comics #horror games #visual novel #bloodbath #creepy stories

[balkanradfem]

So I've been making a lot of chestnut deliveries this year, and I ended up having some fun, and some less than pleasant experiences. I'll start with a fun one.

I was to deliver chestnuts to this woman's flat directly; we organized over a phone call, and I was there at the designated time, 3pm. I stopped my bike in front of her building, and called her number. She didn't respond. I looked around for a bit, called again, then waited for 10 minutes, called again, nothing. I was a bit annoyed, so I called the plant lady, who had delivered chestnuts to this particular woman before, and had a facebook conversation with her. I told the plant lady my situation, and asked her for the last name of the woman, so I could press the button on her intercom, and ring her apartment directly. The plant lady found it in record time (20 seconds) and there I was, pressing the button on the building, about to have a fun experience.

'What?' The woman responded almost immediately.

'Hi, I've brought you chestnuts, and I've been calling your phone, but you didn't reply.' I explained my business.

'Oh! And where are you now?'

'… I'm in front of the building.'

'Oh I'll be there in 5 minutes!'

'Okay, I'll wait 5 more minutes for you.'

She ran out of the building in 2 minutes, wearing a trench coat, explaining erratically:

'I fell asleep! I don't know how it could have happened! My phone was away! I'm sorry!'

'Oh! Did I wake you up?'

'YES!!!'

I then realized that she must have been shaken out of her sleep so abruptly, she forgot that we were talking over the intercom, and not the phone, so she genuinely couldn't figure out where I was! I went home laughing to myself about it, the sheer amusement of it all completely made up for the wait.

That was the funniest delivery I had, now, there's been a few of them that unfortunately, I had to deliver to males, and most of them went just fine, with 3 second interaction and goods exchange, and a relieved 'goodbye'. However, some of them were… not as great. I've noticed, with great displeasure, that some of those m*n figured out since I'm a woman, they could ogle me, and I did not appreciate that at all. Few of them stared at me and started saying unrelated things and I could not wait to get away from their gaze, I know what their ogling means! "You're not too ugly to be manipulated into being my house servant/bed toy/replacement mommy". And the reasons why I'm suddenly not too ugly is because my poverty has made me thin and weak looking, that alone is what elevates me to the status of 'worthy of ogling' in their eyes. I detest it. I'm hyper aware that any other version of me, more heavy, more aged, or even older-looking, would immediately put me into the box of 'irredeemable ugly creature' and I wish to stay in that box for them, thank you. They're all in my 'predator' box anyway. They don't even consider that maybe I'm a lesbian, completely disinterested in being stared at by males.

Where are all of the lesbians ogling me, who would be happy with my heavier, older and grumpier version? I would not mind that.

Okay so the absolute worst customer was a repeat one, and I've decided, to not deliver chestnuts to that particular guy again. First time delivering to him I went with a friend, and it was done within a minute, in broad daylight, in a store parking lot. I asked if he was there for chestnuts, he said yes, and immediately launched into 'Why didn't you tell me where you are, you shouldn't have carried all these, I would have come to you!' and I disliked this greatly, but I just said 'It's fine, it's safer that way.', exchanged the goods, and ran to my friend.

The second time he ordered (and it's heavier orders from him, always), he told me he was arriving by train, and I was to bring it to the train station. Late evening. I felt uncomfortable, but I figured, since I already delivered to him once and got away fine, this should go okay too. And if he asks me where I live again, I'm going to call it out and tell him off.

He did, in fact, ask me where I live again. This time more aggressively. I had my reply prepared: 'Sir, you cannot expect a woman to give her home address to a stranger.' and it did not make him give up. He was insisting that I'm barely able to carry 5kg on my own (I was with a bike), then he said I'm looking like I'm struggling pushing the bike (I was standing still). Then he started saying how he knows where the plant lady lives, and he works with her husband, and asked me if I'm something to them, to which I replied it didn't matter, because he's a stranger to me. Then, he said 'Let me tell you something about myself', and I knew, he was about to start a fucking speech, a monologue, on this empty parking lot in front of a train station, at night, while I'm feeling increasingly pissed and wary. I said 'I have to go.' and it did absolutely nothing to deter him.

'I'm no liar, I'm telling you the truth' he said, suspiciously, and I'm already thinking that a truth-teller never has to convince a stranger that he's telling the truth. Then he launched into a story about how he does fruit tree grafting for a living, and that he is begging me to bring him a single branch of the chestnut tree, or bring him with me to the forest so he can see the trees. I start explaining how old and tall these trees are, and they're all mixed, the big chestnuts fall together with the small, and I cannot in all certainty know if I've brought a correct branch to him. I forgot for a second how inappropriate and insane this request was, I'm not running a service of bringing people branches for grafting! I ended up saying 'I don't know I'll ask the plant lady.' and I escaped out of there there, upset.

I've talked to the plant lady about this later, and she had no clue who this m*n even was, she suspected her husband knew him, and he knew her address this way. She told him that it was okay to redirect the guy to her, if he ever bothered me again, and then she would ditch him away from our chestnut business. So thankfully, that was the last time I saw him. He was insanely creepy, looked like he was in his 50s, and I look like I'm in my 20s so it was extra awful. (I'm 32, my face just refuses to cooperate and get wrinkled as it should, so I get zero respect from the world for my wisdom and grace.)

#delivery stories #chestnut deliveries #male predators #fun stories #creepy stories #radical feminism #lesbian

[odi777]

Нанно Эванс || Смерть за окном

Имя: Нанно

Фамилия: Эванс

Прозвище: Иний на окне/Иняя Смерть

Возраст: 19 лет

Пол: Женский

Расса: Человек

Рост/вес:167см, 49 кг

Характер: Нанно довольно задумчивая, игривая и хитрая личность. Юная леди всегда чувствует усталость, любитель отдохнуть а также писать стихи о заблудшей девочке, идущей глубоко в ночи. Нанно не сильно быстрая, зато поворотливая и сильная, иногда бывает заторможенной. Эванс человек своеобразный, ей нужно полное спокойствие для хорошей жизни.

Способности: Нанно следит у окна будущей её жертвы. Сама по себе гибкая, прыткая, высоко прыгает, а также отлично властвует своим кинжалом.

Слабости: Нанно не может быстро бегать, из-за её задышки. Часто устаёт и в таких случаях сильно лениться.

Страхи: Высота. Её всегда отталкивали места, вызывающие чувства возможной погибели. Эванс не из тех, кто готов рискнуть всем, ради малой ерунды.

Привычки: повторять одно дважды, ибо несколько раз подряд.

характеристики:

юмор: 7/10

доброта: 4/10

застенчивость: 8/10

дружелюбность: 4/10

пошлость: 2,4/10

серьезность: 7/10

сила: 8/10

здоровье: 4/10

меткость: 10/10

гибкость: 10/10

выносливость: 8/10

Умение: Любит писать стихи о свободных либо обездоленных людях

Инвентарь: всегда имеет при себе нож боуи, а также упаковку черничных жвачек

Факты: Нанно является эмо. Она зачастую спокойная, но эмоции бывают разными, потому она может их выразить буквально при каждом столбу. Она почти всегда в наушниках, можно сказать, будто живёт в них. Одета Эванс в белую рубашку с длинным рукавом, и черный сарафан, с чёрным бантом на пояснице. Нанно не является прокси безликого человека, просто работает наёмным убийцей, а как только получает оплату за работу - расправляется с заказчиком и уходит, вырезав его сердце. Эванс любит коллекционировать сердца людей, сравнивать их размером, а также проводить опыты. Хорошо поёт, а также иногда готовит свою любимую ванильную запеканку. Имеет пристрасть к энергетикам, но особой зависимости нету.

Цель: жить в уютном и комфортном мире, полном трупов людей

Особенность убийства: зачастую душит людей своей плотной лентой на талии.

История:

С детства, Нанно жила с родителями,но они попали в автокатастрофу и погибли. Эванс потеряла родителей в возрасте пяти лет, и сильно по ним убивалась. Жила она с дедушкой и бабушкой, они делали всё для её комфорта и счастья. Нанно была слишком замкнутой, потому в средней школе у неё начались проблемы с социумом. Девочке было 14, события происходили зимой. Девушка отправилась кататься на коньках, но вышло так, что она не справилась с наклоном и переехала себе ногу,другой ногой. Её отправили в больницу, после этого она не смогла ходить, и Эванс перевели на домашнее обучение. В 16 лет случилось чудо, она встала с коляски и смогла ступить несколько шагов. Разумеется, возвращать способность ходить, она пыталась долгое время. Её бабушку звали Роуз,а деда Георги. Нанно постоянно с ними ссорилась, ей хотелось выйти в колледж и учиться там, а не дома. За это,Роуз стала бить свою внучку, чтобы доказать обратное. Ей казалось, мол если внучка выйдет, то вновь перестанет ходить. Девушка начала сбегать из дома, спрыгивая в окно, поскольку ключи у неё отбирали. В один день, Георгий забил окна досками,а Нанно ночами пичкал наркотиками.

Девушка понимала, что чувствует себя странно,и ей казалось,мол она сходит с ума.. Ей всё надоело,она решила изменить свою жизнь окончательно, вылив на себя раскалённый цемент белого цвета, что пропитался в её кожу, а губы свои ,она измарала смолой. Нанно украла дедовский нож, и оставила себе разрез между губ, прямо посередине. Смола растеклась по свежей крови и застыла. Эванс стала напевать себе под нос, по следом взяв нож отправилась в комнату предков, и вырезала сердце спящему Георгию.. Роуз открыла глаза распахнула глаза, почувствовав чьей-то присутствие, и увидела свою внучку, стоящую с ножом в руке, и сердцем в зубах..Нанно резко засунула ей сердце прямо в глотку, и красиво оставила след ножа на её шее. Кровь затопила постельное, а девушка попросила прощения. После этого, ушла из дома, ведь он был буквально в чаще леса, в который никуда никто не ходит. А так же, она оставила двери и окна открытыми, что бы ее родственников могли съесть лесные обитатели, что и произошло, спустя какое-то время, после того когда она ушла в неизвестном никому направлении. Даже если трупы бы нашли, они слишком сильно изгрызаны, за все время пока гнили в кровати, а под их спинами и в них жили опарыши и личинки. Когда Нанно поняла, что ей не где работать, а она хотела подзаработать, чтобы купить себе какой-нибудь старый дом, с тех пор она решила и стала работать наёмным убийцей, и жить только себе в удовольствие.

#creepy art #creepy #creepypasta #крипипаста #creepy stories #crow time #нанноэванс #NannoEvans #Смертьзаокном