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thepumpkiinking · 1 year

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spongebob 1999, s1 e13 'scaredy pants'

#spongebob #nostaligic #nostalgia #warmcore #vintage halloween #pumpkins #creepy aesthetic #haunted house #spooky aesthetic #spooky #fall #orange #campfire #spongebon squarepants #nostagiacore #1999 #90s aesthetic #halloween

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dreamproxyaesthetics · 1 year

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I think bears are the least of my worries now

#camping #campfire #bonfire #creepy #woods #fire #red aesthetic #darkness

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nerdyprudesmuststim · 4 months

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mal & jackie stimboard :3

⛧ with camping & eerie forest stims !

☾ @impulsivesuperrobin's and my hatchetfield ocs @orwillidrown & @liebsteleiche !

x | x | x

! | x | !

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#starkid #team starkid #stimboard #stim #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #forest #eerie #creepy #camping #hatchetfield rp #hatchetfield oc #campfire #witchwood #jackie daggit #mal jägerman

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where-is-caithe · 1 year

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I wish more of the creepy stuff in Bjora Marches wasnt a one-time thing, but I guess seeing it once only would make it creepier. I spent so much time there when it was new that I saw pretty much every weird thing to see in the first couple of weeks and I wish I could see it again bc it was very cool.

#gw2 #brought to you by me walking up to a campfire and forgetting the boneskinner ambushes you and having a heart attack #also the creepy kodan in a tunnel that carves out a phrase about ripping your throat out <3 #i havent been here in a while #at least not in the weird places #i miss the book club circle and the kodan that was alive until you interact and you realize you were talking to a frozen corpse #and the voice that commits suicide on the cliff

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asjjohnson · 8 months

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Mini memoir time.

So, back in college, right before graduation, I'm talking to my dad in a lobby area, when a man walks up to us with this kind smile and lighthearted tone of voice. He introduces himself as, let's call him, Mr. Ig Nite, and says my dad and him go way back; they're buddies.

However, I know that name.

I frown and keep a suspicious eye on him, and then he says he'd like to talk to my dad for a minute. And then he specifies he means in private (as though my dad wouldn't just tell me what he said later anyhow), and shoos me off. As I reluctantly leave to watch from a distance, I hear him ask my dad, with a confused tone, "Is she okay?"

As though I wouldn't remember the name of one of the key players in breaking up my family when I was a kid. As though my dad hadn't talked about him. As though I wouldn't remember such a unique name. (Of course his name isn't really Ig Nite, but it's not far off. A literal Mr. fire starter.)

He was the dirty cop or detective or whatever it was that he'd been, who had gone after my dad, lying, starting rumors, and attacking and going after us like a hungry predator with a scent of blood. Even after the divorce was long finalized, his name still hovered around us.

And then, over a decade later, he just so happened to get some kind of security guard job where I was going to college, miles away from where I used to live. ...And acted like he wanted to trick me into some kind of friendship, maybe to drive a wedge between us more. Like he doesn't realize that when he attacks one of us, he attacks us all. ...As though he hadn't hurt each of us individually as well.

I haven't seen him since moving to a different state, but sometimes I think about that weird interaction. How creepy he was. A real life Hans of the Southern Isles. Maybe I've seen the last of him, or maybe he'll show up again some day.

At that time, once I was out of earshot and he'd dropped the kind-uncle act, he apparently just wanted to say it wasn't over yet.

So... if you ever come across some sort of law man with a unique-sounding name that, when you think about it, means 'fire starter'... do all you can to get away from him. Don't talk to him, don't listen to him; go to whoever he's currently working for and request someone else. Before you catch his interest. Before he decides to throw a match and stay around to make sure it burns.

#One person voted on the 'should I post this story' poll and it was a yes vote. And I'm tired of waiting for more votes.#asj post #I donno what I should tag this as. Campfire story?#creepy story #...this was originally going to be a bit more upbeat and semi-silly but I think I forgot what I was thinking of saying.

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raewritestales · 10 months

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The Forest Guardians

TW for body horror and light gore. please enjoy. Continue reading Untitled

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#campfire tale #creative writing #Creepy #creepy pasta #creepypasta #cryptid #forest guardians #horror #legends #myth and legend #myths #original story #Paranormal #story

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valician · 8 months

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Here's a new creepypasta-style story from a unique perspective about a lost radiation contamination event in Colombia in 1986. Unnatural horror isn't always supernatural.

Read here

#creepypasta #creepy #pasta #scary #campfire #story #stories #web story #colombia #orphans #radiation #radioactive #contamination #body horror #horror #1980s #south america

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blot-squisher · 1 year

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You had me at dancing mushroom frogs 😍

#dancing mushroom frogs #frogs #mushrooms #dancing #dancing around the campfire #the moon is kinda sus tho #creepy moon

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nemisisnemi · 2 months

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im looking through my old art and im cringing so hard

I CANT POST THIS TO THE INTERNET WTF WERE YOU THINKING?! IM GOING TO DIE OF CRINGE FROM MY OLD ART

and not to mention the old fandoms i used to be in...

context: i was literally 14-16 when i drew some of the old fanart i'll be posting later, no longer in said fandoms bc shit went down and i went nope! not dealing with this any longer

#nemi rambles #cringe galore #PLS NO I FOUND MY OLD PERSONA #IM GOING TO BURN THAT OLD FUCKER IN THE CAMPFIRE #ITS SO CRINGEEEEE #i based my old persona off of a fucking plushie i had #also jumpscared myself with some of my old art bc i also drew creepy stuff and hdfnnghfjFDNNF I HAD TO DO A DOUBLE TAKE

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bullshitcampfire · 3 months

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Friendly Neighborhood Serial Killer

Living next door to the friendliest neighbor you could ever ask for seemed like a blessing. Mr. Wilson, with his warm smile and willingness to lend a hand, was adored by the entire neighborhood. He was always there to help, from mowing lawns to fixing broken fences, and he had a reputation for his unwavering kindness.

But behind that friendly façade lurked a chilling secret. Mr. Wilson, the epitome of neighborly charm, was also a sinister serial killer. His basement, a chamber of horrors, bore witness to his gruesome deeds. Hidden beneath the surface of his seemingly perfect life, he led a double existence that nobody could have ever imagined.

The contrast between the outwardly amiable neighbor and the darkness that dwelled within him made for an eerie and unsettling tale. Beneath the smiles and good deeds lay a heart as cold and unforgiving as the darkest night.

#bullshit campfire #serial killer #crime #creepy smile #oil painting

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arcane-ally · 10 months

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youtube

I'm addicted to the strange, dark and mysterious delivered to me in story format ��

#sharing this so you can be too #strange dark and unusual #mrballen #link #macabre #spooky #creepy #campfire stories #Youtube

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always-a-slut-4-ghouls · 10 months

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My dumbest hill I’ll die on is that “the back rooms” isn’t about liminal spaces. It’s basically creepy pastas. If you stick things in the space you lose the uncertainty and the disconnect. There is a sense of normalcy but off. A giant skinny monster isn’t liminal. It’s a different thing. I give art with very vague figures in the shadows a slight pass, but they are pushing it. You aren’t doing liminal space anymore, okay? Liminal space is about mundane settings that feel off but are normal or do something along the lines of making you lose sense of time and some connection to the outside. Part of what makes it creepy or just a little weird is that you get thrown off when you step outside. It feels jarring but is normal at the same time. The kids are just making creepy pastas and their own scps. They don’t have to call it that, they can make their own little “back rooms” setting, but when they try to claim it’s about liminal spaces they are wrong.

#emma posts #I have limited experience with what they are making up as stories #but what I have seen is no longer a liminal space thing #just accept that you’ve made your own version of creepy pastas #you made your own generations internet campfire stories #it’s no longer about how weird it is to walk out of a target when the sun set while you were inside #or standing in an abandoned dennys or something #it’s not about the disconnect that is only in your mind #and the weird relationship those spaces have with time #it is your version of slender man or glitch horror stories #this is probably the most unimportant hill I’ll die on

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campfireghosts · 1 year

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Creating in progress… #QuietValleyWV

#campfire #ghosts #team #Quiet #production #teaser #create #music #audioproduction #horror #creepy #scary #snowfall #pc gaming #Logic Pro #Apple #daw

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authorshen · 1 year

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Short Story: The Milkman

Content Warning: blood, pandemic, cabin fever, peeping

Howard Ranet Peabody was a Milkman. You may think this is an odd profession for the 2020s, but it’s a pandemic, what are you gonna do? Howard had to work, and delivering milk around the deceptively small town he resided in was the best he could hope for. The town was filled with two kinds of people, the retiree boomers who had more money than sense and helped make the gap, and the struggling younger generation, trying desperately to bridge it. Howard was lucky to have this job or he would have been struggling just like his peers.

His job was simple. In the morning he drove to the bottling plant, picked up the shipment in the company-owned refrigerated truck and delivered it to where the GPS on his phone sent him. Often this was the same 250 houses on varying days of the week. He couldn’t say he loved his job, in fact, it was dreadfully boring. So boring that he had found a hobby of peeking in the windows of the homes he delivered milk to. Just a few minutes a day, for entertainment.

Most of the time the houses were empty, or quiet. Older people watching tv, or working in a home office. In either case, frequently neglecting to wear pants. Parents would be in the kitchen, kids sitting on their phones, eyes glossed over and lost to the world. For the first few months, things were still pretty boring, as boring as the job, and as boring as he was. Things didn’t start to heat up until around July. In the summer people weren’t allowed outside. Everyone saw the sun through their windows and blamed each other for not being allowed out in it. Stuck in close quarters with someone, even someone you love, can eventually drive you to do things you otherwise wouldn’t. Most of the time it was just screaming at each other, other times it was more.

One hot sunny morning, which would have been a perfect day for the beach, Howard pulled into the driveway of the Bonnet residence. The Bonnets seemed like nice people, a traditional couple, retirees. Either they had never had children or their children had moved out. What they did have was a dog. A large black dog of an unknown breed with long curly hair and a friendly demeanour.

The Bonnets had been regulars on his route since his first day. The house was tall and as dated as its owners. It was a grey brick, three-story colonial home covered in purple ivy. It was surrounded by a large hedge that had become immaculate during the pandemic. The work, no doubt, of Mrs. Bonnet. Mr. Bonnet, Howard had noticed, didn’t do much of anything but watch tv. Howard had often seen Mrs. Bonnet yelling at him from the front window.

Howard stepped out of his truck and pulled his delivery out of the back. He opened the front gate and walked into the garden, instantly cooled by the shadows of the greenery that surrounded him. He placed the carton on the front step and before he rang the doorbell, peeked in the front window. After visiting a residence almost every day for months, you either make friends with the animals or become overly cautious of them. Howard had always attempted to make friends. Usually, by this time, the large black Bonnet dog would have barked at him in its excitement. It had not, and this was suspicious. The large black dog was nowhere, not seen, nor heard. In his boredom, he decided to investigate. The front window only showed shadows. Mr. Bonnet was not watching tv. Maybe Mrs. Bonnet had finally succeeded in getting him off of his behind.

Howard went around to the side of the residence. A cast-iron gate separated the front and the back. Cautiously he opened it. The resulting creak should have roused the dog wherever it may be, but not a sound could be heard from the beast.

He ventured onward. There was an in-ground pool and a doghouse in the corner of the yard. Large glass sliding doors separated the inside of the home from the outside. Howard peeked in. The lights were off, which was normal for the middle of the day. What was not normal was the red puddle on the floor, or Mr. Bonnet laying on top of it. Howard knocked frantically on the glass. “Hello? Is anyone there? Someone’s in trouble!” He tried the door, which would not budge. He called 911 and told them what he saw.

“Can you get in there?” Asked the operator.

“Hold on one second.” Howard, in his panic, tried to shove the phone into his pocket. It fell to the ground with a crash. He told himself he would worry about it later and grabbed a lawn chair. He swung at the door. It did not break, but the foot of the chair had put a large crack in it. He tried again. The door broke this time. Large pieces of glass fell to the ground. He stepped through the glass, a jagged piece cutting his arm in the process. The shards of glass crunched beneath his feet as he stepped into the white and steel kitchen. Mr. Bonnet was on the floor, covered in red, with a knife stuck in the center of his chest and a look of fear frozen on his face. The man was dead. Howard, in the realization, felt nauseous. He swallowed to keep from throwing up.

A small woman, Mrs. Bonnet, was standing in the shadows on the far side of the kitchen. She carried a mop and a look of rage. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY WINDOW?!” She screamed, her shrill voice piercing Howard’s shocked stupor.

She ran at Howard who stepped back over the door frame. He dodged her swing and took another step back.

Another swing, and another step.

It seemed that for her, the third time was the charm. Howard fell backwards trying to dodge again. She clipped him in the temple with the mop’s heavy metal handle. He splashed into the pool.

As a red cloud of blood surrounded him, water and chlorine burned his lungs as he fought to stay conscious. She said something to him, but as he was underwater he heard nothing but a muffled voice, almost indistinguishable from the water in his ears. He looked around and saw the large black dog was there with him, unmoving and floating just above the bottom. “I should have found a better hobby,” he thought, just as everything faded to black.

The End

If you enjoyed this story you can read more short fiction in Coffee and Summoning Circles.