Micro-Pasta: MeowingMicro-Pasta: Meowing20 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
It was around 1 AM. I was sitting on the couch, listening to music and browsing DeviantArt. Not many of my friends on that site were online at the time, and I was already getting kinda sleepy, so I decided to turn in for the night.
I shut down my laptop and headed to the bathroom, to brush my teeth. As I stood there, I could hear the faint sound of a cat meowing. I turned my head and looked at the window next to me. My girlfriend must have forgotten to close it.
I heard the meow again. But, this time, it was a bit louder. It sounded really low. Like when a cat's pissed off, but even lower. I walked up to the window and pulled the blind up. Surely enough, the window was opened. I poked my head out slightly, trying to see this cat. Nothing.
A pulled my head back and reached up and started to pull the window shut. Suddenly, I heard it again. Only,...it sounded like it was right in front of my face.
I felt my blood run cold and I stared into the darkness in front of me. I stoo
The House on Apple: A Warning Ever since I was very small, I've always had this, well, ability. I don't know how to explain it but it's like I can see things; bad things. It started with a dead girl in my mother's closet, and over the years began to escalate. I honestly have no idea if I was slowly going crazy or if some unknown force was tormenting me with a terrifying view into a past that I never asked to see. It's important to mention this fact, because otherwise you might think these events I'm about to describe really did happen. In actuality, while they might have, it's possible that they were insane delusions of a young mind and should be taken with utmost uncertainty as to physical being.The House on Apple: A Warning21 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Well, this story, if you've read the title, is about a house. Specifically, it's about the things that happened in the house. I was only nine when my family and I moved into this place, but I remember every room as freshly as I remember it's horrors. You could enter from the side of the house through a singl
Like Curses, Like Children (Creepypasta)The storm was ruthless that night with the winds howling and rain banging like fists on the windows, making Emily's events to play out all the more darker and chilling for her. Little Emily cried as her red dress became withered and tattered as the stinging sensation of pain had overwhelmed her. Thrown down the stairs she sobbed, with her taller, six times older and six times more threatening sister towered over her. The world would always tell her "yes" to anything as long as her true self was always hidden from the world, which would be forever. To the world she was a giggling polite twelve year old girl that everyone loved and would always kiss and hug her beloved, but very anxious little sister. Though it was no one who would see it was the sister that went from hugs to deathly grips on anxious Emily when they turned their backs.Like Curses, Like Children (Creepypasta)4 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Sobbing as the devil named as Rebecca had kicked her in the guts, making her wheeze and loose any air she was struggling to keep due to her cries. She wan
Monsieur tache-de-grasDans la chambre d'Alice, se cache monsieur tâche-de-gras. Évidemment, elle ne le voit pas.Monsieur tache-de-gras1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
Alice est montée se coucher, dans son lit à baldaquins. Ici elle est rassurée, prisonnière de ses coussins.
Mais dans la chambre d'Alice, se cache monsieur tâche-de-gras. Évidemment, elle ne le voit pas.
Il est enduit sur dans le fond du placard, s'ennuie. Évidemment, il attend.
Alors monsieur tâche-de-gras sort. Une main d'abord, qui se décolle, puis sa tête molle, qui tombe au sol. Monsieur tâche-de-gras sort ses bras. Et ils poussent, poussent contre la paroi. Ça grince.
Mais sous le lit d'Alice, se cache monsieur tête-d’anchois. Il est mince, il remue et ça pue. Son corps frappe le parquet alors qu'il cherche à respirer. Et ça halète, ça fout les foies. Monsieur tête-d'anchois s’enlise sous le le lit d'Alice, se perd dans la moquette, se noie. Monsieur tête-d'anchois n'est
The TurnThe TurnThe Turn3 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Through the woods, past the thick trees of moss and ticks, to the core stood a boy in a glade void of all life. The once rich grass had seared and turned a sick, pale gold. The lack of sound scared him half to death, and the stench that rose from the corpse of a beast could gag a full grown man. Yet each month his faith to these woods stayed true. Each month he would come here to go through that pain, that pain that seared through his flesh like the flames of hell.
It could not be helped. This was his life, and he had been forced to bear it for such a long time. Still, though, he took great care to hide his curse. With this set up, naught but beasts could be harmed. When the turn took place in the midst of these woods, those who were pure were safe.
What a sad life he led.
The Gilded LilyThe Gilded LilyThe Gilded Lily11 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Shadows cast down upon me as I awoke in a dark and decrepit room, the only light offered by a single candle stick to illuminate my surroundings. I appear to be in what could be called a ballroom, but only just. The crystal chandelier was cracked and sagging, of the chains that held it, only one remains. The walls which were probably at one point white and untarnished were now cracked and grey with assorted vines hanging and clinging to them. The once proud beautiful stained glass windows were now shattered and covered in a layer of black filth. The floor which was once polished marble was now grey cobblestone beneath my feet as I stood. A brief recollection of where I was resurfaced in my head, I had come here with friends, for a party? I shook my head as the brief flash faded into the dark recesses of my mind.
The Fire“I don’t dream anymore, not since the fire. It’s been 4 years since I woke up in that field with no idea how I got there, whatever made me forget took my dreams too. 4 years and no else has any idea either. Best guess is that I crawled out of the barn that burned down behind me, but the fire destroyed any evidence of what may have happened in there I still have a pretty nice scar from that cut across my head. Aside from my lack of memories, I’m pretty much ok. But you know what, the fact I don’t remember scares me sometimes. But those fears always pass eventually.”The Fire20 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Sebastian Kogler III walked down the street, going about his day with coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He hardly gave any thought anymore to whatever it was that had happened 4 years ago. That particular anniversary was coming up, so it was in his thoughts a little more, he jotted down his thoughts in the jou
Skull BasketSkull Basket1 day ago in Short Stories More Like This
What if my skull were emptied of brains?
What if my skin and hair were ripped off?
What if my head was removed from its body?
And what if my skull were cleaned and cleaned and cleaned?
And what if my skull was then left in the sun to dry?
Then someone buys my skull from the boy who’s job it to see it doesn’t get nicked
Who just happened to turn his back for one second!
Then my skull is squashed up with oranges, bottled Evian one someones trip back home.
And all the time he (or she) is thinking of ways to mount a lampshade on top of my skull!
The door slams behind him and he soon gets down to work. In the cupboard is a drill with a circular bit.
The drill whirs and soon there is a neat hole in the top of my skull into which he screws in a light fitting
Presumably this has been planned for a while now.
In another cupboard is a lampshade which is placed on top of the light fitting and then secured.
Then a new light bulb goes into it. He plugs in the light fitting and thumbs on
There's scratching in my walls...There's a scratching in my walls.There's scratching in my walls...11 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
It started last night.
I don't know what it is. It might be sparrows. It might be mice. I've had to eliminate said pests before.
But my dog never whined when it heard them. Sure, she'd look at wherever the little bastards were, the same way I might eye a German chocolate cake.
But she'd never whined.
I'm lying in my bed now. The light is flickering in the ceiling, like in a horror movie. Maybe I shouldn't have read that creepypasta before bed. I dunno.
Maybe I should call Jared. I know he's out of town, which is probably why I'm so paranoid, but just hearing his voice right now would help.
It skitters and slides in the walls, like sliding quarters across teak wood. Sometimes, it sounds like it's fighting, just above my bed.
I turn out the light. It's freaking me out.
I don't know when I fall asleep, but when I do, it's morning. I wake up, go downstairs, and stare.
Sophie, my dog, is trussed up like a rodeo calf and muzzled with the twine Jared keeps in