Creepypasta: The Hangman's OriginCreepypasta: The Hangman’s OriginCreepypasta: The Hangman's Origin12 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
The year is 1887 and you are Will Jameson, a photographer for a fairly well-known New York paper. It is a well-paying and fairly secure position. Your current task is to venture into that dying side of America called the Old West, currently on the verge of collapse under the crushing weight of modernization. The rail systems appear to make the country seem smaller every time they are expanded. Fittingly enough, because that’s how you are travelling to the ghost town you are supposed to take pictures of anyhow, via said railway.
Your economy cab is empty, save for one other male passenger and yourself of course. The interior is dimly lit, and the roaring din of the thunderstorm outside doesn’t do much to help visibility. It just makes you all the more thankful for the oil lantern suspended from the ceiling, without which you would trip over your own feet if you got up. Not like the cramped, sparsely appointed cab would give you enough
The TheaterA Man sat alone in a empty theater, a coffin sits on the stage, the sign of a memorium.The Theater10 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
He looked at the time on his watch, 3:40am. The house lights were on half.
A little girl sits next to the man, she turned to him and said "When does the act begin?"
He turned to her and said "After they finished lowering your coffin into the grave darling".
The girl had died 2 hours prior to the man seeing her, 1:20am. At the theater site, they had just finished preparing her funeral at that time.
Devil Part 4Devil 15 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
"HALF-devil." Samael corrected him.
"Half-devil." Wilhelm repeated.
"You're the offspring of a Fallen man and a Human woman."
"So my goddamn mom fucked with a devil and then there was me."
"Hmm... hmhmhmm... hahahaHAHAHA"
Wilhelm tilted his head back and started to laugh, his voice echoed in the chapel, the crows nibbling on Reinhard's remains got scared and made a small ruckus while flying away.
"What's so funny?" Samael raised his eyebrow.
Wilhelm sighed and wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, after laughing too much.
"Mom used to call me a devil you see... it's funny now because it's true."
"Heh." Samael closed his eye, shrugging.
"Sorry for interrupting you. Do go on."
Wilhelm waved with his hand for Samael to continue, himself continuing to smoke the cigarette.
"Thank you. Well then..."
Samael paused and took a seat nearby, sitting on the back of a bench which was in front of Wilhelm, leaning his feet against the other bench that Wilhelm w
Zann Conservatory of MusicZann Conservatory of MusicZann Conservatory of Music22 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
In the remote stretch of the Swiss Alps, secluded from scrutiny, stands the little known conservatory of music founded in 1889 by Dietrich Zann, nephew of Erich Zann.
Few men have visited or enrolled there. The last to do either was Hubert West, himself an heir and descendant of the infamous re-animator Herbert West. West had fled his homeland following a grossly dangerous failure to reanimate someone but there were no signs of him afterward. Then, as mysteriously as that, Hubert appeared and claimed descendance.
Dietrich Zann had the mindset to configure his forebear's music into more traditional form for broader applications. He believed that the chords could be applied to human psyche in several ways. When Hubert West arrived, they agreed immediately to collaborate in many ventures using this music.
Certainly Hubert spoke of using certain chords on the dead psyche for reanimating. His kin had succeeded in Germany with a variation of Bach's famous Sl
ScaredWhere am I? How did I get here?Scared5 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
I don’t know how but I know there's something in this place, something I'm afraid of, something I don’t want near me.
So I run, as fast as I can, I can feel him, he's here, he's there, he's everywhere.
I'm desperate, I feel how every step takes more and more of my hope away. I know he's going to get me, I know he's going to force me to go with him.
I have to stop, I can't go on any longer. I turn around to at least see who or what is going to drag me to my grave and I remain absolutely astonished as I recognize a familiar figure.
The first thing I see when I wake up is the reflection of my face full of sweat and fear in a mirror.
Nancy is a Mean GirlNancy is a mean girl. She goes to my high school. She's not a nice person. She likes to make people sad because that makes her feel glad. I don't like that.Nancy is a Mean Girl10 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
Nancy is a thief. She takes people's things, and never tells them about it. And if you confronted her about it, she'd lie. I don't like that.
Nancy is a bully. She likes to punch others when the teachers not looking, and hits them again later if the cry. I don't like that.
Nancy is a rumor-spreader. She makes up lies about other kids to make them less popular than her. She made David from Home Ec kill himself with one of her rumors. I really didn't like that.
Nancy is a loony. She likes to hurt small animals behind the school after the final bell. She laughs at their cries of agony. I really, really don't like that.
Nancy is a trickster. She cuts the brakes of the school busses for a chuckle. She made bus 2C crash off the side of the highway last spring, and my friend Madeline died because of it. I hated that.
Nancy is a weirdo. Sh
It wasn't a dream.For awhile now, I've been reading and writing horror stories.It wasn't a dream.16 hours ago in Short Stories More Like This
The stories I write...they're not real. Of course not. I mean, I have never encountered a possessed doll or been haunted by my dead best friend. But...something did happen to me once. Something which still makes me go cold.
I was six years old and I lived on the second floor of a block of flats. I was...an imaginative child. I used to have very vivid dreams about the most bizarre things. I would dream that my mother was actually a monster or that there was a ghost in my closet. But, one night I had a dream that was...different from the rest.
In the dream, I was lying in my bed when suddenly, I heard a strange noise coming from my window. I turned around and there, illuminated in the light of the moon, was a man. I can still remember his face. Bulging, watery eyes, wrinkled, liver spotted skin and a rotten, yellow teeth stretched into a wide smile. I always woke up screaming.
Now, for a long time, I thought