15 Short Scary Stories and Creepypasta Stories that are guaranteed to keep you up at night
Have you ever sat around a campfire telling ghost stories, roasting marshmallows, shining a flashlight into the darkness, shuttering in fear. Horror stories actually have a long history and often feature the supernatural from spooky monsters. You never know if you might find zombies or ghosts or vampires in a good horror story!
Now, in the internet age, short scary stories, horror stories, and ghost stories have become a mainstream tradition and are no longer relegated just to campouts with friends. You can enjoy horror stories at any time, anywhere with the comfort of your own home (although it is always more fun with friends, and it helps if you get scared!).
You may have heard of the Slender Man, which recently was also turned into a movie. This scary character started off as a creepypasta, which are short scary stories shared all around the internet. Many creepypastas started off as creepy chain letter style stories and often ended with a request to be shared or else face a terrible curse) As a result, you’ll find creepypasta style scary horror stories all around the internet from Reddit to Tumblr to Commaful to Youtube to 4chan.
As avid short scary story and horror story readers, a few of us decided to compile some of our favorites and share it with you. Some of these are classics. Some of these are new and chilling. Every now and then, we’ll weave in some thrillers that are just nice reads but can be very scary. If you’re looking for more very short scary stories, I’d recommend checking out Commaful and /r/shortscarystories.
To support the people sharing these stories, I’m only sharing blurbs of these very short scary stories and linking to the full story for you to enjoy the rest.
The rain was falling heavily. It was like driving through a thick curtain of water. He eased off the accelerator a little. Had to be careful driving on wild nights like these.
The last thing you’d want is to have an accident or breakdown. You just want to be at home on these stormy nights. The thwack-thwack of the windscreen wipers was hypnotic.
He stared out into the glow of the headlights. The rain sounded like white noise interference as it battered the car. He was reminded of the opening scenes of a Hitchcock film.
Through the wash of the rain he spotted a figure at the side of the road. The person wore a green parka and had their thumb jerked out.
Why on earth would anyone be hitchhiking tonight? Surely you would just stay put until the morning. They must have been in a rush to get where they were going.
He signalled down and pulled over. The hitchhiker climbed in. He shut the door quickly, glad to be out of the rain. He pulled his hood back and sighed.
He was somewhere in his mid-twenties and had wild red hair and a thick beard.
‘Awful night, eh?’ said the driver.
The hitchhiker held his gaze for a long moment. Drops of rainwater trickled down his face.
‘Yes. Yes it is.’
The driver pulled out and continued through the storm. The hitcher glanced over his shoulder into the blackness behind them.
The hitcher simply nodded.
They drove on in silence for a short while. The BBC radio phone in blaring out from the car’s speakers filled in for conversation.
They listened to the radio and their own thoughts as they moved on.
‘Where are you headed?’ asked the driver.
‘North.’ The hitcher pointed.
‘Are you travelling to visit friends?’
The driver couldn’t tell if that was a yes or a no. He adjusted his tie nervously. The hitcher stared at him in his suit and tie.
The hitcher seemed scruffy in comparison in his parka and Pink Floyd t-shirt.
‘Do you work around here?’ asked the hitcher.
‘Yes.’ said the driver. ‘I was stuck late at the office. You know how it is.’
‘No. Not really.’
Again they drifted into silence.
The talk radio show carried on as they drove through the wind and rain. The hitcher shifted in his seat and stared out the windscreen.
‘No music?’ the hitcher asked.
‘Is there no music we could listen to?’
‘I like the talk radio shows. I’m not really a music fan.’
The hitcher’s eyes glazed over for a moment. Then he spoke.
‘I like listening to music. It calms me down.’
The driver said nothing.
Several miles later there was a news bulletin on the radio. The reporter tried to remain professional as she read the announcement.
‘We are getting reports that a patient has escaped from a Manchester psychiatric institution. The man is said to be psychopathic and is said to have a history of murder.’
The hitcher jabbed a finger on the button on the radio panel. Tinny pop music blurted out from the speakers. The driver stared at his passenger, his question unasked.
‘I hate the news.’ answered the hitcher. ‘It’s so depressing. It brings me down. There is never any good news, is there?’
The driver did not reply.
‘Don’t worry. I’m not the killer.’ said the hitcher, fidgeting with his coat.
‘No?’ said the driver. ‘I mean, no, of course you aren’t.’
Let me tell you the story of Lucy Spring. She used to love it here. It was so vibrant. So colorful. Things have changed. She left Mayview City two years ago, with no plans of ever returning. Death has a way of bringing people home.
She had hoped the familiar sidewalks would comfort her in a way the funeral visitors couldn’t. Instead, they made her uneasy. She has a long walk to her car, wit ha phone as dead as her little brother.
Why hadn’t she called Bekki? She would have liked to hear her voice. What Lucy is hearing now isn’t a voice. Lucy stops. The footsteps don’t.
Click here to see how this ends! (Note: this story is illustrated and published on the Spellbound app. Just look for this story on the app)
I’m not sure why I’m writing this down on paper and not on my computer. I guess I’ve just noticed some odd things. It’s not that I don’t trust the computer… I just… need to organize my thoughts. I need to get down all the details somewhere objective, somewhere I know that what I write can’t be deleted or… changed… not that that’s happened. It’s just… everything blurs together here, and the fog of memory lends a strange cast to things…
I’m starting to feel cramped in this small apartment. Maybe that’s the problem. I just had to go and choose the cheapest apartment, the only one in the basement. The lack of windows down here makes day and night seem to slip by seamlessly. I haven’t been out in a few days because I’ve been working on this programming project so intensively. I suppose I just wanted to get it done. Hours of sitting and staring at a monitor can make anyone feel strange, I know, but I don’t think that’s it.
I’m not sure when I first started to feel like something was odd. I can’t even define what it is. Maybe I just haven’t talked to anyone in awhile. That’s the first thing that crept up on me. Everyone I normally talk to online while I program has been idle, or they’ve simply not logged on at all. My instant messages go unanswered. The last e-mail I got from anybody was a friend saying he’d talk to me when he got back from the store, and that was yesterday. I’d call with my cell phone, but reception’s terrible down here. Yeah, that’s it. I just need to call someone. I’m going to go outside.
Well, that didn’t work so well. As the tingle of fear fades, I’m feeling a little ridiculous for being scared at all. I looked in the mirror before I went out, but I didn’t shave the two-day stubble I’ve grown. I figured I was just going out for a quick cell phone call. I did change my shirt, though, because it was lunchtime, and I guessed that I’d run into at least one person I knew. That didn’t end up happening. I wish it did.
When I went out, I opened the door to my small apartment slowly. A small feeling of apprehension had somehow already lodged itself in me, for some indefinable reason. I chalked it up to having not spoken to anyone but myself for a day or two. I peered down the dingy grey hallway, made dingier by the fact that it was a basement hallway. On one end, a large metal door led to the building’s furnace room. It was locked, of course. Two dreary soda machines stood by it; I bought a soda from one the first day I moved in, but it had a two year old expiration date. I’m fairly sure nobody knows those machines are even down here, or my cheap landlady just doesn’t care to get them restocked.
I closed my door softly, and walked the other direction, taking care not to make a sound. I have no idea why I chose to do that, but it was fun giving in to the strange impulse not to break the droning hum of the soda machines, at least for the moment. I got to the stairwell, and took the stairs up to the building’s front door. I looked through the heavy door’s small square window, and received quite the shock: it was definitely not lunchtime. City-gloom hung over the dark street outside, and the traffic lights at the intersection in the distance blinked yellow. Dim clouds, purple and black from the glow of the city, hung overhead. Nothing moved, save the few sidewalk trees that shifted in the wind. I remember shivering, though I wasn’t cold. Maybe it was the wind outside. I could vaguely hear it through the heavy metal door, and I knew it was that unique kind of late-night wind, the kind that was constant, cold, and quiet, save for the rhythmic music it made as it passed through countless unseen tree leaves.
I decided not to go outside.
“Now remember, I don’t want you talking to him unless I’m around, you hear?”
“I’m serious. Now tuck in your shirt — he’s here.”
The front door swung open and there stood Uncle Tommy, drenched in sweat from a day’s work in the summer heat.
“It’s a scorcher out there, ain’t it?” he said, putting his bag on the floor and untying his boots. “I appreciate you letting me crash for the night.”
“Just so long as you’re gone in the morning,” my dad replied coldly.
“Now,” Uncle Tommy said, turning to me and lowering himself to a knee. “Where’s my hug at? Been a while since I seen you last.”
I took a couple steps toward him and leaned in for a hug. His tight embrace made me uncomfortable, and I let out a light whimper.
“Don’t you know it’s a hundred degrees out there?” he asked, tugging at my long sleeves.
“I haven’t been outside today,” I recited to him.
“Don’t you have some chores to finish up?” Dad interjected.
I knew that was my cue to leave, so I shuffled off to my room.
Later that night I lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to be comfortable, when I heard the thud of footsteps in the hallway outside my bedroom. After several long seconds of silence, the door opened quietly, the dark silhouette of a man entered the room, and the door closed again. For several more seconds there was nothing but unrelenting silence. I might have thought I had dreamt it all if it weren’t for the sound of a hushed breath being carefully released.
I could feel him getting nearer. The warmth of another person in the room was unfamiliar at this hour. I was not prepared for this; I prayed he would go away, to even come back in the morning if he must.
He reached down and touched me. He rolled me onto my stomach and lifted up my shirt. From the corner of my eye I could see two things: the faint beam of a pocket flashlight, and Uncle Tommy’s eyes studying my bare skin. His rough fingers ran up and down my back. Suddenly, he got up and walked to the bedroom door and left. I tried again to fall asleep, eventually succeeding.
He was gone by the time I awoke.
Around noon the phone rang while my father was out.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Yeah. Your dad around?”
“No sir. Went to the store.”
“Good,” he said, sounding a bit nervous. He paused for a moment. “I’m calling about last night. I don’t know if you were awake or not — ”
Sometimes, otherworldly beings find interesting ways to try and contact you. They might use a Ouija Board, or maybe come to you in a dream, or sometimes they speak through another person. They each have their own style and preference that’s particular to them. The one who contacted Jack spoke to him through his computer, or, I guess you could say the communication was through onscreen text. The first time it happened, Jack had been sitting at his computer playing Solitaire. A blinking red light from the router indicated that his internet connection was down again. This was at least a weekly occurrence, and Jack was getting used to this spotty internet service. As he moved his cards, the game faded into a solid black screen and the red text appeared.
“Hi Jack, I need a favor from you. You’re a very special person and I know you’ll help me. I can’t ask this of just anyone. I really need your help.”
Jack paused for a second. The router light was still blinking red. “Is this some sort of joke?” He couldn’t help but wondering.
Several moments later the message continued, “Yes Jack, I know this is weird for you. But I don’t want you to worry. This is just a small, easy favor I need. I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.”
Now nearly in a panic, Jack reached around and pulled the internet cable completely from the wall.
“Still here, Jack. I don’t want to waste any more of your time so I’ll get right to what I need. Tomorrow when you go to work I need you to move the large potted plant that’s next to the elevator on the ground floor. All you have to do is pull it out three inches from the wall. If you do it at 8:17am nobody else will be in the area.”
Jack sat there, refusing to respond, still trying to figure out what was happening.
The writing continued, “Look Jack, I’m asking you because I KNOW you’ll do it. You won’t let me down. You’re special. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Jack pulled the power cord from the wall and the computer went blank. “Did that really just happen?” he thought.
Still shaking from the experience, he took a warm shower and got ready for bed, convincing himself that he’d either had some crazy dream or that is was just some elaborate joke. But who would play that kind of joke on him? He didn’t really have friends, or enemies.
He woke up the next morning feeling refreshed. Work would start at 8:30am, and Jack was never late. He pulled into the parking lot at 8:10am. Normally he’d just go right in, but the message had told him to move the plant at 8:17am. Was he really going to do it? Overnight, Jack’s fear had turned into curiosity. Let’s say he moved the plant, he wouldn’t be doing anything wrong or illegal, right? In Jack’s mind, the most reasonable course of action was to move the plant. He’d do it, nothing would happen, and he’d be able to put this whole crazy matter behind him. One minute before 8:17 Jack left his car and walked towards the building. He entered the foyer at the exact time he was supposed to. The message was right, nobody else was around.
“Odd,” Jack thought. The building was normally busy this time of morning, but this temporary lull had been accurately predicted.
“Fine! Let’s see what happens,” Jack muttered to himself.
He walked up to the large potted plant placed firmly between the two elevators in the lobby of the ten story building. The plant looked like it was fake, a decoration people passed every day without really noticing. It was heavier than Jack realized. He put some might into his effort and pulled the plant out three inches to his best estimate. He stood back and looked at the plant, then looked around the lobby. People were coming in behind him now and the lobby was starting to fill up again. Nobody seemed to notice the plant was in a slightly different location, nothing seemed different at all. Jack skipped the next elevator and waited, waited for…something. But nothing happened. Finally Jack entered the elevator and made it to his 7th floor cubicle, on time like always.
If you ever asked Jack’s coworkers to describe him, you’d hear words like polite, quiet, respectful, and competent. And while those words were all accurate, they gave little indication of the truth, the truth that Jack really didn’t like most people. That’s not to say he disliked them, just that he had very little interest in getting to know them or being their friend, save for one. Allie, the girl who sat two cubicles down from him, was the only person he wanted to know more about. With her big smile, blonde hair, and beautiful figure, Jack was very interested in learning all about her. Despite his lack of success with women in the past, he was actually doing a fair job getting to know her. Every morning as he passed her cubicle, he’d stop for a chat. The chats were one minute at first, then two minutes, then several minutes. Jack was surprised that she actually seemed to like him.
On this particular morning, their daily conversation lasted only a couple of minutes. As they exchanged their morning greetings and talked about Allie’s wild night out, the elevator doors opened up behind them. Out hobbled James Bentley, the boss of both Jack and Allie.
James’ loud complaining could be heard throughout the office, “My damn foot!”
“What happened, James?” came the mumbled queries.
“It’s that damn plant they have in the lobby. I ran right into it and twisted my ankle.”
“James, you can barely walk. You need to go to the hospital,” came Allie’s concerned reply.
“Can’t do it now. I have meetings all day. Too important to cancel. I’ll just have to tough it out.”
Jack, feeling stunned, left Allie’s cubicle mid conversation and sunk down into his chair. It was his fault, he was sure of it. How could he have been so stupid and careless? Still, no use in worrying about it now. A twisted ankle would heal, everything would be alright.
Upon his return home, Jack went immediately to his computer and turned it on. As soon as the computer booted up, the screen went black and a new message popped up.
“How was your day, Jack?”
They perfected a chip, that when implanted in your brain, would allow you to read the thoughts of others. At first, everyone was excited, and they all clamoured eagerly to get the first few. As soon as they were proven reliable, anyone who could afford it bought one. At first, it seemed perfect. Murderers and criminals were caught easily, and you could judge how a relationship could go on the first date. But we’re all human, we think things we don’t mean during arguments and fights, and so the chip began to cause strains and rifts between family and friends. There was a petition to get the chips removed, which was successful.
Unfortunately, their brains had been altered by the chip. They couldn’t stop hearing people’s thoughts. Online support groups popped up and scientists everywhere began researching ways to reverse the effect. It turned out that some random on reddit had the answer. Circular reasoning maybe, but his solution worked. If you think about what is doing your thinking, you stop hearing other people’s thoughts.
I used to live in a small building downtown. One of the reasons I moved out was the bad neighborhood, including this guy in the apartment right over mine
It was a weird looking fella who mostly kept to himself. Around midnight though, there was frequently a strange noise that got on my nerves.
It wasn’t loud, to be fair, but I have really light sleep so it was hard to get my eyes shut with those little bumping sounds going on and on
After a few days, i realized the pattern was always the same, like a recording played over and over with random intervals in between
And that went on for the best part of an year, always the same sequence of bumps, slowly tattooed into my mind, sometimes for hours straight during the night.
t was only several years later, helping my daughter with her homework, that I learned a little bit of morse code.
Bedtime is supposed to be a happy event for a tired child; for me it was terrifying. While some children might complain about being put to bed before they have finished watching a film or playing their favourite video game, when I was a child, night time was something to truly fear. Somewhere in the back of my mind it still is.
As someone who is trained in the sciences, I cannot prove that what happened to me was objectively real, but I can swear that what I experienced was genuine horror. A fear which in my life, I’m glad to say, has never been equalled. I will relate it to you all now as best I can, make of it what you will, but I’ll be glad to just get it off of my chest.
I can’t remember exactly when it started, but my apprehension towards falling asleep seemed to correspond with my being moved into a room of my own. I was 8 years old at the time and until then I had shared a room, quite happily, with my older brother. As is perfectly understandable for a boy 5 years my senior, my brother eventually wished for a room of his own and as a result, I was given the room at the back of the house.
It was a small, narrow, yet oddly elongated room, large enough for a bed and a couple of chest of drawers, but not much else. I couldn’t really complain because, even at that age, I understood that we did not have a large house and I had no real cause to be disappointed, as my family was both loving and caring. It was a happy childhood, during the day.
A solitary window looked out onto our back garden, nothing out of the ordinary, but even during the day the light which crept into that room seemed almost hesitant.
As my brother was given a new bed, I was given the bunk beds which we used to share. While I was upset about sleeping on my own, I was excited at the thought of being able to sleep in the top bunk, which seemed far more adventurous to me.
From the very first night I remember a strange feeling of unease creeping slowly from the back of my mind. I lay on the top bunk, staring down at my action figures and cars strewn across the green-blue carpet. As imaginary battles and adventures took place between the toys on the floor, I couldn’t help but feel that my eyes were being slowly drawn towards the bottom bunk, as if something was moving in the corner of my eye. Something which did not wish to be seen.
The bunk was empty, impeccably made with a dark blue blanket tucked in neatly, partially covering two rather bland white pillows. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, I was a child, and the noise slipping under my door from my parent’s television, bathed me in a warm sense of safety and well-being.
I fell asleep.
When you awaken from a deep sleep to something moving, or stirring, it can take a few moments for you to truly understand what is happening. The fog of sleep hangs over your eyes and ears even when lucid.
Something was moving, there was no doubt about that.
At first I wasn’t sure what it was. Everything was dark, almost pitch black, but there was enough light creeping in from outside to outline that narrowly suffocating room. Two thoughts appeared in my mind almost simultaneously. The first was that my parents were in bed because the rest of the house lay both in darkness, and silence. The second thought turned to the noise. A noise which had obviously woken me.
As the last cob webs of sleep withered from my mind, the noise took on a more familiar form. Sometimes the simplest of sounds can be the most unnerving, a cold wind whistling through a tree outside, a neighbour’s footsteps uncomfortably close, or, in this case, the simple sound of bed sheets rustling in the dark.
That was it; bed sheets rustling in the dark as if some disturbed sleeper was attempting to get all too comfortable in the bottom bunk. I lay there in disbelief thinking that the noise was either my imagination, or perhaps just my pet cat finding somewhere comfortable to spend the night. It was then that I noticed my door, shut as it had been as I’d fallen asleep.
Perhaps my mum had checked in on me and the cat had sneaked in to my room then.
Yes, that must have been it. I turned to face the wall, closing my eyes in the vain hope that I could fall back to sleep. As I moved, the rustling noise from underneath me ceased. I thought that I must have disturbed my cat, but quickly I realised that the visitor in the bottom bunk was much less mundane than my pet trying to sleep, and much more sinister.
As if alerted to, and disgruntled by, my presence, the disturbed sleeper began to toss and turn violently, like a child having a tantrum in their bed. I could hear the sheets twist and turn with increasing ferocity. Fear then gripped me, not like the subtle sense of unease I had experienced earlier, but now potent and terrifying. My heart raced as my eyes panicked, scanning the almost impenetrable darkness.
I let out a cry.
Hi, is this Karen Maitland?
Hey I’m really sorry for calling so late. It’s just um… I know your daughter?
Is Anna OK?
Oh um… no I uh, your other… I go to community college with Sarah?
Oh… Ok wow. Where abouts are you?
Hah from your reaction I’m guessing Sarah’s always been a bit of a lone wolf character.
Hah uh yes you could say that… But I mean it’s great to hear she has friends over there. Can I ask what this is about?
Well, I’m actually calling to ask if you’ve been in touch with Sarah recently.
Um no… no, not really. She sort of… broke off contact a while ago. I’ve always told her if she wanted to… I haven’t changed my phone number just in case but I uh… I think she’s… probably changed hers by now.
I’m sorry. That uh… that does sound like her. Well um, listen I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this but, Sarah’s been reported missing.
What? What do you… missing? For how long?
Uh, almost three days.
This is a short write-up for me, as I don’t really have too much time. This is more-so a message for future generations who have any sanity left in this world. “You’ve been living under a rock!” My friends told me. “It’s just a painless shot, get over it, you baby.” My siblings teased to me day after day.
Well, look now. I’m probably (at least to my knowledge) the only “normal” person left on Earth. You see, about 5 or so months back, the government started.. offering these “free shots”. Said they would increase brain performance, make you run faster, jump faster. Hell, I even heard someone say it was like steroids, but better.
First few months of testing went well. Everyone was receiving their benefits, telling me how I should get one. I declined. I was always wary of the government, a superstitious man, as they call it. But, I suppose even the greatest achievements of mankind has its downfall.
I noticed patterns in those who received it. More recommendations, more ads online, I couldn’t avoid the shot. I moved out of my apartment, to hide from… whatever my friends and family became.
They’re evolving even more now. The news (and henceforth the government) keep quiet about it. I haven’t been out there for the past week. I keep hearing claws scratching on my door. It sounds like my father speaking to me.
11. The Break In
Jon sighed and shut off his playstation.
It was 10 PM
His Parents should be back by now…
They probably got too drunk
Jon shook his head as he crawled into his bed.
They would probably be home around noon tomorrow
He hated when his parents got drunk
It was as if they didn’t care about him anymore.
Jon Heard a noise
It sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.
Jon listened closely
Someone was downstairs
Surely it wasn’t his parents.
The car was loud and he would’ve seen the headlights.
It wasn’t his brother either.
He was sleeping over at a friends house for the weekend. His brother wasn’t known for forgetting stuff.
Jon’s heart sped up
Someone had Broken in…
Jon slowly sat up, walking over to his door.
He slowly pulled it open.
Jon peered down the dark hallway.
And Then he noticed
“So… how much for the girl?”
I’ve dealt with punks like this one before, but I’ve never been this desperate — it shows in my voice.
“Sorry man, no can do.”
“Come on, don’t fuck with me — how much?”
Anger spews from my throat, I won’t risk losing the girl. She deserves better than to live the rest of her life rotting.
“Look I told you, we ain’t sellin’. Now take your ass home, old man!”
My brow furrows, I keep pressing — “Don’t pretend there isn’t a price; just tell me what it is, I’ll pay anything! How. Much. For. The. GIRL??”
“You really think she’s special, huh?”
“Well here’s the deal, man: we uh, we’re about to shove off. And we’re all set as-is. So frankly, I think your best bet is to go walk the docks and try to find someone else. The girl isn’t going anywhere. Capisce?”
I look at the girl, pretty young thing. Just blossoming into a young woman. Beautiful. I know it’ll be wrong if I take her back home with me, it wouldn’t be right. But I can’t help what I can’t control.
“Look, there IS no one else. Now would you please listen to me, listen to reason, for a minute? She’s perfect, I love her, I want to take care of her. So FUCK! How much for the girl, you son of a bitch?!”
“Nah, we’re done here. Fuck you very much, have a nice life gramps. Oh, and — stay safe!”
After waking up with a jolt, the girl laid in bed a few seconds longer. Reaching over to switch on her bedside lamp, she tried to remember exactly what had stolen her sweet slumber away. When she couldn’t, the brunette swung her legs over the side of the bed and heaved herself up. Checking the time on her phone, she snorted when she saw it was midnight- the witching hour. Knowing that sleep would only evade her, she left her bedroom for the kitchen, a good cup of coffee on her mind.
As she passed by her front door, a chill spread like liquid fire down her spine. It’s only winter, she told herself, focusing again on the coffee plan. Measuring out scoops, water, and preparing her cup kept her occupied, but as the dark liquid boiled, she had nothing left to keep her mind from wandering off. The chill returned and she couldn’t help but glance behind her to the front door. It stood there innocently enough, just like always. The dead bolt was still in place and she could see nothing amiss with it. Turning back to her coffee, she did her best to forget about the feeling.
With her cup in hand, she started back towards her bedroom. As she walked by the front door, she decided that a quick glance out of the peep hole would help calm her restless mind. The chill worsened with each step she took towards the door and further away from the safety and warmth of her blankets. She pressed her empty hand against the cold, metal door and took a deep breath before leading her eye to the peep hole.
At first, she could only see an inky blackness and somehow seemed to swirl in itself. When she blinked in surprise, the void melted away. She wished it hadn’t. In it’s place, there stood what she could only guess was once a man. The limbs were long and inhumanly awkward, with bulky joints branching off into several arms, not unlike the branches of a tree. The creature was drapped in a black suit, somehow manking the thing more nightmarish to her. The icing on the proverbial cake, however, was what passed as the hellish thing’s face. It was as though her mind blurred the ghastly visage to spare itself further shock and horror.
She shoved herself away from the door with the hand still pressed against it. The scalding mug of coffee fell, the liquid burning her bare legs as she fell backwards and tried to crawl away from the door. She knew, somehow, that her mind hadn’t been playing tricks on her. As she crab walked away from the door, she watched as tendrels as black as the void she first saw snake around through the cracks. The girl was trapped between the instinct to flee and the gut feeling to not turn her back on the door. When the door jolted, the urge to flee overcame her and she slipped in the burning liquid as she tried to make it back to her room.
She knew deep down that she was trapping herself in a corner, but she had to get away from the door. The girl was halfway down the hallway when she heard the previously locked door creak open. She screamed and slipped into a wall, cracking her chin on it and stunning her.
After that, there was only blackness.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
I hesitated on the phone, all of a sudden a little shy. I had never called 911 before, and talking to new people always makes me antsy. I wished Tom were there… but, of course, that’s why I was calling. I took a deep breath, cleared my throat, and answered.
“Hi, um… my name is Terry Millerson and I’d like to report a missing person. Tom Smith.”
“And how long has… I’m sorry, what was that name?”
“No, no — I mean, what did you say your name was?”
I sighed impatiently. “My name is Terry Millerson. Look, Tom hasn’t been home for over twelve hours. That may not seem like a lot, but that’s a very long time for him. He never goes away that long without telling me when he’ll be back. So can you just…”
“Ms. Millerson, can you tell us your address?”
I paused, uncertainty creeping in. “Why do you want to know my address?”
“Ms. Millerson, do you know where you are?”
I covered up my embarrassment with a bit of bluster. “At home, obviously.”
“And what address is that?”
I lost my patience. “I don’t know, okay?! What does it matter? Look, just find Tom so I know he’s going to be okay, you got that?”
“Ms. Millerson, please tell us where you are, your parents are very worried, we are coming to find you-”
At that moment, Tom walked in. I breathed a sigh of relief and hung up the phone just as he spied me.
His face went red, but I didn’t mind.
“What the fuck are you doing? How did you get up here?”
The other day, I was talking to an online friend of mine over Skype.
She said “Some weird things have been happening to me lately.”
I replied with a quick “sure tell me.”
“I never really believed in this whole ghost or paranormal things up until now so I’m a bit nervous and I think I might just be over reacting
but the doctors haven’t found anything psychologically wrong with me. So if you’re just gonna think I’m crazy then tell me now cuz I’ll just leave.”
I could tell from her reluctance that this must have been really freaking her out. I assured her.
“Ok. here it goes then.” She said and then typed up her story.
“It began a few weeks ago after I read some ridiculous chain letter that I didn’t forward.
I didn’t think anything of it because, like I said, I didn’t believe in that stuff and the chain letter was something about creatures wearing human skin that blend in with humans I don’t know,
I don’t really think it’s related but it started after I deleted it.
“It first started at the market. While i was in line, I noticed that the bagger was staring at me.
He was smiling a bit too uncomfortably at me.
Like, he wasn’t using his muscles to smile, it was more like some one took two fingers to his cheeks and pulled upwards to draw the corner of his lips into a smile??
I know I know that sounds way stupid, doesn’t it?”
“Anyways, I smiled politely at him and took my groceries from the end of the belt when he finished bagging them.I freed up a hand and I thanked him for his service. And that’s when it happened.
His lips moved and he said in a deep voice “You’re welcome, miss.”
I stood there in complete shock for a moment. I figured I must have been exhausted because there’s no way that just happened.“
“The next day, I was walking down the street. The air was chill and cold, and I was enjoying all the smells and sensations of the upcoming fall.
That’s when it happened again. I saw a woman staring at me. She didn’t take her eyes off me. She had that same eerie smile. It was uncomfortable.
As she got closer to me, she parted her lips and spoke to me:
“Nice weather today, isn’t it miss?”
And then nodded and kept walking.
I stopped in my tracks once more. It was dizzying because of its impossibility.
Several other people spoke to me since then.
It was always innocuous things like “Need any help today, ma’am?”
or “You’re looking lovely today”, nothing vicious, the strangers were all very friendly albeit all with that same creepy grin,
but the mere fact it was HAPPENING was terrifying and yet also strangely hope bringing? Does that sound right?
I don’t know, but soon, everywhere I went, I would hear voices of certain people I was near, exchanging pleasantries with me.
I even told my doctor this and he assured me that no, it isn’t possible that this could happen. And yet I know it is. It IS happening to me!“
Frankly, I was confused as shit.
Hope you enjoyed all of these very short scary and horror stories! Let us know which ones are your favorite! If you want more, I’d recommend: Commaful and /r/shortscarystories. Am I missing any great creepypastas that you’ve read? Recommend them below!