In 2005 when I graduated high school, I did so without much concern for what kind of person I was upon leaving, or how that person might affect my future. In fact, I don’t think anyone I was in a social circle with did that much thinking. My parents made the mistake of giving me $200 in graduation money that was added to another $150 from various proud relatives. I could have donated a portion of it or put it in a savings account. But I didn’t. I got crocked with some of my other delinquent friends. It’s a little difficult and way more expensive to do that at seventeen. There’s the cost of the drinks plus the extra money you have to slide the bartender to serve you since he knows you’re definitely not 21.
I didn’t quite know it at the time, but I was preparing for a future as a weekend rock star. I ended up the lead singer of Kill Cecilia, a punk rock outfit from Statesboro, Georgia lovingly named after me. Haven’t heard of us? You have something in common with most of the southeast. In our two years as a band, we haven’t played many shows, but we’ve still managed to pick up a small and very passionate fanbase along the way.…
Death comes for us all.
The intricate design of Death’s web spares no one. It is the inevitable reality we all face someday, some sooner than others. But not all of us are unwary of our demise. Not all of us are fortunate enough to live in blissful ignorance, unaware of our own mortality. But once you are caught in the web, like a hapless fly watching as a spider descends upon it, you will see how finite life is. For as easy as life is granted, it can just as easily be taken away.
My roommates, Alex and Sam, were the best roommates a guy could ask for. We were always hanging out together and we were all here for the same reason: have fun and worry about the future another day. We all did fairly well in school but just did not have the desire to pursue careers after college. We didn’t want to become adults yet. There was still more fun to be had.
I was majoring in Medieval Literature, Alex was a History major, and Sam was an art major. I don’t know how we managed to do decent in our classes, considering we missed quite a bit of them.…
Today is Tuesday, May 20, 2014 and I am real. At least I think I am. Since 7th grade I have been different than anyone else on the planet. I have something with no name. Something that makes me question the very existence of everything around me. I call it “in somnium ambulat”. In Latin it meant “The Dream Walk” and that doesn’t even start to cover it. Occasionally, when I dream, I fall asleep. When I wake up I can’t tell if it’s real life or still a dream. I can live for months at a time in my dreams only to wake up and find that it’s only the next day. My parents are still alive, my cousin is still dead, and my sister was miscarried. I’ve walked with my sister for months only to have her ripped away from my reality. Who are they to tell me what’s real to me? I’m 18 years old, I’ve lived through 40 years, and I’m not crazy.
I guess I’ve gotten ahead of myself a little bit. There’s a reason to all of this I promise, just bear with me a little longer. Every few dreams that I have are eerily accurate to the events that follow them.…
Today is the first day of my new job as a teacher at the high school I once graduated from. Other than the fact at how damn early I had to get up, I was 100% ecstatic and ambitious towards what may happen on my first day back there..
5:30 AM came all too quickly. I was in and out of the shower, dressed and. Ready, coffee in hand by 5:55
I hastily locked up my apartment and made my way to my car. I fumbled around a little in the darkness while trying to get into my car, but I eventually got it.
I started to drive down my street. I had to take it slow due to ice. Lots of ice. A black figure began to appear in my field of vision. It was the shape of a man, in all black, walking slowly down the road.
This struck as odd to me. 6 AM and someone is walking? In this weather? It had to be at least -2 degrees outside! And this guy is walking!
Everything moved in slow motion as I thought about what he might be doing here.. Why would he be walking.. Where would he be walking to..…
I was about twelve years old when my parents sent me to that shit hole. They were so determined to get me to camp. Not just that camp but really any camp. I took it as code for “We’ll-be-at-work-all-week-and-we-don’t-trust-you-alone”. My parents showed me the brochure, it actually looked kind of fun! The picture on the front of the brochure had slides, activities, and really anything that a twelve year old kid would want in a camp. It was pretty legit. The kids all seemed to be having fun in the picture. I kowtowed to the idea and eventually gave in.
I remember it like it was yesterday. Camp Omega in the foothills Virginia in some small town. It was like any other camp, bunks to sleep in, campfires at night, and friendly counselors. Looking back on it, maybe too friendly. At the time I thought that they were just being friendly because it was their job. I have never been so wrong.
Camp was fun at first, though the activities were a bit odd. We had to make these dolls that looked like us. Mine had straw for hair and blue button eyes. Then we had to make these bracelets with our names on them.…
It’s 8 PM at the National Science Research Centre Airbourne Warfare Department in Flin Flon, Saskatchewan. The Centre is tiny compared to most others in Canada, only 19 scientists and 127 soldiers. The research teams have all gone but the goons and several care takers are keeping Dr. Byron Floyd company as he watches over the pressure levels for one the new experiments. As he enjoys his dinner of a tuna sandwich and a coke, he presses the same button every 5 minutes. At the 4 minute 51 second mark, Floyd goes for a quick sip of coke.
The liquid flows into Floyd’s lungs and he begins to cough. It takes him a moment to get it back together. Once he has he notices the clock now reads 5:17. A red light with the word “LEAK” written over it is now flashing. It was now in the air.
“Damnit,” Floyd says to himself as he press another button on the other side of the control panel.
A few seconds pass and a mile away Dr. Lee Scup picks up the red phone in his study.
“What’s wrong Byron? Oh God, how much? Shit!” Lee pauses for a moment and takes a seat.…
This Creepypasta is based off of the quietest room in the world. It is supposedly -9 decibels and it is so quite that you can hear your blood in your veins and your heart beat. It has only been sustained for 45 minutes at the most. It causes minor insanity and hallucinations.
The first thing that registers is the cold floor beneath my back. My eyes slowly flutter open as I try to recall exactly what happened. Nothing sparks immediately. I don’t even remember going home. How long have I been unconscious?
I slowly sit up, my back is sore and the crick in my neck registers. When it pops back into place, the sounds nearly splits my eardrums open. The hell? I try popping my back into place and another ear splitting sound erupts through the room, like someone shot a 12-gauge shotgun next to me. I grasp my ears and fall back to the floor.
When the ringing in my ear stops, I look around. There’s no door, but the walls are oddly shaped. Like shingles on a roof going left, right; up and down. But what’s really odd about the room, is the silence. When I actually hold still, there is not a sound.…
It was a dark, and stormy night when I write this journal, stating the horrific things I have experience just the other day..
It was a bright and sunny day here in Abnormalville, the birds were singing, there were cute little squirrels sitting outside my window staring me right in the eyes, unblinkingly. It was a beautiful day, all in all. I think to myself: “Today would be a great day for some ice cream.”, so I toss on some socks and shoes, grab some cash lying in a random pile on my desk and head out. The day is even more beautiful than I initially thought, I knew at this point, that something was not right. I arrived at the local grocery store Scaryway, and went directly to the ice cream isle; I nearly got lost, it being such a large store. When I finally arrived in the ice cream isle, coincidentally located directly to the left of where I came in, I was surprised to find that they were completely sold out; and I don’t mean they were sold out of the flavor I wanted, I mean they were completely sold out of ice cream, they did not even have any of those buckets, or cheap pop-sickles- they were, completely, out.…
The whistle is considered one of the happiest sounds on earth by many. I’m not one of those people. I hate the sound of whistling. Another thing I hate is the tune of “Oh, Susanna.” I can’t bare to hear the two combined. Not after that night.
It started on the night before my final, I was only in highschool, and I was trying to pull an all-nighter studying for it. While studying, I began to whistle absent-mindedly. It started with just random notes, nothing too advanced, then slowly I began whistling melodies that were familiar to me, “Pop Goes the Weasel,” “Ring Around the Rosies,” and then finally “Oh, Susanna.”
While whistling I heard the same tune being whistled behind me. I turned around quickly to the the sight of nothing. I continued studying, thinking it was just my imagination, and again, I began whistling, picking up where I left off. My lips soon got tired, so I started to hum. To my absolute horror, the whistling started up again. I turned around again, afraid for my own sanity, but this time I saw a shadow on my wall. I thought nothing of it at the time and turned back to my studies.…
We all know what Hollywood is; it’s the place of dreams and wonder, of glimmer and shine. At the same time, we know that behind the glittering façade, there’s a rotten waste that must be isolated and cut out like a cancer, so the fantasy can be maintained. Those surgeons who deal with Hollywood’s malignant backstage are known as ”the behind guys.” They’re a secretive bunch, obviously, and my father was one of them.
To become one of the “Guys”, you must know or be related to one. My father always told me that those who have had a decent life and a balance of everything can truly rest in peace when his or her time comes, but those who have had too much of a good thing can never truly rest in peace. My father always told me to not be deceived by the gleaming veneer of the front stage that I so often see in cinema and television, and wherever else Hollywood’s seeking tendrils have exerted their dark influence; he always told me that on the inside, it isn’t like that at all. He knew quite a bit of Hollywood’s history, even back to Hollywood’s Golden Age. He told me that from then until now, actors, directors, producers and other Hollywood luminaries have made a custom of communing with demons and spirits for influence and inspiration.…