Top Rated Creepypastas of This Week

The Downstairs Neighbor

After college my boyfriend and I went our separate ways and I moved into an apartment that I could more easily afford on my own. It was one of those modern apartment complexes with paper-thin walls (and apparently floors), a cookie-cutter layout, and minimal landscaping. Despite their bright white sterility, my rooms decorated up nicely and most of the other inhabitants of Greenfield Court were good, kind people. My only real complaint was my downstairs neighbor.
The elderly man who lived directly below me was one of those neighbor-from-hell types that you read about on the internet. Despite his age he must have had incredibly acute hearing because all the normal sounds of other people’s everyday living bothered him. Washing dishes, running water, watching TV, using kitchen appliances, walking, talking; you name it and he would pound on the wall or ceiling with his cane to let you know that he heard you and wanted you to shut up. This “Morse code” was his main form of communication because he was a loner and rarely left the house. He kept to himself so much that I didn’t even meet him until I had already lived above him for over a month.…

The Home Run Killer

Have you ever thought of a person that you knew for sure couldn’t be human? That could never die even if you tried everything in your might to stop him. I am not talking about Jeff or Jane The Killer, no. I am talking about someone equally, or possibly, more terrifying than them: Tulo Beloff A.K.A. “The Home Run Killer.”

I guess I should start the story by saying that I am a detective who was investigating the horrific murders committed by Tulo Beloff, or more urbanly known as “The Home Run Killer”, who is still at large to this very day. Tulo reportedly quote on quote “Home-Runned” 22 victims. I am here to tell you what I came up with of the little known history of The Home Run Killer. He is described as a shady man, usually wearing a hoodie or a sweater, with a red bandana covering his mouth. His face is described with the contents of somewhat long black hair, and red eye contacts.

Tulo Iska Beloff was born in a small Romanian town on January 2nd, 1981. At the age of 3, Tulo’s father, Sergei, beat his mother Mikaylia to death with a baseball bat, and was sentenced to hanging.…

The Shadow Girl

“Are you sure the other kids won’t notice?” Conner asked as he looked up to his sister while she smeared the foundation-covered makeup pad over his cheek. The boy winced and pulled slightly away as it came in contact with the ugly, purplish bruise that marred his cheek.

You should be OK.” Madeline replied as she did her best to gently pat the substance onto his skin, trying not to hurt him further in the process. Conner held his breath as she worked and didn’t make another sound. He was strong. They both were. Mainly, because they had to be.

Madeline and Conner Shandon did not have it easy. Their early years consisted of two parents struggling to break away from either a dysfunctional, and often abusive, family or a family that went out of their way to ignore the fact their “little girl” had gone off and married some low-class hoodlum from the wrong side of the tracks. Still, the Shandons did their best to make it work for themselves and their two children. They at least managed to put food on the table and a roof over Madeline and Conner’s heads.

However, that life came to a sudden end as a car crash took the lives of both senior Shandons.…

Chef the Griller

One month ago, on a rain-slicked street

My mother and I got a bite to eat

But on the way back, I slipped and fell

And I suppose the car coming didn’t see me well

Because the next thing I knew, as I lifted my head

I was staring at the sheets of a hospital bed!

I could not move my legs, nor my right arm

My left was okay (it escaped from harm)

My mother came in, with a frown, and then

Said “honey, I’m afraid you’ll never walk again.”

A feeling came over me, not sadness or hate

But instead overwhelming apathy took place

“Oh well,” I thought, “I guess I’m done.

My life is over before it’s even begun!”

But the next day my mom approached me with a smile

And said that, with luck, I’d only stay here a while

And then, if feeling returned to my legs

I could come back with her and start my life again

Well, that filed me with hope; an optimism quite bright

And perhaps my stay here would even be alright!

The month passed by, rather pleasantly

I’ll save you the details on how I went pee.

Most of my actions needed the assistance of a nurse

But really I was just glad to not be in a hearse

A reporter came to my room to tell my story

I think he was expecting something a little more gory

The triplegia of a fourteen year-old kid

Was something that, sadly, couldn’t be hid.…

What The Hell is That Song

Every now and then, I get a snatch of a song running through my head. When that happens, it can drive me nuts, and it’s a devil of a time trying to get another song in there to replace it. It’s gotta be another song, though. I can’t ever just have a head full of peace and quiet. Sometimes the song I try to listen to and replace the persistent one will instead mix with it, creating this weird cacophonic mash-up in my skull that makes me want to stab somebody.

In the last several weeks, there’s one song that’s been pretty persistent, and the craziest part is that I have no idea who the artist is, what the song’s name is, or even the words. All I can remember of it is a single refrain that repeats the same line three times. The first time is clearly the main melody, the second is a counterpoint, and the third is the continuation of the main melody. It’s a strangely pleasant song, sounding like something Del Amitri would come up with, but I’ve listened to their entire repertoire, and nothing matches.

Whenever I have heard it in the past, it’s always been in a crowded mall or restaurant, and I can barely make out even the tune over the noise of other people.…

-11/8/12 –

Let me start by saying, thanks for reading. You guys have been amazing to me. I started this blog when I wasn’t even sure what blogs were, or what I wanted to do with mine. I never dreamed that in just five short years, I’d have such a large, and loyal, group of readers. Even the trolls, I thank you as well, because every time I get a comment, my hit count goes up and that adds to the revenue I collect from my sponsors. Each and every one of you who have read, liked, disliked, commented or flamed has helped me go from just another college kid to a person who can make a living doing what he loves; writing.

Anyway, I’m saying all this because I wanted to announce that I’ll be moving to a new URL starting in two weeks. I’ve decided that today will be my last post on this blog because there’s going to be a ton of work involved in my next venture. I’ll be joining the ever-expanding ranks of the professional bloggers on I cannot say enough how thrilled I am to be working with these amazing people. Blogging never felt like a real job before, even with the ad revenue I was generating, but now, now I feel like I’ve found my calling.…

My Daughter Died On Her Sixth Birthday…

I cannot describe to you how I feel right now. What I’m experiencing is so detached from the normal, I’m almost convinced I’ve finally gone insane.


My wife, Bea, died during childbirth. She was gorgeous, funny, intelligent – stubborn. A woman whose laugh was so loud, eating in restaurants was a challenge. A woman whose stare was so intense, it made my hands shake. I lost her as she gave birth to our daughter.


Of course, I could have resented Sam. For taking away what was once mine in a way nothing else can be. For taking what was so truly and utterly pure. But I didn’t. I knew Bea wouldn’t have wanted any resentment. She wouldn’t have wanted our only child to have a life ruined by hate.

But this isn’t about grief. This isn’t about the physical sucker punch of losing forever something you loved. This is about something far more sinister.

My daughter was lively, always running and screaming, leaping up and down the climbing frame – causing havoc in her classes. So for her sixth birthday, a trip with friends to the movies had left her so pent up with energy, I could barely keep up with her as she dipped and dodged between people on the pavement.…

I’m Worried About My Son

I’m very worried about my son.

More than worried, at this point. Terrified. His behavior these past few weeks is not normal, not healthy. It makes me think there’s something wrong.

At first, he would just come and stand at the door way. He did this at night, just before I’d be ready to fall asleep. I’d roll over to turn off the lamp, and he’d be standing there, in the doorway. I used to try to speak to him. I don’t do that anymore. He never has answered me.

He just stares.

A couple of days ago, he graduated from standing in the doorway to coming in and sitting on the bed. He still doesn’t speak. I have asked him what he wants. I’ve asked him if anything is bothering him. It’s not like him to be so quiet.

He usually waits until my wife is asleep. That’s the part that gets me. She always falls asleep before me, and he has never come in when she’s awake. But then, she didn’t have a hand in this.

If something doesn’t change soon, I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I’m starting to feel like he knows that I’m the one who killed him.…


Call me a misanthrope, an introvert, whatever. The fact is, I always thought I preferred being alone.

I had a couple of friends. Well, mainly acquaintances. People I worked with. People I lived near. Family.

But I had tried doing the companionship thing, and it never seemed to be for me. I had a girlfriend for two years, but she left me because I rarely wanted to go out with her friends, preferring to stay home, just the two of us. The feeling that was most prominent after she left was relief.

I also tried hanging out with a group of people I met online. As in, hanging out with them in the real world. I did this because my ex-girlfriend told me I needed to get out more, to meet people, to come out of my shell.

I realized after hanging out with them that I liked my shell better. Again, it’s not that I didn’t like them. I’m just not a hang-out kind of person. I’m not an Asperger’s patient or anything. I can have conversations, I can be friendly. I’ve stopped to help strangers on the side of the road who were having car trouble. I’ve helped people move who I barely knew.…


Maybe it’s late at night, but you can’t sleep. You’re bored, or you can’t stop a bazillion thoughts from racing through your skull, or maybe you had too much coffee, or you’re a little drunk. Whatever the case, I’ve been there, my friend. I know how it feels to sit there and realize that you’re not really living right now. You’re just existing. Surely there’s something you can do, right?

But no matter what, no options presented seem like something that feels right. It’s definitely not clubbing night. Watching TV or playing video games seem like mind-numbing options and you’ve likely been surfing the net all night and have realized how little satisfaction you’re getting from that, too.

Well, good news, because I have a solution. This option might require you to put on pants and walk somewhere, but it’s worth it, I guarantee it.

See, there’s a building not even a block from where you live, and at any time of the night you’ll find the rear entrance unlocked. During the day the place is locked up tight as a drum, but for some reason, once night falls outside, whatever time of the day that happens to fall on at any time of year, you’ll find that rear entrance is open and waiting.…

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