You may have heard of the Farnsworth experiments. My dad was one of the scientists involved. He rarely talked about it, and when he did he always said the rumors were overplayed. The team tried and failed, nothing more to it. He seemed to get annoyed at me asking him about it. When I kept it up, he eventually told me a brief account of what happened. It was the mid 80s and he was living in Albany, New York, pursuing his phD. This was a year or two after I was born. He began work on a government funded research project. The experiments were to be done under absolute secrecy. The goal was to test a 15 year old hypothesis that previous to this point seemed untestable. If it were true, then time travel was possible. They spent nearly a year working on the project, known only by it’s codename Farnsworth. They tried and tried, but found nothing. Then the project ended. There were no deaths or disappearances. There were no strange events around the region. The reason the government denied the project’s existence was purely embarrassment over funding something that in hindsight seemed so ridiculous. It felt good to know the truth.…
Top Rated Creepypastas of This Week
One of the first memories I could recall was my father leaving the family. He didn’t speak a word to us, just walked toward the groves. I never saw him after that day. The part that disturbed me most was how everyone else took this. They all just stood there, watching on with knowing eyes. As if they knew that this day would come eventually.
My mother was described to be “wild”, a feral if you will. She had escaped some kind of confinement that my father was bound to, as he only had time to visit us when he could before he vanished from my life entirely. I never got to know him very well. Through her, I was taught about the dangers of those that walked the earth on two legs.
Anytime I asked why, she would only shudder and look away and remind me about my father. She told me the hard fact eventually after much pestering, that he died. I was confused, and asked why he did with tearful eyes, and how she knew this. She responded with something so surprisingly cryptic that it would puzzle me throughout my life.
“Everything dies, sweetie. It was what we were born to do.”
I was taught to cherish my life since then.…
Screaming. I woke up screaming. Looking around once again to a completely empty room. I panted in the dark, and stared around wildly to make sure I was home in my room. Looking at my bedside table at the clock, it was the same time as before; the dreams were getting worse. 3:30AM. I closed my eyes, when I did, I felt hot breath on my face and the crooked mirthless laughter rang in my ears. The alarm clock went off, and I sat up slowly. Blinking myself awake and looking around the room. The sun came in through the window, bright and appalling to someone who was still waking up. Rubbing my eyes, swinging my feet over the edge of the bed, standing up, and making my way to the bathroom. The toilet flushed and I went to the sink, looking into the mirror. My eyes had dark rings under them, only 13 and my face looked like an adult after what they call a “graveyard shift”.
My name is Jenny, I live with my mom and dad, and go to middle school. Another thing to know about me, is I also suffer from night terrors. Every night there are nightmares, and lately sleep has almost become a chore.…
I’d had them ever since I was a kid.
I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets under books and bags. The kids at school never said anything to my face, but I knew they were laughing behind my back.
I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor, to get them checked out. The growths on my hands seemed to be the elephant in the room back then, since they’d just say I was fine and change the subject. But I knew better.
I had tried to remove them as a child, but without avail. Scissors, knives, potato peelers; trying to cut or scrape them off was always a lost cause because I couldn’t continue once the pain kicked in.
But today was different. It’s amazing how numb you can get with a couple of tourniquettes and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was originally planning to use a sharp knife, but figured that trying to slice through the tough flesh of the growths would be too arduous in my drunken state. I opted for the slightly more technological plan B.
I had to hurry though. I was already pretty light-headed and was starting to feel dizzy.…
-Breaking News – July 27, 2013-
A third murder occurs at a luxury hotel just outside of Las Vegas, Nevada. The victims where a mother and her alleged son, little information is known about either of them, or the murderer at this time. Police will continue investigation while the hotel remains open for business. The only sure thing that has been publicly announced was a statement from a house detective staying in the hotel at the time, he said:
“It is all strange to us, but one thing is clear: they were all running, or trying to escape, this tells us a lot about the killer.”
More details will be available at the end of the week.
That house detective was me, Jim Gauller. I had been sent to this hotel after the first murder to watch and ask around about it. By the time the second occurred, it was clear that this criminal knew what he was doing. Now a third that involved two people… I could not understand how this could all be done so quickly so that nobody ever saw anything. I’ve written all my thoughts, theories, ideas, questions, all in my room in the hotel, where I am living at this point, since there was no show to an end to these murders.…
Eli fell to the ground and the mud shot into the air and rained back down upon him. A thin layer of this brown liquid covered him from head to toe. He hoped and prayed this masquerade would help him escape. He lifted his head from the puddle and tried to slow down his labored breaths. The guards that were chasing him were nowhere to be found and he didn’t hear any talking or crunching of twigs under someones feet. Was he really free? Was this it? The moon hung high in the sky and once he felt comfortable doing so; he left.
His pace was slow and he was drenched in mud and lethargic from all the running he had done just minutes ago. At this point the thought that he just may get away started to come into his mind. He took a seat at the base of a tree to collect his thoughts and think about his future. He let out a small chuckle and broke the silence of the forest; for the first time in eight years he was smiling. However, that smile quickly faded when he heard someone respond to him with laughter of their own.…
The bell rang and I lifted myself from my seat and headed out of second period. My back was killing me from sitting in the hard, plastic chair for the past hour and a half; I was ready to get out of there.
“Mr. Forsythe, come over here, please.” My English teacher motioned me over to his desk with a disappointed look on his face. I hated when he called me that. I always thought it was so stupid. He looked down at his desk and I mimicked his motion. On his desk was the essay we had to turn in a few days ago. Across the top margin, scribbled in sloppy red ink were the words, not acceptable. “I’m very, disappointed in your work here, Mitchell. The assignment was to write a persuasive, argumentative, essay on something you have strong feelings over.” I got agitated rather quickly and snapped back at him.
“That’s exactly what I did!” I yelled.
“Writing about why marijuana should be legal is not the direction this paper is supposed to be going in! I want a new paper and a new topic on my desk by Monday morning!” I stood in disbelief and didn’t speak for a moment.…
On every college campus there is a hallway. Nondescript, tucked away, often on the top floor of a building or off of another hall where only a few classrooms have been placed. It melts into the background of every student’s life; drowned out by the music department or wedged between two lecture halls. Occasionally, a lost freshman will wander down it, running late for their first class. Should such a lost soul wander through that hall, all they will find is a single, empty classroom. This room has never held a class, not a scheduled one anyway.
The sign outside its door will always say the number of the class you are searching for and many a relieved student has collapsed into one of the desks, believing they have reached their class on time. When the classroom continues to remain empty, most will scramble back into the hall before the class period has started. They will leave with only a rush of adrenaline that they will later explain away as a result of being late for class. They will then continue their search for the correct classroom. Should they try and access this hall again, it will be gone. But that is for the best.…
I used to love Lucid dreams but I could only seem to realise I’m dreaming when it’s a particularly scary dream, I can always fly away from the threat. That’s how I know I’m dreaming, I can then stay and control the narrative. Now I just force myself to wake up.
It started with rules. I’m not sure how I know about them, how they were made up or who by.
I cannot fly over water, if I encounter water I’ll gradually float back down to land. Also, no wandering too far outside the boundary, not sure how high up it goes but having a cosmic wander is a no-no.
Some might say I’m a bit of a kook in that I believe in things like Astral Projection, Ashakic records and the like. I was never able to put any of this into practice as my desire to do it is scupper end by my inability to concentrate for long periods of time. This kind of sucks because I would love the chance to see into some of my past lives, learn lessons, better myself. Don’t give me that look, I know it sounds like hippie crap but I was a ‘witch’ for like five minutes in high school, okay, I believe in spirituality it’s just, like with most things, I have no follow through.…
The area around me became garbed in a bright light as I turned on my flashlight. The room was a disaster area with shelves toppled over, the books spilling on the cold wooden floor. Each piece of furniture had deep gashes in them as if something unholy had ripped into them. To make things worse, the door I had entered through was nothing but splinters, and one of the walls had a splatter of blood on it, already caking and cracking.
All of this only added to the fear I was feeling.
I was on the run from something that I couldn’t even remember running from. All I knew was that I could hear footsteps every so often. Sometimes the footsteps would get loud enough for me to jerk my heard into the direction it was coming from, only for nothing to be there and the footsteps softening.
I walked further into the room, but once I did my life flashed before my eyes as I heard the footsteps once more, this time sounding more feverish as though it was sprinting. I, of course, made the ever so smart decision to turn around, but when I did, I encountered the scariest thing in my life.…