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BEN Drowned

Post #1 (Sept. 7, 2010)

Okay, /x/, I need your help with this. This is not copypasta, this is a long read, but I feel like my safety or well-being could very well depend on this. This is video game related, specifically Majora’s Mask, and this is the creepiest shit that has ever happened to me in my entire life.

Having said that, I recently moved into my dorm room starting as a Sophomore in college and a friend of mine gave me his old Nintendo 64 to play. I was stoked, to say the least, I could finally play all of those old games of my youth that I hadn’t touched in at least a decade. His Nintendo 64 came with one yellow controller and a rather shoddy copy of Super Smash Brothers, and while beggars can’t be choosers, needless to say it didn’t take long until I became bored of beating up LVL 9 CPUs.

That weekend I decided to drive around a few neighborhoods about twenty minutes or so off campus, hitting up the local garage sales, hoping to score on some good deals from ignorant parents). I ended up picking up a copy of Pokemon Stadium, Goldeneye (fuck yeah), F-Zero, and two other controllers for two dollars.…

Scratching

The story I am about to share with you has only recently come to an end. It has haunted me for twelve years of my life and tainted every moment of my younger years. Maybe now I can become a normal person, but I will never forget what happened.

When I was 12 years old, my parents finally decided to split me and my younger brother up and give us our own rooms. I was a couple of years older than Alex so I got the bigger space, while he stayed in the box-room. My dad wasn’t too happy about having to move all of his junk down into the garage, but times change and I needed my own room.

The four of us lived in a bungalow on a quiet suburban street – a rather reclusive area. Me and Alex would get bored sometimes as there wasn’t much to do, but for the most part, all we needed was each other. Being two young brothers with no one else to play with and a huge neighbourhood to explore, we were as close as brothers could get.

One day after school, we arrived home to find that all of my belongings had been moved into the the room next to Alex’s.…

Pills

You take the pills to keep them away.

That’s what we were told when we were first brought down here–down through the sterile white halls with their flickering fluorescent lights, and our small, Spartan cells. Down into the nightmare.

Why would we agree to this?

I was tired of being homeless. I was tired of smelling like urine. I was tired of the looks that people gave me, like they knew I was there, but if they could just avoid eye contact maybe I wouldn’t talk to them, wouldn’t show up later, in their dreams, tugging at their consciences. I was tired of sleeping on cold concrete every night.

I was tired of being so fucking hungry all the time.

The man in the suit had come with his pretty white teeth and his expensive sunglasses, asking for volunteers. Medical trials, he said. I know, a scary movie waiting to happen, right? But when he promised full meals and warm beds, how could we pass that up?

Being homeless, your life is a scary movie. You sleep in the alleys normal people refuse to walk down, hurrying by in case whatever is lurking in there reaches out and grabs them. You wait until the gangbangers and the prostitutes and the pimps and the junkies all pack it in for the day before you dare shut your eyes, and even then you aren’t sure you’ll ever open them again.…

The Hell That We Created

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.…

A Lonely Man On A Lonely Street

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..…

Insanity Room

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.…

Crunched Up Paper House

My friend and I always used to walk through a wonderful, spacious park when we were younger. It was full of tall trees, and it was very nicely maintained. In this large park, there was an abandoned mansion – I can’t really say how long it had been there, but on that day, the front door of the mansion was wide open. The two of us decided to check out what was inside the place. As we inched through the door, the very first thing we noticed was that the mansion’s floor was littered with crumpled up pieces of paper. We looked at each other and observed that there was no furniture, nothing except for those wrinkled balls of paper. The mansion had six rooms on its main floor, and every room we entered bore more and more scrunched up pieces of paper.

We decided to open up one of the paper balls to see what was inside – our curiosity got the better of us. I picked up a single wrinkled piece, and, as my friend picked up another, I unfolded my paper, smoothing out its bends and dents. At that moment, it was almost as if a piece of a rainbow emerged before our eyes, and I was suddenly standing next to a large window in one of the upstairs rooms of the house.…

Adagio

Based on personal hallucinations.

How cliche to be sitting here in the study of my Tuscan inspired home, alone and listening to the tapping of heavy rains against the glass windows. It was reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe’s The Raven, only, I have no chamber door or the gentle rapping of a raven to distract me. Only the rain and the crackling of the warm fire in my hearth. A cold and wet winter’s night; it was unusual Arizona weather and even more so unusual to light a fire in addition to central heating.

I turned the page of my book and adjusted accordingly in my chair so the light would illuminate every inch of the page and spare me the strain of reading in the dark. I don’t know why I read this way, with only a bar lamp on the coffee table nearby and a fire. I suppose the environment is calming, maybe too calming…

The roar of thunder does not phase me and the lightning flickering across the black skies adds mere seconds of additional lighting. For a moment I look upon the fireplace and see that the starter log I placed is slowly diminishing and the flames will need to be fed again soon, lest I read in near darkness.…

Mississippi Salvage

June 24th, 2011
Finally found a job working with Zach at his uncle’s place. A salvaging company, digging up boat parts and other junk from the river to make it safer, stuff like that. It’s not really my thing, but it’s a job and I’m grateful for it. Met his uncle earlier today, his name is Walter, really jovial and built like a concrete mixer. We got to talking for awhile, ended up liking me and gave me a position as a diver for his crew. Told him I never dived a day in my life, but he said he will give me lessons over the weekend before I start on Monday. Only weird thing is I have to keep these journals. For company purposes, Walter says. I guess it’s in order to track our work ethic and personal health on the job or something. Anyway, I haven’t done anything like this since grade school, so maybe it’ll be good for me.

June 25th, 2011
We went out on the river early in the morning, just me and him, in this small fishing boat. And before that we spent a couple hours going through equipment, making sure everything worked. We must have spent an hour on the tanks alone.…

The Stitcher

It was a cold winters afternoon, soft flurries of snow were gathering on the boys window sill, much of it piling in a clump on his timbered bedroom floor, unfortunately his window panes, which were designed to keep him from catching a flu, had been shattered.

He wore a cheap-looking, dark blue hoodie, except, it wasn’t much of a ‘hoodie’ because the sleeves had been cut short fraying slightly at the ends, and the actual hood was absent, his mother had bought this for him from the second-hand store which explained alot. Gray tinted skinny jeans concealed his thin legs and dark navy blue colored sneakers covered his feet. The boy had hazel brown eyes, with the same shaded hair.

“Almost done” he whispered to the small doll sitting patiently on his desk.

He gave a long weary sigh, then delicately slid the tip of his sewing needle through its frayed fabric. The boy continued the careful motion, looping the thread in circles down its exposed side, watching as the fabric was forced together, holding all the stuffing perfectly in place. Tying a small knot completed his work, and he placed the doll down in-front of him.

Next to the figure rested another, with long threads of brown silk for hair and an untidy grey dress.…

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