There are tons of stories out there about hacked Pokémon games. Some of them really quite neat such as the one about a version where you get a ghost as a starter.
Some are ridiculous, silly stories about individuals dying after playing a game, or the game talking to them. God, don’t these writers know less is more when it comes to these stories? Ah well, I digress.
I grew interested in these hacked games that are apparently in any thrift store, on eBay, or handed out by homeless people to random passersby.
I didn’t have the pleasure of meeting these creepy people, I merely found this particular cartridge in a trash bin when the garbage truck backed into my neighbor’s dumpster.
I noticed the game and asked the trash man if I could take it, and he didn’t seem to mind. It was thrown away after all. I of course checked with my neighbor to confirm if they actually didn’t want it, though they seemed perplexed, as if they’d never seen it in their life.
Their son made a grab for it, a little boy who saw the charizard on the cover, crying out “Pokémon! I want mommy!”, but his mother told him no, seeing as I found it.…
It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son James was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. James has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Fido, when I heard what sounded like James talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye on my son, so I decided to go outside and check on him.
When I went into the backyard I was a bit confused, because James was the only person back there. Was he talking to himself? I could have sworn I heard another voice. “James! It’s time to come inside.” I called out to him. He came inside and sat down at the kitchen table, it was about lunchtime so I decided to make him a turkey sandwich. “James. Who were you talking to out there?” I asked. James looked up for a moment, “I was playing with my new friend,” he said smiling.…
An average Saturday, the clear skies of the day fade into the abyss that is night. On many occasions this wouldn’t be a problem at all, but tonight, you feel scared. Frantically looking in car windows as you walk for something you know isn’t there, any sound cursed at your ear. You want to go home. As you walk down the sidewalk on the way to your house, the creepy vibe you feel grows, as does your fear. You look to a parking lot to see what looks like chalk, but only one word. It reads “pictoratus”. You remember picatarus is Latin for “Picture” from your language classes. The word sends chills down your spine, even though you do not have a clue as to the meaning of the word. Then, in the blink of an eye, everything turns dark. You struggle but you feel as if you are being held.
You feel yourself being lifted up and thrown onto a hard floor. Immediately afterwards the sound of slamming doors fills your ears, leaving a ring. It feels like hours pass before you notice a bag being pulled off your head, revealing the dreaded word “pictoratus” again. Your hands and feet are bound by rope.…
You know how Fox has a weird way of counting Simpsons episodes?
They refuse to count a couple of them, making the amount of episodes inconsistent.
The reason for this is a lost episode from season 1.
Finding details about this missing episode is difficult, no one who was working on the show at the time likes to talk about it. From what has been pieced together, the lost episode was written entirely by Matt Groening. During production of the first season, Matt started to act strangely. He was very quiet, seemed nervous and morbid. Mentioning this to anyone who was present results in them getting very angry, and forbidding you to ever mention it to Matt.
I first heard of it at an event where David Silverman was speaking. Someone in the crowd asked about the episode, and Silverman simply left the stage, ending the presentation hours early. The episode’s production number was 7G06, the title was Dead Bart. The episode labeled 7G06, Moaning Lisa, was made later and given Dead Bart’s production code to hide the latter’s existence.
In addition to getting angry, asking anyone who was on the show about this will cause them to do everything they can to stop you from directly communicating with Matt Groening.…
You know it was weird. Things like this always are actually.
So when people die, they leave wills, and distribute their material things amongst others. Sometimes, strangers do it too, and you’re left with a confused feeling. Everyone has that friend or something, and you promise each other your things when you die. Or it’s your roommate’s stuff that they left behind when they have no family. Stuff like that.
Well, see, about three, or was it four, months ago, something like that happened. A friend of mine from high school, got in touch with me a month before it all happened. And then when that month passed, I found out that this friend left me an inheritence. I was entirely confused, let me assure you; I got a lot of their stuff brought to me, to go through. Albums, frames, notebooks. There was a lot of stuff. But I also got other things, like credit cards, phones, computers. Actually, it was one of their cellphones that caught my eye the most.
It looked like a regular phone, one of the older types actually. A flippy phone you can say. I think it was a Nokia? But I was curious and tried it.…
Being a devout fan of Creepypasta’s true story section, I felt compelled to share my story with other users. While it is nice to provide all of you with a chilling, and entertaining story, keep in mind I have a much greater goal in mind.
Before my experience two days ago (May 3rd and 4th, 2013) I was a very skeptical person; not just in the paranormal, but in all areas of life. Should something not be able to be factually proven, it was simply not true. While I was always interested in death, the paranormal, and ‘spooking’ myself in general, I had always been a hard-headed person who never believed that there was any truth to it all. I simply wrote things off as, “an interesting story” and never genuinely believed that in anything, “unexplained”. Following my experiences however, I’ve come to terms with the fact that just because things do not follow our illusion of reason, does not mean that those things aren’t actually valid.
As I had stated before, I have a greater goal in mind higher than simply entertaining my fellow Creepypasta members. Contrary to my previous belief, there are things in life that cannot be explained.…
My father told me a story once. I’ll never forget it, for a few reasons. I think its the first story he ever told me, as a child. Its also the story of how my grandfather died. But honestly, that isn’t the reason.
You hear stories, on TV, or sometimes you over hear something in a public place. People talk about ghosts and aliens, and you think to yourself “that ain’t real. They’re making it up, or they’re mistaken, or they’re crazy.” or something like that. You just can’t believe it.
Until something happens. Something that brings it all together, connects the dots in a way you didn’t think of before. Maybe it happens to you, maybe you hear the same story again and again, happening to different people. It doesn’t take long for the world to become a lot bigger than you thought it was.
As I said, this is a story my father told me, but I never believed it, even though he swore up and down it was true. It wasn’t until I started clicking around the internet I started to believe. I started to hear other stories just like the one my father told me. It didn’t take me long to believe in The Rake.…
It was a cold, rainy day in December. There was less than a week until we got out of school for winter break. Usually my teachers don’t give us work before a break, but my bastard of a History teacher decided he’d assign us a 2000-word report due the day before we got out. I knew I wasn’t going to be there then; I was going up to the mountains in North Carolina to spend Christmas and New Years’ in Lenoir with some old friends I hadn’t seen since I moved.
So, in other words, I had to turn in the report a few days prior, as in that day. So, deciding I’d get started, I found a book I thought would help me, and sat down at a table with my laptop, so I could begin my report. After what seemed like forever, I finished my report and printed it out. I went to go get my paper from the printer, and when I got back, I noticed a small, black book sitting on top of my laptop, which was now closed.
This was strange. Not so much that someone was messing with my stuff, because that was common at my school.…
(This is the typed version of a handwritten transcript that I was given access to. The transcript itself is from a voice recording, but I have no idea where that is, or how the person who wrote the transcript obtained it. Due to the sloppiness of the handwriting and some water marks, some of the words are indecipherable, or maybe they were unintelligible from the recording. I cannot go into detail as to how I came across this transcript.)
My name is Nathan B—–. If you can hear me — I don’t know, if my phone manages to find a connection or someone finds my phone — then you need to know what happened. I’m not sure how long I have. (Rapid breaths, mumbling away from microphone) I’m in the Naval Reserves, okay? I’ve been through basic. And I’m scared right now. I think I’m going to die.
Fuck. Okay. I go to school up in Montreal, but my boyfriend’s in — my boyfriend was in Concord, New Hampshire. We broke up. We broke up over the weekend, which is why I was in Concord in the first place. I thought I was going to have a great time with him this weekend.…
A couple of months ago, I began my classes at Chico State University. As I was preparing for my freshman year, I was able to find everything that I needed, except for a laptop. I’m not exactly very good at letting a dollar go for something, especially when I could get that something for less.
I scoured the internet for good deals on laptops, finding none that suit my frugal habits. Classes were only two weeks away, and I was becoming desperate for a computer. Several days later, I saw an ad in the newspaper for a laptop that was being sold for only $600, and not too far from where I live. It was a very nice Dell laptop too, seeming odd that it was being sold for almost $1,000 less than store price.
I drove to the seller’s address the following day. The house was farther out of the city, butting up to a dense forest. Outside of the house was an old Chevrolet, and a mess of old signs and other various vintage looking items. I rang the doorbell, and a thin man in a flannel jacket came to the door. When I asked about the laptop, he looked almost relieved, and told me he was ready to sell it immediately.…