Top Rated Creepypastas of This Week

Inherent Knowledge

Out in the Arizona desert, there was a child who has never seen a human face, nor heard a human voice. She resided not on the surface, but beneath it, contained within a bunker. The reason for her situation all came down to a singular issue.

The Existence of God.

One thing that is universally agreed upon by all faiths is that we are all born with an inherent awareness of God. The aim of this project was to demonstrate this by having a young girl, whom had never had any contact of any kind , formulate a concept of God separate from the rest of the world.

The project started innocently enough, with good intentions. Representatives from all the major faiths were present to witness the first potential proof of God. The child was a test-tube baby, screened for all potential genetic defects, and chosen specifically for the the fact it was average in every fashion. For the first years of her life she was brought up in a stark, sterile environment, with all orderlies around her wearing full-face masks to prevent any familiarity.

Her living space was approximately the size of a small one bedroom flat, with white walls throughout.…

The Flesh Market: Trader’s Tales

I’m glad you were able to return. Most would have walked away, chuckling to themselves at the notions I shared with you last time. It takes a special kind of obsession to ask questions and return, inquisitive and demanding. Well if you want more answers, this old man is going to need more libation. After all in this world, everything has a price. Including this conversation. I want your full birth name. Last time? That was advertising. You want my story, I want your name. What I intend to do with it is none of your business. Thank You.

Now to your first question, who am I? I apologise that introductions were overshadowed previously. My name is of little consequence. I am a former trader of the market. I have distant memories of being alive during the first civilization, where I traded to all. I was unscrupulous. I would gouge hard and tear the shirts from their backs if I could. I took more than I gave and eventually I was noticed. One evening as I was closing up, I was visited by a blind old woman. She offered to purchase some food, and extended a hand holding currency far greater than the value of what she was buying.…

Under The Covers

Tonight’s like every other night. You lay there, in the dark and silence, alone, with no company other than your own thoughts. You shift and roll throughout your bed, just you and your thoughts. You ponder, you plan, you fantasise; anything to distract you from the ringing silence that surrounds you.

You hear a creak, a common sound to hear on such a still night, but you still recoil when the sound hits your ears. You hear this sound almost every night, but the sheer unexpectedness sets off a trigger in your head as paranoia takes over. The thought that once illuminated your mind are now darkened. What was once pleasure and success has now turned to demons and killers.
The silence that your mind has been distracting you from has now become focus. You lay there, silent, listening for any obscure sound, hoping that the silence doesn’t leave. Every little noise adds to your paranoia and the silence lingers as you await the next unexpected occurrence. You’re too afraid to open your eyes at the thought of seeing anything your mind can conjure. You lay there alone in fear.

The fear builds up in your mind as you try to find a quick escape from anything it creates.…

In Fetu

I’m a surgeon. Now, I’ve seen my fair share of strange medical events, But one event that I saw still haunts me to this day.

In fall of 1987, an extremely rare medical anomaly effected a poor 7 year old child by the name of William. I was working as head surgeon in the small town of Montrose, Colorado. William had been going to his pediatrician complaining of extreme pains coming from his belly. He told doctors he had a “man” living inside of him who refused to leave him alone night or day. He said he would hurt him in random places, as if he was pulling on marinate strings. He could be seen cringing and crying in the doctor’s office, pleading for an ease to the excruciating pain. His mother was extremely worried and demanded assistance. The doctor did a full examination him and found nothing wrong. He promptly told his mother to take him home, and prescribed strong painkillers.

A few weeks passed, with the boy’s pain worsening. The doctor was baffled. He continued to find nothing wrong, prescribing stronger and stronger painkillers. One day, the mother returned, this time frantic. She came in screaming that her son was dying, and that he was bleeding profusely.…

Not All Secrets Are Taken To The Grave

I’ve always found it particularly difficult to start a story. It’s easy to end one, but ever since grade school when my teachers would make me write a short story, I could never make a good start. I suppose I’ll start by saying this is a story. A story about my best friend. He died about 2 years ago. He was in his living room, sitting, watching tv, and he had a heart attack. And boom. Just like that he’s dead. Gone. Bye bye. See you later. It was really shocking when I found out.

He was a hard working man who was a mechanic. He always was sweating from physical labor. It didn’t make any sense how he could have possibly died from a blocked artery. But I guess somethings aren’t always what they seem in this life. We went to his funeral. It was a simple service, family and friends of his showed up. We said a few words about him. We cried and all the usual stuff at a funeral. Then we put him in the ground. And we left.

I got over his death ok. I was sad for quite a while but I knew that he wouldn’t want me to sit there sad all the time.…

Before They Do

They are going to kill you. You just know they are. You sit here, in the back area of the white van. It’s devoid of anything, except the chair you sit in, and a white, metal floor with a screwdriver laying lazily near the wall. A fluorescent bulb hangs on the ceiling nearby, casting an erie white glow around the place. There are no windows, and everything not illuminated by the bulb is pitch black. You can’t move anything.

Solid metal bands hold every one of your limbs in place, their hard, sharp surfaces digging into your skin despite your clothes covering it. They cover every area where a joint would be, restricting your movements, forcing you to keep the limbs straight. The bands are even around your fingers, one for each knuckle you have. Including the little knuckle that’s near your fingernail. The joints of your wrists, elbows, knees, hips, ankles and toes, completely kept in place. Everytime you try to move, the edges of the bands dig into your joints, cutting them. It’s a futile effort. You can hear screaming. A person’s voice can be heard, just outside the double doors of the van. They’re screaming and you can hear laughter.…

Real Dangers

I awoke to the sound of my cell phone ringing. I opened bleary eyes to see it was still very dark outside. What time was it?

After about 5 or 6 rings, the caller gave up. I was tired, but sleep would not come again. Annoyed, I decided I might as well see who it was that was bothering people at this time of night. The number was not one I recognized. I sent a simple text message asking “Who are you?”

Almost immediately, I got a reply. But it was not my original caller. It was the automatic mailer daemon telling me that my message was undeliverable. The reason was because the number I tried to send it to wasn’t a real phone number. What did that mean? I was about to try actually calling, when my phone rang again, shocking me and making me jump. The identity of the caller was the same as the one my phone just told me didn’t exist. It rang once, twice, and then fell silent.

Though the thought crossed my mind, I knew better than to believe I might be getting a phone call from the beyond or some silly nonsense like that.…

Can I Play With Madness

2 Thessalonians 2:11- and for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie:

I am Robert Hall- a twenty year old journalism major at the University of Louisville. Ever since I was a child I’ve dreamed of being a writer. I used to carry a pad and pencil everywhere with me to conduct interviews with the neighbors. I used to interview everyone from older couples bringing home groceries, to the parents of the children I was friendly with. I even interviewed the ice cream man a few times, all in the name of a somewhat fictional newspaper of my imagination. This behavior was initially encouraged by everyone around town: shop owners and the local barber didn’t bat an eye at being asked if they had a few minutes to answer some questions.

As I got older the passion for writing never wavered. I wrote myriad of well received essays and stories all throughout grade school. However my penchant for scribing left me virtually friend-less. I didn’t really mind, except for the nights when I found myself the victim of writer’s block and had no one to hang out with. I often thought to myself that it was all part of the sacrifice.…

Aokigahara Diary

Day 1

I want to start off by saying, I didn’t plan on coming here. My gambling tendencies got the best of me. Before I get ahead of myself, let me elaborate. On New Year’s Eve me and a buddy got really drunk and he started telling me about Aokigahara, or more well known as, the Suicide Forest in Japan. He went on to tell me the horror stories of all the deaths, and hangings and I just figured he was full of shit. When I told him so, he didn’t seem to pleased and bet me $600 that I couldn’t last a month in the forest. Against my better judgment, I agreed and took the next flight to Japan. I was also told that I have to keep a journal with me at all times. He made it very clear that he wants an entry for everyday his exact words being, “write your heart out! But don’t loose your head!”. I hate to tell him that if nothing interesting happens, he’s not getting an entry. Besides, the deal was that I last a month. Anyway, along with this journal I packed a month’s worth of bottled water and canned food for my trip as well as all the other camping essentials.…

If That Dress Could Talk

“So what’s your story, morning glory?” he asked her, staring into her big brown eyes. They were like two magnets pulling him in. Of all the juke joints in town, he had to walk into this one. Where he would see this exotic gold skinned beauty in a dress that could cure cancer. It was a red dress. One that had seen its share of blood and lives fucked up beyond redemption. If dresses could talk, this one could write an encyclopedia of misery.

He hadn’t given any of this the slightest thought. He just wanted to wet his whistle (and something else) that night. Seeing this kind of beauty in a place like this had to be a fluke of some sort. Maybe she’s married or just feeling lonely tonight and just needs to get laid, he thought. Why else would she be in a place like this? This is one classy woman!

Joseph couldn’t break eye contact with the woman. She had him under her spell, whatever sort of who-doo it was. She never uttered a word, just looked into his eyes and then down and away, occasionally with a hint of sorrow for decoration. This only added to her mystique and beauty.…

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