The Scary Stories Thread!

[Riku3220]

I don't get it.

 

 

 

The girl was holding up 2 fingers when the boy found the picture. When the boy died she was holding up 3. Each finger was how many people the picture lead to their deaths.

[Agunimon979]

[hide=]

One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.

 

 

 

His desk was next to the window, and he turned and stared outside. It looked liked a picture. When it was home time at the school, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.

 

 

 

He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.

 

 

 

She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said "no." He was devastated.

 

 

 

When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said "no." It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.

 

 

 

In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.

 

 

 

The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, "Sorry, no." When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said "no." He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.

 

 

 

Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.

 

 

 

The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up. He smiled. He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers.

 

 

 

I had copyed like 2 more but the internet decided to die when i clicked "post" so i will just post this one. Anyway, go to ED and type creepy pasta.

[/hide]

 

 

 

Another version:

 

 

 

One dark night in August, a man named Johnny was walking home from his girlfriend's house when he noticed a photograph lying in the middle of the road. As no cars were approaching, Johnny walked out in the middle of the road to examine the photo. It was a photograph of an attractive, very cute girl, looks to be about 13 or 14 years old. The girl was holding up two fingers, kind of like a peace sign. Johnny thought nothing of it, but rather gazed at her. Distracted at her beauty, he did not realize the automobile speeding down the road. When he saw the car coming it was too late, and he got hit and killed. He had his funeral the next week, which the driver of the car attended. A month later, a toddler, perhaps about 4 years old, was walking with his mother on the side of the road when he noticed the picture. Having natural child curiosity, the tyke wandered over to the picture, which featured the same beautiful girl, but instead holding up 3 of her fingers.

[dsavi]

And what are the rules on copypasta? Nothing graphic?

 

I'm pretty sure that it's fine as long as it's g rated.

[ElkNight]

I don't get it.

 

The girl killed two people so she held up two fingers then she killed him so three fingers. I think.

 

Edit: Beat me to it

[MC_Kejml]

I don't get it.

 

 

 

[hide=spoiler]Peace sign = two fingers = two murders

 

Three fingers = three murders ( two murders already plus the boy)[/hide]

 

 

 

EDIT: Oh crap

[Riku3220]

[hide=creepypasta]I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Any moment now I am going to be killed.

 

 

 

Today a friend of mine told me a story.

 

 

 

His aunt had taken care of him since he was a small boy, and she told him last night about how his parents died. He did a very fair imitation of her (I knew them both pretty well):

 

 

 

They were doing mission work in some nasty little south american country when a man burst into the mission hospital one night, terrified out of his mind. He told them that his sister had been killed by a Muerto blanco, and that he was certain that it was coming for him next. What is a Muerto blanco? Apparently it was some sort of bogey-man, something like that dumb chupacabra or whatever. They called it the White Death or the White Girl, because it was the soul of someone who hated life so much that they came back in their shrouds to kill those who told of them.

 

 

 

The man had been told about the vengeful spirit by his sister hours before her death. It was a girl with dead, black eyes that wept bile. The thing moved without ever actually moving its legs, and it stalked its victims back to their homes. Now, if you werent already aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start knocking on your door

 

 

 

Once for you skin, which shell use to patch her own decaying flesh.

 

Twice for your muscle, which shell gnash her teeth on between victims.

 

Thrice for your bones, which shell make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victims.

 

Four times for your heart, which shell wear around her neck.

 

Five times for your teeth, which shell polish and keep in a box.

 

Six times for your eyes, which shell see the faces of your loved ones through.

 

Seven times for your soul, which shell eat whole - you can never pass while youre in her stomach.

 

She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her.

 

 

 

You can try to outrun her, but shes faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home while shes knocking on your door, she wont be so courteous when she catches up to you.

 

 

 

Now the man was certain that this thing had killed his sister, that he had tried to tell the police, but they would not listen. Next he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest turned him away when he saw that the thing was following him now - oh, thats right, I forgot about that - it can only get you if you tell someone else about it, or you saw it kill someone else. The man, after finishing his tale, stole a car from the mission, and was never seen again.

 

 

 

Apparently his mother and father had immediately called his aunt about this when it happened. They were found in the morning, skinned and dismembered. Their bodies were covered in tiny, child-like handprints.

 

 

 

His aunt was really drunk the night before, and had told him about that. He told me this story early in the morning today at school, before the cops arrived. His aunt had been murdered that night. I called him later that night, and he told me that he was being chased by someone, and now they were knocking on his door. I told him to stop [cabbage]ting me.

 

 

 

He held the phone away from his face for a minute, and I could hear slow, deliberate knocking. A moment later, I heard the door rip from its hinges and the dying screams of my friend.

 

 

 

Then a little girls voice spoke over the line: WITNESS. I hung up.

 

 

 

Three minutes ago someone started knocking on my door. She has to knock 28 times on my front door, 28 times on the mirror in the hall, and another 28 times on the door to my bedroom. Shes doing it slowly I think she wants to scare me some more, let me know that my death is just moments away. I will not run - I couldnt get to my car in time anyway. She started knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment.

 

 

 

Nice knowing you guys, its been funjklm,.-

 

 

 

WITNESS[/hide]

[kehllz]

Reciting this one from memory. Grandma used to tell me this one, she says it's from when she was a little girl. I'm putting a little more detail on it for reading on the net.

 

 

 

[hide=The Fiddler]Many years ago in the Appalachian Mountains of Tennessee, there lived a young man named Jimmy. Jimmy was known all over the area for his skill at playing the fiddle. His daddy had taught him the basics, but soon he had far excelled his father at the instrument. He was in high demand for all the gatherings of the area. Folks claimed that when he played, you merely had to close your eyes and you didn't feel like you were at home anymore. His music could carry you away to anywhere, from mountain tops to rich, green valleys.

 

 

 

Well, each year Jimmy's hometown would hold a music competition. People from all over the region would come to try to win. Everyone knew that they wouldn't beat Jimmy, but still, getting second still said you were pretty good. Well, year after year, Jimmy would play his fiddle for the folks who would come to the competition.

 

 

 

But as the years went by, even a great fiddle player like Jimmy can't escape the ravages of time. Jimmy played slower tunes, waltzes and ballads instead of the jigs and reels he could play in his younger years. One year, as the competition started, no one had seen Jimmy. He lived far back in a holler in the mountains, so it wasn't like he would stroll around town everyday, but he NEVER missed the competition. The night wore on and the folks listened to one act after another, but still no Jimmy.

 

 

 

Finally, just as the competition was about to end, Jimmy walked onto the stage. The crowd hooted and hollered for him, glad to see him back. But Jimmy looked sickly, pale as ash, face skinny as a snake. His hands were almost all bone with little meat on them. It was whispered around the crowd that Jimmy must be feeling sick and that's why he had come so late, the hike from his cabin must have taken too much out of him, so he had been sleeping until he had enough energy to play. As Jimmy placed his bow across the fiddle strings, a musical tune eminated from them. Almost everyone agreed that this was the best he had ever played, even in his sickly state. It was a haunting funeral dirge, bringing to mind the gates of heaven and the choirs of angels, winter mornings and cold, windswept snow. They all could almost see their relatives who had passed on before, and remembered them fondly. As the final notes of the tune drifted away into the rafters, the room was silent. No one dared disturb the following silence with applause. Jimmy simplied stood up and walked off the stage and up the road that led to his cabin.

 

 

 

The next day, a group from the town decided to bring Jimmy's prize money up to him. He had left so quickly and soon that no one had had a chance to give it to him. When they knocked on the cabin door, Jimmy's sister answered the door. She was dressed in the black of mourning, and instantly the townspeople knew what had happened. Jimmy must have died last night, his fiddle playing took the last out of him. His sister took them back behind the house to his grave, a simple wooden cross stuck into the ground above a lump of earth. One of the townspeople handed Jimmy's sister the money and said, "This is the money Jimmy won in the competition last night, I'm sure he would have wanted you to have it."

 

 

 

"Last night?" replied the sister, "Jimmy died last week." The townspeople all were silent and stared at Jimmy's grave...

 

 

 

My grandma lived at the foot of the mountain up which Jimmy's holler was. She said that if you went up there, you might just here the sound of a fiddle. If you do, she recommended, sit back, relax, enjoy the music. It's only Jimmy doing what he did best in life, and does best in death.[/hide]

[MC_Kejml]

[hide=creepypasta]I am currently sitting in front of my computer, scared witless. Any moment now I am going to be killed.

 

 

 

Today a friend of mine told me a story.

 

 

 

His aunt had taken care of him since he was a small boy, and she told him last night about how his parents died. He did a very fair imitation of her (I knew them both pretty well):

 

 

 

They were doing mission work in some nasty little south american country when a man burst into the mission hospital one night, terrified out of his mind. He told them that his sister had been killed by a Muerto blanco, and that he was certain that it was coming for him next. What is a Muerto blanco? Apparently it was some sort of bogey-man, something like that dumb chupacabra or whatever. They called it the White Death or the White Girl, because it was the soul of someone who hated life so much that they came back in their shrouds to kill those who told of them.

 

 

 

The man had been told about the vengeful spirit by his sister hours before her death. It was a girl with dead, black eyes that wept bile. The thing moved without ever actually moving its legs, and it stalked its victims back to their homes. Now, if you werent already aware that this thing was following you, once it got back to your house, it would start knocking on your door

 

 

 

Once for you skin, which shell use to patch her own decaying flesh.

 

Twice for your muscle, which shell gnash her teeth on between victims.

 

Thrice for your bones, which shell make knives to pick her teeth and kill her victims.

 

Four times for your heart, which shell wear around her neck.

 

Five times for your teeth, which shell polish and keep in a box.

 

Six times for your eyes, which shell see the faces of your loved ones through.

 

Seven times for your soul, which shell eat whole - you can never pass while youre in her stomach.

 

She has to repeat this on any mirror or door between you and her.

 

 

 

You can try to outrun her, but shes faster than the fastest man. And if you leave your home while shes knocking on your door, she wont be so courteous when she catches up to you.

 

 

 

Now the man was certain that this thing had killed his sister, that he had tried to tell the police, but they would not listen. Next he had tried to tell his priest, but the priest turned him away when he saw that the thing was following him now - oh, thats right, I forgot about that - it can only get you if you tell someone else about it, or you saw it kill someone else. The man, after finishing his tale, stole a car from the mission, and was never seen again.

 

 

 

Apparently his mother and father had immediately called his aunt about this when it happened. They were found in the morning, skinned and dismembered. Their bodies were covered in tiny, child-like handprints.

 

 

 

His aunt was really drunk the night before, and had told him about that. He told me this story early in the morning today at school, before the cops arrived. His aunt had been murdered that night. I called him later that night, and he told me that he was being chased by someone, and now they were knocking on his door. I told him to stop [cabbage] me.

 

 

 

He held the phone away from his face for a minute, and I could hear slow, deliberate knocking. A moment later, I heard the door rip from its hinges and the dying screams of my friend.

 

 

 

Then a little girls voice spoke over the line: WITNESS. I hung up.

 

 

 

Three minutes ago someone started knocking on my door. She has to knock 28 times on my front door, 28 times on the mirror in the hall, and another 28 times on the door to my bedroom. Shes doing it slowly I think she wants to scare me some more, let me know that my death is just moments away. I will not run - I couldnt get to my car in time anyway. She started knocking on my bedroom door a minute ago, she should be done any moment.

 

 

 

Nice knowing you guys, its been funjklm,.-

 

 

 

WITNESS[/hide]

 

 

 

Now that's a cool story. Thanks for sharing!

[Princess Viola]

One day, two boys were playing in their yard, when another boy walked up to them.

 

"My names Greg," the boy said.

 

"I'm Bob and this is Brendon," the other boy said.

 

"Are you new?" asked Brendon.

 

"Yeah," said Greg.

 

Greg, Brendon, and Bob decided to play basketball together. Later that night, the basketball rolled into the street and Bob ran out to get it. A car was coming, Greg pushed him out of the way. It was late so they went home.

 

 

 

The next day, Bob and Brendon went to Greg's house and knocked on the door, a woman answered.

 

"Hi, can Greg come out and play?" asked Brendon. The woman sobbed.

 

"Greg died ten years ago. He died saving his friend from being hit by a car," the woman explained. Bob and Brendon then see a basketball in the yard. The run to it. On it, something is written. It says, "Thanks for keeping my legacy alive - Greg (1986-1998)

[nine naked men]

So, I'm guessing most of you people got your Creepypastas from ED, has anyone actually read those 500ish 'Keeper' stories?

[dragoonson]

New Crappypolka.

 

 

 

You grab a roasting stick and mercilessly skewer your marshmallow. As you roast, you listen to a spine-curdling, blood-tingling tale from Roger Kenny, the Roastmaster: "Way back in the annals of history," Roger begins, holding a flashlight under his chin for maximum spooooky effect, "there was a poor young man who fell in love with the daughter of a wealthy nobleman. The daughter was a beautiful young lady, but a little strange -- she always wore a green ribbon coiled tightly around her neck. But the young man loved her, even though she would never take the ribbon off..."

 

 

 

"She never took it off? It must have smelled like a zmobie's gym socks!" a fellow roaster says.

 

 

 

"Well, it did," Roger continues, "in fact, many speculate that it was once a white ribbon. Any way, they got married, and on their wedding night the young man went to undress his bride, but when he went to take off the green ribbon, she backed away. 'You must never take it off,' she said, but he wouldn't listen. He grabbed the ribbon and pulled, spinning his young bride around like a top. And when the ribbon came off..."

 

 

 

"Let me guess..."

 

 

 

"She had a fairly comical birthmark underneath! It was shaped exactly like one of the more unfortunately-named constellations. All her life, she would rather die than have people tell her 'there's a pork sword on your neck. Want another one?'"

 

 

 

"Well, that's fairly anticlimactic," your fellow roaster says.

 

 

 

"Ah, but what happened next is the important part. The young man began to laugh, and laughed so hard he doubled over, and he fell on the floor beneath the noblewoman's family crest, and as he pounded the wall the crest fell on him, and its crossed swords barely nicked his face. Oh, and also cut his head clean off." Roger pauses, so as to avoid a paragraph break, and continues, "his head went rolling across the room, wailing, as his young bride wept and said 'I told you not to take it off!' And some say to this day the ghost of that young man's head still haunts us. They call him Nearly Nickless Head."

 

 

 

Man, that was a spooky story. You feel ice water run through your veins as you contemplate the Rube Goldberg-esque machinations of Death.

[Jaziek]

The one or two that actually made me [cabbage] bricks that were on ED have gone (woooooooooo creeeeeepy). Oh well.

[flying_death_bombs55]

[hide=]

New Crappypolka.

 

 

 

You grab a roasting stick and mercilessly skewer your marshmallow. As you roast, you listen to a spine-curdling, blood-tingling tale from Roger Kenny, the Roastmaster: "Way back in the annals of history," Roger begins, holding a flashlight under his chin for maximum spooooky effect, "there was a poor young man who fell in love with the daughter of a wealthy nobleman. The daughter was a beautiful young lady, but a little strange -- she always wore a green ribbon coiled tightly around her neck. But the young man loved her, even though she would never take the ribbon off..."

 

 

 

"She never took it off? It must have smelled like a zmobie's gym socks!" a fellow roaster says.

 

 

 

"Well, it did," Roger continues, "in fact, many speculate that it was once a white ribbon. Any way, they got married, and on their wedding night the young man went to undress his bride, but when he went to take off the green ribbon, she backed away. 'You must never take it off,' she said, but he wouldn't listen. He grabbed the ribbon and pulled, spinning his young bride around like a top. And when the ribbon came off..."

 

 

 

"Let me guess..."

 

 

 

 

 

"She had a fairly comical birthmark underneath! It was shaped exactly like one of the more unfortunately-named constellations. All her life, she would rather die than have people tell her 'there's a pork sword on your neck. Want another one?'"

 

 

 

"Well, that's fairly anticlimactic," your fellow roaster says.

 

 

 

"Ah, but what happened next is the important part. The young man began to laugh, and laughed so hard he doubled over, and he fell on the floor beneath the noblewoman's family crest, and as he pounded the wall the crest fell on him, and its crossed swords barely nicked his face. Oh, and also cut his head clean off." Roger pauses, so as to avoid a paragraph break, and continues, "his head went rolling across the room, wailing, as his young bride wept and said 'I told you not to take it off!' And some say to this day the ghost of that young man's head still haunts us. They call him Nearly Nickless Head."

 

 

 

Man, that was a spooky story. You feel ice water run through your veins as you contemplate the Rube Goldberg-esque machinations of Death.

[/hide]

 

 

 

That one actually made me laugh.