Creepypasta: The Blackout Curtain

It was a very long day, and an even longer night.

You went to work, freezing from the cold snap that swept into your town. The ice on the window was the first sign of the trudging effort you'd have to endure, followed by the sight of snow on the ground. An unforeseen blitzkrieg of winter at the end of a very sporadic and intense fall, the wetter times have all but guaranteed the immediate crawl of all life. The fact that the pace at work matched the creeping chill only drew out the overcast, deeply darkened skies above you. A sky so dark, in fact, that the street lights had to be turned on for the general populace to do anything at all downtown. You were sure the light across from your window would be on when you got home.

The night was no better. You were pulled out of your house by your friends, no warning, just a quick "Hey, how are you? Let's get hammered!", followed by a long evening of hopping between 4 bars, a fight, a bad gash sending one of your friends to the hospital, and you ending the night by drunkenly walking home during the darkest night of snow and ice you've ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Your feet could barely keep you up, due to both Mother Nature deciding to make everyone suffer, as well as the levels of alcohol coursing through you. You slipped and slid along the frozen concrete, helplessly guiding yourself towards the streetlight in front of your bedroom window, the only light in your section of town for more than two blocks. A beacon in the darkness, calling you home.

But with every step, more and more traction was lost, until you were mere steps away from the light, and your footing left you entirely. You fell forward, and in the mad hope of somehow preventing yourself from getting hurt, attempted to grab the lamppost. But your fall was faster than your hands, as your head met the chilled metal. And with the force to rock the light, you glanced off to the side, and fell into unconsciousness.

The winds began to howl, as the cold brought you out of your stasis. The melted snow was now a part of your clothes, as more drifted down on top of you. With an effort and undue resistance, you brought yourself up from beside the light, and hazily made your way inside. The pain in your head, the chill of the night, the damp clothes you were wearing, and the unforeseen length of time the day brought to you is now too much, and you quickly make your way to your room.

You strip your clothes to the point nearing indecency, as you stumble through your dark house, to your room, thankful of the blackout curtains you bought to prevent the light from outside disturbing you. A notoriously light sleeper, insomnia was something you were all too aware of. Any slight disturbance, and you were wide awake. That's not to say you couldn't fall back asleep. But it is far too easy for you to wake, and the lamppost did not help matters.

You wobble through the bedroom door, drowsiness and pain dulling your movements. You can feel your legs tipping from one side to the next, and you struggle to keep moving forward. You know this room like the back of your hand, but you are thoroughly surprised when you feel your leg bang into the side of the bed. Shocked, you yelp as you fall forward, thankful that you finally found your bed, but not in the manner you wished. You rub your shin, as you throw yourself entirely onto the mattress, and tightly huddle under the blankets. You begin to warm up, and the shivering sensation begins to ease, and finally fade. And you begin to fall into sleep.

A heavy, steady sound by your window pulls you out of your sleep. Muffled, and very loud, you can make out the sound of someone breathing. Close, and possibly very large, the labored breaths are like a dagger in your skull. In a moment of respite from the cold and the pain you are currently feeling, whoever was outside your window was disturbing you. A burglar, you think to yourself, or some homeless person looking for a place to squat for the night. All you want is sleep, and the person is preventing that from happening. You know you have to get rid of him.

"I have a gun", you loudly proclaim, "And I'm not afraid of using it! Now go away!"

The breathing quickly stops, and you're sure that whoever was there is gone. So you close your eyes, and fall back to sleep.

The sound of heavy, muffled breathing pulls you back from your sleep. You can feel your temples throb, as the frustration begins to mount. The entire day is taking it's toll on you, and all you crave is sleep. You shuffle on your bed, attempting to block the noise from disturbing you further. You toss and turn, you cover your head with the blankets, the pillows, your hands, but the loud breaths continue. You become more adamant in your goal of sleep.

"GET LOST! I NEED TO FUCKING SLEEP, AND I DON'T WANT YOU IN HERE! NOW GO, BEFORE I SHOOT YOUR FUCKING ASS!", you scream.

Like before, the breathing quickly stops, and your anger begins to subside. You feel the cold on your face, and you quickly become comfortable, and fall quickly into slumber. You are just happy to finally get some peace and quiet.

The sound of the wind wakes you, strong and loud across the roof. You finally begin to lose your temper, growling in obvious contempt, and you know you won't get sleep tonight. You curse your luck, and wish the night would just end.

Then you hear it. The sound of someone breathing, muffled and heavy. You flip yourself over, prepared to scream at the person who keeps leering at you through your curtain, and disturbing your sleep for the last time. You climb onto your knees, kneeling in front of your window, and quickly grab for your curtain, planning on flinging it open, and telling whoever was there off for the last time.

You jab your hand forward, grabbing the cloth in front of you. And feel the thickness of whoever is in front of your window, as you grab the cold, wet clothing they are wearing, their breath closed to your ears, now uncovered from the blanket you had wrapped around yourself. And the curtain flutters in the breeze, coming from the window, long opened from before you climbed into bed.

Creepypasta: Don't Cry

    Hey, come on now! Don't cry! Don't cry! I know things are bad for you right now, and all you want is for everything to just fade away, but you know that won't happen. That's not how the world works. You were always a crybaby, and I know it's your only real way to cope with things, but you have to stop.

Do you remember when mom and dad asked you what you wanted for your birthday, more than anything in the world, when you were 8? And what did you want? A puppy. Your parents didn't think it was a good idea, so you cried and cried for almost a week. And on your birthday, what was their gift? A bicycle. So you cried and cried, until you heard some little barks, and then you saw her running from the kitchen. She was little, and yellow, and so happy to be around you. What did you call her? That's right! You called her Matilda.

The next couple of months flew by so fast, didn't they? Mom and dad started to argue, but you didn't care. You had Matilda, and that was all that really mattered. But one morning, you woke up, and Matilda wasn't there, was she? So you told your parents, and they immediately went looking for her, asking for you to trust them. And you cried and you cried, until a few days later, they found her in a ditch. And you cried and cried, until well after a week after you buried her. And you never wanted another puppy again.

Do you remember a couple years later, when daddy came to see you after the divorce, that he took you to see his new girlfriend? All the rage you felt, all the loneliness? All the deep feelings of losing something very important to you? Do you remember what you asked your mom what you should do? In her drunken candor, saying that death is the only time that loss counts as keeping someone or something, like Matilda? You spent your time in your room, crying your eyes out again. The next night, you were staying with your father, when his girlfriend tried to make nice, but she talked to your father like you were some kind of freak?

"She won't open up to me", she said. "She won't TRUST me, and I wish she would." And you cried yourself to sleep that night. And the next morning, your father's scream coming from the bathroom, and you ran to him, and all the blood that was all over the bathroom floor? Her body in the tub, alcohol and pills everywhere, her slit wrist limply hanging over the side? The shock must have been too much, because you didn't cry after that. In fact, even at the funeral you didn't cry. You seemed... at ease about it. One could say that you were even happy about her death. To be honest, it was quite a while before you cried again. High school, I believe.

Do you remember him? Johnny Whitmueller. He was such a nice kid. Football player, handsome, hard working, had bought his own car by the age of 16. He was such a catch. You'd say you were the opposite. Shy, so reserved about everything, no friends to speak of. So alone. But out of the blue, he asked you to Prom, and everyone was so shocked. Here he was, the Big Man on Campus, and he wanted to go with some nobody wallflower, instead of the Captain of the Cheerleaders. Word spread quickly. Then the rumors moved faster, didn't they?

Slut. Pity case. Skank. Wannabe welfare queen. Trailer trash. Cat lady. That one was the most preposterous. You don't really LIKE animals, now do you? All these mean, hateful little words, used to kill you from the inside out. You didn't outwardly cry, but everyone could see you wanted to. So they got worse, eventually moving to slapping you, abusing you, holding you down and cutting your hair, forcing you to wear gaudy makeup. And the teachers? They never lifted a finger. They really didn't care, considering most of the kids doing it to you were theirs. So you put up with it.

But Prom is where everything went to Hell for you, didn't it?

You were so pretty. You actually spent time taking care of yourself, and you paid attention to what was fashionable. And your nice, white dress, it looked like a wedding dress. Anyone could see that you would have been the most beautiful bride in the world. And Johnny was so handsome in his suit, perfectly tailored and looking like a model. The red corsage he placed on your white glove was so nice, the perfect splash of color. He really was your Prince Charming, wasn't he?

The event itself wasn't that spectacular, but you didn't care. Johnny was there, and he did everything correct, and he said all the right things. You hadn't even noticed they were getting ready for the coronation of the Prom Queen and King until one of the Cheerleaders reminded everybody of the nominees. You were shocked when you were announced as one of the candidates. And when it came to the announcement of who the queen was, you were evening more surprised that you had won.

Everybody cheered for you when you walked onto the stage, tears streaming down your face, your delicate makeup running slightly. But that happiness was short lived. One of the cheerleaders announced that they had a special video, and pulled a screen down, and a projection start playing. A video of some nameless cheerleader and Johnny, having sex. She egged him on, asking him why he was taking you to Prom. Your tears wouldn't stop when he said he didn't care about you, how he was only using you. You were there for his amusement, and then you would be thrown away.

He tried to tell you otherwise, but you ran away. You ran and you ran, falling down and messing up your dress. You broke the heels of your shoes, but you just threw them away and continued running home. Mom tried to ask you what happened, but you ran to your room, locked the door, and cried and cried for days afterward. There were even days when you woke up, cried, and then went back to bed, that's how much it hurt. Do you remember what I said then? I said I'd make the pain, and all the things associated with it go away. You just had to trust me.

Do you remember how Johnny died? How, drunken and with some girl all over him, he rolled his car into a ravine and killed the both of them? That's not necessarily my fault, but the alcohol was. Do you remember your daddy's girlfriend? Well, not the alcohol and pills, but the wrists were mine. As for Matilda, I felt I would lose you if you learned about responsibility. I couldn't have that. Just like I can't have you crying right now.

Shhhh, shh. Don't cry, alright? Just let the feeling wash over you. Just relax. It's just something in your milk I put in for you. So please, don't cry, okay? You know I don't want to see you cry. Just like I don't want to lose you.

Mommy doesn't want to lose her precious, delicate little girl.

Creepypasta: Mr. Dark and Mrs. Red

    A boy lived in a haunted house. Every night, he would be disturbed by the screaming and yelling that occurred below him, and he would sit on the stairs before the front door, and cry. Every time he closed his eyes in the empty room he called his own, he could feel the sensation of being shaken, and hear the muffled shouting of a man. He would jolt aware time and again, and stay awake every night. Whenever he thought about closing his eyes, he would shake, as if going into a seizure. He hated feeling it. And he hated the feeling of being alone, wishing that his mother and father would come home soon.

When the screaming would finally die off, he could hear the sound of his door opening, and a woman, surrounded by a red haze would enter his room, hover for a minute, sobbing uncontrollably, and then disappear. The boy never knew what to call her, so he called the woman in the red mists Mrs. Red. It was apparent to him that she cried because of the other person in his home that mainly resided downstairs, and every night that she came, he wished, as hard as anyone can wish, that he could at least hug her, and tell her it would be okay. But he could never get the courage to talk to her.

He would wait a few minutes after Mrs. Red left, and then head back to the stairs, to stare into the living room where the TV would be on every night. A man in white mists, called Mr. Dark because he only appeared in darkness and while the TV was on, sat in a chair, never moving, never speaking. The boy would watch him for hours, until the TV would turn back off, and Mr. Dark would disappear. Every night, the boy could see Mr. Dark's anger, but he could also see something greater beyond it: sadness. The boy could tell Mr. Dark was sad, like his heart had been broken, and no one could help him repair it. So the boy would silently cry for Mr. Dark, and knew that his words to Mrs. Red was pain instead of anger, but the both of them responded as if it was. And that made the boy even lonelier.

Eventually, the morning would come, and the boy would stand up, wipe his eyes, and proceed to leave. Every day, he promised himself he would find someone to help him, leave forever, and never come back. He would fling open the door, rush outside, and make straight for the woods. He had been through them many times, and knew all the landmarks. Tiller's Creek. The Tadpole Whirls. The half charred tree that was felled by lightning. He knew the backwoods path to get to the city and the police station. But every time he reached the tree, like clockwork, he would grow very tired, lay beside the charred tree, and fall asleep. And like clockwork, every time he would wake up, it would be near dark, and the fear of what was in the woods would force him to hurry home.

Home to the empty house, with Mr. Dark and Mrs. Red.

And every night, he could hear the screaming and yelling, and all he could do was sit on the stairs, and cry.

One night, the screaming was incredibly powerful, and the words being yelled were despairingly painful. And then he heard something he had never heard before: Mrs. Red was fighting back. She screamed that if Mr. Dark hadn't dared treat he like he actually loved her, then maybe they both wouldn't have been hurt so badly. Mr. Dark railed back that she's truly at fault, but Mrs. Red would have none of it. Her words became more spiteful, and Mr. Dark's became more pitiful, until without notice, the house became quiet.

Usually, when the house became quiet, Mrs. Red would appear in the boy's room, cry, and then disappear. But that night, the boy waited and waited, but Mrs. Red didn't come. He opened his door, called out to her, peeked his head into the hallway, but she wouldn't appear. He checked downstairs, and saw that the TV was off, but Mr. Dark was sitting in the living room. All alone. Crying. And the boy didn't know what to do, so he sat down on the stairs, and cried with Mr. Dark.

For a long while, the boy would attempt his escape, fall asleep, return, and spend the rest of the night crying on the stairs with Mr. Dark. For a long while, he promised he would leave and never return, and come back. For a long while, he would see the pain that Mr. Dark felt, and feel it too. And for a long while, he would wish as hard as anyone could for his parents to come home. And he would close his eyes, go into a slight fit, hear the muffled shouting in his ears, and bring himself back to awareness. But every day he would return, and every night his parents never came home. And every night, he became lonelier still.

Then one day, he flung open his door and ran for the backwoods. He didn't promise himself anything, and he decided to just get as far away as he could. No Mr. Dark. No Mrs. Red. No more loneliness, or screaming, or crying. Just get as far as possible, and to not look back.

He reached Tiller's Creek, and stopped to catch his breath. He felt his head starting to turn back towards the house, but he refused to and began to run again.

He reached the Tadpole Whirls and collapsed on the bank. He stared at the swirling water, and followed it's movement down the stream. When he realized that he was starting to look back at the house, he twisted his neck with a loud, thick pop, stood up, and began running again.

He reached the charred tree, and fell into it very heavily. His head met the wood, and he became unconscious. He felt great pain, and he could see the outlines of a man in darkness, reaching for him, and screaming with great urgency. There was something familiar about him, but the boy's vision was greatly impaired. He could tell there was something important in what the man was saying, but his screaming was so muffled that he couldn't make out one word. He turned to look at the man, but the boy's sight lolled to the side, and he could see a woman outlined in red, rushing towards the two of them. And then darkness.

The boy woke up in the forest, and it was well past nightfall. The boy scrambled to his feet, and ran towards the sound of running water. He quickly reached the Tadpole Whirls, and collapsed at the bank. His ragged breathing from fear and sprinting quickly caught in his throat when he saw the pools frozen still. He looked down the stream, not one thing moving, not even the water, and the boy became even more scared. He ran towards Tiller's Creek, the lack of sound deafening him, and causing him to shake uncontrollably. He had to get home. He had to get to his empty, lonely home.

When he broke through the forest, he made a made dash for the door. He grabbed the knob, flung it open, and was greeted with absolute darkness. No TV, no lights, no furniture, no Mr. Dark. Now the boy was truly and utterly alone. He ran from room to room, calling for the two figures he had spent so much time with. But both Mrs. Red and Mr. Dark were gone. Just like his parents.

So the lonely boy went to the stairs that he tripped and fell down many years ago, breaking his neck in front of his father as he got home, sat down, and began to cry. Wishing as hard as anyone can wish that his parents would come home soon.

Creepypasta: Please, Let Me In!

Today's my 30th birthday. I don't give a damn about it, just like my parents. It's just another day in this crappy little town. In fact, I don't give a damn about anything, really. I never have. I spend my days going to work at a local supermarket, maybe buying a book or two, going home, going online and going to sleep. That's it. My home is barely furnished: one office chair, one bed, one desk, one table (with four chairs "because you never KNOW who might come to visit!" as my dad put it). Other than that, there's nothing really special about where I'm at.

It's funny. This year I actually wanted to do something to celebrate (like a movie or going out to eat), but my parents shot me down last week. Said they were heading to California for a vacation. It's odd they actually wanted to go somewhere, but it's not unnatural, I guess. People get tired of being in the same place all year, every day. I didn't push the matter, and told them to not have too much fun. "That's not the point of this trip!" Mom told me. "This is just as much business as pleasure, right dear?" I could hear my parents getting amorous over the phone, and made a hasty exit before I heard other unnecessary sounds that no child should hear.

So that leads me here, in my house, alone. It's alright, I guess. Looking at the clock, I see it's 11:03. The day's almost over. No friends to speak of, no girlfriend, no distractions. Nothing to get in the way of my reading-

*knock* *knock* *knock*

"Who is it?"

"Please! Let me IN!" a distressed voice replied.

*knock knock knock*

"PLEASE! I BEG YOU! LET ME IN!"

I rushed to the door, flung it open, and there she was. She looked frightened, sweat soaking her tangled hair, disheveled dark clothes. To be honest, she looked like she was ready for a funeral or something.

"Please, may I come in?" she pleaded.

I lead her in without question. As I set her at the table, I rushed for a glass of water. She snatched it out of my hand like a dying man in the desert, and drank it like she had not had it in years. When she finished, her eyes rolled, a contented smile crossed her face. She came back to focus on me, pleased that I responded.

"Now that your composure has come back, what's the problem?" I asked her.

She sank into herself a bit, and became nervous.

"Don't worry, nothing bad will happen!"

"The Devil..." she muttered.

"What?"

"The Devil is after me."

"The Devil. Is after you..." I snorted .

"DON'T LAUGH! HE'S REAL, and I escaped him!" she rose in anger, tears starting to flow from her eyes. "I know it's preposterous, but I fled from him. I fled from HELL ITSELF! I didn't deserve to go there, and YET-" She slumped to the floor, bawling like a child that lost it's parents.

Stunned by her reaction, I didn't know what to say.

"I guess... I guess you could stay here until we figure something out." I said, making sure to make a note to call the Department of Human Services about getting her evaluated. She looked at me, eyes wide, and sprung in for a hug.

"THANK YOU! THANK YOU-"

*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

Any joy she had dropped from her face. Her eyes went from happy to terrified, and she started trembling badly.

"HE'S HERE! HE'S HERE! I FEEL HIM!" she screamed.

"That can't be him. He's not real-"

"HE'S HERE! HE'S HERE! HE'S HERE! HE'S HERE!" She gripped me tighter than before. "DON'T ANSWER HIM! PLEASE! DON'T ANSWER HIM! PLEASE! PLEASE!"

I gently removed her from me, and worked up my nerve.

"Who's there?"

Silence.

"Tell me who's there. I won't open the door until you respond."

*KNOCK knock knock KNOCK knock KNOCK KNOCK*

The "Two bits" gag. My dad's signature knocking sequence (heavy, followed by the gag).

"It's my dad! Guess they're back from vacation..." I said as I strode to the door. My companion remained quiet.

"Hey, dad! Welcome ba-"

The man on the other side of the door was not my father. He was tall, but thin. A full head of hair, clean shaven, in a nice black suit. His eyes were piercing, like he knew exactly what everyone was going to do, and use it to his advantage.

"May I come in?", a smile crossing his face.

"Who are you?" I was confused. My father was the only man I knew who used that knock, and here was this guy, dressed too nicely for this town, staring at me like a piece of meat.

"I'm just as your friend said." he motioned his head. "So do me a favor? Invite me in, so I can claim what's mine."

"You have to be invited? If you ARE the Devil, then what are you here to claim? Her? No chance." I was confident that he would give up this ruse eventually, so I had to hold out.

"Oh, dear boy." he chuckled. "I'm not here for her! I'm here for YOU!"

I didn't know why, but my stomach dropped. ME?! Why me?!

"30 years ago today, your parents gave birth to you. 6 months prior to that, they found out they were having a child. You see, they desperately didn't want one. They considered all their options: abuse, alcohol, drugs, abortion. But when they reached their lowest point, I came to them." His eyes drew more into mine, and the fear grew.

"I offered them an out. You see, they wanted what most people want: fame, money, beauty, youth. Well, my offer was this: raise your child in one major sin, and on his 30th birthday, I can claim him and you get what you want! I am, after all, a fair man. So here I am, with you, and they are at their place, starting a new life..."

Raise me in one sin? I don't know what the hell he's talking about, but I know I've never committed any sins!

"And what one sin would that be?" I asked.

"Oh, just the one sin that is based in ignorance and distrust more than any other. You have no friends, technically no family, you do nothing with your life, you don't care for anything or anyone around you...."

It suddenly clicked in my head.

"Apathy, also called Sloth."

"And here I thought you didn't CARE..." he chided.

The comment hurt me. The fact that he was saying my parents purposefully raised me like that left me confused and upset.

"Speaking of caring, what did you do to my parents?" I questioned.

"Gave them what they wanted. You're mother is going to be the most depraved person since the Marquis de Sade! Anyone and anyTHING that makes her happy, she'll use and abuse until she's bored with it. Too bad it's going to be a short life, since her now drug running husband will get jealous and kill her and every person she uses for her pleasure. They're going to be FAMOUS, just... not for the reason they expected!" His smile grew bigger. "I AM fair, after all..."

This man is insane. There's no way the Devil exists. If he WAS the Devil, then all I had to do was wait him out. I glanced at the clock.

"11: 59. So, may I come in? Do answer quickly."

I smiled. His gambit was a wash. All I had to do was wait him out, and he would leave me alone.

"Of course you may come in!"

My eyes widened. I quickly turned to look at my guest, standing prim and proper. She straightened herself, smiling at the man who just entered my home.

"You don't realize how much this pleases me!" the man said!

My heart dropped.

"Why? Why did you let him in?! I thought you were AFRAID of him?!"

"Who? MARY?! Why would she be afraid of me?" He started.

She cuddled up to him, eyes closed. I realized why she came first before she even said it. I realized it when I saw the ring I hadn't seen before on her finger.

"After all, he IS my husband! And it's not nice to keep a husband and wife apart!"

Creepypasta: Companions

    A man was alone on his deathbed, surrounded by the demons that haunted him his entire life. They smiled down at him, never blinking, never faltering. Staring down, at a life they watched for all of his existence. He never really knew pain or joy, suffering and triumph. A blase life of mediocrity and unfulfilled potential. No children, no wife. All attempts at joy, negated entirely by the presence of these things watching him. Never staring at anything else but him.

"Why do you exist?" he asked them.

"We exist because YOU exist. You are our reason for being, just as our reason will be yours. We have watched you since your life began, and we will watch until you are passed on. Your entire life has been filled by us." The demons each taking a part, multitonal and of different projections, saturated in a sense of loving and dread.

The man, ragged breaths labored in pain and struggle, were drawn into his frail existence.

"So when I tried to ask Sarah Dermon out back in the 5th Grade..."

The demons tilted there heads in the same angle, at the same time. Shadows covering their faces, except for the same blank white eyes, no pupils, and seemingly separate from their heads entirely.

"You had no need for her. We were all you needed. We are your mother and your father. We are your lover and your child. As we have told you, your entire life has been filled by us."

The man saw the deep affection the demons had for him, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. Did these things truly love him? Were these things toying with him? Why, out of all of these years of loneliness, desperation, separation and agony, did these things finally come to him, and tell him all this? He didn't know, and as his eyes and body began to grow heavy, didn't care.

"I had no children because of you? I had no real LIFE because of you? I couldn't BE SOMEONE because of YOU?! WHY?! WHY TELL ME THIS NOW?! IF YOU LOVED ME, THEN I WOULD HAVE BEEN MARRIED! BEEN A FATHER!BEEN LOVED!"

"But you were loved. We love you. We have, and always will, love you. You are growing tired. Rest now. And let our love put you at ease."

The machines to monitor the man's vitals were beginning to go haywire, beeping and buzzing loudly. The man trained his eyes on the things by his bed, fighting the urge to be drug into an uneasy slumber. The things closed their seemingly lidless eyes, one being at a time, until only one remained. This one, darkest shadows with the brightest white eyes, stared at him so deeply, that he could not help but feel that it was looking directly into his soul. Disturbing, but with a sense of peace in knowing that it cared for him.

The man knew at that moment that this thing truly cared for him. He knew this thing, whatever it was, wanted him to know that it loved him. And all it wanted was for him to be at peace. So, with one last release, the man closed his eyes, and slept.

Then the man woke up.

He was in a room full of children, freshly born, swathed and cared for. He looked at all the demons before him, and saw that they stared back at him. And slowly they turned towards a child, laying in her place. They all made room for their newest and urged him to look at her. The man did not know why they wanted him to look. He thought he should get someone, a nurse, a doctor, a parent, ANY ONE. He knew that these things had an intention that was alien to know. But he knew he had to find it, and he knew it laid with the child.

So, with care and trepidation, he took the spot he was urged, looking at the others around him, and carefully turned his head towards the child.

All at once, he realized why they wanted him to look at her. She was small, so delicate, so hopeful. She was all potential that was ever available. She was to be loved, admired, adored. She was to be something to someone, and everything to everyone. She was to be, and that was what her purpose in life was. The man, looked at the child, smiled, and knew that his love was the only thing she was going to know.

The child stared up at the shadowed figures as their obscured faces seem to contort into what passed for a smile, their eyes bright white and deeply turned on her. They all tilted their heads at the exact same time, in the exact same angle.

They all knew, in the same exact thought, what their purpose was. To have her know their love. To be her love. And to have her grow in their grace, and share their love with another. For that is what love is truly about. And it's what they wanted. For they were her companions.

Creepypasta: Strobes

    Loneliness is a crippling dilemma. Especially for an insomniac. Many years ago, when my brother was getting married, he told me how, during a long period of insomnia, he learned from a man a technique to find out the one being with whom he was meant to be with. We had some drinks with a few of our friends, and when everyone else had passed out in the middle of the night, he told me exactly what to do.

He said it should be done on the darkest night of the year, in the darkest, quietest room of a house. So maybe blacking out windows, and muffling noises might be in order. In order to prepare for the event, you have to have been awake for at least 4 or more days in a row, no sleep, no rest, almost no food. Rest yourself on a bed or a couch when you're ready, and turn on a very soft, very weak source of light. Then stare at the ceiling. He said the ceiling was best because it was "the way all things look", as he was taught.

As you stare at the ceiling, the light will slowly start to ripple, like a strobe. First, a vague outline takes shape, humanoid in appearance, but clearly present. Don't blink or turn away, he said, for that prevents you from making things take shape. As the rippling effect picks up speed, the figure will become more detailed. By this point, your eyes should be starting to ache, but you have to resist the sensation until you complete filling in the details. Certain details like eyes, nose, mouth and ears should begin to take shape and color, as well as the type of build they would have. By this point, your eyes should be in serious pain, for you are breaking a semblance of time and space for this knowledge. DO NOT turn your eyes away or blink. Or it will be for naught.

Then, he said, the figure of the person before you will be able to see you. It's not uncommon for it to reach out to you, to try and touch you. DO NOT DO THIS. If you do, you're bridging your time and space with theirs, and by that point, you will vanish from reality altogether. Continue staring at the figure, until it looks exactly like a person is in the room with you. By this point, your eyes will be beyond the normal threshold, and will try to close themselves on you. RESIST DOING THIS, for you have one more thing to do. If you can resist, you will then be able to ask this form 3 questions.

Who are you?

Where will we meet?

When will we be together for all eternity?

Ask any other questions than these, and there will be a flash so bright, your sight will be taken, and a clap so loud, you shall no longer be able to hear a thing. And worst of all, this one chance at connection will be lost for all eternity. But if you are successful, the bridge shall be completed, and the figure shall slowly fade from above you. And you will be able to go on with your life, with the comfort of knowing your destined meeting.

But he also warned me about something else. The process only really works because of what lies in your heart. Lust, anger, greed, hatred, jealousy, or any other form of wickedness, and the effect will prove disastrous. "Love can only be truly attained with a pure heart," he pleaded, "and any other desire outside of the pure will call something other than what you intended. If this does happen, then look away before it fully takes shape. If it takes form, then you will belong to it, and it can claim you. It's for THAT REASON ALONE that I ask you to not do what I did."

"I was lucky", he said. "Very, VERY few are."

Like I said, it's been many years since he said that. My last girlfriend dumped my a year and a half ago, and the loneliness has been gnawing at me since then. So I'm going through with it. It took me a week or two to prepare, but I'm ready now. As I'm writing this, the bottle of Scotch to get me ready for this is almost empty, and if I fail, then I'm going to kill myself immediately afterwards. If I'm going to be alone, then I'm going OUT alone as well. No point in wasting time, huh?

Pray that I succeed. I'm... I'm just so SCARED of being alone.

Creepypasta: Streaks

    The weather has been off lately. It's the middle of Summer, and it still feels like March. Cold fronts have dominated the weather patterns, and it's been nothing but rain for the past 3 weeks. You don't mind the rain, but it keeps pouring and pouring, leaving little else to your eyes and ears. Especially at night, when the rain makes everything colder and more still than before. But you can put up with it. You have to. Warmth is coming, you know it.

Warmth. Warm. Your bed is warm, you say to yourself. You pick yourself up, turn off the lights, and climb into bed. Your close your eyes, dreaming of the sunny days sure to come.

You look out of your window that's right beside the bed, and see that the rain hasn't let up yet. You don't mind it. In fact, you pay close attention to the rain, falling onto your roof.

Tap. Tap. Tap. A pattern of sounding taps that create a sea of sound above and around you.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Awash in your warm bed, you sink further and further into sleep.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Nothing can pull you away from your bed, now.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A loud burst of thunder peals through the sky, and shakes your house. Your awake, startled by the thunder that jostled you from your sleep. Just thunder, you say. Just thunder. You climb out of bed, a little thirsty from sleeping in your warm bed. You head to the kitchen for something to drink. You go to the sink, pull a glass from the cupboard, and get some water. A contrasting coolness to your warm bed. You rinse your glass and look at the rain falling to the ground. Condensation has started creeping up the windows. You stare at the misty glass, surprised at how chilly it is in the middle of the warmest period of the year.

That's when you see the condensation crawl turn into a pattern before you. It works around some curves, long and narrow, creeping into a figure: a hand. The misty glass has revealed a hand print in the window. It's not unnatural for someone's hand to show up, you think. It's just someone's hand, after all. Maybe someone passed by the house when you were asleep. It's not the safest place in the world, but it's safe enough.

The mist continues crawling across the window, and you see that whoever did this left more than his hand streaked on your window. Words slowly form, and the condensation reveals the message.

IT'S SO COLD OUTSIDE

You stare at the window. Is there someone outside right now? You glance around, trying to see if there's someone trying to make their escape. A stupid prank, you think. Some kids passing by the house, thinking they can fuck with whoever lives there. You pay it no mind, put away your cup, and begin to walk to the bathroom.

The chill of the night starts to settle in, and you can hear the rain continue on your roof. Tap. Tap. Tap. Then, a soft peal of thunder, then the rain continues it's tapping. You take care of your business, and proceed to wash your hands. Drying them, you look in the mirror, thinking of what you're going to do when the summer sun comes back, and all the things you're going to do in the warm summer air. Yeah, warm. I should get back to bed, you think. Get back to sleep. It's too cold to-

It grabs your attention immediately. Even though your light is on, you see the condensation snaking across your bathroom mirror. It's cold, you think, but not THAT cold! It's shouldn't be moving this quickly! You can only stare at the misting mirror as another hand print reveals itself, longer and more narrow than the previous one. You head begins to spin as either someone is playing an elaborate prank on you, or you realize you're not alone. You stare at the mirror as it creeps past the hand, waiting for the words to appear.

"'It's so cold outside' again, right?", you say to yourself. You laugh nervously, wondering if the person is more imaginative than he first seemed. You watch as the mist reveals the message.

I'M SO COLD

That... wasn't as scary as you thought it would be. You laugh at the notion you were getting scared, and quickly brush it aside. You dry your hands, turn off the light, and make your way back to your room. As you climb into bed, you wrap yourself up and look out the window. The rain is still going strong, and you can't wait for your summer to actually begin. You listen to the rain as it's rhythm lulls you to sleep.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Your eyes start getting heavy.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The summer is about to begin.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Time to be in the warmth again.

Tap. Tap.

Mist begins crawling across your bedroom window. Right as you were on the verge of sleep, you caught sight of the mist racing across your window. Your eyes pop open as you see a hand reveal itself on the window, but this time, it's higher than the others.

It's just a prank, you say. You lay there watching in silence, the raindrops falling on deaf ears. The mist quickly begins to reveal words, and you stare as the words reveal themselves directly before your eyes.

YOUR BED IS SO WARM, written directly in front of you.

You feel a shifting on your bed, as a new weight loads itself directly behind you. You can feel something or someone wet, soaking all the heat from your body. It moves in close, placing it's head close behind yours. It's breath is cold and foul, like a bog or other body of water. It's heavy, ragged breathing is so close to yours that it feels like it's matching you on purpose. Your heart grows cold as you hear it speak to you in a raspy, gargling whisper.

YOU ARE SO WARM