Author Topic: The Scariest Story Ever (Working Title)  (Read 3270 times)

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  • Droplet
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on: 02:28:25 AM 03/18/14
This is a late entry of mine to Bogleech's 2013 Creepypasta contest and my first real attempt at Creepypasta. Hope you enjoy it!


The Scariest Story Ever (Working Title)

I think it’s a gross understatement to say that I love horror.

Ever since I first went Trick-or-Treating when I was five, the feeling of being scared gave me a rush like no other. I still remember that day, dressed as Dracula, candy bucket in one hand and my mother’s arm held tight in the other, staring wide-eyed in absolute terror at the plastic skeletons and snarling pumpkins that lined the streets. My mom told me I cried so hard the white makeup I wore ran down my shirt, but I’d still try and go farther and farther down the street. I loved being scared.

Since then I’ve been a blood-and-gore glutton. I read every Goosebumps book, poured over the works of Stephen King and devoured Lovecraft’s works like popcorn. I’ve seen countless horror movies and their sequels, no matter how cheesy or stupid they were. I’ve faced and fled from countless zombies and monsters in video games. The Haunted House attraction at my local fair was like my personal Mecca.  I’d even purposefully eat lots of chocolate before bed just so I could have the most vivid nightmares possible. My parents of course worried for my health, but after three therapists charging loads of money to tell them nothing was wrong with me, they finally gave up and let me have my fun. For me, being scared was almost an addiction.

But like all addictions, I needed more and more to satisfy my cravings, and now that I’m all grown up and out of the house, it had gotten harder and harder to top my previous horror high. Horror stories were dull. Horror movies all looked the same. What few horror games I could find that weren’t Silent Hill clones had scares that were so predictable you could set your watch to them. The Haunted House had been shut down due to numerous safety hazards, and every other Haunted House I had gone to was the same conga line of part-time teens in zombie masks popping out and going “boo”. I haven’t had a decent scare in years, so you can imagine that I’m quite frustrated.

Then I discovered something wonderful on the internet: a collection of scary stories called “Creepypasta”. I don’t know why it’s called that (some stupid 4chan in-joke or something), but it was a godsend in my hour of need. There were entire subjects and genres I never thought possible in horror, things that sounded silly on paper made terrifyingly visceral: haunted video games. Living mascot costumes. Websites that attract ghosts. Tales of ordinary folk going completely mad, making me question my own insanity sometimes. Hell, even that one about the cartoon hamburger made me stave off fast food for a week. It was a breath of fresh air in a sea of mediocrity.

It was only a breath though, and eventually I was back to square one. Like everything else, there were only a few shining gems amongst the mediocre muck. After sifting through yet another uninspired and poorly-edited tale about some pale-faced stalker whisking dumb teens away, I felt almost defeated. But perhaps, I thought, I was trying too hard. I needed some time away from terror tales- absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. So I decided to quit horror cold-turkey.

About a week or so passed before I felt the urge once more; the small but niggling itch deep in my soul that craved the adrenaline rush of screaming shadows and hungry maws. At first I was excited, but was quickly reminded of all the disappointments I had had before with my usual horror fare, and trying to find new creepypasta online just sounded exhausting.

It was at that time when my itch reached its height that I got a brilliant idea: if I can’t find something scary, I’ll make something scary!

Before I knew it, I had opened Microsoft Word and began my first scary story. I had no prior experience with writing of any sort other than school essays, but if all these teenagers online can write great horror, it couldn’t be THAT difficult.

Cracking my knuckles, I composed the title of my story:


Yeah, I couldn’t think of a good title, but I figured it’d come to me later.

Alright, here it goes; my first real horror story…

One dark and stormy night

no no no no, that’s lame. Okay…

It was a cold and lonely night

Yeah, that’s better.

It was a cold and lonely night, and he had just

actually, let’s make him a girl

It was a cold and lonely night, and she had just laid down to bed

no, even better…

she was looking at her computer, just idly surfing the web. Her friends still hadn’t texted her back. It had been almost two hours. Her husband was staying late, but even then he should have been back home by now.

That sounds good; invoke a sense of loneliness, that’s scary!

Suddenly, there was a sound to her right.

Alright, now we’re getting to the good part!

She looked over to her window

no no no, let’s make the horrible thing in her house! That’s way scarier…

She looked over at her bed, and saw the most horrifying thing ever! She saw

What did she see?

She saw

Goddammit, what did she see?

She saw

a monster

I slammed my hands on the keyboard in frustration, the remainder of my half-assed tale now a snippet of gobbledygook. I couldn’t think of anything scary!  How could this happen to me? I’m probably the most well-read person on all things terrifying! I’ve seen and read about beasts and demons the that would make H.P. Lovecraft shit his pants! Years of my life dedicated to absorbing tale after tale of fright and fear, all for naught? Have I unwillingly immunized myself to being scared?

 Maybe that was it. I’ve spent so much time trying to scare myself that I can’t get scared anymore. I need a break; a breather. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.

I’m going for a walk. There’s a nice park across the street from my house. Maybe some fresh air will take my mind off of things.

What? What’s going on? Why can’t I see anything? Why is it so quiet?

Hello? Why can’t I talk? Where am I? I can’t feel my… Oh god, I can’t feel anything at all!

What happened to me? Am I dreaming? All I can remember is crossing the street to go to the park and…

That truck.

Oh shit, that truck! It came out of nowhere! How could I have missed it?

That explains everything. I must be dead. I got hit by a truck and now I’m dead.

So is this it? This is what happens when you die? Just nothing, nothing but your thoughts in a void? No heaven or hell? Or maybe I’m not dead at all; maybe I’m just in a coma. Yeah, that’s it. I’m in a nice, safe hospital bed, and soon I’ll wake up and this’ll all be over.

But wait… what if I don’t wake up? What if I just turn into a vegetable and die? What if I wake up crippled or retarded, stuck in a wheelchair and being spoon-fed applesauce by doting nurses for the rest of my life? I don’t want to turn into some drooling vegetable! Someone, anyone! Help me! Wake me up! Get me out of here! I’m so scared!

I’m scared?

I’m scared.

Ah ha ha.

I’m scared. I’m scared. I’m so very, very, scared.

Scared. I’m scared. This is scary. Scary. Scary scary scary scared. Scared. So scary! Very scary! Very very very scary! Too spooky for me! Ah ha ha ha ha!


"How’s he holding up, doctor?"

"Amazingly well, given the circumstances. Besides the blood loss and the multiple bone fractures, he’s stuck in a deep coma. No response to stimuli whatsoever."


"Yeah, his physical injuries will heal alright, but there’s no telling when he’ll wake up, or even if he’ll wake at all."

"Y’know, I’ve seen a lot of shit here, but I can never get used to seeing coma patients. They look so… dead."

"Well, there are some things you can never get used to in this line of work. Best not to dwell on it."

"I guess you’re right. Although I will admit, this one here’s not as bad as some of the others."

"What do you mean?"

"Well for one thing… he’s smiling."


  • Droplet
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on: 11:20:45 AM 06/15/15
This is a masterpiece. I don't think I've ever seen a nicer creepypasta about making creepypasta.
Why must everything be like it is?
Why can it not be different?
Why is it not how I want it?
Now... It is.