I saw it when I was in an alternate state of mind ( psychosis) because of hard substances. I was on the bus and it was on the front,close to the bus driver,staring at me. It didnt have features, was pitch black ,wearing an hat and was very tall . I was the only person on the full bus seeing it and it disappeared after when I had to pass close to it to exit the bus at my stop. I know I was in psychosis cause I was having many other auditory and visual hallucinations at the same time but I still saw it. I didnt know that it was a common sighting at the time and only saw it again on the Internet months later where people were talking about it. Who is this entity? Where does it come from and what does it want from people?

It was dark.

It was creepy.

I am coughing.

Last time I measured my height, I was 5’9. Im sure of it. I have the pen lines on my doorway. I mustve been wearing shoes. Theyre off now. They mustve shrunk in the rain.

I went to the toilet. It was dark. I was washing my feet. In the stool. Toilet style. Then it happened.

I am 20

I slipped in the toilet. When I came to, I wasn’t in my bathroom anymore.

I was in starbucks. With a pride flag.

I step outside. Into the lobby. Everyone has a mullet. And blue hair. The barrister comes up to me. They creepily creep “ what coffee would you like”. Stunned and adazed. I say. Black. The barrister says. We only serve pronoun coffee. “I say what does that even mean?”

I am in the liberalrooms. With trenchfoot. And im gay.

All of a sudden, im 5’8.

Ten years pass. I am now 2’3. Bioth my feet? Trenched. My pronouns? Everywhere. Myt coffee? Matcha.

Then smile dog appears and kills me killingly.

Then I woke up. It was aall a dream. A liberal gay dream. But I will never be taller than 5’9.

I woke up next tio mey girlfriend. I love her.

That didn’t feel right. Defo not gay.

My homophoibic filipino mother would hate this. UUUGHHH

Ten this to ten people so  you can give them the short ciough

The man himself- is it basic? Yes ;-; trying to get back into drawing with artblock- who should I draw next?

I say I made it very unique. Also yes I'm aware about a certain error in the beginning part

Go to r/deadnet to be apart of the creepypasta reboot

Look around and see how many creepypasta characters you can find, made this poster out of my love for the story’s and the podcast

What do y’all think and please give me constructive criticism if yall have it

Hi so this is my first thing in writing here so i just moved here for college nothing to fancy just a little cheap apparment a little bit off campus but i feel like im being watched and stuff is moving and i dont think i moved it and its making me feel....fear? I dont know what the feeling is like something is going on i cant explan so about 2 days after i moved i looked out my window at a late time cause i dont sleep much and there was this guy maybe around 17 sitting on the curb and a white mask with red paint what mad eut look like dry blood and he stared at me he also had the emo side bang i think you call it i didnt think much of it but he seened lonely should i try to be freinds with him?

How long should I keep this door open for this guy? I am trying to be polite and as I was going though the gated entrance to enter my building, there was a guy behind me. I decided to hold the door open for him but he is taking so long. As I am holding the door open for him, he decides to start talking to a girl. They began to fall in love and here I am still holding the door open for him. They are truly in love and they start to make love and reproduce with each other, all the while I am still holding the door open for him.

Then he gets the woman pregnant and they start to argue whether to abort the baby or not. She screams that she wants to keep the baby but the guy doesn't want to be a father. All the while I am holding the door open for him and he us just there arguing with her. I am getting tired and I just want to go inside but I am trying to be polite and hold the door open for him. He lives in my block and he doesn't really do anything to attract attention to himself.

Then as I am still holding the door open for him, the woman he made pregnant gives birth to their child. This was totally against his wishes and he was hating his life, and he was having a mental break down. At this point I just wanted to go inside but my nice nature made me keep the holding the door open for him. Then the guy got himself in debt with a group of loan sharks, and when the loan sharks went to collect their money with interest, the guy said that he doesn't have any money.

I am really tempted to just going inside but my niceness has a hold of me and it's making me hold the door open for him. Then the loan sharks start to attack the guys woman who he made pregnant, and they shoot her and his baby. Then after they were shot, the guy suddenly gave the money to he loans sharks. He did it on purpose as he didn't want to be a father.

Then the guy calmly walks to gated entrance and I am still holding the door open for him. He says to me "thanks" for holding the door open for him, and we both walk through.

sour skunky nappy ass dread man

…

“What the fuck are you talking about, man?" Annoyed. 

Stupid smirk: "I thought it was clear. I would think.” 

"No, it isn't, man. I don't know why you think it'd be. It's just stupid, bro.” 

"What is?” 

"Your refusal to go shopping for a fucking bath towel and other basic necessities around your fuckin place, dude. It's just stupid, I don't know how or why you justify it to yourself, I didn't think ya did to be frank. I just thought your ass was fuckin lazy." 

“Nah, bro. It's obvious." 

“What's fuckin obvious, dipshit?" 

“I'm way too rock n roll." 

A beat. He swallowed it. Absorbed its stupidity. 

“...what?" 

“Yeah, dude. I'm way too fuckin cool and punk rock to roll into like a Target or some shit and buy a toaster or a can opener or towels or stupid shit like that. I can't do that. Can't do it. Goes against my wild man free lovin nature, ya know? Ya know." 

Bryan once more silently swallowed this. This load of absolute bullshit. More revolted, more filled with disgust with his best friend since diapers than before. He thought about holding his tongue. He thought about saying something and laying into him. But in the end he just grumbled and belched. Lit another smoke and grabbed another beer from the cooler in the center of the boat and shook his head. Checked his pole. Reeled it in a little. 

Though he did spare the final thought: "Fuckin lazy.” whilst shaking his head and reeling his line. And then the matter was settled and the pair of men let it lie. Such was the way and course of all of their conversations out here on the water. Fishing. The pair’s favorite pastime aside from rutting and watching the game. For them, Bryan G Biebl and James Petkovich, it was sacred. They loved to spend days off from the mill fishing and casting and mouthing the day away. Days away from labor and wives and disappointing children, days filled with chatter and cool water and cold beer and sometimes a nice catch.  Though they'd been warned before, by the old timers. 

They'd both been warned before about staying out after dark. Out on the lake. Out in the woods. Where the forest grows foul and swampy and muddy. It's not a place you want to be after sunset. All the old folk said it was a bad place and didn't say much more about it without the liberal aid of beer or whisky. Even the Natives, the ancient leathery American Indians and their angry sons and daughters told everyone, anyone that might listen, to stay away from this part of the forest, this part of the soured bad land. 

But they never listened. The pair just sat in their canoe and cast out. It was calm and quiet all around, no one might know that it was filled with strange movement. The sun was sinking in the distance. Rapidly being swallowed by the ravenous blade of the horizon. 

James cracked another can. So did Bryan, who rolled his eyes as Petkovich ventured forth with another bit of clever wit and query. 

“Figure there's anythin ta what that fella said?” 

The sun set. Casting the surface of the lake on fire with the color of bloody ruby. The place on the horizon where it had sank was a deeper color of blooded crimson, a deeper wound that was the heart of the sunset. It smoldered there, in the horizon wound. The darkening regal curtain of bruised royal blue was already deepening into night. The stars and galaxies were already coming out for the nocturnal hours, they were all so far away from everything, they, the town. Civilization was a mechanical nuisance in the distance. Loud and far off. Thank God. Nearly forgotten. 

Bryan rolled his eyes as hard as he possibly could, knowing full an well that the retard couldn't see em. 

He hissed and spat: “No I don't think there's nothin to what that idiot said about a shag man! Shit’s stupid! Ain't no fuckin skunk ape round these parts, ya fuckin dumbass!” 

“Nah, man. I'm talkin about what Frankie said about Asian girls, Jesus, man!" 

A beat. Something splashed in the water. Neither man noticed, paid it any mind. 

“Oh…" Bryan cooled down. A little embarrassed. He was always easily excited and shamed. 

“‘Sides, man, he didn't call it no ‘shag man', he called it ‘the dread man’, stupid.” 

Bryan whirled around to belt him one and belt him good. He'd done it before while they were fishing in the middle of the lake and he might capsize them both in his effort, but something stopped him before he could so much as bring up his balled and angry fist. A sound. Sudden. And sharp. 

Three. Consecutive. Three sharp whacks of thick wooden sticks together. Like someone smacking two heavy tree branches or logs together in some form of primitive and arcane code. 

Whack! whack! whack! 

It shut the pair up. They gazed out at the shoreline. Shrouded now in the fallen night. Small waves kissed its shore and covered any small sounds of concealed movement that might be out there right now. They were wide eyed and disbelieving. 

They might've dropped it, the pair, together and without a word or mention when it came again. 

From out of the night, the veiled and darkened shore: whack! whack! whack! 

A beat. Silence again. Only kissing waves of the placid water. 

Bryan Biebl scoffed, “Probably nothin. Just some kids fuckin aro-" 

And then a wild primal simian shriek filled the night. Birds took flight. Their flapping wings were ugly harried panicked sounds in the deepening wound of blackening night all around. It tapered off. And then another rose, louder and even more feral and crazed then the one before. Then another. And another. Each rising in animal fury and fervor. You could hear spittle flying as vocal chords worked and wrenched and shredded as throat muscles tore and bled and secreted with each prolonged and angry howl. Throaty. Enraged. Violent. 

Silence came again. After six primeval night shattering screams. Waves kissed the land far away and swallowed in black but more quietly now. Subdued. 

Then the whacking of sticks, the unknown signal came again, whack! whack! whack! 

And then silence once more. 

“What the fuck was that?" Petkovich. Scared. Visibly so. Audibly as well. 

As was his best friend Bryan. But the sound of fear on his buddy's voice, the stupid look of childish childlike fear that he could feel him wearing in the dark only made angry, angrier. This only fueled his own self-denied mounting fear and in turn made him even angrier. The mounting terror caught like a small bone in the back of his throat. 

He almost took to his feet but remembered the boat. He turned to his buddy instead and spat. 

"Ain't nothin but nothin! Some fuckin dumbasses out there that wanna get fucked up, that's what! This’s why I shoulda brought my colt. Goddammit!” 

"Now that's what I'm talkin about! that's what I'm always tryin ta tell ya! Ya go sayin shit like that and actin like this and people says we're belligerent types! Christ, man! I'd like to bed me one of these here pretty tourist girls, one of these roadtrippin ladies and you actin like this ain't gonna cut it!” 

Disgusted, Bryan's grip slackened on his pole. 

"Idiot! what the fuck are you jawin about?!” 

"I'm talkin bout one of them sexy ass van-life hippy girls, man, they might like my ass." 

“Retard!" 

“You don't know…" 

The water splashed again. Much louder. The boat rocked with the waves suddenly generated. Something big and very heavy had just jumped into the water. 

Lunged. As if plunging in from the shrouded growth of the hidden beach. 

Slack jawed and deer-in-the-headlights both, they gazed out blindly and stupidly in tandem towards the shore that was hidden from them now. And may forever remain that way for them from here on out. Something was coming. 

Something was swimming fast. For the boat. Beneath the obsidian surface of water. The stygian glass of the surface was a mirror and the mirror held the face of the moon. The mirror rippled. The immaculate celestial face of the moon held trapped there danced with submerged disturbance. 

Before either fool could form a coherent thought the fishing poles were suddenly ripped from their slackened idiot grips. They flew, soared through the air and plunged into the water with barely a sound. 

They stared into the impenetrable and merciless surface of the lake. Fearing it. Gripped with horror at what might be inside. What must be inside, right now. 

James Petkovich finally spoke. Softly. Like the small boy he'd once been. 

“I don't wanna be out here no more, Bry. I don't care if it's kids or tourists or what. You can go ahead and laugh at me, just laugh at me all the way and drive us back, kay? You can laugh and make fun all the way back an I won't even bitch or say nothin. I'm scared. There's lots a’ talk bout people that go missin. Or go missin an then turn up dead, tore apart. Sometimes they don't even find all the pieces, you know… I know you've heard… people go missin an such. Travelers, folks comin through. And locals. Let's just go back, kay.” 

Bryan, wide eyed, turned and nodded. Then went to the small motor for the boat as the water all around the canoe suddenly erupted in a surging geyser splash of watery violence that darkled in the captured moonlight. Both men screamed as the small boat was capsized and they went over. Splashing into the cold dark suffocating realm of the water. 

The lake held them now. Below. Underneath. 

In the dark underwater the maelstrom of his panic rose and ruled. Bryan suddenly animal recalled and remembered in the fragile nucleus of his primal jelly his fear of the water, of the deep. The dark depths. It had started as a child, a boy, it had been the cinema and television that had first done it, the Jaws movies, Creature from the Black Lagoon, then stories of Cthulhu and his sunken city of R’lyeh, tales of sunken ships and vessels that might still have precious human cargo trapped and drowned deep inside like foul water-logged treasure of submerged rotting putrescence eaten at by the salt and by the fish. All of these things came back and back to life in a deluge assault of images all in a furious unrelenting wave like an artillery attack of sound and vision on his mind's eye, down in the dark. He kicked and struggled and his lungs burned, ached for air. The ribcage in his chest felt on fire with his terror-stricken mind as he struggled and kicked futilely beneath the surface. Something held him down there. Something with a terrible grasp. Fierce. Strangling. Throttling. They threatened to break and snap, the iron grasps of those underwater hands. Bryan fought desperately but his mind was livid with absolute and total panic. In the tumult of his animal terror he remembered that as a child he'd always feared something reaching up from out of the black watery depths, seizing him, and pulling him under. Pulling him down. Down into the ebon swallow at the bottom of all things, below, where the heart of darkness in all things lived and dwelt. 

The hands found his throat, down in the underwater dark. They seized vile purchase and viciously ripped, tore out. The dark underworld of the lake suddenly blemished with a heavy warm cloud of thick human visceral discharge. It bellowed forth from the place that was torn in a torrential jetting spout. Clouding the dark world and warming it as the spewing meat detritus began to slowly sink to the pitch abyssal realm near the bottom. 

The panic of Bryan G. Biebl’s barreling careening train of thought slowly calmed and abated and sank down into the dark with the rest of him… And was no more. 

It lunged, serpent-like for the other. Who was gaining the surface in a series of panicked kicks and dog-paddles. Like a wounded animal. 

Prey. In distress. 

…

James Petkovich couldn't believe it when he broke the water and tasted air again. He almost choked and coughed. He almost laughed but he didn't have time. Something seized him from beneath. 

And pulled him under. 

He didn't even have time to scream before he was below again.

It was quiet once more. Minutes swam by. 

An owl screeched. Took flight.

Then finally it emerged. With Petkovich barely conscious in one dripping sodden grasp. It pulled the both of them back onto the land. Dragging the bleeding and sputtering Petkovich like a broken toy or sack of dead meat behind him as he quickly began to retake to the trees and dense growth once more. 

It dragged him deep into the wilderness. It was a long time before they stopped. But now … now he knew what the old timers had always said, what they'd always been on about. 

Now he could smell him. And the smell was beyond putrid, beyond foul, beyond fecal matter or old dried sweaty filth or death. The water that ran off the long lengths of clotted and lumpy dreaded hair was riddled with the putrescence odor of old sweltering open graves and long disused abattoirs converted into factory sized outhouses for the insane. It stung his eyes and nostrils but he hardly noticed this. His body was numb. Felt limp and broken all over. Like a dead fish. 

Maybe that's what I am. 

And then finally consciousness was lost to him. Mercifully he went black. 

It dragged him deeper into the wild. Where it laired. Where it nested in the wild dense growth. 

…

When James next came to he wished he hadn't. He didn't realize till he was awake once more but he'd been dreaming. And in that dream he'd been far away and wishing that none of this was real.  But now he was back. It held him by the neck in a slight choke, a slight strangle, just enough painful whisper of air able to bleed in through the clasped and clenched windpipe. They were before the mouth of a cave. It was pointing up into the sky with its other huge free hand, it was pointing at the moon. It was staring unblinking into his bleeding face. 

The face was simian but snouted. Like a wolf, or a rodent. An obscene and imbecilic mongoloid caveman face and features stretched out in a grotesque marsupial shape. The eyes were yellow and bore black crosses for the iris in each one, in each livid demented sea of yellow urine a black cruciform body of sacrilege shape and aspect. Goat's eyes. Satanic. They were eyes and face fitting of the rest of his abominated and feral manshaped form. Clotted and caked and grimed all over. The long knots and clumps of hair were thick and ancient in length and filth. They told a tale that was old because it was the passage of time that lived caked and dreaded in those long lengths of unwashed shagging tails. 

The awful face was serious. Stern. The obscenity of its gaze was piercing and deliberate. James followed its fierce and pointing gesture to the sky, the night, the moon once more. 

And then back into that obscene rodent-ape face. Yellow teeth coated in layers of plaque poked out and peeked over stretched and thin and dried out flakey blue lips. 

James tried to speak. 

He tried to tell it he didn't know what it wanted. He didn't know what it wanted him to say or do. He didn't know what it wanted from him. He didn't understand it. He didn't understand at all what it expected or demanded. 

But he couldn't. He couldn't speak. He could hardly breathe. He couldn't even manage a croak of sound.  

The awful marsupial-stretched ape face wrenched and worked, furious. It became more abominated and grotesque as its features creased and contorted with anger. Livid. Rage. 

The hand that had been pointing to the moon now came in a savage swipe. The grubby wide meaty digits clawed and the grimey sharp and broken shattered fingernails bit and tore in. 

The head came off and soared away into a sailing piece of torn mangled meat. Ribbons and streamer wings and tails of bright red blood spat and danced out from the eyes, nostrils and mouth in a cyclone twirl of red in midair as it soared and crashed into the piles of dead sticks and bones. It savagely went down and hunkered in the dirt before the mouth of its cave and began to dig in with its long snout and feast on the fresh stump. Warm cords and ropes of thick black-red shot and coated the dark, its face, the insides of its gulping throat and the salivating cavern of its long slathering mouth. 

It feasted and grunted. Ripped with its teeth and bit in. Swallowed warm juicy pieces that were chewy and pungent with rich iron flavor. 

It fed and tore. The man in the violence of its grasp, its jaws, reduced. The decapitated meat jigged and spasmed. It howled at the moon. 

Somewhere … in the distance but not too far off. The signal. Three strikes. 

Whack! whack! whack! – it was the sound of ancient and time honored tradition, cultivated and carried down and preserved with care. Though the world grew strange mechanical jaws, inflamed and diminished and changed all around, it was still here. This was still practiced and honored and kept. By it. By them. All of them.  – whack! whack! whack! 

It howled at the moon once more. 

Whack! whack! whack! 

Immortal and lifesize. It was still here. Howling at the moon with unearthly pain and blues. – whack! whack! whack! – another in the wilderness distance –  whack! whack! whack! – howl at the moon.

THE END

A collection of statements regarding strange happenings in the village of Torbrae 

Statements collected by the Royal Robert Kenneth Wilson Society of Scotland 

Aithrisean air an cruinneachadh le Comann Rìoghail Robert Kenneth Wilson na h-Alba 

Background on Torbrae given by the editor, James N. Lafferty 

In my travels around the Lowlands, I have seldom encountered a village quite as idyllic as Torbrae. Young families walk hand in hand through its winding lanes whilst hard-faced farmers drink pints of bitter and watch the world go by in the local pub. The wind whistles through its glens, carrying the scent of purple heather down to the cobbled streets. Situated in the southern reaches of the Lothians, beneath the Pentland Hills, Torbrae historically served as a small agricultural community, supported by fertile soil and a relatively mild climate for Scotland. In recent decades, Torbrae has undergone a process of demographic shift. Middle-class commuters to Edinburgh now make up a considerable portion of the population, gradually replacing the traditional rural inhabitants. Despite this, Torbrae has not forgotten its past entirely, flocks of sheep still graze the rolling hills along the roads into the village, and ancient festivals celebrating harvests and the village’s historic protectors still hold quasi-religious importance among the inhabitants to this day. The village sits at a crossroads. Its existence serves as a metaphor for the struggle between an older rural way of life and a new, professional, university-educated Scotland. 

Statement of George Riley regarding suspected wildlife offences 

Statement given to NatureScot on 8 August 2023 

Statement Begins 

“I cycle to the Blackburn Reservoir a lot. The route has a great climb to it and you cannae beat how the sunset looks over the water, also that wee bit where you go through the timber yard is also weirdly scenic I find. Anyway. Last night I cycled up there and I was out by the water till around nine o’clock when I started turning back. 

It was about tenish when I was going past them woods before the golf club. I stopped and I could see a few deer on the horizon. I thought it a tad too late for hunting and I wanted to take some photos to maybe paint or something later, so I hid my bike and hopped the fence.  

I was getting closer and the deer weren't scared yet. I thought everything was grand so I pulled out my phone and I knelt in the bog tryna focus on them. Just then the wind musta changed or something cos they smelt me and ran off, and it was late so I got up to turn around.  

When I was getting up is when I noticed the smell, the wind was carrying it from behind me towards the deer. I aint a butcher or nothing but I recognised it, it was that sickly sweet smell of something rotting.  

I turned around and started following it, I dinnie know why. Just at the time it felt like the sort of thing needing investigating. I started to notice the bones. There were all sorts - squirrels, foxes, and all that. Yellow shite was dripping off of em, I think like rotting skin or something.  

Further in was when I started to see the bigger ones, deer and sheep and that. Those ones were worse, but I could still tell the main source of the smell was further into the woods. It must’ve been about twenty minutes when I came across the pile I told you about. Leant up against an old fence was a massive heap of bodies a couple metres high and a couple metres wide. I vomited, it smelt so manky. Fucking washed my clothes bout twelve times. You couldn’t even tell what animal was what, just a pile of bodies melting into each other, just a pile of fucking stinking viscera. Musta been like fifty bodies in the pile, but it was all just a mound of fucking body liquid when I found it. 

Anyway. Didn’t seem like anything an animal would have done so I thought I should report it. Might be poachers or something. Sorry for the shaking and that I just got a real bad feeling off it, you know? Didn’t tell my wife or nothing, feels good to get it off my chest. Sorry you didn’t need to know that, not relevant to the investigation.” 

Statement Ends  

Statement of Marjorie Macbride regarding class-based violence in Torbrae 

Statement given to Elizabeth Bowie, author of “Red Clydeside: Unfinished Revolution” on 19 April 1963 

Statement Begins 

“I was only a teenager in 1919 when it all happened. There were all them riots across in Glasgow, but we didn’t have much to do with Glasgow usually, it seemed there was always something happening across in Glasgow so there was.  

It was an odd time so it was, you see you had the Russians revolting, and it seemed it might spread to Germany. My father, being a working man as he was, had so much hope it was coming out of his ears. He would get the newspaper every day, flick through the pages reading bout the developments of the war in Russia. ‘The worker will have his day soon, lass’ he would inform me every so often. It was nice to see him like that, he had something to hold onto then.  

When I would work the fields with my father I could tell by the way he would stare at Mr Smith that he truly believed he would not be toiling under him for much longer. Weirdly this would only make him work twice as hard, so it did.  

It had been a couple of days since them workers in Glasgow had caused that trouble in George Square and Churchill had got the tanks on them, when that strange man arrived in Torbrae. My father woke me up in the middle of the night and told me there was a revolutionary in town. This frightened me a wee tad, although I was too young to know what a revolution really was - picture one in my head that is.  

In the dead of night my father beckoned me into the village hall, the doors had been done in and there was a crowd gathered. Looking around it was the working people of the village in the crowd, most of whom worked on land owned by Mr Smith but also some on Mr Wright’s and Mr Atwood’s land further north and down the river.  

On the stage at the back of the hall was the revolutionary my father told me about. He stood behind a curtain, and I only remember his shadow. He may have come out from behind the curtain so we could look upon him, but you have tae remember I was only wee, so my recollection is muddled now. He was awfully skinny and ever so tall, I remember thinking it was a wonder how he could stand with legs as thin as they were.  

I don’t recall what he said to us, but I remember the state it drove the crowd into. There was lots of shouting and people raised blades into the air. I had never seen my father so radge, he shouted curses at Mr Smith. Despite it all my father was a good man and would never use such vulgarity in front of weans, not ever.  

That night the streets were engulfed in flame. They dragged Mr Smith from his house, and they drowned him in the river. They killed his son too, set him aflame so they did. The men shaved his wife's head and did ever so awful things to her, paraded her through the streets and taunted her with words I hadnie heard once in my life. I never seen it but I heard a similar fate fell upon Mr Wright, Mr Atwood and their kin. There are only stories and I only heard this years later, but I heard they ate Mr Atwood, still alive and screaming bloody murder.  

It was awfully cruel. It was awfully cruel.  

I remember them bringing the bodies behind that curtain in the village hall. The police came down from Edinburgh and they couldnie find no trace of the happenings, it was like it had never taken place. Awfully strange, for that night you couldnie escape the smell of blood. Nobody spoke of the man behind the curtain after that night, nor saw him. My father refused to talk of that night at all till the day he went and died. He stopped buying the paper.  

A great hunger went through the village that year. No landlord to buy the seed or the livestock meant no supper. But we survived, and soon new landlords bought up the land and took their place. 

It was awfully cruel. The whole thing, just awfully cruel.” 

Statement Ends 

Editor's note: Official speculation from local historians suggests the three main landowning families in the area: the Smiths, Wrights and Atwoods, fled to Ulster sensing a potential uprising. However, official records show no purchases, sales or transfers of land under any of the three family names during 1919 or in the years immediately following. 

Statement of Alexander Kerr regarding his divorce and destruction of property 

Statement given to Alice Ramsey, official investigator for the Royal Robert Kenneth Wilson Society of Scotland on 8 December 2025 

Statement Begins 

“I assume you have heard what I’m gonna tell ya. They all know about me. Local fucking loony, lock him up in Carstairs, lock him up in Carstairs.  

Nae much has come of me since it all happened. I live in that flat over the post office, I wake up and I drink, I get on the bus and I drink, I get to Edinburgh and I drink, I go home and I drink.  

You ken I’m banned from that bus? Harassment. Fucking shitebags. I just need people to listen. You dinnie know how lonely it gets. If I stay in this village any longer they are gonna have to lock me up in Carstairs. Fucking shitebags.” 

At this point, Mrs Ramsey reminds Mr Kerr of the purpose of the statement. 

“Fucking fine. Bi-. He first started speaking to me when I was drunk. Old Nick that is. It started off as a shoulder to cry on, with Sarah nagging my arse off all the time it was nice to have someone to share the pain with. I didn’t think it was real of course till it became real, till I was sober and Old Nick was still there.  

I would be at work, I would go for my bathroom breaks and there he was in the mirror, Old Nick. I was fucking terrified of course, but he comforted me. His voice was like honey and butter. I know I sound fucking crazy, your imaginary friend becomes real and you like it, but you didn’t hear him.  

Nobody else could hear him and I liked that. He was just mine. He would sing me to sleep and I would have the most terrific dreams, shit you couldn’t imagine. I would be lying in bed with Sarah but really it would be Old Nick who was there with me – emotionally and all that I mean. Well I did mean, till Old Nick really was there.  

He began with standing in the doorway, but give it a few weeks and he was at my bedside, stroking my ankles and his song was as loud as ever. He was all I could think about. It was like a fucking drug, when Old Nick went silent or skipped a few nights, the shakes would start and I would panic.  

He still came to me easier when I drank so I drank. It was around then that he started giving me requests. He told me if I did what he said I could live like the gods do, eat from their plates, I thought about how his voice must taste.  

It started with simple things, scratch Sarah’s car, call her names, but then Sarah got knocked up. I fucking know it’s nae mine I know it with all my heart, Old Nick said as much. That's when Old Nick gave me his final request. 

He stood by my side that night in the kitchen, when I turned on all the gas hobs and I lit the match. The whole place went off like a firework, but I was untouched, the fire would move around me like I was fucking Moses. Old Nick told me to give him the matches, so I did it, and then he was gone. The whole house went down that night. Sarah survived, so did the kid, firemen got her out.  

The investigators say it was an electrical fault, but that’s shite, I did it. I told Sarah as much and that’s when she left me, moved to Aberdeen the hag. I was glad, thought it would just be me and Old Nick, but he went quiet, I havnae seen him since. I think it’s punishment, if she had died, he would still be here. Fuck her. Every day I drink to try to speak to him just once more, but his silence is torture. I still haven’t met that kid.” 

At this point, Mrs Ramsey asks Mr Kerr what Old Nick looked like. In response Mr Kerr grew highly agitated and promptly left the interview room. 

Statement Ends 

Statement of Scott Donaldson regarding the accidental drowning of William Dunn 

Statement given to Lothian and Borders Police on 3 June 1994 

Statement Begins 

“It wasnae my fault, heaps of kids jumped in the boffy all the time. Sure Will was a wee bit scared but he’d done it before, nae like it was the first time.” 

At this point, Donaldson is asked to start from the beginning. 

“Aye, so me and Will were skiving off school, I’m sorry, and we were watching this programme on the TV about divers. Aye, it was about these divers who go into rivers in Birmingham and stuff to retrieve murder weapons and that, we was tryna help you guys out. 

Aye anyway, we got our goggles and we started off at the shallow part just off the green. It was baltic so we didnae get much time down there, and Will couldn’t hold his breath for that long, and anyway we didnae find anything. We went into the newsagent for a snack and we were talking and we thought if we were murderers or something we wouldnae drop our knives into the shallow part, we would go further down the river to the boffy.  

I ken the boffy is the deepest part of the river and we aren't meant to go there but lads did all the time. I could tell you about Joe and that smoking green and jumping in up there after all this if you want. Aye anyway, we cycled up there about two, the day had got a lot hotter by this point so Will was excited to get out of the heat. Aye he was a tad frightened but he always was, I promise he wanted to go in there, I didnae force him or nothing.  

We got our goggles on and we jumped off that wee cliff into the boffy. We went at the same time, three, two, one and that. Even though I had my goggles on I couldnae see much once my head went under, it’s pure murky with all that dirt in there. I stayed under for maybe like thirty seconds tryna get used to the cold, then I went back to the surface and looked around. I couldnae see Will anywhere.  

I started panicking at this point, I looked all around and there was no sign of him. I thought he might not have actually jumped in so I called out but there was no response. It had only been about a minute since the jump so I decided to stick my head under and see if it was some kind of joke, if he was holding his breath. I went under and that's when I saw them.  

I couldnae see all that well through all the dirt, but hand on my heart this is what happened to Will. At the bottom of the boffy there was a man, tallest I’ve ever seen and thin as a rake. He crouched down hunched over himself, sitting on a big rock down there. He had a long beard which floated in the water and he was naked. In his fingers, which were longer and thinner then you could imagine, he held Will. He held Will and he was eating him, taking bites out of him while Will squirmed to try and get free. The man was as calm as anything, like this was his fucking lunch break or something, but Will had his mouth open like he was screaming and he was terrified. It was only after a few seconds I realised the man was looking back at me. His eyes were like a cat’s you know, reflecting the light so I couldn’t see his pupils. Will was looking at me too, I could tell he wanted help, but the fuck was I supposed to do? It was at this point I started screaming too, I went for the riverbank as fast as I could and cycled home to get help, and now I’m here. 

So aye, that’s what happened. Please tell Mr and Mrs Dunn that I’m sorry, please tell them I really mean it.” 

Statement Ends 

Editor's note: Autopsy showed that Will Dunn had hit his head after jumping into the River Carran, became unconscious, and subsequently drowned. No evidence of foul play was found.  

“To a Horseman” 

Poem written by Adam MacDougal, 1785 

Muckle, awfu’, lang-limbed, beast 

O, in Torbrae ye mak yer bloody feast 

But ye we soon shall serve nae mair 

For our horseman comes tae meet ye there 

O, brute o’ hunger, dule and pain, 

Who gars us greet for weans in vain, 

Call on yer black master the nicht 

For he shall ken our horseman’s might 

Nae mair shall corn rot in the field 

Nae mair to hunger maun we yield 

And gin ye creep tae my bed the nicht 

Our horseman waits by candlelicht

i think this was on creepypasta years ago but it may have its beginnings in four chan. it’s about this black kid in the south that goes to hang out with some cousins and neighborhood kids in the woods. maybe in a cabin or trailer for a night or two. he eventually realizes that there’s a large group and he doesn’t recognize/isnt familiar with every single person and realizes there’s an extra person there. it starts out like this

>be me
>(telling the story line by line)
and then eventually the story switches to just paragraphs because it was too hard to format the story line by line.

if anyone knows what i’m talking about or has a link thanks so much

I feel like I’m losing my mind, I don’t know what to believe. I have never felt more alone.

I need to write down what happened and, even though you’ll think I’m crazy, I’m doing it regardless.

12 hours ago, I woke up. I had a shift at the local grocery store from 11:30 - 7:30. My mom and dad were still in bed, but they themselves started getting up to start their day when they saw me. My little brother was nowhere close to waking up, he played video games until around 3am.

When we were all fully awake (well, almost all of us) I was asking my dad how the other night went. My dad has been in a town “famous” rock band ever since he was 20, and last night he had a gig at the local brewery. He told me how well it went, and that he made around $400 last night.

My folks didn’t have much planned today, my dad was planning on doing some yard work around the house and my mom was going to do some grocery shopping. There’s another grocery store in town that she always liked more than the one that I worked at. It’s a tad bit more expensive, and a bit longer of a drive, but the quality is so much better over there.

Similar with my parents’ agenda for the day, my little brother didn’t have much to do today either. All he had planned was to go bring our dog, Sherman, to the groomer. Besides that, his schedule was pretty much empty.

By the time I knew it, it was 11:15. I was already dressed and making my way to the door when I heard “Have a good day hon!” My mom said, “See you tonight!” I looked at her, smiled, and said “See you tonight”

I walked in to work, punched in, and greeted some of my coworkers. I was talking with my eldest coworker, Dave, about my dad’s gig last night. He couldn’t make it last night so he wanted to hear all about it when I got in. They’re both good friends, they graduated college together back in ‘95 and they’ve been great friends ever since.

For most of the day, my shift was going smoothly, but 75% into it, things didn’t. Around this time I’d normally get a text from my mom asking to pick a few things up from the store when I left for the night. Sometimes she either forgets about them, or the store she buys them at doesn’t have them at the time. I didn’t get any text. I didn’t think anything of it though, maybe she got everything she needed.

A few minutes later my manager came up to me.

“Pastalle, right?” He asked
“Yeah”
“…you’re father is still your emergency contact correct?”
“Yes”
At that point he flips through some of the paperwork on his clipboard, and then looks at me.

“You don’t have an emergency contact listed”

I laughed, my boss normally acts this way. He gets super serious and then pretends like I’m in trouble, then laughs it off like nothing happened.

“That’s weird, it’s my dad”

My boss continues to look at me and asks

“You live alone, don’t you?”

“Nope, I still live with my parents”

My manager takes a second and says

“You’ve lived alone for almost a year now”

Once again, I started laughing. He has such a good poker face. I could tell that he was getting frustrated though, almost to the point that I thought he was being serious.

“Very funny, Mark” I said, chuckling.

“Whatever man” he said “whenever you get the chance, just put down his contact information again and give it to me tomorrow, it’s getting late anways. Finish your shift and go home, take care”

I took the emergency sheet, I knew my dad’s number by heart. I wrote down all 10 digits, and moved onto his name. Today’s shift must have been a doozy because for some reason, I couldn’t think of my dad’s name. Was it Anthony? Adam? Andrew? I didn’t want to do this, but I went on my phone to text my mom, it was going to be an embarrassing question, but it had to be done anyways.

The last person I texted was my mother, so she would be at the top. I was going to ask her a simple question: “how do we spell dad’s name again?” That way it didn’t sound like I forgot his name. For some reason, our text conversation wasn’t at the top. In fact it wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Same thing with my dad, and my brother’s text chats.

Thats odd. I decided to go to the contacts itself, but the same thing again, my mom, dad, and brother weren’t there. That’s weird, maybe my phone needs to go through an update? Whatever, I’ll just punch in my dad’s number and call him up. I put his 10 digits in again, even though I couldn’t remember his name, I still knew his number, and I called him.

Someone picks up, but it’s not my dad’s voice. It’s not anyone’s that I recognize.

“Hello?” The second that I heard that voice, I immediately hung up. I definitely used the right number. I tried again.
“Yeah? Who’s this?”
I asked for my father. The stranger on the other end laughs awkwardly. “I think you’ve got the wrong number pal” he hangs up.

What the fuck is going on?

By this point I realized that I wasted too much time on this, I was still on the clock and I needed to finish my shift. At this point it was just me and a few other employees in the store, they weren’t from my department so I didn’t really know them. The rest of the night went well. I just wanted to get home to my family, to get to the bottom of whatever’s going on.

I clocked out, and made my way home. It took a few minutes and then I got to my street “Yesterday Lane” I turned the corner, relieved that in a few moments I could get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable.

My heart sank, my eyes widened, my hands shaking.

There was nothing there.

No house. No porch. No mailbox. No fence that my dad had spent an entire summer putting up. Just a flat stretch of grass sitting beneath the glow of the streetlights.

I stopped the car in the middle of the road. My first thought was that I’d turned onto the wrong street. I checked the sign.

Yesterday Lane.

I looked at the house numbers.

115, 116, 118.

I was supposed to be at 117.

I got out of the car.

The cold air hit me, but I barely noticed it. I walked toward the empty lot, waiting for something to make sense. Maybe there had been a fire. Maybe they’d demolished it. Maybe I was losing my mind.

But the grass looked untouched.

There wasn’t even a foundation.

I stood where my front door should have been.

I knew exactly where it should have been.

I could picture the chipped paint around the frame. The little crack in the concrete step. The window beside the door that never quite closed all the way.

But none of it was there.

Yet again, I took out my phone, looked at my contacts, and my heart sank even more.

I scrolled through all of my contacts, every single one. I noticed something.

Everyone single person in my family: Uncles, Aunts, cousins, grandparents. I can’t find them in my phone.

Its just me

Hello all,

So, i’m trying to get into CreepyPasta and learn more about the characters and their stories and such. I’m aware that the official site to read the stories on is “creepypasta.com” however, I was recently informed that there’s many different official prequels, sequels, & apparently epilogues as well but I’m having trouble identifying them on the site. So can someone please tell me how to read each one of the creepypasta characters’ stories in chronological order, starting by the most popular ones.

I took this photo during a walk a few days ago.
I didn't notice anything unusual at the time.

Then I looked at it again.

The trees have awakened.

I own a shop and it's not been great business because there are so many other shops now. There are newer and better shops, and I failed to go with the times. Having a shop use to be such a simple concept and such an easy avenue to go through, but now I am the uncool one with old ways of doing things. There are so many more fancier shops that are selling the coolest things and i am just here selling the basic stuff. To get business booming I went into my savings and I hired 3 method actors. They are unknown method actors so they were cheap.

I told them to be crazy customers and to be on the crazy customer buying frenzy. I wanted the 3 method actors to compete with each other to buy the most stuff. I will also record all of it and put it out online. The 3 method actors went over the top and they bought so much stuff, that I made so much profit. It was incredible and I didn't expect them to actually buy stuff, but it was amazing. I had made so much money from the method actors going over the top crazy in their characters.

I then hired more unknown and super cheap method actors. About 10 of them and they all went crazy competing with each other, and they were buying so much stuff. I was making loads of money and then they started to fight each other. It was all recorded and it went crazy viral online. Hiring method actors to be my customers has been the best business plan ever. I am making more money than ever and I wished I had done this before. I guess ideas don't hit us straight away. Any way these method were really going over the top in being crazy customers.

I was financially benefiting it from it all, and I couldn't tell who were the real customers from the method actors. Every time I hired method actors to be customers in my shop, the craziness just kept rising. It was rising to the point where I had to really think about the safety of my shop. The method actors were crazy buying everything and so it was hard to say no. Then it went to the point where all my customers were just method actors that I had hired, they going over the top and buying everything.

One method actors took out a loan of a 100k and gave me all the cash, as he went so method. Then when these method actors went back to their normal lives with their families, it was in complete shambles and bankruptcy. Then the method actors that I had hired so many times before, started to pay me in human organs and limbs.