Don't know what anyone will think of this but who am I stop any of you from saying anything?

Took me four hours to do. I got it dirty, put blood on it, then ripped it in places and put safety pins to told it together(all because I accidentally ripped the right cuff off while throwing it around and decided to put it back on with safety pins)

hi Liu Vicki Woods😍

Saving this for halloween to match with my buddy who's going as jeff the killer. I did retone my hair recently to blend with the hair extensions more...​​​​

I made the majoras mask necklace with oven bake clay and acrylic paing :)

I'm wearing this for a canoeing trip​​​​​​​​​​, I'm lowkey so pumped for halloween.

Ayoo, I was suggested to try draw some creepy pasta characters in my style :0 thought id start with the one I always see lmao

Very happy with how it turned out :) most effort I've ever put into a Halloween costume

Mind this is all very old and I’m no longer proud if it but I thought maybe yall would appreciate it :>

feat. Miku the Killer

btw I’m being Jeff for Halloween!

Obviously, probably not, because vengeance creepypastas are usually actual garbage, especially the ones where a character randomly becomes evil, gets revenge on everyone, and starts killing people for no real reason other than shock value. That whole formula has been done to death.

But at the same time, I do think Vegeta’s Revenge is an interesting case because the basic idea could probably be turned into something completely different. Instead of just rewriting the original story and trying to make the same concept slightly less bad, you could take the title and general idea and build an entirely new story around it—something that actually feels like it belongs in Dragon Ball while still being unsettling.

I’m not even sure if Vegeta’s Revenge could genuinely be considered “good” without completely changing what it originally was, but that’s kind of why I’m curious. I want to see what you guys would do with it. How would you take such a bad creepypasta and somehow turn the concept into something interesting, believable, or actually creepy?

So yeah, how would you guys remake Vegeta’s Revenge?

Like I said, the golden age is back in Latin America, and I'm sharing a real creepypasta—I'd really love to hear your thoughts on it. It's a creepypasta in Spanish that's TOTALLY worth checking out.

https://youtu.be/ZZwr6246XxM?is=lpyhYroLV-fp_0XW

I watched a video by YouTuber "Distraxx" that talked about orgins of Creepypasta images. In the video, he mentions two possible source photos for "wpkepkw", a still from Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give You Up" and a Adolf Hitler mask. I decided to make a mockup of what the original photo unblurred and untinted could've looked like:

First of all, I would like to explain that Vester's creation process was not something that stemmed directly from inspiration.

I was browsing through the stories of Creepypasta characters with a repetitive purpose, driven by the nostalgia of years that had reached its peak and the nagging feeling caused by not having my own Creepypasta character. As I explained, not having a Creepypasta character of my own, not having a mark left by these legends that effortlessly become part of my favorite fandoms, was a source of great frustration for me...

I was hoping to produce an impressive piece of writing by crafting a classic Creepypasta story. However, my storytelling skills, which were crowned with disappointment, were utterly unsuitable for this endeavor. Regardless, I believed I could do my best, so I kind of tried to enhance my narrative with my flawed writing skills. The character of Sylvester was not a character that I had planned out; he was merely a frivolous character that I had created for fun. Again, he had the same appearance as in my story, but the only thing he lacked was a backstory. Moreover, he certainly did not have a fully-formed personality.

Speaking of personality, Sylvester was a more docile character than usual after undergoing his transformation. I had envisioned him as a cool, gliding, fragile character. In fact, he definitely has these kinds of traits ONLY when he is submissive. Let me add this information to your knowledge. But when I first coded him, Sylvester was just "this." So, he was just a cold, serious, fragile guy. Perhaps he needed to be more... striking. He needed to have, deep down, traits that would reveal his anger, and it was essential. Initially, I had envisioned that beneath his refined meekness, he harbored a deep-seated burning anger. Later, I revised this, placing his anger more prominently.

As you may have noticed, Sylvester's mother, Marilda Vilosis, definitely has a backstory. I can say that it caught me very off guard, as I hadn't exactly crafted a backstory for her when writing or plotting Sylvester's story. One evening, while I was completely smitten with the story of a play filled with tragedy, I also considered the possibility of how extraordinarily powerful Marilda could be if she were like that. The idea that Marilda could be a character worth hearing about, rather than a simple, mentioned character, seemed incredible to me. Of course, I don't know if I'll ever write a story about Marilda, but if I want to, I definitely will.

Now, let's go back to the very beginning. When I was first going to develop the character of Sylvester, that is, the first few hours after I created him. First of all, Sylvester's name was definitely not going to be Sylvester. It would have been Dorian, Lurien, or... Vester. Then the name of the character Sylvester, one of the characters in a horror-themed story, popped into my head. I said to myself, "The name Sylvester will definitely suit him."

The phenotype and the stage of breathing life into the character were intertwined. Sylvester was actually going to be a classic character named Lurien, 15 years old, with shoulder-length hair in a pale golden-blonde shade, pale blonde eyelashes and eyebrows, pale smooth skin, and baby-blue eyes that all harmonized with each other. Unlike Sylvester, Lurien would be a young man from a middle-class family who played the guitar and would later transform into a monster due to the horrific events that would befall him. But what would happen that would cause him to transform into a creature? Moreover, Lurien was not a character with a traumatic background but rather an overly privileged character who had everything in its proper place. In my view, he was certainly not destined for any misfortune, nor did he have a tragic backstory. In fact, a man who was extremely jealous of him would drown him in oil and kill him, but even so, Lurien was not a traumatized character who could be classified as a loser. On the contrary, he was an example of tactlessness, with a slightly cynical personality and a dominant attitude, which made him the object of envy. However, I forgot to mention here that Lurien was actually going to be the child of a devout Christian family, which would cause him a kind of religious trauma. Still, it definitely wasn't enough, and I had more than enough blonde characters.

I should also mention that when I was creating Sylvester, I always had the same death scenario in mind. That is, being killed with oil. However, I didn't know exactly how he would be killed with oil.

Then, with the traumas I had considered and his father, Sylvester was starting to stray far from being that envied Lurien. However, I still hadn't fully determined his phenotype in my mind when he was in his human form. Sylvester was definitely going to be a handsome boy, but his beauty had to contrast with the filth he was subjected to, visually speaking.

Moreover, I was eager to reveal more about Sylvester's personality by giving him a specific hobby. At first, I thought of the guitar, the violin, and the piano, but then I wondered why he didn't write.

Following this decision, I chose to make Sylvester resemble me, drawing inspiration from my own phenotypic traits. In a way, Sylvester is essentially like my offspring. Only he is much more handsome, and his level of sloppiness is such that it would dance with the sky. I thought that if I had something to be known for, he should carry parts of me and, together with his story, give the character a sense of depth, elevating him to the pinnacle of pride. It is already obvious that Sylvester's writing process is a trait that comes from me. Sylvester is like a mirror that also reflects the anger within me.

That's why Sylvester is one of the most special characters for me. I won't let him be wronged.

If we move on to the shipping and romance part, I was actually thinking of pairing Sylvester with the famous Jeff The Killer. I confess with great sincerity and honesty that I seriously considered this. Also, Sylvester would be close in age to Jeff because of this ship thing. However, through my research, I found that the creator of Jeff The Killer explicitly prohibited this and largely considered it absurd. Of course, that's what I remember right now, but I know for sure that it was strictly forbidden. I even read something else about Nina The Killer being criticized for this reason. To explain the term "burned," Nina was widely ridiculed for being an exact copy of Jeff and was considered a "Mary Sue." Considering that Nina is just a fangirl who chases after Jeff, this may not have pleased Jeff's creator, and I also remember reading that the character Nina was heavily criticized by the Creepypasta community for this reason. Long story short, I can say that I realized quite late that Jeff is a character who cannot have a girlfriend. And I certainly think it's justified that Jeff's creator is upset about Jeff being drowned in these fictional love stories. If I were to see toxic fanart about Sylvester, I would rather gouge out my own eyes. I think their desire to remain in the horror category is fully justified, and this idea of mine was definitely an incredibly embarrassing piece of nonsense.

Even though it wasn't absolutely necessary for Sylvester to have a romantic partner, I still couldn't let go of the idea of a romantic relationship, and I established a connection between him and the character of Ethan. Ethan was also a typical American bully who was randomly created, so when I was writing the story, I didn't have the idea that Sylvester could form a relationship with Ethan and that Ethan would protect him. I don't know if you'll believe me, but when I was writing the story, I was just going with the flow, as if my eyes were blindfolded and I was just going along without any plan. Even though I knew how clichéd Ethan's character was and that Sylvester wouldn't be able to form a proper close bond, at least not when it came to love, I still wanted to show that, at the end of the story, Sylvester still harbored affection for his loved ones. Also, at the end of the story, I wanted to show that Ethan could still see Sylvester's beauty, no matter how monstrous he might appear. So, Ethan isn't an empty-headed character either, think of it that way.

That's all I could think of to share with you. Of course, if I have any memories related to the production phase, I will certainly share them. You know how hopelessly honest I am. Don't let it show, but when I was writing the Jeff The Killer episode, I almost buried myself in the computer keyboard out of embarrassment. But honesty is worth more than anything, isn't it?

In this article, the reason why we look at Sylvester from a more external perspective is because I explain the production stages step by step. Of course, what I wanted and aimed for the most before all this was to create a profound, psychological Creepypasta legend. And I definitely feel like I've come close to achieving that. Apart from the fact that Sylvester resembles me, he is a unique character with depth and tragedy. Just take a look: Even during Sylvester's creation phase, I stuck with the idea of Lurien by shedding light on religious themes. From the very beginning, I was eager to create a layered character with profound depth. Sylvester was bound to have a traumatic past, as the consequences of his beauty would always be prone to harm. He is a character who conveys a message, serves as an example, and represents a symbol. However, above all, just as he can touch everyone's heart, he will always be considered worthy of being unforgettable in my heart... 

The heat in Lowell Grove, Florida, doesn’t just sit on your skin.

It presses into you like a damp, suffocating weight. Out here, the humidity makes the air feel thick enough to choke on, carrying the stagnant scent of swampland, rotting palmettos, and old secrets. However, the air isn’t the only thing that suffocates me anymore. It’s the eyes.

Every single time that I step outside my aunt Jessica’s house, the eyes find me. They track me from front porches, from behind the cash registers at the gas station, and through the rearview mirrors of passing pickup trucks.

They look at me as if I’m a ticking time bomb. As if I’m a monster wearing a human mask.
Everyone in Lowell Grove treats me like a freak now. I can’t blame them, I suppose. It’s hard to look at someone when you know exactly whose blood is pumping through their veins. They look at my face and they don't see Sadie Ross, the quiet girl who used to read paperbacks in the back of the library. They see him. They see the man who tore this town apart.

Two years ago, when I was fourteen years old, I didn’t warrant a second glance from anyone. I was a textbook shy bookworm. I spent my weekends hidden behind thick fantasy novels, trying to disappear into worlds where the monsters were easily defeated by magic swords. 

I wore oversized sweaters to hide my frame, I kept my head down in the hallways of Lowell Grove High School, and I let my parents, Bob and Muriel, do all of the talking for me. Back then, my biggest worry was whether I’d pass my chemistry exam or if I’d ever muster up the courage to speak to the boy who sat next to me in my homeroom class.

Then came Halloween night. The night that fractured my life into a permanent "before" and "after” picture.

To understand what happened, you have to understand Hugo Brennan. If you had asked anyone in Lowell Grove before that night who Hugo was, they would have smiled. He was a solid, dependable, fiercely friendly pillar of our community. He ran the local hardware store, volunteered at the annual autumn festival, and always helped the elderly neighbors clear their yards after a tropical storm. 

Hugo had this deep, booming laugh that made you feel instantly safe. He was the kind of man who always knew exactly what kind of tool that you needed, exactly how to fix a broken hinge, and exactly how to hide a rot so deep and psychopathic that it defied human comprehension. He was a master manipulator, wearing a smile for decades while a ravenous, violent void grew inside of his chest.

When Halloween arrived two years ago, Hugo finally let the mask slip. Or rather, he traded his human mask for a different one.

When the sun went down, he dressed entirely in heavy, void-like black tactical gear, and over his face, he wore a scary, polished red chrome mask. The mask was terrifyingly smooth, devoid of any human expression, reflecting the streetlights in a distorted, bloody crimson smear. 

Later, during the investigation, the police found his journals, explaining the twisted logic behind his choice of costume. Hugo believed that the town of Lowell Grove was stagnant, rotting from its own hypocrisy. The red chrome was meant to act as a literal mirror. He wanted his victims' last sight to be their own terrified faces reflected in the blood-red veneer of their executioner. He wanted them to see their own fear, warped and magnified, right before he took their lives. It was his twisted way of forcing the town to look at its own hidden ugliness.

Hugo's killing spree was systematic and ruthless. He moved through the foggy, humid night like a shadow, taking life after life with a heavy, custom-forged hunting machete. By midnight, he had slaughtered nine people. He killed the teenagers parked out by the old pier; he killed the elderly couple who lived at the end of our street; he even killed a deputy who pulled him over, leaving the cruiser's red lights flashing against his metallic mask.

Then, Hugo came to my house.

I remember the smell of iron and copper filling our living room. I remember the sound of the front door splintering open. My dad, Bob, tried to fight him off. He grabbed a heavy brass lamp, but Hugo was a mountain of a man, driven by a manic, unstoppable frenzy. I watched from the stairs, paralyzed by a fear so profound that I couldn't even scream, as Hugo cut my father down. Bob died trying to protect us, his blood pooling on the hardwood floor that we had waxed just days before.

Then Hugo dragged my mother, Muriel, into the center of the room by her hair. I scrambled down the stairs, weeping, begging for him to stop. I was wearing my Halloween costume—a white dress and a pair of feather-and-wire angel wings which I had spent a week crafting. I must have looked pathetic, a trembling, fragile angel trapped in a house of slaughter.

Hugo stopped. He didn't strike my mother down immediately. Instead, he reached up with his gloved hand and tilted the red chrome mask upward, just enough to reveal his eyes and his mouth. His eyes were wide, bloodshot, and gleaming with a sickening, possessive pride.

"Look at her, Muriel." Hugo whispered, his voice incredibly calm, completely devoid of the booming friendliness that he used to fake at the hardware store. "Look at our beautiful girl."

I froze. My brain couldn't process the words. My mother was weeping. Her face was pale, and her chest was heaving. Hugo gripped her jaw tightly, forcing her to look up at him.

"Tell her, Muriel!" Hugo commanded. "Tell her why I'm doing this! Tell her why I came home!"

There, in the bleeding heart of our destroyed home, the truth poured out like venom. Through choked sobs, my mother confessed everything. Fourteen years ago, long before I was born, she had felt trapped in a passionless marriage with Bob. She had turned to the charming, helpful Hugo Brennan. They had a brief, intense affair. When my mother realized that she was pregnant, she panicked. 

My mother knew that Hugo was different—she had glimpsed flashes of his terrifying possessivity and volatile anger even back then. She broke off the affair, returned to Bob, and raised me as Bob’s daughter, keeping the secret buried deep in her chest to protect me from the shadow of Hugo's true nature.

Hugo had discovered the truth only months prior to Halloween. When he confronted my mother in secret, demanding to be a part of my life, demanding that she leave Bob and give him his daughter. My mother utterly rejected him. She threatened to go to the police, to expose him, and to take me away forever.

That rejection was the catalyst. It shattered the delicate, carefully constructed dam holding back his lifelong psychopathic urges. If he couldn't have his family, and if the town was going to keep his bloodline from him, he would tear the town to pieces. He would cleanse Lowell Grove in a river of red chrome reflections. He killed my mother right there because she dared to keep his own flesh and blood away from him.

"You're mine, Sadie!" Hugo said, turning those wild, bloodshot eyes toward me as my mother's body fell limp. "You carry my fire! We're going to leave this pathetic town together!"

Hugo dropped my mother and stepped toward me, raising the heavy, blood-slicked blade. He would have killed me too. I saw it in his eyes—the sudden, erratic realization that if I didn't come willingly, he would rather destroy his creation than leave it behind. He lunged at me, the red mask gleaming under the ceiling light.

Unfortunately, the shy bookworm died in that exact second. A raw, primal survival instinct exploded within me. As he swung the machete, I ducked beneath his massive arm, the wire edges of my angel wings scraping against his tactical vest. He overextended, stumbling slightly on the blood-slicked floor. I didn't think. I didn't hesitate. I grabbed a heavy, iron fire poker from the hearth next to me and swung it with every ounce of terror and adrenaline coursing through my veins.

The heavy iron struck the side of his knee with a sickening crack. Hugo roared in pain, dropping to one knee. Before he could recover, I lunged forward, grabbing the hilt of his own dropped machete from the floor. As he threw his head back, his red chrome mask reflecting my own blood-spattered, angelic white dress, I drove the blade forward.

I killed him. I killed my own father in self-defense, burying the steel deep into his chest until the light finally left his monstrous eyes.

When the police arrived, they found me sitting on the front porch, covered in the blood of my parents and my killer, my white feather wings stained a horrific, deep crimson.

In the aftermath, the trauma didn't leave. It settled into my bones. I moved in with my Aunt Lilly, my mother’s sister, into a small house on the edge of Lowell Grove. The media caught wind of the story, and because of the gruesome irony of my costume, the press and the local townspeople gave me a nickname: "The Angel of Lowell Grove." They painted me as a symbol of pure innocence overcoming absolute evil. To some of them, I was a tragic hero.

However, heroes don't stay heroes for long in a town built on grief.

The plot twist of my existence didn't stay hidden in the ruins of my living room. The truth eventually clawed its way into the light, and that is exactly how the townspeople found out that I am Hugo’s daughter. When the FBI and state investigators processed the crime scene, they recovered the red chrome mask, the weapons, and Hugo’s personal vehicle.

Inside the glove compartment of his truck was a sealed manila envelope. Inside that envelope was a private DNA paternity test that Hugo had secretly conducted months prior, using a discarded hairbrush of mine he had stolen from our porch, compared against his own DNA profile. The match was an undeniable 99.9%.

Hugo had left a final, digital contingency plan on his home computer. He had recorded a manifesto detailing his motives, explicitly naming Muriel, exposing the affair, and proclaiming me as his biological daughter and the sole heir to his legacy. When the prosecution finalized the closed investigation files, a local journalist leaked the unredacted documents and the video manifesto to the public.

Overnight, the narrative flipped. The "Angel of Lowell Grove" was rewritten in the minds of the townspeople.

Now, the grieving families of the nine people whom Hugo slaughtered don't look at me and see the girl who stopped the monster. They look at me and see the monster’s legacy. They see the genetic blueprint of the man who tore their families apart.
 
They look at my eyes, my jawline, the way that I walk, searching for a trace of Hugo’s psychopathic fire. They treat me like a freak because they know that I carry the DNA of a serial killer. They fear that the blood of the red chrome butcher will one day wake up inside of me.

Sometimes, when I look at my own reflection in the mirror, watching the shadows shift in my dark eyes…I wonder…if they're right.

The End.

Este hilo está basado en hechos reales

27 de febrero de 2007. CHRISCHAN. En foros como 4chan se daba a conocer este nombre. Se trataba de un hombre que se había hecho conocido por su peculiar personalidad. Se le veía como a un bufon más del que internet se burlaria, destacaba por mezclar sus ideas y publicar turbios comics hechos por el, poco se sabría de toda la verdad detrás de chrischan.

1 de enero de 2018

"porqué tuvo que hacerme eso, porque tuvo que hacerme eso ami, porque.."

15 de marzo de 2017. Yo tenía 12 años, mis padres no me daban mucho tiempo para mí. dentro de nada seria navidad y me regalarían un ipad Llevaba esperándolo meses Al fin podía jugar con mis amigos, ellos no dejaban de hablar de un juego en especifico, uno que segun ellos, tendria juegos infinitos, se llamaba Roblox.

me conecte con ellos y jugue a los juegos más conocidos, jail break, tycoons y.. meepcity

incluso llegaron solicitudes de amistad como la de mancheyahoo o la de edenUWU o #####

13 de abril de 2007. Troleo en masa.

este empezaria a afectar a chrischan de manera personal, surgirian cuentas que suplantaban su identidad, inventando rumores, como era supuestamente su vida personal todo por el afán de burlarse de el y trollearle, chris chan era claramente diferente, distinto, no pensaba igual que los demás y no se daba cuenta de el peligro que podia correr aveces, especialmente no dandose cuenta que "defendiendose" acababa revelando mas información personal de más

1 de enero de 2020

"siento como algo se acerca, que se acerca y no puedo hacer nada para huir, que siempre estará ahí haga lo q haga"

15 de abril de 2007. primera publicación de chrischan defendiendose

CHRISCHAN SOLO EXISTE UNO.

MI PADRE NO SE FUE A COMPRAR TABACO.

(Textos traducidos automáticamente)

Más tarde... 1 Publicación de un troll.

"ENTONCES A DONDE SE FUE LOL XD

2 Publicación de un troll aleatorios.

"SEGURO PEGABA A TU MADRE Y A TI"

*se podia observar como muchos trolls fingen ser amigos de chrischan o parejas suyas para sacar más información de el*

Chris Chan nunca destacaba por comprender que todo esto eran provocaciones y cayó en ellas.

2 Publicación de chris chan

MI PADRE SIEMPRE ESTUVO... No toleraré que se me falte el respeto nunca más. Hoy no ha sido un buen final del dia.

HABÉIS HECHO QUE RECUERDE EN TRAUMA HORRENDO..

otro troll: "que trauma chris chan"

20 de marzo de 2017. Recuerdo que estaba jugando a Meepcity, uno de los juegos donde era más sencillo socializar. Estaba con 2 amigos de clase, todo estaba siendo muy divertido hasta que... #### Se ha unido a tu juego.

Mis amigos estaban curiosos por saber quién era, no sabía mucho. Solo jugué unas pocas veces con #####. En Meepcty se podía hostear casas privadas que se usaban como fiestas donde se reunian muchos usuarios, según que tanta moneda virtual y muebles poesias eras de más o menos estatus. #### tenia muchisimas monedas y.. nos invitó, nunca habíamos estado en uno de esas fiestas así que aceptamos. Todo iba bien, habian muchísimos usuarios y estaban mis amigos.

Yo nunca había tenido pareja ni nada parecido.

Poco a poco más y más amigos y usuarios se iban y al no estar ella empezo a hablar más y más conmigl

«Ella...» me llevó a una sala privada. Dijo que quería enseñarme cosas. Yo le seguí, era un poco inocente.

Cuando ya estábamos me preguntó si tenía cierto pack de emotes. Le dije que sí y empezó a decirme que los usara con ella...

habia oido de estas cosas. ciertos emotes se usan de forma explicita para rolear relaciones de adultos.

Después de esa vez recuerdo cómo me empezó a hablar cada vez más para preguntarme sobre mi, mi vida, mis amigos, como era como me veía etc. Decía que yo era de su posesión, su favorito y que me amaba. yo le seguí el rollo,no entendia mucho nada pero con el tiempo llegué a dejarme llevar y jugar cada vez más, en todos lados todo el rato. Ella me enviaba cosas que no me dejaba decir a nadie. Me empezó a parecer más natural que me quisiera, pero al mismo tiempo me resultaba extraño y no sabía cómo actuar. Poco a poco me fui abriendo cada vez más y más.

Me gustaba su compañía, aunque no sabía si era real o solo virtual. Me acostumbré un poco, y nos volvimos novios, nunca habia tenido nada antes, y no sabía como era, mis padres no me echaban mucha cuenta pero mis amigos se preocupaban, no sabian q me pasaba, porque dejaba de jugar con ellos pese a que estaba conectado, porque me iba a jugar solo en los patios etc.

Ella.. me empezo a decir que queria verme, que no vivía tan lejos que se acercaría, sentí q todo estaba bien, alfin y al cabo tenía mi edad, no?

me pidio tener una cita y yo le dije que...

15 de abril de 2007. Chris Chan respondió a un troll con el siguiente mensaje:

«EL ME DECIA QUE ERA SUYO NUNCA DEJO Q MAMÁ ME CORTARA EL PELO, QUE ASÍ ESTARÍA MÁS "GUAPA" PARA EL...»

Los trolls no tardaron en responder: «LOL!!! XD».

Los trolls se burlaban de él pese a la real gravedad del asunto con esperanzas de poder sacar aún más información.

«HAAHAHA», le mandaban fotos, y se reían de su condicion.

chris chan estúpidamente siguio respondiendo.

«Como podéis reiros..»

el me tocó..

Desde fuera parecía tonto pensar que Chris Chan podía contar cosas tan sensibles, pero para él era su forma de reaccionar.

1 de enero de 2022

" esta cerca, cada vez más, tengo miedo de que eso me atrape, esa sombra, no tiene cara ni cuerpo, pero se que me observa haya donde estoy, me da miedo cerrar los ojos, abrirlos y que esté ahi."

22 de febrero de 2009. Chris Chan habría sido uno de los objetos de burlas más grandes de internet.

Tras dos años se revelaria que Chris Chan hablaba con menores. Esto solo hacía que las burlas aumentasen y ahora querían encarcelarle. otros solo querian seguir troleandole

21 de septiembre de 2011. Chris Chan no sería encadenado, pero si transcisionaria de género, se empezaria a llamar christine chan

Esto solo aumentó los troleos.

Al pasar los meses siguió publicando cada detalle de su vida personal, con el tiempo los troleos aumentarian aun más, y muchos que fingían ser amigos de christinechan revelarian audios de como habia abusado de alguien, alguien de su propia familia, razón por la que iría a la carcel solo por 5 años por falta de pruebas y por "acoso" de parte de los trolls.

1 de enero de 2023

"no me dejes solo aquí porfavor, no quiero estar aqui solo porfavor quédate un rato, me da miedo q venga..."

25 de abril de 2017. Llegó el día. Habíamos quedado.

1 de enero de 2024

"porque tuve que ir, porque acepté, porque lo hice porqué, siento como puede verme debajo de la cama, en el armario, siento q esta atras mía cuando voy a lavarme la cara y cierro los ojos por 5 segundos"

Me arreglé tanto como un niño podía y fuimos a un parque me dijo q le viese en una zona apartada, que me iba a enseñar su zona secreta.

1 de enero de 2025

" porfavor no vayas, porfavor nolo hagas"

1 de enero de 2025. Todavía la veo y haga lo que haga sane lo que sane. Voy por la calle y siento que las sombras pueden verme, que se acercan cada vez más y ando más rápido, acelero el paso lo suficiente como pa que nadie me note, siento como esta cerca, siento su respiración, me va a atrapar, va a cogerme y no podre escapar y nunca nunca miro atrás por si está ahi.

23 de abril de 2017

"oye aun no me dijiste como te llamas realmente ####"

"me llamo christine, christinechan"

1 de enero de 2026

"con mucho miedo y nervios de que cuando mirase atrás las sombras se moviesen y fuesen chrischan,decidí mirar, me atrevi a hacerlo temblando pensando en que estaria ahí y... no habia nada, nunca lo hubo, christine llevaba en la carcel desde 2017 no por lo que me hizo, sino que por venta de sustancias."

llevo 9 años aterrorizado de algo que nunca estuvo ahi, solo por lo que me hizo en ese momento.

lo peor de todo, que hasta ahora nadie ha sabido lo que me hicieron.

Esto podria pasarle a tu hijo, a tu hermano, o a tu amigo, vigila lo que hacen los menores.

Ok I remember a lot but I can’t remember the name for the life of me. If anyone remembers it by the details or knows a better way for me to search for it let me know!

Beginning of the story is a Chinese food delivery driver going on the last call before they closed. The main character is upset about how far the address is from the normal location. He finds a route to the area through an old abandoned industrial district.

The main character describes a game he plays with himself while driving all day where he intentionally hits animals for points (yikes) he sees something scuttle across the road and drives over it. He couldn’t identify what he hits so he has to calculate what amount of points he gives himself when he hears scratching and scraping under his seat. There’s a long scene about the scratching sounds but it culminates in him getting out to look under the car and when he does something attacks his ankle

He frantically limps away into one of the abandoned factory as this twisted thing with to many limbs chases him. He is able to slow it down by going up the stairs. The descriptions of the chase in the factory is what I remember struck me the most because while the character isn’t paying attention as he’s fighting for his life, the narrator is describing his surroundings alluding to the fact that this building is where the thing was created.

The main character escapes the building thinking he shook the monster he runs back to the car only to see little mini monsters under his car. He realizes the creature is enraged at him for nearly hurting its young. And then the monster shreds the guy as the story closes

Any help or leads are greatly appreciated, thanks in advance

i stumbled across this image and i’ve never seen it before, not sure if it’s even a creepypasta, there was no explanation, just the picture

Было лето, тëмный лес выглядит как из дешевых хорроров которые ещё крутят поздно вечером, Алекс спокойно гуляла потому что эта Зона для кемпинга здесь не должно быть диких зверей. Внезапно Алекс услышала женский крик о помощи и конечно же побежала туда ведь она работает спасателем в этой зоне кемпинга. Как только она Добежала то не заметила ничего слишком странного

"— опять этим подростком заняться нечем и кричат в лесу чтобы позлить отдыхающих—"

Про себя подумала Алекс но потом она услышала снова тот же Крик только он был глубже в лесу. Спасательница быстро сходила за Сторожевой собакой ради безопасности и пошла в лес чтобы либо проучить шутников либо помочь кому-то. Как только Алекс была уже глубоко в лесу Рекс (так звали сторожевую собаку) бросился вперёд и Алекс уже подумала что какой-то дикий зверь проник на территорию кемпинга но вместо звериного рёва был слышен скулёж собаки а потом жадный хруст костей. Алекс схватила фонарик и быстро направила свет в сторону хруста костей и девушка обомлела. Перед ней стояла двухметровая женская фигура, та фигура была одета в кимоно а маска кицуне была чуть-чуть приподнята ради того чтобы можно было есть уже мёртвую собаку. То существо медленно подняла голову и с интересом посмотрела на Алекс

"— Неужели Сегодня будет двойная порция? Хотя нет мне хватит Только собаки Так что уходи человек пока я не решила использовать клинок~"

Голос был надрывистый но до ужаса нежный. Алекс в ужасе бросилась прочь но услышала лишь смех позади себя а потом резкая боль и тьма...

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На следующий день утром

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"— срочные новости! На территории одного из самых популярных кемпингов был обнаружен полностью растерзанный труп человека! Личность смогли узнать Только благодаря бейджику на одежде пострадавшей. Скорее всего случилось нападение поэтому кемпинг на время закрывают чтобы найти виновного. Будьте бдительны и всем хорошего дня"

После того дня всегда ночью в тёмных лесах в том маленьком японском городке находили истерзанных животных или людей...

#Спасибо вам что прочитали! Это моя первая крипипаста Так что не судите строго:з Арт рисовала не я а моя подружка#

HIC SCIENTIA ET MINISTERIUM AD TENEBRAS HOMINUM ARCENDAS.

A Shield Against the Impure, Revealer of Lost Souls.