Good evening night posters.

There are two things you should know about me at this point: I turn every light off when I leave a room. No matter what. My dad used to beat the **** out of me when the power bill spiked higher than he felt it should. Due to the same Pavlovian conditioning, I lock every door as I pass through it. I’ve even locked the back door on the way down the steps.

As I start back up the steps, the nylon cord of the duffel cutting into my shoulder; I happen to glance up at my bedroom window.

The light is on.

And there's a silhouette against the closed blinds.

I feel a warm trickle on my thigh, as the hair on the back of my neck snaps to ****ing attention.

And then the light goes out.

It happens in less than a second. Thirty seconds later I’m still frozen in place, trying to parse impossible data and decide whether I’ve actually seen what I know I’ve seen. Rationalization finally fails me and I softly retrace my steps down the stairs and out through the garage, fighting the animal urge in my thighs and heart and feet to run at full speed away from the apartment.

Across the street, I stand beneath in the streetlight shadow of a dying elm, and call first the police and then a cab. After five minutes of silence, moments after I begin to chastise myself for overreacting, the venetian blinds on the living room window part slightly, and I feel the electric tingle of connecting with invisible eyes. And then it is gone.

The cab comes 20 minutes later, and the police never show up. I stay at a hotel the next night and on Sunday morning; my co-worker Leif accompanies me back to the apartment, to see how much has been stolen.

It’s all there. My laptop is still charging next to the bed, the brand new flatscreen TV stands monolith like and untouched in the living room. My stomach is twisted into knots. With Leif, a few other friends, and a pickup truck I move everything out the next day.

When we are almost finished I invite them to help themselves to the last beers in the fridge, and they squat in the empty living room, allowing sweat to evaporate off dripping brows. Emboldened by daylight and company I slip downstairs to examine the downstairs apartment, hoping to make a little sense of the unconnected puzzle pieces I have.

I go straight to the hall closet.

It has the same abnormally thick wall.

Only in this wall, someone has hammered a large, jagged hole, exposing the tiny crawl space between.

And in the dusty cavity, flat against the wall, is a cheap hardware store ladder; running up through the darkness, to the space behind the walls, in my apartment. As I stand, staring in dawning horror at the brushed aluminum and orange paint of the ladder, it moves. It bounces once against the wall and goes still. Dust drifts down in the motionless air.

Then, it creaks, slightly, shifting under invisible weight.

I can’t breathe. My lungs are clawing for oxygen and the edge of my vision goes dark, but I can’t breathe. My limbs feel cold and dead.

The next thing I know, I am outside beneath the elm tree again. I am calling Leif on his mobile phone and asking him to meet me downstairs with the last load of boxes. I don’t mention the hole, or the ladder. I just want to be away from there.

I don’t know how he got into my apartment from that space. I don’t want to know. All I care about is never seeing that building again. I mailed the keys to my landlord, and told her to keep the deposit; filled out an obligatory report with a terminally disinterested cop.

I’m burning through my last vacation days, and ignoring the insistent texts and emails from my boss. I can’t bring myself to go back to work. My chest constricts slightly, thinking about the dense hive of the downtown office building, people surrounding me at all times.

Leif has been letting me sleep on his sagging couch in his filthy one bedroom house, but I can tell I am wearing my welcome thin, and I am leaving in the morning. It’s just as well, I haven’t slept well since I abandoned the apartment; I lie awake, acutely aware of his presence in the next room, hearing him snoring, hearing the sheets shifting every time he moves. It’s time to leave.

Two days ago, my fiancé’s grandfather got a hold of his shotgun, put it in his mouth, and pulled the trigger with his toe. Brave old bastard. I’ll be moving with her into his weathered farmhouse, with acres of barren and rocky fields surrounding it. It’s quiet out there.

It sounds like heaven.

I haven't told her yet, and I don’t think I will. I told her simply that I quit my job and moved out. She's devastated, wounded, and it would be cruel to add to it now. I may have to tell her someday if it ever comes up, because I don't want to live in the city anymore. I don’t ever want to hear people moving beneath my feet, or on the other side of a wall.

Never again.

 

That's it? I almost fell asleep reading this...

 

Fine.

 

Well, that might be because I'm tired.
But seriously, it has all the build up... Actually, WAY too much build up. And then it ends. Just like that

 

Was that one or two stories I couldn't make it out becuse of its dullness?

 

two

 

Well, you guys are pretty ballsy. If I knew some freak living in drywall came up to my apartment every night I'd be sh*tting bricks. I'd probably end up doing a stakeout later though.

 

It would be scary if you were in his posititon but seriously its way to long.
I think its one story.

 

I actually thought it was a good read, and it just had to be last night.

Kudos Fenix.

 

http://www.cracked.com/article_15628_5-creepiest-urban-legends-that-happen-be-true.html

 

Alright, so I'm dead serious here, not creepypasta, not made up, scared the **** outta me.


So I'm sleeping, right? I wake up, I feel something stroking my side, right? I figure it's just my cat. Then it ****ing whispers something in my ear. Definite words (Though as far as I can tell, gibberish). Jesus H. Christ on a cross I flipped the **** out. Kinda. Hard to FtF out when you're PARALYZED WITH FEAR. Once I could move, I spun around, turned on all my lights, that kinda stuff. Mind you, this isn't some ungodly hour, this is seven in the morning, so it's not some half-asleep dream. I sat there with the lights on for the next hour or so trying to swallow my heart. It didn't help that during that hour, I couldn't move my legs because of an intense pressure on them, like someone was sitting on them. Even as I type, I'm feeling cool drafts in my space-heated room (My vents are closed since I get some screwed up miasma of all the air in the house).

Jesus Christ.

 

Wow.

Too much Dead Space.

 

Attention posters? Posting in this thread during daylight hours destroys the scary, please dun do it.

 

This thread isn't creepy anymore...

I'm going creepypasta hunting tonight.

 

Still no messages on my phone.

I guess he wasn’t going to call me back after all. I can’t really blame him, maybe I came on a bit too fast yesterday.
I had noticed him long before he noticed me. His shiny black hair and unnatural blue eyes. I wasn’t the only one watching him, that’s for sure. His movements were elegant in a boyish way. And his smile…his smile.
I would die for that smile.
Still no messages…
I thought about calling him, maybe apologize for going too fast yesterday. I’m a coward, I know, but I just couldn’t bring myself to dial his number.
Besides he’d promised he’d contact me when he’s ready.

So I’ll wait. I’m patient.

I know, I’ll just casually stroll past his house. Just to see if he’s home. Maybe he’s out, that would explain why he couldn’t call me yet.
He only lives half an hour away anyway. Maybe he’s shy and is scared to call me. Silly boy. I’ll go to him and tell him that he doesn’t have to be scared. That I don’t mind if he needs time.

He lives pretty secluded in a farm on the outskirts of town. I can hear the sheep in the stables as I approach. My heart skips when I see there’s lights burning inside. He must be there, he told me yesterday his parents would be gone for the weekend. They left him to look after the sheep for those days. Poor baby, that must be hard work. He was probably just too busy to call me. I’ll have to stay here until his parents come back and help him take care of all those sheep.

 

I knock on the door, but he doesn’t answer. Maybe he fell asleep. The thought of his beautiful face even more softened by sleep makes me smile. I try the door, it’s unlocked. There’s hardly any crime around here, so I guess locking the door is not needed. I try to be as quiet as possible as I sneak through the house. I want to surprise him. I cringe at every creak the stairs make as I climb them.
Finally I’ve reached the bedroom and I carefully open the door.

There he is, lying in bed as I thought. Quietly I switch on the nightlight on his desk so I can see his face.
His blue eyes are open, staring into space and his whole face is one bloody mess. His cheeks have been carved, the skin mostly removed and hanging loose on the sides of his face. He’s missing his fingernails, they are laid out on the bed carefully arranged. On his bare chest words are carved.

I look at him, my hands covering my mouth.
He’s still the same as I left him yesterday. He must have been so tired that he slept all day. How cute!
I softly kiss his forehead, making sure I don’t wake him. Then I write another message below the one on his chest, letting him know I’m here when he needs me.
I leave the room, heading back outside. I think it’s time for the sheep to go to sleep.
And tomorrow I’ll introduce myself to his parents. I’m sure they’ll love me too.

 

That was....odd very very odd.

 

@ Fenix: pics or GTFO