Creepypasta Index

I awoke one night, lying face down in my bed, unable to move.
This had happened to me before many times. I was told by a doctor that it was sleep paralysis, and that it could be triggered by changes in sleeping pattern, stress, falling asleep in a certain position, eating certain things before going to bed, alcohol consumption, etc. Sometimes, I saw things. They varied from innocent kittens at my door to terrifying demons clawing at my flesh. These were called hypnagogic hallucinations, and were normal, I was told. Just a disturbance in the REM cycle, nothing to be afraid of…

This particular night, and the events that followed, were different.
The window beside me was open, a cold breeze blew the curtains above me. I hadn’t gone to bed with my window open. I felt as if I was being watched. Through my periphereal vision, I saw a little girl standing in my window. She had soft looking black hair, fair skin, and wore a white dress. Smiling widely, she pressed her finger to her lips.
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My parents were the first to fall violently ill from the sickness we now know as XoRax, I can vividly recall my father lying on his bed while his muscles spasmed and he chocked on his own vomit. I stood as his side, frozen in place and refusing to leave as I held back sobs, his pupils dilating until his entire eye was like an inky blackness. He tried to speak, turning his head toward me but opening his mouth only brought forth another torrent of vomit.

I remember saying something, but that detail is lost on me now. I remember staring into his glazed eyes as his shuddering became less pronounced and he was suddenly very still. I let out a wail and ran into my room, unprepared and unwilling to face the truth. My mother was the first to pass, then my older brother who had just turned 17, and finally my father.

I had not considered that I could have caught the disease myself – if it were in fact contagious – I just thought myself lucky, though tragically lucky at that. I fell asleep in the corner, huddled in the blanket that previously kept my mother warm, her perfume made the putrid aroma somewhat tolerable, perhaps just enough so that I could drift off.
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The first thing you notice probably won’t worry you much. Just another flaw in the wall, or maybe a bump in the plaster that you hadn’t paid attention to before. It might even look like a shadow. If you’re observant, you might see it move, but you might not.

It’s usually too late by the time you get scared. Your walls will be covered in them— little bumps, like in an old house. They move around like beetles, incredibly fast, writhing and skittering over each other. You may not think the exact word, but the concept will almost definitely occur to you: infected. And it’s not so far off, although “colonized” might be closer.

The thing is, they exist in alternating generations. The first lives in your walls. When you see them, you’re witnessing their death throes. They’ll be gone soon. They die after reproducing.
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My life seemed like it was going pretty well. I had just received my bachelor’s degree at the state college, and received the fairly well-paying job as an office manager. The thing is, something felt like it was missing from my life… I wanted love. I wanted to have a wife to keep me company, but the only women I knew worked at the office—and were drop-dead ugly.

After coming home one evening from a long day at work, I grabbed a coke, sat down, and booted up my computer. I was very desperate to find love as soon as possible, and it seemed my only choice to find it was through online dating. I visited a popular website, registered, and set up my interests in the hopes that I’d be matched soon.
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“Mary, you have a visitor.”
I open my eyes and see the fat nurse who woke me up this morning standing in front of me, smiling. I don’t remember what happened to me or how long I have been here. I woke up today in an unfamiliar room, but somehow my posessions and clothes were neatly laid out for me. It’s a hospital or something, because they told me I’m sick and am going to be here until I get better. And I have to get around in a wheelchair. But they’re not telling me how long I’ll be here. Nobody seems to know, and nobody answers my questions. It’s like they can’t hear me.

I don’t feel sick. I’m only thirty years old for Christ’s sake. I’ve been healthy my whole life, and never even got so much as a pinprick from my work as a seamstress. I keep demanding to speak to a doctor, but everyone who works here just pats my shoulder and smiles at me. They give me pills every few hours, but I refuse to take them. They end up forcing me to take them. What if the pills they’re giving me are making me sick? Everyone here is old and depressed looking. Why am I here? These people are almost ready to die. I have at least half of my life ahead of me. Unless I have some disease or cancer, and this is where they decided to put me until I die. That doesn’t make sense either though, because I feel completely healthy.
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I used to watch scary movies all the time. Read scary stories. In every horrifying tale I ever watched or read, not once did the ghoul, goblin, or ghost mess up. Not once did they compromise their position. They had everything planned out, and what they couldn’t plan out they made up for in supernatural powers and advantages.

Apparently, the creature I encountered was one in a million.

He has big white eyes. They glow dimly, like some animals eyes do when you take a picture with flash. His head is bald and reminiscent of aliens in 1950s movies. His nose looks as if someone took a human nose and chopped off the end so it was flat to his face, but it doesn’t look skeletal. It looks fleshy, and powerful. His mouth is lipless, so all I see is a gaping hole with no teeth in sight. His arms and legs are a little too long and he’s a little too skinny. In fact, his hands look as though they’ve adapted to being used as a second pair of feet. I guess he gets around faster by crawling.
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In the fall of 2011, a man hung himself in a bottling factory of a popular over the counter sleep aide company just outside Chicago. The man worked as a quality control manager and had just been laid off to save the company money. In the morning, the cleaning crew found him swaying in the breeze from the air conditioning system with a note in his breast pocket that read “sleep tight.”

Over the next few months a string of strange deaths were associated with areas where the sleep aides from the factory were shipped. Seemingly healthy people had died in their sleep from apparent strangulation. All the victims had severe bruising on their throats. Oddly, police were unable to ascertain how the murderer entered the victim’s home or a possible motive for the murder. Further, vivid reports began coming in from people who had taken the pills but not died.

One lady reported taking the pill and right before she fell asleep she opened her eyes and a bald, middle aged, man wearing a short sleeved white collared shirt was hovering just above her face. She closed her eyes hoping the man would disappear but when she opened her eyes he was there, inches from her face. She even recalls feeling the man’s breathing on her forehead. He then began strangling her. Luckily for her, her husband noticed her gasping for air in her sleep and quickly woke her.
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The summer of 1986 was for the most part pretty typical. I was ten years old at the time, so we were doing the things ten year old boys love to do like swimming, riding around on our bikes and playing little league games.

The area I grew up in was very rural; populated mostly by farmers and their kids. The nearest town was Deweese with a population of under 100 and while it didn’t offer much for kids to do, we usually didn’t have a hard time making our own fun.

One Friday, me and my friends Kevin, Mike and Scott decided to walk the train tracks that went out of town. Already familiar with what was down the tracks to the East, we decided to explore the western stretch.
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Tim sat on the bus, riding home after a long day of work. The air outside was bitter; Tim shivered on the cold plastic seat. He leaned his head back on the rattling window; it didn’t seem to bother him. The music bleeding into his ears from his ear buds were enough to distract him from the rattling window vibrating against his head. He closed his eyes and wondered what Lauren would be making for dinner tonight. Possibly some beef stew…it was freezing outside, something nice and hot would make nice. Hopefully the kids weren’t distracting her too much from her cooking. They should be doing their homework, but it’s not like that ever stopped them from causing a riot around the house.

The bus began to slow down to a stop, and Tim realized that it was time to get off and walk the rest of the way back to his home. He slowly got up; ignoring the cold sensation from touching the freezing arm rests, he used them to assist himself up. Tim walked towards the front of the bus, and departed with a nod and wave to the bus driver. His stomach was rumbling, and he really wanted some of that beef stew.
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Let me tell you a story. So the other day I was just hanging around on my computer, same old teenager things. I’m usually logged onto Skype (for those of you who don’t know, a video or voice chatting program) while I’m on the computer and leave it there in case a friend wanted to randomly call me, so it didn’t surprise me all too much when I got a sudden Skype call as I was browsing my Facebook. What did surprise me, though, was that I couldn’t see who it was that was calling me. There was no name; there was just a blank space where there was usually a username to tell me who was trying to contact me. I figured it was just one of my friends playing a prank on me, so I just said the hell with it and accepted the call.

There wasn’t anybody there. It was completely black, so I hollered a hello. No response. There was nothing coming from my headphones, not even the random background noise you hear when no one’s speaking through the microphone. I decided to type out a message, simply sending another hello. There was no response to that either. I decided to just leave it, but for some reason I opened up another window inside of ending the call. Just as I opened up Facebook again, I got a Skype message back.
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