domingo, 25 de octubre de 2015

Light Creepypastas #4









In the deepest darkest part of the forest there was a witch who lived in a cottage. Smoke could often be seen rising from her chimney.

A black cat was often seen lurking around. Many animals seemed drawn to the place and were never seen again.

All the people of the village...went to her for help actually. She was great with healing herbs and a lovely person! :-) 

T.L. Clark




















I was a kid once. Probably 5 years old. I followed my cat by crawling into the space under our neighbors house. Oh, and I took a flash light. I used the flash light to shine a light in there to try to find him. Then he opened his eyes when I shined the light on the spot where he was sitting right next to me. The eyes glowed like green fire just as he jumped at me and scratched my face and I wet myself. That night I had a really bad dream where the the cat had really big green fire eyes and wanted my eyes instead so he started scratching at my face. I woke up with a scream and discovered I had wet myself.


Geoff









As I hit reply and let my comment slip into the ether of my favorite internet message board, I took great satisfaction. I had been coming to my favorite message board for over a year under a variety of names and personas. As my own mood and personality changed, so too did my online presence.

There were always those who disagreed with me. Some ran crying to the mods when a differing opinion hurt their feelings. Others flamed me openly when my superior arguments trashed their own, infantile ramblings.

Then there was the one mod abusing his power and stalking me about the message board. Whenever he was online, he always searched for my profile. He was jealous of my following on "his" board and sought to undermine it. Frequently my posts would disappear for no reason. My threads were locked. Int he worst cases, he would ban my username and force me to create another.

This mod had a following of his own: a group of like minded members always instigating flame wars. When their enemies flamed back, the mod had his excuse to ban them. No doubt the whole group congratulated each other through the personal messaging system.

Tonight, I gave them no reason to ban me. My latest post was polite, professional, rational, and all around brilliant. Not one of the unapproved swear words appeared, and I even avoided naming the mod or any of his "crew" by name. I was sure he had no recourse but to sit at his computer and stew, while I waited for the follow-up posts agreeing with me.

Soon another posting grabbed my attention. A reply formed in my mind, but when I hit the reply button, I was sent not to the reply screen, but to the familiar message telling me I was banned!

I admit I was fuming. After all, I did nothing wrong. It was that stuck up moderator with his head up his behind out to get me. Registering a new screen name, my first impulse was to send off an angry message accusing him of abusing his power. What could he do? Ban me again? I could always create another username and come back.

But I decided I'd rather take the moral high road. I searched for the register button when I felt a chill beneath my skin. The thermostat registered the same temperature it always did.

"Had I been sitting still too long?" Sometimes I would have to set the thermostat to a higher temperature if I had been sitting too long, but I didn't think I had.

While I pondered the heat or lack thereof, there was suddenly a scratching on my window. I admit I was startled enough to jump from my seat, even though ti turned out to be nothing more than a tree branch brushing against my window.

Before I could take relief from that discovery, the room went dark! It was only a light bulb burning out, but I was convinced the stars had aligned to tell me something...or maybe they were conspiring to stop my new registration.

The moderator certainly didn't have the power to reach out across the world and chill my room, brush a tree limb across my window, or cause my light bulb to burn out. My mind was merely getting the best of me. Outside of a few meaningless mod duties, he had no real power over me. Nothing he could do could ever truly hurt me.

With my new resolve, I returned to my computer. My finger gravitated toward the left mouse button, as I slipped the pointer over the register button on my screen. With a gentle motion, I started the registration process anew.

I knew something wasn't right when the button didn't take me to the familiar screen with the fields asking for an email address, a screen name, and a password. No this screen was far different.

My eyes scanned across the rows of text dominating my screen, drawing to one line printed in a bold typeface, standing out above all others.

"You're IP has been banned."

This evil mod had torn my very soul in two. The ten minutes it might take to search for instructions on changing my IP and implementing them would surely seem like an eternity. I fell from my chair and onto my knees. Raising my hands skyward, I screamed. that evil moderator had finally broken me. 

J.J. Mainor 







As we lay on the couch watching football one fine Sunday afternoon, I heard a sickeningly wet raspberry sound reverberate from his body accompanied by a stench that instantly triggered my gag reflex. I didn't know what had just come out of his body, and my body's fight or flight instincts made sure I was halfway down the hallway before the second heave could wrack my body. I zipped into the first open doorway I saw and flattened myself against the wall, not daring to breathe for fear that the noxious fumes would overpower me and I would be found. I heard feet hit the floor in the living room and come down the hallway, closer to my hiding spot. Stealing my nerves, I commanded my body to utter stillness, denying the urge to tremble. The feet slowed at my door, but continued on when a timely clang from the kitchen sounded. My poor wife. She didn't even know what's coming for her, but it's a different world than it was just a few minutes, survival of the fittest, Darwinism, self-preservation, all that crap, is in effect now.

"Hey bud. Whatcha doin?" I cringe at what must inevitably happen now.

"Mama, daddy left and I'm poopy."

"He did? Well, he's probably just playing hide and seek. Let's go find him, okay?"

"Yes! Up, Mama."

I heard her put the pan down on the counter. 

"Okay, swee-" she breaks off in a choking/coughing sound, and when she continues her voice is fortified with steely sunshine, "Okay, sweetie. Let's go find your best-bud Daddy, and then he can change your diaper and play with you. How's that sound?"

"YESSS! Daddy is my best buddy, he changes my diapey, when I'm poopy, little budders!"

The song. Our song. It's all over, I'm done for. 

Nevada









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