#nosleep story

[roseblack2222]

"STOMP..DRAG..STOMP DRAG.." #scarystory #nosleep

[americanoddysey]

Had a dream last night that A Fresh Pair of Eyes got a TV adaptation and my mom watched it before I did, for some reason. Also, Elias was a gamer with the cat ear headphones. That is all.

(he still is)

[bogleech]

Entry 3 of my "new" (expanded from an old draft into a whole series with more content) creepypasta series is the Ambulatory Evacuation. The ending revelation might be the most grotesque but I feel like it isn't too graphically described? Maybe I'm not a good judge.

First entry: Transmutative Plasmodiform Second entry: Umbral Teletroph

[somesecretpie]

I am looking for a human host!

Are you bored?

Are you lonely and bored?

Do you have a lot of time on your hands?

Do you have hands?

I’m offering you a proposal, with potential financial compensation for your troubles. It may sound off putting at first blush, but hear me out. I am looking for a human host. And I mean a “willing” human host who might be willing to give up some of their time to help out an odd fellow that doesn’t have hands or blood.

Am I asking to control your body? Yes. Sometimes. You’ll still be there, but taking the backseat. Now you’re probably thinking “That sounds no fun! I don’t want to spend all my time riding shotgun.”

And that’s valid.

But you all spend about half of the day unconscious anyway. Your body is just there, doing nothing—a complete waste. As for me, I don’t sleep (haha), so we could have it so that during the day, I will graciously let you do fun human things, and at night, I’ll do whatever. And by whatever, I mean perfectly safe, perfectly reasonable activities.

I don’t drink, and I rarely go outside.

I enjoy baking, I look at pictures of birds online, I’ve been getting into neuroscience lately. Very interesting stuff. You’re all very interesting.

And maybe you’re still thinking “Hey now, I don’t want some random mind-controlling thingy hauling my body around in my sleep, “Weekend at Bernie’s Style” to which I say, you’re no fun and you’re not the kind of person I want to live with anyway.

“But I’m a light sleeper!” you say.

Don’t worry! I can isolate your somatosensory cortex so you can’t feel anything.

“But my family will think it’s weird!” you say.

Don’t worry! You don’t have to tell them.

Actually, I would prefer that you don’t tell anyone. Please.

And should anyone question me, I’m not bad at impressions. I’ll get really good at a “you” impression, it’ll be the first thing I do!

I know this all sounds very strange and potentially unpleasant, but remember the financial compensation that may or may not be happening. Hell, I’ll even do some of your chores if you like, while you sleep. You can wake up and the dishes will be done, laundry folded and coffee made. Doesn’t that sound nice? And then you open the fridge and oh, what’s this? Someone baked banana bread last night (that was me, I baked banana bread last night.)

Now I should say, I don’t have a lot of standards, I really don’t. But I do (unfortunately) have some, so let’s just get them out of the way before I waste your time.

Please do not contact me if you have any of the following:

- Anemia: Sorry, it’s just not going to work out. I can pay for iron supplements, but I can’t work miracles.

-A weak immune system: I don’t like getting sick, I’m sorry. It’s gross, sick people are gross. I mean I know it’s not your fault, but healthy folks only please.

-A strong immune system: Yes, I know what I just said, but I also don’t want to be attacked by your immune system. So maybe you’re not the picture of health, but you’re just kind of okay. I’m looking for someone who is just kind of okay.

-A penchant for alcohol: It makes me feel strange…

-A name that starts with a P: I’m not the greatest at “speaking.” It’s hard, moving air through your throat and moving your tongue and your mouth at the same time. You all do it so easy—can’t say I’m not envious! I’m the worst at making the “P” sound.

I intentionally avoid any "p word" in conversation, and get by well enough, but I’ll look pretty foolish if I’m cavorting about, pretending to be you, and I can’t even say your name!

Those are my standards, but really, other than that, I’ll take anyone.

I don’t care if you’re male or female or anything in between.

I don’t care if you’re gay.

I don’t care if you’re smart.

I don’t care if you don’t have a lawyer.

There are so many things that I don’t care about.

Now, I’ve specified all the ways in which I could compensate you and how our relationship will be not in any way problematic, but I want to stress that, above all things, I am looking for a friend.

Someone I can spend quiet evenings with.

If you want to hang out with me during the day, that’s great! I can give you fun hallucinations. Or you could have hallucinations the normal way, like by reading, like what you’re doing now. I love to read! I love doing funny voices. I wonder what you think I sound like?

I hope I sound nice.

And one of the best things about me is I’m very quiet. No one else will be able to hear me except you. I’ll be like your own personal friend that only you know. Like a secret friend. And you don’t even have to talk to me because I can read your thoughts.

I suppose I should tell you a bit more about myself, since you’re still reading.

I was born in the Everglades, I think. It’s been awhile.

But I remember being so cold…

And so alone...

But then I met this sweaty man in a colorful tee-shirt, with a camera, and half a granola bar, and with blood so hot.

So yeah, he was my first host, and I’ll admit, we weren’t the best of friends. It was a confusing time for both of us. I was confused. He was confused. What happened was really both of our faults, you could say…

He was a bird watcher, if I recall correctly. Just watched birds all the time. I thought it might have been out of jealousy—watching those little things flying around makes you feel kind of stuck. I felt stuck.

So I decided to be a bird for a while to see if it was really all it’s cracked up to be. Squished myself into the body of this lovely American crow. We settled down, built a nest, and laid several nice, healthy eggs with a man-bird by the name of “Richard Baxter.”

He was a very proud bird, very large. And he gave me so many wonderful gifts. Like children, and also small pieces of plastic.

I still have all of them.

The plastic, not the children.

I’d never been so happy, all these hormones had me consumed in the joy of motherhood, but the crow’s health was failing. I could not sustain myself—it’s pathetic little heart beat weaker and weaker.

I tried starving, I tried everything I could, I wanted to be a bird so bad. But it just wasn’t working out.

The bird stopped working.

The other crows held a funeral service for me, even though I was still alive. I tried to tell them, but I’m not good at speaking, you remember.

It was all just a big mess.

I haven't seen Baxter since, but I still think about him a lot.

Is that weird?

I’m totally over it though, haha.

After that incident, I got kind of depressed... I possessed a lot of trash animals—gulls, racoons, and salespeople. I did what I could to survive. That’s kind of where I am now.

I am currently living in Miami florida—been body surfing almost every day (haha). Right now I’m using a library computer and a librarian. She does not like being possessed, boy howdy are these fingers twitching. But you can thank her for my halfway decent grammar.

I’m tired of feeling like a parasite.

I want to try a different approach.

I want to be friends? Like with Richard Baxter except I also live in your brain and drink your blood sometimes. But I’ll make you bread in your sleep, so it’s okay.

It’s been really hard finding someone willing to put up with me.

I’ve tried everything.

So I thought I would put up an advertisement online, why not?

Can’t say the P word in real life, but you can hear it in your head loud enough I hope.

I know I kept saying that I would compensate you financially, but I’m going to be real with you, I don’t have much. I’ve got like twenty bucks, some small pieces of plastic and a book about...finance....

But I’m a real hoot! ;D

So,

(P)lease,

If you are interested, leave your comments below. I would love to get to know you :)

I need to go now, the library is closing soon, but I’ll get back as soon as I can.

[stingrayextraordinaire]

NoSleep Moodboards // Tales from the Gas Station

Time moves strangely at the gas station, flowing slow and fast all at once, like molasses out of a shotgun.

[carbonatedbexxer]

[cookinguptales]

just watched the dirty laundry ep where one of them talks about how he wrote a short story that worried his teacher and like

ohhh I had one of those when I was a kid. my parents still talk about it to this day.

when I was about 8yo, my teacher put a poster up on the blackboard and said, "I want you all to write me a story inspired by this scene." the scene was of a lush jungle that had animals hidden throughout.

"oh, okay," I said to myself. "I can do this."

see, what my teacher (and parents) didn't know was that my grandmother, knowing vaguely that I liked to read but knowing pretty much nothing else about children, had given me a stack of books that she got at a yard sale. these books were very nice quality and I was happy to get them. too bad that they were all alfred hitchcock presents!

for the uninitiated, AHP was a tv series and book series that collected short, scary stories. stories about murder, stories about ghosts, stories about monsters of all kind. you get stories like du maurier's the birds and blackwood's the wendigo and that fucked-up short story that roald dahl wrote about that guy who collected fingers or whatever.

all that is to say that I had been consuming wildly age-inappropriate atmospheric horror for months at this point and I was like, "yes, I know just what to write!"

I ended up turning in this story about an explorer who was lost in the jungle and he starts hearing this faraway howling sound, which he realizes is a howler monkey. and he keeps getting more and more lost and the howling keeps getting closer and closer and finally, as he is about ready to collapse with exhaustion, he hears the sound of howls all around him and the story ends with the implication that he got mauled to death by howler monkeys.

(I also, coincidentally enough, really enjoyed zoo books!)

lmao ~guess whose parents got a phone call~?

but it kind of backfired on my teacher, because my parents were fully delighted. they were like "WE DIDN'T KNOW SHE COULD WRITE LIKE THIS" and I did not get punished at all.

anyway, my parents still talk about "the howler" to this day when they want to embarrass me at dinner parties. :')

[xoivy]

I just finished watching the creep cast episode about penpal and i'm gonna fucking throw up dude

[spookcataloger]

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service.

A classic thread that every fan of outdoorsy-innawoods creepypasta should read. Haven’t heard of this yet? You’re in for a treat!

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service, I have some stories to tell (Part 1/8) 

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service, I have some stories to tell (Part 2/8)

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service, I have some stories to tell (Part 3/8)

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service, I have some stories to tell (Part 4/8)

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service, I have some stories to tell (Part 5/8)

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service, I have some stories to tell (Part 6/8)

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service, I have some stories to tell (Part 7/8)

I’m a Search and Rescue Officer for the US Forest Service, I have some stories to tell (Part 8/8)

Enjoy! Sleep with your lights on!

[sergle]

I just started listening to the newest season of Nosleep and had the deranged idea to write down my own personal ratings /10 and reviews and it's just my luck that the first episode was real bayud LMAO

[artisticfurby]

there should be a the third parent/tommy taffy fandom i think. or maybe not. maybe there shouldn't. maybe i just want that to happen because for some fucking reason it has been my special interest for so long. anyway uh

[roetrolls]

Sigh. I wanna do creative stuff but I really drained myself today

[gothicprep]

thinking about how i used to read r/nosleep pretty often from the time I was like 17 to the time I was around 22, and I think I’ve concluded that there are no good “creepypastas” that don’t completely bend the genre to the point of almost entirely discarding it.

i think my favorite thing ever posted there is “left/right game” and like. sorry. if you take out the bookends that are meant to qualify it for the board – which are the least necessary parts of it – it’s just an experimental science fiction epic.

when I think creepypasta, I think camp horror. or dubious literacy. not that.

[carbonatedbexxer]

 "Now K.D firmly believes in Bigfoot, so she gets all excited and asks what he means by fuzzy.

Was he hairy???

But the kid says no, he wasn't hairy.

He was a 'fuzzy man', and he describes a man that's blurry, 'like when you close your eyes but not all the way closed.' "

From searchandrescuewood's original nosleep story 'im a search and rescue officer for the us forest', illustration by me.

[girlfromthecrypt]

It's so hot here that my roommate started shedding his skin. [Short horror story/nosleep]

Marco and I have been living together for over two years now. We never had any issues with our arrangement. We work together to keep the apartment clean, rent gets paid on time and in full every month, and I believe we've actually evolved into being friends over time. Therefore, these problems we've been having really threw me off guard.

It started when Marco staunchly refused to leave his room. I wasn't exactly worried at first. Our area has recently been hit by an extreme heatwave, and since we don't have an AC, I figured Marco locked himself in with a bunch of electric fans. When I went to knock on his door, I could hear them whirring on the other side. It weirded me out that he didn't answer immediately, though. After waiting a couple seconds, I chalked it up to him being asleep, but just as I was about to turn and leave, he called out to me. "Jen?"

I breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wasn't dead. "Yeah, it's me! Just wanted to ask if everything's alright."

"Sure, I'm, uh… great."

His voice gave me pause. It sounded unusual, un*like* him. It was garbled and had an almost hissy quality to it. "You going to the store?"

"Yeah," I answered, trying not to make my discomfort known. "Need anything?"

"Can you get me a sixpack and a bag of ice, maybe?"

I told him I would and upon my return, I found a twenty lying on the floor by his doorframe. "Keep the change," Marco shouted.

I placed the items he'd ordered where his money had been and left, hoping things would be back to normal the following day. Perhaps Marco had caught a heatstroke working outside and that's all there was to it. Temperatures aren't normally that high where we live, so nobody's used to this kind of weather. The day after was a Sunday, and I made breakfast for the two of us like I did every week. Unlike every week, however, Marco wasn't waiting in the kitchen for it to be finished.

At first, I hollered for him to come out and eat with me, but when he didn't answer, I carried a plate of pancakes over to his room. I knocked, then asked into the silence whether he wanted any. I received no response, so I set aside the plate and banged both fists against his door. Still nothing. Both irritated and uneasy, I tried the doorhandle. My roommate and I are very respectful of each other's privacy, and I would never do so if it wasn't a pressing matter. It didn't amount to anything either way. Marco had locked himself in. He was definitely there, though. I heard his chair squeak.

"Are you okay?" I asked. "I can call a doctor, or…"

I trailed off when I saw a note being slid through the crack beneath the door right at my feet. I bent down to pick it up. It was in Marco's handwriting, but decidedly messy; like he'd been in a great hurry and practically spewed ink onto the paper.

*Hey Jen, I'm fine but my throat hurts so I can't talk. I'm sorry but I'm not coming out, I don't want to pass it on to you. I don't need a doctor, I bet I'll be fine in a couple days. Don't worry, ok?*

I frowned at the note, but took the news in stride. What else could I do? I told Marco I'd leave the pancakes outside for him, and not long after I'd returned to the living room, I could hear him dragging the plate inside. I found myself rather missing Marco's presence around the apartment. Three days went by without me catching so much as a glimpse of him. I'd have to walk past his door to get to the bathroom, and I would hear him playing the weather report on his little TV inside every time. On the fourth morning, I found another note, this time on the fridge.

*Hey Jen, I'm going out to see my mom. Be back in a week.*

What the fuck? First he's sick, now he's going on a trip. I was beyond confused. I tried to call him, but he didn't pick up. That wasn't really a surprise. Marco is one of those people who don't ever really use their cell phone. Most of the time, he doesn't even have it on him. Nevertheless, it only added to my growing concerns. Another two days passed and I didn't hear a thing from my roommate. I tried once more to call him when I got off work, just in case. It was already nighttime and Marco normally went to bed quite early, so I didn't really expect him to pick up. And he didn't.

Instead I heard a familiar ringtone coming from his room. It only lasted a few seconds before stopping abruptly, like it had been turned off in a hurry. My stomach sank when the realization set in. Why in the world would he lie to me? This didn't make any sense. The whole situation had the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but despite this, I began heading towards Marco's room. His door looked eerie in the dim lamplight of the hallway. I inched closer, hand outstretched to jiggle the handle. Locked. Of course.

"Marco?" I tried, pressing my ear up to the wood. "What's going on?"No answer. I could hear a squeaking noise coming from inside, like a chair being moved."What the fuck, man," I said, stifling the tremor in my voice. "You're clearly in there, I don't understand…"

That's when I had an idea. There were spare keys to all the rooms in a drawer in the living room cabinet. Neither of us had ever used them before, but there they were.

"Marco, if you're not gonna talk to me, then I'm coming in," I declared with all the determination I could muster. He didn't respond.

"I'm serious, I'm getting the spare and then I'm coming in."

Silence.

I bit my lip, turned on my heel and headed for the living room. My heart was thundering in my chest when I returned with the key. I crammed it into the hole with shaking fingers, turning it once, then twice.

*Click.*

I swallowed, steeling myself before I pushed down the handle and nudged the door open. The motion was accompanied by a drawn-out creaking noise that reminded me I should oil the hinges sometime. With my pulse thrumming in my ears, I entered the darkness beyond the threshold. I couldn't see anything except the limited areas that were illuminated by the ceiling lamp shining in from the hallway. In vain I groped around for the lightswitch, then I decided to give up and just proceed. Something stopped me from going back and grabbing a flashlight. I simply had a feeling I shouldn't turn my back on that room.

Both arms outstretched, I ventured further inside, feeling around for Marco's desk. Soon enough, my palms met with the smooth, hard wood and I braced myself against it almost desperately. "Marco?" I asked, an intangible fear compelling me to whisper. My hands started roaming the surface in front of me. I could feel his laptop, powered off and shut, his mousepad and a set of pens and pencils. Then I moved on to the chair. I flinched when I made contact with something dry and soft hanging over it. At first I thought it was a t-shirt, but the fabric felt almost like extremely thin baking paper. I continued to stroke it, and as my hand went down what was presumably the neckhole, I found that it was warm and damp.

Disgusted, I withdrew from the surely sweat-soaked piece of clothing. Remembering Marco's small desk lamp, I mentally palmed my face for not looking for it sooner. It didn't take me long to locate the switch. As the small light came on, its beam fell onto what I'd *thought* to be a shirt, causing me to recoil in shock. It was skin.

There was an entire fucking skinsuit slung over the back of the chair. It was like a snake's shedding, except tan and pink and human-shaped, with two arms and two legs and a tear in the back from which its wearer must have emerged. The remnants of the face dangled from the ragged neck-scrap, and it looked like the dried remains of one of those cosmetic gel masks. I stared at it for a moment, my eyes bulging and my heart in my throat before I started to violently gag. I clung to the edge of the desk for dear life, trying to keep my thoughts in order.

And that's when I heard it. A garbled, distorted hiss coming from right above me. I whipped my head up just in time to catch a glimpse of a figure scuttling across the ceiling and disappearing into the hallway at an inhuman speed. My mind raced, but before I could think of anything better to do, my feet were already carrying me out the door. I burst into the living room, my face burning as panic spread throughout my body. Inwardly, I was yelling at myself to get out, to leave this place while I still could. Despite this, I followed the sound of dishes rattling into the kitchen.

I hastily flicked on the lights and started looking around for the source of the noise. My stomach was churning and beads of cold sweat ran down my face. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that whatever had been hiding in the shadows could be none other than Marco.

Marco, who was somehow able to walk on the ceiling, who had shed his skin and deposited it on the chair at his desk. Marco, who I'd been living with for two years, who had always been kind and friendly and open, who never argued when it was his turn to clean or take the trash out. Marco, who most definitely wasn't human.

Marco…

Marco was staring at me. I could feel his gaze burning holes into my side. I turned to the right, slowly raising my eyes to the kitchen cupboard. Cowering on top of it, not unlike a wild cat, was my roommate. He had pressed himself against the wall, flattening himself to the cabinet on all fours like a master contortionist. His entire body was of a dripping, aggravated scarlet. His face was bright red, his eyes bulging out of his head; it looked as though the lids were missing. Marco's lips had thinned and receded so his gums were on display—I'd never realized how large his teeth were. Dampened brown curls clung to his neck and temples. Rooted to the spot, all I could do was stare at this thing that my friend had turned into.

He—it—stared back, that same hissing sound emanating from somewhere deep in its throat. Slowly but surely, it loosened from its rigidity and began crawling towards me, sticking to the ceiling like an enormous anthropomorphic gecko. The fluids coating Marco's pink body dripped onto the floor in front of me. I must have forgotten how to breathe altogether. My tongue was bone dry, like a dead leaf lying limp inside my mouth.

"Marco," I muttered. "Marco, this is you, right?"

A rumble rolled from his chest, something akin to a growl.

I raised both my hands, taking a step back as he advanced. "You're okay! I swear," I stammered. "I'm not gonna tell. Whatever this is, I promise I'm not gonna tell."

He stopped and cocked his head, neck cracking. His mouth fell open and his tongue dropped out. It was twice as long as humanly possible. I stifled a shudder, keeping my hands up and forcing myself to assume a soothing expression. "Everything's okay. Stop growling. You know me. We live together. I make you breakfast on Sundays and it's your turn to take the trash out tomorrow."

Marco closed his mouth. He crept over to the left wall and began descending, movements fast and spider-like. Once more standing on two feet, he started walking towards me, step by step, the soles of his skin-stripped feet creating a wet slapping sound on the smooth clean floor. I dropped my arms, focusing on keeping my breathing steady until he finally came to a stop in front of me. "You're okay," I repeated. "You're alright. Can you still hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?"

A nod. Then, he opened his mouth, forcibly shaping the growls and hissing noises into distorted, almost intelligible words.

"My kind is sensitive to heat."