Get Ready to Get Scared!
Good evening, welcome to Sandcastle, California where spooky stories become your nightmares. This is Spooky Boo Rhodes bringing you the terrifying tales of Creepypasta. Every Monday we have tales from the corners of the internet and the Creepypasta library. You can enjoy these stories either on the Podcast Creepypasta and Scary Stories or on YouTube at Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time. Not to be confused with that other Spooky Boo, but come to the original Spooky Boo Channel by searching for the full phrase Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time to find me.
Not only do I tell creepypasta stories, but I also tell true spooky stories, true terrifying crime stories, and just about anything that will keep you up all night. I am also a writer and write under the name Sarah Marshal King. With this name I bring you the written tales of Sandcastle and other gothic horror soon available at Amazon, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, OverDrive, Everand (formerly Scribd), Gardners, Baker & Taylor, Google Books, and other ebook stores. I will announce when the titles will be available in March of 2024. Subscribe to either my website at ScaryStoryTime.com or on one of my podcasts or my YouTube channel or one of my social media sites at SpookyBooRhodes to find out more.
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Today’s spooky topic is about bone chilling books that will curdle your blood! Now grab your pillows and listen to these tantalizing tales written by other creepypasta authors. You may find links to the authors on the website CreepypastaScaryStories.com.
Now let’s begin…
Badseller
by Resident DeVir
An aspiring young author had sent his first manuscript to several publishers, all of whom declined it, saying that his writing wasn’t “refined” or that his ideas were “too cliché”. While the author could take these refusals just fine, it was a whole other matter when his book actually did get published, and the negative backlash from the general public was overwhelming.
By readers, the book was dubbed to be a mediocre story not worth cutting down a rain forest to publish, and the author was advised to give up his ambitions and do something else with his life. Even his so-called “friends” thought his book was a poorly written piece of trash, unfit of being referred to as literature, and they were certainly not afraid to tell him so.
But these people just didn’t understand!
They couldn’t see the heart in every word of every line!
They had no idea that the book was not a mere product of the author, it was the author, and insulting the book was in the eyes of the author the same as insulting him. Why did people reject him, a kid who just wanted to tell a good story and contribute something to the world?
He was saddened immensely, and when his depression culminated and became unbearable, he hanged himself. “Let this be a good story,” the author thought as his eyes closed.
—
-8
About a week after the author’s funeral, something odd began to happen. Manuscripts aplenty got sent to random publishers all over the country, and on each of these manuscripts was written the name of the deceased author – a pseudonym, they assumed.
The central theme in all of these books was human suffering, and all the facets of pain, hatred, and sadness were explored excessively. Really intricate descriptions of unfortunate souls being tortured in gruesome ways were scribbled on every page, and boy did readers love it!
The books got sold out quickly after hitting the shelves, and a new trend in modern literature was born. The mysterious author was proclaimed a literary genius with a thorough understanding of humanity’s greatest fears and darkest sides.
Hoping to keep the momentum going and making “suffering books” the new “vampire love stories”, many publishers started a wide-scale campaign in the media to find the true identity of the author, and you can be sure that many imposters showed up with crappy manuscripts. About to give up any hope of ever finding the author, all the publishers that had received manuscripts got a letter sent to them, addressed from the author, in which was written:
“I gave you my best, and you refused it.
Now that I give you my worst, you love it.
No creatures are lower than you, and this
comes from someone who spends
eternity under the soles of your shoes.
Warm greetings from a very warm place,
The Author”
The Basement Library
by Hypnagogia
The Bowness Public Library is smaller than the Mac that is at the end of the same strip mall, and is one of the least utilized in the city. Regardless, it remains open and used, unofficially, as a dumping ground for “problematic books”. For the most part, these are books with complaints against them for explicit content or politically incorrect material. However, if you ask the librarian to see the basement and she complies, you’ll discover books that are problematic for different reasons.
To get into the basement, you need a Public Library Card, no overdue notices against you, and to come on Saturday evening, when the librarian in charge of the basement is on duty. If you meet all these conditions, you’ll be led through a trapdoor hidden beneath a small rug and down a staircase. At the bottom, you will realize that the entire room is packed so full of books that there is little room to stand. There are bookshelves on every wall, built into the staircase, and even into the floor. The librarian will not let you check any of the books in the floor out. However, the walls are fair game.
The eastern wall is the most important, as it contains the history, travel and biography sections. Everything you learned in school is a lie, and the basement is where they keep the truth.
Blank Book
by TacoExpress
The smell of mothballs and mold fill your mouth and nostrils as you peel the book open. The book moans, groans. The pages are yellow with old coffee stains and the corners are burnt. The cover is slick, with the exception of a couple of ripples and tears. The book has no title, no author. No editors, no illustrators. No critics, no fans. No beginning, no end. No one knows it exists.
You flip through the ancient pages, crippled and rotten. Nothing but symbols illegibly printed on random spots on the page. Astericks, stars, triangles, hearts, eyes, Zalgo text, numbers. Binary, Pig Latin, Cursive. The text is smeared. Unreadable. You manage to decipher tiny letters at the bottom of each page.
“But why?”
It repeats. The binary translates into,
“But why?”
The Pig Latin translates into,
“But why?”
Even the cursive says,
“But why?”
No pencil can mark the pages of the book. No pen, no marker, no crayon, no paint. They are unworthy of its fragile content.
No human hand can touch its pages without them yelping in pain. No animal, no monster, no God. They are unworthy of its spell wrapped within each symbol.
You flip through pages on end, your hands burning, tears streaming, dripping onto the page. Tears instantly evaporate. Disappear. Vanish. Liquids churn in your stomach, your fingernails begin to fall off. Your teeth turn strange shades of yellow, then gray, then black. They fall out onto your purple tongue. Your eyelids flip, then slowly fall to the floor. Blood replaces your tears. Your hear your bones clicking and clacking, breaking and snapping.
The skin around your throat tightens. You stare down at the book, the pages mocking you. The Zalgo text coming off the page, text floating in the air. Vanishing when the tips of your bleeding, naked finger tips graze them. They zip onto your chest, where they won’t budge. Your hair begins to fall out, until it’s all gone. Your skin turns into a shade of yellow…the same yellow as the pages below. You tightly grasp the pages of the book, making your hands burn more.
Your hands become one with the book, turning into a page. They are fused into the binding. You lose your clothing. Whoa. There goes your lunch. All over the desk, except on the book. Whatever is happening to you, it wants to get all liquids out of you; you try to vomit until nothing else comes up. You begin to urinate until your bladder is empty. Your nose begins to run, dribbles down your top lip. Your sinuses are clear, your nostrils are clear. Next thing you know, your drooling everywhere. You drool until your mouth is dry. Dry of any more spit. You scramble away from the book, but it is glued to your hands. You fiddle with the door handle, struggling to open it. You are sweating all over, and next thing you know, you can’t sweat any longer. You sit in front of the door, sobbing.
You can’t escape what you have started. You try to cry, but your tears are gone as well. The only thing that remains is your blood. The blood rolls down your cheeks, dribbles down your chin. Oozes from small slits in your skin where your fingernails used to be, splashes out from every sweat gland, from the palms of your hands, your private parts. After ten minutes of this, you fall to the floor. Lifeless. Spitless. Vomitless. Sweatless. Tearless. Urineless.
Now this is where it gets easy; the book slowly processes your body into its pages until you’re completely gone. You have been turned into another damned page of the beginningless book, the endless book. With your last bit of life, you manage to send a small message in Zalgo binary upon your page.
“But why?”
The police come days later and enter your man-cave. They report that they find nothing but a book with no title neatly sitting on a desk with no trace of anything. One policeman after another disappears mysteriously after reading the book. The book is basically being passed around to one or another, day after day, week after week, year after year.
The book never dies or lives.
Better Thoughts
by Tewahway
On his way home from school, a tacky little pamphlet neatly folded on the seat next to him, catches the eye of Ajay, a twenty one year old Toronto native. He has always had a curious mind.
With his phone’s internet cut off in the rat-run tunnels of the subway, he searched around for anything on the train that could distract him.
Usually these little brochures open with something like “The Lord Forgives!” or some other religious rambling. No matter, they all end with “Give us money!” Ajay thinks to himself facetiously.
But this pamphlet is different. Strangely, he can’t shake the feeling that fate brought it to him.
As he flips it over and examines the whole of the pamphlet, he sees a small piece of green tape with his name, Ajay, written on it in thick black Sharpie. A chill crawls down his spine.
“It’s gotta be a coincidence,” he thinks to himself, “I feel like I need to check it out now, though.”
“Welcome to the Better Thoughts Initiative!”
It reads like some cheap manual for a new employee. He figures it’s not like he has anything better to do on his commute, so he sits down, and further examines it.
There are three pages, folded into an accordion style pamphlet. The back of the pamphlet has scenes of archetypal happy families, and proud professionals from diverse backgrounds.
“Welcome to the Better Thoughts Initiative!”
By reading this information, you’ve made the first step up the mountain of auto-correction. You should be proud of yourself!
Page 1. Our mission:
The Better Thoughts Initiative (formerly known as the Think Right Collective) has been helping the lost and disenfranchised get a grip on their inner turmoils, one human at a time!
We always ensure that our clients and customers stay true to our mantra: “Why think well, when you can think better?”
We’re proud to say that we’ve been hired for corrective work, on a small scale, by wealthy and powerful individuals all around the world!
That’s not to say we do things small at the BTI. We’ve also done humanitarian work, pro bono, for struggling governments, in sovereign nations, since the late 1800s!
As a powerful world leader told us in the mid 1940s, during our program, “Geh mir aus dem kopf! Es schmerzt!” Which means “Thank you for stopping the painful thoughts!”, in German!
Our methods have evolved significantly since inception. Due to world conflict, we grow in staggering spikes, both in successful cases of thought rehabilitation, and in practice!
We’re currently not accepting applicants from low socioeconomic backgrounds. Sorry!
Perhaps if you get your life in order, you can enable your children to one day be a part of our program!
“This is by far, the weirdest piece of crap I’ve ever seen.” Ajay mutters to himself.
It feels to him like some kind of Soviet era indoctrination manual. Some kind of joke, perhaps?
His curiosity eventually gets the better of him, and he feels compelled to continue reading.
Page 2. Our Methods:
As Mahatma Gandhi famously said, “Change the world to be what you want to see.”
We at the Initiative really take that to heart!
What all started through the hubris of a young Eastern European man, has evolved into the most powerful thought shaping method currently known to humankind!
Many people don’t know, but the mind is essentially one big puzzle. Once you find out the appropriate algorithms and patterns, you can re-illustrate the big beautiful image that the properly assembled puzzle holds!
Our cure for your mental maladies is an easy and enjoyable three step process.
1. We start by picking the individual (you), and deciphering their mind, one jigsaw at a time. We unravel the elegant, and appropriately appointed wrapping paper around the present state of mind. Once we get to the gift inside, we polish out all of the lumps, bumps, and blemishes, so that it can be a pristine canvas for thought once more. After having cleaned the core, we re-wrap that delicious little present, and begin to rewire the thought processes to ensure the exquisite and unmarred beauty remains eternal!
After the mind has become a smooth slab of extravagant marble, the real fun begins!
We rewrite the mental process of thinking, in and of itself (cool, huh?). We call it “moulding” Some have described the process as painless, purging, purifying, or even terrific!
2. The rewriting process begins with re-education. The canvas (you) is presented with many different moral, philosophical, and existential dilemmas. Until the objectively correct stance and mindset is taken, the penalty for failure grows exponentially! High risk, high reward, they say!
Once the beautifully sculpted statue (soon to be you!) has hopefully succeeded in the moulding process, you can move on to step three. The rest of your life!
3. The rest of your life will be lived according to the Better Thoughts Doctrine.
Whoa! Not so fast there bucko! The doctrine will be revealed once you have ascended, and been reshaped into the proper being, by the Initiative! Nice try though!
As Ajay looks up from the pamphlet, he’s momentarily panic stricken. He has missed his stop.
“Oh well, the train’s near the end of the line now anyways, I’ll just stay on and loop back around.”
As he wonders where the pamphlet could have possibly come from, and how absolutely absurd it is, he sits back down. Pondering it’s validity, he once more unfolds the creases of the small leaflet.
“The honeyed words on the pages appear to drip with some kind of hidden malevolence. I have to know more. What does the third page have for me…”
Page 3. Testimonials:
Our work is so innovative, and world changing, that our results speak for themselves! Our clients always have honest, and pleasant feedback on the process. No one can be unsatisfied!
Note: These testimonials do not reflect the opinions of the Better Thoughts Initiative, and are dictated to our internal staff on a case by case basis. No two pamphlets will hold the same testimonials!
David Better Thoughts
David, 44, New York:
My entire world was spinning out of control. I thought I knew what I wanted in life. I had convinced myself that I was happy, that I loved my wife and kids, but in reality, I was deluded.
The Better Thoughts Initiative reinvented Dave. I have been given a new purpose in life, the ability to reveal the infinite hidden knowledge of one’s mind to the people who need it most. I can finally say that I’m proud of Dave, and that he’s no longer a despicable, broken shell of a cretin.
I now serve a higher cause, and help the Initiative enlighten others too.
Gabriella, 29, London:
I don’t miss my family.
I don’t miss my husband.
I worked so hard to build the life I always wanted, but I swear, I don’t miss it anymore.
Please, let it be over.
Ajay, 21, Toronto:
(Ajay is currently unable to give a testimonial, as he’s yet to transcend his pitiful life!)
“What the fuck? Is that supposed to be me?” Ajay yelps, as he stands from his seat.
He looks up from the paper to see everyone in the subway car staring at him. As he turns his gaze back down to the 3rd page of the pamphlet, he feels his heart sink. The final testimonial is now missing. There’s a large blank section on the 3rd page, following the first two testimonials.
“Did I imagine it? I’m starting to think I’m hallucinating.”
The train pulls into his stop after another few minutes. He can’t help but let the pamphlet plague his thoughts.
“Did it really change, right in my hands?”
Ajay decides to ultimately discard the pamphlet.
As he throws the small booklet into the trash bin on the subway platform, he’s overcome by an eerie sensation.
The platform is absolutely barren, not a soul in sight.
“It’s 5pm on a Wednesday. It should be relatively busy.” he whispers, as if someone’s listening.
The air is thick and moist. Almost disgustingly so. Ajay can’t help himself. He begins to worry.
Finally, the sound of footsteps interrupts his panic. He shrugs, trying to release the tension he had been building.
As Ajay turns to walk toward the staircase out, he sees the source of the footsteps. A man in his mid forties.
The air begins to further thicken, and his throat feels tight. It dawns on him that he’s sweating profusely. His heart is racing.
Ajay attempts to turn around and run the other way, but his body doesn’t respond.
The man walking towards him is getting ever closer. He recognizes the man’s face, despite having never met him. The forty four year old New York native.
A weakness begins to wash over Ajay. He wants to run, but he can’t. He knows it wouldn’t be right.
“I think something’s wrong with me…” Ajay thinks aloud.
The man begins muttering something in a melancholic voice, as Ajay’s vision begins to cloud.
“Why think well, when you can think better?
For more stories of salvation, seek out your own designated pamphlet.
***
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