Before I begin I’d like to invite you to visit my website. Not only do I read creepypastas, but I also read my own stories and you will find many of those stories listed at www.scarystorytime.com. Visit the website to grab a free story of your choosing. Please see www.scarystorytime.com for details.
Now let’s begin…
Story Number 1
The Diver
by
lady-warrior
They say she only comes out at night to attack. If that were true my story would have no leg to stand on, as it happened in the middle of the day. But I know what I witnessed and I know it was her. She comes out not just at night but any time. Male, only male, children are left unattended. She’s in the water, just waiting for a chance to drag her next victim down to a watery grave.
But, unlike folklore stories, she is no mermaid. She pretends to be a drowning victim, body limp and pale, floating face down in the water.
You probably are wondering what I am talking about so, I will start from the beginning.
I was ten at the time and my family owned a cliff side house by the ocean. This was our summer home and it was a great place to play, there was even a path leading down to a small beach hidden from view between two rocky cliff walls, climbing out of the water.
One day during our visit my best friend, Nate’s, family came over for a visit. I was excited, and wanted to show him around.
Taking his arm I led him outside and down the path to the small beach. We played on the sand, making castles and creating moats for them and then pretending the castle’s inhabitants were at war. Nate eventually grew bored though and wanted to swim. I told him to go ahead but I wouldn’t join in, reminding him that I couldn’t swim, and even if I could, I was afraid to get into the water. He smiled and teased me about it, saying I was a chicken, but I wouldn’t budge. Eventually he convinced me to simply stand at the edge of the water and we could splash each other from there. We had fun with that for awhile and then Nate decided he wanted to go back up to the house.
By then the sun had gone behind a mass of clouds and a cool breeze was blowing up. I didn’t want to be by myself down on the beach and followed after him. Maybe you might think of me as a coward but I always got nervous being by myself on that beach. At the time I didn’t know why but I eventually found out.
We headed up the path but Nate suddenly paused, looking down over the water.
“What’s that?” he asked before I could ask him what was the matter.
“What’s what?” I asked him, figuring he saw a whale or something.
My friend pointed out toward the water. I looked where he was pointing and spotted something bobbing in the water near the rocks below. It was black and for a moment I thought it might be a seal. Seals commonly swam by the rocks in the summer, barking to one another as they played amidst the waves. We hardly ever had shark sightings around here so the seals were relatively safe.
“Is that a person?” Nate asked suddenly.
“A person?” I frowned, squinting. Now I could make out more of the figure in the water. It seemed to be a person, a woman, in a wet suit. I didn’t see an oxygen tank though, but I did make out a face mask on her head, pushed up from her face. I frowned to myself. Why would anyone be swimming near those rocks? They were sharp and slippery. I knew this because my younger brother had died slipping on those rocks two years ago. He’d fallen and landed on the rocks near the water, impaled on them.
My friend was now heading back down the path. “I think they’re in trouble!” Before I could say a word he rushed down the path, across the beach, and dove into the water. I called after him and ran toward the beach, watching him swim toward the person in the water.
I watched him reach the swimmer from where I stood on the shore… and that’s when things went from normal to horrifying.
The body moved and, as I watched, it grabbed onto Nate when he drew close. He let out a cry of surprise and tried to swim away, as if he suddenly decided rescuing her was a bad idea.
It held onto him though, and suddenly three extra pairs of arms, no tentacles, grew out of its back and they wrapped around Nate like the tendrils of a vine. Nate’s screams grew more frantic as he was pulled toward the swimmer. Water splashed and I saw my friend fighting for his life. I could see the thing’s face now, blank except for a row of jagged sharklike teeth.
Then…
They were gone.
I stood there for a moment, staring in disbelief at the now calm waters, seeing only bubbles in the water where the pair had been only seconds ago, then I rushed back up the path and ran into the house. I hysterically told the adults in the living room what happened and Nate’s dad along with my own ran out of the house and to the beach. They took off into the water and dove under, looking for him but returned moments later without Nate.
My mother called the police and they came soon afterward. Divers combed the bottom for his body for days afterward but nothing, no corpse and no clues. The police questioned me about what happened and I told them what we’d seen, the woman in the water and the transformation from a human to a tentacled monster with those demonic teeth.
Nobody believed me but I didn’t expect them to. They all thought I was letting my imagination get the better of me.
After a month the search was called off. The conclusion was Nate had been attacked by a shark and that was why there was no body, but I knew better. Sharks always left something behind.
My family sold the summer home and I have never returned. I can no longer go to the beach or even take a bath. The sight of it brings back images of Nate’s drowning and that pale, white face…
Story Number 2
Before It Rains
by Chambergambit
Thunder rolls over a small desert town in southern California. In the Dougal house, glass trinkets on the shelves shudder, threatening to fall. Sean, an eighteen year old boy with dark hair and glasses, clamps his hand over a ceramic mermaid to hold it in place. Behind him, his grandfather wakes from his nap on the recliner and jerks his head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Rain,” says his grandfather, his voice low and hoarse.
Sean lets go of the mermaid and cleans off his glasses with the sleeve of his hoodie as he turns around. “Yep. We need it, too.”
“It rained half the year in Cork,” his grandfather says.
“Mom will probably get back before it starts, though.” Sean says, ignoring him. He didn’t care to hear another speech about how great and/or horrible things were back in Ireland.
Sitting down on the faded orange sofa next to him, Sean returns to organizing his college registration papers on the coffee table. Does he want a single dorm, or a roommate? After years of being an only child, maybe he isn’t equipped to handle sharing a room. Then again, he could benefit from the change. The recliner to his left squeaks, and Sean looks up to see his grandfather padding over to the window.
The pitter-patter sound of raindrops fills the living room as the storm begins. Sean frowns, keeping an eye on his grandfather’s balance.
“Do you want your cane?” he asks.
His grandfather shakes his head and lifts up a trembling hand to peek through the blinds. He sighs.
“It’s been too long,” says the old man. “It’s time.”
Sean picks up a pencil and starts to fill out a form. “Time for what?”
“Time to go out.” His grandfather steps away from the window and heads for the front door. He stops to slip is shoes on, leaning against the wall for support.
“Grandpa, you can’t go out.” Sean says, dropping his pencil and standing up. “It’s raining.” He goes over to his grandpa and takes his arm to steer him away from the door. His grandfather just shakes his head and tries to shrug him off. “Mom’s coming home and then she’ll make dinner. It’s gonna be mashed potatoes, remember? They’re your fa–”
“I don’t give a damn about the bleedin’ potatoes, boy!” he snapped.
Sean drops his arm and takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, sorry.”
His grandfather peers at him through his milky eyes, his frown deepening the wrinkles on his face. “I can’t be runnin’ and hidin’ at every April shower, can I?”
“For one, it’s May, and two–” Sean stops and grumbles when his grandfather turns away and opens the front door. “Grandpa, we can go for a walk when it stops, I promise.”
“No!” His grandfather halted in the doorway and twisted back, pointing a skeletal finger to Sean’s face. “You stay here and you wait for your mother. I mean it, Sean. I don’t need you cryin’ after me like a baby.”
“No one said I was crying, old man.” Sean huffs, folding his arms across his chest.
His grandfather’s face softens, and he smiles. “This old man just has somethin’ he’s needin’ to do.”
“Fine,” says Sean. “but when you get a cold and die, I’m telling mom it was your fault.”
His grandfather laughs. “You’re right about that, m’boy. It was my fault.”
With that, he closes the door behind him. Sean rocks back on his heels, torn between worry over his grandfather’s health and his need to respect his wishes. He shakes his head to clear his thoughts and walks over to the window, pulling the blinds up to see outside. A few yards into the street, his grandfather makes small, unsteady steps. Sean adjusts his glasses, contemplating getting his cane. However, the old man had been so adamant about not being followed, that Sean figures he can deal with a fall on his own.
Time inches by as he slowly makes his way further and further down the street. A dull roar replaces the pitter-patter. The heavy downpour makes it difficult for Sean to see. His grandfather can’t be that far away, but the blurry figure seems smaller than it should be. Sean takes off his glasses to once again wipe them clean with his sleeve, putting them back on only when he’s sure every smudge is gone. He looks back out the window, squints his eyes, and frowns.
As he continues to walk, his grandfather’s steps become sluggish. His arms dangle at his sides as if held down by some enormous weight. Sean presses his nose against the glass to get a closer look, worry and guilt bubbling in his stomach. His grandpa’s head seems to sink into his shoulders as his back hunches forward. He falls to his knees, and Sean immediately runs for the door.
He throws it open and races into the street. Raindrops cling to the lenses of his glasses, obscuring his vision. Sean can’t see what’s happening, only going with instinct. His clothes quickly soak through to his skin. Puddles splash with every step, along with a sickening squish in his waterlogged shoes. The little moving shape of color Sean knows is his grandfather appears to crumble as he gets closer. Cupping his hands over his mouth, Sean calls out for him. His voice cracks and tears sting his eyes. Sean wonders how he knew he would come crying after him.
The worry and guilt in his stomach turns into nausea as the shape collapses, no longer even half the size of the old man it started out as. Sean stops and tries calls out again, but it just turns into a sob. He trudges forward, his pace much slower with the weight of all the water in his clothes. When he reaches his goal, he kneels down into the puddle to find nothing but a pile of clothes. He picks up his grandfather’s plaid shirt, but it slips through his fingers like mud.
Sean holds back another sob and plunges his hands into the clothes, only to be met with some thick, slimy substance. He digs through it, hoping that somehow he can pull his grandfather out from underneath. The rain keeps pounding down on him, thunder shaking his bones with every boom. What remains of the clothes dissolves in the water, leaving only wet pavement behind.
A car pulls up, stopping next to where Sean sits in the road. The door opens and his mother steps out. She crouches down next to him and shakes him by the shoulders, but Sean doesn’t respond. He just stares at the pavement, and the water rushing over it. His whole body just aches with guilt. Sean closes his eyes and leans into his mother, wrapping his arms around her and holding on for dear life.
Soon, Sean is back home; his shoulders draped in a towel and a mug of hot tea in his hands. He sits at the kitchen table, trying to make sense of what happened, but his mind is blank.
“His name is James Dougal,” his mother says into her phone. She’s on the phone with the police, and Sean silently commends her for doing the rational thing in the face of horrible weirdness. “He’s my father. He, well, my son says he just ran off in the rain. I think he was confused. My father’s in his seventies, and well, you know how it gets.”
Sean can’t make out the officer’s muffled response. Pushing his tea away, Sean rests his head on the table. When he closes his eyes, all he can see is the crumbling shape in the rain, so he focuses his attention on the dancing shamrock pattern on the mug. It’s one of those cheesy Saint Patrick’s Day gifts that his mother loves and his grandfather hates.
Hanging up, his mom leans against the table and purses her lips. “I just don’t get it.”
“No kidding,” Sean says, flatly. If he crosses his eyes, the green and gold colors on the mug blend together, and almost look pretty.
“Dad hated the rain,” says his mom as she pulls out a chair and sits down. “Hell, back when I was a kid, if the weather forecast was bad, we’d go on a road trip.
He’d make a game out it. Like, the rain can’t catch us! We’ll outrun it!” She sighs and rests her chin in her hand. “I think it’s why he moved here, you know? The low rainfall. That freak storm came out of nowhere, though.”
Sean looks up at her. “Do you, um, do you have any idea why he hated it?”
“I think,” she says as she tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear, “that it reminded him of Ireland.”
“Rained half the year in Cork,” says Sean, mimicking his grandfather’s accent. He picks up his head and pulls the mug closer to him. Running his thumb across the goofy shamrock faces, he frowns. “Why did he leave?”
“Oh, the mystery of my father’s great departure,” says his mother with a small smile. “Probably running from the mob or something. You know all those stories he would tell, about him and his brother trying to be con artists when they were your age?”
Sean nods and smiles. “Yeah. They’d paint rabbit skins and sell them as sealskins.”
“But the trick…” says his mother, holding up a finger as if to give Sean his cue. He gladly complies.
“…Was to get out of town before it rained.”
Sean sits up straight as the words leave her mouth. Did that have something to do with what happened? Was his grandfather trying to clue them in on something this whole time? Sean had always thought that the rain would wash off the paint and reveal their ruse, but maybe there was something more to it. His mother’s warm hand covers his own, and he looks up to see her smiling at him.
“You don’t need to worry, alright?” she says. “Grandpa just got confused. It happens. The police will find him soon, and this will all be just another story.”
“Right,” says Sean. The urge to tell her what he really saw builds up in his throat like bile, but he takes a sip of tea to force it down.
“Do you want me to make you something?” she asks.
Sean shakes his head. “No thanks. I’m gonna go to bed.”
“Just let me know if you need anything,” says his mother. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” says Sean as he out his chair and gets up from the table.
As he makes his way across the house to his room, he stops at the living room window. Peering through the blinds, he trembles at what he sees. The storm is powerful, destructive. It whips the branches of sturdy trees back and forth until they break.
The water floods the streets, trapping people in their homes. But the storm is also cleansing. It washes over the little town like baptism, removing all sins. The sunshine tomorrow will be brighter and more beautiful than ever before.
Sean wonders why his grandfather fled the rain for so many years, but shakes his head to push away the thought. What’s important is that he faced it, this unknown force that dissolved him in minutes.
That night, Sean dreams of seals, their smooth bodies and slippery skin sliding through the infinite depths of the ocean.
Mermaids are Starving
by AldoDN
I walk at dawn by the avenue with a soft zigzag. It takes me a lot of effort so the alcohol doesn’t make me stumble or lose my way back home. I can hear the motor of a faraway car, the buzz of electricity cables, the gurgling of a nearly dry fountain. And a song, a soft melodious murmur.
I stop to observe the old fountain, one of so many embellishments the city doesn’t care to maintain, with broken stone pieces, mold in every crack, all kinds of garbage floating in the water that was far from a clear and slippery bottom.
Sitting on the edge is a petite girl humming. I hadn’t noticed her presence until now. I approach with slow steps to see her better. She looks so alone.
Hair falls over her face in a tangle of dreadlocks, combed awkwardly with a shell hair pin and what looks like fish bones. Something drives me to speak to her–the alcohol in my veins probably–because the girl doesn’t have a captivating beauty. Slow, she turns her body in my direction, giving me a better glimpse of the slim body, covered only by a volatile sleeveless dress that barely reaches to cover her breasts. I run my eyes over the long uncovered legs and bare feet. Closer, her skin is greenish, and so thin–anorexic perhaps. Not receiving a response to my greeting I decide to ask her if she is lost, bending down to see her face.
The girl shakes her head and says nothing more, continuing to sing. It is so beautiful, I can’t stop hearing it, weird something with such beauty to come out of dry and chapped lips. I try to talk to her again, I propose companionship. We could have fun together. Yes, she may be boney and have a battered appearance, but I am not the demanding type when it comes to pleasures of the flesh. If she’ll sing for me, I´ll happily have her to warm my bed with her body.
Without a word, the girl raises her arms and puts them around my shoulders. One of the hands tangles between my hair giving me chills. She’s so cold, but it doesn’t matter. I want to kiss her mouth, her face, her body. The desire becomes so unbearable that her appearance ceases to annoy me. I am going to make her sing for me.
I let myself be dragged, I can feel her bones against my chest. I raise her face and see sunken eyes accompanied by a crooked smile. She pulls and I stumble, taking us both to the interior of the fountain.
“There’s no more pirates on the wide sea. Sailors to charm.”
Water hit wakes me, eyes open, disoriented. Still under the water, the girl turns and pushes me against the bottom without giving me a chance to breathe.
Murky water surrounds me. I should be able to swim to the surface, the fountain isn’t that deep. So why does the surface seem so far away? I kick, stroke, but can’t get out.
“No one hears our broken voices. Foolish men to drag to the deep.”
My lungs burn, my eyes sting. Bony arms surround my waist. And another pair, and another one. I’m soon surrounded. Between blinks I see them, faces deformed by hunger, sharp teeth, hair tangled with seaweed, dull scaly skin. With fish tails, all the hideous women have fish tails.
“All over the damn land they hide. We’ll exit the sea and bring them to us.”
They disappear when I start struggling. Air escapes me with a silent scream. One of them bite my arm, piercing skin, veins, and muscle all together. That’s enough so the rest can join just like piranhas. They destroy my body with every bite. And air, I need air. My lungs fill with water.
“Kiss our fangs. Feel the caresses that tear.”
One of them approaches my face and I come across her sunken eyes. The fountain girl. She smiles. More thousands of deformed faces come out from the deep darkness. Hungry, keen for my flesh, my bones, my blood. I hear her sing again, different voices join the chorus. The lyrics pierce my ears as I lose consciousness. Such beautiful voices.
“Fill our stomachs. We are STARVING!”
***
“In the news today, after eight hours of his disappearance, the clothing of another missing young man is found. The garments are blood-stained, suggesting a violent attack. The police still can find no explanation for the residue of salt water, apparently sea water, near crime scenes, since the nearest coast is at least fifteen hours away. More information as the investigation proceeds.”
