Welcome to Spooky Boo’s Creepypasta and True Scary Stories. Tonight I have for you 3 spooky stories about demons including one from the famous Edgar Allen Poe.
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Now let’s begin.
Story Number One
Death Eyes
I remember when things were normal, when I was truly alone and didn’t have to worry about where I stepped, where I looked, what I spoke to. I just wanted to be a regular vet; care for animals, have a few kids, a loving husband, a simple life. That was taken from me when I suffered the “Awakening.”
I had to have been close to twelve years old, the whole thing was written off as a mental break due to stress and abuse. They could not have been any farther off the mark.
My mother was a pagan. I say “was” because she is deceased and has been since the accident. She had a habit of playing with things that, I now understand, she had no real understanding of.
On this particular day I was sitting in the far corner of her bedroom, a novel gripped in my hands. She sat with a few of her coven mates on her bed, dark hair covering most of her body as she spoke to them. What was talked about? In all honesty, I’ve not the slightest idea. I was far too engrossed in the book to care about her playing with the Ouija board.
I suppose I should mention, for the sake of not missing any crucial details, why it was I sat in that particular corner.
That corner was cold, almost bitterly so, no matter the time of year. My mother avoided it, saying something was standing there that did not like her. I never had such a problem as; One, I could not see it and two, the corner always felt welcoming to me. It’s a feeling I cannot describe but, I will do my best to describe it for you.
I was both beaten and starved if I misbehaved in any manner, sometimes I would be beaten for hours or starved for days. This little corner though? If I was sitting here, no one would dare to touch me. I was welcomed here. Loved, cherished, and comforted. Mother did say once that the thing in the corner seemed to like to watch me draw or read.
In any case, on this day, Mother had made a grave mistake. Some time passed as she spoke wildly to her friends when the paddle moved on the board. I simply ignored their continued bursts of excitement and instead chose to read aloud to distract myself. This time, I felt a presence. One I hadn’t felt before. Normally the corner gave me a feeling. A subconscious tender loving, but now, I felt someone with me. The corner only grew colder. I was accustomed to this and had carefully clothed myself in a sweater, sweatpants, socks, shoes, and a beanie.
However, this time, arms enclosed me in a hug and my eyes widened. I realize it meant me no harm but, when I looked up, the women were staring. Mouths hanging open and staring. Not at me but, at the board. At some point they had begun writing down what was said to them. I did not know yet what had been said buy, based on the looks, I would say it was not good.
They fled or.. TRIED to flee. Try as they might, they could not open the door, the window would not break. Through this all, I wasn’t even mildly worried. I was a bit intrigued by the black masses that seemed to slowly invade the room. They pulled from objects in the room, the floor, the bed. The manner in which they floated up reminded me of a lava lamp. The gooey mass of wiggling black ink.
They began taking shape and by this time the women were huddled together in a trembling mass. The thing behind me spoke, a deep male voice slid from behind me. It left a feeling in my body, one of warm whiskey, burning subtly and numbing as it flowed.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said, his voice echoing off the walls in a distinct and almost unnerving way.
My mother had lost all her color, instead she looked more like a ghost. Her body trembled as he spoke again.
“You toy with things you do not comprehend. Ridiculous little mortals. You think to sacrifice your own kin to get a response from us?” he asked in an almost condescending tone.
My Mother cracked out, ” I was only joking, I didn’t mean to cause an upset or-”
He interrupted her and his arms tightened around me.
“This child is worth more than anything you have to offer, not her blood but, her soul. You are worthless. No more than a show that bore her. You’ve finally made a mistake. Should not one say goodbye before they walk away from that dinky board?”
The growl in his voice at the end finally prompted me to look up. Just above me was a human like face. The general shape was that of a man, one in his early twenties. His eyes glowed like fresh lava, teeth needle-like, the inside of his mouth glowing in the same manner. Horns adorned his head, arm horns, ram ears. He doesn’t acknowledge my curiosity. I look back to the group and my eyes widen. The black blobs have become monsters. Grotesque, contorted, beasts. Things I cannot hope to describe. Masses of teeth and mouths, eyes looking everywhere. Little balls of hunger and malice.
A deep throaty chuckle escaped the thing behind me and the balls zipped faster than the eye can see. Ripping pale flesh off of faces, tearing clothing in their haste to eat. Blood curdling screams ripped through the still air of the room. I gag and close my eyes, tears welling up. The thing turned me to his chest and gently petted my hair.
The screams rapidly deteriorated into gurgles and faint gasps before vanishing all together. I was trembling in the creature’s arms as it gently cooed to me like one would a baby.
“All done little one. No more torment for you.”
I woke a few days later in the hospital. Tubes attached to my arms, the faint rhythmic beeping in my ears. He was perched on my bed. His head tilted and a smile cracking his face, sharp teeth coming together with a clack.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
For years now he has been with me. He asks me for nothing, but follows, commenting on things he sees. He’s not alone either. Creatures surround the world that used to be empty. Gaping jaws, searching eyes, and body less screams. They dart about. They lurk. They consume.
When they consume, you are gone. Simply here one moment. Gone the next. They were right when they said that people don’t just disappear. They forfeit their souls to these demons. One of which has decided I make a good companion.
So many I have watched die. So many I have watched be eaten alive by things no one else can see. Monsters. Demons. Creatures of darkness and misery.
Let me warn you now, before you fall prey. Keep yourself clean. Be a good person. The moment your soul is darkened. You are at risk.
I have watched. I know.
They can smell filthy souls. Some wait and torment you in dreams or misfortune. Some make you ill. Some eat you alive or kill those you hold close. It’s all a punishment.
You will die.
One way, or another.
They will have your soul.
Story Number 2
Demons in the Fog
It was the early evening and I walked home from work (Kindergarten teacher) as I usually did. I cut through the large cemetery where most of my family was buried, and I decided to go pay my respects as I did from time to time. An odd fog began to roll in as the sun set, but I took no heed of it. I instead looked for the specific oak tree where my family plot was. The fog was growing thicker, so I decided to head home and come by tomorrow.
I began running into a problem, I didn’t know where I was in the fog. Graves would only appear in front of me just short of me running into them. I became startled as a statue of an angel appeared in front of me. The angel stared upwards with its arms raised as if to take a soul to heaven. I didn’t recognize the grave, so I looked to see whose it was. The name and date appeared to be scratched out by a chisel or something similar, but I could still make out the beginning of the Lord’s Prayer. As I read it, I heard what sounded like a child whispering the prayer. I looked around, but couldn’t see very far. I looked back at the statue, and the angel was staring down at me with a glare. I was startled, but I then just brushed it off as a lapse in memory.
I continued through the cemetery, growing increasingly worried and out of touch with time. A large shadow appeared in front of me, I approached it slowly. It was a tree, but not the one I sought earlier. Its branches began shaking as if something were moving within the leaves. I couldn’t make anything out, and assumed it was a squirrel or cat, but then, out of the quiet fog, I once more heard the sound of a child saying the Lord’s Prayer. I called out, but there was no response. I waited for a moment, then the voices of more children began saying the Lord’s Prayer. I screamed for someone to help, but I only heard the children as I began to see shapes move in the fog. It felt as though a thousand eyes were upon me as more and more children joined in the chant. None seen… all heard. Then all at once the voices stopped. The fog felt hollow and empty. The brief silence was shattered by a deep demonic voice repeating the verse in a sinister and mocking tone.
I ran like I had never run before. The air quickly grew bitter and cold. The demonic one began shouting in Latin. I kept looking back over my shoulder, but all I could see were the shifting shapes of the fog. How long had I been running? The cemetery was big, but nowhere near this distance. I fell to my knees and began to sob in terror. What was going on? Shadows took form within the fog and began approaching me. Terror washed over me as I tried to muster breath for a scream, but I was too winded from the run. Shadowy arms shot out from the mist and grabbed hold of my arms. I struggled as they pulled my sleeves back. They began to carve Latin inscriptions into my flesh. I screamed in agony. I looked at the bleeding words as they began to ignite within my flesh. My arms went up in a flash of white fire. I was numb to everything as I looked at the words written in the smoldering skin. It was in English now. Words such as “Die”, “Gone”, “Sorry”, “Abandoned”, and “Eternal” appeared in crimson against the blackened flesh. I ripped from their hold and took off faster than before, the demons laughing all the while. I sprinted for a moment and looked over my shoulder, and then forward again just in time to hit a tree.
I woke up as the sun rose, under the tree I searched for the other evening. I looked at my arms, they were normal. I looked toward my family plot to see a little boy setting a flower down as his parents watched. I walked over to ask who they knew, but as I got close I noticed it was my name on the grave. The date said I died over two years ago. My heart sank as the memories flooded back, and watched as one of my former students placed a flower at his teacher’s grave.
…Am I in Hell?
The Curse of the Ninth by Trycksterr
Peter Taylor stared at the scrap paper on his coffee-stained desk, as he attempted to keep his shaking hand, which equipped a nearly-depleted pen, steady. His left hand rested uneasily on the desktop, tapping the drum rhythm of the song he was trying to write. He didn’t feel like writing any more cheap, superficial rubbish this time, and instead tried coming up with deep, subtle and metaphorical lyrics. So far he had come up with one verse, in which he introduces the protagonist of the story depicted in the song.
The protagonist was a down on his luck musician, who was neither extraordinarily good with an instrument, nor was his voice of notable range. Wanting nothing more than to become a famous artist, the protagonist summoned the devil and closed a deal with him – he would indeed become a great musician, but at a great price.
Peter sighed as his inspiration had completely dried out, and promptly stood up, shoving his chair backward to the wall of the small cabin he had retired himself to. He had to be alone for a while; it was then that he was at his most creative. There was no one to judge him when he wrote a terrible song or sang a false note – even though he rarely did – or when he succumbed to what must have been his greatest flaw.
Peter swept the sweat off his brow as he grabbed a blotter, dipped it into a glass filled with some sort of liquid solution, put the blotter onto his tongue and closed his eyes. He walked to the living room and plumped down into a dark blue, cushioned sofa, and lowered the needle of his gramophone onto the LP where he had left off. Peter rocked out to the Doors’ “The End”, singing along and jumping around the room for a full nine minutes until the song’s climax, upon which he sat himself back down into the sofa and felt himself sink away into it.
Peter saw flashes of a childhood trip to the beach, and himself as a child diving into the sea as he felt like he was sinking further and further into the couch. He felt his conscience be reduced to his flashbacks while the real world faded away into the fabric of the sofa. As Peter listened to Jim Morrison repeat the word “fuck” countless times, a sudden surge of inspiration overcame him, and he pushed himself upright from the chair, and ran towards his desk again, awkwardly stumbling along the way.
The lyrics flew from his mind to his pen and then to his paper, and before he knew it, Peter had finished his last song. He threw the pen across the room and allowed himself to slip from the chair and fall to the ground. He watched the roof change into a starry sky, and before he knew it his field of vision had transcended the universe and he witnessed something truly divine and indescribable. Tears rolled down his face onto the carpeted floor, and he was overcome with a sudden fit of incessant laughter.
The song had meanwhile come to an end, as did the LP, but Peter was too comfortable where he was to notice. What he did notice, however, was that another song suddenly started playing – it was the first track from a fairly new album he had brought along with him to the cabin: “Sympathy For The Devil”, by the Rolling Stones. He loved the song, and it had partly inspired him to write the song he’d just finished, but the issue was simply that he hadn’t put the track on himself.
Peter’s field of view was again minimized to the shallow sight of the cabin’s roof as he was pulled back into reality by the illogicalness of the situation. He had not invited or allowed anyone into the cabin, and no one knew that he owned the cabin, which was in the middle of the woods as well.
Peter rolled over and pushed himself upright, and saw a handsome, suited man stand next to the gramophone and look at him. A smile appeared on the suited man’s face, while panic overtook Peter’s.
“I hope you don’t mind me putting this one on. I’ve always liked it. Makes me feel… you know, proud.”
The suited man started walking around the couch, slowly making his way to where Peter was standing.
“Why are you here?” he asked, trying to sound tough but failing miserably at covering up his immense fear.
“Did you forget, Peter? You’ve published nine albums so far. Please, do tell me why you just wrote another song regardless of our deal.”
“I was never going to bring out a tenth album. I… I just wanted to write another song.”
The suited man was getting ever so close.
“I do have to say, you did make the most of it after all. Remind me, when do you become twenty-seven again?”
“June sixth.”
“Ah, just a few more months then? Now, do you remember what we agreed upon?”
“It ends at twenty-seven, and I can only publish nine albums.”
The suited man now stood in front of him and was visibly angered by Peter’s last remark.
“No more than nine!” he shouted with a voice that sounded eerily inhuman, “I thought I made myself very clear when I said you were allowed to make nine albums, and no more!”
“I swear I wasn’t planning on making another one! I just wanted to write one more song!”
“It ends at twenty-seven, or it ends after nine. You broke our agreement, and now you shall suffer the consequences of it prematurely.”
Peter’s pleas for forgiveness were ignored, and the suited man put his hand on Peter’s forehead, whose eyes turned black and his voice turned mute.
The suited man was then suddenly gone, and Peter’s eyes were normal again, but he remained silent. He walked outside for a minute and returned with a jerrycan filled with gasoline, which he spilled all over the cabin. After walking around the small house and covering a big part of it with gasoline, Peter emptied the remainders in the jerrycan onto the couch. He threw the empty container aside and sat down into the soaked sofa.
Peter took a cigarette from the chest pocket of his jacket and lit it. After taking a few puffs, he lowered his hand onto the handrail and dropped the cigarette onto the oil-soaked carpet.
Story Number 4
Curious Eyes
by Anonymous
So I received this email awhile back then not long after discovered what had really happened and here’s the newspaper clipping. Should I go make sure her mom is okay? I didn’t know if I should share this or not but I think I should now. I’ve done a lot of research and have never heard of anything like what she describes. Please let me know if you have. I’ve always loved cats but been deathly allergic to them. I used to joke that cats would be the death of me but this isn’t quite how I expected it to be. I remember the first time I was around a cat I reacted so badly because I didn’t know I was allergic and had it up by my face. My eyes and throat swelled shut and I ran to my mom and scared the hell out of her. Obviously I was rushed to the hospital.
I was 8 and we had just moved into a new house in a new state. It was in the mountains of Tennessee which I liked because I was fascinated with nature and animals. The house was old and beat down and kind of gave me the creeps though. Everything was new and different and my mind turned anything odd into a terrible beast. For instance there was a mannequin in a bathtub in our basement for some reason and its arm was sticking up. Our washer and dryer were down there and you had to go outside to get in the basement. The first time I saw it was doing my laundry after dark and I screamed and went running upstairs leaving the washer open and running with my clothes all over the floor. My parents found it funny that I thought some mad murderer was in the basement and my dad took me down there to show me it was nothing dangerous, just a dress mannequin.
I also noticed that my bedroom door looked like someone had stabbed a hole in it in some mad rage but chalked it up to some kid making a spy hole and thus used it as such since my parents room was across from mine. At the time, me and my brother were sharing a room because we were still so young.
After that me and my brother who was 10 of course got curious and adventurous. Having exploring hikes in the woods but never actually going far, treasure hunts, the usual kids things. We started getting bored with the outside and curious about the attic outside of our room that the landlord told my parents to stay out of. So, one day when our parents were out chopping wood for the fireplace, yes the house was that old, we decided to get a chair, tie a jump-rope to the handle and open it.
Rickety wooden stairs unfolded noisily and we stared up into the darkness. My brother went and got a flashlight and I made him go up first and followed close behind and to the side peeking around him then he started shining the flashlight around.
Inside were the usual things, old junk, clothes, a broken TV, boxes, skeletons, chests…skeletons? He jerked the flashlight back and we both froze in terror. There were 4 slumped over skeletons in a corner of the attic. I covered my mouth as I gazed at them. One looked to be adult, 2 were about the size of kids me and my brothers size, and a somewhat large cat.
I gasped and took a step back and it heard me. That feline creature of bones heard me and raised its head at which point my brother gasped too. It stood up and started walking towards us, somehow held together by some invisible force. We both screamed and ran down the stairs, shut the attic door, and ran out to our parents.
My brother frantically started telling them what happened while I just cried trying to catch my breath. Thoughts raced through my head. How can something without ears hear me? How could something without eyes see us? How can something with no muscles move? How can something dead be alive? I was so confused and scared.
Of course our parents had the usual reaction of thinking it was us having active imaginations then got onto us for getting into the attic when we were told not to. I went back inside with them but pulled a chair in the hall and cut the jump rope from it with my pocket knife. I never wanted to be in there again.
About 4 years later I saw it again but it was even worse. I hadn’t seen it in so long that I had almost forgotten about it. I had my best friend over to spend the night again and we had been having the usual preteen fun since I was 12 and she was 13. Doing stuff like watching movies, staying up talking later than we should, painting each others nails, the usual stuff. By the time we actually went to sleep it was really late and everyone else in the house was already asleep.
I woke up in the middle of the night in my dim room to her shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes slightly and asked what was wrong. She asked me why I had a cat even though I was allergic to them. I gave her a really confused look and asked what the hell she was talking about and she pointed. Opposite of my bed was a computer desk in front of the window. My room was a bit of a mess so I didn’t see anything at first but when I did I was horrified. Sitting in the leg space of my desk was a freakishly large gray tabby cat. It was tall enough that its ears, or what was left of them rather, were almost touching the keyboard tray.
I tried to rationalize it as me dreaming or a window had been left open and it wandered in. As I did so it stared at me with knowing eyes, too wise for such a creature, and full of hunger. It opened its mouth and let out a long yowl and I saw its teeth were longer than seemed logical so I sat up to get ready to leave the room. It started slowly walking towards us, like a lion on the prowl. Slow and careful steps. As it did, chunks of fur, skin, and muscle fell off of it. We both screamed and ran for the door and it leaped at us just as the door closed. I heard it thud against the door and I held the handle to the door to keep it closed, crying. Some clawing for awhile then silence. I looked and there was its eye, watching me through the hole in the door.
My friend started banging on my parents’ bedroom door and my brother was already up and running in their from his room. He had his small pocket knife out, ready to defend me, his little sister. I was leaning back to keep the door closed shaking my head with my eyes closed and crying. He saw its eye as well and jumped in terror then jammed his knife in the hole. We heard the cat yowl out in pain once then silence.
When he pulled out his knife there were maggots on it and he dropped it to the floor. My parents woke up and saw the scratches covering the inside of my bedroom door but thought we were all playing a joke on them and were angry about being woken up in the middle of the night. Me, my brother, and my friend spent the rest of the night in the living room, too terrified to go near the attic or my room.
The next night my parents tried to make me sleep in there but I refused to so they let me sleep on the couch once more but said only that one time. So, I “accidentally” broke the window in my room. I knew my parents couldn’t afford to replace the window. I was severely punished but it was worth it to have a reason not to be in that room after dark. I know it doesn’t seem possible for it to somehow get in my room no problem but not be able to get past a 12 year old girl but I didn’t dare question it too much, I was just thankful I was alive.
The beast left me alone for another 4 years until I was 16 and had just moved out of that house into a new one. I was so thankful but had tried to push those memories aside as nothing more than a kid scared of the dark. After I moved I went out with my boyfriend after school one day. We were just randomly driving about when we came to the road that lead up the mountain. I froze and got chills thinking of it and he asked me what was wrong. I told him that was my old house that I’d lived it for more than 7 years. He decided he wanted to see where I grew up no matter how much I protested so up the mountain we went.
It was the longest drive up that mountain road I could ever recall but I suppose that was just because of the dread I felt, approaching that house which I had hoped to never have to see again. He drove up the destroyed driveway which felt like it was jarring me out of my seat with all the ruts in the mud and gravel. We stopped outside the house which was still a good distance from the front door.
The house was still empty from us moving out which wasn’t too surprising. I refused to get out but he started walking up to the door. I told him not to go in even if it was unlocked. He placed his hand on the door and I screamed for him to come back. Begging him not to open it. He finally did and then heard hissing and yowling from inside which made him jump. He didn’t look at the window but I already was. Through the window beside the door I saw it again. It was there, still waiting for me. Rotting as I watched it, one eye fell out. The one my brother had stabbed. Then all of its fur, then the skin then muscle. It continued yowling and I got out and dragged him back to the car begging him to leave no matter how many questions he asked.
What I hadn’t noticed is that he had turned the knob. Just enough for the door to be able to open. I guess the cat-thing didn’t notice at first either, but boy was it pissed. When we got home I tried to tell him about everything that had happened and what that thing was. He called me a psycho bitch and said I needed to get help and left me home alone.
I thought it was still at the house. It couldn’t have followed me because it couldn’t get out. Besides, how could it keep up with a car especially without me noticing so I thought I was safe to go out for a walk to weep the loss of my asshole boyfriend.
I had been walking for a bit in the woods around my new home and it was starting to get dark so I turned to head back. I started walking then heard something else moving around and picked up my pace. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a small gray tabby cat walking. I tried to believe it was just a normal stray cat and I really was just crazy, had imagined it all. Then, it started to grow. It was getting bigger but its skin was just getting tighter. I closed my eyes now almost running but trying not to alarm it so it didn’t know I saw it. Maybe it would wait to attack if it thought it was still in hiding. Bones burst through its fur and flesh and I saw its organs and guts start falling out.
I could see my house but so could the cat and it stopped and crouched. I shouldn’t say cat at this point because it was the size of a cougar by now and was nothing but bones. I still couldn’t help questioning how it was possible for nothing but bones to stay together and move. I couldn’t hold back my terror anymore and broke into a run, pushing my legs as fast as I could. I could feel my lungs straining because of my asthma, my mind racing with terrible mental visions of what it might do if I stopped. My heart pounding, the smell of dead animal, the sound of each step or rather leap it took. Its hunger and anger were so strong I could almost feel it. It was hungry and I was its meal that was getting away.
Luckily I saw my parents’ vehicle so I knew someone would be there to help me. I stopped just long enough to open the door but that was long enough for it to catch up and I felt the searing pain as I screamed wrenching the door open and falling inside on the floor in a pile of sobs. I heard the fabric of my jacket and shirt tear. I could feel something running down my back and the pain that wouldn’t stop all over my back.
I was getting light headed but it wasn’t there anymore. It didn’t follow me in. I was safe for now. My mother screamed at the sight of my gored back and started yelling something about 9-1-1 to my father. Everything was getting black and I thought this was the end. My mom started talking to me, telling me to stay awake, asking what happened. I could only get out a few words between the pain and the shortness of breath. I heard my dad on the phone frantically saying something about me and blood everywhere.
“Cat. Big. Scary. DEAD.”
Then I passed out. Next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital. I started to move and felt pain shoot through my back and cried out which woke my mother sleeping by my bed. She asked what happened and for fear of her not believing me, I told her I didn’t know. She told me what I said and that everyone is guessing I was attacked by a cougar that ran off when it saw more people. She assumed the dead part was me thinking I was going to die. I’m 20 now and it’s spring. Same time of year it’s been every other time I’ve seen it. I keep seeing something peering at me on the way home from work in the trees. I see that knowing eye, one eye ruined. That skeletal body with abnormally long teeth. In some ways, it kind of reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of the skeletons of Sabre tooth tigers but all of its teeth are long, not just the fangs but the fangs are the longest. It still has its claws. Every night it seems to be closer and closer to my home. Like it is taunting me with the knowledge that soon it will come for me.
I’m sitting at the library right now typing this. Last night it was almost there, only a few blocks away. I haven’t told anyone about this ’till now, but I’m telling you. I know you might not believe it but you are my best friend. I probably won’t be around much longer and someone needs to know what really happened and how those morbid scars really got on my back. If I do die this time, don’t try to find it. I don’t think it can die.
I did some research about that house. Apparently some family used to live there. When the mother left, the father eventually went nuts and killed their kids then himself. He killed the kids in the room that was mine, and that must be why that hole was there. Then, he took their bodies up to the attic and killed himself too and the cat got stuck up there with them. When they were found, they realized the cat had started eating the bodies for food and tried to attack the police officers and was shot on sight. Makes me wonder how I saw the skeletons of the family at all. Shouldn’t they have been moved and buried and all that?
Please make sure that thing can never hurt anyone again. It seems to have some grudge for me. Even though I guess I’m the one who let it out. I pray it never hurts anyone again.
