Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo Rhodes here to tell you the creepy tales of the internet. I sit here overlooking the beaches of Sandcastle wondering where the cryptids are tonight. The weather is warmer and the people are out trolling the beaches and starting those illegal bonfires the statesmen here in California hate so much. Enjoy your bonfires, for they are the beauty of the night when the fingers of the flames reach to the sky. Enjoy your chanting and your fun.
Tonight I have for you several creepypasta tales about mailboxes. I know, a strange topic but here it is. I even begin with one of my own from the shores of Sandcastle. We all know the strangeness that happens in the land of Purgatory.
First I’d like to thank the listeners and the Patreon members including madjoe, PA Nightmares, Ivy Iverson, John Newby, Patrick, and 933TheVolt.com. If you would like to support the program, please visit my website at www.scarystorytime.com/support to find out how.
Now let’s begin…
Fuzzy Little Creeper
by Spooky Boo Rhodes
Here I sit, unsure of the changes going on in my body. It hurts bad and it I’m becoming something I don’t understand. I don’t know why it happened or how it is even possible, but I’ll tell you what exactly happened.
I went shopping this morning at around nine in the morning–something I rarely do since that crazy pandemic started just because I was afraid of getting ill. We didn’t have too many cases here in Sandcastle and I don’t know why that is. People just didn’t get sick. It didn’t make any sense at all but we were one of the few places barely even affected. We all went on with our daily lives and those of us who had one of the bad diseases that might be affected by it just minded our own so we didn’t get sick. None of us did either way. I feel like I wasted two years of my life, but that isn’t what this is about. Something has happened to me and it isn’t covid.
It all started when I got home from shopping. I went out to all of the stores in town first grabbing the best coffee in Sandcastle at Ocean Grounds while chatting with Carlos for a bit and then it was off to buy some new clothes and shoes for the summer which is approaching quicker than I really want it to. So after all of that was done and I finally left the grocery store, it was late–probably around 9 o’clock, I think? It was dark, that’s all I know. I live in a community where two people share a street light that sits between our two mailboxes every two houses. I usually grab the mail during the day so I don’t think of even looking inside the mailbox.
I guess tonight I should have at least peeked in before grabbing the mail. When I put my hand inside, something bit me hard. I screamed and pulled my hand out of the box. While cupping my hand close to me, I peered inside the box but didn’t seen anything at first until something black and fuzzy jumped out at my face. Luckily, I have great reflexes and flew back so fast I fell right on my butt on the street. I watched whatever it was scamper away. The thing was about as big as a kitten but looked like a spider. I can’t remember if it had six or eight legs, honestly I wasn’t paying attention. I tried to get up so I could capture the damn thing to bring it in for testing but it was so fast that it disappeared before I could stomp on it.
My hand ached so bad. I looked down at the wound and it wasn’t bleeding that much at all, probably because the swelling had closed up the holes a bit. What did seep out of the puncture wounds was a mixture of blood and some clear liquid and possibly even some pus. Already? I don’t know. I went into the bathroom and poured hydrogen peroxide and rubbing alcohol all over it after washing it with soap and water but it just kept swelling. I then got really light headed, too light headed to drive. I asked my neighbor Frank to drive me to the urgent care clinic and he did. When we got there, I noticed the wound on my hand was about the size of a baseball and it had started to turn black. I rubbed my finger across the black skin and jerked back in shock. It wasn’t skin. It was hair! Fuzz! Tiny black hairs that were now growing up my arm.
“That looks really bad, you better get in there,” Frank reached over and opened the door for me.
As I watched Frank’s arm going for the door handle, something inside of me reacted. It was fast, like instinct. Not my instinct, but whatever was growing inside of me. I grabbed his arm with both hands and bit down hard. His blood curdling scream was going to draw some attention so I leg go of his arm and went right toward his face. I could feel the chelicera coming out of my mouth like two morbid fuzzy fingers with sharp claws ready to stab venom into anything that moved in its web. It was reactionary, I couldn’t control it. I tasted the poison mixed with his blood as it flowed down into his skin and he slowly slumped into his seat, barely breathing.
I didn’t bother going into the hospital. They couldn’t fix whatever was going on with me. I doubt if it is in any medial database. I quickly got out of his car and ran home. Now here I sit in my living room in the dark, waiting to see what happens next.
by XanCrews
It all started as a message in my mailbox one morning. Having my morning coffee and cigarette, I decided to walk out to the mailbox and check my mail. I bought this house from an auction for a very low price. It was out in the quiet country. Me being a city kid, I had no idea what country life was like until I had made a few friends around the area. With the purchase of the house came a hundred acres of crop land that, in the autumn, blossomed into golden produce that swayed beautifully in the wind.
I slipped on my shoes and headed out to the road, still slightly groggy. Upon opening the mailbox, I found a dead bird inside; at first, I thought it was those stupid kids playing pranks again – last week, they decided to toilet paper my lawn. I pulled the dead bird out and threw it on the ground; it was mangled to a pulp, almost as if a dog had gotten hold of it.
Inside was nothing. I started to think that maybe the kids had stolen my mail, but eventually I brushed it off and told myself I’d get up early in the morning and watch the mail come so I could catch the jerks in the act. The next morning came and the mailman came as usual. I walked out and got my mail, not thinking anything of it. The next morning was the same.
The next week came and I walked out to get my mail once again. This time, I was horrified at the sight; my white mailbox had blood smeared all over it. I opened the mailbox cautiously. Inside was a mangled cat. I gasped and covered my mouth, quickly choking back the vomit rising in my throat. I rushed to my garage, put on my gloves, and pulled the poor animal out. Stapled to it was a note, fairly legible, but crude nonetheless. On the note was a simple smiley face. I was disgusted at that; whoever did it thought it was funny. I gave the cat a proper burial and continued with my day.
The next morning, I woke up around 5:00 AM, walked out, and checked my mailbox again to see if it had been tampered with. The cat I had just buried in my backyard was stuffed inside yet again, this time another note attached to it. This one had a frowning face and under it, “You don’t like my present?”
Pissed off and finally fed up, I decided to bury it yet again and stay up all night to watch my mailbox to find out who was doing this. The time rolled by – 12:00 AM, 1:00 AM, 2:00 AM, nothing at all… then, at 3:00 AM, I finally saw movement across the road and out of the cornfield there came a figure into my yard. I watched it until it finally came under the security light I have in the middle of my yard. What I saw I cannot begin to explain. It was a man… or at least I think it was. It was hunched over like an old man with long gangly arms that went farther than the average human and its head bent downwards as if it was looking for something it had dropped on the ground.
The man looked frail and weak, but it moved with great speed. I quickly and quietly moved to the back window and peered out as I saw it dig up the cat once again and hold it in its arms; it stroked the cat as if it were alive and quickly hurried around to the front of my house. Back at my front window again and watching it as it made its way to my mailbox and put the cat inside, it disappeared into the night. That day I didn’t leave my house; I was too shocked by what happened. I slept a bit then decided to take a trip to the store; when I came back, I checked the mailbox again and there it was, the same cat I just buried. I went to take the dead cat out of my mailbox once again and bury it in a different spot, then proceeded to stay up again that night and what to see what happened.
A flashlight in hand and watching my front window again, I saw the long, spindly man come out of the field and jog into my yard, to the spot where I just buried the cat that day and started to dig it up with his hands. I slid open the back sliding glass door and stepped outside, turned on the flashlight at the man, and yelled “What in the hell are you doing?!” The man turned around to face me, and that’s when I saw the thing for the first time, in plain sight. Its body looked like it had been mauled by a bear – clothes ripped, rotting skin shown through, its teeth completely exposed and jagged, and the eyes sunken in. I quickly ran back inside as it gave a shrieking sound and hopped over in my direction.
I slid the glass door shut and locked it, and grabbed the pistol I bought for self-defense from under my couch. Sending a bullet into the chamber, I shined the light at the door and waited. I accidentally fired off a shot in fear when a glob of something smacked against the glass and slid down it. I walked to the glass door and shined the light down to see what it was: a mess of entrails were scattered across the bottom and blood smeared across the glass. Sick to my stomach, I chocked back the vomit that was rising from my stomach.
I quickly rushed back to the couch that was against the wall and sat there with my eyes fixed upon the glass door, my flashlight off. Outside, I could see the moonlight through the gruesome mess that was plastered upon the glass. I saw a figure approach the door, then its hands smeared the blood across the window. I was frozen with fear, waiting for it to break the glass and try to take my life from me.
After smearing the blood, it turned around and walked away. I swear I could hear a faint chuckle, like a smoker’s lungs laugh, but more raspy. I sat on the sofa and didn’t budge; I don’t know how long I waited, but after a while the room became light as the sun rose in the sky. I looked around the house – everything was so quiet – then fixed my eyes on the window and smeared across it were hand prints with very unusually long fingers and a smiley, the same one on the letter. I sighed and tried to make myself comfortable but still alert. I laid down and rested my eyes. A few hours later, I awoke from a nightmare and propped myself up on the couch.
I was, apparently, pissing whatever it was off, and I was getting more scared by the second just thinking of whatever was out there, lurking. I cleaned up the entrails off the ground and went out to check my mail, then I came across a plain letter. Curious, I opened it up and felt a chill shoot up my spine.
The letter had no words – only a smile, the same, crude smile that was on the letter stapled to the cat and on my sliding glass door.
I quickly crumbled it up and tossed it on the ground. I left that night; I went to stay with my parents up in the city for a few weeks. Not explaining my situation to them, I just simply told them that I had been sick of country life and needed a change for a few weeks. They happily agreed. When I returned to my home three weeks later, horror was stricken across my face, for my house was not as I left it. As soon as I walked in, the stench of rotting carcass hit my nostrils and I vomited on the floor. Covering my nose with my shirt, I proceeded to the light switch.
Turning on the light made me shriek in terror. Scattered throughout my house were entrails and carcasses of dead animals; some were propped up like humans on my couch, and all were staring at me as I stood, horrified, in the doorway. All over the white walls were smiley faces and the same writing over and over, “I’m very angry with you,” written in blood. I lifted up the couch seat to look for my pistol, but it was gone.
I saw something in the hallway moving steadily back and forth. Flipping on the hall light, there it was again: the creature who had almost killed me the night before I had left. It snapped its gaze to me and moved its mouth into a sickening smile. It jumped up and started to walk in my direction. I quickly turned around and ran outside, slamming the door behind me. I got into my car, started it up, and proceeded to back out of the driveway and onto the road as fast as I could. Behind me, I saw a figure in my rearview mirror running up to my car; its arms slammed into the trunk and it proceeded to hop onto the roof of my car.
I shifted into drive and slammed on the gas; I drove all night as far as I could away from the house, those dead animals, that thing. As soon as I was in the city limits, I decided to buy some gas, seeing as I was almost on empty. I pulled into a gas station and got out of my car. My eyes widened as I saw the trunk had been completely bashed in. I quickly pumped the gas and left for my parents’ house. Four months later, I am living in my apartment, dealing with occasional nightmares at times, but could never be happier to get away from that house and that monster that lives there.
I just checked my mail this morning and received a letter with no return address. Inside, written on crumpled up paper, was a crudely draw smiley face and the words, “You can’t hide,” scribbled underneath it.
The Mailbox Game
by HoodQuest
It started off as a fun game. My friends and I loved to play it. It wasn’t just us. People all over our neighborhood would participate. We all thought it was just a harmless game. That’s how it started off. I’m sure you’ve heard of those “paranormal” games such as the Charlie Game or Bloody Mary. This game was no different. In fact, when I first heard of it, I thought it was a little stupid and cliche. That was until I was finally convinced to try it for myself. Surprisingly, it worked. This game is referred to as the “Mailbox Game”.
It’s not really known by a lot of people, but it was quite popular in my small town. If you want to try it for yourself, I’ll give you the details in just a moment. However, I must warn you. Play this game at your own risk. The result of the game is that if you do the game right, you will receive a letter in the mailbox. This letter will contain some sort of good fortune. For example, my mother’s friend received a letter that revealed some good luck in her near future. It told her that she would get a new car. Two weeks later, she won a brand new car at her job’s annual employee giveaway. Usually, the game will reveal something that will happen in your future.
Now, here’s how the game works. You will need the following items:
A mailbox (of course)
A knife
A piece of blank paper
An envelope
That is all you need. Now, here’s what you need to do. First, you must approach a mailbox. It doesn’t matter what mailbox. This will only work for mailboxes. A P.O. box won’t work for this game. Anyway, you must stare at the mailbox for approximately 6 seconds. Don’t blink. Next, take the piece of paper and lay it on the ground. Do you remember that knife? You’ll need to draw blood. You must let a drop of blood land on the piece of paper. Don’t worry. One drop of blood is all that is needed. Then, take the piece of paper with your blood on it and fold it neatly. Once you’ve done this, put in the envelope and put it in the mailbox. After that, turn away from the mailbox and don’t look back. You need to wait three days before you can look inside the mailbox. After three days, take a look inside. You will find a letter that contains your fortune. The best part is the fortune is always true.
I know. This game sounds absolutely stupid. Like I said, this is no different from any of those other games. Well, it was until…something happened. I’ll get to that in a second.
I had gotten a lot from this game. I got self-confidence, money, and so much more. I was always a sheltered person who was very cautious. I don’t feel any of that anymore.
This game seemed fun and all. Unfortunately, there’s something that no one knows about the game. There’s more to the game than just getting good fortune. There’s a much…darker part of the game. I realized this after one of the girls in my school committed suicide. According to rumors, she’d played the game a few days before. No one knows what her fortune was, but she was found hanging in the woods.
This completely rocked our town. We all thought it had something to do with the game. How could that be? The game always seemed to bring good fortune. It took a lot of research…but I learned the truth about it. I learned the truth about the Mailbox Game.
Thanks to some Tumblr users, I learned the true origins of the game. Apparently, the game was started by a Russian woman who passed away. She was into some very “dark” stuff. To put it simply, she was into witchcraft. Before she died, neighbors and family members would say she had “an intense disgust of youth”. Therefore, she wanted to end as many as possible. Thus, the Mailbox Game was created.
The Mailbox Game isn’t a game that brings good fortune. The “good fortune” part is just a lure to keep the victim coming back. The Mailbox Game is actually a very disguised curse. Once you offer your blood, you are now a prime target to whoever…or whatever…wants you. You’re essentially giving these “creatures” a taste of you. If they like what they taste, you won’t last long. I know this is just sourced from some Tumblr users, but quite frankly, I believe it. Do you know why? Because lately, more and more people are starting to die. My friends and neighbors have been committing suicide. No matter how much I try to warn them, they won’t listen. They’ll do anything for some good fortune.
Listen, I’m just a young guy. I understand if this story seems fake or far-fetched. Honestly, if I wasn’t the one writing it, I wouldn’t believe it either. If any of you hear about the Mailbox Game, I highly advise you ignore it. I know that gave you the instructions, but that’s because I’m trying to save my own skin. What do I mean by that?
Well, I recently got my final letter from the Mailbox Game.
“TELL THE WORLD OF THE GAME OR REST IN ETERNAL FLAMES”
So…you know what? I don’t care anymore. I want you all to go play the Mailbox Game. I advise you not to, but for my sake, I’m telling you to try it. I’m sorry for anyone who plays the game. You must understand what I’m going through. To anyone out there daring enough to try, I wish you the best of luck.
I have one last thing to say. Enjoy your “good fortune” while you can. It will all be over before you know it.
