Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo Rhodes from Sandcastle, California. Today I bring to you several chilling stories from the creepypasta library. It’s best to listen to these creepy scary stories in the dark of night with headphones, but feel free to listen at any time.
Sign up for my YouTube channel and come to my livestream. You can find my YouTube at www.splatterdaynightmares.com. I’d also love it if you’d check out my books and stories at amazon. Just visit www.scarystorytime.com and click on amazon to find out more.
Now let’s begin…
by WindowsGod2
About a year ago, I came across this series of albums called “Everywhere at the End of Time” by The Caretaker. It’s a series of albums that explores dementia through sampled ballroom music. Ever since I listened to it, I’ve grown a great fondness for it. I even came across a few fan-made inspired works as well. Some notable ones I found were “CJD,” “Forevermore, and Nevermore,” and “Nowhere at the Millennium of Space.” However, there is another one I found which was much more disturbing. It was called “Depravity Ends All Doings.” I don’t remember the publisher’s name, but I believe they went under the alias “The Cultivist.” The thumbnail was a self-made artwork containing some flowers, though I don’t remember fully. It was a little over two and a half hours.
The project itself was absolutely a surreal experience. It was in three parts. The first part was overall normal. It utilized ballroom music and classic rock samples from the 40s and 50s. While I don’t remember most of them, I can say that the first track was “In the Still of the Night” by Al Bowlly and Maurice Winnick. There were 13 tracks in decent duration. The overall production quality of the tracks wasn’t good, but any project from September 2020 had many faults. There wasn’t anything too special about its first part, so moving on to part 2, things get very wrong quickly.
The cover for this one was probably done by the artist themselves. I can’t say if it’s pulled from the internet or drawn by the uploader because it looked great. It had what looked like red sludge pouring out of a thick book that was in the air. The cover was a monochromatic red, which fit the project’s sound nicely. The audio was more distorted and felt genuinely creepy now. It almost sounded as if the audio had a conscience and told itself to become delirious. The quality was much higher in this part, likely to surprise the viewer after the first part. The six tracks were quite long but transitioned nicely into each other. But considering this is how the second part sounded, I was a little worried but curious about what the 3rd part had to offer.
The transition into part 3 was nothing from smooth. The cover had extremely grotesque content in it. It depicted things so horrible that I could never say publicly. The audio was recordings of illegal doings, such as homicide and even CP, from what I’ve read. That’s what the author put in the video description, but such a thing was so absurd to believe that I didn’t at first. But listening further, I began reconsidering. I couldn’t think of anything but people being tortured in every way possible when listening. The first part was likely of such quality to have the listener not listen to what the last part had to offer. I felt sick knowing this, but I kept the video playing. I had to sit through another hour of this, which felt devastating. Most of the time, it sounded like loud, droney noise or something similar to that description. I wanted to click off, but something compelled me to continue forth. It was very captivating in the worst way possible.
While I miserably waited for it to end, everything cut to black. It made my heart drop with the sudden cut. There was at least 30 seconds of silence before the most soul-crushing melody I’ve ever heard began playing. It was barely audible though it sounded so broken when I turned up my volume. It played for the last two minutes of the project, with the video still being pitch black. I anticipated a jumpscare, but there was none of that. The project was disgusting but ahead of its time.
About a day after I viewed it, the video and the channel it published on were terminated. Thankfully, I was only one of a couple of dozen people that clicked on it, though I was probably the only one to make it as far as I did because everything after part two was too inhumane to be put on the site. The only reason why I could see this being made was because the artist underwent a mental collapse, and wanted to express their emotions via audio. Even then, such things depicted in the project should not be viewed by others. Hopefully, this project remains lost until the end of time, as I’d hate to ever see it in my recommended again.
by SnowdropLuck204
I don’t really remember everything about this story, so I guess I’ll just start from where I can remember. Everything was fine until I started university… I was so excited about the idea of living with a roommate, the idea of being able to do what I wanted without my parents keeping tabs on me, being totally independent! Everything was absolutely fine. Until the murders began.
I was only twenty when they started, some psycho was running around campus killing off students, faculty, even visitors. We were told to go everywhere in pairs, or groups, but honestly, what good was that? For all we knew, we were paired up with the killer, walking straight into their trap. Walking to and from classes was terrifying, back and forth between the main buildings and the dorms was daunting, especially since we were surrounded by forest.
The more bodies that kept showing up, the more the environment at the school began to change, the police started to question whether or not we were being threatened by one killer or by a group of them, a gang, that they called The Wonderland Killers.
Each kill seemed to be performed by someone different, until they eventually began to back track on themselves and repeat. The public wasn’t aware of all the information, but their were a few people in our school that interned at the local station, who managed to smuggle information from the case files. The police suspected that The Wonderland Killers were a gang of five people, each with their own preferred method and victim profile. Each of these killers were nicknamed since the cops had no suspects or even names the killers called themselves, and each of the murders had a different calling card, leading the killers to be named after different characters from the beloved children’s novels by Lewis Carroll.
The first to make himself known was The White Rabbit. Originally he was seen as a stand alone psycho with a scalpel. Nobody saw him, he seemed to be choosing people from random, drunks, homeless people, randoms from the street. The slices were crude and messy, until they got to the chest, where they would get surgical and precise, almost as though the man was rushing, scared he would be caught by the police. The only thing left at the scene was the body, a bloodied handkerchief with an embroidered white rabbit on it, and a drawing of a clock on the wall pointing to four pm, smeared in the victim’s blood. That last piece of evidence was actually how the police realised that his first murder, wasn’t the only one he had committed, when handkerchiefs and bloody clock drawings started popping up all over the place.
Next was The Dormouse. One of the creepier of the killers, nobody knew what gender they were, just that they lured men away from bars and clubs to quiet alleyways, where they would strangle them with their own belts, leaving them hung up like decorations. The only thing that they left behind was a stuffed dormouse toy, hence the nickname. The police were checking everywhere where these killings happened, hoping to find some sign of who The Dormouse was, no such luck. Nobody survived them, the only people that had seen The Dormouse seemed to be the men they had killed.
Then there was The Tweedles. Pulled from the characters of Tweedledee and Tweedledum, the strange twins from the novels. The police believed that The Tweedles may have been two separate people, based on how they left their victims. Nobody investigating the case could believe that the bodies left behind had been killed by the same person, potentially two people, leading to the kills being credited to the creepy twins. Apparently they would find two victims, one for each of them, and the injuries were so vastly different. One body was left with their head bludgeoned. Something wide and flat being bashed into the skull multiple times. The other had their bones broken, left to bleed out at unnatural angles.
The public was then introduced to The Queen of Hearts. The killings were getting more and more graphic as the months went on, this killer was believed to be female, based solely on their murderous calling card. Quite literally in fact. The Queen of Hearts would behead her victims, leaving a brand new packet of playing cards behind, a bloody red queen card left in the mouth of the severed head. Her weapon of choice was believed to be something sharp and heavy. Believed to be an axe.
Finally, was The Mad Hatter. As the name suggests, this individual was far from sane. Once again, the police had no idea this person’s gender, but from the severity and depth of their murders, they were believed to be male. The public believed The Hatter to be the leader of the gang, the most unhinged. They would lead criminals to their gory end, predators, rapists, even down to the town’s known neglectful parents. They would lure them away to some abandoned building, a different one each time, once was a warehouse, once was a burned down home, even a creepy murder cabin in the middle of the woods. Once there, The Mad Hatter would slice them open, pulling out their organs while they were still somewhat living, trailing them around the place like twisted tinsel. We all knew that this was the one to look out for, the craziest, the most dangerous.
It’s funny thinking about it now. How I was so scared of these characters. How I was worried I was going to be one of their next victims. Not much left to worry about now, I’ve gotten used to them. They all have their own triggers.
The White Rabbit shows up when we can hear the clock ticking too loudly. He gets nervous when he’s aware of time passing, I mean, he’s always running late.
Dormouse comes out of her hole when we go near a toy shop, of she sees one of my plush animals. She can be calmed down with tea at least, but she doesn’t let me drink alcohol.
The Tweedle brothers are more unhinged, they can be tamed with sweets and treats, they like believing that they’re doing something good, they’re being praised. If I don’t get sweets fast enough, they look for the achievement somewhere else.
Queenie is impossible to control, she is a royal after all. Although she does like croquet, she plays it with the Tweedles sometimes… Although it didn’t end well, but the boys love their new mallets. Queenie isn’t all that bad, she likes playing chess, or cards, or really any games. As long as I don’t tell her what to do, she won’t come out.
The Hatter was a completely different story. He was uncontrollable and insane. He does like his hat and his coat though. His coat always has sugar cubes in the pockets. He makes me wear white makeup when he goes on a rampage though, it always makes my skin feel uncomfortable when I take it off the next morning. He also makes me keep his knife clean, it’s a beautiful blade, it always makes me feel odd and tingly when I see my reflection in it. One thing I have noticed is that he doesn’t seem to like the police, right now he’s pushing his way in front of the others, vying for attention.
I’m coming to the end of my story, I guess that’s all they need to know. So before the Hatter returns, the police want me to sign my statement. I don’t really remember my old name, it doesn’t get used much, so I’ll just use the name the others give me.
Alice.
by Char Rennes
He is not the Worm. In the park he tries with pen and paper to express it. That morning the pen felt good enough in his hand but now is cumbersome and alien. He only makes circles and circles overlapping circles. Men weren’t meant to speak or write, he thinks in wordless musings. The pen flies, spewing ink from its fountain tip. He drops the yellow notepad, which began as notes on an important client and devolved over the week into lines and shapes and circles. A dog barks viciously at his heels and he flees the bench and the predator chases until something yanks it back hard. The dogs harass him wherever he goes because they know.
His legs split and something tears. He gallops into the trees and throws his weight into a ruin, a Worm cave as far as he can tell. His groin hurts and his legs feel wet but he doesn’t know what to do about it. It’s quiet and cold and lonely but not more lonely than anywhere else. His tatters fall to more pieces and feel better on his skin for their destruction. His head swings back and forth like a pendulum, a comforting gesture. With no one to see, he gives up the tiring effort of walking on two legs and crawls on hands and feet and draws circles in the dirt with a finger.
Besides hunger and sleep, only the circles drive him. The Worm cannot arouse him. There is no attraction to it, primal or instinctive. The more circles he makes the more he knows them and all his will beds to their creation. When Man climbed down from the trees he did so for this purpose. Perhaps the Worm was already waiting in the mud and lured him down. Or all man’s development served this act, beyond utility or art. He didn’t know. He couldn’t even wonder as a Worm could. But why should it?
When it overcame Man, the Worm forgot itself and didn’t consider it was not its host. It burrowed deep in the brain and into a blindspot of its own science. The Worm couldn’t discover itself, couldn’t see itself if it stumbled on the truth by chance. It was Man. But this man drawing circles wasn’t the Worm.
By a fluke, the Worm in his brain was dead. The world became grey and blurred. Birdsong stretched into a dull monotone. His body, evolved to something else’s needs, troubled him to even move. All this articulation, the stimulation, the energy which didn’t concern the circles. Buried in his head fat he remembered about the circles. The purpose of a long dead race. He shook his head back and forth, as if it meant something to someone. He twisted two fingers together into one prod and that way they stayed. He quit trying at those parts of him meant for the Worm. His eyes narrowed to his work and were almost blind after a while. People passing him cringed, looked away and ignored him. He was a worm-man because he lived on his belly in the soil and because he left winding little tracks wherever he went.
by HyperThermal
During these unprecedented times, it’s hard to reach out and connect with others, especially those you haven’t met. But why go out and gamble on an encounter with a total stranger, when there’s a better way to find someone worth your time? These are a few steps that can get you in the right direction to making a very loyal, and incredibly powerful friend.
Hey Tommy, got your instructions. I think I have a good method for getting some of the goods for the boss.
First, you will need to create a sigil from scratch. There are many potential people, beings, entities, and animals that you can befriend, so don’t copy any other sigils you may find online or in literature. Be really creative, and free form with this process, as you are naturally attuned to the energy that your best possible friend would have, and vice versa. Make sure that you have this sigil drawn in a deep indigo color on white parchment paper.
So, the boss really believes in this kinda occult stuff, right? Not that I’m doubting him of course, but like, maybe we can use some of this stuff to get more candidates?
There is an abandoned church on the western outskirts of Madison, Wisconsin, but it is in better condition than you would expect. On a Wednesday night, park your car near this church, displaying your sigil prominently either in the windshield, or wrapped around your car door’s handle. Ensure that you are alone, as the cosmic energies will sense that you do not want for companionship. Enter the church, sit in one of the pews, and pray to the empty space where the crucifix used to be. Keep at this for as long as you can, as the next step will happen automatically.
Tommy, I’ve been thinking it over some since the last message. You know that old church where we used to hawk some coke to make some quick cash? Let’s make that our pick-up point. Those old vents should work well enough for the gas.
You will now find yourself somewhere cold and unfamiliar, and you may feel the emptiness within you calling out; this is normal, as this sensation is your soul begging to no longer be alone. Make your way through the clammy darkness, following what little light you can find. Eventually, you will find a hallway filled with doors. Many of these doors are locked, and of the three that you can open, only one is the correct way forward. The door with the faded number is not one that should be opened, as none who have entered have had their twisted, mutilated remains ever seen again. The door with the music behind it is, similarly, off limits, as you are here to make a friend, not an enemy. Once you have opened the correct door, you will see an angel at a desk.
To Rick: I think that’s an excellent location for where we pick up our cargo. The fact it’s so remote, but also close enough to our operation means that there is enough time to transport them before the anesthetics wear off. We might even have some time to get started on extracting the parts.
Know that the angel needs no words or questions from you, as he already has divine knowledge. Should you speak, have lived a life of sin, or just approach on a bad day, the angel will not hesitate to send you descending to the darkest fires of Hell. Simply wait for the angel to hand you a key, and he will tell you which door it goes to. Again, you cannot ask questions, so memorize his directions carefully.
I do, however, have some qualms with your proposition, namely allowing the target to roam around. We keep a few doors unlocked for ease of access, namely the rooms for Mr. Harvey and for cremation. We do not want the target to know what’s going on at any point during this operation. Furthermore, I do not want to deal with the targets beyond what is necessary, especially as I am busy managing our finances. Lastly, how do you expect them to willingly let themselves be operated upon?
There will be a table in the room you have entered. You will need to lie down on this table, as the feast is due to begin. Daemons of all sorts will come marching in, one by one, ready to consume your flesh. You have no hope of overpowering the fiends, so do not resist; instead, you have been blessed with divine protection. Allow the beasts to season your body, for that is when the holy trap will activate, obliterating all of them with light and shadow.
Tommy, don’t worry about it! The type of guys we’re aiming for are total suckers, have you even read some of that shit they believe in? These kooks are so stupid they would willingly go to a ghost slaughterhouse for no reason! You could make up some garbage about angels and demons, these dumbasses will buy it hook line and sinker, then recommend it to their moronic little pals. Sides, it ain’t like we need the brain or anything. I just need you to write it out for me, I ain’t good at this sort of flowery language stuff.
You will now find yourself back at the church, accompanied by your new friend. Your friend will have your best interests in mind, so make the most of it! Perhaps you may find that your new friend is familiar somehow…
