Good evening. This is Spooky Boo coming to you from Sandcastle, California. Tonight I have for you some very spooky ghost stories from the Creepypasta libraries. After listening to these you might wonder if they’re true or not, and as with many creepypasta stories, we do wonder if they are true. I’ll let you be the judge and when you’re finished listening, let me know in the comments what you think about these stories and if they may or may not be true.
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Now let’s begin…
All the Papers Lied Tonight
An Anonymous Creepypasta
God, I hope I’m just going crazy.
You ever had one of those “how in the hell did I get here” moments? I mean those flashes of clarity where you really see your life. You look in the mirror and you’re so far removed from the person you dreamed of being when you were a kid that you’re stunned speechless.
Mine happened about a year ago, a week or two before Thanksgiving, when I woke up in the hospital. I was incredibly disoriented; everything seemed unreal and distant, not really happening to me… like I was dreaming, or an avatar in a video game. Maybe it was because I already felt so disconnected… maybe it was the terrifying reminder of my own mortality… but it felt like I was seeing myself with a stranger’s eyes. Waves of shame and self-hatred rolled over me in that hospital bed, and I vowed to change my life.
I’d made similar resolutions before and failed miserably, but this time was different. This time, the change was nearly effortless: old habits evaporated, old temptations lost all allure. Peer pressure stopped being an issue, because I just wasn’t interested in hanging out with my usual group; when I tried going out with them sober, they bored me to tears.
Meanwhile, other relationships in my life were improving. At my son Logan’s birthday party, I even overheard my ex-wife telling his mother that I’d finally grown up and stopped causing so much heartache for everyone. When the last children had left and I was cleaning up, my son surprised me with a running hug. He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me harder than he ever had in his life.
“Will you stay?” he whispered.
I brushed back his hair with my hand. “Of course! I’ll stay as long as you want. You could even spend the night at my place tonight, if your mother says it’s okay.”
He sighed happily. “You’re so much better than my real dad.” Every cell in my body froze.
I launched into a speech about how I was his dad, was trying to change, knew I needed to earn his trust back, etc.
“Okay!” he said lightly, obviously eager to return to his pile of presents. But just before he ran off… he winked at me, like we had an awesome secret.
Logan couldn’t stay with me that night after all… and honestly, I was kind of relieved. What he’d said had cut me to the core, and for the first time in nearly a year, I desperately wanted a drink. I made it all the way to the front door of my apartment complex before I lost it and started sobbing. I was fumbling in my pocket for my keys, trying to see through a glaze of tears, when Sam put her hand on my shoulder.
Sam had lived in the apartment next door to mine for years. Before my epiphany, I’d barely spared her a glance… but after, I’d found myself choking on cartoon butterflies whenever she passed by. I’d never had to chase a girl before. It’s not that I’m Brad Pitt or anything, it’s just that I used to spend an enormous amount of time and money making myself look nothing like myself. You’ve seen the old me, or one of my countless clones: a golem of silicone and acrylic, spangles and bleach. It was a lot like being a zombie, I suppose; you can barely move for fear that parts of you will fall off.
Back on point: I’d been trying to catch Sam’s eye for months, and I was terrible at it. I’d chat her up and think I was getting somewhere… but then I’d make a joke, or quote a movie, and she’d cringe like I’d just stabbed her.
It was a humiliating way to have finally caught her attention… bawling like an angry toddler on the front steps, miserably wiping snot on my sleeve as I blubbered confessions for a million sins.
Sam listened patiently, only stopping me once to suggest we get out of the cold and continue talking in her apartment. She drank me under the table. I’d lost all my tolerance in a year of sobriety, but Sam definitely didn’t have that problem. When I got up to get us both another, it was easy to see why: her refrigerator looked like mine used to, boasting the four food groups of beer, liquor, take-out, and antique condiments.
“Did your roommate move out?” I asked, carrying our beers back from her kitchen. “He was a big cook, right? I used to walk by your place around dinnertime and drool.”
“He wasn’t my roommate,” she said quietly. “He was my husband.”
My face fell, and the last year flashed by in sickening instant replay: her total disinterest in me, followed by the pained looks and vanishing act whenever she caught herself flirting back. I’d never bothered to ring-check her until my crush hit.
“If you’d like to talk about it, I’m interested… but I won’t pry if you don’t. Up to you.”
She laughed a little, shaking his head. “It’s funny. Stanley was usually such a good judge of character… but he was so wrong about you. Sucks that he never got to know you… I think he would have really liked you.” She changed the subject, and I excused myself soon after.
The next day, curiosity led me to google his husband. As I read through the results, my eyes widened.
Stanley had died the night I’d passed out, and it appeared he might have accidentally saved my life. I spoke with a neighbor and confirmed that my guess was right… the EMT’s who responded to Sam’s 911 call had been the ones who found me. Since they’d been called out for just one patient and only had one ambulance, they’d put me on a board and hung it on hooks from the ambulance ceiling.
I didn’t sleep a wink the night I found that out. My stupid drunk ass had hung there a few feet above the worst moments of Sam’s life and the last ones of Stanley’s… the ultimate third wheel, intruding on something incredibly private and intimate. I laid in my bed, staring at the ceiling, imagining what it must have been like for Stanley, staring up at a man he’d thought was a total waste, knowing that I’d wake up and he never would.
I blushed against my pillow, thinking of how I’d hit on her so soon after his death. I couldn’t believe she’d ended up comforting me… I swore to never flirt with Sam again, and I kept that promise… even as we became friendlier and wound up with a weekly TV-and-Chinese-Food appointment.
I didn’t mean to get her a Christmas present. I’d considered it, but wrote it off as over the line. Then I went thrifting and saw this pocketknife. It wasn’t anything flashy, but something about it just said “Sam” to me. When I picked it up and examined it, the owner came up behind me.
“You’ve got nice taste, honey,” she said. “They don’t make ’em like that anymore.” And I smiled, ‘cause that was how I felt about Sam.
But when Sam opened the gift, her face went white. “Did I… did I tell you about this that night I was so drunk?” she murmured, picking up the knife and turning it in her fingers. “I must have…”
Sam had inherited one exactly like it from her grandfather. It had gotten lost when she and Stanley moved into the building, and she’d felt awful about it. “Oh, crap… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories…”
“No, no, this is great… I’ve been trying to find one for long time. Thank you.”
I think she meant to peck me on the cheek, but it landed on the corner of my mouth… and the next thing I knew, she was kissing me for real. It was amazing for about ten seconds… and then she sprang off the couch, stammering that she was sorry, that she’d been overcome… And then it just poured out of her.
She told me how much I reminded her of Stanley, how being with me was so much like being with him that it broke her heart. “You say things he said, you quote movies he used to quote… Jesus, you wear some of the same clothes. Who puts this green shit on Triscuits? Nobody I’ve ever met… except you and him.”
I didn’t reply. I couldn’t reply.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you. My therapist said…” she broke off with a disgusted noise, sighing deeply before continuing. “I just don’t think I can get over him and do this… the dinners with you. I’m not moving on, I’m just… I’m just pretending I don’t have to.” She apologized again, and then she was gone. I stared at the door like an idiot for a few seconds, letting that sink in. She’d left his present on my coffee table, and I bent to pick it up…
You’re so much better than my real dad.
Suddenly, pieces were snapping together in my mind, and I kept shaking my head like I could break them apart again. What I was thinking was stupid, crazy, superstitious lunacy… I’d been a few feet away in the ambulance when he’d died. I’d woken up consumed with self-loathing, turning into a new person almost overnight… one with different hobbies, different opinions, different tastes. Even my own son didn’t believe I was me.
So many things falling into place. My instant, extra-strength crush on Sam. My new clothing and hairstyle, so similar to his in his Facebook photos. How I’d suddenly decided to take up cooking… and been weirdly good at it. How I’d never put mint jelly on Triscuits before, and had no idea why I’d even bought it. How I didn’t remember seeing half the movies I was always quoting.
I’ve started seeing a therapist myself. She says I’m trying to distance myself from a past I’m ashamed of… that low self-esteem and my crush on Sam have manifested in me imagining that I’m a person she could love. She thinks maybe I hit my head when I fell, or maybe I have something called depersonalization disorder.
I’ve read countless stories on here about hauntings and possessions. You guys are the experts on banishment and rituals. But what do I do if I’m the ghost? What in the hell do I do?
Behind Your Eyes
Anonymous Creepypasta
My grandma used to live in a house that was ancient. The house was falling apart and had a termite infestation. We told her many times that she could move in with us if she wanted to, but she always said that she liked the house. Four years ago she passed away. It was a really tragic event. I didn’t want to know what the cause of her death was, so I never asked (probably natural causes). Her house was left to rot. It was abandoned. My mother fell into depression after my grandma’s passing. She didn’t want to talk to me or to anyone. She just locked herself in her room and only came out when she had to go to work or go to the bathroom. My dad worried for her. I wanted her to get better, so I started thinking of things that would make her happy. After going through many ideas I finally came up with the perfect one.
Her birthday was coming up, so I wanted to get her a present. I thought that getting her something that grandma had owned would make her feel as if grandma was still close to her, so that is what I decided to get her. I knew that most of grandma’s stuff was still in her house, so I was going to go to her house and take something from there.
I grabbed my backpack and my phone and hurried out the door. Good thing her house was close by. I entered the front porch. The smell of old wood lingered in the air. I tried to open the door, but it was locked. I checked if there were any open windows, but there weren’t any. I checked the back of the house and was surprised by something. There was a cellar door. I walked towards it and tried to open it, and to my surprise it opened up. The only thing I saw beyond the door was darkness. I didn’t have a flashlight on me, but I still decided to enter.
Luckily enough, light came from outside to let me see what I was doing. There was nothing at all at first glance. Just trash and dirt. But at second glance I noticed a brown door in the corner of the room. I walked towards the door. My hands were trembling with fear and my stomach was full of anxiety. I had no idea what the resolution of this was going to be. I reached for the door knob. It was cold and dull. I started twisting it slowly. The door opened and I forced myself into the room. I thought of going back, but it was too late. I nervously swallowed saliva and progressed to my destination.
The room was dark and humid. The smell of dust filled the air. My eyes quickly darted towards a white box that was sitting in the middle the room. The box looked like it had been beaten up. It had wrinkles and some writing on it. I walked towards it. I couldn’t tell what the writing on it said, it looked like it was gibberish. I lifted the box up and put in my backpack. I wasn’t going to waste time opening the box, I had to leave. I advanced to exit the room when I heard a whisper coming from behind me. At first it sounded like it was just the wind shaking a tree, but then I began to distinguish words.
“Where are you going?”
Goosebumps raced down my body. I looked behind me. The thing that was behind me was almost inexplicable. It was a young woman, she was missing half of her body. The skin on her face was torn apart, and you could see the muscles twitching and the blood spurting out. She also stunk of rotten meat. She looked at me. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to do.
“Should I run?” I thought. “My eyes, I want them back…” she rasped.
I ran out of the room as fast as I could. I went up the stairs and exited the house. I started to slow down when I was halfway to my house because I had to catch my breath. What had I seen back then? When I got home I hurried to my bedroom. I tried to open up the white box by hand, but I was unsuccessful. It had too much tape on it. I went to the kitchen and got a knife. I cut open the tape and opened the box.
A pair of eyes looked back at me. Inside the box was a pair of rotten, wrinkly, veiny, disembodied human eyes. I instantly let out a yelp. I didn’t know what to do with them. I noticed a piece of paper behind the eyes. I went to my trash can and emptied out the eyes. I took out the paper. It was a picture of a young woman. Exactly the same young woman that I had seen in the cellar. I heard something behind me, I turned around and discovered my dad giving me a confused look.
“Why are you holding a picture of your grandma?” he asked placidly.
An Evening Alone
Anonymous Creepypasta
Mom woke me up to tell me she was leaving to help the family from church pack. My dad and brother were already there. I felt bad for staying home, but I’d been a bit sick lately and all I wanted was to sleep.
The door slammed and I heard the muted rumble of the garage opening and shutting. I smiled into my pillow. I always did like being home alone for one reason in particular: I could sing as loudly as I pleased, and I intended to do just that when I rose for the evening.
Spoke too soon, I thought with a grimace; off-tune whistling floated up to my room. My brother had returned early. I wondered if Dad had dropped him off or if he was home to stay as well. A more powerful wave of guilt washed over me. Should have gone with her, Alice, she was saying yesterday how much stuff they had…
There was nothing for it. I closed my eyes and arranged my blankets and pillows to my liking, intending to catch at least another hour. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. In fifteen minutes I was bored with trying to drift off again and elected to do something about the hunger gnawing at my insides.
I stretched and rose. “Hellooooo?” I called when I opened my door. My voice echoed in the seemingly empty house. My brother wasn’t in his room, so I supposed he was on the computer. I trotted down the stairs, and, after grabbing the carton of cottage cheese, checked the office. It was empty.
My brow furrowed. I knew I’d heard whistling earlier. Instantly my mind began cooking up explanations. The garage door? No; while it had been acting up lately, they were whistles, not squeaks. A television? Perfect, only none were on. I smiled in realization; it must have come from the children playing outside. I checked the sliding glass door. It was shut and locked along with all the other windows in the house.
I grinned and shook my head. I’d have to tell my mom about the latest creepy occurrence. She would hold on to her skepticism as usual, but I’d be more excited.
The mysterious whistling wasn’t the first odd thing to happen. Recently I’d taken a nap and woke up to my monitor glowing through the dark room. I questioned every member of my family. None of them claimed a bout of trolling, and I, a light sleeper, would have heard any intruders. I couldn’t blame it on a system restart, either, for all of my tabs were still open. Then there was the ribbon on my lamp moving without any visible cause, be it wind (my window and door were closed) or vibrations (I was sitting still on my bed). Even my mother mentioned hearing footsteps while home alone.
I grabbed peanut butter and crackers and a soda and set up camp in front of the computer. It was time to waste more hours of my life on tumblr. Once that bored me, I resorted to my less often visited sites to entertain me until I felt like calling a friend or taking a shower. With the music blasting and a free night ahead, I was feeling fine.
I heard a noise outside the closed office door. I ignored it. I knew it wasn’t the arrival of my family, and maybe it was just a creak or pop or natural groan of the house, but I still ignored it. With the sinking of the sun, I wasn’t really hoping for more “activity”.
And then the panic hit—hit like a brick to the chest. My face grew hot, my heartbeat tripled in pace, my muscles tensed. Something was out there. Something was out there. Just behind that door—because I could still hear noises, like something was out there, corporeal or not, something was out there—
I waited until the song ended and locked the office door. It obviously wouldn’t do much good against a ghost, but it gave me some slight peace of mind from the thing. That peace of mind lasted until the next song began.
It was like in the movies where too many people are talking to the main character at once and he’s visibly getting tenser. As the guitars and drums and lyrics competed against my terrible singing, a much different orchestra went on beneath it. I can only describe it as sounds and energy, so much energy that I found my face screwed up like I was getting blasted by the wind. The low point of the episode was when my name flew through the air behind my right shoulder.
I slammed the pause button. Silence rang. The energy evaporated as soon as it came and slowly my body relaxed until I was sitting comfortably once more.
It just stopped raining. I feel better now, though the events of a few minutes ago are fresh in my mind. I know no one will believe me when I say this is a true story, since so many others claim the same, but it is. It just happened and I felt the need to write it down so I can feel a little less insane.
I’m not scared anymore, but maybe that’s because a watery light is still poking through the blinds. I’m sure I’ll feel differently tonight around ten if yet again I feel that presence behind me as I try to keep my eyes closed and fight the urge to roll over.
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Thank you for listening to today’s episode. If you enjoyed the stories, please do make a comment and let me know which was your favorite. Come and chat with me on Saturday nights on YouTube at 6:00 PM Pacific at youtube.com/spookybooscarystorytime for my weekly livestream. I’ll bring you some stories from Sandcastle and talk about what’s going on in the Spooky World of Spooky Boo. I can’t wait to see you there.
If you would like to send in your own story for me to tell, please visit the submissions page at www.scarystorytime.com/submissions or call in your own story or comment of up to 3 minutes to be played on the Saturday night livestream at 707-SPOOKYB. That is 707-776-6592.
That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you in your nightmares.
