Creepypasta

[Piper Maru]

I can't go back there...

Spoiler

It was the last beautiful weekend that Summer would supply. Sunny skies, high in the mid 80's, and not a cloud in sight. There was no way my friend John & I could let the weekend go to waste. We decided to head up to our favorite fishing spot, a lakeside Cabin in the rural part of New York. No one around for miles to disturb us; it was the perfect place to crack open a few beers, talk about our lives, and catch a few fish.

Friday came, and after work I threw some stuff together & headed over to Johnny's to pick him up. The five hour drive seemed to fly by as we ********ted, told our favorite jokes, and sang along to the radio. Next thing we knew, we were at the cabin unloading for the weekend. The lake was beautiful, with the sun shimmering off the water, and the green rolling hills in the distance. I grabbed my bag and headed toward the front door. As I approached the door, an uneasy feeling set in, one that made my stomach turn. I quickly disregarded it, blaming it on the fact that I hadn't eaten yet. Looking back, I wish I trusted that feeling that something was wrong...

After settling into our respective rooms, and grilling up some hot dogs for a quick bite, we grabbed our gear and we were off to the small dock to do some fishing. Dusk was setting in and John and I had front row seats to a magical sunset behind the towering hills that surrounded the lake. We sat there until dark, with nothing to show for our hour of fishing except a buzz from a few beers.

We packed our fishing gear and headed back to the cabin. While making the trek down the dock, that uneasy feeling took control again. Something felt off. I jokingly brought it up to Johnny, asking him if he had felt the same way at all. Johnny laughed it off, saying I watched the Blair Witch Project too many times. Johnny's laughter quickly turned into silence, and suddenly my fishing buddy wasn't right by my side anymore. I looked back around to see him dead in his tracks, staring at the cabin. I followed his line of sight, and saw what made him stop. There was someone, something, peeking out of the bedroom window. My bedroom window.

Whatever was there was gone seconds after. We walked sluggishly toward the house, with our eyes wide as if it'll help us see better in the quickly darkening night. The door was cracked open. Johnny swung it the rest of the way, as we both screamed: "Whoever's in here, show yourself!" Deafening silence followed. Luckily, knowing we'd be in the woods, we both decided to bring our shotguns in case of unwanted critters in and around the cabin. We both took a step inside, the creaking of the floor making our stomachs drop, not knowing what could be inside.

The back door in which we entered, immediately led into the kitchen. The shotguns rested against the wall a few feet away from the door, and were finally in reach. A sudden rush of calm overtook my body knowing I had my shotgun in hand. The calm was short lived as a door slammed shut down the hallway. Both Johnny and I felt braver with shotguns in hand. I screamed: "if anyone's in here, show yourself or you're going to get shot," and pumped my shotgun in hopes I'd scare 'em out. Another door slammed. Footsteps. Giggling. We were trembling in fear. Suddenly, silence.

After waiting a few minutes, we decided the best option was to clear the house. Hallway, clear. Living room, clear. Johnny's bedroom, clear. My bedroom, clear. Bathroom, clear. Johnny and I stared at each other, wide-eyed. We locked all the doors, windows, and decided to both sleep in the living room, shotguns in arms reach.

Before falling asleep, we both pondered what it could be. Neither of us brought up a possible paranormal event. Not that we didn't think that's what it was, but because neither of us wanted to bring it up. We came to the conclusion that it had to be some kids who saw us coming into town, and decided to play a prank. They probably made an easy escape out of a window. Looking back, I think we just wanted to make each other feel better.

At 2:03 am, we were both awakened by a large crash. To our amazement the front door was wide open, all the windows in the living room were smashed. We got up, shotguns in hand. The back door was open, all of the windows smashed in the kitchen as well. A scream was heard from the bathroom that ran down my spine. The front & back doors slammed shut simultaneously. Johnny and I had our guns up, ready to shoot, but had nothing to shoot at.

Another scream. Another crash. As eerie as the silence was, we wanted it back.

The footsteps were back. They were running right past us, but there was nothing there. I became frozen in my steps as I heard giggling right next to me, and a pull on my shirt as if a small child wanted my attention.

Another crash. The ceiling fan had fallen down in the kitchen. Almost simultaneously with the crash, the lights went out.

We made it to the hallway. We were on our way to the breaker when Johnny became pale white. Almost glowing in the now dark cabin. My stomach dropped as I turned around. Standing in the middle of the hallway was a large figure, staring us down. After a few seconds, the figure took a step forward. I lifted my gun and took a shot. The steel did nothing to the figure. Johnny lifted his, took a shot. Again, nothing. The shadowy figure then released a high pitched scream, as if a woman was being tortured. One that'll stick with me to this day.

The shadow seemed to gain in size, and next thing we knew we were face to face with it. It released another howl, loud enough to wake me up...

I was still in the living room. Johnny was still asleep. I looked at the clock to see it read 2:02 am... I reached for my shotgun and waited.
http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/2hw48v/i_cant_go_back_there/

http://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/2hw48v/i_cant_go_back_there/

 

[Piper Maru]

Never Answer the Door at Night

Spoiler

My father grew up on an Indian reservation in South Dakota. It is a place with few trees and even fewer people, and there has been little development since the place was settled many, many years ago. The people live in clusters of nearly uniform houses that were built by the government, and the only place to go shopping or see a movie is nearly two hours away. It’s hot in the summer, cold in the winter, and sometimes the wind blows for days without letting up. Even now, the people there have to be tough to survive. You look out for your friends, you help your neighbors, and you don’t forget your family.

His grandmother died when he was very young, but he’s told me that he retains one particularly vivid memory of her. It was winter and they were at the house together in the early evening, and she was cooking in the kitchen while he played with a deck of cards in the front room. He can’t quite recall what she looked like, but he can still remember the smell of the food that she was making that night. It’s funny how memory works that way. His parents, grandfather, and two older sisters had caught a ride into Rapid City to buy supplies before the first big storms came through, so it was just the two of them. She went on cooking and he went on playing with those cards until he’d lost track of time and it was pitch black outside.

There was a knock at the door. Not a loud knock like the police, or the friendly kind of knock that a neighbor uses when he’s stopping by to borrow something. Just a slow, quiet tapping on the door. Tap, tap, tap, just like that. Naturally, he figured his family had made it back from the city, so he went right over to let them inside. Before he had a chance to reach the door, his frail, elderly grandmother grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away, like he was a rag doll. “Never answer the door at night,” she told him, covering his mouth so he couldn’t say anything. He could feel her arm trembling. There was no more knocking, but my father couldn’t shake the sense that there was someone familiar standing on the other side of that door, waiting to be let inside. When she finally let go of him, he asked her why she had stopped him. “Sometimes the dead try to come home,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.

His family didn’t return that night, and there was no phone service so they couldn’t call. When they made it back the following day, he learned that his grandfather had died from a heart attack during the trip. My father never said anything about the knocking, and neither did his grandmother. It was like it had never happened. His grandmother wasn’t the same after that and followed her husband to the grave just a few months later. My father was six years old.

It was much later when my father found himself alone at night during a particularly bad winter storm, the wind howling outside and the rest of his family stranded miles away. They had gone into the city that morning, and wouldn’t be able to come back until the storm let up and the roads were cleared. Eventually the electricity went out and the only light came from the stove they used for heating. The worst part of the storm lasted a few hours, but finally it got quiet outside as the wind slowed and the windows stopped rattling. Then the knock came again. That same tapping at the door from years before, like fingers just barely brushing against it. My father couldn’t bring himself to look out the window to see if anyone was standing outside, but for some reason, he found himself drawn to the door, like he had to open it. It was only when he felt the cold from beneath the door on his bare feet that he stopped. He called outside, asking who was there. “It’s me,” came the voice from the other side of the door. “Let me inside. It’s cold.” He recognized the voice, since it belonged to his eldest sister. He had his hand on the doorknob when his grandmother’s words came back to him, and the feel of her hand gripping his arm. Never answer the door at night. There were many things he could have asked his sister at that moment. He could have asked where his parents were, or why he hadn’t heard the car pull up when they were dropped off. He could have even asked why she needed to knock at all – they didn’t lock their doors on the reservation. He didn’t ask her any of those things. Instead, he told her to go around to the back and he would let her inside. Before he could say anything else, or even think anything else, he heard the knocking start at the back door, like she had been there the entire time. Instantly. Tap, tap, tap. He didn’t open the door, and spent the rest of the night curled up on the floor. His family had tried to return home earlier that evening and got into a car accident in the snow. His father had broken his leg in two places. His eldest sister had died, mangled in the wreck. He didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but he knew in his heart that sometimes the dead do try to come home.

My father was not afraid of what might have happened that night. When he told me the story, he was sorrowful. He always regretted that he lost his opportunity to see his sister one last time. I know that’s why he went home by himself and waited when my mother died. You don’t forget your family. I know he heard that knocking on the door, tap, tap, tap, like he remembered from his youth. I also know that he forgot something, very, very important. The fear in his grandmother’s voice on that cold winter night, and the way she held him with all her strength. Never answer the door at night. When we found him the next day, the front door was wide open and he had been torn limb from limb. There were no footprints in the snow.

 

[TheDreamMaster]

Never Answer the Door at Night

Spoiler

My father grew up on an Indian reservation in South Dakota. It is a place with few trees and even fewer people, and there has been little development since the place was settled many, many years ago. The people live in clusters of nearly uniform houses that were built by the government, and the only place to go shopping or see a movie is nearly two hours away. It’s hot in the summer, cold in the winter, and sometimes the wind blows for days without letting up. Even now, the people there have to be tough to survive. You look out for your friends, you help your neighbors, and you don’t forget your family.

His grandmother died when he was very young, but he’s told me that he retains one particularly vivid memory of her. It was winter and they were at the house together in the early evening, and she was cooking in the kitchen while he played with a deck of cards in the front room. He can’t quite recall what she looked like, but he can still remember the smell of the food that she was making that night. It’s funny how memory works that way. His parents, grandfather, and two older sisters had caught a ride into Rapid City to buy supplies before the first big storms came through, so it was just the two of them. She went on cooking and he went on playing with those cards until he’d lost track of time and it was pitch black outside.

There was a knock at the door. Not a loud knock like the police, or the friendly kind of knock that a neighbor uses when he’s stopping by to borrow something. Just a slow, quiet tapping on the door. Tap, tap, tap, just like that. Naturally, he figured his family had made it back from the city, so he went right over to let them inside. Before he had a chance to reach the door, his frail, elderly grandmother grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away, like he was a rag doll. “Never answer the door at night,” she told him, covering his mouth so he couldn’t say anything. He could feel her arm trembling. There was no more knocking, but my father couldn’t shake the sense that there was someone familiar standing on the other side of that door, waiting to be let inside. When she finally let go of him, he asked her why she had stopped him. “Sometimes the dead try to come home,” she said. There were tears in her eyes.

His family didn’t return that night, and there was no phone service so they couldn’t call. When they made it back the following day, he learned that his grandfather had died from a heart attack during the trip. My father never said anything about the knocking, and neither did his grandmother. It was like it had never happened. His grandmother wasn’t the same after that and followed her husband to the grave just a few months later. My father was six years old.

It was much later when my father found himself alone at night during a particularly bad winter storm, the wind howling outside and the rest of his family stranded miles away. They had gone into the city that morning, and wouldn’t be able to come back until the storm let up and the roads were cleared. Eventually the electricity went out and the only light came from the stove they used for heating. The worst part of the storm lasted a few hours, but finally it got quiet outside as the wind slowed and the windows stopped rattling. Then the knock came again. That same tapping at the door from years before, like fingers just barely brushing against it. My father couldn’t bring himself to look out the window to see if anyone was standing outside, but for some reason, he found himself drawn to the door, like he had to open it. It was only when he felt the cold from beneath the door on his bare feet that he stopped. He called outside, asking who was there. “It’s me,” came the voice from the other side of the door. “Let me inside. It’s cold.” He recognized the voice, since it belonged to his eldest sister. He had his hand on the doorknob when his grandmother’s words came back to him, and the feel of her hand gripping his arm. Never answer the door at night. There were many things he could have asked his sister at that moment. He could have asked where his parents were, or why he hadn’t heard the car pull up when they were dropped off. He could have even asked why she needed to knock at all – they didn’t lock their doors on the reservation. He didn’t ask her any of those things. Instead, he told her to go around to the back and he would let her inside. Before he could say anything else, or even think anything else, he heard the knocking start at the back door, like she had been there the entire time. Instantly. Tap, tap, tap. He didn’t open the door, and spent the rest of the night curled up on the floor. His family had tried to return home earlier that evening and got into a car accident in the snow. His father had broken his leg in two places. His eldest sister had died, mangled in the wreck. He didn’t tell anyone what had happened, but he knew in his heart that sometimes the dead do try to come home.

My father was not afraid of what might have happened that night. When he told me the story, he was sorrowful. He always regretted that he lost his opportunity to see his sister one last time. I know that’s why he went home by himself and waited when my mother died. You don’t forget your family. I know he heard that knocking on the door, tap, tap, tap, like he remembered from his youth. I also know that he forgot something, very, very important. The fear in his grandmother’s voice on that cold winter night, and the way she held him with all her strength. Never answer the door at night. When we found him the next day, the front door was wide open and he had been torn limb from limb. There were no footprints in the snow.

That's so creepy, but a great story. Actually, not long ago someone came knocking on my door at like 3 am. I did not open door, but I wasn't afraid of it being a dead person either.

 

[Piper Maru]

That's so creepy, but a great story. Actually, not long ago someone came knocking on my door at like 3 am. I did not open door, but I wasn't afraid of it being a dead person either.

That reminds me of a time when I was house sitting for a friend, in the middle of the night someone was knocking at the door. Turned out to be the neighbor, who came home from the bar drunk out of his mind, he simply went to the wrong house.

Continuing with my creepypasta marathon posting for Halloween...

The Black Lagoon

Spoiler

To celebrate their first year in university, six friends went camping in the wilderness. After driving for several hours from the nearest town, they discovered a lagoon, nestled beside a cliff ideal for diving. They set up camp in the woods nearby and spent the evening swimming in the warm, clear water. As the sun sunk below the trees, one of the friends went up to the highest point on the cliff and jumped off, while the other 5 watched. Their laughter slowly subsided as they waited for him to surface. It only took half a minute for them to dive in after their friend. Struggling and sputtering among the reeds in the lagoon, they searched hopelessly for him. Finally they disentangled themselves and came up, but they never saw their friend again. Heartbroken they returned to the city and passed a strange and lonely year in which their only solace was the knowledge that they would return to the lagoon to honour the anniversary of their friend's death.

A year passed and they returned to the lagoon as a memorial, but as they approached they saw their friend standing there, head bowed. Excitedly they called to him and began running towards him, but he didn't turn. As they got closer they called him more desparately, but still to no avail. With joy they ran towards him, but stopped dead when they saw not one but five crosses on the waterside.

 

[TheDreamMaster]

That reminds me of a time when I was house sitting for a friend, in the middle of the night someone was knocking at the door. Turned out to be the neighbor, who came home from the bar drunk out of his mind, he simply went to the wrong house.

Continuing with my creepypasta marathon posting for Halloween...

The Black Lagoon

Spoiler

To celebrate their first year in university, six friends went camping in the wilderness. After driving for several hours from the nearest town, they discovered a lagoon, nestled beside a cliff ideal for diving. They set up camp in the woods nearby and spent the evening swimming in the warm, clear water. As the sun sunk below the trees, one of the friends went up to the highest point on the cliff and jumped off, while the other 5 watched. Their laughter slowly subsided as they waited for him to surface. It only took half a minute for them to dive in after their friend. Struggling and sputtering among the reeds in the lagoon, they searched hopelessly for him. Finally they disentangled themselves and came up, but they never saw their friend again. Heartbroken they returned to the city and passed a strange and lonely year in which their only solace was the knowledge that they would return to the lagoon to honour the anniversary of their friend's death.

A year passed and they returned to the lagoon as a memorial, but as they approached they saw their friend standing there, head bowed. Excitedly they called to him and began running towards him, but he didn't turn. As they got closer they called him more desparately, but still to no avail. With joy they ran towards him, but stopped dead when they saw not one but five crosses on the waterside.

Well that was creepy, but good.

http://www.reddit.com/r/shortscarystories/comments/2kep0z/sleep_easy/

Sleep Easy

I woke up from a terrible nightmare last night, and judging from the state of my bedsheets, it must have had me twisting and turning in my bed for a good long while. As I was finally drifting off to sleep again, my daughter walked in my bedroom, stood beside my bed and said "Sleep easy now daddy, there are no ghosts."
I smiled drowsily and closed my eyes as she walked away. Then the smile froze on my face: I have no daughter.

 

[Piper Maru]

I Found My Obituary in the Local Paper

Spoiler

John Muler, 26, died Wednesday, September 4th, 2013 in his home. He was a hard working student and beloved son. The family wishes to keep the details of his death private. He will be missed. Amen.

I read that in a ****** local Paper called ‘The News Flash’. I thought it was a practical joke. My friend Kurtis used to do pranks in grade school so I called him up. He swore it wasn’t him. He must have been lying. No one else in town cared enough to put that much effort into a prank on me. I almost forgot about the whole thing. Until November.

John Muler, 26, died Wednesday, November 12, 2013 in his home. He took his own life after swallowing a handful of sleeping pills. He worked a dead end job to pay off dead end debts. He spent his free time lying in bed staring at the ceiling. His life was short and somewhat pathetic. No one will remember he existed after a month or two. Good Riddance. Amen.

I didn't laugh this time. I called my friend Kurtis, told him to knock it off, he swore it wasn't him. I called the local paper, no answer, I left a passive aggressive message on the voicemail. I probably went too far when I insulted their ****** graphic design. The newspapers layout looked like it was done in Windows Paint. It was full of typos and repeated news stories every week. It was a piece of **** paper.

The obituaries became a weekly thing. The paper was delivered to my front door every Saturday. I actually kind of looked forward to it in the beginning. Morbid fascination. But the details got bizarrely specific. I didn't have facebook so the only people who knew this stuff was Kurtis or direct family members. I stopped talking to Kurtis and the obituaries kept coming, there's no way anyone in my family would write this stuff. There were dozens of obituaries all together but i’ll just be posting the relevant ones.

John Muler, 26, died Wednesday, November 19, after slitting his own throat with a rusty knife. He could no longer handle the guilt of cheating on his university finals. And his student debt became too much to bear. He will not be missed. Amen.

This was the first obituary which had a detail that I knew only I knew. Although technically I didn't cheat on a university exam, it was a college exam. I wrote notes on a ball cap lid. I never told anyone. Maybe the writer had guessed it. I’m not the first person to cheat on a test. I gotta be honest though, the increasingly disturbing nature of the obituaries unsettled me. I slept with the doors locked.

I kept calling the local paper, no one answered. I must have left like twenty messages. I finally decided to go there in person. I followed the address in the contact info listed in the paper. It was on mainstreet. My town was an American Walmart town. You know, one of those **** highway towns that used to have a busy little main street until Wal-Mart moved in. Now mainstreet was dead and Wal-mart was busy. The American dream. Anyways I drove to Mainstreet, it was dead silent. I almost expected a tumbleweed to drift across. Every single store was boarded up and run down. I parked in front of the Newspaper building. It was abandoned. ****** rich kid graffiti tags everywhere. I checked the address twice. There’s that stomach drop feeling like you got caught doing something bad. I didn’t really comprehend the situation yet, but I felt sick. I asked my neighbors and no one recognized the papers. Someone must have been writing up the entire paper and delivering it my door every week just to **** with me. I called the police to report a stalker, they opened file but I could tell they didn’t take it very seriously.

The obituaries got progressively creepier and personal. They mentioned stories about obscure childhood events, teenage heartbreak, jobs etc. They often detailed myself committing suicide in some brutal manner. Hanging, self drowning, swallowing broken glass, bathing in boiling water- to name a few.

I finally decided to set up a camera and catch this ****er. They always delivered the paper to my front door. I got a ****** security camera from Wal-Mart. I set it up before work. I worked a late shift that night. When I got home from work a paper was on my door step. I took the sd card from the camera and brought the SD card inside. I played the video. I fast forwarded until the paper was on the doorstep. Then I rewound and played it forward. The front door opened a crack and a paper slid out from my house. The front door opened and someone from inside my house dropped the paper... I grabbed the paper and flipped to the obituary section:

John Muler, 26, Died Wednesday December 10th, He was murdered by someone who had been living in his attic for the past seven months. That someone had been writing fake obituaries to John. John will be having a closed casket funeral due to the brutal nature of his death. Amen.

Then I heard footsteps.

 

[Hellion]

 

[Piper Maru]

Into the Further You Go

Spoiler

There have been accounts and stories of people attempting the following. As it is a traditional song that suffers from an anonymous author, people have generally assumed that it is more than a poem and instead is a list of instructions to direct someone on a journey to a realm called "The Further". As by now you've probably guessed,this possibly ancient rhyme was the inspiration for the film Insidious. I'm sure there has been debate as to what the Further is, I personally believe that it is the venturer's own personal Hell and it is curiosity and foolhardiness that leads one there. The author describes "thick yellow smoke, hideous thoughts and bodiless eyes". Believe what you will and try what you want, unfortunately copies of the poem seem scarce on the internet, so I share my copy with you. Enjoy adventurers.

Into the Further You Go:
To start your venture into the fray, first you settle at the end of the day
plead to prepare you for what you may see.
You thank Him for placing the fruits on the tree
and as the ticking takes you further below,
into the Further you go.

You light your home with a single flame
to guide you out and far from declaim.
Away from the smoke and what you may see,
to flee back to safety, the light is the key
and as the ticking takes you further below
Into the Further you go.

Close your eyes and sharpen your mind for
all weariness you leave behind,
any links to love and the world must be shed
for what lies below longs to hide in your head
and as the ticking takes you further below
into the Further you go.

Meditate for an hour and a second
keep your mind here and refrain from flection.
Contemplate the Further and what you may see.
Let your mind open and your soul will be free
and as the ticking takes you further below
into the Further you go.

As you steady in this state
explore and venture but do not wait
for any company you decided to stem.
Go on without, in Here you can’t see them.
And as the ticking takes you further below
into the Further you go.

Take the candle you lit before
and venture out of the nearest door
your sanctuary has gone and your home disappeared.
Welcome to the Further and all that you’ve feared.
And as the ticking takes you further below
into the Further you go.

Normality now is to see blinking red lights,
near and around you in the curling rise
of yellow smoke and fog you were sure
definitely was not there before
and as the ticking takes you further below
Into the Further you go.

Your ears and the eternal night play tricks
that the faucet overflows with the waters of Styx.
The reddest lights continue to gore
as the smoke leads you to the front of His door.
And as the ticking takes you further below
deeper into the Further you go.

A warning to all adventurers beware,
the bodiless eyes bid a scarlet glare
to alert that you’re here to their invisible peers.
Behind its door, their warnings He hears
and as the ticking takes you further below
deeper into the Further you go.

If you grow scared your journey must stop
the Further comes alive to bargain a swap
of their empty blackness for your beating heart
go in through the door for the end to start
and as the ticking takes you further below
Deeper into the Further you go.

On the other side of the gated way
the flames of Hell much further away,
hideous thoughts and smells abound
their faces spin around and around
and as the ticking takes you further below
deeper into the Further you go.

They stare out at you from a single frame
their mouths moving quietly and uttering blame
and hate for you and all that you’ve done
you’ll feel to end, your mind will run.
I counted eight the time I went.
In a tall mirror their faces bent
and curved around like a painted frown
that one could find on the face of a clown.
These are the faces of the people you’ve lost.
The ones you envisioned and the ones that cost
you heartache and longing for months on end
your thoughts of goodbye up to Heaven you’d send.
But no, here they are they swirl in the mirror
down in the Further, life becomes dearer
than anything that could’ve sparked the idea
to share a midnight somewhere but here.

In front of the glass you lose your mind
crouched in the dark the door behind
you’ll hear it slam shut regardless of luck.

Inside the Further you’re stuck.

http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Into_the_Further_You_Go

 

[Piper Maru]

Game Theory: Five Nights at Freddy's SCARIEST Monster is You!
[YT]th_LYe97ZVc[/YT]
Another SCARY THEORY for Halloween! This time, by your popular request, FIVE NIGHTS AT FREDDY'S. 2014's hottest survival horror game seems simple at first. But once you start looking past the murderous animatronics, the true story behind Five Nights at Freddy's may be more sinister than you ever expected!

 

[Piper Maru]

The Clifton Bunnyman

Spoiler

The tale of the Bunny Man goes back many many years. Originally it didn't start until 1931, after many murders had already been committed. For verification of the story, you can visit the "Old Clifton Library" located in Clifton, Northern Virginia, USA. What I am about to tell you is entirely true, although I've never seen the Bunny Man, everyone in Clifton believes it to be true.

(Quick reference to help you understand the story)
The Bridge has a 1 lane car road passing underneath a dual railroad track above it within the woods along a gravel road.

Back in 1903 deep in Clifton, there used to be an Asylum buried deep within the wilderness of Clifton. Pretty soon after the civil war people started inhabiting the area, population-wise around 300 or so. It was a very small town. Nonetheless people didn't like the idea about having an Asylum miles down the road, so they all got together and signed a petition stating for the Asylum to relocate elsewhere. The petition passed and anew Asylum was built which is now known as "Lorton Prison", a temporary facility until convicts are appropriately sentenced.

In Fall of 1904 the convicts were gathered and piled into the bus which was to transport them to Lorton. Somehow during the drive not too far from where they left, the driver had swerved to avoid something and the bus had started to tip and soon was rolling in a terrible collision course.

Most of the convicts were injured but had managed to escape the bus and had fled into the night woods. Later on the next morning a local police investigation had begun, and they had begun rounding up the escaped convicts. Hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. Every one was recovered after 4 months, except for 2 people, Marcus A. Wallster and Douglas J. Grifon. During the search for both men the police randomly found dead rabbits half eaten and dismembered every now and then along their search.

Finally they were to find Marcus dead himself by the Fairfax station Bridge (now known as Bunny Man's Bridge). In his hand he held a man-made hammer/knife like tool, made with a sharp rock and a pretty sturdy branch as a handle. They thought nothing and cared not of how he died, only that he was apprehended and no longer had to worry about him.

They had a name for Marcus, but later on they would realize they had named the wrong person the Bunny Man.

Still searching for Douglas, they kept on finding dead half-eaten bunny's every-so-often while the search went on. Finally they were to name Douglas the Bunny Man from then on.

3 Months passed by and the police had given up their search in April 7th 1905. Everybody assumed the Bunny Man was dead by now, if not gone, so they went on with their small town lives. Come October people started seeing dead bunny's reappearing out of the blue, and starting to fear the unseen.

Halloween Night came around, and as usual a bunch of kids had gone over to the Bridge that night to drink and do whatever kids their age in the 1900's did. Midnight came around within minutes and most of the kids had left, only 3 of them remained at the bridge.

Right at Midnight supposedly a bright light back from within the Bridge, where the kids were and less than a couple seconds later they were all dead. Throats slashed with that same type of tool that was found by the other Escapee Marcus. Not only were there throats slashed, but all up and down their chest's were a long slashes gutting them. To top it off the Bunny Man hung both of the guys from one end of a bridge with a rope around their neck, hanging from the overpass with their legs dangling in front of the pass of cars.

The woman were hung the same way, on the other side of the bridge. This happened on Halloween in 1905. After that, they didn't see or heard anything from him for another year.

Halloween 1906 was approaching and parents as well as the teens in Clifton still remember the incident that had occurred one year ago at the bridge, his bridge, Bunny Man's Bridge.

That night 7 teens were left remaining right before midnight at the bridge. Thinking little of it, six remained inside the bridge while 1, Adrian Hatala had remained a good distance from the bridge hoping to have enough time to escape if the same thing happened again. At midnight she witnessed only this, a dim light walking the railroad track right before midnight, stopping right above the bridge at midnight, then disappearing at the same as a bright flash was inside the bridge. She heard the deafening sounds of horrific screams coming from inside the bridge that lasted only seconds. 5 seconds later, they were all hung from the edge of the bridge, same style as the corpses a year earlier.

Horrified she ran home, she didn't tell of everything she saw, just spattered words here and there that some of the folk put together to come up with her story. No one understood it, or even believed her. They charged her with the murderer, and locked her up in the Asylum of Lorton. In 1913 the same thing happened with 9 teenagers this time, Halloween night again.

Adrian was still locked up. They dropped her sentence, but it was too late. The insanity had finally conquered her. Even if she was released, she was too far gone to have a decent life, so she spent her remaining years in the Asylum until she finally died in 1953 of shock.

No one knows what exactly she died in shock from, but supposedly she had died in her dreams, dreaming of that one dreaded night. Perhaps the Bunny Man had finally gotten to her.

More murders were to take place however, although after the murders in 1913 most people stayed clear of the bridge on Halloween. 1943 rolls around, and 6 teenagers go strolling out on Halloween night. A couple hours later, all of them dead, same way as all the others. Investigations took place, but as usual nothing was discovered.

1976 the same situation occurs, this time with only 3 people.

The only other incident that occurred since then was in 1987, twelve years ago. Janet Charletier was enjoying the night with her 4 friends. Halloween night had finally come and they had gone driving out to enjoy the night after invading the children's candy bags. They had settled around 11 at the bridge, waiting for midnight to come. They didn't believe in the myth so they decided to see it for themselves and were bound to be the only ones who actually withstood the Bunny Man. They had waited around 55 minutes or so, almost at midnight, until Janet started getting a little scared. They all had been pulling pranks on each other, (jumping out the bushes and screaming), so she was already a little worked up. Midnight hits, while she is completely freaked out. She's almost out of the bridge when the lights get really bright inside the bridge. When that happens her body is halfway outside of the bridge. She see's her skin start tearing at her chest but nothing is piercing her skin. She manages finally to exits the bridge. Completely horrified she hits a hanging body and knocks herself out. When she awakes she finds out her hair has turned white and she has been bleeding. She was lucky that the cut had just started, and wasn't very bad at all. She left and never returned to the bridge again.

She has been seen sitting on a swinging bench on her balcony every morning just staring in the direction towards the bridge a couple of miles down.

To this day, you can still find her on that bench every morning. From then on the story dwells untouched, and unmoved.

Halloween night, you will find a bunch of people hanging around the bridge, drinking, smoking up, but within minutes of midnight, everyone leaves. It's been like that for the past 5 years that I have visited the bridge on Halloween night. Even if its not Halloween night, any night you go there, you feel the presence of death awaiting, awaiting the night sky of Halloween yearning for more blood to be spilt in the name, in his name, Bunny Man.

O.k, so there's the tale. Here's the short myth. Halloween Night comes around. Nothing happens until midnight. Right before midnight supposedly a bunny or two enters the bridge. Right before midnight his soul (a dim light) walks the tracks above the bridge. When Midnight hits, his soul stops right above the bridge (dead center), and disappears, only to reappear inside the bridge. From then on it's his soul which lights up the whole area, so brightly that you can't even see him. That's when he instantly kills you by slitting your throat and slashing your chest, only to hang you at the edge of the bridge. You can even see the rub marks that have worn away at the rock where the body's were swinging. Who ever is inside the bridge ends up dead.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, and remember, everything except for the actual myth has been in Clifton's records since the date it happened. The Old Clifton library still stands, containing those records on Microfish (however you spell it). I have looked it up myself, and its still a mystery. I'm thinking of taking this to unsolved mysteries. Let me know if you have any comments.

Timothy C. Forbes, Virginia, USA

 

[Feenix]

These stories are great, Piper! Keep 'em coming!

 

[Piper Maru]

These stories are great, Piper! Keep 'em coming!

Here's a heartfelt story with a creepy twist!

The End of All Hallows Eve

 

[Quasimod0]

Didn't quite understand the twist in that one.. Was the boy the one who left the fingers? Or what?

 

[Piper Maru]

 

[KevanG]

Have you played that game?

 

[Piper Maru]

Have you played that game?

Played it for the first time on Halloween. I'm still recovering...

 

[KevanG]

It's crazy terrifying.

Although, if you beat all the nights you get to earn overtime!

I think Mike is an adrenaline junkie. He keeps going back and he knows it gets worse every night and he just sits there screaming "BRING IT ON" when he first gets there at night. Of course by the end of the game he figures out how to make them WORSE.

 

[Piper Maru]

It's crazy terrifying.

Although, if you beat all the nights you get to earn overtime!

I think Mike is an adrenaline junkie. He keeps going back and he knows it gets worse every night and he just sits there screaming "BRING IT ON" when he first gets there at night. Of course by the end of the game he figures out how to make them WORSE.

I heard so much about this game even before I played it, and I was fascinated by it. And I was finally able to get it just in time for Halloween and let me tell you, this is easily one of the most scariest games I've ever played in recent times.

 

[Hotwire]

Have you played that game?

What game is it?

 

[KevanG]

Five Nights at Freddys.

Think if Chuck E Cheeses animatronics were possessed by murderous ghosts and you have to sit in one spot for six hours while they tried to get you.

 

[Piper Maru]

The first time I saw Foxy running, I think my heart nearly jumped out of my chest lol.

 

[KevanG]

Have you heard of 4/20 mode?

 

[Piper Maru]

I've heard of it, haven't tried it yet.

 

[KevanG]

I haven't but I watched someone play it and it is beyond hard. Watch Markipliers videos on it, he says it took him seven hours. His LP of the game is pretty hilarious too. Especially his trial and error trying to figure it out.

 

[Piper Maru]

Top 10 Facts - Five Nights At Freddy's
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