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I’m there right now. But I don’t see the harm in having a creepypasta thread here. I mean really, if you don’t like it nobody’s making you read it.

actually scratch that last scratch its back up lol. Meh, if u want, go ahead. I just dont think anyones reading it besides banhammer

I stopped reading pretty quickly, when I determined there’s no reality in anything posted here. Which is why I still question the choice of forum.

I guess its kinda fun late at night, but its pretty stupid most of the time. Last night there was a /b/ raid on /x/ because their servers were down. Funny stuff. It basically turned into the new /b/.

and yeah, the choice of forum is pretty damn stupid

Czarnian bumbumin Posted:

Ask yourself this, McBanny: If this thread was a discussion about the works of Stephen King (which are also fictional (i.e., non real) creepy stories), where would it belong?

But this isn’t a discussion of the works, it’s the actual works.

I guess that if we allow the Tao of SuperHappyFunKitty, we should allow this as well.

Gawd I hate the Ayn Rands forum…

Back to creepypastas plz.

There was a college student (we’ll call him “D”) who loved pulling people’s legs. For example, D would go to a restaurant with three friends, and when the waiter asked “Four persons?” D would say “Come on, look more carefully! There are five of us!”

D would do this often, and people began to think D could really see “it.” But of course D couldn’t see anything really; he was just amusing himself by watching people’s reaction. No matter how many times his friends told him to stop it, all D would do was just laugh at them.

One day D, who was always with someone when he ate, thought he would eat alone just for a change, and went into a restaurant all by himself.

He sat down at a table, and a waiter brought him a glbum of water and put it down in front of him… and in front of the seat opposite to D’s. “That’s weird,” D thought. Of course, there was no one apart from D at the table.

“Maybe there was someone here just before I came in, and the waiter thought that person was with me…Oh well, I will just move to another table if someone comes back”

The waiter came to take orders. D ordered a spaghetti dish. By that time all other diners had left the restaurant, and D became the only diner there. It seemed now certain that the waiter made a mistake.

After a while the waiter brought him the dish; and to D’s dismay, he again put the same dish in front of the opposite seat.

“Why do you put two dishes when there’s only me here!?” D said to the waiter angrily. The waiter, surprised, looked around him quickly. “That’s strange! I’m sure I saw there were two of you.” Then D talked to the manager, who was at the door when D came into the restaurant, but he too said D was not alone but walked in with someone else. D became very upset and stormed out of the restaurant.

Now being (he thought) at the receiving end of the joke he used to play himself, he realized how uncomfortable it felt. He swore he would never do it again.

But that was only the beginning. From then on, every time that he went out people saw someone else beside D. Everywhere that he went, whoever he met, D was seen with someone; even on a very crowded train people made a space, just enough for one person, only in front of D.

“Someone is following me….” D couldn’t bear going out anymore. He grew paranoid, lost a lot of weight, and became a completely different person. For many months he continued to live like a hermit. He stayed in, just so that he wouldn’t have to deal with “the other person.”

Many days had pbumed. D gradually came to imagine that, after such a long time, “the other person” must have gone to somewhere else. He stepped outside for the first time in ages. The air outside felt fresh and good.

D went into a random restaurant. The restaurant had a lively atmosphere and D felt quite relaxed. However, he was still scared of sitting at a table so he chose to sit at the empty bar counter.

“I had been stupid,” D thought. “There was nothing I should be scared of”. He couldn’t have felt any better.

“Welcome,” the waiter said, and put down a glbum of water in front of D. And he put another glbum down next to D; and still another one next to it, and another one after that, and another one after that, and then another one after that…

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My name is Gerald. I’m a truck driver. I work for the North American Transport Company (NATCO). I normally make runs up into southern canada, but this time was different. My boss had asked me to make a run up north, way north. It was further than I normally went, but the boss was offering me double overtime for this one run, saying it was for a really important client. Normally I would have put up more of a fight, as I liked to stick to my schedule, but I really needed the money.

The run was mostly uneventful, and went by rather quikly, as I seemed to be riding lighter than normal. The boss hadn’t let me check the cargo, saying I didn’t have time. Oh well, not really important to me anyway. After a good while on the road, it started to snow. Visibility was almost zero by the time I got to my destination. The stop was at a Bar & Grill aptly named the End of the Line. I went inside to find the owner. Inside I found a strange group of people, dressed funny, like from the olden days. Come to think of it, the place looked kind of old too. Well, it did take forever for new stuff to make it all the way up here, I figured. I went and talked to the barkeep, but he told me that the owner was out, and would be back shortly, and why not sit down for a bit while I waited. I figured it couldn’t hurt anything, and I was getting kinda hungry for somethin’ ‘sides what I had brought along with me.

A tablet hanging on the wall behind the bar declared today’s special to be ‘The Best Damn Sandwich Ever’ and a side of fries for $5. I decided to give it a shot, and told the barkeep to give me one. What he put out in front of me made me grimace. Before me was a sandwich, on plain white bread, filled with mustard, mayonaisse, ketchup, onions, tomatoes, pickles and a whole bunch of other condiments that seemed ready to burst out from between the slices, and all of it was centered around a thick slab of meat that defied indentification. I almost turned it down, but I had already payed, and years of living on truck stop fare had given me a cast iron stomach. I bit down into the soggy sandwich and nearly choked.

It was the best damn sandwich ever.

And the fries weren’t half bad. I ate it like ravenous ‘gator after a chicken, and the sandwich dissappeared far more quickly than I would of hoped. I asked the barkeep what had been in it, but he said it was a secret. I was a bit annoyed at first, but then I realized how silly that was. It was probably some kind of local animal I had just never tasted before. I decided that, since the proprietor had yet to return, that I would finally go check on the cargo. When I got to the truck however, I got very confused. Now I knew why I had seemed to be riding so light.

The trailer was empty.

At first I thought that mabye some local had pilfered my cargo while I was goofin’ off, but there was no sign of it. I decided to call my boss and get to the bottom of this. When he picked up the phone, he seemed genuinely suprised to hear me, and kept dodging the question of what had become of the cargo. Finally I decided that I had had enough and hung up. I climbed in the cab of the truck and turned around, determined to get back to base as soon as I could. Let’s just see that weasel squirm his way out of a conversation when we were face-to-face.

After about 15 minutes on the road, I came to a dead end. I had apparently missed the turn in the snow, so I turned around to check the way. After about a minute I saw the red neon sign of the End of the Line Bar & Grill. That was the last straw, I got on the phone to base, and after a few tries I managed to get through.

“What do you want now Gerald?” he asked on the other end.

“Dammit Jackson, you weasel! There was nothing in the trailer the whole way up here, meaning you wasted all my time for nothin. And don’t even think about trying to weasel out of paying me, or I’ll skin ya alive! And on top of that, this damn snow keeps getting me turned around. I can’t get out of this place. When I get back to base, we are gonna have us a little talk…”

“Well of course you can’t leave Jerry, these people payed good money for that cargo, so you can’t just drive off with it.” Jackson replied calmy on the other end.

“What the hell are you talking about Jackson, there was no cargo in that trailer!”

“Who said anything about the trailer, that was just there to keep you from getting suspicious.”

“Suspicious of what?”

“Of the nature of your cargo.”

“What in the hell are you talking about Ja…”

And the it dawned on me. He was talking about me! I was the cargo! What kind of sick **** was he trying to pull? I decided to get in the truck a try the highway again, but what I saw next made my blood run cold. The people in the bar were staring at me through the window. Their eyes were glowing red.

I jumped in the the cab and gunned it for the highway. After about twenty minutes, though, I noticed a red glow in front of me, and stopped the truck.

There, in the snow, was the End of the Line.

Preparing to back up and turn around, I saw something in the mirror that made my heart stop. In my rear-veiw mirror was the red neon sign of the End of the Line. That’s when it dawned on me, I knew what the secret ingredient in the End of the Line Bar & Grill’s “World Famous” ‘Best Damn Sandwich Ever’ was.

I thought to myself, as the red-eyed patrons circled the truck, “I wonder what his name was…”

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I agree with MCB that this should at least be in the meme factory if not rp.

I saw one on /b/ the other night about an hotel room where the person looks in the keywhole and sees a pale person in the corner, then comes back the next morning and looks again and can only see a pink colour. then the receptionist is like ‘oh ya fyi that room has a family of weird people who are completely pale with red eyes”

spooked me a fair bit.