Scary stories (dont read if you are easily scared)

[Araviir]

um, I'm fairly sure you didn't write that :/

here it is on creepy pasta, http://www.creepypasta.com/the-guardian-angel/
submitted over 2 years ago, and credited to William Rogers

[Lady B]

EW that one is really gross, it's got all the blood clots and.. yuck. Take a look, mine is different, the angel is kind even if he looks ugly, but he doesn't have any.. gore. My creative writing teacher read it today though and she was like 0-o is there something wrong with you?

[dannydevito]

Remember that night, just a year or so ago? You woke up with a warm gust of air from your lungs, nothing too unusual about that. You'd always been a light sleeper. But you thought you'd felt a cold, clammy touch, tapping your rounded shoulders, stroking the warm curve of your cheek. I heard you whisper, "I must have been dreaming." and that is what you have believed, ever since that quiet summer night. But you weren't dreaming. That was me, my dear, my skeletal fingers tip-tip-tapping on the deliciously warm,deliciously alive shoulder that you had shrugged in your sleep, trying to shake me off. But you will never shake me off.. You see, on the day you were born, I was there. Hiding in the corner, tugging at the frayed, rotten fabric to cover my bones a little more. Your uncle didn't see me, your father's eyes skipped over me. Your mother caught just a shadowy glimpse of me, but then she blinked and I was a mere memory. You may not know it, but I have been there since the day you were born. I stay with you, my little charge.

When you were a toddler, when you stood in your crib - painted with pale lemon paint, just like your father wanted - and your chubby starfish hands clutched the bars, I stood on the other side, my bones and what is left of my skin curled around those bars. My hands next to yours. You were too young then to be able to remember, or perhaps you made yourself forget.I just want to hold your warm, blood-beating body close to my own, warm myself, bring a little life back. And one day I will get the chance. I'm going to stay with you forever and always. Once when you were five, you saw me, crouched like an animal on the end of your bed with my bones creaking and rusting, just like usual. My coat was tattered and my empty eyes bored into yours. You knew no words to describe your terror. "A man, a man on my bed!" you screamed, and your mother came running. But she couldn't see me. No one can. She tucked you back in and pressed her lips to your forehead, but I think you knew that I still waited there for you, at the end of your bed. Maybe you thought I was just a bad dream, but I am a bad dream that will always be with you, you can't shake yourself awake.

You stopped believing me, your ghost, the monster who hid in shadows, as you got older, grew taller and wiser, or so you thought. You didn't see me, or at least you tried not to. Remember that shadow shifting you saw out of the corner of your eye, those prickles crawling up the back of your slender neck? That was me, my dear. My rotting fingernails scrawling over those delicate hairs between your collar and your tufty hair, me shifting to stop the cramp in my legs. Then one day, you ran across the road, your soft-skinned feet pounding on the melting tar. After a ball that you'd bought with your own, hard-earned money, but your brother had hit it over the fence. I smiled. You see, I knew this would happen, knew it would happen to you, but I didn't stop it. I did nothing to stop it. Because I longed for it with all of my dead, shrivelled heart. That way, I could always be with you, a constant companion. Then that car came. Remember, my dear? That screeching machine of pale blue paint and glaring headlights, even on a hot July day. And it hit you, and you rolled, and I rolled with you. Because I am always with you. Blood and bones and hair and skin rolled over the gravel, my fingers wrapped in tendrils of your baby-soft hair, my bones wrapped around your midrift. I was finally holding you. We were together.

You see, I am always with you.

My wings grew bright once more instead of the tattered feathers hanging limp from my spine, bright light shone through my empty bones and onto your tattered skull.

I pulled you up.

We drifted together.

I was always with you.

please give credi to the original owner or else it is called theft

[dannydevito]

Remember that night, just a year or so ago? You woke up with a warm gust of air from your lungs, nothing too unusual about that. You'd always been a light sleeper. But you thought you'd felt a cold, clammy touch, tapping your rounded shoulders, stroking the warm curve of your cheek. I heard you whisper, "I must have been dreaming." and that is what you have believed, ever since that quiet summer night. But you weren't dreaming. That was me, my dear, my skeletal fingers tip-tip-tapping on the deliciously warm,deliciously alive shoulder that you had shrugged in your sleep, trying to shake me off. But you will never shake me off.. You see, on the day you were born, I was there. Hiding in the corner, tugging at the frayed, rotten fabric to cover my bones a little more. Your uncle didn't see me, your father's eyes skipped over me. Your mother caught just a shadowy glimpse of me, but then she blinked and I was a mere memory. You may not know it, but I have been there since the day you were born. I stay with you, my little charge.

When you were a toddler, when you stood in your crib - painted with pale lemon paint, just like your father wanted - and your chubby starfish hands clutched the bars, I stood on the other side, my bones and what is left of my skin curled around those bars. My hands next to yours. You were too young then to be able to remember, or perhaps you made yourself forget.I just want to hold your warm, blood-beating body close to my own, warm myself, bring a little life back. And one day I will get the chance. I'm going to stay with you forever and always. Once when you were five, you saw me, crouched like an animal on the end of your bed with my bones creaking and rusting, just like usual. My coat was tattered and my empty eyes bored into yours. You knew no words to describe your terror. "A man, a man on my bed!" you screamed, and your mother came running. But she couldn't see me. No one can. She tucked you back in and pressed her lips to your forehead, but I think you knew that I still waited there for you, at the end of your bed. Maybe you thought I was just a bad dream, but I am a bad dream that will always be with you, you can't shake yourself awake.

You stopped believing me, your ghost, the monster who hid in shadows, as you got older, grew taller and wiser, or so you thought. You didn't see me, or at least you tried not to. Remember that shadow shifting you saw out of the corner of your eye, those prickles crawling up the back of your slender neck? That was me, my dear. My rotting fingernails scrawling over those delicate hairs between your collar and your tufty hair, me shifting to stop the cramp in my legs. Then one day, you ran across the road, your soft-skinned feet pounding on the melting tar. After a ball that you'd bought with your own, hard-earned money, but your brother had hit it over the fence. I smiled. You see, I knew this would happen, knew it would happen to you, but I didn't stop it. I did nothing to stop it. Because I longed for it with all of my dead, shrivelled heart. That way, I could always be with you, a constant companion. Then that car came. Remember, my dear? That screeching machine of pale blue paint and glaring headlights, even on a hot July day. And it hit you, and you rolled, and I rolled with you. Because I am always with you. Blood and bones and hair and skin rolled over the gravel, my fingers wrapped in tendrils of your baby-soft hair, my bones wrapped around your midrift. I was finally holding you. We were together.

You see, I am always with you.

My wings grew bright once more instead of the tattered feathers hanging limp from my spine, bright light shone through my empty bones and onto your tattered skull.

I pulled you up.

We drifted together.

I was always with you.

please give credi to the original owner or else it is called theft or atleast give them credit for your inspiration

here it is on creepy pasta, http://www.creepypasta.com/the-guardian-angel/
submitted over 2 years ago, and credited to William Rogers

[dannydevito]

[urgh can mods post this in general chat?]

[starfighter123]

MY WORLD IS EVIL




My name is cleo I live in canada me and my friends had a sleep over one night I said how about we play dares?.the replies where "ok" and "sure" from my 2 friends chris and ailey so we played dares and one of the dares where

cleo I dare you to go out in the woods at night tonight right now

the replie from cleo was "Nooo Its halloween I dont like going in the woods at ALL my mum got killed in there"

chris said "Ohh yeah sorry for that" *chris gets up and hugs cleo "sorry"*Its ok chris


The next day............


cleo sat on the couch with her dad chris and ailey watching TV


there was A knock at the door cleos dad got up and answerd the door


hello he said "hello I was wondering where cleo is" She is sitting on the couch why? "can I talk to her?" sure CLEO!

WHAT DAD? your friend is at the door OK

her dad walks to the couch again

cleo shouts CHRIS AILEY COME ERE "ok" the both reply

"Hello saskia" They all say to her *HI I was wondering if you guys want to come to the park with me do you want to?* let me check with my dad *OK*


DAD

what cleo?

can I go to the park with saskia?

yes be back at 11

ok dad


come on guys lets go to the park then


AT THE PARK...........

saskia come here

*ok*

My dad said I have the kiss of death because I kissed my mum and she got killed so what do you think?

chris says "mabey it was weird though" ailey says "I think so" and saskia says"yes how about we try it?" But I dont want yous to die

"i know but on that bug over there?" OK I guess so

cleo walks to the little bug and kisses it 2 seconds later it is dead


"you do have the kiss of death" yeah but its not good to have

"I know so lets get on with anything you guys want"

ok what shall we do?

DARES ailey shouts out

"ok"they all agree

ailey I dare you to..........eat that bug

"ok"

ailey walks to the bug and eats it

aileys eyes go Blood red she has big fangs and little horns and a tail with a large spike on the end

everyone had no idea what was happing to ailey



They all ran home and left ailey there no one knew what was happing to her


DAD cleo cried

"what?"

AILEY IS TURNING INTO A DEMON/VAMPIRE THING!

"what!!!!!!!!!!????? OMG!"

I know what do I do

"I dont know"


chris runs to the phone and dials 999


HELLO!

"Hello how can I help?"

MY FIREND IS TURNING INTO A DEMON/VAMPIRE THING HELP!!!

"OK the police will be here soon"

ok bye

"bye"



The police arrived and looked at ailey she still was like she was when she ate the bug with fangs horns and a tail



cleo ran to one of the officers

what is wrong with her?

"i dont know she is went weird"

I know

"all we can do is shoot her"

i guess so




saskia ran to ailey


"ailey what is wrong with you?"

there was no answer


SASKIA GET OUT HER WAY NOW!

it was to late ailey had ripped her to pieces

THE POLICE TOOK THEIR guns out and shot ailey

after that their was a funeral



on saskia grave stone was

R.I.P My dear friend saskia
you are missed we think of you every day you where a great friend


written BY me

[BANGCHAN]

thats actually quite a sad story

[BANGCHAN]

heres one I radomly wrote up after hearing about Blooody Mary

She lived deep in the forest in a tiny cottage and sold herbal remedies for a living. Folks living in the town nearby called her Bloody Mary, and said she was a witch. None dared cross the old crone for fear that their cows would go dry, their food-stores rot away before winter, their children take sick of fever, or any number of terrible things that an angry witch could do to her neighbors.

Then the little girls in the village began to disappear, one by one. No one could find out where they had gone. Grief-stricken families searched the woods, the local buildings, and all the houses and barns, but there was no sign of the missing girls. A few brave souls even went to Bloody Mary's home in the woods to see if the witch had taken the girls, but she denied any knowledge of the disappearances. Still, it was noted that her haggard appearance had changed. She looked younger, more attractive. The neighbors were suspicious, but they could find no proof that the witch had taken their young ones.

Then came the night when the daughter of the miller rose from her bed and walked outside, following an enchanted sound no one else could hear. The miller's wife had a toothache and was sitting up in the kitchen treating the tooth with an herbal remedy when her daughter left the house. She screamed for her husband and followed the girl out of the door. The miller came running in his nightshirt. Together, they tried to restrain the girl, but she kept breaking away from them and heading out of town.

The desperate cries of the miller and his wife woke the neighbors. They came to assist the frantic couple. Suddenly, a sharp-eyed farmer gave a shout and pointed towards a strange light at the edge of the woods. A few townsmen followed him out into the field and saw Bloody Mary standing beside a large oak tree, holding a magic wand that was pointed towards the miller's house. She was glowing with an unearthly light as she set her evil spell upon the miller's daughter.

The townsmen grabbed their guns and their pitchforks and ran toward the witch. When she heard the commotion, Bloody Mary broke off her spell and fled back into the woods. The far-sighted farmer had loaded his gun with silver bullets in case the witch ever came after his daughter. Now he took aim and shot at her. The bullet hit Bloody Mary in the hip and she fell to the ground. The angry townsmen leapt upon her and carried her back into the field, where they built a huge bonfire and burned her at the stake.

As she burned, Bloody Mary screamed a curse at the villagers. If anyone mentioned her name aloud before a mirror, she would send her spirit to revenge herself upon them for her terrible death. When she was dead, the villagers went to the house in the wood and found the unmarked graves of the little girls the evil witch had murdered. She had used their blood to make her young again.

From that day to this, anyone foolish enough to chant Bloody Mary's name three times before a darkened mirror will summon the vengeful spirit of the witch. It is said that she will tear their bodies to pieces and rip their souls from their mutilated bodies. The souls of these unfortunate ones will burn in torment as Bloody Mary once was burned, and they will be trapped forever in the mirror.

[starfighter123]

thats actually quite a sad story

OK

[BANGCHAN]

heres another:Bloody Mary Returns

My stepmother was vile. I guess most kids think that when their father remarries. But in this case, it was true. She only married Father because he was rich, and she hated children. There were three of us – me (Marie), my middle brother Richard and my youngest brother Charles. We were the price my stepmother Gerta paid for being rich. And we were all that stood between her and inheriting Father's money when he died. So she took steps against us.

She sent my youngest brother Charles away to boarding school overseas. It had a good, scholarly reputation, but it also had the reputation for being a hard school that was full of bullies and strict discipline. Not a place where a delicate child like Charles, who had been sickly as a baby, would thrive. He was miserable there. Somehow, Gerta contrived to keep him there for all but the summer holidays, and when he came home the first year he was pale and thin with dark circles under his eyes that looked like bruises. He cried – he actually cried! – when Father told him he had to go back to the school. But Father didn’t listen to him. Gerta thought it would be good for Charles to go there, and so Charles went.

I did everything I could – encouraging letters and daily phone calls – until Gerta said it was too expensive and restricted calls to five minutes once a month. I even got Father to book me a ticket to Europe so I could visit Charles. Gerta was enraged when she found out. Her blue eyes went so cold it made chills run up my spine, and her pink mouth thinned into a bitter line that bade ill for me since I had dared to interfere. Two days before my plane left for Europe, the school called and told us that Charles had climbed up to the tallest tower and flung himself off. He was dead.

Father was shocked, of course, and Gerta was quietly triumphant. For a few months, Father paid more attention to Richard and myself then he had since our mother died. But Gerta was beautiful and had winning ways about her that soon drew my Father’s attention away. And now that one of her hated step-children was dead, she focused on another. Poor Richard was next.

Richard was a sturdy chap who was about to enter high school, and he was really into sports. He would have thrived at the boarding school that had killed Charles. So Gerta sent him to an arts school instead. He hated it, but Gerta had told Father he had “talent”, so there he went. (You’d think my Father would have learned his lesson with Charles!) But Richard was a survivor, and he grimly practiced piano and violin when he would rather have played soccer and football. But Gerta was clever. She introduced Richard to a couple of high school boys who were everything Richard craved to be – rich, popular, on the football team. And into drugs. Gerta made sure Richard had a very large allowance, and kept increasing it as Richard was drawn deeper and deeper under the influence. Until one day Richard overdosed, and Gerta only had one step-child left. Me.

I was sure (sure!) that Gerta knew Richard was doing drugs in his room that day. She knew he was ill and possibly dying in there. If she’d “found” him even ten minutes sooner, his life would have been saved. So said the doctor, and I believed him. But Father wouldn’t believe me. He was angry whenever I said anything against Gerta, and told me to hold my tongue. Still, I knew I was next, and I was sure that Father would not live long after willing his fortune over to his wife. I decided that if Gerta got too bad, I would run away and live secretly with my aunt in New Jersey until I turned 18.

From the moment Richard’s body was found in his room, I forced myself to be a model child. My homework was done on time, I was polite to Gerta and all her friends, I went on all the family excursions with Gerta and Father – even the dangerous ones like shark-fishing. You can be sure that I took care to be “sea-sick” indoors and stayed away from the edge of the boat. Gerta was clever with her tricks. Everyone thought it was an accident the time we were out shopping and I fell onto the subway in front of an oncoming train. I managed to roll out of the way on time, but it was way too close for comfort.

I had almost decided to run away when my father brought me the sad news that my aunt in New Jersey had died suddenly in her sleep, poisoned by person or persons unknown. I was appalled. How had Gerta known? But she had – I could tell from the smirk on her face.

I went to my room that night and locked myself in to think. I could run away, but the money wouldn’t last long. And I’d need to finish high school or my chances of getting a good job were nil. Besides, Gerta would still be out there somewhere. If she could hire someone to poison my only living relative (besides Father), she could hire someone to kill me, whether I was living at home or not.

There was only one thing I could think of. And it was a terrible thing. A family secret passed down from my Mother’s side for many generations. It involved a witch named Bloody Mary, who had once tried to kill my many times great grandmother and use the child’s blood to make herself young and beautiful forever. The witch had been stopped by the child's father (my many times great grandfather) in the nick of time, and the witch had cursed him as she burned at the stake. Cursed his mirror, and the mirrors of all the men who had condemned her to death at the stake, so that anyone saying her name in front of those mirrors would invoke her vengeful spirit.

The story had gotten mixed up over the years, as it was passed down first in their village and then all over the country. These days, school kids everywhere scared themselves silly chanting Bloody Mary’s name in front of darkened mirrors during sleepover parties, and nothing happened to them. So no one really believed in the curse. Of course, no one knew the real story of Bloody Mary. That was a deep secret handed down by the villagers of long ago. But I was a direct descendant, and I knew how to summon the witch. You had to use a mirror owned by someone in the direct blood-line of one of the original families that lived in Bloody Mary’s village. And the witch's name must be spoken by candlelight a certain number of times in their native tongue.

It was an evil thing to do, I knew. But it was the only way to save my life. It was either Gerta or me. If I didn’t fight back, I was dead. So I took my hard earned money and went out to a specialty store to buy hand-dipped, beeswax candles. Black ones. I followed my mother’s directions carefully, placing them at certain intervals around the living room so that they reflected in the huge mirror behind the couch. Then I lit each one, speaking the spell passed down in my mother’s family. And I waited. Father was away on a business trip, and Gerta was out at a party with her latest boyfriend. She came home late, and scolded me for staying up to study. Her voice was playful and light – I hated that voice. It made her sound like she was nice. But there was also a note of suspicion underlying her words, and she stared hard at the flickering black candles.

“Holding a séance, little Marie?” she asked, emphasizing the word little, knowing I hated when she called me that.

“I just like working by candlelight,” I said mendaciously, turning a page in my text book.

Gerta frowned. “You know, little Marie, I think it’s time we had a talk,” she said, walking over to the mirror behind the couch and primping her hair.

“Yes,” I said softly. “We should. You killed my brothers. And my aunt. But I won’t let you kill me.”

Gerta laughed. “As if you stood a chance against me!” she said, fluffing her long blond hair up behind her shoulders.

I spoke the name of Bloody Mary in the native tongue of my ancestors. Once. Twice. Three times. Inside the mirror, the image of Gerta burst into flames, and another face looked out. It was the malevolent face of a twisted old crone, ruined with age, and altogether evil. I ducked behind the chair as Gerta gave a scream of sheer terror, her eyes fixed on the witch. As I watched from my hiding place, heat burst forth from the mirror, blistering her beautiful alabaster skin. I could hear the flames roaring as the witch laughed evilly and held out her arms toward my step mother.

“Gerta,” crooned Bloody Mary. “Come to me, Gerta.”

And she took my step mother into her arms.

Gerta’s terrified scream was suddenly cut off. The flames disappeared as suddenly as they had come. When I peeked out from behind the couch, Gerta and Bloody Mary were gone.

I called Father at his hotel the next morning to tell him that Gerta hadn’t slept at home. (Well, it was true!) He wasn’t pleased. He called a few of her friends from his hotel room, and quickly discovered she had been carrying on with another man. With several, if the truth be known. Father hated infidelity. He flew home at once to confront Gerta, but she was still missing; presumed run away with one of her flames.

Somehow, Father managed to divorce Gerta without ever trying to find her. And since she had no family in the area except us, everyone accepted the cover story, and no one ever tried to locate her. Gerta was gone for good. And Father and I were safe at last.