Creepypasta stories

The Simple, Silent Room

Twelve thirty. Midnight. Nearly but not quite silent.

“Why in the hell am I up at this ungodly hour?” you silently question to yourself. The light from the unmanned computer monitor directly across from you was the only source of light in your room other that the pale, grim moonlight that glowed from the crescent moon above you, and just outside your slightly opened window. The gentle hum of the computer lulls you to a half-awake state as you lay in my bed questioning to yourself. It feels unfair that one should be kept awake to this extent. But still you lay here questioning yourself. But wait, was that…?

“No, there is not noise over the computer and the gentle breeze.” you oh so confidently assure yourself. But there it is again. That noise that you cant quite distinguish, but you know it is there, stalking you slowly but surely, waiting on your reaction to it so that it can strike. Or so you think. Your tired imagination can make up anything in this drowsy state. You then become tired, as if you were loosing blood. Then you gently, as if compelled by some unknown force, lull yourself to sleep… 

*Time passes*

You wake up with a jolt, a cold clammy sweat dripping down your now pale face.

“What the hell?!” You try to exclaim, but nothing comes out of your dry throat as you try to croak out those simple words. You know something is wrong but you cant exactly place your finger on it. What happened? Where am I? So many questions that you could answer by just looking around.

That’s when it sets in on you. The dark that is, there is nothing to see anywhere, but inky blackness, contorting and spiralling like eels, intertwining with each other until you start to get driven into an unnaturally panicked state. Tears steaming down your face, You just want to go home. That’s when you feel it. The ground is made of foam, cushions made of foam. You cant feel your arms as you realise you are wearing some kind of jacket.

It completely obscures all of your arm movement as you desperately struggle to fight with this ever tightening coat. Its  no use. You are stuck like this. Sobbing in a padded room, all alone and tired. You vomit, your sweat and tears mixing into the foul brew, it reeks as it sops against the ground. The floor simply absorbs the mixture as if it was not even coming into contact with it. You notice a hatch in what appears to be a door open, like a peephole. Letting in some pale and artificial light to greet the vomit stained floor.

It startles you, making what is left of the vomit, tears, and sweat drip down your face, as you snivel there on the floor, choking down some vomit and a bit of sweat that you may have left. You can hear people talking outside. Desperate for a way out of this inescapable hell that you appear to be doomed eternity in, you listen carefully to their conversation.

“What's this psychopath in for?” a woman says. What you hear next makes your heart race, as if it is simply a long lost case of déjà vu.

“This one in here?” a man replies. You see the silhouette of a hand pointing at your room.

“Yes, that one” the woman says.

“Ah, this guys a schizophrenic sociopath. He killed an entire family than fell asleep in their main bedroom with the monitor of their computer on, after having an ’episode.’ I feel safer having these people off of the streets for good.” He says.

You stop to remember this faint memory, and despite the utter emotion and trauma that almost gave you a heart attack, you smile, as you screech a laugh of sheer psychotic hate. And you remember all the blood you saw that day, and how exhausting it was to harvest…