Cracks appeared in the porcelain, snaking out from the ring around the drain. At least, they looked like cracks at first...but after a few seconds I recognized them as the same tendrils of corruption I'd seen in the comics earlier that week...snaking their way slowly along. I stumbled backwards out of the bathroom door and right into someone's chest. I turned around and stared up into the pitch black eyes of a six and a half foot biker with tattoos covering every piece of exposed skin besides his hands and head. I stumbled quickly away from him and his evil piercing gaze followed me as I retreated through the bar. It felt like a dream, where whenever you're running for your life it feels like running through quicksand. As I walked across the room I noticed the biker wasn't the only one staring at me. It seemed every pair of eyes in the place were focused on me, and more than half of those eyes appeared to be perfectly black, with no hint of iris or sclera. A few lips moved, and though I couldn't hear their voices over the sound of the jukebox I could easily guess what they were saying.
"He comes"
I didn't get a wink of sleep that night.
I haven't been getting much sleep for the past couple of weeks as a matter of fact, which I'm guessing those of you who've spoken to me recently could've guessed. I keep seeing those pitch black eyes staring at me. I'm afraid every one I see will turn and whisper those words to me, staring deep into my soul with that evil glare. Every time I go near a sink or go to grab a bite to eat I'm afraid I'll see those inky snaking tendrils squiggling towards me. Even my wife has seemed cold and distanced lately. Then tonight as I'm driving home from work, struggling to keep my eyes open so that I don't drift into oncoming traffic, my cell phone rang and it was Rebecca. She was on her way to the hospital to have our baby, and for the first time in two weeks I was actually happy. She was in the labor room strapped to a monitor when I got there, watching for her contractions. She barely noticed when I walked in, but didn't seem startled when I sat down beside her and took her hand in mine. I tried talking to her, but she was unresponsive, and I was so tired I didn't even realize I had started to drift off to sleep until the nurses came in and started moving her to the delivery room about a half hour later. I put on my scrubs and a hair net and went in with her to hold her hand and coach her through like they'd trained us in Lamaze, when she started cursing and screaming. I was prepared for that, as well as her ever tightening grip on my hand, but when I saw the movement in her tummy my mind started to reel. The doctor said the baby was crowning and told her to push. I echoed his orders and she screamed at me with a voice I couldn't begin to describe. When I looked down at her she was staring up at me with those same eyes I'd seen on the biker. The same eyes I thought I'd seen on Neil weeks before. I tried to jerk my hand away but she maintained her grip. Black tar-like blood splashed the front of the doctor's scrubs, but he seemed to pay no heed. When I looked at her tummy again, black veins seemed to stand out beneath her skin, pulsating. She continued to stare at me, and she was no longer screaming, just grinning...those obsidian eyes boring into me.
"To invoke the Nezperdian hivemind of Chaos," she breathed in a raspy voice.
"He who waits behind the wall," the doctor continued as he stared down at the child, my child, lying silently, cradled in his bloodstained hands. He looked up and raised the baby, and it appeared to be covered in oozing inky black liquid, much like that that had covered Neil a couple weeks prior. It did not cry out, but it was alive, and it moved when he held it up. When its eyes opened, they were as black as my wife's. As black as the doctor's. In unison, they all breathed his name.
"Zalgo"
I ripped my hand free of my wife's iron grip and stumbled out of the room, barreling into the nurses passing in the corridor just outside. When I stood up and looked back into the room, I could see the inky black tendrils seeming to extend from the doctor and my newborn, across the floor to where I stood. I turned and ran down the hall to the elevator and slammed my finger into the buttons. When I looked back, the tendrils had come into the hallway, yet no one else seemed to notice until it slithered over their feet and up their legs, at which point they abruptly stopped, turned and looked at me with those same obsidian eyes. I abandoned my effort to call the elevator and broke into a panicked run for the stairs. I ran down the 15 flights of stairs all the way to the lobby, tore ass out into the parking lot, hopped in my car and started driving. I didn't know where the fuck I was going, I just had to get the fuck away from there. I don't know if I'm going crazy, it certainly seems like it, but I just can't be around anyone I know anymore. They all have those same eyes and those same dead stares and even my child...oh god my baby. I still saw those eyes staring at me from the cars beside me, and by some strange coincidence the same biker from the previous Friday night at the bar pulled up beside me an hour away from the hospital and followed me for nearly two miles. He'd turn and stare at me, grinning. I couldn't see his eyes through his sunglasses this time but I knew it was the same guy. His tattoos seemed to move of their own free will, the flaming skull on his right bicep began bleeding from its eyesockets. As soon as I could, I slammed on my brakes, allowing him to fly past me as I swerved to my left and did a U-turn. I think I lost him, that was about an hour ago. I'm at a motel 3 hours out of town, the first place I found that has wifi, and I'm tired, and I'm shaking, and my hand itches where my wife's nails scratched me open. I honestly don't know what to do, or who I can turn to. This story will sound insane and I'll probably be institutionalized and I'm not sure that wouldn't be the best thing for me but I just can't bear to look into those eyes anymore. Every time I see someone new and they stare at me I start to panic because I know...I just know it's out there looking for me,
And even when I lay down and start to drift off to sleep, I̫̮̣̜͎ͭ̽ͪ̾̀́ͯͮ ͍̻̻̞̬̞̾̍̋ĥ̥̰̲̱͙̰̖̟̔ͧ̎ͤ͆͛̚e̦̪̭̙̎͌͐̅͌̄a̼͎͈̘̰̮̹͈͇ͣͪ̐͐ŕ̞̱̤ ̞̬̲̑t̖̠̠̗̱͊̾h̪͈̭̪͋ͨͥo̮̱̺̜͖̙̘͚͌ͧs͍͔̉̽ͥ͑͐͌e̯͍͎̗͕ͪ̈ͦ ͔̮͕͆́w͔̲͕͓̩̼̗͖ͦ̽̔ͅò̭͚̼̣̼̺̰̃̿ͭ͐̈́͋̆̇r̰̪̠͎̳͚̯͚̎̋̉d͚̦̭̟̯͚̹̘ͣ͌̄͂͊ͅs̟͍̗̹͕̫͎̈́̒͑ͨͫͨ͐̓̓.͕̠͍̪̙̹̣̘̿͋ͬ.̼̖̣ͥͮ̒ͬ̓́.̺͚͔̟͚̫̮̏̑͐ͯ"̗̦͍̗̝̠̼͉͔͍̺̱̠͉͇̟̳ͭ͆ͧ̌ͦͫ͂
H̺̼̞̼͇̮̖̭̗̳̳̣̜̦̬̟̻̄͐͗̎͂ͤ̄̌͆͂ͩ͑̿͛̏͂̇̚e͓͖̰̹̯̬͙̼͇̊ͯͫ̈̊ͩ̔ͣͤ̾͂ ̮̭̙̂ͪ̏̿ͫ̇̐̆͗̐͂ͮͣ̂C͔̪̣͊͋͑̆ͪͯ̍ͩ̎͌͛͋̆͑͗ͅo͍̭̟͎͓̹̖͔̱̼͉̪̪͕͖̭͐̇ͤͯ͛͂͛̅̔̓̋͒̊̐ͩm̯̭͖͚͇̯̠̫͔̼͔̟̯̪̲͛͐̈̃̀̈́́ͨ̽̔̏ͪ̅͐͐͗̂ͮ̔ê͎͚͎͇̣̟̺͇̲͉̱̫ͬ̒̐̉ͥ̐ͭͭͫ̔͐̈́ͨ͑s͉̫̥̬̠̤̭̙̿̑̃̾͒̌ͧ͛̍̚.̳̼̟̙̺̰ͩ͐̇̍̅ͮ̓̇̏̎͌̏͆ͤ̃̍ͨ̚ͅ"̩̺̘͓̯̹͉ͨͭ͑̌͂̐̋̃͊ͥ
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𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖕𝖞𝖕𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖆 𝕺𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖓𝖘/𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘
HorrorIt's as the title says. It's the origins and stories of the most famous Creepypastas as well as the not well known. Be warned, some of these deal with rape, SA, suicide, and self harm, while most, if not all, deal with death in some way. These aren'...
