A Collection of Creepypasta, Ghost Tails, and Scary Stories

Crazy Alex

This one is really well written, but possibly the most graphic I've ever shared.

"Hey Sam," said Jason. "you know that neighborhood that's all foreclosed and gonna be demolished this Thursday?" I nod my head, a sly grin slipping onto my face.
"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?" I ask, holding up a spray paint can. Jason nods his head, opening his backpack to reveal all of his graffiti art supplies.
"Doesn't do no harm to paint it up if they're gonna tear it all down. Whose gonna stop us? Come on!" We both run outside and hop on our bikes, taking off down the moonlit street.
"Which one should we do first," I grin as we glide through the abandoned, wooden, termite-infested neighborhood. Beside me, Jason skids to a stop.
"Let's do that big one," he announces decisively, pointing to a big old house with peeling paint and broken windows. I stop my bike and dismount, and Jase and I wheel our bikes around back.
"Dang! Someone already got this one," I snort indignantly, gesturing to the words in a reddish-brown paint on the back of the house.
CRAZY ALEX WAS HERE
"Hey, Jase, do you know a 'Crazy Alex'?" I wonder. Jason looks contemplative for a moment.
"Dunno," he replies. "Name rings a bell, though." I study the tag for a second, then I notice something. Sitting on the railing of the half-rotten back porch, is a severed hand. Four of the fingers are held in the shape of a fist with scotch tape, but the middle finger is held in a lifted position by more tape and a twig.
"That's not paint, Jase. That's blood. And, look, that's a hand." I point at the dead hand that sits on the porch rail, eternally flipping the world the bird.
"Woah, dude," said Jason, hopping up onto the deck to inspect the hand. The he lets out a strangled yelp, and leaps backwards off of the deck as if it's burning hot.
"What is it?" Jase is as pale as a ghost as he points at the overgrown bushes beside the porch. I walk over to the bushes and lean over, and am horrified by what I see.
A man is lying dead behind the bushes. His eyes are wide open, face frozen in a look of fear and agony. His chest has been ripped open, his right hand hacked off, his ribcage pulled apart. I whirled around and vomited in the dead grass.
When I had lost all of my dinner, I turned to Jason. "We gotta call the coppers!" I shrieked. Jason shook his head vigorously.
"They'll wanna know why we were here. We'll get in trouble for this," he said in a hushed whisper. Jason had an adamant hatred for the cops, and usually I did too, but murder was a completely different ballpark than graffiti. Suddenly, the silent night air was rent with the sound of distant police sirens wailing closer and closer.
Jason swears, grabbing my arm, and pulled me onto the porch, kicking down the door, and I was pulled into the dark, musty old house. He slammed the door shut behind us and got down onto the ground.
"Dude, what if the murderer is hiding in here?" I whisper. Jason holds a finger to his lips, and frantically gestures for me to get down, and I oblige as the cops wail past and the noise of their sirens wails away into the distance. I let out a sigh of relief.
"I came here to do graffiti art," Jace grumbles, standing up and walking up the stairs. I stand up to follow him, when I hear Jason's scream (a little bit girly) and a heavy thud that shakes dust from the ceiling. "Sam! Sam!!!"
I race up the stairs, wincing as each one creaks. Then, I freeze. Jason is pinned down on the ground by a girl no older than seventeen. She has a steak knife in her right hand and a butcher knife in the other. My feet seem rooted to the ground, a silent scream is caught in my throat, as I watch the girl rip open my best friend with her deadly weapons.
She pulls his heart from his chest with her bare hands and eats it, tearing it apart with her teeth, as Jase's screams cease and his eyes stare blankly at the ceiling. The girl stands up and wipes her blood-covered hands on the wall above Jase, spelling the words
CRAZY ALEX WAS HERE
and then laughs hysterically as if it was the funniest joke in the universe. Then, the girl (who I now presume is called Alex) flung two handfuls of poor Jason's intestines into the air with a shout of "whee, confetti," and then laughing even harder.
Suddenly, the scream that was caught in my throat escaped in a very un-manly way, and Crazy Alex whirls around, and shoves me down the stairs. The bottom step cracks when I land on it, and every part of my body aches. My heart is pounding out the star spangled banner as the girl leaps down the stairs, the knives glistening in her hands.
I get up to run, but she tackles me to the floor. I scream in agony as she slashes and hacks me open with those blades, writhing like a worm on a hook. Crazy Alex plunges both hands into the bleeding cavity she has created, and I scream one last time.
I can no longer feel my heartbeat, and I feel hollow without it, now all I feel is pain and freezing cold. My vision fades and goes black.

Crazy Alex was here.