Creepypasta Stories

The Five of Them

Beware, boys and girls; beware Brie Woods!
It is no place for such young children;
Monsters are lurking in its shadows,
Big and small, wicked and kind.

There are brothers that roam those woods, five of them,
looking to either guide or slay its travellers.
Heed my warning, and you might survive;
Don't, and your death is almost certain.

At the threshold stands the oldest, the Harvester,
the wisest and meekest of the brothers;
Who towers over all manner of man or beast,
Yet is more gentle than the morning dew.

Perhaps you know of the Harvester,
Who breaches the woods at dusk;
Who tills the fields as we sleep,
And returns before the break of dawn.

Yes, the Harvester has brought good fortune to our land,
But do not be deceived, children, for he offers no protection.
He dares not cross his brothers, as not his brothers him;
A blood bond that must never be broken between them.

All he offers is his wisdom and guidance,
For that is all he can give before you part ways.
But, take his words to heart and never forget,
For the other four beasts are not as kind.

Beware your surroundings, little ones,
For the fiercest brother pursues you.
The Stalker, lurking in the trees and shrubs;
Hunting the prey that roams its woods.

Yes, beware the Stalker, for he shows no mercy,
Like the lioness that watches over her cubs,
Or the Hornets and bees that protect their hives;
He thrives on an abominable aggression fiercer than hellfire.

When I was young, we knew little of these beasts;
Believing them to be just that; beasts.
To us, mindless and animalistic in their nature,
And our actions were in accordance as such.

My father gathered many of our men for the hunt;
Setting out to slay these monstrosities that plagued our people.
I am still haunted by their lamentations that faded into the night,
Embraced by my weeping mother, who sought to shield me.

By morning, our eyes were laid on the wake of the hunt;
The men's skins mended together into a gruesome banner,
Stretched out along the trees in the rising sun, displayed to all our people.
Their killer's title inscribed across the flesh of my father and his men.

It's true, survival cannot be guaranteed with this encounter,
But not incredible, for there is a way.
You must run, children, run fast and far;
Run and keep your sight forward, for behind is certain death!

This beast is bloodthirsty and nearly relentless;
His pursuit will only end with one of two means:
The first, his hunt proves bountiful;
The second, his prey comes upon its other kin, the third beast.

Yes, bloodthirsty, but not the least bit foolish.
For once you are in the company of his younger brother;
You are no longer his prey, but the guest of the Sculptor;
The vainest of the five brutish siblings.

Unlike his brother before him, the Stalker,
The Sculptor is more cordial in the presence of strangers.
He even strikes many as a kind-hearted creature,
Appearing elegant and humble in nature.

But you are not beyond the realm of danger, children;
Although the Sculptor seems pure of heart,
He is truly self-obsessed and easily offended.
From each guest, he demands nothing less than absolute glorification.

Once you're in his presence, there are no early departures;
You are his guest until he grows weary of your company.
All the while, amusing him with melodies of flattering words and praises,
Be either his appearance or his talents, or even his artistic gifts.

As his name implies, the Sculptor's most distinguishable trait is his sculpting;
Spending many countless hours moulding, carving, and chiselling away.
And what of his materials, you ask, dear children?
Well, sometimes wood, other times clay, and few times unruly guests.