Short Stories. /creepypastas/mindfu*k/etc..

[Deleted]

The Never-ending road.

In Corona, California there once was a road known by most locals as the Never Ending Road. Specifically, the road’s true name was Lester Road. Now, over twenty years later, the landscape of Corona has changed, and the Never Ending Road is no more. However, years ago, Lester Road was an unlit road that people claimed became a never ending road when driven at night. The people who made such a drive were never seen from again.

The legend became so well-known that people refused to even drive Lester Road during the day. One night, like many teens my age, I drove up Lester Road, but only a short distance, and in my headlights it did look like it went on forever. Frightened, I quickly turned around, because if I continued up the road, I thought I might never return again.

Perpetuation of the legend convinced local law enforcement to investigate. Lester Road took a sharp left turn at its end, and there were no guard rails. Beyond the curve lay a canyon, and on the other side of the canyon was another road that lined up so well with Lester Road that when viewed from the correct angle, especially at night, the canyon vanished from sight, and the road seemed to continue on up and over the hill on the other side of the canyon. Upon investigation of the canyon, dozens of cars were found, fallen to their doom, with the decomposing bodies of the victims still strapped to their seats.

[Bearshield]

Wow that's crazy! Guess you're glad you didn't keep on goin now huh? I always figure those kind of stories are just to scare people but looks like that one had truth to it.

[v2prwsmb45yhuq3wj23vpjk]

This appears to be a hoax.

[Deleted]

The Never-ending road.

In Corona, California there once was a road known by most locals as the Never Ending Road. Specifically, the road’s true name was Lester Road. Now, over twenty years later, the landscape of Corona has changed, and the Never Ending Road is no more. However, years ago, Lester Road was an unlit road that people claimed became a never ending road when driven at night. The people who made such a drive were never seen from again.

The legend became so well-known that people refused to even drive Lester Road during the day. One night, like many teens my age, I drove up Lester Road, but only a short distance, and in my headlights it did look like it went on forever. Frightened, I quickly turned around, because if I continued up the road, I thought I might never return again.

Perpetuation of the legend convinced local law enforcement to investigate. Lester Road took a sharp left turn at its end, and there were no guard rails. Beyond the curve lay a canyon, and on the other side of the canyon was another road that lined up so well with Lester Road that when viewed from the correct angle, especially at night, the canyon vanished from sight, and the road seemed to continue on up and over the hill on the other side of the canyon. Upon investigation of the canyon, dozens of cars were found, fallen to their doom, with the decomposing bodies of the victims still strapped to their seats.

cool story, bro

[soniqboom]

indeed it is a pretty cool story, but im pretty sure its just a typical "Urban Legend" thing

[Deleted]

The Runner.



There is, in a small national park somewhere in the US, a bike path. This bike path is hardly unusual: it is roughly twelve miles long, and makes a circuit around a small lake. Most of the path is wooded, and it is regarded by the locals as a beautiful little place to take a breather and catch some peace and quiet.

Many who jog or bike along the path observe nothing out of the ordinary. But there are those lone bicyclists who happen across the Runner.

Mark coasted his bicycle to a stop on the side of the path. Standing astride it, he drank eagerly from his water bottle. Finally, he was able to enjoy a day off, instead of staying home and paying bills, or mowing the lawn, or fixing the roof. And he was at the park at the perfect time, too: he was practically the only one there, besides a few families in the picnic area and the old men who fished from the pier.

Wiping his mouth on his arm, Mark put the bottle back and was about to pedal off, when someone ran up behind him.

“Nice day, eh?” the young man said. He was tall and thin, and wore a hooded grey sweatshirt and black running pants. His face was concealed by a scarf and sunglasses. Since summer had yet to take the place of the mild spring, Mark saw nothing unusual about this.
“Yeah. It’s perfect out.”
The young man nodded. He swayed when he stood still, as if he was anxious to keep moving.
“You up for a race?”
“A race? That’d be pretty unfair.”
“Maybe. But so is life, you know?’
Mark couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Okay. You’re on. Where to?”
The young man thought for a moment.
“Right past the tenth mile marker, by the old storm shelter.”
“Fine by me. That’s a pretty good distance from here, though. You sure you can keep up?”
“I’ll give you a ten-second head start, even. Just go whenever you’re ready.”

While Mark did host some suspicions about the strange young man, he brushed them aside. Sure, he was a bit odd, but he seemed nice enough.

Mark put his foot to the pedal and rode off. His speed was almost casual, and with good reason: the ten second head start would let him build up enough speed to leave any jogger in the dust.

“You know, you’re going to have to do much better than that.”
Mark looked to the left to see the young man there, keeping an equal pace with the bicycle without moving at much more than a light jog. The ten seconds had achieved nothing.

How did he do that?

Mark immediately shifted gears and began to put some force behind his pedaling. The bicycle shot off down the path. Mark kept his head low, cutting through the air with aerodynamic precision. The wind whipped around him, filling his lungs with cool air. The trees went by in a blur of green and brown. He kept pushing himself further, faster, faster, faster. There was no way the jogger was anywhere close to him.

Turning his head to the side, Mark saw to his dismay that the young man was still there, matching his speed perfectly. But now he wasn’t even running on the path anymore: he ran straight through the woods, dodging obstacles with the grace of a deer. Actually, it would be inaccurate to say that he even ran. He flew. His feat barely touched the ground before he took another leaping stride forward. His scarf waved behind him like a tail. The way he ran, Mark could imagine him laughing.

Mark’s amazement at this was numbed by the overwhelming sensory maelstrom his speed had achieved. There was no noise but the wind in his ears, no taste or smell but the chill air in his mouth and nose, no sight other than a stripe of grey in a sea of green, nothing to touch but the handlebars.

Then, the shelter appeared up ahead on the side of the path. The finish line. Mark looked off into the woods. There was no sign of the young man. He must have left him behind. Redirecting his gaze towards the shelter, he gasped and hit the brakes, hard. He screeched to a halt in front of the old wooden storm shelter, twin streaks of rubber burned into the path behind him, and the young man standing in front of him.

“Nice effort there,” he said, not the least bit winded. Mark on the other hand, could not reply due to his shortness of breath. “I almost thought you were a lost cause at the beginning, but you pulled through for the finish. Best race I’ve had in a long while.”
“H-how…how did you…do that?” Mark panted.
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about. But anyway, here’s your prize.”
“What prize?”
“Your consolation prize, of course!” The young man almost sounded insulted. “I can’t let effort like that go unrewarded. So much better than the others.”

Mark’s vision began to warp. The forest seemed to grow darker, unreal. The young man seemed to loom larger, and more mysterious. Shadows and shapes that should not have been there appeared in the forest. Bodies. Dozens of them. Bodies impaled on saplings, bodies with heads smashed in by rocks, bodies torn open by some ungodly force, bodies hanging by their own entrails from the branches of trees. A row of bloody bicycle helmets were perched on a fence of sharpened sticks. They were there, and they were not, shifting between the real, the imagined, and the forgotten.

“Here’s your prize, a word from the wise,” the young man said, in a voice textured the way no man’s was. “The one who does not give his all, receives nothing but his grave.”
The Runner walked into the shelter and was gone.

[Kulthor]

I love shit like this. I would love it to be my job to investigate things like this.
I always enjoy listening to the stories of old haunted places/roads and what not they excite me.

[imtehrogue]

That is is pretty awesome... 4 minutes well spent!

[Deleted]

Important News.



Who discovered the existence of the dead? Everyone knows the name of Antonia Simone, but the exact circumstances of her discovery are wildly varied. In 1992, her younger brother Ricardo, was injured in a martial arts accident that left him completely paralyzed. He needed a respirator to live and could only communicate through eyeblinks. She was a computer scientist at the Xerox Palo Alto Research Center and decided to create a computer terminal sensitive to the slightest energy source. She was a student of Kirlian photography and strongly believed the body’s electromagnetic fields could affect sensitive electronic equipment. She created a terminal that could not be affected by traditional means – no keyboard, mouse or other input devices. A veritable black box.

Ms. Simone was devoted to her brother and tried for years to make a computer terminal that would allow her brother to communicate naturally. Distraught over the failure of her terminal, which she thought would free thousands of similarly afflicted people, she killed herself by hanging. When paramedics found her body days later, there on a computer screen was the message: “What took you guys so long? I’ve got the most important news.”

[Diraeqt]

The Burr Woman



A small party of travelors woke up one morning to see something running toward them. It was small, with greasy hair and moving with the rolling motion one might see in a chimpanzee. None present knew quite what it was, or what to do about it, but someone among them called it The Burr Woman, a creature from a local legend.

As soon as it came near the camp, it jumped onto someone's back (we will call him Tom) and latched on tight, digging its fingers into his shoulders and its toes into his ribs. Naturally, Tom freaked out. They tried pulling the critter off, but it wouldnt come, and it even hurt Tom. They suggested cutting it off at the wrists and ankles, but (we will call him) Bill said that might hurt Tom even worse.

So Tom kept going with the Burr Woman riding piggy-back on him. He got used to her quickly, as if they were rapidly becoming one person. When it was quiet, bill could hear a soft voice telling Tom things like, "I'm thirsty, dear, get me a drink of water." or "I feel like fresh air, dear, let's go for a walk."

Soon, Tom came to Bill with a problem.

"I feel tired and weak," he said. "Like...she's draining life out of me, and not leaving me any for myself!"

Bill didnt know what to do, and the Burr Woman was driving Tom crazy. The next morning, Bill stepped outside his tent to see Tom running right toward a sheer-faced cliff, dropping down to jagged rocks in the valley below!

Bill raced after his freind, but there was a wild-eyed, fearful look in Tom's face.

"Go away! She'll come after you next!" he shouted, before jumping over the side.

Bill just stood there, in shock and unable to make himself move. Then he saw movement just over the cliff, and heard the Burr Woman's voice.

"I've been watching you, dear. I like you. And I'm coming for you."

And she did.

[imtehrogue]

More! Please!

[Deleted]

The Burr Woman

I like it. 4/5.

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In The Mirror




Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your sleep. You begin to doze, then another crash jolts you awake. The cycle lasts most of the night. So you lay there, eyes open and outward, looking at your room stretching out before you in oblong shadows. Your eyes move from nameless object, to object, until you reach your mirror, sitting adjacent to you across the room.

Suddenly a flash of lighting, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror revels to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face.

Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don’t sleep for the rest of the evening. The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn’t matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.

Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend’s house and it’s time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You’re watching intently as words form:

“Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night.”

[olgreg3bear]

Loving this thread, good reads, all of em. Thanks stacey!

[Deleted]

Loving this thread, good reads, all of em. Thanks stacey!

You're welcome.


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This one is kinda sweet for me, in a wierd way, I hope you'll get it.



Post-Mortem Portrait


In Victorian times, it was a common practice to photograph the dead, particularly at the end of the 19th century. Post-mortem photography was an inexpensive way for the lower classes to immortalize lost loved ones, especially children and infants. Childhood mortality rates were significantly high during the period, and post-mortem portraits were usually the only portraits a child would have. The corpses were usually posed into natural positions such as sitting in a chair or on a couch, and the eyes were opened to give the illusion of life. If the subject were an infant, the mother would often be photographed with the corpse, sometimes even holding the body in their arms. In some circumstances, the corpse’s eyes remained closed, and the corpse was lain in bed, as if they were in a deep sleep.

Despite the morbid nature of the photographs, these portraits were the usually the easiest for a photographer to take. The corpses proved time and again to be suitable subjects, still enough to eliminate the blurred movements of the living and retain the intricate details of the face. This effect, combined with the lifelike posing of the corpses, sometimes outshined the living in the portraits. However, there were always exceptions. In 1899, for example, a photographer named Louis Desmond had to re-shoot the corpse of a young girl six times.

The girl’s body was propped up in a specially designed chair for the dead, with a hidden frame that keep the corpse absolutely still for the portrait. Yet, despite the elaborate frame and the still clarity of the girl’s face and body, her right hand was always inexplicably blurred. The photographer blamed the mother for the blur, convinced that her slight movements were making the loose floorboards of the studio tremble and cause the chair to move. The portraits, however, proved otherwise – in the photographs where the mother stood next to the girl’s corpse, the girl’s hand remained perfectly still.

[Diraeqt]

Think this would classify as a mind****

The Dead Body Under Your Matress


The Legend:
A couple checks into a hotel and have to put up with a foul odor in their room all night. They call the staff to complain and somebody figures out the stench is coming from the bed.
Now, there's no way that scenario is going to have a good ending. You're almost hoping at that point that it'll turn out the last guest just got drunk and pooped behind the headboard. But, no, the staff take off the matress and discover the couple has been sleeping over the rotting body of a dead girl who had been stuffed in the box spring.


The Truth:
This actually happened, in Las Vegas. Also, Kansas City, MO and Atlantic City, NJ and several times in Florida and California and, well, let's just say that in or under the bed in a hotel room seems to be a fairly popular destination for the recently deceased.
It makes sense if you think about it. The closet and under the bed are the two most popular places to hide just about anything, so it's not surprising a hell of a lot of corpses end up there as well. In fact, the odds are pretty good that at least once a guy has killed a prostitute, tried to stuff her under the bed, only to find there was already a body there.

[Powerogue]

^--- Knew that sounded familiar, cracked.com?

indeed it is a pretty cool story, but im pretty sure its just a typical "Urban Legend" thing

it certainly unnerves me, because it's completely plausible. too much supernatural in a story ruins the believability.

[Deleted]

The Message




Don’t dismiss this outright as the work of some raving lunatic. There’s some sense to this story, if you’ll just hear me out…

Look, we all wonder if time travel is possible, right? Well let me tell you something… it is. I’m from the future, actually. I know you probably don’t believe that, but seriously, I’m from the future. It’s a really great thing; getting to see the past, watching events unfold.. stuff like that. We know more now than we ever would.

Behind all the fun, though, there is a more serious aspect. We aren’t supposed to go into our own lifetime, and we are NEVER allowed to contact our past selves. Let me tell you, I’m breaking that rule right now. Yes, kid, you’re talking to yourself. Your future self. I’m going to be executed for this, but you know what? I accept that. I’m preventing something by talking to you that is WORSE than death. I can’t tell you outright what to do, because the filters would catch it. This is the closest I can get, trust me. I can, however, send a little message.

You should probably read the first word of every paragraph, now.

[Noomz]

A bigger load of bullox is hard to find other then politics.
I find it hard to take seriously, or find interesting. As opposed to -real- mysteries. Then again, you might be making this up on the spot, then it's good writing.

[Deleted]

Home Alone




You are home alone, and you hear on the news about the profile of a murderer who is on the loose. You look out the sliding glass doors to your backyard, and you notice a man standing out in the snow. He fits the profile of the murderer exactly, and he is smiling at you.

You gulp, picking up the phone to your right and dialing 911. You look back out the glass as you press the phone to your ear, and notice he is much closer to you now.

You then drop the phone in shock. There are no footprints in the snow.

It’s his reflection.

[Diraeqt]

---------- Post added 2011-10-01 at 04:34 AM ----------

Home Alone




You are home alone, and you hear on the news about the profile of a murderer who is on the loose. You look out the sliding glass doors to your backyard, and you notice a man standing out in the snow. He fits the profile of the murderer exactly, and he is smiling at you.

You gulp, picking up the phone to your right and dialing 911. You look back out the glass as you press the phone to your ear, and notice he is much closer to you now.

You then drop the phone in shock. There are no footprints in the snow.

It’s his reflection.

Classic! Loved it