CREEPYPASTA ARCHIVE

A Pokemon FireRed cartridge had a save file named RED. The trainer had level 255 Pokemon. The last badge came from a place that doesn't exist in the game.

A Super Mario 64 cartridge found in a used game lot. The game knows the player's name. It has been waiting. It has always been waiting.

A Halo CE disc found in a used game lot plays differently from any other copy. The Master Chief sometimes stops and looks directly at the camera. The enemies beg.

This is the last update to this account. I'm writing it because I want a record to exist. Something has been happening in my building. I've documented it. I don't think I'll be here to document what happens next.

The app appeared on my phone without me installing it. An icon I didn't recognize, no name below it. When I opened it, it showed a live feed of my street.

The sleep study required two nights in a soundproofed room. No phone, no windows, no contact with the outside. On the second night I realized I wasn't alone in the room.

My grandmother left me a wooden box in her will, along with a single instruction: don't open it. She had kept it for forty years. I kept it for three before curiosity won.

My phone showed a voicemail from my father at 3:17 AM. My father has been dead for two years. I listened to it. I wish I hadn't.

I've been a pathologist for eighteen years. I have seen unusual things on tables. One case from 2009 ended my career and I am only now ready to describe it.

When my grandmother died, I was the one who cleaned out her attic. I found a painting she'd covered with a sheet. She'd told me, years before, never to uncover it.

My brother disappeared in October. The police found nothing. I found his laptop. His last Google search was from 3 AM the night he vanished. I don't know what to make of it.

My four-year-old son has a friend who lives in his closet. He's been talking to this friend for six months. My wife thinks it's an imaginary friend. I've heard the responses.