CREEPYPASTA ARCHIVE

Three things changed in my neighborhood in the same week. The Garcias stopped waving. The dog across the street stopped barking. And something that looked like Mrs. Patterson started sitting on her porch at 3 AM.

I found a note under my windshield wiper. It said: "I saw what you did last night." I hadn't done anything last night. That was the first note. There were twelve more.

My grandfather told me never to go into the pines behind the property after dark. He said something lived there that had lived there longer than our family had owned the land.

There was a house on my street that was always listed for sale. I grew up on that street. The house was for sale my entire childhood. Families moved in, families moved out, usually within months.

I work security for a large commercial building. I've seen strange things on monitors over the years — people behaving oddly, shadows that move wrong. None of it prepared me for what I saw on camera 12 last October.

The hotel had 12 floors. The elevator had buttons for floors 1 through 12, plus an unlabeled button between 7 and 8. I pressed it.

My girlfriend Emma died eight months ago in a car accident. Last Tuesday she sent me a Facebook message that just said "hey." I told myself it was a hacker. Then she described my apartment.

The 3 AM customer is always the same. Different person, different car, different reason they're out — but always at 3 AM, always buying the same thing, always paying the same way. Always looking at the same spot behind me.

Have you ever driven somewhere and arrived with no memory of the journey? You know the term for it. But have you ever wondered where you went while you were gone?

Item #: SCP-1471. Object Class: Safe. SCP-1471 is a free mobile app with no listed developer. After 24 hours of use, the user begins seeing a skeletal humanoid figure in photographs and reflections.

We stopped at a highway rest stop at 2 AM. A man in the parking lot was very friendly, very helpful, and wrong in a way I couldn't identify until we were back on the road.

Every house on Meridian Street had a ceramic pig on the porch. Every house but ours. The neighbors explained: you feed the pig or the pig gets hungry. We didn't take this seriously at first.