Creepypasta Discussion Thread

it ends up being just static on the television or something

My life seemed like it was going pretty well. I had just received my bachelor's degree at the state college, and received the fairly well-paying job as an office manager. The thing is, something felt like it was missing from my life… I wanted love. I wanted to have a wife to keep me company, but the only women I knew worked at the office—and were drop-dead ugly.


After coming home one evening from a long day at work, I grabbed a coke, sat down, and booted up my computer. I was very desperate to find love as soon as possible, and it seemed my only choice to find it was through online dating. I visited a popular website, registered, and set up my interests in the hopes that I'd be matched soon.


The next morning I woke up and turned the computer on once more. I noticed that there was only a total of two matches, and, strangely enough, one of the two was a drop-dead ugly co-worker. The other had no profile picture, but the name was unfamiliar. Knowing how desperate I was I took a chance and private messaged this 'girl', asking her to meet up at a local café that night. The person replied back about three minutes later, saying okay. I was very excited, but at the same time anxious to see how this would go.


That night I was bitterly exhausted from the tremendous amount of work I had at the office, but my excitement overpowered it as I quickly got home, changed, and drove off to the café. The café was only a quick five minutes from my house, so driving was no problem at all. I had no trouble parking, and soon enough I was inside ready to see my blind date. To my utter astonishment, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in my life approached me—her most prominent feature were her eyes—the most gorgeous gray eyes in the world. "Hi," she said, smiling. "I'm Christy. You must be David, I saw your picture online."


"I sure as heck didn't see yours," I said, and we shared a laugh. I could tell already we were meant to be.


Our first date turned out great, and as it turns out we did indeed have a lot in common. As I dropped her off at her shabby apartment building, we partook in our first kiss, and I left. At this point, I felt like the luckiest guy in the world—like nothing could go wrong now.


Christy and I dated for only 4 months before I proposed to her, and she said yes with great excitement. Our wedding went like most, but there was a desolate turn of people. The members of the audience included my mother, Christy's father, a couple of my closer co-workers, and a few of her close friends. She was just so wonderful, and I was so in love.


That night I lost my virginity with her, but luckily she didn't get pregnant, because having a child this early on in our marriage wouldn't be too good. I wasn't financially able to afford a honeymoon, but she thought it was alright, and being with each other was all that mattered. She was just so nice like that. In place of that, I helped her move her things into my humble home, where we would be living together. Our life together was going by so nicely, and we were the perfect team.


A few months later I learned at work that one of the co-workers who attended my wedding, Kevin, was found dead with cuts all over his body. It was unidentified who did this, or what happened. They told me they were going to medically examine him in a few days. This news really brought me down, and it made the headache I already had even worse. I had been getting pretty bad headaches, which I presumed had to be from overwork. I got home late that night, and it appeared Christy was already in bed. I wasn't very hungry, so I went to my room to join her. I immediately told her about my friend Kevin being found dead, but she sat up suddenly, looked at me, and smiled—which was quite odd considering the situation, and said:


"Don't worry about it. He'll be fine."


I wasn't sure whether to be surprised or relaxed at her tone, but given her sweet nature I just ignored it and went to sleep.


The following morning I woke up sick, coughing very badly and feeling the urge to vomit. I stayed home from work which was the only nice part about it, beside the fact of Christy being so caring for me while I was in my need. "I love you, feel better." were the relaxing words spoken to me every so often that day. As night fell, she silently joined me in bed and turned off the lights. About 30 minutes in, I was having trouble sleeping. I wrapped my arm around Christy in an attempt to hold her, but just then my hand froze. I just couldn't move… Her skin was cold as ice. "Christy? Are you alright?" I asked, but she didn't respond. I turned her over to reveal my wife—but the most horrific way I could imagine her. I screamed as loud as I possibly could, shoved her away from me, and bolted for the bathroom. What I saw was my Christy with her eyeballs missing revealing bloodied sockets, skin vein covered and droopy, and pale white skin—I wasn't sure about any other detail, because my eyes were not fully adjusted to the darkness. I sat there and cried, until I suppose I fell asleep. Surprisingly I felt refreshed that morning, but that quickly changed into fear as I remembered what I had just seen. My vision was blurred and distorted, most likely due to my excessive amount of crying.


I had to push on and overcome the fears I had about whatever I witnessed the night before. I opened the door slowly, making sure it didn’t make a sound. As I slowly turned toward the bedroom, I noticed she wasn't there. I heard something coming from the kitchen. Metal banging together. I rushed over to check out the scene, where I saw my beautiful wife there picking up pans she had dropped. As soon as she saw me, she dropped them again. "What the hell happened last night?" she asked, but she sounded more concerned than angry. "I felt like I had to throw my guts up, and so I did." I lied. She took the bait, fortunately. "Aw… well, feel better." She kissed me, and went back to cooking up breakfast. My weekend wasn't starting off so great.


I contemplated what I had seen, what had just happened. I just couldn't explain it. I tried to think past it, like it would never happen again. But it did. It haunted my dreams—her lifeless body, her lack of eyes. But the worst part of my nightmares were what it did. Her body would just stand up like a marionette, and put its face to mine, sending the odor of rotting flesh into my nostrils.


"There's no escape," it whispered coldly.


"We'll be together forever."


It grinned showing her regular beautiful smile. That smile now sent shivers down my back.


I thought I was losing my mind. I saw that... 'thing' everywhere. It was hiding behind a cubicle. It was lying down in the park. I was frantic to get away from it but it just wouldn't stop. I wanted Christy. MY CHRISTY. The one I'm in love with, not that ghoul! I knew I needed to end it.


The following day I walked into my house, and saw the body standing near the kitchen, slouched over like in my dreams. I didn't take a minute to think before grabbing it, and shoving it into the oven, resisting its struggles. I closed the door, turned it on, and although it was painful I was relieved. The oven began to shake violently, and emitted screams which were so pain-filled and horrible to hear, I ran out of the house. The pain-filled screams went on for another ten minutes or so, and by then my house was filled with a thick wall of black smoke. As I walked back in, the shaking and screaming stopped. The house felt dead. Silent, and eerie—like nothing else was alive in the world. I walked up to the oven to examine the remains, and what I pulled out destroyed me more than anything could have—what I beheld was Christy, my wife, burned beyond return—but strangely, her eyes were completely in tact. I fell to my knees, just staring—I couldn't believe this. I was there for fifteen minutes, thirty, as the police started showing up. They came in and picked me up, and of course arrested me for being on the scene of the crime.


I was put into a room and questioned, but luckily I was able to get my way around their persisting questions. They concluded that I was a husband who got home from work, finding the charred remains of my once beloved wife… They told me everything was going to be okay and that I would need to rent a room at a hotel while they inspected. I knew it wasn’t going to be alright. I KNEW WHAT I HAD DONE. And you know what's even worse? I still see her. It. WHATEVER. I KILLED HER. I KILLED HER. I KILLED HER. I could never forgive myself. I ruined my life, her life, EVERYONE'S. I didn't want to go on, but here I am typing this. So, since I wanted to try to go on through my insane depression, I attempted to go to work the next day. As I pulled in and approached the doors, I noticed that there was yellow caution tape in front, with a small note stuck to the door, reading:


"Building has been condemned from operations until later notice due to chemical exposure creating hazardous working conditions." —State Department of Health

I felt chills run down my spine as I read that note. Not knowing what this would mean to me, I decided I needed to get this checked this out. I got into my car and sped down the road straight to my doctor. I neared his office and threw the door open, revealing I was the only client there. A nurse escorted me to him, and I asked him if he could test my body for chemical intake. He said yes, and agreed to do it. Shortly afterward, he diagnosed me a disorder caused by the inhalation of that certain chemical. Trembling, I pleaded for him to read the side affects included with the inhalation. He read them to me:

"Effects of inhalation or ingestion involve migraines, vomiting, weariness, and is uniquely linked to strange patterns and effects occurring within the senses. Long term exposure may result in brain damage, mental instability, and severe hallucinations."

I had been single for a while, and I was sick and tired of it. Being 32 and single is no laughing matter; the traumatic experiences of watching your friends get married, have children, and attain the American dream are akin to the hopeless depression of the schizophrenic mental patient. I wanted a wife, I wanted kids, I wanted a steady job. I was tired of working at Burger King and living alone in a studio apartment, and I was almost certain I memorized ninety percent of pornstars on the internet by name. Disgusted by the company of my left hand, I decided to go out to one of those speed dating events.

I picked out my best garb and walked out the door. Keep in mind, I worked at Burger King, so the best clothes I could afford were some mediocre dress shirts and tattered khaki pants I bought at WalMart during a clearance event. I walked into the event, trying to display the shred of confidence I had left. I was instantly discouraged when I saw all the other competing males and their Armani suits, high class whiskey in hand, and auras reeking of nothing but pure self esteem and conceit. The ladies there were dressed in fine dresses, some of them quite low cut, and smelled like a flower garden designed by Martha Stuart herself. There were some serious lookers in there, and I swear my pants shrunk a couple sizes at the sight of some of these dresses.

The speed dating started. The first girl I sat down with was quite young; a 22 year old mother of three. She had made a lot of mistakes in her life, and seemed far more than I could handle. Right off the bat she told me about how she was four days sober from methamphetamine and was looking to settle down with a nice man who didn't look like a walrus. I spent the next four minutes making general small talk, quite literally fearing for my life. Once that buzzer sounded, I rocketed out of my chair with the speed of a gazelle. The young woman seemed offended. But honestly, what did she expect?

The next woman was way too old for me. I had thought that these events were age regulated and had different meetings for people in different stages of life. I'm no pervert, but the whole idea of taking her shirt off and seeing two runny eggs nailed to the wall did not appease me. My decision was finalized as soon as she brought up her grandkids; I can hardly handle one generation of young ones, much less two. I actually asked her if she needed help getting out of her chair after the buzzer sounded... Again, another dark look. I was batting 0 for 2, but such pitches were ones that I would gladly let the catcher have.

The next woman seemed much more appealing. She was 26 and studying to be a nurse at a local hospital. She loved kids but had none of her own, which was a relief to me. She seemed well kept and stable, and wasn't a bad looker either. No lie, my eyes did wander a bit south a couple times during the meeting. She either didn't notice or didn't care, as she never pointed it out. I asked her if she'd like my number as the session ended, and she consented. I flipped open my phone and entered her number as she read it out. Smiling at her and thanking her for her listening ear (no wonder I had been single for so long...) , I got up to the next table. While doing so, I closed my phone by accident and realized that I never saved her number, so it was lost forever. For the love of... 0 for 3.

The next table was empty. What a joke. If I wanted to sit and stare at a wall, I would have stayed home. Nothing really to say here. Moving on.

This is where the story begins getting dark. The woman I met at the next table was the most interesting of all, but not in a bad way. She had long, flowing dark hair and green eyes. She had this cute smile and man, what a tight body on this one. Black dress, black shoes, black everything. For someone dressed in such a gothic manner, she had such a bubbly personality. Everything I said made her giggle, and I felt like a king just talking to this girl. She was 27 and currently unemployed. She was married to a husband before, but he had left her after their two children died of leukemia. She told me that the cancer was entwined with her lineage, dating back as far as the eighteenth century; therefore, in numerous fits of emotional rage, her ex husband blamed her for giving the children cancer and left. Too pained by the loss of her entire family, she moved to the city a few weeks ago and was living on unemployment, unable to continue working at her job due to the crippling depression and panic she suffered as a result of her abandonment.

Despite the torment in her life, she never seemed depressed about it. Either she was incredibly optimistic about life or she was one of the best actors I had ever seen; either way, I was willing to take a shot. I asked her if she'd like my number. It turned out that she had some bad meetings at this particular convention herself, and wanted to take off to do something more fun. She tossed me an invite and, seeing as I was a lonely 32 year old man, she didn't have to ask twice.

I never understood what she saw in me over all the other guys. I was beaten and broken with no aspirations to better my current situation. Maybe she understood how I felt, considering all the pain she felt herself, and decided to get to know who I really was under this cocoon of emotionless insecurity. I sensed a thread of compassion intertwined between all that stress and trauma, willing to lend an ear to anyone that felt the same pain as her. I was truly transfixed by her presence, drawn to her character. I had never felt like this before.

We decided to go to a pool hall. Apparently she used to be a regular at another pool hall by her old house, winning local tournaments and making a name for herself, and she wanted to check out the scenery here. I wasn't too shabby at the table game myself, so I was excited. Every shot she made was perfect; the balls just sank into the pockets like each pocket was a black hole just waiting for something to trespass into its field. Out of the seventeen games we played, I think I made around 23 shots. She just kept running the table. It was funny, because she kept apologizing for being so good. I waived the apology and complimented her on her skill, causing her to giggle more. Every time she laughed, I fell harder and harder. And, to be honest, I was always excited when the cue ball landed on my side of the table. You know, 'cause she bent over to take her shots, as many pros do. Heh.

We left after that. She said she had to get home as she had some errands to run, being new in the neighborhood and all. I agreed, since I had a facebook application that I had to update (obviously I didn't give her that reason. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? Passing up an amazing girl for facebook? Egh...), so we exchanged numbers and parted ways. I couldn't believe it, I had actually scored a beautiful woman. Hell yeah.

Weeks and months passed on. We continued to talk and eventually began regularly dating. The relationship moved pretty quickly and it seemed we were truly matched for each other. After about seven months of dating, I asked her to marry me. I popped the question on the seventeenth, as that's how many games we played on our first date. She found that so romantic and flew into my arms, screaming yes to the skies. Things were finally looking up.

I moved out of my shitbox apartment and into her home. I always admired the cozy feel of her two bedroom ranch house. Something perfect to start a family in. As I was moving my final things in, I noticed how much of a mess I was making, with my boxes of stuff and all. I apologized and motioned to the basement to finish moving my things. Her face instantly darted to mine. In a hurried and almost frantic voice, she assured me that she'd take care of the rest of my things and that I should relax. It was a bit odd, sure, but she had been through so much excruciating sadness throughout her life that her having a psychiatric illness is something I expected. I complied to her request.

The next few months were great. We never got tired of each other, and, on our wedding day, the kiss we shared on that alter was so special that I firmly believe angels surrounded us and serenaded us with harps and trumpets as our lips connected and sparked so brightly that the entire room was illuminated. I'll leave out the details of the honeymoon as this is not a pornographic piece. She was always leery of me approaching the unforbiding basement, sometimes to the point of arguing with me about it, but, aside from that, I didn't see any fault in her.

Until everything I knew about life was shattered.

One day, she told me she was going to the grocery store. I noted that I wanted some ground beef in order to make hamburgers for dinner. She smiled at me with that cute, adorable smile I have grown to know and love and headed out. After climbing Burger King's corporate ladder, I had finally attained the position of regional financial manager for the entire state. I was working on some budget information, assessing the costs of all the franchises across the state. It was a long and arduous process, but I was getting just above six figures for it, so I wasn't complaining. After each report was fully completed and evaluated, I moved the files to a USB drive so I could upload them to a computer for a corporate meeting the next day. To my horror, with only three reports left to finish, the computer crashed. If I didn't finish these reports, I would surely lose my job.

I called my wife, asking her if she had another computer or something I could use, but she didn't answer. I rummaged through the house to find something to finish these reports with to no avail. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so I took the daring risk of approaching the basement. The handle was unusually cold and the door was locked. Frustrated and defeated, I slumped to the couch in a depression. That is, until I realized that there was a specific flower pot that my wife always guarded with her life. On a hunch, I went to it and found the key at the bottom of the pot, under the dirt.

As soon as I opened the door, a rancid and tangible odor attacked me like a falling wall from a decrepit building. The entire basement looked as if it was wasting away; a clear contrast to the rest of the house. The heavy layers of dust upon every surface suggested that the basement hadn't been accessed in years. Using my cell phone as a flashlight, I guided myself down the stairs and flicked a light switch. Surprisingly, the bulb still worked.

The walls looked molded, the wood was breaking down, the stench was putrid, and the entire place was in disarray. I encountered a strong sense of dysphoria after setting foot in the room, so I quickly searched for some old computer with the intent of running upstairs as quickly as possible. To my luck and astonishment, there was an old laptop and charger in the corner, hidden under some boxes and books. Oddly enough, one of the boxes was one in which she brought down after I had first moved in. I had not seen some of this stuff in a long time... Ignoring the nostalgia, I seized the computer and charger and raced up to the master bedroom.

After giving the laptop a few minutes of power, I booted it up. It ran on windows XP and was quite the technological dinosaur compared to modern equipment, but it had Microsoft Office so it was acceptable. As soon as windows finished booting up, a system message appeared on the screen notifying me that new sources had been added to the tagged video cache, and if I'd like to check it. I had never seen a system message like this before. I know that snooping is generally taboo, but curiosity overcame me.

I was taken to a hidden file that required a password to access it. Rolling my eyes, I moved my cursor to X out of the program when suddenly, something typed the password in for me. A bit frightened at this point, I was sucked into the screen. There were four videos, entitled HIM.avi, ONE.avi, TWO.avi, and WHY.avi. All four thumbnails were pure black. Curious, I clicked on the file entitled HIM.avi. I should have never done that.

The video was extremely shaky and grainy. I could barely make out the figure of a man tied to a chair with some sort of a metallic rope. A woman, moving as if she was floating on air, not moving a single bone in her body but yet being able to slowly hover around the room, came into the picture. To my horror, she brought out a knife and started slowly cutting the man. The man screamed in brutal pain as the woman slowly cut him to pieces. Blood poured from his mouth and all his lacerations as the woman dug the knife in deeper. His clothing was slowly stripped from his body and, after each article was removed, she used a lighter to set all of the newly exposed hairs on fire. Covered in horrific burns and terrifying cuts, the man had stopped screaming and was now simply bawling. He occasionally screamed out, "WHY?!", for that was all he could muster. Each time he did, the woman stabbed him again. She began laughing as the man began vomiting blood and entrails. She picked up the small solid pieces of the vomit with the knife and slowly licked the knife clean, giggling like a schoolgirl. She then proceeded to gouge the man's left eye out while he was still alive. I couldn't watch anymore, so I closed the video.

Shaken and horrified, I clicked on ONE.avi. I had to know what was going on. This time, it was a young boy, about eight years old, bound into the chair. He looked confused and innocent. I shook my head and fell into tears. Such a thing was not about to befall this boy...

This video was of the same quality as the last one; however, the background was much brighter. They seemed to be in an abandoned household, falling apart and in ruin. The woman floated over to the boy, much like she did in the last video, and kissed him gently on the cheek. She slowly brought heat lamps (the source of the brightness mentioned before) over to the boy, one by one, until the entire video was white. After a while, the camera was dimmed so that the boy could be seen again. The innocent look once seen in the beginning of the video turned into one of excruciating pain. The heat lamps slowly began burning his clothes and skin. Bubbles and blisters began rapidly forming on his skin as he too screamed in pain. As with the man in the last video, he screamed "WHY?!", and was punished each time by being brutally lashed with a belt studded with pieces of what appeared to be broken glass. The blisters began to boil as the child was roasted alive. Eventually the screaming stopped and the boy fell into seizures. At this point, the same giggling in the last video could be heard again, this time even louder. She then took a knife and carved "I DESERVED THIS" into the child's melting torso as he screamed. Eventually, the boy stopped moving. I closed out at that point.

I needed to see the next one. I had to witness this. This had to be stopped. With such a determination, I clicked on TWO.avi. This time, there was no one strapped to the chair; instead, an infant car seat was in the chair with what seemed to be a newborn infant tightly strapped inside. Like the previous videos, a woman floated over to the child. She rubbed it's head and briefly went off camera. She came back with a syringe and violently stuck it into the child's body, injecting a blue liquid into the child. Unique to the collection, the video began fast forwarding. At first, the infant seemed normal, happy, smiling, and carefree.

As the fast forwarding progressed, the child grew more and more uncomfortable. It started coughing and wheezing. It began puking up a white liquid and began crying, almost as if it too was saying "WHY?!". A dark bottle was briefly placed in front of the camera, and the words TASTY JUICE were written upon it. The bottle was turned over to reveal its contents; a blue liquid that sizzled when it reached the ground. Bloodcurdling screams erupted from the baby as it fell into more of an unstable condition. As the shrieking child grew closer to death, the same giggling in the previous videos presented itself, but, this time, it was far louder than before. Determined to make it to the end, I fixated my eyes upon the screen despite how much they were tugging at me to look away. The woman was screaming in laughter louder than the baby was at this point. She floated over to the child again, unstrapped it, grabbed it by the legs, and, to my utter shock, swung it head first as hard as she could at the wall. The child's head exploded upon impact, leaving cranial viscera and fluids draped all over the wall. The video then went black.

Shaking, I forced myself to click on WHY.avi. Before the video played, I noticed that this file was modified within the last hour. Almost blinded by fear, I swallowed my apprehension and opened my eyes. This time, there was just the woman. No other person was present. She was facing away from the camera and was speaking in a demonic tone. I can't recall exactly, but here's a paraphrased transcript of what she said.

"Hello. Clearly by now you know that I'm not the person you thought I was. I'm a sick and twisted woman. I love this. It makes me so happy to see somebody die, especially at my hand. I know you're watching this, and I know you're terrified. The ghosts of those I have killed are swarming around you right now, telling you to pull away from the screen, to save yourself. Yet you still sit there and watch, waiting for some happy ending or reasonable explanation as to the events you have just witnessed. There are no special effects here; what you saw was real. I love watching this footage, even so much as to pleasure myself to it, but I had to hide it. You couldn't know. Your lonely piece of shit brain would tell you to turn me in. You were so desperate for love... You fell in love with a serial killer."

The woman turned around instantly and I recognized the face of my wife. I couldn't even feel emotion at this point. I didn't know what to think. My memory had fallen to pieces. I didn't know where I was, or who I had been, or what I was about to go through. Everything in my life died as I saw the once happy and bubbly eyes that I once saw in my wife become vapid and emotionless. A smile crept across her face, one that makes me quiver in malaise upon the slightest thought of it. This wasn't possession. This wasn't mental illness. This was just... Evil. So evil. The video continued.

"It's quite a shame. I really loved you. We had this passion. Hehehe. Remember the giggle? I made you fall in love with me. I tricked you. I lied to you. And, wanna know the best part? I knew you would find out. I couldn't keep the secret forever. Eventually you'd find the key to the basement, eventually the stench would become too strong, eventually the decaying foundation would begin to topple the house, and eventually you'd finally realize that my children never had leukemia and that my husband never left... I killed them. And, they're closer than you think. Why do you think the basement smells so bad? You'd be surprised how easy it is to cement human remains into the floor. You stepped on my dead children and husband. Feel proud of yourself?

"I...

"I know you're watching this. I just made this video. I know what you've done."

I began shaking my head, fearing what I knew I was about to hear. A cold sweat crept upon me as I suddenly felt two eyes bore into the back of my head. I was paralyzed.

"Those noises you're hearing aren't the pipes. Turn around."

I slowly turned and froze as I met the psychotic eyes of my wife. She began to giggle.

I don't know what happened after that. I've been told by the police that people heard screams coming from my house during my attempted murder and called the police. I was told by physicians that I was violated with the sharp end of a screwdriver and that she placed a block of hot ice on my lap. I was tied to a chair, the same one as was used in previous videos, and was videotaped. All the videos are now in police custody, and I refuse to see mine.

My wife was given the death penalty. I was present at the execution. Her last words were to tell me that she would never leave me, that she would always know where I was, that she would never give up on my murder, and that she never left a job unfinished. She was sure to tell me that I would see her again, that she'd send another minion to finish the job. She finished by telling me that I would never be safe. Ever.

She survived the first three attempts at lethal injection, but died on the fourth. She was smiling, and she giggled like a little schoolgirl right before she died.
I have been through extensive therapy, and, years later, I have been able to overcome the horrific trauma I saw and experienced. I still make six figures a year, I have made a good network of friends, and my life has been incredible. I feel accomplished and successful, something I never felt before. I am now confident. So confident, in fact, that I am going on a date tonight with a girl. She's cute too, with this long, dark, flowing hair and vibrant green eyes.

A young girl is playing in her bedroom when she hears her mother call to her from the kitchen, so she runs downstairs to meet her mother.As she’s running through the hallway, the door to the cupboard under the stairs opens, and a hand reaches out and pulls her in. It’s her mother. She whispers to her child, “Don’t go into the kitchen. I heard it too.”

http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/BEN_(Aka_Haunted_Majora's_Mask)

"Daddy, I had a bad dream."

You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness — it is 3:32 AM.

"Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"

"No, Daddy."

The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room.

"Why not, sweetie?"

"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."

For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you cannot take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.

So ur with ur honey and yur making out wen the phone rigns? U anser it n the vioce is "wut r u doing wit my daughter?" U tell ur girl n she say "my dad is ded". THEN WHO WAS PHONE?

A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. Especially no one should look inside the room, under any circumstances. So he followed the instructions of the woman at the front desk, going straight to his room, and going to bed.

The next night his curiosity would not leave him alone about the room with no number on the door. He walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. He bent down and looked through the wide keyhole. Cold air passed through it, chilling his eye. What he saw was a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a woman whose skin was completely white. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door. He stared in confusion for a while. He almost knocked on the door, out of curiosity, but decided not to.

This disinclination saved his life. He crept away from the door and walked back to his room. The next day, he returned to the door and looked through the wide keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, unmoving. Perhaps the inhabitants of the room knew he was spying the night before, and had blocked the keyhole with something red.

At this point he decided to consult the woman at the front desk for more information. She sighed and said, “Did you look through the keyhole?” The man told her that he had and she said, “Well, I might as well tell you the story. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in that room, and her ghost haunts it. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which were red.”

check into small hotel a few kilometers from Kiev. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. "But one more thing comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don't even peek in there." I take key and go to room to sleep. Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red. Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. "By the way who is in that room?" She look at me and begin to tell story. There was woman in there. Murdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red. I tell her I don't give a shit. Stop the water trickling or give me refund. She gave me 100 ruble credit and free breakfast. Such is life in Moscow

A few years ago, a mother and father decided they needed a break, so they wanted to head out for a night on the town. They called their most trusted babysitter. When the babysitter arrived, the two children were already fast asleep in bed. So the babysitter just got to sit around and make sure everything was okay with the children. Later that night, the babysitter got bored and went to watch TV, but she couldn’t watch it downstairs because they did not have cable downstairs (the parents didn’t want children watching too much garbage). So, she called them and asked them if she could watch cable in the parent’s room. Of course, the parents said it was ok, but the babysitter had one final request… she asked if she could cover up the angel statue outside the bedroom window with a blanket or cloth, at the very least close the blinds, because it made her nervous. The phone line was silent for a moment, and the father who was talking to the babysitter at the time said, “Take the children and get out of the house… we will call the police. We do not have an angel statue.”

The police found all three of the house occupants dead within three minutes of the call. No angel staue was ever found.

Mother and father get little tired from building Communism, so they want to go to Moscow to buy vodka. They call most trusted babysitter. When babysitter arrives, children already sleep in beds. Babysitter just sits around and make sure everything good with children. Later that night, babysitter gets bored and goes to read Marx, but she can’t read downstairs because there’s no electricity (parents dodn’t want children reading Marx all night long). So, she calls parents and asks if she can get candles to read Marx in their room. Of course, the parents say it okay, but babysitter has one final request. She ask if she could cover up Lenin statue outside the bedroom window with blanket or cloth, because it makes her nervous. Phone line is silent for moment, and father who say, "Take children and get out of house. We will call milita. We do not have Lenin statue." Militia find all three of house occupants dead because KGB kill them for trying to cover Lenin statue. Then militia arrest parents for not having Lenin statue. Such is life in Moscow.

Soviet peasant filled with burning desire to read for glory of Soviet Russia. One day peasant go to Soviet bookstore, and sees book with skull on cover.

He asks owner how much is book, and owner responds 80 rubles. However, owner tell peasant never read last page, or else doom shall fall upon him!

Peasant reads all book in one night, is dark book of capitalism about by evil man, John Deere, talking of automated machinery and air conditioned tractors, many horrors in book indeed!

Yet peasant does not read last page, for he has fear in his heart! One night it storms however, and the man is bored. He finally gathers up enough Soviet courage to read last page, dispelling superstition, for he has faith in the Party.

As soon as he reads last page, man gasps! Book originally 20 rubles! The owner was Jew!

Father, I had bad dream"

You take sip of vodka and roll over. You stare at clocktower on Sobornaya Square. It's 3:23. "Go back to sleep, there is work tomorrow." "No, Father." The familiar warm buzz of vodka starts to sink in. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness. "Why is that, devochka moya?" "Because in my dream, when I was about to go back to sleep, the thing wearing Mother's skin sat up." You pause, and face your daughter and look at her intensely. The figure behind you begins to stir.

"Don't talk that way about your brother, it is not his fault we have no money for coats. Such is life in Moscow."

I check into small hotel a few kilometers from Kiev. It is late. I am tired. I tell woman at desk I want a room. She tells me room number and give key. "But one more thing comrade; there is one room without number and always lock. Don't even peek in there." I take key and go to room to sleep. Night comes and I hear trickling of water. It comes from the room across. I cannot sleep so I open door. It is coming from room with no number. I pound on door. No response. I look in keyhole. I see nothing except red. Water still trickling. I go down to front desk to complain. "By the way who is in that room?" She look at me and begin to tell story. There was woman in there. Murdered by her husband. Skin all white, except her eyes, which were red. I tell her I don't give a shit. Stop the water trickling or give me refund. She gave me 100 ruble credit and free breakfast. Such is life in Moscow.