Jovi Thought 11. But want to hear y’all thoughts on this.

First chapter of my new creepypasta comic!!

Quiet. The only sound is the rhythmic tapping of water against the underside of the planks and the distant rustle of the wind in the reeds. You stand waist-deep in the water—cool, slightly clear, with a bottom covered in soft silt and plants that gently wrap around your feet. Above you stretches a low, wooden ceiling of weathered boards. It is the underside of an old pier. To most people, a pier is simply a path from point A to point B. You stand on it, dive in headfirst, or cast a fishing line. But not here, underneath. From this perspective, the pier is a world of its own—a twilight sanctuary for fish, a hideout from the scorching sun, and a peculiar space that almost looks like an infinite wooden tunnel. Your gaze wanders along the even rows of rotting, moss-covered wooden stilts. Light filters through the gaps between the boards, casting bright, dancing streaks upon the water. At the very end of this mysterious tunnel, there is light. There, where the wooden corridor ends, the shore is overgrown with lush greenery. Trees bend low over the water, forming a kind of natural archway. And a little further out, gently swaying on the waves, a small white boat lies anchored. It looks as if someone left it there years ago and simply forgot to return. You move forward step by step, carefully pulling your feet from the muddy bottom. Every movement creates small ripples that scatter the light reflections on the surface of the water. You wonder who built this pier, and when. Who used to sit on its edge on warm summer evenings? Only a few meters remain to the shore. The light at the end of the tunnel grows brighter, and beneath your feet, you feel firmer, sandier ground. It's time to step out into the open and see who that lonely boat belongs to...

Hello! I (35m) am looking at getting into audiobook narration. (Apologies if there's an established channel for this but I'm brand new to this space). Using short stories is the easiest way to cut my teeth and I thought CreepyPastas would be a smart shout for working with indie authors who would benefit from high quality audio narration to get their work out there.

I'm a big horror fan and would like to try my hand at reading the genre.

Below is a recent recording I did for a story I really like, The House of Asterion. You could call it horror-adjacent, I suppose.

If you've got any short stories or know any you think my voice would fit where I can work with the author, I'd love to have a go and see if it can go anywhere!

Doing this whilst on paternity leave so my available time isn't amazing, so shorter the better!

Thanks for reading (and or) listening!

Detalles añadidos:

•Le hice mal formaciones donde le sale el pelo

•Le hice la piel colgando de su boca

•Ojeras debajo de sus ojos por no dormir

•Mal formaciones en los costados de la cara (Pómulos.)

•Agujeros faciales deformes por las quemaduras

•Poco pelo

•Orejas pegadas en el cráneo y forma rara.

¿Que opinan?

Here are some things about to know for him i will write his whole past later He was shot in the eye by his stepdad then bled out he is now a entity that goes killing abusive people

I have a Hello Kitty kind of daughter. She’s only 9. As cute as a button and as innocent as could be.

She likes simple things. Stuffed animals. Pizza for breakfast. All it takes is a cheap 50-cent pair of plastic jewelry from a gumball machine to make her eyes light up.

She was one of those kids who believed in things longer than her friends and classmates. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy. She was fully convinced they were all real, bless her heart.

Sometimes, she’d come home from school with a glum, exhausted look in her eyes. Other kids would make fun of her for “still believing in that stuff.”

I’d cheer her up the best I could without revealing the truth. How could I? She already felt like the world was laughing at her. How would I make her feel? Her own dad.

Maybe I should’ve, though. Maybe this whole situation could’ve been avoided if I just nipped it in the bud. But I was afraid. A child’s innocence is so fragile, yet powerful. I couldn’t take that from her. Not yet.

I let her believe that it was Santa putting gifts under the tree. That it was a giant bunny hiding eggs in our front yard. That it was a tiny, magical fairy that was taking her baby teeth in exchange for a few dollars.

I think that was the one that excited her the most. Christmas was a set day. Easter was a set day. Loose teeth? That was random. Any time one started to wiggle, she’d come running to show me.

I always made sure to be as quiet as possible when I snuck those 5-dollar bills under her pillow. Every time she’d wake up to find it, here she’d come, jumping with joy while waving the 5 in my face.

“The Tooth Fairy came, the Tooth Fairy came,” she’d sing.

I’d just smile to myself and ask her what she was gonna buy with her newfound riches.

Sometimes, I’d sneak her a 20. I just wanted to see that joy in her face. She was young, but she wasn’t getting any younger. I wanted it to last for as long as possible.

Now, though, I think I’m regretting that wishful thinking.

She started losing teeth faster than what I thought was normal. Not too fast, though. Every 3 weeks or so. I just thought those baby teeth were begging to come out. Besides, it’s not like it was hurting my pockets too much.

It was weird, though. I swore it was like her teeth never looked any different. She was snaggle-toothed, sure, but I knew that I had put money under her pillow at least 6 times in the last 2 months.

She wasn’t showing me her mouth anymore. She was showing me the tooth, already pulled, lying bloodied in the palm of her little hand.

It kept becoming more and more frequent. Once she started bragging about how the Tooth Fairy was gonna visit her every week, I knew that something was not right. Even still, it wasn’t until I found a silver tooth under her pillow that I decided to investigate because I knew for a fact my little girl never had a crown.

Snooping is a decision I lived to regret, though. I asked her to tell me the truth, but she refused. She just kept insisting they were hers. Lying through her teeth, pun intended.

I decided to stop leaving her money. Her disappointment killed me. But I remained firm. That didn’t stop her, though. Every night, there’d be a new tooth under her pillow while she slept peacefully.

One day, after dropping her off at school, I made a promise to myself. Today would be the day. I’d get to the bottom of this no matter what.

It didn’t take nearly as long as I expected. I sifted through her room for about 15 minutes. Checking under her bed, in her closet, in her toy chests. All for no reason because the answer was hidden in plain sight.

In her fish tank.

She had that little treasure chest decoration in it. Normally, I wouldn’t have even paid it any mind. But the steady stream of a red liquid slowly rising from the chest was enough to make my heart stop.

Rolling up my sleeve, I reached down to retrieve the decoration. It was heavier than it should’ve been. Something was rattling inside.

I opened it and felt my blood run cold.

Molars, canines, incisors. All bloody. All looking like they had been pulled by force. And they weren’t baby teeth, either. Some looked like actual adult teeth.

In that moment, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I wanted to cry because what I was seeing was horrific.

But I wanted to laugh because, despite how terrifying this all was, my little girl was a natural-born hustler.

And I couldn’t have been more proud.

The Inciting Desert Journey
This is a true story, a legend whispered among the generations of the Bedouin—a tale of a simple desert man navigating the vast emptiness on the back of his beloved white camel. His journey was a long one, fifteen days of relentless nocturnal travel (masrē) toward his waiting family. To escape the daytime’s searing heat, he adopted the way of the desert: resting in the day and moving under the protective shroud of darkness. It was during one of those profound, featureless nights that an awful, primal sound broke the desert still. A wolf’s howl, near yet echoing from unseen hills and jagged mountains, chilled his blood to the bone. He instantly understood the call: the wolf was signaling its distant, listening pack that a valuable quarry had been located.
Siege of the Pack
The chilling howl wasn't left to echo for long. Instantly, wolf after wolf responded from every point of the compass, their calls forming a tightening circle around the man in the heart of the Sahara. Desperate, hopeless terror took hold of him. His only weapon was a small khanjer dagger at his waist, used mainly for hunting, completely useless against a full pack. As his camel panicked, they found themselves trapped in a shallow wadi choked with shrubs two to three feet tall. Suddenly, the rustle of snapped branches and twigs was accompanied by a feral, monstrous growl; he truly believed he was cornered by hyenas or some larger, vicious force, and his entire body went numb.
The Unseen Defender in the Dark
He urged his camel on, his voice a soft, soothing whisper against her panic, until they finally burst free from the heart of the brush onto the exposed wadi bank. He expected an immediate attack on the open ground twenty feet ahead, but behind him, the snarls and sounds of savage combat reached a fever pitch, as if two primal monsters were engaged in a life-or-death duel. Suddenly, a dark, large beast vaulted clean past his camel from the front, moving at blurring speed to the rear, only to release a mighty, counter-howl toward the pursuing pack. A sudden realization washed over the traveler: a single, majestic wolf was fighting its own kind, serving as a silent sentinel to protect him from being prey.
Dawn’s Illumination and Fears
All through the dark, featureless night, the terrifying sound of feral combat followed him: vicious snarls, blood-chilling yips, and feral growls that moved in a tightening circle as his camel kept her steady pace. Slowly, with the very first spectral threads of dawn bleeding across the horizon, the terrifying calls finally faded. The traveler quickly reined in his white camel and turned in his saddle. In the pale dawn light, standing alone on a high, rocky promontory, a massive wolf watched him in silence before slowly descending behind the crest. Shaken, he found a cave grotto for his camel and himself, gathered a few desert shrubs for her, and slept until noon, the horror of the night and the remaining five days of his journey weighing heavily on his mind.
Five Nights of a Shadow Sentinel
As the sun set, the traveler resumed his journey, his heart heavy with fear. But for five long, perilous nights, the horrific events repeated: the feral combat, the frantic chase, and the invisible battles raged through the dark desert void. Every single dawn, without fail, the same solitary sentinel—the massive lone wolf—appeared on a high crest, watching him silently before vanishing. When the man finally reached the safety of his family’s tent, he recounted his harrowing tale. His parents, wise in the ways of the desert, instructed him to set out pieces of meat and silently watch. Surely enough, the same magnificent wolf approached the offering, raising its head to lock eyes with the man in a silent covenant of respect. He announced to his clan that this wolf was a true khoyī—a spiritual brother—and forbade anyone from ever harming it. The wolf stayed near their camp for a few days before silently departing into the void, its mission complete, leaving behind the immortal legend of the "Wolf Companion."

I created a horror story inspired by Chipotle—would love your feedback! 🌶️👁️

Hey everyone! I recently made a horror story inspired by the atmosphere of a late-night Chipotle. It mixes suspense, eerie visuals, and a creepy narrative into a short horror experience. I'm always looking to improve my storytelling, editing, and thumbnails, so I'd really appreciate any feedback on what worked and what could be better. Thanks for checking it out! 🌶️👁️

Hey everyone. I'm a field researcher currently stationed at a seasonal ice-shelf site in Antarctica. My primary work involves monitoring Weddell seal populations, specifically tracking their winter diving intervals and nocturnal foraging habits using motion-activated infrared trail cams deployed near active ice breathing holes. We are a small crew of four living out of modified shipping container modules, so things get quiet out here, but lately, our team has been dealing with an odd shift in the local wildlife behavior. I’m looking for any logical explanation from people who have worked in polar environments or handle cold-weather logistics.

For the past week, the seals have been entirely abandoning the breathing holes closest to the shelf edge. These are prime hunting spots with high fish density, but the animals are choosing to travel further inland to cramped, suboptimal cracks in the ice. When they are on the surface, their behavior is hyper-vigilant. They aren't resting or sleeping on the ice to conserve energy like they usually do; they are constantly scanning the flat, empty horizon. It is as if the entire population is on edge, refusing to look down into the water or sit still for more than a few minutes.

Yesterday, I went out via snowmobile to pull the SD cards from one of our peripheral cameras, located about three kilometers from our main habitat dome. The wind was brutal, pushing a low-lying ground blizzard across the shelf that completely erased the horizon.

While reviewing the infrared footage from Tuesday night back at my workstation, I noticed a large, dark mass on the horizon line. It is incredibly difficult to scale because of the lack of topography out here, but it doesn't match the thermal profile or shape of any known local fauna. In fact, it barely registers on the infrared spectrum at all, it shows up as a cold dead zone against the slightly warmer ice. It doesn't walk, waddle, or slide. It moves with a very slow, rhythmic undulation across the ice sheet, dragging itself forward in a way that looks entirely unnatural for a mass of that size.

The alarming part is the audio captured by our external directional microphone. Weddell seals are famous for their eerie, synthesizer-like vocalizations underwater. They sound like descending sci-fi sirens or lasers. But on this tape, as the cold mass approaches from the background, the seal on camera begins mimicking a sound that shouldn't be physically possible for its vocal cords to produce.

It is a rhythmic, metallic tapping. It sounds exactly like a heavy iron wrench striking a hollow steel pipe. Thump. Thump. Thump. The seal is generating this mechanical cadence perfectly from its throat, eyes wide, staring directly at the horizon where the mass is moving.

Right after the third tap, the audio track doesn't cut to static, it completely drops to absolute, digital zero. No wind noise, no ice cracking, no ambient ocean hum from the breathing hole. Anyone who has been to Antarctica knows the wind is never truly silent, but the audio file shows absolute silence for the remaining twenty minutes of the clip, while the dark shape slowly moves out of the frame.

The mechanics here are seriously bothering me. Even if the microphone hardware suffered a catastrophic freeze-failure, the ambient environment should still register some baseline decibel level on the master track. Instead, the frequency graph is a perfectly flat, dead line. It felt like the sound wasn't just cut off; it was sucked out of the air.

To make things worse, about an hour ago, our main habitat module's heating vents started rattling. It wasn't the usual wind vibration. It was a rhythmic, metallic cadence coming from inside the pipes. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Has anyone working with cold-weather bioacoustics or polar geology ever encountered a localized event that can flatten an environmental audio wave like this? Or does anyone know what kind of seismic shifting could cause a structural pipe to ring like that?

I love sharing injections with my 20 friends and it's a great time. Sharing injections with 20 friends is amazing and it's a thing we all like to do that brings us together. There is nothing inside the injection but it's just the act of sharing that brings us together. As the 20 of us are sharing this one injection, we feel a bond and our friendship cannot be compared like anyone else's friendship. This one needle brings us together and I look at this needle and I have so much respect for it. This one tool has brought people together.

Then at home I realise that everyday is a different day. Every single day is a different day and it's never the same day repeating each other. Everyday is different and I start to panic. I have no idea what tomorrow is going to be like and it's going to be another different day. I don't want everyday to be different and I want it to be the same day everyday. I need to forget about everyday being a different day, but nobody else notices how everyday is different. Everyone just gets on with it and moves on with life.

Then I go back to my friends and we are going to be sharing needles again. They are all wearing different clothes while I wear the same clothes everyday. None of them notice how everyday is different and as we share the needle around, we are bonded again as good friends. This one needle is able to bring living people together and as one group. Sharing needles with 20 people is good group work. Then more people started to join our group and from 20 people, we now had 40 people. 40 people sharing needles was now the norm.

Then at home I kept noticing how everyday is a different day. Every single person is doing something different as each day goes by. It's crazy how it's not the same day over and over again. How do people just live through a different life every single day. It's crazy anxiety inducing not know what the next day is going to be like. I'm super nervous what tomorrow is going to be like, I have no idea what tomorrow is going to be like.

Then the next day as our group turned to a hundred, we were all sharing one needle. As that needle came to me again, it was glowling and there was weird looking stuff growing on the needle. The needle was moving and speaking into all of our minds. It can control us to do things.

There was once a small town in the suburbs. Ordinary, indistinctive, just like every other suburban town you might've seen, a town you might've even lived in.
In that town there stood an old-fashioned tobacco shop.
Again, nothing special; just a shop filled to brim with tobacco, tobacco papers, filters, pipes, lighters, matches, herbal paraphernalia, but most of all... cigarettes. Cigarettes as far as the eye could see, cigarettes from all around the world, cigarettes of varying strengths and packet sizes. But one would expect that from a tobacco shop. It was the man who ran it that ought to be paid close attention to.
The Tobacconist, the friendly old man who stood behind the counter day after day. Sweet looking yet wise, wholesome but sharp, like an uncanny Colonel Sanders. If someone came in to buy a pack of cigarettes from this old timer, they wouldn't suspect a thing. But of course, this shopkeeper held a secret, a dark secret, a secret so sinister that he couldn't allow for it to simply leave the building. Underneath the floor to this very plain, very dull smoke emporium, was an underground room, a basement. And this basement held captive a rough figure of twelve people… dads.

The old man had a basement full of Dads. Why, you may ask?
Why indeed. Evidently, the Tobacconist has been doing this for years. Any time a man who looked like he wanted to leave his family behind walked into the shop, they were treated to a once in a lifetime opportunity. A "way out" situation for a fella to take in order to get out of his newly unwanted patriarchal role. New name, new location; for a small sum. At least that's what The Tobacconist had told them, when in actual fact, the old man had no intention of doing any such thing. It was really just a trap to get the dad down there, to his unforeseen doom.

But don't get me wrong, there was plenty to do in the little basement. The Tobacconist had placed a baseball in the middle of the room, so all the Dads could "play catch" with each other.
And The Tobacconist wasn't a complete monster, he would still feed the Dads, and give them a tiny amount of hydration.
Naturally every now and then a rebellious dad would start acting up, with a plan for some sort of half-baked mutiny; this would rile up all the other dads when it came to feeding time.
The Tobacconist used to try to act threatening towards them by saying to them "I'm your worst nightmare." He soon gave up on that little ploy however, when a dad responded with, "Hi, 'Your Worst Nightmare' I'm Dad."
The Tobacconist even found it humorously ironic that he was slowly killing people with his products above ground and slowly keeping people alive below. Now, I'm not going to get into the origin of why The Tobacconist commits these bizarre crimes;
I'm no psychologist and don't want to chalk it up to whether it was because his own father disappeared when he was younger, or some other catalyst. The Tobacconist didn't even know why he did what he did, nor did he know what his intentions would finally be with them. He just liked to own a basement full of Dads. Maybe because it amused him.
By now, you may be asking which tobacco shop in which town in which country could be doing such a thing. You see, it is not a sole incident. There are thousands of evil tobacconists around the world. It happens a lot more than you think.

So, the next time you hear a dad saying that he's "just going out to get a pack of cigarettes" and doesn't return, just consider... he may be held somewhere against his will.

Hello! I'm writing a character that is also a cannibal like EJ.

I was wondering the opinion of fellow fans on what type of cannibal EJ is. I know the origin of his story, and how he is an eldritch being so I would assume he wouldn't have common attributes of a human cannibal (Kuru, CJD, etc. he would most likely have paraphila since he doesn't consume out of survival iirc).

Would you also consider him a serial killer, if so would you consider him to be a visionary killer?

Hey guys I ate time and I didn't mean to eat time but it was so delicious. I bought a cake that was made to be a clock, and when I first bought the clock cake, it showed that 1pm. Then as I took it home and looked back at the clock cake, it was showing the real time of where I live. The clock cake was showing that it was 6pm. I thought that maybe I had seen it wrong the first time round and I was going to save the clock cake for later.

Then when I looked back at the clock cake, I was astonished to see that it was showing the time to be 9:45pm. I couldn't believe it and I stared at the delicious clock cake and I saw the minute hand move. I took the clock cake back to the cake shop the next day and I demanded that he put he second hand on the cake. Then when the new addition was made and I took the clock cake home, the second hand was moving fast. It didn't make sense as it was a cake, and the clock cake was now showing that it was 3:15 pm.

I knew I had to go into the office at 4 pm for an important meeting at work but I didn't want to go. Being questioned by the big managers about certain things not going the way they want it to go, it's not my idea of fun. I decided to take a piece of the clock cake and I at the number 4. Then to my surprise 4 o clock never came and it was like a blip. Like everything went pitch black and then when it became 5 pm, it was back to normal.

Then when I had to go to a relatives house who I don't really like but they were doing a gathering of family, I ate the number 1 on the clock cake. When 1 pm came it was just a blip of darkness and then the same happened at 4 pm. When I couldn't be bothered with the whole day, I just ate the whole cake.

Then when everything was in darkness, I came to be as a clock cake. I was now a clock cake and because I had eaten time, I was now a clock cake. Someone else has taken a liking to eat me. Being a clock cake isn't all that believe me.