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The Tall Man of Briarbell, Missouri

by cnkguy
The Tall Man of Briarbell, Missouri

The Tall Man of Briarbell, MissouriReading Time: 5 minutes

We had all liked Mr. Winscot. He didn’t mind when we used the sledding hill on his property and he always gave out the best Halloween candy in the neighborhood. So when we heard he’d been taken by the Tall Man, everyone was really bummed out.

You wouldn’t have heard of Tall Man, so let me explain. Tall Man has been a legend in my town for decades. Those who claim to have seen him say that he is over 9 feet tall, slight, and pale, with an exceedingly polite smile. My dad told me that Tall Man is a collector; he likes things. Dad says his favorite things to take are sad people, empty buildings, and dreams. I have to admit, he’s stolen away my dreams more than a few times.

When Mr. Winscot didn’t show up for church on Sunday, nobody thought it was weird. Then when Monday rolled around and he wasn’t at work with my dad, people started to whisper. My parents thought it was odd, but not particularly concerning. But then the rumors started that Tall Man had gotten him. A kid in my class even said that he had seen Tall Man in Mr. Winscot’s house through a window. I told my parents what Jake had seen, but they only laughed.

Tyler and I biked by Mr. Winscot’s place every day after school to get to our friend Rory’s house. We never stopped in front of Mr. Winscot’s to try and see Tall Man through the windows like Jake had. We never even slowed down.

But one day we played too late at Rory’s. Since we didn’t want to bike home in the dark, we called our parents and asked to sleep over. Tyler was allowed to. I wasn’t.

I tried really hard not to look as I biked by Mr. Winscot’s cul-de-sac. I almost made it, but my curiosity forced a backwards glance at the house. The lights were all on and my eyes were drawn to the face in the window immediately. I saw Tall Man looking back at me. I choked in a panicked breath and my foot missed the pedal as I tried to speed away on my bike. I stumbled for only a second – my eyes never leaving the face in the window – before pedaling home as fast as I could.

The next morning at school, I told Rory and Tyler about Tall Man. They didn’t believe me, of course; they hadn’t believed Jake either. I knew I had to show them, otherwise they would think I was a liar.

We waited until dark and then biked to Mr. Winscot’s cul-de-sac. Tall Man was there – as I told them he’d be – watching us from the window above the front door. It was such a tall front door that I thought Tall Man must have been 10 feet high to see out of the window above it. He was almost smiling but his expression betrayed a certain displeasure. Tyler fell off of his bike.

“Holy shit! Run!” We did.

As soon as we cleared the cul-de-sac, we all began talking over each other in a flustered panic.

“I can’t believe we saw Tall Man!”

“Did you see the look on his face?!”

“We have to tell the cops!”

We went back the next morning with more friends but Tall Man was gone. We went back the next day, but again could see no one behind the window. We began to wonder if Tall Man only came out at night. A few nights later, as we sat in Rory’s basement waiting for a pizza to arrive, we decided to sneak out and see if our theory was true.

We quietly rolled our bikes down the driveway and into the street. We took off for Mr. Winscot’s house, torn between hoping Tall Man was there, and praying that he wasn’t.

We saw him as soon as we biked into the cul-de-sac. He was still standing there after all, and this time, he was outright frowning.

“He’s mad,” Rory said. “He wants us to stay away.”

“I don’t get why he only comes out at night.” Tyler said while he snapped a picture.

“Don’t!” I hissed. “Stop taking pictures, you’ll make him madder.”

“Maybe he watches us in the daytime, too.” Rory shrugged. “Maybe we can only see him at night because that’s when the porch lights come on and shines right in the window.”

It was a chilling thought. We decided to test Rory’s theory the following Saturday, emboldened by the assumption that Tall Man could only watch us but never come out.

As soon as the sun came up that morning, we biked to Mr. Wilscot’s. We had to get close, almost all the way to the beginning of his driveway, but Tyler swore he saw Tall Man still standing in the window.

I made hand binoculars and squinted at the window for a few more minutes before Tyler suddenly said “Let’s go,” hopped back on his bike, and pedaled off. We caught up to him a few blocks later.

“What the hell was that!” I said.

“It was… Tall Man was there, but he looked different this time.”

“Like how?” Rory asked.

“I don’t know, he looked angry or just… wrong somehow.”

It was days before we could convince Tyler to go back to Tall Man’s house, and even then he insisted on taking his teenage brother Matt with us. Matt wasn’t impressed with our stories at all. He didn’t believe us, but he came anyway, for Tyler’s sake.

As soon as we got close enough to see Tall Man in the window above the door, Matt got off his bike. He stared and squinted, and stared some more. He got closer, closer than we had ever dared to go at night. We followed nervously behind him.

Matt walked up the driveway and then down the stone path to the front porch. We dared not follow that far. Then Matt went up the porch stairs, right up to the door.

“Holy… fuck.” He said. Then a few more four letter words. And suddenly Matt was running down the front porch, down the path, down the driveway and out into the street where we waited.

“What is it?” Tyler asked him.

“There is no Tall Man.” He said, out of breath. “Call the cops. Now.”

And he was right, it wasn’t Tall Man after all. We stayed long enough to watch the police break down the door and cut the rotting corpse of Mr. Winscot from the ceiling where he had hung himself from a lamp fixture in his foyer. The body had decayed as if it were melting in the days we had watched it from the road. Mr. Winscot had written no note and made no goodbyes, leaving behind only the sad imprint of a divorced, middle-aged man suffering a sad, well-hidden depression.

It was weeks before the town lost interest in the tragic suicide and months before kids stopped asking us to describe the body in all of its gory detail. Eventually, even Tyler and Rory and stopped talking about it. Everyone had moved on. Everyone except me.

See, there was one detail that always bothered me, one thing I never told Rory or Tyler. It was about the first time I’d seen Tall Man, the time I’d been alone. The thing was, I’d seen Mr. Winscot that night: he’d been sitting alone in his kitchen eating dinner. But I’d seen something else, too. In the upstairs bedroom window, there had been an impossibly tall, impossibly pale man staring back at me. And he’d been politely smiling.


CFREDIT: C.K. Walker

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Hide and Seek

by cnkguy
Hide and Seek

Hide and SeekReading Time: 9 minutes

“Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty!”

Hide-and-go-seek was the order of the evening. Two days of rain with no signs of stopping meant mud, mud, and more mud. Jenn already knew where the kids were. They always hid together and in the same spot. Twins like to stick together, it seemed.

“Where could they be?” she said convincingly as they giggled somewhere in the house. She tiptoed down the hall and peeked into their room. “Goodness, I will never find them! Maybe… here!” she shouted as she dropped to the floor and pulled the covers back.

“Err, guess not…” she murmured, searching the empty space under the bed. “How about… here!” she shouted again, this time at an empty closet. They’re really making me work for it this time, she thought. Nothing in the bath, no one in the laundry… she knew they were too scared to venture in the basement but decided to check after she’d exhausted all other options.

Jenn noisily stamped down the stairs to announce her presence, hoping to elicit some giggles and shuffling. “I’m going to find you!” she sang. She stopped, noting the uncanny silence. With a five-year-old boy and a five-year-old girl, the only silence she ever experienced happened while they were sleeping—and even that was often interrupted by nightmares.

“Jordan! Casey! Come on kids, you win! I give up!” she shouted merrily. “Olly olly oxen free! You win!” she shouted with slightly more urgency. “Mommy’s not playing anymore. Come on now, it’s time for dinner!” Still nothing. “All right, how about this? If you come out now, we’ll get a big cheesy pizza, two buckets of whatever flavor ice cream you want, and we’ll rent a movie! But, you have to come out now!”

A minute passed, and the panic set in. “All right, kids, come out now. If you don’t come out, you’re going to be in trouble, okay?” she shouted in her serious voice. “Jordan Oliver Jones, you and your sister come out this instant!”

Jenn suddenly heard movement above her and sprinted up the stairs.

“What on earth took you so long?” she fussed as she reached the ground level. “I was starting to get wor—” Jenn froze. The front door was wide open. She knew she’d locked it. She was obsessive about locking the door and checked it at least twice a day. She ran out onto the porch, dizzy and nearly hyperventilating. “Jordan! Casey!”

She ran inside and called the police. Jenn wasn’t thinking clearly.

“Yes, I need help. My children are missing! Cherry Street, 43 Cherry Street, I was playing hide-and-go-seek with them and I couldn’t find them and I searched everywhere and then I found the door open and they’re not here! They’re gone!” she shrieked, the panic building.

“Is there anyone who might want to take them? Could they be with their father? A relative? The neighbors?” asked a calm voice on the other end of the phone.

“My family doesn’t live near here and the neighbors are out and…” Jenn’s stomach knotted up. “Oh god, their father. I… I have a restraining order against him. He shouldn’t even— He’s not supposed to be in town or anywhere near or—”

“Ma’am, I want you to go inside and lock the doors, just to be safe. Make sure all windows are latched as well. I’m sending a dispatch unit to patrol the area. Can you do that for me?” the operator asked in a soothing voice.

“Yes, yes I— Okay, I’m inside,” Jenn panted.

“Good. Thank you. Can you tell me about their father?” the officer asked.

Jenn shuddered as the memories flooded back. “He… he murdered his ex-wife in our home. It was all over the news. Jeremy Picking, he—”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I remember,” the officer interrupted. “Shouldn’t he be—”

Jenn waited for her to finish and heard silence. “Hello? Hello? Are you there?” Jenn tried another number, and there was no dial tone. She jumped hard at the sound of a loud knock at the door. She saw what looked like an officer’s uniform through the frosted glass and rushed to unlock it.

“Are you okay, Jenn?” It was officer John Daley, an old peer of Jenn’s from high school and police officer in town for over a decade. “Gosh, you got here fast,” Jenn sighed, relieved to not be alone anymore. “The kids, John, they’re gone. I—”

“Don’t worry, Jenn,” John interjected, holding her shoulders as she started to weep again. “They’re probably just running around the neighborhood, messin’ around. I’ve got two cars out patrolling right now. Just stay inside and try to keep a cool head. We’ll find ‘em.”

Jenn locked the door behind her again and paced the floor, wringing her hands, peering out the window, and re-checking every potential hiding spot. As she crawled out from under the dining room table, she suddenly noticed motion on the second floor of the house next door. Her breathing stopped. They were supposed to be away for the weekend. A light in the attic flicked on, and the curtains swayed. Jenn walked right up to her window, close enough for her nose to touch the glass, when the light suddenly flicked off again. Jenn yanked the curtains closed, feeling exposed. She ran through the house, checking the locks again, roughly pulling all the curtains closed.

She reached the glass door in the kitchen and came face-to-face with her neighbor Todd, screaming loudly enough to make him jump. Todd frowned, breathing heavily, and shook his head, “Jesus, Jenn, what is it? What happened?”

Jenn cracked the door open, the chain lock still in place. “Sorry Todd, I—” She suddenly remembered he was supposed to be out of town. “Wait, why are you here? And why are you in town?”

Todd looked slightly offended, “Well, Crissy and I got into a big argument over how her dad always treats me and, while it was pretty rough, I am being spared a trip to see the in-laws. But, yeah, I got home like ten minutes ago and saw Officer Daley leaving, so I figured I’d come check in on you and see if everything was okay.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s just…well, the kids, we were playing hide-and-go-seek and I couldn’t find them and then—” Something shiny glinting by Todd’s side caught her eye. He gripped a pair of shears in his left hand. Todd followed her eyes down to see what had stopped her so abruptly. “Wh— Oh! Sorry, yeah when I was crossing the back yard to get to yours, a lot of brush was getting in my way so I thought, ugh, I thought I’d just get on it and, uh, you know, get it out of the way, and, uh…you know, you don’t have to talk to me through the door,” Todd smiled taking a step forward.

Jenn didn’t flinch. Her mind was racing. The phone line was down, Todd had appeared out of nowhere, the shears, the phone, the kids, the shears. Jenn slammed the door in Todd’s face and locked the other two bolts. “Hey!” Todd shouted and banged the door with the fist holding the shears. “I just want to talk!” he shouted, still banging the door. Jenn ran upstairs and tore through her father’s old chest, desperately clawing around for the old 9-millimeter. Why would Todd want her children? Was he trying to get her alone? His wife was out of town, and he was always flirting just a bit too much.

She found the gun just as she heard glass shattering downstairs. She silently loaded and cocked it. As much as instinct told her to hide, she couldn’t, not with Jordan and Casey’s lives at stake. She crouched down, surveying the first floor from the top step. The kitchen door was completely obliterated, and Todd lay sprawled out on his chest. It had to be Jeremy. He took the kids and now he was back to take her. This can’t be happening, she repeated in her head over and over. She cracked. She couldn’t take the tension any longer. “What do you want from us?” she screeched down the stairs.

“Jenn?” she heard John shout back. “Oh god,” she cried out as she raced down the stairs. John stood in the living room facing the kitchen with his pistol drawn. She threw her left arm around him, keeping the gun out of sight. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was legal for her to have the weapon. “Todd was here, he’s not supposed to be and he had these big shears and I freaked out,” she wailed into his shoulder, “I think Jeremy was here, there’s blood everywhere-”

“Don’t worry, I showed up just as Todd broke the glass to get in through your kitchen door. I shot him; it wasn’t Jeremy,” he said stroking her hair.

“But… but I didn’t hear any gunshots,” Jenn said confused, thinking surely Todd had been stabbed. “Silencer,” said John, “I didn’t want to shake up the whole neighborhood if I didn’t have to.”

“Oh… right,” Jenn exhaled, “Are my children at his house? Did you find them? Was Todd even involved in that or does he just have amazing timing? Is he… is he going to be okay?”

“Sh, sh, sh,” John said, holding her tighter. You don’t have to worry about John or Jeremy or any other man ever again. I’ll make sure of it. Now, how about some dinner?”

Jenn pulled away, frowning, “John, I can’t exactly eat right now. My children are missing,” she began tearing up. John continued smiling. “How about I go with you and we look for them together? You know, help the other guys you said are looking?” Jenn offered.

“Let them do their job, sweetie. They don’t need any help. These are professional police officers. We‘re going to find little Jordan and Casey.” Jenn stopped moving, trying to remember when she’d told him the names of her children. They went to the same high school together, but that was all. He didn’t know anything about her children. In fact, he hadn’t even asked for their descriptions to tell the dispatchers who to look for.

“We’ll get a big cheesy pizza,” he continued, “two flavors of ice cream and, hey, maybe we’ll even rent a movie to get your mind off of things.” Her heart dropped, her stomach flew into her throat, and her breathing grew short and shallow.

“John, how do the dispatchers know who to look for?” Jenn asked slowly.

“I told them what they look like, Jenny. You really need to calm down,” John said with a new note of seriousness to his voice.

“John, how… how do you know what my children look like?” Jenn asked, gripping the gun still hidden behind her back.

John’s smile faded and he took a step closer, his fists clenched. “That’s really not important, Jenny. Don’t you want your children to be found? Don’t you want them safe? Don’t you want your children back, Jenny?”

“Why do you keep calling me Jenny?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” John shouted, making Jenn jump. “That is what you liked to be called in high school, wasn’t it? When we still hung out? Before you met that freak, Jeremy, and cut me out of your life completely!”

“John, where are my kids?” Jenn shouted back.

“Jeremy’s children are none of your concern anymore!” John roared.

Jenn pulled the gun from behind her back and pointed it at John, shaking, praying she loaded it correctly.

“Todd didn’t break the glass door, did he?” Jenn asked softly. “Did he?” she shouted.

“He was just another man that wanted to get to you,” John slurred lazily, unfazed by the gun, as he plopped down on the couch. “You know, if you shoot me, you’ll never find them.”

Jenn felt her will slipping as she sobbed. “What do you want?” she whimpered.

“Sit,” John ordered, “and give me the gun.” Jenn did as she was told and collapsed into the armchair. “Did you even notice how much I cared about you in high school? I never stopped caring. I’ve been watching you and keeping you safe for years, Jenn,” John spat.

John continued his diatribe, relaying stories from high school that Jenn barely remembered. As he ranted, she noticed a light out of the corner of her eye. It was Crissy. She was home from her parents’ place. Please come here looking for Todd, Jenn thought to herself. Please, please, please. Jenn kept her eyes focused on Todd as she noticed Crissy crossing her backyard in her peripheral.

“I can keep you safe. No one will ever touch you ever again. Think of Casey. Think of little Jordan. I’ll keep them s—” John and Jenn jumped as Crissy’s screams interrupted them. She’d found Todd. Jenn seized the moment to snatch back the gun. John lunged for it, setting it off.

His face froze, his eyelids drooping. He’d taken a bullet straight to the gut. John staggered backward, crashing to the floor. Jenn ran to Crissy, who held Todd in her arms. He drifted in and out of consciousness. “There’s no time to explain! Please, I need to use your phone!” Jenn begged. She helped Crissy drag Todd to the front yard just as two officers screeched to a halt in their patrol cars. Four officers with guns drawn rushed toward the house yelling for Jenn and Crissy to lay down. Apparently, neighbors contacted police at the sound of the gunshot.

The officers didn’t immediately comprehend why one of their own was lying on Jenn’s floor after her children went missing; however, after hearing knocking coming from John’s patrol vehicle, they found Jordan and Casey unharmed in the trunk. John survived but was fired and sent to a psychiatric ward for counseling.


CREDIT: Haley Houston

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Concerning The Masquerade

by cnkguy
Concerning The Masquerade

Concerning The MasqueradeReading Time: 2 minutes

Concerning the Masquerade

Sara Stonewood
Global News
[Sensitive Content]

Halifax, NS

So with the Halloween season close at hand, many police departments are bracing for an upswing in crime, particularly reports of pranks and practical jokes taken too far.

As many of my readers may know, in previous years I have made it my duty to investigate the uncommon extremes of these seasonal jokes, such as the clown craze of Halloween 2016. However, this year’s seasonal fear is decidedly more deadly than carnival performers.

Reports of a string of cross-country murders have officially been concluded to be the work of a serial killer. Five deaths have been reported so far, respectively in Ontario, Quebec and, most recently, Nova Scotia. The latest killing, and first in Nova Scotia, was officially closed as of yesterday, the body being found three days prior.

Abigail Baxter, a twenty year-old woman from Wolfville, Nova Scotia, was found hung by the neck in a local park. She appeared to have been knocked unconscious by blunt force trauma to the back of the head before being transported to her final resting place. The body has been recovered and police are consoling her close family and friends.

Incidentally, the string that ties this killing to others across Canada is the constant continuation of Abigail’s social media accounts. The victim’s Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook feeds remain active despite their disappearance, maintaining their demeanor for a few days before gradually progressing to cryptic messages. The messenger even responds to the victim’s friends and family in character, mimicking everything about them.

Some experts in digital forensics claim that this unparalleled mimicry, this social media masquerade, is what makes the victims too difficult to find. Location is usually revealed online only a few days after their disappearance, leading police to theorize that the killer gains access to social media platforms only hours after the crime takes place.

Development in this story is limited due to the lack of leads altogether. Despite the best efforts of police departments country-wide, the locations of each of the victims can only be known when the killer wishes them to be found.

Each social media platform used in the masquerade has pledged openness to the investigation, yet none have offered any use in discovering the killer’s true nature, motives, or identity. No social media platforms show evidence of any suspicious conversations or activity.

An assortment of police departments country-wide have initiated a coordinated online manhunt and anonymous tip-line for any information on who may be next in this string of murders.

Despite this, it is unknown if the killer will ever be found. Perhaps they do not want to be found.

Editor’s note:

If anyone has information on the last known location of reporter Sara Stonewood, please inform us or your local police department immediately. She has been missing as of the fifteenth of September. I would ask you for any clues as to her whereabouts, but I suppose we will all know soon enough.


CREDIT:  Brennan Smith

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The Laughing Prophet

by cnkguy
The Laughing Prophet

The Laughing ProphetReading Time: 5 minutes

The following article was sent by journalist Roberto Costa Campos, expert in criminal investigation, for the writing of “Na Hora”, a tabloid newspaper in São Paulo. Roberto was known for his daring and his lack of fear in investigating anything, often going into extremely dangerous situations simply to gather information.

Three days after sending this article to the newsroom, Roberto disappeared. A body was found floating in the Tietê River – soon after, it was identified as being that of the journalist, but the identification could only be made by DNA testing, as the corpse suffered advanced levels of mutilation.

The following article is Roberto’s last professional record to the world. Police are still investigating whether the content of such an investigation was merely an illusion of the reporter, or whether it truly is factual. If it is confirmed that the article is based on actual information, it is possible to link it to the death of the reporter.

The article was kept confidential in the records of the Public Security Secretariat of the state of São Paulo, but shortly thereafter it was leaked in an i2P paranormal investigation forum. Here’s a copy of the article:


They are called “The Prophets” a sect of people who have received minor notoriety in recent months. Responsible for at least fifteen murders in the last month, this group of people claim to be worshipers of a paranormal entity called “Zalgo,” something resembling a very powerful demon. They call themselves “Prophets,” for they claim that they know the day that this entity will rise, and that they know exactly who should and should not witness its return. According to them, only the pure people deserve to see Zalgo recover, and the impure must be killed, so that their souls serve as food for the same in the ethereal world where he is enclosed.

The members of this sect possess macabre murder rituals, always offering a dead person to their ethereal leader, and each uses a nickname; a false identity relating to their chosen style of murder.

The sect received more prominence a few months ago when its alleged leader (known by the nickname of “Prophet Laughter”) released a story of his murders. From then on, the sect has become more brutal and notorious.

I spent several weeks traveling around the country looking for signs of them, and finally, in Belo Horizonte, I met a young man who seems to have some connection with the Prophets. I found him crying in an abandoned building. After a little interrogation, I realized that he knew a lot about the sect. His name was Benjamin. He was cowering, frightened. He was wearing a black wool T-shirt with a hood resting on his head. He was slightly overweight. On the floor beside him was a hockey mask with a broken edge. Here’s my interview.

BETO: You are one of the Prophets?

BENJAMIN: Not yet.

BETO: Why not?

BENJAMIN: I, Rosa, and Anna have not yet finished our training.

BETO: There’s training to be a Prophet?

BENJAMIN: Not all Prophets are born with all of the skills they should possess. Some need to be taught.

BETO: And who is your leader?

BENJAMIN: The Laughter … the Laughter, yes … the Laughter.

BETO: What’s his real name?

BENJAMIN (shouting): I do not know!

BETO: Calm down. Tell me, how did you get into the Prophets?

BENJAMIN: I slept … they killed … they killed everyone … I was … I did not …

(For the rest of the interview, Benjamin continues to speak in loose sentences)

From what I understand, Benjamin, sixteen, suffered from strong discrimination in his family for his homosexuality. One day, the boy woke up in the middle of the night, surrounded by the Prophets. After talking to them for long hours, and letting himself be influenced, the boy tried to kill his own family while they slept, but failed. His older brother hit him in the face with a stick of baseball, breaking the corner of his hockey mask. He then ran away. The next night, the other Prophets invaded the house of the boy’s family and quartered them all.

It seems that the Prophets have developed a peculiar way of communicating; using videos encoded on the internet. The channel bears the name of the cult leader (Risonho Prophet), and some bizarre and macabre videos have already been posted. They all seem to be loose images of strange situations, but some have phrases that appear for a fraction of a second, seemingly pointless. I suspect they are codes. Recently a video was posted, in which the text “purify Belo Horizonte” appeared. Maybe that explains why I found Benjamin there but not the other Prophets.


As I spent most of the night talking to Benjamin, I was able to trace a profile of all the members of the sect, which I will now list. Curiously, I recently came to the idea that each of the prophets represents one of the capital sins, but this may be just a coincidence.


Leader of the sect, old, unknown name. He seems to be a very cultured and intelligent person. He is responsible, according to Benjamin, for at least twenty-two murders. He wears a white mask with a macabre smile painted on it. He is described in his narrations as the greatest of the assassins, always speaking heroically of his feats, so it is believed that this represents Pride.


Supposed to be a lover of the Prophet, unknown age, described by Benjamin as being a beautiful girl with emerald-green eyes, long black hair. She always wears a nurse mask, according to Benjamin, because she has a hole in the moonlight of her lower lip, leaving her gums exposed. She normally attacks in hospitals, with an enormous brutality, which counterpoises her docile face, so perhaps this represents Wrath.


Benjamin shuddered when he quoted this one; it seems that the two have some quarrel. He is described by the boy as being a big, strong man who pounds his victims in the head to death and devours their corpses. According to him, he wears a plaster mask that depicts a demonic face with a wide gaping mouth full of teeth. His age, says Benjamin, is approaching thirty. By devouring his victims, he probably represents Gluttony.


It is not known if this is her real name or if it is just a moniker. According to Benjamin, she is a girl in her late twenties, a redhead, and a descendant of Hispanics, for she always speaks with a heavy Spanish accent. She is always seen with gold laces, among other luxury articles, as well as some Mexican skull face make-up. Usually attacks alone, using an ax.


His real name is Matias and is described as being a very rich man. He is little seen by the other prophets, for unlike all, he does not go to his victims, but causes them to come to him. Sadistic, he usually uses brutal methods of torture on his victims before killing them. He is always seen with a fox mask on his face. This one most likely represents Greed. Given her appearance and demeanor, it is possible that she represents Lust.


Brother of the Miser, described by Benjamin as being a very fat guy, always wearing a red overcoat, usually opens the skull of his victims with a cleaver. He is responsible for kidnapping his victims on behalf of his brother. It is not known who he represents, but is likely to represent Envy.


This seems to be only a delusion of Benjamin. Described by him as being a girl of about seven, pale, with completely black eyes and empty expression. She appears in the victims’ homes only during the night, absorbing energy from electronic devices. She never attacks unless shrouded in darkness. Benjamin says that before killing her victims, she walks by their house, singing a melody in another language. When the victim decides to investigate the source of the sound, that is when she strikes. I can not identify any sin that resembles the girl, so it is likely that she does not exist.

All that remains is Benjamin, who seems to represent Sloth, since he is probably not responsible for any death.

That’s all I got from Benjamin. As he was leaving, he looked at me smiling and shouted “You’re screwed!”

I fear for my safety, but will try to investigate the sect some more, as soon as I can.



CREDIT: Logan Raul

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Creepypasta Publishing Announcement

by cnkguy
Creepypasta Publishing Announcement

Creepypasta PublishingReading Time: 2 minutes



We here at creepypasta are proud to announce our first venture into book publishing. We’ve just released a very special paperback edition of Christopher Maxim‘s book, “How To Exit Your Body and Other Stange Tales” (Click HERE to check out his stories on the site). If you’re unfamiliar with the book, it is a collection of seven of his short stories with beautiful artwork by Crowtesque and a foreword by popular YouTube narrator CreepsMcPasta.

How To Exit Your Body Book


This special paperback release (pictured above) includes a brand new cover designed by the talented Steven Rhodes (you may have seen some of his t-shirts in Hot Topic and/or Spencer’s, including his famous “Let’s Summon Demons” design, pictured below).

Let's Summon Demons


In addition, Steven has added a t-shirt for the book to his online shop as part of his ever-popular “For Beginners” collection (the design can be printed on other merch as well):

How To Exit Your Body Shirt


Click HERE to check out the book

Click HERE to check out the shirt

Click HERE to follow Christopher Maxim on facebook

If you can’t afford to buy this paperback edition but you still want to read the book, click HERE to get the Kindle edition for $0.99 (or FREE with Kindle Unlimited). No matter which version you get, be sure to leave a review once you’re done reading!


Creepypasta Publishing is a way for us to help horror writers publish their work and spread their stories to a whole new audience. We plan on releasing a brand new book next month from an up and coming author (already in the works). Thank you to the creepypasta fandom for your continued support, and thank you for taking the time to read these tales day in and day out. Stay tuned for our next announcement!


The post Creepypasta Publishing Announcement appeared first on Creepypasta.



Creepy Pasta

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My Experiences with The Psychic Knock Game

by cnkguy
My Experiences with The Psychic Knock Game

My Experiences with The Psychic Knock GameReading Time: 8 minutes



If you’re reading this, then I assume you know all about Snapchat’s “Psychic Knock Game.” If not, you can click HERE to get caught up.

If you’re like me, then you’ve probably been perusing the creepypasta site over the past few days and noticed the countless posts pertaining to The Psychic Knock Game. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting pretty sick of them. I want my regularly scheduled stories back; anything that doesn’t involve that damned Snapchat ritual. I tried contacting the site through Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram, but to no avail. Each and every time, I was left on read. Typical. Still, I wasn’t about to give up. I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I thought it best to shame the story in an effort to get the posts taken down, or at the very least, make them stop. What better way to shame the ritual, I thought, than to disprove it all together; show the creepypasta fandom that it was a bunch of malarkey; something that wasn’t worth reading – or at least not worth numerous posts about it. I would play the game, film my experience, and post the video all over, calling out the story on its obvious bullshit. Simple. Or so I thought.

I faced a big obstacle in initiating gameplay. The first step called for gathering a large group of connected individuals, but I lacked the resources to do so. Most of my good friends had moved away, either out of town or out of state. There was no way they’d make the trip just to help me make a point on the internet. Family was out of the question as well; they’re all a bunch of normies, for lack of a better term – they would neither understand the concept of the game nor the reason for me attempting to disprove it. I would be judged and ridiculed for even partaking in something so ‘silly’ and ‘trite.’ In light of all of this, I hatched a plan.

I connected with callme_469 on Snapchat and sent a message, asking if there were any solo instructions for the psychic knock game. My hope was that whoever owned the account (more than likely the writer of the first post) would be intrigued by my query and create a list of steps for would-be players who had no friends. Another twist in the game’s fabric, so to speak. Screenshotting the response and filming the subsequent video would be enough to convince folks that the game was a load of crap – just as good as following the original post’s instructions to a tee. That was the plan, anyway.

A few hours passed with no reply. I was beginning to think that I was embarking on a hopeless endeavor, but a familiar sound lifted my spirits.


 It was a snap from callme_469. Upon opening the notification, I was greeted to an image of a handwritten note; more specifically, a set of steps titled Psychic Knock Solo Play. Success! The only thing left to do was play and shame. I was one step closer to “fixing” one of my favorite sites and bringing it back to its former, psychic-knockless glory. Victory was just around the corner.

I screenshotted the snap and read aloud to myself:

  1. Wear black
  2. Choose a door to knock on
  3. Sit, cross-legged on the floor
  4. Place a picture of the door in question, as well as a map to its location, directly in front of you
  5. There must be complete silence
  6. With eyes shut, concentrate on the map and visualize moving to the door
  7. While visualizing, raise your right hand and knock in the air, three times

The steps were very similar to those in the original post, save for the group aspect. In addition, there was an eerie post script at the bottom of the note:

Solo play is not recommended. A great deal of energy is required to knock. Without a group, you put yourself at risk. Tread carefully.


Ahh. A little zest of danger to discourage me from playing. Nice try, OP, but I don’t scare easy. At this point, I still had every intention of following through with my plan and ending this guy’s continuum of ritualistic nonsense. Nothing, not even a well-placed warning, would keep me from seeing this thing through.

I chose the perfect day. My stoner roommate was out of the house, and my noisy neighbors were at the beach. I would be able to perform the ritual, in silence, just as the instructions called for. The last thing I needed was some douche bag in the comment section of the video saying I heard something in the background. That’s why it didn’t work. After uploading my experience, I wanted there to be no doubt in anyone’s mind that the game was utter bullshit. No backlash, no analysis, and absolutely no debunking my performance.  I needed a clean run, through and through.

I threw on a black shirt, sat down in my living room, placed a photo of my own door on the floor in front of me, as well as a MapQuest from my house, around my neighborhood, back to my house again. I decided it best to use my own door as the target, as this was the only way I could corroborate my findings in one, seamless video. After visualizing a nice stroll around the cul-de-sac, I pictured the entrance to my home and raised my hand to knock. The game was afoot.

I was able to knock the required amount of times, however, in between knocks, things became a bit troublesome. I’ll describe the experience below:


Though only imagining the events, I felt my skin make contact with the door, and in turn, heard the loud thud of a knock. Despite the game’s rules, I opened my eyes and looked ahead, astonished. I used my free hand to angle the camera directly at the door as I continued.


I shut my eyes once more, visualized the same scene, and motioned my hand accordingly. Again, the wood of the door met my knuckles and a loud knock reverberated throughout the house. I opened my eyes again, but was now greeted with a blurry sight. A wave of drowsiness came over me, as if I’d popped a couple Benadryl. With it, I saw spots in the air; little blotches of light burned into my retina.


With what little strength I had, I made the final knock. The sound that followed was jarring. It wasn’t louder than the previous ones, no… just different. It had a strange, almost metallic reverb, and lingered for far too long. It lasted for a solid minute before dissipating, a continuous dissonance that flowed through every crevice of the room, causing my skin to crawl. In this moment, the room spun, and my stomach turned. Just as severe dizziness took hold, I saw the door open, though I couldn’t discern the action’s source. Before I knew it, it was lights out.

When I awoke, the door was still open; not to my neighborhood, but to a forest of sorts. Perplexed, I walked out, noticing a peculiar dirt path lined with overarching trees, leading from my doorstep into the depths of the woods. Ominous, yes, but I didn’t feel as though I was in any immediate danger. The atmosphere of this place was anything if not tranquil. A bizarre yet peaceful escape from real life. In truth, I had forgotten all about the psychic knock game, as well as the events that led me to that moment. I was in a strange stupor; a euphoria brought on by drugs unknown. In this state, the only thing I felt was a growing compulsion to move forward. I placated this sensation and braved the wilderness ahead, officially beginning my journey into the forest.

I walked for what seemed like hours, though time felt irrelevant in whatever realm I was in. I eventually came to a small clearing at the forest’s edge, where it became apparent that I wasn’t alone. In that clearing was a man, facing away from me – before him, a set of doors, standing upright of their own accord. Though my absent-minded state may have been to blame, I still felt no danger. Only calm. The man turned around and gestured for me to come closer. I obliged, walking through a space between two of the doors. I was able to get a better look of the man, who was dressed in old-fashioned attire; a white button up, black pants, suspenders, dress shoes, and a skully-cap. Hanging from his side was the chain to a pocket watch. Where his facial features should have been was a pit of darkness; a swirling vortex of black energy. This was alarming, but euphoria kept me from feeling unnerved.

The man spread his arms, reaching towards the doors and then spoke with a gravelly, artificial voice.

“What would you like to know?”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked at him, mystified by his presence. He spoke again.

“Pick a door. Learn. Come back. Repeat.”

He stood there, motionless, waiting for me to humor him. I was still confused, but did as he said, walking over to the closest door and then looking back at him.

“Enter and you shall see.”

I looked back at the door in front of me, grabbed the knob, and took a deep breath. Still calm as could be, I swung it open, walked past the doorframe, and entered a new world.

From this point on, things got weird. Super weird. I entered and exited each and every door there, traversing strange locations as I did. One door led me into a retro, boxcar diner, flying through space. One led me into an old antiques shop, filled with items that harbored unique powers. Another brought me to a town completely frozen in time. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. Calling it surreal would be a severe understatement. For one reason or another, I was being allowed glimpses into places, worlds, and universes I was never meant to see. A mortal walking amongst the heavens. In the short period of time I was granted this power, I felt… eternal.

Upon exiting the last door, the unusual man offered me one last bit of wisdom.

“We oversee. We correct. We control.”

There was a brief pause before he finished his sentiment.

“Now you know.”

The swirling energy on his face vanished, revealing a blank slate of skin, void of expression. The doors were next, disappearing one by one as the forest around them transformed into pitch blackness. Before long, I could see nothing. Nothing but darkness. The euphoria subsided, sweat dripped from my brow, and my breaths became rapid and arrythmic. I didn’t know what was happening at the time, but I now realize I was waking up.

I jolted to life, opening my eyes as wide as possible, surveying my surroundings. I was in a hospital bed, hooked up to life support; an IV, a breathing tube; the whole nine yards. In the room was a nurse, my family, and even my stoner roommate, all seemingly ecstatic that I had woken. A doctor walked in and undid the breathing apparatus, allowing me to speak. That’s when I learned everything.

Apparently, my roommate had come home to find me unconscious in the living room, face down on the hardwood floor. When he couldn’t wake me, he called 911 and then my parents. I was rushed to the hospital where it was determined I had suffered a head injury and succumb to a concussion-induced coma. It was also determined that I was severely dehydrated and vitamin deficient. The head injury came from falling over after passing out, but the cause for my nutrition levels was unknown. Luckily, after getting the appropriate fluids, I was able to fight my impromptu slumber and wake myself up. All’s well that ends well, I suppose.

And that’s everything that happened. You might think I don’t eat properly, don’t drink as much water as I should, and wound up in a strange dream after passing out from exhaustion. Those who think the game is fake will continue to think this, those who think it’s real will subscribe to the idea that I didn’t follow through due to my accident, and the site will keep pumping out psychic knock stories until the cows come home. Right? Well, not exactly.

You see, I had my camera the whole time. I filmed every moment from the start of the ritual, up to my meeting with the strange man. It wasn’t a dream. You can watch the video by clicking here. Some parts aren’t salvageable due to a bizarre electrical interference, but I pieced together enough to prove my story. See for yourself and make your own judgement. Oh yeah, and don’t play this fucking game, if you know what’s good for you. I very well could have died.

You’ve been warned.

CREDIT: Christopher Maxim

(Click HERE to check out Christopher Maxim’s latest book, How To Exit Your Body and Other Strange Tales)

**Click HERE to check out creepypasta’s official YouTube channel**

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