tbok1992
2013-03-27, 01:22 AM
Exactly what it sounds like. Post your creepypasta here for the whole boards to see! If you don't have any to post, or you just want to put in your two cents, post some commentary on some other folk's pastas, it's all good.
I really do hope there's some criticism and critique, as the other (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=274887) two topics (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=260071)* I posted asking for critique of my work didn't get much/any response. I'm not making an aside to ask for critique of my work but...
Who am I kidding, yeah I am. Pleeeease? I'd be really happy if ya did so!
Regardless of that shamefull/shameless self-promotion, let's get on track with my creepypasta to start it off, based on a primal fear everyone who's ever faced off with Nemesis, Pyramid Head or even Evil Otto will be familiar with:
Dear Thomas,
By the time you have gotten this letter, I will be dead. You will likely find it beneath a gaming console, adjacent to my chewed body between the filth I have accumulated during this ordeal. At least I will be free from this fear, the feeling of being hunted by that thing, stalked through the shadows that grow longer as I wait.
But that I will explain later. First I must tell you, please, burn this house. I leave it to you for this purpose and this alone, for I fear some other men may be stalked by the thing I have unleashed. Burn the walls, break the foundations, salt the earth, please, whatever you do, make this place unhaunted by this shadow that grows nearer as I write.
But, you do not know of why I ask for this, so I will explain. I am a technology reporter by trade, and one of some minor renown. You may have read several of my articles, though I would not be surprised if you haven’t. And you might, if you are deeply familiar with my work, have heard that I was formerly in the process of writing a book on unfinished software, specifically those video and computer games that were put into production but never finished.
I do not know where the manuscript that book is. Likely somewhere beneath the filth and trash, trampled by unnatural footfalls and wettened by drool from a hungering maw. If you are sane, it will likely find a place in the inferno when the house is burnt. But, that is neither here nor there.
Anyway, I was searching online for further possible subjects, when I saw an article. The website’s name escapes me at the moment, but it spoke of a game known simply by the working title of CHASE. Apparently, it was meant as a launch title for the original PlayStation, started in development as far back as when the console was merely a disc drive for the Super Nintendo.
The article said that the developers wanted to create “primordial fear”, and “a new breed of horror,” but it also said that one day they were gone. Not broken up or gone bankrupt mind you, but gone. One day a reporter walked into their offices for an interview, only to find it completely empty except for a white CD with the words CHASE hastily sharpied on.
Of course, my curiosity was piqued. I had to know more. A rare, long-in-development PS1 title that, to my knowledge had almost no information recorded on it? This could be the coup my book needed, that copy-pushing commercial hook.
So I searched. You’d think the game would be night unsearchable, but I managed to find a way. Most pages were a copy paste of the original article I’d found, but still I kept searching. Then finally, I found it.
It was a crudely made website on Geocities, with a blank grey background covered in a bizarre, incoherent rant in poor English. Perhaps if I had read the rant a bit closer, I would have been deterred. But I did not care about it, as I saw the one thing that interested me.
And that was a white disc with the word CHASE scrawled up on it and a manual with strange, cryptic symbols on its surface. It was available for only five dollars, which should have been a warning sign right away. But, alas, I bought it.
Five dollars is impossibly cheap for a piece of beta software that rare, and nowhere else in my searches could I find such a sale. And if the website, by some estimation, turned out to be a hoax, I have wasted far more money chasing far lesser stories.
So, I sent, I waited, and the game came. The package was a beaten and ugly cardboard sleeve, and it appeared unmarked but for the word CHASE written on its front. I took the disc case and booklet out, ignoring the smell of sweat and burnt plastic, looked at the manual, discarding it for the strange and labrynthine text in its pages, opened the disc, ignoring how it felt oily to the touch, and placed it in the hacked Playstation I had bought for this purpose.
There the face, the face that haunts me as I write, filled the screen, and the game began.
And over the last four months, it has never stopped.
I have played this game for days upon end. The rules are as simple as the controls. Run about the strange, polygonial tomb on the screen. Solve the various puzzles around the area to get farther into the tomb. Do not get caught by THE BEAST that runs about the arena.
THE BEAST is a hideous thing, a flabby white abomination rendered in hideous polygons, flapping bonelessly on thick white legs as it shambles towards my character. First I hear the screeching howl, as I work with the latest puzzle that the game has given me. Then the words of warning flash at me, in bold text blaring at me as the thudding footsteps come through my speakers. Then I see it, the drooling maw of sharp textureless teeth, and those… red… eyes. My hands fumble with the controller, and the character runs, hoping he will make it to the next challenge as the thing lopes behind him.
The world of the game is a cold, mad place, blending polygonal spiky structures of glass and metal with crudely-textured stonework of elder ages, and lakes of black slime that claw and gnaw at my legs with sprited animations but never truly touch them. It appears to be endless, the angles forming into neverending; indefinitely varied digital landscapes where only the sounds of my footsteps and of THE BEAST echo from my speakers.
It gives me weapons, but merely as a taunt. No matter which blade or missile I use in the game, it will never die. It bleeds, it screams, it weeps, but it never stops shambling with those horrible thudding steps.
I get no joy out of travailing these blasted plains, pulling levers and switches in pointless puzzles with a controller in a dark room, hitting the same button time after time in furious tedium. But this is worse than what happens if I stop. If my fingers weary after the twentieth block puzzle, and the thing catches up to me, the sounds growing louder and louder, and the thing comes to me, and polygonial body catches polygonial body.
When that happens, that face fills my screen, that face of jagged teeth and those red eyes, the hunting eyes which no true computer texture could replicate, chewing my polygonial avatar to red polygons as he now stares at me. And in the shadows of the house, I hear the sound of thudding feet.
Whatever horrors his portrayal in the game may have, they are but a shadow of his real appearance. The flabby, impossibly smooth white flesh stinking of molten plastic, the flopping multitude of legs that implacably shamble towards me, the teeth like a mouth of steel knives soaked in gore, and those eyes, those eyes which stare at me in hunger.
And I run from it, grabbing the knife and walking about the house, becoming more like the maze on my screen. For I must complete the ritual to banish it, to send the thing back to the game, so I may run from it once more in the digital realm where my body may fail me less.
Ah, yes, the ritual, a rule of the game I have forgotten to outline. You may have seen in the forensic lab the scars on my body, cut in haste as I run about this hell, and the strange plastics sunken into my skin as I grab it from the walls where the creature has run before. I assure you, that (Along with playing along with the damnable game) this is a preferable alternative to being devoured. For while my life has become hell, I do still dearly cling to it.
It bit me once, recently, just a scratch from its teeth as I used the knife. But from the wounds grow white pustules that burn with pain every ten minutes or so, causing me to give pause as I play and letting it inch ever closer so it may come out. I fear to wonder what would have happened if it had bitten deeper.
There are moments where I may pause, every twenty-four hours on the dot (I think), for a cinematic cut-scene. They are always different, but always contain the same subject. Madmen rant of society’s weaknesses, always in a different civilization, some alien to even my sensibilities, some disturbingly close to our own. But then THE BEAST comes and devours them all, its hungry maw annihilating their works, while the madmen melt into its flesh screeching in joy. Then it is back to the hunt.
My harrowing state has made me able to read the manual during these scenes, but it is useless, bringing more questions than answers. It starts off with a description of the game, not too dissimilar from the one I play aside from the obvious, but sixteen pages through. in the biography of the developers it dives into madness. It rants of “calling lights of screaming kings,” “the cold chains of matter,” “The first and last fear” and maddening repetitions of “the great chain of being”. And as I flip through it, there is always another page to horrify me.
I have not eaten or slept in the months that I have been trapped. Perhaps THE BEAST wants to play with me, to savor my hunting and the feast, though I doubt it thinks of anything but its hunger. Or perhaps the game is a trap for humanity and I am its first victim, I cannot say. I have tried to escape, many times. But the thing will not let me, any way I leave leads me back, it always does. Perhaps I am in its maze. Perhaps I am insane. But, I doubt it
I end again with a warning, burn down this house. Burn down this house, for you cannot let it esca
YoUrS WIth sOrROw
ValDinE p. ROpERs
I hope you like it! And I hope you all have some good and original pastas to show our awaiting eyes!
*The former of which's flaws in the realms of characterization, mystery and pacing are well documented on the RPGNet thread I posted it on as well, and which I will get to in Draft 3 as soon as I finish this backlog of school writing.
I really do hope there's some criticism and critique, as the other (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=274887) two topics (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=260071)* I posted asking for critique of my work didn't get much/any response. I'm not making an aside to ask for critique of my work but...
Who am I kidding, yeah I am. Pleeeease? I'd be really happy if ya did so!
Regardless of that shamefull/shameless self-promotion, let's get on track with my creepypasta to start it off, based on a primal fear everyone who's ever faced off with Nemesis, Pyramid Head or even Evil Otto will be familiar with:
Dear Thomas,
By the time you have gotten this letter, I will be dead. You will likely find it beneath a gaming console, adjacent to my chewed body between the filth I have accumulated during this ordeal. At least I will be free from this fear, the feeling of being hunted by that thing, stalked through the shadows that grow longer as I wait.
But that I will explain later. First I must tell you, please, burn this house. I leave it to you for this purpose and this alone, for I fear some other men may be stalked by the thing I have unleashed. Burn the walls, break the foundations, salt the earth, please, whatever you do, make this place unhaunted by this shadow that grows nearer as I write.
But, you do not know of why I ask for this, so I will explain. I am a technology reporter by trade, and one of some minor renown. You may have read several of my articles, though I would not be surprised if you haven’t. And you might, if you are deeply familiar with my work, have heard that I was formerly in the process of writing a book on unfinished software, specifically those video and computer games that were put into production but never finished.
I do not know where the manuscript that book is. Likely somewhere beneath the filth and trash, trampled by unnatural footfalls and wettened by drool from a hungering maw. If you are sane, it will likely find a place in the inferno when the house is burnt. But, that is neither here nor there.
Anyway, I was searching online for further possible subjects, when I saw an article. The website’s name escapes me at the moment, but it spoke of a game known simply by the working title of CHASE. Apparently, it was meant as a launch title for the original PlayStation, started in development as far back as when the console was merely a disc drive for the Super Nintendo.
The article said that the developers wanted to create “primordial fear”, and “a new breed of horror,” but it also said that one day they were gone. Not broken up or gone bankrupt mind you, but gone. One day a reporter walked into their offices for an interview, only to find it completely empty except for a white CD with the words CHASE hastily sharpied on.
Of course, my curiosity was piqued. I had to know more. A rare, long-in-development PS1 title that, to my knowledge had almost no information recorded on it? This could be the coup my book needed, that copy-pushing commercial hook.
So I searched. You’d think the game would be night unsearchable, but I managed to find a way. Most pages were a copy paste of the original article I’d found, but still I kept searching. Then finally, I found it.
It was a crudely made website on Geocities, with a blank grey background covered in a bizarre, incoherent rant in poor English. Perhaps if I had read the rant a bit closer, I would have been deterred. But I did not care about it, as I saw the one thing that interested me.
And that was a white disc with the word CHASE scrawled up on it and a manual with strange, cryptic symbols on its surface. It was available for only five dollars, which should have been a warning sign right away. But, alas, I bought it.
Five dollars is impossibly cheap for a piece of beta software that rare, and nowhere else in my searches could I find such a sale. And if the website, by some estimation, turned out to be a hoax, I have wasted far more money chasing far lesser stories.
So, I sent, I waited, and the game came. The package was a beaten and ugly cardboard sleeve, and it appeared unmarked but for the word CHASE written on its front. I took the disc case and booklet out, ignoring the smell of sweat and burnt plastic, looked at the manual, discarding it for the strange and labrynthine text in its pages, opened the disc, ignoring how it felt oily to the touch, and placed it in the hacked Playstation I had bought for this purpose.
There the face, the face that haunts me as I write, filled the screen, and the game began.
And over the last four months, it has never stopped.
I have played this game for days upon end. The rules are as simple as the controls. Run about the strange, polygonial tomb on the screen. Solve the various puzzles around the area to get farther into the tomb. Do not get caught by THE BEAST that runs about the arena.
THE BEAST is a hideous thing, a flabby white abomination rendered in hideous polygons, flapping bonelessly on thick white legs as it shambles towards my character. First I hear the screeching howl, as I work with the latest puzzle that the game has given me. Then the words of warning flash at me, in bold text blaring at me as the thudding footsteps come through my speakers. Then I see it, the drooling maw of sharp textureless teeth, and those… red… eyes. My hands fumble with the controller, and the character runs, hoping he will make it to the next challenge as the thing lopes behind him.
The world of the game is a cold, mad place, blending polygonal spiky structures of glass and metal with crudely-textured stonework of elder ages, and lakes of black slime that claw and gnaw at my legs with sprited animations but never truly touch them. It appears to be endless, the angles forming into neverending; indefinitely varied digital landscapes where only the sounds of my footsteps and of THE BEAST echo from my speakers.
It gives me weapons, but merely as a taunt. No matter which blade or missile I use in the game, it will never die. It bleeds, it screams, it weeps, but it never stops shambling with those horrible thudding steps.
I get no joy out of travailing these blasted plains, pulling levers and switches in pointless puzzles with a controller in a dark room, hitting the same button time after time in furious tedium. But this is worse than what happens if I stop. If my fingers weary after the twentieth block puzzle, and the thing catches up to me, the sounds growing louder and louder, and the thing comes to me, and polygonial body catches polygonial body.
When that happens, that face fills my screen, that face of jagged teeth and those red eyes, the hunting eyes which no true computer texture could replicate, chewing my polygonial avatar to red polygons as he now stares at me. And in the shadows of the house, I hear the sound of thudding feet.
Whatever horrors his portrayal in the game may have, they are but a shadow of his real appearance. The flabby, impossibly smooth white flesh stinking of molten plastic, the flopping multitude of legs that implacably shamble towards me, the teeth like a mouth of steel knives soaked in gore, and those eyes, those eyes which stare at me in hunger.
And I run from it, grabbing the knife and walking about the house, becoming more like the maze on my screen. For I must complete the ritual to banish it, to send the thing back to the game, so I may run from it once more in the digital realm where my body may fail me less.
Ah, yes, the ritual, a rule of the game I have forgotten to outline. You may have seen in the forensic lab the scars on my body, cut in haste as I run about this hell, and the strange plastics sunken into my skin as I grab it from the walls where the creature has run before. I assure you, that (Along with playing along with the damnable game) this is a preferable alternative to being devoured. For while my life has become hell, I do still dearly cling to it.
It bit me once, recently, just a scratch from its teeth as I used the knife. But from the wounds grow white pustules that burn with pain every ten minutes or so, causing me to give pause as I play and letting it inch ever closer so it may come out. I fear to wonder what would have happened if it had bitten deeper.
There are moments where I may pause, every twenty-four hours on the dot (I think), for a cinematic cut-scene. They are always different, but always contain the same subject. Madmen rant of society’s weaknesses, always in a different civilization, some alien to even my sensibilities, some disturbingly close to our own. But then THE BEAST comes and devours them all, its hungry maw annihilating their works, while the madmen melt into its flesh screeching in joy. Then it is back to the hunt.
My harrowing state has made me able to read the manual during these scenes, but it is useless, bringing more questions than answers. It starts off with a description of the game, not too dissimilar from the one I play aside from the obvious, but sixteen pages through. in the biography of the developers it dives into madness. It rants of “calling lights of screaming kings,” “the cold chains of matter,” “The first and last fear” and maddening repetitions of “the great chain of being”. And as I flip through it, there is always another page to horrify me.
I have not eaten or slept in the months that I have been trapped. Perhaps THE BEAST wants to play with me, to savor my hunting and the feast, though I doubt it thinks of anything but its hunger. Or perhaps the game is a trap for humanity and I am its first victim, I cannot say. I have tried to escape, many times. But the thing will not let me, any way I leave leads me back, it always does. Perhaps I am in its maze. Perhaps I am insane. But, I doubt it
I end again with a warning, burn down this house. Burn down this house, for you cannot let it esca
YoUrS WIth sOrROw
ValDinE p. ROpERs
I hope you like it! And I hope you all have some good and original pastas to show our awaiting eyes!
*The former of which's flaws in the realms of characterization, mystery and pacing are well documented on the RPGNet thread I posted it on as well, and which I will get to in Draft 3 as soon as I finish this backlog of school writing.