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Cold life in mirrorLike always I sitting and stare at world from mirror. I don't need to know how real world is. I looked around. Everywhere was white walls with a lot of mirrors, gray fog hide everything what was a bit farer. I heard quiet whispers. I lived here my whole existence. But I feel that I need something. I never was happy like others were. I don't understand why they smiling, laughing and spend so much time with somebody...
Today I again watching what happens in my master's residence. There wasn't anything special. Everyone doing things which they usually do. So, like always this annoying girlie starts bang to one of mirrors screaming my name. Why she everyday must disturb me... I come to mirror on which other side she was.
-DONT TOUCH MY MIRROR!- I yelled at her. I really hate when others make my mirrors dirty. But she ignored it and smiled to me like fool.
-Come play with us!- she said
Great... I have here job to do and she wants playing. I looked after her. Dead Mary and masked man were he
July 15, 1897
"No! No, no, no! The note is 'F', not 'A'! Preform the song correctly the first time and don't disappoint me any further."
"Start back at the top. For every mistake you make you will repeat the song that many times over until you can finish the song without making a single error."
Abiding his mother's orders, Cyril continued to play his beloved violin. Although he loved playing the violin, he didn't particularly care for his mother's harsh words and punishments. Cyril didn't want to disappoint her, so he continued to play.
"Cyril! The note on the measure is 'F'! How much mired do you wish to anger me!?" His mother scowled and spoke with disdain.
"I'm s-sorry.. I'm trying, I really am! See?" Cyril tried to play the song again, but was interrupted by his enraged mother.
"No, you don't 'try' to play correctly. You will play correctly. You're a noble. You shouldn't be such a disappointment. Nobleman are supposed to set an example amongst the common p
in flesh and bloodHe finds her unassumingly. She's just standing there, cheeks ruddy, bundled in a forest green jacket lined with fake—he thinks—fur. He finds her, hands in pockets, feet atop the grass. The light that floods the panes of her face casts dark shadows beneath her eyes and along her jaw and he thinks for a moment that she might be kind of beautiful.
"Why are you standing before the Eiffel Tower and looking so sad?"
Her head snaps. He counts, one, two, three, seconds, and then she turns her face upward toward the monument in front of the two. They are alone. She doesn't say anything and then she's saying something and he has to turn his attention from the angles of her face to her brown, brown, brown eyes.
"Do you think it's lonely?" Of course not, he thinks. Of course not.
But all he can utter is no as he stares up at it. When she asks him why he sputters and turns to face her again, and sh
Creepypasta: ThreadbareCreepypasta: Threadbare
No one knows the name of the homeless bloke who lived under the overpass, who he was, or where he came from. Most assumed him to be just another person with a physical or possibly mental handicap that kept him from working, like countless others within the inner core of Detroit. You, being a kind soul at your most basic, thought you would give him a gift possibly more precious than a handout. You thought it would be a profound gesture of kindness to sit down with the man and ask him about his life.
As you approach him, lying in his makeshift lean-to and looking out on the world that cast him out, you don’t feel scared in the least. He has never exhibited any signs of hostile behaviour in the four years he has dwelled beneath the overpass, and in fact seems to show an admirably content attitude on his station in life.
“Hello, do you need someone to talk to? I have plenty of spare time, it’s Sunday so I don’t have work or anything” yo
Mocking Bird”Hush Little Baby, don't say a word.” The voice came from the naked girl, covered in grime and blood as she staggered through the market, blood flowing freely from the deep cuts in her wrists and legs, yet still she staggered on, a blood stained shard of glass in her hand, she stared blindly forward, with dark unseeing eyes, ”Mommy's going to bye you a mocking bird.” She sang, like a broken thing, her voice near tears. No one listened to her, as they pushed past her, as if she didn't even exist. The street was crowded, yet they all parted, giving her a way, However, other then that, they ignored her. They all knew that she was beyond help. ”And If that Mockingbird don't sing... The thing sang, her voice starting to crack, she knew what was coming, the man was coming. Her throat was raw, she had been singing for hours, yet, of it's own volition, her body still sang. ”Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring.” her leg
Ritual of Death Sometime in the 90’s, a group of children were reportedly attacked outside their school building. The school was nearly vacant, and the kids were only there for an after-school club. They told police that they were held prisoner inside while a creature prowled around outside. One boy and a girl tried to make a run for it, and insisted that they were attacked by a creature with many faces.
The boy told them that the creature bragged about having 1000 faces, and offered to show them every one of the faces it had. They both refused to look as the creature’s head began to change. The boy reported that they stood there, facing the direction opposite the creature with their eyes closed, for the longest time until the creature had finished. It then whispered a few words to the boy before disappearing.
The boy only remembers one thing from the words the creature had said, and he called it the “Ritual of Death”. Po
Creepypasta: The World within Our OwnCreepypasta: The World within Our Own
Well, here you are. A city boy who had just moved in with their uncle in Williamsbrook, a town with a population of 223 including you. Barely enough to qualify as hamlet material, really. You are currently standing about a hundred or so yards from the barn that is your destination. You know what you will find inside: nothing. These rural legends always amount to jack shit, and no wonder. If there was really anything odd out here it would have been investigated to death by all those paranormal news things that are so popular on the Internet, and they never turn up anything substantial either. Buncha hicks with too much time and boredom probably got drunk and started spreading the first sightings of him.
The one they call the Watcher.
Those who’ve claimed to have seen him always maintained it was around the locale of this barn. Before long it became a commonly accepted part of the myth that it was his dwelling. As you approach the barn you thin
Request: Jagoman169In a quiet forest in medieval Japan, everything was very tranquil with the moonlit sky giving light through the trees. A figure was standing against a tree. At first, you would think that this was just an ordinary soldier, but look closer and you will find something horrid and ghastly about this particular fellow. He was an undead. He was adorned in samurai armor with colors of red and black with a yellow trim. And his skin was pale grey and had the usual characteristics as a zombie. Nonetheless, he was nicely built and was a proficient fighter. Before he died, that is.
This undead samurai was once a proud, wise warrior in his class. He was married and had a family. It was the unfortunate untimely death that this good man was slain in battle. But he wouldn’t remain dead for long. After he was put to rest in his grave, a dark evil force invaded and reanimated his body as a spooky undead. Now he walks with a dark blue floating ghost head. He wander for many years after his resurrec
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