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Messages - Skill Flea

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General Discussion / Re: Writer's Block & Solutions
« on: 08:36:47 AM 11/26/15 »
Ha Ha. I liked how cliche that sounds. I think I might have to try that. In the 10 days since I started this thread, I'm still in a writing funk. I've been able to do some YouTube stuff and also be active on a few forums but writing has been rough for me - I also have 30 unfinished stories now.

General Discussion / Something Different?
« on: 12:32:14 PM 11/24/15 »
DaN was a graduated English majOr and Dylan was studying to be a sports journalist. Both had wRitten short stories for there classes on Multiple topics. So even though both pArties had never read creepypasta, both had deaLt with short story analysis in college.

They thought it would be a few easy bucks.

They were foolish for playing my game. 

What happened to them? The answer will be revealed soon:

Billy woke up in the middle of the night, awakened by one of his usual nightmares. But this time they were worse, instead of seeing them die, he was the one who killed them. Cold sweat rolled down his forehead, his eyes were wide open, they felt like he hadn't closed them in hours.

The nightmare played in his head all over again like someone just pressed the rewind button and played it again from the beginning. Billy's hands felt frozen like pitchforks, shaking, trying to get a grip onto something, his eyes just stared blankly at the blankets covering his legs, when the nightmare slowly faded in his mind, he raised his head slowly and right in front of his bed saw... a big... yellow... T-Rex wearing what seemed to be a pretty big but tight for his size sombrero. He was pretty small for a T-Rex, but it was still big nonetheless. His head touched the ceiling, and he had his tail wrapped around him on the floor, it was too big for the room.

Billy tried to scream but suddenly something hit him in the head like a hammer, if the hammer was real it would have blown Billy's head to bits. Heck, the image of his wall covered in blood, brains and bits of head was already on his mind, the image stayed for a couple of seconds before his mind focused back on the dinosaur.

A dinosaur Billy could swear he had met before.

The dinosaur leaned forward, Billy could feel the dinosaur's warm breath on his face. Billy could now make out more details from the sombrero, it was made with light brown felt, it had a crimson and white floral pattern on the sides and on the top, with shiny gold-colored glitter on the white spots.

The dinosaur stared at Billy for almost a full minute. Billy was surprised to find that he was not only not afraid of the dinosaur but he kind of felt safe around him, the dinosaur opened his mouth and spoke, oddly enough his mouth was not moving as he talked, it was like someone was inside the dinosaur and was talking from inside.

"You okay, Danny?" asked the dinosaur with a deep voice which oddly enough sounded more human than anything else.

Danny nodded slowly, as he dragged his knees up to his chest and the wrapped his arms around them, eyeing the dinosaur hoping he was here to help. The dinosaur raised his head and then slowly looked at the digital clock sitting on Danny's nightstand, the clock shined the numbers 6:25 on its screen, the dinosaur turned his head to Danny then spoke again:

“Nightmares again? You should go back to sleep, Teddy.”

Teddy shook his head quickly, as he unfolded his legs slowly and said:

“I'm afraid of the nightmares...” he said in what sounded more like a whimper, the dinosaur looked around the room, his tail slammed against one of the nightstand's legs, knocking it over, but neither the boy or the dinosaur cared, not even his who were parents sleeping next door noticed the sound.

“What's your name?” Teddy asked as the dinosaur looked at the toys sitting on Teddy's shelf, the dinosaur stared blankly at a Teddy bear on the shelf as he spoke:

“Don't you remember my name? We used to be good friends Steve...”

Steve blinked, not remembering being friends with any dinosaur, but that might explain why he felt that way with Jerry, yes, Jerry, he remembered now:

“It's Jerry, right?” Steve asked as he crawled to the other end of his bed slowly, the dinosaur looked over and nodded with a smile on his reptilian lips, he then turned around holding a Teddy bear with the name Joshua on it:

“This one is yours, right?” Jerry handed it over to Joshua who hopped off the bed almost tripping over the dinosaur's tail, once Joshua got back his balance he nodded and took it, squeezing it in a hug:

“Can we play a game?” Joshua smiled softly to him, the dinosaur returned the smile and nodded, they both sat on the ground and played with Joshua's toys, Joshua played as the teddy bear, and Jerry played as the man in the jacket with the knife in the right pocket, they both made jokes and laughed as they played.

Then they played checkers, Joshua was the black ones, and Jerry the red ones.

Then they played robbers and cops, Joshua was the cop, and Jerry was the robber.

Then they played firefighters, Joshua was the firefighter and Jerry was the knife.

Then they played superheroes, Joshua was the superhero and Jerry the multiple stab wounds.

Then they played knights and dragons, Joshua was the gun, and Jerry the bullet piercing the skull.

They played checkers, Susan was the dead body, Jerry was the father.

Finally they played hide and seek in Susan's bedroom, Susan was the sin, Jerry was the broken glass.

They kept playing until it was time for Susan to get ready for school, he heard the door of her parent's bedroom open and the steps of someone walking towards her bedroom, Susan panicked, the room was a mess, toys were all over the floor and there was the dinosaur, she quickly turned to the dinosaur and...

He was gone...

Billy's mother opened the door and frowned at the sight of all the toys lying on the floor, after a good scolding and some breakfast, Billy was ready for school, Billy stood in front of the entrance door, waiting for his mother to bring his favorite Donald Duck winter hat from his room, she quickly ran down the stairs with the hat in hand, she gave it to Billy as she opened the door, the bus was about to arrive at any moment, outside, the front lawn looked completely white due to all the snow covering it, except for a spot with yellow snow his father was trying to cover with more snow:

“That asshole Lucas took a piss drunk on our lawn this morning again,” the father said to his wife between growls of anger and tiredness.

Billy was about to walk out when his mother got in his way, she dropped on her knees and gave Billy a little kiss on the cheek:

“I'm sorry I scolded you honey but you can't mess your room like that...” she stared into his eyes, “I hope I was not too harsh on you, was it one of your nightmares again?” she said, concerned.

Billy shook his head, what a lying prick.

Meanwhile the father had the idea of following that asshole of Lucas next time he took a piss and slam his head with the shovel over and over until his brains scattered all over the white snow, like painting on a blank canvas, then take a smoke while sitting on his dead body. The image flashed through his head, a little smile showed in his face, but again, it was just an idea.

Billy got on the bus and the day unfolded like any other day.

The bus drove down the lane, the sky had not a single cloud and the sun shined so much that the snow was almost able to blind someone, the bus stopped right in front of Billy's house. He hopped off the bus carefully not to miss a step and fall, then made his way to the house, he stopped by the doorstep and ringed the doorbell, his mother opened the door and smiled down to Billy who proceeded to walk in.


The bus drove down the lane, the sky had a bunch of clouds but the sun shined so much that the snow was almost able to blind someone. The bus stopped right in front of Billy's house, he hopped off the bus carefully not to miss a step and fall on his face, then made his way to the house, he stopped by the doorstep and ringed the doorbell. His mother opened the door and stared down at Billy who proceeded to walk in.


The bus drove down the lane, the sky had plenty of clouds but the sun shined so much that the snow was able to blind someone. The bus stopped right in front of Billy's house, he hopped off the bus carefully, not to miss a step and fall on his face and bleed on the clean sidewalk, then made his way to the house. He stopped by the doorstep and rang the doorbell. His mother opened the door and frowned down at Billy who proceeded to walk in.


The bus drove down the lane, the sky was cloudy, there was no sight of the sun, the bus stopped right in front of Billy's house. He hopped off the bus carefully, not to miss a step and fall on his face, break his little skull and soil the clean sidewalk with his brains, then made his way to the house. He stopped by the doorstep and rang the doorbell, no response... rang again... no response, he then realized the door was opened, two cops were inside, looking down at two dead bodies on the kitchen floor.

Jimmy stared at the two dead bodies, he could not see their faces and he did not want to in case those were his...

“Excuse me... Are you Jimmy?” one of the cops asked who noticed Steve by the door.

Steve nodded very slowly.

The cop sighed and then said:

“We are sorry about what happened... We will try to find who did it... Okay?” The cop stared into Joshua's eyes, trying to comfort him with an arm around his shoulder. The other cop was scratching his head while inspecting the bodies:

“It's like a dinosaur did it...”

It does not get any better than this.


It does not get any better than this.


This sucks I need a drink.

General Discussion / Re: Midnight Marinara Suggestion Box
« on: 08:44:12 PM 11/21/15 »
Another favorite I have is called "Sombrero Wearing Dinosaur" - yes that's actually the name of a well received creepypasta. In any case, I'm going to post the story on this website in the found pasta section. Let's see what you think - you may hate it or like it.

CreepyPastas Only / Rain Rain Go Away by Issac Asimov
« on: 12:55:34 PM 11/20/15 »
NOTE: This short story is an old one written in the 1950s by the great Isaac Asimov. Now he may be the most widely read science fiction author but sometimes, horror can be found in places you never think to look. This was partially rewritten by me in an attempt to make it more modern. Enjoy!

“There she is again,” said Lillian Wright as she adjusted the venetian blinds carefully. “There she is, George.”

“Who?” asked her husband, sitting down by the TV so that he might settle down to watch the ball game.

“Mrs. Sakkaro,” she said, “The new neighbors, for goodness sake.” “Sunbathing. Always sunbathing. I wonder where her boy is. He’s usually out on a nice day like this, standing in that tremendous yard of theirs and throwing the ball against the house. Did you ever see him, George?”

“Oh, I’ve heard him. It’s a version of the Chinese water torture. Bang on the wall, biff on the ground, smack in the hand. Bang, biff, smack, bang, bi—”

“He’s a nice boy! So quiet and well-behaved. I wish Tommie would make friends with him. He’s the right age, too, just about ten. I should say”

“I didn’t know Tommie had trouble making friends.” George said sounding slightly concerned.

“Well, it’s hard with the Sakkaros. They keep to themselves. I don’t even know what Mr. Sakkaro does for a living.”

“Why should you? It’s not really anyone’s business what he does.”

“But it’s so odd!” Lillian exclaimed “It’s odd that I never see him go to work.” She turned her attention back to the blinds “I think we should make an effort; the neighborhood should.”

“What kind of effort?” George was comfortable on the couch now, with a king-size soda in his hand, freshly opened and frosted with moisture.

“To get to know them.”
“Well, didn’t you, when she’d just moved in? You said you called.”

“I … said hello but … well, she’d just moved in and the house was still a mess … so that’s all it could be, just a friendly hello.”

Their conversation stopped for the moment and the house fell into silence, except the ball game on the TV. George continued to watch the game, cursing under his breath when his team struck out with the bases loaded. Lillian continued to look out the window studying her neighbors’ house. She continued to look at Mrs. Sakkaro who had suddenly stopped sunbathing. She began surveying the sky, took notice of a few cumulus clouds, and immediately ran back inside her home.
“She’s so odd.” Lillian shouted back at George who was snapped out of his trance.

“Wh-Why do you say that?”

“She’s always looking at the sky; I’ve seen her do it a hundred times and she’s never been out when it’s the least bit cloudy. Once, when the boy was out playing, she called to him to come in, shouting that it was going to rain. I happened to hear her and I thought:

“Oh no, I left the wash on the line!”

So I hurried out and it was broad sunlight. Sure, there were some clouds, but nothing, really.”

“Did it rain, eventually?” asked a more curious George

“Of course not. I just had to run out in the yard for nothing.”

George immediately became lost again amid a couple of base hits and a most embarrassing bobble that meant a run. When the excitement was over and the pitcher was trying to regain his composure, George called out after Lillian, who was vanishing back into the kitchen.

“Well, since they’re from Arizona, I dare say they don’t know rainclouds from any other kind.”

Lillian came back into the living room with a patter of high heels. “From where?”

“From Arizona, according to Tommie. He talked to their boy, in between ball chucks, I guess, and he told Tommie they came from Arizona and then the boy was called in. At least, Tommie says it might have been Arizona, or maybe Alabama. You know Tommie and his non-total recall. But if they’re that nervous about the weather, I guess its Arizona and they don’t know what to make out of a good rainy climate like ours.”
Lillian just shrugged: “I’ll simply just have to make her acquaintance. She looks very nice but … Honestly—

Now, George was out two days later on a reference search in the library and came home with a load of books. Lillian greeted him, her demeanor was different; he noted that she was more giddy than usual.

“Now, you’re not doing anything tomorrow.”

George sighed “That sounds like a statement, not a quest –“

“We’re going out with the Sakkaros to Murphy’s Park!!”

“Wooooow. How did you get that happen?”

“I just went up to their house this morning and rang the bell.” I stood there, jittering, with my finger on the doorbell, till I thought that ringing the bell would be easier than having the door open and being caught standing there like a fool.”

“And she didn’t kick you out?”

“What? No. No. Sh-She was sweet as she could be. Invited me in, knew who I was, said she was so glad I had come to visit. You know.”

“And you suggested Murphy’s Park.”

“Yes. I thought if I suggested something that would let the children have fun, it would be easier for her to go along with it. She wouldn’t want to spoil a chance for her boy. And by the way, you HAVE GOT TO see her home.”

“Ah. You had a reason for all this. It comes out. You wanted the Cook’s tour. But, please, spare me the color-scheme details. I’m not interested in the bedspreads, and the size of the closets is a topic with which I can dispense.”

Now, it was the secret of their happy marriage that Lillian paid no attention to George. She went into the color-scheme details and gave him an inch-by-inch description of closet-size. “And clean? I have never seen any place so spotless.” She practically gawked.

“If you get to know her, then, she’ll be setting you up with impossible standards.”

“Her kitchen,” said Lillian, ignoring him, “was so spanking clean you just couldn’t believe she ever used it.

I asked for a drink of water and she held the glass underneath the tap and poured slowly. So that not one drop fell in the sink itself. She did it so casually that I just knew she always did it that way. And when she gave me the glass she held it with a clean napkin. Just hospital-sanitary.”

“That’s defiantly a little weird….” Said George “She must be a lot of trouble to herself. Surely, she didn’t agree to come with us right off?”
“Well— no, not right off. She called to her husband about what the weather forecast was, and he said that the newspapers all said it would be fair tomorrow but that he was waiting for the latest report on the radio. I think they subscribe to all the newspapers, I’ve watched the bundle the newsboy leaves—”

“There isn’t much you miss, is there?” George said with a chuckle
“Anyway,” said Lillian severely**, “She called up the weather bureau and had them tell her the latest updates and she called it out to her husband and they said they’d go. Except they said they’d phone us if there were any unexpected changes in the weather.”

“All right. Then we’ll go.”

The Sakkaros were young and pleasant, dark and handsome. In fact, as they came down the long walk from her home to where the Wright automobile was parked. The Sakkaro boy came running after them, waving something which turned out to be a barometer and all three got into the back seat. Conversation began, with neat give-and-take on impersonal subjects, as they drove off to Murphy’s Park. The Sakkaro boy was so polite and reasonable that even Tommie Wright, wedged between his parents in the front seat, was subdued by example. Lillian couldn’t recall when she had such a pleasant a drive. She was not the least disturbed by the fact that, barely to be heard under the flow of the conversation, Mr. Sakkaro’s small radio was on, and she never actually saw him put it occasionally to his ear.

It was a beautiful day at Murphy’s Park; hot and dry without being too hot; and with a cheerfully bright sun in a big, blue sky. Even Mr. Sakkaro, though he inspected every quarter of the heavens with a careful eye and then stared piercingly at the barometer, seemed to have no fault to find. Lillian ushered the two boys to the amusement section and bought enough tickets to allow one ride for each attraction.
“Please,” she had said to a protesting Mrs. Sakkaro, “let this be my treat. I’ll let you have your turn next time.”

When she returned, George was alone. “Where—” she began. “Just down there at the refreshment stand. I told them I’d wait here for you and we would join them.” He sounded gloomy.

“Anything wrong?”

“No, not really, except that I think he must be independently wealthy. I don’t know what he does for a living. He said he’s just a student of human nature.”

“How philosophical. That would explain all those newspapers.”

“Yes, but with a handsome, wealthy man next door, it looks as though I’ll have impossible standards set for me, too.”

“Don’t be silly.” Lillian said pulling George into an affectionate hug.

“And he doesn’t come from Arizona.”

“He doesn’t?”

“I said I heard he was from Arizona. He looked so surprised, it was obvious he wasn’t. Then he laughed and asked if he had an Arizona accent.”
Lillian said thoughtfully, “He has some kind of accent, you know. There are lots of Spanish-ancestry people in the Southwest, so he could still be from Arizona. Sakkaro could be a Spanish name—Come on George, they’re waving. Oh, look what they’ve bought.”

The Sakkaros were each holding three sticks of cotton candy, huge swirls of pink foam consisting of threads of sugar dried out of frothy syrup that had been whipped about in a warm vessel. It melted sweetly in the mouth and left one feeling sticky. The Sakkaros held one out to each Wright, and out of politeness the Wright’s accepted. They went down the midway, tried their hand at darts, at the kind of poker game where balls were rolled into holes, at knocking wooden cylinders off pedestals. They took pictures of themselves and recorded their voices and tested the strength of their handgrips. Eventually they collected the youngsters, who had been reduced to a satisfactorily breathless state of roiled-up insides, and the Sakkaros ushered theirs off instantly to the refreshment stand. Tommie hinted the extent of his pleasure at the possibility of purchasing a hot-dog and George tossed him a quarter. He ran off, too.

“Frankly,” said George, “I prefer to stay here. If I see them biting away at another cotton candy stick I’ll turn green and sicken on the spot. If they haven’t had a dozen apiece, I’ll eat a dozen myself.”
“I know, and they’re buying a handful for the child now.”

“I offered Mr. Sakkaro a hamburger and he just shook his head. Not that a hamburger’s much, but after enough cotton candy, it ought to be a feast.”

Lillian shook her head in agreement “I know. I offered her an orange drink and the way she jumped when she said no, you’d think I’d thrown it in her face. —Still, I suppose they’ve never been to a place like this before and they’ll need time to adjust to the novelty. They’ll fill up on cotton candy and then never eat it again for ten years.”

They strolled toward the Sakkaros. Mr. Sakkaro had the radio to his ear and was looking anxiously toward the west. “Uh-oh,” said George, “he’s seen it. Suddenly all three Sakkaros were upon him, polite but insistent. They were sorry, they had had a wonderful time, a marvelous time, the Wrights would have to be their guests as soon as it could be managed, but now, really, they had to go home. It looked stormy. Mrs. Sakkaro wailed that all the forecasts had been for fair weather.
George tried to console them. “Come on guys! It’s hard to predict a local thunderstorm, but even if it were to come, and it might not, it wouldn’t last more than half an hour.”

At this comment, the Sakkaro youngster clung to his mother burying his face against her thigh. Mrs. Sakkaro’s hand, holding a handkerchief, trembled visibly. “Let’s go home,” said George in resignation.

The drive had no conversation to speak of. Mr. Sakkaro’s radio was quite loud now as he switched from station to station, catching a weather report every time. They were mentioning “local thundershowers” now. The Sakkaro youngster piped up that the barometer was falling, and Mrs. Sakkaro, chin in the palm of her hand, stared dolefully at the sky and asked if George could not drive faster, please. “It does look rather threatening, doesn’t it?” said Lillian in a polite attempt to share their guests ‘attitude. But then George heard her mutter, “Honestly!” under her breath.

A wind had sprung up, driving the dust of the weeks-dry road before it, when they entered the street on which they lived, and the leaves rustled. Lightning flickered. George said with a reassuring smile, “You’ll be indoors in two minutes, friends. We’ll make it.”

He pulled up at the gate that opened onto the Sakkaro’s spacious front yard and got out of the car to open the back door. He thought he felt a drop. They were just in time. The Sakkaros tumbled out, faces drawn with tension, muttering thanks, and started off toward their long front walk at a dead run. “Honestly,” began Lillian, “you would think they were—”

The heavens opened and the rain came down in giant drops as though some celestial dam had suddenly burst. The top of their car was pounded with a hundred drum sticks, and halfway to their front door the Sakkaros stopped and looked despairingly upward. Their faces blurred as the rain hit; blurred and shrank and ran together. All three shriveled, collapsing within their clothes, which sank down into three sticky-wet heaps. And while the Wright’s sat there, transfixed with horror, Lillian found herself unable to stop the completion of her remark:

“—made of sugar.”

General Discussion / Re: Layout?
« on: 09:33:07 AM 11/20/15 »
I like it but what's the top half of the screen used for when you sign in? Its just a bash background with my profile pic and a logout option. Maybe that's an area for improvement.

General Discussion / Re: Midnight Marinara Suggestion Box
« on: 12:59:25 AM 11/19/15 »
I enjoyed the "NoEnd House" series by Brian Russel, maybe that can be your new multi-part Undercooked series to replace 1999.

I've already said this to Palette once but one of the first short stories I ever read was "Rain, Rain Go Away" by Isaac Asimov, originally written in the 1950s. Asimov is, of course, well known for his science fiction stories but not for his works in the realm of fantasy. It's a bit old, needs a re-write to keep it fresh/modern but the skeleton of the short narrative is that of a creepypasta that I think you would like.   

Your Stories / Trivial
« on: 12:53:56 AM 11/16/15 »
Tall leafy trees towered over the area, my mind tries to provide the illusion of swimming in an exotic resort, but it just doesn’t feel right. You cannot get a tan no matter how hard you try and there are no indoor areas to avoid the rain. The lack of Wi-Fi and cell usage didn’t help combat the loneliness. I’m so bored all of the time.

By the fourth day, my wounds were healing up nicely and I felt a little stronger. Today, I would take a look around. Aside from the trees above, the only bit of shelter in this area is an old grayish charcoal-colored shed. I had to check it out.

My senses heightened as if I was approaching something dangerous. To make it worse my common sense started screaming at me, telling me that there was nothing to be fearful of. Then the fears and the mind engaged in a civil war until the body committed to a response.

It was eerie being next to that shed, but with it came a wave of excitement to quench the empty feeling of boredom. I eventually grabbed the handle of the shed’s blackened door. It was rusted pretty badly and dangled off the door by its bottom hinge. Upon contact, I felt a sensation similar to that of touching the tip of a rusty nail. I went to open the door, fearing that some kind of animal had made its nest in the rotting structure. So there I was, safely behind the battered door as it creaked open.

Nothing immediately rushed out at me and I felt confident enough to take my first peek inside. To my surprise, there was nothing except a small work bench along the right side. A single nail was partially driven into the wall above that bench.

The floorboards were rotting away, the possibly of them giving out increasing with every second I stood in there. As I continued to look around, a single item appeared near the leg of the bench. A hacksaw or at least what was left of it. Now nothing more than a twisted, rusted piece of metal with dulled teeth that could barely cut through butter. Regardless of the tool it once was, here it is reduced to mere scrap metal. I decided to hang it back on the wall before leaving. It was the right thing to do.

Before continuing my exploration, I turned to take one last glimpse of the shed. I noticed something irregular on the outer back wall. A message was carved into the wood by another human being. My astonishment of being here with another person was immediately dulled by the nature of the cruel message:

"There is no way off this island.”

General Discussion / Re: Writer's Block & Solutions
« on: 09:36:13 PM 11/15/15 »
Nice! I am really into FPS matches, that's a really good idea with the video games! Think I'll give that a go!

Story Critique / Re: Custom Creepypasta, Just A Dream.
« on: 09:33:17 PM 11/15/15 »
I think that's what the author wants when they post work in the critique area. The author is basically saying "Hey, tell me what you think!" and is then opened to any type of criticism. Now, I don't think G. Preeb is out of line or anything, I think he/she is just giving an honest opinion about the work being shown. There's a difference between criticizing the content and criticizing the person, and in this case he never says "You are a shitty author!"     

In fact he even says, "Don't let it discourage you, the only way to get better is to have someone point out the flaws.", he's not trying to be mean. He's trying to be as honest as possible so that the author can become a better writer. And that's what the author wants anyway.   

Featured CreepyPasta / Re: Grad Night in the Haunted Mansion
« on: 02:26:28 PM 11/15/15 »
You mean this Slime? Also, its still a classic creepypasta David! Well done!

Story Critique / Re: Custom Creepypasta, Just A Dream.
« on: 12:36:41 PM 11/15/15 »
So pretty nifty idea for a story. Jogging at night in the dark with a mysterious entity following close behind. I think you know what a creepypasta should be, so I'm going to advise you to work on your grammar/spelling. 

You have to capitalize all of your "I"s, its a pretty crucial concept for any good story. I got confused on the first sentence until I realized you had meant to say "nearby" instead of "near bye". Try to use "the local park" instead of "the park near bye". 

"In this jog, i had the feeling i was being watched, and this feeling was there, but i didn't have a bad feeling like you would in real life if you felt like you were being watched, i didn't feel uneasy." - This is a run-on sentence that over explains the protagonist's feelings of being watched. Try this:

"The leaves crunched underneath my feet as I continued to jog forward. Surrounded on all sides by complete darkness, it slowly dawned on me that I was being watched." - or something like that.

Also, keep in mind that the reader is going to ask questions as they read. Your character is jogging by a park. Why is the character doing this? Your character feels no emotion. Why not? I'm not saying you should answer every question a reader might have but its important to approach your own stories as a reader too.

Keep working hard, press on forward, and you will do great!     

General Discussion / Re: Introduce your (spooky) selves
« on: 11:27:20 AM 11/15/15 »
Good evening folks! I am a fan and aspiring author of creepypasta. I have a youtube channel that is dedicated for both stories that are horrifying and stories that are horrifying to read. I made a video about whether or not the famous creepypasta "1999" plagiarized off the YouTube persona Alantutorial  I've written three creepypastas so far (Missing the Mark, It's Mreley Yuor Prespcetvie, and Trivial). Although I'm more of a writer then a narrator, I've recorded myself narrating over some of my own stories.

Finally, I'm going to start something along the lines of a "Scar Your Friends" podcast (name pending). Where I take some of my friends IRL who have never even heard of creepypasta before, force them to read some really fucked up shit, and record their reactions!  HOORAY FOR FRIENDSHIP! It will fill my heart with joy when they begin to question what kind of person I really am.  ;D

I can't wait to meet the community on this website and witness thy bounty of pasta!

Your Stories / Re: Missing the Mark
« on: 11:17:23 AM 11/15/15 »

All kidding aside, thank you for reading my first creepypasta. I made it a few months ago and have been posting it around and you know what - out of all the comments I get on this one, yours matches up with pretty much all of them. Some of them include sentences like:

"Interesting story"
"Great Story!"
"A bit long in the tooth"
"Some sentences are to long"
"It's spelled "facility" scrub!"

As far as the "facility" thing, I already went in previously to fix that in an earlier version on a different website. I guess I missed a spot.

UPDATE: I can't find the sentence(s) where it is read as "faculty" and its driving me crazy. If you can do me the favor of pointing out where that shit is, it will be fixed.  8)

I pretty much understand where you are coming from. This story was actually written in the span of 3-4 months, changed many times, and is somewhat based on true events that I did witness/ live through. Originally, it was going to be more focused on the creepiness of a classroom featuring an odd bunch of 16 kids that are "kept away from the other 4th graders".

The pooper/ Popper thing was made very early in the story's development and was meant to build up the "character" that is this mysterious classroom of children. Then I remembered this "thing" that had happened to me this one time and "Mark" was added in as the main antagonist instead of the classroom. I then left the pooper thing as a joke that I really liked.

Again, I well never confirm any questions but its true - my style of writing is always based on something that really did happen to me or something that I witnessed. Even if its loosely based on something. I will confirm this: There really was a Mark that I personally knew, he did disappear, and I don't know where he went :'(

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