This episode is rated E for explicit language.
Welcome to Creepypasta and True Scary Stories.
I am your host Spooky Boo. Tonight I have for you 2 spooky stories from the Creepypasta library. One is about a slasher urban legend that came true and the other about renting creepy old VHS movies that seem all too real. As you might have noticed already, I’m adding two new flavors to the creepypasta and true scary stories menu. I’ll be telling documentaries on true crime and serial killers as well as taking true paranormal stories from you. Just send in your creepypasta stories and true paranormal stories using the form on the website and I’ll read them to the world!
Join me on Saturday nights to watch Creature Features with my friends and me. We hang out in the YouTube chat room and chat about the fun old campy horror movies and the great guests interviewed by horror host Vincent Van Dahl. Get more info at www.creaturefeatures.tv.
Be sure to check out my website for more information about tonight’s stories or read a long at www.creepypastascarystories.com.
Now let’s begin…
Story Number One
The Small Town Slasher
I grew up in a small rural town in the American South East. Growing up here has its perks. It’s quiet and everyone has always been friendly. The downside is there was never a lot to do other than play around outside with the other neighborhood kids. We would stay out all day long playing Cowboys and Indians, cops and robbers, tag and all those other fun kids’ games. But none of us were allowed to stay outside after dark. We were always forced to come inside and not allowed back out ’til day break.
The reason for that (or at least I thought it was at the time) was to keep us from hurting ourselves or getting lost. But the adults in the town would always tell us a story of “The Small Town Slasher” and how he stalks small towns in the south to kidnap children. Once he captures the children, they said, he keeps them locked up and gets them all good and fat; then, he eats them. Of course, growing up, this always scared me into thinking it was true.
The story went like this:
“Long ago, there was an old man who worked as a blacksmith in a small town. One year he started to get deathly sick. He had a wife and son that he dared not get sick as well, so he crawled out into the woods to die. While out there, he laid against a tree and a bright light flashed from the sky. He thought it was an angel coming to take him to heaven, but in fact, it was three demons. These demons offered the blacksmith eternal youth and the ability to live forever and be free of any illnesses- all he had to do in return is sacrifice one human to them in a year. Any human would do, they said, as long as they were worthy of being a great feast.
The blacksmith, against his moral judgment, agreed and the demons healed him. When he returned home his wife and son had fallen ill of the same illness he had before. The blacksmith was heartbroken, but suddenly something came over him. Something dark. He picked up his son and traveled into the woods. He tried questioning what his father was doing, but he was too weak. The blacksmith pulled a knife and told his son to close his eyes. It would be over soon. The blacksmith killed his son and consumed him. This pleased the demons, so as part of their deal, they made the blacksmith young again. The blacksmith with his newfound youth said to hell with his wife and set out on his own. Ever since then, once a year, the Small Town Slasher lures a child to the woods and consumes them for the demons that give him eternal youth.”
The parents then give a warning about why their kids should never go outside at night, as if the bone-chilling story wasn’t enough.
As time passed on and I grew older, the neighborhood kids and I stopped playing outside and slowly migrated into the relaxed life of the modern day teenager. You know, things like playing video games, getting on the Internet, and all that good stuff. Well, when I was about sixteen years old, our town had our first missing person in over thirty years. A young boy by the name of Thomas Green; I grew up with his brother, Dillon. I never really got to know Thomas but he seemed like a really nice kid and never seemed to be the type to run away. Apparently he and another kid had been out playing on the railroad tracks that day and as it started to get dark, something in the woods caught their attention.
The boy that was with Thomas said it was a flashing light and some music playing, kind of like what you would hear from an ice-cream truck, and they also heard what sounded like kids laughing. They rushed over to tell the kids that they needed to get inside when a child began to speak, then something roared like a bear and smacked him. The boy was so scared, he ran back home and he was bleeding across the chest. He said he thought that Thomas was behind him as he was running, but when he got home, Thomas was gone.
The cops were called and all the parents in the neighborhood mounted a search party. I joined up since I was deemed “old enough” to go out after dark, I decided to finally use that privilege. The cops said that from what the kid described, we could be dealing with a bear, so everyone was armed. Including me, although all I had was the shotgun I use for bird hunting; if it was a bear, I would be completely underpowered. But nonetheless, we started scouring the woods.
My dad, three others, one cop and I were in one group and we were headed directly north from where the kid said he last saw Thomas. We were beginning to think this was some sort of hoax and that the kid just cut himself on a branch because we had not seen any tracks other than where the kids had run across the field. There was no indication of there being any bears around, which really wasn’t a surprise since our town wasn’t really known for having bears. Nonetheless, we kept going onward.
After a while, we got to an open meadow where we saw three different sets of kid-sized tracks leading off in different directions. We split up into three teams and set off following the paths.
Once my dad and I got deeper into the woods, I stopped to take a leak and when I finished, I looked up and my dad was out of sight. I yelled for him but got no reply. I kept walking in the direction we were headed before, but that led to a long chain-link fence. The fence had been cut open, I thought about going through, but I had never been out this far alone at night by myself. However, against my better judgment, I crawled through the gap. I walked for what seemed like a good fifteen minutes until I stumbled over a fallen tree branch and hit the ground. I started to push myself up, but my hands landed in something goopy and warm.
“Please don’t be a pile of shit,” I said to myself as I sat up.
When I shined the light on my hand I realized that it was covered in blood. This made me jump because at first I thought it was my blood until I looked down and saw a large pool of blood on the ground. There was a trail of blood leading in the direction I was walking. I didn’t dare walk it but I did shine my flashlight along it. I wished I hadn’t. It wasn’t long before I saw my father, hanging from the tree. His throat had been slit open and his eyes gouged out and his shirt had been torn off. He was tied by his wrist up between two trees and in his chest the words “LEAVE NOW” were carved. In the distance, music played that sounded like it was coming from an ice-cream truck.
So I did, I ran as hard and as fast as I could until I was back in the meadow. I didn’t see anyone. I ran back through the woods until I reached the area where our search started. I saw everyone was headed back to town so I screamed for help. Everyone turned and rushed to me and I told them what happened. I can’t remember much after that, everyone said I passed out but I don’t know for sure. All I know is that I woke up the next morning and I was home and had been cleaned up.
That was ten years ago. I’m twenty-six now, and I’ve gotten over the events of that night. In fact, I chose for a while not to remember what I had seen and went with what the police filed it as, my father committing suicide. But something has happened recently that made it all come flooding back to me.
See, after high school, I moved south to a town that’s about thirty minutes away from my college. This town is about the same population-wise as the town I grew up in only this one has the added benefit of a small park with a baseball field on the side of town where an old school used to stand. At the baseball field are some bleachers that a lot of the older people in town walk to sometimes at night just to socialize. It’s sort of like the town center in a way when it comes to socializing.
One night I happened to get curious and mosey over to see what the deal was with the town. I showed up and I was greeted by Bill (everyone called him Pop), the owner of the local tobacco store. He was with his wife; he introduced me to her and I said my hellos and just walked along listening to everyone’s idle chit-chat. Suddenly, a scream came from the woods on the far side of the field and a little girl came running out with a slash across her chest, bleeding. The cut wasn’t deep, just enough to make her bleed some. She was crying and saying some man jumped out and took her brother. She said he had a knife for a hand and a gun in the other and threatened to kill her if she didn’t leave. Everyone started to panic; the men ran to their homes and grabbed their guns and the women all flocked to the church with the preacher and called the cops.
When the men returned, Pop gave me a pistol and told me to stick close to him. One man, who I assumed to be the father of the missing boy, yelled for us to follow him. Going through the woods, it was eerily quiet. It was like in those Slenderman videos just before the camera goes static and you see him appear from the shadows. After several minutes of walking, I heard another scream and started to run towards it. I heard Pop say something, but it was at a low level and the crunching of the dead leaves below me was drowning out the noise. I reached an open meadow that looked oddly like the one from ten years ago.
I was dizzied for a moment but I heard the screaming again and followed it. It led me into the woods and I wasn’t far until I saw him. The Small Town Slasher. He was on top of the kid threatening to gut him wide open. I stopped and crouched down, I should have rushed in then but he was humming a tune that sent a chill down to my bones. He was humming the very same tune I heard that night my father died.
“Little child, don’t be scared, for where I’m taking you is better than the world out there. I will give you candy and all the toys you can imagine. But if you don’t shut your little fucking mouth I’ll send you to heaven!”
The Slasher sang, sounding like a demented Dr. Seuss. The Slasher stood and began dragging the kid who was now sobbing softly to himself.
I wasn’t going to let this kid die like my father. I took a deep breath and ran from the bushes. I pointed my gun at the Slasher and told him to let the kid go or I’d shoot. The Slasher stopped, peeked over his shoulder, and gave a grim dark smile as he turned around.
“So if it isn’t the one that ran away. Do tell me did you ever fully recover from that fateful day? Are you still afraid of the dark? Do you jump every time your dog lets out a bark? Oh yes, I’ve been keeping tabs on you. Since you were the oldest one to ever get close to me and survive, I decided to show a small bit of virtue. So I let you live to see another day. But I wanted to keep track and study what makes you cry, shout and exclaim HURRAY!”
He sang as he let go of the kid and walked closer to me.
“Now, dear boy, the stories your parents told you about me were not just minor hearsay; for it is true that once a year I feast on a child as if it were fine gourmet.”
He continued singing and walking closer. I pulled the trigger on the pistol and hit the Slasher in the shoulder, then I tackled him. I yelled at the kid to run away.
I started wrestling with the Slasher until he knocked me over the head. I woke up what felt like hours later but must have only been a few minutes because the Slasher was still panting from our bout. He stood and popped his neck and pointed his gun at me.
“See, boy, you don’t understand what is going on here,” the killer said in a clearly angered voice. He stood over me with pure hatred in his eyes, then smiled.
“They give me youth, they let me be free and wild. All they ask in return is the sacrifice of a child. Once a year I set out this evil plan; but since you ruined that. I’ll have your head!” The slasher sang as he crouched over me and grabbed my shirt collar.
“What you don’t understand, boy, is that children are young and weak. They are easy to replace unlike you who could be considered an antique. But children, they are easy to replace, once the parents get over the loss it won’t take long before they decide to once again replicate.
It’s always tragic when a child goes. But whether they are from small towns or ghettos, city streets or nearby meadows; children are sort of like sideshows, they come and go. But, since you ruined this year’s feast, it is my wrath that you have unleashed. For I can eat you and please them, and they would be just as happy if I were to eat him.”
The Slasher pointed to where the kid used to be sitting. As the Slasher was going on with his demonic nursery rhyme I had slipped my hand into my pocket and grabbed my cell phone. When the Slasher turned to face me I pulled out my phone and took a picture. After the flash went off, it temporarily blinded him and I jumped up and knocked him to the ground.
I took his gun and started running. I turned and saw that he stood, so I fired blindly until the gun was empty and I dropped it and ran. Amazingly, I had made it back to the baseball field where the boy had returned and the men were speaking with the cops.
I rushed over to the cops and told them what happened. They called in backup from the state police who brought in a helicopter and they did a sweep of the woods but nothing was found. No trace of anything, not even the gun he was using, they did find the pistol that Pop gave me, but that didn’t help me any. I remembered my phone and looked at the picture I had taken of the slasher. The image was all distorted and it was impossible to make out any details.
The cops told me it was best I stopped playing games and let them do their job. But I know what I saw and this picture proves it, the Slasher is real, and I think he may try to come for me again. I live on campus now, I have two roommates; the company makes coping with all this easier, but I’m still paranoid. Every time an ice-cream truck rides by, the music reminds me of that terrible night. Also, when I’m lying in bed at night, I swear sometimes out of the corner of my eye I see what looks like the light shining from a blade.
You can choose to not believe me, but I know what happened that night. This story is true and if you don’t believe me, drive to a small town and go sit by the railroad track or near the woods and just sit and listen. If it’s the right time of year, you will hear that haunting music he plays to lure children to him for his sacrifice.
Story Number 2
Caligari on VHS
As a teenager growing up in the late 90’s, one of my favorite hobbies was renting videos over the weekends. There was Blockbuster, of course, but I got most of my tapes from a local “Mom and Pop” store that was only a few blocks away from my house. They tended to have more of the classic horror films that I was after. There were slasher films like Halloween and Friday the 13th, but my favorites were always the ancient silent ones.
Movies like Nosferatu and the Lon Chaney version of The Phantom of the Opera were at the top of my list. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was a tape that I rented so many times that I’m surprised my parents didn’t just save their money and buy the damn thing.
Repeated viewings of these films resulted in completely bizarre dreams. I won’t call them nightmares because they weren’t particularly scary, but they had a similar atmosphere to what was shown in the films. Some of these dreams were my brain remembering specific scenes, while others were completely original. These dreams influenced me to watch more and more of these films, just to see what kind of surreal images my brain would conjure up next.
Unfortunately, I never documented what I envisioned. Over time, these dreams have blurred together, and I can only remember bits and pieces. Only one occasion is crystal clear in my mind. It’s probably the clearest recollection of any nightmare that I’ve ever had. Notice that I refer to it as a “nightmare”. It didn’t scare me at the time, but it does now.
It started with the ending of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. For those unfamiliar with the story, let me give you a brief rundown. It’s about a twisted magician named Caligari that uses a sleepwalker named Cesare to kill anyone he chooses. At the end (spoiler alert), it’s revealed that the character telling the story is insane, and that Caligari represents the director of a sanitarium. This is where my brain, or whatever force behind the nightmare, picked up the story.
With silent films, they’re usually accompanied by orchestral scores or piano compositions. The only music that came with these dreams were random mixes of bells and piano notes without any rhyme or reason to their structure. This is the same kind of music that played over the nightmare, but it had a much more harsh and demanding tone than any dream I had had before.
The scene began with Dr. Caligari descending a flight of stairs. These stairs were completely jagged and unproportional, much like the stairs seen in the film. He walked down them for what felt like minutes before arriving at a floor with mangled shadows stretching over it, despite having no visible light source. He approached a triangular table. Laying on the table was the seemingly deceased body of Cesare. It then cut to an extreme close up on Cesare’s face, forcing you to stare into his lifeless eyes. The sound of TV static became louder and louder, before it completely drowned out the “music”.
That’s when my alarm for school rang as usual. I remember being only slightly creeped out by it, especially by how vivid it felt. Nevertheless, I prepared for school and eventually forgot about it. It wasn’t until that weekend that it began creeping its way back into my conscious. That weekend, my cousin, Jacob, spent the night at our house. He was my age, and since my aunt was OK with it, my mom encouraged me to rent a movie from the video store for us to watch.
Upon arriving to the store, I wasn’t sure if he’d be into the same kind of movies as me, so we picked out A Nightmare on Elm Street. Since our parents had made plans for him to spend the night the next weekend as well, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to at least try to introduce him to the silent films. He seemed open to the idea, so I strolled over to the shelf where the usual copy of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was available.
What caught me off guard was a completely different version. Most silent films, including Caligari, are in the public domain, meaning that any company can put out their own copy without facing legal trouble. This copy didn’t look too out of the ordinary when compared to the other silent films, so I just assumed that the owners of the store replaced the old copy with a newer one. However, this theory felt incorrect, as the new tape had a much more ragged sleeve. My dad was getting impatient, so I hurried to check out the tape.
The employee at the counter, who I had seen a million times before, did a quick double-take when picking up the movie. It was obvious that he too expected to see the other copy being checked out. Nevertheless, he placed the tape into a case and then into a plastic bag with A Nightmare on Elm Street. I noticed that the label on the tape itself just said “Caligari”. Again, this didn’t seem too out of the ordinary. I remembered the store also had a copy of Godzilla vs. Megalon that just said “Godzilla” on the label. The distribution companies were being lazy as usual, right?
Watching A Nightmare on Elm Street with Jacob was a lot of fun. We got my mom to make popcorn that tasted exactly like the kind at the theater (it was probably just loaded with butter), and mixed sodas into crazy concoctions. Jacob seemed to have no problem with scary movies. In fact, he might have been more immune to them, considering he was more used to the modern ones.
He appeared to be enthusiastic to check out what The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari was all about. I warned him that it was a lot different than what he was used to, but he didn’t have a problem with that. The tape played out just fine. Jacob was engaged with the film, which surprised me immensely. I almost forgot that it was a different copy until the film came to an end. When the twist unraveled and the film went to black, I stood to rewind the tape.
“Wait! It’s not done,” Jacob said before I could hit the “rewind” button on the VCR.
What appeared on screen sent shivers down my spine. It was the scene of Caligari descending the stairs.
“What the hell…” I whispered before looking over at Jacob. His face was blank, as if he were in a trance.
Once the shot cut to the close up on Cesare, Jacob began screeching at the top of his lungs. He flung himself into the back of the couch and violently swung his arms through the air. Our parents rushed in, and my aunt relaxed him as I shut off the VCR. They began yelling at me, as if I were the one responsible for upsetting him. After my aunt pulled him out of the room, I rewound the tape to the ending scene and showed them that there was nothing that should have caused his outburst. I hesitated telling them that I witnessed this exact scene in my dream only nights before. I doubt they would have believed me.
Needless to say, my aunt and my cousin didn’t return for any more weekend sleepovers. When my dad and I returned the tapes to the video store, I noticed that the usual copy of Caligari was sitting where it always had, as if nothing had changed. My dad asked the owner why they had brought in the second copy, but he swore that he had no idea as to why it would have been registered into the store. He picked up the tape and took it into a backroom. I thought that that was the last time I would ever have to think about it, but it wasn’t.
The mystery of that tape nagged at me for a long time. Years after the incident, I emailed Jacob and asked if he remembered the movie. He said that he vaguely remembered screaming, but that was the extent of it. No luck there.
At that same time, websites like eBay became popular, and my curiosity got the best of me. Despite several searches, I could never find a VHS copy of the movie that matched the one from that fateful night. Just days after I gave up the search, I heard that the video store that I had rented it from was closing down and was selling loads of their old tapes for cheap prices. I figured that this was my only chance to reclaim the tape.
Alas, it was not present. The owner said that he had thrown out a lot of tapes over the years, and that it was most likely lumped with the rest of them. Part of me was glad that it ceased to exist, but something in the back of my head kept me at the store for a little while longer. I picked out some tapes to buy, and that’s when I saw the original Caligari tape that I had viewed relentlessly as a teen. I eagerly bought it and it now sits on my shelf. To me, it’s not just a relic from my past. It’s a reminder of the most unnatural occurrence I’ve ever dealt with.
Hey, it’s Spooky Boo. Thank you for listening. If you enjoyed this episode, head on over to my website at www.creepypastascarystories.com and make a comment. You can also follow me on facebook and Instagram at spookybooscarystorytime or on twitter at spookyboorhodes. I write my own horror stories and play them on my website at www.scarystorytime.com where you can also find merchandise like t-shirts and coffee cups or even blankets and pillows. If you want to support the channel, check out www.spookyboo.club.
That’s all for tonight.
I’ll see you in your nightmares.
