Two Spooky Stories About Creepy Books

Good evening, it’s Spooky Boo coming to you from the KSND radio waves in Sandcastle, California. Today I have for you stories about creepy books. If you’re a lover of books like I am, you might find these creepypasta stories a bit disturbing. That’s OK, keep on reading because reading is educational and good for you–as long as it doesn’t cast a spell on your feeble mind and you lose your soul!

I’d like to thank the listeners, supporters, and Patreon members including madjoe, P.A. Nightmares, Ivy Iverson, John Newby, patrick, and 933TheVolt.com. If you would like to get the podcast commercial free and support Spooky Boo, visit www.spookyboo.club. You can also find other ways to support Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time by visiting the website at www.scarystorytime.com/support. Sharing the podcast with your friends is also extremely helpful and welcomed.

Now let’s begin…

A Dark Leather Book

So, I finally got done cleaning my room as I’ve been putting it off all summer and it seemed about right to clean it to start the new school year fresh. My room isn’t all the big, but big enough to take a couple of hours to clean. As I got finished cleaning, I found a book lying on the floor, this book was not ordinary in a way as it did not have a title on the front nor a summary on the back. The book was about the size of any novel book, but the binding and the material was not the same, as it was not a paperback nor was it a hard copy. The covers of the book are made out of a leather like material, brown in hue, and wrinkled in appearance. The binding of the book has what looks like string weaved in and out of it. I don’t know where this book came from, but it seemed fairly interesting so I opened it. The books pages were wrinkled and had a different feel to them sort of like parchment paper.

The pages had a black lining around the edges of each page, with a small red image which I could not make out for the life of me. I continued to examine the book and as I did had I noticed something was off. What was wrong was that the pages were blank as if it has never been used. I flipped through the pages to see if there was a story or at least any writing in it, but I did not find anything until I reached the middle of the book. This page was different from all the others. It had wrinkles to it and the entire page was black with some writing on it. The writing was in red, a deep blood like red, as I gazed upon the page I noticed that the light in my peripheral was getting dark. I looked up from the page and quickly looked around only to notice that my room was still lit from the sunlight coming in from the window. I looked back down at the page and I noticed that it had only two words “The End”.

I wondered why it said, “The End” it was pretty odd for a book to have the words the end, if there was not a story to go with it. I continued flipping through the rest of the pages only to get a small gust of wind go pass my face. I brushed it off and closed the book. I didn’t care what else was in the book as from what I can see, it did not have any other writing in it. I got up, and placed the book on my desk next to my laptop. I figured maybe later I could ask my mom when she got home, what she thinks the book could be. I sat down, turned on the TV and my game system and picked up my controller to play some video games. The usual splash screens appeared and I began to play my game, but shortly after I noticed that the controller was no longer responding.

I figured, well maybe the batteries in the controller were dead, I looked down at the controller to view the indicator lights, but the light was still green. Nothing out of the ordinary so I pressed the guide button to see where the battery level was at, but guide showed that the batteries were still good. I didn’t worry because this happened because technology is never truly consistent. That’s when I got up and walked to the kitchen to grab some spare batteries out of the remote. As I walked out of my room and into the hallway I heard what sounded like tapping from the controller. I turned around, walked back into my room to see maybe if the controller fell from where I was. But no, it was still in the same position I left it in.

I left the room again and proceeded down the hall and into the kitchen to grab the batteries out of the spare remote. Now I was sure these batteries where good as I just placed them in earlier this morning. I walked over to the counter and picked up the remote, I opened the back of the remote and pried out the batteries with my fingernails, closed the back of the remote again and then sat the remote back down. I turned around and proceeded back out of the kitchen and down the hall. I walked back into my room and sat down and picked up my controller opened the back and replaced the batteries. I turned the controller back on and went back to playing. But not long afterwards I noticed it started to become unresponsive again, so I hit the controller a few times with my hand hoping maybe that would help. But no it only made it worse, as now the character was moving all by itself.

But something was off though, the character was fully interacting with the environment. Shooting at the opposing team, picking up power ups, and the like. I sat and watched wondering what was going on and then nothing; pure darkness. The power went out and I thought to myself if the controller is not acting right, then the house is not acting right. I got up and went to the window to see if our house was the only one without power, but I couldn’t see out of the window. The news didn’t discuss of a storm moving through or rolling black outs. But sure enough the sky was as dark as I think it could ever get and the visibility was poor. I grabbed my phone from my desk and turned on the flashlight app and left my room.

As I walked down the hall I felt a presence, not the normal I’m the only one in the house and the power is out it’s about to get weird presence, but the someone else behind me presence. I stopped where I was at and turned around hoping that the feeling would go away. As I turned slowly I felt as if the house was getting darker, and the energy around me get slower. Almost as if I was moving through thick sugar, I finally turned around and saw that there was nobody behind me. Which was weird I could have sworn someone was behind me. I turned back around and continued down the hallway, getting closer and closer to the living room. As I got closer to the living room the feeling just got stronger, the house gotten even darker, there was not only a sensation that there was someone behind me, but a heavy feeling. A hard to describe feeling as if someone placed me in a neck deep pool with molasses and made me walk through it.

I shook the feeling off and kept going thinking it was all in my head, I finally got to the living room and I noticed my head was pounding. I don’t truly get headaches but today of all days I get a headache. It was as if I got hit with a Louisville Slugger in the head. I tried to shake it off, but not this time, I turned the flashlight app up brighter so I could see better, but it did not help. I continued walking through the living room only to see something dart from the corner of my eye. It was extremely fast, I looked in the direction of where it was at shining the light, but nothing was there. As I was looking in that direction I saw something dart again, but this time it was accompanied by a pressure on my wrist and neck. It was a strange feeling the sensation appeared out of nowhere and hurts pretty badly. I looked around and didn’t notice anything at first until I saw… It. It was tall, roughly eight feet in height and slightly skinny, I could not see what it was nor its face all I could see was tall, dark, humanoid silhouette. It gave off a faint, but recognizable smell of dragon’s blood. The longer I looked at the shadow the longer I felt compelled to move closer. It felt like I was in a daze, I knew I was looking at it, but I didn’t know why. The smell drew me in and its sheer presence did the same.

I started walking slowly to it until I realized that it wasn’t me that was doing this of my own will. I quickly snapped out of it and ran back into my room closing and locking the door behind me. I turned around from the door into the center of my room only to see the book lying on my bed with it opened to the middle of the book where the words “The End” was. I looked at the page and noticed something sitting on top of the page, I walked over to the book and saw that it was a small gemstone. From the looks of it, it looked like a bloodstone. Where it came from I don’t know, but it was not there before. I didn’t hesitate to throw the book and the gemstone on to the floor.

Not knowing what to do next I did the only thing I could do….hide. I hastily walked to my closet and proceeded to open and as I opened it I was greeted once again by this tall dark figure. I looked up at it this time not being able to look away. I felt myself this time moving towards the figure slowly, but at the same time gradually picking up speed. As I got closer to the figure the smell of dragon’s blood grew stronger and stronger, I was afraid of what was going to happen so I closed my eyes praying, hoping that this wouldn’t be it. As I got closer something happened, the lights came back on and my parents where standing next to me asking me why I was I staring into the closet. I did not know what to tell them.

How do I explain to them what has transpired without looking crazy? I just looked at them until the thought ran across my mind about the book. I looked around for the book and I couldn’t find it any where. I looked at my parents and asked them what happened to the book that I had. My parents looked at me and asked, “What book? “ I told them that I had found a book that was made out of leather and that had weird pieces of paper in it. My mom didn’t say anything, but just looked at me and walked out, but my dad he told me that the book I was describing belonged to his father’s father, and the book was stored in the attic. He told me that it was a book that’s not meant for reading and he left my room. I looked at him puzzled and sat down on my bed, wonder what did he mean by that.

Later that night I was getting ready to go to bed, I’ve just taken my shower, put on my pajamas and was getting ready to lie down. Until I’ve noticed that the book was sitting back on my bed. I didn’t want to open it or look at it, I just wanted to go to bed. I placed the book on my desk, hopped in the bed and gotten underneath the covers and went to sleep. I did not have pleasant dreams, it was nothing but a nightmare. One nightmare after another until I woke up with tears running down my face. I looked around and took a deep sigh of relief in which I noticed my throat was dry.

I tried to get up, but I couldn’t my body wouldn’t move, my hands and feet were tingling and I couldn’t open my mouth. It felt as if someone or something were holding me down to my bed, I tried with all my might to get up, but I couldn’t. I tried to call for help, but words would not form as my mouth would not open. I then noticed something at the foot of my bed it was tall and dark. I stared at it for a second hoping for my eyes to adjust in which they did, and that’s when I noticed it was the same dark figure I encountered earlier. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything, but stare. I looked at it, but didn’t feel anything like I did before. I closed my eyes tight hoping for it to all be a nightmare, I took a deep breathe and opened them only to see it now standing over me. All I could see on it was a smile and teeth. Sharp, razor like teeth, its teeth were red in color, I just laid there and stared as I stared the overwhelming smell of dragon’s blood came back along with the headache and the feeling of a pressure on my wrist and neck. The only sensation I got, the only emotion I felt was dread. All I could do was close my eyes with the image of its smiling, razor sharp teeth burned into my mind forever.

Hey it’s Spooky Boo. I listen to a lot of spooky podcasts before bedtime, but sometimes I need to just hear rain or the sounds of the ocean so the other day I was checking those nature sound videos on YouTube and found nightscape dot co. I slept like a baby while listening to the sound of the ocean. It was so wonderful.

We’ll be right back… with story number 2.

BREAK

Monsters Are a Work of Fiction

It’s funny, novelists, how they reserve certain words for certain people, certain characters. I never really thought of it until now. Strange, how on the edge of a knife’s blade these things can occupy my mind. They’re taking me over – clouding over my thoughts. I don’t really know what to think… So, for now, I’ll just think of whatever demands to be thought, those strange little things that you soon forget and never really pay much attention to… Before I lose my last and only chance. And right now, as I suddenly jerk ever so close to this precarious little cliff edge of mine, I suddenly find it rather amusing, how in a series of books or one of those modern thrillers, words are reserved, as if particular words have some sort of power or nobility over others, for a particularly… how would I put it? Potent character. Strong. Authoritative, I suppose. Or disgusting… but some are almost unheard of. Some more shocking than others – “Monster”.

A word rarely used but rather saved. Monster, a word kept hidden away in a writer’s locker, saved for their most brutal of characters, striking fear into readers’ hearts! So little does it ever appear… so little.

Then one day, you notice it, subconsciously, in the corner of your eye, just more writing in a sea of words that somehow form a book. Nevertheless, for just a minute it throbs and pulses, beckoning for your attention and all of a sudden this character is a whole other person. It goes from your average psycho super villain to some demonic work of another being, a sick mess not meant for this earth, a waste of a man searching for any shred of light to tear it from the very words on the freshly pressed pages and turn your skin a sickly grey. Monsters are works of fiction. There are no true monsters in this world, surely?

“You’ll be in by seven then, darling? In the morning?” she croaked, acting all “family” yet obviously mildly suspicious of me, as per usual. She never really trusted anyone. It didn’t matter how many promises I kept, she would always be a typical old woman. Suspicious of the youth, strict, stern and just a little bit scary. I smiled, weakly.

“Yes, yes, of course, Natalie, that’s fine!”

I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. I spent so much time with her, she essentially was family.

“I’ve got some of my old books for Laura, okay? I’ll bring them in tomorrow – she’ll love these ones! I’ll be here early then, alright, to help you bake the rolls.” The old lady nodded to my words slowly, clearly doubtful.

I put on my sweet, “see you later” smile and drifted off towards the door, letting myself out with a friendly wave.

“Have a lovely evening, Natalie!” I shouted as I skipped out of the door, arms full of bags of fresh cakes and bread from the bakery and some old, neglected books of Natalie’s she had thrown my way.

When I was shortly out of sight, I sighed, frustrated.

“Not again.”

Why did I always sign myself up for this stuff? Always saying I’d do other people favors! It was in my nature. Had to be that I was just too nice a person: coming into work early in the bakery at Natalie’s beckoning call for no extra pay; helping set up displays during my only break to please the boss, a seemingly sweet old lady (of course, Natalie); giving away my old novels (I love my books, they’re family to me) to Natalie’s spoiled granddaughter, Laura, to keep her out of my way; advertising; doing other people’s dirty work and running lazy, little errands like buying milk for the neighbors on my way back from town.

How ridiculous! Natalie… A sweet old bird really, just a little out of it sometimes, grumpy too to be honest, but I deserved a raise at this rate! An extended holiday at the least.

I kicked a dirty puddle, sending plumes of grey water into the air. The streets had been quiet all day. Odd. They were usually deafening with the buzz of everyday life, particularly with everyone coming across the sea at the moment, looking for opportunities. America is currently “The Big Thing!” Yet, no one.

It felt cold in the heavy, afternoon mist, unusual for this area, and unnerving silence of the streets. In the distance I heard the gentle drip of a leaking pipe. I had never noticed it before – must be new damage from last weeks’ storms. The air felt like it was pushing down on me, weighty. There was no sweet smell in the breeze, like usual, from the fresh, warm bakeries and welcoming food stands. Everything was shut away, curling themselves into defensive balls like frightened animals. It was sad really. Seeing the darkened windows – so lonely. No life, no busy shops or loud crowds. Weird.

I approached my street, winding down a small back alley, as always. It’s eerie back there. Always was. My gut told me not to go back there in case you meet a stranger or get trapped or stuck or hurt. It’s a scary little place. Always another load of junk dumped back there, seemingly lurking in the dark, dark, dark corners, ready to jump out and grab you, apparently coming from nowhere.

At the same time I couldn’t help but find it interesting, how some fears are stronger than others. For all the money in this world, I wouldn’t dare waltz with an armed murderer – But to shave off a few minutes, I’ll happily dance through the putrid sea of garbage, a haven for danger, to get back to the comfort of my home just a little bit quicker. How different are they really? Even against that little flicker of instinct, why do we still take that risk, that almost invisible little risk? People are hardwired to fight or flight. In this case flight. Why would you stick around in such a shady space? But, after years of all this pushing and pressure on society to keep to your deadlines, to cut corners, it’s become a normal part of life to deny these little, innate behaviors, fears. So we push them down. Shave off time. Take the dark alleys. Hide fear. Convenience.

Dear God, do I wish I’d listened to my gut now.

I woke abruptly. It took me a moment to shake the tightening hands of my lungs. My chest felt as if it was on fire, I was swallowing blades, my throat seething with pain. Blood. Lots of blood, in my mouth, on the back of my tongue. What was that taste? Metal? Must be the blood… but it couldn’t be – too strong. It tasted familiar, of those strong iron supplements you put in drinks. It made me gag. I took a long, dragging breathe. My eyes were blurred. It was like a smoke screen hung over my face. It took a second to blink the sleep out of my eyes and finally get my bearings… I wish I had never looked. Just slept. Kept sleeping… forever. I wish I had never looked.

“Oh God…” I murmured.

He was there. There in the corner of the room. This empty room. All white walls, stained with unknown marks. Blood? Chemicals? There was one door. Even that was a dirtied white. Nothing but us remained in that desperate little room, not even windows.

My eyes fixed themselves on the strangers scuffed, leather shoes, too frightened to meet his glare. He remained still. Just standing. The man in the alley. The last face I saw before it all went black. The one who brought me here – wherever this was. A man of fear, a man who had learned to take advantage of society’s little pressures. Pressure to deny small fears. He waited, in a shadowy corner of the alley. Clever. And he’d done well. He knew what he was doing. Grabbed me on my way home from work, unsuspecting, in a quiet, hidden place and held me tight until I blacked out completely. An alley leading to my home and so close to safety, when my confidence was high. Clever.

He just stood there, gazing at his prize from under his dark black hood. My hands shook uncontrollably as they searched behind me for a weapon, door, window, anything, only finding a wall. I began to sob and weep, begging and praying under my breath, heaving deep painful breaths, hauling my sore body to the back of the room. I couldn’t stop myself. I was breaking down.

“No… Nooo!” I began screaming, suddenly possessed, overpowered by dread.

The dread that that hood, lingering just over his brow line, shadowing his eyes, would drop back, that I’d have to face those cold, bitter eyes. Dreading he would look up, hold my stare, directly at me. I dreaded he would laugh. Something ugly. Finding pleasure in my pain, I dreaded the worst would happen.

After some alarmed debating, I forced myself to glance up at him, ready to throw my hands out in defense, to protect myself. My head felt a ton! It hurt to move. I could hear it creek with strain and tension in my neck as I lifted it reluctantly, like some rusted, grating lever. But he didn’t move. Even when I looked him straight in the face.

‘Oh God, show mercy!’ I thought.

I panicked and began to hyperventilate uncontrollably.

‘Help me! God help me please!’

All I could feel was the intense burning of his eyes on me. On my face. I was waiting for him to reach out and grab me… To end me! The hair on my arms stood on end. Why didn’t he just finish this? End this torment! Stop this torture! It took some time after that, for me to notice it.

His knee length, hooded coat sheltered his face. A few silky black locks hung from the sides, hiding his ears. His neck was encircled by a wide leather choker, oddly out of place on his lanky body. He was roughly dressed, no care, very tall, slim, intimidating. Smart clothes. An expensive coat in fact – but awkwardly shaped, pointed up at the shoulders. Lopsided. His shirt hung all over the place, his undone tie of blue and pale yellow stripes, draped round his shoulders, just covered by his open coat. His trousers had no button and were held together with string. Yet, none of that shocked me the most. None of that made him as horrifying as he really was… It was the mask. Encasing his face was what looked like a second world war gas mask.

Olive green, beaten and well used. It was haunting. It struck fear into the pit of my stomach, tightening my chest. It was shocking. I was choking! I hadn’t even seen it, that horrible thing, my vision too impaired to make it out. I barely noticed him chuckling evilly as my eyes fixed on the metal canister he held tightly, grasped in one fist. He lifted it slowly, dramatically into the air, chest height. He held it, laughing, so it pointed straight at my sorry, quivering face. The dread set in.

“P-please…” I stammered, heavy sobs as I begged, begged for my life, suddenly changing my mind, not to end it. Not to end me! I didn’t want to die! He took three long, slow, deliberate steps in my direction.

“Please, no!” I shrieked and wept as his hand, clasping the handle of the canister, pointed towards my eyes.

“Don’t…”

He pulled the lever.

I ran blindly, shrieking as sections of skin apparently melted away, throwing myself into the door at the back of the room. The pain was unbearable! It was dissolving my flesh! I could feel what I could only imagine were my eyes shriveling and rolling in their sockets, extreme stinging pains taking over my entire face. What was that awful stuff? My lips began to blister as the door burst open and I hit hard into the opposite wall of the corridor outside.

In a blind panic, I sprinted down to one end of the hallway, hoping for some sort of release. I couldn’t think… Too much pain. I just ran. I madly clawed at my face with one hand, running the other along the walls, feeling my way through that hell. Screw society. My flight instinct kicked in, no longer frozen by dread.

What was that horrible stuff? My skin felt like it was peeling from my face. I could feel my sore, open wounds weeping and bleeding, running all down my eyelids and cheeks, sitting on my top lip before pooling and rolling off. Huge, red blisters plastered my delicate face. They hurt so much! But it didn’t stop. It felt like I had been doused with oil and set alight. It didn’t stop. It just didn’t stop! I could feel my tongue begin to swell in my mouth until I was literal choking on it. I could barely breathe as I panted, distraught, begging for air.

What was it? Gas? Some sort of colorless gas. It stung. A lot. Destroyed me. My skin. Eyes. Mouth. It was eating away at me.

That smell?

Almonds. I’d heard of this before, in my books and novels. From wars. Used in world wars. World War 2. The smell, bitter almonds. I had read about it so many times, over and over… Cyanide? I choked, urging and gagging on my own tongue, struggling to force tears from my slowly swelling eyes.

Cyanide.

I didn’t have long. This stuff would kill me. I knew it would kill me. If he had given me enough… Unless that was his intention. Had he given me just enough to cause me this pain? Yet, leave me alive, scarred?

I thought of my books. Of the soldiers and all the men that would die… But all of those that would survive too, blinded and hurt, but recovering in hospital. I tried to scream, emitting only sorry gurgles. I couldn’t fathom what must be going through that sick man’s mind. I didn’t have time to.

Finally, after what felt like forever, my hand slammed into the raised edge of a door frame. I brought myself to a halt, anxious to escape. I still didn’t get it. I couldn’t understand why he hadn’t caught me yet. The dread that he was standing right behind me was just too much but I had to keep moving. I couldn’t stop! I had to put it out of my mind… but I couldn’t help but wonder if this was all some big game to him, if he was letting me get away. For the chase.

I fumble anxiously for the handle, blinded by the gas. When my reddened hands eventually found the freezing metal I swung it open, frantically searching for escape. Little did I know I would be greeted by bricks. I found myself pressed squarely up against a red brick wall, coarse and thick.

A door… with a brick wall behind it! I scream in frustration, kicking out angrily. It’s then I feel a twinge of pain in my leg. It felt like fire ants gnawing and crawling under my skin, pinpricks of pain all down my calf. They were bruises, like those caused after an injection. Injections? Drugs… Had he experimented on me as I slept? What was this? I pushed off the wall, furious, and continued on frantically.

A wall. Behind a goddamn door.

It didn’t take me long to discover they were all like this. That, or rusted shut, locked, some jammed from the other side; one or two seemed as if they were painted on, stickers, teasers just to raise up your hopes before they drop you down again; others were even chained, padlocks and all! At times, I could have sworn I heard quiet cries coming from behind them… and where were all the windows? Not one! Godforsaken corridors! They just seemed to loop back on themselves. Never ending, like a maze.

Over and over and over and over! The same thing. Turning me in circles. Every now and then, just to mess with my head, a ghost-like cackle would echo from behind, sometimes in front, stopping me dead, pushing me back. Occasionally, whispers, just by my ear, spinning me on my heels so I found myself blindly thrashing at thin air. He was messing with me! That sick piece of trash was messing with me! I’d lost it… I had lost a battle. He had almost won. I couldn’t even cry anymore, my face too deformed to give any impression of a smile or frown, just melted skin.

That house of hell was enough to twist the most sound of minds. Even mine.

After what had felt like hours, I found myself at the bottom of a staircase. Too tired, too sickly to go on. Where would I go anyway? Believe it or not, the teasing did not cease -another wall! A dead end staircase! It just stops! It just stopped there, where it should continue… but doesn’t.

My last hope of salvation, I had lunged towards them, so promising, only to find another dead end and a crumpled me at the bottom of a staircase. More dead ends. Story of my life I guess. I lay there hopelessly. Last thing I remember is the dark of a freezing shadow looming over me as I drifted off hopelessly.

That’s when I finally lost consciousness.

I have come too now. I don’t know where I am but I smell blood, chemicals, salt and sweat. The air is damp and stagnant. The musky smell of rotting wood is a sure sign of still, sitting water, eating away the supports of wherever this dank place may be. It’s pitch black here. I see only faint shadows around me… But it’s hard to turn my head. Impossible almost. I wanted so hard to get out. To escape… And I know. This is it. I’m here now… I know it. This will be my final resting place. The last thing these tired eyes shall see.

I can reach below me to feel my surroundings. My back is arched over some sort of heap. Something soft, warm. ‘What’s that, fabric? Clothes? I can feel buttons… Shirts, trousers. That… That’s lace. A dress? I feel something… Oh God. Oh dear God, no, no. No!’ Thick, damp and knotted. Strands of something thin and wispy… ‘Oh fuck, no, please.’ Hair. Human hair.

I lie there helpless, my back arched over a pile of limp bodies. Human bodies. Lifeless bodies. ‘This is it. Definitely it. I go no further, I must accept that now.’ After some time, a tear forces itself from my puffy, pink eyes. ‘I’m here now. I know it. This will be my final destination.’ I close my eyes as a tall figure leans over the selection wielding a glinting, silver scalpel. ‘I refuse to live through anymore pain. I’m sorry, but I will not live any longer to see this happen.’

‘Goodnight.’

It’s funny, novelists, how they reserve certain words for certain people, certain characters. I never really thought of it until now. I suddenly find it rather amusing, how in a series of books or one of those modern thrillers, words are reserved, as if particular words have some sort of power or nobility over others, for a particularly… how would I put it? Potent character. Strong. Authoritative, I suppose. Or disgusting, but some are almost unheard of. Some more shocking than others – “Monster”. A word rarely used but rather saved. So little does it ever appear… so little. Then one day, you notice it, subconsciously, in the corner of your eye, just more writing in a sea of words that somehow form a book. Nevertheless, for just a minute it throbs and pulses, beckoning for your attention and all of a sudden this character is a whole other person. “Monsters” are works of fiction. At least that’s what I used to believe.