by Unknown
JEApers Creepers
Edited by Roma Gray and John Ledger
Edited by: J. Ellington Ashton Press Staff
Cover Art by: David McGlumphy
http://jellingtonashton.com/
Copyright.
Vyvecca Pratt, Nikolai Misura, Carolyn May, Georgia Lennon, Kent Hill, Matthew Hickman, Andrew Lennon, Alison Clifford, William Bove, Kevin Candela, Jennifer Redmile, Toneye Eyenot, Tabitha Baumander, Kerry E.B. Black, Lemmy Rushmore, Tristann Jones, Essel Pratt, Carly Jane Denyer, Matthew Cash, Mark Woods, Ashley Hunt, Amanda M. Lyons, Michael Noe, Roy C. Booth, Chad Michaels, andJustin Hunter
©2015, Authors
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book, including the cover and photos, may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. All rights reserved.
Any resemblance to persons, places living or dead is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction
Table of Contents
Curiosity Killed the Cat-Vyvecca Danae Pratt
The Face - Nikolai Misura
Tick Tock - Carolyn May
Ember's Game - Georgia Lennon
The Day the Pizza Died-Kent Hill
Camp Lupus -Matthew Hickman
Meet Victor-Andrew Lennon
Ghost Light -Alison Clifford
Molly Meeps - Andy Bove
Maxwell’s Silver Dagger- Kevin Candela
Déjà vu -Jennifer Redmile
Mummy, Leave The Light On -Toneye Eyenot
The Good Mrs. Kats- Tabitha Baumander
Blakulla Hjalte -Kerry E.B. Black
Our Bundle of Joy -Lemmy Rushmore
What Can You Tell Me About the Monster Under the Bed?-Tristann Jones
Bullied and Beaten - Essel Pratt
Look Up! -Carly Jane Denyer
Sleep - Matthew Cash
The Monster in the Closet -Mark Woods
The Far Darrig -Ashley L. Hunt
Snip Snap Crunch -Amanda M. Lyons
The Christmas Story -Matthew Cash
Sadie’s Haunting -Ashley L. Hunt
Wandering in the Wood -Kerry E.B. Black
Shadow Man -Michael Noe
Believe Me Now? - Roy C. Booth and Chad Michaels
The Toy Bin - Justin Hunter
Stranger Danger- Mark Woods
Curiosity Killed the Cat
Vyvecca Danae Pratt
It was midnight on a gloomy Saturday in October. Violet knew she wasn’t allowed out at that time of night, but she always liked to take walks when no one else was around, it calmed her. She did it often, but that particular night she decided to take a different route, one she had never taken before. It was so dark she could barely see the path in front of her.
As she walked, she spotted a deserted looking brick two-story house up ahead. Violet, being her curious self, wandered up to it, anxious to see what secrets it held. She looked through a window before checking the front door to see if it was unlocked. Surprisingly, before she had even put her hand upon the handle, it opened. All by itself.
Violet was amazed, not just by the fact that the door had opened by itself, but also at how nice the house was. It was obviously abandoned, and she wondered why anyone would want to move away from such a nice house. A loud boom upstairs interrupted her train of thought. Violet decided to check it out.
As she climbed the stairs, she began to wonder if the reason no one lived there was because the house was haunted. She laughed at herself, shaking her head at the ridiculous thought.
Once Violet arrived upstairs, she could’ve sworn she saw someone’s shadow, and then she felt a tap on her shoulder. To her surprise, she turned to find a young boy about her age standing behind her.
“Who are you, and why are you here?” asked the boy.
“I could ask the same of you,” she responded. “I’m Violet, by the way. If this is your house, I’m sorry for barging in like this.”
The boy shook his head, “No, no. It’s not my house, I’m just trapped here. My name is Tate.”
“Trapped?” Violet furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean trapped?”
Tate sighed and shook his head. “In 1806, I too wandered here at midnight, exactly 12:00 a.m. I was curious, so I walked into the house… and never came out. I died here. Instead of leaving, my spirit stayed here, roaming the halls. My soul lingered, mainly because the demons demanded I stay. They called me ‘Cat’ because I was so quiet. They always joked about how ‘curiosity killed the cat.’
Violet wondered if she would share the same fate, and for exactly the same reason. “Is that going to happen to me? Am I gonna die and have to stay here too?” she asked.
Tate nodded. “Only if you choose to though. You see, people get to choose if they want to stay in the place they died. Unless a demon kills you, or the devil himself, then you have no say in what happens to your soul.” Tate tried to make himself as clear as possible.
“So…if I were to die and stay here, what would happen?” she asked with wide eyes. “You know, would my family still remember me?”
“It all depends. They might feel like something is missing, but it would be as if you never existed,” Tate responded. “So, do you want to stay and become a ghost with me? Or, do you want to go back home and live your life as if none of this never happened?”
Violent was shocked, she couldn’t believe she actually had to choose between life and death. She wanted to stay, but was afraid she would miss her family. Besides, it would be horrible if they forgot about her.
“Thank you, Tate, but I think I’ll go now,” said Violet as she backed away. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Yeah, nice to meet you too…” Tate said in a sad tone.
Violet felt bad for the boy. She knew he had to be lonely, but there was nothing she could do to help him.
Violet arrived at the front door after creeping down the steps. She grabbed the doorknob, tried to turn it, but it wouldn’t open. She tried again…nothing. She wondered if it could be locked or stuck shut. After all, it was an old house and a lot of things might not work the way they were supposed to. She examined the knob, trying to figure out what the problem was. As she tried the knob once again, she heard an eerie laugh behind her.
“You actually thought you could leave?” Tate said, his arms crossed. “You thought you could just forget everything that happened? Well, you can’t.”
Violet clenched her fists and closed her eyes tight, yelling at Tate. “Yes I can. For all I know, you could just be a part of my imagination.”
“That’s impossible, it’s not that easy,” Tate yelled back, his voice echoing as if they were in a cave…until his words disappeared.
Violet opened her eyes and Tate was no longer there. She didn’t hesitate to try to open the door again. Relief washed over her as it opened without a struggle. She hurried outside and back onto the dirt path. It felt like she'd been inside for hours, but her watch still said 12:00 a.m.
She frowned. This isn’t possible… It’s as if time stopped while I was inside.
Without looking back, Violent ran off toward home, keeping an eye on her watch to ensure time did not stop again.
The Face
Nikolai Misura
There once was a boy named Jack, who lived in a small town in the state of New York. He knew a lot about Creepypasta stories, because he read them all the time, but what he saw one night was like nothing he had ever heard about. He was home alone that night when he heard tapp
ing on the window on the right side of the TV.
Tap tap tap
He looked up to see if maybe it was one of his friends, but instead he saw a face, a purple face with blue soulless eyes. He screamed, got up off the couch, and shot up to the top of the stairs, stopping there and waiting to see if he needed to run to his bedroom. Then suddenly everything was quiet again.
Did it go away? No, it didn’t go away, it couldn't have. Jack was scared, waiting for something to happen, and a few minutes later he heard the sound of a knife against the glass of the window downstairs. He thought maybe someone was trying to make a hole in the window. His throat felt like it was about to burst open, and he couldn’t breathe right. Not sure what he should do, he stood up, ready to run, but before he could do anything he saw a figure walking up the stairs- it was the man from the window with the purple face.
The man wore a tuxedo, which made his long thin arms and legs look like sticks. The way he moved was strange, like he was tiptoeing instead of walking. The strangeness made him even scarier than he already was.
Jack screamed, bolting down the stairs and pushing past the man to get the living room and the front door. Once he got there, he pulled open the door and dived outside.
Jack was shocked to find his small town was on fire. He was so scared he didn’t know what to do. Should he try and find one of his friends, call 911, or look for his parents? He just stood there frozen.
He'd forgotten all about the man with the purple face, with all the fire and chaos around him, until he heard a voice behind him.
“You…will…die,” the voice boomed.
The boy didn’t look back at the strange man, but ran all the way to the market in town. Finally he saw his parents…they were crying near a boy on the ground who looked just like him!
Then he heard his mom's words. “Our poor little boy!”
Jack was confused. When did he get a twin? What was happening?
Suddenly he saw the face again. It was darker than it had appeared the last time. Worse yet, the man was walking towards him, a big smile on his dark, purple face.
Jack started to back away, but then he was distracted by a boy running past. His eyes were following the boy when he felt something or someone punch him in the nose, knocking him to the ground. When he stood up the boy was gone.
That's when Jack heard a faint voice. “Fears are weak… you are strong,” The voice said. Jack looked all over but he didn’t see anyone; not even the purple faced man.
What was happening? He didn’t understand any of this.
A loud roar burst from a nearby building crumbling apart. Jack desperately hoped no one had been in there. Worried that he might be hit by the falling rubble, Jack ran in the opposite direction. But the buildings all around him had started to collapse and he knew he couldn’t escape all of it.
Small pieces of the buildings hit him in his head, arms, legs and sides, leaving bleeding scratches and places that he knew would later be bruised. He made it through the falling buildings, but the dust in the air all around him was making it hard to breathe. The dust got into his scratches and made them hurt more, and he tried to cough it from his throat.
When the dust had finally started to settle, Jack saw a figure stumbling towards him. At first he was scared, but then he realized it wasn’t the man with the purple face. It was his friend Alex, and Jack could tell he was injured.
Jack ran towards him, worried for his friend. Was he ok? Would he need Jack to get him a first aid kit? When Jack reached Alex, he helped him walk, sitting him down on a chunk of one of the buildings that appeared smooth, like a log, and safe enough to sit on.
Jack looked closely at his friend. “Are you okay, Alex?”
Alex didn’t answer.
“Alex! Alex! Alex!” Jack said, louder and louder. His friend didn’t seem to be able to hear him at all, and it made him worry. Jack was about to shake his shoulder to see if Alex could read his lips, thinking that maybe the boy had lost his hearing from the buildings falling everywhere, when all of a sudden Alex disappeared.
That was when Jack realized he must be so scared he'd imagined that his friend was ever there.
Help! Jack thought. He was so terrified and confused he couldn’t even say the word aloud.
What’s happening, why is everything so crazy and strange here? He desperately wanted to go find his parents. But what if they were still with the dead boy that looked like him, and it turned out the reason everything was strange was that he was really dead? Something heavy hit him in the back of the head as he sat there wondering what to do and he fell, his face hitting the dust-covered pavement. Then all Jack saw was blackness.
***
Am I dead? Jack wondered, surrounded by nothing but the blackness. Then he heard an evil laugh…and knew it had to be the man with the purple face.
It was then that Jack realized something he should have known from the very beginning. He had read so many Creepypastas about many different things. But most of the stories were about monsters; and there was one thing Jack knew from those stories - most monsters fed on fear.
How could that help him now? What would he have to do to escape? Then he knew what he had to do.
Jack walked straight up to the man and stared into the blue soulless eyes. “I’m not afraid of you!” he yelled.
“What?" the man said. “You have to be afraid!”
But Jack could see that it was the purple faced man who was now scared, because Jack was no longer afraid of him. The man started to walk backwards, away from Jack, and Jack walked towards him, daring the purple faced monster to try and get him. The man looked more and more frightened as Jack got closer…and then the man disappeared completely.
Instantly the darkness melted away and everything changed.
“We’re home!” Jack heard his mom call. He was sitting in his bed, right where he had tried to run and hide when the monster first showed up at the window.
Was it all just a dream? Jack was still scared, but even if it wasn’t a dream, it all seemed to be over now.
“Mom!” Jack screamed happily, and ran down the stairs to meet her.
Later that night Jack heard a voice in the dark.
“I will be back!” the voice promised him.
“And I will defeat you, again.” Jack replied with a grin.
The end…or is it?
Tick Tock
Carolyn May
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“One.”
Sarah lay in bed, anxious thoughts running through her head about what could possibly be making the sounds. Surely there had to be something in the humungous mansion that could be making such an annoying, infernal, sound; an old godfather clock perhaps, or even that little silver watch with the broken glass in the corner of the room? And honestly, one of the other kids could be doing the voice at the end of the ticking.
Knowing she'd be unable to sleep anyways, Sarah sat up in her bed and glanced around the room she had been assigned to earlier that day. The antique furniture had probably been there for hundreds of other foster children throughout the years. The paintings on the walls were all worn at the edges, and fading in the middles, from years of wear and touch from the other children. The same with the toy rag dolls and small green army men in the corner and around the cabinet.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Two.”
As Sarah observed the room, the noise only proceeded to get louder and more intense, echoing more and more with each little click. She so wished that she could sneak out of her bed to go investigate the hallways, but she remembered the warning she had been given.
“Never leave your room after six o’ clock.”
No matter how odd the rules in question seemed to be, Sarah knew better than to break them in any foster home, even more so in one with such a strict 'mother'.
She had made that mistake years ago, when she'd spilt milk on the floor of one of the homes she had st
ayed at when she was seven. Later that night she'd been 'taught a lesson' with the belt of the 'father' and the high-heeled boot of the 'mother'.
Since that night, Sarah had learnt not only how to sneak around and get out of houses, but also how to hold back crying from the pain of the beatings and whippings. She'd also learnt how to be scared…but she wouldn’t let fear wither her spirit if she set her mind to the birth or destruction of something, nor anything else that she set her mind to properly.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Three.”
The sounds got louder, enough that they were becoming extremely annoying. Finally, too aggravated to stay confined to her bed, Sarah pushed away the scratchy cotton sheets and wool blankets and let her bare feet fall onto the ground; the hem of her long, floral nightgown falling down past her ankles and onto the floor. As she moved, her feet masterfully avoided the creaky floorboards. A useful skill she'd learned from years of sneaking into and out of the dictator-like situations she had been forced into.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Three.”
The noise seemed to have gotten much, much more intense since Sarah’s feet had touched the floor, and she crept her way past the walls covered in old children’s drawings on towards the doorway, where the sound seemed to be the loudest. Barely making a squeak, Sarah set her hand on the icy cold brass doorknob and skillfully turned it so that only the slightest creaking was heard.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“Four.”
The nearly ancient iron door hinges, which were painted to look like brass, creaked loudly as Sarah slipped through the narrow opening she'd created for herself, trying to make the smallest
