Treasurenicole - Asylum Shadows

My sister was murdered and she won’t shut up about it

by sixpenceee user EZmisery, tumblr, facebook

As kids, my sister Cassie and I didn’t know we were different. How could we? We spent all of our time in the house. Our parents never let us play outside. They said this was for our own protection. I remember clearly our father outlining all of the horrors of the world beyond our front door. “Vicious animals, dangerous men, deathly illnesses.” Everyday brought a new reason why we couldn’t venture outside the walls of the house. I realized the truth much later; they were embarrassed of us. Cassie and I were close, literally and metaphorically. We spent every moment together. I’ve read that twins are often this way, but we were more than that. We woke up at the same time, closed our eyes for bed at the same time. We would often dream the exact same dream. We read books together (she’d read the left page, I’d read the right). Our parents said we were unnaturally close. This didn’t make sense to us at the time.

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The Clink

It all started with a clink,

It was my 21st birthday and shot glasses clinked,

But before then I have always heard a clink,

I was 3 years old and my dad came stumbling in the door,

I had no idea what my parents were fighting for,

I heard my parents divorce was on the brink,

But I was only a toddler what was I suppose to think,

I could never understand,

But my mom and dad held my hand,

My dad came home from having a drink,

But after he passed out on the floor I heard the table clink,

I walked in the dining room door,

But found that he was passed out on the floor,

I looked at the table and saw a can,

And I put the drink in my hand,

I took a sip and it was gross,

It was only then I realized that I missed my dad the most,

I thought it was sprite,

But something just didn't taste right,

It was beer,

But I was to young to know what was clear,

It was all a clink... it was all a clink,

When I found out that you died,

All I could do is cry,

It wasn't out of anger or that things got bad.

It was that I would no longer have my dad.

Never thought I could be so sad.

Or change so much,

But it was with you that I am now out of touch.

I'm now 22 years old and all I hear is a clink,

I clean my cup in the sink that reminds me of my thoughts from last night,

But something didn't feel right,

You weren't there fixing my hair for school,

You weren't there telling me the ultimate life rule.

You died and something in me went with it,

I wish that something could fit,

But I can no longer look forward to seeing you on the street,

Or randomly see you in the local walmart where we would meet,

What could have been so bad?

That you could not reach out to anyone my lovely Dad,

What took over all of your thoughts and pain,

What drove you away from all the things that made you sane.

There's so much I want to tell you and all of the things to know that you would think,

But all I need is to start with the clink.

The clink, the clink again, we need a clink to know where your thoughts began,

What hurt you so bad, I need to know dad,

Those beautiful hazel eyes and their silent cries,

I miss laying with you and how much you showed your love in our hellos and goodbyes.

Omayra Sanchez

Omayra Sanchez was a 13-year-old Colombian girl who became trapped in the debris of her collapsed home, which was caused by a mudslide from the eruption of a volcano in 1985. 

 Sanchez’s legs were bent in a kneeling position and trapped under concrete. Her deceased aunt also had her arms wrapped tightly around the girl’s legs. The workers and volunteers realized there was no way to rescue the girl without severing her legs. 

They lacked the equipment to be able to save her from the effects of amputation, so the doctors decided that it would be more humane to let her die. Sanchez lasted three days before succoming to the likely effects of exposure. 

The entire world followed her televised plight and was outraged that the government didn’t do more to save her and other victims of the mudslide. (Source) 

The Madman and the Music (creepypasta)

"My hand trembles as I attempt to write, for after days of observing the absolute calm and stillness of the city street below, I have resolved to leave the safety of my barricaded apartment to venture through the vacant wreck that was once a city. I know full well that this silence could very well be a subtle trick to lower my defenses and let them in, but I am almost out of supplies and if there is a chance to escape, it must be now.” “While I realize that the travesty that has consumed this city may be an isolated event, you have no doubt heard about it on the news. While you might be well acquainted with the atrocities that were committed here, in the likely case that I do not live to share my secrets, I see it fit to record my experience with this phenomenon before I leave to face an unknown fate outside.” “It all began as a typical day would, without any sign that evil was soon to arrive. I woke early and had finished most of my morning routine, when I heard a peculiar sound emanating throughout the bustling streets below. With toast in hand, I stepped out onto my balcony and peered down the long, flat stretch of pavement. In the distance I spotted a figure accompanied by a strange object, both to far away to identify. Yet, I quickly understood that they were the source of the strange noise. The sound seemed to resonate off of the walls and enter into every window and alleyway. Traffic was at a dead stop and pedestrians seemed to be frozen in place, all turned to face the distant figures. Soon, I noticed that drivers nearest to the figure where exiting their cars and standing motionless, as if in a trance.” “Frustrated with my deteriorating vision, I retreated into my apartment and found my glasses. By the time I had hobbled back to my balcony, the figure had gotten much closer. I could now clearly see that the figure was dressed like a clown. His face was painted white and red, in a traditional fashion, and his clothes were stereotypically colorful and awkward. Despite this, I observed that he was not walking, but flipping and twisting and rolling and doing cartwheels, all with a wide, toothy smile plastered on his face.” “I could also distinguish the object that traveled with him. It was a calliope, a travel sized steam organ, with no musician. It played a looping song continuously and independently of the clown. It also somehow managed to travel alongside the clown at a constant pace. By then, the melody that it had created and had sent throughout the city had become clear. It was a type of circus music that would not seem out of place at a carnival. The tune was indeed pleasant and intriguing, like it was somehow not of this world, but I did not understand why so much attention had been given to this clown and why the police had not arrested him for performing in the middle of crowded intersections. I looked out across the street to another man who had also stood on his balcony to get a better view. He looked genuinely fascinated and mesmerized, but not as confused as I was. He fixated on the clown with wide, spastic eyes.” “In an act that I would later consider to be foolish, I shrugged off the oddity of the situation and went back into my apartment. Surely, I reasoned, despite the energy of the clown and the pleasantness of the melody, this stunt will not last longer than an hour before everyone grows irritated by their delay and continues as normal. Nevertheless, with each passing minute the music became louder and clearer as the clown approached my apartment.” “Tossing aside a book that I was now too distracted to read, confusion turned to anger and I approached the balcony again. If no one would tell him to stop, I would. But as I peered anew at the streets below, no longer were the pedestrians standing motionless like living statues. Instead, the street was alive with chaos and screaming. People scrambled in all directions. Some were climbing over each other. Several short but violent confrontations had broken out and settled in the short time that I had been watching. Through the pandemonium, I spotted the clown and his instrument. They were less than a block away from my window at that point. Joined with them, I saw several other people who wore crudely painted faces. Some of them were also wearing dingy carnival outfits. They were twisting, tumbling, flipping and rolling, just as the clown was doing, but with much less balance or skill. Regardless, they seemed unnaturally enthused and cheerful as they attempted to mimic the clown-like movements, with mixed success. This crowd of pseudo-clowns grew larger as more people joined in, each with white paint smeared on their faces. I then realized why there was so much chaos in the street. The remaining people were rushing to stores and to homes, collecting paint and carnival clothes, painting and dressing themselves as best as they could without help, and joining the ever growing mob of clowns. Many of their faces were covered in paint meant for home exteriors and most were unable to find clown costumes and opted to join the crowd in the common clothes they had put on that morning. My neighbor from across the street was among them, dancing and performing with a wide grin. All the while, the organ played the same tune and the original clown continued to roll, twist, and flip forward, seemingly unfazed by his many followers. By the time the original clown and his organ had passed my apartment, only a few normal-looking people remained outside the mob. Some were still frantically looking for paint, while others stood bewildered and looked just as confused as I was as they watched the crowd continue down the street. Eventually, the horde had nearly reached the other end of town and the music which was once blaring had once again faded to a faint and distant drone.” “I stood motionless for several minutes, reflecting on my own sanity. I could conjure no ounce of logic that could explain the madness that I had just witnessed. Never before had I even imagined anything like that happening to our small city. I could see that the remaining people that dotted the streets below were shocked as well. Eventually, they began returning to their homes, as did I. The rest of the day passed in an eerie silence, save for an occasional echo of that devilish carnival music. At one point later that day, I spotted the crowd crossing an empty intersection two blocks away. They seemed to be weaving through the city like a needle through concrete fabric. They were most likely picking up more brainwashed clowns to join their horde, but why? Why did normal people just abandon their lives in order to follow a random clown? Could it be possible that the music had somehow changed them?” “Then I realized something that I had not considered before. Within the last five years, my advanced age had taken much from me. My strength, eyesight and hearing had deteriorated quickly in that short timeframe. Without the hearing aid that I now ware, I would only be capable of hearing a very limited range of sound frequencies. Remembering that most of the people I saw unaffected by the music were either elderly or near deaf, I realized that my condition was a protection in disguise. It was a barrier between me and the music. If you are reading this and you learn only one thing from my experience, know that the power that this clown has over the minds of its victims stems from the music. If you cannot hear specific frequencies, you may evade the clown’s grasp.” “The rest of the day passed slowly. Periodically, I would return briefly to my balcony, only to be greeted by a city that had been deserted, with the exception of a few individuals that had been gifted with hearing impairments. It was faint, but at times, if it carried just right on the afternoon breeze, I could hear familiar carnival music in the far distance. Eventually, the sun drifted quietly over the horizon and I decided to try and get some sleep.” “Nearly an hour after midnight had struck, I was awoken by a distant noise becoming increasingly more audible. I awoke from my bed, picked up my glasses, and approached my balcony once more. Somehow, power to the city had been turned off. Though the street lamps and windows of the city were as dark as night, a light was approaching from one end of the street. As it drew near, I realized that the clown and his horde of followers were returning. Many of them were carrying torches and the familiar melody that had haunted the morning could be heard clearly again. Many thousands had joined him since then. Adults, elderly, and children alike, all had painted faces and were spinning, flipping, and rolling onwards. Some people, obviously physically impaired, tried desperately and painfully to twist and contort for an imaginary crowd. Others clapped and waved as their heads turned in all directions, as if they were accepting applause from the surrounding, vacant windows. I watched in horror as one man, while holding a torch, attempted to walk on his hands, only to crash painfully to the ground. The torch ignited his carnival outfit and he was soon engulfed in burning flame. Despite this, he seemed oblivious to his condition as he stood back up and blew kisses to his imagined audience. Before long, his burns proved too severe. His charred body succumbed to his injuries and he collapsed to the ground. The clowns surrounding him did not seem to notice however, as they continued parading down the street, trampling over his lifeless body as they performed onward. In fact, I could spot five or six other corpses trailing behind the massive crowd of oblivious clowns, likely having suffered similar deaths. There was one clown however, who seemed completely aware of his surroundings. He skipped eagerly next to the organ that had accompanied him earlier that day. I recognized him as that same original clown that must have started it all. He was the only face in thousands that had locked eyes with mine. As he stared at me and neared my balcony, his face contorted into a vicious smile.” “Before he reached my apartment however, an elderly man had emerged from an abandoned store from across the street. He walked in the direction of the crowd with determination and anger plastered on his wrinkled face. Before he was within 50 feet of the horde, every clown had stopped. Each of them stood motionless as they watched the old man walk up to the mob and enter into the crowd in an attempt to confront the leader. When the man finally reached him, his shouts of anger and profanity were so loud and powerful, that I could hear them over the blaring music from where I stood. All the while, the original clown looked on with a wide grin. After a few moments, the clown tilted his head back and began laughing hysterically. Without warning, the mob enveloped the man. Hundreds of arms reached desperately at him. The man screamed as they frantically pulled and tore at his thrashing frame. Within seconds, his writhing body was nothing more than bits of debris that were being calmly passed throughout the crowd. The relieved clowns each took turns placing bits of bloody meat on their lips, cheeks and noses, giving them the classic appearance of stereotypical clowns.” “At some point during the fray, the original clown had shifted his gaze to me once again. Panic rushed through me and I stumbled to the front door as fast as my withered legs could carry me. I locked the door with every lever and mechanism that it had. I then managed to heave a decorative china cabinet on its side with a crash and use its weight to barricade the door. When I was sure it was secure, I sat on my sofa, still trembling. That clown must have been determined to have me, because for the rest of the night, they danced and played their music. When morning came, the crowd had not left or ceased their eternal performance. Eventually, hours turned to days as I waited in my apartment. Despite my best efforts to block out the music, it seemed to have become trapped in my mind like an unbreakable record player. Even when I would cover my ears and turn off my hearing aids, I could still hear it perfectly in my head. Before the first day had ended however, I began to find particular segments of the song somewhat appealing. As much as that sickened and terrified me, it was welcomed as I had feared losing my sanity.” “But that felt like so long ago. It has been four days since the crowd of clowns arrived outside my apartment and decided to camp there. All the while the clowns have not stopped performing, the music has not ended, the original clown has not turned his stare away from me, and I have slept no more than ten hours total. That is until two hours ago, when the music suddenly stopped and, by the time I had reached my balcony, the clowns were gone, save for a few corpses that littered the street. It is probably a trap, but I don’t care anymore. My small pantry is out of food and pangs of hunger have begun to blur my judgment. Ever since this all started, life has been so hard. Sometimes I think that things would have been better if I had just been converted into a clown in the first place, like all the others. At times, they seem like the lucky ones.” “Regardless, I’m out of options. I need to find food and other survivors. My plan is to put on an old clown suit that I just so happened to have lying around from last Halloween, paint my face white and red, and try to pass casually by any clown I see until I can escape the city. There are clowns waiting for me on the other side of my apartment door. I have heard the scraping of their shoes as they dance and perform ceaselessly and speechlessly in the hallway outside. Perhaps they will not notice that I have still retained my free will. If that doesn’t work, maybe they’ll appreciate my outfit and allow me to join them as one of their own. After all, they seem like pretty happy people. The music is good too. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” “Well, here I go. To anyone who reads this, I hope that your outfit is as good as mine.” Outside the window, the music began again and dissipated as the crowd filed out of the apartment complex that they had been hiding in and continued down the street. A gloved hand held the note clasped between spotless, white fingers as the gentle breeze traveled through the open window and ruffled the paper. Having read it several times, a clown grinned with the sound of crackling paint. Satisfied, the hand loosened its grip and allowed the wind to carry the paper fluttering out the window and into the desolate streets below.

Her Name was Emma

Her name was Emma.

That’s what everyone called her, anyways. Sometimes they would call her Em, sometimes someone would slip up and call her Emily. She was a part of our group of girlfriends growing up in a large town, not quite big enough to be a city but big enough that there was still privacy between neighbors.

We called ourselves the “Unbreakable Six,” because there was me, Summer, Mel, Nina, and Jules.

And there was Emma.

Emma started off as a practical joke by the other girls in the fourth grade. It was probably Jules that started it. She was always playing pranks of people. In high school, she even got suspended once for going too far, and had to babysit for hours to buy that girl a new cellphone. Or maybe it was Summer, who always seemed too busy with music and band to think of such an elaborate prank. Or maybe it was Mel and Nina, who were best friends and could have lived without us, always conspiring together like they were twin sisters.

Either way, I bought my lunch, cold cut sandwich and carrot sticks and a pint of orange juice (I couldn’t stand milk; it would account for how short I ended up being) and walked over to our lunch table. Jules looked excited, waving me over to them.

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My grandfather always served an extra plate

by reddit user shiloh667

My grandfather died two weeks ago. After the funeral, my family sat around my grandmother’s living room, talking about the nice memories we had with him. All of us grandchildren mentioned how he always spoke in different voices when reading, even if it was just the newspaper. We spoke of the stories he used to tell us about his childhood.

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Someone’s pretending to be my wife

by reddit user psycho_alpaca

I’ll catch Susan smiling at me for no reason. This has happened more than once. We’ll be watching TV, just the two of us, like always. Then I’ll notice with the corner of my eye that she’s got her eyes at me, not at the TV. Head turned ninety degrees my way, a frozen smile on her face I can only barely make out in my peripheral vision. Something unnatural about it.

And then I turn to look and she’s got her eyes on the TV again. I asked her about it the first time, she denied it. I was afraid I’d sound crazy if I pushed it, so I never asked again.

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They Came with the Tide (creepypasta)

A gentle breeze pushed through the screen and tickled my short black hair against my forehead. All the windows were open, but I knew I would have to close them soon, it seemed like a down pour would start momentarily. The waves pushed and crashed against the boats and dock just outside. I began to go around closing the windows, not sure if there were any procedures I had to follow if it began rained; I had only been working here at the Marina for three days. My radio beeped and shook me from my tranced state, “Sean, you there?” I knew the rough voice anywhere, “Yeah Ron, what’s up?” Ron had never failed to surprise me. I knew just by his complexion when I saw him he was a veteran, but still, the stories he told rattled me to the core. “I’m coming in, it’s about to rain,” he grumbled in the usual gravelly voice. I chuckled to myself, it reminded me of Batman. “Alright, doors unlocked.” I set the radio down and peered out the glass door leading onto the docks. There, I saw Ron, slowly limping because of his bad knee. He had told me about the injury and said it was from a grenade but refused to go into detail. I made him and myself a cup of coffee as the rain began to come down. We both sat and I continued to look out the window, waiting for the work day to come to an end. Lately, storms had plagued this side of the bay, causing the tide to rise and bring floods. “Looks like the Marina is going under again,” Ron said breaking the silence as he glanced at the rising water. “Hopefully not too much this time,” I took a sip of the coffee, “last time it was up to our knees.” “Your knees,” he corrected me and chuckled his raspy laugh. He had always enjoyed making fun of my under average height. “Hey, at least my eyes aren’t as grey as my hair,” I grinned and we both snickered. The tide slowly rose as the day went on; Ron had decided he would cut his work day short since it was far too flooded to work on the boats. I stayed, hoping at least one customer would show up since we also sold beer and cigarettes. For a long while I stared out the window before I noticed something on the other side of the boatyard. Past the bobbing ships, I saw a man. He was kneeling beside a dead bird. I gagged thinking of bad it must smell and why this man was even near it. Slowly, he reached down and picked it up by the legs, blood trickled down its neck and dripped to the ground. I stood and walked over to the window, staring at him, disgusted, but very curious. Suddenly he snapped his head towards me, causing my legs to go limp and nearly fall backwards when I saw him. What I believed to be his face had no features, any exposed skin seemed completely out of focus. His clothes, however, were clearly visible. The polo he wore was stained a sickly green color. The longer I looked at him the more nauseous I felt. I forced myself to look away from the misty complexion. Slowly rubbing my eyes I looked back up through the window. Streams of rain snaked down the glass. The “man” and bird were gone. Not a trace that I could see was left. An open field stood all around the area they had been. The only place he could have gone was the water, which seemed to have risen an unusual amount. I instantly called Ron in a panic. He answered, clearly annoyed by my phone call on his break. “What do you want?” He grumbled. “I have no idea,” I blurted without thinking, “this guy picked up a dead bird and just ran away with it.” “Why is this problem, Sean?” There was a pause as I thought about it. Somehow, I knew it wasn’t natural and not just my mind playing tricks on me, but I sure didn’t want him thinking I was mentally insane. “See? There’s no problem. Just some weirdo,” he reassured me in a calmer tone. We both hung up and I went back to my duties, sitting in a chair and hoping I wouldn’t see that scene again. The hours passed and the rain continued to fall. There was no sign of anyone or anything so I decided to close up for the day. I grabbed my things and made my way down the aisles, setting the alarm and stepping outside. The rain pounded my head as the keys slipped around in my hand, finally making it to the door. Locking it, I began walking to my car, already soaking and in no rush. As I walked I began to slowly notice figures, all standing perfectly still with their backs to me. The same pounding feeling in my head returned, matching the rapid beats of my heart. Taking slight glances around me I counted five of them. Somehow, they hadn’t caught my attention moments ago; I failed to see them when I was locking the door. They all stood next to the ever rising tide, their ankles half submerged in the water. The clothes they wore didn’t seem to be drenched like mine were; everything about the situation unfolding bothered me. Before I knew it, I was in a full sprint across the parking lot. Water splashed my legs as I ran and clicked the button on my keychain, unlocking the doors to my car before I could grip the handle. I pushed myself into the front seat, bashing my head against the door causing the pounding feelings in my head to seem like grenades exploding. Horror fell into the pit of my stomach, and as the tide rose, they advanced—growing closer and extinguishing the feeling of safety my car provided. My breathing became strained and tears began to sting my eyes. The ignition refused my many attempts to start the car and escape whatever horrors were approaching. Opening the door, I stepped back out into the rain. I made a quick dash back to the store. Fumbling for my keys, I jammed them into the lock and swung the door open. Not thinking about the alarm, I slammed the door and hurried behind the counter. I heard the light beeps as the system prepared to scream for help, being too scared to move, I simply sat and waited. A piercingly loud alarm was raised within a mere few seconds, something accompanied it though, something I couldn’t explain. Peering out the window I saw one of the figures, hands on the sides of its head and mouth wide open. An unhuman shriek came out from between the black, glossy, jagged teeth scattered around in its mouth. I ducked back behind the counter, a legion of screaming creatures surrounding me and the tide continuing to rise. After what seemed like forever they finally stopped. Slowly, I peeked out the window once again and saw the tide, rippling from raindrops, now even higher, but without the creature. Two bright headlights approached the store and a truck came skidding to stop, none other than Ron jumped out, shotgun in hand. “What did you do this time!?” I heard him yell from outside. I pressed my fingers to my lips and hissed, “Get in here!” “I don’t know what’s going on, but if I came down here for nothing I’ll-“ I could hear the air being forced from his lungs as his body lurched forward—the same out of focus creature from earlier standing behind him. Ron stumbled a few feet before regaining his balance and swinging around, his skin clearly becoming pale as he glared at the creature. Its hand flinched as if it were about to grab Ron. Without hesitation, he fired. Pellets speckled the green polo, but the creature didn’t so much as move; the surface of its skin rippled and shimmered like water after being struck with a stone. “Run!” I screamed at him, but before the word could leave my mouth he was already in a sprint toward me, his limp greatly hindering his speed. The shotgun clattered against the pavement and the creature began its pursuit. They got so close to the store I could hear the strained gasps as Ron tried to flee inside. Again, the creature lunged at him, this time they both crashed to ground and came skidding to a stop inches in front of me. I grabbed his wrist and yanked him halfway through the door frame before a strong resistance came from his other side. A look of suppressed agony was painted on his face; the creature had grabbed him by his injured leg. A firm tug jostled one of his wrists free from my grasp. For the first time, I could see Ron with a look of true terror in his eyes, “p-please—don’t let go.” The tone of his voice shook me deeper than any of his stories ever could. There was a light pop as his leg gave way and the agony plastered on his face echoed through the Marina. I tripped and fell forward, scraping my hands as I caught myself. Ron was being dragged away when I looked up—his knee twisted at an unnatural angle. He shrieked, clawing the pavement trying to slow his decent into the water. I forced myself up off the ground and darted after him. My feet splashed through the water as I chased the duo. Ron was being dragged through the water like a heavy sack, his leg suspended in air by the creature. A light trail of red swirled in the water as the skin on his back was tore apart by the cement. The adrenalin began to wear off and I became more aware of my surroundings; water splashed against my chest and I realized just how deep I had gone into the water. Panic leaked through my body as my mind took me back ten years. I could almost remember the exact feeling as water filled my lungs; the sun became darker and more distant as my exhausted twelve year body sank to the bottom the pool. A chill ran down my spine and I forced the memory out of my mind, Ron no longer flailed about in the water. His body seemed limp and his arms floated behind him. Tearing my eyes from the scene I turned back and got out of the water as quickly as I could, retreating back into the store. The alarm had become a simple background noise; I focused more on the threats that caused it to sound in the first place. Knowing they would converge on the store I found a place to hide, two small cabinets in the furthest corner from the water seemed like my best option. I climbed in and waited—seconds, minutes, hours passed by as I sat there. The rain had slowly stopped and by what I could tell from the small crack in door nobody had come inside. My heart pounded like a drum line as I pushed my way out of the hiding spot. The moon sliced through the dissipating clouds and reflected off the now calm water. Slowly—cautiously—I made my way down the seemingly endless aisle to the door. I could already tell the tide had gone down drastically. The parking lot was how I had left it, Ron’s truck and my car were parked a short distance from the store and the shotgun lay untouched in the headlights. Making my way around the store I saw them, hundreds of the creatures making a hazy, unfocused wall along the tide. One by one they melted back into the water, their cloths going under with them. A slight feeling of relief washed over me as they and the water fell back into its usual place, though the feeling was quickly overtaken by something stronger—pure dread. Not over the fact that Ron was gone, not that everybody would never believe a single thing I tell them, but I knew I would see them again—I knew I would see Ron again. There was one thing, no matter how hard I tried, I knew I could never change—they came with the tide.

He Took His Skin Off For Me is another short horror film I’d recommend. It’s a simple, domestic love story about a man who takes his skin off for his girlfriend, and why it probably wasn’t the best idea. You can watch it here

Here is my masterpost of short creepy films