Miss Hex - The Home of Horror Stories: Recent Episodes
Miss Hex - The Home of Horror Stories
Miss Hex - The Home of Horror Stories Creepypasta and Horror Narrator on Youtube. Patreon :- https://www.patreon.com/misshexhorrorstories Youtube :- https://www.youtube.com/c/MissHexHorrorStories SoundCloud :- https://soundcloud.com/misshexhorrorstories
Sometime during the third consecutive night spent huddled over the toilet, insides heaving and shuddering as I vomit forth seemingly everything I’d ever eaten, I realize what’s happening: He’s trying to poison me. It’s all so elegant, so perfect, and so clear, that I almost laugh, but another barrage of retching forces me into silence.
The next morning I threw everything in the kitchen away, wrapping it three times in black plastic and burying it deep in the apartment's communal trash cans, to prevent an unfortunate transient from the crossfire of His wrath. I am out the door of the complex and halfway to the corner store when I realize: He knows, must know, where I would shop.
I pick a direction and walk, enjoying the chill winter air that soothes the ragged shreds of my inside. I turn at random intervals, following an improbable path out of my familiar neighborhood, until I find a small shop with an unfamiliar name. Once inside, I hurriedly fill a small plastic basket; brands that I never have eaten, strange tins of ethnic ingredients I don't recognize, foods that I’d never thought of buying. Soy milk. Tofu. I can feel my stomach reborn in anticipation of an untainted meal.
This story happened, in October of 2004. Back when I was still a 3rd-year high school student. My friends and I, stuck around the school, late at night, after our annual Halloween Party. We had agreed to try out my friend's Ouija Board. It wasn't the brightest idea, but we needed a thrill.
We found a nice spot under a huge Narra Tree and proceeded with our half-assed ritual. There were 5 of us, 2 boys and 3 girls, we were all expecting some kind of paranormal contact. Rumors had it our school was haunted, but we've never really experienced anything first hand, and it was Halloween when all the spirits came out to play, we all wanted to get spooked. Also, we've never seen a Ouija Board first hand before, so we were pretty excited.
Our school was an old Spanish Colonial House, built in the 1800's when the Spaniards still occupied the Philippines. We were in a section of the school that doesn't get used often. Located beside a creepy old Jesuit House, people only go there when they needed the use the restroom, store equipment on one of the sheds, or make out with their boyfriends or girlfriends.
So you want to take a walk on the wild side, huh?
My dad and I, we're kind of junkies for this sort of thing. Now, don't get me all wrong or misled here — you want to actually see and touch the supernatural, right? You're not those kinds of people who just "talk" about it and then chicken out. You see a horror film, you think of plans on how to observe it and beat it. Or even use it to your advantage. You're the kind of person who would enjoy seeking a hunt.
Unfortunately, I can't tell you how many times my father and I went out to find nothing. It happens, you know. Can't ask the supernatural to appear on a whim.
Everyone in San Antonio area knows the story of La Llorona and any child could tell you that La Llorona walks the banks of a river, crying and seeking out the children she drowned before she can enter Heaven. I'm pretty sure, after hearing all the stories, she's not a particularly vengeful spirit.
If you don't know La Llorona, you need to research her story for yourself. You personally need to make a decision. I am not going to type out her backstory for you because it takes away your choice on whether or not you want to pursue the hunt. So stop right here if you're a Yankee from the North or need a refresher on the spooky tale. You'll only fool yourself into thinking you're ready when you're really just unprepared.
“I’m… not sure what’s happening to me. I just… started to like it… the...”
He was visibly shaking now, holding his hands up to his face to see the earthquake that was erupting inside him, as well as making sure that it was truly him. He shoved the next word out in an almost unintelligible stutter. “P-pain.”
The winter-spring night transition confused me, humidity licked the air, and as soon as it was finished waving its tongue around, the cold night air froze my body, keeping me alert. However, I didn’t need it. I felt my jaw hug the floor as my friend slowly dipped his mind into the pool of madness. When he dragged me outside, away from the party (much to my displeasure), I was propping myself up against the railing of my porch, but at this point I manned up and stood straight up to face my friend.
It started with the wood splinters on the porch.
It was a new apartment, in a new town; the aftermath of a death in the family followed by a rough break-up. I suspected I was already paying over the odds to stay there, so naturally, learning that the place mightn’t be structurally sound left me less than impressed.
I called the Landlord immediately, asking him if he could send a maintenance guy out to check for necessary repairs. But when I told him about the wood splinters I’d found, the line went quiet. When he finally spoke again, he made some excuse about being busy and offered to call me back later.
Only he didn’t, and I couldn’t get him to answer my calls.
Hey, I’m going to get started by saying I'm not really into superstition. I have always been a person to shoot down stories and ideas about the supernatural. Even now I’m still not so sure I'm a believer, but what I do know is that something happened to my brother that I cannot exactly explain. My brother Bill isn't exactly the most normal person in the world, he’s a borderline schizophrenic, so he can get a bit “odd” at times, like saying he sees weird stuff, and randomly talking to himself, so my mother put him on medication. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother to death and I guess he’s a great kid, he just gets annoying with certain things. He is obsessed with weird stuff like dreams and meditation. The last 11 years he has kept journals religiously.
Peter Taylor stared at the scrap paper on his coffee-stained desk, as he attempted to keep his shaking hand, which equipped a nearly-depleted pen, steady. His left hand rested uneasily on the desktop, tapping the drum rhythm of the song he was trying to write. He didn't feel like writing any more cheap, superficial rubbish this time, and instead tried coming up with deep, subtle and metaphorical lyrics. So far he had come up with one verse, in which he introduces the protagonist of the story depicted in the song. The protagonist was a down on his luck musician, who was neither extraordinarily good with an instrument, nor was his voice of notable range. Wanting nothing more than to become a famous artist, the protagonist summoned the devil and closed a deal with him – he would indeed become a great musician, but at a great price.
You've never been afraid of the dark. You used to mock your friends when they told you their horror stories of what lurked in the dark in middle school. Once or twice in the past, you may have had some trepidation before stepping into the dark, but you were a senior now, and you knew there were no such things as monsters. There were no vampires hunting in the perfect darkness of night, no zombies waiting to grab your ankles when you couldn't see where you were stepping, and there were certainly no ghosts waiting for you to turn the lights out so they could appear in your bedroom. These were the nightmares you never had because there was no reason to fear what didn't exist. You never had a reason to fear the dark, but if you had, maybe you wouldn't be where you are right now.
You ever hear of the Stranger Ritual? No? Well, perhaps that's good, perhaps you're safer not knowing and perhaps I shouldn't tell you, seeing as how this ritual can be a little dangerous. Still want to know? Very well. I'll tell you. The Stranger Ritual is a ritual that allows you to contact something from outside this world, something beyond the limits of human understanding. Some say that the ritual allows you to contact Death itself. In order to perform the ritual you'll need a few things. First, you'll need a door, preferably a wooden door. It cannot have any windows or peepholes and it must have a lock. Next, you'll need two candles, one white and one black. Then you'll need a gift. It's important that the gift not be something you have a personal connection to. It is advised to offer something you have bought on the day. Candy seems to be a wise choice. Then, you'll need a piece of chalk or some other writing instrument - chalk is probably the best choice.
It was Halloween night and my friends and I were driving to a local graveyard at the edge of town. We were too old to trick-or-treat and too shy to attend any parties, so we found ourselves piling into my car and heading to a cemetery in the dead of night. It was my crazy idea to spend the eeriest night of the year amongst the dead and, after much convincing, my friends Buck and Daisy eventually agreed. I wanted to be there as it turned midnight: the witching hour. It's said that the veil between our world and the spiritual world is thinnest on Halloween. The night was cold and empty. The stars stood bright and alone in the expansive black sky that seemed to stretch on forever. The old cemetery was worn and overgrown with tall thick grass sprouting out from amongst the neglected tombstones.
Everyone is always complaining about how every ritual entails a sacrifice upon success and a consequence upon failure. Well, hold the bitching a minute, I mean come on. It's universal. First law of alchemy; nothing can be gained without an equal or greater sacrifice. Three fold law in wiccanism; do evil it will come back threefold, do good and it will come back threefold, et cetera, et cetera. So now that we have a genuine understanding (assuming whoever is reading this isn't a total dumbass, and is capable of reading and comprehending text written in the English language) let us discuss the ritual at hand. A lot of people know of rituals involving a chat or a game with Satan, but most of these involve the loss of your soul with no chance of redemption regardless of how your meeting the Prince of Darkness goes.
I was walking home one day from school as usual, but when I reached my neighborhood nothing was right. Nothing was where it should be. I was caught in a maze. An endless maze in my own neighborhood. I was there for days, yet no one was there. The shadows, the darkness kept growing, coming closer, consuming. I awoke from this dream, no, this nightmare all the time. I woke last time shrouded by darkness, gazing at the vague outline of my room. I didn't want to close my eyes. I didn't want to sleep in fear that the nightmare would return. However, I did sleep and the nightmare did return, like it always does. This has been happening for so long I don't remember when it started. I do remember however that I was young. I was still in elementary school (third grade I think.) Back then I was able to return home, but the maze kept getting more complicated.
There is something wrong with the couch. Well, that’s not entirely truthful. There’s something wrong with the right side of the couch. It wasn’t like this when I got it, and I should know- it was the first new piece of furniture I’ve ever purchased. After slumming it for years like the starving college student I was, I had felt as though I were cementing my actual adulthood by purchasing a comfortable, non-lumpy, brand-new piece of living room furniture. Unlike my second-hand couches of the past (which were covered with bedsheets to protect guests from the phantom butt-residue and very real old food stains of their previous owners), my new, three-seated suede couch (with bonus storage drawers built into the bottom!) was mine to unwrap from the box, crinkling plastic and styrofoam in my hands with glee.
Four years ago, my family moved from the city. We couldn’t take the fast-paced life, and we were a wealthy and well educated family… so we figured we would move somewhere remote and peaceful. Hayabi Forest, western part of Maine is where we settled. Now, in our family, we had me, the oldest son. Then you had my father, my mother, one brother, and one sister. Things were always fine around here, we lived off the land and life was great, but then everything changed, and it wasn’t for the better. Oh god, it was horrifying, I’m alone now... It… it GOT them and I’m sure I’m next. So to whoever reads this story… I hope you never stay here… It will get you too.
Today is two days away from the anniversary of my niece's death. No one knows how she died except her mother, who passed away recently, and me. I do not know who to tell but I need to tell someone. No one would believe me anyway, they'd lock me up like they locked up my sister. I wouldn't blame them. I hardly believe what happened myself. Bethany was going to be ten years old the day after Christmas, the year she died. She still believed in Santa. I thought she was too old for that shit but her parents thought it was cute. They did everything they could to keep her from realizing it was just a lie.
Think of your favorite Hollywood actress, past or present. Almost anyone will do. No matter who you think of, chances are she has a secret. No, I'm not talking about her skincare regimen, or her hairstylist, or whatever crazy diet she might be on. I mean, sure. Lots of glamorous Hollywood types do those things, but many---more than you would think---don't need to go through the trouble. They literally "wake up like that," more or less, and it's all because they get a little bit of help from Red Helen. Who's Red Helen? You might be thinking?
In the year of our Lord, 1587, celebration filled the spring air for the good people of Roanoke Colony. Winter had been unyielding once again, and the menace of war with the Spanish had severed much-needed replenishment of goods and supplies. As one of England’s earliest endeavors at the establishment of a permanent settlement in the Americas, they were truly isolated. Tested was their resolve of heart and faith in God. Eventually, the days grew longer, and the last of the snow had melted. Come spring; none of the one hundred and seventeen colonists had perished and in fact, the valiant people were thriving and prospering in this brave new world.
Is Elysia really mental or could there be something more powerful and sinister behind the way she has been acting, could it be demonic influence and oppression? Will Elysia be able to cope inside the mental home? Will she ever get out and leave? I promise you, my dear, this is for your own good Elysia." My mother said reluctantly as the doctors loaded the few things I was allowed to take into the white van labeled 'Arsmid Mental Hospital'. If it wasn't clear, my mother is shipping me off to a mental institution. Not because I'm crazy or in the least bit mental, but because I'm different. Mom says I have had my 'disability' since I was a child. I have always been able to see things before they actually happen. She says that I must have got it from my father, whom I have never met. She says I get a lot of things from him. I don't understand why she had never let me meet him. Did it ever cross her mind that he could have
Have you ever wanted to know a particular person better? To be able to predict his or her every move and reaction? Be familiar with all of his or her tastes and see right through his or her personality so that you can be the wiser? If so, then you may embark on a journey… There you will find your answers, or so the forgotten runes of the Aztecs dictate. Needless to say it’ll be dangerous, and the burden of risk very heavy.Your intentions may be as innocent as trying to comprehend the person you love, or give a heart-warming surprise to a friend or family member. Or, it may be sinister, as to use the information you are given to manipulate and thwart someone you loathe.
This past year we made the rounds of our local neighborhood. We made sure to only approach homes that had their porch light on, which was the unspoken rule. Our night had almost come to an end when we reached a home that had been vacant for the last two seasons. It was the largest within our neighborhood, towering at two stories when all others only had one level. It was a large, brick Victorian monstrosity that may have once been beautiful but the landscape had long needed work. It was the house most kids made stories about and when we saw the dim glow of that yellow bulb I was unsure of letting my children approach. My oldest begged to ring the doorbell and my youngest simply wanted more candy. I was outnumbered and relented at their pleas. My wife sat within the idling vehicle while I followed close behind. The two made their way up the steps and I waited at the bottom. Like always, I reminded them of what to say. My oldest son held his brother's hand and pressed the lighted button. Ringing, much like church bells, echoed from within the house for a moment, before returning to silence. After a few seconds, they turned to me with questioning looks.
I first heard about the Bogeyman when I was five. My parents used to treat him like a ghost story. “If you don’t be good and finish all your supper, the Bogeyman is going to come and take you away from us.” In retrospect, that was probably one of the most frightening things you could’ve ever told a five-year-old. That a strange man will kidnap you away from your friends and family and everyone you love just because you weren’t behaving. Parents can be cruel, but now that I think about it, it worked. So, what can I say? They must’ve known what they were doing.
This is a true story about when I was 12 and my family and I moved into our new house. We all loved it, except it had a room we liked to call the "Dungeon" (An extremely tiny room in the basement, that could be padlocked from the outside with no light inside). I even recall finding an old little toy car in the corner of the room. The house didn't feel right. The property had a chained link fence all along the side, with barbed wire on top. I later found out this was an old foster home, but even now I never have really looked into the history of the house. I'm still afraid of what I could find.
It is said that 3:00 AM is the most wicked time of all. The time when the night is the darkest, and fear and hysteria sinks in the fastest. When the clock struck 3 AM, my life took a turn for the worse. I had just arrived home from work, my throat was strained from yelling my lectures. I tell you, I never really realized how much I have to use my lungs when teaching in a large auditorium, but I digress. I removed my outdoor wear, and walked towards the stairs when I heard a knock from the upstairs.
Vince sat, blood trickling down towards his elbow, with his recently deceased wife lying in his arms; her face pale and soulless. As tears cascaded down his cheeks, he turned to see his two young children who were bound in ropes beside him. Vince’s young daughter, her blonde hair tangled and knotted with congealed blood, was contorted with a gash across her neck; her eyes glassy and motionless. His son was lying on his front, a pool of blood forming around his head and deep rope abrasions looking sore around his neck and wrists; his eyes empty and lifeless. "Who did this to you?" Vince whimpered, "No!
There has been a lot of discussion surrounding the mysterious footage of the so called Nightcrawler. I grew up in the Fresno area of California and for many years had no handle on a terrifying teenage experience that haunts me to this day. It began in 1993 when three friends and I decided to spend an autumn night in the woods near Millerton Lake. It was the perfect conclusion to an amazing summer and something we had planned for so long but always found a way to put off. We walked aimlessly by the lake for hours, skipping stones, fishing and enjoying the warmth of the quickly fading sunlight. The warmth soon disappeared behind the treetops and we decided to walk a little further into the undergrowth to find a good spot to set up camp for the night.
As a child, I grew up in a small Southern Missouri town just north of the Ozark Mountain Range. There were about ten thousand people living there and, for the most part, they preferred to keep to themselves. It was a weird mentality you never ran into often in the south. During the summer following my second year of elementary school, all of that would change. In this town, there was only one provider for television. It was an old cable provider known as “Ozark Cable,” which served southern Missouri and northern Arkansas.
I love Daniel. We are but work partners, but nonetheless, my mind is similar to a movie, where he is the main character. Ever since we started working together, I cannot stop thinking about him, his face, his name, his everything. I have a desire, no, a need to be around him. Sometimes I think about how everything I care resumes to him. Since the beginning of this year, I have forgotten friends, family, everything. Even my work is shit. The reason I do it, as every other thing, is to spend time with Daniel. It was a bleak Sunday, while I watched a film, thinking about him, that someone called. Thank God it was him, and the moment he said we were arranging a work-meeting on February 14th, to discuss something I didn't care about, I cannot describe the sensation.
People always tell you not to play with Ouija Boards. Personally, I’ve never bought into any of that nonsense. I’m not afraid of something invented by a toy company. Every account you hear of weird stuff happening after someone used a Ouija Board at a slumber party or whatever are just due to the power of suggestion. If you tell someone that something creepy is going to happen, they’ll see something creepy in everything.
The American dream: it's different for everyone. For some, it's to be successful and live in a big house on some hill in California. Mine is simple albeit a bit stereotypical. My dream is to live in the suburbs and live a quiet life with my family in a small neighborhood. Our house lies just on the outskirts of a town and our street is full of pleasant people. My family and I easily became friends with everyone on our street once we moved. Our house was in front of a dense forest full of green trees. It was a beautiful scene that fit my dream perfectly.
Valentine's Day, 1998. I remember that day, when I asked you to be my valentine. That special bond that I felt was going on between us was increasing, and I wanted to take that to the next level. I remember the look on your face, the happiness and excitement of the day we spent together drained from your face like water running down a plughole. You said no. I loved you. You know I did, so why would you do this to me? Why? I remember when you walked away into the crowd of lovers. I sat on the bench, crying. I walked home on my own. No-one was at home to comfort me after what you did. I remember waking up and looking at the patterns of my cuts from last night. The blood on the carpet was still there from last night. The writing on my bedroom walls was still there. ‘Why?’ the writing said, all written in blood.
It was dark. I tried to find the light switch. But my hand only pathetically wiped over the cold walls. I dreaded what awaited me at it’s end, but due to the lack of options, I was forced to retreat into the lightless room. My hands let go of the wall and I clumsily ran into the darkness, unable to navigate at all. No matter how much I ran, I was unable to find any wall, any door, any end. I heard thundering footsteps above me again, moving towards me. My heart stopped for a moment, the air grew colder and I waited with fearful tears leaking out of my eyes. Can you listen till the end to discover what awaits in the Darkness........