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neoklauswoods9 · 1 month ago

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My own Creepypasta! This Face

It was a dark and stormy night.

Rain lashed against the windows. Trees thrashed wildly in the wind, bending so violently it seemed they might uproot and fly away. The streets were nearly deserted, save for a few lonely headlights slicing through the downpour. Thunder cracked through the sky, rattling windows and hearts alike. In the apartment building where Nate Loughty lived, almost every light on his floor was out—except for the hallway light. It flickered on and off at a slow, maddening pace.

Nate jolted upright in bed, drenched in sweat, heart pounding like a drum. His breathing came in short, panicked gasps. A nightmare. But it hadn’t felt like a dream. It had felt like a memory.

“What the hell?” he muttered, running a shaky hand through his damp hair.

He remembered it all too well: he was a little boy again, standing frozen as two police officers stood solemnly at the front door. They were telling him the news. His mother—raped and murdered while walking home through a dark alley. The apartment, the officers, the moment… it had all been exactly as he remembered it. And then, just before he woke up, he saw something else. Something in the corner of the room.

A face.

It didn’t move. It didn’t speak. But it was there, perfectly still, like it had belonged there for years. Its features were the stuff of nightmares—distorted and unnatural, like the face you’d see if you tried to imagine the creepiest thing possible. Somehow, it felt familiar.

Still breathing heavily, Nate looked toward the bedroom door.

There—peeking just past the frame—was a shadowy figure.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice shaky. “Who are you?”

No answer. Just the soft flicker of the hallway light, illuminating it bit by bit.

Its body was pitch black, blending into the shadows—except for its face. Long, black hair hung in greasy strands around its head. Its mouth was too wide, filled with too many teeth, stretched into an inhuman grin. Its eyes were stark white and bloodshot, with tiny black pinpoints for pupils. Black rings circled them like bruises or the signs of endless sleepless nights.

It was the face. The one from his dream.

Without hesitation, Nate reached under his pillow and pulled out the handgun he kept there.

“Put your hands in the air and identify yourself!” he barked.

But the figure was gone.

Nate stood slowly, gun aimed ahead, and stepped into the hallway. The floor creaked under his feet. He checked his watch—midnight exactly.

No one’s there, he thought. I just need sleep.

He turned to go back to bed.

But what Nate didn’t know—what he couldn’t possibly know—was that by the time the sun rose the next morning…

He would be dead.

9 HOURS EARLIER

The sun was out. Bright. Peaceful. The kind of day that felt like nothing could go wrong.

Nate was behind the wheel, driving to a new crime scene—a small suburban house tucked into a quiet neighborhood. Another murder. He was meeting his longtime partner and best friend, Ben Ramirez. They’d known each other since college, had come up in the force together.

Five more minutes of driving brought him to the house. He parked, stepped out, and was met by a grim-faced guard at the door.

“It’s... bad,” the guard warned before letting him inside.

The place was crawling with officers and investigators. Digital equipment buzzed as they analyzed every inch of the scene. Nate swallowed hard as he approached the body. The smell was thick, coppery. He tried not to gag.

VICTIM: Stephanie Brown

Scratched

Flesh torn in places

Female

Eyes removed

Jaw missing

No signs of sexual assault

Ben stepped beside him, arms crossed.

“Gruesome, huh?” he said.

Nate nodded. “Yeah. Very.”

“I’m gonna look for an evidence bag,” he added. “Though I doubt we’ll find anything useful.”

“If you do find any DNA that isn’t hers, let me know. We’ll bring it straight to the chief.”

Nate nodded and walked off to search.

SIX HOURS LATER

The sun had dipped low. The house was quiet now, the other officers gone. Only Ben and Nate remained.

“This guy is good,” Ben muttered.

Nate leaned against the wall. “Yeah. Too good.”

Ben checked his watch. “9:00. I should be home by now.”

“Yeah… me too.”

Ben left first. Nate turned to follow—but something caught his eye in the far corner of the room.

A card.

It was filthy, aged, frayed around the edges—like it had been tucked away for decades. On its faded cover were strange, cryptic letters, barely readable:

"FͦOͬR ⷫ NͣAͭTͤEᶫ ͦLͧOͪUͭGⷱHTY"

Nate blinked, confused. A letter… addressed to him?

He slowly opened it. Inside, in a jagged, almost childlike scrawl, it read:

“Iͥ'ͫMᵍ ͦGͥOⷫᵍINͭGͦ TⷦOͥ ᶫKIⷱLͦLͧ YOU.”

He stared at it for a moment. Odd. Strange, yes—but officers had received threats before. The sender usually turned out to be a local nutcase.

Still… this one felt different.

He tucked the card into an evidence bag, left the house, and drove home. The roads were quiet. As the minutes passed, a weariness settled in his bones. Once home, he didn’t even bother changing. He climbed the stairs, holstered his gun beside the bed, and collapsed into sleep.

PRESENT DAY

Ben woke to a call from the chief. Urgent. A tragedy.

He drove fast. Too fast.

When he saw the address—Nate’s—his heart sank.

He burst through the front door.

What he found made his stomach twist.

Nate was sprawled on the bed. Brutalized. Torn apart.

VICTIM: Nate Loughty

Scratched

Flesh missing

Male

Eyes removed

Jaw gone

No signs of sexual assault

It was exactly like Stephanie Brown.

Ben fought down his emotions and searched the room. In Nate’s pocket, he found the evidence bag. Inside—another card. It looked identical to the first.

"FͦOͬR ⷡBͤEⷫN ͬRͣAͫMͥIͬRͤᶻEZ"

His heart froze.

“Why didn’t he show me this?” Ben whispered.

He opened it.

“Iͥ'ͫMᵍ ͦGͥOⷫᵍINͭGͦ TⷦOͥ ᶫKIⷱLͦLͧ YOU.”

The same message.

Ben stared at it for a long time. Then he sealed the card and handed it over.

Later that day, the chief announced that the investigation would be paused. No one had the focus. The next day, they'd pivot to a series of bank robberies.

That night, Ben sat at a bar.

The same one where he and Nate had first met, years ago.

He ordered the same drink, sat at the same seat. He barely touched it.

“You okay, man?” asked the bartender, one of Nate’s old friends.

“I’m fine. You?”

The bartender sighed. “No. And you don’t look fine either.”

Ben offered a tired smile. “Guess I’m not.”

The bartender nodded, then was pulled away by other customers. “See you around,” he said as he left.

Ben sat in silence, remembering the first time they met.

He had just sat down when Nate spoke. “Hey, do I know you?”

Ben smiled. “Yeah, we bumped into each other on campus.”

“You’re training to be a cop, right?”

“Yeah. You too?”

They talked for over an hour, but the memory twisted—

Nate’s smile faded. His eyes turned hollow.

“HͪEͤᶫLⷬP ͫMͤE.”

Ben blinked.

“W-who a-are you?”

“WⷲAͣKⷦEͤ UͧPⷬ.”

Ben jolted awake.

He rushed to Nate’s house, breath ragged. Everything had been cleared. But something remained—a gun on the floor, almost invisible in the hallway shadows.

Then it hit him. The cameras.

He raced to the security room and rewound the footage.

Nate. The card. The message.

And then—Nate sleeping.

The hallway darkened.

A tall figure crept into view. All black. Long, tangled hair. Eyes wide and bloodshot. Pupils like ink dots. That face—that face.

Then the footage turned to static.

Just before the screen went dark, a final frame flickered: a mouth. Red. Smiling. Dripping blood.

Ben fled.

That night, exhausted, Ben returned home. He barely made it upstairs before collapsing into bed.

At midnight, he woke from a nightmare. That face. Those eyes.

He reached for his gun—

But it was gone.

“What the…” he whispered.

A chill swept through him.

He turned his head slowly—

And there, in the hallway…

It was watching him.

The End

#creepypasta

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