Seven Days Creepypasta

By J.T. All Rights Reserved ©

Horror / Thriller

Log 1

Seven Days, Creepypasta

To whoever is reading this, don’t. Look, I understand you’re looking for entertainment, whether because you’re bored, have nothing to do, or just want something to read. But please, read something else! Click the back button, click the X in the corner, or better yet shut down the computer! I don’t care just please; don’t read this!

But you’re still reading, aren’t you? Of course, you are. It’s human nature to be curious. No matter how many times the warnings are thrown in your face, you still go on. You still continue. Well, fine then. Keep reading. Just don’t blame me for what happens to you after this.

I don’t want to write this, but I have to. I’ve already been through way too much to not finish this and I don’t want to live through it again. So, I’ll write.

My name is J.T. I’m nineteen, I’m nearly six feet tall, I’ve got green eyes, and curly dirty blond hair. So, in other words, I’m a regular kid just like you. (And I would have never bothered giving my description had this thing not threatened me) And like you, I enjoy reading the many creepy stories from this site, Creepypasta. And I have always wanted to have my very own. And in a way, I did get what I wanted since after all, you’re reading this. But believe me when I say this, I wish I hadn’t. Things have changed and not for the better.

But enough stalling. I’ll get to why you’re here, why you’re reading this, and why this story even exists.

It began with me wanting to write a story for Creepypasta, but not just any old story, I wanted to write a famous one. I wanted to write one that would go viral in a matter of minutes like Ben Drowned, The Rake, or Slenderman. I wanted my very own classic. So for days I sat in front of my computer trying to think of something fantastic to write. Something that would leave a chill in the bones of its readers. But nothing ever came. I did this for nearly a month and still nothing came to mind. Until one day.

I was sitting at my desk in my bedroom, staring at the blank, empty white space of the word document on my screen. The cursor was blinking, patiently waiting for me to write words, to give it a story. But I was still clueless, I could not think of anything to write. Nothing would come. This frustrated me so much that out of anger I cried out, “Why can’t I think of anything?! Please, just give me some bloody inspiration!” Fuming, I told myself to calm down and relax. But it wasn’t working, so I decided to go to the Creepypasta website. Surely one of its many short stories would calm me down or give me an idea at the least.

That’s when it happened. I was just finishing reading through one of the stories when a pop-up from the site appeared. That by itself was strange. There was no reason for a pop-up to come from this site, it was nonprofit. It didn’t advertise. And, I knew for a fact that the pop-up blocker was on. So how did this one get past it? I was about to close it when the text caught my eye.

“Do you truly wish for a story?” it read.

That confused me for a moment, but I didn’t care. I thought maybe the owners of the site had finally chosen to start advertising writing and this was their attempt to do so. So I clicked out of it. Five minutes later, another pop-up appeared.

“I will ask again. Do you wish for a story?”

“Okay, what is this?” I asked aloud. I didn’t like this. No advertisement does that. But I chose to ignore it and clicked out of it anyway; it wasn’t helping my already bad mood.

But it just didn’t give up, for a third time it showed.

“Do you wish for a story?”

I was already angry enough, and this stupid pop-up wasn’t helping.

“Yeah, I do…Now shut up you piece of crap!” I yelled. I exited out of the site and got off the internet. But to my surprise, a text box formed on my desktop. Now, I definitely knew this wasn’t from the internet. What the heck was this?

“Very well,” it said, “But be forewarned, once you accept this, there will be no going back. Do you still wish for a story?”

I didn’t know what to make of this, I just stared at the screen for a few seconds. Was this a hack or prank of some sort? How could it have heard me, if it was? So, I answered verbally, just to see if it really could hear me.

“Yeah, I do. Who are you?” The text in the box disappeared for a few seconds before coming back.

“Good, your story will be given. For the next seven days and seven nights each piece of your story will be presented to you, beginning tonight.”

“What? What are you talking about, who are you? How can you even hear me?”

The text box disappeared.

“Hello? You there? Hello?”

It didn’t answer.

I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t know what to make of this. Was this a joke?

It had to be, so I dismissed it.

That was a mistake.

Now, before I go on. Know that this is your absolute last chance to turn back now. Once you read this, you’re done. I can’t help you, no one can. The seven logs below are seven days of hell, horror, and terror.

Read at your own risk.

Log 1

Monday, February 17th

I, in all honesty, do not really know how to start this. I’m scared as hell. Is this even real? I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out. So I’ll play along, for now. I’ll try to write what happened, but right now my hands are shaking, so it’s hard. Here’s what happened.

Right after the weird pop-up incident, I had just gotten off the computer and was about to get ready for bed when I heard something strange. A large “thump” resounded from upstairs. Only something big could have fallen to make a noise like that. So I thought, maybe something fell off the computer desk. I knew my mother would probably go pick up whatever fell, but I didn’t hear her go to get it. The upstairs was quiet. No sound of people walking, talking, or anything of that nature. Strange, I decided to investigate. I left my room and quickly ascended the stairwell in the center of the house. As I went upstairs, I noticed it was dark. The lights were off and there was nobody there. Huh, that’s weird. I mean come on; things don’t fall off the desk by themselves, right? That’s when it occurred to me, there wasn’t anything on the floor. Nothing was out of place. The kitchen looked fine, the table was fine, and everything was still on the computer desk. So what fell? I was about to call my parents and ask them what it was I had just heard, when I spotted something. Something white was peeking out from the edge of my parent’s door frame. It quickly jerked behind it before I could get a good look. “Huh?” What the heck was that? Cautiously, I approached my parents’ room and slowly peeked inside. The lights were off and everything seemed quiet. Gingerly, I flipped on the light switch. The sight that lay before me is one that I will never forget as long as I live.

“Oh my…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

Both my parents were in bed, but their necks were gone, slit open. My father’s eyes were wide, staring lifelessly at the ceiling; blood dripped down his neck leaving red streaks in its wake. My mother was lying on her side, her mouth open in a way that it looked almost as though she had tried to scream but had been silenced before she could. Blood ran through her hair and down her arm, which hung off the edge of the bed, slowly dripping from its end. And with each drop I could hear my heart pounding with it: pat, pat, pat.

I nearly vomited. I couldn’t stand straight. I lost my balanced and braced my back against the wall. I couldn’t believe this. Who could have done this to them!? Why!?
I heard something crash in the kitchen. I jerked around at the noise, and slowly peeked out from behind the bedroom door. Just a few moments before my mind couldn’t register the sight of my parent’s bodies. What I saw now couldn’t even compare to that.

“No…” I stuttered in disbelief, “Yo-you can’t be real….You can’t be real!” A teenager roughly my age stood before me. He wore a white hoodie, a pair of blue jeans speckled with bloodstains, and was carrying a large bloodied knife in his right hand. Even more horrifying was his face. It was completely ash white, long black hair hung from beneath his hood, a smile too large for any normal person to ever make rested on his face, and those eyes. God, those eyes, were dark. He never blinked, and I knew he couldn’t. He had no eyelids. But perhaps what made this guy really terrifying was the fact that I knew him.

“Jeff the Killer,” I whispered.

He was one of the most popular stories I’d read from Creepypasta, and he was here. But how?

Jeff prodded the point of the blade with his fingers, testing its sharpness. He grinned.

It was the scene out of a nightmare, but I was awake.

He took a step towards me; I involuntarily took a step back. I threw a quick glance at the room behind me, could I make it in there before he caught me? I wondered.

Too late, he ran at me with both the knife and that sickening smile. I managed to jump out of the knife’s path, but damn he was fast! He sliced back with it at the last moment, putting a huge gash in my left arm.

“Agh!!” I yelled.

I tried grabbing the arm holding the knife, but he grabbed my neck first. I began struggling for breath. I knew the knife would shortly come plunging next if I didn’t escape in time, so I did the only thing I could do.

With a cry, I slammed my knee into his crotch. His smile faded, and he instantly let go. I didn’t bother trying to go for the knife this time. I ran straight into my parents’ bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it. I barely had enough time to put my back against it before he slammed into it.

“Crap!” he was going to break the door down!

I frantically scanned the room over for any kind of weapon. As I did, I tried my best not to let my gaze linger on the sight of my parents for too long. My eyes finally settled on my father’s closet. Two thoughts went through my mind.

First thought: Dad is a hunter. Second thought: Dad has a gun. I bolted for the closet. I could hear Jeff slamming his shoulder into the door over and over. I could hear its frame beginning to crack. It wouldn’t be too long before he smashed his way through. I had to hurry.

I quickly threw the closet doors open and began tearing through the many items scattered about. Where was it?! The bedroom door began cracking even louder. Throwing some hanging shirts out of my way I spotted the gun case leaning in the corner. Yes! I quickly grabbed and unzipped it. As I pulled my father’s shotgun out, I silently prayed that he had left the shells in it. I pulled the slide back to check, and sure enough, six shells. Thank you Dad, and Thank you God! I ran back to the door with the gun. I quickly pumped it, hoisted it to my shoulder and waited for Jeff. Oh, he doesn’t know what’s in store for him. I thought to myself.

I didn’t have to wait long; after another two slams, the door bent inwards then gave way. I could see Jeff’s smile through the iron sight of the gun for a fraction of a second, just before I fired. Once, he fell back. Twice, his body jerked. Thrice, his white hoodie was now stained red. His body went still.

I slowly approached his corpse. Three massive holes were in his torso now. His eyes were lifeless; the cuts on his face that gave him that stupid and sickening smile remained, but it was no longer as wide as it once had been.

“Who’s smiling now, Jackass?” I couldn’t help saying that. This monster had just murdered two of the people I loved. He deserved what he got. Carelessly dropping the gun beside him, I slowly made my way to the kitchen. I had to call the police; I had to tell them what happened. But I didn’t dare turn my back on Jeff.

Oh no, I wasn’t that trusting. I knew Jeff shouldn’t, couldn’t, exist but yet here he was. So I wasn’t going to risk turning around to see him standing there with a knife again. I was going to make sure my eyes never lost the sight of his corpse.

I grabbed the phone and dialed 911. I placed the receiver to my ear only to hear nothing but silence. I lowered the phone and examined it. The line had been cut from the wall. I frowned. Damn you Jeff.

Maybe I could go get my cell and-, I stopped thinking. It occurred to me then that while my parents may have been dead, what about my brother and sister downstairs? Shouldn’t they have heard the gunshots? Wouldn’t they have come to see what was going on?

“Oh, no.” I breathed. Phone and Jeff forgotten, I rushed down the stairs. I headed to my sister’s room first and practically barged through the door. I looked around. She wasn’t there. I turned to leave but stopped short when I noticed something red glistening on her bed. Blood, I realized. That’s not a good sign.

But where was she? I turned and gazed at my brother’s bedroom door.

“Michael, Anne!” I screamed as I ran to it.

It was locked. I started banging, and yelling their names, praying they were alright.

Just before I considered breaking down the door, I heard my brother’s voice whisper on the other side, “J?”

“Oh, thank God.” I sighed in relief. “Mike, open the door. Something bad happ-“


“What?!” Oh, no. “Hang on! I’m coming!”

I started slamming my shoulder into the door, but it wouldn’t budge.

One hit, then another, and another, and another, yet the door did not give in.

“COOMMMMEEE OOOOONNN!!!!!!” I yelled and ran into it with all my strength.

The door creaked, then gave way. I crashed face down onto the floor. Strangely, my face felt wet. Was I bleeding? I quickly rose to my knees and placed a hand against my face. It came back red. But it wasn’t my blood, I realized. The whole floor was stickily wet, and the carpet’s usual green surface was now dark. And in the darkest patch of the floor…

“No,” I said, gaping.

My worst fears had been confirmed, both my sister and brother lay on the floor bleeding, dying.

I quickly scrambled over to my sister first. She had been stabbed multiple times in the abdomen, her neck was slit, and she wasn’t breathing. Dead, I realized. I turned to my brother. He didn’t look any better. He had been stabbed in the chest at least five times. There was a long gash that traveled from the bridge of his nose to the bottom of his neck. He was still alive, but barely. Blood poured from his chest like a spigot. I placed both my hands on the largest wound and tried to apply pressure. His breaths came in slow, hard, rugged gasps.

“Michael, come on,” I cried, and silently begged that somehow, he would be all right.

“J-J…” He let out with one last blood curdling gasp, then he was gone.

“No…” I said numbly. I couldn’t believe this. I just couldn’t fricken believe this. “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!!” I screamed.

I began sobbing, I had lost it all. Everyone I knew – my mother and father… Gone. My brother and sister… Gone. Only I remained alive.

“Sssshhhh,” cooed a voice behind me, a voice that chilled me to the bone.

I slowly raised my head. There was only one other person in the house who would say something like that. Reluctantly, I turned my head.

There in the door frame, impossibly, stood Jeff. There were no signs of the gunshot wounds. No blood on his hoodie, heck, he didn’t even look like he’d been in a fight!

“H-how?” I gasped.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he just casually approached me like he had all the time in the world. Smiling, he held up the knife so that I could see it.

I had nowhere to run, nowhere to go, and both of us knew it.

I didn’t think it was possible, but he smiled even wider than before.

I knew this was the end. I knew I wouldn’t be able to defeat him. He’d just shrugged – no, laughed off three gunshot wounds like it was nothing. I had no hope in killing him.

I gritted my teeth and shook my head. I wasn’t going to let it end like this. No, if he was going to kill me so be it; but I would make sure my death would be one he would never forget.

With a cry of anger and vengeance, I ran into a tackle. He expected this, and pointed the knife at my chest and braced for impact. I saw what he did too late, I was unable to stop. My momentum carried me into the tip of the knife. I felt the razor end of the blade puncture then slide up through my chest before he yanked it free. My chest felt like it’d been filled with acid. I lost all feeling in the rest of my body. All that I felt was that excruciating pain searing from inside. It’s a feeling I will never forget. Blood shot up into my throat, and started dribbling out of my mouth.

Jeff witnessing all of this continued smiling at me. All energy left my legs and were no longer able to support me. I began to collapse, but Jeff didn’t let me fall. He grabbed the hem of my shirt at the last moment, holding me up so we were face to face.

“Shh, go to sleep,” he cooed softly.

I knew it was over, but I decided to give Jeff one last surprise.

I smiled back.

And it startled him.

He was still startled as I spat into his face. His smile faded. I could tell I’d pissed him off, and I was freaking happy about it. He took the knife and stabbed me several more times in my chest. More blood gushed out; the room took on a dark shade of crimson. Jeff finally placed the blade at my neck. He paused for a moment, allowing me to understand what was coming next. He slid the blade back, and then it was all over.

When I opened my eyes, I didn’t know what to think. I hadn’t thought I would ever open them again. Let alone, see again. I sat up; I was in my bedroom on my bed.

Was it all a dream? It had felt real, dying had definitely felt real. But I wasn’t bleeding – there were no cuts on me. I got up and frantically looked around. The clock on top my desk said it was seven in the morning, February 18th. It was now the next day.

Bursting out my door, I called out, “Mom!?” I had to be sure.

“Yeah, honey?” I heard her say from upstairs. I never thought I would hear that nice, sweet, loving voice again. “What is it?”

“Uh…nothing mom, never mind,” I said back relieved. I closed my door and slowly walked back to my desk where all of this craziness had started. I dropped and sank back into my seat. Had it all really been a dream? A beep suddenly resounded from the monitor, I looked up. The screen of my computer showed a Creepypasta Wiki page. Beneath the title were seven empty articles labeled “Log 1-7”. Each one had a date beneath it. They were all of the days of the week, this week. The first showed yesterday’s date, Monday, Feb. 17th.

“What…?” I mumbled.

A dialogue box suddenly appeared above the first log,

“Place the first part of your story here. The rest has yet to come.”

I knew what that meant.

And I was terrified.

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