[Back with another spooooooooky Halloween riff. In the first week of December. Now that is scary. – Bats]
Title: Shadow of Blood
Author: Hetagirl 143
Topic: The Killer with a knife cliche
Genre: Jeff the Killer clone
Critiqued by Zues Killer Production
Spooktember contribution-The Shadow of Blood (yes, really)
…that would’ve been a better visual gag. Yes, I know, I’m not screaming at Realm of the New Gods for once. Considering the circumstances, I figured I’d take a one-off break to do a crappypasta.
Originally, I was going to do “Let’s Play.exe,” but AdmiralSakai said something about wanting to do it, and I figured “Eh, more stuff is in the barrel.” Thankfully, my knowledge of Bad Creepypasta episodes has paid off-and this fanfiction is essentially the prize.
So, how do we begin?
Oh, for the love of fuck. “Hey, I’ll riff this stupid crossover,” I said. “It’ll be short and funny,” I said. “Oh, I’m sure it won’t trot out rape as a generic trajek backstory,” I said. Well, I didn’t actually say the last one, but I would’ve been wrong as fuck if I did, and now I have to put a warning up here. Thanks, fic.
Hello once again, patrons! I’m your host, BatJamags, and I’m going to have to be the bearer of bad news. You may have all thought you were safe, but you were wrong.
The second pasta under review today includes scenes of pointless gore and gratuitous torture. While not at all scary, those patrons with sensitive stomachs may not want to read it over lunch.
Hello hello, all you patrons! Tune up your eerie banjos and keep on the lookout for files containing suspicious binary, because it’s time once again for
“You know, Sakai, I just noticed we’ve never actually riffed a ‘theory’ pasta on this thing, even though they’re a deep, rich well of terrible ideas.”
You know what? You’re right.
As the name implies, ‘theory’ pastas are speculative or hypothetical in nature, which could allow writers the freedom to address more abstract and existential horror topics but in practice pretty much just absolves them of the requirement of making even the Creepypasta Wiki’s usual limited amount of sense or including any sort of coherent plot progression to frame their pretentious pseudo-philosophical ramblings. Possibly the most famous manifestation of ‘theory’ pastas is (1) the ‘some cherished 90s kids medium has darker implications’ theory-
“- Including the ever-popular ‘the main character’s dying, comatose, or insane and just hallucinating everything’ claim -“
– although (2) the ‘some IRL event has a darker or supernatural explanation’ theory –
” -even if we already know pretty much what did happen and it’s just humans being humans-“
– and (3) pastas that speculate what would happen if some improbable horrible event happened instead of just writing a narrative describing it happen –
“- but why even would it happen -“
-and of course (4) just pointless empty philosophizing are also common.
“Oh of course!”
Today’s first pasta, The God Theory is mostly of the second variety, although it certainly also contains a hefty dollop of Number Four.
While today’s pasta is (surprise surprise) not in the least bit scary, it does include potential political flamebait in the form of discussion of American military activities in general and the nuclear strike on Hiroshima in particular.
Hello hello all you patrons! Keep a detailed count of the students in your agronomics class and make sure not to let any incendiary spiders get near the gasoline you picked up from the grocery store, because it’s time once again for
“Today, in case the title didn’t already clue you in… yep, there really is such a thing as Call of Duty creepypasta. Your species’ appetite for depravity really is just that great.”
There’s not really much I can say about the concept of Call of Duty creepypasta to make it any more simultaneously hilarious and depressing than it already is, so let’s just dive right in.
Hello hello all you patrons! Make sure you’ve been vaccinated against Instant Death Disease and your precision scientific watermelonographs are properly zeroed, because it’s time once again for
So I ran into this story while looking for last week’s pastas- it was in the ‘science’ category and I have absolutely zero idea why. Actually, for that matter, I’m not really sure why it was written at all. The inaugural edit reads
I made my story?
so maybe this was a class project or something, I don’t know.
“Why the question mark? Kid don’t sound too glubbin’ sure of himself…”
Hello, dear Patrons!
Well, it’s October again – the month when some of us dust off our spoopiest fics for your entertainment. Or, in my case, dig out some more Slender Man fics. Because dear gods, that is a deep well of weird.
And, once again, this is a Hurt/Comfort and/or Friendship fic – because there are apparently a lot of people who find Slendpai to be a comforting and/or arousing presence, which kind of makes me think they didn’t fully understand the game or creepypastas.
Since this is a very short chapter/oneshot, let’s look at the summary.
After Hilda’s dad dies in car accident, she becomes depress and alone until her friend, Melanie helped her deal with the lost and pain but it never heals. She almost gets killed by bullies until someone saves her, the Slender man. She gets scared of him but tells her he will not hurt her. With this, they’ll create a friendship and experience feelings that they never felt before.
We seem to be hitting all the favorites found in Slendpai fics; a young person with a Tragek Past including a dead parent is being abused and/or bullied but is saved by Slendpai, becomes besties with him and then immediately starts having sexy thoughts about the faceless Lothario. I don’t know why so many Slendpai fics have the same elements.
Now, on to the fic itself.
Life isn’t so happy for me. I used to be a cheery, happy person but now, I feel like I don’t exist like a ghost.
So … Nameless here feels like the opposite of a ghost? I don’t know if I should feel insulted or not.
I feel empty, weak like a doll. Broken.
Please let me know if we’re going to venture too far into the Swamps of Sadness, so I can go put my hip waders on.
I wished I was dead.
I’m going to need the waders, aren’t I?