8 True Halloween Horror Stories to Make Your Skin Crawl ~ (feat. MrCreepyPasta)

I was 22 years old, attending a Halloween party at my former best friend Nick's house, who died of a heroin overdose in 2013. Before his death, he would throw big Halloween parties every year at his house, as his parents routinely flew to New York every year to attend their own friend's party. He was always a big Halloween freak, so the whole house was filled with truly horrifying props that we all knew Nick spent way too much money on.

He even put up giant walls of cardboard and covered them with wallpaper to create a haunted maze of sorts. I want to keep this story PG-13 rated, so I'll skip the weed, beer, LSD, and sex, and get right to the part where things got bad. I'll admit we weren't in our right minds; none of us were.

Anyone who came to Nick's parties knew what went down. Me, Nick, and a few other guys—Vinnie G, Joey, and Q—were upstairs in Nick's room smoking a bong when we heard two steady loud bangs come from downstairs. Nick, clumsily but panicking, rushed to open the door and see what was going on.

There were sounds of screaming from both guys and girls. I remember quite clearly it sounded as if there were a crowd of people screaming for their lives down there. We all called Nick to come back in and shut the door.

Even under the influence of drugs, we all knew what was going on. Nick ran back inside and shut the door quickly, but also quietly, locking it behind him. He turned to us and had the facial expression of someone who had just witnessed murder.

"What did you see? What's going on? " we all shouted at him.

He told us to hide before anything else. We all knew why; from that point on, we didn't ask questions. Nick hit the lights and hid in the closet with Joey, while I hid under the bed with Q and Vinnie G hid in the storage box.

We could hear the blasting music from downstairs turn off, followed by a grown man screaming at everyone to shut up. One unfortunate girl let out a scream of shock and fear, and after another bang, silence. The man started shouting at everyone again, but personally, I couldn't hear it too well, and I certainly as hell wouldn't remember exactly what he was shouting.

We heard two other men shouting. By now, there were a confirmed three intruders in the house, but there could have been more for all we knew. At that point, we heard the sound of boots stomping up the stairs and then coming halfway down the hall, stopping outside the bedroom door.

The intruder on the other side of the door tried the doorknob, but when he realized it was locked, he started ramming into the door with most likely his shoulder. After a few failed attempts at that, the sound of a few shots to the doorknob were clearly enough to break the lock, allowing the door to swing open. We heard cries from downstairs after the shots to the doorknob, followed by silence and gunshots.

Me and Nick had our hands on our mouths to shield our breathing noises. I watched through the transparent cloth that hung from the bottom of Nick's bed as the black boots with overlapping ripping denim jeans moved instinctively to the closet. He opened the door.

I could hear Nick begging for the intruder not to kill him, offering a generous amount of money if they would leave. Nick gave himself up as the house owner; that's when the intruder ordered him downstairs. The rest of us stayed put; apparently, Joey hadn't been caught with Nick.

We stayed under the bed, shaking and afraid. There was near silence from downstairs, other than Nick talking with the intruders, but whatever they were saying was much too low for us to hear. It felt like nearly 20 minutes before the front door slammed shut and Nick came running back upstairs to tell us that they were gone.

I think the most horrifying moment of my life was when I stepped downstairs back into the living room and saw the two dead bodies laying lifelessly on the ground, blood spewing from their heads—Jen and Robbie, two good friends that I still miss. I'll spare you the details of what happened when the police arrived, but despite the fact that the house smelled like a marijuana greenhouse, the police were more interested in finding out who the masked men were that killed two innocent college students. Oh yeah, Nick told the four of us who were hiding in his room that there were four intruders in total, all wearing fedoras, Vendetta masks, coats, and gloves.

They demanded $100,000 in cash, and when Nick could not provide it, they demanded he fill their empty sack with his most valued possessions. All the partygoers held hostage in the room were also forced to throw their wallets into the sack, or they would be shot. After the incident, Nick became depressed.

He started drinking too much, becoming an alcoholic. He stopped showing up to school and ultimately ended up dropping out. He started the use of heavier drugs such as meth and heroin.

I had one good talk with him since the incident, and he was more real during this talk than he had ever been. He told me, with tears rolling down his cheeks and a pipe in his hand, he lived in constant pain knowing he caused the death of two of his best friends. Nick died of a heroin overdose in July of 2013, not even a year after the incident.

It was my first Halloween living in my own house away from my parents. I live in a small corner house with a basement but no upstairs—a house my . .

. Parents paid half for it. It was 11:00 at night.

I was sitting in the living room watching scary Halloween movies when I found myself getting up to answer a knock at the door. But then I stopped and thought, who could be at the door at 11:00 p. m.

? Surely there were no more trick-or-treaters out. I had a pretty good feeling it was a late-night Halloween ding-dong ditcher, so I gave it a second.

Then I shot a glance to the porch through the window. They were gone already. Yep, ding-dong ditchers.

I sat back down, not thinking twice about it, and again heard knocking at the front door. "Get lost! " I yelled.

I was not in the mood for punky kids. They ignored my demands and started pounding now—not just knocking. I was pissed.

I leaped up and swung the door open. No one was there. Once again, I slipped on my shoes and headed outside to begin searching the bushes for the kids, but there was nobody in sight—not in the bushes, not behind my car, not across the street.

I was done answering. I didn't want to feed into their fun anymore, so I went back inside, double-locked the door, and went to my bedroom, also locking that door just to feel safer. I guess even over the TV, I could still hear the stupid kids pounding on my front door repeatedly.

I was so close to calling the cops to get them away, but that would undoubtedly lead to my house being egged or teepeed. The pounding continued for an uncomfortably long time—more than half an hour. I thought these kids must be filming something for YouTube and were desperate for a reaction, but I wasn't going to give it to them.

At some point, I dozed off with the TV on, only to wake up to the knocking again. I looked at the clock; it was 2 in the morning. How could those kids still be at it?

I thought. I turned off the TV and sat up with my ears open for a few moments. My heart completely stopped as I realized the knocking was not at my front door but rather at my bedroom door.

I jumped out of bed, looking around my room like a madman for something to use as a weapon. They knew I was awake now—they were trying the doorknob, trying to bust down the door. These weren't any kids.

By some miracle, I came up with an idea. It was a long shot, but it was all I could think of. I turned on the receiver to my speaker system, plugged in my iPhone, brought up the YouTube app, typed in "45 gunshot sound effect," turned on the volume, and pressed play.

The sound of a gunshot echoed out of the speakers. It sounded real enough. I paused the video after the first shot and yelled, "That was a warning shot!

Leave now or I won't hesitate to shoot you in the head! " And it worked. I heard two pairs of footsteps stamping over my wood floors and out the front door.

I gave it a moment before opening my bedroom door and peeking outside. They were gone, but the front door was left wide open. I quickly shut it, called the police, and that's where my story ended.

So, I was never really a big Halloween person, mostly because I grew up without many friends. Once I passed the age of 10, I couldn't use the excuse of going with my mom anymore, and it's not like I had friends to go with. So this last Halloween, I was 14 years old.

I do have a little sister who's only eight, so my mom went trick-or-treating with her. My one really good friend, Steve, already had plans, and I didn't want to impose. So it didn't seem like I'd be trick-or-treating this year.

I felt a tiny part of me explode with happiness on the inside when my mom asked me to stay home and hand out candies. Now I felt like I had a job to do that didn't involve me trick-or-treating alone like a loser. My mom left with my sister at about 6:00, about an hour after she got home from work.

She told me to expect her back around 9:00, so I was relaxing on the couch in the living room, watching the scary movie marathon on AMC and occasionally answering the door to give candy to the kitties. While doing that, the kitchen phone began to ring. I remember the ringer was set so loud it actually made me jump.

I picked up the phone, and the other end remained silent, except for a bit of fumbling and background noises—sounds you'd expect when somebody's holding a phone. I think I said "hello" about five times before the person on the other end hung up. I just knew it was somebody pulling a Halloween prank call on me.

What else could I do but ignore it? That worked well—well enough for the next few minutes of watching TV and answering the phone until the phone rang again—same unknown number coming up on the caller ID. I wanted to see where this was going, so I picked it up once more.

This time, I could hear a very faint breathing on the other end. "All right, Steve, I know it's you," I said into the phone. They hung up.

By this point, I didn't want to say I was scared, but I was for sure a bit uneasy. It was a long time before that phone rang again. It was getting later, darker, and the doorbell seemed to be ringing less and less.

I was watching the original *Friday the 13th* when it happened again. The sound of that phone ringing had become sickening, as I knew. .

. "Who it would be or rather I didn't. For some reason, I gave in again and picked up, and once again, silence—other than the faint breathing and fumbling of the phone.

It was like this for almost half a minute before they finally spoke in an exaggerated deep voice: 'I'll be paying you a visit tonight. ' I had enough of this joke. I told them to [ __ ] off and hung up the phone, promising to myself not to pick it up again.

I'd say about half an hour later, out of the blue, all the power in the house was cut. The lights went out, the TV turned off—complete darkness. I stood up, now frozen in fear, when loud and angry thumping came from the front door.

I completely lost it and began screaming like a girl, but there was something coming from outside: laughter. I recognized that laughter. I opened the door, and there he was—Steven.

I shoved him nearly down the steps out of anger. 'So that was you who made those dumb phone calls? ' I asked.

He nodded while laughing. 'I didn't sound like you on the phone. Let me hear you do that voice again,' I said.

'What? ' He seemed confused. 'I didn't say anything, you idiot!

I just called and did that heavy breathing! ' I thought he was lying at first, but then my heart dropped. I had him follow me to the fuse box outside.

Just as I feared, it had been opened and all the wires had been snipped. I think we ran faster than any Olympic champions back into the house. I called my mom, who told us to stay inside and wait for the police, who she then called.

The call was traced to a payphone outside of a nearby bar. I still wonder: was this just a dumb Halloween prank gone too far, or was it a potential break-in, and God knows what else waiting to [Music] happen? I don't think I ever want to find [Music] out.

When I was younger, my friends and I went trick-or-treating every year. This one particular year, as we were trick-or-treating, we passed a man who stood still with a mask on, holding a lantern. As we walked past him, he turned his whole body around and followed us with his eyes.

We were creeped out, but there were plenty of people around, so we made our way to the next house. My friends and I saw him over and over again as we made our way from house to house, and he seemed to be following us. In typical horror story form, we walked so slow we couldn't figure out how he kept up with us.

At one house, when we hadn't seen him for a while, we got our candy. As we turned around to walk back to the street, the masked man stood in the road waiting for us. Immediately, we knocked back on the door and told the owners of the house about it.

The masked man continued walking down the street, and we didn't see him again that night. Later on, an adult friend of the family told us he saw a masked man hiding behind a tree, waving little kids over, and he only backed off when he threatened to call the police. I was trick-or-treating with my friend Casey.

We were both 11 years old at the time. We were walking across a small wooden bridge over a small river that many call Jack Winkle River when a black Jeep pulled up on the other side of the bridge, basically blocking our way. We turned around and hurried away.

We were the types of kids to obey the stranger danger rules. We could hear the windows of the Jeep rolling down, and a man with a raspy smoker's voice called for us to come back. He was yelling for help, asking us for directions.

I yelled, 'Sorry! ' and we continued to hurry away. The Jeep couldn't fit over that small bridge, so it pulled away and drove down the road on the other side.

We thought we had made our escape from the creepy driver when here came an SUV barreling around the corner and down the street, slamming on the brakes in front of us. Once again, the driver rolled down the windows. Now, with them right next to us, we could see there were two passengers in the car as well.

An old guy with gray curly hair and a mustache in the back seat, who also had a raspy smoker's voice, told us to get in the car, that they had free bags of candy. The Jeep made a three-point turn and tailed us wherever we went. At one point, the Jeep finally accelerated past us, came to a stop, and the back and front passenger side doors opened, and the two creepy men stepped out, lunging at us.

We dropped our bags of candy and ran straight for my house, which was in sight now. We rang the doorbell desperately at least 20 times. The old men that were chasing us couldn't run fast, and when they saw us running to my house, they turned back.

My mom opened the door, and we screamed and pointed at the Jeep that was backing away in the other direction. She shoved us inside and locked the door, and called the police, like any mom would. She reported the black Jeep with three men inside, older-looking, raspy voices, and any other descriptions we gave.

My mom was freaking out all night, worried about the fact that they knew where we lived. My dad tried to calm her, but she couldn't calm down. Ultimately, the police agreed to send an unmarked police car to stay out front and keep guard for three hours.

That made my mom feel a little better, but what made us all feel better. . .

" It was when my dad woke us up to see the flashing red and blue lights outside of the unmarked police car. They had pulled over an SUV, a black Jeep, and three men were in cuffs — the three old creeps that tried to kidnap me and Casey. My dad went outside to talk to the officer and most likely confirmed that those were the men.

Me and Casey went to the doorway and screamed at the men for their attention. They looked, and we both gave them the finger. My mom then pulled us back in and shut the door, sending us to bed.

It went from the worst night of both of our lives to ultimately the best night of our lives. This story took place on Halloween night. I took my 7-year-old daughter, Jamie, trick-or-treating for a few hours, and when we got back, I cooked dinner.

We watched TV together, and then I sent her to bed. I was feeling especially tired that night, so I brushed up and went to sleep shortly after my daughter entered the room and told me there was someone in her closet. I assured her there was no one in her closet; she had to sleep with me.

But I once again assured her that she was safe in her room. She reluctantly went back to her room and shut the door. I made a mental note that if she came back again, I would walk her to her closet and show her that there was no one in there.

Surely enough, five minutes later, she came back. I asked her why she thought there was someone in her closet. She responded, saying she heard someone moving around and things falling over.

Honestly, when she said that, it kind of made my heart jump for a second. I walked her to her room and turned on the lights. I jokingly asked, "Is anybody in there?

" We stood and listened. I didn't expect to hear anything. There it was — a thud from inside the closet.

I screamed at Jamie to run to the neighbors and call the police. As she did, I swung the door open and was shocked to find the neighbor's son, Randy, sitting on top of my daughter's Lego box. I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him up aggressively.

I walked him angrily back to his parents' house next door and found Jamie ringing the doorbell. When they answered, I shoved him inside right into his father and explained everything. I told him I wouldn't press charges, but if I ever caught him near my daughter again, they would all be sorry.

Randy's dad, Mark, slapped him across the face, then asked me to come inside to allow Randy to explain himself. Jamie and I both went inside. Apparently, while I was taking Jamie trick-or-treating, he had snuck into our house through an open window and hid in her closet with his friend Daryl.

I asked him if this Daryl kid was still in my house. He said yes. I told Jamie to wait with Mark while I ran back into my house, and right as I entered, there he was — this Daryl kid, uglier and shadier looking than Randy.

He had my daughter's underwear in his hand. What I did next was completely out of fatherly protective anger. I grabbed the little [ __ ] by the throat and threw him to the floor, slapping him four times in the face, then hesitantly allowing him to get up and leave.

The only reason I didn't call the police was because of my close friendship with Mark, but I made my point very strongly that if they ever so much as waved to my daughter again, they would be in the news the next day. We went back to sleep. I let Jamie sleep with me after that incident; she was horrified.

The next morning, I found a small drill hole in her closet door. The sick little bastards were spying on my daughter while she slept, at the same time playing with her underwear. Maybe you don't understand the horror of the story unless you're a parent, but there are many days where I think I made a mistake not calling the police.

I still can, but nothing has happened since, and I figure I shouldn't create more trouble now. Jamie's 13 now, and that creep Randy has since gone away to college. [Music] We had just moved into our large new house in Mississauga, Ontario, in an area called Winston Churchill.

It was Halloween night, and my parents, my four other sisters, my brother, and I were unpacking our stuff in our new bedrooms. We had just finished and were talking to each other about leaving our old schools and friends behind. My mother called us to do chores.

I was really tired since it was 11:30 at night — way past the trick-or-treating buzz — and we had to do chores now. It seemed to take forever, but when I was done, I decided to go to my bedroom and get some sleep. I heard what sounded like footsteps in the upstairs hallway.

Thinking it was my brother or sister, I got up to shout at them for bothering me while I was sleeping, but as far as I could tell, there was no one there. I rushed down to the basement where my parents, sister, and brother were considerately working. I asked them all if they had been upstairs, and they replied no.

Now I was getting pretty freaked out, but I had to believe it was just my imagination and shrugged it off as if it had never happened. I went back to my bed, which was now freezing cold; I had to put on a sweater; it was just too [Music] cold. I woke up in the middle of the night around 12:30 a.

m. after everyone had gone to sleep. I heard this loud banging sound that seemed to be coming from my parents' bedroom.

I thought it might be my brother or sister waiting to get a drink of water, but I was too scared to go alone. I was wrong. The banging continued, getting louder by the minute.

I couldn't get to sleep, so I decided to check it out. I walked into the hallway, and believe me, there was no one there. As I walked in, the banging seemed to stop.

I stared at the door only for a quick moment before deciding to go back to bed. After a couple of minutes, the banging started again. Now I was totally chilled to my very last bone.

I tried to sleep again, but I couldn't. Very typical of me, the door to my bedroom creaked open as if someone were pushing it lightly, but it was too dark to see who or what could have come in. "Hey, what the hell are you doing?

Who is it? Let me go back to sleep," I thought to myself. Very light footsteps began to move closer to my bed.

I thought it was one of my sisters until I turned onto my side after the footsteps stopped and saw a figure standing next to my bed—a figure at least 7 ft tall. I choked the urge to scream; nothing came out. I lay there in unimaginable horror as the figure finally said, "Boo!

" That was when I screamed at the top of my lungs and covered my eyes. When my parents thrust open the door to my room and flicked on the light, there was no figure. [Music] There was no figure by my bed.

I cried out everything to them—the thumping, the figure. My siblings came into the doorway and watched me freak out. I asked my parents if they heard the knocking on their door; surely they must have.

It was their door, after all! But they said there was no knocking—not that they knew of. They all looked at me like I was crazy, but I know I'm not.

You can't just imagine something like that—something so [Music] real. I'll never forget this night; I know I won't. It was a few years ago, Halloween night.

We were all 20 years old, right at that age where going to haunted house attractions is one of the best things to do on Halloween. The attraction was called "Scarehouse: Journey to the Basement" or something. It was only open for four straight years in our town; it was never heard of again.

This was its fourth and final year of operation. It was a very high-quality and surprisingly scary haunted house—one of the best ones I've been to. This was not a tour-guided attraction; it was a group exploration attraction—basically a maze where the only way out was to make your way to the basement, find one of the keys, then find the exit and use the key you found to unlock the door.

It was a very unique haunted house, that's for sure. Unfortunately, it wasn't a good night for us, and you're about to learn why. We started out in the living room of the house.

To give as much detail as I can about the room, there was a giant open coffin sitting right smack in the middle of the room. There were very convincing spiderwebs covering just about every inch of every corner of the room. All the furniture was antique and dusty-looking, and of course, blood was stained on the creaky wood floor.

We could tell right away this haunted house was going to be great. The next room was the dining room—that was where things got creepy. The rooms following the dining room were all very dimly lit by artificial lanterns hooked onto the walls.

On several occasions, actors jumped out at us in horrifically convincing costumes, as expected, and yet they still got me every time. We actually spent a lot of time going in circles trying to find the basement. This wasn't a real wide-open house; it was designed to be like a maze with many rooms and fake doors.

It took a long time for us to finally find the basement door, and I have to admit I was nervous to go down there. It was completely pitch black down there. We started to think that it might have been an employee-only area where they kept props—it was just too dark down there to see.

It was stated many times that no cell phones were allowed while in the attraction, so we couldn't use cell phone screens as lights. If we wanted to get out of there, we had no choice but to go down [Music] there. Each step created a creak more painful to the ears than fingernails scratching on a chalkboard.

We were all laughing, telling each other how [__] freaked out we were. I had my hands out in front of me as if I was searching for anything in the complete darkness. I banged into somebody and apologized.

"Who was that? " I asked, expecting it to be one of my friends. No answer.

Whoever I just bumped into placed their hand on my shoulder, and I took off running and screaming while at the same time laughing. There was something so disturbing about being in that huge pitch-black basement, knowing someone was in there with us. One of my friends, thankfully, found a key on a desk in the corner of the room.

We all ran back upstairs, back to the light, and found the exit door. The actual experience and process of getting through that maze of a haunted house was much longer than my story makes it out to be, but that's not where things got horrifying. Right outside the exit door was a small bin with a sign that said "Drp.

" "Keys here, please. " That's how the staff would collect the keys and bring them back down to the basement, halfway off the premises of the haunted house. The exit door opened, and a really tall person dressed in a black robe and bloody pig mask stepped out and started following in our direction.

He—or she, though it was most likely a he, so I'll refer to him as a he—appeared to be one of the staff members for the attraction. As we walked further away from the attraction, so did the guy in the costume. It seemed to all of us that he was following us.

By this point, one of my friends called, "We don't have the key, if that's what you want! We dropped it in the little bin. " But that didn't do the trick.

As a joke, we started running just to see if he would too, and he did. We stopped, and so did he. We stood still, and so did he.

At first, it was funny; maybe it was just a joke. But as we got closer to my friend Eddie's house, we were starting to discuss if we should reveal where he lives to this guy. He had been following us for at least five blocks now, so if it was a joke, it had gone far enough.

Eddie's parents were both home, so we felt safe to go inside. Apparently, Eddie's front door was broken, whatever that meant, so we had to run back. We jokingly waved at the douchebag still following us and walked to Eddie's backyard, shutting the gate behind us.

Wiping our feet on his welcome mat at the back door, we heard the gate open. The man emerged from behind the side of the house and began walking toward us once again, this time much faster. Eddie opened the back door and called to his dad, telling him to get his gun.

This seemed to grab the masked man's attention; he slowed down and turned his head to face Eddie. Eddie's dad emerged, angry as hell, and aimed his pistol at the masked coward. He raised his hands up and cried out for him not to shoot, that he's only 27.

Eddie's dad told him to get lost and never come back, and the next time he wouldn't think twice about pulling the trigger. Personally, I wish Eddie's dad had made the guy get on his knees and take off the mask, then call the police. That guy got off too easily; for all we know, he could have been armed as well.

We contacted the haunted house attraction, and they informed us that they had no such employee dressed in a pig mask.