The Hotel Didn’t Want Me There
Do you have a terrifying true story that sounds like something out of a horror movie? Home-made Creepypasta is now accepting submissions!
Do you have a terrifying true story that sounds like something out of a horror movie?
Home-made Creepypasta is now accepting submissions! Share your eerie, unexplained, or downright chilling encounters in the comments below…
The Hotel Didn’t Want Me There
Last year, I accidentally booked a stay at one of England’s most haunted hotels. I had no idea at the time—I was just looking for a decent place to sleep.
From the moment I stepped inside, something felt wrong.
The air was heavy, the kind of suffocating stillness that makes your skin prickle. The hallways were too quiet, the dim lighting casting eerie shadows that seemed to shift when I wasn’t looking.
But it was the motion sensor lights that unnerved me the most.
They kept turning on.
I would be lying in bed, trying to ignore the unease creeping up my spine, when—click—the hallway outside my room would flood with light. I’d open the door, expecting to see someone walking past.
Nothing.
Over and over, all night, the lights would flicker on as if something was moving just outside my door.
I barely slept.
It wasn’t until the next morning, when I checked the hotel’s website for breakfast times, that I saw it.
The "About the Hotel" page.
I felt my stomach drop as I read the words: "One of the most haunted hotels in England."
My room? Directly across from the most haunted room in the entire place.
I left that morning and never looked back.
But even now, I can’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t just opposite something haunted.
I think it was standing right outside my door. Watching. Waiting.
And maybe… it still is.
Do you have a terrifying true story that sounds like something out of a horror movie? Home-made Creepypasta is now accepting submissions! Share your eerie, unexplained, or downright chilling encounters in the comments below, and your story could be featured on the blog—and in an upcoming book collection published by Mark Watson Books.
How It Works:
Submit Your Story – Send us your true, spine-chilling experience either by replying to this email or in the comments. It can be a firsthand account or a story passed down to you—just make sure it's real!
Get Featured on the Blog – If selected, your story will be published on Home-made Creepypasta, where thousands of horror fans can read and share it.
Be Considered for the Book – The best, most terrifying stories will be chosen for an exclusive Home-made Creepypasta book collection, published by Mark Watson Books. Your name (or a pseudonym, if you prefer) will be included as a contributor.
This is your chance to have your true horror story immortalized in print. Submit now… if you dare. 👁️👁️
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You confirm that the story you are submitting is your original work or a firsthand account that you have permission to share.
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Titles and formatting may be adjusted to fit our blog or publication style.
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Submission does not guarantee publication. Stories may be featured on the blog, social media, and/or in a book collection published by Mark Watson Books.
You will not be credited in published works (under your real name, pseudonym, or anonymously).
No monetary compensation is provided for submissions unless explicitly stated in a separate written agreement.
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Stories should be true and based on personal experiences or accounts passed down to you. While minor embellishments for storytelling are acceptable, submissions found to be completely fictional will be disqualified.
No submissions containing hate speech, explicit violence, or illegal content will be accepted.
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If you do not agree with these terms, please do not submit your story.
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what if you think you died.....but your still alive
The night was unnervingly quiet, broken exclusively by a periodic stirring of dry leaves and the far off yelling of a homeless canine. It was winter, and the virus bothered my bones as I headed back home through a rear entryway that slices through a neglected area of town. I had pursued this faster route previously, yet that evening, something felt unique — a spooky vibe that made my skin prickle.
As I turned a corner close to an old, rotting distribution center, I saw something that made my heart hammer brutally against my ribcage. A little fire consumed close to a heap of junk, its blazes licking the haziness like a destitute monster. In any case, what held me frozen completely still was seeing three Donkeys waiting around the fire, their heads brought down, their lips moving musically. My eyes enlarged in dismay as I understood — they were eating the consuming coal.
The ashes broke and popped, sending flashes up high, at this point the donkeys appeared to be unaffected. They bit the blazing pieces with a sluggish, purposeful movement, their eyes shining unnaturally in the gleaming light. A solid, harsh smell of consuming hair and tissue filled my noses, making me gag. Yet, they didn't wince. All things considered, they proceeded with their unusual gala, the intensely hot coal bouncing off their dull, inert eyes.
Briefly, my reasonable brain attempted to deal with how the situation was playing out. Was this a deception of some sort? A stunt of the psyche brought about by fatigue? In any case, the snapping flares and the crunching of consuming coals under their teeth affirmed the frightening reality.
Then, at that point, as though detecting my presence, one of the donkeys lifted its head. Its face was shockingly human-like, the lips twisting in seemingly a bizarre smile. Its eyes locked onto mine — profound, dark voids that appeared to pull me in. My breath hitched as an odd, throaty sound got away from its throat, not the bawl of a donkey but rather something… else. Something not of this world.
My legs shouted at me to run, yet dread secured me to the ground. The other donkey knocked some people's socks off toward me, their mouths actually loaded up with consuming coal, their breath delivering little wisps of smoke into the virus air. The unnatural smile on their countenances augmented as though they were entertained by my shock.
Then, at that point, all of a sudden, the biggest of the three donkeys moved forward. Its hooves rattled against the substantial, repeating unnaturally clearly in the dead quiet of the evening. With each step it took, the fire behind it darkened, as though the flares feared it. My body at long last broke liberated from the loss of motion of dread, and I staggered in reverse, my heart beating so uproariously I figured it would explode.
I pivoted suddenly and ran, my breath coming in worn out wheezes. The back street extended perpetually before me, the haziness squeezing in from all sides. I tried not to think back, apprehensive that assuming I did, I would see those eyes — those massive, abysses of darkness gazing back at me.
At the point when I at last burst out onto the central avenue, gasping and soaked in cool perspiration, I constrained myself to look behind me. The back street was unfilled. The fire was no more. There was no hint of the donkeys or their unholy gala.
Had I envisioned it? A mental trip welcomed on by weariness? Be that as it may, as I remained there, attempting to contend my breathing, a severe taste filled my mouth — like the leftovers of smoke. And afterward I saw the soles of my shoes, dissolved marginally at the edges as though I had stood excessively near a fire.
Right up to the present day, I don't have any idea what I saw that evening. Nobody accepts me when I enlighten them concerning the donkeys eating consuming coal. They dismiss it as a bad dream or an invention of my creative mind. Be that as it may, I understand what I saw. Also, at times, late around evening time, when the air is still and the world is quiet, I hear it once more — that sluggish, musical biting. Furthermore, I supplicate that I at absolutely no point ever see those eyes in the future.