2013 QBN Story Time
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- mg33
Post your best, most entertaining, shocking, impressive, amazing stories. Lets make this a good one.
- lvl_130
tl;dr
!-------------------------------... > End Thread < --------------------------------...
- jaylarson0
doogan
- bigtrick0
Peta lounged languidly, naked, on the tousled sheets in her spartan room. She chewed thoughtfully on the end of a spiced sausage, a forbidden treat that Kolya had acquired with a month of saved kopecks.
Just then, Kolya burst in the door. “The Komsomol are right behind me!" he gasped. “Quick, hide the sausage!"
- bigtrick0
Nastasya flew through the air, her legs spread wide apart, arms extended behind in a beautiful arc. “Bravo!" clapped her instructor - Nastasya was the best in her class, and everyone watching the outdoor exhibition could only gape with awe. “Now, again!" commanded the instructor, and obligingly Nastasya lined up for another leap. It was quite hot outside in the courtyard of the academy, and she was sweating heavily from her legs.
From a nearby window, 9-year-old Ochenko lined up his homemade slingshot. No stones lay near to hand - what to do? Ah, Babushka had just brought home the week’s groceries - here was a handy cucumber! Ochenko loaded the projectile and pulled back as hard as he could.
As Nastasya started her jump, she heard a loud ripping sound from the bottom of her leotard. As she leaped, her garment tore right at the seam between her legs.
- bigtrick0
Yekaterina winced, her face suffused with perspiration. Her arms were wrapped tightly around several paper sacks full of vodka bottles, and she could barely hold them together. Her destination was only a block away, now, though she was not sure she could make it there.
A small tear appeared in the bottom of one of the sacks. Yekaterina felt it ripping, but could not reposition her arms to support the sack. All she could do was awkwardly shuffle forward as she had been doing. The tear worked itself into a larger gash — and suddenly, she felt one of the bottles in the sack working itself into the hole. She stopped in her tracks, but it was too late - the bottle fell out! Thinking quickly, Yekaterina stuck out her foot in an effort to break the fall. It worked - the bottle smacked her foot, rolled off, and came to rest on the cobbled ground, miraculously upright.
Yekaterina could not afford to set down her sacks to pick up the bottle - if she did, the rip would worsen. And she could not afford to leave the bottle where it was and come back for it - surely some street urchin would make off with it.
She remembered that today was laundry day and that her only pair of good undergarments were in the wash - she wasn’t wearing any.
She looked down at the bottle.
- ORAZAL0
SLIDE TO UNLOCK
BY ED PARKYou cycle through your passwords. They tell the secret story. What’s most important to you, the things you think can’t be deciphered. Words and numbers stored in the lining of your heart.
Your daughter’s name.
Your daughter’s name backward.
Your daughter’s name backward plus the year of her birth.
Your daughter’s name backward plus the last two digits of the year of her birth.
Your daughter’s name backward plus the current year.
They keep changing. They blur in the brain. Every day you punch in three or four of these memory strings to access the home laptop, the work laptop. The e-mail, the Facebook, the voice mail. Frequent-flyer account. Every week, you’re asked to change at least one, to increase the security. You feel virtuous when the security meter changes from red to green.
Your home town backward.
Your home town plus the year you were born.
Your home town backward plus the year you were born.
Olaf Fub 1970.
There are hints when you forget. Mother’s maiden name. First car, favorite color, elementary school.
First girl you kissed—that should be one.
First boy.
Can the hints just be the passwords?
Stop stalling.
First sex. You remember the day, month, year. The full year or just the last two digits?
First concert you attended.
Name of hospital where you were born.
You wonder who writes these prompts. Someone has to write them.
Tip: Never use the same password for more than one account.
Last four digits of first phone number.
Last four digits of first work number.
Your daughter’s best friend’s name backward.
Your boss’s first name.
Your first boss’s last name plus the year you were born.
If you could type out all your passwords, their entire silent history, they would fill a book you could read in a minute.
Last four digits of your cell backward.
Favorite sports team.
Favorite sports team backward.
Serbas.
Pet’s name.
You knew a guy who had a dog named Serbas. You knew two guys with dogs named Serbas. They didn’t like each other. The guys, that is. The dogs, who knows. You’re pretty sure one was female, the other male.
Pet’s name backward plus current year.
Favorite sibling—sibling who never let you down—plus last two digits of current year.
Mix of capitals and lowercase.
Six to eight characters long.
Ten to fourteen.
Stop stalling.
Mix of numerals and letters.
At least one symbol: #, %, *, !.!
Father’s home town.
Mother’s maiden name backward.
The girl at work you can’t stop thinking about.
The girl at work plus current year.
The girl at work backward.
The girl at work backward and lowercase plus last two digits of current year.
Passwords mean nothing to the machine. The machine lets you in to do what you need to do. It doesn’t judge. It doesn’t care.
Your password appears as a row of dots.
“Vertigo.” “Groundhog Day.”
Favorite actor.
Actress who first made you hard, backward, plus current year.
Best friend from high school.
Best friend from college.
Stop stalling.
Year you last saw your daughter.
Year you last saw your daughter plus her name.
There’s a file on your work computer called passwords. But what if you forget the password to get into your work computer?
Her favorite toy.
What she named her bike.
First girl you dated in college backward and lowercase.
“The Shop Around the Corner.” “Buffalo ’66.”
Date of first death in the family.
Grandfather’s name backward plus birth year.
Year you finally started getting your shit together.
“Citizen Kane.” “Ace Ventura: Pet Detective.”
Year of First Communion plus name of priest.
Stop stalling.
Favorite author backward and lowercase with middle letter capped for no reason save randomness.
Street address of the house you grew up in.
Sibling you don’t talk to.
Spouse of sibling you don’t talk to, whom you text when you’re drunk.
Stop stalling.
Your last name backward plus the day, month, and year you find yourself at an A.T.M. at the ass end of Hertel Avenue with the tip of a gun pressed between your shoulder blades, the gun in the hand of the guy who followed you from down the street, affecting a limp, a big guy in a black windbreaker and a Bills Starter cap, who stepped behind you, quiet as a shadow, the big guy with dead eyes behind five-dollar sunglasses who already has your phone and wallet and the bottle of wine you thought it would be a good idea to run out and get, at ten in the evening, she said she’d stay inside and you said you would hurry, and it was a good night for a walk, so, while you’re at it, taking in the cool night air, why not get some cash for the week to come?
The big guy with the very hard gun who is saying Password and Right now and Stop stalling. ♦
- bigtrick0
Horse-fucker grimaced. It was a stupid idea to be original. He shoulda gone with a nice daycare name like his mommy suggested, like Pea-eater or Big-smiler. But when the three-headed daycare lady-man-lady asked him what his name was, he got confused at the three voices and said the first thing that came to mind. Now, the chants of the other children and the lady-man-lady grew deafening. HORSE-FUCKER, HORSE-FUCKER, they yelled, and up on the platform it was like a sea of noise, breaking and saltily foaming directly into his cochlea.
He warily approached the horse.
- sureshot0
I'm calling the police.
- GeorgesIV0
there's nothing more freaky to let apple speech read your stories, I do it all the time and it adds to the creepyness,
anyways, read this yesterday, pretty good,
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meh, qbn won't let me paste the story, probably there's a censored word,Anasi's Goatman Story
http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wik…
- GeorgesIV0
neat
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A GLOBAL WARNING FROM THE UNITED NATIONS, 2013The following is a redacted document originally submitted to the U.N. council by their diplomat for Global Climate Research. It has since been discovered by an American intern at a foreign consulate and spread virally through Wikileaks by an internet group known as The Midnight Society.
To the U.N. Council:
Before this information travels from here to everywhere – reddit to Walmart – you need to please heed this, my final warning. As of August, 2013, the [redacted] will no longer have funding to close off the two proof positive sites of the world’s deadliest threat. I’m told they are to be tourist attractions.
As I have mainly spent the last few months at ground zero with pathologists and the top scientific minds our money could fund (that is until we, too, ran out), it has been my decision to abandon posthaste. My family and I have been in [redacted] for nearly a month, as it is a place where we are safe...for now. Several of the pathologists and top minds came with me and we continue our fight against the Adam Parasite.
As my many months of screaming about imminent danger have somehow failed to garner an audience, I will briefly describe what you are in for:
As this year has been exceptionally warm, just as twelve of the last fifteen have been the hottest on record, it is safe to assume that the [redacted] got a bit warm by June of this year. Wrong. Unlike last year, the waters had reached the perfect temperature for this parasite’s gestation in early May. It was ahead of schedule. The microparasite is really just an overly complicated bacteria, which is what makes it unique. It has individual stages, beginning with a hibernation in the low beds of the lake where it’s coldest. This is also why it has been hidden to us for so long. Our data suggests this parasite has lived at the bottom of [redacted] for centuries, maybe even millennia. But as the water heats even just a fraction of a degree Celsius – which is new for this habitation – it sort of knocks it loose. Now it’s like an embryo at the bottom of the lake and as it surfaces, it’s at a gestational phase. Fish eat it, birds eat the fish, animals eat the fish, and nothing really happens as it never reaches the end of the phase. And the rest die by the change in temperature early-fall. As we isolated it and prodded it, we could see where it was headed – like a flower that, when it blooms, your brain melts. Not many have bloomed but they haven’t bloomed yet because they haven’t had ample time to mature, which only takes a slight bit of adaptation. Things like this don’t take much time. Nature doesn’t often make the same mistake, a sort of dime-store interpretation of Darwin.
This year, I expect that the Adam Parasite will finish its gestational phase sometime early-to-mid August, thus becoming an incredible danger to public health. This will be a time where the [redacted] sees sporadic violence, first local to the northeast and then kind of spread out in the area. You’ll get a few in distant spots, tourists that take it home with them. It looks white, like a tiny white fuzzy with a miniature contact lens in the center, maybe a third the size of a penny. It’s a great disguise because it looks like it could have fallen out of a tree when you see it floating on water. And they pop up in pairs, not a hundred at once but a dozen or so. It’ll be easy to take home, which will make the Adam Parasite quite happy as it does much better in the air during its final stage.
The sporadic violence will seem odd, peculiar, random. To many it will look like the zombie apocalypse, as the breakdown of the brain often leads to violent hallucination. It will actually be...pretty close to the zombie apocalypse, now that I think about it. Your brain will melt, yes, but it takes many hours which will vary from person to person. Our testing of this has been on animals thus far – felines have worked best in mimicking our nervous system’s response – but we do have a fair gauge of the initial outbreak. It will continue to adapt further after it spreads and our crystal ball only sees as far as the money we threw at it. We do know that it will begin as airborne in nature and that it will be communicable but to what degree, we just don’t know. We hypothesize a high number of reproduction.
The initial outbreak will begin in the [redacted] and it may thrive a bit toward [redacted] early in the season but it will definitely make a beeline for [redacted] and it will destroy everything in its path. [redacted] and [redacted] are gone within a month, before this has even begun to adapt to spread faster. Animals will carry it. People will spread it. Densely populated areas will go first.
I’ll leave you with the symptoms, so you know when you see it coming. When you’re in the first stage, it will start with sweating, a raise in heartbeat, and a few distinctly flu-like symptoms might follow. You won’t know exactly when you enter the second stage because your brain won’t know the difference, like when you think a dream is real. This will be when you hallucination and attack everyone, the person behind you and next to you and your family and your friends and anyone around, any way you can. By this point you’re running a fever of 107 so your brain is overheating and you are stuck in a PCP-like crazy overdrive. In the last stage, you physically melt to death. Your blood becomes slightly acidic as the lining of your intestines disintegrate and things like bile end up in your bloodstream. Your blood, I should mention, takes on a black hue. During the third stage, you’ll see a lot of it as it tends to just pour continuously out of the mouth and nose and ears and eyes, anywhere there’s a hole in your body. Think about that a moment, then think about how the integumentary system isn’t strong enough to house your acidic blood so your skin dissolves from your bones in patches that bleed black. Most likely you’ll already be dead as the ole’ noggin has cooked like a broiler but I have a feeling that some people will live into the stage where they walk around melting off parts of their body in black goo.
As always, I thank you for your time but, alas, I tender my resignation. Good luck and go [redacted] yourselves, you sons of [redacted].
[signature redacted] U.N. Global Climate Researcher
- GeorgesIV0
Here is my maggot story. The one I didn't lose, anyway. I wrote this about two weeks after my first experience with maggots, about five years ago. I didn't realize people would ask me to repost it so soon! Hope you enjoy it.
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Sunday was warm and sunny, just how I always fantasized it would be when I finally went through with it. I stared walking to the dumpster again, I think about 2pm, and I was really excited and nervous. I felt butterflies in my tummy, just anticipating what I was about to do.
The dumpster is in the alley behind a restaurant near my house. It gets emptied on Tuesdays, so by Sunday it's pretty stinky and there are flies buzzing around. Which means there are things rotting inside there and that's just perfect for me. A few times in the past I climbed into that dumpster and masturbated. Nothing too intense. Most I'd ever done was take off my pants and hump against the dirty garbage bags. And one time I laid there with my legs spread, watching the flies land on me.
So anyway, I walked down the alley to the dumpster, and as usual I made sure nobody was around, just to be extra careful. You have to go behind a tall wooden fence to even see the dumpster, and the restaurant is closed on Sunday anyway, so I knew I wouldn't be noticed. But this time there's no way I want to be disturbed. I climbed up and over the side and onto my hands and knees into the mass of plastic garbage bags and other miscellaneous rubbish. The bags felt warm from the sun. The smell in there was extremely foul, much worse than usual, and I knew it was because of my rotting meat. I sat and tried to get myself to relax for a few minutes. There was no reason to hurry. When I was ready, I calmly took off my sandals, my jeans, and my panties. Both pairs. I was wearing two pairs of tight panties with a bunch of my panty liners in the crotch, which keeps anything in my vagina from coming out when I move around. But I was going "all the way" this time, so I went ahead and got completely naked. That was a weird feeling, being totally nude inside the dumpster. It seemed very erotic to me. The sun felt warm on my skin, especially my boobs, which pretty much never see the sun.
I took a pair of rubber kitchen gloves out of my pants pocket and put them on. There was no way I could bring myself to actually touch a maggot with my bare hands. Lying with my back against the side of the dumpster, I fingered my pussy. I was really wet already. I knew I would be. The sensation of the rubber glove against my clit felt unusual, and I kind of liked it. I did that for a little while, just thinking about what I was about to do, while staring at the smaller garbage bag in the far corner of the dumpster where I'd left it yesterday. I still felt the butterflies in my tummy. I kept thinking to myself that I can't wimp out, that I had to go through with this. I wished for a moment that someone else was there to force me to do it, but decided that it was somehow much more sick and depraved to do it to myself willingly. And I thought, yeah, that's me. That's what I want. I deserve this. And so I knew it was time to do it
I got back on my hands and knees and crawled to the other side of the dumpster. I sat down next to my garbage bag, gently picked it up and placed it in front of me. The terrible smell was already stronger. Carefully, I tore the bag open. And there they were. There had to be thousands of maggots, kind of beige-yellow with little black spots on them, all writhing in a large mass. I couldn't even see the rotting meat underneath them. Dozens more maggots clung to the inside of the black plastic, which was coated with a thick light-brown slime. It was such a repulsive sight I thought I was going to throw up right there. But I didn't. I took a few minutes to get control of myself, fingering my clit while staring at the maggots, trying to work up the courage to continue.
I scooped up some of the slime on my gloved finger and brought it to my nose. I knew what it was from the reading I'd done before. It was digestive juices from the maggots, full of bacteria. And it smelled just horrible. I thought to myself, that's what I'm going to smell like. That's the stench that's going to come from my vagina. I want that, I thought, spreading my legs wide apart. I dragged my slimy finger between my pussy lips. My clit felt like a hard little pebble beneath the slime. I didn't want to cum right then, though, and I was still right on the edge of gagging, too. But I knew there was no turning back now, so I let my fingers lightly touch the top of the maggot mass. The maggots felt like nothing I'd experienced before. They seemed to have such energy, totally different from picking up an earthworm or something. And they felt so alive. I was fascinated and nauseated at the same time. Sinking my fingers into the mass, I felt the solid meat beneath. Gently breaking it apart, I could see that the meat had turned gray except for the very center which was still pink, and that the maggots had penetrated into it but not too deeply yet. There was still plenty of food for my filthy little babies. I broke off a small chunk of meat that was covered on one side with maggots and held it for a moment while I fought back another urge to vomit. It was finally time, I thought. I leaned forward, and holding my pussy lips apart with one hand, I gritted my teeth and pushed the maggot-covered chunk of meat into my vagina. And then, totally without expecting it, I had an orgasm. A quick, sharp one that only made me want more.
And more was coming. I broke off another small chunk of meat, along with another part of the maggot mass and pushed it inside me. This one had more maggots on it, and I stopped for a moment to see if I could feel them inside me. I wasn't sure I could, but it didn't matter. I wanted them all. I needed to take them all inside me. With that thought, I went sort of wild. I started pushing bigger chunks of meat and maggots, and even handfuls of just maggots into me, over and over. I was practically hyperventilating, too. I wasn't thinking at all about the noise I must have been making. But now I could definitely feel the maggots squirming inside my vagina. Just the idea of it made me cum again.
Finally, once I had crammed all of the rotten meat, and all of the maggots I could inside me, I felt so filthy, so disgusting, like I'd turned myself into some low, depraved sort of beast. And that made me so incredibly hot, together with the constant movement of the maggots inside me. But it was time to go. Holding my hand over my crotch, I slowly crawled back to my clothes and managed to get dressed again without anything coming out. I put the gloves back into my pocket and climbed out of the dumpster. And right then I could hold back the revulsion of what I'd just done no longer. Holding myself up against the side of the dumpster, I threw up. Ever vomited while you were horny? It's weird.
Walking home down the alley, I felt like I was in a daze. I kept asking myself how I could have done this to myself, but then asking why I'd waited so long. I had to walk slowly to make sure nothing got squeezed out of my vagina, but also to keep from cumming again. I found myself amazed at the whole thing, that I'd stuffed the most intimate part of myself with these things that were too disgusting to even touch without gloves. And that I was totally getting off on it.
Once I was home, I locked myself in my bedroom, took off my clothes, except for my double-panties, and got into bed. I closed my eyes and just let myself feel the maggots squirming inside me. For a while I tried to watch TV, but I could really pay attention to it. The maggots were too wonderfully distracting. I skipped dinner. Later on, when I really had to pee, I did it by taking down my panties and holding my hand over my crotch, wearing the rubber gloves, of course.
The next morning I called off of work after being awake most of the night. I mainly stayed naked in my bed all day masturbating, barely getting up for anything. I wanted to do nothing but let my nauseating little babies grow inside my pussy. Pretty early, though, I realized the smell was getting really horrible. I opened the window. I also wet a bath towel and stuffed it under my bedroom door. I didn't want my parents to get suspicious.
More??
- GeorgesIV0
[WP] Every year 10 people are placed on what's known as "The Kill List". They can be from anywhere around the world, and if you are found murdering them you are showered with wealth and fortune. If you are on the Kill List and survive the year, you are showered in wealth and fortune.
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And then there was one. I looked into the wall-to-wall mirror that hung up on the wall behind the bar. Behind me, the tables were full and the booths packed. People jostled and pushed their way to the bar to order, shouting above the raucous.
A thick-barreled man wearing a striped buttoned shirt motioned at the large television that sat perched above the bar. "Hey, man, turn it up!"
The bartender nodded and reached for the remote.
A pretty blonde with pink lips was speaking into the microphone. "It is day three hundred sixty-six, and the last man on The Kill List is still alive! Sources say he was last spotted in New York City; stay tuned for further updates!"
I threw down more whiskey and ignored the television. Leave it to lady luck to pick me on a leap year.
"Can you believe the guy?" A man--more of a kid, really--shoved his way to the bar next to me. He motioned at the television, which was showing a photo of me. Except it wasn't me. The kid took a draw of his drink. "He's gonna make it, man! This dude is like a shadow!"
I nodded, stroking my beard in thought. "You think you could kill him?"
He scoffed. "Of course, man! My own estate on mars and two million dollars? I'd be livin' the life!"
"A tempting offer." I nodded at the television. "He must be feeling pretty lucky. One more day an' he's going to be living on mars and a couple million bucks in his accounts."
"Yeah, lucky..." The kid turned and left, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I was pushing my luck, and I knew it. We weren't identical twins, but me and my brother looked similar. When I first read my name, I almost killed myself; better to do it yourself than to be hunted by everybody. But then they showed the picture. It was Adam, and he'd died eight years ago. A beard and a shock of hair on the head, and a self-imposed broken nose later, and I looked like another man.
It was time to leave. Go to my room, stay inside, and wait until the year was over. Then I could emerge a rich man. One who could get away from this polluted and over-populated dirt-ball. I exited the bar and inhaled deeply. New York City, due to the pollution-shield, was one of the few cities left with fresh air. I hailed a taxi and one darted out from traffic and pulled to a stop in front of.
It was with my hand on the handle that I stopped myself. This was going to be my last night in New York City. I'd walk to the hotel.
Times Square was desolate, yellow-tape sprawled and strewn across it, reconstruction never quite taking place after the bomb. I was a block away from the hotel when that gut feeling hit me. It was the feeling of being followed--of being watched. I threw a casual glance behind, as if looking to cross the street, and there he was. Hooded, hunched over, hands in pockets. He picked up his pace and I picked up mine.
I reached down and rested a hand on my gun. I would use it. I would be legally obligated to use it. But not yet. I stepped off the curb onto the street and cast one more glance backward. The hooded figure turned into an alley and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.
Brakes squealed and something hard hit me at the knees. I flopped sideways and slammed into something hard before flying the opposite way. I landed on my side, the broken bumper of a silver car staring back at me.
The door flew open and a woman in a black dress got out, blonde hair flying. "Oh my god, oh my god, please, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!" She knelt down and pushed me onto my back. Pain erupted at the small of my back, and I almost blacked out.
A car squealed to a stop and a door slammed shut. "Is he alright?!" The voice belonged to an old man who appeared over the shoulder of the hysterical woman. He stopped when he saw me and his face went blank. "You're going to be alright son." He grasped the woman by the shoulder and pulled her back, speaking softly. "He's gone, ma'am. No way he can survive that."
I tried to get up, to ask what he meant, but I couldn't move. The street underneath was cold. I stared into the sky and watched as the shield shimmered and glistened, causing the stars above and beyond it to streak and throb across the sky. I chuckled, or at least, I tried to chuckle. Instead it came out as a rasping sort of cough, and something wet slipped from my mouth. I could hear lady luck laughing as she led me away.
