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The Internet makes me shit my pants

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The Internet makes me shit my pants

The meaning and impact of Creepypasta

Allen Wang

10.25.17

There was a 12-year-old who crawled out of the woods, covered in blood, a while back. She had been stabbed by two friends, who ritualistically attempted to sacrifice her to a higher being. The deity that had haunted them to do so is named Slenderman. Slenderman is a piece of fiction made by a creative guy on the internet, who rose to prominence from a few stories written in Creepypasta Wikia entries, to a Let’s Play video by Pewdiepie, and now to this.

I sure as hell wasn’t stabbing people I knew, but like those girls, I was rattled by internet stories at a young age.

I sure as hell wasn’t stabbing people I knew, but like those girls, I was rattled by internet stories at a young age. Here are a few examples: Satanic, murderous message is embedded in a cryptic, unaired SpongeBob episode. Grotesque, humanoid apparitions that prey at midnight in the forest a short drive from home. Digital images which curse viewers into being stalked in their dreams by the grins of mangled demons circulate a click away through the world wide web.

I was addicted to stuff like this. Creepypasta – basically, online horror stories – almost exclusively swallowed my Middle School. Creepypasta from the Creepypasta Wikia, or just user-submitted stories to Reddit.com/r/nosleep, would scare me so bad that it would be hard to walk through the school hallways alone on stormy days. It sucked to be in the dark.

The best stories are written not just with surrealist creativity, but also with an understanding of nostalgia’s most personal.

Exploiting the ability for young readers’ imaginations to conjure up terrifying images, creepypasta are rattling at a level so intimate that I would argue beats horror movies. Made by and for internet kids, creepypasta creates utter terror in the most innocuous parts of suburban life like hikes to the woods, video games, and TV shows. The best stories are written not just with surrealist creativity, but also with an understanding of nostalgia’s most personal.

I was 13-years-old or so, still getting used to my awkward position with middle school’s toxic, judgement and drama-laden environment. The intimate social circle of my elementary classroom – the only social life I had known – was far behind me. Smosh and Ray William Johnson, with their obnoxious chipperness, had just started to not be funny. Then there was the other confusion of puberty, growing angst, and edginess. I became fascinated with morbidity, and the pseudo-traumatizing experience of creepypasta intimately entertaining.

Slenderman is only one of the many mainstream creepypastas in the community. I could go on and on about the haunting effect of each one story I have read.

It’s more fun to get scared shitless on your own, though:






Photos courtesy of Creepypasta Wikia