you may not find this to be a true definition of 'creepy-pasta' - more of a minecraft horror novel, mixed in with my terrible and forever persistent humour clawing at its legs.
Sparks flew as the long snake of gunpowder rope burned away into the blackness of the tunnel, a ball of fire slowly riding the powder to its payload. Mark peered cautiously out of his trench outside of his makeshift mineshaft. He awaited happily, perhaps a little bit scared. Reason being, shafts had a habit of vomiting large amounts of debris in his direction. He rubbed his trusty iron hard-hat, pocked with impact craters, reassuring himself his head was well protected.
The trail of fire slowly spun around a steep corner in the shaft some ten metres into the mine. It was nearly there. Mark expectantly stuck his fingers in his ears, and cringed with a sour face. The explosion roared through the countryside, disturbing the birds from the nearby trees, shaking a glum looking cow off of its feet, rolling in despair down a grassy slope it was happily chewing its cud on, and PING.
Mark's eyes flashed open in fright. He was knocked down, catching his hard-hat in a frantic reflex as he hit the ground. He shot up, pulled his helmet off and felt through his hair. "Not a scratch." He sighed in heavy relief, fondled his helmet in his hands for a moment then came back with reassured surprise, as he purchased the view of a large hole, possibly three centimetres wide staring through air. "Bloody hell!" he wailed, trembling with its figure in his hands; he set it down beside his small travel chest next to him, hoping to put his mind off of it. Just as he collected himself and put a foot outside, the sad cow plummeted off of the lip of the cave entrance and fell before mark like a water-balloon. He screamed as his ankles soaked with red grass, his face a mess of anguished fear. "Every time." He grit his teeth and stumbled around the poor creature, rubbing his pickaxe's shaft with a more than reasonable grip.
Swirling smoke and dust whipped around Mark, choking his lungs as he proceeded into the shaft. Rocks spat from the roof; mark wished for a new helmet. He would get it if he had struck iron this time. The dark was slowly creeping in; its almost tangible malevolence in his world had a clammy, static sensation on his skin as he proceeded further. A little sound nagged on in the edges of his hearing, an almost unintelligible moan oozed over his vicinity. He swung around in peril, feeling for his sword that hung from his side with his right hand, while he dug into his satchel with his left in a frantic ruffling. The moans closed in, surrounding him in all directions - a dungeon, mark had thought, fighting back the urge to swing his sword in idiotic circles. His hand grasped a thick wooden instrument in his bag; he wrenched it out and stabbed it into the wall. Magic worked itself into the stick, engulfing the end of the stick in fire. Light flooded through the steep cavern, revealing nothing... No zombies or skeletons. He dared for breath in swallowing gasps, leaning against his sword. He looked down his disgruntled mine-cart track, stopping suddenly at a complex perversion of science - four mine-carts spinning in a perpetual circle on a closed circuit. Further down, through the new blasting and excavating, a large wall of thick stone had given way. Through the gap, sheepish green light funnelled out.
Mark stumbled over multiple layers of loose stone, some picking up in his shoes, and he cursed and kicked his boots clean of its annoyance. Almost blindly falling to his death, he wrapped his arms around a stalactite with an unshakeable death-grip hanging off a small lip of mossy bedrock. He stared down a shaft some thirty feet deep, into an underground pool of water that glowed a bright and vibrant emerald green. His hands started to sweat; his muscles ached as he tried to pull his legs around the stone spire. He concentrated, his head pushed up against the stone. "Ok - I can do this," he said. "All I have to do is get back." He looked back to the ledge. His eyes spread as he heard that unholy sound no Minecrafter should ever deserve to hear.
"SSSSSSSSSSS." The creeper hissed and its head expanded with gas, its devil features enlarged, forcing its leathery dry skin to crack, drawing its own blood through its suicidal extinct and bestial frown. The amount of time he had spent meeting the creature was as over just as fast. The creeper clicked its snakelike tongue against a special gland, producing a spark from the roof of its mouth. Mark was blown away in a shroud of superheated creeper flesh, back deep into the maw of the abyss of the eerie pool of glowing water.
He tumbled about underwater, kicking, writhing in pain with his burns spread down his side. He coughed in rapid fits as he broke the surface, groping for a shore. He dragged himself up a muddy slope, dipping into the semi-ovular space where a large mound of semi submerged earth stood at the centre.
He picked himself up, swore he had a concussion as he examined what looked like an abandoned jukebox laying in front of him, one half of it buried in the thick mud. Its interior glowed through its remaining unplugged ventilation vents, shimmering and refracting that green otherworldly glow in the water. No music was coming from the diamond speaker, only a thick static hiss with a muffling of something far off, buzzing in a monotonous tone. It made his skin crawl. Something about it was not right; it didn't belong in the natural Minecraft world, that sound.
Mark tried to pull his hand around to wipe his face from mud, but was hindered by a thick tangling of black spaghetti. He wreathed back, his arm tort with the mysterious creature holding a tightening grip. Something burst from the murk, disturbing sediment and clanged into the wall behind him. He whirled around, pulled at the length camouflaged in clouds of disturbed mud. It lunged out once more; Mark prepared to fight with his final breath. It splattered lamely in a spray of mud at his side. The jukeboxes screeched and buzzed like plates of metal being scrapped together, making Mark cringe as his ears were violated. Mark stabbed with his hands in the dirt at the creature, attempting a grip for its throat, if it had one. He pulled it out in a fit of rage and screamed at it; the jukebox responded with a return of high-pitched wailing. The object was drained and flicked violently about, showing slithers of metallic skin; dark gills cut into an egg shape peered back at him. Mark stopped screaming momentarily to catch his breath, and to take in the fact it hadn't tried to tear his through out. He had a bemused look on with what was in his hands. He followed the tangle of black spaghetti around his arm and the metallic egg; it led along the ground to the back of the jukebox.
It might be a part of the jukebox, Mark mused as he slid to the back of the box. It was, some sort of attachment he had never seen before. He exhaled heavily, the jukebox done the same. He was taken aback and collected himself again. He pulled the egg to his mouth and said: "Hello?" The jukebox replayed his voice, a bit muffled and otherworldly as it was, but he knew it was his.
He experimented with the copycat jukebox for several moments, trying to figure how it worked. He squinted at the intense light through the ventilation shafts. Specks of black and what could have been red-stone lined the boxes interior. He wasn't an expert in Minecraft engineering, but he thought the red-stone dust, or even that 'black' substance that caked its insides had somehow supercharged the diamond capacitors, giving its overly excited illumination. The attachment, and the constant buzzing tone however was a complete mystery to him- perhaps an ambitious and brilliant Minecraft fellow had fallen down into this perilous death trap, the poor soul. Now he was its next victim. He frowned and hung his head.
Mark pushed himself against a stone outcrop next to the jukebox and rubbed his shivering hands. His breath misted in small clouds and he sniffed in the dank death of mould and stagnant cave air. Mark's consciousness drifted about like a raft in a turbulent ocean; he wanted to sleep, he wanted to give up.
"I don't know if I was dreaming, but I hope I'm right," A distant male voice called out from the diamond speakers. "I heard someone who has found the Speech-box. Please, don't tell me someone is down there!" the voice trembled. Mark didn't believe it. Was he going mad? Cave fever must have already be rotting his brain, or spores from some unknown mould making him hallucinate, this whole thing a terrible dream while he died in some hole.
Mark entertained the idea though. Never make your life a dull moment and go with the flow, he always said. He pushed the speechmaker to his mouth, while his legs lay sprawled in the shallows, his eyes hung lazily as he fought sleep.
"I'm that someone," Mark said into the gills of the speechmaker. "Why aren't I allowed down here?"
"Who are you? I demand you tell me how you got the Speech-box!" His yell had startled Mark up into a more awake posture, but he wish he wasn't.
"I'm Mark, dude." He said, he felt irate and decided not to hold back. "And how about you chill out and talk to me in a proper tone. I'm a dead man now, respect my wishes." The voice was silent a few seconds, but then there was a subtle cough.
"Of course you're a dead man. As long as you have that Speech-box, you're in danger," he said. "Did you remove the device from that old gold excavation shaft?"
"No, Its right where I found it, after I fell in."
"You fell in? It's amazing you survived! That shaft is over three kilometres deep." Mark stared up at the pitch black of the roof, the green light shone just so far; he could make out the large hole where the creeper had detonated.
"From where I fell, it looks about thirty feet," he said "I've excavated a large amount from above sea-level at the base of the mountain," he added.
"I see. My lab is at the peaks of the mountain. You didn't see the big wind turbines?"
"I don't spend as much time looking up as I do down these days." Mark laughed. A small sound whirred from the speaker. It sounded like glassware was being gently scratched in an almost musical way. "That's new."
"They've found it once again!" The voice screamed in a panic. "You must terminate the Speech-box immediately, or they will get through. I promised myself and Minecraft they would not appear again." Mark picked himself up in a new flame of rebellion against the dark spectre.
"What are you talking about, Professor...? Whatever your name is?" Mark said. "What ar- "My name is Professor Kline." Professor Kline said, his voice becoming more and more troubled, stuttering. The serene screeches grew in frequency, interfering with whatever the Speech-box used to communicate. "Please, Mr... You must t-t-terminate that Speech-box now, or you w-will die!"
"I'm not going to die right now, I'm still sort of alive. My names Mark, if you think that'll make you feel better. And no, Professor, I'm not going to destroy the Speech-box. It's the only light-source keeping the cave creatures away - unless you've forgotten to read about the Beastie Manifesto - the Dark Womb? That's a text published by scientists, no? Ho-"B-b-b-be quiet, you fool!" Klein burst out over the top of Mark.
"I'm sorry, but believe me: T-the things that are coming are worse than any c-creeper, zombie, skeleton and anything else the Umbra Dimension can summon to this plane."
"I'm sorry as well Klein, I can't just throw away my bringing up of taking a torch to the smallest corner of darkness and illuminating the shit out of it." The walls, even the water shook with waves of vibrations, everything blurred as if it was covered in fur. The glass-like screeching had started to manifest apart from the speakers, emanating from the ceiling far above.
"They've broken through!" Klein screamed through over the high-pitched noise, his voice becoming further distant. "I-if you won't destroy the Speech-box, I'll have to retrieve you! I've e-e-engineered my labs walls with gold plates to shield me partially from them, during my experiments with them. I'm coming down in the elevator to get you and the device!" Klein was flushed with panic, erratic noises could be heard in the background; tables, chairs were being toppled, something that could have been a crossbow being drawn back into its latch. "They've b-breached the lab!" A very faint voice cried, more crashes, a high-pitched whistle rocketed through the spectrum of noise to a spear-point that forced Marks ears into a severe burning, he threw the speechmaker back and gripped his ears in pain. The sound of glass shattering to millions followed in a valiant encore.
A far off sound, high up in the mountain shaft thunderously rang down, it wasn't the glassware sound that trumped everything in earshot, but was larger and metallic. Rocks rained down over Mark. He quickly snatched the speechmaker and screamed into it, his face was white with fear.
"Professor Klein, if you're there, get me the hell out of here!"
Klein hunched over by a support collum in the elevator, gripping his leg, attempting to stem the flow of blood from a perfectly carved portion of flesh from his thigh. He drooled in extreme pain. His stammering hands shook spastically, as he attempted to adjust his glasses, shaking them off-centre; his other hand kept a crossbow in a shaky grip, pressed firm against the release mechanism. The cries of scratching glassware descended upon Klein, homing in on him like vultures. A satchel vibrated its way from a ledge and landed on the metal elevator, shaking in a roaring mechanical buzz of gears. Klein jumped in terror, and fired a gold tipped bolt into the satchel. He struggled to reload it again and place another bolt into the groove from the quiver around his shoulder. The screech emanated directly above him and continued to increase in volume. Klein stared, his legs seized as he stared at his killers. The four torches that were set in to each collum of the elevator shone upon a reflective surface, like polished oil; six points invaded the physics of the world, allowing its form to levitate.
"Oh no!" The noise produced the same glass shattering sounds as before, it flew through Klein, taking the full brunt of the effects. He was reduced to red mist that soaked the torches out, dousing his killers in a guise of shadow.
Mark was hiding under an outcrop in the water, protecting himself from the falling debris. Water rained down the shaft, dousing everything below. It covered the surface of everything red. A small breaking of glass hit the outcrop Mark was hiding under and rolled in front of him. It was a pair of glasses.
"Oh my, Crafter!" Mark screamed, pulling himself out of the outcrop, treading water and staring up at the elevator. It groaned to a standstill at Mark's leg height. Its surface was bathed in what may have been blood. His satchel and a destroyed crossbow lay in fragments on its floor. He crawled onto it, bearing his teeth has his burn wounds around his legs tared. Mark stumbled over and slammed the pressure button. The elevator automatically restarted and began its accent to the lab. The Speech-box hissed uncontrollably, buzzing in an almost discernable pattern; it was muffled and high in pitch, but it lowered and raised like, like, speech, Mark cried out in his mind.
"RrrrrrrRRRRRR-r-reeeeeEEEEEEEE-ve-nge EEEEEEEEEEE" the speech-box squealed.
Mark was horrified as he ascended into the darkness, the moans of zombies, the jangling of bones could be heard all around him. He hyperventilated, his adrenaline pumped through every cell in his body, attempting to succeed in allowing him to survive this. Mark groped at his satchel, he felt disgusted as he pushed back the flaps of his satchel, soaked in warm blood. He ate a handful of cooked ham, feeling slightly relieved yet still injured badly. He looked for his sword, however it was missing, probably flung straight from his hand and into some unknown nook, he cursed. He found his bow with a grin of triumph, his eyes beamed with hope. No arrows! He heard the collective moans of dozens of zombies, spreading over him like a sheet. He rummaged through his bag and stabbed a torch into the metal base of the elevator. The flame burst forth, showing the wide gawking faces of zombies trailing the ledges that led up the shaft. They fell onto the elevator, some brushing its frame and falling to their deaths down the belly of the gold shaft. He punched at them, kicked and tried with fail, to decapitate a few with his bow. Amongst a horrid collection of what must be the remains of Klein, was pushed into the corner of the elevator. Amongst the horror, a limp and lifeless hand hung from a quiver of gold tipped crossbow bolts. He crawled as the pressing zombies enveloped him in a sick sea of rotten flesh. They gnashed their teeth, longing for fresh flesh, trying to fondle for Mark as his grip had managed to grab the strap and spill the bolts over the floor. He managed a bolt into the string, awkwardly aiming and firing the shaft through the bottom of one of the brain eater's mouths and into their brain. It fell against the sea of its comrades, where it was promptly devoured. The familiar sound squealed, rising in decibels. It had caught up with the elevator and hovered lifelessly. Mark could barely see through the lifeless limbs flailing about, but he saw it, the thing that had killed Klein. Its alien-ness was indeed nothing this dimension, or the Umbra dimension could fathom.
It was a perfectly symmetrical three-dimensional diamond, about two-thirds the size of a normal Minecrafter, slowly what seemed to Mark, to invert and expand upon itself, shimmering like a constant container of mercury trapped in a glass receptacle that gently vibrated.
The deafening squeal reached its crescendo, the zombies looked back in bafflement as their number was turned to rotten ribbons, for mere moments, forming an oceanic cube of decay. Mark emerged washed with blood, he couldn't fight the urge to hold it, and vomited, disgusted to his very core. Taking many bathes would never rectify this event, no matter how hard he scrubbed; he would always feel this day.
Mark slurped around in the mess, desperately trying to find footing as the elevator drained like a macabre sive. He wiped his eyes clean, found another torch and stabbed it down. The diamond was waiting, hovering and dripping with condensed particles of red, trickling down its lowest spike. It vibrated all liquid from its form, perfecting its image once more. Mark took aim with one of the flimsy gold tipped bolts. The diamond immediately reacted, as if in fear. It spun at an astonishing speed, in a clockwise direction, using the columns for means of shielding. It built up, biding its time to vibrate Mark to atoms. Mark fired a volley, missing each time, however getting ever closer as each bolt bounced off the shaft wall. The diamond stopped, the noise grated and shook the walls with such ferocity, that shaft began to collapse from under Mark. The earth reclaimed, repairing its wounds in the crust of its skin. Mark fired the bolt; it lodged firm, breaking what seemed like glass, however it jostled back as if it were flesh. The mercury liquid seeped from one of the lower faces of the diamond - it pulsated and drew in the blood and rock around the puddle, suddenly collapsing in upon itself; the same happened in turn to the diamond which roared horribly, colliding with the walls in fits of madness, until it just suddenly drew a final corkscrew, a sound of glass being crushed under water echoed through the shaft, then a solid thump of air drew it into nothingness.
Mark collapsed as the elevator reared to a seamless stop. Leading off through polished medical tiles, the thick smell of antiseptic and hydrochloric acid stung at his nose. Low hanging torches in chandeliers blistered his eyes. Bloodied through zombie bites and close encounters, Mark crawled with what strength he had left, to investigate what this Professor Klein was all about, how he managed to see these monsters and know they exist.
He had stumbled into what seemed to be a library. He threw himself at a desk and propped himself up. He scanned the books with lust, hungered for information. A book, simply labelled, The Symmetry of Evil - a funny book I have wrote, by Professor Klein. It was a plain cover with hand written pages, all pressed by hand. Mark flicked vigorously through each page. Diagrams, pentagrams, the Umbra Dimension and its unique elements and materials found only there. A small passage opened up on a crumbled piece of paper, aged with blood and sweat. It simply read:
The umbra Dimension - it is merely a gate between worlds. It may possess amazing travelling potential for the peoples of Minecraft, but it has a far greater importance to the people of science and philosophy. Life, all matter seemed to stem from an evil cancer that emerged from this dimension. A race of symmetrical beings developed the perfect key cubes to form life.
They made a mistake - it mutated and grew to what we now have. Our universe. They tried to rectify the problem, by purges. They are embarrassed for creating imperfect life, they will come to one day reclaim the cubic world and re-sequence us anew.
Gold, the most imperfect element in only our Minecraft universe has had adverse effect upon these denizens. It drove them insane when Professor Klein and I managed to infect a small group with gold seeding. They purged themselves due to this taint. I believe, in order to sto- Mark squinted, yet couldn't decipher any further, as the blood had soaked and merged the ink to a sizzling blot.
The torchlight awkwardly curved away from behind Mark. He froze in a cold sweat, peering away from the note, catching sight the diamond loom around his shoulder. He screamed as it built to its spear-point whir, and re-sequenced him to a cloud of perfect vapour.