Creepy Pasta Novels & Stories

"For what?" "That." I nod in the direction of the dining, and she smiles. "No worries, Arabella. If you like this guy, then you should know I like him too." I throw her an appreciative smile as I stride closer to her, taking a peek at the food. "Does he take pasta? No allergies, right?" She asks as I close the lid over the pot. "No. He’s good." "Perfect." She mumbles, and I watch her grab two more bowls from the dish rack. As she drops them on the counter, she turns over her shoulder and says, "Oh, and Arabella. I hope you’re making sure–"

' I laughed. 'I will get you fired!' He shouted before running off. 'Look on the bright side! I haven't brushed my teeth since yesterday!' I heard him screamed with fright after I said that. I slapped my lap as I laughed. Why am I so annoying? My eyes blurred out, like I found myself somewhere else, a small restaurant. "Good evening and welcome to Pasta Castle lá Beef Feast…" "Huh?" I asked. "We sell more pasta and meat related foods, I don't know, I'm not the owner, so what can I get you? You are welcome to be the first few to try our new spaghetti recipe."

This time my laughter prolonged for much more time than it usually would. He looked at me dubiously. " Congratulations,doc. My pasta didn't kill you but made you crazy. " "Alexander King. " I grinned. "I, Dr. Celia, officially declare that you made the world's best fucking pasta. " Even I can't believe my own taste buds. The pasta is too good. Yummy, delicious are not the words to praise it. I need much more. This time,I ran into the kitchen and took the whole bowl and started to dig in.

No questions about what I wanted, what I felt, or what I was willing to destroy to get it. Just Micah, pasta, and an apron that deserved to be burned. Honestly, it was a relief. “So,” I said, stepping farther into the kitchen. “What are we having?” “Pasta.” I narrowed my eyes. “That’s suspiciously vague.” “Creamy garlic chicken pasta.” “Did you make it yourself?” He paused. I gasped. “You bought it.” “I did not.” “Micah.” “I bought the ingredients.” I burst out laughing.

The candle is the kind of thing that is going to make me want to cry, except I am not going to cry, because I am a person who is on a Tuesday date, and Tuesday date people do not cry, Tuesday date people eat pasta. We sit. We eat. It is not bad. It is, in fact, very good. It is the kind of pasta that is made by a man who has been watching YouTube videos, in secret, in this kitchen, in the last two weeks, in the way a man watches YouTube videos when he wants to be a person who cooks for the woman he is dating.

“Whatever makes you happy.” “I’ll be happy if you eat it all.” “Uh-huh.” Tessa rolled her eyes, and that was when she actually looked down for the first time. What she saw in front of her scared her almost to death. Good Christ, it was just so much food. It was more food than she’d seen all in one place, all at one time, in… how long? Eight months? A year? The pasta was piled high, and it was dripping with some cream sauce, and it was a goddamn bomb to her plans.

Floppington trailing behind her, his threadbare ears dragging on the floor. I'm alone with the groceries Adrian left. I unpack slowly. Dragon syrup. Pasta wheels—the specific shape Ava insists tastes better than regular pasta. Fresh basil still damp from being misted at the store. Good parmesan, the kind with the stamp on the rind. He remembered all of it. Every detail. Every preference. Every throwaway comment I made without thinking he was cataloging them. My phone sits on the counter. I pick it up. Stare at Adrian's contact.

The next day, the little girl brought several friends. Although her friends all looked strange and grotesque. There was a hanged ghost dragging an extra-long tongue, a water ghost soaked from head to toe. And a pile of… uh… bloodied meat paste. But the one thing they shared was that they all wore identical red bridal dresses. I felt sorry for them, so I made each of them a super deluxe mega burrito. The kind with loads of ingredients. The little girls ate with their cheeks puffed out. “Ma’am, this burrito was too good!”

I said. Trying to curb my lips from splitting into a foolish grin. Beth's mouth opened in slow motion. "He cooked chicken pasta for me…" Her eyes went wide in wonder. "Cooked? You mean, Sebastian- freaking Crest- cooked for you? This is bat shit crazy!" she giggled. "And there was this trick he made with the spaghetti–hysterical," I chuckled.

I was starving. Natalie started to uncover the platters there were cheesy garlic bread, penne pasta, alfredo sauce, red sauce with meat, meatballs, thin sliced grilled chicken, and roasted veggies. “Chef prepared a build-your-own-pasta for you seven. He said the pasta will help you relax and sleep better. I’ll get some bottled waters passed out, and extra napkins for the table. Dig in Alphas, and Luna.” My mates started dishing plates and passing platters, after a few moments all you could hear was the clatter of silverware.