Creepy Pasta Novels & Stories

“ holy shit “ fred cursed silently when he came out of the bathroom to find Cassy sleeping soundly on his bed Noticing that she was truly sleeping, fred silently wore his cloths then went down to the kitchen “ young master I prepared chicken tetrazzini The pasta is in the bowl over there “ mrs Betty an advance woman in a cook uniform said pointing at a bowl at the table in the kitchen “ The cream sauce is ready I just have to add mushrooms , the chicken and allow it to boil together then get it ready for baking “mrs Betty said turning the cream sauce . “ alright I will be at the sitting room “Fred said walking towards the fridge “ No problem sir I will call you after setting the dinning “ mr

Estelle’s POV I made pasta. Butter and parmesan for Lucas—his reliable safe food, the meal he’d eat when he wouldn’t eat anything else. Tomato sauce for Chloe, who wanted everything red and would probably request ketchup on her birthday cake. We sat at the table. Chloe twirled her pasta with focus, loading each forkful. Lucas pushed his around his plate, dragging the fork through the butter in long slow lines, making tracks in the parmesan without lifting any of it to his mouth.

There was also some broccoli pesto pasta, some lemon chicken, some Ratatouille sheet pan dinner with Sausage, some salmon in parchment, and some baked salmon, with some grapefruit salad. “Dig in.” The Alpha instructed me, filling my plate with some pasta. Without waiting for any more invitation, I dug in. A moan left my mouth at how good the pasta was. “So, how is it going?” I asked the man, placing another spoonful of pasta in my mouth. “You know, with running the pack and the Four Associates and all?” It was my way of wanting him to give me an excuse of why it looked like he had been avoiding me all these while.

Solomon sighed. Daisy also sighed, “It doesn’t matter who as long it is you whom she’s afraid of. Haven’t you taken your lunch? I’ll prepare pasta.” “Okay, what’s in it?” “Deep fried shrimp pasta.” “I’ll help with peeling and frying the shrimps.” The pasta was cooked, fried with shrimps, and ready to be served in just a short time. While eating, Daisy asked, “Anything happened during your first two months of pregnancy?”

One puzzling thing was Amara and the position she was in, she was kneeling and looked like she was begging while Mr Rossi seemed relaxed as ever. That man must be a very wicked man. Amara was a nice girl, she didn't do anything to wrong him. My tummy growled and I suspected it was hunger. I got up and rummaged through my rundown little apartment for any sign of food. I was craving pasta which was weird. I wasn't a pasta person. This whole Mr Rossi thing had turned my life upside down now including my food choices. I huffed and groaned and mumbled as I searched around before I found a pack of pasta. I prepared it with the little ingredients I could find.

"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–"

It's funny because after we became dogs and cats, here we are, happily exchanging stories. "You know, even your mood is also talking to you, huh! But I didn't think that after being a stranger we would be like this," she laughed as she stabbed the pasta with a fork. I ordered specialty pasta that we have that the ingredient of it is white and kinds of seafood. "It's delicious, isn't it? Can we get some to bring home?" she asked and I smiled because she liked our specialty pasta. "Sure! I'll have the chef make a new one for auntie." I yelled at him because of his choking. I quickly reached for the tea juice because of what had happened.

After another split-second of hesitation, Miranda hurried off, and Tom and I waited until her bedroom door shut behind her to laugh. “Man, I feel like a dick, but this food looks cursed,” he said. I stared down at the pitch-black pasta. “It’s definitely spooky. But she busted her ass. We have to give it a fair shot.” We both gathered forkfuls of pasta, and Tom held his up to me as if to cheers. I knocked my fork against his with a smile, then took a bite. “Holy shit,” Tom said. I nodded. “Wow.”

If I had to inhale that toxic cloud for even a second longer, I might actually pass away. But my relief is short-lived. Because moments later, Tessa reappears. With two steaming bowls of... Of... I break into a cold sweat. Wouldn’t it be cruel to call this pasta?? Tessa beams as she sets the bowls down. “Dig in!” Dig in? I stare at the offensive pile of noodles in front of me. The sauce is a questionable shade of green. The spring onions float menacingly on top, like they're plotting something. The smell? Unholy.

They all looked down as Caraline descended to the first floor. "That's annoying." Caraline shook her hair, scanning the dishes on the table. Her attention was drawn to a small plate of pasta. Despite its simple appearance, it looked very appetizing. Caraline shifted a few plates around, beginning to savor the pasta. Her appetite increased as the delicious taste filled her tongue. When the food was gone, she quickly called out to Grace. "I want more of this pasta," Caraline said without turning around. "Miss Caraline," Grace said with a downcast look. Her hands squeezed the ends of her sleeves. "Actually... the pasta was made by Mr. Deric."