Creepy Pasta Novels & Stories

It was me. “Snow, why are they looking at me.” I got worried grabbing a tray, scanning the variety of meals and deserts. Apparently today was pasta day, so they all type of pasta Carbonara, Fettuccine, Ravioli, great they have Nun food. She kept her head down not answering motioning to start grabbing it seemed weird they would have this type of food, yes there were spider eggs and blood liver, though I guess some have from come in that world itself. I picked up a plate of pasta and fruit I examined it as it was a unexplored creature standing in front of me.

Chapter 55 The Werewolf Realm Clara's POV I came out for dinner, and my night officially collapsed. Marcy's mother didn't just cook a random meal… She cooked crab pasta. CRAB. Pasta. Of all foods in the world, she cooked the one thing I'm deathly allergic to. Not even slightly allergic—no. If crab touches me, my skin turns red, I swell up, then I get cold chills like someone threw me naked into winter.

I nodded my head, well he wasn't as heartless as I thought. Rico went over to the covered pot and dished a plate of whatever Matteo prepared. He placed the plate in front of me, the sight I saw made me scrunch up my nose in disgust. "What the fuck is this?" I asked stared at the greenish looking food. Rico chuckled at my reaction. "It's called creamy avocado pesto pasta. Boss told Matteo to make it for you, in his words, 'your intake of junk food is unhealthy for the baby.'"

The food comes out to our table - spinach pasta smothered in a crimson cream sauce with grilled chicken, squash and garnished with basil and feta. "Metssa a le poullo," Ramona announces proudly. "Venetian favorite" My father unravels his silverware and places the cloth napkin on his lap. "Looks and smells delicious." "I'm confident it will satisfy your palate, Mr. Harrison." Ramona and my father begin eating, Ramona using her fork to place the pasta on her spoon raised to her mouth before she eats from that surface instead. Claude and I don't even touch our steaming dishes regardless of the mouth-watering smell. If anything, the smell of the food makes me nauseous from what I just witnessed.

Knowing the meal in question would be way more relieving. I take the dome off. My face flattens. It’s pasta and meat. Shredded meat rises up at the center as the pasta is layered beneath it in an expertise setting. Small leaves are over the plate as well with some kind of sauce. This doesn’t look like the everyday pasta meal. “Nope, I don’t know.” I say, keeping my eyes pressed on the food in front of me. It scents good. I can feel my stomach roar with a newfound craving for this pasta. “El gusto pasta with pulled pork, beef and mushrooms.” Killian says.

And I'm still crying. Why did I have such shady thoughts in my head? I am not cruel! "Blood!" I whisper. "I want blood!" Erica steps inside holding a plate of pasta. "Catty? You asked for this?" My eyes shift from her to the plate of pasta in her hands. "Let me have it!" Seizing the plate from her hands, I began consuming the pasta like a hungry wolf. She took a few steps back seeing me act ferocious. "Catty, calm down! The pasta is not running away?"

~although it smells a little off. "Look's Like we're back to the old menu" Tori mumbles. The worms in my stomach dance about causing my stomach to growl. I have accepted that this mansion is my new hangout and to devise a valid plan, I need all the energy and information this place has to offer. After begging myself mentally and pleading with my taste buds over the abomination I'm about to bring to them, I pick up the spoon and dip it into the bowl. I lift a spoon full of the pasta thingy to my face.

"Oh quit being dramatic and get me the pasta! He'll be here any minute!" Ava's hands trembled slightly as she stirred the final touches into the simmering pot of pasta sauce. The tantalizing aroma filled the air, a symphony of flavors that promised to delight the senses. With a final taste to ensure perfection, she turned off the stove and covered the pot, allowing the pasta to soak up the rich flavors.

I smile again and announce my presence, bow standing beside her. “Good evening, Mrs Greta.” She mumbles a good evening to me and turns away. “That looks heavenly. What are you making?” I press on. “Dinner.” I look into the pan and see she's making pasta. My nostrils flare up from the smell of the peppers. “That feels really spicy.” “They are. Mr. Escarrá likes it extra spicy.” She shakes more pepper seeds into the pan. “I'm sorry. I can't handle all that spice. Can I have something else, please?” I move to the fridge but she intercepts me with a frown.

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.