Creepy Pasta Novels & Stories

It was a Saturday night, we managed to ditch Tanya during our weekend out and it was around eight in the evening when we decided to visit Pastini Pastaria, a Local Italian bistro chain which specialized in classic & contemporary pasta, with gluten-free options. We all loved pasta and their Pasta were the best. We made a habit of eating her at least once in two weeks, but with all that happened in past couple of weeks and me mostly sulking in the corner of my dorm room, we did not visit this place for three months. Occupying our favorite seat, I was browsing through the menu when the addicting floral scent wafted through my nose. I whipped around and came face to face with my mate, who stood

BEEF with Broccoli was the free meal for her that dinner. According to Malou, Mama Loida personally cooked dinner for that night because her son was supposed to go home. As always, Jenny's answers to Malou remained straightforward. Although the woman is kind, she is just like that, shy and quiet. She did remember, when she was in college, she was often teased by a particular person that recently became her best friend at a private university where she attended her first year of college, Ara.

“I think we’d better hurry.” Ru was walking already and Lyric’s words didn’t cause her to pause, but she did raise an eyebrow before asking, “Why is that?” “Just a feeling.” Before Ru could comment, there was a scurrying sound up in the loft area. Ru stopped and looked up. Across the ceiling, a black shadow began to creep. The form reminded her of a large lizard, but this one had two heads. “What the hell is that?” “That… is a Creeper,” Lyric replied, stepping up beside her. “And where there’s one, there’s a thousand.”

But instead of simple dishes , the maids returned with an Italian pasta dish , called Carbonara and Grilled Caesar salad . Lana 's expression turned cold even Eva threw a contemptuous glare at Ella . Mia and Grandpa Cable smile stiffened and they looked at Ella with questioning eyes . "I , I asked the kitchen to prepare something that Xander liked , after all Xander had studied in Italy for so long and he loves eating pasta for breakfast. I just wanted , Miss Lana to know of Xander's preferences " When Ella saw that everyone except the King brothers were looking at her , she hurried to explain herself .

New York City. October. Xavier's Penthouse. 8:34 PM. The pasta was good. Scarlett hadn't expected it to be good. She'd expected it to be the kind of meal that expensive people produced when they cooked — technically correct, precisely measured, tasting somehow of effort rather than enjoyment. Instead it tasted like someone had made it without thinking too hard about it, and she was most of the way through her plate before she realized she hadn't thought about the case, or Danny, or Richard Hale, or anything operationally significant for approximately twelve minutes.

She ate the pasta. The pasta was the dish he was most nervous about—not because it was complicated, but because it was simple. Pappardelle with peas and pancetta and cream sauce. There was nowhere to hide. If the pasta wasn't cooked correctly, if the sauce was too thick or too thin, if the peas were overcooked or the pancetta undercooked, the dish would fail in a way that was immediately obvious. She ate. She chewed. She swallowed. She looked at him. "Good," she said.

[Alma] With every bite that touched my tongue, the feeling in my chest tugged harder and harder, pulling at something I couldn't quite explain. This was becoming too much to be a coincidence. I hated too much seasoning on my pasta. I absolutely hated it. Most restaurants seemed determined to drown their dishes in enough herbs and spices to make every bite taste the same, which was exactly why I only ever visited two restaurants in Crestfall City. Two. Of all the restaurants in the entire city, there were only two places I trusted enough to order pasta from because they always got it right.

I hesitate, glancing at the angry runes still smoking faintly on his chest. "I'll be quick," I promise, pressing a fast kiss to his burning forehead. "Don't move. Please." I slip out of bed and hurry to the kitchen, my new heightened senses making everything feel overwhelming. The fridge light is too bright. The sound of my own footsteps echoes strangely. I crave spice. Plenty of heat. And meat. The juicy, soft kind, oozing with spice. Oh, I can almost taste it. My hands move on autopilot as I throw together the spiciest pasta I can manage with extra chilli flakes, chunks of sausage and beef, garlic, and a heavy drizzle of oil. The smell hits me like a drug, making my mouth water and my stom

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.

It was Chef Marcus and he’d brought Annie’s pasta bowl on a silver tray. “Here, but next time, do it yourself.” I grabbed the tray, taking the elevator to Annie’s room. She sat by her window, sketching birds in a leather-bound book. “Lunch is ready.” She sniffed the air, nose wrinkling. “What’s that smell?” “Pasta arrabbiata. My specialty.” Annie took one delicate bite, then immediately spat it onto her silk napkin. “Disgusting.” “What’s wrong with it?”