Creepypasta Sign Novels & Stories

“So,” Rowan said, sitting back on her heels, crouched in front of our little circle on the porch, “the book says that marks, or signs, like the one we’ve been seeing are Marks of the Underworld. Sort of like a supernatural clue for anyone smart – or lucky – enough to recognise it.”

I close the screen and drop the phone by my side to grab my book, only to take it after a second. ME: What are you doing? I drum my fingers against the edge of the desk as it shows read and finally, he's typing. ALEX: Sorry. ALEX: I got lost in it. Is he apologizing... For a late reply? A new text comes in again, and it makes me swallow. ALEX: Have you ever heard of masturbation? ME: You're doing that? Right now?

One of the Highland scouts, ripped open not by claws but by fire. Kael knelt beside the charred corpse. His brows furrowed as he examined the markings scorched into the man’s chest. A perfect circle, crossed by three jagged lines. “Not a rogue’s kill,” Callen said grimly. “This was… ritual.” Aria stepped closer. “What does the mark mean?” Lyra appeared behind her, face pale. “It’s the Sign of the Hollowed.” Kael turned sharply. “You’ve seen this before?”

"I will kill all the members of your family if you do not offer yourself to me. I will bring you to the situation when you will intentionally come to me and plead to save your family members by offering yourself to me." Amara walked helpless towards the haunted mansion. She felt numb and lifeless for the happenings around her. The words of the sage begin to ring in her ears. "It will be the dark night without the moon, the onset of heavy storm and the shrill howls of dogs. There will be an unfathomable clamor present in the atmosphere, the unwelcoming cries of the eagles and the uproar of tumult yowls from everywhere around will be the indication to alert you it was the one and only day in y

"Just scratch your mark, Lestat. The Moonfang Pack will grow rich from our trade routes. I promise it will bring endless gold to your treasury. A grand alliance built on old blood and total control." My fingers twitch against my will. The pen drags across the skin, leaving a short black scratch. Sign it, claim the bond, submit, a heavy voice whispers inside my brain, sounding exactly like Harvey's tone. My stomach rolls with sick nausea. Hot sweat breaks out all over my neck and back. There is a huge reason I cannot sign this paper, but my brain is too muddy to remember... What was it?

Signe The archive isn’t dusty. That’s the first sign something’s wrong. Old places like this, tucked beneath churches or behind university walls, should reek of mold and parchment. But this one? It smells like salt and iron. Like blood and tides. Like something buried is trying to surface. I pull the lantern closer and crouch beside the lowest drawer, fingers brushing the carved sigil on the handle. Not a Circle mark. Older. The spiral of the Weavers, fractured and incomplete.

The year I was at my most starry-eyed, I gave up my chance to study overseas. Over my parents' furious objections I married my boyfriend and took in the abandoned baby he'd picked up off the side of the road. From that day on I poured everything I had into that household and into raising that child. Thirty years of it. And just when our son was grown and settled and I thought I might finally get to breathe, I was diagnosed with a terminal illness. The treatment cost a fortune. I was about to reassure my husband and my son that I had the money. Instead, they got angry. "What do you mean, your money? That's this family's money. This disease is a bottomless pit. You could throw everything

They had been cleanly severed, and blood was dripping endlessly onto the concrete below. I instantly clamped both hands over my mouth, a sudden wave of nausea hitting me. I was terrified. Who could have done something so barbaric in broad daylight? "This has the Black Reapers written all over it," a student nearby whispered, answering my silent question. I glanced over at them, my heart stopping. "No, this is the leader's specific work," another voice chimed in, pointing toward the body. "Look, he left his signature." I forced my eyes back toward the gruesome sight. Slashed deep into the skin beside the dead boy's mouth was a crude, jagged symbol.

The scene looked like it had been clean out, and there was nothing in the photos he was showing me except a dark stained wall, trash can and… “What am I supposed to be seeing?” “Look here,” Kael pointed at an area beside the trash can and..I froze. That mark. I saw that Same mark in my dream last night. It looked like the shape of a fire but with something like a skull inside it. “That's weird isn't it?” I nodded, trying to hide how shaken up I was. “I decided to research. I found out that it's an ancient mark associated with some voodoo centuries back. Magic that stopped existing a long time ago.”