Majora's Mask Creepypasta Novels & Stories

Mara couldn't breathe. The photo album almost slipped out of the girl's hands when it flipped the page. But she held it. The picture was old, yellowed, but clearly. A small body on a metal table. Mara. Not older than four. And over her, the shape of black water. Not human. Not shadows. Something liquid that had assumed shape. A face of darkness. And it was Lena's face. Or something that later became Lena's face. Mara blew backwards.

In the commotion, a shadow-clad Alpha, his features obscured by a dark winter mask, slinked away, blending into the night. Despite my efforts to tail him, the bustling clearing swallowed his figure whole, and he vanished like a wisp of smoke. It was then that the night's curtain was ripped away by a spectacle above: fireworks burst forth, stitching the sky with sorcery as Morgana, draped in malevolence, soared atop a tree, her laughter splintering the air. Summoned by her dark will, legions of monstrous giants, garbed like the reaper himself, crept forth, setting the stage for a night of terror.

As Tommaso steps out of the wardrobe with a smile, I get a strange feeling in my stomach. Just keep calm. Taking a deep breath, I concentrate back on my book. But the ink on the off-white paper pages seem to melt into a blur as I sense the bed dip. Tommaso sits beside me, leaning on the headboard as well, and looks into the book. “What is it about?” “Some murderer doing some crazy rituals with his victims. Like something as a tribute to the Nordic Gods.” He chuckles, and my stomach turns, “Sounds interesting.” Oh, God. What does he want?

We move to the tables to make our hair and faces match our outfits. Izzy pulls my mask from her drawer, the one rule I always had. My face had to be covered. My family could not find out I was here and they dealt plenty with sleazy men. The masks leaves my mouth open, but covers the top half of my face. "You girls ready?" Thomas asks from the door when he peeks in. "Holy fuck. I don't think I'm ready. You two are delicious."

His voice came low, carrying both persuasion and a strange, dark tenderness: This mask will make you stronger…stronger in ways you cannot undo. There are paths we take from which there is no turning back—but sometimes, we must walk them to the end. Let the fear go. "Let me help you accept who you've become." Magda stood motionless, as if under a silent spell. Her breath quickened, her hands trembled. Around them, the room whispered of death—faint splashes of blood, the traces of a life extinguished. Malik moved closer, his presence dense, almost ritualistic. He kissed her, his actions carrying the same weight of supplication—as if planting within her the seed of a dark truth: that true power

Jake’s whole chest tightened watching her walk outside with Janet. Then—three figures emerged from the shadows. Tall. Masked. Costumes like hideous zombies. One of them shoved something over Jerica’s face and she struggled, twisting and kicking—but another jabbed her with something and she slumped. “No, no, no,” Jake muttered, gripping the mouse tighter.

I realized his touch, though present, was too faint for him to still be in residence about a heartbeat before the door at the end of the hall-the one leading to the basement-burst open and a flood of people rushed through. And Rosetta led them. Her face had aged, her small, round body now hunched and twisted, but her power blazed strong. Fed by the blood magic around her. Not fresh, at least. But these dark maji-for it had to be them-used creation power recently. Did they somehow know we were coming? Didn't matter. I'd crush them all even if they spilled blood recently. I took one second to reinforce the shields around my friends before opening up to my maji power and blasting them with the

Elias, next to me, stood up straight and proud, like he was claiming his place. Noelle was shaking with anger as she looked at me. "Darcy, are you crazy! Do you know what you're doing?" Andrew rushed over too, whispering to me: "Darcy, don't be silly! Stop the wedding now!" I did not listen to them and passed the microphone to the person next to me. "Elias, tell everyone why you're here." Elias and I exchanged smiles, his voice calm and clear. "Today, I'm standing here because Howard gave me fifteen thousand dollars to pretend to be him at this wedding. "

" A few guests began to notice peculiarities at the party, but the majority of guests did not appear concerned. As their enthusiasm increased, they continued drinking, dancing, and laughing, as they had been doing up until that point. As the scent spread throughout the room, it grew increasingly alluring. While dancing, someone appeared to step on what appeared to be a dead body. This resulted in the individual letting out a loud scream. As time passed, so did the remainder of them. "Aaaaaaaaa!" The entire room gave off the impression of being fraught with unease. Everyone became terrified and hysterical. The cacophonous sound of hell was produced by combining various sounds, including sobs,

"The property is **Write-Protected**! It’s the Founder’s private archive! I’m a 'Glitch'—the system won't let me in!" Beside him, Sarah was clutching her head, her form flickering between the teenager I knew and the little girl in the sundress. "The Golden Pixel... it’s trying to sync!" she screamed. "Elara, she’s using the farmhouse to 'Re-Format' us! She’s trying to overwrite our memories with the 'Original Template'!" I looked back at the house. My mother was standing in the doorway, the pitcher of lemonade in her hand. But the lemonade was turning into black ink, and her face was beginning to melt into the featureless mask of the Founder.