The Dark Somnium - The Making Of A Ghost Town | Scary Stories from The Internet

Episode Date: April 9, 2026

This creepypasta Scary Story is from the nosleep subreddit, written by Pippinacious, make sure to check out their work and show them some support! "The Making Of A Ghost Town" https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/b2zh31/the_making_of_a_ghost_town/ Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See https://pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

In March, 1946, Robert Odell walked into Creek Haven Elementary with a shotgun and a pistol. Twelve children and a math teacher never made at home. Odell was arrested immediately following the massacre after he'd fallen down a flight of stairs. When asked why he had done it, he didn't answer. He just smiled. He was executed within the year. Creek Haven has changed a lot since then. It had been a mining town up until the 70s when the ore deployed.

and the residents were forced to move away to find new work. Now it's deserted, left for the woods and the wild to overrun. The buildings still stand, including the school, and ghostly rumors have surrounded the place since it was abandoned. Supposedly, the spirits of the children can be seen in and around the school where they died. I'd heard bits and pieces about it since I was a kid. My dad had been born there, but the family left even before the mines dried up.

He had no memory of it. Grandma did, though. She'd spent her whole life there, and she'd been in the school when Odell opened fire. That was one piece of her childhood she never talked about. I was taking a film class, and we'd received an assignment to shoot a mini-documentary. I knew right away what I wanted to cover. I decided to interview Grandma first to see what she could tell me about Creek Haven and the supposed hauntings that followed in Odell's wake.

We don't say that name. I recorded her telling me. Even over the tape, I can hear the thin, disapproving lines she'd pressed her lips into. And you don't want to go there. Terrible memories left it ruined. My voice comes up after a moment of silence. Do you remember that day? There's a squeak of a chair as Grandma shifted uncomfortably.

Of course I do. I knew all of the victims. Some had been my friends. You don't forget something like that. Never. Never. After so long, her voice was still raw with pain. I shut the tape off after.

Even as a high school kid, I knew there was some things you shouldn't push. After it was done, Grandma got up and walked into the kitchen. She asked me what kind of cookies she should bake for me to take home. I didn't bring up Creek Haven with her again. That didn't push me off the project, though. I recruited my friend Nicole to act as camera woman, and we picked a date to drive out to Creek Haven. Despite its bloody past, neither of us believed that it was truly haunted. My documentary was meant to cover its history and the birth of an urban legend. I called it the making of a ghost

town. It was overcast and humid when we left. Nicole's Jeep's AC was broken, and she spent the 30-minute ride complaining about it. I was too busy focusing on my notes to really notice. I didn't think to look up until she stopped short and my seatbelt caught me as I jerked forward. A barrier had been erected in front of the road leading into Creek Haven. I got out and filmed it and the long strip of pothold pavement behind it. I had Nicole put her four-wheel drive to good use and directed her off-road to go around the flimsy barricade. I held the camera out the window, catching shots of the trees lining the way in and the first glimpses of houses, sagging and in disrepair in the distance.

We slowed to a stop when we reached what a moment. once been Main Street. I had dug up old photos of the town over the years, and Nicole and I went through the pile to find the ones that matched the spot we were in. I wanted a montage of then and now comparisons to open the documentary with. So when do we get to the school? Nicole asked. She was eager to get to the haunted part already. Soon. Oh, come on. You know that's the only thing anyone's going to care about. The video is only going to be half an hour. Don't waste your time being artsy fart. The tight, grim set of grandma's expression crossed my mind as I relented.

What was still an open wound for her was schoolwork fodder for us. It was a reminder to treat the subject matter with as much respect as I could manage. We followed a map I'd brought down the bumpy streets toward the school. It was eerie to drive past the sun-bleached buildings, still sporting their signs and business names, as if they were just waiting to open their doors again. I kept the camcorder rolling as we turned down dogwood toward the low stone wall that surrounded the school. It was a two-story building, red brick and blackened windows. The small parking lot was an empty mess of weeds growing through concrete.

Nicole just parked outside the front doors. The glass on one had been shattered, allowing us a view of the corridor beyond. As I started to climb out, Nicole grabbed my arm. Someone's in there. She hissed. Where? There! She said, jabbing her finger forward.

In the first doorway inside, someone's looking out. I squinted into the darkened hallway and gasped. The outline of a person was peeking out around the doorframe. Nicole's fingers dug into my arm. We sat, frozen, and waited. The person didn't move. What should we do? Nicole asked in an uneasy whisper.

The person still hadn't budged from their spot. It could be a homeless person? She suggested. I leaned forward in my seat. I don't think so. Wait, no! Despite her protests, I pushed the Jeep's door open and lifted the camcorder to my eye. In hesitant, small steps, I climbed the short stone stairway leading into the school until my suspicions were confirmed.

I laughed and waved for her to get out of the car and join me. It's a mannequin. What? She sounded doubtful. A mannequin? Is that supposed to make it less creepy? Come on, you big baby. We got a lot to film.

After some convincing, Nicole finally joined me, and we stepped through the broken glass opening. The inside was dimly lit in shades of gray that filtered through the grimy windows. The dirty, child-sized mannequin we'd seen from outside was standing just inside the first doorway, which had a sign labeling it the front office. Over its shoulder, another mannequin. This one modeled after an adult was standing behind the desk. Another pair were seated in some chairs outside another door marked principal. What the heck?

Nicole said from over my shoulder. I laughed nervously and filmed. She stayed close on my heels as we walked further into the school. A few child mannequins were scattered throughout the halls. One at an old-fashioned water fountain. A few were standing in a line outside a classroom door. Within the classroom, an adult mannequin had been placed in front of the chalkboard, and some of the seats had more of the smaller ones in them.

They were all browned with dust and age. This is way too weird. Nicole said, I'm going to wait outside. Oh, come on. Someone was just messing around a long time ago. Whatever. I don't care.

I'm out. Nicole scurried back toward the front door, leaving me to call after her. She didn't even turn around. I grumbled and kept going. Each room I passed had its own set of mannequins. They were positioned in ways that mimicked what a typical school day might have

looked like, teachers leading classes of students, an empty library where a lone mannequin was left behind the checkout desk, a cafeteria with a handful of child-sized mannequins scattered around the tables. There was even one class where a couple of kid mannequins had been made to look like they were passing a note between them. It was weird, like Nicole had said, and I couldn't deny that goosebumps had been creeping up my arms since that first child mannequin, but I told myself it was harmless. I wasn't a little kid who was going to be scared by some overgrown dolls, not when thirty percent

of my grade depended on it. I walked by faded, torn posters and glanced into every doorway filming as I went. I'd have to add a voiceover later. The stairwell leading to the second floor was halfway down the hall. They still seemed sturdy enough, and I walked up them one at a time, slow and cautious the whole way. At the top of the stairs, a single adult mannequin was standing with its back to me. Someone had taped a stick that sort of resembled a handgun to its waist.

A larger stick had been taped between its hands. I wrinkled my nose and distaste at the obvious symbolism and shoved the thing off to the side. It fell over with a crash that echoed down the length of the hall. I shuddered and stepped over its legs to continue on. Unlike the first floor, there was only one classroom that had any mannequins in it on this one. An adult-sized mannequin was at the front of the room, half turned with its arm raised and pointing toward the blackboard. Every seat in the class was filled by a child-sized counterpart.

They were facing forward, as if paying attention to their lesson. I panned the camcorder across the class. A loud bang came suddenly from the stairwell, and I jumped, instinctively turning towards it. The silence that followed rang heavily in my ears. Nicole? I called. I'm up here.

But my friend didn't answer. I see sweat broke out across the back of my neck. I chewed my lip, trying to convince myself it had just been something I had disturbed on my way up finally toppling over. My thoughts were cut short by the soft murmur of childish whispers coming from within the classroom. Slowly, even as I screamed at myself not to, I looked back into the class. All of the mannequin's heads had turned toward the door. Their blank, pale faces were fixed on me.

I stumbled back a step with a short cry, my camcorder fumbling in my hands. Something creaked, low and long from inside the classroom. Suddenly I couldn't remember how to move my legs. There was a heavy thud, another and then a third, like footsteps, and they were getting closer. A deep, guttural growl rumbled out into the hall. The footsteps were becoming quicker. I tore myself from the spot and ran screaming down the hall.

At the top of the steps, my feet tangled in the legs of the mannequin I'd pushed over, and I barely managed to catch myself on the railing before pitching headlong down the stairs. Frantically, I looked back toward the classroom. Dirtied, elongated fingers had closed around the door frame. The mannequin dragged itself stiffly into the hallway, its head turned jerkily towards me, and it growled again. I didn't look back a second time as I leapt down the stairs two at a time and bolted back down the hall to the front door, shouting for an encouragement.

Nicole to start the car. I was convinced I could hear the uneven, angry footsteps of the mannequin pursuing me out of the school. We screeched out of the parking lot and out of Creek Haven. I couldn't bring myself to review the footage until a few days later, when the fear had dwindled a bit and it seemed less real. Nicole didn't want to see it at all. Going to have nightmares enough as it is. She'd said after I told her what had happened.

I sat at my desk, every light in my room on, and I plugged the camcress. quarter into my computer. I skipped over the initial shots of the town until I got to the elementary school. Seeing the mannequins again made my heartbeat quicken, and I fast forwarded until I got to the classroom on the second floor. There was a bang which sent the camcorder jumping and off focus. It had come to rest briefly on a plaque outside the door, and I caught the word Parker, before the camera was moving again and everything became a blur. The only thing I managed to capture in my desperation to escape was a glimpse of the adult-sized mannequin standing in the hallway as I headed down the stairs.

I ended up turning in a documentary on a different, much duller topic, but I kept my footage from the school saved in a hidden folder. Aside from Nicole, I was only brave enough to bring it up with one other person. Grandma? I said, I know you don't like talking about Creek Haven, but did the name Parker mean anything? Grandma nodded once, a subtle movement. Mr. Parker, he was my math teacher. His classroom had been on the second floor.

When Robert Odell began his rampage, Cyrus Parker had been in the middle of a lesson. Students, grandma included, would later say they didn't know at first what the loud noises that they heard downstairs were. Mr. Parker must have known, but he calmly told them to stay in their seats while he checked it out. The last words he spoke to the children were the children. the same he said every day at the end of class. Study hard, do your homework, make me proud.

He had closed the door behind him. Grandma distinctly remembered the sound of the lock turning into place. The teacher in the next class over had poked her head out when the screaming began from downstairs. She watched Mr. Parker run past her toward a strange man who had just stepped onto the second floor landing. It wasn't until the shotgun blast that she realized what was happening. Parker took it in the stomach, and he growled. He had jumped onto the shooter and both fell down the stairs.

He died lying atop that monster. Grandma looked away and dabbed her eyes. Held him down until there was no life left in him. If he hadn't. She trailed off, and I didn't ask anymore. I don't know who put the mannequins in the school or why. Maybe it was an art project. Maybe it was a planned memorial that never panned out.

I've never found an answer. But 13 innocent lives were lost in March of 1946. Since then, it's been said that the ghosts of the children haunt the school grounds. I believe it. And I know they're not alone. I know that Mr. Parker never got to leave either. He remains, watching over those children now the same way he did then. God help anyone who ever tries to harm them again.