nox

24d

Model: Chat GPTo1 Preview

Prompt:
Write a three-paragraph story similar to the classical Creepypastas. Here is the theme: "The Endless Tunnel: In a small town, a new subway line opens with a single train running through a seemingly infinite tunnel. Passengers who board the train experience bizarre phenomena—time distortion, encounters with their past selves, and visions of their deepest fears. The protagonist boards the train to find a missing friend and must navigate the surreal journey before they lose their grasp on reality and become trapped in the endless passage."

Result:
The Endless Tunnel
Michael had heard whispers about the new subway line that appeared overnight in his small town. Curiosity piqued, he decided to investigate when his friend Sarah went missing after mentioning she was going to check it out. The station was eerily empty, illuminated by flickering fluorescent lights. A single train waited with doors ajar, beckoning him inside. As he stepped into the carriage, the doors slid shut behind him with a finality that sent a shiver down his spine.
The train lurched forward into the tunnel, and minutes turned into hours as darkness stretched endlessly outside the windows. Time seemed distorted; his watch hands spun unpredictably. Michael began to see fleeting reflections of himself in the glass—only they weren't just reflections. Past versions of himself stared back, each bearing expressions of regret and sorrow. Shadows danced at the periphery of his vision, manifesting into figures that embodied his deepest fears. Whispers echoed through the carriage, growing louder and more insistent, blurring the lines between reality and illusion.
Determined to find Sarah, Michael navigated through the interconnected cars, each one warping his sense of space and time further. He finally found her seated calmly, gazing blankly ahead. She turned to him slowly, her eyes void of recognition. "We've always been here," she murmured. Panic surged as he realized he was losing his grip on reality. Desperate, he raced back toward the entrance, but the train seemed endless. The shadows closed in, and the whispers coalesced into a deafening roar. The train screeched to a halt, but when the doors opened, all that awaited was another tunnel. Michael stepped out into the abyss, forever trapped in the endless passage.

glen

24d

Prompt:

Write a three paragraph story similar to the classical Creepypastas. Here is the theme "Haskell developer has to write javascript for the first time"

Model:
GPT 4o

Result:
It all started when Daniel, a staunch Haskell developer who prided himself on writing code so pure it could pass for scripture, was called into his manager’s office. “We need you to take over the JavaScript frontend for a while,” his manager said, sliding a thick, dog-eared binder labeled Legacy Codebase across the desk. Daniel froze. He’d always dismissed JavaScript as a chaotic playground for those who didn’t appreciate functional programming’s elegance. Now, he was being asked to delve into what he regarded as programming purgatory.

Daniel reluctantly opened the project’s codebase that evening. At first, it seemed harmless—just files and folders, albeit with an alarming number of dependencies. But as he began to dig, he noticed something... wrong. The code wasn’t just messy; it was inconsistent, as though different fragments were written by people who had vastly different ideas of what the application was supposed to do. Comments trailed off mid-sentence, variables seemed to change names across files, and functions behaved in ways that defied both logic and sanity. At one point, he stumbled upon an ancient node_modules folder, tens of gigabytes large, containing packages that hadn’t been updated in years. Worse yet, a cryptic README file warned him, in all caps, “DO NOT DELETE THIS FOLDER.”

The real horror began on the second night. As Daniel refactored a particularly convoluted script, he noticed his changes didn’t persist. The lines of code he rewrote reverted as soon as he saved. He tried renaming files, only to find duplicates appearing out of nowhere, with slightly different functionality but the same filename. Then, the IDE began to glitch. Snippets of error messages popped up, written in languages he didn’t recognize. The final straw was when he ran the application, and a message blinked on the screen: “YOU’RE NOT MEANT TO BE HERE, DANIEL.” His heart raced. He wasn’t even sure if that message came from his code. That night, as he shut his laptop, he heard a faint, mocking laugh echo from his speakers, the sound of a ghost who thrived in callbacks and promise chains that never resolved.

benjaminsen

24d

Prompt:
Write a three paragraph story similar to the classical Creepypastas. Here is the theme "The Lost Stream: A gamer stumbles upon a live stream of themselves, with chat messages predicting their future actions in unsettling detail."

Tell this story from the perspective of the person who experienced it in the past. Make the story unfold such that it ends with the realization that he is watching himself. Find a way the person escaped the context in a way where they are fearful of it happening again.

Model:
GPT o1-preview

Result:
A week ago, I was scrolling through live streams late at night, searching for something new to watch. Amidst the usual gaming channels and talk shows, I noticed a stream with no title and a black thumbnail. Intrigued, I clicked on it. The video was grainy at first, but as it sharpened, I recognized the setting—it was my own bedroom. There I was, sitting at my desk, headphones on, just as I was moments ago. I glanced around my room, then back at the screen, my heartbeat quickening.

As I watched, the chat beside the stream was buzzing with activity. Messages like “He’s about to check his phone” appeared, and, unconsciously, I reached for my phone. “Wait for it… he’ll look out the window,” another user typed. Suddenly, an urge compelled me to turn and gaze out the window into the dark street. Panic washed over me as I realized the chat was predicting my actions seconds before I performed them. Desperate to break the cycle, I tried doing something unexpected—I stood up abruptly. But then, a new message flashed: “He’s standing now. He can’t escape.”

Overwhelmed, I slammed my laptop shut and tore the power cord from the wall. I grabbed my jacket and fled the apartment, not stopping until I reached a friend’s place across town. I told him everything, but it sounded absurd even to my own ears. Since that night, I’ve avoided going online and moved to a new place. Yet, every so often, I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, as if unseen eyes are watching. I’m haunted by the fear that somewhere out there, that stream is still live—waiting for me to tune in again.