So, the stray kitten who ended up in our garden last month finally began to turn belly-up for the cuddles and greet us with purring and rubbing against our legs. A nice improvement from the little, scrawny and shivering mass of fluff he used to be.
He's crying tears of darkness... he was supposed to be the snack for a good boy during a hot, summer day. But that day never came, summer came and went, replaced by fall and then winter... nobody bought that little, sad, popsicle, until the expiration date came. He was left there, on the store's shelf, unsold, unloved while all the other ice creams were sold off to bring joy to the human's taste buds. His moment never came... until one day, after almost one year of wating someone working at the store noticed the box. He took it outside and opened it, the popsicle screamed in rage and anguish as the sunlight finally hit is partially-molten body. The long wait had changed it, now it was him who would eat anybody who dared to take a bite out of him. It was... the Spongebob Popsicle!
................I can't believe I just wrote a very bad creepypasta!
There is something strangely amusing to see people freak out as soon as they hear a "setting noise" in my house because "A noise from nowhere means the place is haunted". I think this kind of "amusement" will last for a long while considering the kind of mentality of the country I live in...
It depends of the skills of the author, a creepypasta is basically a stupid scribble compared to more experienced authors like Poe and King. A good story can actually make you imagine the situation and, if the author is especially good, literally condition your mind.