Why is goot like that

[_73]

Yeah i have you blocked for a reason i've let you know often enough i'm simply not playing along wirh you gay noob bullshit
@supersage you too
(Dis)respectfully fuck off

Joltphobes btfo'd once again

 

[Dagonet]

TLDR

Goot is an enigma

 

[shipment]

Yeah i have you blocked for a reason i've let you know often enough i'm simply not playing along wirh you gay noob bullshit
@supersage you too
(Dis)respectfully fuck off

 

[Dagonet]

View attachment 124494

@cortex257

 

[Goot]

Joltphobes btfo'd once again

You too bitch

 

[kars cosplay guy]

I got an ad for AI furry gf roleplay

 

[supersage]

Yeah i have you blocked for a reason i've let you know often enough i'm simply not playing along wirh you gay noob bullshit
@supersage you too
(Dis)respectfully fuck off

i didnevendonuffin this time and youre leaking at me

 

[_73]

You too bitch

Fak yu bloody bitch you mathafakar you arsehule

 

[Goot]

i didnevendonuffin this time and youre leaking at me

noob please

 

[kars cosplay guy]

You too bitch

joltphile

 

[supersage]

noob please

Projection ⓃⓉⒷ ⓃⓇⒻ you're a psyop stop projecting this onto me psyop.

 

[_73]

joltphile

Release the bromine files

 

[shipment]

You too bitch

 

[_73]

View attachment 124496

This but other way around

 

[myexdrew]

ITT we make scary goot creepypastas

They called him “Goot” long before anyone knew why.
At first, it was just a dumb nickname that floated around late-night forums and abandoned group chats—something edgy kids typed when they wanted to sound unsettling without trying too hard. But then people started noticing patterns. Small ones at first. A missing pet here. A strange noise caught on a baby monitor there. Always followed by the same thing: a single message posted from a burner account.
“goot was here”
No capitalization. No punctuation. Always lowercase, like it didn’t care about language rules—or people.
The police didn’t take it seriously until the fourth incident.
That’s when they found the first body.

It was in a quiet suburban house, the kind where nothing ever happens. The victim, a man in his 40s, was found sitting upright in his bed, eyes wide open, face frozen in something between confusion and horror. There were no signs of forced entry. No signs of struggle.
Just one thing that didn’t make sense.
The walls.
They were… smeared. Not with blood. Something else. Thick. Glossy. Uneven. It stretched in streaks across the wallpaper, pooled in corners, clung to the ceiling in ways that defied gravity. Forensics couldn’t immediately identify it, only that it was organic.
And on the mirror, written with a finger dragged slowly through the substance:
“goot was here”

That’s when the deeper investigation began.
Digital traces led nowhere solid, but they did uncover something disturbing. Dozens—then hundreds—of posts across obscure sites. Each one rambling, fragmented, obsessive. They all seemed to be written by the same person.
Or thing.
The posts talked about urges. Compulsions. Watching people through windows. Sitting in the dark for hours, unmoving, breathing quietly while someone slept just a few feet away.
And woven into all of it was a fixation—repetitive, relentless. Goot described himself as unable to stop touching himself, no matter where he was. In closets. Under beds. Inside walls. The act wasn’t described in detail, but the implication was constant: he needed it, like breathing.
Like hunting.
One post read:
“I dont do it because i like it
i do it because i am full
and if i dont empty i leak
and if i leak they see me
and if they see me i have to make them quiet”

The second body was different.
This time, the victim had fought back. Furniture overturned, fingernails broken, skin under them that didn’t match any known suspect. But again, no sign of entry. Doors locked. Windows sealed.
And again, the walls.
More of that same substance. Thicker this time. Layered. As if it had been building over hours… or days.
Neighbors reported hearing something strange the night before. Not screams. Not footsteps.
Just a wet, rhythmic sound.

The name “Goot” started spreading beyond forums after that. True crime circles picked it up. Then podcasts. Then the news, though they sanitized the details. They didn’t mention the substance. They didn’t mention the posts.
But people kept digging.
And then someone found the video.

It was posted briefly before being taken down. Too disturbing, they said.
A static shot of a dark bedroom. A person sleeping peacefully. Nothing unusual for the first minute.
Then the camera shifted.
Not like someone holding it.
Like something crawling.
The angle dipped lower, sliding beneath the bed frame. The darkness swallowed everything for a moment—then adjusted.
Two eyes reflected the faint light.
Too wide. Too still.
Watching.
The audio picked up a faint sound. Breathing. Uneven. Wet. And underneath it… something else. A quiet, repetitive motion, barely audible but unmistakably rhythmic.
The figure under the bed didn’t move toward the sleeper.
It just stayed there.
Watching.
Waiting.
The video cut out just as the sleeper began to stir.

Authorities never released an official suspect. No fingerprints matched. No DNA profile stayed consistent—it degraded too quickly, like it wasn’t meant to exist for long.
But the posts didn’t stop.
If anything, they became more frequent.
More confident.
More personal.
People started reporting something else, too.
Not break-ins.
Not sightings.
But feelings.
The sense that someone was already inside their home.
Not hiding in the closet.
Not behind the door.
Closer.
Listening to their breathing at night.
Matching it.

The last post attributed to Goot was different from the rest. Shorter. Almost excited.
“i dont need to go outside anymore
i learned how to stay
walls are soft if you push long enough
you dont hear me because i am already here”

If you’re reading this in bed, don’t check under it.
That’s obvious.
Don’t check your closet, either.
Too predictable.
If Goot is real—and no one can prove he isn’t—you wouldn’t find him in the places you expect.
You’d feel him.
In the walls.
In the quiet spaces between sounds.
In the moments where your room feels just a little too full.
And if you ever hear something… soft, wet, and rhythmic…
Don’t move.
Because if you’ve noticed him,
he’s already noticed you.

 

[Goot]

Release the bromine files

What would that even be
The Shitlita vaeri incident is really the only thing i can imagine and somehow that's forgotten

 

[kars cosplay guy]

Release the bromine files

Cargo had flvffy moments with averi
It says it in the files

 

[myexdrew]

Cargo had flvffy moments with averi
It says it in the files

We need to see the goot files

 

[Goot]

Cargo had flvffy moments with averi
It says it in the files

Knowing him it'd be some disgusting pony shit

 

[myexdrew]

Knowing him it'd be some disgusting pony shit

Projecting projecting projecting sahur