As my youngest child explained to me years ago, “creepypasta” is more or less the internet’s version of ghost stories and urban legends. (Think Slender Man.) Because they’re shared online instead at campfires or sleepovers, they spread worldwide in a near-instant. The name itself is partly a portmanteau of “copy/paste.” 

Now, explaining Creepypasta, the horror anthology corralling work from eight directors, is scads easier: It stinks. 

In the unimaginative wraparound story, we watch a guy stumble through a mysterious house, where he’s introduced to 10 stories written by a creepypasta author gone missing. Of the 10, a mere three at least held my attention — a ratio so poor, it deserves a bell ringer standing outside Walmart around the holidays. 

Were I feeling generous, I’d up that to four in 10, just for the shadow people story’s oddball scenario of ladies noshing over a charcuterie board as they swap Jerry Maguire-style science facts, like “Your rectum can stretch up to 9 inches in diameter.” I’ll take their word for it. 

The best bits feature a rulebreaker who gets Hellraiser-hooked for watching a forbidden broadcast on TV, a boy’s nocturnal encounter with a tooth fairy, and a child’s “imaginary” friend named Jumby. None breaks new ground, but each achieves effectiveness simply by setting up only what’s required. 

Whether about mirror people, cults, closet monsters or the Grey Man, other segments get bogged down in being too vague or trying to do too much. Both approaches go against the idea of being so sharable. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Last week — at least in my neck of the woods — a massive cellular phone outage with AT&T made things go reasonably kaput coast to coast. Although my phone was on vibrate while I was quietly working, it apparently rocked the entire country, leaving those in the digital age in the Stone Age for around 12 hours.

However, AT&T gave rebates and other tokens of gratitude for their error, so I thank you.

But what was really weird was I had just watched the low-key Stephen King adaption of Cell, about a cellular signal that turns people into mindless zombies. And that’s without the family and friends plan.

In the somewhat-busy Boston airport terminal, an outbreak occurs, sending people with cellphones on a murderous rampage. Graphic novel artist Clay (a sleepy John Cusack) and train conductor Tom (a sleepy Samuel L. Jackson) find their world turning into post-apocalyptic shit in the aftermath.

As Clay and Tom come upon survivors and fight the undead hordes, they surmise that a “hive mind” is getting them to congregate, kind of like a buzzing signal reminiscent of the 2000s internet. Even worse, in that very Stephen King way, a dream demon from Clay’s sketches tries to get them to a diabolical cell tower.

Of course they are.

While I truly liked the violent airport beginning, the movie proceeds to do nothing with the promise of the premise, devolving into a bunch of badly drawn stereotypes with no way to rationally end … except for the walking zombies, demonic possession and, I guess, bad service coverage. 

With very nominal director Tod Williams (Paranormal Activity 2) at the supposed helm, both Cusack and Jackson sleepwalk though most of their passive screen time. To be fair, they are the better parts of this movie, as everyone is pretty terrible.

In the end, Cell is the forgettable adaptation of a dropped call, with none of the wasted intrigue. Hang up! —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.