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October 2014 Discussion Post: Halloween! Halloween!

October 1, 2014 at 12:00 AM

Last year, I replaced the October’s normal discussion post style with a general Halloween chat post. As it was pretty active and fun to read, I didn’t see any reason to change things up this year. Don’t worry, we’ll get back to usual discussion posts next month!

The basic idea here is simple: give the community a place to talk about Halloween in general. It’s basically Creepypasta’s Christmas, after all, so it deserves its own post!

So tell us all about your Halloween plans! What are you doing for your costume? Are you going trick-or-treating, or are you staying in with a scary movie marathon, or something else all together? Do you attend or host Halloween parties, and if so, any highlights to share from your party plans or past events? Do you have any Halloween traditions with friends, families, or loved ones that you’d like to tell us about?

As you can see, there’s a wide berth on what you can talk about in this post! Just make sure that it IS Halloween-related, and of course all comments still need to fall within the site’s general commenting guidelines. You can check the FAQ for more specifics, but basically: don’t be a jerk, don’t try to troll or harass anyone else, don’t reveal personal information about yourself or others, don’t post anything that’s not safe for work (so no gore, explicit, or otherwise obscene images, guys)… in other words, as I said in the guidelines for last year’s Halloween post, just be excellent to each other!

Have fun and Happy Halloween!

New Comment System + Other Features

September 26, 2014 at 10:26 AM

As most of you have no doubt noticed, a new comment system has been implemented. We are now using the DISQUS commenting system, which will add the following features:

  • You can set up and customize your own Disqus profile – my hope is that this will satisfy those of you who kept asking for user profiles while allowing me to avoid the higher server cost and security issues that would manifest if we implemented user profiles via our blogging platform.
    • You do not NEED to register for Disqus; anonymous/guest commenting is still enabled.
    • However, having a Disqus profile will allow you to utilise the new comment system to its fullest extent: you will be able to subscribe to comment threads, receive notifications when people reply to or vote on one of your comments, follow other commenters (there’s a Disqus dashboard that acts in a similar fashion to a Tumblr dash or Facebook feed for the people and posts that you’ve followed).
  • You can edit and/or delete your comments without having to “request” deletion by me (this function was glitchy and slow as I frequently didn’t receive the deletion requests for hours after they were sent, often resulting in the comment being approved long before the deletion request showed up).
  • You will be able to easily upload and insert images into comments.
  • I will be able to appoint comment section moderators without actually having to give them access to the site’s backend; this will allow comments to be approved more frequently.
    • I already have some long-time and frequent commenters in mind for mod positions; please do not volunteer or sent me contact requests begging for mod access. I will only be recruiting a few mods at first, and if we end up needing more down the line they will be chosen by the mod team based on who we see contributing to the site’s discussions in a mature and useful fashion.
  • If a comment gets through the mod queue and you feel it’s over the line, there is a ‘flag’ function that will bring it to the moderators’ attentions.
  • For those of you who are very active and just like the acknowledgement of how much you’ve contributed to site discussion, there will be a ‘top commenters’ box on the sidebar.
  • Very long comments will be minimized until YOU personally choose to expand them. Similarly, the comment section will only load ‘batches’ of comments at a time, so you can tell the plugin to load more comments when you’re ready. This should make things less intensive for those of you who were complaining about having too many comments loading at once on your phones.
  • Clicking the “Creepypasta” heading on the Disqus form will show you the comment threads that are currently most active on this site.
  • There are some back-end benefits as well: the spam filter for Disqus is free, so I will get to save $$ on that front if it works properly (I currently pay a monthly fee for our spam filter – we get around 1000 spam attempts per day between the two sites, so believe me, it’s necessary to have some sort of filter). Additionally, having the comments hosted off-site should help with the site load.

I hope that you will all enjoy the new system! As of this writing, the comment import is about 80% done. If you find some posts where comments aren’t displaying yet, do not be alarmed. We’ve got about 6 years worth of comments that are being imported into the new system, and it can take up to a day on average, more if we run into any weird errors.

Two other new functions have been added over the past month (these aren’t related to the new comment system, but I realised that I haven’t yet made a post introducing them):

  • Hiding Content: You’ve probably noticed the (hide) link appearing next to tags and categories. This allows you to ‘hide’ a specific tag or category that you dislike. If you absolutely haaaate Ritualpastas, for example, you can ‘hide’ them and – as long as you don’t clear the cookie – you will not see any posts tagged as Rites & Rituals when browsing the site. To be clear, these preferences are not stored server-side; it uses cookies on your computer/tablet/phone/whatever. Just like the ‘add to favorites’ function, this means that you will need cookies enabled to use this function, and clearing the cookie will result in your ‘hide’ preferences being removed. Additionally, as the cookie is stored on your device, contacting me and asking me to clear it for you will not accomplish anything. You will have to do this yourself using your browser’s settings.
  • For those of you who wanted to know which pastas were the most popular each month, the sidebar now displays the top ten socially active posts. It’s currently set to display the top posts for the past 30 days, and it uses a combination of comments and social media shares to decide its rankings. Since the “all-time” top-ranked pastas are rarely dethroned, I thought that this would be a nice way to give attention to some of the newer pastas that are causing buzz.

Lastly, in regards to the Disqus system, we have a few decisions to make.

Please click the ‘read more’ link to view the rest of this post.

It Nears

October 1, 2014 at 12:00 PM
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It Nears: A Horror Short

This is a video pasta. If the embedded video is not loading for you, please click the link above to go directly to the video’s YouTube page and try watching it there.

Credit To – Ghastly Tales Productions

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Well Water

October 1, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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Well Water

We began feeling sick after the rains abated, and the backyard remained a slick muddy mess where the grass hadn’t grown back, and the foundation for our new in-ground pool filled to the height of my shins even though the concrete hadn’t yet been poured. Dad wanted us to accept that the illness was a cold we all happened to contract around the same time. I believed him, at first. Then my older brother reached a point where he’d vomit nearly every hour, and couldn’t even keep water in his system. No cold could make you do that, I thought.

When Mom started puking all the time, too, Dad called in a doctor. She suspected we all suffered from arsenic poisoning. That something contaminated our water supply. Her suggestion didn’t make a lot of sense — we’d lived at the house for years without a problem before — but we were in no condition to disagree.

We were brought to the hospital at the doctor’s insistence, but they didn’t find any arsenic in our systems. We didn’t even have a vitamin deficiency, or any of the usual poisoning symptoms. No viruses that they could spot; no bacterial infections; nothing.

Maybe the hospital air did us some good, because we had recovered in less than a week. We were a little thinner than before, obviously, but otherwise healthy. They discharged us by the weekend.

Back home, Mom forbade us from drinking tap water. We didn’t protest. Even though Dad had our well tested not long after we returned, and the results showed no arsenic or mercury or anything.

I was still skittish despite the test’s findings. I wouldn’t dare drink the water from our faucets. I wouldn’t even wash myself in our house if I could avoid it. I’d opt instead for the mildewed, stall-less group showers in the school gym in the morning; failing that, I’d clean as much of myself as I could at any free sink in a bathroom.

The rest of my family contracted the sickness again within two weeks of our hospitalization. The vomiting intensified. They started to lose track of the time or the date, and seemed confused if I engaged them in conversation. None of this happened to me. I remained relatively healthy, albeit less clean than I’d have liked.

The water had to be the culprit. Nobody believed me. But I knew it had to be the water.

One evening, I stood in the backyard to escape for a little while the retching sounds that had overtaken the house’s usual quiet. I planned to call an ambulance for my family later that night if they didn’t show any improvement. It was the right move, but it felt futile nonetheless. The hospital would find nothing medically wrong with them; they’d recover in a few days; they’d return home to repeat the cycle. Who knew how many times they could endure that? Probably no more than a few, if I could barely stand it even once. If my family were to survive, I had to figure out what was the matter.

But I didn’t have a clue. I was as baffled as the doctors — if not more. So I waited in the yard, collecting my thoughts in the relative quiet of the outdoors, where the sound of someone’s disgorging stomach wouldn’t scatter them. Thick mud choked what scant vegetation grew from the land around me, and only the balding pines at the edge of our yard showed any sign of vitality. Brown water hung stagnant in the basin of the unfinished pool. Winged insects skirted its surface, their faint wakes quickly fading.

I felt the entire yard was diseased, and I imagined that my lungs drew in tendrils of miasma with each breath. I couldn’t stand being there. It didn’t clear my thoughts; it simply replaced them with a different kind of nausea. I decided I’d take a walk in the woods. Anywhere would have been better than where I was.

When I came near enough to take a closer look at the pines, they seemed even less healthy than I’d first thought. They seemed blighted, their branches drying and collapsing from the bottom up. They weren’t alone — none of the plants I saw seemed in good health. Tiny saplings bent over themselves, rotting in their middles. Old oaks stood as barren as telephone poles, their broken limbs amassed at their feet. Out of morbid curiosity, I followed the decay where it seemed most heavily concentrated, and wended my way through the woods along a path of dying plants.

Before long, I reached a clearing in the trees. Nothing grew there except for a brittle grass that crunched and snapped like glass beneath my steps. Near the clearing’s edge, I spotted a small, triangular structure that resembled a poorly-tended doghouse. I went over to it. The structure turned out not to be a doghouse, but rather, a stone well. A wooden roof, now in a state of collapse, camped over it. A rather enterprising weed curled around its side, borrowing what little support the disintegrating wood could offer.

I looked around for a bucket, but found none. Then I realized that the well had been lidded. Dense wooden slabs boarded the well, although they, too, had decomposed heavily. They sagged in the middle beneath the steady pressure of a large stone. At first I figured the stone had been placed there to keep the slabs in place, but then I thought that the cover must have been quite weighty enough back in its day to stay in position of its own accord. With such an odd setup as this, the well only became more intriguing the longer I considered it.

After scrutinizing it for a while, I thought I saw some kind of markings on the stone. Did it carry an inscription? I couldn’t read it from my angle; for that matter, I couldn’t tell whether the markings were English words, or even Latin characters. I walked around the well, leaning in for a better view. I steadied myself against the ruined boards. They felt slimy against my bare palms.

They were also far more slippery than they appeared.

I misjudged my angle, and my hands slid out from under me. My chest thudded against the boards, and I heard a wet, arthritic pop as the aging wood gave way. I felt myself toppling forward, downward. The illegible stone splashed far below me, invisible in the inky black of the well. I scrabbled for a hold on something — anything — but the well’s damp inner walls afforded no grip.

My feet caught the lip of the well, and my ankles strained to support a weight they were never meant to carry. I tried to remain calm, and devise a means of escaping my precarious situation. I couldn’t move too sharply, as I relied solely on my unsteady balance, and whatever protuberances my shoelaces might lasso if I fell any further.

The blood rushed to my head, and my vision swam. Down below, the snapped wood jutted from the darkness like a shipwreck. As my eyes began to adapt, I could detect liquid motions throwing back the reflection of the light above. I couldn’t tell how deep it was, but it didn’t matter — I couldn’t bank on surviving if I fell in.

Between the masts of broken wood, I glimpsed a disturbance in the water. It began to grow round and smooth. Something was surfacing. An indistinct gray mass bobbed into sight and floated on the water. It seemed devoid of features.

Until it flipped under its own weight, and revealed its bloated face.

It had eyes, a mouth, and a nose, but all of them had swollen horribly, and seemed more humanoid than human. Its pallid skin stretched and shone, tight from the years of fluid it had absorbed. Wispy silver hair trailed like lily roots from its scalp into the dark water. Its arms hung limp at its sides. It wore no clothing.

I had never seen a dead body before, but somehow I knew that no corpse could surpass the revulsion this one instilled in me.

Then it moved.

Righting itself in one slow, rigid motion, it stood in the center of the well. Water ran from its body. Its head lolled, as if its neck could not carry the burden of its waterlogged skull. Its viscid, sopping eyelids peeled back, showing two dark, liquid spheres.

They stared at me. Into me. Or perhaps past me. I held my breath, hoping it was blind, or at least that it hadn’t noticed me.

At the thought, the thing’s jaw fell open, and a sticky, rasping noise escaped. A cold, putrid wind swept past my face, and I retched. The air had grown noxious. My aching legs screamed for oxygen.

It was too much. I lost control of myself. My arms began to flail, and I lost my tenuous hold on the well. I tumbled forward, banging my head against the stone wall. More out of reflex than volition, I stuck out my arms and legs. Suspended like a starfish above the yammering creature, I could see it reaching toward me. Mercifully, some distance still separated us.

So as not to drop myself into the thing’s outstretched hands, I carefully guided one foot up the well’s wall. Then I did the same with the other. My palms followed them. I would not chance more than half an inch with each motion. The creature seemed to recognize my intent. It let out a foul cry, and as it subsided, I watched the fallen boards begin rotting at a swift rate. I heard the sounds of small pebbles falling into the water. When one struck me on the back of the head, I realized that the well itself was decomposing around me.

I doubled my pace. Soon my fingertips felt the mouth of the well, and I hoisted myself up, too frightened to look behind me. As I hurled myself onto the anemic grass, the wooden roof above the well collapsed, crashing into the basin with a sound like falling trees. Had I taken any longer, I thought, that sodden hole would have been my coffin.

Exhausted and nauseated, I staggered back to my house. I felt filthy, but I wouldn’t dare shower. All I could think to do was to call the police. I wouldn’t tell them my full story — they’d never believe me. But I had, without a doubt, discovered a corpse. Surely it was worth alerting them to it. I told my parents what I told the police after placing the call. They were too fatigued and sickly to do anything to comfort me.

Over the next couple of days, I brought the police to the well, and watched them extract a gray, bloated corpse from its depths with a pulley. The body seemed thoroughly inanimate. They couldn’t identify it, as its face was too deformed to match any of their missing persons files.

The coroner’s office disclosed some pretty troubling findings. Apparently, the body had died long before it was deposited in the well, as its skin had been preserved through some chemical process. Some routine analysis revealed high concentrations of arsenic in the corpse’s skin. Apparently, embalming bodies in arsenic solutions used to be a common practice long ago. As such, the coroner suspected that the body was from the Civil War era. Perhaps, he suggested, the was where the arsenic poisoning came from?

I started to wonder whether I had hallucinated my encounter. Nobody else had seen what I did. And a level of disconnection from reality is not uncommon in cases of arsenic poisoning.

But how had the body ended up in the well? Furthermore, why had somebody sealed it inside? And what had been the purpose of the marked stone? Neither the coroner nor the police had answers for me. Then again, maybe I wasn’t asking valid, lucid questions.

They interred the body in the local cemetery at the outskirts of our city. Its headstone remained blank. For a corpse that old, that far past identifying, they could not have done anything more.

For many years thereafter, the burial marked the end of my story.

Recently, though, I returned to my hometown to indulge a pang of nostalgia. Although I have no family left in the area, I paid it a visit to retrace the routes of my childhood. I saw the old house, under new ownership for several decades. The pool remained pristine. The lawn grew lush and green; the trees flaunted a verdant canopy. No evidence remained of the damage the plagued corpse had wrought, except for the images I held my memories.

When I returned to the site of the decaying well, however, I was startled to notice that it rested at a lower elevation than the old house. A gradual downhill gradient ran from my former home to the well. No contaminant could have traveled upward via the natural forces of gravity and runoff.

And when I went to the city’s outskirts to inspect the blank headstone, I found that nothing grew around it. Not even weeds. The earth in its vicinity remained brown and bare. I walked away in a daze, watching my steps to keep myself upright.

As I stared at the ground, I spotted a path of arid dirt snaking from the grave toward town.

Credit To – Lex Joy

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The Hunt

September 30, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I froze; my feet became glued to the frost covered ground. My chest tightened in fear and anxiety. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears; my pulse could be felt in my fingertips. The sound of my blood rushing in my ears drowned out every other sound. It was so loud I could hear nothing else.

I willed myself to calm. With great effort, began to slow my breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth. While it still came in shallow bursts but it was easier now, and my burning lungs began to no longer reject the cool autumn air.

The crack of a stick broke me out of my attempt of calm. My pulse began to race again as the fear and adrenaline began to spike. I pushed my stiff legs back into movement.

“Don’t stop!” I screamed internally. If I stopped, I would be done, I would die. I ran deeper into the forest, surrounding myself with the burning reds and oranges. The trees appeared to be on fire in the pre-sunset light.

I could hear his footsteps begin to pick up speed. Mine began to slow in response. No, this could not be happening, not when I was so close to escaping fate. If I don’t keep going nothing would save me.

“Push.” I screamed at myself. As his footsteps become louder, I pick up speed in response. I hear him even more clearly, he must be close.

I stop and hide behind a large gnarled oak tree, my back pressed into the gritty bark. I tried to cover myself behind the changing leaves of a partially broken branch.

I hear him come to a stop and I stifle the sound of my breathing. He is so close, then I see him come around the side of the tree walking to the clearing, his face was flushed and primal and his breath was as heavy as mine.. How did such a portly man give such a chase in this molted terrain?

He was so close to my hiding spot I can feel his rancid breath. I pounced on him, grabbing him; finally I slit his throat and removed his tracking device. Then I smiled, I was safe, no one would know about me. I began to hum as I headed home to my cottage in the woods.
I love the thrill of the hunt.

Credit To – Ahriannah

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September 29, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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This is an audiopasta hosted on YouTube. If the embedded video does not display for you, please click the link above to load the pasta on its YouTube page. Enjoy!

Credit To – Ciaran Lovejoy / CreepyPastaSr

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Room 1C

September 28, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I lived in unit 1B in an apartment building. It was on the second floor, at the end of a hallway that leads to the other units, and I had the whole thing to myself. And for a while, it was pretty good. Quiet building, decent rent, no problems with the landlords or other tenants. But a couple of months ago, the unit right above me–1C–started to get noisy.

It sounded like a little kid playing and stuff, running around and all that. But the weird thing is, it only happened at night, around 11pm or later. I ignored it for as long as I could, but I have to get up early for work, so eventually I had to say something. One night when the kid was really loud, probably around midnight, I went upstairs and stood at 1C’s door. Yup, he was definitely in there, running around and playing or something.

I knocked on the door, and right away, the kid stopped running. I guess it was one of those times when kids get caught doing something bad, they freeze up and play dumb. I actually smiled when I thought that, and I wasn’t mad or anything… but no one answered the door. So I knocked again, and said, “Hey, could you please keep it down? I can’t sleep.”

No one answered. But the kid had stopped running, so whatever, I went back to my flat. As I left, I could have sworn I heard something… it was like a giggle, but combined with a series of rapid, low-pitched clicks. I ignored it and went to sleep.

But a few days later, the kid was back at it. All hours of the night he was running up and down, making a Hell of a racket. I didn’t want to go and knock on the door again, so the next morning, I went to the management office in town. They gave me the paperwork to file a noise complaint, and I filled it out then and there. But as I handed it back to the lady at the front desk, she took one look at it, and said, “Umm… 1C is vacant.” I asked her what unit was above 1B, and she said 1C. And I was sure that was where the noise was coming from, but she checked her records, and sure enough, 1C was vacant. In fact, she still had the keys in a little set of cubbyholes behind her desk.

There were a couple of other people in the office, and they started to look at me like I was crazy. I didn’t want to create a scene, so I left and did my best to ignore the kid, or whatever it was, for the next couple of days.

But one night I woke up, and not because the kid was making noise. Something wet was dripping onto my face. I got up and turned the lights on, and saw that the ceiling right above my bed was leaking water… really dusty, dirty water. I called management’s emergency number and they sent a repairman over right away.

And I was pretty pissed off. My bed was soaked and filthy, I couldn’t get back to sleep, and I had work in a couple of hours. So when the repairman came over, I went with him up to 1C. He had the keys, so we didn’t have a problem getting in.

There was about an inch of dust everywhere, and the moment we went in, it started to fly all over the place. I felt it coating my lips and the inside of my mouth and nose when I breathed. And it was pretty chilly, even though it was the middle of spring and probably seventy degrees outside. So me and the repairman pulled our shirts over our noses and headed through the living room and into the bedroom, which was right above my bedroom. There was a trail of water leading from the attached bathroom, and when we followed it, we saw that a faucet was on and the sink had overflowed.

I looked back in the living room. My footprints were there, and the repairman’s, but that was it. We shut off the faucet and since the repairman didn’t seem too interested in talking to me, I let him vacuum up the water and fix the floor by himself. But I had to know what was going on. Had someone broken in? There’s a drainpipe right next to the window in the bedroom, and it faces an alley, so I opened the blinds to check it out.

But the window was locked from the inside, and it wasn’t broken or anything. The only weird thing about it was that there was a single, dusty handprint on the inside pane, but the moment I breathed on it, it vanished. It was getting pretty early by then, so I headed out to get whatever sleep I could. I didn’t see anything else in the unit, but I’m pretty sure I heard something clicking as I left. Maybe it was the floor.

I think something happened to the repairman, because we had a couple of issues in the building and management had to hire a contractor to fix them. He didn’t come back until a while later, and even then he was coughing and wheezing all over the place. But things were quiet on my end, and I didn’t have any more problems with 1C, not until a week or so after the water incident.

It was really loud that night. Like, really loud. It was like the kid was jumping up and down and stomping around. There was that weird giggling noise too, mixed with those low pitched clicks. I still have no idea what they were. Anyway, I had just about enough of it, so I stormed up to 1C and started to bang on the door. I shouted at whoever was in there to shut the fuck up and let me get some sleep, and that was when someone told me to calm down.

I must have woken up half the hallway, because they were all sticking their heads out of the doors and staring at me. I asked them if they heard anything, and they said no, 1C was vacant. I asked them if they were making any noise, and I must have cursed again, because they told me to go back to sleep or they were going to call the cops. I didn’t really have a choice, so I did what they said.

The next morning, I went to management to thank them for dealing with all of my complaints. I apologized for the night before and promised that it wouldn’t happen again, and then I gave them a box of donuts. The lady went to go and give it to the rest of the workers, and when they were picking out which ones they wanted, I reached over the desk and grabbed the keys to room 1C. I chatted with them for a few minutes and then headed to work.

I got a flashlight on my way home, and a surgical mask for the dust. I’m not sure what I meant to do, but that night, when I heard the little motherfucker stomping around again, I went up the stairs, put my mask on, unlocked room 1C, and went in. I left the door open to get in some light from the hall, but the entry to the suite is a tight turn, so it didn’t do me much good. And when I went into the living room, it slammed shut behind me anyway.

It was really dusty in there. And really dark, I wouldn’t have been able to see a thing without my flashlight. And the weird thing is, even though the windows were in the living room were closed, there was a lot of air moving around, it was making the dust fly all over the place. Even with my flashlight I couldn’t see very far, because of all the dust. But I kept going. There was nothing in the living room, nothing in the closet, nothing in the kitchen. So I went to the bedroom.

The moment I stepped in, it got freezing cold. I could see my breath in the air, and the dust was still going nuts… but I went in a little further to take a look around. My flashlight died out–and that was weird, since I got the batteries that day–so I tried to turn on the lights. But of course the electricity had been shut off. The only light was from the streetlights through the gaps around the blinds.

I was having a tough time breathing. It was because of the surgical mask, so I took it off, but it was so dusty that it didn’t make a difference one way or the other. And I was getting really, really cold, and nothing was there, so I decided to go. I turned around, and that was when I a lot of dust gather in the air in front of me. It wasn’t like when it was just floating, it was definitely collecting in the shape of something. But I couldn’t see and I couldn’t breathe, so I stepped aside to get some of the street light on it.

It was a face. A kid’s face. It smiled for a minute, making that weird clicking sound, and then it started to float toward me. I tried to scream, but the dust got in my mouth, so I held my breath and shoved the kid–I definitely shoved something solid away–and I ran the fuck out of the bedroom and toward the door. But it was locked, and my key didn’t work–and I heard footsteps behind me, light footsteps, and a kid giggling. When it got close, I kicked out as hard as I could, and then I managed to break the door down and get back into the hallway.

That got everyone out, and they were all looking at me like I was a freak. But I talked to an old lady about it later, and she said that when they saw how pale I was, and how hard I was struggling to breathe, they knew that something was wrong. I couldn’t talk, I was coughing so much, so I just pointed at the door.

A couple of big guys went in to check it out. They didn’t need flashlights, the lights worked just fine when they turned them on. They told me they saw footprints in the dust. Most of them were mine, but some of them were a lot smaller. And one of them said that just next to the door, there was a heavier layer of dust, and it was in the shape of a little kid.

I got an apartment down the street the next day. Management agreed to give me my security deposit back if they could rent 1B by the next month, so there were a bunch of people looking at it while I was moving my stuff out. One of them asked me if the other tenants were quiet, if there were any noisy kids or anything. I just said no. And he ended up taking the place.

I saw him at a bar yesterday. I asked him if it was still a quiet building, and he said yeah, for the most part. But some nights he hears something from the unit above him. I said, what, is it a little kid being loud or something? He said no. It’s a little kid crying.

Credit To – Alex Ross

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