I’ve never been a fan of watching the news. Usually, if the news anchors aren’t being overly dramatic about the weather or sports, they’re reporting on depressing things like car crashes, animal abuse, and child abuse. I find none of this entertaining, and typically flip the channel to an episode of South Park. Just recently, a news report caught my attention during a ritual of channel-surfing. If the anchorman hadn’t phrased it just right, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now.

I caught the tail-end of a news segment before the commercial break, and the anchorman Ross Cooper said, “Coming up, find out what local residents are starting to call a ‘miracle’. Our own Dan Aaron reports live on a slowly growing phenomenon happening in our city right after the break, stay tuned.” A line like that was enough to keep me hooked, so I chose to sit through the seemingly endless string of commercials. As usual you had your movie trailers, store advertisements, and those drug commercials that always show people frolicking in meadows while a narrator lists all the unpleasant side-effects. Commercials always last too long, but I feel it’s worth it for listening to this potentially exciting news story.

When the news returned, the face of Ross Cooper looked very worried as he reported that there was a breaking news story, and reporter Dan Aaron was on the scene. The camera cut to Dan standing inside a darkened home with several other people peering outside a window. It’s impossible to see what was happening outside, but shouts and screaming could be heard in the background.

“I’m reporting from a home deep in the heart of Los Angeles, where other survivors have taken refuge. The miracle that people have been talking about is false! To everyone in the area watching this report: Do not go outside! If you hear people calling your name, do not listen to them!” Dan started, looking both panicked and nearly ready to break out into tears. Showing concern, Ross asked him exactly what was going on. “Earlier today there was a giant flash of light that looked like a portal was opening up from the sky, and then these things came. I don’t know what they are, but they’re not human, and they intend to kill us all! Extermination has already begun!” Dan shrieked, trying his best to keep cool on live TV. Something inside of me said this was all a prank, but I had to keep watching.

“Now calm down, Dan. How can you describe these attackers to our viewers?” Ross asked, staying professional. “Well, a young man in our group described them as ‘shape-shifters’, and I believe that’s an accurate description. None of us here have seen their true form, but their appearance seems to change multiple times, completely at random. When one of these things looks at you, it’s like it can see into your mind, all of your thoughts and memories, and it uses this against you. These beings will take the forms of all your friends and family, even those that have passed on. They will mimic their speech exactly how you remember it, then they’ll beckon you to come outside with them. That’s when they get you! When their victims die, their bodies vaporize from this eerie light that shines from their eyes and mouth, and then you hear what they really sound like, and it’s horrible. I’ve seen so many people die today, Ross, and there’s nothing left of any of them.” Dan had completely lost his mind and was now trembling and sobbing into the camera.

“Dan, do you feel safe where you are right now?” Ross asked. “I don’t fucking know!” Dan snapped back, his sadness turning into rage suddenly. “The group that I’m with has guns, and the doors are bolted, but we have no idea what these beings are capable of. I don’t know if they’re aliens or demons, but their numbers are growing by the minute, and I think L.A. will soon be overrun. Everyone with me is in a bad mental state right now. We can hear our loved ones calling to us, begging us to go out and see them. I just saw my great-grandmother moments ago, and I want to run to her, but I can’t! This seems like the end of times, and I’m sure this is happening elsewhere and that the human race may be wiped out, but if we can just hang on and not let our emotions cloud our judgment, we will survive long enough for help to arrive. Call the military! Call everyone you can! We can’t let these creatures win!” Dan exclaimed, right before the signal started to die. The last thing I remember him saying was, “Oh God, I think a few got inside!” before he faded out, and a shocked Ross Cooper announced that his station would be going off the air.

An emergency broadcast signal started seconds later, and I just sat there on the couch in silence. I didn’t know if I should call everyone I knew, or wait and see if this epidemic would even affect my area. I felt the sudden need to look outside, and just as I did so I saw, of all people, my old gym teacher Mr. Moors, who had mentored me and helped me become the athlete that I am today. He called to me, reminding me how long it had been since we last spoke. Of course, I knew it wasn’t really him, and had I not watched the news report when I did, I would’ve gone out to talk to him, only to meet an agonizing death.

Behind him, approaching from a distance, was a mob of these invaders that were marching through my neighborhood. That’s the last time I glanced outside. Now I sit locked in a dark basement with only the glow of this computer screen. All the doors to my house are locked, and all lights that would attract attention are out. I think the mob has bypassed my house, as I can’t hear anyone else calling my name.

I’ve just heard screams of terror from my other neighbors, and I think they’re dead. It’s very quiet now, I’ve already warned everyone I can think of to stay indoors. I’m sure I’ll think of more people as the night goes on, but for now I’m just going to focus on getting this story out. I know the military will act, I’m sure they’ll be here any minute to get whatever this is under control, but if not, I have enough supplies to hopefully last a month or two at the most. After doing constant research online, I’m certain that this is now a global phenomenon.

Videos are starting to appear on Youtube shot by people who have barricaded themselves in either their homes or public places, and these videos feature footage of mobs like the one I just saw not long ago. One particular video comes from as far away as Tokyo, Japan. The video already has over a million views, and in the comments section, several people have claimed to have seen their own relatives in the mob that was filmed by a man from the fourth floor of his apartment building. I checked it out for myself, and sure enough, all the way from Japan, I saw my grandfather, my uncle, and my stepmom marching through the streets, and they seemed to be staring right at me through the computer screen. Videos like this are proof that we are now dealing with a force far beyond our understanding.

What exactly are they? How did they get here? Hopefully we can survive long enough to find out these answers. If I make it through the night, I promise to constantly update my tale of these catastrophic events. My name is Reagan Myers of Los Angeles, California, and I am a witness to the beginning of a new era.

Credit To: J.Stan Shocker

That woman over there, in the corner of the room, is really a terrific tease. I don’t even think she means to be, but I’ve simply never encountered anyone like her. She’s got this breezy, powder-blue sundress on, and stylish ankle-strap sandals on her pedicured feet. A girl as pretty as she is would never be interested in a guy like me.

She’s wearing these great panties today, too. I caught a glimpse of the lacy fabric clinging to the inside of her thighs while we were getting her prepared. Her legs had slid apart almost imperceptibly, and I had subtly craned my neck to see as much as I could. Still, I don’t think anyone’s noticed my unprofessional behavior, or even how obsessed with her I’ve become.

In a different lifetime, maybe this woman and I could even be friends. I’m friendly and very pleasant once people get to know me, and she looks like the kind of girl who values a nice guy with a good attitude. I certainly think I could earn her attention. Oh well. She’ll be gone within the next hour or two – out of my life forever – and so there’s nothing to do except try and forget about her. It’d be easier, though, if she just didn’t look so damn beautiful.

Just outside the door, I can hear her family beginning to arrive. They’re asking why she’s not already out there and ready for things to begin; they really seem to want everything to go perfectly today. “It looks like we’re running late,” I remark. It’s the first thing I’ve had the courage to say aloud in her presence. There’s no response, but the soft smile on her lips fills me with pleasure. Muttering a shy “Goodbye,” I disable the breaks on her casket’s bier and wheel her from the embalming lab into the reception area.

Credit To: David Feuling

My father was not a famous man, but he should’ve been. He was the first person to break ground on that archaeology dig in Egypt you didn’t hear about. I go to see him once a week now. I tell him how things at home are, and he just sits there and rocks back and forth in his beige sleeveless jacket. He hasn’t said anything since the first day he was here, before the doctors began pumping the drugs into him that make him drool on himself. I’ll not soon forget what he said.

He looked at me, straining against the straight jacket that he’d willingly stepped in to. He winced as they tightened it. He looked dead in to my eyes, and I returned the gaze. I didn’t know yet. I thought he’d acted the way he did unprovoked. I didn’t know why he’d practically destroyed our house in a sudden fit of rage, screaming “Where are you?!” at the top of his lungs. I didn’t know why he thrown my mother down a flight of stairs and paralyzed her from the neck down.

But I now sat next to a broken mess of a man. Dried tears dotted my cheeks, and I looked at the man I thought was a monster and asked him, “Why?” He glanced up to me with those sad, brown eyes and smiled. It took all I had not to punch him his already swollen face. He simply said “Top drawer, right side.” before he looked back to the floor and closed his eyes. That was the last time he spoke to me.

I immediately rushed home. I parked the car and ran in, up the stairs and down the hall to my father’s study. I tried the knob and, as usual, it was locked. I was so angry, before I knew it I had broken the door down in three kicks. I strode to his desk and opened the drawer he had identified. It was empty save for a large, manila folder. I ripped it open and poured the contents on the desk, which consisted of a folder full of ruffled pages and a small post-it note. I plucked up the post-it and read it aloud. “45-34-21.” I set it aside and picked up the folder. I immediately recognized my fathers handwriting. I opened the folder and laid the pages out on the table. They were wrinkled, smudged, and horribly frayed, but I sat down and began reading. From the best I could tell, he had began writing these the day after he got home from the dig. He began:

“Just got home today. I decided to start this journal after a recommendation from a friend. Not really sure how to go about this. I brought back a birthday present for my 16 year-old son. It’s a small copper plate about 3 inches square. Found it just outside the dig site. Has a small hole punched at the top. Maybe he could put it on a necklace. Lots of strange carvings on it. They don’t seem to be a language. Small picture of a human figure etched in as well. It seems to be wearing a mask or helmet. I hope he likes it.”

That was all that was on the first page. I almost smiled at my dad’s writing style. Choppy, brief, and informal, just like dad. But I paused for a moment. My birthday was still a few days away, and I had heard nothing about this “gift”. I skipped to the next entry, which was dated to be the following day.

“Long night. Couldn’t seem to get to sleep. I swear I heard a voice last night. Couldn’t make out what it said. Just a whispering from down the hall. Maybe Josh was up late. I’ll ask today”

That piqued my attention. I remember him asking me if I had been up late, but I know I had been asleep. Odd. I read on to the next day.

“I had to write this down. No one will believe me if I don’t. The whispering came back last night. This time I heard what it said. Give it back. That’s all it said. Over and over. I looked out the door to the hallway and I’d swear I saw someone there. A short figure, hunched over. Heard a raspy breathing. Kept saying give it back give it back.”

I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Had my father gone crazy over night? I remember him behaving oddly the next morning, but I was in such a hurry for school, I thought nothing of it. I flipped to the next page, and immediately noticed a difference. The handwriting was smudged, scratchy, and uneven, almost like it had been written in a hurry. It said:

“Had my friend Buddy translate the words on the gift. He was confused by it. Said it was in Latin. Why did we find Latin lettering in an Egyptian dig? Buddy said it read ‘larva-umbra’ at the top, and ‘veniet’ everywhere else. When I asked him what it meant, he looked at me and said ‘Mask-Shadow. He will come.’ I asked him what that meant. He wouldn’t tell me. I’ll look it up tonight.”

I looked at the date. It was the day before he’d gone mad! Unfortunately, it was also the last entry. Exhausted from the long day, I sat down in my dad’s chair. I stacked the rest of the papers and began to slide them back in to the envelope when I noticed the sticky note I had set aside. I plucked it back up and read it again. “45-34-21.” I thought for a moment, then like a bolt of inspiration I remembered my dad always kept a combination-locked safe in the basement. I grabbed the sticky note and ran downstairs. I arrived at the small, stocky safe and quickly dialed in the three numbers. The door clicked, and I swung it open. There, in the middle of the safe, sitting upon a small handkerchief was what appeared to be a small piece of copper, about as big as a playing card.

I slowly reached in to pick it up. As my fingers brushed the bitingly cold copper, I felt a chill run up my fingers, up my arm, and down my spine. The room seemed to grow shockingly cold, and the lights flickered and glowed. The whole house seemed to be…whispering. Talking. A voice was resonating from the walls. A foul, wispy voice. An angry voice. At first I couldn’t quite make out what it was saying. But it steadily grew louder and louder, until I had to cover my ears in pain. “GIVE IT BACK”. The voice boomed so loud the windows rattled and the furniture seemed to be vibrating at the sound of it. Beneath the echoing din, I heard a light tapping. I forced myself to look up and at the end of the hall, I saw a dark figure. It was a short, hunched over figure, no taller than 5 feet high. It wore a dark hood and robe, so I could not see any distinguishable features, except for what was making the tapping sound. A long, thin arm was extended from the figure. The skin was a sickly greenish-grey, and appeared to be peeling back and falling off the bones. At the end of the gaunt arm was a horrifically large hand, with thin fingers and…claws? The booming voice stopped, but the horrible hand kept tapping the concrete wall. The lights flickered again, and I was plunged in to momentary darkness.

In the inky blackness, I heard what sounded like a shallow, raspy breathing, getting closer and closer. The lights flashed back on, and as my eyes adjusted, I saw the figure now loomed over me. The hand had seemingly disappeared back under the black robe. I tried to steady my breathing, and that’s when I noticed the smell. Like any boy, I had been around a few dead animals. Dead birds, rats, and even an opossum or two. But this smell was easily far worse than anything I had ever inhaled. It burnt my nostrils and made my eyes water. I hurriedly scooted away from the figure that stood over me. It made no move to stop me, but seemed to watch me scurry across the linoleum. With my back against the wall, I stood myself up. For what seemed like hours, we stared at each other. The figure would occasionally tilt its head in what seemed to be curiosity, but as I could not see its face, I couldn’t be sure. I heard a rustling sound coming from beneath he creatures cloak. As I watched, horrified, the ghastly arm emerged from the folds of his robe, this time accompanied by another. With slow, deliberate movements, the arms reached to where I assumed the creatures head was, and slowly pulled back the hood. The light fell upon the creatures brow, to reveal not a face, but a huge, clunky copper mask. The mask seemed to be bolted and spot-welded on to the figures head. There were no apparent orifices, except for two holes where the eyes would be. And there I saw, peering back at me, to dreadful eyes. They were completely white, with a sort of pus or dew at the edges. The eyes blinked, and more of the white pus oozed out of the corners. The horrible sight combined with the smell was enough to make me gag, and I retched upon the floor. The lights emitted a buzzing sound, and soon flashed off again. I sat in the dark for what seemed like several minutes, all the while hearing the raspy breathing grow louder and louder. The lights began to flicker violently, so I only caught occasional glimpses of the horrible sight before me. The figure had abandoned his dark robes, and risen to a massive height, uncoiling a horribly mangled body beneath his masked face. The skin was stretched tight upon a gaunt body, and was the same sickly green as the arms. The spine seemed to have a horrible twist in it, as the creature could not stand up straight. It now towered over me, and again the booming voice filled the room. I could not recognize what it said. It almost seemed to be in another language.

As I watched, the room around me seemed to burst in to flames. Smoke lunged upward from the now flaming furniture, and quickly filled the small concrete room. By pure instinct, I bolted toward the exit. I heard a laughing behind me, and no doubt that awful creature reclaimed what was his. Thank god I made it out in time. I have never encountered the creature, but I can’t help but wonder…now that it has what it came for, will it leave?

Credit To: Gage Seitz

Maddy,

I just wanted to thank you again for letting me use Grandpa’s house. Things haven’t really turned around since I got laid off, and being able to stay here has been a real blessing. Jen stops by to give me a lecture and make sure I’m still on my meds, which I am, and takes me to job interviews every so often, but nothing has worked out yet. It’s pretty quiet here, with no car, no phone and no internet, but that gives me the chance to perfect the lost art of letter-writing.

I think about Grandpa a lot these days, of course. And I don’t think we know the whole story.

A lot of people have been saying that he was getting old. And that the police couldn’t find any signs of forced entry, and they keep talking about footprints. But I saw him not even a week before he vanished and I’m telling you, he was clear as a bell. He didn’t just wander off.

I’m not sure if you’ve heard about all of the missing dogs around here. I know that Grandpa told the family that Bess’ liver went out and he had to put her down. But that’s not what he told me the last time I was here. Sorry for not mentioning it before. I should have trusted you.

Grandpa’s house is at least a hundred years old. A lot of the hallways are really narrow and the doors don’t fit exactly right. He kept the bones for Bess in a pantry across from his study where he read his paper. Grandpa said that Bess had a nightly habit begging for a bone while he was reading. The hall was so tight that Bess could put her paws up against the pantry and her butt up against the study door, and there was a gap under the door big enough for her tail to stick through.

Grandpa would tease her a little. He’d say, “Bess, is that you? Is that you, Bess?” and she’d wag her tail at the sound of his voice. Then after she’d proven her patience, he’d go and give her a bone.

So one night, he was reading his paper as usual, and he heard Bess scratching against the pantry and saw her tail pop under the door.

“Bess, is that you?”

Wag wag wag. Pant pant pant.

“Is that you, Bess?”

Wag wag wag. Pant pant thump. The tail fell over and went limp.

So Grandpa opened the door to make sure she was okay. But Bess was gone. All that was left was her tail, with a knot of dry gristle at the end, no blood or anything. And that was the last he ever saw of her.

So I admit, when I moved myself in here, the first thing I did was hunt for dog remains. Maybe Grandpa had really gone crazy. Maybe he was the Dog Stealer and all the neighborhood pooches were in a shallow grave under the tomato plants. But I didn’t find any dead dogs or any tails.

I thought I would when I checked the basement, though. His clothes were all over the place, neatly folded; a shirt here, some pants there, no piles, just individual articles of neatly folded clothing on the washer, the dryer, the dusty chairs, the floor. Not just his regular laundry, either. There were his good suits, his crazy paisley stuff from the seventies, some of Grandma’s old clothes. Some of the stuff lying around wasn’t even theirs, unless Grandpa became a hardcore AC/DC fan while we weren’t looking and started collecting tour T-shirts.

I had no idea what he could have been up to, but my first thought was that these were dog graves, so I basically tossed the place. No corpses or body parts. The only thing I found was a hole behind the dryer. It surprised me, because especially in a house this old, you’d expect moisture problems, but it was dry as a bone. Smelled a little…I dunno, spicy. It looked like it went pretty deep, but there was no blood trail or anything. So I figured that’d be the end of this. I left the clothes in a pile in the corner.

But they were back today. All folded in the same spots as before, perfectly neat. And right in front of the dryer was a was a new set, a folded up bathrobe and a pair of shorts. Also there was a weird little fleshy gray nub thing on top. No blood, looked mummified. And now I get that Grandpa’s never coming back.

Because Grandpa was born with a vestigial tail. He never mentioned it, but I know he had one, because I’ve seen Dad’s. Also I have one.

And whatever this thing is, it doesn’t like me.

But there’s nowhere for me to go. So I may vanish. If I was you I would sell this place. Don’t wait for my nub to show up.

It’s not like I was headed anywhere anyway. Give my love to the girls.

Love,
Wayne

Credit To: Z.S. Davies

My friends and I had just left a party at a local bar, and we were walking back to my house, seeing how it wasn’t too far away from where we were. On our way back, we happened to come across a small lot sandwiched between two apartment buildings that was filled with black garbage bags and piles of tires. Rich proposed going in, and after a few minutes of consideration, Dennis and I agreed. Obviously, there’s nothing special, or fun, about a rotten-smelling junkyard, but we were a bit drunk, so the idea seemed great at the time. We decided to play a game called “King of the Hill” on the fort of tires that stood before us. Basically, we were just pushing each other off of the top. After a while of climbing up, and falling down, a pile of tires in an idiotic attempt of having fun, we took a break by sitting against one of the dumpsters that stood near the entrance. As I tried to get a hold of my breath, I gazed around the small dump, and noticed something I failed to spot out before.

There was a white grocery bag hanging from the fence in the back corner of the junkyard. I figured that someone tried to throw it over, but it got caught on the fence on its way down.The bag seemed to be filled with something. It had blocky edges poking out from all sides. I know something as plain as a grocery bag isn’t much, but it still intrigued me.

“Hey,” I said as I nudged Rich, who happened to be sitting next to me,”Look over there.”Dennis leaned out behind Rich, and looked towards where I was pointing.
“So, it’s just a few rips. No one’s gonna care about whether or not the bags are torn.” Said Rich. He was pointing out the tears our shoes had left in the trash bags when we played our little game.
“No, the grocery bag hanging from the fence.” I said,
“So?”
“Well, it’s filled with something.”
“And?” Said Dennis. I shrugged,
“Don’t you guys wanna know what’s inside?”
“No,” Rich chuckled, “It’s just trash, man.”
“What if it was something like jewelry?” I said as I stood, and made my way towards the grocery bag.
“You’re just gonna find a dead cat in there, dude!” Dennis hollered as I struggled to climb the mound of garbage bags that blocked my path. His sentence was followed by the two of them laughing. I didn’t really care what they had to say. I was just a bit curious, that’s all.
Once I made it to the other side, I reached for the grocery bag and grabbed it. Inside of it was a whole bunch of cassette tapes, and an old Walkman.
“No way, you guys gotta see this.” I called to my friends,
“Did you find the leprechaun’s gold?” Rich mocked,
“Hold on, I’m coming.” Hastily, I climbed the pile of trash and walked back to where they were sitting.
“Look at this.” I held the bag open, letting Rich and Dennis view it’s contents. I pulled out a tape and read it’s label,
“Journal entry one,” I pulled out another, ” Entry three.” I read,
“No way, it’s someone’s diary.” Said Dennis.
“I wonder why they threw it away.” I said,
“Probably because they realized how stupid they were for keeping a diary.” Said Rich.
“Whatever,” I dropped the bag on the ground,” It’s one in the morining, we should be heading back.”
“Woah woah woah,” Said Dennis, as he snatched the bag up from the pavement,” What the hell are you doing, man? Don’t you guys wanna listen to these?”
“Well, it could be a bit funny.” Said Rich
“Journal entry one,” Started Dennis in a stereotypical british voice,” I walked my dog, BonBon, today at the park and came a across a rather odd squirrel.”
I laughed, “Dennis, you’re such an ass. Fine, lets take them with us.”
We left the junkyard, and continued to walk down the street towards my house. I remember how excited I was to listen to those tapes. Stupid, I know, but the thought of listening to someone’s personal life sounded interesting to me.
Once we arrived at my house, I unlocked the door, and immediately walked towards the dining room. Dennis set the bag down in the center of the table and pulled out the Walkman, as three of us grabbed ourselves a seat. Eager to hear what it had to say, I siezed the first tape, put it in, and pressed play. I was suprised at what I heard. The voice wasn’t at all what I expected. It seemed to be a boy who sounded as if he was in his late teens.

Hey, my name’s Chris, and I’m a Junior in highschool. I don’t have many friends, actually, I have none. I guess it’s just because people don’t like me, or maybe because I’m just too weird. I’m not weird, am I? Anyways, that’s not why I’m here. It’s actually because my uncle gave me this Walkman and a few tapes. He said that the Walkman used to be his, and that he just didn’t have the heart to throw it away, because he used it so much as a kid. So he made it my birthday present. Well, I didn’t have the heart to let it catch dust in the corner, so here I am, using it. Maybe it’ll come in handy one day, I don’t really know. Should I go on with telling about myself? Well, my favorite class is science, and I’m extremely bad at math. Blue is my favorite color, and I prefer dogs over cats.

A door slams in the background, causing all of us to jump.

That was my mom. Her and my dad have been arguing alot lately for reasons I can’t even bother to figure out why. I know for one thing that my dad is thinking about calling a divorce, which doesn’t really bother me. It would bother anyone else, though, but it doesn’t bother me. That’s not weird right? I’ve been hearing alot lately that I’m a little ‘weird’. I don’t see why, though. I eat, drink, sleep, and live like a normal human being. That’s what I think, anyways. Maybe it’s just because I’m not as talkative as everyone else, or what if everyone was just making it up, so that they would have a reason to pick on me. Frankly, I can’t see why anyone would want to pick on me in the first place.

“What a loser,” Said Dennis, “I can see why people want to pick on him”. I shrugged,
“Let’s just play the next one.”

It’s January 14th, which is three days since I’ve made the last tape. I decided that I’m going to continue making tapes, and keep it as my journal. Who knows, maybe I’ll look back at these old recordings one day when I’m a bit older for a small dose of nostalgia. I’m making this a short one, because I have to leave in about five minutes. My mom’s taking me to some stupid jewelry party at one of our neighbor’s house because, according to her, I absolutely have to be there, or we’ll make a bad impression . So here I am, sitting in dress pants, a white button up, and a stupid tie. I don’t have dress shoes, so I just wore an old pair of Nike sneakers, which makes this situation about five hundred times worse. Maybe in the next tape I’ll talk about how the party went, hopefully it went well enough for me to talk about it.

We looked at eachother and laughed.
“Nike sneakers.” Rich muttered in an almost giggly tone.
“Should I seriously play the next one? I’m not sure if I can handle listening to this for another ten tapes.” I asked. Dennis and Rich nodded with giant grins on their faces.

January 16th, I was punched in the face at school today by a senior whose name is Jake. Honestly, I don’t even know the guy. To make my day even more wonderful, I ended up eating outside in the rain, because all the seats in the cafeteria were taken by the time I got back from the nurse’s office. I could’ve simply cleaned up the blood pouring from my nose by myself in the bathroom, but one of my teachers, Ms. Hoffington, insisted that I go see the nurse. While I was at the nurse, I managed to get a glimpse of myself when I passed the tall mirror that hung on the outside of the bathroom door. I was a bit amazed at the amount of blood that was smudged across my face. Actually, it was kinda cool. I felt a small amount of pride when I got a good look at my face. Probably because I’ve never actually spilt that much blood in my life before. Jake got suspended by the way. For a week to be exact. I think he should be expelled, so that I didn’t have to see him again. Oh yeah, and, uh,by the way, the jewelry party went well. No one noticed my Nike sneakers, and the food was good.

A small amount of shock appeared on our faces. “Damn, he got punched in the face.” I said,
“Well it serves him right. Someone must’ve known he was making stupid ass tapes in his bedroom.” Said Dennis,
“How can you even be happy about getting a bloody nose?” Rich added, ” What the hell is wrong with him?”
I shook my head,” I don’t know, man.”

January 20th, While fooling around on YouTube for about two hours, I came across a weird documentary on something called the ‘Slenderman’. It’s an odd creature with no face, wearing what looks to be a suit, that has tentacles, giving it a dark, spidery look. It’s said to lurk in forests, and that once you see it, it stalks you before actually claiming you as its victim. No one really knows what the Slenderman actually does to his, or its, victims, and that all we really know is that they go missing without a trace. I guess alot of people are creeped out about this, and I can see why. The photos that depict him look pretty disturbing, but what actually generates the most fear are the stories about him. Actually, I’ve been listening to them all night, and I’m not scared at all, just intruiged. Turns out, these stories come from a site where people just write, and submit a whole bunch of creepy stories, and not all of them about the Slenderman. I’ve heard a couple that talk about lost episodes of famous Tv shows that depict some disturbing, twisted version of the actual show. I’ve also heard stories about serial killers, ghosts, and whatever else that’s remotely scary. Some are more gruesome, while others are just a bit eerie. I, for one, have never found any of these stories to be scary. I usually find myself thouroughly mystified as I read.

We all glanced at eachother, a bit confused about what the Slenderman is. I guess the kid was a horror fan. I put in the next tape, and held my head in my hands, wanting to go to sleep.

January 26th, Did I ever mention the site where I found all these stories from? It’s called creepypasta.com. Yes, I realize that it’s an odd name because an Italian dish is in no way creepy, but if you’re interested, check it out. You know, now that I think about it, these stories have showed me how much darkness can exist in this world. You’re never actually aware of it until you start thinking about it. What I’m saying is not crazy, it’s true. Darkness lurks in the hidden corners of everyday life. Right here, right now as I’m saying this, a person is getting brutally murdered.

Immediately after he said that sentence, my head shot up and I looked at Dennis and Rich, bewildered at what I just heard. They shook their heads and shrugged.

Somewhere out there a person is dying. Could be a full grown man, or a child. You never realized it until you heard me say it just now. But, hey, that’s the real world for you. Lately, I’ve been noticing how everyone else at my school is so blissfully ignorant to the horrible things in this world, while I’m being constantly reminded of it. No one sees what I see. It kinda makes them all look a little bit dumb. Don’t they see? Don’t they notice what happens around them? They hear sirens echo down the road, and it could just be a plain car crash, but what if it was caused by something far from our reach? They don’t know that. Their eyes aren’t opened wide enough to notice. At least I’m aware of it.

February 2nd, Have you ever noticed how much death is involved in an average creepypasta. It’s almost as if death is a needed element in the story. You know, ever since I started reading these stories, I’ve become pretty comfortable with the thought of dying. Sometimes, I laugh at those poor, poor people in those stories. I guess they haven’t realized how much of a friend death could be, even when pain is the price you have to pay for meeting him. After all, aren’t we all going to face it one day? Sooner for some people, later for the rest.

There was a long pause before he spoke again.

I’ve been thinking about writing my own creepypasta soon. After reading everyone else’s, I figured I should try it for myself. It’s worth a shot isn’t it? I think I’m going to write one about the Slenderman, or maybe Jeff…Or maybe I’ll write a story about a man who goes crazy, and starts killing everyone he knows… That sounds like a wonderful idea.

February 17th, They didn’t accept my story. What was wrong with it? Was my grammer off? Was the spelling bad? All I wanted was for it to be out there for everyone to see. Hell, it was probably one of the greatest ideas they ever came across, but…

He voice became angrier and a bit frustrated, almost as if he was about to go off on a full blown rant.

But they turned it down. Are they too stupid to see the brilliance in what I wrote? On top of that, I found two assholes who decided to read it, and make a mockery of my hard work. Idiots, they’re just a bunch of idiots who can’t see the genius in one’s work.

A loud scream erupted from the speakers of the Walkman, and a hard thud was heard soon after. I figured that he had just thrown it out of anger. I wonder what his story sounded like, and why they turned it down. The next tape started, and we immediatly realized how angry he was. He spoke in a loud, irratable tone, which was almost terrifying.

February 22nd, Stupid people. Stupid, stupid people. They should all rot in Hell for all I care. I shouldn’t have to deal with them everyday. Once I walk through that school’s front door, I’m surrounded by them. My teacher gave me a detention for not paying attention in class. Why should I? We’re all going to die. We’re all going to die someday, and there’s nothing we can do about it, but no one around me is smart enough to see that. Why? Why can’t they just open their eyes, and pay attention to the horrible world around us? They’re too preoccupied with their lives, and what comes tomorrow, instead of what comes at the very end. Did I tell you that I was pushed down the stairs today? Ben Trinner. He did it, and this time, I’m not letting it go. I’m going to find him, and he’s going to pay. You might be wondering how I’m going to get out of the house without my parents seeing me. It’s okay, they’re already gone. Dad’s still at work, and Mom-

There was a short pause, and a slight chuckle arose from his voice.

Mom’s taken care of. He’ll find her when he gets home, and I’m not coming back. I don’t have to deal with them anymore.
“What, what did he mean by ‘Mom’s taken care of?’” Asked Dennis in a hushed tone.
“Do you think-”
“No,” Rich cut me off, “There’s no way in Hell that little fucker did that. Play the next one.”
I obliged and put in the next tape, a little scared of what I may hear.

February 24th, I found an old warehouse in the outskirts of the town, and I’ve decided that that’s where I’ll be living from now on. The lights still work in the rooms where they’re not broken, and the boarded windows keep out most of the rain. It’s not that bad of a place, really. I stole all the money from my mom’s wallet, so food is already taken care of. In one of the rooms of the warehouse, I found a really old Tv. It’s a black and white one, and it uses a dial to change the stations. The reception’s a little bad, but I could still make out what’s happening behind all the static and whitenoise. I decided to change it to the news channel, and I was greeted with a picture of my mom.

A loud, almost evil, laugh echoed from the speakers, which goes on for a few minutes.

They think I’m dead, which is good on my end, because they won’t bother searching for me. Oh, the glory I felt when they announced how she had been stabbed five times in the chest. It made me feel a little bit excited to know that I have done such a thing. It wasn’t easy, but it sure was satisfying in the end. And now I have to find Ben. He doesn’t know it yet, but tonight is his last one on Earth. Luckily for me, his house is a few blocks from here. It’s eleven at night right now, and I should be finished by one. Wish me luck.

I quickly put in the next tape, now a little bit more concerned with what was going on. Was he really going to kill that kid? It almost seems too real to just be a sick joke. But no matter how much I wanted to think it was just a joke, a frightening truth stood in the back of my mind, telling me that it was all true.

February 25th, I’ve never felt so happy before in my life. You can’t even imagine the butterflies I got when I saw him gurgling his own blood in a worthless attempt of fighting for his life, and no one heard a thing. I was able to open one of the first floor windows without a hitch, thank God. It took me about thirty minutes to walk up the stairs without making a noise. I had to be careful, for even the slightest of all noises can awake someone. When I got to his room, I was able to open the door without him waking up. And everything else that followed seemed to happen so quick, almost as if my memories of the event were a flip book. I quickly covered his mouth before I dragged the knife across his throat, severing his jugular. I wanted to laugh at his squirming body as he died, but I didn’t, out of fear of waking his parents. I pulled open his bedroom window, jumped out, and ran. I think I hurt something in my foot when I landed, but I didn’t care. All I could feel was the cold, bitter wind slicing across my smiling cheeks as I ran. I’m back at the warehouse now, and it’s 1:45 in the morning. I have the Tv switched to the news, waiting to hear about my newest accomplishment.

We all looked at eachother, still a bit traumitized from what we had just heard. An uneasy atmosphere hung in the room. He killed him, and no matter how much we didn’t want to believe it, we knew it was true. I hesitantly put the next tape in the socket, and pressed play. Immediatly, a loud, abrupt white noise blasted from the speakers, making us all almost fall out our seats. Even though that would be something we’d end up laughing about, no one broke a smirk. I grabbed the next tape and put it in, turning down the volume before I pressed play, fearing that there would be more static. I heard a faint voice, signaling me to turn the volume back up. This time, the kids voice sounded a bit huskier, pointing out that it has been year or two since his last tape.

January 17th, It’s been a while since I made one of these. Well, a few weeks ago I was kicked out of the warehouse. I had to move my location, since the police were planning to investigate the area on account of the recent murders.

He started to laugh again. The sound of it was almost sickening, and added a sense of dread to the atmosphere.

Seven, seven people have died since I’ve made my last tape, and each murder has become more gruesome and disturbing as the last. The last person’s eyes were gouged out, and their wrists broken. There was no rhyme or reason to why I did it. I did it simply because I HAD to. It’s just not enough. I need to kill. It’s the thing I find the most pleasure in. It’s even more fun to hear it announced to the public. Anyways, the police are investigating the area to find the body of another one of my victims. They suspected that it was the same killer as the last dozen, and they weren’t wrong. So, I’ve moved my location. I walked for quite a long time through the woods that bordered the southern part of my town, before I managed to enter the next town and take refuge there… It’s almost like those stories I took so much interest in. No, it’s exactly like those stories. What a dream to actually be part of my own Creepypasta, oh if only the rest of the world could hear about it.

The next tape was the strangest, and most horrifying that night. When I pressed play, all we could hear was static, but after a while we heard what sounded like screaming. There was a certain quality to it… It sounded panicked and strained, as if the poor person’s throat gave out from screaming too long.

January 22nd, You hear him. I know you do. That’s one of my newest… ideas. It makes me smile, seeing him beg and scream for help, knowing at this point nothing could save him. Why don’t you give up hope, my dear friend? You see, death is inevitable for you, and theres no escaping it now. But, hey, you shouldn’t have been walking around town so late. You know that there are terrors hiding in the corner every night, and that you should avoid them. But then you came across me.

He started to laugh again. The sound of it made me want to throw the Walkman at the wall, hoping to stop the evil laughter, but I knew I had to keep listening.

The best part is, he’s not even restrained. I broke his legs, making it impossible for him to walk. He should be proud to be the first one of my victims to die like this. I realized that every time I kill someone, I do it too quick, to the point where it’s not as… satisfying as I hope it would be. But by bringing him here, I’m able to see him struggle for his life before it actually ends.

Small bursts of static were heard, but even through all of that we could hear what was going on. We heard heavy, slow footsteps that faded away, as the distance between the Walkman and Chris grew. The screaming became louder, and more struggled. The sound of it alone made me want to puke. The screaming was then replaced with a horrible gurgling noise. Even through his blood filled throat, you can still hear him scream, begging for his life. I heard the familiar click and felt a bit relieved, but that quickly went away, as I realized that there was one more tape left.

February 5th, I have come up with the most wonderful idea yet. And it’s probably the best one. I figured that instead of just a slow and hesitant death, I’m going to let them rot and decay in their own fears. Should I tell you what it is?….It’s a surprise, and I would hate to spoil it.

The last tape clicked and we all looked at eachother with a grim look on our faces. We knew what we had just witnessed in the past ten minutes, but none of us wanted to acknowledge it, or believe it was real. After sitting in silence for what seemed like about twenty minutes, I spoke up,

“What do you think the suprise is?”
Rich abruptly sat up and pushed in his chair,
“I don’t know, man, and I don’t want to know,” His voice had an uneasy feel to it. It almost sounded as if he were a bit frustrated, “I’m leaving. I don’t want to take part in anymore of this.”
I stopped him,”Wait, you can’t go. What are we going to with the tapes?”
“Fucking burn them. Get rid of them. Pretend it didn’t happen. I’m leaving,” Said Rich
“Dude, calm down. We have to figure this out. We have to know who he is. He could still be out there.” I said. Dennis cut in,
“We should hand them over to the police. Maybe they could do something,”
“Really? And you know what else the police would do if we give these to them? Fucking nothing. We gotta figure this out on our own,”
“Oh yeah?” Started Dennis, “You wanna solve this big mystery? I know you want to know who he is, but you shouldn’t try messing with something that could kill you,”
“Sure, he might kill me, but he also might kill a shitload of other people. We have to figure out where this fucker is.”
“You’re not some kind of hero, Jake. I wouldn’t bother messing with it.” Said Rich
“I’m not trying to be a hero. What do you guys think I’m gonna do? Walk outside with a flashlight, and call his name like a lost dog? All I want to do is some research, that’s all.” We stood in an uneasy silence for a moment.
“Why were those tapes hanging on the fence in the first place?” Asked Dennis. He was right. Why were they hanging on the fence?
“Do you think someone had already found them and was trying to get rid of them?” I asked.
“Look guys,” Said Rich,” It’s, like, three in the morning. We’re all a bit tired, and we’re all a bit confused, so trying to figure this out now would be useless.” Dennis and I looked at eachother and nodded a bit sheepishly, realizing how true the statement was. Rich started to walk towards the door, and Dennis followed him soon after.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Jake.” Said Rich as he opened the door, making his way out. Dennis waved a goodbye at me and shut the door behind him. The sound of the door clicking shut gave me a sense of finality, and the silence that followed afterwards was almost sickening. I walked into the living room, and turned on the tv, hoping to uplift the heavy atmosphere the tapes have caused. I grabbed my laptop, sat on the couch, and turned it on. While it was starting up, I looked into the dining room, staring at the cassette tapes and walkman that still sat on the table until I heard the Windows 7 start up sound call for my attention. I immediatly opened up Google and searched for murders and deaths in this area, but nothing came close to what Chris had described. I tried looking for the school he went to, hoping I would get some clues, but that didn’t work either. I sat for a second, staring at the Google search bar, until I came across an idea. I clicked on the URL box and typed in ‘www.creepypasta.com.’

A site with a black background and white text came up, with the simple heading “Creepypasta.com”. I scrolled through the page, and read some stories and announcements.

“This is what he was obsessed over?” I muttered to myself. Sure, some of these stories are kinda scary, but it certainly wasn’t anything that can drive someone to kill. How long has this site even been up? It doesn’t seem that old. This was probably around since my Senior year. I shut down the laptop and turned off the tv. After I got up, I walked into the dining room, and shoved all the tapes back into the bag. I decided that I would hand the tapes over to the authorities the next morning.

I barely went to sleep that night, because I was still shooken up over what I had witnessed earlier. And as I layed in bed…it almost seemed as if there was a presence, like someone besides myself was there. I quickly shrugged it off as my paranoid mind causing me to feel things that weren’t even there, and fell asleep soon after. When I awoke it was around twelve in the afternoon. I had slept late, which isn’t suprising, considering I went to bed at around five. I didn’t even bother to eat or brush my teeth after I got up. I just got dressed, grabbed the tapes, and got in the car. The tapes and Walkman were sitting in the passenger seat. They seemed to emit some uneasy feeling throughout the ride, which only made me more eager to get rid of them.

When I arrived at the police station, I quickly grabbed the tapes and entered the building. I didn’t even bother to turn the car off. The building’s lobbey was vacant, and the only person who was there was the cop sitting at the desk, sipping coffee and filling out paper work. I dropped the bag onto the counter, causing the man to look up from his work.

“Can I help you?” He said in a somewhat irratable tone.
“I-I think I solved a few dissapearances.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and glanced towards the filled grocery bag that sat on his desk.
“Those?” He asked. I nodded quickly. He sighed, grabbed the bag, and put it on the floor next to him,
“Alright, I’ll present it to the authorities when I can.”
“Aren’t you the authorities?” I asked, a bit frustrated at how little he was concerned.
“Listen, I only hand out speed tickets and search for lost parents at the mall. But right now, I’m doing this here paperwork, and when I get the chance I’ll hand them over to authorities.” I nodded with some dissapointment and left, relieved that I didn’t have to be close to those tapes anymore.

Once I got home, I grabbed my mail and opened the front door. As I made my way into the living room, I tossed the stack of bills onto the table. I was suprised to hear something hard hit the wooden surface. When I looked back I noticed that the manilla folder that layed among the white envelopes wasn’t filled with sheets of paper, but a small object. A bit curious, I went back and opened it. I cringed when I saw what the folder had revealed.

Inside the folder was a small, black cassette tape labeled, “Entry 15.”

No, this wasn ‘t possible. It had to be Rich or Dennis. There is no way another tape was sent to me. We were the only ones who listened to them that night. And I was certain no one saw us, except for a few cars that passed when we were walking down the street.

I wanted to hear what the tape said, but I remembered I gave the walkman to the police. I searched my basement for a radio, anything, that I could play this tape in. I had to know what it said. Finally, after searching for what seemed like an hour, I came across a box in the basement that had a small cassette player inside. Hastily, I grabbed the dusty object from the box, and ran back up stairs. As soon as I reached the table, I put the tape inside the player and pressed play, hoping to hear that this tape and the other’s were just a sick joke one of my friends had planned out. But once I heard the voice, my stomach dropped, and I felt as if I were going to puke.

April 12th, Hello Jake what did you think about my game? It took me a while to get it ready, but it was all worth it. I knew your curious little mind wouldn’t be able to help itself. I’m surprised at how smoothly this all went out, actually. You and your friends barely noticed me when I put that bag on the fence. And you went and grabbed it, almost as if it was on cue…Are you still surprised, Jake? I’ve been keeping a close watch on you ever since I killed Ben, but I never actually carried out anything ’till now. I knew I had to save the best for last just for you. And now that I think about it, the waiting was all worth it. I’m shocked, Jake. You seem like you don’t even recognize me at all. Don’t you remember punching me in the face back in highschool?

I started to hear the sound of leaves shuffling. It sounded as if he were walking through the woods.

You guys look pretty scared over what you heard in that last tape. I can see it right through the window.
Once the tape had stopped, slowly and unwillingly, I looked towards the window on the south side of the dining room. There was nothing there except for the bushes that stood directly in front of the glass.Terrified, I ran towards the phone to call the cops. When I heard a voice on the other end, I jumped into a panic.
“Hello!” I desperately asked the phone. As I spoke, I patrolled the house, making sure that all of the windows and doors were locked.
“Oh, it’s you again,” Said the policeman I met earlier, “Listen, I told you I would get to it when I ca-”
“Someone’s after me. I just recieved another tape in my mail, and there were threats directed towards me on it, I think it’s the same person who made the tapes I gave you. He’s going to kill me.”
The officer spoke in a bored tone, “Well make sure that everything’s locked up, first,” He paused, “Now, are ya sure it’s not just one of your friends trying to mess with ya?”
“I’m absolutely sure it’s not one of my friends. Please, send someone out here.” I pleaded
“Sorry, but all you can do for now is to make sure that no one can get in. Just go up to your room and quietly read a book or something.” I slammed the phone back onto the hook. He’s not listening to me. I grabbed my laptop, and headed up to my room. I didn’t notice before, but I was the Jake Chris had mentioned in one of his tapes. And now he was back to get me, just like how he had killed Ben. I shut my door behind me and locked it, hoping it would serve as an extra layer of defense.

I decided that I would document what had happened to me, and submit it to creepypasta, so that it could serve as a warning to everyone out there. And that’s how I got to here, typing desperately on my laptop. I just heard some glass break downstairs, and I’m becoming more terrified by the second. I’m going to try to finish this up the best I can.

Please, for everyone’s sake, if you happen to have a “thing” for scary stories, don’t get too obsessed, or you may turn into what you originally have feared. If not, then watch out for those who are vulnerable to becoming the monster that Chris is.

Chris, honestly, I hope you’re happy. You have your own creepypasta, and you live in what you admire so much. You were right, the darkness in a simple scary story is more real than I thought.

Credit To: TVATR

Holy shit.

I don’t trust roads anymore. Fuck driving. I’m getting a hotel.

My heart is racing, but here’s why:

A couple days ago, I was driving down a long residential shortcut in Georgia back to my house. I was driving back from seeing my family members in Tennessee. When I was coming back, I didn’t want to go on the highway because I figured traffic is usually bad on Thanksgiving holiday, so I put in “shortest route” in my GPS.

My GPS always seems to be able to take me right through every single fucking ghetto that pops up along the way. The way I saw it is that if I didn’t stop, and it got me home faster, I didn’t care.

Something about the whole drive was just odd. The air was just in a different position than normal. I can’t really explain the feeling, but I just had this nagging ache in the back of my brain that was just telling me that something weird and disturbing was going to happen.

I didn’t really think about it, and just brushed it off. It wasn’t until about 2 hours in that I noticed something strange. I was on a two-lane road surrounded by trees, and not a single light except for my dingy, oxidized car headlights.

It was around seven o’ clock, and starting to get dark, and I was the only car on the road. Fuck. I figured I was only maybe an hour and a half away from my house and kept driving.

“In point five miles, turn left on Country Avenue.”

My GPS jolted me awake. I had only been subconsciously driving. It’s kind of hard to pay attention when you’re the only car on the road.

I turned left, and what I saw startled me.

There was an idling Toyota Camry parked sideways in the road with the lights on and all doors open. Two people lay still; a tall child in the shoulder, and a middle-aged woman in the road.

I just sat in my car. I had no idea what was going on, but there was no blood. The car wasn’t damaged at all. It looked as if they had almost parked their car, got out, and laid in the road on their own. Being an awkward teenager, I felt that it probably wasn’t in my best interest to help, and that if I just call the cops I could let them handle it.

I put my car in drive, drove around, parked again, and took out my phone and dialed 911. On the first ring I looked up into the rear-view mirror to see the child and woman get up and get back in the car. Another person also came out from the trees next to the shoulder and walked toward the car.

The 911 operator didn’t even have time to answer as I hung up my phone, threw my car in drive, and floored it. I looked at my speedometer. As it was rounding the forty-five and fifty tick marks, I checked behind me.

Headlights.

Those motherfuckers were gaining on me. Fast. I checked my gas gauge. Half full.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.

I kept the gas pedal floored. I was hitting one hundred and ten and they were still right on my ass. I took plenty of random roads, completely ignoring my GPS.

One hundred and twenty. I was still trying to find a form of civilization. A school. An office building. A house. Something. One hundred and thirty. They were still right on my ass, and mirroring every move I made to the tee.

My car has a built-in limiter that kicks in around one hundred and thirty three, so I stayed at one hundred and thirty, even though the Camry was practically in my backseats.

The road was literally just a straight road with absolutely no curves at all. I figured I would never lose them at this rate, and I was losing fuel fast. Thinking of anything, I did the only thing that came to my mind.

I veered over into the opposite late and instantaneously slammed on my brakes, flipped up my emergency brake, and drifted to the right, basically flipping a u-turn. I released the e-brake, slammed on the gas, and didn’t stop until I was certain I was at least ten miles away from them. I turned on a couple different roads so they wouldn’t be able to find me again, parked me car, and typed “I-75″ into my GPS.

Thirty miles away on a quarter of a tank. Great. Just fucking great. Instead I tried to find the nearest gas station. There was one about 5 miles away. The feeling of relief was just absolutely the greatest feeling I ever had. The feeling was so good, I almost came. I drove about twenty five the whole way to the gas station.

After my car was filled up, I went in to go pay, but I didn’t trust leaving my car. Not in this shit-hole of a forest. After a couple minutes of seriously debating, I sucked up and went in.

Cashier: Evenin’.
Me: How’s it goin’?
C: Just alright. You lookin’ to get gas, mister?
M: Oh, yessir. Uh, pump number 3.
C: Alright, that’s gonna be about $43.25. You look white as a ghost, mister. Yallright?
M: Um, not really actually.
C: What’s goin’ on?
M: Some crazed mothafuckers just chased me for thirty miles!
He paused.
C: They wouldn’t happen to drive a Camry, would they?
M: How did you know that…?

He pointed outside. My heart dropped.

There they were. There they fucking were. They were at the pump adjacent to me, sitting in their car. Staring at me. Except they weren’t human.

They were silhouettes, with yellow, piercing eyes. Their eyes looked like LEDs in contrast to their silhouetted bodies. They weren’t saying anything, they were just watching me. I walked out, and slowly walked to my car. I was terrified, but their eyes didn’t follow me. They just stared blankly at the gas station.

I got in my car and got the fuck out of there. They didn’t follow me. I took the highway the rest of the night.

At around ten o’ clock I pulled into my driveway. I had a hard time sleeping that night, and for good reason. When I woke up in the morning, I went outside and got the paper. The headline almost made me shit myself.

“MYSTERIOUS GAS STATION FIRE LEAVES 4 DEAD”

It was the same gas station I was at.

I counted my blessings, and stayed home the whole day. Later, I logged in to Facebook to see a status update from the same aunt I had just visited the other day that said “That’s weird, I wasn’t expecting company. Does anyone know who drives a Camry?”

Everyone loves a good scare. That’s why you’re browsing posts here, correct? You thought it would be fun just before you go to bed to scare yourself just a tad bit. Harmless fun of reading that, while getting your heart to race; never puts you in real danger.

So, what’s tonight’s topic for your nightmares?

Jeff the Killer with his Go to Sleep?

Slenderman silently stalking you wherever you venture?

A Candle Cove experience that hits home so nostalgically for you that it seem true?

Or, maybe.

Just maybe.

Something new and unique that haunts you in an unexpected way?

Whatever the case, you keep reading. Perhaps it’s all just a big joke to you. Something you laugh off rather than take seriously. No one’s holding a gun to your head, after all; you’re doing exactly what you’re doing of your own free will.

You need to stop now.

Stop reading this for your own sake.

S-T-O-P

You’re still here.

It’s your own fault, you know.

You’ve programmed it so deep in the back of brain that just being told to stop is completely ignored.

Optimistic about what’s next, aren’t you?

That’ll be your undoing. Just taking things as they happen; without a care in the world. Thinking your room is safe just because you have the only key to it. You have no idea how unsafe you are.

I know so much about you yet you know nothing about me. The last time you ever acknowledge my mere presence was when you were still pissing the bed. You called me the monster in your room or the boogieman.

You’ve just been blocking me out since then, really. You told yourself it was nothing but loose clothing or a misshapen shadow cast by one of your toys. I’ve never stopped watching, however. My dark red eyes stare at you even now just out of your peripheral vision.

Chills down your spine, I see.

Are you remembering the noose around my neck?

The tattered dark rags I wear?

The burlap sack over my face; which I have for your sake, so you’ll never know my true unfathomable horror that it hides?

My decaying, long nailed hands?

There’s that look.

The same look you had all those years ago.

One last request I see painted on your face.

Who am I?

Call me the Sunrise Killer.

All coming back to you, now; isn’t it?
Those unexplained murders you glanced by in the paper over the years.

I’m not bragging but I won’t deny them.

Nothing but practice.

For you.

Every single one.

Of you.

The brave ones who’ve prepared so long for something to happen at the apex of night.

It is darkest before dawn.

So, for you.

Just you.

The most hopeful of them all.

Look on the bright side.

You still have an hour before sunrise.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this. There’s a large chance that this won’t even be real to you. Of course it’s real to me, but then again, my definition of the word “real” has never been cloudier. Despite the potential waste of time, I am where I am in this moment, and writing this seems like the most important thing in the world.

I haven’t been able to think about that day in so very long. Or at least it feels like forever ago. I no longer possess a concept of time. At all.

I was with three friends, none of whom are still alive, or at least to my knowledge. We were foolish, brazen, and sixteen year olds. In our damned innocence, we thought we owned the world. We were invincible. Nothing could hurt us. Laughable.

It was late one night, and with a disturbing amount of naivety, we wanted to get drunk. To a sixteen year old, there is a certain aura of adventure that surrounds drinking. A new and fresh world. We asked around, in the nervous, clandestine way sixteen year olds try to find alcohol. It was getting super late, and we were getting pathetically desperate.

It ended up getting to the point where we were willing to steal alcohol right out of someone’s garage refrigerator. In our eyes, all the more adventure. Again, laughable.
We snuck out of my house. It was almost one o’clock in the morning. There were no street lights on my street, and the stars could only shine so brightly. I was nervous, anxious almost, but my friends were all giddy with excitement. I just couldn’t let go like they could. And besides, who on Earth would have their garage door open at one in the fucking morning?

Fruitlessly we walked around my neighborhood, eyes peeled for open garage doors. It seemed hopeless. And then the first drop of sweat dripped down my face. My friends swear they didn’t see anything, but boy would they have believed me now.

We were walking on a street, parallel to mine. One house had its lights on still. An ominous orange glow poured out of the front windows. We all walked past it, just like any other house, but I couldn’t help but stare at the orange light. It was like a relentless, seductive melody, pulling and pulling on my mind. Once we had reached the house, I shot my glance to the front window, the one that was emitting the luminous glow. As my eyes fell upon the light, my blood instantly went sour, the hair stood up on the back of my neck, and my stomach did a swan dive deep into my being. A middle aged man was standing there, his hands on his hips, a furrowed brow; a dirty wife beater on. He was standing in front of his curtains, peering out into the night. But there was something else to this man. His eyes were abnormally large and wide, and they were fixated right on me. I was breathless. I couldn’t conjure a single word. The only thing my body managed to do was pick up the pace. I passed my friends, without saying anything, and sped my way in a fast half-walk, half-jog down the street. When my friends caught up, they were beaming.

They ran up to me with stupid smiles on their faces, all spurting words about an open garage door they saw halfway up the street with a recycling can out front, full of empty beer cans. They wanted to go back for it. Still trying to search through my head for something to say, anything to say, they already made the executive decision to go back and check their fridge. I reluctantly followed their footsteps, knowing damn well whose garage was open.

They were all about twenty feet in front of me. I could hear their fucking chuckles and their childlike murmurs from back here. Their voices all sounded surreal to me, like they were in my head. I heard them scheming and plotting a stupid plan of attack, blueprinting their every move. First, they would quickly walk past the house one more time, scoping out their destination. They would then wait five minutes and make a quick sprint for the door. Then, they would each grab as much beer as they could possibly carry and run full stride, through the neighbor’s yard, hop my fence, and reconvene in my driveway. Fools.

As I lifted my head from my sneakers on the sidewalk to the pristine rows of houses on the street, I noticed something odd. The orange light, the hypnotic glow from the middle house was gone. Had I imagined it? Did I really see that man? I wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe it was just the nerves getting to me. For the first time in minutes, I was able to take nice, deep breathes. Until we walked past the house again.
The lights were off. There was no sign of life coming from the house at all. I thought that I must have imagined the man before. When I decided I was brave enough to look at the front window where I thought I had seen the man, I looked up, and I felt as though I was going to pass out. My legs felt like they were going to give way. I felt an involuntary pull at the back of my neck, raising my chin above my gaze, making the skin on the front of my throat taut as a kite in the wind. All I could do was make a rattling sound, as I managed to stumble over to my friends, dizzy and disoriented.

I saw the man again. He was outside, standing exactly where he was standing before, except on the other side of the window. He was outside. I only managed to get a brief look at him this time, but it was enough to really notice the horrifying nature of this man. His lower lip was split down the middle, and it hung in two parts over his chin. His eyes were disturbingly disproportional to the rest of his face. In the darkness, I couldn’t see any color in his eyes; just white and black. His nose looked strangely small. He didn’t have much hair on his head. But what terrified me most was how he stood there, he just fucking stood there, exactly the way I had seen him the first time, hands on his hips, wearing a dark, saddening scowl.

My friends didn’t even notice.

I don’t remember much of the next few minutes. Fear had truly taken over my body. And not the kind of fear that leaves you sleepless at night, it was the kind of fear that makes you question your sanity. I was slipping into a veil of psychosis before my very eyes. Was the man following us? Did he know what we were planning?

I have fragmented memories of standing silently in a circle at the end of the street, surrounded by my friends who were all snickering with excitement. I heard one of them mutter that he was ready. The rest of the idiots were agreeing. I was frozen in paralyzing comatose. None of my friends paid any mind to me. I was in a nightmare. Before I knew it, I was listening to their sprints on the concrete, and saw the backs of their shoes kicking up twilit dust from the street. I couldn’t help myself. I followed.

I noticed my steps were awkward. I wasn’t in control of my movements anymore. I was in a mesmerized state, slowly making my way towards the garage that my friends were all barreling towards. My vision was distorted. I can’t describe the feeling in any other way than just truly horrified. I made my way to the front of the house and stood in the driveway. My friends were all clicking and clacking inside the garage. The sounds seemed to reverberate off of the sky. We were going to get caught by that man. I knew it.

I looked to my left, almost on impulse. The man wasn’t outside of his house where I had seen him last time. He wasn’t in the window where I had seen him the first time. But I was damn sure I knew where he was going to be. My feet started moving again toward the darkness of the garage.

I made my way in. I navigated my way around the clatter of a deranged man’s storage with effortless care and saw my friends. Those stupid smiles on their stupid faces, arms full of shining, silver cans. And at once, things would never be the same again.

We were all blinded by an enveloping green light. The lighting felt almost tangible. My friends and I stood frozen. I knew what I was going to see when I lifted my gaze from my friends to the door that led into the house. He was going to be standing there with his fucking scowl and his hands on his fucking hips. I then heard what I would consider the last “real” sound of my existence. It was a spine chilling moan. It was low, gurgling. Very quiet, but just loud enough to widen your eyes. That fucking moan.

There the man stood. His eyes wide on me. His hands on his hips. His dirty wife beater. Moaning in that unearthly tone.

My friends and I were frozen. Frozen in that enigmatic fear. This was certainly not real. There is no possible way, no humanly possible way to feel this amount of fear. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t cry. I could only stand there and peer into his demonic eyes, my eardrums bouncing with the sound of hell. That fucking moan.

He started to move towards us.

It’s hard to portray with words this man’s movement. It was almost like a sway. A very subtle sway. His arms stood stick straight by his sides. His legs bowed a little, then returned. His head just swayed. Subtly swayed. Eyes wide as can be.

He stood amongst us. His gaze never left mine. He reached his hand out. He slowly stretched his arm. Slowly. So slowly. It was the longest minute of my life. I then saw what he was reaching for. It was a beer.

He grasped a can right out of my friends arms. Pop. He opened it. This whole time, he never stopped looking at me. His humongous eyes.

He started to move closer to me. The green light of the garage lighted up his face and shadows hung beneath his eyes. He got closer to me. The moan grew louder and louder. I was numb. I was just an observer in a human body. He was three feet away from me. I couldn’t hear myself breath anymore. Two feet. My heartbeat slowed to a low murmur. Twelve inches. His eyes looked bigger than ever, staring, staring, staring. Six inches. That moan. That fucking moan. The skin of his nose touched mine. And then he continued. He leaned in closer and closer. That fucking moan. His mouth was as close to my ear as it could possibly get. He stayed there for a moment. Moaning. It became a part of me. Every cell of my body sang that note. That disturbing, alien note. And then. He stopped. The moan stopped. I could hear his solemn breath slipping his teeth. He then spoke.

“Drink.”

Instantly, my memories take me to a moment that feels as fragile and as distant as a dream. My friends and I were all slumped together, sitting back to back on the floor of this garage, crying and drinking, drinking and crying. There were sounds. Sounds of heavy machinery malfunctioning. Sounds of an orchestra, scratching and scraping their instruments. We were all covered in a smoky, green light. Crying and drinking, drinking and crying. And that man. That man standing over top of us. His hands on his hips. Scowling.

Torture is too calm of a word to describe that night. We sat there for hours on that garage floor. And drank. Drank from those silver cans. Slowly, the mask of drunkenness set in. I felt loose and dizzy. The feelings of intoxication seemed to perpetuate the tears I was shedding. These are the last moments of my sanity. When I fall back into myself, these are the last things I see. The friends I love with bloodshot eyes, crying and crying. The dusty keepsakes of mankind’s dark history, stacked from floor to ceiling. But most of all, I see that face. Those eyes. Standing above me. Looking down. Through the window of my tears and the shades of my own drunkenness, I couldn’t even see the whites of his eyes. Just a blurry, oblong face, with gaping sockets of black for eyes, peering into my soul. And that is what I see.
The drinking went on and on. The familiarity of drunkenness left me. I was now taking a foreign tour through the chasms of my mind. The green light of the garage started twisting and turning. The sounds of distortion grew louder and louder. I forgot my name. I lost all past memories. I just existed in this hell. This place where all I know is disturbing waves of anxiety and crippling rushes of terror. I am nothing but an entity of fear. And this is where I exist. Half of the time. Ever since that night.

My parents and doctors have told me plenty of different things. When I go to that place, I don’t change much. I’ve always been a quiet person, but when I’m in that state, I’m creepily silent. They say I go about my day in a trance like state. I’m unresponsive, it’s like I’m not even there.
I’m not. I’m in hell.

They also say my eyes seem to grow to an abnormally large size when I’m there. And I stare. My mother says it terrifies her. She can’t even look at me anymore. I don’t blame her.

They say I sometimes make a noise too. A low, moaning sound.

When I’m there, in that hell, I’m not aware of the real world at all. Time doesn’t exist to me. Sometimes I’m there for a few minutes. Sometimes I’m there for weeks, even months. But when I come to, the world of horror sort of siphons down to a clear point. And the point is that man. I see that moment in time. He’s looking down on me. I’m looking up at him through the filter of tears. It swirls and swirls and swirls until it’s gone. And when it’s gone, I don’t even realize how long I’ve been in that hell. It feels like I’m waking from a coma. Sometimes when I wake, I don’t possess certain memories. That is why this moment right now is so important. I remember everything. It has never been this clear to me, and it will probably never be this clear to me again. Thank God.

My mother tells me that we’ve visited dozens of different psychiatrists, all in a frenzied search for an unobtainable cure. I don’t remember most of these visits. What happens to me in the real world when I’m in that state of terror doesn’t engrain itself into my memory. It’s like it never happened to me.
I’ve never told a single one of those doctors about what happened that night. Mainly because I rarely have the memory of that night come back to me, but also because it’s hard to put into words. The experience that is. Something so horrifying can only be experienced firsthand; not relayed through a conversation. So I’ve kept it to myself; locked away in the dungeons of my subconscious to forever rot amongst the beauty of suppression.

I can now acknowledge that the reality I lead is hardly real at all. Memories come and go. The only knowing I possess is that I know I’m going to return to the fear. It doesn’t matter if my mind is vacant of every childhood memory, every word I know, every person I’ve met. I always know that I’m going to go back there. Back to that place of torture.

I know that I can fall into it at any time so I’m trying to get this all down. I don’t know who that man was or if he was even real. But in a way, he is the realest thing in the entire world to me. My entire existence comes down to that one man. And now here I sit, a forty-going-on-fifty year old man, not sure if this hell will ever subside. Because one thing is for sure, you never get used to hell.

Credit To: Emmett Breda

As of late, I’m losing more and more sleep each night. I stay up at night, watching the windows, knife in hand. Not much good it’ll do if that thing is real…
I guess I should start from the beginning, shouldn’t I?
It started about a month or two ago with my friend (I’m using another name for safety reasons), Vic. I was just sitting at my computer, watching random youtube videos when Vic sent me a text.

It read: “Check out creepypasta slender man on youtube.”

At first I lied and said, “Sure, man.”
It took me about another two weeks to actually look it up because I was bored. I watched it and it kind of freaked me out to know that some tall guy in a suit with no face has been a myth for a few years. I shoved it to the side as nothing and continued on with my life.

I mentioned to my friend that I had watched it and he said he had been freaked out lately, feeling like something had been watching him. I told him to come over to my place and stay the night if it got any worse. He came over that night.

We mainly stayed up and played video games (he was beginning to act normally again)and we stayed up until about three in the morning and decided we should probably call it a night. Before I reached over and turned the light out, Vic asked if I could do a favor. He asked me if we could record a little something of us for memories sake. I said sure, thinking nothing of it. We made a brief recording, saying how it was just us at three in the morning, “chilling out and hanging.” After that, we went to bed and that was that.
I woke up the next morning and noticed Vic wasn’t where he had fallen asleep. I figured he had already gotten up and was downstairs getting something to eat.

I headed downstairs and couldn’t find him anywhere. I called for him and when he still hadn’t responded, I grabbed my phone and decided to call him. I heard his ringtone and ran quickly to where the sound came from. He was in the bathroom the whole time. I opened the door and he wasn’t using it, he just sat there on this little stool in there. He apologized, said it was just a stomach ache and decided to spend the night in the bathroom.

He went home shortly after that, leaving me to play video games and enjoy the rest of my day. It was quiet for about another two weeks when my friend mentioned something about Marble Hornets and Slenderman. I decided to look into it, and I watched a few episodes before asking my friend why he keeps watching these things that make him afraid. He didn’t respond. I watched them all the way through that week and decided to see how my friend was doing.

He didn’t respond to any of my texts so I decided to go see him. His landlord told me Vic had moved to another nearby city. I asked if there was a reason and the man said that Vic had been increasingly paranoid lately, staying indoors, keeping out an eye for anything that moved. I became worried about him so I asked the landlord for an address where I could find him. After receiving the info I asked the man if he wouldn’t mind me taking a look inside his place to see if he left anything behind that may indicate why he was acting that way. The man said sure but make it fast.

He gave me the key and I unlocked the door to take a look inside. Everything seemed to have been moved in a hurry, as there were papers everywhere and some trash still on the ground. I walked around the place, looking for answers. When nothing had yet popped up I decided to check the outside of the house, locking the door behind me and checking around. When I went behind the house I noticed a huge circle with an x in the center carved into the wall. I couldn’t make anything of it so I shrugged it off as some kids messing around. Maybe that’s why he was panicking. I returned the key and explained to the land lord the carving in the back of the house and told him to keep an eye out for kids in the neighborhood. They might have been the ones causing it. The landlord nodded, took the key and left.

It was getting late so I decided to go home and rest before looking for him again. I headed home yawning a little bit as I drove. When I got home I started to open the door to my house when I heard someone walking heavily behind me. I turned around and noticed a n owner and her dog walking near the house. I don’t know why that made me look, normally I’d just keep heading inside. I turned back to the door and noticed a black mass move inside. I opened the door and held my keys cautiously. I turned the light on and noticed my dog had hopped up on my couch. I told him to get down and passed it off the shadow as my dog running past the window and hopping up on the couch. Shortly after it began to storm heavily, heavy rain and periodic thunder. I sat back on my bed and decided I’d just try to get some sleep. I woke up to the sound of an extremely loud clap of thunder nearby and decided to get something to drink. I stumbled over to the light switch and flipped it, but nothing happened. Great, i thought to myself. I grabbed a flashlight from my table and turned it on, working my way downstairs to the kitchen. I heard a sound coming from the kitchen, it sounded like the suction from the refrigerator door opening. I realized I had left a rag hanging from the door so my dog must have opened it. I rushed a little faster and snapped out at my dog, before I rounded the corner. When I got into the kitchen, my dog wasn’t there, the door was closed and there was no rag on the handle. I yawned and realized I was probably just imagining things seeing as how I just woke up. I checked my phone briefly and noticed it was four in the morning. All the same I opened the refrigerator door and the light came on. I set the flashlight on the counter, forgetting to turn it off. I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and opened it and took a swig from it before shutting the door. Suddenly I felt unnerved, like something was watching me. It was a subtle feeling, but it sent chills up my spine all the same. I thought I saw a tall figure to my right but nothing was there so I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. I grabbed the flashlight and headed back upstairs and fell back asleep in no time. But right before I fell asleep, I wondered why my dog wasn’t barking at the thunder. No matter what I do or how many times I calm him, he always barks.

The next day I got up and decided to track down Vic. I headed to his place but he wasn’t home at the time so I left a note telling him to contact me ASAP. I was worried about him. He is like my brother after all.

This was last week.

This week I’m suddenly more jumpy. Maybe Its because I found that same symbol I saw at Vic’s old place carved into the sidewalk right outside my house. I decided to pass it off as kids messing with me. I began keeping my window blinds slightly open so I could see where that symbol was to see if the kids return. That was Monday. Two days ago it started storming VERY bad. Rain just poured from the heavens and lightning echoed closely from the forest near my house. I decided to make myself lunch so I grabbed the toaster to toast some bread for a sandwich. As it was toasting I opened the blinds on the window in my kitchen to watch the rain (I love watching the rain fall. Its calming.) I turned around to answer the text on my phone and in the corner of my eye I noticed a black figure walk past my window. At the same time a clap of thunder must have hit a nearby tree, it got my dog going nuts, and the toaster popped. I jumped and looked outside but no one had passed by. Maybe it was in my head I thought. But I had a second thought as I looked at the text. It was from Vic. I reread the words three times before calling him.

The words read: You’re being followed.

He answered and said he couldn’t talk long but he was coming over. We talked and I asked how he knew this but he said he had been followed too since he got into that slender man stuff. I stared in disbelief but he asked if anything weird had been happening. I told him about the symbol and that night I woke up. He said he would stay the night and have to go tomorrow because of his job. The night he came over, I was far more jumpy . I started carrying a knife in my pocket as a sudden precaution. I was up until four in the morning, not tired at all. Vic had crashed in my reclining chair and I crashed on the couch. I didn’t feel safe in my bed suddenly. For me to act that way it was strange. I’m a logical person, I like facts and truth. And for me to suddenly act paranoid and be checking over my shoulder, it was freaking me out worse than this stupid stalker of mine. What the hell is this thing that’s following me and why is it following me? And before anyone says its slender man, know I don’t believe in him. He doesn’t exist. Its just my mind playing tricks on me. But…at the same time, in the back of my mind, if this thing is real…

I have to find answers. Maybe Vic can help me out.

And if you are the one that has been following me, cut it out. This isn’t funny anymore. If you stop now, I won’t be mad, we can go on our separate lives without ever dealing with this again. But if you continue, know I will find you and I will reveal you to everyone and have you arrested for stalking charges.

If anyone knows anything, please assist me. I’ve included the site you can contact me at the credit link.

-Prophet

Credit To: Prophet

Admin Note: Please do move on on to the credit link if this pasta has you at all intrigued, as this story continues there.

I forgot who I was for a moment. My memory burnt out before flashing back in an instant. The bloodied knife in my hand and the body on the wet Manhattan concrete in front of me was real.

I dropped the knife. I don’t think there was anyone watching, it must have been two or three in the morning, much too late out. The cold rain spattered on the blade and washed away the man’s blood. I dry heaved immediately. The ragged, skinny man was drained of almost all of his color already. His face lay on the ground surrounded by a crimson pool, his wrinkled bald spot on the top of his head almost staring at me, encircled by gray, wiry hairs. I’m not sure why, but I shuddered at just the thought of his face underneath.

Then, this struck me as funny. Hilarious, even. I cannot remember why. I began to laugh. I smirked, then chuckled, and then erupted into a hearty, victorious laughter. I did it, I killed a man! Just in an act of pure spite, I grasped the slick knife up from the ground and hurled it at the body. Murder is fun, most normal folk don’t know what they’re missing!

I began to walk home. I felt no rush, nor fear, and home was not even that far from here. The rain around me poured harder upon the blanketed earth, every drop clapping against it, almost as if the rain was applauding me for my gratuitous deed to the world! Soon later, with a twist of the freezing doorknob, I let myself inside of my familiar abode. The dirty floorboards creaked under my barely-covered feet, and the welcoming rats and roaches scurried about to hide themselves out of what I like to think of as respect for their benevolent master.

In the corner of my eye, I saw him. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I shuddered at the familiar sight. The man with the bald spot and the gray hairs encircling it like it was a gray fireball, the thin body and jacket, the ruby pool of blood enveloping his hidden face. I darted to go see if he was real, but he had vanished, seemingly run off! The bloody man was just here, I know it!

I was cautious, and I was not going to let my guard down for a second. I gave into my animalistic urges for just a brief moment and dropped to all fours. For an odd reason, I found this fitting, acting as if I was the predator hunting the prey. I stealthily crawled across my kitchen, the scent of the familiar grime on the floor calming my nerves briefly. Then again, he appeared! In the sink, watching with his bald spot, as if it were an unblinking, flesh-colored eye. The rain clattered against the plastic window and rotting boards like the heavens were pounding to come in and take me away for the dreadful sin I have committed.

I scurried across the kitchen floor and dove into the other, pitch black room, landing on my faithful stained mattress. I tried to sleep and rest for another day, but every time the warm embrace of sleep began to envelop me, he appears in the corner of my eye. The man with the bald spot, staring at me from across the room with his swirled silver hair and pale circle of flesh visible.

I cried to him, this angel of death, “What do you want from me!?” There was no answer from the man, who had just vanished. I knew had done something especially wrong this time, I know it. I must consult the Savior.

His location was always easy to find. The painting of our lord and savior Jesus Christ was hung by a rusty nail right above his ever-burning candle in the hallway. I bowed in front of his presence and hit my knees on the floor, making both a sudden thud and a squealing whine on the wood. Though the painting was worn with his face melted and dark, and his hands warped into swollen claws, I knew behind his grisly visage that he was the idol of all that is right and wrong in life, and the sole adjudicator of the universe, judging all actions.

“Oh, Savior,” I pleaded, “Please forgive me. I have done no wrong, you surely know this! My murder was an act of purity and nothing less! I am truly pure of heart, my Savior, forgive me! Forgive me and cleanse me of my sins!”

The Savior spoke but a low growl. The painting itself never spoke, but he whispered his tomes to me. I paused, and awaited another answer. Nothing came, and a pain had struck my gut. Savior had not spoken another sound save for the growl, but it did not matter. I was not forgiven.

The bloody man has won, and I am forever trapped. I would never be forgiven, every time I shut my eyes, or gaze upon the darkness, he is there, forever watching me and choosing my fate. He is the looming sword of Damocles that I know will one day crash down upon me with vengeful wrath and cleave me in twain.

It was not until he raised his head that I knew I was truly damned.

Credit To: Kilroy Jones