Prime

December 13, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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I love creepy pastas. And chances are that if you are reading this so do you. I’ve been into them for about a year now and like most the community enjoy the sudden jolt a well-cooked piece of pasta can provide. The way a perception can be built up in a mere couple of sentences, then be violently smashed down. I’ve appreciated all the classics, from “Noend House” and “Candle Cove”, to the secrets of the Holder series.

I heard about a group of guys recently that kept talking about wanting to take their pasta to the “next level”. The kind of story that changes you as a person, gives you a new outlook on life. They posted on a forum, and the impression I got from lurking at the time was that they were building the story fragment by fragment. A mish-mash of text that was being amalgamated as much in the public eye as it was via personal message.

I do know that it was eventually finished, and that a grand unveiling was planned at midnight on the forum for atmospheric effect. This caused some minor grumbling as they all lived in different time zones, but GMT was eventually agreed upon. Many waited with bated breath for this alleged “perfect” pasta that had grown from the minds of many, yet were disappointed when there was no sign of activity from any of the original creative group.

A couple of days later, one of them signed onto the message board and left a brief message

Slendermanrulez89: uj3drjjde498bli404nd8540j

You know exactly what we were thinking at that point? Publicity stunt. That’s what we continued to say to ourselves over the coming weeks as more and more messages started to pile up from all the authors. Most of them were nonsensical, a couple downright disturbing.

Creepyboi97: dazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazzlingdazz

Azraelsblade: ttttttttttttttoooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmuuuuuccccccccccchhh

TheGothfather: it toook alitle whyl but i got em oiut………………they tast lik jelli.

At this point we started to get a little worried. Weeks had passed since the supposed release date, and there was no sign other than these repeated postings of the forum, so we started to investigate further. Initial findings showed that the group had shared the story among themselves prior to the release, a couple of them bragging of the fact on various other forums. More details came to light showing that one of them, “RATMfanatic”, had been the final editor stitching all the text together, then sending it out to all of them. Research of his facebook showed one status not long after.

“I can’t focus anymore. my mind keeps being drawn back to it. I can see where I stand and it terrifies me.”

All of the others showed had followed suit, and slowly but surely described a gradual descent into depression, mania and ramblings of “finally understanding”. At this point all sorts of theories were flying around, all fixated on this story. We scoured the news reports and found that over the course of time we were able to tie missing persons reports up to all the forum members from throughout the world. Accounts were investigated showed that the homes they had left behind had been trashed. Their computers had all be destroyed, as if there had been some shared belief that burning or smashing the source of their fear would somehow alleviate it. There was no mention of the pasta, but to be honest we wouldn’t have expected that. To this day we don’t know where they are.

And you would believe that would be where the story would end, were it not for one final postscript. A message was found:

Voltronator: yeah, i just got it in my inbox, but I haven’t read it yet.. Don’t tell anyone, but I’m gonna fire a couple of copies to some friends. They’ve been begging me for this, and I do owe them one from way back. They are gonna be stoked.

No-one knows who he was referring to, and nothing has be heard of since. Who knows, maybe it’s still out there. Floating on some dead site that gets like a hit a year. No-one knows the title, so your guess is as good as mine. The only thing I will say you is be careful out there. Next time you stumble across some pasta you’ve never tried before…  just…  I don’t know, I mean how would you even know until it’s too late?

Credit To: The Silicon Lemming

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Time Heals All Wounds

December 13, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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It’s that kind of evening. The foggy, humid winter evening. It’s the kind where everyone else curls up in their blankets next to the fireplace, sipping hot chocolate, or gathers around the table, laughing and joking, with glasses of mimosa.  Except for me. This evening, for some reason, I need to be alone.

The only sounds I hear are my own footsteps, plodding slowly, one after the other, through the slushy mixture of snow and mud, as well as the constant, irregular pitter-patter of water droplets falling from the tree branches.  Other than that, the air seems utterly still, silent, and dismally cold.  I try to make believe that I’m really out in the middle of nowhere. After all, everything is very peaceful here, and if I focus hard enough, I can actually imagine that the nearest shred of civilization is hundreds of miles away. All I can see are the dark, looming silhouettes of the barren trees against a gray, overcast sky.  This weather is normal for a December evening, and yet somehow, there’s something special about it today. It seems to draw me in, welcome me, comfort me.  Almost as though I’m an old friend…

My mind begins to wander after a while, pondering this empty, somewhat dejected feeling I’ve been having all day. This isn’t the first day either; I’ve been feeling that way pretty consistently as of late. But the strange thing is, I can’t quite figure out why. Is it just a seasonal thing? Could the cold weather be affecting my mood? Could this be what I think it might be? Or is it all just in my head? My mind travels back home for a second, stopping to consider those kids back in high school, who used their mouths, their iPhones, their fancy laptops, and their outfits of retina-damaging colors to tell the world that their lives were Shakespearean tragedies in the making. Maybe I’m just like them, I think. Kidding myself. Desperate for attention. But then again, I’ve never felt the need to flat-iron my hair or wear skinny purple jeans.

After meandering on to the subject of the little cousin I miss so dearly, and finally to the little brother I sometimes wish I had, my mind drifts gently back to the present. And when it does, it notices something rather peculiar.

I’ve found myself standing near the edge of a rather large lake. In the distance, through somewhat thick layers of fog, I can make out the opposite shoreline, covered densely with barren, lifeless woods.  Directly in front of me, a small piece of wet, muddy land extends outward into a small peninsula. On the very end of the peninsula, overlooking the lake, stands a single, gnarled, dead tree, its limbs drooping woefully toward the icy water. It strikes me as a monument of sorts, a commemoration placed there by nature to honor something tragic…sad…eerie…

Slowly a new feeling begins to seep into my skin, quite unlike the cold or the humidity. This place definitely has a dark, desolate aura, and yet somehow, there is also a sense of mystery to it. More and more I can imagine that something important happened here that has long since been forgotten about.  For a long time I stand there, allowing the right half of my brain to amuse itself once again…what could have happened here? What is the meaning of all this? It’s all very gloomy, dark, cold, sad…

And somehow, it all seems vaguely…

*********

His eyes snapped open.

He lay there, shivering, a growing sense of panic overtaking him. He had no idea where he was. He tried standing up, only to feel a pain unlike anything he had ever experienced in his ten years of life shoot through his ankle. He had to bite down on his arm to muffle the shrieking bawl of agony escaping his mouth. He landed hard on the frozen ground, tears streaming down his face, fighting fiercely to stay in control of his mind. After what felt like hours, he finally won the battle, and managed to steady himself. He focused his mind, trying as hard as he could to remember what had happened…he vaguely remembered being chased out of his own home in panic, but that could’ve just been a dream. Then an image arose in his mind, one that caused him to shiver even more…the man in the mask. He allowed himself to dissolve into tears once more out of sheer terror of that image. He hoped he would ever forget about it.

After pulling himself together again, he did the one sensible thing any ten-year-old would do.

“M-mom? D-dad?”

No answer.

Slowly, grimacing against the immense pain throbbing through his foot, he managed to ease himself up onto his knees. Then, red-faced, shaking, and sniffing, he made his way uphill through the trees, his green eyes dashing around desperately in search of life.   It was not long before his frantic gaze fell upon something that made his entire mind freeze over.

No. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be.

He had come to a point where the ground dropped down to form a small valley between two hills.  At the bottom of the valley were layers upon layers of shimmering snow, stained with what was unmistakably blood. Trembling with horror, the boy followed the scarlet trail with his eyes, and had to shove his fist into his mouth to keep from screaming. At the end of the trail sat two blood-drenched garbage bags, inside of which lay a man and a woman. Sobbing, the boy inched forward until he could reach the bags, and then began untying the first one with trembling fingers. It’s not real, he pleaded to himself. They’re only asleep, like I was. Please…don’t be real. Just don’t be real.

Eventually, he was able to work the knot out of the bag. He paused, hardly daring to touch her. But he had to know. He couldn’t go on without knowing. Taking deep, steady breaths, he grabbed the woman by the shoulders, and with all of the strength he could muster, turned her over.

It was worse than anything he had ever seen. Blood oozed from every orifice in her once beautiful body. Her lower jaw sat mangled on her chest, still connected by a few pieces of flesh, muscle, and ligaments, leaving her tongue to dangle lazily down to her throat. It was a few moments before the boy realized that the shriek of horror he heard was his own. The world swayed in front of him, and he vomited on the ground next to him. He closed his eyes tight, unwilling to look back into the contorted, eyeless face of his mother.

At this point, he no longer cared about pain. He wanted to get as far away from this nightmare as quickly as possible. He hobbled up and began running. Every other step was the equivalent of torture, but he didn’t care. He had to keep running. His sanity depended on it.  He ran for what could have been several days, before his ankle finally gave way with a sickening lurch of pain, and the boy collapsed onto the ground, exhausted and freezing cold.

Through all of his mental anguish, he noticed that he had come upon a clearing in the trees. Through the fog, he could make out a single, dead tree, and beyond it, a large, frozen lake.  He had no idea what to do next. He could no longer run, much less move. He decided his only hope was to scream for help, and keep screaming, hoping that someone might hear.

“I-is anyone here? P-please help me!”

It wasn’t until he had shouted it, that he realized the possibly fatal mistake he had just made. A new idea crept into his head, a terrifying idea, and a very real idea.

He’s still out here somewhere.

The moment that thought crossed his mind, he heard it.

Footsteps, marching his way.

The boy buried his face into his arms. He couldn’t watch. This is it, he thought. This is the end. It’s okay, though, he thought to himself, as tears once more trickled down his face. I’ll be playing with mom and dad soon.  They’ll be waiting for me. But will it hurt to die? I hope he makes it quick…

The footsteps passed him by.

The boy could hardly believe it. Gathering up as much courage as he could, he pulled his face out of his arms, and looked up. Someone was standing there, near the dead tree, staring out at the lake. He had a long mane of light brown hair.  The boy instantly felt so much relief, excitement, and gratitude that he almost fainted. But he could not afford to. He had to make his presence known.
“H-help me! P-please!” he stammered.

The older boy paid no attention. He simply stood there, taking in his surroundings, with a somber look on his face.

“N-no, p-please! Y-you’ve got to help me! S-seriously!”

Still, no reply. In desperation, the young boy began to pull himself forward, using only his hands. As painful as it was, he knew that this would be the last stretch. If he could just make it to where the older boy stood, he would be okay. He would survive.

“I-I’m hurt! I-I’m bleeding!” he shrieked. “P-please!”

He reached out with his last bit of energy, and grabbed the older boy’s foot.
The older boy blinked, then looked down. The young boy saw a hint of surprise in his shocking, terribly familiar, green eyes.
For a moment they remained there, staring into each other’s eyes. Then the older boy looked skyward, took a deep breath, turned around, and began to leave.

“N-NO! P-PLEASE! COME BACK!”

The young boy was sobbing again, this time in a fit of hopeless despair.
He had never felt so alone, defenseless, or scared. The leafless trees seemed to taunt him in their silence, exuding a sort of stoic apathy to his suffering. He wished he could talk to the trees, plead with them, ask them for help. But he knew it was useless. There was nobody. The world was deaf to his cries. He was utterly alone.

*********

…familiar.

A light breeze begins to blow, shaking me out of my reverie. I notice the temperature has dropped significantly. I look up, shaking the long mane of hair out of my face. Thicker clouds are moving in. I expect it’ll be-

Tap.

Something just touched my foot. I know I felt it.  I look down, scanning the ground with my eyes, searching for what might have-

Tap.

This one hit my shoulder. I look upward, only to get hit, dead center, by a freezing cold drop of water.
At this point, there are little taps falling everywhere, faster and faster. I should probably go back home now, I think.  I wipe my face with my sleeve, and turn around to go. I only somewhat take note of the fact that my ankle’s been acting up again. For a moment, I remark to myself how interesting and wonderful the mind must be to come up with such odd fancies. The weather having feelings? Me, depressed and alone? Come on now. Clearly, it’s all in my head. I’m in college now. I’ve met lots of smart, friendly people, and I haven’t felt alone like that since high school. It must be the cold climate making me moodier than usual.  And one thing’s for sure- I’ve definitely never seen this place before. I would have remembered it in a heartbeat.

I check my watch, and pick up my pace. My stepmom’s having friends over for dinner tonight. Sort of a pre-Christmas get-together, I think. I should probably be home before they arrive.

Credit To: Randy Ham

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Chat

December 12, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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It was a regular Friday night and I was up late chatting to my friend Bradley on this virtual chat room we had found online. He told me and the other guys who we had just met, that he was able to stay up as late as he wanted, because his parents were away until the weekend and he had the house to himself. We stayed on there for a few hours having fun with these random people, and I noticed Bradley had taken a liking to one girl in particular. Soon enough, my mum began calling out for me to go to sleep. As I was about to log off, I asked Bradley what he was doing tomorrow, thinking he might want to stop by my place. He didn’t reply for a while, until:

“Bradley is typing a message.”

Then it went blank.

“Bradley is typing a message.”

Nothing again.

“Whatever man, I’m going to bed we’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I said. It was strange for him to just stop replying like that.

I didn’t hear from him again until the next day when I logged on to the chat site and he was on. He apologised for not replying last night and said he had just been busy. We had a brief exchange, and he said he would come over soon, saying it was urgent. That was fine, but queried him why he didn’t want to wait to see his parents first, who would be home any minute. He insisted there was no time because he had something really important to show me, and then logged straight off. I thought that was out of character for him, as he usually put his family before anything, and I grew curious at what he wanted to show me so badly.

I expected him to be over soon, as he only lived about twenty minutes away, when I received a disturbing phone call. It was Bradley’s parents, who had just come home and were sounding extremely worried. They asked if I knew anything on Bradley’s whereabouts, to which I told them not to worry, because he was in fact on his way over. The phone fell silent for a moment until I heard a deathly scream from the mother in the background on the other end of the line. The father drew a deep breath, and bravely strung together a sentence that I’ll never forget.  “Get out of the house now. Bradley’s here… He’s dead.” They had found Bradley’s lifeless body hung up like a coat in the wardrobe. I ended the call in shock, as it became apparent why he had asked if I would be home alone, when suddenly I heard the back door creak open.

Instinctively, I did the first thing I could think of and quickly crawled under my bed to hide. I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, ever so slowly. I dared not to open my eyes, but when I dreadfully peaked through my fingers, I saw these pale white, cold, bare feet coming in to my room, almost in slow motion. I would hate to see the person such feet belonged to. As they slowly approached the bed, you could hear the dampness of the footsteps peeling away from the floorboards; my heart was pounding in my mouth and I held my breath. Just when I couldn’t possibly get any more scared, my phone let off a loud beep to notify me that I had received a message. It was from Bradley’s phone and read: “Where are you?” as the feet stopped abruptly, dead in their tracks…

Credit To: Jack

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Don’t Take My Doll

December 12, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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It was July the 2nd, 1998 when she first appeared. A slight, pale woman with large black rings around her eyes, thin, hollow cheek bones and hair like matted wire. I watched from the front desk everyday as she flitted up to the window, stared into the police station and repeatedly tapped her bony fingers against the glass.

I’d been drafted to the small seaside town of Gentry less than a month ago and not a day had gone by without the woman appearing at the window, sometimes for hours on end. I’d asked a couple of my superiors what she was doing but they merely avoided my eyes and told me not to pry into private affairs.
Today was no different; the woman crept over to the window and danced her fingers across the glass. The sky outside grew dark as the hours dragged on and I watched as the first drops of rain fell from the sky. This light drizzle quickly progressed into a downpour and I observed as the woman went from being doused to being drenched in a matter of minutes. Yet her movements didn’t cease and she continued to tap fervently on the window, her hollow, maddeningly wide eyes fixed on me the entire time. When her hair began to literally melt out of its precarious bun I pushed back my chair and walked over to the door.
I hesitated for a moment, glancing tentatively behind me to make sure that all eyes were averted. Quickly, I wrenched open the door and stuck my head outside and called “Hey! Do you want to come inside until the weather calms down”?

The woman froze and snapped her head towards me. I was startled by her movement; the angle of her head made it appear that she possessed no spine to speak of and instead that her head was disconnected from her neck; a near complete rotation without her moving her shoulders. I couldn’t suppress a shiver as she twisted her body to align with her head and began to creep towards me, her arms lying limp at her sides.
I stepped aside to allow her inside and she twisted her head in that inhuman state to face me. We stood like that for a few painfully long seconds before she whispered “I have a crime to report”.
Her voice was delicate and childlike; as though encased within the putrescent grey skin and bedraggled hair lay a sweet child with pink ribbons scattered in her blonde ringlets.
“Of course ma’am” I smiled, gesturing for her to follow me to the front desk. I’d barely taken a step before she clasped her fingers around my wrist; her cold skin creating a crushing vice that stopped me in my tracks.
“Please sir…could we go to the back room”?
Her question surprised me but I could understand why some witnesses would be too scared to declare crimes in the open. I had never heard of any witnesses being relocated to an actual room in the time I’d spent at the station but the itching desire to know more about the woman prompted me to nod and change course; heading down a long, thin corridor leading to the tiny back room.

As we walked, I stole a glance back at her and noticed that she was a fair deal younger than I’d first assumed. Her slender limbs, hunched figure and dark eyes made it appear that she was an elderly woman but on closer inspection her undeveloped physique and smooth face suggested that she was most likely a prepubescent child. I was shocked at myself for not noticing this sooner that I almost strolled headfirst into the door of the backroom. Halting in the nick of time, I fumbled my keys before unlocking the room and stepping inside.
The room was comprised of dark metal walls and a concrete floor complete with a stainless steel table and two chairs. I took the chair closest to the door and waited for the girl to sit down.
I pulled out a recording tape from my bag and set it on the table.
“Okay,” I smiled “Go ahead…”
The girl’s dark eyes stared into my brown ones and she let her jaw grow slack. After a moment however, she began.

“It began like every other day. The sun rose, the tide ebbed from the shore and the seaside town stuttered into life. However this day was special-”

“Um, wait a second please,” I interrupted. “You don’t have to tell it like this; like a story, I mean. You can just tell me the key elements and I can submit a report.”

She fixed me with her intense stare and replied “But this is how it goes. I have to tell the story how it goes…”

I sighed and waved her on, not in the mood to argue with a child.

She continued. “It was a special day because it happened to be the birthday of the mayor’s daughter; Cecilia Abigail Townsend. Her mother had promised Cecilia that she could ask for anything she wanted so the little girl had replied ‘A doll’. So Cecilia’s mother went searching for the most beautiful china doll in the town. She looked in quaint boutiques and upmarket department stores but she found no doll worthy of her beautiful daughter. Finally she found a little girl playing on the street, a cherubic doll clutched in her hands. She begged and pleaded with the girl to part with the doll but the child would have none of it.
As the child played on, steely clouds rolled in from the ocean; threatening a storm. Finally the girl set the doll on a nearby bench while she went to fetch an umbrella from her house which lay only a few yards from where she was playing. Taking her chance, the mother snatched the doll from the bench and ran home, not stopping once along the way.

She arrived home and wrapped the doll before presenting it to the delighted Cecilia that night. Cecilia however, received a great number of presents that night and the little doll was forgotten amongst the onslaught of gifts.

Cecilia bade her parents goodnight and left for bed as the moon rose in the sky. Her father soon followed her but her mother was left to clean up the mess that the wrapping paper had created. It was only when she had completely tidied the kitchen that she noticed the doll sitting on Cecilia’s chair; its glassy eyes staring straight ahead.

Cecilia’s mother had been sure that the doll had been discarded under the table earlier and no one had re-positioned it on the chair, unless it had somehow climbed up there itself…Scared by her own musings, Cecilia’s mother switched off the lights and retired for the night.

When the clock struck midnight, Cecilia Abigail Townsend awoke to a small voice whispering in her room.
‘Cecilia…I’m in the front hall.’
Cecilia slipped out of bed and padded to the front hall which led from the kitchen to the grand staircase. The doll was lying on the carpet, its gaze directed at Cecilia who stood at the top of the staircase.
Thinking perhaps her brother was performing some sort of trick on her, Cecilia shook her head and walked back to her bedroom. But then the voice returned.
‘Cecilia, I’m on the stairs. I’m on the first step… I’m on the second step… I’m on the third step…’ the voice continued until the very last step on the grand staircase.
Cecilia crept outside to check and, sure enough, the doll was lying at the top of the stairs, its hollow eye staring straight at her.
Truly frightened now, Cecilia ran to her room, locked the door and dove under the covers. And still the voice continued.

‘Cecilia, I’m in your brother’s room…’ There was a sudden scream of agony followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor ‘Got him’…

Cecilia began to cry, her teeth tearing through her bottom lip as the voice went on.

‘Cecilia, I’m in your parent’s room…’ Another set of screams followed ‘Got them.’

Cecilia listened in horror as her lock clicked and the door swung open.

‘Cecilia, I’m at your toes…I’m at your knees…I’m at your waist….I’m at your shoulders…'”

“STOP!” I yelled, slamming my hands down on the table. The girl didn’t look taken aback in the least at my outburst, instead gazing at me as though waiting to continue.

“I demand you stop this right now!” I growled “This is a police station, not a campfire and I’ll have none of your tales here. I know very well that today is the mayor’s daughter’s birthday and that they are all alive at this moment so please kindly stop wasting my time and”-

I was interrupted by the door bursting open and the Chief sergeant leaning in, policemen dashing backwards and forwards behind him.

“Detective, we need you at Mayor Townsend’s residence, please come with me”.

I looked back to the chair and saw that the girl had slipped behind me and out the door while my attention had been preoccupied. Gritting my teeth in frustration, I turned back to the Chief and nodded, following him back though the station and into the sheeting rain…

*

When we arrived at the Mayor’s house, the coroners were removing gurneys laden with bodies covered in blood spattered sheets. One of the sheets was blown back in the wind and I saw the mutilated face of Cecilia Townsend; her throat slashed into ribbons of flesh and her mouth slit from ear to ear in a horrific grin.

I felt bile rise in my throat and excused myself to empty my stomach behind the house. I was wiping my mouth when I heard a light tapping, even through the rain. I glanced up and saw a figure standing in the upstairs window, its fingers splayed across the glass. Squinting I could make out the outline of the girl from the police station, a large smile upon her usually deadpan face and a doll with blonde ringlets clutched in her hand. She tapped on the glass again and began to write something on the window. When she was finished she waved at me, her smile growing impossibly huge, before disappearing into the room’s shadows I stepped closer and saw the words daubed on the window in blood red letters:
DON’T TAKE MY DOLL…

Credit To: Lilith Luna

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Scraggly Hair

December 11, 2012 at 12:00 PM
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It was a Friday night, and I was grounded, without a phone. I lived alone with my dad in a rural community where everyone knows each other, but some keep to themselves. My dad headed up to bed around 11 o’ clock, and I began to get ready to carry out the plans I had made during the school day. Since I had no phone, my friends and I made plans during the school day to all meet up at my best friend Greg’s house around midnight.

After putting on some warm clothes, going on my computer for a bit, and getting a snack, I was ready to sneak out. My dad took my phone the day before, but didn’t take my car keys, assuming I had no where to go if I had no phone. Tip-toeing towards the front door, I remembered that my keys were on my dresser in my room. I sighed, turned, and headed upstairs. I carefully avoided the spots on my floor where I knew if I stepped, would let out a creak. I walked down my dark and quiet hallway, the distant hum of the air-conditioner providing a white noise for my mind to focus on. As I approached my room, I felt a strange presence, and I suddenly became uneasy. I paused in my open doorway, breathing softly, in fear my dad would discover that I was planning on going out (seeing that my shoes were on). I waited for a moment, and flipped my light switch. I quickly snatched my keys up off of my dresser, and faced the doorway, still feeling the presence. My stomach stirred and gave me a ticklish feeling in my throat. I began to let my mind play with me, thinking of creatures or killers that may lay around the corner of the dark hallway that lay in front of me. I swallowed my fear and quickly exited my room, switching the light off, and rounding the corner. I was cautious as I approached the corner that intersected the staircase, my dad’s room, and the guest bedroom. I kept my eyes on the stairs, and descended quicker than I had came up. A little spooked, I got out of the house as fast as I could, and into the cool summer night.

The moon was at its first quarter, and my yard was slightly illuminated. All the neighbor’s houses were dark, and slightly outlined by the moonlight. I quietly slipped into my car and shut the door as softly as I could while still securely shutting it. After the feeling I got inside, I couldn’t help but to look in the back seat as soon as I entered. To avoid detection, I kept my lights off, and shifted the car into reverse. My driveway is very long and on a slight incline, so I began to roll slowly down. As I did this, I looked for a good radio station, and my attention was deterred to the radio. After finding a decent station with tolerable reception, I looked back up to the dashboard, and slammed on my brakes. The light in my room was on. The entire house was dark except for that room in the upper-left hand corner. I shifted the car into park and sat there tense and nervous. What worried me is that there were no other lights on in the house. If my dad had gone into my room, it would make sense that he would turn his light on, and the hallway light as well, in order to see where he was going. I sat there for a few moments, my eyes locked on the two windows that exposed my room, until I saw a shadow. It was partial and large, against the left wall. It was still, and I thought it was my lamp or something, until it moved away. My eyes stayed fixed on the spot where the shadow was, until I saw movement in the right window. Slowly walking into view, a large, burly figure centered himself in the right window. I inhaled sharply, and my heart fluttered as the figure stopped, facing adjacent to me, towards my door. Time froze, and it slowly turned to face the window. Its clothes were indistinguishable from its hair, which reached down several feet, blending into the matte, dark color of its clothes. Its hair was scraggly and disheveled, and its figure was wide and tall. It stood there, its face hidden by the hair; a silhouette in my window.

I was frozen in horror. I had no idea what to do but to sit there, hoping it was a joke my dad was pulling on me. Could my dad be playing a joke on me? No. There was no way. I had never seen anything like it before, and I felt as if I was dreaming. I started to become lightheaded as I trembled and began to hyperventilate. I sat erect, eyes fixed on the figure that stood as still as a statue, staring out the window. My jaw trembled, and goosebumps covered my arms, legs, and neck. I opened the door of my car and got out, exposed to the silence of the night that was broken only slightly by the faint sounds of a radio advertisement, and my panicked breathing. I slowly approached the house, keeping my eyes on the window, with no particular plan in mind. I looked forward at the front door, and then back up to my room. I stopped in my tracks as I saw the figure slowly exit my room. Instantly after it disappeared out the doorway, I thought it could only be going one place; my dad’s room. A sudden boost of adrenaline shot through my body, as I ran to the front door, and burst through screaming as loud as I could. I shouted unintelligibly as I leaped up the stairs, skipping 3 at a time. I reached the landing on the second floor, and turned to my dad’s door. Surprisingly, it was closed. I placed my hand on the doorknob, and burst into the room with the mental image of the figure following close behind me. My dad was sitting up in bed, yelling at me in confusion to ask what was going on. I felt relief wash over my body, along with a burst of fear, thinking that it had not yet reached the room. I continued forward as I turned my body to face the door. I backed up and fell onto my dad’s bed, my eyes fixed on the doorway. My dad continued to question me in a concerned and bewildered manner. I told him to be quiet and that something was in the house. “Something?” He questioned as he took a baseball bat out from under his bed. I could sense the fear in his voice. I heard the floor creak downstairs, followed by the sound of plastic shattering and banging. I sprung to my feet, and looked to my dad, who was already up and walking towards the door, bat in hand. He told me to follow behind him, which I did hesitantly. I followed him into the hallway, and down the stairs, turning on lights behind me. I felt comforted by the lights and my dad’s presence, but was still waiting to see the figure at any moment. After entering the kitchen, our eyes were drawn to our screen door, which was now a mangled plastic frame on the ground. “What the hell?” My dad said, completely confound at the events that had just played out. He shut the sliding glass door and proceeded to question me. I told him my plans to sneak out and what had happened. He was just happy that we were okay, and continued to call the police. I knew it was gone, but I still decided to turn all the lights on downstairs. My heart continued to pound, and I sat on the couch to relax as I waited for police to arrive- I was safe now.

The figure never returned since this happened (It was a year from today), but the memory still haunts me. I feel uneasy being alone in my house, or in my neighborhood; even during the day. I always have the feeling that it’s there, wanting to come inside to watch me. I’ll never know what it was or why it fled when I came inside. I’ll never know why it was in my room, or if it was human. Since then I’ve just been trying to convince myself that it never happened.

Credit To: mysticpotato45@yahoo.com

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Little Emma

December 11, 2012 at 12:00 AM
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I first met her when I saw her sitting and crying at my favorite spot in our school garden. When I asked why, she told me she was hungry but she didn’t have any money left. Her luck. I was supposed to hang out with my group at the Pizza Galley, but I begged off to see my boyfriend- only to find out that he had basketball practice. So I bought her ice cream, and while we sat together, she told me stuff about herself and instantly we became friends.

She came from the middle school at the other block. She’s only nine years old, quite petite for her age, and she was fun. I never really liked kids, actually, but she’s different. She talked and thought like a grown-up: mature.

Her name was Emma.

The following days we talked together every afternoon, if I’m not with my friends. They thought I was crazy. It was hard picturing out the campus hottie together with a little girl. I told them to say whatever they want. Emma might want my opinion for fashion and dating tips; she might grow up into a lovely chick.

“You don’t understand, Summer,” my boyfriend, Jagger, objected. We were near the basketball court, arguing again.

“No- it’s you who doesn’t understand,” I shot back. “Why would you always act like that? I’m sick of you being jealous.”

“Summer, I don’t want anyone to take advantage of you,” he snapped. He grasped my shoulders with both hands.

I threw my hands up and whisked his hands away. “Take advantage? Are you out of your mind?” My voice cracked a little.

“Maybe I am,” he said bitterly. “And if you don’t want to listen, fine. Go out with Jake. Go with him and let him screw you.” He glared at me and then turned his back. He left without even looking back.

I slapped my forehead and ran my fingers down my hair in surrender. God. I loved Jagger so much, but he’s just nuts in keeping me for himself. He thought he owned me. We have already discussed this a million times before, but now look at us.

I headed for the garden, my sanctuary. I don’t want to go anywhere too noisy. And I needed someone to talk to.

A hand tugged my tank top. “Hey!” I cried, startled. I spun around.

“You look ready to cry,” Emma commented. She crossed her arms.

“You scared me,” I confessed. I noticed she was wearing the shirt I’ve given her for her birthday. She looked really cute.

We settled down the bench. I buried my face into my hands, and for a while we were silent. Finally, I looked up and she said, in a low murmur, “You can share it with me, Summer.”

I straightened up and tucked my hair behind my ears. I let out a long sigh.

“But if you won’t,” she added quickly, “I saw it all, anyway. That guy’s a jerk.”

I chuckled softly at her comment. “Right.” I shifted my position. “I want to cry, Emma. Honestly.”

“Told ‘ya,” she said. “It’ll pass. I’ve seen those situations in those corny movies.” She looked at me, made a face, and smiled.

“I hope so.” I forced a smile back. “But I won’t cry now, thanks to you.”

“I love you, Summer,” she said.

“I love you too, Emma,” I replied. “You’re a real friend.”

“Well, now that you have told me what happened and if you’ll just always tell me how you feel, you don’t have to be sad anymore,” she said.

I did not see Jagger the next day. Who cares?

Well, I did. I just hated to admit it. I missed him, and I wanted so much to see him. Just a glimpse of his damn, mesmerizing face.

My prayer was granted just before I stepped out the classroom at the end of last period.

“Summer Sheldon,” Mr. Farren, our Math teacher, called. “I got something for you. He held out two sheets of paper.

I took them, and saw that it was homework for tomorrow. “But I already got a copy,” I protested.

“No, that’s for Jagger,” he said. “I know you knew him. If you could just give it-”

“Sure,” I agreed immediately. I was about to shout, “Yes!” but it would be embarrassing. “Sure.”

“I’ll give you extra credit,” he offered.

I climbed down my Porsche and drove through Parkside Drive. The long way to Jagger’s. Why? I guess I just wanted to think about what to say when I get there. I don’t want a lousy conversation later. He might still be angry.

Wait- I haven’t told Emma I’ll be away. Gosh. She might be waiting for me the whole afternoon. Where was she, anyway? I haven’t seen her. If I had, I would not have forgotten to tell.

I parked my car a few houses away from Jagger’s. I didn’t want him to know I drove all the way through.

I nervously walked towards his house. My hands were cold. Brr. What if he’ll reject me? No… definitely no. He’s crazy over me. He’s just overreacting.

His parents’ Sedan was nowhere to be found. They probably had a business trip.

I pressed the doorbell and waited. My hands clutched the papers carefully, tightly, that it ached. I pressed again. After several minutes that no one answered, I went in myself.

He wasn’t in the den. Nor in the kitchen or in the pool. I headed upstairs.

The sound of cold water was crisp, absolutely clear. Great. So he was in the shower.

I knocked twice at the bathroom door and got in. The shower curtain was closed. “Hey, Jagger,” I called out. “I brought something. It’s for you. And I have an appointment to keep, so you’d better get out of that shower fast.”

Silence.

“Come on, Jagger.” I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I looked good, perfectly stunning.

“Jagger…” I called out playfully. He still did not answer.

Playing games, huh? “I know you’re there, Jagger. And if you won’t speak, I’ll open the curtain myself,” I threatened. Still silent. I laughed.

Oh, well. He’s in it now. Typical of Jagger, and we do play a lot. “You won’t say anything?” I said out aloud. “Here I come!”

I pulled the shower curtain apart – and screamed.

A chill shriek escaped my throat.

Jagger was lying on his back. Blood was all over him, the water slowly washing it away. His throat was open. I saw flaps of butchered skin in his chest, his abdomen. He was all cut up. And there was a stump of blood clot and a grayish mass above his head, as if a sharp, heavy object had smashed it.

I gagged. “Oh. Oh God… no.” I wanted to embrace him and get him out of here. But I stepped back, scared. The papers crumpled. Hot tears fell down my cheeks.

Jagger – dead. Oh God. This couldn’t be true. But it was.

I felt dizzy. I felt like throwing up, so I clamped a hand on my mouth.

And that’s when I saw the red paint. Or was it blood? Right there on the wall beside the shower. I saw my name, and it caught my attention. I read the words, slowly, trying to absorb everything: So did you get my point, bastard? I warned you before. I told you not to hurt her. But you did. Summer’s mine. I love her so much. I’ve been having fantasies about her. Sometimes, erotic dreams. I’ve been longing to kiss her the way you did when you made out last time. I’ve been wanting to make her mine. I know I can’t. But you hurt her. Call me a maniac. But I love Summer. She’s hot. She’s mine.

I blinked. I felt so sick. Who had written it? Who?

A loud crash followed. I spun around, shocked.

And I saw my boyfriend’s executor. Little Emma, blood all over her clothes – the ones we shopped together last Christmas – a knife in her hand, her eyes staring menacingly at me.

___________________________________________________________________________

I am twenty-nine now, but I can’t ever forget that day. The police never believed me; instead, I was the one who went to jail and spent the rest of my adolescent years there, when I should have been falling in love again, skinnydipping with friends, partying, enjoying youth. Instead, I was plagued with nightmares, and the worst of all, I was plagued with her.

I’m out of the jailhouse now, but she never disappeared in my life. She always calls me her “special friend” and that she’s waiting for me.

She would visit me in my dreams, in my jail cell, outside my apartment, just waiting for me to come with her.

And she never grew up. Still nine years old, still with her big brown eyes. But no, I don’t ever think I find her cute, not anymore.

Oh my god, there she is again, outside my window as I am typing this story.

Maybe I should come with her now, just to end. Or I can put a bullet inside my brain.

After all, I’ve told you about me, and most especially about her. You have been warned.

If you see a nine-year-old girl with jet black hair and brown eyes and…..

(c) 2003

Credit To: Vivien Marie Lopez

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