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Gray



Estimated reading time — 6 minutes

I’ve tried everything I can think of. Enough is enough.

I first noticed the thing when I looked up at my window after taking a short nighttime walk. At first, I reasoned that it was just my mom, putting something in my room. But as I came closer and looked harder, I saw its shape was hardly feminine. Hardly even human.

What stood in my window was a tall, skinny figure, completely nude and lanky like a teenager, its skin the color gray. It stood taller than I did, and it looked down from my window at me whenever I was outside of my house. Its face was more humanoid than the rest of it, as it had a mouth, a nose, and two eyes, the whites of which shone like dimmed car headlights. It had an expression that was hard to read; fear mixed with exuberation, and entirely psychotic.

The first night I saw it, it just stared down at me. It didn’t move at all. I didn’t move at all. I couldn’t. I was dumbfounded by its presence.

I felt a sneaking dread climb up my spine, and it settled on my neck. My mother and sister were in the house with that monster. I ran for the door.

When I burst through, nothing was amiss. My family members sat downstairs, watching television as they always did. Panting, I stood before the screen and looked at them, wondering how they couldn’t have noticed someone breaking into our home. Looks of concern showed on both their faces.

“What’s the matter?” my mom asked, frowning.
“There’s someone upstairs!” I exclaimed.
“What?” she cried, her voice raised. “How can that be?”

“I saw him in my window!” Without waiting for them to follow, I stormed up the stairs, determined to catch the criminal. I took a baseball bat from the closet on the way and, with a moment’s hesitation, I exploded into my bedroom.

The gray being had inexplicably vanished. Gone, without any trace. I checked my sister’s room, my mother’s room, every bathroom and closet and pantry I could. The thing had disappeared. Somehow, its vanishing disturbed me more than its being here. That night I barely slept, waiting for it to emerge from some excellent hiding spot. It never did.

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After then, I’ve looked up to my window when I was outside, and every time I saw the thing glaring down at me like I was the freak. Sometimes I locked eyes with it, making threatening gestures to try to stare it down and scare it off, but it never affects it. It just stood there, watching.

Waiting.

After a week of seeing it whenever I walked my dog late at night, and even during the day when I looked up from car as I parked it in the driveway, I resolved to do something. What a mistake.

First, I tried shutting the blinds and turning off the light before I went out with my dog. Sure enough, when I glanced up at my window the thing stood as it had before, with the blinds completely up and the light juxtaposing its gray mass against the yellow-colored room. When I climbed back up to my bedroom, the shades were as I had put them. I started to feel crazy, and unsafe. I started sleeping downstairs.

The second thing I tried worked as well as the first. I stacked chairs and heavy boxes full of reams of paper before the window to see how determined this spirit was. As I should have guessed, all of the things had been removed from sight when I peered up to the gleaming portal. It just stood alone, its expression constant, its body not feeling my desperate eyes upon the gray of its form.

As a final attempt before resulting to setting actual traps to catch the beast, I told my sister to check my room after I’d gone. She was still sitting on the couch when I walked through the front door, loath to postpone her sedentary life for even a few minutes. When I returned, she reported that my room was empty, and asked if I felt okay. Feeling the concerned and fearful eyes of my family members made me fearful for myself.

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For some weeks, I managed to come to terms with the gray being’s existence. I looked at it less and less, found its presence to be of decreasing importance to me. It seemed as if we could occupy the same space in comfort, staying out of each other’s way. I had almost completely forgotten about it when the tragedy came.

It was a Saturday, a day I typically spend out with friends. The evening was a time of stress relief in the form of driving around the suburbs I live in and causing a ruckus in a variety of ways. I left around 4 in the afternoon, and it was only 4:26 when I received a frantic text from my mom urging me to come home.

When I got back, I looked up to my window, remembering the being that had become nearly invisible by its consistency. I froze when I saw that its gray, strange mouth was twisted upwards in a horrid smile.
I burst through the front door. My mom was collapsed on the front room carpet, telephone held limply in hand having just called the police. I knelt by her a few moments, comforting her in her distress, wondering where my sister was. Sentence after incoherent sentence streamed out of her mouth like dribble, so I left her there to check if the house had any clues to her distress.

My natural response upon entering my house is to get upstairs to my room as soon as sociably acceptable. Logically, I would check their first. Each day I awake, I wish I hadn’t looked at all.

Blood coated nearly every surface, as if some explosion of red paint had sent it splattering the walls and ceiling. Parts of my sister were strewn on my bed, some of her organs lying on my desk, a good deal of her torso still and motionless in the center of my carpet. Her face had been torn off and nailed to the wall with a pencil, the eyes missing and nowhere to be found. The eyeholes were ghastly, elongated things, made to look like demon’s eyes by the bloodied wall that was visible through them. I retched onto the crimson floor, making the stench in the room even more sickening than the hemoglobin-iron smell that fucked my nostrils mercilessly.

I stumbled downstairs back to my weeping mother, and collapsed as she had. I did not cry, however. I only thought. And it became clear to me then. The being is too dangerous to let live.

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From then on, after police had come to retrieve the body and found no viable perpetrator of the crime, I spent most of my time at every public library in the county or on so-called witch websites I knew to be hoaxes, trying to find a method of purging the spirit from my home. I ordered holy water purported to be bottled at the Jordan River, spread it in the still-red room only to see that same gray beast looking down upon me from within. No amount of charms or amulets or enchantments could repel the gray being. I cast protection spells, spirit wards, positive repels, waving my hands and chanting like a manic cultist. In a stupor of frustration, I tried pleading with the spirit, making a pact with it, left it offerings like it was some god to revere. Nothing could remove it from the window.

And that brings me to my current state of mind. I have exhausted all possible means, save summoning a demon of my own or burning down my house. I would do the latter if I could convince my mother of the gray being’s existence, but she always claims she can’t see it when I show her its creeping vigilance. For some reason, I know nothing can rid me of this malevolence. That’s why I’ve written this tale, this explanation of my next action; I’m going to climb onto my roof and go in through that window. I want everyone to understand why I’ve done this, and to make sure that this does not happen again. Believe someone if they tell you that they’re afraid, and believe in what causes their fear, no matter how preposterous, no matter how gray.

I’ve tried everything I can think of. Enough is enough.

 

This journal was found on Derrick E. Weinman’s person on February the 17th, among other personal effects including a watch battery, a wallet containing identification and several bills, and a packet of Big League Chew. Derrick’s time of death was 8:34 P.M. on February the 17th. Cause of death, still unknown, though the official statement has been announced as suicide. No sign of a struggle or harmful chemicals found. Derrick was lying face-down on the floor of his room where his sister’s body had been found (See: OFCL Report: Case 9a12, Vanessa D. Weinman). Please note that last page of quoted journal had difficult-to-read message, eventually determined to say “WHY AM I SO GRAY.”

 

Credit To: Crosby Allison

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43 thoughts on “Gray”

  1. Gray is one of my favorite colors, if not THE ONE favorite color. I think of it as a color of compromise; of balance; of indifference. The latter which I can understand bring someone down to an unstable state. Derrick has my pity. May his soul be one with the silent gray guardian who attempted to warn him.

  2. Weird… So it was him, or? If not, why did he start seeing this grey man now? There were so many mistakes. which I found annoying…

  3. I never understand why any monster would just do nothing for months, then kill someone all of a sudden without rhyme or reason.
    And I wouldn’t have kept living in the same house in which a relative of mine had been murdered, let alone sleep in the very same room.

  4. I think [some] people are interpreting the ending differently than I am. I think the kid is the ‘gray’ thing, an evil from within. He saw the ‘gray’ thing as an external being and nobody else could see it because it was really him all along. Before he killed himself he finally realized it, thus the ‘why am I so gray’.

  5. Great story and concept, but the ending really didn’t seem to mesh with the rest.
    It’s completely complacent until it becomes sadistic and kills the sister, but when it kills the kid (the one whose room it’s been “haunting”) it just kinda ends him? No bloody mess or malevolence? No promise to continue or move on to another victim?
    Either way, it was a good read and had some amazingly written parts.

  6. Very nice Pasta indeed. 7/10

    I’m sorry to say this, but I accidentally read the last line as “Why am I so gay”

  7. I just want to know why the mother didn’t want to move after Vanessa’s death. Also, if I were the mother I would have believed my son after a murder so gruesome. All in all, I liked this story.

  8. I just want to know why the mother didn’t want to move after Vanessa’s death. Also, if I were the mother I would have believed my son after a murder so gruesome.

  9. I think it would have been amazing (so fresh from the worn-out looking out from in at the monster) if the last part had been left out or executed differently. I would have liked more to the story. What if he had taken a picture of it? Shot it?

  10. LOVED IT… exept the ending… it kinda didn’t make sence… did the guy turn into the monster, or was he the monster all along?
    I’m not sure the bit that scared me the most was when the creature smiled… they way you described it makes it seem really creepy to me kinda like Tony/steve from HetaOni…
    I really liked it but the ending confused me a little.

    but I liked it XD

  11. A better ending would’ve been if he had fallen to his death while trying to ambush the monster from the roof.

    Also, blood rots and stinks like any other organic matter. A house with a completely bloody room wouldn’t be habitable for long.

    Otherwise I like this one a lot.

  12. What happened to the dog and the mother? i’m not asking about a father since it might very well be a single parent home; but what about them?

    If i were that lady, i would have moved the hell out of there just as the daughter’s death was investigated. Common sense, that’s all.

  13. Hi. I thought this story was when I read it, and is so wonderful! The idea is fantastic, and it left me scared. and also, I got goosebumps. Congratulations, lover.

  14. i know to a point

    i see a girl everyday everynight in my dreams in my waking when im awake but only in ny house she isnt evil but shes eternally watching

  15. Would have been better if not for his sister’s death.
    That mucked up a lot of the details and kind of took me out of it.
    If it had been simply “I am not crazy I am not crazy I am not crazy,”
    ending with HIM in some horrible tangled up mess, I’d have liked it a lot more.

  16. Even if he was questioned by the police whos believe him?
    Also it wasnt too long at all ive seen and read way longer with nothing to it. This was a great read.

  17. At first I was like “Oh Shit! Sleda’ Man!” Then I was like “Huh?” And then I was like “why wasn’t he questioned by the police?” and then I was like “I don’t get the ending.”

  18. Creepy Mole, I think the story’s supposed to be ambiguous. You don’t know if there was a spirit that killed him or if he was just insane

  19. Got the creeps alright, but mostly because here I am reading creepypastas at late night alone in a room separate from the rest of the house — now here’s a typical intro for a creepypasta of its own, hm?

    First problem with me: it’s huge and tiresome. Takes too long to make the simple points that a) the room is haunted or somesuch; b) only the narrator can perceive it and can’t prove it is real; and c) it brings about bad stuff. In other words, prose is a tad purply.

    Then there’s the constant foreshadowing of “woe is me, I shouldn’t have done that”. It’s more padding than creep.

    And finally, I don’t get the punch, really. It’s a nonsensical last note that could be well used in a story with a different setup.

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