How Does the Story End?

September 23, 2016 at 12:00 AM

The three of us sit together in my backyard, beer bottles spread all around our little triangle. Leftover garbage from the sandwiches we ate earlier accompany those same beer bottles. I personally prefer Modelo, but all Santiago managed to bring us were some lukewarm, probably decade-old, Mexican beers that tasted as awful as they looked. Half-way through drinking my second round, I thought I was chugging down piss. Still, booze is booze.

“This tastes like ass, and not the good kind,” Santiago says, belches, and then spits. “Yuck.”

“Last time you’re providing the beverages,” I say. “God, I rather drink mercury.” I peer over at Elena, and see that she has barely touched her own drink. By the disgusted look on her face, I can tell she feels the same way.

“One of the last nights of summer vacation,” Elena starts, “and I’m spending it with you dorks drinking this crap.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Santi complains. “Why the hell does school have to start next week…”

“I mean, it’s senior year, guys,” I remind them. “Shit is going to be alright, and honestly we should be enjoying these moments right now. God knows when we can all fuck around like this anymore.”

“You have a point,” Santi says. “I’m not looking forward to seeing some of the people there, though. Bitches there just irritate me sometimes, and the guys are just as annoying.”

Once again, Santi finds the perfect words to express my feelings. If anything, high school has brought my cousins and me closer. Since the three of us are practically the same age, and the fact that we all attend the same institution, we’ve grown attached to one another. It was perfect that way.

We spend most of the night chatting and laughing, all while the moon crawls away from my backyard and its light disappears with it. It starts to get too dark for comfort, however, and we know eventually someone would need to make the annoying trip of turning on the lamplight. Neither one of us wants to go, however.

But as always, the darkness eventually becomes menacing.

“Alright, I ain’t getting up to turn on the lights,” Santi states. “Onetwothree, not it!”

Not it!” I hear Elena shout, while my words seem stuck on my tongue.

“Dammit, that ain’t fair,” I say. Elena snorts and laughs. “Whatever.” I stand up, and drag myself towards the lamp. It hangs above Elena like a loose tooth. I flick the switch on, and a dim, yellow light pours all over the backyard.

I return to my seat. “What now, then?”

We all exchange looks of perplexity, unable to think of something to entertain ourselves. We made one simple rule whenever the three of us head downstairs to the backyard, and that is: Absolutely. No. Cellphones. We will not allow our phones to distract ourselves from interacting with one another.

“I mean it is getting late,” I begin. “How about we share some stories.” I stress that last word out with a malicious tone.

My cousins glance at me, and I raise my eyebrows to add more emphasis. They stare at each other for a quick second, and begin to giggle like kids who just broke an expensive vase and are lying about it. “Hey,” I say. “What’s so damn funny? Don’t be excluding me in any insiders, you bastards.”

“It’s nothing really,” Elena says, but continues to giggle whenever she looks at Santi. “Stop looking at me!

“You stop!” Santi laughs.

“You’re both acting like a bunch of bitches,” I grunt. “C’moon. I wanna know what’s going on.”

“Well it’s funny you should mention that,” Santi says. “It just so happens that Elena and I have the scariest story you’ll ever hear.”

I have a story?” Elena nearly screams. Santi and I both shush her, and remind her that we’re outside where the damn neighbors are trying to sleep. “Sorry, sorry. But anyways!” She points at Santi. “You’re the one that told me it.”

Wha? You have a story, and it’s a scary one?” I ask, a bit astonished. “Well then! I can’t wait to hear this.”

I sometimes wonder how we acquired this deep love for the macabre. But when it comes down to it, I know it derives from the way our environment raised us. We grew up with Chucky, The Ring, the Saw series, and that’s just scratching the surface of all the other scary shit our developing minds absorbed over the years.

But we also need to give credit to our folks, of course. Our tradition to pass around horror stories like goodies on Halloween originated from our parents, and their own siblings and cousins. They used to all gather together, just how I’m doing right now, and share whatever imaginative tales plunged out of their minds.

“Yeah man,” Santi says. “And trust me when I say this: It’s really fucking terrifying.”

“You sure about that?” I question my cousin. “I don’t know man. I’ve seen some pretty fucked-up shit.”

“I’m more than positive, dude,” Santi says. “This shit will make you piss yourself.”

“Have you heard this story already, Elena?” I ask. She nods her head while smiling. “Forreal? Whacha think of it, then?”

“I mean…” Elena starts, “Honestly, for someone like Santi who never ever told a good scary story, it’s pretty freaking horrifying.”

“First thing first,” I say. “Is this story real or fake?”

“I don’t know…” Santi snickers. “I guess you have to wait and hear for yourself.”

“Don’t be such an asshole, dude,” I say. “You know you always gotta clarify if what we’re about to hear is either true or not. It prepares us for whatever emotional wreckage we may or may not feel.”

“Well how about this. I’ll tell you my amazing story, if you tell me a real scary story yourself. You must have a new one involving your haunted house.”

Elena twitches in her seat.

“See, why you gotta say that? Now Elena’s all scared and shit.” I nudge her with my elbow, you know, to be the annoying primo she knows and loves. Elena gives off an irritated smile. This time we really pissed her off.

“She has every right to be scared, like, what the fuck? Your house is freaking creepy,” Santi says.

I don’t blame Elena for feeling the way she feels. My house grew a reputation of it being haunted around the time we attended middle school. This was the sort of thing that made me special among my friends at the time. I guess you can say this also added to my overall love for horror, in a weird sort of way. Not just horror, but the absolute emotion that is fear. Some might hate it, but people like my cousins and I are addicted to that feeling. We love the way it crawls deep inside our skin, turns our blood cold, raises the hairs on our arms, and enervate our minds beyond measures.

“You’re still shook after what happened?” I ask my prima.

“Well, no-duh! How can I not be? That was probably the scariest thing that ever happened to me.” Elena shivers, even though earlier in the night she kept on yapping on and on about how hot it was outside.

“I still think you slept-walk,” Santi says. “I mean, what other explanation do you have?”

“I’ve never slept-walk before in my life!” I shush Elena again, and smack her knee as punishment. “Sorry again. But still… Somebody carried me to the guest room, and it wasn’t anyone in the house. I asked eve-ry-body, and they all said they did no such thing. That damn ghost—or demon—in George’s house scooped me up, and now I’m scared thinking about it.”

“Perfect,” I say. “Now that the mood is set, let’s hear that amazing story of yours, bro.”

“Ehh,” Santi mumbles. “Okay, fine.” I throw my hands up in the air, and scream in delight. This time Elena tells me to shut the fuck up.

“Okay. Here’s how it starts-”

Off in the distance we hear the sound of leaves crunching. This noise immediately shuts everyone up. I hold my breath, and gaze around my backyard. Elena and Santi follow my eyes. Although nobody says it, we all feel a bit intimidated by the turn of events.

The noise erupts again. This time Elena gasps and jumps from her seat. I look at Elena, and raise a single finger to my lips. Santi fixes his eyes near one of the entrances to my backyard. “I think it came from over there.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” I say. “But I’m not too sure. You think it’s an animal?”

“Probably,” Santi says. “Who’s going to check it out? Last time some skunks or raccoons or whatever the fuck dug inside your trashcans, and made a complete mess. I doubt your father will let it slide a second time. You know how he can be.”

“Maybe we should send Elena to go,” I tease her, but in a kind-hearted attempt to alleviate everyone’s unreasonable fear.

“Nu-uh.” Elena shakes her head. “Count me out on that.”

“Well I already got up to turn on the lamplight,” I state. “So, I guess that leaves you, huh, Santi?”

“I hate you both,” he mutters as he picks himself up, and moves towards the gate. Santi pulls the small switch open—its rusty hinges squeaking as loud as a pig getting slaughtered—and maunders out of my backyard.

Elena and I sit in silence as we wait for him to return. The wind blows harder as time passes by. Yellow and green leaves rain and billow all over the air. They land on the ground, forming large piles that reminds me of autumn approaching. “We should’ve brought blankets,” I break the quietness.

“What’s taking this kid so long?” Elena asks. We rear closer to where Santi left, and try to listen in on what he’s doing. We hear nothing but the rushing of cars outside. This worries me a bit.

“Okay,” Elena says. “What the hell happened to-”

Boo!” Santi jumps in between Elena and I. I reel back in surprise, a scream of despair caught inside my throat. Elena, on the other hand, unleashes a cry as loud as a jet engine. She stumbles backwards, loses her balance, and falls back on her chair. Santi and I watch in pure hysteria as our cousin lands on the ground with her chair on top of her.

Noo you didn’t!” I yell. Santi and I burst into laughter. We grab each other’s shoulders to support our outburst.

“That was not nice!” Elena interrupts our joy. She struggles to pick herself up from the ground, which only makes us laugh even more. I feel a bit guilty, however, so I go to assist her. She stands up, shoves me away, and proceeds to stomp towards Santi. “You’re an asshole, dude. What if I broke my neck?”

“It was so damn worth it, though,” Santi says, still smiling about it.

“Okay, whatever happened, happened,” I say. “Just go on and tell your story, please.”

“You right,” Santi says, and we all sit back down. Elena still stares at Santi with mild hatred. It’ll pass, though. It always does.

“Here it comes,” Santi begins. He hunches down a bit, and rests his elbows on his thighs. Elena and I lock our eyes with his.

“You guys remember that little girl who died in a car accident near the grocery store?” Santi asks us. A strict look takes over his face, unlike his usual playful expression.

“You mean Cassandra? Cassandra Gutierrez?” I ask. “What about her?”

“Wait a minute…” Elena begins.

Sh! I want zero interruptions,” Santi says. “But yeah, her. You wanna know the true story as to what happened to her?”

“There’s a story involving her death?” I ask.

“Oh there’s a story alright,” Santi says. “It turns out this crazy bitch was well acquainted with the devil. I know what chur thinkin’, but trust me guys when I say it’s true. You know all the stupid shit little kids be doin’ nowadays. Someone in the high school probably influenced her or some shit.

“Anyways, rumors got to her that there was a special type of ritual that will, now get this, ‘transform’ you into a demon or some shit along those lines. I know, it sounds hysterical. As fake as it sounds, however, this ritual might hold some truth after what I’m about to say.

“It isn’t like any other ritual. For starters, this thing needs to last over seven months. Within those seven months, each month you had to perform a different task. What I mean by that is, for example, the first month you had to tell at least ten lies a day. It starts off easy and all, but as you can imagine, it gets worse as time goes on.

“So when she first started, she just kept on lying without stopping. Cassandra had no trouble completing that first task. The second month, however, was a bit more challenging. It requires the person to rob something from someone every day.

“She was a bit hesitant to do so, since she wanted proof that the devil will actually come to her right after those seven months. Kids told her that a demon usually arrives during the first or second month, but this hadn’t happen to Cassandra yet. Finally, however, around the middle of the second month, the devil paid her a visit. But again, robbing a store or stealing someone’s wallet ain’t that difficult. We be robbin’ places left and right.” Santi flicks my knee with his hand, and winks at me.

I struggle to offer him a smile back.

“But yeah, the devil came to her dreams, and stated that for now on, she’ll follow his instructions. Now that Cassandra had full proof she was ready to sail. The bitch usually took money from her parents, or once in a while smuggled some food from the same grocery store where she was run over.

“The third month came, and the devil commanded her to commit blasphemy as much as possible within a month. I cannot fully explain to you all the crazy shit this bitch did. Cassandra was a complete mess!” Santi laughs to himself. “Dear god. The girl used the lord’s name in vein, pissed on a number of bibles, went to church late at night and vandalized the entire area. I’ll give her props for being one creative cunt. She makes the three of us look like a bunch of wimps.

“Anyways, the fourth month came, and the devil gave new orders. Every weekend of that month she had to perform a worshiping in honor of Lucifer. I don’t have all the little details on what she did exactly, but you guys can imagine all the crazy shit that went down. So far, in my opinion, most of the stuff she had to do wasn’t that bad.

“But then came the fifth month. Here’s where it gets juicy! The devil told Cassandra she needed to kill an animal every single day. Every damn day! Imagine that? The devil said it doesn’t matter what type of animal, just as long as she progresses as the weeks pass by. She started off with bugs, birds, and all that other shit. Then she started murdering squirrels and raccoons. If you ask me, she did this town a favor slaughtering those animals. They can be annoying as fuck.

“But yeah, then she killed dogs and cats that roamed the streets. At last, this crazy bitch burned down an entire farm. A fucking farm. I’m telling ya, these white people are crazy.

“At this point, the devil already knew she was the one. So that’s why, during the sixth month, he asked her to do some real wicked shit.

“The demon asked her to kill another human being.” A sinister smile curves up Santi’s lips.

Elena sucks in her breath. “No. No, don’t say…”

“Listen to this, guys,” Santi says. “Cassandra doubted herself if she could really do it. I mean that’s some serious shit, you know, to take another person’s life. The devil didn’t give her an exact date, but said it had to be within that sixth month.”

“Well did she do it?” Elena and I ask in unison.

Supposedly, she killed some hobo near our neighborhood,” Santi reveals to us. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but that’s what a lot of people are speculating. Everyone is sure, however, that this bitch definitely murdered another human being. I can tell by your grim faces that this is scary as fuck. I know, trust me.”

“Jesus…” I’m left completely speechless. “I always perceived Cassandra to be an innocent girl. But to kill someone? Holy shit.”

“The story doesn’t end here, guys,” Santi whispers. “This next part is my favorite.

“So yeah, she killed the hobo. The seventh month comes; the final obstacle. Just thinking about it, I can only imagine the pressure and anticipation Cassandra must’ve felt. So what happens was, the devil told her in order for her to complete the ritual, she needed to kill a member of her family.

“And you wanna know what this bitch did? She pussied out last minute. She couldn’t do it. I guess she must’ve loved her family that much. I mean, in my opinion, she’s really stupid. You already killed another human being, and at this point you’re considered a piece of shit. Why not just kill someone in your family. It could’ve been an uncle, an aunt, a sister.

A cousin…

What the fuck did he just say?

“Um,” I begin, “you still haven’t explained how she…died.” Something doesn’t fit right. This fear flowing through my veins feels…demented.

“Oh, that?” Santi says. “Well, I killed her. I ran that bitch over.”

My mind goes blank. Santi shifts his eyes towards mine. A weight of dread unfolds inside me. I don’t see my cousin. I see someone else. I see a monster dwelling inside him.

“What did you just say?” Elena stutters. Santi, in return, provides us with his most doleful expression yet.

“I said, I killed Cassandra. What’s so hard about it? I ran the bitch over. See, what she didn’t know was that I was also completing my seven month trial. The devil informed me on my sixth month that she backed off, so he suggested that I should eliminate her. Bam! That easy. I was able to complete my second to last task.

“But the story doesn’t end there. I guess that leaves me-”

That same crunching noise that interrupted Santi in the begin returns to cut him off again.

“Goddammit!” Santi barks in rage. “I’ll go check that shit out again. I thought I fucking got rid of those damn animals.” Once again he leaves Elena and me all by ourselves in my backyard.

We sit in disturbed silence. This time I feel completely afraid to move a single joint. I try to stop my hands from shaking, but this fright itching deep inside my skin prevents me from maintaining my composure.

“Hey,” Elena says. I’m startled by the sudden sound of her voice. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I have to tell you something, though.”

Please keep on talking,” I whimper. “Hearing you talk is calming me down.”

“That’s not the story he told me earlier,” Elena says. “He told me something completely different. I- I don’t know what the hell kind of story he just told right-”

“I’m back!” Santi says in his cheerful tone, the one I’ve come to associate my favorite cousin with. Elena and I jump in our seats. “Sorry I took so long, but I wanted to scram away all of those goddamn raccoons. You gotta do something about that, bro-”

Elena and I stare at our cousin with trepidation. “What? Why the solemn faces? Aww, are you guys scared even before I tell my awesome story?”

“Just what the fuck do you mean, dude,” Elena bickers. “What kind of story were you telling before, you sick fuck! That wasn’t very nice of you to just shit on Cassandra’s grave like that.”

“Okay, hold the fuck up,” Santi remarks. “Why the hell are you all up in my shit with that bitchy tone of yours, cuz? What the hell did I do wrong? I just got here. I haven’t even said my story yet. And why do you even bring up Cassandra?”

“Bullshit,” Elena mouths off. “If this is some sick prank, then just stop it, you asshole. You scared George and me pretty badly.”

“You need to calm the hell down,” Santi argues back. “Yo, George! Tell her to chill, bro. What the hell happened that made her all crazy just now?”

I remain quiet. I wait to see if Elena figures it out. But it’s more than that. I can’t help but to stay mute. The realization of it all leaves me stagnant. Dismay takes over my mind.

“Do you hear me?” Santi repeats himself. “Dude, are you…okay? You don’t look too well.” I switch my gaze from the ground, and stare at Elena. It takes her a moment, but she finally gets it. I see her eyes swell, and the first of many tears spill down her ruddy cheeks.

“Santi,” I whisper. “How does the story end? Please tell me you remember a little bit.”

“Bro, I have no idea what you’re talking-”

Santi!” I spring up from my chair, knocking the damn thing down. I march towards my cousin, grab his shoulders, and rattle his goddamn body. “Please, you have to remember! How does the story end? What happens next?!” From behind me I hear Elena sob. She whispers a silent prayer to herself. It’s all useless, however. We’re fucked.

Santi…Don’t do it please,” I cry on his shoulders. “Don’t kill Elena or me.

The sound of leaves breaking comes again. This time, however, I hear the crunch right behind Santi.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “But… I don’t know what I did. The beers…”

What? What do you mean the beers?”

“The poison,” Santi slowly mumbles. “One of us is going to die.

Credit To: TheSplitPersonality

Faceless

September 7, 2016 at 12:00 AM

Hello,

My name is Diogo and I live in a small village located in central Portugal.

Things are quiet here : I go to school, I have many friends and even have a girlfriend. It’s all going great, and this despite my handicap. At least, that’s the way I think about it.

Indeed, you see, I can foretell when a person is going to die. All I need is a look at his face. Either on a tv, a photograph or when I’m in front of someone. The difference being that I see them without a face. I can see their heads with their ears and hair but there’s no mouth, no nose, no eyes or eyebrows…

It all started when I was a kid. Back at home there was this picture of the family on the fireplace. Grandmother, grandfather, my parents, my big sister and I.

At some point I couldn’t help but notice grandmother’s face had all but vanished from the picture. Of course, this remained unnoticed by the whole family and everyone just kept asking me to be quiet and cause no trouble. But some days later, grandmother passed away following a heart attack. I didn’t immédiately see the connection. Nor did my parents. It’s not like she was in her prime, you know?

Then it was grandfather’s turn. His face had vanished from the picture here again. Once again I tried to tell my parents but that only led to more fighting. But I couldn’t argue with the facts as some days after that, grandfather died as well, from a stroke. That time, my parents could no longer deny the truth and not believe me. They did ask me to keep it all a secret and not tell anyone. They saw that as a curse and feared this could lead to trouble. This kind of ability would tend to make people suspicious should this be turning out to be true.

It all went smoothly from there. This handicap was not all that difficult to bear and I thank God for that. I did see faceless people out in the street or when I watched tv. I told my loved ones about Michael Jackson days before it actually happened and they managed to make a bundle from buying collections of cds before everyone else did and selling every one of those for a ridiculous amount. I know, that is not a particularly nice thing to do but it was my gift, my curse and I had to make do with it so I figured I might as well make full use of that…

You might be asking yourself, why am I telling you all that now? Why am I revealing that secret to the whole wide world now? What happened?

Do I want to know if somebody else possesses the same ability? No, don’t care.

Do I want to be famous? Far from it.

The truth is, my dear friends, as of this morning, I haven’t seen a single face.

The tv people are faceless.

All my Facebook friends are faceless.

Same goes for all the people out in the streets.

Same goes for me in the mirror.

I don’t know what’s going to happen but I suggest you start living from now on as you never have before. Have all the fun you can, dance away, make love, pray. Do whatever you want. Because in a few days we’ll all see each other in the next world.

Credit: Kamus

This is a Crappypasta Success Story – a story that was rewritten with the feedback received on Crappypasta and accepted for the main site. You can see the Crappypasta posting for this story here.

Adelaida and Kruv

August 27, 2015 at 12:00 PM

The realm was beauteous and plentiful, its people more so. No plague touched its borders, no famine its lands. War was seldom seen in this kingdom, whose peaceful lords ran their fortified estates in harmony with one another. The only problem was that peasants were treated harshly, scraping to live on the scraps of land provided to them by their lords. Besides this, the nobles were amiable and open with their dealings with one another, with one exception.

In the southernmost castle of this bountiful landscape lived an estranged baron and his wife. Though seldom seen, they were both said to be startlingly beautiful youths, albeit rather sallow. Despite this, the Baron Kruv and his young wife Adelaida were a reclusive couple, only leaving their citadel in the utmost emergency. They never attended holiday feasts or tourneys held by the noblemen. The knights of their court were seldom seen in the festive jousts.

It was therefore a shock when it was said that the baron was to throw a jousting tournament in honor of his wife’s naming day. There was to be a feast following the events of the day, which would continue late into the night and into the early hours of the next morning. The noble men and women were ecstatic for the event. Knights trained, ladies gossiped, and nobles prepared their families for the festivities.

All the while the smallfolk would notice caravans of food, decor, lavish cloths, and other such things passing through their towns, bound south to the domain of the baron. This change was very sudden and new for the people of the land, who fantasized about the celebration to come. The day of the feast approached quickly. Those of higher birth donned their best attire, knights bore their armor, and everyone from the northern domains all the way to the south packed and left for the journey to Castle Kruv.

As the numerous families traversed through foggy wetlands and dense woods, a startling sight met their eyes: the dark and grasping spires of Castle Kruv. Each dark stone tower clawed its way into the sky, casting a gloomy and dismal aura about the battlements. While none could deny the macabre aspects of the castle, it also had an air of beauty, with its lush birch forest and surrounding grounds. And although the castle was undeniably unsettling, it too had aspects of beauty in its cold stone walls. It was these sights that greeted the ecstatic nobles and knights, as they completed the final stretch to the festivities.

Upon entering Castel Kruv, the revelers were led to various wings of the estate, in which they could clean themselves and rest from their travels for the evening to come. An hour after the last guests arrived, a servant of the house announced that the first of the jousts were to begin promptly. Lords and ladies greeted each other exuberantly in the decorated halls of the mighty, elegant fortress as the knights and squires proceeded to the field where the joust was to be held.

The pageantry of the Kruv family hung proudly from the halls and streamed from the tops of walls and towers. The heraldry of knights flew from tents, horses, and tabards, and the excited chitterings of near a hundred high-borns could be heard through the entirety of the arena.
Finally, another herald in the service of the Kruv’s announced that his lord and lady would not be attending the jousts. He apologized hastily on behalf of his benefactors, and swiftly departed. A small cry of dissent sounded from the amassed guests, but was swiftly silenced as the castle’s master of arms entered the field to commence the first match.

Horses charged, lances broke, knights rolled in the dirt. The crowd cheered their favorites and booed their rivals, all the while gossiping and chatting away. By the time of the final match, everyone’s voice was hoarse from over-use, yet their enthusiasm did not wane. After the sun had started to set and the winner of the day’s events had been announced, the noble families retreated to their temporary chambers to prepare themselves for the evening’s feast.

Lords and ladies clothed themselves in their finest raiments, planning to outdo each other in beauty and wealth. Long embroidered gowns of the finest silks and velvets were strewn about the shoulders of well-off women. Men in doublets of lavish textiles, decorated by the rarest gems, led their families through the torch lit halls of Castle Kruv, making their way to the heart of the fortified manor, the banquet hall. Rows of delicately carved tables lined with cushioned benches filled the room, save for a large central area serving for a dance floor.

Once everyone was seated, a loud musical flourish was played by the heralds of the castle to announce the entrance of the baron and his wife. The room became immediately hushed, all attention drawn to the ornately engraved door on the farthest wall of the room. The doors were pushed open, and in came a small stream of household servants, a few dressed in varying arrays of finery, handmaidens to the young baroness. A small escort of the castle’s resident knights followed behind, each sporting their colors on elaborately embroidered tunics. Finally came Kruv and Adelaida.

Lords and ladies alike gasped in stupor at the young nobles. Both were dressed in the colors of the Kruv family, red and grey. Both were also infinitely more stunningly beautiful in person than any of the stories had told.

Adelaida was a charming and spritely girl seemingly of around twenty years of age. Her hair fell in ebony ringlets around her shoulders and down her back. A circlet of silver inlaid with garnets rested lightly on the brow of her ivory flesh. Her dark lush ruby lips curved in a slight smile as she gazed over the crowd with stunningly pale green eyes. The long sleeves of her red gown almost brushed the ground, embroidered with intricate braided silver along the edges.

The other youth, Lord Kruv, was also pleasing to the eyes, causing the hearts of the younger maidens to skip a beat. His dark hair was worn short, though it still fell about his eyes. His strikingly pale skin mimicked his bride’s, unnatural for the location of their southern home. Kruv stood at an average height amongst his peers, yet he seemed to have dominating, almost feral air to him. His fine-boned, lupine face scanned the crowd of nobles assembled. He had no smile playing upon his lips, and bore a look of what seemed to be disinterest.

“My lords and ladies of the realm, I thank thee kindly for coming upon such short notice. My lady wife is very dear to me, and it greatly pleases both I and her that thou hast all arrived. It has been ages since we have had such a feast” rang out the voice of the baron, who proceeded to laugh deeply and unnervingly. Too late, the noblemen realized the knights of Kruv’s court had blocked off any means of escape from door or window. Lady Adelaida grinned fully now, revealing unnaturally sharp canine teeth. The handmaidens and servants of the baroness and baron began rushing through the crowds, snatching lords and ladies from their seats and dragging them to the corners of the hall to be fed upon. Surviving nobles fled to the exits futilely, blocked by the armed guards of the castle.

Many guests attempted to plead with the Baron and baroness, offering land, wealth, loyalty, and servitude. These attempts were made in vain however, and many of these whimpering lords and ladies became the blood-feast for the fair Lady Adelaida or her lover Kruv. Blood bedecked the banquet hall, and the court of Castle Kruv had a feast as none had ever seen before, nor ever had wished to see again. The peoples of the land reviled the southern realm of Kruv, yet no commoner complained to the liberation of the realm from their pompous liege lords.

It is still said amongst the peasants that any who wander past Castle Kruv on the darkest autumn night, shall hear the screams of those damned to a bloody fate amongst the vampires of Kruv’s court.

Credit To – Nefertam

This is a Crappypasta Success Story; it had a 100% upvote rate on its Crappypasta post (which can be seen here) and so it is being moved here with minor formatting/typo corrections. Admin Fail!

Eversion

August 17, 2015 at 12:00 PM

“There lies a darker world under us. An eversion of all there is. Though, I wonder if that place is more real than ours…” -Unknown

I wake up to darkness. I might as well not have woken up, considering that closing your eyes has the same effect… I move the palm of my hands in vast circles and see only the outer edges; this makes me breathe out of my nose at the sight.

The drone of the alarm continues as I blink and my eyesight begins to adjust to the dim glow in the room. I slam my hand out on the table next to me and silence the alarm.

I try to fall back into the void of sleep, for those evanescent dreams had more of that substance— I don’t know what it is called— that I can see and enjoy… dancing to and fro in joyful delight unheard of on this world.

Yet I can’t sleep; I have to get up. The whisper tells me to get up.

So I raise my body and crack my back (I have to keep going…). I look around my room with its corroded walls, makeshift stands that you might call tables, and a TV that has a crack in the middle. I scratch my head and place my bare feet on the festering floor.

The day begins. The whispers begin their sounds. Like air, they are constantly there; like air, they are always near me.

I start with the daily grind. I use the murky shower water that is centuries old to wash myself of yesterday’s grime with new grime. I then go into the kitchen and eat the stale cereal, and place on myself my moth ridden clothes.

As I put on my clothes, I hear the whispers telling me to leave; this is a reminder that I am alone in the house, and I take greater time to leave. I then splash some water on my face and blink three times. I inhale and exhale, and the daily grind is over.

I put on my shoes and let in the cold air outside. I do not have to squint like I have to do in my dreams, for the clouds always made sure that the atmosphere was nothing but broken hues of the gray scale.

“I’m going!” I cried out to the empty house.

I hear a slight sound that approves my going (very well, it says, carry on), and I move my feet over the threshold. A few steps forward, I turn around to get a quick reality check on my surroundings. I see my apartment all ravaged and bear, and the paint peeling off in a myriad of angels. The shingles of the roof are torn off, and I can see weeds going through the cracks of the apartment’s foundation. The decimated glass of the window is the newest thing on the building, and even they were beginning to fade from their old splendor.

Yup, business as usual!

I crack my neck again and move through the broken parkways and on the sidewalk. I would take the streets since they would be a more direct path towards the school, but I can still hear the whistle of car tires and I am fearful for some reason that they will come and hit me. So I keep myself on the sidewalk and continue until I reach the crosswalk that leads to the Dead Field.

The Dead Field is a vast expanse of pale grass that connects the school to my apartment, and I use it to cut time on having to looking at anything near me. It is been there since the day I was born, if I recall. Trees— I’ve been told— once dotted it and created a tranquil aura around it that made it pleasant to walk through. But now it was just a husk of its old splendor; dead grass is all that dots the patch of the decaying. Dead grass always swaying in defeat, instead of tree leaves swaying in splendor. Dead moving perpetually, full death, forever.

The best part is that this field is the one with the most life for miles on end. It is the most fertile, and the most luxurious; though it was still not pleasant to the eyes. If it weren’t for these features, I would be taking a much longer path towards the school; for even after all these of years of living in this place, it is still discontenting to see the city in its now ravaged state.

I hear a whisper, and I move on from these reminicsent thoughts.

As I reach the crosswalk, I wait for a moment for the whistle of the tires to cease. I pretend that when the whistling stops, the cars and the people inside them also stop and let me through. It makes feel less forlorn in this desolation and creates a sense of filling in the empty space of the roads. When the whistles finally held their cries, I walked out through the faded crosswalk and quickly took a right towards the field.

I looked around to see that the clouds above were not moving—as always—and that the dead grass was swaying back and forth with the wind. Everything above and below was placed in the same spot of motion; it was as if everything were stuck on repeat.

Again, business as usual.

I placed my hands in the pockets of my faded jeans and calmly walked through the field. Usually, it takes me around five minutes to get to the end of the field and another five to reach the school—seconds slugging by as I draw closer each step.

All of this, like I said, has been that way for as long as I can remember the clouds being overhead.

You can call it a tragedy; it wouldn’t be a hyperbole in the least. One teen with no one but himself—one teen in a society long forgotten and left there barren and naked—and one teen that doesn’t even have the privilege to have angst over anything that is living. That there—in the deplorable world—is nothing but I. A lovely, simple, understanding of “tragedy” in most wild aspect.

just… “I”.

It’s almost romantically poetic— and it makes me think.

All of it makes me think, really, and I stop in my tracks. I hear a whisper tell me to go on, but I ignore it. For the first time in quite sometime, I think of the burden that I have been going through. Contrary to the above romance, this “Tragedy World” anything but it. When I feel this burden, I think—and when I think, I become aware.

And when I become aware, I see the world and become insane.

“This is bad,” I whisper. “If I see, I will be taken away! I must never think of my surroundings and how bad I have it! Stan, why are you thinking?! STOP! STOP! STOP!”

Yet even with those words, my mind continues to whirl. In that horrible moment, the world opened up through eyes that were not glaze—so sudden was that revelation of sight that I almost lost my balance; my mind now so clear that it was almost hazy.

I was completely surprise at my sudden lack of apathy to my surrounding. In horror, I suddenly realized how overcast the clouds were— as if they were something from a dream that was turning into a reality.

There, with glazed eyes wide open, I could hear the wind shriek like a woman running for her life—as if a man were chasing her down a hall. There, with trembling hands, I could see the grass fall flat as the shrieks, and a far off beating of thunder, grew louder. There, right there, I let go and let the elements take me in their torrential rainfall.

How many times I wish to let go and fall— to let my body go on the ground and disappear along with my soul. I would let the soft rain come in this world (as a man from a story once said), and lightly place their finger tips on me. I know, I make it sound like a nice little dream, but that’s where I want it all to be: a dream. In my dreams, I do not have to be in an eternal death sentence.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be the wayfaring stranger. All I want to be is a kid who doesn’t need to think. A kid who doesn’t think in grand exuberant words to calm himself, but in colloquial bits and phrases. I don’t want to be, but I am…

Through this torment, I feel a wave of warmth blast me and push me away from those sounds and sites of the world. I grasped my heart and wavered in a place where time did not exist and yet motion did. I became dazed. Mind spinning… endlessly spinning… eternally spinning. Eventually, my legs unfroze and I fell over.

As I laid dying, I heard a faint cry from someone; it was almost familiar in its tones… Like it was someone I knew from a long time. In fact, I could’ve sworn there was a name to that voice… Kyle? No… I’m almost.

I stopped listening to it anymore. I ignored the voices and whispers, and I let myself fall into an eternal sleep where I would never wake up.

No… no… he is going into another seizure, but this one he is not shaking it off!

“Stand up!” I cry. “Wake up! Stand up! Do something for Christ sakes!”

I’m right next to him, yet he does not hear me. He is scrambling and crying and moaning in a fit unparalleled to any of his others. Just a few seconds ago I was walking him through the crosswalk, and a few minutes ago I was getting him out of bed.

How can such simple things die out so quickly?!

Now all that is happening to him is a grand mal that is taking away his life. I try to call for help, but in this field there is no signal. Stan’s ramblings were right; this was a Dead Field.

I turn my neck towards him to see a final spasm before he fell silent. I slam myself down on the ground and try to hear his pulse. There is a slight beat, but the beats were so soft that I almost mistook it for mine. I place my ear close to his mouth and feel a tickle of light speaking.

“Free…” he whispered. “Free at last…”

And with that, his breathing stopped. I looked down at him to see that his eyes were closed, and there was a type of serenity to his face. I shake my head and run out towards the periphery of the field, where I finally got a signal. It didn’t take them long for them to find us and take Stan’s body.

As they took him, I stood there, shaking, thinking of his last words. Could it be that, perhaps, that he saw only a morbid form of this world; a form that entrapped his entire being in an eternal hell of loneliness and despair? I cringe in thinking of this idea.

Yet if this was true, he had finally left that awful nightmare; he had left that inside out world and had gone on to a better one. Or, at least, that is what I tell myself as I shiver in that cold…

Still, there is one thing that continues to claw at my mind with cold, dead talons. Was that Eversion that Stan witness throughout his life something not too far from the true stance in this world? Was what I was seeing but a figment of something more cruel and awful? Did Stan’s world actually exist more than mine?

I pray to God that that is not true, and I place Stan’s Earth into the back of my mind to rot to manure and dust…

Credit To – Josef K. Edwards

This is a Crappypasta Success Story – a story that was rewritten with the feedback received on Crappypasta and accepted for the main site. You can see the Crappypasta posting for this story here.

Too Bright

July 31, 2015 at 12:00 PM

My older brother is a cop. Naturally, he has a protective instinct over me, his little, only, sister. The cop factor does not help. I was always babied by my family, but me and Greg, my brother, always had a closer bond. Whenever one of my other brothers picked on me, he would get super mad at them. When I was about 12 years old, he met his fiancé and got serious with her. I was so worried she would steal my brother away, and I would never see him anymore. He quickly reassured me, and I soon began to think of his fiancé as the sister I never had.

Anyway, as I said, he is a cop. He worked crazy hours, normally coming home around 3-4 in the morning. Every night, upon arrival, he would shine his too bright flashlight into my room. My bed is against the same wall as my door, so I never saw him, but I always knew it was him. He did it just to check up on me, I was sure. I didn’t mind being woken up, and appreciated the comfort it gave me. Oddly enough, I don’t think any of my other family members being woken with beams of light at strange hours. I chalked it up to the fact that I was the only one who left my door open at night. For a while, I enjoyed the nightly ritual.

However, towards mid January of my senior year I was stressed. College was a looming monolith that I could not handle, my boss had me working 6 days a week, requiring me to wake up at 7 am even on the days I didn’t have school, and I needed the sleep I could get. What was once a small, almost funny comfort to me was now one of the biggest nuisances of my life. When I was awoken by the small beam of light, I wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, and my frustration only grew as I brooded into the early hours of morning. One night, I snapped at my brother to stop as the light appeared. He didn’t answer, and I was worried I hurt his feelings.
“Oh well” I thought. At least he would get the hint.

But it didn’t stop. Finally, after a few more nights, once I saw the beam, I got up to confront my brother. When I walked into the hallway, it was empty. I ran to my window only to find that my brother’s car wasn’t there, meaning he wasn’t even home from work yet.
I confronted my brother the next day. He said he stopped shining the light in on me months ago, because my mother hinted at him that I needed the sleep.

We never figured out where the light was from, and I started sleeping with my door shut.

This is a Crappypasta Success Story – a story that was rewritten with the feedback received on Crappypasta and accepted for the main site. You can see the Crappypasta posting for this story here.

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