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Bunk Bed



Estimated reading time — 3 minutes

“No one will come for you”
That’s what he said every night as I lay entombed in the fears I had long ago resigned myself to my brother loves to torment me. He always has. He’s always taken great pleasure in my fear and misery. His idea of fun.

When I was 3 years old I vividly remember ever night: At around 9 o’clock, my mother would tell me it was time for bed. She would tuck me into the bottom bunk of an old steel, self-assemble bunk bed. She would kiss my forehead before saying goodnight, turning the light off and leaving the room closing the door tight. As I lay staring at the dim light of the room, taking in the various silhouettes of the furniture, I would hear the springs of the top bunk creek and give. I would close my eyes and silently cry knowing my brother’s cruel game was about to begin.

Every night was the same, my brother would growl at me in his malevolent croak about all the pain and misery awaiting me.
“No one will come for you.”
He would begin.
“No one will save you when I take you down to the other place.”

I would lie there. My body cocooned in the catatonic terror only able to silently weep and listen as my brother would describe the various tortures he had thought up for me. Like breaking all my bones one by one so slowly that, by the slow deliberate snap of my last rib, my fingers would have already somewhat healed allowing him to start again and again, forever.

He would tell me that one day he would deliver on his threats but for now, it was more fun to just tell me what he had in store.

My brother loves to torment me.

So yeah, this was my childhood up until I turned 7. My father decided that it was time to get rid of the bunk beds. He had bought them when my mother was pregnant.

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We live in a small flat in London, not a lot of room at all. So when my mother told my father she was expecting twins (my brother and I). My mother says he was so insane with joy, like a hyperactive child on Christmas Eve. He went out to the bed store that day and bought that damned steel bunk bed saying it was the perfect solution for our lack of room. Even though he knew the bunk bed wouldn’t be used until we were at least 2 ½ years old, he had our bedroom fully decorated and furnished, complete with bunk bed two months before we were born.

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I say we, sadly my brother died whilst my mother was giving birth, so I should say before I was born. I don’t know much about what happened exactly. I’m very hesitant to ask my parents as the mention of the subject sends the two into tears and well….it’s just not spoken about in our home.

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I can’t believe how well I still remember those days. I’m 27 now. I’ve got my own little flat, an ok job and a beautiful collection of sleeping pills.

I’m taking a whole bottle tonight. I’m going to finally sleep tonight. He’s not going to keep me awake tonight. Oh God I miss that bunk bed. At least when he had the top bunk, I couldn’t see him.

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My brother loves to torment me.

Credit To: cockney pasta

DERPNOTE: This pasta is a Crappypasta Success Story. That means that it received enough upvotes during its time on Crappypasta for it to be posted on the main archive. You can find its Crappypasta entry here. Thanks, everyone!

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73 thoughts on “Bunk Bed”

  1. Virgil Collins II

    “At least when he had the top bunk, I couldn’t see him”. That one line changed the whole pasta from a 7 to a 9!

  2. forgive but never forget

    I watched this go from crappy to creepy! This has been one of my favorite stories for a while.

  3. WOOOOOOOOW! There’s a story that this one reminds me of – but I cant remember what the name was. But, this was a GREAT MIND&UCC…..good enough to be my first comment. Not too much time trying to set the story, right to the point. Will mark as a favorite for sure!!!

  4. Still needs some polishing (most of all a period in the first sentence, that almost made me stop reading altogether), and I must say that the ending paragraph from the original crappypasta was better. A guy led to heavy drinking by his stillborn brother makes more sense than a guy that just uses sleeping pills, but still has a home and a job, and all of a sudden decides to commit suicide after 20 years.

  5. I Consist Entirely of Lego Bricks.

    I think “My brother loves to torment me.” should have been the first line, and the reveal that he was dead being right before the ending. “At least when he was on the top bunk, I couldn’t see him.” is a perfect ending. Should have gone with that.

  6. i didnt quite get the concept until the end. i thought there was a third brother until the end. when he said his twin died i was confused, thats when i noticed that thats the point. his dead brother was tormenting him. fabulous short story.

  7. That sounded so sad…you know….I just can’t get rid of the thought that his brother is envious of him because he lived and he didn’t even get any chance….So out of jealousy he torments his brother so his life would be miserable and both of them would be miserable together….when he was saying that he’d break his bones I only thought that his brother was very lonely……It didn’t frighten me at all.. I’m so sorry…..

  8. Okay, first off? This is GREAT. But just to be a pain in the ass, you might want to scrap that last line–not because it’s bad but because this:

    “At least when he had the top bunk, I couldn’t see him.”

    …is too damn perfect not to be the last line. I read a lot of horror and even the pros rarely stick the landing like that.

  9. Very good. Creepy just as the thought. You know what they say, the imagination can be your greatest joy or your worst enemy.

  10. WTF.

    No, really.

    WTF.

    Did not see that coming. I had to re-read a few of the sentences to make sense of them, but that was a pretty cool story. Keep working on your recipes, sir pasta chef, and you’ll be running a five-star restaurant in no time.

  11. “That’s what he said every night as I lay entombed in the fears I had long ago resigned myself to my brother loves to torment me.”

    Unacceptable.
    Love how it’s pretty much the first sentence in your story. Way to hook me in with a sentence I had to reread three times.

    1. Bro. Its called literacy. Maybe you should get an education so u can appreciate something well-written like that.

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