Friday, May 24, 2019
Creepypasta

Did Boy Kill?

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Estimated reading time — 4 minutes

This is Part 1 of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the other installments in the linked tag.

I had an incredibly interesting conversation today with someone I love deeply. I do not know what to make of it, but what I do know is that our foundation has cracked, whether he knows it or not. It was one of those conversations that make you question everything you think you know…about everything.

As I enjoyed a glass of wine after he and I had dinner, we sat across from each other on the floor in our living room when he started the following conversation:

“Did you know I used to live here many years ago?”

“Did you now?” I answered, with a smirk knowing I was about to hear some fantastical story.

“Yep. I used to play with my son in that park across the street. He loved to swing on the tire rope hanging from that huge tree.”

“So you had a son?”

“Yep. He’s a lot older now but I saw him this morning for the first time in a very long time, right there in that park.”

“I don’t remember seeing you talk to anyone.”

“You must have been talking to your neighbor friend. I would have let you say ‘hi’ but he is still very angry with me.”

“Why would your son be angry with you? You are the sweetest guy I know!”

“Well the last time I saw him, he had a knife to my throat.”

At this point I sat up to re-position myself against the foot of the sofa. “Honey, you had a son you never told me about and the last time you saw him he had a knife to your throat? I’ve seen you almost every day for the last four years and you never mentioned this to me.”

“I never thought I had to, but when I saw him today it reminded me.”

“Reminded you of what exactly?” I curtly asked.

“Just that I saw him and that the last time I did, we were here in this room. It was many years ago.”

“Wait, you lived here many years ago? What do you mean?”

“Yeah, many years ago, when I was older. Me, Melvin Jr. and Lou Jean lived here.”

“Who is Lou Jean?” I questioned, starting to get a bit uncomfortable with each parlay of the conversation.

“My wife from long ago silly! I haven’t seen her since I last saw my boy. Always wished I’d see her again. We actually met at the old creek right up Anderson Road.”

That creek had not been around for over 40 years, there is no way he would have known about it had he not lived here. Utterly baffled at that point, I pressed on with the talk since it was completely unexpected and compelling all the same, “Where is she?”

“Oh, I don’t know. In heaven I guess.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, she died?”

“Well yeah, Melvin Jr. cut her and she was breathing weirdly but I couldn’t wake her up. He cut her right there where you are sitting.”

My wine glass almost slipped out of my hand at the shock of the comment. It spilled slightly as I went to catch it, splattering across the white carpet.

“Looked a lot like that actually,” he noted, unaffected.

“I hate to admit it sweetie, but you are starting to scare me.”

“Sorry. I wanted you to know, since I saw him again today and all. He is just so angry. I don’t know why he is so angry. Didn’t know why back then either. Last thing he said today was that he was coming back here tomorrow night.”

“Okay, you can stop making up this story now. It’s not amusing anymore. You are really starting to scare me.”

“It’s okay, I am scared too. I don’t think he is coming to see you. He knows I am here though so he will probably come see me again. Seeing him with the knife was the last thing I remember before showing up here with you and ….”

Suddenly, we heard the front door handle begin to jiggle and I let out a scream in panic. The door flung open and my husband ran in, terrified. “Sarah, what’s wrong? Why were you screaming!” my husband asked as he grabbed me to console me.

“Oh thank god it was just you, Tim! You scared me half to death!” As I sat up and tried wiping the rest of the wine off of my nightgown, my husband moved to the kitchen and grabbed some paper towels to assist me. “I was having a very odd conversation with our Mr. Junior here. He was telling me about how, in a previous life, he was married once and had a child here in this house many years ago. And he was also telling me how his son killed his wife with a knife. Even had a knife to his throat at one point.”

“Oh is that so, Junior?” Tim asked half-heartedly, looking over to find Junior staring at the open front door with a blank, blink-less expression.

“But mom, he said he was coming tomorrow night,” Junior mumbled, almost in a whisper, as he pointed to the front door.

My neck whipped around so fast I thought it was going to rip right off my shoulders. As I peered into the door left open by Tim, I called out to Junior exasperated but relieved, “But honey, there is no one there! Tim, shut the door please…quickly please.”

As Tim reached the door, my four year old son coldly spoke, “He was standing behind dad when he came in and he’s there now, Mom. He is looking right at you.”

Transfixed at the closing crack of the door, I saw nothing but the night in the distance and yet I felt everything from tonight’s conversation; relieved it’s not tomorrow but petrified that it will be.

It’s been several hours since my husband and son went to bed. Unable to sleep, I decided to do some research. I found this article online: [Did Boy Kill?]

Like the Nimer family, I live on Staten Island and tomorrow, I think we are going to die.

Credit To – StupidDialUp

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