After staring at a laminate television in the dark, I start to get sleepy. My eyes droop and the feeling of my body in unconsciousness starts to take its toll. Like a trance with my brain buzzing and my mouth hanging slightly open.
I remember that my brother, Claudio, lies on his side diagonally from the television. A marathon of True Blood is on and I had sworn to catch up on the story. Being that the clock strikes 2 in the morning, my body caves in. My eyes flutter closed. Calmly, my head lies against the couch. Soundly, my heart beats to the pendulum inside the father clock. Breathing, so steady, it just brings me deeper under.
Something keeps me from falling asleep. Unsettling paranoia creeps on me and trickles down my spine. I shudder to wake and the clock reads that itâs only been one hour since I dozed off. Times slips when you are unaware; reminiscing in the cozy rest. Something grips my attention, holding it firmly in its unknown grasp. Unsettling paranoia.
It starts to fiercely shake me and now my eyes rise wide. My skin starts to feel like itâs rising off of my bones. I scan the room very aware now. I rest my eyes on the sliding glass door in the corner of the living room. Outside it seems so normal. The darkness, so absent of light, gropes against the trees so the color goes away. Everything is so black. Curiosity gets the best of me and carries my exhausted body to the clear surface of the cold glass. There is no moon in the November night sky. Itâs covered by clouds, giving the night no chance of life. My eyes squint, with no helpful use, to see out into the night. It pulls meâŚwith a rope wrapped around my waist. But I hesitate because I fear the unknown. Background noises like the television and my brother sleeping without a care-without this disturbance annoying the corners of his simple mind- start to fade away.
The leaves move and the blackness stirs. Yellow eyes flash at me, staring at me with nothing but fierceness of the being. I want to go out and talk to this irritating fear. Usually one would want to run away from something that glares deep into your soul with insanity. But I must know what lies on the other side.
My brother awakens and asks what Iâm doing. I slide open the door without acknowledging him and a cool breeze whispers in my ear and against my skin. There is a long dirt path that leads into the woods. Taking baby steps, my curiosity leads me on. More yellow eyes sprinkle the dark trees and the bundles of bushes. They started rising out of nowhere. Iâm not sure whatâs causing me to keep walking forward but with every step I take, my heart grows in cowardice. My palms get sticky with sweat along with an unwelcome wave of warmth flowing through me. It is the dread that makes my stomach turn. That makes my knees wobble. That races my mind and turns my sanity upside down. The yellow eyes seem to burn their way into me. My breathing speeds and I walk faster. The darkness reaches out to me and touches me, trying to get its hold in me. More yellow eyes come together and I see a sickly shape form around the small yellow orbs.
Large and deformed, the air is thick with the odor of iron.
Almost like blood.
The shapes all take place with the yellow eyes. Growing all around me at intense speeds. My legs get the signal to run so they obey. My long brown hair falls behind me and so does all the hope I had for turning back. They chase me now and I canât stop. But I do stop because there is a cliff ahead after escaping all these looming trees. From the air, three of the beings land in a hunch in front of me. Growling fills the air and I freeze in a moment of panic. Whatever they were they had long appendages coming from their back and ribs. There is a cloud break in the sky and the moonlight gracefully pours over the land and everything that inhabits it.
I saw it.
They have decomposed skin and those strikingly terrifying yellow eyes. With blood staining their macabre flesh. Ripped apart and allowing the disconfigured bones so show. The organs flowing naturally out of them but without them acknowledging it. Their faces are the worst part of this horror. Large teeth with a glasgow grin following all the way up the cheeks to their tiny ears. Their tongues hanging down and slobbering all over themselves. Blood and saliva. I clench my heart; it feels like it stopped.
This is like the worst beings to come out of my insane nightmares. Things that only come out of the dark and living proof that true terror does exist. Hissing and moaning and groaning they all surround me. Their stench is too horrid to bear. The earth spins around me and I just accept my fate. Taking in the last feelings of living I look around me and see a break. Everything closes in on me and I spot a large stick on the ground. I pick it up and charge for the trees, whacking a being in the head sending it backwards. With a small sigh of relief I know that it still isnât over. The things were running after me. Emerging from the abundance of trees, beings with boiled skin and glowing even though they have dead skin. I am only going as fast as my weak legs will let me. Seeing the light from my home ignites a warm reassurance in me, a hope that escaped from me. I stumble and slow tripping at the steps of the sliding glass door. I fumble to open the door and fall into the warm building letting the light embellish around me. I turn with my palms and face pressed against the glass. There was nothing but the haunting black left behind.
Credit To – Z. Slaughter
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I like the last line. Poetic.
Wasted potential. Poor plots. Excessive descriptions. Along with bad spelling, that sums it up. And where did the title come from? As far as I’m aware, he never woke up from a nightmare. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an exorsism to prepare.
Hey, hello. I was dissapointed. Did I spell that write? Oh well, its not like anyone will read this and judge on my grammer skills. Maybe you should have thrown away that thought pattern and gone back to hammer out the clumsy sentence structure that plagued your pasta. Commas, semicolons, and colons are your friends, alright. Another tip: have someone read it beforehand; what sounds nice in your head may seem less-than-nice in another person’s head. You have great style but your lack of flow doesn’t allow the reader to enjoy it. This sucks but reheat this bitch and serve it up again. I mean pika pika pikachu.
a lot of people are afraid of the dark or used to be, and for a variety of reasons. this is almost exactly what I was so afraid to see in the dark when I was little.
I think that the author has an amazing writing style. But the creepy pasta didn’t…convince me
My uncle made true blood.
This was a descriptionpasta through and through; the descriptions have to carry forward the rather simple plot, whether through style or vividness of prose. IMO, this pasta struggled in fulfilling its role, though some parts still shine through.
I thought the pasta’s prime was in its description of gradually rising fear. The languid pacing works here, giving atmospheric tension and taunting the plot to creep forwards. Somewhere in the middle though, the descriptions become overwrought and harping, unable to pay off the tension.
Partly, I think it was the tone. I thought this pasta tried too hard to maintain its somber and melancholic tone, with negative results. Redundancies (the part where the author basically says ‘it’s dark’ three times in a row) and weird syntax, not to mention nonsensical sentences (so the yellow eyes take place by growing at intense speeds?) conspire to make the tone feel fake, and without emotion the descriptions feel like laundry lists.
I also felt a sudden lack of direction; the author kept backtracking awkwardly: the chase scene where the protagonist couldn’t stop but suddenly stops, or the dead skin that glowed even though it was dead – all this suggests that maybe the author lost steam halfway, unable to continue the plot. There’s little escalation, the pacing staying languid, and as a result the pasta dies off quickly without paying off the tension.
All in all, a flawed descriptionpasta, again showing the challenges of that particular form. 6.1/10