Do you know that I used to watch you when you were growing up?
Because I did.
Does that frighten you, David? I remember one time when you went to the park with your mother and father. I think you were only about four years old. Your father threw a Frisbee for you, and you chased it all the way to the trees. Could you not feel something watching you then, David? Behind the leaves? You should have done. I was there.
I’ve been watching you since you were younger than that, in fact. You were always screaming when you were an infant. You should have seen how it grated on your mother and father. They always quietly thanked their lucky stars when you weren’t there. Don’t misunderstand me here; they loved you very dearly, of course they did. But love is not a sword with a single edge, is it, David? I think that’s a subject you have a lot of insight into.
I was never quite as involved when you were growing up. Just a whisper, skirting around the periphery. But I was still there. You never forgot those early nightmares, did you?
I was there when you first met Annie too, when you fell into each other getting off the bus and began talking. I wonder if I remember how vivid her smile was back then better than you do. Her hair was so red then, wasn’t it? So much like fire I could read by its light. I allowed myself to touch it once. Just once. Annie was making you dinner. It was your anniversary, and the two of you had only just come downstairs. You were in the living room. So I stood behind her, and I stroked her hair. It was only for a second. She looked around, and never saw a thing. She never told you about this, because she thought it was nothing. But it wasn’t.
It was me.
How angry does that make you? You never thought I could touch other people, did you? I could have choked Annie on my fist at any moment in any day, and you would never have known it was me. I know she became your sanctuary towards the end, the place to which you brought all your fears and the earthly weights you bore, and tucked them away behind her, so you never had to look again. But Annie looked. Annie looked at every memory, every moment of panic you brought to her, and let herself gag and splutter on your neurosis until she was just an extension of your doubts and nightmares. Perhaps that’s why, when she became ill, it came as such blessed relief to her. I didn’t have to twist Annie to welcome death, because you did that to her yourself.
I remember, when you went to see her at the chapel of rest, how you promised you would never force the things you had seen onto Holly. You held her little hand, looking at Annie. Holly was far too young to know why her mother was in a box and not by her side. When you took her home, you both sat in Annie’s chair, and you tried to tell your four year old daughter that her mother was dead.
I was standing right behind you then.
I don’t think Holly ever really understood all the things you eventually confided in her. You would sit her down on certain evenings, when your eyes were especially bloodshot, and you hadn’t shaved or washed for some time. When even a child could tell that you hadn’t slept all night. She would sit by the fire, and try to see her father in the man that was sitting before her. Let’s pretend for the sake of saving time that she could. You told her to sit still, and even when she was rubbing her eyes and asking to go to bed, you would not let her. You would make her stay and hear about all the things you saw, and all the things you thought you saw, and all the things you wish you hadn’t seen. Just as you had done with Annie.
You told her you dreamt of hands coming through the floor, each holding a clump of Annie’s hair. You told her how you dreamt that she forgot how to tell you she loved you, and that it made you laugh so much you stopped breathing. You told her that you dreamt of being in a room where the walls had a hundred mouths each, and that each one of them screamed.
And you told her that you dreamed of me.
It wasn’t just the night time by the end. It was all the time. Everything you ever said to her once Annie had passed away was about the awful things you could see in your head. So every night, Holly had nightmares, but she could never tell you about them, because you would always cry when she even mentioned the word. And sometimes, you’d wake her up in the earliest hours of the morning, because you hadn’t slept again. Too afraid to dream. Too afraid to stop thinking of me.
You never seemed to care. You never seemed to care when she started crying. You never seemed to care when her teachers asked you to come in for a chat, because Holly was still sat in lesson drawing pictures of a man who was just a shadow and who never spoke his name.
You promised that this would not be a burden for her to bear like it was for Annie.
You also promised that you would rather die before you saw her become unhappy.
You always break your promises, David.
Holly has a new family now. They’re very lovely people. One of them is a school teacher and the other bakes rock-cakes at the weekend. She smiles so much more now, but they can still see her, every now and then, jumping at shadows.
I imagine you must be wondering why I’m covering so much old ground here, David. I just thought it would help you to see all of this from a different perspective. The way I see it is this; you told your wife about a bad dream you had since you were a little boy, in which you were talking to a shadow that wouldn’t leave you alone, because you had it again after quite some time and it began to bother you. And when she listened, you kept on telling her. You told her when they got worse, and worse, and worse, until there was not a waking thought in your head that they did not occupy. And you told her every single one of them, until she wore away into nothingness. So when she passed away, you had nobody to tell but your infant daughter. So tell her you did.
You tortured the people you love because you yourself were tortured. You passed on your terror like a disease.
Most people would take a more judgemental stance on this. I, however, will never judge you. You have no need to fear on that score.
Do you remember that time when we spoke? You must do. It only happened once. In a church. I think you thought you were safe there, in the house of God. But I am not the Devil, nor am I his servant. A wall with a cross is just a wall to me. But how could you have known?
It was a few months after Annie died. You sat with your head bowed in an empty hall, and for the first time, you thought you had found some peace.
Why did you ever think you had found some peace?
“Hello David.” I said, when I sat down next to you. Thank you for not asking me who I am. I always hoped you wouldn’t.
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” you said, though your voice was choked on tears.
“Don’t make me spoil the end of the story, David,” I told you, “The end is my favourite part. You’ll understand me when you see it.”
“Why are you doing these things to me?”
“Hush now, David. I only came here to say hello.”
I found it very sweet how you kept quiet after that. Did it feel good to finally hear my voice? It has been close to thirty years now, after all.
That was the last time you saw me, if you recall. Before today, that is.
I bet those three months without me flew by.
I think I shall have to go now. It’s getting awfully late.
You won’t see me again, David. I just came by to touch base one last time. Well, I say for the last time.
What ever will you do with all this calm now I’m gone?
Of course, when did I say it would last forever? I give it three months until you start having nightmares again. Three months until you start breaking furniture and crockery again out of frustration. Three months until you go out and buy yourself a length of rope. So consider this a cooling-off period.
I’ll be waiting, David. We have so much to talk about when you come and see me on my side of the wall. You, me and all of my friends.
You’ll scream when you see it. When the pieces of the puzzle all slot into place, when you hear the punch line at long last. I’m sure of that. And you’ll cry. But I think you’ll see sense, given time. And one thing we’re going to have is time.
I’ll be seeing you, David. It’s been quite some time since I saw my friends, and there are so many things we must talk about.
And don’t worry about getting lonely whilst I’m away. I promise it won’t last.
We’ll be in touch.
CREDIT: Stefan Rasmussen
Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.
50 thoughts on “We’ll Be in Touch”
The way the narrator spoke and thought reminded me of Boogiepop Phantom
very good Pasta! I felt like it was talking to me :)
Man, I loved this story! I especially like the end when it tells David how It will be when he dies. Like David will spend eternity in such a hell, it’s almost unimaginable. Great job!
Very creepy, after I was done reading this my dog just started growling for no reason at the couch that I’m sitting by. Like if there was someone here who didn’t belong. My dog only does this to strangers that come to the door that he doesn’t know
This was my 1st read & I want to know more! I think it is about our inner demons, very interesting, loved it!
i find this to be very witty
The first three lines terrified me, mostly because my name is David.
It was too slow and not scary. Who was the thing? And why does he want to scare him? What’s the point of the Dream? Who caused it? Why is the daughter having them?
Remember, even horror has a reason. No reason; no good.
Too many questions. Keep at it though.
Awesome Pasta (:
I liked this pasta. Best I’ve read since Tulpa. I like that you left the monster to the reader’s imagination.
not bad, though i guess it just all didnt quite make sense in the end, a lack of explanation as to what it was, when reading i thought he was talking to death, but im not quite sure now, but overall, not bad.
I thought that this story had a lot of potential in it. Just needed a few tweaks here and there. Although the one thing I didn’t get was the guy who was narrating the entire time. Who was he? David’s actual shadow?
I might not have an audience and its not the best narration, but its out there now.
I love the fact that the creepiness of this pasta is based on the interpretation and experience of the reader, I struggle with extreme mental illness and that is what I believe this so called “entity” is, “David” becomes so focused on his past that his future becomes his past. I also love that when finishing this you have that collapsed feeling in your stomach like you didn’t experience it all, but in reality that’s how life is and what makes this pasta so terrifying 15/10
This pasta scared the crap out of me. The entire time I was reading it I could have sworn something was behind me, watching me, that I saw out of the corner of my eyes. I could just feel it. This is by far the creepiest pasta I have ever read.
Agreed. Tasty pasta. Al dente, just how I like them.
I loved the pasta but some words were miss spelled and they should have showed the other side of the wall .
I love this pasta but some words weren’t spelled right like favorite it wasn’t spelled like that and they should have talked about when David went on his side of the wall but I love the story
It’s spelt correctly. That’s the way favorite is spelled in different continents/countries. Just like color becomes colour.
It realy was great in the beginning then it started to feel like it was being rushed great idea though love the creativity
Well screw you ;-;
I like it, a tad confusing though. The whole time I was under the impression the narrator was some sort of grim reaper? This pasta kept me very interested nonetheless!
This is just my personal theory, so you don’t have to believe it. I think that the “shadow” following David was literally David’s shadow. There was never a monster hurting him and his family. It was David’s insanity that slowly destroyed everyone he loved. The punchline is that there is no true punchline. Just one man who never got the help he needed.
To add to that I’d say the punchline is the fact that he’s afraid of his own shadow
Plot twist he’s a groundhog
I frequent reading stories on CreepyPasta just about every day. Some of the stories lack interesting details, or a plot to help expel the authors point on their story: But your story is one of the better ones I have read. It incorporates just enough detail to help it be creepy, while pushing the reader to try and create their version of the end of the story. It was fascinating. I loved it, and I hope to see further work from you.
That was some awesome stuff for the creepyist .Most weardest stuff ever.If I was David I would feel like she liked me alot and stocked me for a wil
This is my first creepy pasta ever. And it was awesome.
I enjoyed this story.
But I really wish you would have elaborated on what the “punchline” was
Holy crap, this was an amazing story! Great read for my very first creepy pasta story.
My first also! I must say, I was a little on edge… 4:22 a.m. and I’m up reading Creepypasta’s… This was an amazing read!
I don’t think I understand it…I like it but I’m confused
Amazing ! Fragment of imagination.
THIS FREAKING TERRIFIED ME. It got my name and childhood correct but I sighed in relief when it said my spouse was named Annie. Or will that be in the future? Well once again I will go sleepless this night, thanks Creepypasta.
Incredible tasty pasta, but feel like it was a paragraph or two away from being excellent
dYum guyd pasta i liked it its seemed unique in a way i dont see pastas like this often i liked it because it didnt have the main character shitting himself evry five sevconds and he was the one doing harm to his family and not the mosnter.
still a little confused?
good pasta but who the hell was the dream guy if not the devil lol?
I’m not positive this is correct, but I saw it as himself. It was something he created within his own mind. The monster wasn’t an outsider, but a kind of depression, paranoia, and anxiety.
I really like that idea good thinking that could have added on to the end of the story , something along the lines of ,I am you ,your worst fears, your nightmares everything around you.
I think it’s more likely to be Death itself talking to david, since they talked after his wife’s funeral, and death isn’t supposed to be related with the devil at all so…
this was a very good pasta i was so drawn in to it
I like this. .it allowed me to imagine who/what the thing was narrating the story. Good pasta.
Dayum good pasta
At first I thought it really was talking to me, but then it said David, and I breathed for the first time when reading this…but I still feel as though some truth rang about my life…
My name is David..imagine how I felt
Haaaaaaaa you poor dude
I dont get it….
A lot of potential here, but the ending disappointed me. The remaining text after ‘you passed your terror on like a disease’ should either be removed or rewritten. It is at that point you seem to be rushing.