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There’s Something Seriously Messed Up With My New TV

Reading Time: 11 minutes

There’s no interesting backstory here; I didn’t buy this thing from some, like, creepy garage sale. I didn’t get it as a gift from some estranged relative that doubled as a cultist or anything. The TV was bought at the mall, for fuck’s sake. It was sitting on a shelf, ordinary as anything. It’s a cheap one, too. Nothing about the way it looks would suggest that this thing would be as screwed-up as it is.

My new television plays shows and programs that shouldn’t exist. At least, it plays things that I’ve never seen on regular television before. No sane person would ever air some of the shit I’ve seen this thing put on for me.

When I brought it home this afternoon, I spent some time screwing around with it, as one does when they buy new electronics: hooking up the cable cord, making sure my Fire Stick was working alright, etc., etc. But there was one thing that caught my eye.

You know how every television has a “Source” menu that brings up a series of options? Aux, USB, HDMI 1, HDMI 2, all that stuff? This new TV of mine has all that, but there’s one other extra “source” that I have never seen or heard of before. It’s not mentioned in the manual at all, and I cannot find anything online that can tell me what it is. There’s no given name for this source, as the menu on the TV simply refers to it as “|||||”.

When I first selected the “|||||”-source, it took me to something that seemed like cable television, but it was nothing of the sort. There were channels, yes, but I’m not talking TNT or AMC or any of that – I don’t think anything broadcasted on the “|||||”-channels would be allowed on cable TV.

Allow me to explain…

Channel 32

As soon as I hit “|||||”, I was brought to Channel 32, which was airing some kind of family sitcom. I let it play as I started Googling an explanation for this extra source, trying to figure out if this was perhaps a manufacturer error or something similar. I was mostly focused on reading, so I wasn’t exactly paying attention to the show that I had left on, but a line was suddenly read that made me snap my attention back to the TV:

“Just where the fuck have you been?”

On the sitcom that was airing, a father was scolding a teenage boy who had just snuck into the kitchen in the middle of the night. The kid was dressed up but looked a mess, likely having been out partying. As soon as the father swore at her, the studio audience for the show laughed.

“I—” the kid began.

The father cut him off. “I’ve been waiting here for you all fucking night. Where the fuck have you been?”

The studio audience laughed again.

What the fuck? I thought, putting down my phone. What kind of show is this?

“I…I was at a party,” the son admitted.

The father, a large bearded man, took a dangerous step closer to him. His eyes were wide and manic. The son took an instinctive step back. The reaction seemed far too genuine for a sitcom.

“A party,” the father repeated. “You were at a party?”

“Yes, Dad, I—”

The large man’s hand slapped his son across his face, making a meaty *thud-*sound. The kid gave out a yelp in pain and shock, and fell onto the floor of the kitchen. The father stood above him, practically frothing at the mouth with anger.

And, for a third time, the studio audience laughed.

“I’m sorry!” the kid wailed from the floor. “Please stop! I’m sorry!”

But the father was now kicking him relentlessly. His back was to the camera. The scene faded to another one with a light-hearted jingle, reminiscent of so many other sitcoms like Full House or Family Matters; we were now in a living room. The kid from the previous scene was sitting on a couch, bloodied and bruised. A young girl, perhaps the character’s sister, was sitting next to him.

“You know you can’t just sneak off like that,” the younger girl was saying to the beaten boy. “Daddy gets mad when you do that.”

“It hurts so bad.” The beaten son said, starting to choke up. Tears trickled down his cheeks from his bruised eyes. The studio audience laughed and clapped.

What the fuck was I watching? It was shot and timed like it was supposed to be some sort of comedic family show, but everything that was happening was just horrible. At the time, I wondered how such a thing could possibly be given air time.

Although I was disturbed, I was also extremely curious. I sat down on my couch and watched the episode of this horrific show right to its end. There was maybe five minutes left in the episode, and all it consisted of the two siblings crying and admitting that they wished they could escape their father.

With every sob and admission of sadness from the two characters, the studio audience kept laughing and clapping. Like as if these poor kids’ misery was the most hilarious thing they’d ever fucking seen.

When the credits rolled, the show’s theme song played – it was upbeat and merry, as if its premise had been about a goofy family getting into hijinks rather than a miserable one abusing itself.

I sat there for a moment or two trying to process what I had just watched. The entire thing made me feel unclean. When another episode started to air, I changed the channel to…

Channel 61

…what looked like a home-shopping network. There was an older woman with white hair, smiling brilliantly at the camera. Graphics displaying phone numbers and prices framed her, making a perfect little portrait of capitalism on my screen. My wife watched networks just like this one all the time, usually to admire jewelry we can’t afford…but this was something different entirely and, much like the sitcom, it was different in all the worst ways possible.

On some networks like these, they’ll sell clothing or accessories and have mannequins set up to help display the products. This channel did the same, but instead of wearing a dress or a necklace, this mannequin was wearing a leather leash, strapped incredibly tight. The old spokeswoman held the end of the leash in her hand.

“…as you can see here,” she was saying. “The grip is significantly strong around the neck, ensuring your property’s immediate obedience. Nothing’s quite as persuasive as a crushed throat.” She gave a little giggle at that.

“I see we have a buyer named Emily from Wisconsin,” she carried on. “Very quick to the phone, ma’am. We hope you enjoy your new LethalLeash.”

A woman’s voice spoke out on speaker phone: “Thank you, Amy! I absolutely love it and cannot wait to try it out.”

“Glad to hear, sweetheart. Let’s move on to our special deal for this evening.”

The spokeswoman, Amy, walked to the right and the camera panned to follow her to the next product.

Standing in the room, chained to the floor and gagged with a metal block strapped to her face was a young woman. She couldn’t have been a day over twenty. Her eyes were wide capital O’s of terror, and although she tried to scream, the gag reduced her noises to low muffled groans.

She looked like she was a pretty girl, but her face had been so badly brutalized that it was almost impossible to tell.

“For our next offer, we’re giving you a once-in-a-lifetime deal. Not only will you be receiving this lovely Product…” Amy stroked the chained girl’s hair. “…but you’ll also get your own set of LethaLeashes for free! The variety pack includes leashed in a variety of colors and designs, so you’ll have the perfect one to match your Product! Call in now and take advantage of this incredible deal.”

What should have been a phone number came up on the screen, but instead of numbers it was just a bunch of symbols that I have never seen before.

The shot faded to briefly show off the “variety pack” of brightly-colored, yet painful-looking, leather straps before fading back to the young woman’s terrified face.

Amy suddenly exclaimed, “Wow! That was fast. The caller is Ted from Brooklyn. Congratulations, Ted, we hope you enjoy using your new Product.”

A low, raspy voice said on the speaker phone: “She looks just like my ex-girlfriend, so oh do I intend to enjoy using her.”

Two men in black uniforms and masks came into the frame, unchained the young woman from the floor, and carried her away. Despite the gag, she was screaming so loudly it was audible now. She tried, to no avail, to kick at her captors.

Now completely disturbed, I raised the remote and turned the channel. As I did so, I realized my hand was trembling.

Channel 104

An infomercial for a fitness program came up this time. I tuned in right as they were showing off “Before” and “After” pictures of a woman who purchased a workout package called “Pure-Motive”. The woman had been very large, and had lost something like eighty pounds in just a couple of months.

The woman in the pictures spoke to an interviewer: “It’s the only method I’ve tried that actually works. If you’re trying to lose weight fast, this is for you.”

The shot changed to the same woman running on a treadmill, her face beet red. Behind her, a thuggish-looking man stood with a large shotgun pointed directly at her back. A cigarette dangled loosely out of the corner of his mouth. He was staring intently at the woman, as if ready to pull the trigger at any moment.

It then cut to another “Before” and “After” pair of pictures, this time of an obese man. There was a brief bit of footage where he was doing squats with a couple of dumbbells. Another creepy-looking thug was standing right behind him, holding a revolver close to the poor guy’s head.

“It’s the only thing that works!” this satisfied customer said happily. His voice sounded weak.

A montage of horrible shots came next: a woman running on a track with a man holding snarling dogs close behind her; a group of people doing jumping jacks while thugs with assault rifles walked around them, watching closely; and, finally, an incredibly large person trying to do pushups. He was crying hysterically.

A voiceover said condescendingly, “There is no room for laziness when it comes to Pure-Motive!”

The large man was no match against gravity and fell flat upon his face. As soon as he did, he screamed: “No! No, please!”

Four men came into frame and started to kick the shit out of him. They went on for what felt like forever, until the guy was spewing blood and teeth out of his mouth. One of the four thugs went off-frame, and then came back with a sharp-looking machete.

No!” the large man managed to cry out. “No, don’t!

The thug raised the machete up with both hands like a Medieval executioner, then brought it down to the large man’s head.

I changed the channel as soon as the blade hit its mark.

Channel 11

This channel aired a commercial promoting a new burger from some restaurant-chain I had never heard of. It soon became apparent that the burger was made from people – most specifically, their limbs. For a dessert, the restaurant was serving large bowls of human ear wax. Two actors looked hungrily at their bowls and then started to dig in. I retched and changed the channel.

Channels 9, 88, and 202

Despite being so horribly disturbed by all of this, I kept flicking through channels. Some morbid curiosity had rose up inside of me. Part of me believed that there was no possibly way I was actually seeing the things that the TV aired, that I had somehow gone mad…but most of me felt that it was all true, and if that was the case, then I was in the midst of something impossible. And I had to see whatever came next, as repulsed by it as I may be.

Channel 9 was airing some rock concert. The singer went to the mic, screamed “ARE YOU READY?!”, and then pulled a small switchblade from his pocket. With a click, the blade sprung out of its handle and the singer brought it right into his face, over and over again. A shot of the crowd showed they were all doing the same, some with knives of their own, others with shards of glass. They all seemed to be enjoying it.

Channel 88 had a game show that launched terrified people at a brick wall using catapults. I got the gist quickly and again changed the channel.

I flipped past Channel 202 as quickly as I could, because it freaked me out quite badly; it was footage of a bare-walled room with a young woman sitting in the middle of it. She was staring at the camera (at me, I thought immediately) with eyes that were small but had humongous sockets. It looked like some sort of horrific insect-human hybrid was staring through me.

Channel 76

This channel had a wildlife show, but it was displaying all sorts of horrific animals that do not exist on this planet. Tall, canine-looking creatures with stilt-like legs preyed upon a car-sized slug. The slug had two hands, each with about ten digits, that slapped uselessly at its assailants.

There was a “narrator” for this show, but just as he started – “As you can see, there is no hope here for the useless goddamn creature” – he was suddenly interrupted by a chorus of death rattles.

The sound unnerved me greatly. I changed the channel.

Channel 132

Another infomercial. This one was for a product that was literally just chocolate-coated human feces. When I watched one actress gleefully take a bite and happily sigh as if she were savoring the flavor, I had to quickly change the channel and then rush to my bathroom to vomit.

Channel 303

As I crouched above my toilet, hurling and heaving, a sound suddenly came from the TV:

“Hey!”

I looked up from the toilet bowl.

“Hey!” it continued. The voice was eerily familiar. “Hey! Hey! Hey!”

Trembling badly, I mustered up the courage to leave the bathroom and see what was happening on the TV next.

The infomercial was gone. The channel had changed to 345, despite the fact that I hadn’t touched the remote. This particular program featured only one star performer – me. Or, at least, some horrible copy of me.

“I” was in the same room as the monstrous woman from Channel 202. She was gone, and “I” was sitting where she had been. This copy was looking at the screen, same as the woman before had done, and was crying. In its lap there was a long black cord with multi-colored wires sticking out of the end.

“Help me,” the thing was saying. “Please help me.”

It brought the cord up to its face, holding it in both hands.

“Help me please,” it said again.

It opened its mouth and in went the cord. The sharp wires cut around the copy’s lips, and the expression on the thing’s face made it more than apparent that they were cutting inside his mouth as well. Blood poured down its chin.

From behind its back, the copy pulled out two other large cords. Both of these were quickly shoved into its eyes. The copy raised its head up to the ceiling of the room and screamed, the cords dangling from its face.

Mmmph! Mmmmmph!

Although the camera had remained locked on the copy for the entirety of this, it was now starting to pan to the right; the direction from which the cords were coming. The shot moved from my deformed other-self and walked towards a white door, the bottom of which the cords were feeding through. Light shone on the other side of the door, and the entire TV screen seemed as bright as the sun as that door opened on its own.

The channel changed on its own once more…

Channel |||||

What I was suddenly looking at was a wondrous display of swirling colors on the screen. Reds, blues, greens, all fading in and out of one another, an impossibly-beautiful sight to behold. When I briefly took my eyes away from it, all other colors around me seemed to be muted, dull. I fixed my eyes back on the screen and felt a rush of pleasure. The three hues were soon joined by more: purples, yellows, oranges.

I couldn’t look away. Everything went numb. My body felt like it was melting, melting and becoming one of those swirling clouds of color.

This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, I thought. And the most beautiful thing I will ever see.

Another thought came, an alien one: Was it worth watching everything else? Was it worth it just to see this?

Although my eyes were still glued to the screen, I felt myself frown. Had that been something I thought, or something that had come from the TV itself?

It was almost like a little of both.

The alien voice kept on: Was it worth watching everything else? Just to see this?

“Yes,” I said immediately. “Yes, absolutely.”

Reds, purples, greens, oranges.

Would you keep watching? Would you keep watching to see this again?

Colors, oh God, so many colors…was this the Source? Was this channel, these swirling colors, the Source of everything I had just watched?

It most certainly felt like it.

Would you keep watching? the Source asked again. Would you explore all those channels, just to get back here?

I didn’t answer. My attention was still almost completely focused on the waving colors.

Here, looksee, said the Source.

One by one, the colors faded away. I was now back looking at the room from Channels 202 and 303. “I” was still sitting there, cords dangling out of my face like grotesque growths, but I was not alone: the tiny-woman was there, as were dozens of men, women, and children that had been similarly disfigured.

Join the others who kept watching. Watch with us, the Source said.

“Watch with us.” The people on the screen talked in unison, as if they were part of a sermon.

Watch with us.

“Watch with us.”

Whatever ecstasy I had felt from looking at the colors quickly sobered up and was replaced with fear. I hurried over to the television and pulled its power cord out of the socket behind it.

Shaking, I sat down on my couch. When I glanced at the clock in my living room, I was shocked to find that around five hours had passed since I first put the TV on. Had I really been staring at those colors for so long?

I’ve been sitting here for another hour, just looking at the blank TV and thinking. I plugged it back in, but have not yet turned it on. I keep fiddling with the remote.

Would you keep watching?

The programs this thing presented to me had been the most horrific things I’d ever seen on a screen. However, those colors had been the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen on a screen.

Would you keep watching?

I mean, the remote’s in my hand. The colors are just a couple awful channels away.

Watch with us.

I just might, honestly. I just might.


Credit: Thaddeus James (FacebookReddit)

The post There’s Something Seriously Messed Up With My New TV appeared first on Creepypasta.

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I Never Should Have Cured My Tinnitus

Reading Time: 8 minutes

Tinnitus: a nightmare of a disease affecting millions of people, myself included. How could I best describe this condition? An incessant, nail on a chalkboard screeching that goes on for every minute of every day.

Just imagine never experiencing the true bliss of utter silence.

Maybe it’s not too uncommon to hear a vague ringing, especially for people like me, who had grown up to become an obnoxious teenager with no regard for volume control. Understandably, my parents were not happy about my blasting loud music at all hours, but what kind of teenage rebel would I have been if I listened to my parents?

Ultimately, my punishment would be given years later when I started hearing a faint ringing. At first it was a rare occurrence, but at present day I can’t even fall asleep without the aid of a loud white noise-producing machine. Even then, my quality of rest is debatable at best.

During the early days I was willing to try anything to stop the God-forsaken noise: rainstorms while sleeping, earwax removal, even a small dose of anti-depressants.

Nothing worked.

You’d be amazed how many help groups you can find online, forums for anything; Veterans with PTSD, how to cope with losing a pet, or in my case, how to deal with tinnitus.

I’d looked over the top suggestions on several occasions. Most I had already tried while visiting my doctor, while the rest were mostly scams, better suited for multi level marketing campaigns.

I used to call myself an optimist, so naturally I would return to the forum every other week in hopes of finding a miracle cure. On one particular day I decided to scroll a bit further down and see the less popular suggestions. Among the obvious troll posts and scam cures I found a more click-baitey post that read:

“A weird trick to cure tinnitus.” Nothing more, nothing less.

I sighed and started reading, preparing myself to be disappointed yet again. Still, the instructions were simple enough.

  • Place your palms over your ears and direct your fingers to the back of your head.

  • Put your index fingers on top of your middle fingers and try to snap them, like a drum.

  • Repeat 50 – 100 times.

There were no comments below, as the post was relatively new. Worst case, I would look stupid sitting there by myself and drumming the back of my head.

So I tried it out, snapping my fingers and causing a little drumming sensation.

45… 46… 47… 48… 49… 50… That ought to do it.

I removed my palms from my ears and listened intently.

Nothing.

For the first time in years there was just the pure bliss of silence.

For minutes I just sat back in awe, not believing what I was hearing, or more accurately, not hearing. Had the trick actually worked?

I decided that, rather than enjoying my newfound silence, I would give my brain a well-deserved silent rest. And that’s exactly what I did. I slept like a baby that night, until around two in the morning. I tend to wake up randomly during the night, so it caused little concern.

To my disappointment, but not surprise, the screeching had returned. At best, I had half-expected the solution to be a temporary one. I simply performed the witchcraft-like trick again, and once more the ringing was gone without a trace.

With a sigh of relief I settled back into bed. The sound that had haunted me for so long had been easily defeated by a helpful anonymous person online, and I was content.

Only then did I realize that I wasn’t enveloped in complete silence. Rather, there was something else cowering in the dark, only making its presence known by a soft thump. Could it be my own heartbeat? After all these years, would I now be haunted by a new sound?

I held three fingers on my neck and felt a pulse. It didn’t match the sound in the darkness.

Although I tried, placing the sound proved to be a challenge. With each passing thump I tried to pinpoint its origin a bit more precisely. I went so far as to open every cupboard in my apartment, checked in the hallways, and lastly, placed my ear against the wall.

No sooner did my ear touch the wall before the sound stopped. My heart raced alongside my logical mind. There had to be a simple explanation. Maybe it was been a busted pipe, or one of my neighbors being a prick late at night. No matter the cause, it was time for bed.

In the morning the ringing returned. I figured I could put the noise at bay by performing the trick every six hours. It quickly became a routine of mine to stupidly tap my head when no one was looking, and it worked.

Everything was great, apart from my nightly routine of waking up around two and hearing the same thumping, softly keeping me company in the darkness. Most nights I simply ignored it, but other nights curiosity got the better of me, and I pursued the sound.

Each night I once again failed to locate the sound. I simply couldn’t place it, and I couldn’t be bothered to stay up long enough to figure out when it started and when it ended. I tried to talk my neighbors into investigation, but they scoffed at the idea of waking at such late hours.

Rats were another possibility, but after a quick visit by pest control they assured me there were no rodents living within the walls. In fact, after looking at the building plans, they insisted that it would be impossible for rats to live inside these walls.

As a last resort I decided I would record myself sleeping. I’d heard there were a bunch of apps that only record you if there’s a noise, so I figured it would be ideal for the situation.

I downloaded a free app and went to bed. Just like every night before, I woke up around 2 AM, but decided I would ignore the sound and let my phone do it’s work. I had some ear plugs that came in handy, and without further troubles I fell asleep.

After waking up the following morning, I brewed myself a much-needed cup of coffee and sat down, figuring I could run the recording through audio-editing software to look at the amplitude of the sound waves rather than listening through it all.

The thumps started around midnight, and kept going for several hours. Aside from that, I mostly found sounds of myself shifting around in bed.

However, at 3:30 AM there was a short pause consisting of complete silence, as if every sound had been erased from existence. It was not more than a minute before the sound returned, but it was no longer a soft thumping. It sounded more like whispering, just incomprehensible voices talking to no one in particular, raspy and tired.

I couldn’t make out what was said on the recording; my phone wasn’t exactly a technological wonder. In fact, I had no interest in finding out. If anything, I would have preferred to leave the apartment and forget about the whole thing, but being a poor student without any nearby family I had no other option than to stay put. Besides, I still thought there might be a logical explanation.

After some hesitation I came to the ridiculous conclusion that if I could hear the actual whispering, I could probably locate the culprits. So when night came, I went to bed, fully expecting to be awoken at the usual time, and from then I would search for the source of the noise.

2 AM rolled around and I was awoken by the familiar, eerie thumping. Where it had once been a welcome, intriguing part of my nightly routine, it had now become a dreaded enemy. It was relentless, not stopping for a single second, and as before, I had trouble identifying the exact location it was emanating from. Like an auditory illusion, it seemed to echo throughout the room, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

At precisely 3:31, the sound abruptly came to a halt. I held my breath in anticipation, waiting for the mysterious voice to start talking.

As expected, the whispers began. Unlike the thumps, however, I could immediately discern their origin. They came from the wall directly behind my bed. I knew there couldn’t possibly exist anything behind the wall. No apartment nor crawlspace, just a concrete barrier separating my room from the outdoors. I crawled onto my bed with caution, as if approaching a wild animal, and carefully pressed my ear to the wall.

The whispers started to become more focused, morphing into a single understandable phrase.

“We know you can finally hear us.” It sounded like several broken voices merged into a singular entity.

I jolted back on my bed, where I remained frozen in fear.

“Thank you for letting us in,” the voices continued before falling silent.

I began to feel faint, and it took me a while to realize I hadn’t been breathing for quite some time. I forced a gasp, bringing air into my lungs, and tried desperately to calm down.

While trying to come up with a plan the thumping returned, only this time I heard exactly where it came from. The soft steps turned into loud tearing along the inside of the wall.

It moved with each step, working its way towards the hallway outside my bedroom. I could vaguely make out a shadow beneath the door as it moved past it.

I always keep my bedroom door locked, a habit formed during my time spent living with intruding family members, but I knew that wouldn’t stop whatever abomination I had let lose simply by acknowledging its presence.

The creature started knocking on the door, a playful thump with each knock, one I had become accustomed to over the past few weeks. It spoke to me with its now familiar, broken voice.

“It’s too late to lock us out now,” they said.

“W-what do you want?” I stuttered back. “W-w-what are you?”

“We are the Acolytes. We just wanted to be heard. We’ve waited so long.”

It struck the door, and small cracks appeared around the hinges.

“We have always been here,” the voices cried in unison. “Why are you afraid?”

Another violent punch, and the upper hinge broke off the doorframe.

I would have called the police, or anyone for that matter, but had inconveniently left my phone in my jacket pocket. So I threw on whatever clothes I had lying on the floor and clambered out the window, and down the fire escape. I wasn’t taking any chances with whatever was on the opposite side of my door.

As I made my descent, I heard my bedroom door splinter.

“Where are you?” the things yelled. “We have come for you!”

I never looked back.

After my escape, I made my way to a nearby gas station and used their phone to dial the police. I told them, without going into specifics, that there had been an intruder in my apartment, and explained how I had fled down the fire escape. When they checked the apartment, however, there was no one to be found. The door to my bedroom was shattered, but there were no other signs of forced entry, and no indication that anything else had been damaged or stolen. To make matters worse, my apartment’s overall state of disrepair made it difficult for the police to accept my story at face-value.

They had to break down the front door to get in, and I knew my landlord would be pissed, but I didn’t care about that. After a very brief investigation, which involved checking the security camera footage to confirm that no one could possibly have entered my apartment, I was let off with a warning not to prank call the police again. Another cop offered me the number for a local psychiatric facility.

While the police were there I grabbed a bag and filled it with the bare essentials. I left that night to return home to my parents, intending to spend the rest of the night at the train station.

I’m never returning to that place. I’ve called my landlord and explained that they can keep my deposit, along with whatever stuff I left behind.

A few days passed after I left the apartment behind. Before long, my tinnitus returned, louder than ever… and at first, I couldn’t have been happier about it. By allowing myself to hear the entities, I had inadvertently let them in. I accepted my condition as a bittersweet blessing, as it hid the things that go thump in the night. And if I couldn’t hear them, they couldn’t find me either.

Unfortunately, my relief proved to be short-lived.

As it turned out, the ringing was no longer enough to silence the voices.

Last night, I woke up to a strange sound at 3:31 AM.

“We found you.”


Credit: Richard Saxon (FacebookReddit)

The post I Never Should Have Cured My Tinnitus appeared first on Creepypasta.

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At 4 AM a Weird SUV Started Following Us

Reading Time: 15 minutes

The night was young. In our world at least. 2:14 AM, and me and my husband Ricky were standing out in the open shed behind The Post Searchlight. Stanwyck, Georgia’s local newspaper. Like nocturnal detectives, Ricky and I were wired for the graveyard shift. You had to be when you did a paper route.

Every night, me and Ricky made the rounds. There were about two-hundred newspapers for home deliveries… and another two-hundred for all the newspaper stands. Like a truck driver’s grueling route, we cruised the city from 3-7 AM.

This wasn’t an idyllic vision of newspaper routes. There was no cute teenage boy riding his bike around while tossing papers. No Americana romanticism. Not in today’s world. The job sucked. The pay sucked. The hours sucked. Most of our subscribers were elderly, bitchy assholes. Ricky and me were basically working vampires, only The Post Searchlight was the one sucking our blood… and souls.

But at 44, this was our living. It’s not like we had many options either. We’d held the Stanwyck paper carrier crown for well over ten years now… our Woronov family monopoly. We were Elizabeth and Ricky Woronov, Post Searchlight Paper Carriers.

Ricky and I did enjoy each other’s company. In fact, bonding on this job was one of the reasons our marriage was still so strong after twenty years. That and we’ve both aged pretty well… I guess lifting all those boxes and stacks of newspapers would keep anyone in good shape. Not to mention Ricky always had that blue-collar Tony Todd look to him (Yes, Candyman is sexy!). Tall and toned and with that body… shit, my heart pumped like a cartoon character’s anytime his deep voice would tell me I looked just like Angela Bassett with braids. Honestly, I had to try to match his sexiness. But I guess my long legs and better fashion sense helped.

During those long drives, we kept each other sane. But the job grew tougher once the holidays hit. From a week before Black Friday to the day after Christmas, our routes typically intensified more than Santa’s workshop. And the papers got thicker. All of them fattened by advertisers cramming all their flyers in during the zenith of Christmas shopping. Man, we hated that shit.

At least, the papers were on time tonight. And they weren’t as bulky as they had been either.

The bundles all came in around 2 AM And now, in the early hours of December 21st, Ricky and me got to work wrapping all the home deliveries in plastic sleeves. A dim hanging bulb our only light.

The unrelenting wind sent chills down our spines. Our jackets and gloves no match for the harsh cold.

Playful, Ricky held up the newspaper’s front headline. “Well, this is nice for the holidays,” he quipped.

Screaming bold font greeted me: LOCAL MURDERS BAFFLE STANWYCK POLICE. MURDERS POSSIBLY RELATED.

Like yearbook photos, pictures of the four victims ran under the headline. Two middle-aged couples.

With a weary grin, I knocked the paper out of Ricky’s hands. “You’re awful!”

Ricky chuckled. “What? They’re the ones pushing it near Christmas.”

I grabbed my clipboard off the table. “They act like no one ever gets killed around here.” As a Stanwyck native, I never felt threatened. Maybe that’s why Ricky and me were brave (stupid?) enough to do this gig… regardless of Stanwyck’s morbid history.

Amused, Ricky got to work wrapping another newspaper. “Well, usually not around Christmas.”

“True,” I said with a laugh. Holding the clipboard, I checked through our list of subscribers. Just like Santa Claus…

Ricky carried a box of newspapers outside to our 2010 Corolla.

“No shit,” I replied. Scrolling through the list, I cringed. There were now two-hundred-and-one home addresses. A nice Christmas surprise…

1972 Abel Road. Our latest Post Searchlight customer.

Annoyed, I circled the address. “Hey, we got a new one, Ricky.”

Like a tortured office drone, Ricky staggered back inside the shed. “Goddamn, really?”

Grinning, I slapped his round ass. His days as an athlete were still paying off with that donk. “It’s just one more.”

Ricky grabbed some more newspapers. “Where is it anyway?”

Back to business, I checked the list. “1972 Abel Road.”

“Well, where the hell’s that?”

I faced him. “You know, right by our house. Out past O’Neal Lake.”

Holding a stack of Post Searchlights, Ricky stopped in front of me. “They better not have us looking all night.”

I ran my hand along Ricky’s muscular arm, reassuring him. “Hey, we’ll find it, babe.”

“Those assholes didn’t even give us directions, did they?”

Smiling, I leaned in toward his face. “They never do!”

“They got us out here with murderers running around, looking for a Goddamn mystery house,” Ricky scoffed. “Reason number one thousand why-“

“This job sucks,” I finished. Gentle, I caressed his handsome face. He didn’t even flinch from my cold touch. “I know, babe. We’ll just do it last.”

Finally releasing that sexy smile, Ricky moved in closer. Inches away from my lips. “Are we still on for New Year’s?”

“Duh!” Like an aggressive sergeant, I moved in for the attack. I planted a passionate kiss right on Ricky’s lips.

He looked at me, stunned yet pleased.

My smile fueled by our love, I caressed his face once more. “We’ll have the whole weekend to ourselves.”

“Now that’s how I like to ring in 2019.”

“Ditto.” With that, we shared another kiss. Shared another one of our magical Christmas moments out here in the cold. Carefree and playful like we were 20-something lovebirds again.

We had a routine morning. Nothing exciting, nothing memorable. Our Corolla powered through the frigid night. The heater did its best against the invading wind every time we rolled down the windows.

Ricky was behind the wheel, I was in the passenger’s seat. The newspapers overran the backseat.

As Ricky would say, most of our job was “brainless.” We’d either sticks papers in the the yellow Post Searchlight mailboxes (tubes) or toss them in the subscribers’ yards. The only time we ever really had to face the December cold was when we had to re-fill the stands.

On the route, Christmas was inescapable. We had it outside in the form of all the decorations and lights. And we also had it inside with the barrage of holiday hits playing on the radio. Not that I was complaining about the Yuletide escape. At least, the atmosphere kept us from getting too bored.

No one was out in town. Just me, Ricky, and the Christmas decorations. I figured this close to Christmas, maybe people were out of town to visit family. Everyone except for us and our elderly clientele.

I gotta say tonight was going well too. Like a Bonnie and Clyde joyride, me and Ricky were having fun. We were all alone on the road and had Stanwyck to ourselves. During the drive, we talked and laughed the better part of the night. Our chemistry kept us warmer than the jackets or heater ever could.

The Ronettes’s “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” livened the mood like we were at a prime-time Christmas party rather than on the tail-end of this arduous journey.

All we had left was our neck of the woods. Towman’s gas station and a few houses near our rural neighborhood.

Soon, the glowing illustrious Christmas lights of the city gave way to a country highway. All darkness save for the occasional home’s modest reindeer display.

I saw a faded sign up ahead on the right. And an ugly building to go with it. Towman’s was on the edge of town where it belonged. A hideous last-chance gas station every small town had.

Grinning, I faced Ricky. “Almost done.”

Behind restless eyes, Ricky kept glancing up at the rearview mirror. “Yeah, sounds great…”

“We might get home before the sun comes up.”

Ricky didn’t respond. Like a nervous criminal, he kept checking that mirror.

Confused, I followed his gaze. But I saw nothing behind us. No sirens, no headlights. Just the long line of darkness that was Bainbridge Road.

Smirking, I looked over at Ricky. “Do you want me to drive?”

Like a tennis spectator gawking back-and-forth, Ricky stole a glance at the mirror before facing the highway. “No, I’m fine. Just thought I saw something…”

We pulled into Towman’s. With all the cobwebs and darkness, the store’s front area looked like an entrance to a crypt. Beer signs were plastered over the windows. Plain Christmas lights scattered across the roof the only sign of Towman’s holiday spirit.

The winter breeze blew all the trash, debris, and stray newspapers through the empty parking lot.

And right by the front doors was our beauty. A newspaper stand that belonged in a museum rather than a storefront. The thing looked even older than our subscribers. Spiderwebs swirled all around its coin slot like Gothic cotton candy.

Outside, I opened the stand. I shook the cobwebs off my fingers in disgust. Then grabbed the six quarters.

A bright beam blinded me. Brighter than the Corolla’s headlights… Hell, brighter than a fucking spaceship.

Startled, I turned to see two cars in the parking lot. And I only recognized one of them.

Like a stealthy monster, a silver SUV lurked just a few feet behind the Corolla. The SUV was a hulking beast. Its headlights like big wolves’ eyes. The bright lights appropriate for hunting humans rather than deer.

Terrified, I shielded my eyes. I couldn’t see shit through the SUV’s tinted windshield… and I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“Elizabeth, come on!” a familiar voice called out.

I looked over and saw Ricky leaning out of the car.

Fear replacing his grumpiness, he waved me in like a third base coach. “Hurry!’

I took off for the passenger’s seat. Like a desperate criminal, I heard my meager coins hit the ground but I wasn’t stopping for Goddamn change. Not now.

Adrenaline made me sweat through my jacket. Even in the freezing cold.

Before hopping inside the Corolla, I stole a glance back at the beast behind us.

All I could make out were two people sitting in the SUV’s front seat. I didn’t see any features, but I could feel their eyes lock on me like the stern gazes of hungry predators.

I got in the passenger’s seat and slammed the door behind me. “Go!” I yelled to Ricky.

Like a NASCAR driver, Ricky hopped in behind the wheel. “I think they’ve been following us.”

The heater didn’t comfort me. And neither did Otis Redding’s “White Christmas.”

With scared eyes, I whirled around. The SUV was gone.

A harsh honk made me and Ricky both jump. We turned to our right.

“Oh, fuck!” Ricky yelled in fright.

As if it had effortless wings, the behemoth creature had glided right beside us. And now we had a clear view of who lurked inside.

A woman sat in the driver’s seat, a man right beside her. Both of them tall and angular. They stared at us with nothing in their eyes. No emotion, no compassion. As if they were Ricky and I’s soulless counterparts.

The couple wore casual suits. A slick red raincoat draped over the woman’s outfit, the raincoat’s hood pulled in tight over her long black hair. Their faces were disguised by comic strip masks… colorful plastic ones. The woman with an expressionless Little Orphan Annie mask. The man in an Archie mask featuring the character’s mischievous grin. Sunday Funnies gone evil.

I felt my gut twist into sickened knots. Those organs on Otis’s Christmas classic may as well have been church organs for me and Ricky’s funerals.

Then the woman held up a long hunting knife. Towman’s Christmas lights reflected off the sharp blade, making it glisten like an ominous star.

“What the fuck…” I muttered.

At a deliberate pace, the woman traced the weapon all along her mask. A sadistic taunt made even scarier by the fact her exposed eyes never once blinked much less looked away from me. And all to the tune of “White Christmas.” As if she were performing a killer’s ballet.

The crazy bitch stopped the blade at the mask’s chin. And she left it there. Like a morbid statue, she stayed still. Her eyes glued to my horrified face.

If it weren’t for the cold air emanating from my lips, I would’ve thought I stopped breathing. Fear rather than the December weather had me petrified.

“Fuck this!” Ricky yelled.

Like a vicious bully, the woman revved the SUV. Its engine roared with delight.

I confronted Ricky. “Go, Goddammit!”

And with that, we took off through the night. Far away from Towman’s. But not far enough from the monster chasing us.

All down Bainbridge Highway, the SUV stayed just a few feet behind our Corolla. Like the beast was just toying with us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ricky gun it well past seventy miles per hour.

Like a compulsion, he traded glances back-and-forth between the dark road and the ferocious lights behind us. “Goddammit, what are they doing!”

At this speed, all the Christmas lights became a bright blur. Neither me nor Ricky were cold… not with the heater and our nerves working overtime.

Frightened, I turned back. The headlights honed in on us like spotlights. Like a shield, they kept me from seeing the horrible masks lurking in the car.

“They’re getting closer,” I said, worried.

“Fuck!” Ricky yelled.

Somehow, the couple’s headlights went up a notch. Their brights got even brighter.

I shielded my eyes. “What the Hell!” I cried. Our Corolla’s interior was lit up as if it were already daylight… at 4:30 fucking A.M.

The immense light distracting him, Ricky struggled to stay focused on the highway. “Hold on!” he cried.

In a frenetic turn, Ricky swerved the wheel onto a dirt road. Powers Landing. The Corolla made us feel every bump the shitty road had to offer.

Ricky struggled to control the wheel. Our speed plummeted down into the forties.

With Alabama’s “Christmas In Dixie” playing, I looked out at our rural surroundings. At the rows and rows of woods. We were closer to home at least. But there was still no comfort when the beast’s bright eyes were still upon us.

“Goddammit!” Ricky yelled in panicked horror. “What the Hell’s their problem!”

Uneasy, I turned toward those glowering brights. They highlighted our tumultuous sweat for all the world to see.

If anything, the SUV was only closer. And gaining ground.

Like a ferocious roar, the SUV’s engine echoed through the night. “Just keep going, baby!” I pleaded to Ricky.

“I am!” he replied, flustered.

Helpless, all I could do was watch the SUV lunge forward. “Watch out!” I cried.

With the force of a shark ramming into a boat, the SUV slammed into our back bumper. Me and Ricky jumped out of our seats.

“Shit!” Ricky yelled.

They hit us just hard enough to give us a scare, I realized. These fucks were getting a Christmas thrill out of our torment.

Right as “Christmas In Dixie” hit its emphatic chorus, the SUV drifted back as if it were pulling back for another punch. The vehicle’s engine was louder than ever. Its lights blinding as always.

“Keep going!” I commanded Ricky.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his sweaty hands sticking to the wheel. His eyes were focused on the road… more focused than they’d ever been on the paper route.

Alabama’s drawn-out chorus kept haunting us. What was once pleasant now sounded like an all-encompassing chant. The sound a cult makes as they prepare a sacrifice.

With the brights staring me down, the SUV’s engine reached its horrific peak. And then the beast came charging forward.

Cringing, I braced for the fatal blow. “Fuck…”

“Oh, God!” Ricky yelled.

But then right before it could pounce, the monstrous SUV swerved beside us and bolted down the road. Dust and dirt sprayed across our windshield like snow.

In a matter of seconds, the SUV had flown off into the night. Straight out of sight.

Now there was only me, Ricky, and Alabama on Powers Landing. We were alone. We were safe. We’d survived.

I chuckled like a maniac. Over and over on a manic loop.

Amused, Ricky joined in. He hit the steering wheel with glee. “Those fuckers!”

“I know right!” I said. Still laughing, I leaned back in my seat. “Fuck them…”

Ricky released his foot on the pedal. At a normal speed, the dirt road wasn’t so bad. Not to mention the further we got, the more houses and Christmas lights we saw. We were back in a Winter Wonderland.

Feelings of relief swarmed over us. Our sweat disappeared. Combined with The Crystals’s “Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer,” the secluded houses’ Christmas decorations gave us cheerful holiday vibes.

Without the adrenaline overheating us, the winter cold now made us shiver. But right now, I didn’t care. The chills felt like Christmas rather than being trapped in a ferocious blizzard. We were so close to home. And less than thirty minutes away from daylight.

“How many more we got?” Ricky asked, his sardonic grumpiness returning.

Smirking, I looked over at Ricky’s beaming smile.

“Just wondering,” he added.

A collection of colorful lights distracted me. I looked up toward a large house on the left. Like a Christmas shrine, the huge yard was lined up with glowing Santa and Frosty figurines. A true holiday house. “Maybe two more.”

“Hell yes!”

Up ahead, I saw a tall green sign. Its vivid white paint caught my eye: Abel Road.

Excited, I hit Ricky’s arm. “Hey, that’s it!” I pointed toward the sign. “That’s where the new one’s at!”

Like the pro paper carrier he was, Ricky made the swift turn. “Great!”

We were on another dirt road. This one not as bumpy as Powers Landing. I could tell Abel was a real road less traveled.

Nothing but woods was out here. No sign of life aside from whatever lurked in this forest.

With the focused intensity of detectives, we both stared out the windshield.

“What’s the number?” Ricky asked.

“1972,” I answered.

Then like a beacon off in the distance, we saw a mailbox. A fresh yellow Post Searchlight mailbox. Clean and pristine.

“There it is!” I said.

Eager, Ricky eased the Corolla up toward the yellow tube. “Fuck yeah.” He rolled the window down.

The cold air snuck in like a vandal. I pulled my jacket in closer. After all the terrifying excitement of the night, the bitter wind caught me off-guard.

We stopped at the yellow tube. A skeletal metal mailbox stood right next to it, its rusted age the polar opposite of the Post Searchlight mailbox.

Ricky shined his iPhone’s light on the metal. 1972 was scribbled on the lid in big black font.

Through the dim headlights, I couldn’t see much of the yard. Just tall weeds and even taller trees. The outline of a large dilapidated house. Looks like our new subscribers hadn’t even moved in yet. No wonder that ugly mailbox was still there…

With a victorious laugh, Ricky high-fived me. “We got it!”

I forced a chuckle. “Yeah, finally.”

Ricky held out his hand. “What a night…”

Grinning, I handed him a wrapped paper. “Just one more after this.”

“Gotcha.” Gripping the newspaper, Ricky leaned out the window.

“We can still get home by five-“

Bright lights cut on from the house’s driveway. Bright, blinding lights. The eyes of the beast.

Startled, Ricky dropped the paper. “Oh shit!”

Both me and him looked on in horror.

Like a monster resting in its lair, there was the hulking SUV. Right there on the grass driveway. Right by its cave of a derelict house. A house conquered by broken windows and monstrous ivy. 1972 Abel Road looked about as cozy as a haunted castle.

“What the fuck!” I yelled. Terrified, I grabbed Ricky to pull him back. “Ricky, come on!” My eyes stayed on the SUV.And in a sickening epiphany, I realized I could only make out one mask in that car.

“Fuck this!” I heard Ricky cry.

Through the vivid headlights, I saw a quick flash of red run toward the mailbox. A glimmer of silver reflected off the light and hit me square in the eyes… a familiar and horrifying sight.

Motivated by fear, I tried to pull Ricky in through that window. Like a frantic child trying to save their father. “Get in here!” I yelled.

Ricky turned and gave me an uneasy look.

Then the hunting knife jammed straight into his cheek.

I let out a blood-curdling scream.

Even more force pushed the blade through like a hammered railroad spike. A bloodied tip protruded through Ricky’s other cheek like an arrow had struck him. Blood poured all around the wound. So much blood it would’ve drowned out Ricky’s voice even if he could move his mouth.

Like thick snowdrops, drops of blood fell all over the car. All over the seats. The air vents. Even the radio. Right over The Crystals’s holiday jam.

An avalanche of tears poured from my eyes.

Leaning toward me, Ricky’s mouth contorted. As if the blade controlled him like a ventriloquist controlled a dummy.

In the cold, the crimson streams stuck to his flesh. Almost frozen from the wind. My tears felt the same.

Screaming, I looked on at the fleeting life in Ricky’s eyes. The emotion was there. The compassion. But it was fading fast.

I squeezed tighter on to his arm… as if I could squeeze the life back in him. “No, baby!” I yelled. “Ricky!”

His dying grasp grabbed my shoulder. I could see Ricky attempt to talk, but the blade blocked his words. As did the abundance of blood.

Weeping, I touched his face. The cold blood stuck to my fingertips, but I didn’t care. Not when this was our last embrace. “I love you, baby!” I said with conviction. “I love you, Ricky.”

Like an invasive advertisement, Andy Williams’s “The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year” interrupted our intimacy. Along with the horror before me, the song’s jarring vocals overwhelmed me into a crumbing, crying mess.

Persevering, I kept my heartfelt eyes on Ricky. “I love you.”

Right before Ricky went still, a black gloved hand snatched the blade out of his face in one vicious tug.

Blood sprayed across me and my tears. I cried out as Ricky’s corpse fell into my arms. Literal dead weight that was once my beautiful husband. The thick blood smeared across me like a spilled red Icee.

I saw the woman crouch down in front of the window. Her Little Orphan Annie mask taunted me… as did the killer’s cold gaze. Like the excited eyes a hunter gave cornered prey.

“Fuck you!” I barked at her. “You crazy bitch!”

Then the psycho raised her gloved hands. The knife coated by my husband’s blood was in one hand, the unwrapped newspaper in the other.

Like a playful teacher, the woman pointed her blade right at the screaming headline. The exploitative headline:

LOCAL MURDERS BAFFLE STANWYCK POLICE. MURDERS POSSIBLY RELATED.

With a flourish, she pointed the knife back at herself.

Behind the mask, I could tell the bitch was cracking a smile. She didn’t need to talk or show it either… like a psychotic mime.

I looked down at Ricky’s mangled face. The gaping, bleeding holes on both his cheeks resembled grisly craters. His open eyes stared at me. As if he was communicating beyond the grave.

Disturbed, I couldn’t fight the tears back any longer. Not with my soulmate dead in my arms.

Moving methodically, the woman reached in to unlock the door on the driver’s side.

I glowered at her. Still feeling my husband’s cold blood leaking onto me, a fiery sensation built up in my soul. The adrenaline came roaring back.

The stupid bitch wasn’t even paying attention to me. Her eyes concentrated on the locked door.

Making my move, I brought my leg back and kicked the shit out of that Goddamn mask.

The bitch never knew what hit her. She went flying back as if Santa’s sleigh had smashed her.

The SUV’s stage-appropriate headlights showed her hunting knife go flying through the air.

I had a chance… Respecting Ricky’s corpse as much as I could, I laid his body out on the passenger’s seat. Then I jumped in behind the wheel.

Outside, I heard the woman stagger to her feet. In the cold, her red coat resembled the house’s lone Christmas decoration.

Still weeping, I put the car in drive. I stole a look over at Rick’s pale face. “I love you, baby,” I told him.

Channeling Ricky’s aggression, I took off down the dirt road. The bumps made me hop like a jackrabbit, but I stayed focused. Through the tears, I stared on at Abel Road. All while I passed nothing but wilderness.

I never once turned to look back. I feared the SUV would follow me… but those illustrious beams never struck me. Nor did I ever hear the beast’s roaring engine. All I heard was Christmas songs. Endless Christmas music.

And soon enough, I recognized my own neighborhood. All the glowing Christmas lights and decorated lawns welcomed me back to civilization.

Once I made it home, sunlight was already emerging. Frantic, I dialed 911. But I knew it was too late… all I could do was cradle Ricky in my arms. And there amidst the gradual warmth of the rising sun, we waited. My nerves calm but my tears steady.

The police never found Ricky’s killers. They found out the house was never even bought or rented. Just a fake name The Post Searchlight accepted for quick cash. Typical media protocol… And to this day, I still don’t know why that man and woman chose paper carriers for their Christmas slay.

I quit the route soon afterward. I’m currently in the middle of suing the shithole Searchlight as well. My lawyers told me I got a good case considering the fatal wild-goose chase that the paper’s lack of vetting put me and Ricky through.

And after Ricky’s death, all those connected murders disappeared from Stanwyck. Along with the rest of 2017.

I still stayed around town. After all, Stanwyck was my home. And the community was more than supportive. But I’m still tempted to make a move… particularly with Christmas now right around the corner. The festive season is now nothing more than a season of mourning for me. And I suspect that’s how Christmas always will be.


Credit: Rhonnie Fordham (FacebookPatreonReddit)

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I Picked Up a Hitchhiker

Reading Time: 4 minutes

I was driving through rural New Jersey when I saw him.

A hitchhiker, standing by the side of the road. Surprisingly well-dressed – black suit, slicked-back hair, narrow briefcase.

Now, I know I shouldn’t pick up hitchhikers. But I’m 6’ 4”, 230 pounds, with all kinds of hunting equipment in the back of my truck. It’s not like this prissy-assed businessman is going to beat me to death and leave me on the side of the road.

Besides, I need gas money.

“Hey, man,” I said, pulling over to the side of the road. “I’ll give you a lift, if you pay me for gas.”

“Of course,” he said in a polite, almost British, accent. He reached for his wallet, and pulled out three crisp, $20 bills. “This enough?”

I grinned. That’s way more than enough. I greedily snatched the money from him and clicked the locks. “Get in, bud.”

He climbed in. His blue eyes shifted from the crumpled Wendy’s wrapper on the dashboard, to the mysterious, sticky goo on the middle console.

“Sorry, the car’s not clean. I’m going hunting,” I said, turning back onto the highway.

“Hunting. Interesting,” he said, in a strangely enthusiastic tone. “Have you always liked to hunt?”

“No, it’s the funniest thing. Never thought I’d ever hunt. Love animals, got three dogs at home. But there are so many deer around these parts, when the winter comes… a lot of ‘em starve to death. Not to mention all the car accidents they cause.” I trailed off, and we fell into uncomfortable silence.

“Just hunting for the day, then?”

“No, my buddy Matt and I will be out there the whole weekend.”

He let out a laugh. “The whole weekend? Your wife’s a saint for letting you go.”

My wife? How did he – But then my eyes fell on the steering wheel, and the silver ring on my finger. “Ah, yeah. Mary’s a doll. She’s actually pregnant, you know. 5 months with a little girl.”

He gave me a crooked smile. “A girl, huh?”

“Yeah.”

I could feel him staring at me long after we had fallen into silence. It made me feel uncomfortable; I clicked on the radio.

“How did you meet Matt?” he asked, fiddling with the dial. All that came through was static.

That’s a weird question, I thought. “Um. He and Mary were close friends. So when we got married, I got to know him well.”

“Mmm-hmm,” the man said. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, and I was suddenly reminded of a psychiatrist.

“Are you a psychiatrist?” I blurted out.

He laughed. “Definitely not. I work in finance.”

“What type of finance?” It was my turn to ask the questions, now.

“Futures,” he replied, noncommittally.

I glanced over at him. A small smile was on his lips, and I noticed his fingers had gravitated from his lap to the briefcase at his feet.

My heart began to pound.

Click, click. He undid the clasps; the case creaked open.

“What’s in your briefcase?” I asked.

“Work.”

“What kind of –”

His long fingers disappeared into the darkness of the case. He was pulling something out! My body began to seize up; the steering wheel felt like ice under my fingers. “I have a lot of hunting equipment back there,” I said, “so you better not be –”

I stopped.

He was only pulling out a sheet of paper.

For a few minutes, he was quiet. Reading the paper, intently and silently, as if his life depended on it. Scrtch, scrtch – his fingers slid over it, as they traced the text.

Then he slipped it back into the case, and snapped it shut.

What was he reading? I thought. But before I could get the question out, he turned towards me. I could barely see his face in my peripheral vision; but I knew he was staring at me, for minutes on end.

Then he broke the silence.

“Don’t go hunting,” he said, his ice-blue eyes boring into me.

“What?”

“Turn the car around. Go home to Mary.”

“What?!”

“She needs you.” He paused. “Madeline needs you.”

I paled.

I never told him we were going to name our baby Madeline.

“How did you –”

“He’s going to make it look like an accident,” he said, his voice gravelly and halting. “Just a simple hunting accident. The most punishment he’ll endure is thirty-five minutes in the police station, writing out his statement.”

“But –”

“Let me off at that diner, up ahead. I like their Cobb salad very much.”

“Matt’s going to kill me? What are you talking about?”

He turned to me, eyes wide. “What are you talking about?”

“About what you just said!”

“All I said is I’d like you to let me off at the diner, please.” He pointed to the exit, curving off the highway. “You’re going to miss it if you don’t slow down.”

With a shaking hand, I clicked on my blinker. Pulled off the exit, into the parking lot. My heart pounded in time with the click-click-clicks of the cooling engine.

“Thank you for the ride,” he said, pulling his briefcase out with him. “Have a good drive, will you?”

I couldn’t squeak out a reply before the door slammed shut.

* * * * * *

I didn’t believe him. But my nerves were too shot to continue the trip, either. I texted Matt that I was sick, turned around, and went home to Mary. Mary was thrilled; Matt was disappointed. A little too disappointed, if you ask me.

A month later, after ignoring most of Matt’s calls and texts (which became increasingly frequent and desperate), I heard a faint thumping noise at the door. When I flicked on the porch light — there was Matt, hunched over our doorknob.

Holding a lockpick.

We called the police. Since then, life has been great. Just a few months later, our wonderful little Madeline was born. And as soon as we got back from the hospital, on our doorstep was a little teddy bear, a pink bow sewed on its head. There wasn’t a return address, or a card of any kind.

But I think I know who it’s from.


Credit: Blair Daniels (Official WebsiteAmazonFacebookTwitterReddit)
(You must ask permission before narrating this work. Contact the author here to do so.)

Check out Blair Daniels’ critically-acclaimed collection of short scary stories, Shadow on the Stairs: Urban Mysteries and Horror Stories, now available, on Amazon.com.

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Worried Parent

Reading Time: 6 minutes

Right now, I’m sitting up in my bed. It’s late at night and the only light is the screen of my laptop. I’m sure it’s illuminating my face quite nicely. I just hope my poker face is convincing enough to whatever is watching me. I think as long as I don’t seem scared or panicked, it should leave me alone. It might even leave the house completely. I can’t be sure. Let me explain.

It was approaching midnight when my wife, Mary, awoke. I was just about to drift into unconsciousness when she shook me awake as well.

“Is Jennifer home?” she asked groggily.

Our daughter Jennifer had gone out for some friends for drinks. It was Thursday and she had work in the morning, so we both assumed she would have been back by now. I shook my head. My wife groaned in annoyance. She worried about Jennifer, as did I. We lived in a safe neighborhood, but people are unpredictable. Plus, you never know what can happen on the road. As a parent, your mind tends to automatically jump to the worst case scenario.

“I’ll see where she is. You go back to sleep,” I whispered as I pulled the blanket back over Mary. I grabbed my cell phone and began dialing Jennifer. After several rings it went to voicemail. I hung up, letting my natural paternal instincts stir shreds of panic in my mind. Brushing it off, I began writing a text message.

“Hey, Jennifer. It’s getting pretty late and mom’s worried. Any idea of your ETA?”

Jennifer is on the brink of turning 22. While that is still young in my eye, I understand that she is an adult. I do my best not to seem overbearing. But seeing as she’s our only child, and a young woman in this crazy, depraved world, I can’t help but worry. For a few minutes, the screen remained unchanged. Finally, iMessage notified me that the message was read. The “user is typing” bubbles quickly followed.

“On my way back. Should be home soon,” she replied.

I let out a sigh of relief. I figured since I was up, I might as well make a run to the bathroom. I kicked off the sheets and headed out the door. After finishing up my business, I began walking down our almost pitch black hallway back my room.

BUMP.

I ran into someone. I squinted and saw the long hair of the figure.

“That was quick, Jennifer. I didn’t even hear you come in.” I whispered.

Silence.

She must be exhausted, I thought. “G’night, hun,” I said as I moved past her and back to the comfort of my bed. I slipped into my sheets and laid my head down. Just then I received a new text. Confused and annoyed, I sloppily stretched out for the phone. I grabbed it and opened the text.

It was from Jennifer.

“I forgot my wallet at the bar and had to drive all the way back to get it! I won’t be back for another 20 mins or so.”

That message was just sent a minute ago. I was frozen. I just saw Jennifer in the hallway, right? I slowly sat up in my bed and began calling Jennifer. She picked up and I asked where she was. She reminded me that she had to go back to the bar and was still on her way home. I swallowed hard and told her to drive safe.

After hanging up, the screen eventually went black. My eyes adjusted to the dark. That’s when I saw her. Whoever I ran into in the hall was standing at our door, peering at me. Her hair was darker and longer than I first realized. Her eyes had an unnatural glow to them and she flashed me a crazed smile. I managed to not flinch or make any sudden moves. I just reached over to my laptop and popped it open. I don’t know what to do. I can’t explain why but I am almost paralyzed with fear.

As long as I don’t make it aware that I know she’s not Jennifer, maybe she’ll leave. I just want that thing to leave. Wait, I just heard something…

The garage door is opening. Jennifer must be home.

* * * * * *

After I heard the garage open I quickly looked up towards the strange woman. Our eyes met for the briefest moment. She broke her gaze and turned her head. She too heard the sound of the garage door. Without making a sound she walked out of my sight, in the direction of the stairs. For a moment, it felt like I had awoken from a nightmare. I had a sense of relief flush over me, as if everything that had just happened was just my imagination. Luckily, my paternal instinct kicked back into full-gear as I leapt out of bed and to the door. I turned the corner and saw nothing. I dashed for the garage, slapping every light switch I passed in order to rid my house of darkness. I turned the last corner before colliding with another long-haired figure. I let out a short but aggressive yelp and jumped back, arms stretched out in front of me.

“Ow, Dad! What the hell was that?!” I heard my daughter ask from the ground. I had knocked her over.

“Oh, Jennifer, it’s just you,” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, dude, who else were you expecting?” She got up and collected herself.

I turned on every other remaining light and checked every corner of the house. Jennifer stood nearby, watching me in confusion.

“Dad, what the heck is going on?” she finally asked.

I eventually realized that woman was nowhere to be found. All the doors were locked but there were a few windows opened. She must have come in and out that way. I locked them and went to hug my daughter.

“I just thought I heard something while I was sleeping, hun,” I lied. I figured there was no point in scaring her if the woman was gone. Jennifer hugged me back and laughed. We said goodnight and she headed upstairs. I decided I would look around for another few minutes, just to ease my own mind. I was just about to call it quits when I heard Jennifer screaming for me from her bedroom. I dashed like a madman up the steps and burst through her door. She was at her window, frantically waving me over.

I got to her side. My wife had awoken at this point and also entered the room. The three of us gathered at the window. In our backyard, stood the woman. With our porch light on, I was able to get a better look at her. Her hair was very long, almost to her waist. It was black and matted, with a couple of random braids and sloppy ponytails protruding in different directions. Her skin was pale. Blisters and sores covered her all over. She was wearing a black tank top and a long black skirt. She was sporting the same psychotic smile as before. As soon as she saw me, her arm began to slowly raise up until she was pointing. Pointing… at me. Her smile grew into an opened mouth grin. I saw she missing several teeth and teeth she still had were yellow and rotten.

My wife was watching in shock and terror. Her mouth was wide open and she covered it with one hand. She eventually turned to me and loudly asked, “Who the hell is that?!” I looked at her and told her I didn’t know.

“Guys…” whimpered Jennifer. We both turned to her and she was still staring out the window. Her former look of awe and borderline-amusement was replaced with absolute dread. I looked back at the woman in our backyard.

She was still pointing. But now, it was at Jennifer. Her grin was overtaken by a grimace. Her eyes were squinted in rage. She began screaming in short, high-pitched bursts. Jennifer was covering her mouth in shock. We were all speechless and unsure what to do.

Due to all the screaming, our neighbors lights began to turn on one-by-one before they came out to investigate the source of the commotion. When the crazed lady saw all her new spectators, she quieted down. With one last, menacing gaze to my daughter, she turned around and ran into the darkness. I grabbed Jennifer, who was now in tears and hugged her. A few minutes later we heard a knock at the door.

It was the police. They had been called by one of the neighbors, I assumed. We explained what had happened in the backyard. I pulled one of the officers aside and told him that she had even gotten in the house, but was hoping to not let the other two know. He looked at me in shock and agreed to look around the house. Of course, he couldn’t find any obvious entry point and, like me, blamed it on an open window. He told me he would stay outside the house for a couple hours with his partner, which put us all at ease. That was the end of it.

I know it’s cliché, but I can’t help but think this isn’t over. That woman knows where we live. She was able to find a silent and discreet way to enter the house, despite her obvious insanity. I’m scared for my family. I’m scared for myself. My daughter already carries Mace and a small knife (as I said, I worry about her, so I make sure she is ready to defend herself) but I went ahead and also bought her a small taser. One for my wife, too. I really hope this is the end of it.


Credit: Dan David (Nope Too Creepy YouTube Channel)

The post Worried Parent appeared first on Creepypasta.

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I Steal Bodies

Reading Time: 14 minutes

Part 1

I am dead.

Well, at least the real me is. You see, this body I’m using to write this isn’t mine. I stole it.

Don’t worry, I won’t be using him for too long. Once I’m done writing this all out, I’ll give it back to him. He won’t even know that anything happened. I’ll even be sure to tuck him back in to bed once I’m done.

So, let me begin when I was still alive.

I was your average 24-year-old guy. I wasn’t in to witchcraft or anything, in fact quite the opposite, before I died I didn’t even believe in the supernatural.

Now that I think about it, the way I died really was quite embarrassing. I was cleaning a gun when…Wait wait wait, that wasn’t my original body. It’s been so long I almost forgot. No, I remember now. I was just about to have a bubble bath. The last time I had had one I was probably about 4 years old. I was admittedly a bit excited. So excited that I managed to trip on my way to the now full tub. My head landed square on the edge of the tub, knocking me out instantly. My unconscious body managed to slide in to the water, and I drowned.

Next thing I knew I was in limbo. I suppose I probably went unclaimed by whatever happens in the afterlife, and so I was placed in the waiting room while the higher ups sorted me out. It actually appeared as if I was in a literal waiting room. The kind you see at every doctor’s office. There was no one else in the room though. Just me and some terrible elevator-type music coming from overhead. Now that I think about it, maybe this was hell.

After what seemed like an eternity the music stopped. I heard a ding, and a voice came from overhead.

“Thank you for waiting. Please make your way to the door on your right, and step through.”

Well, I didn’t really have any other options, so I obliged. I made my way to the door and stepped through. There was a man waiting for me on the other side.

“Welcome! Please take a seat wherever you feel comfortable.” He said this gesturing at the many different seats in the room. It looked like a therapy room. There were couches and a few regular chairs.

I took a seat in one of the chairs, and I tried to study the man. Even now I couldn’t explain him if I tried. It was as if his face was constantly shifting. He certainly had some aura about him. I’m pretty sure he was a god of some sort, or at least some type of higher being.

“Where am I then?” I finally asked.

“I suppose most humans would call this purgatory, or maybe limbo. In short, we weren’t quite sure what to with you.”

“What do you mean? Can’t you just send me to heaven or hell, or whatever?”

He laughed.

“That was certainly on the table. We decided to play rock-papers-scissors for you, and I was the big winner. So, I’ve decided I’m going to give you a second shot at life!”

“So I’m going to be reborn?” I asked. I chose to ignore the fact that apparently these Gods had decided my fate by a game of rock-paper-scissors.

“Not exactly. Oh you’ll figure it out soon enough.” This was the last thing he said. He then snapped his fingers. I was back in my bathroom staring at my lifeless corpse.

Was I a ghost? Is this what he meant by a second shot at life? That doesn’t seem quite right. I looked down at myself, and I appeared to be normal. I would have thought I was still alive if my corpse wasn’t lying across the room.

I waited by my body. Somebody would have to come for me eventually. It took 2 days before a police officer finally made his way in to my bathroom, and found my corpse. I had confirmed my theory of being some sort of ghost before he ever got there though. In those 2 days of waiting I had never gotten tired, hungry, or thirsty. It was just added confirmation when the officer sprinted past me, and pulled my lifeless body out of the bathtub.

I had tried moving objects during my wait, but I was unable to do anything but look. I hadn’t gotten the chance to try and touch another person though. I approached the officer as he called for paramedics. I placed my hand on his shoulder and…

The next thing I knew I was blinking, and breathing. I hadn’t thought about it, but I hadn’t done either of these two things in the past two days. It had been unnecessary before. I looked around the room before spotting my mirror. I was no longer a ghost. I was now the officer. I had taken control of his body.

I was a bit clumsy at first in my new body, but after a few minutes it seemed like I had full control. Just as I got the hang of things my head, or rather the officer’s head, began to pound intensely. After a few seconds of agonizing head pain, I found myself once again staring at the officer from the outside.

I had been kicked out of his body. The officer was holding his head while hunched over.

“What the hell just happened?” He said

He didn’t seem to understand that his body had just been briefly hijacked. I approached him and attempted to touch him again, but nothing happened this time. I wasn’t able to retake his body.

I didn’t know at the time, but there are certain rules for my body snatching abilities. One of which is when I’m kicked out, I can’t get back in. I’ve gotten much better at using my abilities since then.

After a while paramedics came to collect my body. There two who came in to the bathroom. One man, and one woman. I knew I was going to try and do what I had done with the cop, but which one should I choose?

I highly considered the woman just for the experience, but I wasn’t quite ready at the time to take control of a female body. I touched the man’s shoulder. Once again I found myself in control.

This time the transition seemed much smoother though. I continued to help the woman with collecting my corpse as to not seem suspicious. Several minutes passed and the headache didn’t come this time. With the help of the other paramedic we placed my original body in a bag and wheeled it back to the ambulance.

I began to make my way to the passenger seat when the woman stopped me.

“Where are you going? You always drive.”

“Uhhh yeah, sorry. I’m actually not feeling so good right now, do you mind driving?” I said back to her.

“Fine, but you are buying my dinner.”

I began to realize that taking this body may have been a mistake. I didn’t know the first thing about being an EMT. If I stayed in this body, I may end up costing other people their lives. There was one problem though. I had no clue how to separate myself from the body. I had been kicked out of the cop’s body, but this one didn’t seem to be putting up much resistance. I needed to find a way out on my own.

I put everything I had in trying to will myself out of the body. It was a fruitless effort though. How was I supposed to do this? Getting in had been so easy. Shouldn’t getting out be the easy part?

I bit down on the man’s thumb. It’s a habit I’ve always had when I get frustrated. I bit hard enough to draw blood. I stared down at the small wound, once again wishing I could just leave this body. As I thought this, the headache returned, and a few moments later I was outside the paramedic’s body.

What had triggered it? Had it been the wound? Possibly a combination of my desire to leave and the wound? I wasn’t quite sure at the time, but I was happy to be out again.

I followed the paramedics all the way back to the hospital. After they wheeled my body inside I decided it would be best if I just left. I wouldn’t be getting back in my own body.

I began to seek out someone new. I realized I should really study someone before I tried taking them. If I wanted to take them long-term that is. I would need to know all the basics. Their relationships, their job, their hobbies, mannerisms, etc. I couldn’t expect to take over someone’s life without knowing anything about them. I could use other bodies for short periods of time like I am doing now, but that would only be for specific purposes. There are over 7 billion people on Earth though, so I’m not too worried about running out of equity.

I also didn’t fully understand my abilities though. I would need to practice using my body-stealing powers more, and I really needed to find the correct way to leave a body I didn’t want to stay in.

I have much more to tell, but this all I have time for right now. I can’t stay too long in this body or they will find me. I’ll be back soon with a new body to write more. For now, it’s time to put this guy back to bed.

Part 2

I’ve found a suitable replacement. This body should last me a few days before they find me. I’ll explain who they are in due time, but for now let’s pick up where I left off.

After I finally said goodbye to my original body, I began to practice my body stealing powers. Entering a body was the easy part. However, I discovered many things about my capabilities.

I could enter any body I wanted. All I had to do was touch the person. How long I could stay was another thing. Those with a strong mental fortitude like the police officer could kick me out almost instantly. Those people were rare though. Most people were easy to overpower, and I could take control for as long as I wanted.

Exiting the body was a little bit trickier. For those with weaker willpower, I had to force them to want their body back in order to get out. Physical pain was usually enough to do it. I had to want out as well though. I could damage a weaker person’s body as much as I wanted, but if I didn’t want out, then they wouldn’t get their body back. It would be risky to take the body of someone who doesn’t value their life, because I may have to kill them in order to exit the body.

For those wondering if I can take over the body of an animal, I certainly tried. Most animals avoid me like the plague though. Birds don’t seem to mind me, but anything else runs at first sight. I was able to pet a dog who trapped itself in its dog house, but I wasn’t given control of his body. I think it must be a compatibility thing.

The whole time I was learning to use my abilities, I found something a bit odd. Not once did I ever run in to another dead person. If I’m a ghost, shouldn’t I be able to see other ghosts? Maybe it doesn’t work like that though. I couldn’t possibly be the only person like this though, could I?

Regardless, once I began to get the hang of my abilities I began to seek a proper host. I could have searched for someone younger with an undeveloped personality, but I really did not want to go through the younger years of life again.

I wanted someone basically like me. A loner. They needed to have a decent job though, and if they were a little more attractive than my original body then who would I be to complain? It took a while, but eventually I found the perfect body.

He was about the same age as I had been when I died. Despite his young age he had climbed his way up to a managerial position at a factory. Behind the scenes he was quite lonely though. He had poured everything in to his job. I never saw him talk to any family, and he never had friends over to his home. As far as looks go he was no Brad Pitt, but I don’t think he would have problems attracting the opposite sex.

I watched him for a while before taking over. It was important for me to at least learn how to properly do his job. I had never been a manager before. He was a business-only sort of person at work, so I wouldn’t have to worry too much about his work relations.

After I felt I had learned enough, I stole his body. It really was a perfect match. When I was in his body it was like it was my own again. He didn’t try to fight to push me out either.

I decided I wasn’t going to waste this life doing nothing like I had the last one. I kept his job of course, but I started becoming more social. I went to bars, clubs, and other social events. I even managed to bring a few girls back to my new home from time to time.

Before I knew it, I had been in my new body for an entire year. I had almost forgotten that I even had a previous life. Everything seemed to be going perfect, but of course good things can’t last forever can they?

I noticed someone had begun to follow me. It was a black car with heavily tinted windows. Wherever I went, that car always seemed to be there. I tried to get its license plate, but it never seemed to get close enough for me to see it. I tried reporting it to the police, but they said they couldn’t do anything unless I had evidence that I was being stalked. They sent a patrol car through my neighborhood, but that was all. The car was obviously gone by the time the police showed up though.

As quickly as it began, it ended just as quickly. After about two weeks of the car stalking me, it just disappeared. Perhaps I just been overly paranoid after all. I resumed my new life as if nothing had ever happened.

That was a mistake.

I woke up a few nights later to find myself surrounded by at least 5 hooded figures. Before I had time to react a knife was plunged in to my chest. Blood began to spew from chest as I felt the life fading from me. I was able to eject myself from the body just before my host took his last breath.

After I left the body, the figures turned to face my ghost self. Could they see me? The one who had plunged the knife in to me approached me. Once he was close to me he began to kneel, and then he held out his hand.

I wasn’t sure what to do. So I ran.

For whatever reason they didn’t seem to chase after me. I ran for several miles before I even thought of stopping though. I found an old run-down house, and I let myself in.

I sat down on the floor, and tried to process what had just happened. Before I got the chance a voice spoke.

“Rough night huh?” In front of me was the God who had given me my powers.

“Rough night? I was just killed, again.” I said angrily.

“Well it wasn’t really you. It was the body you stole. I probably should have told you about them though.”

“Them? You know who they are?”

“Well yeah. I know who everyone is. Those people are special though. They are part of a cult that worships me. It’s kind of funny. They think YOU are their savior.”

“What about this is funny? If they think I’m their savior, then why the hell did they put a knife in my chest?”

“It’s simple really. They don’t think that was the right body for you. They are a bit crazy, but they have always been loyal to me. So I rewarded them by helping find you.”

“Why would you do that? I don’t want to be a part of this.” I shouted.

“Because this is the most fun I’ve had in years. I mean come on, doesn’t being the savior of a cult sound a little cool?”

“I DON’T WANT TO BE IN A CULT. I just wanted to live a normal life again.”

“I promised you a new life, I didn’t promise you a normal one. If you don’t want to be in a cult you should really start moving. They are almost here.”

As he finished saying this I noticed headlights coming up the street. I didn’t give it a second thought. I ran again.

I managed to make it to a busy stoplight. I took over a driver, and drove as far as I possibly could. I swapped from body to body on my trip. I didn’t want to take anyone too far away from their life since I wouldn’t be keeping any of these bodies.

I’m currently in a small town on the east coast, I think I may try to catch a flight to another country soon. I think they will find me eventually no matter what, but it could at least buy me some time to figure out what I should do.

I’ve become part of a game for a God, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I don’t think he’s going to let me in to any sort of afterlife any time soon.

So it seems I have two options:

  1. Keep Running

  2. Become the “Savior” of a cult

Who would have known my life after death would be so much more interesting?

Part 3

It’s been a few days since my last update, and these days have been the craziest of my life, or afterlife I suppose.

I had been body hopping around trying to put as much distance between myself and the cult chasing me. I hadn’t seen any sign of them, but I also have no clue how big and how much power they have. Not to mention they have a God helping them.

I decided I would take a plane to somewhere in Europe. Eventually I decided upon Germany. I’m pretty sure I had some German heritage in me, and I wasn’t exactly sure where else I would go. So I picked it when I saw there would be a plane departing soon. I helped myself to a body that was seated in first class, and I attempted to relax.

My relaxation attempt was cut short however.

Since I had taken a body in first class I had boarded first. I was sat isolated from the main section of the plane. There was no way for me to know that no one else had entered the plane. It took me a few minutes to notice that I was completely alone if first class.

I stood up a bit anxious and began to make my way to where I had entered the plane. As I approached the entrance I saw a few large men in suits, and they began to walk towards me. I knew I was trapped, but I still attempted to turn around and run to the back of plane. Before I could however I felt a quick pain in my neck, and I fell unconscious.

When I woke up I noticed I was still in the body of the wealthy stranger I had taken. However, I was in a straitjacket now. Not only that, but there was some sort of mouthpiece holding my teeth down. This prevented me from moving my mouth whatsoever. I looked up to see there was a young man sitting next to me. He was probably early 20’s, he had dark brown hair, and bright green eyes. He had strong facial features, and almost seemed to be glowing.

“I’m sorry about the restraints. They are only temporary. We didn’t want to have to chase you again.” He spoke. He almost seemed to be waiting for a response, but then he must have remembered I was incapable of giving one, so he continued on his own.

“You have nothing to fear. Our God has gifted us with you, and you shall lead us. I have been given the honor to become one with you. Soon we will share a body as we lead the world to new heights.”

His voice was almost hypnotic. I found myself entranced by his words. I had no clue what this cult had planned, but his body certainly wouldn’t be a bad place to call home.

While I was replaying what he said in my head, I didn’t notice that he had begun to move closer. Before I knew it he was right in front of me. He expertly pulled out a blade and slit the throat of the body I was in. I was ejected from the body as it went limp. Before I could react the man grabbed my hand.

I found myself in the cultist’s body. Even though I had full control, something felt different. This body just felt right. Even better than the one I had spent over a year in. It was as if this body was truly the one I was meant to be in. Maybe this cult knew a few things after all.

After a few moments I heard a door behind me open. A few people in robes entered the room. They were of various ages and appearance, but they all shared one characteristic. Green eyes. Once about ten of them had entered the room they began to kneel. One of the older ones in front began to speak.

“We have been blessed by your awakening. Hopefully the body we chose for you is suitable for now. You may replace it in the future if you wish.”

“What do you want from me?” I replied.

“We already have our plans prepared. We simply wish for you to guide us in the new world. Will you?”

“Yes.” I had said it without hesitation, but why? I didn’t even know what this cult’s plan was. Why did I say yes so quickly? Then I remembered whose body I was in. Did he still have influence over me? He hadn’t tried to kick me out. Well, he had actually forced me inside. It was unlike any other times I had taken a body. I thought I was in full control, but could it be possible the cultist still had some power over his body?

After my agreement all of the cultists that had already been kneeling began to press their heads to the ground as if in prayer. The older one that had been speaking to me stood up however.

“We knew you wouldn’t fail us. Please follow me, I have much to show you master.” He said.

He showed me everything. The cult is much larger than even I expected. There are thousands of followers, and many of them in places of power. As I’m sure you can already guess, all of them have green eyes.

Their grand plan is something incredibly sinister. They have been ingrained in positions of power for centuries, but they had never made any real moves. With my existence however, they are ready to act. They believe my rebirth calls for a rebirth of the planet. They have the firepower to do it too.

I could probably stop them, but I don’t know that I want to anymore. Once most of the world’s population is gone, I will be the one to rule over those who are left. Perhaps it is this body that has made me think this way, but I’m not sure anymore.

So, why am I telling you all this? Well, it’s mostly because I can. There’s nothing you can do to stop what is coming, but if you have green eyes perhaps I can save you. For the rest of you, try to enjoy the time you have left.


Credit: Devin Hoover (TwitterReddit)

The post I Steal Bodies appeared first on Creepypasta.

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Camper Appreciation

Reading Time: 17 minutes
“Come on, Jim, you know it’s going to suck.”

I didn’t nod, though I wanted to.  Mark was right, as usual.  Most of camp had sucked, to be honest.

Tom, on the other hand, tried once more to be the voice of reason, even as he tugged up his shorts and kicked at a rock on the ground.  “Guys, we’re going to get in trouble.  Everyone else is going.”

Mark sighed and adjusted his glasses.  “Just because everyone’s doing it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea.  Didn’t you see that old movie where everyone on board the airplane eats the fish and they all get sick?”

As we looked up at the big “Camper Appreciation Night” banner above the cafeteria door, I decided then and there we would ditch.  Not like we’d miss much.  A couple of songs, some pats on the back, the “Hope-pache Awards,” which everyone was pretty sure were insensitive to somebody, somewhere.

In fact, the only good thing about camp at all was the reason we were ditching.  “Yeah, Mark, let’s do it.”

“My man!” Mark slapped me on the back, a big wide, stupid grin on his face.  “Even if it turns out to be nothing special, at least we had an adventure.  That’s what camp’s all about, right?”

Camp Quiet Ridge had not been an adventure, to say the least.  Oh, sure, me, Mark and Tom had always had fun at our old camp, Camp Bendix Point, but it had closed that year thanks to a lice infestation.  Luckily (that “luckily” in gigantic, sarcastic, hipster air quotes), an old camp, refurbished and under new management, got a hold of the Bendix Point mailing list and suddenly every parent in the tri-county area was thanking their lucky stars that their rugrats had something to do that summer.

The director, Barry, seemed like a nice enough guy, but after the first day rained out the archery competition and it was discovered that most of the canoes had been ruined by a squirrel, things went downhill from there.  The nature hikes were slow and nobody saw any cool animals, the crafts weren’t anything to write home about, and the counselors were all bored.  To top it all off, during the week somebody had smashed up the windows in the cafeteria.  They were never caught, but plywood had to be put up.  Thankfully the lights inside worked… most of the time.

Seeing how his whole effort was going down the drain, Barry decided to cancel that upcoming Thursday’s wallet making session to invite the whole place down by the lake to hear him tell ghost stories.  It seemed like a long shot, but by that point, pretty much everyone in the place felt so bad for him that we all obliged.

We didn’t need to worry.  He was good.  Really good.  Some of his stuff really did make our skin crawl, and a few times I looked out over the lake to the woods on the far side, imagining ghost and goblins lurking out in the woods, watching us.

The tale that got to me the most, though, was one he told about a family, which had camped out there many years ago, that had mysteriously disappeared.  A young man, his wife and their two children were warned that there was a murderer that lived out in the woods, but they didn’t listen.  The killer lived in an old house, built by a logger at the turn of the century, and they set up camp far too close to his home.  Then, one night, while they slept, he came upon their tent, and with a few fell swoops of an axe, he killed every last one of them.  He then feasted on the remains and buried them up in his shack.

I recall Barry finished his cautionary tale with a totally unnecessary warning: “So don’t go out into the woods alone, because the killer might be out there.  He could be anywhere…even…HERE!”  Then he jumped at a couple of campers, who screamed with delight.

The story sounded like total crap.  Ever since the slasher movies of the 80s, every camp has some story about some murderer roaming the woods; at this point they’re practically mascots.  Heck, even Bendix Point had the legend of Ol’ Charley, a hermit who chased bad little kids with a chainsaw in hand and a bag over his head.

The thing is…there was a house.  At least, that’s what Mark said.  He had wandered off on Tuesday while our bunkhouse was trying to put together a papier-mâché totem pole in the activity center up in the hills, and he saw a small little house, barely bigger than a hut, hiding up a little ways in the woods.  He didn’t think much of it at the time; only when he heard the story did he put two and two together.

Now, none of us believed for a second that we’d find a bunch of dead bodies up in that house.  But the three of us were the curious type; something like that was just too good a deal to pass up.  It was away from camp, probably abandoned, and we figured we’d have a ton of fun digging through trash to see if we could find anything to take home.  At that point, somebody’s old junk was better than any of the crap we had made that whole week at camp.  My leather wallet, for instance, looked more like a foot than anything I could keep money in.

Besides, we wouldn’t be gone all night… we’d be back before anyone called on a search.  And if they did, so what?  Considering our phonebook sized permanent records at school, it’s not like we weren’t used to getting into trouble.  Tom was the best among us, but he still did whatever we told him to do.

“I still don’t know…”

I rolled my eyes.  “Tom, if you don’t come with us, I’m putting a snake in your underwear before we go.”

“There’s no snakes in these woods.”

“I’ll buy one.”

“Geez, all right!”

See?  Did whatever we said.

Mark led the way.  We had just reached the edge of the camp center when we heard whistling, and saw Barry walking around outside the mess hall.  We ducked low, and watched him as he went over to the main doors, looking around as if to make sure everyone was safely in, and pulled the latches on the doors so they could shut.

I did feel a little twinge of guilt.  I really couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy.  He kind of reminded me of what Tom might have looked like when got older…a little chunky, balding a bit under that cap of his, but always smiling and friendly, even if a little gullible and naive.  Still, the lure of adventure won out, and Mark whispered for us to go.  Barry wasn’t paying attention anyway… he was fumbling in his pocket for keys or something.

We skirted up into the hills, back up to the activity center.  It was slow-going, being uphill, and we had to hold up for Tom once or twice, as he wasn’t exactly in the kind of shape required for most summer camps.  Once we’d made it to the top, Mark pointed up into the pine trees.

“Up there.  As soon as you break the treeline, you can see it.  Probably take five minutes to get there.”

I smiled.  “Awesome.  Let’s go.”

We waited a moment.  Mark shifted his weight.  “You go first.”

“You brought us here.  You go.”

“I told you we shouldn’t have come.”

We both turned to Tom.  “Shut up, Tom!”

An owl hooted.  Great.  We hadn’t seen anything other than a few squirrels and songbirds that year up to that point. Of course, the wildlife picked the worst possible time to show up, just as we started to get cold feet.

I decided we wouldn’t get anywhere unless someone stepped up, and if that wasn’t going to be Mark, it certainly wasn’t going to be Tom, either.  “All right, fine. I’ll go first.”

Up until that point, we had relied on the moonlight to lead us, but once we stepped into the trees it got dark.  Really dark.  Like “locked in the closet by my older brother when I was 6” dark.  I got out my little penlight from the pack of camping accessories my parents got me on my first day of camp and pointed it up the hill, shining it around looking for the house.

It took a little while to find it, but once my beam landed on it, there was no mistaking it.  It looked like a place a logger would have built, with mostly wooden walls, but somebody who was clearly not a logger had added a crummy side room onto the place.  At one time or another it appeared to have been painted white, and its windows were busted out; its door hung loosely upon its hinges. I remember thinking at the time that it was way more awesome than “Camper Appreciation Night.”

I climbed up, with Mark following closely behind, and Tom stumbling his way after the both of us, until we reached the door, and I pushed it open.

Inside, the place was a wreck.  Busted, useless furniture filled nearly every corner.  Old tin cans, rusted and forgotten, covered a large portion of the floor.  The mess continued on through an open doorway to an old kitchen, with a busted gas stove and an on old latching refrigerator, the type mothers always say never to play with.  There’d been no power to them, obviously, but it was still a wonderland of garbage to sift through. And that’s when I saw something metallic gleaming, partially obscured by the dirt and leaves littering the kitchen floor.  I brushed the remaining dirt away and found a handle.

“Holy crap.  Guys, look.”

Tom came over first, and his eyes widened.  “Is that…”

I nodded, and pulled it hard.  A square of the floor rose up, revealing a small, dirty crawlspace, and pure darkness beyond.

Tom gasped.  “You think there’s…”

“Of course not.  There’s no dead body under here.”  But even I couldn’t believe my own words.  What if some psycho really had been living up in these woods and buried some bodies in here?  It certainly looked possible.

“Mark.  Mark, come over here and…”

I looked behind me and saw that Mark was still in the main room, bent over and thoroughly examining something.  He was turning it over in his hands.  I left the trap door open and went over to see what he was doing.

“What is that?”

When Mark looked up at me, his pale, shaken expression was enough to put me ill at ease.  But then I saw the source of his concern for myself.

In his hands was a pair of binoculars – modern ones – only slightly scuffed and dirty, where hands had been touching them.

“Where did you find those?”

Mark pointed below the broken window.  I had overlooked that pile while investigating the kitchen, but it now had our full attention, and it was obvious in an instant that the things we were seeing shouldn’t have been in that house.  We saw cans that were not only in pristine condition, but sealed. Beside a pile of old, tattered blankets was a modern sleeping bag.

I looked out the window.  Most of the outside was unobservable in the darkness, but there was a small spot where the moonlight made it possible to get a glimpse of our surroundings.  Taking the binoculars from Mark, I looked out at that point.  It wasn’t much, but I could see the center of camp and the cafeteria from there.  It was far off, but clear enough that, in the daytime, I would have been able to see a lot.

Then something moved in front of the light.  I lowered the binoculars, and I saw a shape amidst the blackness, its outline visible thanks to a small light it was carrying, which was pointed to the ground. It looked a bit like a flashlight beam, though it was covered, presumably to keep others from seeing it. For several moments I stared trancelike at the wandering stranger, until the sudden sound of approaching footsteps startled me, breaking the silence.

“Oh, crap!”  I whispered, dropping the binoculars. I grabbed Mark.  “Someone’s coming!”

Mark froze, his earlier resolve to ditch camp seemingly gone.  I grabbed his arm and looked for a rear exit.

There wasn’t one.  There was no door out to the back.  And all the windows faced the front. Apparently loggers were not known for following fire escape standards.

“Guys!  Here!”

Tom waved to the trap door.  I had my second thoughts, to be sure – the crawlspace wasn’t exactly inviting – but I wasn’t weighing many options.  Whoever – or whatever – was coming towards us was definitely not a camp counselor, and my mind conjured up nothing but images of chainsaws, knives, and the thought of us all skinned and hanging from the rooftop flooded my mind.  With those images flashing through my head, we really had no choice.  I pulled Mark towards the trap door and dropped in.  Tom came in after us and pulled it shut.

It was quiet upstairs for a few moments.  It was dry and dusty, and I could feel cobwebs all over.  I wasn’t sure if there were spiders still living in them, but I still felt light prickles going up and down my skin.

The front door opened.  We held our breath as footsteps trumped back and forth in the next room, followed by a short, sharp yell.  There was a thunk sound, and a can went scurrying across the floor.

Oh, no, I thought. He must’ve noticed his stuff was touched.  Through the darkness, Tom reached for me and grabbed me by the shoulder, squeezing tightly.  Normally I would have elbowed him as hard as possible, but right then I didn’t mind in the least.

The footsteps shuffled around a little, and we watched in horror as the beam of the covered light danced through the gaps in the floorboards, until at last the intruder stopped in the kitchen… directly over the spot where we were hiding.

The light shone over the trap door.  The same trap door we had recently unearthed.

As the light passed over the three of us, we tried to duck down as low as we could, moving as little as possible, and holding our breath.  But in a moment, the light caught his face, and I saw who had been living in the house.

It was a man, older than my dad, maybe in his 50s, if I could even guess.  He was dirty, with brown streaks smudging his face, but while I normally imagined homeless guys as having long beards, crazy unkempt hair and even crazier eyes, this man only had a few days’ worth of stubble and short hair with a few flecks of gray.  His eyes, though, were constantly moving, as if something was always darting around in front of him.  They were also wide, practically bulging out of his head, like he was genuinely scared that something was in the room with him.

And then he shone the light right between the boards.  The brightness of the beam forced me to blink and avert my gaze as my pupils dilated abruptly. And in that moment, his eyes stopped darting around.

Tom and Mark didn’t move, didn’t breathe, even.  But none of that helped when I saw the smile slowly start to cross the man’s face.

I waited for him to fling open the trap door and yank us all out and tie us up, ready to put us on a spit.  But instead, he went over and grabbed the stove, and with a horrible squealing noise he positioned it over the top of the trap door.  Once the dragging stopped, the man trudged into the other room, leaving us alone in the dark. Tom began whimpering. Meanwhile, I put my eye as close to the floorboards as I could, and I stared in silence.

Courtesy of what little light the old man’s dim flashlight offered, I watched him rummage through his pile of things. A moment later he found what he was searching for: a long object with one end larger and fatter than the other.  When he hoisted his light again, I saw it was an axe.

My blood stopped circulating.  A darkness greater than that of the crawlspace seemed to envelop me, and the world appeared to swirl.

I awoke a short time later, to the sight of Tom before me, slapping me repeatedly.

“Jim!  Wake up!  You fainted!”

I sat up.  “What?  What happened?”

I heard something click, and my penlight came on.  Tom swung it under his face.

“He left.  I don’t know where he went, but he’s not here.”

I rubbed my face, and noticed my hands were shaking.  We weren’t dead… not yet, anyway.  “Where’s Mark?”

Tom shone the light on Mark, who was balled up and rocking back and forth.  On the one hand, I didn’t blame him for freaking out.  But I did want to crawl over and slap him for getting us into this.

I pushed at the trap door, but the stove now blocking our way had to weigh more than the three of us combined; we weren’t getting out that way.

“So, what now?”

Tom shook his head.  “I don’t know.  But there’s got to be something.  Here, take the light and look.”

The crawlspace was incredibly gross.  No matter where I directed the beam of my light, I discovered old cobwebs, debris, and even the bones of squirrels and rats that had gotten stuck over the years, a sight that didn’t exactly boost my confidence.  There were no spaces around the edge we could crawl through; where there wasn’t raw earth, there was stone foundation.  If we wanted to dig our way out, we’d have a very hard time doing it.

I turned my attention to the floor above us.  In certain places, the dirt was so thick that it completely blocked our view of the house above. Regardless, I tested each and every one of the boards I could reach.

It was near the old refrigerator, near the rear of the space, where I found our first and only possible means of escape.  Perhaps the ceiling had a leak at one time, but for whatever reason the wood there was really soft, and when I scraped it with my fingernail, bits of it flaked off.

“Get over here!” I called out.

Tom came right away, but Mark had to be coaxed.  I told everyone we needed to get on our backs and kick as hard as we could.  Tom and Mark agreed to give it a try, as we had no other options. The first collective kick merely shook the floor, but the second strike elicited a loud crunching noise as part of the floor splintered. I would have jumped for joy if I’d been able to. A third followed, producing more cracks, and then a fourth, fifth, and a sixth…

Ten kicks later, the floorboards were in their death throes, and with a final push outwards and upwards, they finally gave way.  I wasted no time.  I clambered up through the hole, wholly unconcerned about splinters and scrapes.  I didn’t care.  We were free, and cuts were the least of our worries.

I helped Tom and Mark out, and we bolted out the front door with abandon. We took off down the hill, yelling and screaming our heads off, hoping someone from camp would hear us.

As we entered the campgrounds and ran past the nurse’s station, our collective instincts kicked in and we came to a halt, and stood silently.  Something was wrong.  Looking around, we noticed that the camp was only barely lit.  No one had come to help us, or even stepped out of a building to see what all the noise was about.

The camp was deserted.

The only place that was still lit was the cafeteria.  We ran up to it and tried the front door. It didn’t budge, but something on it rattled.  In my haste to try to get in, I had failed to notice the large metal chain, visible in the moonlight, that had been padlocked into place around the handles.

We went door to door, and found the exact same thing over and over again: chains and padlocks.  Only the final door was accessible. It had obviously been secured like the others at some point, but someone must have really wanted to get in. What remained of its chains was in pieces on the ground.  I hesitated before I opened the door.

We found ourselves in a back hall that led to several different doors.  The closest opened into the kitchen… again, empty, and again, not what we should’ve seen on Camper Appreciation Night.  The lights were on, though, and it felt safer than the back hallway.  The only other exit from the kitchen was through the double doors that led into the cafeteria itself.  We listened intensely for a moment, but heard nothing to suggest we had company.

I pushed against the doors.  Something was blocking them, but whatever the obstruction was, it began to give way as I applied more pressure.  I mustered all the strength I had and shoved as hard as I could… and to this day I wish I had left that door shut.

The scene before me was one that will stay with me the rest of my life.  The hall was soaked in blood, from top to bottom.  Bodies lay at grotesque angles, covering the entire floor.  We found all of the tables overturned and splintered.  There were deep gashes in the plywood window frames, accompanied by streaks of blood and fragments of broken fingernails.  Limbs dangled from the rafters.

It was an absolute slaughterhouse.  The whole camp must have been in there, every last man, woman, child and bored teenage counselor.  All in pieces.  Pieces with the flesh ripped right off their bones.

I scrambled backwards and shut the door.  That was when we heard the scream.  The unholy, awful scream.  It came from the back hallway.

I ran towards it.  Everything told me to run away, but a small part of me needed an explanation for the carnage I’d just seen. Tom and Mark, wide-eyed and trembling, stood and stared as I sprinted in the direction of the sound.  I thought I heard them calling out to me, demanding I come back.  I didn’t listen.

The sound had come from the head office.  I yanked open the door, and there, pushing me back into the hallway, was the hobo.

He held me with his right hand, and he looked me right in the eyes.  I looked away… and realized why he wasn’t using his left hand.  His whole left arm was gone, raggedly torn away.

His grip loosened, and he collapsed on the floor.

I then heard noises coming from the office, a series of wheezing, gurgling grunts.  I was drawn forward; I couldn’t resist even if I had wanted to.  I felt as if the nightmare wouldn’t end until I knew what was happening, and who was responsible.

Something round and pulsating poked up from behind the main desk.  I went around it, and saw the shape was the stretched stomach of some… thing.  I tried to get a good lock at its face, but couldn’t see much due to fact that an axe had been buried deep within it.  It appeared to be… melting.  Puddling like a candle into carpeting, and leaving behind a rotten stench.  Holes began to appear in its impossibly large stomach, and I could see fingers… shoes…

It had…eaten everyone.  The whole camp.  Everyone but the three of us.

No.  Not it.  Him.

Even without seeing its face, I recognized the worn baseball cap of Barry, still perched on its head.

The rest was a blur.  Tom called the police.  They came.  They comforted us as best they could.  What had remained of Barry was gone, leaving behind only the cannibalized remains of the people he’d failed to fully digest.

I led the police to the hut where the now dead man with the axe had come from.  They ran prints on his remaining arm.  They blamed him for all the deaths.

Everyone’s parents were informed.  Our own parents hugged us tight, wailing and weeping tears of joy that we had not been among the victims.  The three of us – Tom, Mark and I – never went to camp again… though ironically, I ended up seeing a lot of counselors.

The police did find a match for the fingerprints.  Forty years ago, a 12-year-old boy by the name of Jeremiah had been found in the woods, unable to speak.  No one knew what happened to his family… from what the police could put together, they had all gone camping near Quiet Ridge, but their campsite was found empty.  As the boy wouldn’t speak to anyone, let alone testify, the authorities assumed the worst. However, no bodies or evidence of foul play was ever found.

Jeremiah spent years in halfway homes, never saying a word to anyone.  He wasn’t violent, or mean-spirited, but he had never operated at a level that suggested he could take care of himself, and ultimately he was confined to the Newbridge Retreat Facility.  He’d been there ever since, until, believe it or not, the same Wednesday that my friends and I were at Camp Quiet Ridge. That night, without warning, and to the dismay of his caretakers, he left.  A crumpled flier for the camp, which been hastily torn from a bulletin board in the visitors’ area, was later found in his room.

I saw the flier.  It had a picture of Barry’s smiling face on it.  I know because the same one had been sent to our house.  When police showed us other pictures of Barry, they looked nothing like the Barry we knew.  We had never known the real Barry at all, just whatever had pretended to be him all that time.  My guess is that whatever was responsible for the massacre at camp had dealt with Barry just before Camp Quiet Ridge opened, and no one was the wiser.  Suddenly the broken canoes, the broken and boarded-up windows, and the warning urging us to never leave the camp grounds made sense. The events of Camper Appreciation Night hadn’t been done on a whim; they’d been planned for some time.

I could only imagine what Jeremiah had gone through, keeping his knowledge of the beast a secret for forty years.  Whatever his reasons for keeping quiet until the end, I now have my own secrets, and I intend to keep mine. The last remaining knowledge of what Barry truly was will be buried with me someday.  But what exactly he was, I still don’t know.  I don’t want to know.  And thanks to Jeremiah, who sacrificed himself in his efforts to destroy it and save our lives, I hope I never will.

In the end, the man we had figured for a crazed madman trying to kill us was, in fact, an unlikely hero, keeping us safe in his own strange way.  More ironically, Tom, Mark and I – who as kids couldn’t keep out of trouble – are alive today because we disobeyed camp rules.

If there’s a moral in this, I don’t know what it is.  It doesn’t seem like we should’ve survived what became known as the “Massacre at Quiet Ridge.”  I still have nightmares.  Mark’s are the worst. Tom, thankfully, is doing okay.  In fact, ever since then, we let him make most of the decisions now.  Essentially, we’ve all recovered, as much as one can, I suppose, and we’ve moved on, graduated, gotten jobs, settled down and raised families. We should consider ourselves lucky.

But there is one lingering thought that still remains.  I always think back to that day, to what Barry really was, and can’t help but wonder if he was the only one of his kind. I hope and pray there were no others.  I’m not about to go on some adventure to find out.  I’m no hero.  These days I try to stay as far away from the woods as possible.  This means that all of you – and your children – are on your own.

If you’re going to camp, or sending your kids to one, and you hear rumor of a “Camper Appreciation Night,” watch out. You may find that the camp director’s idea of appreciation is far, far different than your own.


Credit: Seth Paul (Chilling Tales for Dark NightsFacebookTwitter • Amazon)

The post Camper Appreciation appeared first on Creepypasta.

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The Ouija Board Said It Was Hungry

Reading Time: 11 minutes

My name is Henry Himura. I work for a large law firm situated near downtown Los Angeles. We’ve handled some of the biggest, most controversial cases in the last two decades and have built quite a name for ourselves. I am using a pseudonym, because, as you will hear, this story is almost fantastical, nearly too frightening to believe real. I don’t want to ruin a career I have spent so much time and effort building just because some people don’t want to believe the truth of what’s out there. First, I just want to issue warning; never, ever play kokkuri-san. No matter how innocent the internet or books may make it sound, don’t do it. This is the story of how my life changed forever, and how I lost something so dear.

Spirit boards come in all shapes and sizes, and various names as well. In the US, the most common one is a Ouija board. They are intended as children’s games, when really, you can unleash something so powerful and evil that it may never be bottled. Spirit boards are just a portal to the other side, a way for spirits to communicate directly with the living, and that spirit can be good or a total evil menace. According to my research, you can use just about anything as your spirit board.

In my native country of Japan, we played a game called kokkuri-san. With this game, you question the spirits about your future, and they will sometimes answer, maybe not with the answer you are seeking. We would take a coin, place it on paper with some words and numbers written on it, and the coin would slide across to answer your question. After you were finished, you were supposed to tell kokkuri-san to go home and slid the coin to the red torii symbol at the top of the paper, and then tear the paper into forty-eight pieces or burn it.

Almost thirty years ago, my siblings and I, started playing kokkuri-san, and did so a dozen or so times before moving to America without much more than a few funny responses from the fox spirit. The last time we played kokkuri-san, my brother asked the spirit,

“Kokkuri-san, kokkuri-san, will you move this coin?”

The coin slid across the paper in repeated circles for a few seconds, then stopped.

“Kokkuri-san, when will I become rich and famous?” he asked.

The coin slide slowly across the paper, the coin was pressing so hard against the paper that I thought it would tear, but we were barely pressing on it — something else was doing it. It spelled out:

F

E

E

D

Then a pause.

M

E

From behind us, somewhere in the dark, came a deep guttural growl, like that of a hungry dog; we didn’t own a dog. We knew this was not kokkuri-san. It was never described to act like this or to be threatening; something else had come through the game! My brother panicked, running across the room to grab father’s lighter from his desk door. He set the paper on fire and dropped it into the sink to burn, then turned on the tap to drown out the flames. I realize his mistake now, something that I wish he would’ve done, and maybe it could’ve prevented everything that would come. He forgot to tell the kokkuri-san to go home before destroying the paper; he left it trapped in our world.

A few weeks later, our father transferred his job with a car manufacturer to the US and we moved to Seattle. At first, adjusting to the culture shock was overwhelming but we had all taken English language classes in school and that made it easier. I can remember a day that we went into a toy store and we were shocked to see that there was a popular, widely sold board game that was like kokkuri-san; the Ouija board. Our mother forbade us from buying it, saying it would only invite trouble, and she was unaware that we had already played kokkuri-san numerous times by then.

My brother and I managed to sneak over to the store and bought the Ouija board later that week. Katsuro was the most eager to buy it, which was obvious. I asked him why.

“Every night since the last time we played kokkuri-san, I’ve had these nightmares. They’re too real, sometimes I think they actually happen to me. In those dreams, I’m lying in bed and from the corner of my eye, I can see a dark shadow beside me. I can hear it taking deep, gasping breaths and the dripping of saliva, like it is starving. It speaks to me in a growl, demanding that I feed it.”

I asked him, “Did you ask what it wants?”

He paused for a moment, deep in thought, as we walked down the sidewalk back home, “No, I always wake up and I can’t move for a long time. Sometimes, I swear it really is standing beside the bed, like it is waiting for me to feed it… or to feed on me.” I could see the fear in his eyes and his voice. I had no doubt he was telling the truth.

“Maybe you are just dreaming, Katsuro. Dreams sometimes seem like they’re real but they’re not, they’re—.”

“Dreams don’t breathe into your ear while you’re lying on your back and unable to scream, or yell, or do anything!”

I could only hang my head in shame because I felt terrible for doubting my brother. I wanted to believe him, but who could really believe something so outrageous without seeing it yourself? Katsuro was never one to lie and would practically break his neck to tell the truth. “Okay, so what do you want to do with the Ouija board?”

“I want to speak to it, banish it back to hell, then burn that board. This time, we’ll play by the rules; this time, it won’t follow us!” he was dead serious and had the bravery of someone far older than twelve. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he clinched his fists, his stride becoming faster and faster. That happened on a Monday.

Our parents would be out the following Friday to a dinner with some of father’s executives to welcome him to the USA, and they said they would be out for hours. I was in charge because I was the oldest at fifteen and so I had to keep an eye on my siblings. Michiko was fourteen at the time and she was too preoccupied with the wonderment of American television, so Katsuro and I decided to leave her out of the plan, and we also felt like it was favor to our only sister to leave her out of any chaos that might happen.

I could read English well, but my siblings weren’t so great. The Ouija board was in English, of course, so I would have to translate because Katsuro couldn’t. We unboxed the ‘game’, reading the rules out loud.

‘Never play alone.’ Check.

‘Never play in a graveyard.’ Check. It made me double think if any were nearby, but I didn’t believe there were.

‘Never burn it.’ This one Katsuro became frustrated over.

“Why not?!” he cried bemoaning.

“I don’t know, Katsuro. It doesn’t say. They’re just the rules, I don’t think it’d be a good idea to question them.”

Never leave the planchette on the board. “Why not?” he asked.

“I don’t know? I suppose it would leave the doorway open? Stop questioning the rules and just listen!”

“Okay! Fine!”

‘Never ask when you will die.’

And the last rule: ‘Don’t forget to say goodbye.’

“That’s the one we forgot with kokkuri-san!” Katsuro reminded me.

Thunder was rolling outside, and it sounded very close to the house. Then lightning crashed, casting the whole house in a bright light like a camera flash.

“Yes, Katsuro, and let’s not do that again,” I put the rules back into the box and slammed my palms on the table. “If you so much as try to break any of these rules, I will not be to blame if something gets you!”

“I won’t!”

“Good. Now, let’s hurry before—”

That was when the lights shut off. Katsuro flipped the light switch several times with no effect. I remember groaning with indignation at the annoyance. What I hadn’t noticed then, and what I wish I would have, was that Michiko never asked what happened, or even made a sound about the power going out. We would see why later.

“No! It shut off the lights! It’s onto our plan!” the fear was growing in his voice.

“Shut up, Katsuro! It’s probably the storm! Go get those candles that mother keeps for emergencies! Hurry!”

Katsuro fetched the candles with an eagerness I rarely saw in him. He was at a running pace, and I couldn’t see him, but I heard him rummaging through cabinets at a frantic pace, followed by the patting of his feet coming back down the hallway.

“Got em!”

“Okay. I hope you didn’t break anything,” I said as I leered at him, “Anyway, let’s light them around the table so we can see the board better.”

“I wish the power was working,” his voice was quaking.

“I do too but we’ll have to wait for the power company to fix it.”

I struck a match, but it went out with an abrupt hiss. I thought that the match was just a dud, so I struck another, and the same thing happened. My annoyance was building at this point. I struck another, and another, and another; all of them snuffed out within a second of being struck. My brother found a stick lighter and tried that as well, but it did the same thing. There was no gust or blowing of the air conditioner that could cause that since the power was out. Finally, after several attempts, the spirit allowed us to light our candles, as if it were mocking us.

We began to play kokkuri-san on the Ouija board. Katsuro went to the window by the dining room table and opened it. The ozone smell of the thunderstorm flooded the inside of the house and the loud rumbling of thunder filled the house. We removed the planchette from the box and placed it at the bottom. After a few moments of hesitation, we both placed our hands on the planchette and started the game.

“Kokkuri-san, Kokkuri-san, if you’re here, please move this… planchette,” my brother said, unsure if he was saying the word correctly. He pronounced it more like ‘blanket’ but I just shrugged and laughed. In case you haven’t seen a Ouija board, the planchette is the triangular piece that players but the hands on and is used by the spirits to point to letters and numbers.

Within an instant, it began spelling out:

H

U

N

G

R

Y

“What does it say, Henry?”

“It says it is hungry,” I replied, almost crying in my fear. I wasn’t sure why I was afraid, but something about the way it jumped straight to its demand was blood-chilling. “Did you move it? Did you?”

“No! I’d never do that, Henry! I didn’t!” I believed him, and I could feel the tightening grip of fear in my stomach.

To the point, Katsuro asked, “What do you want to eat?”

The planchette moved, it moved with such force that I remember having trouble keeping my fingers on it, almost just letting go to see if it’d just move on its own.

M

E

A

T

I nearly flung my hands off the planchette and ran out of the room, but I reminded myself that I was the older one and I had to be strong for my little brother. I also wasn’t sure what’d happen if to us if I did let go.

“I will find you something,” Katsuro answered, nearly jumping from his chair. He was dashing toward the fridge.

“No! Don’t give it what it wants! You’ll make it—” that was all I got out before a sheering pain went down my back, a pain so strong that I found it hard to breath. I fell to the floor, writhing in the sudden, screaming pain. Gasping, I moved my hand under my shirt. I winced as it touched the pained area and saw blood when I looked at it.

“Katsuro! Look at my back! Please!” he was digging through the refrigerator by then, almost ignoring me entirely, as he looked desperately for something to offer.

He casually looked over his shoulder, “I’ll be right there!”, he said as he shut the fridge and came running over to me, his little arms carrying wrapped ground beef that he sat on the table. He looked at my back, and gasped.

“Henry! There are three long scratches going all the way down your back! What happened!?”

“It was that spirit! It did that when I told you not to feed it! You’re just going to make it stronger, Katsuro!”

We both made eye contact with the ground beef, but the packages were empty. There was no sign that the packaging had been cut, torn, broken in to whatsoever – just empty packages. The planchette moved again, this time without us touching it. It moved with a jerky motion, like something didn’t quite know what it was doing, or like the jerky movement of computer lag.

N

E

X

T

Then it slid to a blank area and back onto the board.

B

L

O

O

D

Katsuro grabbed the planchette and threw it out the window as hard as his little arms could. When we turned back around, it was back on the table on the word NO.

Then it began to spell out.

Y

O

U

R

S

I moved the planchette to the word NO and then to GOODBYE, but then it moved on its own back to the word NO and spelled the next word so fast that I could barely tell that is said:

S

I

S

T

E

R

Michiko gave out a terrifying scream so loud that somebody would’ve called the police if they could’ve heard her over the storm. Katsuro and I rushed down the hallway to her room at the far right of the hallway. She was lying on her side under the blankets, facing the wall, still screaming. I rolled her over to examine her; her eyes were shut, as if she were in a deep sleep, but her mouth was shrieking in bloody terror. I shook her hard several times, calling her name, trying my best to wake her, but she just kept screaming. Her arm flopped from under the blanket over the side of the bed as I was shaking her, and I saw that her wrist was slowly dripping blood onto the carpet. It wasn’t slit on the artery or anything life threatening, but pricked, like with a small knife, and was only bleeding a few drops at a time. I knew First Aid, so I wrapped the wound with one of her clean socks from her dresser and told Katsuro we had to end this now.

As we were leaving Michiko’s room, the temperature in the entire house plummeted, which was unexplainable since it was late summer, and the air conditioning wasn’t working due to the power outage. I noticed that my breath coming out in a cloud. The lights began to flicker then, and I saw something standing at the end of the hallway; a pitch-black figure about seven-feet-tall, nearly as high as the ceiling! It looked like a man, but I it had long, skinny claws instead of hands, and a smile filled with pointed teeth. It was gone once the flickering stopped a few moments later. It was showing us what it was, and I knew that it was warning us to continue… or else.

Katsuro and I sat down at the table, placed our hands at the board.

“What can we do to make you go away?”

The planchette moved to NO, then GOODBYE.

My brother sighed, but then gave out a shriek of terror as he was jerked to the floor and dragged down the hallway by some invisible force. I jumped up, grabbing his hands, pulling with everything I had but couldn’t budge him. It was going straight into his closet. He kept screaming, “No! Please no! Stop! Just stop!” as he was being forced down the hallway and inside his bedroom closed. From within the closet, I saw yellow eyes and a wide smile staring back at me. I grabbed onto Katsuro’s hands, trying my best to stop it, but it was no use; the closet snapped shut with a hard and powerful slam and Katsuro went inside.

Out of panic and desperation, I tried to open the closet doors. After multiple attempts, the doors finally opened. My brother was not inside. Inside, there were piles of Styrofoam meat trays, all appeared to have been opened recently. I realized later that Katsuro had been spending his allowance on various kinds of meats for this thing. I also found another kokkuri-san paper under some of the trays. I tore it into 48 pieces, along with the Ouija board, burned them, and threw the ashes into the wind, thinking maybe that that it’d summon him back. It didn’t.

He did not.

It has been nearly twenty years since he went missing and we filed that missing persons report. My parents assumed that he ran away to go back to Japan. The move had been hard on him and he expressed his dislike of the move often. As for the meat trays, well, my parents and the police didn’t mention that detail or ask about it, almost if they just didn’t notice them. For weeks, I searched for my brother, finding no trace of him. Sometimes I’d sit in his closet, begging for an answer, but I’d get nothing. My parents grieved a long time, and their marriage dissolved as a result. Mother went back to Japan, while she allowed father to keep us in America, where I finished school and later became a lawyer. My father once convinced me to pay a private investigator to find Katsuro, but as you may guess, they found no trace of him either.

After I write this, there is a Ouija board on my dining room table. On the table, I also have some cheap ground beef, my brother’s favorite toy, and something I have that I didn’t thirty years ago; a vast knowledge on how to kill a demon.


Credit: The Dead Canary (Chilling Tales for Dark NightsYouTubeReddit)
If you wish to narrate the story please contact Chilling Tales for Dark Nights for permission by clicking here.

The post The Ouija Board Said It Was Hungry appeared first on Creepypasta.

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Jesus 2.0

Reading Time: 13 minutes

This story is part of the author’s Heavensville series of interrelated stories. If you enjoy it, the author invites you to click here to read the other tales in the series.


The first thing I noticed about him was his shaggy, champagne-colored hair that reached down to his shoulders and how it contrasted against his dark, brown skin. He smiled, looking at me with his sleepy eyes.

“I’m Chus Dominguez,” he said, extending his soft hand towards me.

According to his file, the kid had lived a life filled to the brim with the worst of luck. Still, his sleepy eyes were cheerful and tender as he introduced himself. I already liked him.

“I’m Mio,” I replied enthusiastically, “Your new foster dad.” I smiled wide, hoping to look welcoming.

In our first month together, I learned that Chus loved wearing tie-dye t-shirts, ripped pair of jeans and John Lennon inspired sunglasses. He was a huge fan of all things Michael Jackson. And each time he spoke, it was like a song, always ending on a pleasing note. His charming demeanor and whimsical charisma won over every person he met. I truly believed I had lucked out because I had been told teenagers were the hardest to foster; but my Chus, he was grand.

Chus impressed his teachers at school with his encyclopedia-like knowledge, acing his first science project when he used a chemical reaction to turn water into wine. Since his grades were good, I allowed him to take an after-school job. He managed to get a job as a carpenter’s helper and with his salary, he made donations to the local homeless shelter. On weekends, he volunteered at the Humane Society. I mean, I really couldn’t complain. The kid was pretty spectacular.

One evening, as I passed by his room, I heard him and his best friend, Tia Chrinst, giggling. I thought nothing of it until I smelled something familiar in the air. Slightly worried, I popped my head in the door.

“Guys? Everything alright?” I asked.

I saw Chus hiding something inside his mouth, not able to reply. Tia, also holding something in her mouth, turned a pallid white. I knew what it was.

“Guys, relax,” I said, sighing and chuckling, “It’s okay. It’s legal in this state, but, technically, not for you guys. So just do it at home. No driving or going outside, okay?”

Chus and Tia immediately burst into laughter, releasing all the smoke from their mouths into the air. I laughed all the way to my room, where I reminisced about the days I used to get high with my friends back in high school myself. What a wonderful time the 60s had been.

I was dozing off to sleep, when I heard them again, this time in the kitchen. I assumed it was a classic case of the munchies, so I walked down the stairs to show them where all the goods were. As I walked towards the kitchen, I inadvertently overheard their conversation.

“But have you actually spoken to him lately?” Tia asked Chus.

Chus gloomily replied, “It’s been at least a century since I last spoke to him. But I think he knows where I am. Or if he doesn’t yet, he’ll figure it out soon enough.”

I assumed they were reenacting a scene from a movie.

Tia continued, “Well, if our plan goes through, you’ll only have to speak to him once more. And then you can live happily ever after. For eternity. Imagine that!”

“I just feel bad,” Chus replied, “About using Mio. This is the first time in my entire, long life that I’ll be using a human for my own selfish need.”

‘Use me? For what?’ I thought to myself, quietly standing behind the wall of the kitchen.

“Oh, stop it,” Tia replied, annoyed, “You’re literally the most selfless soul in this universe. It’s okay to take care of your own needs once in a lifetime.”

Feeling disappointed and slightly frightened, I silently walked back to my room. I tried not to think about the conversation I had overheard between Tia and Chus. But, soon enough, things started to crumble down for me.

First, my car was vandalized. Then, my identity was stolen. But things got worse. By the end of the month, I had lost my job and had an awful case of pneumonia. At this point, I was starting to get worried as I had to take care of Chus’ needs, not just mine. I searched and searched for a new job online but received no replies. Worse, I could barely breathe as my pneumonia grew scarier and scarier in spite of all the medication and medical visits.

“It’s all my fault,” Chus sheepishly said to me one evening.

I coughed into a napkin, some blood staying behind on it. “What do you mean? Of course it’s not.”

“No. It is. It’s my fault. I know who is doing all of this. It’s my father. He’s doing it to punish me,” he replied, tightening his shoulders.

“Okay?” I said, puzzled.

“Christmas is right around the corner, and on Christmas, we tell the truth,” he began, “I picked you, Mio. I chose you because I knew what a good guy you’ve been your whole life. Attempting to foster a child is a clear example of your altruism. You’re selfless. And I love that about you.”

I continued to listen.

“You don’t deserve all the misery that was befallen onto you. This is happening to you because he knows I’m here with you. And I’ve tried to stop it, I’ve tried to help you, but he’s stronger than I am. And I’m sorry, but… I needed your help. You see, my father, he’s a very controlling man,” Chus said looking down at his hands.

I was completely lost thinking the pneumonia was blocking me from making sense of everything he was telling me.

Chus continued,“I don’t think you’ll believe me until you see it for yourself. I’m going to need you to come with me. Would you come with me, Mio?”

I noticed his eyes glistening as they filled with tears.

“Where?” I asked.

“To see my father. The one who created me,” he replied.

Chus drove us out an hour away to a secluded beach where he walked me to the edge of the water. I assumed that he had set up a meeting at the beach with his father behind my back. At the point, the pneumonia was so severe that all I could say was ‘yes’ to everything.

“Chus, do you think on the way back we could stop at the pharmacy for-“ Before I could finish my sentence, I noticed a man approaching us.

This wasn’t just any man. He was a giant. He was a brawny man, strong and powerful, with muscles protruding from his body like mountains on a valley. He wore a pair of unreasonably tight, black swim trunks that highlighted everything. His massive legs looked like they could crush any living creature with a single misstep. His thick skin was evenly bronzed and looked recently oiled. His hair, slightly wet from the ocean, shined and moved in the wind, like in a Pantene commercial.

“Hello, father,” I heard Chus say. I couldn’t believe that Chus, the shaggy-haired, scrawny kid had come from this colossal giant whose shadow in the sand was three times the size of me.

“Hello,” he answered in a husky voice, “It’s been a while. And I see you’ve brought a friend.”

Feeling completely inadequate I managed a wimpy “Uh, hi,” before bending over as I coughed up a storm. His father barely acknowledged me.

“So, you’re going to pretend that you don’t know Mio? After everything you’ve put him through?” Chus asked him.

His father broke out into a loud and intimidating laughter, revealing perfect teeth. “So, you’ve gone looking for a new father. You don’t remember what happened the last time you had a human father?” He laughed some more.

I was a bit confused by his choice of words.

“Mio, how long have you been his father?” His father suddenly asked me.

“About 6 months,” I said, trying to hold some more coughs I could feel building up inside me.

“Oh? Six months. Wow. Because I’ve been doing this for thousands of years and he’s still a giant puzzle to me,” his father replied, dismissing me with his hands.

“Okay,” I answered, feigning laughter, “Let’s not get sarcastic, now. I’ve been with him for a little over 6 months and it’s been going great. Now, I don’t know how he ended up in foster care, and I’m not here to judge you but-“

“Judge me?” His father suddenly asked, sounding scorned. “Of course you’re not here to judge me. I’m the one who does all the judging.”

“Wow, okay” I replied, getting annoyed, “Listen, I think you need to drop it down a notch with your condescending attitude, sir. Once again, I don’t know what issues you have-“

“What issues I have?” His father asked me, sarcastically. “You don’t know the half of it. And I mean that literally. This son of mine created half-a-book worth of lies in my name.”

“I- I don’t follow?” I replied.

I looked over at Chus who was now rapidly blinking and forming beads of sweat over his forehead.

“There’s a book. About me. It’s the highest selling book worldwide. You should read it sometime, but only the first part,” his father added sarcastically. Noticing I still had no idea what he was talking about, he sucked his teeth and said, “You people are truly clueless. You don’t get it? I made men. And women. And the skies, the oceans, the animals, the stars in this universe and, I even made your mom. I made everything. And all I’ve ever asked for in return was for you, smarty-pant creations, to use your God-given brains to worship and adore your creator.”

He paused, closing in on me, “I am your father. I am everyone’s father. Because I am God.”

‘Okay, this guy is completely nuts,’ I thought to myself, laughing out loud, causing me to have another coughing fit.

His father stared at me as I struggled to regain my composure, but before I could, he tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Watch this.”

He placed his hands over my chest and shoved me down to the ground.

“Hey! Hey!” I said, slowly getting back up, “There’s no need to get violent. Violence only-“ I stopped in the middle of my sentence, noticing the immediate change that had occurred inside me. The pain in my chest was gone. The scratchy feeling inside me throat? Gone. The chills? Gone. The pounding headache? Gone. The pneumonia had disappeared.

“How did you-? What did you-? How is that-?” I asked, pointing at him and then back at me and then back at him again.

“I’m God, remember?” He repeated.

I looked over at Chus, who simply shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

“Now listen, here’s what we’re gonna do,” God said, “My son here, will be coming with me. And I will spare your life and give you back your health, your car, your job and whatever else I took because, quite frankly, I did get a little jealous watching you two canoodling.”

“I’m not coming with you,” Chus finally said, breaking his silence.

“Wait, if he’s God, and you’re his son, does that make you-?” I asked, doing the math in my head.

Chus nodded.”Yeah, about that. My name is Chus. Which, in spanish, is short for Jesus.”

I stood there in shock, remembering all his quirks I had noticed; his kindness, his empathy, his intelligence, his carpentry skills, his ability to turn water into wine. How did I not see it before?

Noticing my confusion, Chus added “Of Nazareth?” For clarification.

Still, I stood frozen, going through some sort of existential crisis.

“Oh come on!” God suddenly exclaimed. “Are you serious? Now you’re impressed? Now you’re speechless? I literally just told you I am God and then cured you from pneumonia, but it’s this guy being Jesus what impresses you?”

“I-uh-no… I’m sorry. I just,” I couldn’t figure out a way to explain my natural reaction.

God slammed his enormous fists on the ground, making the sand vibrate beneath us.

“This is why I detest humans! They worship anything that slightly impresses them. Elvis, the Internet, the Kardashians. I mean, I sent my son Jesus to spread my word, and then what do they do? They make up an entire new religion based off from him, complete with the biggest holiday on earth included. Paganism! Paganism everywhere!”

“I was only trying to help,” Jesus replied, indignantly. I felt bad for Jesus. His father was clearly jealous of him.

“Oh! You were only trying to help?” God repeated mockingly. “Do you think it helped me when you claimed that all sins would be forgiven and absolved by me if humans simply repented? Do you think you helped me when you claimed that anyone could make it into the Heavens as long as they claimed my name at their deathbed? NO! You didn’t help. You made all of that stuff up and made a mockery out of my regime! You and your incompetent forgiving ways have gotten us nowhere!”

Jesus quickly replied, “What was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to allow you to continuously punish human souls for every tiny, small action that you consider a sin?”

“This is MY universe and I am its God! Therefore, only I can decide what is a sin or not. Only I get to decide the difference between good and evil!”

Jesus looked over at me. “You know, you shouldn’t worship God. Not if you want to end up living inside a marble.” He paused. “That’s what he does. He keeps all the souls inside little marbles so that he can easily count them and know exactly how many souls he owns. And inside the marbles, gives them the illusion of what he considers to be eternal bliss, which is really just stale Boston cream donuts and room-temperature soda, along with reruns of Gilligan’s Island. That’s Heaven, according to him.”

“Oh my god,” I answered, petrified.

“Don’t use my name in vain,” God prettily replied, ignoring Jesus’ accusations.

“I’m so sorry,” I immediately replied.

“Don’t say sorry to a murderer,” Jesus provocatively said, ”He had me tortured. Men tore through my tendons, nerves and wrists, nailing me to a wooden cross I had to carry myself. Do you know what it feels like to carry on your back, for miles, the device that will be ultimately used to murder you? The physical agony I endured was unforgivable. But worse than that, he made me carry the weight of all human sins on my back for hundreds of years. There is no bigger weight than that. You guys do sin a lot. The suffering I went through during that period in my life has left with with traumas that I still struggle with today.”

God laughed. “I don’t care. The truth is, I stopped caring about you 2000 years ago when you began spreading false sermons and false messages about who I am and what they must do. Let me be clear with you, I do not forgive. Ever. I do not care. Ever. And I’ll be honest, I feel no guilt about anything I’ve done because I. AM. GOD. I have no remorse from the time I convinced Abraham to kill his children, I have no remorse for ordering the death of children in Egypt, I have no remorse for the time I suffocated and drowned all humans on earth, leaving only Noah and his family behind. So to be completely clear, I have no remorse for what I had done to you. And do you know why?”

Jesus’ eyes filled with tears again.

“Because I created it all. I am the almighty. There is nothing greater than me. And whether you like it or not, I am still your father,” God replied, his eyes bigger than ever.

“Oh my God,” I said, scared shitless.

“You’ve used my name in vain again, Mio,” God said, turning to me.

“I’m so sorry, God, I really am. It’s a habit of mine,” I quickly replied, realizing what type of god I was facing.

“Oh for God’s sake!” Jesus suddenly screamed. “Do you really care to insult this God? The reason he is collecting souls is because there are other gods! In other universes! And they have this ridiculous competition going about who can collect the most souls in 1.3 billion years. There is no eternal bliss. It’ll all be over in 1.3 billion years, earth, humans, this universe, it’ll all disappear and then he’ll move on to something else. He always does.”

“Oh my God,” I said again, idiotically not realizing I had used his name in vain again.

“That’s it! You quit using my name in vain for stupid human expressions!” God suddenly screamed at me.

“Yes! I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed, falling down to my knees, begging for mercy.

God seemed pleased, seeing me on my knees.

“No! Get up!” Jesus suddenly ran over to me, picking me up from the ground. “I will not allow this any longer! God, I denounce you as my father. That’s why I came here in the first place. I came to tell you that you are no longer my father. Mio, here, he is my real father. I no longer love you. I no longer adore you. I no longer worship you. I love Mio, a true good soul. And I’m here to say goodbye.”

I had heard about God’s fury before, but had never seen its true powers. Jesus’ words to his father clearly broke something inside him. The last thing I remember was God exploding into a burning, bright light. After that, the world around me disappeared as darkness set in. I felt an avalanche of fear installed inside me, as if I had downloaded it directly into my soul. I felt helpless, lonely, pain, heartbreak, tremendous suffering. I can’t explain with words what it felt like, but I just wanted to disappear into the darkness and to never exist again. I cried out in agony, only to be surrounded by my echoing screams. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I dozed off.

When I woke up, a man sat by my bedside, holding my hand. I didn’t recognize him at first. He was slim with shaggy, champagne-colored hair that reached down to his elbows.

“Remember me? Jesus. Of Nazareth?” He broke into that infectious smile of his.

I felt safe again.

“Where are we?” I asked him, noticing all the red furniture and red walls in the room.

“Don’t be scared,” he said, pausing, “We are in a place called Heavensville. But don’t be fooled by its name. It’s not Heaven. It’s actually the headquarters for Hells Inc. on earth. We are in the home of Lucifer.”

“What?” I said, a rush of fear suddenly running through my body.

“No,” Jesus replied, noticing my reaction, “You can relax. It was on purpose. Let me explain. I’ve been trying to get here for thousands of years, even before my first arrival to earth. But, you can’t just enter Hell. You have to be cast into it by God. Only he decides who comes here. So I had to figure out a way to get here. And my friend, Tia, helped me come up with the plan of making my father jealous enough so that he would finally cast me into Hell.”

“Tia? As in, Tia Chrinst, your best friend from school?” I asked, remembering the young teenaged girl with the heavy black eyeliner.

Jesus nodded. “Yes, Tia Chrinst. You might know her better as her anagram name. She is the daughter of Lucifer. She’s the Antichrist.”

I was feeling even worse by then.

“Look, you have to understand, God has only used me. I only realized it after getting back from earth the first time. And Tia was there for me. And… we fell in love. But as much as I tried to convince my father to accept our relationship, he opposed it because he’s a jealous God. And he has always been jealous of his greatest creation… Lucifer. So, of course I was not allowed to date his daughter. And of course, he gave her the title of the antichrist.”

“I- I guess I can’t judge you,” I replied, sitting up, “God is very… unpleasant.”

“Yes,” Jesus replied, “I hope you can understand my choices. And as for you, there’s no need to worry about getting back home. There’s a portal here to earth in the Town Hall. It’s going through some technical difficulties right now, but they should have it up and running soon and you’ll get to go home.”

“What about you? Where will you go?”

“Oh, well, Lucifer has been kind enough to give me an office and a home here in Heavensville. And as it turns out, I have a lot of angel buddies of mine living here. God casts millions of angels to Hell per year due to their insubordination. So, we have a “Little Heaven” neighborhood within Hell filled with fallen angels. And I don’t know, I feel like I can change some things around here. Some of the demons seem incorrigible, but others seem open-minded. Even Lucifer himself, he’s not such a bad guy. I think there’s a ton of room for improvement. And I think I’m just the guy for the job.”

“Wow,” I replied, “That’s a complete change of dynamic.” I laughed. “Jesus of Nazareth, Demon of Bethlehem.”

Jesus laughed hysterically. “I love that. I think I’m going to use it!”

Someone knocked on the door, slowly cracking it open.

“The portal is ready,” said a figure with a human’s body and a goat’s head, “Time for him to go home.”


Credit: Sandra Varela (TwitterReddit)

The post Jesus 2.0 appeared first on Creepypasta.

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The reCAPTCHA Was Wrong

Reading Time: 2 minutes

Have you ever seen a photo reCAPTCHA?

Instead of a checkbox, it’s a low-quality photo split into 16 square sections. It’ll say something like: “SELECT ALL SQUARES WITH STREET SIGNS,” and you have to click every square that contains a street sign.

At 11 PM on Sunday night, I got one while downloading free stock images. It was a photo of a path through the forest.

SELECT ALL SQUARES WITH PEOPLE.

Okay. That was easy enough. In the center, there was a jogging woman in pink shorts. She took up a few of the middle squares, and I clicked them all.

I pressed VERIFY.

It didn’t work.

SELECT ALL SQUARES WITH PEOPLE, the message said again. I took off my glasses, placed them on the table, and squinted at the image.

No. She wasn’t the only person.

Several feet off the trail, at the very edge of the image, I could see it. The edge of an arm clad in a black sweatshirt, with a pink thumb poking out.

I triumphantly clicked the two squares containing it. VERIFY.

The image blinked as it refreshed. Then the same text popped up, as if to taunt me: SELECT ALL SQUARES WITH PEOPLE.

I rubbed my eyes and stared at the image.

The trees cast low-resolution, blocky shadows across the path. The woman’s ponytail swung to the left, mid-motion. Patches of yellow sunlight dappled the surrounding forest. I studied some of the darker shadows, far from the path; but none of them matched the silhouette of a person.

I glanced to the edge of the image.

No.

The image had changed. The arm at the edge of the photo was now further in the frame, taking up three squares instead of two. Bulky shoulders and dark jeans followed it.

And the jogger was just slightly further down the path – as if she’d just taken a step.

The touchpad was slick under my fingers. My heart pounded in my chest. Slowly, I dragged the cursor over the three squares and clicked them all.

VERIFY.

The image blinked.

SELECT ALL SQUARES WITH PEOPLE.

I leapt back from the computer.

The image was different again. The man was further in the frame, taking up five squares. His hand was stretched out towards the jogger, just inches from her shoulder.

And the jogger…

She was turned towards him, eyes wide. Mouth open in a silent scream.

Click, click, click. I furiously clicked all the squares. VERIFY.

Loading…

SELECT ALL SQUARES WITH PEOPLE.

The man’s face was finally in frame.

The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled tightly over his head. A translucent Halloween mask poked out from underneath, pressed against his features.

His hand was latched onto her arm.

She was screaming.

Click, click, click.

VERIFY.

The image disappeared.

I’d passed the reCAPTCHA.

* * * * * *

I reported what I’d seen to the police. At first they thought I was crazy, but as I gave a detailed description of the images, they frantically took notes and asked me questions.

The woman matched the description of a local woman, Kaylee Johnson. She went missing a week ago, during an afternoon jog on the wooded Lakewood Trail.

She was never found.


Credit: Blair Daniels (Official WebsiteAmazonFacebookTwitterReddit)
(You must ask permission before narrating this work. Contact the author here to do so.)

Check out Blair Daniels’ critically-acclaimed collection of short scary stories, Shadow on the Stairs: Urban Mysteries and Horror Stories, now available, on Amazon.com.

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