Dating Game
I had been single for a while, and I was sick and tired of it. Being 32 and single is no laughing matter; the traumatic experiences of watching your friends get married, have children, and attain the American dream are akin to the hopeless depression of the schizophrenic mental patient. I wanted a wife, I wanted kids, I wanted a steady job. I was tired of working at Burger King and living alone in a studio apartment, and I was almost certain I memorized ninety percent of pornstars on the internet by name. Disgusted by the company of my left hand, I decided to go out to one of those speed dating events.
I picked out my best garb and walked out the door. Keep in mind, I worked at Burger King, so the best clothes I could afford were some mediocre dress shirts and tattered khaki pants I bought at WalMart during a clearance event. I walked into the event, trying to display the shred of confidence I had left. I was instantly discouraged when I saw all the other competing males and their Armani suits, high class whiskey in hand, and auras reeking of nothing but pure self esteem and conceit. The ladies there were dressed in fine dresses, some of them quite low cut, and smelled like a flower garden designed by Martha Stuart herself. There were some serious lookers in there, and I swear my pants shrunk a couple sizes at the sight of some of these dresses.
The speed dating started. The first girl I sat down with was quite young; a 22 year old mother of three. She had made a lot of mistakes in her life, and seemed far more than I could handle. Right off the bat she told me about how she was four days sober from methamphetamine and was looking to settle down with a nice man who didn't look like a walrus. I spent the next four minutes making general small talk, quite literally fearing for my life. Once that buzzer sounded, I rocketed out of my chair with the speed of a gazelle. The young woman seemed offended. But honestly, what did she expect?
The next woman was way too old for me. I had thought that these events were age regulated and had different meetings for people in different stages of life. I'm no pervert, but the whole idea of taking her shirt off and seeing two runny eggs nailed to the wall did not appease me. My decision was finalized as soon as she brought up her grandkids; I can hardly handle one generation of young ones, much less two. I actually asked her if she needed help getting out of her chair after the buzzer sounded. Again, another dark look. I was batting 0 for 2, but such pitches were ones that I would gladly let the catcher have.
The next woman seemed much more appealing. She was 26 and studying to be a nurse at a local hospital. She loved kids but had none of her own, which was a relief to me. She seemed well kept and stable, and wasn't a bad looker either. No lie, my eyes did wander a bit south a couple times during the meeting. She either didn't notice or didn't care, as she never pointed it out. I asked her if she'd like my number as the session ended, and she consented. I flipped open my phone and entered her number as she read it out. Smiling at her and thanking her for her listening ear (no wonder I had been single for so long. ). I got up to the next table. While doing so, I closed my phone by accident and realized that I never saved her number, so it was lost forever. For the love of. 0 for 3.
The next table was empty. What a joke. If I wanted to sit and stare at a wall, I would have stayed home. Nothing really to say here. Moving on.
This is where the story begins getting dark. The woman I met at the next table was the most interesting of all, but not in a bad way. She had long, flowing dark hair and green eyes. She had this cute smile and man, what a tight body on this one. Black dress, black shoes, black everything. For someone dressed in such a gothic manner, she had such a bubbly personality. Everything I said made her giggle, and I felt like a king just talking to this girl.
She was 27 and currently unemployed. She was married to a husband before, but he had left her after their two children died of leukemia. She told me that the cancer was entwined with her lineage, dating back as far as the eighteenth century; therefore, in numerous fits of emotional rage, her ex husband blamed her for giving the children cancer and left. Too pained by the loss of her entire family, she moved to the city a few weeks ago and was living on unemployment, unable to continue working at her job due to the crippling depression and panic she suffered as a result of her abandonment.
Despite the torment in her life, she never seemed depressed about it. Either she was incredibly optimistic about life or she was one of the best actors I had ever seen; either way, I was willing to take a shot. I asked her if she'd like my number. It turned out that she had some bad meetings at this particular convention herself, and wanted to take off to do something more fun. She tossed me an invite and, seeing as I was a lonely 32 year old man, she didn't have to ask twice.
I never understood what she saw in me over all the other guys. I was beaten and broken with no aspirations to better my current situation. Maybe she understood how I felt, considering all the pain she felt herself, and decided to get to know who I really was under this cocoon of emotionless insecurity. I sensed a thread of compassion intertwined between all that stress and trauma, willing to lend an ear to anyone that felt the same pain as her. I was truly transfixed by her presence, drawn to her character. I had never felt like this before.
We decided to go to a pool hall. Apparently she used to be a regular at another pool hall by her old house, winning local tournaments and making a name for herself, and she wanted to check out the scenery here. I wasn't too shabby at the table game myself, so I was excited. Every shot she made was perfect; the balls just sank into the pockets like each pocket was a black hole just waiting for something to trespass into its field. Out of the seventeen games we played, I think I made around 23 shots. She just kept running the table. It was funny, because she kept apologizing for being so good. I waived the apology and complimented her on her skill, causing her to giggle more. Every time she laughed, I fell harder and harder. And, to be honest, I was always excited when the cue ball landed on my side of the table. You know, 'cause she bent over to take her shots, as many pros do. Heh.
We left after that. She said she had to get home as she had some errands to run, being new in the neighborhood and all. I agreed, since I had a facebook application that I had to update (obviously I didn't give her that reason. Jesus, what the hell is wrong with me? Passing up an amazing girl for facebook? Egh. ), so we exchanged numbers and parted ways. I couldn't believe it, I had actually scored a beautiful woman. Hell yeah.
Weeks and months passed on. We continued to talk and eventually began regularly dating. The relationship moved pretty quickly and it seemed we were truly matched for each other. After about seven months of dating, I asked her to marry me. I popped the question on the seventeenth, as that's how many games we played on our first date. She found that so romantic and flew into my arms, screaming yes to the skies. Things were finally looking up.
I moved out of my shitbox apartment and into her home. I always admired the cozy feel of her two bedroom ranch house. Something perfect to start a family in. As I was moving my final things in, I noticed how much of a mess I was making, with my boxes of stuff and all. I apologized and motioned to the basement to finish moving my things. Her face instantly darted to mine. In a hurried and almost frantic voice, she assured me that she'd take care of the rest of my things and that I should relax. It was a bit odd, sure, but she had been through so much excruciating sadness throughout her life that her having a psychiatric illness is something I expected. I complied to her request.
The next few months were great. We never got tired of each other, and, on our wedding day, the kiss we shared on that alter was so special that I firmly believe angels surrounded us and serenaded us with harps and trumpets as our lips connected and sparked so brightly that the entire room was illuminated. I'll leave out the details of the honeymoon as this is not a pornographic piece. She was always leery of me approaching the unforbiding basement, sometimes to the point of arguing with me about it, but, aside from that, I didn't see any fault in her.
Until everything I knew about life was shattered.
One day, she told me she was going to the grocery store. I noted that I wanted some ground beef in order to make hamburgers for dinner. She smiled at me with that cute, adorable smile I have grown to know and love and headed out. After climbing Burger King's corporate ladder, I had finally attained the position of regional financial manager for the entire state. I was working on some budget information, assessing the costs of all the franchises across the state. It was a long and arduous process, but I was getting just above six figures for it, so I wasn't complaining. After each report was fully completed and evaluated, I moved the files to a USB drive so I could upload them to a computer for a corporate meeting the next day. To my horror, with only three reports left to finish, the computer crashed. If I didn't finish these reports, I would surely lose my job.
I called my wife, asking her if she had another computer or something I could use, but she didn't answer. I rummaged through the house to find something to finish these reports with to no avail. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so I took the daring risk of approaching the basement. The handle was unusually cold and the door was locked. Frustrated and defeated, I slumped to the couch in a depression. That is, until I realized that there was a specific flower pot that my wife always guarded with her life. On a hunch, I went to it and found the key at the bottom of the pot, under the dirt.
As soon as I opened the door, a rancid and tangible odor attacked me like a falling wall from a decrepit building. The entire basement looked as if it was wasting away; a clear contrast to the rest of the house. The heavy layers of dust upon every surface suggested that the basement hadn't been accessed in years. Using my cell phone as a flashlight, I guided myself down the stairs and flicked a light switch. Surprisingly, the bulb still worked.
The walls looked molded, the wood was breaking down, the stench was putrid, and the entire place was in disarray. I encountered a strong sense of dysphoria after setting foot in the room, so I quickly searched for some old computer with the intent of running upstairs as quickly as possible. To my luck and astonishment, there was an old laptop and charger in the corner, hidden under some boxes and books. Oddly enough, one of the boxes was one in which she brought down after I had first moved in. I had not seen some of this stuff in a long time. Ignoring the nostalgia, I seized the computer and charger and raced up to the master bedroom.
After giving the laptop a few minutes of power, I booted it up. It ran on windows XP and was quite the technological dinosaur compared to modern equipment, but it had Microsoft Office so it was acceptable. As soon as windows finished booting up, a system message appeared on the screen notifying me that new sources had been added to the tagged video cache, and if I'd like to check it. I had never seen a system message like this before. I know that snooping is generally taboo, but curiosity overcame me.
I was taken to a hidden file that required a password to access it. Rolling my eyes, I moved my cursor to X out of the program when suddenly, something typed the password in for me. A bit frightened at this point, I was sucked into the screen. There were four videos, entitled HIM. avi, ONE. avi, TWO. avi, and WHY. avi. All four thumbnails were pure black. Curious, I clicked on the file entitled HIM. avi. I should have never done that.
The video was extremely shaky and grainy. I could barely make out the figure of a man tied to a chair with some sort of a metallic rope. A woman, moving as if she was floating on air, not moving a single bone in her body but yet being able to slowly hover around the room, came into the picture. To my horror, she brought out a knife and started slowly cutting the man. The man screamed in brutal pain as the woman slowly cut him to pieces. Blood poured from his mouth and all his lacerations as the woman dug the knife in deeper. His clothing was slowly stripped from his body and, after each article was removed, she used a lighter to set all of the newly exposed hairs on fire. Covered in horrific burns and terrifying cuts, the man had stopped screaming and was now simply bawling. He occasionally screamed out, "WHY?!", for that was all he could muster. Each time he did, the woman stabbed him again. She began laughing as the man began vomiting blood and entrails. She picked up the small solid pieces of the vomit with the knife and slowly licked the knife clean, giggling like a schoolgirl. She then proceeded to gouge the man's left eye out while he was still alive. I couldn't watch anymore, so I closed the video.
Shaken and horrified, I clicked on ONE. avi. I had to know what was going on. This time, it was a young boy, about eight years old, bound into the chair. He looked confused and innocent. I shook my head and fell into tears. Such a thing was not about to befall this boy.
This video was of the same quality as the last one; however, the background was much brighter. They seemed to be in an abandoned household, falling apart and in ruin. The woman floated over to the boy, much like she did in the last video, and kissed him gently on the cheek. She slowly brought heat lamps (the source of the brightness mentioned before) over to the boy, one by one, until the entire video was white. After a while, the camera was dimmed so that the boy could be seen again. The innocent look once seen in the beginning of the video turned into one of excruciating pain. The heat lamps slowly began burning his clothes and skin. Bubbles and blisters began rapidly forming on his skin as he too screamed in pain. As with the man in the last video, he screamed "WHY?!", and was punished each time by being brutally lashed with a belt studded with pieces of what appeared to be broken glass. The blisters began to boil as the child was roasted alive. Eventually the screaming stopped and the boy fell into seizures. At this point, the same giggling in the last video could be heard again, this time even louder. She then took a knife and carved "I DESERVED THIS" into the child's melting torso as he screamed. Eventually, the boy stopped moving. I closed out at that point.
I needed to see the next one. I had to witness this. This had to be stopped. With such a determination, I clicked on TWO. avi. This time, there was no one strapped to the chair; instead, an infant car seat was in the chair with what seemed to be a newborn infant tightly strapped inside. Like the previous videos, a woman floated over to the child. She rubbed it's head and briefly went off camera. She came back with a syringe and violently stuck it into the child's body, injecting a blue liquid into the child. Unique to the collection, the video began fast forwarding. At first, the infant seemed normal, happy, smiling, and carefree.
As the fast forwarding progressed, the child grew more and more uncomfortable. It started coughing and wheezing. It began puking up a white liquid and began crying, almost as if it too was saying "WHY?!". A dark bottle was briefly placed in front of the camera, and the words TASTY JUICE were written upon it. The bottle was turned over to reveal its contents; a blue liquid that sizzled when it reached the ground. Bloodcurdling screams erupted from the baby as it fell into more of an unstable condition. As the shrieking child grew closer to death, the same giggling in the previous videos presented itself, but, this time, it was far louder than before. Determined to make it to the end, I fixated my eyes upon the screen despite how much they were tugging at me to look away. The woman was screaming in laughter louder than the baby was at this point. She floated over to the child again, unstrapped it, grabbed it by the legs, and, to my utter shock, swung it head first as hard as she could at the wall. The child's head exploded upon impact, leaving cranial viscera and fluids draped all over the wall. The video then went black.
Shaking, I forced myself to click on WHY. avi. Before the video played, I noticed that this file was modified within the last hour. Almost blinded by fear, I swallowed my apprehension and opened my eyes. This time, there was just the woman. No other person was present. She was facing away from the camera and was speaking in a demonic tone. I can't recall exactly, but here's a paraphrased transcript of what she said.
"Hello. Clearly by now you know that I'm not the person you thought I was. I'm a sick and twisted woman. I love this. It makes me so happy to see somebody die, especially at my hand. I know you're watching this, and I know you're terrified. The ghosts of those I have killed are swarming around you right now, telling you to pull away from the screen, to save yourself. Yet you still sit there and watch, waiting for some happy ending or reasonable explanation as to the events you have just witnessed. There are no special effects here; what you saw was real. I love watching this footage, even so much as to pleasure myself to it, but I had to hide it. You couldn't know. Your lonely piece of shit brain would tell you to turn me in. You were so desperate for love. You fell in love with a serial killer."
The woman turned around instantly and I recognized the face of my wife. I couldn't even feel emotion at this point. I didn't know what to think. My memory had fallen to pieces. I didn't know where I was, or who I had been, or what I was about to go through. Everything in my life died as I saw the once happy and bubbly eyes that I once saw in my wife become vapid and emotionless. A smile crept across her face, one that makes me quiver in malaise upon the slightest thought of it. This wasn't possession. This wasn't mental illness. This was just. Evil. So evil. The video continued.
"It's quite a shame. I really loved you. We had this passion. Hehehe. Remember the giggle? I made you fall in love with me. I tricked you. I lied to you. And, wanna know the best part? I knew you would find out. I couldn't keep the secret forever. Eventually you'd find the key to the basement, eventually the stench would become too strong, eventually the decaying foundation would begin to topple the house, and eventually you'd finally realize that my children never had leukemia and that my husband never left. I killed them. And, they're closer than you think. Why do you think the basement smells so bad? You'd be surprised how easy it is to cement human remains into the floor. You stepped on my dead children and husband. Feel proud of yourself?
"I.
"I know you're watching this. I just made this video. I know what you've done."
I began shaking my head, fearing what I knew I was about to hear. A cold sweat crept upon me as I suddenly felt two eyes bore into the back of my head. I was paralyzed.
"Those noises you're hearing aren't the pipes. Turn around."
I slowly turned and froze as I met the psychotic eyes of my wife. She began to giggle.
I don't know what happened after that. I've been told by the police that people heard screams coming from my house during my attempted murder and called the police. I was told by physicians that I was violated with the sharp end of a screwdriver and that she placed a block of hot ice on my lap. I was tied to a chair, the same one as was used in previous videos, and was videotaped. All the videos are now in police custody, and I refuse to see mine.
My wife was given the death penalty. I was present at the execution. Her last words were to tell me that she would never leave me, that she would always know where I was, that she would never give up on my murder, and that she never left a job unfinished. She was sure to tell me that I would see her again, that she'd send another minion to finish the job. She finished by telling me that I would never be safe. Ever.
She survived the first three attempts at lethal injection, but died on the fourth. She was smiling, and she giggled like a little schoolgirl right before she died.
I have been through extensive therapy, and, years later, I have been able to overcome the horrific trauma I saw and experienced. I still make six figures a year, I have made a good network of friends, and my life has been incredible. I feel accomplished and successful, something I never felt before. I am now confident. So confident, in fact, that I am going on a date tonight with a girl. She's cute too, with this long, dark, flowing hair and vibrant green eyes.
Part 1: kind of weird
OK, now I'm gonna ease you into this stuff. In this category we have the mild stories, the ones that you can read at night and still be able to sleep. For example, we have the 70's children's series called Candle Cove.
First thing you need to know: the description of the show itself is not so bad. The people who watched it in the 70's (it only aired for a few months in 72, apparently) say it was kind of a scary puppet show that involved a smiling ship called Laughingstock, a dumb pirate, a little girl and a villain called Skin-Taker. Oh, and by the way, his cloak is "sewn in a weird way because it's supposed to be made of children's skins".
Now, there are all kinds of cautionary tales out there that make this look refreshing. So what is this story doing in a topic about Creepypasta?
Oh, dear. I'll tell you why.
Nope, it's not the weird-ass poster either. This poster is actually kind of cool.
I was doing some research on this stuff (while I was supposed to be studying, might I add) and found an online forum where some people who used to watch the show were talking about it. It starts out pretty innocent:
" Jaren_2005
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?
(. ) It took place in Candle cove, and it was about a little girl who imagined herself to be friends with pirates. The pirate ship was called the Laughingstock, and Pirate Percy wasn't a very good pirate because he got scared too easily. And there was calliope music constantly playing."
Then it gets a bit weirder:
" Skyshale033
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?
Yeah. That's some nice kid's show, alright. But it could very well be nothing more than an MTV commercial, right? They love doing those things that nobody can tell whether they're sending you a subliminal message or they're just on acid.
" mike_painter65
Subject: Re: Candle Cove local kid's show?
i visited my mom today at the nursing home. i asked her about when i was littel in the early 70s, when i was 8 or 9 and if she remebered a kid's show, candle cove. she said she was suprised i could remember that and i asked why, and she said "because i used to think it was so strange that you said 'i'm gona go watch candle cove now mom' and then you would tune the tv to static and just watch dead air for 30 minutes. you had a big imagination with your little pirate show.""
. Yeah. Either these people are nuts, or that guy's mother is, or the show is fricken imaginary.
Part 2: REALLY weird
Have you ever dreamed about an unattractive guy with bushy brows and a receding hairline? Probably you don't remember. Aside from this pedophile-ish expression, there's nothing distinguished about this dude, and as far as we've been able to tell, nobody even knows who he is. So why would you remember - and why should you be scared of him?
That's right, he has a website.
OK, so the thing is, he has been showing up in dreams quite a lot. And by a lot, I mean he's been showing up in a lot of different dreams. Dreamt by different people.
Look at his face. Nothing uncommon about it, except for the fact that people all over the world - that's right, the dude is an international dream-surfer with frequent traveler Weirdo Miles - have been dreaming of him and remembering the dream. Apparently, they have a forum, sort of like an AA - but more of a TMDA, or This Man Dreamers Annonymous.
If he shows up in your bedroom tonight, make sure you're actually asleep.
Part 3: I'll sleep with the light on tonight.
So lately it seems like there's a formula for a Creepypasta-worthy story, much like that of a Nickelback song. It goes like this:
Beloved cartoon + suicide + mysterious story of a deleted episode + subliminal messages = Creepypasta
However, unlike the Nickelback song, the fact that it's based on a specific formula doesn't mean it loses its appeal. Actually, it's more like the other way around.
There is the Dead Bart story. for example, which is kind of scary but not that much. Then there's Squidward's Suicide. and that one is. Well, worse. Much worse. But for the formula to live up to its full potential, the cartoon has to be the most beloved one ever.
That's right, Walt Disney, it's your turn.
Nope, not the right kind of Suicide Mouse. But you'll wish it was.
See the tiny thing? That's your penis mickey. And that's you shitting your pants.
OK, so the backstory is that Walt Disney made a low-quality Mickey Mouse movie before he died, and supposedly the only guy who saw the ending killed himself. That's right, he just went like "hmm, Mickey just died. I suppose if it's good enough for Mickey. " So I was reading about this thing, and thought it was pretty lame until I found the video.
No, I didn't watch it. But I also found the description.
Oh, the description.
"After it cut to black, it stayed like that until the 6th minute, before going back into Mickey walking. The sound was different this time. It was a murmur. It wasn't a language, but more like a gurgled cry. As the noise got more indistinguishable and loud over the next minute, the picture began to get weird. The sidewalk started to go in directions that seemed impossible based on the physics of Mickeys walking. And the dismal face of the mouse was slowly curling into a smirk. On the 7th minute, the murmur turned into a bloodcurdling scream (the kind of scream painful to hear) and the picture was getting more obscure. Colors were happening that shouldn't have been possible at the time. Mickey face began to fall apart. his eyes rolled on the bottom of his chin like two marbles in a fishbowl, and his curled smile was pointing upward on the left side of his face. The buildings became rubble floating in midair and the sidewalk was still impossibly navigating in warped directions, a few seeming inconcievable with what we, as humans, know about direction. Mr. Maltin got disturbed and left the room, sending an employee to finish the video and take notes of everything happening up until the last second, and afterward immediately store the disc of the cartoon into the vault. This distorted screaming lasted until 8 minutes and a few seconds in, and then it abruptly cuts to the mickey mouse face at the credits of the end of every video with what sounded like a broken music box playing in the backround. This happened for about 30 seconds, and whatever was in that remaining 30 seconds I heaven't been able to get a sliver of information. From a security guard working under me who was making rounds outside of that room, I was told that after the last frame, the employee stumbled out of the room with pale skin saying "Real suffering is not known" 7 times before speedily taking the guards pistol and offing himself on the spot. The thing I could get out of Leonard Maltin was that the last frame was a piece of russian text that roughly said "the sights of hell bring its viewers back in".
If you are thinking "too long, didn't read", then good for you. Go google it. Better yet, go watch it.
No, don't. Seriously, don't.
If Mickey makes you kill yourself, don't say I didn't warn you.
Recommended For Your Pleasure
Yo, dude, do you own a dog?
Rating: 8.5/ 10 (491 votes cast)
“Yo, dude,” Brewster said, looking out the glass doors at the back of my kitchen. He pushed back his baseball cap and scratched his head. “…Do you own a dog?”
I looked up from my Pokemon game, frowning. It was about 2am and the neighborhood was as quiet as death, but leave it to Brewster to find my empty backyard more interesting than Pokemon. He was a textbook jock; an impressively tan lax bro with muscles the size of Texas and a brain the size of a tube of chapstick. I was a black nerd. Somehow, we were best friends. I paused the game to grab a fistful of popcorn. “Hell no, my mom’s allergic. It’s probably a stray.”
“It looks really sick, dude. It’s creeping me out.”
“Just close the blinds.”
“I don’t want to,” he whined.
“Jesus, Brew, we see strays every day!”
“I don’t know, now it’s like foaming at the mouth…” He cringed. “Ughh.”
I rolled up from the couch, grumbling as I dropped the Pokemon game and walked up behind Brewster. “Look, you moron, the—” I stopped as I looked out the door and into the darkness of my backyard, lit by a few garden lamps.
That was definitely not a dog.
That was definitely a naked gray bald man crouched in my backyard, drooling and staring at us.
My face screwed up in confusion. Leave it to Brewster to think that some poor homeless man was a dog. “Aw, crap. I’m calling the cops. That’s not a dog, that’s a homeless guy. And he’s probably mentally ill, it’s not his fault.”
“But he growled at me!”
I was already dialing the Baltimore City Police Department, ready to explain that there was some naked guy in my backyard at 2am. Typical stuff for “The City That Bleeds”. The dispatcher clicked on the line.
“Baltimore City Police Department, state your emergency,” a calm female voice answered.
“Good evening, uh, I live at 126 Woodbird Drive.” I looked back to the glass doors; the homeless man was still firmly rooted on my property. “Um, there appears to be a naked man in my backyard.”
Static suddenly crackled to life in the background. “Could you give me your address, please?”
Frowning, I gave her my address again and waited for her to respond. Silence; except for static and an occasional pop. I thought that I had lost the call but there was still no dial tone.
“Hello? M’am? HELLO, M’AM?” I shouted into the phone. “THERE IS A NAKED PERSON IN MY YARD.”
“Where are you going?”
“What?”
A loud pop echoed on the phone before the same tone repeated itself:
“Where are you going?”
“M’am, are you on drugs?” I asked, that being the only plausible explanation at the time.
“Come back.”
“…excuse me?”
“Come back.”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the thick smell of rotting meat clogged the air. Both Brewster and I gagged; he stuffed his sleeve over his nose and looked back at me fearfully. “Why does it smell like hamburgers?”
“Hell if I know!”
His voice turned fearful. “It’s the dog!”
“Brewster, shut up!”
I turned my attention back to the phone, but the woman continued to repeat the same phrase over and over again.
“Come back.”
“Come back.”
“Come back.”
“Can you connect me to the Baltimore county office?” I asked.
The women was about to respond when Brewster let loose a high-pitched shriek; I whipped around to see the homeless man’s face pressed against the glass door, snarling. I gaped at the visage and my eyes bugged. My mind struggled to process the face. That was definitely not a naked homeless man.
The thing had hollow, black eyes and a canine snout; its curled lips revealed dozens of stained fangs. A few gossamer hairs grew on its emaciated head; the rest of the body gray and taut. Its spine stuck out on its back. At this point Brewster crumpled up on the ground, sobbing and repeatedly screaming “Mom”, as the thing brought a huge, bloodied claw up to the door.
I dropped the phone, the woman’s voice now only reduced to something that sounded like Latin, or Japanese, I’m not really sure. The phone clattered on the counter as the Naked Gray Thing and I stared at one another, I shocked and horrified, it evidently enjoying scaring the crap out of two pathetic high schoolers. After what seemed like hours, the thing’s face crept into a huge grin and it paused to rasp two single words. Although the glass door muffled the sound, I heard the two words as clearly as if they were whispered in my ear:
“Frederick Ellison.”
Brewster stopped screaming and jerked back to look at me in horror as the thing shot off back into the darkness. I swallowed.
Oh, shit.
That was my name.
Brewster and I both looked at each other and screamed. We hit high octaves of horror.
“WHAT DO WE DO?” he shrieked.
“I don’t know. Calm down.” I grabbed his shoulders. “My mom keeps a shotgun in her closet. Grab that and come back downstairs.”
He bit his lip, resembling a massive infant for a split second before running upstairs. I heard his footsteps banging above my head before they stopped abruptly. It didn’t sound like he stopped to open the closet — it was as if he was startled by something and froze in fear.
“Brewster?” I called hesitantly.
“Uh…dude?” His voice was high with fear. “Do you have an adopted Asian sister?”
I frowned in confusion before busting it up the stairs, bursting into my mom’s room to see Brewster frozen in the middle of the room, staring out the window. My mom’s room has a small balcony, and on the balcony stood a small, thin Asian girl. She was about our age with straight black hair and a face that could’ve killed someone. Her downy brows sharpened low over her dark eyes in a mask of rage.
I stared at her for a moment. How could she have accessed the balcony?
“Are you lost?” I shouted at her. “This isn’t your house!”
She continued to stare.
And then she took a step forward.
I’m not sure if it was her furious expression, the fact that a strange girl just appeared on my mom’s balcony, or the fact that a weird naked gray thing had just attacked us, but Brewster and I both rushed into the closet and jammed ourselves inside. I grabbed the shotgun wedged in the back and cocked it, aiming it at the closed doors of the closet.
“I’m scared,” Brewster whimpered.
“Shut up,” I muttered. “It’s just a random girl.”
I cracked the closet an inch to look outside.
Looking into the space was the girl.
My heart stopped and I fired the gun wildly, the base slamming into my shoulder as bullets riddled the room and smoke filled the air. Brewster screamed and jumped on me in fear, knocking the gun away. As the smoke cleared, the girl still stood before us, unharmed. We silenced immediately as her furious expression changed into a deep frown.
“All right, you idiots,” she said. “You’re in trouble, and I’m here to help. The name is Mildred.”
Mildred and I sat opposite one another in armchairs, Brewster cowering next to me. Mildred wasn’t as terrifying as before, now seeing her in the light — although she still had chronic bitch face. The clock ticked on the wall.
“Uh,” I said. “We’d really appreciate you telling us why you followed us, broke into my house and then told us that we were in trouble.”
She nodded, disinterested. “Yeah. Right. Okay. So.” She paused. “I hate to tell you this, but…you’re being hunted down by a monster who won’t stop chasing you until he basically rips you up and eats your dead body.” She paused again. “I’m sorry.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Excuse me?”
She sighed. “Let me phrase this another way.” She paused. “You’re screwed.”
Brewster and I exchanged glances. “Uh…what?” Brewster managed.
She steepled her fingers a la Doctor Evil, turning to me. “If Garden Tool says your name…” Mildred made a chopping motion with her hand. “You’re good as dead.” She paused. “Except for me. I attribute my survival to my intelligence and charm.”
“Garden Tool?”
“That gray thing that came up to your door.” She rolled her eyes. “The grand council of internet virgins uses the name ‘the Rake’ and writes fanfiction about him. I don’t know, it’s stupid.”
I blinked at her. I was never exactly a horror aficionado, but the fanfiction I read never involved Naked Gray Dog Men. That was a subject I did not want to touch.
Her eyes snapped to mine. “I live a few doors down from you. I heard the screaming and went to investigate.” She paused. “It was after me last week, but I suppose it has a new plaything.” She shrugged. “Now both of us are screwed.”
I threw my hands out. “You say that so casually!”
“It’s pretty easy to talk about death once you’ve accepted the inevitability of it,” she said cheerfully.
There was silence for a moment.
“I can try to help you guys out,” Brewster mumbled guiltily.
I turned to him. “Goddamn, Bre—”
The powerful stench of rotting meat hit me and I stopped; Brewster and I both registered it at once and turned to Mildred, our eyes tearing and sleeves over our noses.
“Yo, dude,” Brewster whimpered. “It’s that smell!”
Mildred wrinkled up her nose. “That isn’t good.”
“What the hell do we do?” I asked desperately.
The doorbell rang.
All three of us looked to the front door, still overpowered by the rotting smell. It was about 3 AM. My mom was on a business trip. Who the hell would be at the door at 3 AM?
Brewster jumped up from his seat. “I’ll get it—”
“Brewster, you idiot!” I grabbed his arm and pulled him back, picking up the shotgun from the side of my chair.
I inched to the door, looking through the peephole.
Darkness. Not the darkness of night, but pure black with a glass sheen. My mind worked to figure out what I was looking at, when I suddenly realized in horror what it was.
An eye.
“Oh, shit!” I scrambled back just as the door began crashing on its hinges, battered by something huge. Cracks raced across the wood and I cocked the shotgun, aiming it at the door.
“I have no experience shooting a gun,” I said, cowering behind my armchair. Meanwhile, I think Brewster wet himself.
Mildred sat up in her chair. “We need to leave. Now. Get a car; it’ll catch us on foot.”
The door was almost down. “I don’t have a car.”
Mildred looked at Brewster and he shook his head, trembling. “Mine’s in the front.”
“Shit.” She tried to knock the gun out of my hands. “Don’t even bother, that won’t work anyway.”
My eyes bugged at her. “What?”
“We need, like, holy water or some religious shit.”
“You tell me that now?” I shrieked.
The door fell down with the splintering of wood and a huge crash.
The three of us shot behind one armchair to hide, which was both stupid and ineffective. I heard claws scratch against the wood floor as whatever broke down my door walked into my house. There was silence for a few moments, coupled with wheezing, before I heard a familiar, rasping voice. I knew instantly what had just broken down my door.
“Meeeaatt…come outtt.”
Garden Tool.
When you’re about to die, you notice the little things in life. Like the fact that the kitchen faucet was dripping, carelessly left on by Brewster, or the sudden knowledge that you forgot to pick up beef jerky from the store. The little things.
Death was approaching, and I knew that in that moment, we weren’t infinite.
We were fucked.
I eyed Mildred, muttering to her. “Are you absolutely positive a gun won’t work against it?”
“Well, it won’t kill it.”
“Stun?”
“I guess…”
“Commeee out, meattt…”
I shot up from behind the armchair and pumped lead into the monster, tumbling back from the shotgun’s recoil. I attempted to say something suave, like “This time, it’s personal,” but all I said was, “AUGGGG”.
As I fell back, Garden Tool did too, lurching back with the shots and splattering the room with black blood — but just as he rolled on he floor he rose again, bullet wounds filling up with flesh. The blood faded. That was definitely not normal.
I stood, paralyzed, as he stalked forward. The thing cracked a grin, revealing stained sharp teeth, black eyes narrowed. He knew that I was terrified.
“Guns don’t workkk.”
Suddenly, I heard a shout behind me:
“BAD DOG!”
Brewster came through for me just this once, hefting an armchair over his head with mighty roar and heaving it at Garden Tool. The monster tried to duck away but the chair was too large and it smashed into his body, trapping him back in a corner. Black blood began to pool around the chair and his twitching limbs.
The three of us stared at the bloodied armchair.
“Is he dead?” I asked.
The armchair moved and in a split second the three of us tore up the stairs while Garden Tool was incapacitated, stuffing ourselves back into my mom’s bedroom closet.
“Why the hell didn’t we run outside?” Mildred asked angrily at us.
“We can’t worry about that now,” I whispered. I turned to Brewster. “Bro talk. What do we do?”
“I don’t know, man,” Brewster sniffed. Tears appeared in his eyes. “I’m scared, bro. Guns don’t work. Chairs don’t even work.”
“Brewster, we’ll get through this.” I grabbed his hand. “Remember the power of friendship. I love you, brother.”
“I love you too, dude.”
“Okay. What do we do?”
“I got the keys to my car, we just need to get to the front of your house.”
“How?” Mildred whispered angrily, cutting into our heartfelt friendship fest.
“A distraction,” Brewster whispered. “How about I jump out, start flapping my arms and meowing—”
Garden Tool threw the closet door open, screeching in fury. I screamed and for once in my life, had a good aim — I shot him directly in the mouth; he jerked back from the force, screaming in pain and frothing blood.
“EVERYONE MOVE!” Mildred howled, pushing us into a run. We barreled to the front of the house, Garden Tool springing up and tearing after us.
I leapt through the busted front door and shot out into the winter night, stuffing myself into the passenger seat of Brewster’s car. Brewster and Mildred followed suite, Brewster taking the driver’s seat and Mildred tumbling into the back of the car. I cocked the shotgun as Brewster struggled to take his keys and stick it in the ignition, much like R. Kelly.
“Brewster, MOVE!” I yelled.
He blinked back tears. “I’m scared!”
I pulled him into the passenger’s seat, jamming the shotgun into his hands and shoving myself into the driver’s seat. I heard scrabbling outside the car.
Garden Tool leapt onto the front of the car and then smashed it’s head on the windshield. I gunned the engine and floored the car forward; Brewster blasted a bullet into the windshield, missing Garden Tool completely and blowing a massive hole in the car. Glass exploded everywhere; I threw my arms up to shield my face as Garden Tool forced his torso through the broken glass, screeching in my face.
HIs breath smelled like, guess what, surprise, that rotting meat smell that followed him everywhere. He was about to lunge at me when Mildred shot up from the back seat and threw something around his neck, pulling back.
Garden Tool shrieked, choking, scrabbling to untangle itself from whatever was choking it. I caught a glimpse of the rope for a split second, a crucifix charm dangling off of it. A rosary.
Mildred let go of the rosary and Garden Tool fell back from the front of the car. I rammed the gas and the car roared before shooting forward, running over the creature with a satisfied thump and roll of wheels.
We burned rubber onto the street, shooting into Baltimore city. Mildred looked back and saw Garden Tool for a split second, slowly rising from the ground. She flipped him off.
“MILDRED, DON’T TAUNT HIM,” I screamed back at her.
“Whatever, mom!”
I drove blindly, flashing past side streets and continuing deep into the city. The more people, the safer. “Okay, Mildred, where the hell do we go?”
“I’m kind of hungry,” she mumbled. “McDonalds?”
“You said that religious items hurt him? All religious items? Where’d you get that rosary?”
“My grandpa’s church. The Korean one out in the county.”
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
“Sure, but we’ll have to bust in.”
“I don’t care. If you think it’s safe, we’re going there.”
Mildred gave me a look that wasn’t the most confident thing I wanted to see, but I steeled myself and turned onto the highway, burning rubber the rest of the way.
Soon enough, we rolled up to a darkened church on one of Baltimore County’s smaller streets. A sign with Korean lettering stood in front of the church. The road was deserted.
“My grandpa’s church,” Mildred muttered. “I forgot how deserted it was.”
“Well, let’s get inside before that thing hunts us down…” I got out and slammed the car door behind me, tossing the keys to Brewster. I pulled on the church’s front door, armed with my shotgun. Locked, obviously. I had no clue how to pick a lock, let alone bust a door down, but I wasn’t going to look like an idiot in front of Mildred and Brewster. I had already shot a monster in the face; might as well continue my descent into badassery.
Brewster stood next to me at the door, frowning. “I don’t like this, bro…”
“I know, dude. But this is all we can do right now.”
He paused, eyes downcast. “This is all my fault. I’m sorry, Fred. I’m the worst bro ever.”
I punched his shoulder. “Hey, don’t be like that. You’re the best bro ever.”
“But you still condemned your friend to death,” Mildred chimed in, worming her way into the conversation. Brewster went back to looking depressed.
I turned back to the locked door and began using the shotgun as a kind of battering ram before Mildred shoved me aside. “Idiot. Let me do it. You’re not fooling anyone.”
I quailed away as she got busy picking the lock, finishing with a smug smirk and the click of an unlocked door. She cracked open the door, smile turning into a frown. “Jesus. I forgot what a dump this place was.”
The three of us piled into the church, locking the door behind us. Mildred flipped on some lights and the space illuminated in a disappointing array of empty chairs and a fake wooden podium. It looked nothing like the predominantly white-Catholic churches of Baltimore; it might have well been a multipurpose room. Bowls of what I assumed were holy water stood at random places in the church. A massive Jesus crucifix was poised behind the altar, weeping blood tears.
Mildred flopped down in a seat. “Well, here we are. Feel free to start praying. I don’t know.”
I paced the back of the church. “Okay, so, I propose that we create a gun filled with holy water and wine, call it the Baptizer 2000, and then—”
“Uhhh,” Mildred said.
I turned to her. “Uh, what?”
She paused before muttering, “I kind of lied about the power of Jesus thing.”
I frowned at her. “Excuse me?”
“The religion thing?” She avoided eye contact. “Actually, that was just a guess.”
“WHAT,” I screamed.
She thrust up the rosary she had used to choke Garden Tool. “My grandpa gave me this from this church, and that seemed to work. I threw a dollar-store crucifix at Garden Tool once and he laughed. I don’t know, okay?”
Brewster finally seemed to comprehend what was going on. “So…you drove us out here for nothing?”
“No! I know there’s something about this place that must work, it’s just…” she gave a little shrug. I saw her face sadden. “I was actually hoping you two could help me. You didn’t think I broke into your house just because I wanted to help you out, did you?”
“You don’t seem like the most charitable person.” I glared at her.
She matched my glare. “I’ll have you know, I donate—”
She silenced at a far off noise — the sharp, muffled ring of a telephone.
I scanned the room and saw the telephone perched on the far side of the room. I started towards the phone as Brewster yelped, “Wait, bro!”, but I caught the call on the last ring, answering with a hard, “hello”. I was getting tired of these games.
Static on the other end.
“This isn’t scary,” I said. “I live in Baltimore city, for God sake!”
There was a pop of sound, before:
“Where are you going?”
I shrieked like a small child and hung up the phone. Suddenly, there was a bang and the church lights cut to black. I froze, my voice taken away.
“Fred, bro?” Brewster’s far away voice called.
“What the FUCK,” I responded.
Something slammed into my temple and white-hot pain split through my head. I fell back, my mind going dizzy for a minute, the darkness and sudden sounds of shouting mixing together in my head. I figured that this was what a hangover felt like. I tried to get up but I struggled; after a minute I managed to stumble to my feet again. Something was strange.
The church was completely silent.
I steadied myself on the wall, pinching the bridge of my nose. My head pounded.
“Brewster?” I called. “Mildred?”
Silence; the pain in my head made it hard to think straight and I ended up stumbling backwards. I thought I was going to hit the wall but instead I fell back into a seat behind a heavy curtain. I panicking for a moment, feeling walls around me, but then I thought back to my church days — a confession box.
I rested my head in my hands, rubbing my head. “Jesus Christ…”
“Yesss…?”
I looked up, eyes wide. That was definitely not the voice of Jesus.
That was the voice of Garden Tool.
“You are not Jesus!” I yelled in a random direction, blind in the darkness.
Garden Tool rasped a laugh; I realized he was on the other side of the confession box. The stench of rotting meat filled the air. “I have something that is everything to youuu…”
“What, the Pokemon game? I don’t care what you steal from me!”
“Return to this church at dawn and I will let him go.”
My heart dropped. “What?”
The lights suddenly flashed back on. I hissed and squinted before stumbling out of the confession box and throwing the curtain aside. Garden Tool was gone.
I cursed and suddenly remembered Brewster and Mildred before running to the front of the church. Mildred was just raising herself up off the ground, a hand at her bloodied head.
Brewster was gone.
“I feel like I just got hit by a truck…” Mildred mumbled, still groggy.
“BREWSTER!” I rushed past her, screaming Brewster’s name. At some point I tripped on a chair and tumbled onto the floor, but instead of getting up I just stayed there for a while. I knew my search was fruitless — Brewster was gone.
Return to this church at dawn and I will let him go.
I eventually got up, Mildred standing over me. “What the hell just happened?”
I swallowed. “Garden Tool took Brewster.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
I whipped around to her. “The religion shit didn’t work, Mildred!” I yelled, kicking a chair. “All of this is bullshit! He took Brewster! You took us here for nothing! NOTHING!”
“I didn’t promise anything.” Her voice was hard. “I could’ve just left you two to die. Instead, I try to help. You should be thanking me for even trying.”
She threw her arms up in huge movements to show all that she did for us, which added up to breaking into my house, forcing Brewster to cut up a pineapple, asking to go to McDonalds when we were being hunted down, and then taking us to a random Korean church.
I stormed away from her, and, having nowhere else to go, walked up to the altar. I sat down at the front of it and attempted to pray, but no matter how desperate I was, I was still an Atheist. I attempted to be proud of my mental fortitude.
I put my head in my hands and struggled to be calm. All I had to do was face Garden Tool at dawn and Brewster would be fine. Brewster would be fine. Brewster would be fine.
There was still a massive hole in my heart as I attempted to comprehend my own death at the claws of a monster. The fear was there, but no hesitation — Brewster was my main bro, my heterosexual life partner. I would take a bullet for him, let alone sacrifice myself to a monster. He would do the same. I looked up at Jesus hanging over the altar. I supposed that’s why people coveted religion so much — the feeling that someone had your back, no matter what.
A thought suddenly shot through my mind.
My eyes widened and I got up from my seat, effectively standing in awe of my own brilliant idea.
I knew exactly what to do.
Mildred puttered up behind me, giving me a skeptical look. “Are…are you okay?”
“…I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.” I turned to look back at her. “Hey, Mildred?”
“What?”
“Where’s the closest place we can buy dynamite?”
Dawn.
The sun peeked through the windows as I stood at the altar of the church, smoking a cigarette. The cigarette tasted disgusting, but I looked like an absolute badass so I was struggling through it.
The monster was due to appear any minute now, and I had my shotgun at the ready. If my plan worked, it would be the most epic day of my life. I could write all of my college essays about it. The birth of my first-born child would be welcomed with an apathetic nod, because nothing would be as beautiful as this moment. If my plan didn’t work, Brewster and I would both be dead.
You win some, you lose some.
There was the loud bang of a slammed door somewhere from within the church, and I whipped around to see Garden Tool slinking from the front of the church, black eyes shining. He wore a massive grin of needles. That hunched, gray form was nothing human or animal — and he dragged something along behind him in one of his claws.
He was dragging an unconscious Brewster behind him, my best friend completely out but otherwise unharmed. For a minute I thought he was dead, but then I saw the copious amounts of drool dribbling from his mouth.
As Garden Tool neared me, his eyes flickered and he noticed the shotgun in my hand. He hesitated for a moment before leaving Brewster behind on the floor and slinking closer.
“You never said no weapons,” I said nervously, as if using logic would appeal to a gray dog-human monster.
He hissed a laugh. “I fear no weaponnn. Prepare for deathhh.”
Garden Tool tensed, looking ready to pounce, and I released an incredibly pathetic whimper of fear. I caught myself, attempting to remain stoic.
“This isn’t a regular gun,” I managed, relatively close to peeing myself in fear. Garden Tool suddenly seemed to notice that I had modified my gun with something. Don’t ask how I modified it; I’m in AP Engineering. “I call this baby the Baptizer 2000. Not only does it shoot bullets, but holy water too.”
“Your pathetic religion won’t kill meee…” Garden Tool hissed with laughter once more, squinting in delight. He moved from his crouched position, and my fear dampened. He was amused.
“You know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.” I paused to exhale smoke from the cigarette, attempting not to choke and start tearing up. “I’ve been contemplating life.”
“Sucideee?” he asked, hopefully.
“No. I’ve been thinking about all of the joys of life, and what makes all of our struggles meaningful.” You could’ve heard a pin drop; Garden Tool’s expression became slightly confused. “I know that religion might not hurt you…but you know what will?” I paused, letting it soak in.
“Love. Love will kill you.”
Although he tried to hide it, I saw his expression flicker into one of absolute fear, and then switch immediately back to an expression of amusement. “Love? Love? Emotion is nothingggg.”
“You keep on saying that things are nothing. You’re wrong. Love is everything. Back in my house? The shotgun and armchair hurt you because Brewster and I were protecting one another. Mildred’s rosary worked because her grandfather gave it to her.”
As I ended my speech, Garden Tool’s eyes widened. Damn, I should’ve written my thesis paper on that shit. It was pure gold.
“Garden Tool, you’re right. Religion won’t hurt you. But you know what will?” I cocked the gun. “This, and 100 pounds of explosives. Filled with love. Bro love.”
Garden Tool didn’t react; I knew that he didn’t want me to see his confusion. I cocked my head at the Jesus statue behind me. He glanced at the statue, its arms held out in a welcoming gesture — arms now full of dynamite, dynamite that I bought using my mother’s credit card at a shady downtown Baltimore weapons shop that Ray Lewis probably frequented. The dynamite gathered in a string that lead down to directly in front of me. Garden Tool couldn’t contain his shock; he whipped his head at me with an expression of pure fury. His nostrils flared.
He lunged at me, claws out and jaws agape, and I shot him square in the mouth with a combination of holy water and bullets. Garden Tool seemed to freeze and drop in mid-air like lead; crumpling on the ground and frothing from the mouth. An inhuman gargle ran from his jaws. He attempted to rise; I shot his back and he crumpled up, howling.
I stepped up to him, tossing my gun aside. I daintily held my cigarette in my fingertips. I was glad to stop smoking it, smoking tasted like shit.
“You’re reign of terror is over, Garden Tool,” I said. “Never again will you prey on random high schoolers.”
Through his gurgling and writhing, I saw something slip from one of his eyes, as clear as day. A tear.
My heart fell. I wasn’t as badass as I would’ve liked to think I was, despite the despicable nature of the creature. I blotted out the cigarette out on one of the chairs and aimed the gun at Garden Tool’s head.
“Au revoir, asshole,” I said. It was the best I could do.
I ended up pulling Brewster’s dead weight by his foot. I had to bump the church door open with my back and drag him through, but as I was doing so the door accidentally closed on his head and he woke his a start.
He held the door open, sitting up and blinking groggily at me. “Dude…?” He suddenly snapped back into consciousness and jumped up, crushing me in a massive hug. “BRO! YOU’RE ALIVE!”
We pulled back. “I’ve never been more alive!”
Tears sprung up in his eyes. “And you saved me, bro.”
We fist bumped. “Hey, Brewster. That’s what I do best.”
We walked out from the church and to where Mildred was waiting outside, leaning against Brewster’s car. After taking a tour through more of the unsavory parts of Baltimore, trolling for explosives, she wasn’t exactly happy with me.
She sighed and cocked an eyebrow. “So, did you kill him? I thought there was supposed to be an explosion and you walk out of the church triumphantly.”
“He’s dead, but no explosion.” I paused, shrugging. “I really didn’t want to blow up a church. Also, I guess I’m not one for theatrics and death in the same situation.”
Suddenly, the church exploded behind me, filling the air with a massive boom and an upward rush of smoke and fire. The three of us jumped behind the car, watching the church’s frame burn and crackle.
My eyes widened. “That wasn’t supposed to happen!”
Brewster patted me on the back. “Yo, dude, don’t worry about it. The Korean people can fix it.” Mildred glared at him.
We sat back against the car and all took deep breaths. I nodded at Brewster. “Well, buddy, everything turned out okay. Want to go back to my house and play some more Pokemon?”
“Most definitely, brother.”
So the three of us drove Brewster’s completely destroyed car back to my house, stepped through the busted-in front door, and sat down to play Pokemon. Even though our adventure amounted to several million dollars in damage and probably months of therapy for Brewster and I both, I had my friend by my side. And when it comes right down to it, religion or no religion, afterlife or no afterlife, good life or bad life, the people you love are all that matter.
At that moment, life was good.
I looked up from the Pokemon game for a moment to see Brewster on the other side of the room and looking out my busted up front door.
“Yo, dude,” he said, scratching his head. “Why is your neighbor wearing a suit?”
THE END
Credit To – Ellen Meny
67 Responses
Again First. hurray. ) i love that SFK is organising this kind of thing! hats off!
Never mind I get it now o_o
I THINK MY SANITY IS ABOUT TO SNAP LIKE JEFF. I LITEARLY CANNOT STOP LAUGHING. IT’S ALL BECAUSE OF THIS WEBSITE! I LOVE THIS WEBSITE. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.
lol flamefletcher! I love reading the mario and luigi short stories you’ve been posting on the stories! its hilarious :)
The Jeff the killer photo, is so CREEPY! I mean if I saw that face, it would be in my nightmares O. o
July 20th, 2012 | 9:37 am
So you want a slender man story? Well I am your man here we go XD
This takes place during 2003…
Log 1:
Finally! I and Mike have finally made it to the wilderness! But for some reason the townspeople started to shift away from us. One of the people in the area warned us to not get into the forest. Of course I rejected. I didn’t come here for nothing!
End of log 1:
Log 2:
This place is fabulous! The view is fantastic and the breeze is great. Al though during the midnight, while Mike was asleep, I heard strange noise in the 20 feet trees. Sort of creepy because there was no in sight and there was no wind.
End of log 2
Log 3:
Ok now it’s getting strange. So during lunch me and Mike wanted to make hot-dogs so we split up to gather up wood and while I was finding tons I heard this noise and saw so sort of THING in the tree. It was almost 7-8 feet tall! As it walked closer I saw a glimpse of the thing. It was wearing something like a tuxedo and the damn thing was had no eyes or face! It also seemed to have multiple arms! I fainted right at the spot. At about 6 pm I woke up again and went back to camp. Mike was already back and was eating. He said that he couldn’t find me and though I ran home.
End of log 3
Log 4:
I have to go soon. This time while we’re sleeping I dreamt of the monster I saw and I woke up sweating like a pig. I looked around and was about to call Mike up who should be sleeping next to me but he was gone! I started the tent while it was raining. Then I almost had a heart attack. The faceless thing was right in front of me! As the lightning blasted through the air, the thing disappeared into the night.
End of log 4
Log 5:
Home at last! I finally made it back but this night while I was sleeping in my room (I am single) my dog, who was outside, started to bark. He never barks unless there is danger. Now as I got out of the bed and went outside to look my dog was killed… And there was a bristle in the trees.
End of log 5
Log 6:
I no longer feel safe even at home. Today, while I was watching the morning news, they reported that an unidentified man was killed in the forest I was in a couple days ago. As they zoom in my eyes widened. I was Mike. His organs were sucked out and yet he was still breathing but he was motionless. I start to feel sick. I feel like this is the last log I’ll ever write.
End of Log 6
“News just in!” read the newspaper. “A man was found dead and was murdered the exact same way the man in the forest was killed. There is no evidence in the scene that can conclude that the man was murder but the police did find two things. The man’s trees were broken and on the floor was a circle with and x in the middle of it. Similar the Urban legend: SLENDER MAN”
THE END
Hope you enjoyed! Took me about 30 minutes to come up with it and write it all down! XD I am a 13 year old kid :D. Bye. NO wait here’s a poem with it!
Slender Man scaring kids away.
Haunting them in the middle of the day.
Slender man let us gaze into your soul.
Cold as Ice and Darker than coal.
As you sleep at about midnight.
You will dream of him and scream in fright.
Soon your parents come out of the blue.
And the entire scare will start to brew.
The next day as you walk on the streets.
You will feel a chill in your feet.
As night draws close you see the horror.
As Slender Man slowly comes out of the corner.
Run if you must but you’ll never escape.
The horrible grapples of the terrible shape.
As you enter your house at last.
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