It was a day like any other.

At least, that's what I thought when I came home from school.

My backpack hung heavily over my shoulder as I walked through the front door. I was tired and honestly just wanted to go to my room. Maybe listen to some music, continue working on my project, and forget about everything around me for a few hours.

But as soon as I closed the door behind me, I already heard my stepfather's voice.

“What the hell do you think you're doing, coming back without my lunch?!”

I barely had time to react.

A hit struck me in the face.

For a moment, everything was silent. I just stood there, trying to understand what had happened. I didn't say anything. I already knew that any answer would probably only make the situation worse.

So I silently went to my room.

I closed the door behind me and slowly exhaled.

But as soon as I entered my room, the next disappointment hit me.

My project.

The project I had been working on for weeks.

It was destroyed on my desk.

I stood there completely frozen.

All those hours I had spent on it. All the effort. Every little change, every idea, every detail — all of it was simply ruined.

I didn't even know what I was supposed to feel.

Should I get angry?

Should I cry?

Should I just destroy everything that was left?

Instead, I sat down on my bed and stared at the remains of my project for a while.

Eventually, I simply lay down.

I didn't want to hear anything anymore.

I didn't want to see anything anymore.

I just wanted to sleep.

---

The next morning, my mother woke me up.

“Get up, Azrael. You have school soon.”

I slowly opened my eyes and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

“Mhm... Give me a few minutes,” I mumbled.

My mother left the room and closed the door behind her.

I stayed in bed for another moment before finally forcing myself to get up.

Slowly, I walked over to the mirror.

The first thing I saw was my messy brown hair. Beneath it were my deep black eye bags, which had become almost impossible to ignore.

I looked tired.

Not just physically.

Somehow, I simply looked like someone who had been trying to pretend that everything was okay for far too long.

Then I suddenly remembered something.

“SHIT!”

I had a math test.

In ten minutes.

Instantly, all my tiredness disappeared.

I changed as quickly as I could, grabbed my things, and ran out of the house.

My bike was still where I had left it the night before.

I jumped onto the seat and took off.

As fast as I could.

The wind hit my face as I tried not to think about what would happen if I arrived too late.

Luckily, I made it just in time.

I arrived at school and managed to take the test without any major problems.

For a brief moment, everything felt normal.

But that feeling didn't last long.

---

When the school day was over, I stayed on the school grounds for a little while.

I didn't feel like going home.

“Don't feel like going home right now,” I thought.

So I put on my headphones, lay down on a bench, and started playing music.

I just wanted to be left alone.

For a few minutes, it actually worked.

Until I heard voices.

I opened my eyes.

My bullies were standing in front of me.

“Hey, pointy ears! Are you homeless now or something?”

They laughed.

I said nothing.

I simply pretended they weren't there.

Maybe they would eventually leave.

Of course, they didn't.

One of them grabbed me by my hoodie and pulled me up.

“We asked you a question, you bastard.”

I simply looked at him.

“Hmm.”

That was all I said.

And apparently, that only made him even angrier.

Shortly after, the situation escalated.

I was hit and eventually knocked to the ground. The others kicked at me while I barely knew what I was supposed to do.

But I didn't cry.

I didn't scream.

I just lay there.

And stared at the sky.

Why?

That one question kept running through my head.

“Why me?”

Again and again.

“Why me?”

But somewhere inside, I already knew that I would never get an answer.

When they finally left, I stayed there for a while.

After that, I sat down against a tree.

I looked up.

The sky was peaceful.

Much more peaceful than my life.

I started thinking about everything.

About my family.

About school.

About my bullies.

About my life.

And about how much longer I could actually keep going like this.

---

When I eventually got home, I went straight to sleep.

There wasn't anything special about that evening.

I just wanted the day to be over.

When I woke up the next morning, I immediately noticed how swollen my eye was.

I looked into the mirror and sighed.

“Well... I guess I'll just have to get through this,” I thought.

So I made my way to school again.

But when I arrived, something was different.

My bullies weren't there.

Normally, they would have already insulted me or pushed me around.

But today?

Nothing.

“Well, I guess it's nothing,” I thought.

I went into the classroom.

But as soon as I entered, I noticed a woman standing there.

I knew her.

The mother of one of my bullies.

She was crying.

I didn't know what had happened.

I wanted to ask.

But something stopped me.

So I simply sat down in my seat.

I stared at the ceiling and waited for class to begin.

Then the school bell rang.

Our teacher entered the room.

She looked unusually serious.

“I have two things to announce,” she said.

The room immediately became quiet.

“The first thing is... Three students from your grade have gone missing.”

I couldn't breathe.

Three students.

Three.

I immediately thought of my bullies.

But before I could even think about it any further, the teacher continued.

“The second announcement is that you are getting a new classmate.”

The door opened.

A black-haired girl with red streaks walked into the room.

“Her name is Kit. Please be nice to her.”

I didn't know why.

But for some reason, our teacher decided to seat her next to me.

She sat down in the empty seat beside me.

“Hey, my name is Kit. What's your name?”

I was just about to answer.

But then she looked at my face.

“Oh... What happened to your face?”

Her voice sounded concerned.

I gave her a weak smile.

“Nothing, hehe... I just bumped into something.”

She looked at me for a few seconds.

She didn't believe me.

I could tell immediately.

But she didn't ask any more questions.

---

After school, I went to my bench like I usually did.

Only this time, I didn't have any music playing.

I simply lay there and stared at the sky.

I couldn't stop thinking about the three missing students.

What had happened to them?

Where were they?

Why had they suddenly disappeared?

And why did part of me feel as if all of this was somehow connected?

I couldn't come to any conclusion.

Then I suddenly noticed someone standing next to me.

I turned my head.

Kit.

“Oh... How long have you been here?” I asked.

I looked at her.

Wow.

She was beautiful.

For a moment, my thoughts completely drifted away.

“Oh, I just got here,” she said. “I wanted to ask you why you're lying around here.”

And somehow, that's where everything began.

We talked.

At first about completely meaningless things.

Then about school.

Then about our interests.

Then about completely random topics that didn't really make any sense at all.

We didn't even notice how quickly the time passed.

One conversation turned into hours.

One afternoon turned into many.

And a random meeting turned into a habit.

For the next few weeks, we met at our bench after school.

Then weeks turned into months.

We talked.

We laughed.

We told each other things.

And for those few hours every day, my life suddenly felt a little more normal.

Until one day, Kit asked me something.

“Do you want to come with me to a lost place?”

She told me that it was a place she liked to visit.

I agreed.

And at the time, I didn't know that this day would change my life forever.

---

When we arrived at the abandoned place, everything was normal at first.

We explored the area.

We messed around.

We ran through the building and played tag.

We laughed so much that, for a few hours, I even forgot how bad my life actually was.

It felt good.

Maybe even too good.

But eventually, everything became quiet.

Kit stopped.

She looked at me.

Her voice suddenly sounded different.

“Azrael...”

I looked at her.

“I'm a vampire.”

For a moment, I didn't know what to say.

I waited.

Maybe she was joking.

Maybe she just wanted to scare me.

But her face told me that she was serious.

And yet, I wasn't afraid.

Instead, an answer came out of my mouth before I could even properly think about it.

“Kit... I love you.”

She said nothing.

I continued.

“I want you to turn me into a vampire. So that we can live together forever.”

A short silence followed.

Then she asked:

“Are you sure?”

I looked at her.

“Yes.”

I said nothing else.

Kit moved closer.

Then she bit me on the neck.

Everything went black.

---

When I woke up again, I felt strange.

Weak.

But at the same time, more alive than ever before.

I slowly sat up.

Kit was still there.

“I'm sorry, Azrael,” she said. “I might have drunk a little too much of your blood, hehe.”

Then she looked at me seriously.

“Please don't be scared when you look in the mirror.”

I stood up.

Nearby, there was a shattered piece of glass.

I walked toward it.

And then I saw my reflection.

I froze.

My hair.

It was white.

Completely white.

I touched it.

Then I looked back into the piece of glass.

Two questions immediately came into my mind.

The first:

Why could I see my reflection?

And the second:

Why was my hair white?

I was about to ask Kit.

But she spoke before I could.

“You should probably drink some blood quickly.”

She looked at me.

“But from whom?”

I smiled.

I already had an idea.

“Just follow me,” I said. “I already know who.”

Kit followed me.

We went back to my house.

There, I told her to wait in my room.

Then I slowly walked into the living room.

My stepfather was sitting there.

As usual.

Drunk.

He was watching TV and didn't notice me until I was standing directly in front of him.

But before I could even say anything, he shoved me away.

“WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, STANDING IN MY WAY, YOU LITTLE BITCH?! And why the hell is your hair white?!”

I said nothing.

For the first time, I wasn't afraid of him.

For the first time, I didn't feel like the victim.

I pulled the scalpel out of my bag.

What happened afterward didn't take long.

When it was over, I simply stood there.

I looked at him.

“What gives you the right to talk to me like that... or even touch me, you bastard.”

I laughed.

Not because it was funny.

But because something inside me had changed.

Something I didn't fully understand yet.

I drank his blood and finally left everything behind.

Then I went back to my room.

Kit was already waiting for me.

She looked at me and smiled.

“So? How was it?”

I looked at her.

“More than satisfying.”

She said nothing.

I said nothing.

We both knew that we couldn't go back anymore.

So we left the house together.

We ran away.

Away from my old life.

Into the darkness.

Okay, so if anyone is on tiktok, specifically the creepypasta fandom side, does anyone else get the proxy videos on their for you page as well, because the past few days I have been getting them and just yesterday I went swimming with my sisters, my best friend and my boyfriend. In the process of swimming I was feeling like I was being watched, mind you where we went there was trees everywhere around us, I told my friend and my sisters I felt like I was being watched and right after saying that I had a nosebleed. So I was wondering if there is any mind games that my mind was playing with me or if this could actually be related of some sort. If you have any answers please tell me.

I’ve been looking for this plush ever since I learned about it, and I want to add it to my makeship plush “collection”. Unfortunately all I’ve seen on eBay are bootlegs and resells at way too high prices. So I came here to ask if someone would be willing to sell me their Jeff for a reasonable price.

(This is mainly about Jeff but if you also have the Agatha plush and are willing to sell it to me then that’d be great too!)

Hi reddit. Things have been weird lately. I’m writing this to remember my story. It is starting to fade, and I’m worried that it’ll be gone by the time I’m supposed to do what I need to. It all began with my grandfather.

My Grandfather was an ordinary man. Nothing about him screamed for attention, and day after day, he quietly lived his life to his standards. He was often stoic and blunt, but he was always a good man. He fixed dinner at 5:30 pm every night like clockwork, brushed his teeth, and laid out his outfit for the next day. And despite my ardent protests, he liked to attend the early-morning church service.

At 7:30 am, he’d calmly wait at the back door for me, not bothering to look at his watch because he knew the time by the shape of the sun in the sky. It was a trick that he’d picked up from his time in the army. He never had to look, and his last Sunday morning was no different.

I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a handful of peppermints because I’d forgotten to brush my teeth, and made my way to the back door. He never said anything to me about my disheveled hair or wrinkled button-up shirt. He simply opened the door and gestured to the car. I walked through, feeling a pang of guilt for disrupting his schedule, and got into the driver’s seat.

Grandpa was ninety-six, couldn’t drive anymore because of his tremors, and could barely read the letters on a stop sign. Most people surmised that he’d lived as long as he did to take care of me. Sometimes I think they were right. And even though he needed my help, I needed his more.

I wasn’t exactly an easy child to raise when I came to live with him in Grenwich. He was my last stop before foster care, and I didn’t make it easy on him at all. I was troubled, mean, bitter, and angry. I took out my sadness and rage on others, treating the world as my punching bag. All I did was get into fights in my first week of school. Somehow, by the grace of God, my grandpa was able to convince the principal, time after time, to give me detention, extra classwork, community service, or a suspension. He wanted the best for me, even if I didn’t want it at first. Over time, I learned to respect him, and he taught me to be a man. To listen. To understand. To guard my heart. To grow wisdom… even in my pain. He taught me more than I could have ever asked for.

I was removed from my mom’s house at thirteen because booze and men are better company to keep than taking care of your son and daughter, but with the way this world works, my sister’s death was what finally got them to remove me from her care. It wasn’t fair, but my sister’s life paid for a better one for me. I talk to her sometimes, wondering if she can hear me. Doubt it, but it does make me feel better.

The drive to church was always quiet, but he wasn’t quiet on his last visit before his death. He rolled down the window and stuck his arm out the door, feeling the morning air on his skin.

Then, he turned to me and spoke slowly. “Preston, you’ve been a joy in my life.”

I stared at him in confusion. Breaking from his routine felt like a sin now, and it unsettled me. “Grandpa, what are you going on about?”

He shook his head. “I just wanted you to know that. I felt like I got a second chance to do better.” He patted my shoulder. “There’s a lockbox under my bed. It’s got everything you’ll need.”

By that point, I realized that something was wrong, hair prickling up on my arm and a familiar rush of warmth to my cheeks. “Are you sick? Why are you telling me all of this?”

He smiled, drooping eyes moist from wetting drops and bushy eyebrows half trimmed. “No… But I don’t want you to think I left you with nothing.”

That was our last Sunday together. He sat calmly in the pew, stole a peppermint from me, only stood for the singing, followed along in his large-print Bible that I’d bought him, and I forgot all about what he’d told me. I figured it was just elderly worries, stuff that comes as you steadily get older. But I was wrong. I came home from school at 4:30 pm that Wednesday to find him lying peacefully in his recliner. He’d passed in his sleep watching the news like he wanted. Who could’ve asked for a better way to go?

The days that followed were a blur: phone calls, funeral service planning, obituaries, flowers… All of it was overwhelming in quite a way, but I handled it. He had a life insurance policy and a funeral fund that went straight to me. Even if my mom was listed, they wouldn’t be able to find her. Who the hell knows where she’s ended up. But since I’d turned eighteen, I was legally an adult. I didn’t have to go into foster care. I didn’t have to go anywhere.

I was sad after he passed, but life carried on. I went to school. I ate supper at 5:30 pm. I got a job to pay the bills; I visited his grave every Tuesday after school. Everything was fine until one strange Tuesday.

I arrived at Salem Hill Cemetery much later than I usually did, taking the oldest entrance by the gate. The front of the cemetery was blocked off, and I was forced to go around to the back, where the oldest graves rested. They were very old. The names were worn off by erosion, and some were overtaken by the ground. The oldest year that I could make out was dated back to the 1800s.

The sun was barely a flicker in the sky as it grew softer and softer. I quietly walked to his grave, fingers tracing over the soft wisps and tendrils of long grass. Purple flowers speckled across the ground, beautiful and thriving, unlike any I’d ever seen. The aroma was intoxicating, but it was very strange that I’d never noticed them.

Near the flowers, a willow tree in the distance seemed to sway, dancing to its own life and breath. If it had been a woman, I imagined her more beautiful than any I’d ever seen.

With a shrug, I journeyed onward, seeing a wrought iron fence that separated one portion of the cemetery from the other. I rolled my eyes and climbed over, seeing my Grandfather’s gravestone in the distance.

“There you are,” I whispered, brushing my hands off on my uniform pants.

I found his grave, and with a sigh, I sat down in the now damp grass, listening to the loud croak of the frogs at the pond nearby and the low buzz of the cicadas in the trees above me.

“Hey grandpa,” I whispered, looking up into the darkening sky.

I continued to talk to him, slowly growing more and more tired. I don’t know when I lay down, and I don’t know when my eyes finally creaked shut, but I was lulled to sleep by the sound of the resting graves and sleeping corpses. Maybe being near him calmed my aching soul.

When I awoke, I sat up in confusion, smearing the grass off my cheek. And in disbelief, I realized that the graves on the other side of the fence were glowing. I rubbed my eyes, refusing to believe the strange phenomenon occurring around me. I slowly stood. I couldn’t decide if I was asleep or dreaming. In fear, I turned around to spy more and more stones slowly glowing to life. With each blink, more stones began to glow, mimicking the striking white of the moon and the glistening faces of the stars.

“My God…” I whispered, stepping back and nearly tripping over my Grandfather’s mound of dirt.

I swallowed hard, gathering my thoughts and jogging to the wrought iron fence. I climbed over to get a closer look at the glowing stones and nearly fell. On the other side, I stopped, seeing one of the purple flowers. It wavered for a moment, and for a brief second, I believed that I saw an eye blinking in the center. It gazed at me before shutting quickly. I shook my head and slapped my face, trying to wake up. I had to be crazy. I was having a psychotic break. My heart pounded in my ribcage, thumping wildly. What is happening to me?

And as if summoned by my terror, a blinding white light formed at the willow tree, shooting upward into the heavens as a beacon… a call that the dead nor I could understand. The tendrils began to whip back and forth. The beautiful curves of the bark and long branches rose to stand straight up. Then I saw her, a woman trapped within the tree. She was screaming as she gazed upward into the night sky, mouth gaping into a hollow, empty cry. Her limbs were quivering, held in place and pulled upward by the light.

A sound like thunder rocked the sky, and I collapsed in fear, clutching my ears. A moist and warm substance dripped down my neck, and I quickly realized that my left ear was bleeding from the deafening noise.

In terror, I grabbed my cellphone to call for help, but its battery was dead.

Each grave began to vibrate. The stones began to rock, grinding against the earth. Fearfully, I grasped onto the closest gravestone, feeling the quake of the rough rock beneath my palms. My body trembled, and I closed my eyes, refusing to believe what I was witnessing.

A loud crack echoed through the cemetery, and my eyes shot open. Another thunderous roar reverberated from the ground. A gravestone near me shot into the air, thrown by something it once contained.

A forceful wind swept across the ground, and it carried a horrible bellow from the grave where the stone was ripped away. A decayed old woman emerged from within. She was naked, born of the soil that dripped from her hair, marking her escape from death and emergence into life.

Her advanced stage of decay made my stomach churn. The old woman’s eyes were gone, deflated balloons of mush. Maggots and bugs writhed up and down her legs, still eating and feasting upon her. Her skin was saggy and barely holding to the bone. The horrible color was a mixture of black and gray, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what the smell was like. With each step, something sloughed off her, making a path toward the light.

As I crouched behind the stone, a man emerged from the white light. His eyes were as gray as the stones around him, lifeless and unenthused. His hair was dark, neatly kept, but antlers emerged from his head. They were adorned with linked chains of silver and sparkling gems. He was neither old nor young. His features seemed to morph as he waited for her to approach. But the man’s eyes and hair remained unchanged. His mouth, nose, and chin were slips and turns of features that I couldn’t describe.

He wore a suit and tie, leaning on a metal cane. He began to walk toward her, and with each movement of the cane and thump, the ground shivered and quaked. His command over the soil tethered me to the gravestone. I couldn’t move, bound and too frightened to think.

Ominous fog seeped over the ground, drifting aimlessly but called. It was not merely coincidence. This creature… This ethereal being of the night had conjured it as he’d conjured the woman from her grave.

Once he bordered the bright light, he stopped. He did not speak, merely gestured to the woman. And she followed his command, empty eyes agreeing to his terms without question.

I leaned a little farther to the side to see more, and I knocked the glass vase on the grave that once held flowers. The sound of glass breaking shattered the silence. Both the old woman and the man turned to gaze upon me.

Without command, the old woman began to run at me. I yelled in terror, cutting my hand on the glass as I leaped up to run. I bolted through the grass, lungs screaming and throat constricting as I breathed. I ducked behind an old crypt to catch my breath, and my bloodied hand smeared over the stones that marked the entombment slots of the dead.

I clutched my hand, breathing rapidly as fear overtook me. In the darkness, my only guide was the moon, but as I gazed up at her luminous cheeks and smile, she began to darken. The unholy shadow of antlers began to shift across her.

My heart dropped into my stomach, and every bone in my body began to shake. I didn’t think I was going to get out of this one alive, but I wouldn’t go down without trying. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to think rationally. I must live. I HAVE TO.

As I searched for the closest path to my car in the fog, something trickled down onto my shoulder, and I looked up to see the old woman peeking at me from the roof of the crypt. Her mouth was cracked into a smile; putrid-smelling saliva leaked down her chin as she savored the look of me.

“Nowhere… to… hide…” she hissed, taking a deep inhalation of me. Her voice sounded cracked and as withered as her body. No longer a human voice. Something horrible... Something sinister.

I slowly backed away from the crypt, but I was a moment too late. Hands tore through the stone graves behind me, pinning me. Their entombment meant nothing in the face of the entity’s cosmic power feeding life into their bones.

I cried out in terror, fighting against the many hands that were ripping into my flesh and tearing my clothing. Horrible cries and shrieks erupted from the graves, and through the cracks, I could see their gnashing teeth.

The old woman made her way to me, climbing down the side of the crypt like a spider. Her bones cracked and rocked, grinding into the sockets. Her neck clicked back into place as she crawled to me.

She reached up, fingers shaking fervently as she grazed my cheek. She tore through the hands holding me, freeing one of my arms. She snapped it without hesitation.

Pain erupted through my body as I screamed in agony. I could barely breathe as the pain swelled through me in waves, each nerve alerting the next of the broken bone hanging within my skin.

She wrenched my arm to her face, gingerly pulling my fingers to her mouth. She bit down on my pointer finger, crunching through the bone as one would eat a carrot.

Suddenly, she was ripped back, torn from me as if strings were knotted through her bones.

“Disgusting little beast, isn’t she?” A voice came from the darkness as it approached. “But the dead have never been known for their kindness… especially if they return to reap what they sowed as they did in life. And that specimen was evil… even before death.”

Tears poured down my face as I gazed at my mangled finger. The flesh was pulverized by her teeth, hanging off of the stump that should hold a finger. What was left of my finger barely resembled anything other than ground beef. It was a ground lump of fragmented bone bits and blood, minced as if placed in a blender. I shook violently as blood spurted out of my finger. I couldn’t stop it, and at one point, I became woozy just from the sight of it. I couldn’t comprehend what I was looking at, and I considered cutting the flesh off. It wasn’t worth saving anyway.

Slowly, the hands that held me slithered back into their tomb, not wanting to challenge the being as he walked to me leisurely. I collapsed, unable to stand, but it did not matter. He flicked his wrist, and my body rose, dragged to him through the tall grass. I plopped to the ground before him, unable to meet his gaze.

He squatted down to look upon me and clicked his tongue. “Now… this will hurt, Preston.”

He grabbed my broken arm and wrenched me up. Then, his grip tightened, and an excruciating burst of electricity filled my body. The pain was indescribable. It tore through my body like fire as he clutched me. A wail ripped out of my throat, cutting the vocal cords and searing the trachea. I could hardly think or breathe. And then, I was gone, drifting somewhere between dream and wake.

My body was floating, hovering, and drifting through the great sea of fear and peace. I was nothing for a moment, snapping into a brief lapse of time. I believed that I had died. Had death claimed me once and for all? Was it over? It had been so quick, easier than falling asleep.

When my eyes peeled open, I was lying in my bed. The smell of my home filled my mind, sending relief circling through my veins. It must’ve been a dream. I lifted my arm to look at my perfectly straight bone and expertly crafted finger. No sign of trauma or even a scar.

But I was not alone. I slowly looked up to view the shadow of antlers resting on the wall opposite me. The creature’s shadow was much larger, no longer resembling the human I saw in the cemetery. His clothing was jaggedly cut, clinging to his skin and billowing around him. It moved in such a way that it could have been wings, but I wasn’t quite sure. It twisted and writhed, unyielding to the eyes of a mortal man. I was not meant to gaze upon him, so I dared not turn, much less breathe or scream.

“Your grandfather was a good man,” he whispered, picking up the picture of him on my nightstand. “He greeted me as a friend, unafraid of death and welcoming of my spirit.”

I didn’t reply. My mouth twitched, unable to form a single sentence or coherent word.

“He spoke of you… You were his only regret. He didn’t want to leave you.” He put down the picture. “It was quite touching. Many do not often dare to speak of their life to me, but he’d seen enough horrors in his time to take my hand gladly. Most veterans carry their wounds until I come or dementia takes it first.”

He dragged his finger down the wooden post of my bed, fingernail scraping through the paint. “War is a dreadful thing, only fulfilling for the ones who showered it in the lives of innocents and won. A dreadful waste if you ask me… a dreadful… dreadful waste of blood and flesh.”

I still didn’t answer, and his shadow cocked its head to the side. “Do not fear me, human. I’ve returned you home and tucked you into bed. If I wished to harm you… You’d already be dead. It is still within my grasp if that is what you’d prefer.”

He raised his hand, and I saw the shadow of his long fingers, sharply pointed like fine-tipped needles piercing flesh. Maybe it was bone or wood, but I couldn’t be sure. His shadow obscured the fine details that might reveal the truth, and I definitely wasn’t turning to face him.

“No… I would not prefer that.” I took a deep breath. “Why… Why did you save me from that— that… woman?”

“Not your time,” he replied lowly, voice grating and shaking the room. His shadow elongated and stretched. “Even I have my rules… Just as you have your own clock to time your life and strike as it ends. You will certainly see me again. It is the way of things. Life and death come and go.”

I went quiet… too fearful to ask it another question, and yet I wanted to know what stood in my bedroom and spared me.

He simply chuckled as if he could hear my innermost thoughts, and perhaps… he could.

“I am what I am… I see, and I hear. I feel, and I know. I have many names… many from each star and planet and corner of the earth. Many have sought me out to bargain their claim to the lives I own, but you never did. You never asked me to return what I took from you. And you… You have lost so much as a young, budding man. Your life has barely begun.”

“My sister…” I breathed. “She shouldn’t have died. You should have taken my mother!”

“Ah…” he replied. “Maryanne… I remember her. Tiny little thing, not much older than you. Froze to death after your mother locked you two outside, and she used her body to protect you from the snow and bitter cold of the winter’s tempest. Cried when I took her hand. But as the embrace of death took her, she no longer felt the cold. I saved her from this place... from the monstrosity of man. Death was merciful and a gift unto her battered life. As it would be for you if it was time.”

Tears filled my eyes, but I refused to let them burn down my face. “You let her die…” I growled. “Why didn’t you take my mother instead?”

The shadow of his horns shook upon his head. “I cannot change what has been written. Your mother’s time will come, and for her crimes, she too shall pay a bitter… bitter price…”

He took a deep breath. “But know that something is brewing beneath the ground. A place within Grenwich has disrupted my laws for far too long… broken my venerated calling. Their relentless use of the cemetery cannot go unnoticed. They’re feeding something… a terrible creature within the ground that is only growing more powerful. And they shall be punished. You will be my herald. And you will know with whom to speak my message to when he returns. I will give it to you and speak with your tongue.”

“The cemetery?” I asked. “Why are you so worried about the cemetery?”

The creature stared directly at his shadow, and dark eyes formed onto the wall before me. I gazed into them fearfully, shaking and holding tightly to my blankets. I had transformed into a child again, terrified of the shadows that slipped and waltzed in the dark. Yet eyes had formed to gaze upon me, manifesting the threshold between dream and wake.

“A part of the cemetery is dangerous and planted upon a vat of poison. It is contaminated, and it can reverse my touch… my final judgment. The fence that you climbed over is the border. Anyone buried within the fence will return. Beings of the dark discovered the cemetery’s true nature, and now they use it to walk again and to wreak havoc upon the living once more.” He shifted, fingers clinking together. “Humans made their own portion of the cemetery when they realized their dead would return if they buried them within the gate…”

His eyes narrowed on the wall, growing more and more vast. They began to sparkle, glistening as if the cosmos rested within them. Darkness swirled through the irises, and lights danced from the world beyond. The infinite possibilities of his power rested within his eyes, knowing and seeing all despite his careful form. I could not look away. Our gaze was locked, immoveable and unbroken. Whatever he asked of me, I would fulfill.

I breathed out, noticing the puff of vapor and the chill in the air around me. Death was cold, but his embrace was warm. “So, my grandfather will not come back?”

The creature shook his head. “No… He was not buried in the bitter place. He will remain at rest… as will your sister. Life will not touch them again.”

Tears finally slipped down my face, and my heart ached bitterly, reliving the memories of my sister and my Grandfather. The only love I’d ever known was taken by the creature who stood inside my very bedroom. And now, I was to be his messenger and relay some coded secret to a stranger.

He spoke slowly once more. “Do not mourn the dead, dear boy. Mourn the living. They must endure the hour of the dark.”

A blinding light filled the room. “Soon, I shall come again…”

His voice was no longer human, exuding a command over my body that I knew not. His voice became loud and booming, shaking the walls. I covered my eyes, unable to see, as if gazing at the light of the sun. In a single clap of thunder, he was gone, and his departure shattered my windows, glasses, picture frames, and mirror. I could hear the soft tinkle of glass hitting the floor.

My eyes did not close until daylight poured into my room, soft fingers stretching onto the floor and touching my face. And finally, I rolled over, trying to decide what being had mended my arm and finger. I can only assume that the creature was some god of death, an unworldly being sent to claim humanity’s souls. But now, he is gone, and he left me as his harbinger.

As time passed since our meeting, I developed a strange sense within my soul. Sometimes I know things… things I’m not meant to see or know. And oddly, my finger burns if I drive too close to the back entrance of Salem Hill Cemetery. Sometimes, I think something is watching me when I visit my Grandfather’s grave. I never go through the back entrance or climb over the fence, but sometimes I stand on the other side, wondering and thinking and gazing at the woman within the willow.

And I still don’t know what man I am supposed to bring his message to. I’m still searching… And the memories of that night are becoming vague and dulled, sinking into confusion and doubt. Maybe I didn’t meet him at all. Maybe he never spoke to me… I’m not sure if it actually happened.

But I do know this. I hope I never see the god of death return to Grenwich until it is my time to leave… Until it’s my time to be a dearly departed soul.

tiktok @aijikii

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I Feel Bones That Don't Exist Push Through My Skin

I Don't Want To Be Human, I Want To Be FERAL

I Shred This Fake Body

First time photobashing/photodrawing. What to delve more into FERAL as a character and their misanthropy + horrorified therianropy

cameron monaghan: he played the joker in the gotham series

I’ve always loved junk. Thrift stores, pawn shops, and yard sales have always been where I loved to spend any extra money I had. I even dabbled with dumpster diving and occasionally stopped and picked up things I saw on the side of the highway. I don’t really collect anything specific. If something looks old, strange, or like it might have a story behind it, I’ll probably buy it. My family calls it a problem and says I’m obsessive. I don’t think that’s right. I just think it’s fun and I don’t have much else to do. Most stuff I bring home ends up on my desk until I find out where to put it. I usually either use the things to decorate my home or I throw it in my shed and forget about it. Old cameras, pocket knives, typewriters, VHS tapes, broken watches, things like that. Most of the electronics don’t work but they have character and add some sort of value to my humble home. Every once in a while I’ll find something that actually works.

It was a cold late November morning when I saw a bright yellow yard sale sign with an arrow pointing to a street on my left. Without really thinking about it, I turned down the street after seeing the sign and I giggled to myself thinking that I’m a junk zombie. I was on my way to work but I’m not too worried if I’m late. I’m working on a ranch for some old rancher outside of town while I try to get my writing career off the ground. I drive up the street and see a lawn scattered with tables full of exciting new finds. I park next to the curb and get out of my truck. A yard sale of this size would usually have a ton of people out, even this early in the morning. I usually have to compete with the town grandmas but today I’ve got it all to myself. I walk the makeshift aisles and ponder which treasures I should take home with me. The homeowner comes outside and stands on his porch. I know most people in this town but I’ve never met this man. He’s a large, older man with a wild beard, trucker hat, pearlsnap, vest, and jeans. He looks completely normal but I get a sharp feeling when I see him. He, just like his house, looks very cold and uninviting. He keeps looking at me as he walks to his rocking chair and sits down. I go back to looking at his tables, trying not to mind the man. At the end of one table something caught my attention. An old police scanner with a little orange display, dials, and buttons. I’d never found one before but always wanted one. When I was a kid I dreamed of being a cop or detective in New York, fighting bad guys and solving complex murders while smoking a cigarette and getting looked at by hot chicks. Those dreams faded as I grew up and figured I’d never make it out of this town. Maybe that’ll be my next short story. I took the scanner off the table and walked up the creaky porch steps to the cold man. Before I said anything the man said “13.50”. “*What an odd amount”* I thought to myself. I asked “Does it work?”. “Last I checked” His voice sounded like tires on loose gravel. I pulled out my wallet and thumbed through my bills. I got out out a 10 and a 5 and held it out to him. “Do you have any change?” The man spit some tobacco juice out and grabbed the cash as he responded “Nope”. I stood there frozen for a few seconds as he stared at me, packing another finger full of chew into his lip. “Alright” I mumbled as I made my way back to the truck, confused by the odd interaction. 

Work was pretty mundane, feeding the pregnant cows and making sure they’ll be okay for the snowstorm in the upcoming forecast. I forgot about the police scanner until I got back to my truck that evening. When I saw it sitting on the passenger seat my excitement reignited and I drove back home. I pulled into my driveway and I could hear my dog howling from inside. I looked through the window and saw the beagle losing his mind with excitement. As I got out of the truck with the scanner I saw Mr. Conners taking his trash out to the road. Mr. Conners was an old man that I had befriended over the years. Most people thought he was an angry, schizophrenic hermit that hated kids and the government. He admitted to me that in his younger years he left a bomb on the doorstep of city hall, convinced our town was run by pedophilic aliens. Luckily, the bomb was defective and the police never figured out who made it. I found a charm in Mr. Conners that most others didn’t. “Bastard dog has been like that all day. Thought he was trying to relay something to me but I can’t figure out what he’s saying” he said to me from his lawn. I laughed and said “Let me know when you figure it out”. Mr. Conners didn’t find it as funny as I did and looked sour. “What’s that?” he nodded towards the scanner in my hands. “An old police scanner I found at a yard sale. I’m not sure if it works. The guy I bought it from was just trying to make a quick buck I think” I said. “Careful with that, you’ll never know who will try to communicate with you through that”. With that he turned around and walked inside his house. He’s never been good at ending conversations.

I unlocked the door and Leo jumped on my leg and greeted me with yelps. I gave him some love, heated up some ground beef for him, and went upstairs to try out my scanner. I didn't have much hope that it would work but it turned on as soon as I plugged it in. I was so happy that it turned on I celebrated with a glass of whiskey. I had no idea how to use the scanner so I had to play around with it for a bit. Once I got it working I could hear a voice. “Unit 14, respond to a two-vehicle accident on Highway 6, mile marker 143. Possible injuries. EMS has been notified.” I couldn’t believe it, it actually worked. After a few minutes of messing around with the buttons I figured out how to scan through the channels. Most of what I heard was boring. Officers checking license plates, dispatch sending someone to a noise complaint, a deputy asking if anyone had eyes on a loose dog. I was so happy, I'd wanted one of these things since I was a kid and now I finally had one. I poured myself another glass and started writing my new story about a noir detective. Listening to the scanner put me in the perfect state of mind and the words of the story flew off my fingertips and onto my computer. Not much happened on the scanner for the rest of the night and I went to sleep around 1am.

The next day was boring and methodical. All day I just thought about writing my story and listening to the scanner again. When I got home I flipped on the scanner and booted up my computer. For a second night in a row I had so many ideas and I was really loving how the story was coming together. I took a break to grab a coffee. When I got back to my desk the scanner picked up some chatter “Unit 14, respond to a fatal shooting outside of O’Brian Pub. 214 West Main Street. Caller reports one male deceased. Suspect is possibly still on scene.” Shooting at O’Brian? That's the bar I usually frequent on the weekends. It's just around the corner from me, a 5 minute walk at the most. That’s odd, I didn’t hear any gunshots. When people talk too loud outside the bar I can hear the noise, how did I not hear the gunshot? I know this isn’t very smart but I decided to walk around the corner so I could see the scene at O’Brian. I put my slippers and a coat on and went outside. It was calm and quiet, no stirring at all. I walked to the corner of the street and turned left. I could see the big neon sign from where I stood but that was it. There were no police lights, no one laying dead, no one even there, it was just silence. Did they already clean everything up? No that couldnt have happened in just minutes. Was it an old broadcast that was sent out by accident? I dont know how any of the tech works but I doubt it was that. Did my scanner find another town with another bar named O’Brian at the  exact same address? None of it made sense. I turned around and made my way back home. I was so thrown off and deflated for some reason? I’m not a violent person so I don’t know why I went searching for it. Did I just imagine this entire thing? I turned off my computer and got into bed. Tomorrow I’m going to the bar to check it out.

It all started when I was 8 years of age. I was a quiet boy who was home schooled and had no friends or siblings to play with. I was mainly accompanied by my mom since my father was always working and she was the only one home with me. She would usually make me food, wash dishes, and occasionally play with me. 90% of the time I spent my days alone. Usually playing with the one thing I loved, that being Lego's. I would spend hours building houses and cars and making my own little world that was under my control. Though I would not always spend my days inside, I spent a lot of time outside as well. When i was outside we either went out back of our house which had a small sandbox and in the ground pool. I was never really a good swimmer so I stuck to the sandbox playing with whatever I had in there. It was one night that everything changed. I found a note in my room that read "Wanna be my friend" with a childish depiction of a smiley face. Being the person with no friends, I wrote yes on it and set it on my window frame. I then cracked the window open a bit It seemed like it was a hot day and i needed some air in my room.

That next morning, the note was replaced by a new one that read "Hello friend, I hope to play sometime soon". Being oblivious I was not alarmed by this but rather excited finally having a friend that I could potentially play Lego's and cars with. I continued my day as usual. Mom washing dishes, the old PBS kids on TV in the living room. Everything was normal until the night. I saw my bedroom door cracked open and saw something through it. Almost like the face of a person. Not my mom since she was long gone into bed and she never checked on me on the usual. I did not scream. I did not cry. I finally found a new friend to play with. :)

Nate had just arrived home, exhausted, after another day of being the diligent and responsible young man. His family admired him for his honesty, kindness, and responsibility.

Even being a "nice guy" has its consequences. He lived a boring life, with few friends, a very toxic girlfriend, an inactive sex life, and spent all day studying. When he wasn't studying algebra, he was studying biology. He didn't despise his life, but every now and then he would long for those sparks of teenage excitement.

The next day, when he woke up, something felt different. A breath of fresh air, perhaps? He didn't know at the time.

While waiting for the bus to go to school, a girl next to him was assaulted. He didn't hesitate for long, punching the thief and knocking him out... Since when could he do that?

As he tried to process what had happened, the girl lunged at him, stealing a kiss. He touched his lips, surprised... That didn't happen every day.

So, little by little, every day, he realized that something new was happening to him, first small things, flirting from girls, finding money lying around, high grades in school.

Suddenly, that "good luck" became much more absurd, sleeping with 4 or 5 women every night, passing exams with top marks without studying, and even winning the lottery 3 times in a row.

Although... As mentioned before, even the best things have their price... Everything was going well for him; there was no excitement since he already knew the outcome.

One afternoon, he went to the church seeking some peace; he wasn't religious, but he appreciated the tranquility of holy places.

A priest saw him and approached him.

"My son, why do you look so sad?"

Nate explained everything from the small things that happened to him, to the absurd strokes of good luck, and how that, paradoxically, made him lose his zest for life.

"This is your reward, my son." The priest answered

"What are you talking about?" Nate asked.

"Don't you remember? Haven't you realized yet?" The priest looked with a look that was both surprised and disappointed.

Then the priest lifted Nate's shirt, revealing several fresh stab wounds in the poor teenager's abdomen.

"WHAT IS THIS!?" Nate screamed, scared

The priest looked at him

"Seriously, you don't remember? Your girlfriend stabbed you in a fit of rage. You've been dead for days."

Nate paled, remembering everything

"What the hell is this?! Purgatory?!"

The priest, now with an offended expression, said

"What? No. This is heaven... You have never committed a single sin, and this 'world' is your reward."

Nate took several deep breaths... until he calmed down, his expression melancholic. He stood up, pulled his shirt down again, and left.

Hell? Heaven? Right now he couldn't tell the difference. Hell was physical torment... But heaven... It was a shattered fraud. Not even attempting suicide could get him out of here... How long would he stay in here? How long would it be before the excitement faded and was replaced by eternal anguish and despair?

It was a Friday and I had just got home from work at about 9 pm. I live in Stanley, Idaho in a small two story home. I used to live with my boyfriend until we came to the mutual agreement that we should part ways and so we did. I am kinda a loner which sounds unfortunate but is not that bad really. Yeah, i have to do everything myself but i am not coming home to the TV with Yellow Stone on it. That is because she gets home late.
I had sat on the couch and looked at my phone to see that I had 12 unread messages. My girlfriend Susan was telling me she would be home later than normal. Thinking nothing of it I went into the bathroom to shower and put on pajamas. The usual nightly brushing of my teeth and reading would happen soon after. I would then lay in bed, thinking about my day at work and how glad I was that it is finally the weekend.
I kept thinking and eventually I would pass out from the week's stress. I felt like something was wrong, like that gut feeling. I ignored it and drifted off to sleep, only to then hear the door open. Thinking it was Susan but then i realized something. I do not have a girlfriend named Susan. In fact this entire time I never dated anyone after i broke up with Butch. I got up and looked outside my bedroom door.
There it was. The tall, grotesque, pale creature. The fingers as long as a ruler. A body that looked so skinny it was almost as if it has not eaten in months. The eyes were what really threw me off, they were brown and humanoid. Humanoid enough where they expressed pure emotion.
I shut my door and opened my window, carefully removing the screen. As i did that i heard it checking rooms in the hall and rummaging from what sounded like closets and dressers. I heard the clicking of its long nails come closer and closer to my room. Before it got the chance to open the door I ran out through my window and kept running until i reached the police station.
Before I could reach the station, out of nowhere, i was tackled onto the ground. I fell and hit my head on the hard pavement of the sidewalk. I tried to get up to only realize it was on me. It took it's claws and dug into my back. I screamed in pain as it continued and even took a bit out of my back.
Before long I was lucky that someone nearby came running with a baseball bat shouting. The creature got up and ran off into the darkness. The guy stayed with me and waited for paramedics to arrive at the scene. Ever since that night, I moved to Florida to live with my grandparents and I was unable to walk ever again.

Like any child, my daughter Maisie had quite the overactive imagination. Her mind was chock full of made-up friends that she talked to on the regular. My wife Rachel and I thought it was adorable. With that being said, sometimes we wished Maisie would get…you know…real friends. Don’t get me wrong, she was a great kid, and kids should be kids, but she didn’t have anything in terms of a social life.

We tried absolutely and positively everything, from the kids’ playclub at our church, to the neighborhood’s “mommy and me” and “daddy and me” playgroups, to bringing her to the local playground, to inviting other children over for playdates. You name it. All our efforts were in vain. Rachel and I might’ve been overreacting and we didn’t want to infringe anything on Maisie. Maybe she was just an independent kid. That’s totally normal. As are imaginary friends for kids.

Then at eight-years-old, Maisie became mute. Just completely stopped talking…but only to other people. If someone came up and talked to her, she’d either just stare at them or run away and hide. Maisie never looked scared or anxious in those scenarios. It was more like she was a statue. Frozen. No emotion good or bad on her face. Like a robot. But if she was alone, she’d be talking up a storm to no one but herself. Maisie always pretended like someone was truly there though. She’d even nod her head, wait for responses and respond accordingly, and even reach out her arm and act like she was holding somebody else’s hand.

We were greatly concerned. Children don’t exhibit those types of behaviors without proper reason. We couldn’t ask Maisie about it because, as aforementioned, she’d give us the cold shoulder. Our next safest bet was to ask other people we knew. A lot of them gave us the same answers we already knew. Rachel and I were getting frustrated until I decided to email her teacher at her school. I sent her an email that outlined my worries and asked if anything went on at school that we should know about.

I got a response at around 8:00 that night. Maisie’s teacher, Mrs. Ashelin, told me that she did in fact observe strange behavior from Maisie. Apparently, a few days prior, when Maisie was called on to answer a question, she just stared at Mrs. Ashelin and the other students, her hands behind her back, swaying slightly. Then in a calm and cutesy voice, she said “He has ordered me not to speak to anyone but him.” In her notebook, Maisie wrote and drew some very disturbing things. Some of the things she wrote are “I’ll be a good little mouse”, “be one of the good mice girls for him”, “I’ll do whatever he says without question”, “he loves me and I love him”, “but I don’t understand what love is but I understand it with him”, and “he loves to play with me”. Some of the things she drew were her, in stick figure form, with this…thing. It was drawn way more detailed than Maisie herself.

Its head was triangular and elongated into a sharp point. There were ovally black eyes on both sides of its head while two large circular ears were atop its head. Two slits for a nose and a mouth containing only two buck teeth. Skinny. Boney. You could see its ribs. Three spindly fingers were on each hand. Each tip was as sharp as a knife. Lastly, a long tail was behind it. Maisie drew her and that thing doing very…how should I say this?...inappropriate things.

I showed the email to Rachel and she was just as horrified as I was. How could Maisie know what all that stuff was? She was eight! Like any good parent we always took great strides in not exposing our daughter to anything sexual or of that nature. Early exposure can really ruin a child’s mind. That’s just putting it lightly. But this? Maisie’s whole imaginary friend thing needed to end. It was reaching a dangerous point. Was she having delusions? Schizophrenia? Or…sigh…as far as Rachel and I knew, nothing happened to Maisie, but that didn’t stop us from considering the absolute worst case scenario. I’m not saying what that is but I’m sure you can put the pieces together. As a parent, that was the last thing I wanted to think about. Actually it wasn’t even on the list of things I wanted to think about.

Mrs. Ashelin ended the email with something else that happened that day. Maisie spent long stretches of time in the girl’s bathroom. Another student reported that she went in and heard “whimpers” and “moans” coming from one of the stalls. When she looked under it, she saw Maisie’s clothes on the ground and a “moving shadow” above them. When the student knocked on the door, she all of a sudden heard one of the faucets going behind her. She turned around and Maisie was washing her hands. Like nothing happened.

Rachel and I were very confused at that last part. That sounded way too ridiculous. Like was Maisie fucking floating in the stall or something? Regardless, we treated all this very seriously. Rachel and I immediately took Maisie to see a specialist who dealt with child abuse cases. I brought her notebook along. It would most certainly be useful. I knew Maisie wouldn’t want to talk, but we had to at least try. Believe it or not, she did talk, but what she said made chills run down Rachel and I’s spines.

Maisie told the specialist that the mouse thing in her notebook was called “Bad Mouse” and that it visits her all the time no matter where she is. She said that Bad Mouse visits little girls all over the world and “plays with them”. When the specialist asked what she meant by “plays with them”, Maisie replied that Bad Mouse does “different things that make us feel tingly in preparation to be his little mice girls”.

We heard enough by that point. Rachel, the specialist, and I had a long discussion about what we should do. The specialist said she might have to put in a request to have Maisie placed in a children’s psych ward. Rachel and I couldn’t handle that. We didn’t want to do that to our little girl. By any means, we would find another way to handle this. The specialist told us to think about it and that it might do her some good. We thanked her and left.

Were we being selfish by not putting Maisie in a children’s psych ward? Rachel and I pondered that question day in and day out. We never did end up doing it because we thought it was too extreme. Also there was no evidence that Maisie was being legitimately sexually abused. The specialist’s physical exam said that Maisie was totally fine in that regard. We were allowed to see footage from the security cameras at the entrances of the bathrooms at Maisie’s school. They only showed Maisie going in, about half an hour going by, then the other student going in, then Maisie leaving a few minutes later. No one else. And no one went in before her besides a couple other girls that left before Maisie went in. Was Maisie faking it? Was she really delusional? Or schizophrenic? We didn’t know. Rachel and I needed time to think this whole thing over.

It only got worse from then on.

Maisie was never one to talk in her sleep. She was always dead silent. Not even a snore. But that night after Rachel and I put her to bed, we heard Maisie talking. I’m not talking about little quiet unintelligible murmurs. No. Full-on conversations. Except she wasn’t speaking English. It was some unknown language that resembled Pig Latin but different. Her accent changed too. This happened for three nights. On the third night, Rachel and I were in her doorway watching her talk in that strange language when she suddenly rose up, her eyes still closed, and burst into an intense laughing fit. Maisie was cackling so hard it looked like it hurt. Then she immediately stopped and did these weird movements with her lips and hands like she was kissing something. Finally, she fell back down onto her pillow and went right back to sleep.

The next day, I knocked on Maisie’s door to let her know breakfast was ready. She didn’t respond. I stood there for a couple minutes. Maisie hadn’t made a single sound. I slowly opened her door. My heart beat faster and faster. With all that was going on, I didn’t know what to expect, and that made it terrifying. Maisie was in her underwear just staring at her wall. I rushed over, “Maisie? What are you doing?” I handed her clothes back to her, “Put your clothes back on.”

“…He doesn’t want me to…he thinks I look better without them…”

We stared at each other for an indefinite period of time. I said nothing. And so did she. Then I turned my head to where she was looking. There was nothing there…obviously…but something told me I was wrong. That thing…Bad Mouse…it was staring right at me…

“Guys? Breakfast isn’t gonna eat itself!” Rachel yelled at us from down the hall. Quickly I hurried Maisie and I out of her room.

I was kind of a wreck the entire day. Thinking straight wasn’t really a thing for me. There was nothing staring at me. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. These past few weeks were just getting to my head and playing mind games. No amount of trying to distract myself would let me forget what I felt. That’s when I decided to take a drive. I didn’t exactly know where. Just away from everything. I was tempted to go to a local bar. I used to be quite the alcoholic but I’m sober. Even still, I thought about breaking my streak to relapse. I decided against it. That would be so incredibly stupid. I ended up at a park that I used to take Maisie to in a futile attempt for her to make friends. I found a parking spot and just sat there in my car. Taking a big sigh, I observed all the parents with their kids having a blast and I smiled. Good for them.

I stayed there for a while. Finally I was able to, if only briefly, forget all my troubles.

Then I saw it.

Him.

Bad Mouse.

The damned thing was underneath a big tree. Its eyes were fixed right on me and its hands were clasped together. I couldn’t do anything but stare right back. Goosebumps were forming. My breathing was really heavy. Cold shivers ran down my body. I couldn’t even blink. Petrified. That’s what I was. I watched as Bad Mouse slowly reached behind itself and pulled…something…out. At first I couldn’t tell what it was. I am not shitting you. A little girl…made of meat…her hair was meat, skin was meat, she was even wearing a meat dress. Everything about her was meat. Her head looked just like Bad Mouse’s. Long. Pointy. Angular. Big ears. Black oval eyes.

It was holding the little meat girl by the collar. Slowly Bad Mouse turned to look into her eyes. It opened its mouth. Viscous white liquids began pouring as it let out its long black tongue. First sniffing the little meat girl, it then took a big long lick of her, from her feet to the top of her head. The parts where it licked were gone, instead resting on Bad Mouse’s tongue until it sucked its tongue back in, chewed, then swallowed. The little meat girl was covered in the viscous white liquids until her missing portions slowly regenerated back into how she was before.

Then I blacked out.

I woke up several hours later still sitting in my car. In my half-tired half-frenzied state, I looked around for any sign of Bad Mouse. Nothing. There weren’t even other people. It was dark too. I opened my phone. 11:23 PM. I got to the park at 2:14 PM. Nine hours. I was expecting a bunch of missed calls and unanswered texts. Surprisingly, there was nothing besides a notification from my weather app. I went back home. Both my wife and daughter were asleep. I was so glad there weren’t any…incidents…I missed. In fact, the house was extremely quiet. No lights were on. It was a weekend. Usually Rachel was still up at this time.

“Rach?” I called out. Nothing. I went upstairs to our room. She wasn’t there. I opened Maisie’s door. She wasn’t there either. I sat down on the couch and pondered where they could be. When I couldn’t come up with anything, I got my phone out and called Rachel.

I heard ringing from upstairs.

Confused, I ran back up to our room. I called her name again. Still no answer. I realized that before I checked so quickly I neglected to look in our bathroom. The door was closed and the light was on. I was now getting this creeped out feeling. Cautiously, I approached and nudged the door.

It creaked open.

Rachel.

She was…splattered…fucking everywhere…all over the walls, floor, ceiling, window, sink, shower…everywhere. Rachel was…pureed…blended…sprayed…I just stood in the doorway. My eyes were wide. I couldn’t process what I was seeing. There were so many things I wanted to do, like crawl into a ball and cry, scream as loud as I could, and/or grab one of the kitchen knives and slit my throat so I wouldn’t have to live with this sight for the rest of my life.

What I actually did end up doing next was grab my old hunting rifle and head outside. I went into the forest behind our house. There was no thinking on my part. Just do. What was I doing? I didn’t really know. Tears were streaming down my face. I walked for what felt like forever. Sometimes I screamed. Other times I fell down onto the ground and wept. But I just kept going. And going. And going. Somehow I knew exactly where I was going without even knowing how.

I came upon a wide-open field. Dropping my old hunting rifle to the ground, I couldn’t believe what I was fucking seeing. Dark silhouettes were dancing around. Hundreds of them. Little meat girls. Bad Mouse was in the middle. The white flesh it once had was stripped away. Instead it was sacrificed for a bumpy and scabby maroon red as if Bad Mouse took a shower in blood and guts and let it dry. Tiny black bristles covered its entire body. It reminded me of insect hair. A ragged meat cloak hung from its shoulders, dragging crimson across the ground. The mouth had much sharper teeth that were poking out in rows almost like a gar. It was taller. Ganglier. So angular that it could have been accurately represented by seven straight lines. It clutched a staff in its hand.

Bad Mouse did some strange gesture and a door manifested out of nowhere. It was bloody. Constantly flowing yet retaining shape. Particles came from it. They disappeared if they strayed too far away. It opened and the little meat girls, still dancing like ballerinas, filed into it one by one. Bad Mouse reached out its hand and plucked one of them out. It held this one, turned in my direction, and held her out to me. I knew it was Maisie and wanted to shoot the shit out of Bad Mouse. Yet I couldn’t do anything. Some force was keeping me tethered to my one spot.

…I can’t describe what happened next…I just can’t…some of the things Bad Mouse did to my little girl I couldn’t understand. Other things I understood clear as day and that made me want to drop a cinderblock on my head so it would leak the hell out. When it was done, Bad Mouse threw Maisie’s limp and white viscous liquid-covered body into the blood door. It raised its staff and it disappeared.

I was released from my invisible bonds. Falling down to the ground, I cried like a baby. It didn’t matter how much I screamed and cursed at the Moon. That didn’t make it better. I couldn’t stop and truly had no idea how to make sense of any of what happened. My body tingled. It felt so heavy. So weighty. My wife was dead and my daughter was…what?...a sex slave to a demon? I almost wanted to laugh at the utter absurdity. Picking up my hunting rifle, I put the barrel in my mouth. My finger stayed on the trigger for a long time. I didn’t end up doing it and threw it away. Instead I just collapsed on the ground once more and lay there for a long time.

It’s been six months. I’m such a wreck. I admit it. No one believes me when I tell them. They say I’m crazy, a madman, a lunatic. Some people even think I was the one who killed my wife and child. Why would I do that? Seriously, why? I loved them. Still do. More than I love anything else. I can’t see them ever again. It pisses me off that they’d think I’d do such a thing. As much as I hate myself for it, I’ve gotten back into alcohol. That’s where all my money goes. I couldn’t stand to be in that fucking house anymore. So I sold it. I’ve been living in my car just drifting from place to place.

I could've saved them. If I didn't go and take a stupid ass ride in my car. Maybe Rachel and Maisie would be alright...

What was that thing? Bad Mouse?

That’s been my biggest question this whole time. I’ve been doing a lot of research but have hit multiple dead ends. I don’t know. Sure as hell wasn’t a mouse.

This is what I know:

• It is the manifestation of a sex-based demon of some kind; possibly a cross between a bogeyman and an incubus.
• Bad Mouse appears to little girls as a mouse-like entity to appear friendly and not scare them away; only visible to them.
• It prefers the young that are more developed in mind, body, and spirit; Maisie was very imaginative; thus she attracted Bad Mouse.
• Bad Mouse acts as their friend; this might appear to parents as their daughter’s “imaginary friend”; gradually coerces them to do inappropriate sexual activity.
• It has hundreds of victims going back an unknown period of time; maybe centuries.
• Does not kill its main victims; will kill parents or anyone else who tries to get in its way.
• The victims become corrupted and turn into demons that look like Bad Mouse; it takes them into its realm and…

I don’t even want to fucking know.

God…this whole thing’s insane. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up and this is all a terrible dream. It’s been months though and it still hasn’t happened yet. So I’m going to end it here. I’m not looking for pity. I’m not looking for anyone to hear me out. I’m not looking for answers. I’m just…done.

Bye.

i used charcoal for all the black and then pastel for the face and mouth

Oiê, tutupom?

Criei um canal de Creepypastas, relatos do Reddit, contos de terror de domínio público e em breve teremos um quadro com histórias dos inscritos. Quem puder dar uma forma e se inscrever, já temos dois vídeos no ar e um pronto para ser postado quinta feira de manhã. Desde já agradeço a contribuição de todos. Um beijo pra vocês ❤️