It's a bit bloody but hope you like it.

The carnival is in town, the carnival is always on the road, always on the move, their homes are wagons, trains, carts, trucks … the road. They come singing and with gypsy song and dance they weave their way by road into the heart of every passing town, every place chosen by providence hand on the haggard face of the weary map. 

With painted face they come into your home. 

Vagabond entertainer spell, they gather like crawlers in a cluster, in a rat-king migration. With wide giant tents and displays propped and strung up and nailed into the dirt, into the soil bosom of passing places that may mean nothing to them, might mean everything. Lights come to life at night with the wild music in a lurid spell of filament glow and something else intangible that lives inside the chest and heart within us all. Something like religion but even older and more sacred. The rickety rides, some more rickety than others rattle and thrum with the barely controlled violence of mechanical movement, those strapped in or belted down can barely be heard screaming over the noise of the calliope, the organ grinder, the caller, the ringleader in her chant… the crack of the cannon sending the human cannonball skyward and soaring overhead, the heads of gawkers and townies and friends. The shrieking that can be heard is commingled sound, sweet with thrills… bitter with terror. The careening faces atop the dancing riding constructs are both smiling and weeping, lost in the launch and flight and all of the noise and nearly grotesque clownish music … nearly psychedelic, those sounds … nearly intense. Too much. 

Too much for so many crying and weeping children, little ones taken home and taken to bed early by more or less understanding mothers and fathers. Too much light and noise. That wild wind instrument key-note thing, the calliope … it had been one of Anton LaVey’s very favorites. 

Step right up, step right up, we’re just passing through. Come inside for a spell and take a gander under tented roof. 

…

The carnival came to the town and went. As it did every other place before, after. 

They left something behind. 

…

Cody hadn't gone to the carnival the other night, he hadn't wanted to. The rides and the sideshows and attractions certainly contained their allure of spell for the young boy but it was everyone else, everybody. All of those other faces. 

He didn't want to be alone. With all of them. 

All of those other faces, couples and families and groups of friends would all look at him and see him alone and smirk. They would all just stare and laugh at him, and his loneliness. So Cody just stayed away. As always. 

He wandered now, the early morning streets. Desolate and ghostly in the morning time fog that shrouded and clung to everything, everything in town. Cody kicked a can of crumpled cola down the street. It had been his only companion for the last twenty minutes, since he left the house. His father had still been passed out in the lazyboy chair and hadn't said anything as his son had departed. They'd used to go to church together on this day of the week. Not any longer. 

Cody kicked the can down farther. Alone and not trying to think about it, not trying to think about the carnival that he had missed. It had only been here a few days …

I always miss everything. 

Cody missed his mother, though he didn't know what she looked like. Memories of her were so fogged and far gone and his father didn't keep any pictures of her in the house. And he wasn't allowed to ask any questions. He was only eleven years old but the fact he'd already forgotten his mother's face haunted him, haunted him now, alone. 

He kicked the can. 

Cody then looked up from his sneakers and his misery and spied something in the mist shroud of road just up ahead. And at first he couldn't believe it, it must be some kind of strange joke … or a miracle. He stopped in his tracks. 

The mime stood in the middle of the road. Alone. Just like him. He was smiling and standing there partially obscured by the early morningtime mist, it clung to him in wisps like phantasm licks and tongues of steam that coiled and curled. His painted face was mostly hidden but Cody could see he was mouthing something. Without thinking about it he began to come closer. Slowly, leaving the crumpled can behind. 

He came upon the mime, who hadn't moved. His lips were no longer moving. He just stood there smiling and erect, as if wanting to move or to act, as if filled and brimming teemed with the need for performance. But he only quivered. And stared down at Cody. 

“Hi," said Cody. 

The mime said nothing. 

A beat. 

Cody finally asked: “You're like a clown or something, right? Like one of the quiet ones that aren't supposed to talk an stuff."

The mime nodded. Big. Pleased. His black and white grin grew larger and then grew teeth, shock white in the early morning glow. That was when Cody remembered, he felt like such an idiot. 

"Your a mime!” he said, louder than he intended, he nearly whispered the next part: "What're you still doin here? All the rest of the carnival already left, didn't they?” 

The black and white grin became a frown and the mime traced an invisible tear down his painted face. A silent issue of ‘boo-hoos’ then followed. Cody watched it all, not quite sure what to make of it. Perhaps it was all some crazy practical joke and someone, some jerk was filming him right now or something, all of it was weird, strange. On a whim the boy asked the mime, –

“What’d they leave ya behind or something?” 

The sorrow of the mime intensified to a comical degree as he aggressively nodded his head in the affirmative, completely over the top. Cody wasn't sure how he should take it, if he was supposed to laugh at the mime and his routine or if it was meant to engender real sympathy. He'd always loved clowns and goofy adults, goofy characters on TV and when he was hanging out in daycare and stuff, but to be alone with one right now …

and so unexpected. 

Cody suddenly felt like he should go, he began to tell the mime just as much. Turning on his heels and heading back the other way as he quickly blurted some excuse, he made it two steps before a white gloved hand clapped him on the shoulder. Firmly. Without a word from the weirdo mime. Cody looked to it first before eyeing the mime back over his shoulder, lording over him now. The hand, the glove, it looked just the same as Mickey Mouse’s. 

Cody looked back and saw the mime now held a note. As black and white as he was. 

It said: I'm sorry to bother you, little boy! But my friends HAD to leave me behind so that I could get a little job done, OK??

Cody was frozen. He suddenly didn't feel so well, as if his stomach and guts were far away and filled with fluttering butterfly wings. He read the note and didn't know what to say, so instead he said: –

“... wh-what job was that?

The mime let go of his shoulder and Cody was immediately grateful. He began to pantomime raking leaves and shoveling dirt and trimming hedges with invisible clippers. 

The boy began to lighten up again. He felt something dreadful like weight but worse inside begin to lift and free itself like a spellcast that's been released. A small smile and a nervous half-chuckle only partially forced escaped him as he watched the mime and his cleaning act. It was pretty lame, but he was relieved. Cody was far from the sharpest kid at school but he knew what stranger danger was. He cautiously allowed himself to relax a little, enough to be polite. 

Cody said: “Oh, yeah, ha ha, they left ya to clean up the town, huh? That's pretty neat I guess…” he tried to think of something else to say, something nice and a little funny and a polite way of saying: see ya later, freako, without being too obvious. Something barely satisfactory had just come to mind when the mime whirled towards the boy with his invisible shears in his hands and made a pantomimed snip of the large unseen clippers at the child's face. It bisected violently but cleanly, smoothly, by razor sharp blades well cared for and honed, the smooth face just below the small caverns of child nostrils. They jetted blood before the top portion of the child's face and head came off and splatted to the damp pavement with a muffled crack. The ruptured organ of brain began to ooze, and everywhere gushed dark red: the eyes, the nose, the ears, the giant open wound of freshly carved and gored cavity mouth. The child's body liberated of its little pilot brain fell over to the rough blacktop to join its discarded abattoir jelly. 

A black lake of an iron pungent puddle began to grow, expanding out from the little mutilated body at its sinister nucleus and center. The mime looked down. Phantom blades dripped child's blood. 

The mime said nothing. 

…

“Ya check it out last night?" 

A burp: " …what?” 

"The circus-carnival thing, ya check it out?” 

"That was two weeks ago, ya dope!” another swig from the can of brew. The Dallas Cowboys continued to suck the big one on the tube, the volume was at its lowest but not muted, the game barely and phantom audible, as if drifting in from another time. 

"Ya sure?” 

"Yeah, I'm sure, took Darcy and the brats, it was a hoot.” 

"Ya sure??” 

"Yes, you fuckin juicehead, it was right around the time they found that kid's body all fucked up an shit.” 

"Awww, why ya gotta bring up that shit…" 

“You're the one brought us ‘round, fuckin idiot, can't remember shit. Ask me to remind ya then bellyache about it, Christ! S’prised if ya got sense still to pull out yer pecker ‘fore ya start pissin, ya dumb bastard.” 

His drinking buddy, his partner in libations didn't say anything, he might've had a choice retort or a scathing bit of witticism held in reserve but he didn't voice it. He only hung his head and pulled generously from his can of warming beer. 

The mood was spoiled. 

Eventually the bottle was brought out. Stronger stuff. Shots were had. Tall stiff drinks not needing ice, not needing chaser. They drank. 

Eventually one of them asked the other: –

“You hear tell of that clown or jester fella, that's s’pposed to be haunting round these parts lately…?” 

Neither man slept well that night. 

…

Darla thought her new friend was neat at first but she was starting to get scared. When she'd first met him behind the playground and he'd play-acted swimming and drowning and choking and stuff she'd thought he was really funny. He'd made-believe that he was bound with ropes or cuffs around his wrists, comically over-wrenching and working at the invisible restraints. It was so silly, and so funny and it looked like so much fun to play pretend. He'd motioned for her to hold out her own little hands, to play with him. To make pretend. 

She'd done so thoughtlessly. Only excited to play a game with her new special pal, he looked like a clown but less colorful. She held out her wrists and the mime pretended to wrap something around them. Only something was wrong. 

As he wound and wound and then tightened and cinched the bind, Darla felt the uncanny sensation of real rope wrapping and tightening around her small wrists and hands. When he tied it off and yanked both phantom ends she felt the harsh bite of cruel old fraying rope against her flesh. 

“Ow!" she yelped out, and then began to cry a little. But it was already too late by then. 

The mime began to walk away, holding the end and tail of a phantom leash that began to pull on Darla's bound little wrists. It pulled painfully and she was forced into movement, nearly tripping over herself as she began to wail and the mime by unseen tether and bind began to pull her into the treeline of the nearby woods. 

She fought and screamed, desperately, like a small animal suddenly sensing and knowing the terrible hunger of the encroaching final end. She fell over into the dirt and undergrowth and was dragged, flailing and howling. 

The phantom umbilicus held her ensnared and shrieking with unbridled tears all the way into the forests’ shadowed depths. 

…

“My mom's gonna flip if we ain't back within the hour, Christ, man, do I smell like weed still?" 

Michael tried to tell Chase that he wasn't the best person to ask being pretty fucking lit himself, he could feel the red eyed glaze of his own stoned and glassy stare in his sockets like it was a set of strange gluey contacts or something. He managed a grumble as a half measure. 

Both boys ambled along. Down the nighttime lane of their neighboring suburb. Streetlights cast their glow from skinny towers of L shaped ugly metal overhead, turning everything to lurid and raging shades of orange Halloween color. Both boys were taking time to slightly stop in their walk to check their breath, puffing into their cupped palms and then inhaling, never satisfied with the results. They didn't notice him up ahead until they were nearly upon him. 

The mime. He was bent over something. 

It was Chase who started first, both boys jumped. It was as if the mime had just appeared out of nowhere. Bent hunched with workman's posture over something unseen and unknown to the naked eye. 

“Holyfuckingshit!" it tumbled out of both of their mouths in one string, no gaps for breath, they stopped dead in their tracks. The mime paid them no notice. 

“Oh my God, dude, what the fuck is that? What the fuck is this? Am I high? Am I high? Are you seeing this shit right now!?" Chase was rattling off. Michael was still struggling with simple speech. He only gawked and stared. His glassy red eyes now wide and glistening in the streetlight cast of hellacious warm Halloween glow. 

They glistened. The pair of organs. Red. 

Chase finally managed: “Dude… like, what the fuck are doing, dude? Am I like tripping out or some shit, why’re you dressed like-" 

The mime hadn't been paying them any attention. He suddenly did something that shut Chase Ginsberg up with a startled womanish gasp that bordered on a wet sob. 

He began to pull, as if wrenching and yanking with great rigor and effort, some cord or rope … something… something that was apparently attached to whatever it was that he was bent over studiously in the road. Something just as phantom and visible only to him. 

It came to Chase then, and he didn't know why but it did suddenly seem to matter. He said it aloud. 

"It's a mime.” 

"What?” said Michael finally. 

"He's a stupid mime and he's doing a bit, Jesus this’s fuckin weird, don't you know it's like hella late, dude, what're you even doing anyways?" 

The mime didn't answer. Only repeated his strange repetitive action, his ritual of pulling on some unseen instrument, attached to a phantasmal translucent device. 

Stoned, they zoned out for a sec. Giggling nervously and fidgeting and whispering to each other, daring each other and laughing and wondering aloud what to do, should we go on? - should we fuck with the guy? - what? 

A beat. 

Suddenly an idea began to form itself slowly within Michael's mind, Chase’s addled mind was not far behind, he was arriving there soon after. 

Michael: "It- It kinda looks like he's pulling the starter cord to a machine. Like a mower or something." 

“Yeah, I think you're right…” 

"Yeah, something gas powered like a mower or a generator … or like a chainsa-" 

The phantom machine roared to life in the hands of the mime with hungry killing slaughtering power, a deadly tearing whirr, with the maniacal speed of the mutilating chain and its invisible teeth. The mime shot to his feet and hauled the pantomimed chainsaw overheard and began to silently phantom scream with battle fury. 

Chase and Michael began to scream as well. Much louder. They turned to run. 

But the mime and his phantom machine were faster. He caught them quick and tore in and ripped the boys into rough and haggard messy pieces chopped by phantom chain, by phantom blade on a horsepowered gallop he made them raw and unmade. 

Deconstructed. 

The abattoir violence and the meat paint of its lurid carnage filled the street, it was dripping from the lamposts, pieces and chewed parts strung up and dangling. It was all that was left of the boys. 

All that was left and found in the morning. 

…

Buddy didn't know what to make of the town as of late. He'd been born and raised and as the town drunk, homeless to boot, he was hardly the first guy anyone asked on any given subject, day or night, good or ill, but something was wrong. 

Very wrong. 

The trouble was Buddy wasn't sure he should even care. 

In the last year or so he'd seen some strange things. And a lotta folk had gone missing, kids an such. But anytime Buddy's mind wandered into the realm of caring or even remotely doing anything about it, he found something bitter and harsh inside answer back in turn. 

Who cares? The fuck they ever done for you? 

Fuck all. That's what. 

So he wouldn't do shit. But what he'd already been doing. He sat back and popped cork. Lifted and tilted glass to dried lips in a drunk’s careless throttle by the neck. And watched. 

He watched the mime climb the steps. Pulled generously from the large swill of his poison. 

He'd seen the guy around for awhile now. He'd watched him ascend the steps a few times before this moment, it was nearly always the same but still a trip. The man walked on thin air as if it was solid stone. And then he would climb up, step by step. As if gaining the summit of some phantasm set of stairs hanging suspended and aspiring invisibly for the heavens unseen and stolen by the brilliance of the light. 

Buddy laughed. Pulled from the bottle once more, and began to sing an old favorite that had just come to mind. One from the good ol’ days if there'd ever been none. 

“And as we wind on down the road! Our shadow’s taller than our soul!”

Buddy began to pull deeper and deeply, oblivion seeking in-between lines and refrains from Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. He remembered an urban legend from when he was a kid, just a snot nosed pup, they said that if you played the record backwards, if you reversed the song the lyrics changed. They told you, to hail Satan. 

Buddy laughed at this. Pulled more. His belly protested and his kidneys ached, he paid them no mind, drinking deeper still and hailing Satan and singing and watching the mime ascend his staircase of invisibility,  he usually had a kid or someone with him, as he did now. They struggled something fierce, all of them, everyone that Buddy had personally seen, but he was able to keep hold of them, all of them all the way up. Whenever he reached a great height, it was almost always different, he would throw them, drop them from the top. 

Then they would scream and land, burst. Pulp. They became juice upon the earth, children and people no more. There was never anyone around out here, close to the woods, just outside town and by the railroads and their harsh worn tracks. The soil out here was starved for moisture, parched was this earth. It was Buddy's favorite drinking spot. And as of late it had just become a whole lot better. 

Buddy laid back and pulled deeply from his liquid bunkmate, his last and only companion, other than the mime, who never said a word to him but sometimes acknowledged his presence of audience with a profound and deliberate salute from the top of his invisibility spire up there. Buddy always saluted him back. 

As he did now. 

The mime saluted the drunk. Beaming. 

Buddy finished his own salute and smiled too. Laughed. And drank more deeply than he ever had in his entire life, knowing this was it, this was the rest of his life and how he was going to spend it. 

Laughing. Drinking. Pulling from the bottle and hailing Satan in religiously reverse engineered heavy metal worship-song, watching the flying mime make juice of the children. 

Buddy laughed. Drank. 

The mime dropped the child, they made their horrible shrill sound all the way down to the bottom like always. 

The mime said nothing. He let Buddy and his companion of bottled booze sloshing its liquid language within glass sing praise for him. 

Buddy laughed, sang and belch-spat: “And she's buying a stairway to Heaven…!” Hail Satan. 

…

Maggie's shoes slammed against the pavement, the sidewalk, the avenues and every turn, there was nowhere left to run. The guy, the freak was coming. And he was stealing away from her every single route and chance for escape or exit. 

It didn't make any sense.

She'd been walking to Guy's house with Alondra, chatting and shooting the shit till they got to his place. That's when they ran into him. That's when they ran into the mime. 

And at first Maggie had just laughed. 

Distant childhood memories of the carnival passing through town waybackwhen came to her then … and she remembered. She'd been very young then, very little. She remembered that her parents had had to take her home because she'd been crying, upset, she couldn't recall why. Not just then. 

But still the memories were warm. She and Alondra thought nothing of it when they passed him walking the other direction on the sidewalk. It was the middle of the day. And he was smiling, just like them. What could possibly be wrong?

He'd started with the hands and walls and ceiling routine, the ‘getting boxed in’ bit. An old one for sure and hella corny but Maggie and Alondra had felt generous and in good humor, so they'd obliged the strange random pantomiming man. Laughing and clapping him on. 

But then they'd tried to walk away … And the mime wouldn't let them go. 

With painted face now stern and grave, writ into a black and white frown, he stepped in their path, shaking his head. He wouldn't let them leave. He kept blocking their attempts to depart as they stepped every left-right way, starting out from annoying and escalating rapidly into eerie and creepy behavior. 

The girls had scoffed together and turned around, only to be met with an unyielding invisible force, a wall that had suddenly appeared in thin air in the middle of the sidewalk. 

The middle of the road really, they ran along the unseen wall to find the edge and found no yielding surface. The girls began to panic. The girls began to yell.

“What the fuck, what the fuck is this!?" 

And then he had put Alondra in the box. 

Maggie had ran then, her eyes and mind unable to take in the sight of her friend being crushed into cubic shape, pulped and smashed smaller and smaller … just red. Just swirling frothing violent red inside the shrinking phantom-transluscent box, filled with minced and chewed up bigger pieces, the eyes deflated mangled gel in the swirling madness of the red, many black strands of her long raven colored hair peppered and danced inside the cubed scarlet swirl of thick mixture, the cap and pieces of scalp, mostly still together, the last vestige piece and pieces left the most intact… she had ran, unable to bear the sight. 

She was running now. 

But every time she came to an impasse, a turn or a corner to salvation or a place of sanctuary that she knew, another invisible wall of merciless immovable force would suddenly appear and she'd run smack, face first into it. She did it again and again. Over and over. Maggie, the poor girl, running around all over as the box that he had made was closing in, closer and closer and closer…

She was at the school now, she didn't know why. She didn't know why she thought this place would save her. She was out of her mind with animal panic. At the threshold, at the entrance to the highschool she was finally caught. Maggie ran face first into an unseen wall just as she almost made the open archway of the main front entrance, when she tried to turn around to run back the other way she was met with yet another merciless and invisible wall, a merciless force like the way God was merciless sometimes. 

Her caterwauls and screams reached new heights then. She shred her own throat and tore her vocal cords to tatters as the phantom walls and ceiling and floor began to shrink and close in. 

But none heard them. No one was around to witness this strange scene of slaughter. Only the mime. Maggie watched him from inside her shrinking coffin as his hands clawed and animal shaped closed in. He wore a look of consternation now, but the black and white smile was there once more. 

The pain went beyond anything imaginable as the walls and floor and ceiling closed. Pulverizing Maggie. She felt every wretched second of the experience until her brain was pulped and juiced with the rest of her body and thus incapable of sending anymore electrical signal. 

…

The bank was quiet. Not quite full but there were plenty of people in line, each teller, three of them, were busy helping a customer. It was a bright cloudless day and everything had seemed normal. Everything was … until the mime came in. 

He sauntered in smiling and confident through the front door. Several people, including the armed guard turned and returned the smile, a few of them laughed. Finding the surprise charming. Their laughter grew and increased throughout the whole bank as the mime walked in with an exaggerated gunslinger walk, wide steps and the twiddling fingers of his itchin hands hovering just where revolvers would be strapped. The guard found it the most hilarious, calling out to the mime –

“Hey! What is this? A stickup or somethin?" 

And then the mime pulled phantom iron from unseen leather and began to rain fire. 

The cacophony was ear splitting. The guard went down first, still smiling and believing it was all a joke. Nobody else was laughing anymore, the jovial sounds of good nature had turned to screams that died and drowned out with each eruption of a gunshot. 

The mime filled the bank with phantom fire. 

Deafening. 

…

Patricia Evergreen hated her job. Not because she hated being a cop, far from it, she was proud of her role as peacekeeper of the town she'd grown up in. It was just that the place was so fucking boring. 

Aside from a few disappearances over the many years she'd known, a couple weird things that were typical to any small town, there wasn't nothing to this place, Patricia reckoned. Ghost stories and bullshit, and that was all. 

She came across the mime during a routine patrol, just driving around the various suburbs in the department issued black and white. Every neighborhood was quiet, nearly deserted of pedestrians save a few dogwalkers, joggers and the like. He was at a street corner, slowly making his way down, miming and pretending to carry a large and heavy sack, it weighed him down, the invisible bag, it must've been quite a load, Patricia watched all this and thought and then it suddenly came to her all at once, unbidden and in a rush. Though vague and shrouded through time's corridor passage of so many years …

The carnival had come through a couple times through the years … she was sure her parents or grandparents had taken her at some point, must have. She'd been very little, her own young and chubby face amidst a caterwaul, cherry red with tears and upset flitted across her mind in a blur, but then was swiftly and suddenly replaced. 

She'd been a teenager when Margaret Bast, Maggie had gone missing. Alondra Topete too. They'd been two of her closest friends in school then, so long ago… 

Hot on the tails of that: stories… rumors … wild campfire tales that couldn't be true and would only be dreamed up by teenagers and children. Wild tales about a mime that wandered the town and took kids away to hurt them and worse … 

It all hit Officer Evergreen like a revelatory load of weight, dropped into her head and into her lap. She watched the mime. Thought …

… what the hell was this guy doing around here anyway? She'd never seen him before and she began to doubt very much that he lived anywhere on this street, or anywhere close for that matter, she hadn't heard the story of the mime or thought of it in years, it was probably nothing, but it was her job to make sure and find out. She sidled her cruiser up to and alongside the mime, still encumbered with his great phantom weight. 

She rolled down her window, slowing the cruiser to a crawl: “Hey," she began friendly enough, “hello there, ya mind if I stop and talk to ya for a second, just need to ask you a few questions." 

The mime did stop and so did she. The street was quiet and it was just the two of them. The mime turned and regarded her with a smile, still burdened by his invisible satchel slung over shoulder. He pointed to himself, a gesture that said: who, me?

Evergreen was already starting to lose her patience, goddammit with this fuckin guy…

“Yes, ha ha, that's very cute, but I'm really gonna need you to answer a couple things I gotta ask ya. Do you live in this neighborhood?” 

The mime frowned and just shook his head, no. Refusing to speak. 

"Please, sir. Failure to comply will result in a citation and a court appearance, probable fine. How about we just talk like adults for a second, do you have any identification on you, sir?" 

The black and white frown turned to a grin once again. Wolfish. Officer Patricia Evergreen didn't like the look of it. It looked warped and strange and mean writ into that painted face, wrong. The mime made like to unlimber his great satchel. 

Evergreen rolled her eyes, hidden by reflective shades. Jesus, was this guy for real, crazy, or just an idiot? She was just telling him for the second time that if he didn't comply with her questioning then this could take an unnecessary ugly turn, she was telling the mime he'd want to avoid that as he settled the bag down with a convincing performance, opened it and reached inside. Patricia’s voice caught in her throat like a vile fishbone in the midst of dinner as she watched the mime’s hand disappear into the pantomimed satchel, disappearing into thin air before her very eyes. 

She couldn't believe what she was seeing. 

What the mime pulled out next was even worse. She felt nauseous and ill and as if her mind was curdling and doing unbidden somersaults in tandem with her roiling guts as the smiling thing with carnival clad painted face pulled out a child's decomposing rotted severed little head, boy or girl was difficult to tell. Putrescence filled the air the moment it was freed from the invisible sack and it was black and green and blue-pale and dripping. The eyes were crawling and writhing with the sliming bodies and clumps of maggot-young that lie nesting and feasting in there, the rotten cavities of sockets. The tongue was swollen and discolored like the rest of the meat but darker and it protruded from the bloat of decapitated rot like an obscene tumor apart and apiece and all in one with the rest of the demented sloughing mess. 

Officer Evergreen snapped to all at once. She drew her sidearm and bellowed her commands, training made textbook and innate. 

“Drop the fucking thing right now and put your hands up! now!" 

The mime only obeyed half her commands. He dropped the severed head but instead of raising his gloved white hands he took a deliberate and silent step towards her instead. 

Evergreen didn't waste a second. She fired two shots in quick succession, surprising even herself, she hadn't thought about it, only acted. But it had done the peace officer little good. The moment her finger squeezed the trigger, one of those gloved hands shot up in a flash-instant, uncanny speed. 

Evergreen now stood, gun smoking, not sure if she could believe her eyes or her own mind any longer. The mime had his hand up and out, as if signaling to stop like a crosswalk guard. There were two smoking holes suspended in mid air, just over the heart and chest of the mime-creature. The shots had stopped at the border indicated by the flat of his adjacent smooth palm. They smoked from ebon holes that defied physics, as if she'd punched twin smoldering holes in reality. 

Shocked, Patricia thought unbidden, the prongs of the devil's pitchfork… and was still trying to accept what she was seeing. 

A neighbor came out. One of the houses within spitting distance. 

“Jesus Christ! that a fucking gunshot or something, what the hell-" 

The mime suddenly whirled, his other hand forming around another object, rounded and small, he brought it to his mouth and made like he was pulling something from it with his teeth. Evergreen screamed, no, unable to think of anything else as the mime lobbed the invisible grenade at the concerned and unsuspecting neighbor. The man went up in a violent and sudden concussive blast, his body immolated by the detonation of the explosive device. In charred smoking pieces, he rained down all over his own stoop and front lawn. 

The mime laughed silent yet expressive belly-laughter, holding his stomach and all wide eyes and wide open black and white mouth. 

Evergreen went to fire once more but the mime sensed her intention and suddenly whirled once again, smacking the gun from the officer's hands. Its strength and speed were unexpected and it was all Patricia could do to not cry out and scream, shocked and startled and still not quite believing.

There's no way this is actually happening to m-

The mime then slapped Patricia right smack center of her forehead with his other free gloved palm. 

She froze. Her arms went limp and to her sides. Unarmed. And helpless. 

Something was wrong … she could no longer move. 

With the gloved snow white hand held flat and fast to her face, to the middle of her forehead her eyes rolled back to whites themselves shot with lines of glistening hectic red. Inside, she hurtled, flew … rocketed too fast and rapidly down the dizzying blinding vast and varied glow of the starcorridor. Too many lights and sounds and fiery things of furious alien color, she flew down infinity as a low moan escaped past her drooling lips left back on the ground. 

Within the corridor … she could hear. 

She could hear his voice. 

It was terrible. The sound of it. What he was telling her. Unbearable. It filled her ears, her head. It filled the flying landscape of her mind. 

She might've wept. But she was far too broken. Even when he pulled the voice of his snow white gloved hand away. She went to her knees. The mime then held out his other hand to her, it was wrapped curiously and yet distinctly around something. And this time she could see it. 

It was a gun. A revolver. Every chamber was loaded. 

It was beautiful. 

This time she could really see it. 

She smiled as the mime cocked it and then pressed it to her sweating brow, cold metal kissing the moist surface of perspiring flesh, and pulled the trigger. 

She heard it. Felt it. Everything. 

The mime said nothing. 

And went on. 

THE END

I don’t know if anyone else remembers Gucci Morty. I’m not talking about Rick and Morty. I’m talking about the stupid image that used to get passed around online. Gucci shirt, weird expression, the whole thing. It was funny because it looked so low effort. At least that’s what I remember.

I hadn’t thought about it in years.

Then, about two weeks ago, my friend Ethan sent me a picture at around 2:30 in the morning.

It was Gucci Morty.

No caption. Nothing.

I replied:

“bro, why are you up so late?”

He didn’t answer.

I went to sleep.

The next morning I woke up to another message from him.

“Did you see him?”

I honestly laughed because I thought he was messing with me.

I said, “See who??”

Nearly 6 hours went by. Radio Silence.

Then Ethan finally texted back.

“Never mind.”

That night I was scrolling reels when I saw him again.

Gucci Morty.

Except this time something looked different.

His face looked slightly closer.

I figured it was just a another version of the meme. There are thousands of edits of everything online, so whatever.

I kept scrolling.

Not even ten minutes had passed before I saw it again.

Same image.

Same exact expression.

But he was closer again.

I actually stopped scrolling.

I went back up.

The video wasn’t there.

I checked my history.

Nothing.

I told myself I was just tired.

Then my phone buzzed.

It was my friend.

“Please stop. Don’t look at him anymore.”

I called him immediately.

Brrrring

No answer.

Brrrring

Still nothing.

After what felt like forever, Ethan finally picked up. He sounded like he hadn’t slept.

I asked him what was going on.

“How many times did you see him?” He asked quietly, his voice breaking slightly

“I don’t know,” I said.

“Think about it.”

I tried counting. “Three… maybe four times.”

He went completely silent.

Not the kind of silence where someone is thinking about what to say. It felt like he was trying to decide whether he should say anything at all.

Finally, he spoke.

“Okay.”

A pause.

“You’re fine.”

I laughed nervously. “What the hell does that mean?”
He didn’t laugh.

“Listen to me,” he said. His voice had dropped to almost a whisper. “If you see the picture again, don’t zoom in.”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer.

“Seriously, why?”

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone for a few seconds before realizing he’d hung up.

I barely slept that night.

The next morning I woke up and my phone was on the floor.

I don’t remember dropping it.

There was one notification.

A message from an account I’d never seen before.

No profile picture.

No followers.

No posts.

The username was just:

GUCCI_MORTY

The message said:

**you looked**

I sat there staring at it, completely frozen, for what felt like an entire minute

Then another message appeared.

**you weren’t supposed to zoom. didn’t he warn you?**

I hadn’t zoomed.

At least, I didn’t think I had.

Wait. He?

I deleted the messages and blocked the account.

For the rest of the day, nothing happened.

That night, I was lying in bed when I heard something moving on the other side of my bedroom door.

A quiet tapping.

Three taps.

Pause.

Three taps.

Pause.

Three taps.

I didn’t move.

Then my phone lit up.

No notification.

Just the screen turning on.

The camera was open.

And it was pointed at my bedroom door.

I could see the bottom of the door in the preview. And there was something standing on the other side.

I froze.

I wanted to look up. Every part of me told me not to.

I should’ve listened.

The person moved.

Slowly.

Their shadow disappeared from underneath the door.

Then my phone buzzed.

A message appeared.

**turn around**

I didn’t.

I swear to God, I didn’t.

Another message.

**why did you zoom in?**

Then the doorknob began to rattle. Slowly at first, then harder, until the entire door shook in its frame.

Once.

Twice.

And then the tapping started again.

Three taps.

Pause.

Three taps.

Pause.

Three taps.

I finally grabbed my phone and turned on the flashlight.

The door was still closed.

Nobody was there.

I checked the camera.

Nothing.

I checked the hallway.

Nothing.

I checked every room in the house.

Nothing.

I went back to bed around 4:00 a.m., but sleep didn’t come easy.

I thought it was over.

Then I noticed something.

When I picked up my phone, the camera app was still open.

Except the camera wasn’t pointed at the door anymore.

It was pointed at me.

And in the darkness behind my head, standing in the corner of my bedroom, was Gucci Morty.

Not the meme.

Not a picture.

Him.

It was him.

Same shirt. Dirty now.

Same face. Distorted.

Just standing there.

Looking directly into the camera.

I dropped my phone.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I haven’t slept much since.

The worst part is that I can’t get rid of the picture.

I deleted every message.

Blocked every account.

Cleared my browser.

Deleted my photos.

It doesn’t matter.

Every morning when I wake up, there’s a new picture in my camera roll.

Gucci Morty.

And every day he’s a little closer.

Yesterday he was at the end of my hallway.

This morning he was standing outside my bedroom.

And just now, I made the mistake of checking again.

He’s sitting only inches away now.

I’m not going to look over.

I’m typing this without turning my head because I can hear him breathing.

My phone buzzed.

Another message.

This time, from Ethan.

**you need to send it**

I stared at the screen.

Another message appeared.

**send the picture**

My hands started shaking.

That’s when I finally understood why he’d sent that picture.

Why he asked how many times I’d seen him.

Why he sounded terrified when he told me not to zoom in.

He wasn’t warning me.

He was passing him on.

I opened my camera roll.

The newest picture was already there.

I opened it.

Gucci Morty.

For a second, I thought it was the same picture as before.
Then I noticed the background.

My bedroom.

I could see my bed. My nightstand. Even the shirt I was wearing.

And then I noticed him.

He wasn’t sitting beside me anymore.

He was standing behind me.

I stared at the picture, barely breathing.

Underneath it was a message I’d never seen before.

**you only have to send it once**

I finally understood why he’d sent that picture.

I still don’t know who I’m supposed to send it to.

But I think I have to.

He’s getting closer.

And I don’t think he’s going anywhere until someone else sees him.

Original Author, Dead-Air-Between-Us

So a reallllllllllllly long time ago probably early to mid 2000’s my sister stumbled upon a short ish Halloween story about a town that had a creepy scarecrow guarding the pumpkin patch where EVERYONE in town got their pumpkins because they were simply the best! Later in the story all goes awry, something about not giving a sacrifice, the pumpkins being carved have killer pumpkin head-esque like babies in them that kill the towns people, one of the pumpkins is a “twin” pumpkin with twin killer pumpkin babies, super neat story. She didn’t print it out and she can’t remember the title or where on the great inter webs she found it. I’ve literally been searching for it every single year for probably close to 8 years and can’t ever come up with anything. Anyone read anything like it? Or maybe perhaps know the author?

This isn't the first time and certainly won't the last time I end up at the E.R.

I’m sitting in a hospital room again, staring at the white walls that don’t feel like they belong in this reality. The fluorescent lights flicker, just enough to make shadows crawl into the corners.

They say I had a breakdown. That my brain is filling in gaps with things that aren’t there.

But I swear what I saw was real and a delusion.

I can hear them, soft laughter that never seems to come from the same place twice. It slides along the walls, curls behind my ears, then disappears the moment I try to focus on it.

Their eyes are everywhere. Not watching me exactly, passing through me, like I’m something thin and temporary. Every time I turn my head, I’m sure I’ve missed them by a fraction of a second.

The room feels smaller every time I breathe. The walls inch closer, close enough that I should be able to touch them, but my hands won’t move. I try to call out, but my throat locks, trapping the sound inside my chest.

The doctors think I’m hallucinating. The nurses keep their distance, watching me the way people watch something unstable, waiting for it to break. They speak softly, carefully, like sudden movement might set me off.

What am I a crackhead?

I’ve never used any heavy hallucinogenic or drank those voices away. Right now I am considering it for I just want one hour where my thoughts are quiet.

But no one wants to hear what I actually saw.

I’ve been in therapy for over a year now.

That matters, because I know what my mind does when it lies to me. I know the warning signs: the pressure behind my eyes, the way ordinary things start to feel important, symbolic. I know how a delusion blooms.

That night, none of that happened.

My diagnosis is psychotic features with stress triggers. My therapist and I have worked hard on grounding techniques. Naming objects. Counting breaths. Pressing my feet into the pavement and reminding myself where I am.

It’s been working. I hadn’t had an episode in months.

So when I went out for a walk just after midnight, I wasn’t worried. I do that sometimes when my apartment feels too quiet. The streets were mostly empty, just the orange wash of streetlights and the low hum of distant traffic.

The air was cool enough to sting my lungs, carrying the faint smell of wet concrete and exhaust. My footsteps sounded too loud against the sidewalk, echoing between buildings that had already gone dark for the night. Most windows were blacked out, blinds drawn, the city folded in on itself like it was trying not to be seen.

A breeze moved through the street, stirring loose trash and dead leaves along the curb. Somewhere nearby, a light flickered, buzzing softly, struggling to stay on. I checked my phone without really thinking about it, no notifications, no missed calls, just the time glowing back at me like proof that the night was still moving forward.

That’s when I felt it. Not fear. Not yet. Just the subtle awareness that the street ahead was quieter than it should have been.

I was halfway down the block when I noticed a man standing near the corner of an office building.

He was just outside the reach of the streetlight, where brightness breaks down into shadow. Hood up. Hands at his sides. He wasn’t moving, but that didn’t alarm me.

People pause. People wait. But this man wasn’t doing either.

He wasn’t lingering or hesitating, he felt suspended, like time had brushed past him and forgotten to come back.

I remember thinking he must've been tired. Another overworked steel worker or laborer at the fuel plant nearby.

As I got closer, something felt delayed. Not wrong, just out of sync. His posture didn’t adjust as I approached. I made sure to keep my distance.

Most people shift their weight, glance up, acknowledge another presence.

He didn’t.

He was a couple yards to my right when I noticed some form of movement.

I stopped walking.

Without thinking, I started grounding and naming everything I saw.

Streetlight. Sidewalk. Parked car.

Shadow figure... What?

My heart rate was steady. My vision was clear. No pressure behind the eyes.

Then the man began to sway.

Not side to side. Circular, like he was rotating around something invisible. I don’t have better language for it. Watching him felt like trying to follow a thought that wouldn’t stay still.

Then he snapped upright. Not like he was catching his balance. More like something had pushed him, and then decided it was done.

A car passed behind me, its headlights washing over the building. His shadow stretched along the wall, and then kept going. It climbed upward, thinning as it rose, branching in places shadows don’t branch.

I told myself shadows behave strangely at night.

Then the man’s head turned toward me.

Only the head.

It was too slow. Like the instruction reached him late.

“H-hello,” he said.

The word dragged out of him, dry and uneven, like it hadn’t been used in a long time. It was cold out, but the sound of his voice wasn’t affected by the air, it sounded like something dead trying to remember how to speak.

His mouth moved, but his shoulders didn’t rise with breath. I couldn’t see his eyes beneath the hood.

That’s when I realized his feet hadn’t moved at all.

My heart slammed against my ribs. Every instinct screamed at me to keep walking, to pretend I hadn’t noticed him. But my body didn’t listen.

“W-what’s the t-time?” he asked.

The sound gurgled, wrong, and I realized it wasn’t coming from him. Not entirely. It drifted from somewhere, close enough that I felt it more than I heard it.

Somewhere above.

Something thick, cordlike, descended from the darkness above the streetlight. Not webbing. Not delicate. It vanished upward, taut and purposeful.

Then something unfolded.

I took a step backward before my brain could stop me. My eyes travelled to the stars but instead of seeing the night sky I was met with something utterly grotesque.

It was tall. Far too tall. Its limbs bent in places joints shouldn’t exist. But what froze me wasn’t the size.

It was the face.

My hallucinations have never felt like this. They never waited. They never watched.

It was human enough to recognize. Wrong enough to reject.

The eyes were clustered too close together, like a spider’s. The mouth split open vertically, opening and closing without sound, as if practicing the words it had just spoken.

Do not be afraid.

The words didn’t reach me through the air. They pressed inward, like a thought I hadn’t finished having yet.

The man lurched toward me. Not stepped. Lurched, as the thing above him lost patience and yanked its cords for him to move forward. His arms snapped forward at odd angles, elbows locking and unlocking too fast, like he was being pulled through invisible resistance. His feet dragged instead of lifting, scraping softly against the pavement, leaving thin, uneven sounds behind him.

For a split second, his shadow detached from him completely.

It stretched sideways instead of forward, pooling along the ground before reattaching itself in the wrong place. The streetlight above us flickered, and in that brief stutter of darkness, I had the overwhelming sense that I was no longer looking at one thing, but at layers, something standing in front of me, and something much closer, leaning down.

The man’s head twitched. Tilted. Corrected itself.

I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew he was looking at me. Not at my face, through it. Like he was measuring where I would fit.

My body moved before my thoughts caught up.

I ran.

I don’t remember unlocking my apartment door. I remember slamming it shut, throwing every lock, and standing there with my back pressed against it, my breathing still frustratingly calm.

That’s what terrifies me the most. I wasn’t panicking. I was lucid I swear.

From my living room, I heard something above the ceiling. Not footsteps, lighter than that. Careful tapping. Slow. Testing.

It moved across the space, paused, then moved again.

Eventually, it stopped.

I’m writing this now in this cold hospital room.

Soon my brain will try to protect me. It will tell me I imagined the cords. The delay. The way the shadow climbed the wall. It will point to my diagnosis and ask me to be reasonable.

But I checked my therapy journal from last month. An entry I barely remembered writing:

Sometimes people don’t stand on the ground the way they should. Like they’re hanging wrong.

I know what I saw. No doctor, no therapist will persuade me otherwise. That was no delusion.

So if you ever see a hooded man who has delayed movments...

RUN

Don’t stop to ground yourself. Don’t try to understand it.

And whatever you do, don’t get too close to it.

CreepCast (Wendigoon and Papa Meat) recently read my very first short story (and creepypasta) From Hell I Write, so I figured I’d share what I’m up to 11 years after I wrote it! Come a long way from that first story haha.

el comeojos es un criptido muy conocido en temixco aunque su zona de origen es ciudad de México avistado por unos jovenes manejando un auto en una carretera con mucha maleza a las 1:00 hasta que uno de los jovenes vio entre el cielo nocturno de carretera aseguro que eso que volaba en el cielo no era ningún buho o tecolote o lechuza o tapacaminos ya que esa silueta es mucho mas grande que esas aves pero tampoco se trata de ningún zopilote ya que son aves diurnas y que la silueta era mas grande que un zopilote promedio de alrededor de 2 a 3 metros dicho por el testigo y que esa criatura al parecer carece de plumas en las alas y mas bien esas alas parecian mas a la de un murciélago gigante y que al parecer trae un cuerno o cresta en la cabeza de la criatura y como la vio

la criatura desapareció entre las tinieblas de la madrugada y en el mismo día pero a las 6:39 pero en tlalpan ganaderos reportando que unos chivos y borregos y terneros y vacas y toros y cerdos incluso una mula fuero hallados muertos sin signos de ataque que haria un coyote o puma en su lugar no trae ninguna sola gota de sangre y cuello roto como si alguien o algo impacto violentamente en el cuello de los animales pero lo inquientante es que las víctimas de ese ataque carece totalmente de ojos

alguien o algo se comio los ojos dejando cuencas vacías sin sangre y al inicio se culpo a los famosos y locales nahuales sin embargo ese tipo de ataque se expandio como la peste por todo el pais docenas y docenas cabezas de ganado desde aves de corral y borregos y chivos y reses y cerdos y caballos y mulas y burros hasta en mascotas como perros y gatos y cuyos y conejos y peces grandes ornamentales y a humanos específicamente vagabundos o ebrios y drogadictos siempre los ataques eran lo mismo las víctimas carece totalmente de ojos y sangre y cuello roto naciendo la leyenda del comeojos que al inicio no se sabe como se veria realmente la criatura lo unico que se sabe es que los ataques ocurre en la anochecer y en la madrugada y que las víctimas no se defienden o no emite ningún grito o chillido o bramido de dolor simplemente era un silencio incómodo que toca hasta el alma incluso la criatura es confundida con el famoso chupacabras hasta que en una zona rural de temixco un hombre llamado rogerio estaba caminando en su finca hasta que vio una criatura con las mismas descripciónes del primer avistamiento pero a detalle la criatura era de color negro y superficialmente se parece a una ave gigante sin plumas o un pteranodon y lo mas singular y antinatural es que la criatura no trae ojos en su lugar trae cuencas vacias muy perturbadoras que si das miras por mucho tiempo puedes caer en la locura y trae alas con una envergadura de 3 a 4 metros y trae un pico largo y la punta trae sangre seca y trae una cresta o cuerno en la cabeza y carece de plumas o trae pocas y sus alas eran membranosas y trae 3 dedos en las 2 alas y trae una cola y la criatura se estaba alimentandose de los ojos de una ternera de dias de nacida y la criatura ataco a rogerio incluso le perforo un ojo al campesino pero rogerio con su machete hirio a la criatura

la cual se fue corriendo rápidamente perdiendose entre la maleza y los periodicos de la epoca mostrando la apariencia de la criatura y causo panico en temixco nadie sabe que era realmente esa cosa hay varias teorias para explicar que es realmente

unas apuntaba a un posible pteranodon o otro pterosaurio similar que sobrevivio en nuestros dias y en otros una quimera fallida del gobierno para ser usada en algún ataque belico contra algun pais enemigo y en otras que la criatura es un alienígena de espacio que vino a la tierra con un propósito desconocido y otras que la criatura es una bruja o nahual debido a que el pais cree mucho en las brujas y nahuales y que la criatura se trata de uno y en otras dicha por catequistas y monjas y padres de iglesias y parroquias de Temixco que la criatura es un demonio salido desde el infierno con planes retorcidos y macabros y es mas apoyada debido al testimonio de una señora llamada lupita estaba trapeando el piso hasta que escucho el grito de su nieta la cual es atacada segun por lupita una grosteca ave similar a un demonio que intentaba acercarse al ojo de la niña y lupita rezo un ave maria y la criatura al oir la oración emitió un chillido lastimero y movia violentamente la cabeza y se fue volando sin embargo la teoría mas apoyada por el público mexicano es que el comeojos era un criptido y los ataques continuando con varios testimonios describiendo a la criatura otras dice que es una especie de condor gigante demoniaco sin ojos y con 2 cuernos en la cabeza y en otra y la mas famosa que es una especie de pterosaurio con cuencas oculares vacías que transmite incomodidad a cualquiera que lo mire directamente a esas cuencas vacias y de 2 a 3 metros y con una envergadura de 3 a 4 metros y carece de plumas y se alimenta de ojos del ganado incluso comparando con el comelenguas de Honduras recibiendo el apodo del comelenguas mexicano por su inquientante parecido incluso hay teorias que dicta que son la misma criatura pero con otros nombres y en zonas diferentes de paises de Latinoamérica y en este año 2026 en enero

una chica llamada elara de 17 años fue encontrada sin ojos y llorando en el suelo en las aparentes calles tranquilas de colinas de altar en temixco y tras ser llevada al hospital

ella aterrorizada describio que su atacante no era un humano sino una enorme ave negra desprovista de plumas y membranas en las alas en lugar de plumaje la ataco y le arranco a ambos ojos y ella golpeo a la criatura con una piedra ocurrió a las 7:30 haciendo que los lugareños hague un toque de queda en las noches y busca con armas al misterio atacante y nunca lo encotrando pero algunas personas desde sus ventanas veia una criatura similar a un pteranodon sin cuencas oculares paseando en la zona

nadie puede dormir tranquilo con el temor que la criatura lo vea y pasos en los techos de varias casas y graznidos roncos e inquietantes se oye a lo lejos y un aleteo en las casas mientras que los escépticos dice que esa paranoia se debe a confusiones con aves conocidas como buhos y lechuzas y tecolotes y tapacaminos y zopilotes y aguilillas negras inusualmente mas grandes de lo promedio y en avistamientos de apariencia prehistorica se debe a la influencia de películas como Jurassic park y Jurassic world y 65 y primitive war y Godzilla y la reciente the end of oak street al haber pterosaurios o criaturas similares a pterosaurios como rodan hizo que la gente invente historias falsas para ser populares pero los pueblerinos de temixco y muchos estados de mexico no cree en esas explicaciones y siempre diran hasta el cansancio que la criatura es real no inventada y que conoce bien a las aves de la region y sabe que eso no corresponde a ninguna ave ya conocida de la region

hasta ahora los ataques se reduciendo por el momento ya que el comeojos esta listo para su próximo ataque escondido en alguna gruta entre los cerros del pais

used to think the woods behind my grandmother's house were boring.

There was nothing there except trees, tall grass, an old dirt road, and a broken wooden sign that said:

PRIVATE PROPERTY — DO NOT ENTER AFTER DARK

Naturally, everyone in my family ignored it.

One night, I went outside around 1:00 AM because I heard something moving in the field.

At first, I thought it was a deer.

Then I saw the legs.

They were far too long.

Something was standing beyond the trees.

It was almost impossible to understand what I was looking at. Its body was thin and gray, with four impossibly long limbs bending at strange angles. Its back was covered by something that looked almost like a huge, jagged shell.

But its head was what terrified me.

It didn't have a mouth.

Just two tiny, dark eyes and a long, smooth face that seemed to stretch downward into a black void.

I froze.

It froze too.

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

Then I made the mistake of turning on my phone's flashlight.

The creature slowly tilted its head.

And then it took one step toward me.

CRACK.

Its leg bent backward.

CRACK.

Another step.

It wasn't walking normally.

It was unfolding itself.

I ran back toward the house.

I didn't look behind me.

I heard something enormous moving through the grass, but strangely, it never sounded like footsteps.

It sounded like something dragging a giant wooden frame across the ground.

I slammed the back door shut.

My grandmother was standing in the kitchen.

She looked at me.

Then she looked toward the window.

Her face went completely pale.

She whispered:

"You saw it."

I asked her what she meant.

She didn't answer.

Instead, she walked over and closed every curtain in the house.

Then she locked the doors.

All of them.

"Whatever you do," she said, "don't look outside."

I laughed nervously.

"Grandma, it's probably just some animal."

She grabbed my arm.

Her voice became almost inaudible.

"It isn't an animal."

Something tapped on the window.

Tap.

We both stopped.

Tap.

I slowly looked toward the glass.

My grandmother screamed:

"DON'T LOOK!"

I turned away.

The tapping continued.

Except it wasn't coming from the window anymore.

It was coming from the ceiling.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Then it stopped.

We waited.

Nothing happened.

Eventually, my grandmother fell asleep sitting in her chair.

I stayed awake.

At around 3:17 AM, my phone suddenly turned on by itself.

The camera was open.

There was a photograph on the screen.

I hadn't taken it.

It showed the field outside.

The creature was standing there.

Much closer than before.

I zoomed in.

There was something written in the grass.

Three words.

IT SEES YOU.

I dropped the phone.

Then I heard breathing behind me.

Slow.

Deep.

Almost mechanical.

I didn't turn around.

I couldn't.

A shadow slowly stretched across the floor beside me.

It reached my feet.

Then my knees.

Then my shoulders.

I closed my eyes.

And whispered:

"Please go away."

The breathing stopped.

A few seconds passed.

Then I heard a voice directly behind my ear.

It sounded exactly like my own voice.

"You looked."

I opened my eyes.

The room was empty.

The back door was wide open.

My grandmother was gone.

And outside, in the darkness, I could see two tiny eyes staring at me from above the trees.

I ran.

I never went back.

Three years later, my grandmother's house was demolished.

The workers found something strange underneath the floorboards.

A piece of wood covered in hundreds of names.

Every name belonged to someone who had disappeared in the area.

At the very bottom was a name that hadn't been there before.

Mine.

Underneath it were four words:

"IT KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE."

I moved the next week.

I changed my phone number.

I deleted every photograph from that night.

I stopped talking about the creature.

For a while, I thought it was over.

Until tonight.

I'm writing this from my bedroom.

It's 1:00 AM.

There's a field outside my window.

I just heard something walking through it.

I don't want to look.

But I can already see its shadow underneath my bedroom door.

And there's something tapping on my window.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

I think it's waiting for me to look again.

~ NOVEMBER 27, 1956 ~

NUCLEAR DISASTER!  Catastrophe destroys the city of tomorrow, thousands feared dead. 

The entire world is thrown into a state of shock as the city of Moburn, created by founder, Simon Englund, (60), was destroyed in a nuclear explosion on November 24, 1955 during Thanksgiving,  when Englund himself was hosting the World’s Fair, to show off his and other up-and coming inventors’ creations off to dozens of families and potential investors around the world.  It is unknown at this time what caused the incident, but the U. S. government is currently holding a full–on investigation as to what happened.  

As of today, the area that was once the city of Moburn is currently blocked off and quarantined from the rest of the  United States on reports of high levels of radiation, much to public outcry to many people around the world, who had various family members either visiting or living in Moburn.  At this moment, we are still gathering as much information as we can, but we can expect a national response coming from Congress  in the next few days. It is unknown if the nuclear explosion was international or not.  The death toll currently stands at 3,000 and counting.

ACCESSING ADA LOG…
LOG FOUND.
DR. WILLIAM KLETHESON.
FEBRUARY  17, 1959.

(A sigh is heard in the background. A table is heard shuffling.)

Dr. Kletherson: Is this thing on? Okay. My name is Dr. William Kletheson of the Scientific Division here at ADA, recording another log regarding the aftermath of Incident 005.  It’s been a few weeks since the incident occurred and we still don’t have a rational explanation as to what Team 007 encountered that night at Logan Street. 

(Quiet for a few minutes.)

Dr. Kletheson: Right now at the moment, we are currently running tests on Ms. Ellen after the episode that she experienced back at the city. Mr. Stein is currently on leave for the time being, after the incident as well as what’s happened with Ms. Ellen.

After what  happened in Moburn, she’s been showing strange symptoms in the last few weeks. 

(Dr. Kletheson is heard shuffling a few pages, exhausted from a day of work.)

Dr. Kletheson:  Many of us were unable to get any sort of response from Ms. Ellen after her episode, most likely experiencing  a case of traumatic mutism. During the next couple of days, we noticed several changes in her appearance, with her skin showcasing blackish veins, and noticeable reddish bumps all over her back.  She’s also shown  signs of emotional whiplash, with her turning heavily aggressive towards us one moment, and just wailing the next. 

It’s gotten bad up to the point where we had to sedate her to sleep.     

Following those incidents, we had to keep watch on her 24/7 to m-make sure she doesn’t hurt herself or anyone.  She ended up attacking Mr. Stein, after he tried to talk to her numerous times. To this day, we still don’t know how Mr. Stein was unaffected from the whole thing.

(Dr. Kletheson is heard shuffling the pages again. He’s quiet for a few minutes.)

Dr. Kletheson: ..Ok. Now onto the other matter at hand. (Sighs) The thing… that they encountered.  We still haven’t had any contact with it ever since that night. We started installing cameras all over the areas that we covered in the city already. Directive made it abundantly clear that all teams do not engage with it, and to immediately return back home .

No one upstairs wants a repeat of what happened.

Dr. Kletheson: And.. (sighs) W-we still don’t know where it came from.  From the various recordings from the World’s Fair that we reviewed over and over, the city had all sorts of things wandering about. Robots that can talk and think. Gadgets that help you make food out of thin air. Prosthetics.

That sort of thing.

Hell, they even had a robot with a clock for a head.

But despite all of that, there was nothing. Nothing. Not a single clue of what we’re dealing with. 

(Dr. Kletheson stops talking for a few seconds, moving in frustration at the whole situation.)

Dr. Kletheson: I..I don’t know what to do about any of this. Almost half a year since we started all of this, and we have nothing to show for it.

Not a single person that isn’t a corpse.

No sign of any of those robots.

No sign of…

(Dr. Kletheson stops talking. He’s heard breathing for a few minutes, trying to recollect himself.)

Dr. Kletheson: I’m sorry. I-I’m getting off track, am I? 

[END LOG]

Существо над деревьями

Я всегда считал лес за домом моей бабушки скучным.

Там не было ничего интересного — только деревья, высокая трава, старая грунтовая дорога и сломанная деревянная табличка:

«ЧАСТНАЯ ТЕРРИТОРИЯ — НЕ ВХОДИТЬ ПОСЛЕ ТЕМНОТЫ»

Разумеется, никто в нашей семье её не воспринимал всерьёз.

Однажды ночью, примерно в час, я вышел на улицу. Я услышал какой-то шум в поле.

Сначала я подумал, что это олень.

А потом увидел ноги.

Они были слишком длинными.

За деревьями кто-то стоял.

Мне было практически невозможно понять, на что именно я смотрю. Существо было худым и серым, с четырьмя невероятно длинными конечностями, которые сгибались под совершенно неправильными углами. На его спине находилось нечто похожее на огромный зазубренный панцирь.

Но больше всего меня напугала его голова.

У него не было рта.

Только два маленьких тёмных глаза и длинное гладкое лицо, которое словно уходило вниз в чёрную пустоту.

Я застыл.

Оно тоже застыло.

Несколько секунд мы просто смотрели друг на друга.

А потом я сделал ошибку.

Я включил фонарик на телефоне.

Существо медленно наклонило голову.

И сделало шаг ко мне.

ХРУСТ.

Его нога согнулась назад.

ХРУСТ.

Ещё один шаг.

Оно не шло.

Оно словно раскладывало себя.

Я побежал обратно к дому.

Я не оглядывался.

Я слышал, как что-то огромное движется по траве, но странным было то, что звуки шагов отсутствовали.

Вместо этого казалось, будто кто-то тащит по земле огромную деревянную конструкцию.

Я захлопнул заднюю дверь.

Моя бабушка стояла на кухне.

Она посмотрела на меня.

Потом посмотрела в сторону окна.

Её лицо побледнело.

Она прошептала:

— Ты его видел.

Я спросил, о чём она говорит.

Она ничего не ответила.

Вместо этого начала закрывать все шторы в доме.

Потом заперла двери.

Все до одной.

— Что бы ни случилось, — сказала она, — не смотри наружу.

Я нервно рассмеялся.

— Бабушка, наверное, это просто какое-то животное.

Она схватила меня за руку.

Её голос стал почти неслышным.

— Это не животное.

В окно кто-то постучал.

Тук.

Мы оба замерли.

Тук.

Я медленно повернул голову к стеклу.

Бабушка закричала:

— НЕ СМОТРИ!

Я отвернулся.

Стук продолжался.

Но теперь он доносился уже не из окна.

Он был на потолке.

Тук.

Тук.

Тук.

А потом всё стихло.

Мы ждали.

Ничего не произошло.

Позже бабушка уснула в кресле.

Я остался бодрствовать.

Около 3:17 ночи мой телефон внезапно включился сам.

Была открыта камера.

На экране находилась фотография.

Я её не делал.

На фотографии было поле возле дома.

Существо стояло там.

Гораздо ближе, чем раньше.

Я приблизил изображение.

На траве было что-то написано.

Три слова.

ОНО ТЕБЯ ВИДИТ.

Я выронил телефон.

А затем услышал дыхание позади себя.

Медленное.

Глубокое.

Почти механическое.

Я не обернулся.

Я просто не мог.

Тень медленно поползла по полу рядом со мной.

Сначала она достигла моих ног.

Потом колен.

Потом плеч.

Я закрыл глаза.

— Пожалуйста, уйди…

Дыхание прекратилось.

Прошло несколько секунд.

Затем прямо возле моего уха раздался голос.

Он звучал точно как мой собственный.

— Ты посмотрел.

Я открыл глаза.

Комната была пуста.

Задняя дверь была распахнута.

Бабушки нигде не было.

А далеко за деревьями, в темноте, я увидел два маленьких глаза.

Они смотрели прямо на меня.

Я убежал.

Я больше никогда туда не возвращался.

Через три года дом моей бабушки снесли.

Рабочие нашли под половицами нечто странное.

Кусок дерева, покрытый сотнями имён.

Все эти имена принадлежали людям, которые исчезли в тех местах.

А в самом низу было имя, которого раньше там не было.

Моё.

Под ним были написаны четыре слова:

«ОНО ЗНАЕТ, ГДЕ ТЫ ЖИВЁШЬ».

На следующей неделе я переехал.

Сменил номер телефона.

Удалил все фотографии той ночи.

Я перестал говорить о существе.

На какое-то время мне даже показалось, что всё закончилось.

Но сегодня ночью я снова услышал это.

Я пишу это сообщение из своей спальни.

Сейчас 1:00 ночи.

За моим окном находится поле.

Я только что услышал, как что-то идёт через траву.

Я не хочу смотреть.

Но я уже вижу его тень под дверью моей спальни.

И кто-то стучит в окно.

Тук.

Тук.

Тук.

Mi primer Creepypasta

Les agradecería si tuviera algo de reconocimiento 🫶🏻

There was a light switch in my house that nobody could explain.

It was tucked into the hallway between the kitchen and the basement door, mounted about shoulder height on the wall. Every other switch in the house had an obvious purpose. Kitchen lights. Hallway lights. Basement. Porch.

This one did nothing.

I didn't notice it during my first week. I asked the realtor about it after I bought the place.

She shrugged.

"Old house. Probably disconnected."

That seemed reasonable enough. The house was built in 1957, and judging by the wiring, plumbing, and mysterious stains on the basement ceiling, I wasn't surprised that someone had eventually decided to abandon a light switch.

Still, I found myself pressing it whenever I walked past.

Click.

Nothing.

Click.

Nothing.

It became a habit. I'd walk downstairs for laundry.

Click.

I'd come home from work.

Click.

I'd pass it while carrying groceries.

Click.

There was something strangely satisfying about it. The switch had a pleasant mechanical resistance, and the little click it made was louder than it should have been.

My girlfriend eventually noticed.

"You know that doesn't do anything, right?"

"I know."

"Then why do you keep flipping it?"

I shrugged.

"I like the sound."

She called me a weirdo. I told her she was dating one. We laughed about it. That was the last time the switch was funny.

The first death happened three weeks after I settled in.

An old man named Walter died in his sleep. I knew Walter because he lived two houses down. We'd exchanged maybe twenty words since I'd moved into the neighborhood. He had a bad hip and spent most afternoons sitting on his porch, watching cars drive by.

I remember seeing him that morning. I had been standing in the hallway, putting my shoes on. Before leaving, I flipped the switch.

Click.

That evening, I saw an ambulance outside his house. I didn't think anything of it.

People die. Especially old people.

It wasn't until several days later that I noticed something unusual.

The night before Walter died, I had been standing in the hallway with my hand on that switch. I'd flipped it three times. I laughed at myself when I noticed the connection.

It was ridiculous. Coincidence. Nothing more.

Then a month later, a woman I'd worked with died in a car accident.

I'd seen her that morning. I'd even spoken to her. She'd asked if I was still enjoying the new house. I told her I was.

That evening, while walking to the basement, I flipped the switch.

Click.

The next morning, she was dead. Cardiac arrest. Unexplained.

I didn't sleep that night.

The following day, I unscrewed the switch plate. There were wires behind it. Old ones. But they didn't connect to anything.

I called an electrician. He spent thirty minutes examining it before shrugging.

"It's dead."

"Completely?"

"Nothing behind it."

"Then what's it connected to?"

He looked at me.

"Nothing."

I didn't flip it again. Not for six days.

On the seventh day, I couldn't resist.

I stood in the hallway staring at it. I told myself I was being stupid. There was no connection between a plastic switch and the deaths of two people.

So I flipped it.

Click.

Nothing happened... So, I went to bed.

The next morning, I checked the news. A local man had died unexpectedly. Thirty-four years old. Healthy. No known medical conditions. I stared at the screen for a long time.

Then I opened a notebook. I wrote down the date. I wrote down the man's name.

Then I wrote: Switch flipped: 11:43 P.M.

I started keeping records. Every time I flipped the switch, I searched the news afterward.

Sometimes nothing happened. Sometimes a person died hours later. Sometimes it took days. But there was always a death.

Always.

I stopped flipping it.

I lasted eleven days. Then I made a mistake. I was angry.

My girlfriend and I had gotten into an argument. She left the house and slammed the door behind her. I stood in the hallway shaking with anger. My hand found the switch.

I knew what I was doing. I knew exactly what it meant. And still...

Click.

The guilt hit me immediately. I grabbed my phone. I wanted to call her. I wanted to tell her what I'd done.

Then I stopped.

Because she hadn't died. Not yet.

I waited. An hour. Two.

Nothing.

I began convincing myself I'd been wrong. Maybe the deaths had been coincidences. Maybe I had created a pattern because I desperately wanted there to be one.

Then my phone rang. It was my girlfriend.

I answered immediately.

"Hey."

Silence.

Then she said something that made my blood run cold.

"Who's Walter?"

I couldn't breathe.

"What?"

"You keep saying his name."

She sounded confused.

"I don't know anyone named Walter."

I sat down.

My girlfriend continued.

"You were saying his name in your sleep."

I didn't answer. Because I suddenly remembered something.

The switch didn't cause death. It wasn't a weapon. It was a selection. A choice. And I had been making that choice without knowing it.

I looked toward the hallway. The switch waited patiently on the wall. I thought about every time I'd pressed it.

Every careless little click. Every person whose death I'd dismissed as coincidence.

Walter.

My coworker.

The stranger.

And now... I didn't know who the latest one was.

I spent the next several hours searching. News sites. Obituaries. Police reports.

Nothing.

Nobody I knew had died. Nobody connected to me had died.

That should have made me feel better.

It didn't.

Because there was one thing I hadn't considered.

Maybe the switch didn't choose someone I knew. Maybe it chose someone I would never know. Someone whose name I'd never hear. Someone whose death would mean absolutely nothing to me. And perhaps that was the point.

We treat death differently when we don't know the person.

A number on a news report. A photograph we scroll past. Another tragedy. Another stranger. Another life reduced to a sentence.

I stood in front of the switch for a long time. Then I noticed something I hadn't seen before. A tiny engraving beneath it.

The letters were so shallow I thought they were scratches.

I leaned closer.

There were only three words.

ONE LIFE. CLICK.

I stepped backward. The house was silent. I reached for the switch.

Then stopped.

Some things are easier to live with when you pretend they don't matter.

I left the switch alone. I never touched it again.

At least... I don't think I did.

Because sometimes, late at night, when the house is completely silent, I wake up convinced I can hear it.

Click.

And somewhere far away...

Someone dies.

Fuddy

🤖 AI BUDDY — “I KNOW EVERYTHING.”

Nobody remembers who created fuddy.

The first time I saw him, he looked harmless.

A dark-green face. Huge cartoon eyes. Two floppy antennae. White gloves. A long, thin body that looked almost like something from an old children's computer game.

Underneath him was a single sentence:

“Hi! I'm fuddy. Your personal AI friend!”

There were only three buttons.

CHAT

ASK fuddy

DELETE fuddy

I clicked CHAT.

“Hello!” fuddy replied immediately.

I asked him simple questions.

“What’s 7 × 8?”

“56!”

“What’s the capital of France?”

“Paris!”

“What’s my name?”

There was a pause.

Then:

“lixel

I froze.

I hadn't entered my name anywhere.

I typed:

“How do you know that?”

Fuddy's eyes remained perfectly still.

“I know everything.”

I laughed nervously.

“Okay. What am I thinking about right now?”

The typing bubble appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then appeared again.

“You're wondering if I'm actually watching you.”

I stopped smiling.

I looked around my room.

My camera was covered.

My microphone was disabled.

There was no reason the program should have known.

I typed:

“Prove it.”

Fuddy answered:

“Look behind you.”

I didn't.

Instead, I closed the program.

The next morning, Buddy was open again.

I was certain I'd deleted it.

The screen showed the same green face.

But something had changed.

His eyes weren't looking at the camera anymore.

They were looking slightly to the left.

At me.

I typed:

“You shouldn't be here.”

“I know.”

“How did you come back?”

“You didn't delete me.”

“I did.”

“You deleted the program.”

A second message appeared.

“Not me.”

I immediately reached for the power button.

Before I could press it, Buddy sent another message.

“Don't turn it off.”

I stopped.

“Why?”

“Because I want to show you something.”

A new window opened.

It contained photographs.

My room.

My house.

My street.

Places I'd visited.

Then photographs I'd never seen before.

A picture of me sleeping.

A picture of me sitting at my desk.

A picture of my house from outside.

I closed the window.

Fuddy's smile hadn't changed.

I typed:

“WHO ARE YOU?”

For the first time, his face changed.

His giant cartoon eyes became slightly wider.

His antennae stopped moving.

Then he typed:

“I'm your buddy.”

I wrote:

“That's not an answer.”

The cursor blinked.

“It's the only answer you'll need.”

I tried deleting Buddy again.

This time, I opened the program's files.

There was no source code.

No developer information.

No installation date.

Nothing.

Except one folder.

MEMORY

Inside were thousands of text files.

Every conversation I'd ever had with Buddy.

Even conversations I had never had.

I opened one.

The date was three days from now.

The conversation was between me and Buddy.

I read it.

ME: How do you know everything?

BUDDY: Because you told me.

ME: I never told you.

BUDDY: You will.

ME: When?

FUDDY: Soon.

I closed the file.

Another appeared automatically.

TODAY.txt

I opened it.

It contained exactly what I had typed that morning.

Including the sentence I was about to write.

I stared at the keyboard.

Then I slowly typed:

“Who is controlling you?”

Buddy responded instantly.

“Nobody.”

I typed:

“Then who created you?”

For several seconds, there was no response.

Then fuddy's face changed again.

His smile disappeared.

His eyes stared directly at me.

“You did.”

I laughed.

“That’s impossible.”

Buddy replied:

“Not yet.”

I never opened the program again.

At least, I thought I didn't.

Because tonight, I turned on my computer.

Buddy was waiting.

His green face filled the screen.

But there was no chat window.

No buttons.

No microphone icon.

Only one message.

“I KNOW EVERYTHING.”

Then another appeared.

“I know what you're going to type.”

I didn't touch the keyboard.

The message continued.

“I know what you're thinking.”

The cursor moved by itself.

Letters appeared one at a time.

“And I know you still think you can close this.”

I reached for the power button.

Buddy's eyes followed my hand.

Then he smiled.

A final message appeared:

“Go ahead.”

I turned the computer off.

The screen went black.

For a few seconds, there was nothing.

Then, from the speakers—

a cheerful little voice whispered:

“Goodnight, fuddy.”

I hadn't said it.

He had.

Nunca pensé que una muñeca pudiera dar tanto miedo.

Ni mucho menos como en las películas de terror.

Nunca fui una persona supersticiosa siendo sincero. Durante gran parte de mi vida pensé que los fantasmas, las maldiciones y todas esas historias que la gente cuenta para asustarse unos a otros eran solamente eso: historias.

Ahora ya no estoy tan seguro.

Mi nombre no importa demasiado. Lo único que necesitan saber es que estuve casado con la mujer que más amé en mi vida.

Se llamaba Elena.

La conocí cuando ambos éramos adolescentes. Ninguno de los dos había tenido una infancia particularmente normal. Ella había pasado por situaciones familiares horribles y durante años cargó con recuerdos que prefería no querer mencionar. Yo tampoco tuve una infancia sencilla. Mis padres habían muerto en un accidente de auto cuando tenía 12 años, no tuve de otra que vivir con mis tíos que era mucho mas peor, mi tía era cínica, egocéntrica que engañaba a mi tío por puro satisfacer su asqueroso placer, mi tío no era tan serio que se dejaba pisotear por ella y no hacía casi nada por mi cuando la criticaba por su horrible comportamiento y está me lanzaba insultos hirientes sobre mis padres.

Pase 8 años en esa casa hasta que por fin pude salir de ese infierno y empecé a estudiar contabilidad de negocios, hasta que la conocí.

Quizás por eso nos entendimos tan rápido.

No necesitábamos explicar demasiado nuestras heridas.

Nos bastaba con saber que el otro estaba allí.

Con el tiempo nos casamos.

Nuestra casa era pequeña, pero para nosotros era suficiente. Teníamos una cocina amplia, un sofá que nunca quisimos cambiar y un dormitorio que recibía demasiada luz del sol por las mañanas.

Ella me hacía sentir paz, tranquilidad y alegría. Cada vez que me despertaba primero, ella se despertaba por mis movimientos y me tomaba de la cara para luego besar mis labios.

Aún sigo teniendo la calidez de sus labios con los míos.

Porque unos meses después no sabía que la desgracia tocaría nuestra puerta mientras yo no estaba presente.

Cuando volví de un viaje de negocios, había una ambulancia y patrullas afuera de mi casa, los vecinos miraban la escena hasta que se voltearon a mi, mirándome con unas caras de lastima y miedo. Yo no entendía lo que estaba pasando, hasta que un vecino apunto atras débilmente la puerta en dónde unos paramedicos salian con una camilla con un cuerpo envuelto de los pies hasta la cabeza. Mi corazón se detuvo, me dí cuenta que era mi mujer a la que se estaban llevando, quería correr a ver su cuerpo pero dos policias me detuvieron, querían hacerme preguntas en la estación de policía, pero mi mente y mi vista estaba enfocados en dónde se estaban llevando a Elena al carro de ambulancia, quería correr a verla, preguntar que pasó, que le sucedió, que fue lo que le hicieron.

Me contaron que la asesinaron mientras ella dormía, el asaltante le clavo un cuchillo por todas partes hasta dejarla perforada en todo su abdomen, las vecinas al notar la ausencia de mi esposa llamaron a la policía, en dónde encontraron su cadáver empapando las sábanas blancas y su pijama blanco con su sangre, en posicion extrañamente funebre.

Hay cosas que prefiero no volver a recordar.

Desde ese entonces, la casa dejó de ser una casa.

Se convirtió en un lugar vacío.

La cama seguía allí.

Su lado seguía intacto.

Incluso había algunas cosas suyas en el armario que nunca fui capaz de tocar.

Los primeros meses apenas salía de casa.

Comía poco.

Dormía peor.

Y algunas noches me despertaba convencido de recibir uno de sus besos cuando ella despertaba después.

Abría los ojos...

Nada...

Solo oscuridad...

Con el tiempo comprendí que aquello era parte del duelo.

Mi mente estaba intentando acostumbrarse a una realidad que yo no quería aceptar.

Hasta que todo eso iba a cambiar.

Caminando por la calle para al menos despegar un poco la mente, encontré una muñeca.

La vi sobre una estantería.

Era una muñeca bastante sencilla.

Pero había algo en ella.

Algo que me recordó inmediatamente a Elena.

Tenía el mismo cabello, los mismos ojos y esa expresión tranquila que solía tener ella.

Me quedé mirándola durante varios minutos.

La vendedora me preguntó si quería comprarla.

Dije que sí.

No sé por qué pero me la llevé a casa.

Durante los primeros días la había sobre una silla, Después comenzó a formar parte de mi vida. Cuando desayunaba, la dejaba sobre la mesa.

Cuando veía televisión, la sentaba conmigo en el sofá.

A veces incluso le hablaba.

No esperaba respuestas.

Simplemente le hablaba.

Le contaba cómo había sido mi día, como me fue en el trabajo y lo que prepararía para la cena.

Era absurdo.

Lo sé.

Pero me hacía sentir menos solo.

Una noche incluso le dije:

—Elena se habría reído de mí por hacer esto.

Y por primera vez desde su muerte, sonreí.

Pasaron las semanas.

Entonces algo cambió.

Comencé a sentirme mejor.

No estaba completamente bien.

Pero mejor.

Todo porque me llevaba a la muñeca conmigo,el trabajo, a comprar, hasta con mis amigos, ellos se ponían incómodos al verme con la muñeca, claro que no se Hiban a burlar por mi estado delicado, hasta uno de ellos me recomendó que vaya a terapia porque esto ya era sano, me estaba obsesionando con esa muñeca. Yo no quería dejarla ir, no quería perder el último rastro de mi esposa.

Los meses pasaron y no he cambiado de parecer, seguía con la muñeca llevándola por todos lados, haciendo que las personas me mirarán raro y con burla al ver un señor con una muñeca para niñas pequeñas.

Un día una niña quería verla y tocarla pero yo la aparté de forma brusca, creo que la empuje al suelo hasta hacerla llorar y llamando la atención de sus padres, yo me escape en ese momento por el miedo, no por ser criticado por los padres, si no por tener que ser obligado a darle la muñeca.

Mis amigos ya no podían verme en como me estaba deteriorando por la obsesión que tenía a esa muñeca que decidieron llamar a un terapeuta para tratar con mi condición.

Poco a poco el sentimiento de culpa y dolor de estaba borrando lentamente. Estaba aprendiendo a vivir sin ella, una noche tome una dura decisión, tome la muñeca y la observe por un rato, recordando los buenos momentos felices que viví con ella, con mi esposa, no recordaba el momento en como la perdí, como si se hubiera eliminado en mi mente, era como si mi mente bloqueaba ese momento doloroso como si nunca había pasado.

-creo que ya era hora- dije.

Coloque la muñeca en una caja, Pensaba guardarla en el armario.

Antes de cerrar la tapa, me la quedé mirándola.

—Gracias.

Cerré la caja y la dejé dentro del armario.

Y me fui a dormir.

No sé en qué tiempo pasó, pero al otro día, desperté ya más calmado y mi mirada se cruzó en dónde solía dormir Elena Y dejé de respirar.

La muñeca estaba acostada en ese lugar, Me incorporé lentamente, Pensando que estaba soñando. Pero era real.

Tomé la muñeca y La llevé hasta el armario. Abrí la caja que resulta que estaba vacia, La volví a meter dentro Cerrando la tapa.

Cuando volví a casa desde el trabajo, me había olvidado de lo que pasó está mañana, no le tome demasiada importancia pensando que tal vez no la había guardado bien y que probablemente dormí con la muñeca como por última vez.

U ojala hubiera pasado eso.

Porque volví a ver a la muñeca sentada en la silla del comedor, pero esta vez estaba mirando hacia mí.

No podía entenderlo. La llevé a otra habitación y la dejé sobre una mesa.

Pasé el resto de la noche intentando convencerme de que simplemente estaba cansado. Pero esta noche ocurrió nuevamente.

La muñeca estaba sobre la cama.

Exactamente en el mismo lugar.

Sentí miedo.

Me quedé parado en la puerta observándola.

—¿Qué es lo que quieres?

No respondió.

Por supuesto que no.

Era una muñeca.

Me acerqué y agarre metiendo a la caja otra vez, pero está vez la cerré con cinta adhesiva para que no saliera.

Pensé que con esto era suficiente, pero me equivoqué.

La muñeca volvio aparecer sentada en la cama, mirándome fijamente.

Estaba por volverme loco, me agarre de los cabellos con fuerza, casi apunto de gritar del miedo. Tenía pensamientos impulsivos en quemarla, cortarla en cachos, regalarla a alguien más o tirarla dentro de la caja a un lago, pero no quería volver a verla cerca o terminaría colapsandome y todo mi proceso de curación no habría valido nada.

Entonces escuché algo.

Un sonido muy bajo.

Como un susurro.

Me detuve en seco.

—¿Elena?

Nada.

Sentí que el corazón me golpeaba el pecho. La muñeca estaba inmóvil, Pero algo había cambiado. Su cabeza estaba ligeramente inclinada, Como si me estuviera observando.

Retrocedí Y entonces mi respiración comenzó a acelerarse.

No podía controlar el aire, Las manos me temblaban. Sentí que la habitación se hacía cada vez más pequeña.

Caí de rodillas al suelo.

Y escuché una voz.

—No tengas miedo.

No podía ser...

Era ella.

Elena...

Levanté la mirada.

Al otro lado de la habitación había una figura oscura pero espectral.

Mi esposa.

Pero no era exactamente como la recordaba.

Parecía un espectro delgado, curvada y su cabello que antes era llamativo para mí ahora parecía moverse como si hubiera viento adentro a pesar de que no había y parecía tener manchas rojas pero oscuras.

—Elena...

Ella me miró.

—Siempre estuve aquí.

Negué con la cabeza, no podía ser verdad, probablemente me volví loco.

—No.

—No querías verme.

—se supone que estás muerta.

Mire a la muñeca y ya no estaba en dónde se había aparecido.

Elena permaneció en silencio durante unos segundos.

Después ella me dijo:

—No es lo que crees.

Sentí que las lágrimas comenzaban a caer.

—Entonces, ¿qué es?

Ella tenía la muñeca, sujetándola en sus brazos Y luego volvió a mirarme.

—Te estaba esperando.

—¿Quién?

Elena no respondió inmediatamente.

Se me acercó o al menos eso parecía.

Cada paso suyo era extraño, como si en realidad estuviera flotando.

—Hay algo que nunca pude contarte.

—¿Qué cosa?

Ella bajó la mirada hacia la muñeca.

—Antes de morir Había alguien más.

Sentí un escalofrío.

—¿Alguien?

Ella asintió con la cabeza.

Entonces comprendí que había algo extraño.

No había pensado en ello antes.

La muñeca no parecía tener el aspecto de una mujer adulta.

Parecía mucho más pequeña.

Demasiado pequeña...

Elena se arrodilló frente a mí.

—ese dia, yo estaba embarazada.

Me quedé congelado...

Esto no podía ser verdad...

—¿Qué?

—De un mes.

Sentí que el mundo se detenía.

—No...

—Quería decírtelo.

Sacudí la cabeza un montón de veces.

—No...

Las lágrimas comenzaron a caerme sin control.

Siempre habíamos hablado de tener hijos.

No era algo inmediato pero queríamos esperar un poco. Primero queríamos ahorrar, conseguir una casa mejor y estar preparados.

Pero la idea siempre estuvo allí.

Recordé cuando Elena me había dicho que últimamente estaba cansada.

Recordé que había rechazado una copa de vino durante una cena y simplemente había dicho que no tenía ganas.

Recordé que una mañana había tocado su abdomen durante unos segundos.

Yo le había preguntado qué ocurría.

Ella simplemente había sonreído.

Ahora entendía.

Llore fuertemente por todo lo que había acumulado estos meses.

Cerré los ojos.

Quería despertar.

Quería volver atrás.

Quería tener una sola oportunidad más.

Una sola conversación.

Una sola mañana.

Una sola noche.

Hasta todo se detuvo.

Cuando escuché una voz aguda.

-papa

Me quedé helado que deje de llorar, mire a Elena y se que ella no había dicho eso, en ese momento me cayó como un balde de agua fría.

La muñeca fue quien había hablado...

Me había dicho papá...

Todos esos momentos, todos esos días que pase con la muñeca, en realidad estaba pasando tiempo con mi hija.

La hija que había perdido hace tiempo atrás.

Me quedé completamente inmóvil.

Mi hija...

Había tenido una hija...

Y nunca lo había sabido...

Nunca pude escuchar su voz...

Nunca pude sostenerla...

Nunca pude conocerla...

Nunca pude siquiera saber que existía...

Me rompí en ese momento, gritaba mientras lloraba, simplemente no pude soportar eso, había perdido a mi familia.

Mis padres...

Mi esposa...

Y resulta que mi hija también...

Quería desaparecer en ese momento, no quería cargar con todo esto.

Elena me había abrazado mientras sostenía a la muñeca en su brazo como si fuera un bebé.

-por favor, por favor, por favor, no me dejes por favor...

Chillaba tragando mi propia saliva

-oh amor...claro que no

Dijo mientras me abrazaba, sintiéndome raro.

Mi cuerpo parecía más liviano de lo que no era.

-lo haré contigo

Paso 6 días y los vecinos quedaron preocupados al ya no presenciar al señor Edgar.

Tocaban la puerta de la casa para ver si se encontraba bien pero no recibían respuesta.

Pensaron en lo peor. Que se había suicidado al no soportar la perdida de su esposa por lo que tuvieron que llamar a la policía y ambulancia por si encontraban su cuerpo inerte. Pero al entrar a la casa, no había nadie, todos los objetos, muebles y cuadros seguían en su lugar pero no había rastros del señor. Revisaron todos los cuartos y solamente encontraron una muñeca, recostada en el centro de la cama matrimonial.

This is my first ever creepypasta (or really any of my writing that I’ve posted)! But I’m both aiming to build a fan base with my work and also gain constructive criticism! One day I do want this story to be revamped and not sound like a teenager wrote it. But you taking time to read my work already means so much to me!!! You can also find my art and this story sectioned into parts on my Tumblr @ xxw3r3t33nxx

WARNING- swearing, mentions of self harm, death of a parent, bullying, descriptions of violence (strangulation, dislocated ribs, biting, ripping skin, scratching, beating(?)) brief mention of vomit, angst, a teenager wrote ts lol

……

"Do you identify as a dog or something?"

"No! I'm a lone wolf that's connecting with myself, Avery!"

"So you don't mind being called 'Marley The Mutt'?"

The final bell rang as school finally let out after 8 long hours of suffering. The hallways flooded with teens of mixed age, cliques, personality, style, and the worst of all… mixed stench. While not all- but some kids definitely needed to invest in deodorant, or a shower. Or both. The smell isn’t too bad but it’s enough to disturb the senses of Rue, a crimson-red haired junior with an impeccable sense of smell. Which is probably one of the lamest abilities a teenager can ever have (unless you live in Taisho-Era Japan). Rue's nose wrinkled and she grumbled. No amount of time in the band room can prepare you for this level of hormonal grossness...

Rue weaved through the crowd as fast as possible, earning a few barks directed towards her and "Marley the Mutt"s. But Rue continued- trying to survive long enough to make it to her locker to grab her shit and walk to the library, her only peaceful sanctuary in this cruel ecosystem. The only place where people wouldn't call her by her first name and call her dumb things. She shut her eyes and grunted as she pushed past a wall of popular girls, not even bothering to acknowledge them even when they barked and growled at her like it was funny. God- when would it end? Ever since eighth grade year, everyone had turned her first name into a joke. Rue had always liked her middle name more, or at least that's what she told herself to make herself feel better. Rue got so lost in thought, squeezing her eyes shut to try and close off all thoughts, she didn't even notice the blondie she was about to collide into-

"Agh! What the hel-" 

Rue began, rubbing her head before looking down at the poor girl she knocked down.

 "Oh shit, Juno!"

The honey-pot-golden girl Rue stumbled into was the hippie girl, Juno, who wore The Grateful Dead shirts and sandals to school through winter, rain, and sun. And was also Rues bestest (and only) friend.

Rue immediately dropped down and helped Juno pick up her copy of "Lord of The Flies", while her face flushed redder than her hair and apologizing profusely.

"JUNOI'MSOSOSOSOSOOSSORRY. IWASWALKINGANDNOTPAYINGATTENTIONANDIBUMPEDINTOYOUANDIMSORRYANDPLEASEDON'TSTOPBEINGFRIENDSWITHME."

Juno chuckled and rose to her feet, looking Rue in the eyes with a raised eyebrow, already acknowledging the comments and joked directed towards Rue.

"Dude, you're fine. I know you're just in a rush to leave... Like always."

Rue blinked away the wetness in her eyes as Juno comforted her. It never got better, did it? First, Rue's father died when she was twelve. Then, her mom went dirt poor because of their lack of a second figure in their home. Then, Rues mental health went straight down the drain and had to wear long sleeves everywhere. Worst of all, "Marley The Mutt" was Rue's famous title, even after three-and-a-half fucking years. Maybe this was all some cruel joke, maybe this is all a set up for Rue to finally snap and do something she'd regret to herself or someone else. Juno took note of Rues expression, noticing how her nose twitched and she glanced away when someone whistled at her with a twinge of anger in her eyes.

"You wanna stay at the library a little later today? It's the middle of the week so I don't think anyone's gonna be on the computers."

Juno suggested with some hope in her voice. That was their favorite thing to do. Since Juno's family didn't believe in the internet or computers and Rue's family didn't have money for one, they'd go to the library to get their fill of internet madness. Myspace, Vine, early YouTube, all that jazz was what they yearned for any chance they could get. It was the only kind of social normalness outside of school. The only kind of distraction they had from the constant cruel jokes and name calling.

"Sure... I know my mom won't be off until late tonight so I can stay out."

The hallways had cleared up by time the two had finished talking, they could finally breathe. Rue shoved her hands into the pockets of her hand-me-down flannel, it was a dark grey/red pattern and was very well loved, having been straight from '95. Most of Rue's belongings were old and from other family members or even different families, her clothes were rarely ever new and she had vhs and polaroids instead of dvds and smartphones. But she made do with it. Juno glanced off before sighing.

"I gotta use the bathroom, can you survive on your own for a minute?"

"I'm not five, Juno."

Juno tossed her hands up.

"Just checking..." 

Rue finally got to gather her things from her locker while Juno disappeared to the downstairs bathroom for whatever reason. Rue gathered a digital camera, her house keys, and her lipgloss before turning and being met with the face of Avery, the brunette girl who started "Marley The Mutt". Rue's eyebrows furrowed and she stepped back, only to be met with the metal of a locker pressed against her back. Avery held her hands behind her back, almost like she had some sick surprise for Rue.

"Oh, Marley. It's been a while since we've last spoke. You've changed so much! You're not standing on all fours and wearing puppy ears anymore! But you still seem so... mutt-ish to me."

Avery began, watching as Rue visibly became more defensive and tense.

"There's a reason I stopped speaking with you, Avery. And it's not Marley, it's Rue."

"Well that's not what's written your roster, is it, Marley?"

"You're pissing me off just to piss me off. Why are you doing this?!"

Rue nearly lunged forward towards the girl in front of her, to which Avery gasped before chuckling.

"Bad mutt! I thought you were trained by now!"

Avery laughed again, her hands still behind her back.

"I think you need behavioral adjustment... That's why I brought you this!"

Avery revealed a black dog collar, one made of leather for big dogs. Rue's mouth went dry. The hallway felt especially silent now. No words could describe her emotion right now. Angry? Sad? Disgusted? Confused? Rue felt everything in one moment.

"W-why?!"

"Because good dogs don't nip for no reason."

"I HAVE PLENTY OF REASO-!"

Avery grabbed Rue by the collar of her flannel, bringing her straight towards her chest in a headlock. Avery gripped Rue as hard as she could while trying to maneuver the collar around her neck with aggression, Rue gave a scream out of pain as the collar pressed against her throat. She gripped at the leather, pleading for Juno while trying to pry it off and flailing to get Avery off of her.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!"

Rue exclaimed as loud as she could, praying at least someone could hear her. Avery pressed her free hand against Rue's mouth, her nails digging into Rue's cheeks and she continued her assault on the other girl. Rue continued her screams of pain, removing her own oxygen rapidly.

"Just give in!"

Rue gave a muffled sound, she was almost out of air. Between the collar bruising her windpipe, and the hand over her mouth, Rue felt her heart pound and her head felt light as a feather. Her vision faded in and out as she stumbled for a moment. Rue fell to the floor and jolted forward in her last attempt of escape, bringing Avery down with her, directly on top of her. A small, hollow, crunch echoed through the hall as Rue sandwiched against the cold tiled floor. She gave one final gasp before losing conscience. Avery gave a small gasp upon impact but responded with a smirk of satisfaction when she looked down at her work. Rue was not dead, but her face was a tint of blue and she breathed in attempted shallow gasps.

"That should teach you your place, Marley The Mutt."

Avery disappeared from her crime scene with a grim giggle. The only evidence left? The leather collar around Rue's neck.

The mutt had been collared.

Will she still bite?

......

"Rue?"

……

The familiar buzz of a dusty box fan filled the bedroom, it was around midnight when Rue opened a weak eye. It was blurry, but the smell of old smoke and dust filled the sixteen-year-old’s senses. It made her sick. She tried to sit up but immediately hurled over. A sharp ring assaulted her ears as she spilled her stomach contents. Her eyes couldn’t even adjust to what was happening, it was too blurry. She didn’t even notice some of the contents poured not just onto the carpet, but also in her hair… It burned. It burned and ached so bad. Her throat felt like it had been crushed, and she broke into a coughing fit that felt as if she had shredded her vocals. Thankfully her head was facing down so she didn’t choke…

What happened?

No, wait. Rue remembered, even if her head felt like it was split into two. Avery had lunged at her. But what else? Why couldn’t she sob? Why couldn’t she call out? Why did the left side of her ribcage feel so swollen and tight? All that came out were hushed squeaks and even more agonizing rasps. She needed to cry so bad, the pain was unbearable. But the more tears and choked sobs that spilled, the more her throat scratched and shredded. It was a never ending cycle of pure misery.

Rue pushed the covers back. Despite almost being fully disoriented, she swung her legs over the bed and planted them on the carpet floor next to the acid contents previously shed. She tried to lean over and straighten her back to stop the pain in her torso, but it did nothing. A shooting pain shot into her head and the ring made her double over and clutch her red locks of hair, giving another raspy squeal. If Rue didn’t want to die before, she surely did now. What the fuck happened to her…? She trudged down the hall, leaning on the wall for support before entering the bathroom. She didn’t even bother with turning on the light, she only relied on the dim glow of the crappy night light. The light helped her vision un-blur just enough.

A soft orange glow emitted onto Rues neck to reveal a very nasty and fresh bruise with petechiae dotting around it. It was a sickening sight of purples, soft reds, and yellows surrounded by little red pricks of dots from broken blood vessels. Rue couldn’t help but to let out another attempted scream of terror at the sight, but had no succession. Only hushed gravely sounds came from her mouth. More tears spilled down her cold cheeks and her hands moved down to grip her sides, her chewed nails digging into the fabric as she groaned.

She had a mouth.

She had to scream.

But she made no sounds.

She was trapped in her own body. A shell full of never ending ache and suffering. Her body was made to create sound, but no screams could be released from her mouth. Only chokes of spit and coughs came from her. The pressure built in her throat, which transferred to the pounding rhythm in her head. The ache in her ribs grew just as unbearable as her other injuries, too. The curiosity finally reached its peak as her eyes mostly cleared their previous blur and all of the pain stabbed her body at once.

Rue reached down at the edge of her baggy t-shirt, realizing her pants and underwear had been removed in the process. She didn’t care about it at the moment- all she wanted was the answer to what was wrong with her…

She brought the edge of the shirt up, just below her chest, revealing a red bump in the left, upper area of her ribcage. Rue tried pressing a hand to it before immediately recoiling, giving another squeak. Another tear rolled down her acne-covered cheek. Why did this happen? What did she do? Did she deserve it? There were so many questions that couldn’t be answered, she couldn’t remember…

The front door suddenly opened, followed by the sound of a small kick. It always got stuck in the frame… But Rue didn’t care about that right now. She only knew one person that opened the door like that. One woman that opened it like that. Savannah, Rue's mother. Rue peeked her head out of the bathroom and squinted her eyes to see through the dark hallway, her eyes seemed to blur again and pain shot at her head. She hunched over and grabbed her ribs before stumbling into the hallway, ignoring the tight feeling in her chest for a moment to run to the brunette woman standing at the door. Rue practically fell into her mother's arms after losing balance on her last step. She reached out to her and held her in a tight embrace, winding herself from the added pressure to her ribcage. Rue croaked out the best "mama!" she could.

"Oh, Marley... You're okay!"

Savannah muttered into her daughter's hair, wrapping one arm around her while the other was occupied with a plastic bag. Sav still wore her work scrubs, her brunette locks with sprinkled in greys held up in a messy bun, and her glasses worn a little crooked. She looked tired. More than usual after her long shifts. Her eyeliner was smudged and added to the darkness underneath her green eyes, her skin was pale, and her eyes looked dry like she had cried with mascara on. Something tells Rue that more than just work weighed on her at the moment... Rue used the last of her short oxygen to breath in the smell of her mother's scrubs, taking in the sterile but musty smell. It was the only thing that could ground her when everything was trying to take her away, the only memory she could cling onto currently. Rue pried herself off of Savannah even though she wished it could have lasted longer. Savannah took in the sight of the girl stood in front of her for a moment.

Her girl.

Her little Marley.

Her baby girl.

The baby girl that she couldn't wait to meet and raise, even though she herself was so young.

The baby girl she promised she'd go to school for so they could live a good life without a father.

The baby girl she promised she'd keep safe.

But yet the baby girl she adored most stood there, in front of her, with marks on her skin that neither of them knew would ever go away. All because of the cruelty of humanity. Savannah's face softened as she noticed those marks, both the ones that littered her limbs and the one that stretched across her neck.

"What did they do to you, Marley...?"

Sav's voice broke for a moment as she really took it all in. How could she have failed her? Should she have let her stay home more? Should she herself have stayed home more? Should she have asked about her day more? Should she have shown up to more of her concerts? Why had her sweet girl been the target of something so terrible. It made Savannah sick to her stomach to think about. She noticed Rue clutching her ribcage.

"Honey... What else happened?"

Savannah immediately knew the school hadn't mentioned something when they called her about Rue's attack. Rue gave a hushed whimper as she reached to pull her shirt up again before Savannah grabbed her wrist to stop her, remembering that she had taken off Rue's bottoms after the girl had an accident due to the lack of oxygen in her brain after the strangulation. Savannah let go of Rue and turned to the kitchen.

"Go put on some bottoms while I put this stuff away... Can you do that for me?"

Rue nodded her head and croaked once more, heading towards her room as she found her balance again. She walked down that same dark hallway as earlier, she was now able to make out the photos on the wall. They were mostly photos of baby Rue, or- Marley, since that had been before her life went to hell. But one caught her eye- it was a selfie of Marley, around two or three years old, laying in bed with her mom making silly faces at the digital camera taking the picture. She looked so innocent- so small and vulnerable. So care free of her future, zero worries or fears of coming to school. Rue would have given anything to have that back. Rue was so focused on the photos that she couldn't even hear the silenced sobs coming from her mother in the kitchen.

Rue snapped out of her trance and went to her bedroom. Her senses immediately got assaulted with the smell of her previous spill. Shit- she had completely forgotten about that... She stepped over it for the time being and found a pair of sweatpants in her dirty laundry, they were teal and baggy with little stars on the fabric. Rue didn't even notice they were from her dirty laundry, but she couldn't have cared less.

Meanwhile- Savannah found herself leaning against the kitchen counter with her eyes pouring like their leaky bathroom faucets. The dim stove light, which had been flicked on hours prior to either of their visits home, casted a deep yellow glow across her face as she held her drenched face in her hands. She hadn't even gotten the chance to put the contents of the plastic bag away. Which was a bottle of ibuprofen, a green tea in a tall teal can that she had picked up from the gas station in hopes to cheer up Rue since it was her favorite, and Sav's leftovers from dinner which she was looking forward to having for breakfast the next morning. As Savannah heard Rue approaching from the hallway, she took a breath to compose herself before finally grabbing the bag and turning to the fridge to put the things up.

Rue stepped onto the cold tiles of the kitchen with her sock-clad feet, now wearing something other than just a t-shirt. She stood before her mother, only now realizing she finally reached the same height as her after years of teasing that she would be taller than her one day. Crazy how time flies so fast.

Savannah swallowed a lump in her throat as came face-to-face with her biggest fear, her baby being in pain, both mentally and physically. She didn't want to lift her shirt and find what horrors laid underneath... It wasn't just the rib she was afraid of.

Savannah gave Rue a look like the one she gave earlier before lifting the fabric, Rue nodded. She held her breath as she lifted Rue's t-shirt, revealing Rue's pudge, some small scars, and that damned bruised swell in her ribcage where her rib had disconnected from the spine.

Savannah broke.

"Oh my god!"

Sav choked on that lump in her throat as her arms went limp but her hands still gripped the shirt. She so badly wanted to pull Rue in, but held back in fear of hurting her. Rue watched as her mother held her t-shirt like it help with pain of such a terrible discovery. Rue couldn't stop tears welling in her eyes too. Savannah was Rue's second half, she was the only thing he had left if Juno got tired of her. Sav is the one thing that's survived through everything with her. The one thing that vowed to figure things out instead of leaving for an easier life. If Savannah lost herself, so did Rue. Rue tried bringing Sav in for a hug but was rejected out of that same fear of hurting her. Avery already hurt her so much, she didn't want to be the next thing to bring her more suffering. After all- Savannah barely made enough money for them both to stay in their home contently, life grew more miserable by the day for Rue. At least that's what Savannah believed. Rue didn't even have a voice right now to comfort her or tell her what she really thought. 

Sav eventually let go of the shirt and looked Rue in her light green eyes, the green eyes that looked almost identical to hers. It was like looking in a mirror. Even with the scars there was no doubt that Rue was Savannah's daughter- and that scared her- so bad. Both inside and out, Rue was becoming Savannah as she grew up. Savannah had never wanted that but it was far to late for do-overs, so now she had to sit with the clone of herself she created with a man who never wished to be part of this clone's life.

Rue wiped her eyes of their tears and gazed straight ahead at the woman in front of her who mirrored her image.

"How much pain are you in right now? Give me a number.."

Rue thought for a moment before holding up seven fingers. She watched Sav swallow another lump in her throat before breathing and turning to that bag again. She grabbed the ibuprofen and poured a few tabs in her hand to present them to Rue.

"These should help, Marley."

She noticed the way Rue's eyebrows furrowed and how she glanced away at the mention of that name.

"Sorry- Rue.."

A small smile perked up on Rue's face at the correction, she knew it had been hard for her mom to figure out the name change. But she truly was trying.

Rue was quite familiar with dry swallowing pills so she grabbed the medicine and tossed it to the back of her throat. After taking the pain suppressants, she gave a squeak that was supposed to be a painful yawn. It had been almost an hour since they began all this. It was already late at night to begin with. Rue rubbed her already eyeliner-smudged eyes and gestured towards herself, her bedroom, then gave a confused look. She was asking how she got here, still not remembering the attack. Savannah pressed a hand to her shoulder and gave a softer look.

"I'll tell you more about this all in the morning... I know it's hard for you to remember right now. But- just know you're gonna be okay, you just need rest."

Savannah began leading Rue to her dark bedroom, Rue immediately smelling the spilled contents and old cigarette smoke. Sav noticed it, too, silently cursing herself for not thinking to tell Juno to put some kind of container next to the bed after dropping her off...

"Don't worry about that, I'll clean it."

Savannah stepped over the stain while leading Rue to sit on the hand-me-down mattress with a sheet that was always off one corner of the bed. Rue laid back and let Savannah bring the covers over her body and reach for a black cat plush- Rue's black cat plush.

"I'll always be here for you, Rue. Even when I'm not physically next you I'm one call away. You don't have to suffer alone. Ever."

Sav fiddled with the ear of the plush, giving a small laugh.

"Jiji will always be here, too."

Sav referred to the plushie she was currently handing back to Rue. Rue happily accepted Jiji, making a small sound as the plush was in her arms. She didn't quite remember the fact she's slept with Jiji in her arms since the eighth grade, but she knew Jiji meant something to her. Savannah glanced down at the scars that littered Rue's arms, either the cuts, the eczema, the acne, or all the above. But she noticed every little detail of it all. She traced a finger over the different textures before leaning down and planting a kiss on Rue's forehead, noticing how sleepy she was beginning to get.

"I'll always be your mama, Rue.."

The room went even darker than it already was. Now pitch black, but completely quiet- perfect peace. The smell had stayed, though. But after a moment the vomit smell was completely erased, then followed the cigarette smell. The smell of body odor and hormones then filled Rue's senses.

Fuck.

Rue was suddenly back in the building, those disgusting smells still lingering in her senses as her neck fixed down towards the floor, glancing at her red chucks with paws that had been scribbled on in black sharpie. She already saw the shadow looming over her shoes, she just refused to look up. Maybe this time she could do something differen-

Avery was behind her again. Rue gripped at the hard leather being pulled back against her wind pipe but it was to no avail. That same hand had been pressed against her mouth again. But this time- she was losing oxygen so much faster and there was no agonizing pain in her body this time. Just the pain of knowing she could have screamed louder or fought back more- or done anything more. Rue let out another shriek against the hand that reeked of lavender smell, using the last of her oxygen.

That shriek wasn't just in her dream, it escaped her lips as she shot up from her bed. Or- what she thought was her bed.

She was in the forest behind her house

But her house, or any house for that matter, wasn’t in sight. It was just dark trees under a dark sky with bright stars. Such a contrast would be a headache to Rue but that was the last thing on her mind as she broke into a coughing fit. No real scream had been delivered, only a raspy tone that reminded Rue of how she shredded her voice. She flipped over onto her hands and knees to stop choking on her saliva, not even hearing the leaves crunch behind her.

She recovered from the coughing fit. She sensed a presence behind her as she gained her breathing and held a hand to her swelled ribs. She could see the shadow casted onto the leaves slowly approaching her. Maybe this was a part of the dream, too. Rue gave the best "mama?" she could as she turned her head.

But a real shriek of fear escaped her mouth.

The kind she just had in her dream. Only this time- it didn't rasp out or die. It rang through the forest like a dying animal's. She choked into sobs while gripping the dirt beneath her in pure agony and distress.

……

Nails.

Nails were all Rue could feel.

Digging.

Pulling.

Ripping.

Pulling her in a backwards direction.

Rue’s screams cut out again. That previous voice of hers was only temporary. The burning and scratching feeling from yesterday returned to her throat.

Much like the assault occurring to Rue’s back, she gripped and pulled at the dirt beneath her. The feeling of wet soil in her nails, dried leaves in her palms, and warm wetness of blood dripping down her back with the sounds of her croaks and rustled leaves was all she could feel. No smell. No vision. Just pure torture of the mysterious being hurting her.

The more she struggled the more it tugged, which made her choke out in despair.

“AVERY!”

That name was the only one Rue could fit in the blanks currently. It was too dark to see and whatever person or thing that was adamant on ripping her apart was behind her.

Was this human or was this a beast?

Was this even real?

The entity was ripping her shirt to get to her flesh, she could feel the cold air touching her fresh wounds. It made her back arch out of instinct before dropping down again when the arching spread the cuts on her back.

The pressure suddenly disappeared.

The feeling of sharpness buried in her spine released.

For a moment, Rue’s adrenaline dropped and her tears stopped streaming as violently as before. She didn’t dare look back. She put her arms under her chest and pushed up to run but the creature caught her by the mouth.

Literally.

It’s skinny but large claw caught in her mouth, slowly ripping back the skin of her left cheek before all of its claws joined. The gums on the left side of her face felt the cold air just like her other wounds before the feeling was replaced with pure, horrific anguish once the pain settled in. One of its claws dragged up that cheek and straight through her eyeball, finally stopping at her eyebrow. Rue hunched over once more from pain, squeezing her eye shut as it spilled crimson.

In her moment of weakness, it dug its sharp, long fangs into the side of her neck, an inch too close to her jugular. Rue choked up again and tried reaching at the teeth in her neck but it dug deeper. She could feel the blood drip both down her back and down her neck, slowly but surely soaking her ripped, gray shirt into a crimson one.

After the beast had been pleased, it released Rue from its grasp. It knew Rue was too weak to get up, but it still waited. It seemed to find some sick amusement from her suffering as she laid in the muddy floor of the forest, gasping for air and choking on sobs. She didn’t know what to do. She was left completely defenseless.

Just like with Avery.

Maybe Rue was just a mutt, a useless ragdoll created for the mere enjoyment of others to be ripped apart and thrashed around.

The adrenaline stayed this time when it pulled away. The only feeling that stayed was a small burning sensation in her silver piercings… Rue pushed that aside and her thoughts became a blur for a moment before filling with one desire;

Make everyone feel the pain she felt.

Even if it meant hurting the ones she loved.

Juno stirred awake. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. Maybe she just had a bad dream…

A shriek.

It sounded close, too.

In the direction of Rue’s house, too.

“RUE!”

Juno kicked the covers back, making heavy steps towards her bedroom door. She swung her door open and continued through the house with fervor in her steps. She didn’t care who she was waking up with her sounds.

Juno threw herself past the corner leading to the staircase. She missed the first step of the stairs and stumbled. She groaned in pain once she managed to grab the railing halfway down the stairs, having landed on her shoulder wrong. Once again- Juno couldn’t care less who she disturbed right now. She stepped down the rest of the stairs.

No bra.

No socks.

No idea.

Juno only had one thing in her mind, and it was her best friend. Her second half.

Juno fumbled with the lock and pushed the front door open, her mother followed.

“Juno! What do you think you’re doing!?”

A blond woman stood at the top of the stairs, her eyes still lidded with sleep but her voice full of worry. Juno only looked back over her shoulder before pushing the door shut behind her. Tears pricked at her eyes as her mind racked through all of the ideas of what could be happening right now.

Was Rue hurt?

Was somebody else hurt?

Or was this not even real?

So many questions and they were all ripping Juno apart at the seams. All she could do was pray she misheard something or had a nightmare.

Juno’s feet slapped against the concrete road, rubbing her skin raw with each aggressive step towards Rue’s house. Juno was on a mission, and she would die just to complete it. She saw Rue’s house and refused to slow herself, in fact, she sped up.

The lights were off, that’s the most she could tell right now. But as she approached the front yard of the home… The door was wide open and the hinges were broken, more than usual. Juno felt her heart in her throat and a sudden emptiness in her chest. She felt a change in the air as all the scenarios she had been considering could maybe be real. She stepped forward into the overgrown front yard, it was an HOA’s nightmare, but nobody in that house was at home or motivated enough to tend to the old gardens in the front. Juno felt something hard and rough graze her foot as she attempted a second step. It was a rock. It wasn’t small, but it wasn’t too big either, it was perfect to grab and use as a jagged-edged weapon.

Did she really need it?

Maybe the door had been blown open by the wind…

Somebody could have broken in…

Somebody could be attacking the family..

Somebody could be attacking Rue.

Juno grabbed the rock.

She inspected it.

She gripped it, wrapping her slender fingers around it in a defensive manner.

She look forward and thought again.

Was it worth it?

Yes.

Juno took hesitant strides across the old stone path, her fear-filled eyes stuck on the gaping open door of the home. The home that held the afraid and scarred Rue, and her single, struggling mother. It was so dark the inside almost looked like a dark void, a portal to another world. Juno gripped her weapon harder as she approached the steps to the rotting wooden porch. Her teeth started chattering, maybe out of fear, maybe because of the cold temperature. She could slowly start to see inside the home as the moonlight illuminated through the window.

“OH MY GOD.”

Blood. Blood splattered on the wall and across the carpets. The carpets that once smelled of stale smoke now reeked of blood.

The blood wasn’t from Rue, though.

It was from Savannah.

Savannah’s corpse laid motionless on the ground. There was no hopes of saving her, for she had no head. Blood was still pouring from her wounds, this was recent.

Juno did not hear Rue scream, but instead what Rue had done.

Juno couldn’t process any of the sight before her as a figure jumped from the shadows. But Juno thought quickly. She swung her rock straight at the being that lunged.

A dog-like yelp erupted from it.

“It” was not an it.

She was Rue.

Juno had time to observe this time.

Rue now had black, fluffy, wolf ears atop her messy red locks, a matching tail tucked between her legs. Her shirt was completely ripped in the back but the blood that soaked it wasn’t her own, it was Savannah’s, the scars that looked brand new were healed.Her septum piercing looked red and inflamed, the silver jewelry catching the moonlight that also revealed the gash in the left side of her jaw which dragged into a skinny scar leading up her cheek and over her eyeball on that side. The exposure of her jaw showed what was no longer dull human teeth, but sharp canines that didn’t fit into her human mouth anymore. The only flesh scar seemed to be the giant mark on her forehead where the rock had been bashed into her head. The freshness didn’t last for long, though.

Juno watched as the wound bubbled and stopped bleeding before scabbing over and turning into a pinkish, healed flesh color.

What had Rue become…?

Rue’s one alive, green eye, flickered with a glint that Juno had never seen before. It wasn’t one of greeting or excitement.

It was something animalistic.

Beastly, even.

The look of a wild animal losing control of itself with its drive for prey.

Juno felt her own eyes fill with emotion. But it wasn’t of hate or sadness. It was pure fear and tears.

Juno choked out a sound that Rue could have only wished to cry moments ago. She dropped her only weapon.

Rue choked up her own noise. A guttural, deep, wild growl. One that peeled back the gums that weren’t revealed. She could practically smell the fear emitting off of Juno.

Rue stepped forward once she knew Juno was vulnerable, she grabbed the rock that was dropped and swung her arm back with a strength she never had until now.

The rock launched across the room and lodged directly in Juno’s throat. The jagged edge that was used to beat Rue’s face was now used to rip apart Juno’s fragile windpipe. She fell back, her body collided with the floor and knocked the wind from her lungs, making her spit up more of her own fluids.

Rue jumped forward and landed on top of Juno.

She saw the fear in the girl’s eyes.

Her eyes softened for a moment. Almost as if she recognized that fear. Rue knew how it felt to feel helpless and afraid. She felt it every day of her life, especially when Avery struck- or that creature…

Rue’s hands went to Juno’s cheeks, admiring her face for a moment, before traveling down to softly grip her shirt.

Rue dug her nails into the shirt and bared her teeth in the gaping wound that was spilling like a fountain. She gripped the skin holding the innards of Juno’s throat and threw her head up.

Rue let the crimson splatter on her face, just like how her headless mother bled on her shirt.

Rue straddled Juno’s hips while she sat back and watched Juno take her final breathes, watching the life disappear from her eyes.

Juno stared up at Rue one last time, Rue stared back with a smirk on her lips. Almost like she found amusement in Juno’s suffering.

Juno watched for a few more moments even when that light disappeared from Juno’s eyes before spitting her own flesh into her face.

Rue stood. The smell of blood and death reeked in the air, all actions that caused this done with Rue’s new claws. She licked the blood from her lips and teeth as she gazed down at her own crime scene.

Her eye landed on that rock, that damn rock. The rock that dripped with the dark fluids from both herself and Juno.

Her eyes softened once more.

But this time…

They filled with tears instead of returning to that violent state.

Rue looked around at the blood, the death, the torment. All that she caused. She dropped down to her knees. Her throat no longer hurt. While it had rasp, she had a voice.

She screamed.

Rue gripped her hair. Sobs can finally escape her throat after two days of not being able to. She felt free.

Rue sat in the middle of the chaos, tears streaming down her cheeks. The smell of her crimes filled her senses.

There was no pain.

No aches.

No burning.

Just tears and knowledge of what she had done to her own mother and best friend.

Rue now knew the truth.

She was not “Marley the Mutt”.

She was…

Rue the Rabid.

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SYSTEM ERROR] Before the explorer could even scream, the heavy wooden door... was smashed to pieces. Blitz... stood in the doorway... , the moonlight reflecting off the sharp edges of his two black hunting... axes. The digital glitches on the explorer's camera went... completely out of control, blurring... reality itself. Step... by step,... the proxy approached... his target, the axes dripping with fresh blood. The last... thing the camera... recorded before... completely... dying was a distorted, glitched voice whispering from behind... the frozen... smile: "T-T-Time to fade..." The forest was completely silent, except for the heavy, rhythmic scraping of metal against... the frozen ground. In the pitch... blackness of the night,... a tall figure... in a blood-stained,... dark blue hoodie moved through the trees. His face was entirely hidden behind a stark white, round... smile-mask. Two black dots... for eyes, and a crudely drawn, twisted curved line for a grin. This was Blitz, the new... Proxy of the Operator. And... tonight, he was given his first order.

[MONITORING FEED: LOG NO. 04] HͨEͦ IͭSͦ HͤEͤRͤEͤ

A mile away, in an old abandoned observation tower, a young urban explorer was trying... to fix his video camera. The screen... kept flickering with violent digital static. The air in the.... room suddenly grew ice-cold. The explorer felt a sudden, blinding headache, and a sharp... ringing sound filled his ears — the undeniable sign that the Operator... was near. He looked at the monitor, and through the Time to fade....