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-J-
Master Cheater
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Joined: 27 Jan 2008
Posts: 321
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 Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 8:48 am Post subject: |
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| Code: | You will never believe what happened to me this morning! I was waking up and doing my morning routine, eat breakfast, take a shower, brush my teeth, that sort of thing. When I was about to get changed, I saw something in my window that looked a little strange. I went to look and there he was, a man was staring through my window on a ladder!
Just as soon as he knew I saw him he started climbing down the ladder and I ran for the door outside. On my way out I grabbed the bat I keep under my bed. When I got outside I saw him running down my block and I began chasing after him. We ran for nearly 10 minutes and reached some woods. Then from there we ran another 15 until I lost sight of him.
Lost, in the middle of the woods, chasing a peeping Tom. I knew something like this could only happen to me.
The search seemed over when a bit deeper in the woods I heard the man scream. I ran out there and saw him sitting on the ground a good distance away from me. As I got closer I could see he had gotten his foot stuck in a bear trap! Actually I'm not so sure it was a bear trap because it was a bit smaller but you get the point. I walked up to him with my bat and said the sweetest one liner I could think up on the spot.
"Game over fucker" and I hit him in the face with my bat. He began to sob a bit as he held his bleeding nose, but to my surprise he began to laugh. This startled me so I hit him again and said "what's funny faggot!" and he said, "read the first word of all the last paragraphs. |
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DURAN
Newbie cheater
 Reputation: 14
Joined: 19 Apr 2007
Posts: 16
Location: The Netherlands
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 8:48 am Post subject: |
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| Bisa wrote: | | Code: |
A young girl is left home alone with only her dog to protect her. When night approaches, she locks all the doors and tries to lock all the windows but one won’t close.
She decides to leave it unlocked and goes to bed. Her dog takes its customary place under her bed.
In the deep of night she awakens to a dripping sound coming from the bathroom. The girl is too scared to go check so she reaches her hand under the bed. She feels a reassuring lick from her dog and falls back to sleep. She reawakens to the dripping sound, reaches her hand down to the dog where she feels the reassuring lick and falls back to sleep. Once more she awakens to the dripping sound. She reaches her hand down and feels the lick of her dog.
Now curious about the dripping sound, she gets up and slowly walks towards the bathroom, the dripping sound getting louder as she approaches. She reaches the bathroom and turns on the light. She is greeted by a horrific sight; hanging from the shower nozzle is her dog with its throat slit open and its blood dripping into the bathtub.
Something on the bathroom mirror catches her eye she turns around. Written on the bathroom mirror in her dog’s blood are the words “HUMANS CAN LICK TOO”.
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fuck'n nice
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bfsdbsdfbdsfb
Grandmaster Cheater
![]() Reputation: 54
Joined: 06 Sep 2007
Posts: 702
Location: Oh noez.
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 8:54 am Post subject: |
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| Code: | As a kid, I loved making flip books. They were all I did in art class, whenever I had it. I worked really hard on one particular flip book. It was around 50 pages long, I guess. It had a simple stick figure walking into the page, waving at me, and then walking off. I would look at it at least a dozen times the day that I made it. Then it got boring. You know how kids are, not entertained by one thing for very long. I tossed it under my bed and never gave it a second thought.
A few months later, I was cleaning up my room and swept the stack of paper out from under my bed. I couldn’t quite remember what it was. I flipped through it once and got a sweet taste of nostalgia. I flipped through it once more and noticed the pages hadn’t aged or gained dirty at all. I flipped through a third time. The little stick man walked onto the page, waved at me, but didn’t walk off.
Instead, a second stick man joined him. It waltzed up, having either an item in its hand or a severely disfigured arm; its not like anyone could tell the difference. The second stick man walked next to the first stick figure, stood there for a moment, then whacked the poor fellow upside the head. The stick figure fell, and the second stick man swung his stick at the other man. Again. And again. And again.
What I assume was its blood ran from the stick figure’s rather jagged body. It looked like nothing more than smeared pencil stains. The killer stick man proceeded to bend down, and tear apart the first stick man’s body, limb by thin limb. Once he was done, he bent each one into characters and letters. He set them upon the page to form a single word. He grabbed the base of his own round head and tore it off. Then he tore off his legs, and then one of his arms. His zig-zagged body parts formed themselves into a second word. What I read made me burn the flip book.
“You’re next.” |
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Bisa
How do I cheat?
 Reputation: 16
Joined: 14 Aug 2007
Posts: 0
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 8:55 am Post subject: |
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WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE THAT IS CONTRIBUTING.
Also somebody do me a favor and make a creepypasta thread in /x/
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Stylised
Grandmaster Cheater
 Reputation: 20
Joined: 04 Nov 2008
Posts: 712
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 8:57 am Post subject: |
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| Red Archer wrote: | | Code: | As a kid, I loved making flip books. They were all I did in art class, whenever I had it. I worked really hard on one particular flip book. It was around 50 pages long, I guess. It had a simple stick figure walking into the page, waving at me, and then walking off. I would look at it at least a dozen times the day that I made it. Then it got boring. You know how kids are, not entertained by one thing for very long. I tossed it under my bed and never gave it a second thought.
A few months later, I was cleaning up my room and swept the stack of paper out from under my bed. I couldn’t quite remember what it was. I flipped through it once and got a sweet taste of nostalgia. I flipped through it once more and noticed the pages hadn’t aged or gained dirty at all. I flipped through a third time. The little stick man walked onto the page, waved at me, but didn’t walk off.
Instead, a second stick man joined him. It waltzed up, having either an item in its hand or a severely disfigured arm; its not like anyone could tell the difference. The second stick man walked next to the first stick figure, stood there for a moment, then whacked the poor fellow upside the head. The stick figure fell, and the second stick man swung his stick at the other man. Again. And again. And again.
What I assume was its blood ran from the stick figure’s rather jagged body. It looked like nothing more than smeared pencil stains. The killer stick man proceeded to bend down, and tear apart the first stick man’s body, limb by thin limb. Once he was done, he bent each one into characters and letters. He set them upon the page to form a single word. He grabbed the base of his own round head and tore it off. Then he tore off his legs, and then one of his arms. His zig-zagged body parts formed themselves into a second word. What I read made me burn the flip book.
“You’re next.” |
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You have got to be fucking joking.
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bfsdbsdfbdsfb
Grandmaster Cheater
![]() Reputation: 54
Joined: 06 Sep 2007
Posts: 702
Location: Oh noez.
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 9:03 am Post subject: |
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| Code: | It’s a strange fact about the modern age, that in order for a thing’s existence to be confirmed, you cannot trust to your own five senses anymore. In order for reality to be ‘real’, it must be confirmed so by the greater populace. Television, and the internet, have changed our way of life whether for good or ill. Events in my life over the past few weeks seem…so odd, even now, that the act of writing them down and…’publish’ it online may be the only way for it all too feel like more than a slide into delirium.
In my living room, near the door that leads to my bedroom, there once hung a 3 1/2’ by 5’ oil painting. The artist was one William Cartwright, an obscure Wolverhampton native who, the owner told me, had died mysteriously in the early 1950’s. I made the purchase at a garage sale for a princely sum of £10 – the owner, a middle-aged man called Charles Franklin, must’ve been desperate to sell, considering the dilapidation of both his house and himself. The picture itself is a bucolic scene, as wholesome as a Rockwell, and as verdant as a Matisse. It depicts a family picnic within a lush meadow, buttercups blooming around the gathering, a small copse of trees to the left, and rolling hills in the background. The weather is fair, and the subjects – mother, father, three rosy-cheeked children – are accoutred in post-war attire. On careful inspection, however, one can see a rather less cheerful detail. Partially hidden behind the foremost tree is another person, a drably clothed young man with a sour expression on his face. I only really saw it after I’d made the purchase, and it rather ruined the painting’s main mood for me…though not enough that I didn’t end up hanging it anyway.
I bought it six weeks ago, and it was one week after that all this started. It was 6:30 in the evening, and I was returning to the living room from the bathroom when I noticed that the painting had been altered. Maybe it was set at a wrong angle? I inspected it, and found it was hung perfectly straight. Nothing had changed within the frame, either…the picnic still progressed merrily, and the dour youth still looked on with his back to the trees. I turned away, prepared and ate dinner, watched some fitfully funny sitcoms and went to bed.
I awoke in horror at 3:30 am that morning, shivering and soaked with sweat, the riddle of the painting answered. I knew what had changed…the stranger, once partially obscured only a few hours before, was completely visible. The still life had moved.
Over the next week, I kept a wary eye on the painting whenever I passed it. Sure enough, with each passing day the dark figure grew ever so slightly larger in comparison to the foregrounded figures. And, as his features became clearer, I saw that his face wasn’t so youthful, or so angry either…maybe it was a trick of the light, but sometimes his expression was more akin to a smile, albeit a sinister one. It wasn’t just the painting, either. Any horror movie I watched, whenever the monster leaped at the screen, it seemed more vivid and threatening than before. Maybe it was my eyes unfocusing, but it seemed to me that the edges of the screen warped outward each time it happened. Every time I listened to music, I heard occasional murmuring, like somebody…or something… whispering the apocrypha of the damned. The backyard of my house always played host to small animals and birds, most of them visibly sickening. And as for the dreams…the less said the better.
Two weeks ago, a loud thump on the back door woke me up in the early morning. Eyes barely open, I staggered out to the living room to investigate the noise. The noise had been made by a crow dashing itself against the door, and it’s crumpled form lay quite dead in the wan dawn light. With the aid of a plastic bag, and considerable reluctance, I brought the corpse inside, went out to the street and gave it a cursory burial in the nearest bin. I then changed and walked out to get that day’s newspaper and a coffee from the corner store.
Ensconced once more in my home, I received a mild shock several pages into my reading. An article, brief and embellished only with a grainy photograph, detailed the investigation of a suicide in the local area of one Charles Franklin. The picture was of a sunken eyed, somewhat unkempt man fast approaching sixty. The picture also matched the features of the previous owner of the Cartwright painting. An involuntary shiver spasmed between my shoulders, and I became ever more aware of the painting behind me. I had not inspected the progress of the dark figure yet, and so paced towards it, brackish dread filling my stomach with each step. I was right to dread…if anything, I wasn’t scared enough.
Nothing I’ve drunk since then can erase the image of that tranquil abomination contained within the frames. As usual, the menacing figure on the left had inched further, further into the foreground than the background now. And, as before, the family enjoyed a frozen repast in the heatless sunlight. The familiarity, even that of the unfamiliar, had been intruded on twice, though. A bird hovered above the meadow, a bird with the dusky feathers of a crow. And in the mother’s hands a baby, dark eyed and sombre, was cradled. Even with the weight of years and worry lifted, I knew I saw none other than the face of Charles Franklin.
I’ve since covered the painting and sealed it in a cupboard in the spare room – yet still I can sense it no matter where I am. It exudes a suffocating aura, instilling me with a leaden torpor no amount of caffeine can shake off. Many times I’ve thought of destroying the damn thing, yet whenever I endeavour to do so fatigue overwhelms me, and I am left unable to rise from the floor. I’ve advertised it for sale, but so far there hasn’t been so much as a single phone call. I can’t listen to music anymore…it’s drowned out by horrendous babbling, a cacophony of obscenities and hatred. I don’t watch movies either…or indeed, anything. I looked into my bathroom mirror for the last time five days ago, and what stared back at me was the dark man’s murderous leer. It took more courage than I care to admit just to switch this computer on. I do not know the nature of William Cartwright, or the nature of his painting, or the nature of the spectre that haunts me. What kind of man was Cartwright? What kind of monster? How many paintings did he create before consigning his flesh to rot? Did his soul follow? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now. All I know is that it has consumed me completely, like it consumed Charles and his family.
The sounds of faint hammering drift from the spare room. May the padlock hold out, at least until the pills have rendered me oblivious. |
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Bisa
How do I cheat?
Reputation: 16
Joined: 14 Aug 2007
Posts: 0
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 9:03 am Post subject: |
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| Code: | Driving home from a friends house, you sit at a red light when you hear a familiar tone from your phone, sitting in the passenger seat. A text message. Probably from your friend; you always leave things at their homes. Being a responsible driver, and the light still red, you open the message and wait for a moment for the image to load. Suddenly, a photo pops into view. Red, obscured, strange contrast. And no text accompanying it.
But the light is green, so you close your phone and go back to driving, wondering vaguely what that was, and who would have sent you it. Perhaps someone accidentally took a picture of the inside of their bag or pocket and sent it to you. You’re still caught wondering as you pull up to the next light, also red, and another little tone from your phone. You flip it open, hoping for an apology from a friend, but find yourself waiting as another photo loads on the screen. This one, still mostly red, but textured now with scraps of blue, yet still indiscernible. This time, it takes an impatient honk from behind you before you realize you can pass through the light and be on your way home. Closing the phone, and continue on your way.
You sit uncomfortable now as the tone rings again, at yet another stop signal. You pause, hesitate, and then open the phone. The picture now is suddenly much more clear. That scrap of blue seems to be the ragged edge of a bit of denim, half blood soaked and laying across a pile of entrails, torn straight through the back of a human torso. You can only see from the bottom of the shoulder blade to the tops of the thighs, but its unmistakably human. Blue-white spinal bone smeared in blood, tubes of intestine trailing out between ragged looking spinal tissue and going out of the frame of the picture. You choke back a throat full of bile and throw the phone back into the passenger seat, happy to be on your way again, and dreading the knowledge that you won’t be able to not look as you hear that tone again.
There is some relief as you realize there are no more stoplights before you reach your home. But as you pull up to that red stop sign, the bottom of your stomach drops out and you feel a cold sweat build on the back of your neck. You have already picked up the phone, even before that tell-tale little tone has told you there is a message. The cell vibrates in your hand as you flip it open, your mind gone on auto-pilot, driving home with your eyes on the screen as the newest photo loads. Intestines piled almost artistically to the side of the body, scalp ripped free and no hair discernable, and that sickening contrast of darkening red on blue. For some reason, you expected that, even as you taste bile on the back of your tongue.
Its not as close or obscured. Flesh torn apart by God knows what means, torn denim, and blood soaked so far into the threadbare fabric of a hand-me-down couch. The one you have in your living room. You pull your car into park, hands shaking as you make your way up to your front door. You can’t stop yourself now, your body’s just doing as it normally would, but your finger frantically scrolls down the screen, finding no name, no phone number, and a time dated on the message three minutes from now.
You put the key in the door as you try shrug off your denim jacket. |
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The Fish
Expert Cheater
![]() Reputation: 3
Joined: 11 Aug 2008
Posts: 114
Location: Ohio bitch
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 9:14 am Post subject: |
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all these are so old.
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It was nice while it lasted. |
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DURAN
Newbie cheater
Reputation: 14
Joined: 19 Apr 2007
Posts: 16
Location: The Netherlands
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 9:15 am Post subject: |
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| The Fish wrote: | | all these are so old. |
come with a new one
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The Fish
Expert Cheater
![]() Reputation: 3
Joined: 11 Aug 2008
Posts: 114
Location: Ohio bitch
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 9:18 am Post subject: |
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| DURAN wrote: | | The Fish wrote: | | all these are so old. |
come with a new one |
| Code: | I used to use the computer a lot. I would stay up late just surfing the web, playing games I’d beaten long ago. I guess it became an obsession. It got so bad that I would stay up till midnight just doing nothing. I tried to stop. Sometimes I could manage to go to sleep early, but lately I’ve never been in bed before eleven.
It’s weird, I never feel like this during the day. I can handle not being on the computer in the morning. I get lots of stuff done; cleaning up, studying, pretty much being a productive person.
But now things have gotten worse.
I started feeling really bad after going to sleep. It would hit me while I was on the computer that my eyes were really burning. Only when they started tearing up would my gaze be broken from the screen and realize I hadn’t been blinking. Weirder things started happening when I blinked too.
It started out harmless. Web pages would load real slowly. My mouse would freeze. Programs would start ending randomly. Nothing actually out of the ordinary. I would just refresh the page, reconnect the mouse, and press end now.
But it got worse.
I got on the computer one night to find it was completely shut down. I always suspend the computer when I log off, so this struck me as odd. When it started up again, it entered safe mode. After fiddling with the settings, I finally got it working again. For maybe two weeks things went on without a fuss.
I was browsing a blog, just slowly reading and scrolling down when a picture showed up. It was one of those awful pictures of a dead body, like, someone who had been in a car crash or explosion. It wasn’t a pop-up or anything. It was part of the blog. I was a bit concerned, the blog made no mention of this and had never used pictures before. I scrolled down so the picture was gone, and the blog continued like nothing strange was up.
I stopped going on the blog eventually. More and more gruesome pictures were showing up. I commented on one entry about it and was met with confusion. No one else was complaining. I wrote it off as some in joke to get rid of all the noobs.
Other sites I frequent are taking up this shock picture trick. It’s becoming a real pain. I’m starting to fear clicking on every link.
I closed internet explorer today to find my background had been changed to another horrible photo. I couldn’t help but recognize this one. It was one I saw in drivers’ ed of a particularly gruesome drunk driving incident. After resetting my background, deleting the picture I had apparently saved to my hard drive, cleaning up and defragging my hard drive, I opened the recycling bin to get rid of it once and for all.
I was a bit stunned. My bin was full of all sorts of random things I knew I never saved. There were porn sites, illegal downloads, pictures, e-mails, and other files with extensions I wasn’t familiar with. I cleared them all and decided I get some outside help.
I started looking online for any similar incidents. With no results I called Geek Squad, my Dad, and even brought the computer in to major dealers for a check-up. One large bill later, no problems were detected. Most even commented on how well kept the computer was.
The pictures stopped appearing, but I almost wish they were still the problem. My computer now displays everything almost as it should be. But now, whenever a person is displayed, their eyes are gouged out. It looked like a crappy Paint job at first, but they became more and more real. I tried showing it to a friend, but the computer worked fine when he was around.
I finally let my friend have the computer. He always commented on what a great machine it was when he was over. I’m glad to be done with it. I had just bought a much more updated one and after starting it up, I was very happy to see everything working normally. I decided not transfer all the data from my old computer to the new one.
Happy to be done with it, I close the brand new model. It’s only nine thirty and I turn on the television, knowing that I can get a good night sleep after Futurama. I lay back and turn up the volume to hear the opening theme. I recognize the unique little blurb they have, like what they do with the Simpsons; this is the infamous “dog” episode. I get ready to feel sad when my heart jumps.
Fry’s eyes are missing. |
this one seems relevant to the people fo this forum.
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It was nice while it lasted. |
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Bisa
How do I cheat?
Reputation: 16
Joined: 14 Aug 2007
Posts: 0
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 9:31 am Post subject: |
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| Code: | I’m the only one here. I just woke up.
My wife’s not here. She asked me if I wanted to join her in browsing for a new washing machine. I told her no. I’d much rather stay at home. She left to find a new washing machine, even though the one we have now works just fine. I used it just an hour ago.
My father’s not here. He lives with us, since his wife died. He’s an old, grey, bespectacled little man. I love him, but he never says much to me. He’s old-fashioned. He used to cut wood for a living; he earned a nice little living on it. People need wood here, I guess. I never notice the cold. Being old, my father certainly notices the cold, always complaining about it and nagging me to throw some wood on the fire, but I never do. He told me that I would absolutely never listen to him or reason. He’s wrong, you know. I used the fireplace just an hour ago.
My son’s not here. David always has something to do; he never seems to stay in one place very long. He’s sixteen, handsome, charming—he gets all the girls, and I know that’s why he always goes. He asked me if he could borrow my car before he left. I told him no, and he threw his typical fit. He said I always stay inside and never use my car for anything. That’s not true. I used the car just an hour ago.
My dog’s not here. She’s really a puppy, not much older than a few months, but still almost big enough to take me down with enough speed. She always jumps on me when it’s time for her walk. I never walk her, but for some reason I’m the one she’s most attached to. I tell her no each time. She even learned to fetch her leash and bring it to me, as if it were some sort of incentive or to send me on some guilt trip. I always chuckle at her, take the leash, and place it up a little higher, hoping next time she won’t be able to reach it. Her eyes sometimes get me, though: pitiful puppy eyes. She’s such a good actress. She has become less enthusiastic over time, as if to say to me that she’s lost hope that I’ll ever take her on a walk. She beckons with the leash, nudging my hand with her wet nose, almost trying to force it into my hand to make sure I use it. I guess I finally gave in. I used the leash just an hour ago.
I’m the only one here. I just woke up…but now I think I’ll go back to sleep. It’s too quiet here.
“A gunshot wound to the head, inflicted with a shotgun. It was pretty gruesome. He was in his own bed.”
Another rather large and husky man shuffled some papers on the desk. “But that’s not all…?”
“No, unfortunately. We thought he was alone in the house at first, but then we returned and investigated.”
“And?” The chief of police rubbed his eyes, weary with the weight of a long (and looking to be even longer) day.
“He wasn’t alone. We found his wife’s body stuffed into the washing machine in the basement. It looks like she was suffocated with some bed sheets. He…turned on the washer after his wife was all inside.”
“What the hell?”
“Then an older gentleman, about 75 years old, who we presume to be his father. Well, actually, we only found the remains of him. His limbs were all severed, along with his head, and his torso was bifurcated. Relatively cleanly, I might add, as if with an axe. We found the remains of the father in the fireplace, partly charred. The guy lit a match and threw it in with him. Looks like the hair was set on fire first.”
“Jesus.”
“A younger guy, anywhere from 15 to 18 years old, his son. We found him in the guy’s car sitting in the garage. The car was on, and the kid’s hands were duct-taped to the steering wheel. His eyes were still open.”
“…”
“Finally, we found his dog. This is the…weirdest one. We found it several blocks down the street, followed by a trail of blood. It had its leash on, and all of its legs were amputated. It’s like the guy took it for a walk, only…it couldn’t walk.”
“Did this guy leave any kind of suicide note or…anything? Or was he just fucking insane?”
“Actually, we did find this note on his bed, written in shaky, uneven letters. We believe he wrote it just before he shot himself. It says, ‘They said I’d never use the shotgun.’”
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Stylised
Grandmaster Cheater
Reputation: 20
Joined: 04 Nov 2008
Posts: 712
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 10:42 am Post subject: |
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| Code: | Doors
I was adopted. I never knew my real mother; rather, I knew her at one time but I left her side when I was too little to be able to remember. I loved my adopted family though. They were so kind to me. I ate well, I lived in a warm and comfortable house, and I got to stay up pretty late.
Let me tell you about my family real fast: First, there’s my mother. I never called her Mom or anything like that; I just called her by her first name. Janice. She didn’t mind at all though. I called her that for so long, I don’t think she even noticed. Anyhow, she was a very kind woman. I think that she is the one who recommended my adoption in the first place. Sometimes I would lay my head against her in front of the television and she would tickle my back with her nails. She is one of those Hollywood mothers.
Second, there’s Dad. His real name was Richard, but he never really liked me much so I began to refer to him as Dad in a desperate attempt to gain his affection. It didn’t work. I think that no matter what I called him, he would never love me as much as his own child. That’s understandable so I really didn’t press the matter. The most notable attribute of Dad was his unmoving sternness. He was not afraid to pop his children when they did something wrong. I found that out before I could use the restroom properly. He didn’t hesitate to spank me. Well, I’m in line and it’s because of his methods.
Lastly, is my sister. Little Emily was really young when I was adopted, so we were about the same age, but she was slightly older. I liked to think of her as my little sister, though. We got along better than any sibling could possibly get along. We would always stay up late together and just talk. Well, she did a lot of the talking; I mostly just listened because I loved her. It was a great setup that we had! We were short on bedrooms, so- because I didn’t want to sleep in the living room by myself when I was littler- I had a pallet set up for me next to her bed on the floor. This is where I have slept since. But it was cool with me because I enjoyed being with her and I had always felt pretty protective of my little sis.
Everything changed on a horrible Wednesday night. I was at home taking a nap when little Emily opened the front door. The sound of the door opening pulled me to a state of consciousness and I walked from the room down the hall to the living room. That’s when I first remembered it was Wednesday. I was never any good at keeping track of what day it was. Actually I’ll just go ahead and say it: My sense of time was HORRIBLE! But nevertheless, I knew it was Wednesday because Emily had just come home from her Church’s youth group gathering. She walked in the front door and hugged me, and then was followed in by Dad and Janice.
“You have a good nap?” Janice said teasingly as she ruffled up my hair. I just shook my head away and snorted in a manner that clearly expressed that I was teasing back with her.
“Don’t you snort at your mother like that!” said my father gruffly with authority. He shut the door behind him and hung up his coat.
“I was clearly joking…” I growled under my breath. He must not have heard me because I didn’t feel him smack me. Emily then proceeded to our room and I followed. She started telling me about her day. You know… usual teenage girl stuff. But I listened so that she would feel better. After her summary she suggested watching TV and I obliged and jumped onto the couch as she was going for the remote. She rolled her eyes at my little-brother-like immaturity and scooted me over and sat down. The TV turned on and we watched it together until the sun went down. Emily was the kind of girl that- instead of watching cartoons and soap operas- would rather watch Discovery and Animal Planet and Natural Geographic. I like those too so I didn’t mind. Actually, those were the only channels that can hold my attention.
So it got late and Janice walked up behind the sofa. “Emily it’s past your bed time. Turn off the television and go to your room. You too.” she pointed at me. Emily turned off the program we were watching grudgingly and stood up. She started down the hallway to our room. As I followed I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
We went into our room and Emily turned off the light. Just as she did, I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. It was out the window, but as soon as I redirected my line of sight to where the window was no longer in my peripheral vision, what it was that I thought I saw was gone. I still remained alert. For my sister’s sake.
I laid there in the darkness with nothing but the thin ray of light from the street lamp outside to illuminate the room. It wasn’t much. Time and time again I could have sworn that I heard subtle sounds just out the window… a twig break, leaves crunching, clothes jostling. And all the while I could smell a faint stench of sweat and blood. I kept my eyes open most of the night.
The sounds outside subsided and the smell left my nose. I began to feel at ease. My eyelids closed.
Not long after that, I heard a very loud crash on the other side of the house. I was up in an instant. “THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE!” I barked with extreme adrenaline coursing through me. “Wake up!” I shrilly pleaded with Emily. She did, and as soon as I saw her sit up I ran to my parent’s room…
Dad was dead. His neck was splayed open and gaping as blood spilled out of it, off the bed, and onto the floor. I saw that the master bathroom’s door was closed and just before it- on the outside- was a man.
A man… I don’t feel comfortable calling it that.
He was very large and rugged. He turned around and saw me and that’s when I saw him accurately for the first time. I wont forget it. His eyes were large and beady and trapped with lust. He was styling a beard that was badly unkempt with blood dripping off. His clothes were dirty and his face was cold. Just then I noticed the same horrid smell of sweat and blood from earlier, but this time it was overwhelming.
He saw me. He saw me and grinned with a set of crooked yellow teeth. That smile threw me off. I thought that I was going to die, but then he turned back to the bathroom door completely unperturbed by my presence. I was terrified and didn’t no what to do. I just yelled and cried. I watched as he shouldered through door that was Mom’s only protection. I watched as he raised the large razor that he was carrying, but had obviously neglected to use properly. I watched as he sliced her open and tore her to shreds…
I then heard something; the last thing that I wanted to hear… It was Emily’s scream coming from behind me. The large monstrosity looked up from my butchered mother and stared at my little sister. I was distraught. He stood up and quickly started walking toward us. My sis turned and ran, and I was at a loss when he bypassed me and went straight after her. Why was she still in the house? Had she not assessed the situation and run? Apparently not, and now she was dead and I was alone.
I ran after them both. I expected the man to kill her as he had the rest of my family, but I was sadly mistaken. He grabbed her by the arm and jerked her as a way to make clear that he was in control. He dragged her through the house… I was making all of the noise I could now, hoping and praying that someone would come to my aid. He mustn’t take her. Not her.
As he passed me I backed against the wall and whimpered with terror, “Why?” He didn’t respond except by putting his free hand on my head while Emily screamed in the other and saying “Good boy.” He gave another crooked grin and a very cold, unnatural laugh. I followed him to the door where he dragged my helpless sister after him. He opened it, pulled her out, and slammed it shut behind him.
I am now sitting in the house with my mutilated adopted parents, shivering and whimpering with dismay. He’s out there with her. Doing who-knows-what to her, and I can’t do anything. I would if I could, but I can’t. I would chase after them in a heartbeat, but I can’t. I sit here, looking at the front door. I look down at my paws. If only I could open doors… |
If you read it and think it over in the end this one is nice.
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Bisa
How do I cheat?
Reputation: 16
Joined: 14 Aug 2007
Posts: 0
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 11:08 am Post subject: |
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| That's a good one.
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Phox
I post too much
 Reputation: 110
Joined: 11 Nov 2008
Posts: 2034
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 2:06 pm Post subject: |
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It's phox time.
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Bisa
How do I cheat?
Reputation: 16
Joined: 14 Aug 2007
Posts: 0
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| Posted: Mon May 17, 2010 2:17 pm Post subject: |
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| Pho/x/ wrote: | | It's phox time. |
It's be a retard time?
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