"The Dead Hour" by Matthew Eaton - story submission (creepypasta)
Thank you, Matthew Eaton, for your story submission!
"The Dead Hour" by Matthew Eaton
You know I have always loved the paranormal. I used to watch YouTube videos on how to do séances to summon spirits, or how to talk to them through Ouija boards. I loved it all, that is, until we started trying it on our own. I bought a Ouija board online to see if the whole thing was legitimate or not, and I waited and waited until it finally came. I was like a little kid opening a Christmas present. I opened it up and there it was, the board with the pointer. I was so excited! I followed all the instructions exactly, from putting a candle behind me to having more than one person with you - I did it all. We waited until 3am exactly like it said, and did the small prayer at the start to make sure to ward off evil spirits. We began our session, my friends complaining the whole time about how it wouldn’t work, or someone would try to push the pointer during the session.
At that time I felt something brush beside me. It made me have goose bumps and it felt like the temperature dropped. I just ignored it; the window was slightly opened in my room and so I got up and closed it, when I remembered you’re not supposed to leave at any time during the session. After a while of asking dumb questions and not getting a response, I started to ask a question. Just then, all of the candles blew out. I knew I had closed the windows and there were no fans on, so what could have done that? Hands still on the Ouija board, I saw my friends face - she looked uneasy, almost if she had seen something and didn’t want to tell us. The pointer moved, and everyone looked shocked that it had; it began spelling something out. I had my friend write it down, as she was the designated recorder for the whole session. She wrote down what it said and repeated it aloud.
"YOU LEFT US"
There was a loud crash heard downstairs.
We were all positive now that we were contacting a ghost, and I was the first to say something aloud.
At this point we were all standing up - when the unthinkable happened: the Ouija board moved all on its own, aggressively sliding back and forth on the board. My friend was writing down what it said, and she showed us the results – just the words “YOU LEFT US” over and over, over and over. The board started to float; I fell down from the genuine shock, my heart racing. There was a scream like nothing I had ever heard in my life, an ear piercing, blood curdling scream that came from the direction of the board. The board flew in my direction, almost hitting me in the head.
I heard a demonic voice, and it chuckled. I was drenched in sweat from fear, my knees almost wanting to give in. I stood up to go look for my friends in the dark and I heard a scream come from downstairs in the kitchen. One of my friends, standing in front of a body, blood pooled on the floor and crying loudly, the body was my other friends. I yelled and fell to my knees and screamed at the top of my lungs, and then broke down in tears, his throat was slit and there were several knife wounds throughout his whole body. I knew we had to get out now.
I managed to pick myself up and grabbed my friend; I had to force her away from the corpse, still crying. I went to go to the front door and I noticed the door wasn’t there. Gone, the door was gone. I was filled with fear. I ran upstairs to go down the hallway when I noticed my friend wasn’t holding my hand anymore. She was gone and I heard a loud crash from the living room downstairs. I ran as fast as I could downstairs to the living room and saw it. There was a knife floating in the air, chopping into my friend who was on the couch. Blood was now drenching the couch, splattering the walls. She was gurgling, screaming, trying to fight the attacker off, but I was again frozen in fear watching all of this happen; her voice becoming weaker as the attacker continued to stab her over and over, her throat already slit. I could see him now, the apparition. His eyes were hollow, and his face was severely deformed, his head looked like it had been smashed in, and he was wearing a tattered white shirt and torn up brown pants. His hands were soaked in blood, and I screamed at him as loud as I could. He just stared at me with his hollow eyes and walked forward and disappeared, I screamed and fell to my knees.
Both of my friends are dead.
All manner of thoughts filled my head, when I felt something.
It was sticking out of my chest, and then it disappeared; a searing pain went through my body as the wound began to bleed, and then I felt it again, again, until it reached my throat, a fiery hot pain. I grabbed at my throat seeing blood trickling down my hands and all down my shirt to the ground.
I fell flat slowly fading from reality, hearing the cackle over and over, until finally I faded away.
Police Report from March 12, 2012
Today, three bodies were found at the Brair residence, multiple stab wounds covering the bodies along with a slashed throat on everybody, the words you left us were found written in blood on the wall in the living room. The murder weapon was not recovered but appears to be a knife or a blade of some kind. The murderer has not been found.
I’m posting this from a masked IP at a public location. I don’t want to be traced for reasons you’ll soon understand. I won’t give my name, and I won’t give my alias; it’s too easily recognized in certain circles. I don’t want this making its way back to my doorstep in any way, shape or form.
My name is Jake Whittaker. I turned ninety-years-old a week ago today. It’s funny; you go through life knowing that old age will catch up to you, and you still wonder where the time went once it does. At least, that’s what the other folk around the retirement home say. I know exactly where my time…
Thank you, Micah, for your recent story submission!
by: Micah Rodney
There’s a small village out in Alabama called Saint’s Glen. You won’t find it on any map, at least not since 1965. But you can still find the remnants of the town. If you follow the river southwest of Thomasville, you’ll find it, somewhere in the woods between Jackson and the state line. The highways never ran through this town, and most of the wood from the buildings came from the nearby trees. It was a small commune for a Christian sect – or cult as most people would call it – led by a firebrand preacher called Pastor Norton, though most of his following simply called him “the Pastor”.
Most of the buildings have long since been destroyed by the rapidly regrowing forest, but there’s one building that remained almost completely untouched, and that’s the Pastor’s church. Most of the people who used to live in Saint’s Glen have either died or been committed to psychiatric institutions. I was able to find one woman, who was only a little girl at the time, to tell me what happened the day the town fell apart. Her name is Mary, and she is a middle-aged woman now, in relatively good mental health, but who is not long for this world. She does not mind my questioning, in fact she seems to welcome it. She says that she must tell me her story, before it is lost forever.
It was in 1964 on a foggy Sunday in the middle of June. The congregation had gathered together inside the church. She begins to describe the church to me, but I stop her and show her the photographs I have of the old building. She gasps at the sight of them and refuses to look, except to confirm that I have the right building. Two lined rows of pews fill the hallway, and on a risen platform is a podium and an old metal washtub used to perform baptisms. Behind the podium was a wooden cross, and two large stone tablets bearing the Ten Commandments.
She refuses to continue until I put the photographs away, so I slide them into my briefcase and she resumes her story. Pastor Norton had filled the tub for a baptism, but no baptism was due. Every member of the community had already been baptized. Except for Mary. The Pastor smiled and said that she would be baptized at the end of the sermon and their “family” would be complete.
Just then the Pastor noticed a man sitting in the back row on the left side, only a few pews behind Mary. He was wearing a suit, but it was torn and dirty. His hair was matted and beaten and there appeared to be dirt running all through it. His face and hands were equally filthy. The Pastor looked down on this man and shouted.
“You do not belong in here until you wash that filth from your body and dress appropriately in the eyes of our Lord!”
The man said nothing in return, but stood up and walked out of the chapel. The pastor continued his sermon, but made sure to throw in a comment about how our bodies are temples and that we must treat them as such, especially when entering a house of the lord.
The congregants sang A Mighty Fortress Is Our God and then the Pastor continued onto his next lecture, this time speaking about the decadence of society and how the knowledge of man was foolishness unto God.
And then the man appeared again, same battered suit, same dirty face and hair. This time he was sitting about halfway up the left side pew, directly behind Mary. She could smell the dirt and detritis, and when she looked into his eyes, she noticed they were somehow empty, as though all the color had gone from them. He did not look at her, but kept staring intently up at the Pastor.
The Pastor again took notice of the man, and stopped his sermon once more.
“Did I not tell you, to clean yourself up! This is a church, child! A house of God!”
Again the man said nothing, but turned away and left the chapel. The congregation sang Nothing But The Blood and gathered for communion. Mary smelt that stench of the earth again, and noticed that standing a few pews in front of her was the same man. He had still not cleaned himself, and when the Pastor stopped by his pew to deliver the wine, he shouted.
“Have you a need to cleanse yourself, sinner!?” The Pastor screamed. “Remember the Sabbath Day to keep it holy, and this I say you have forgotten!”
The man said nothing, but he did not move this time.
“Are you deaf, son? Mute? Did you not understand that we are a gathering of the Lord’s people?”
The man said nothing and remained seated.
“What is it then? Do you want to be baptized?”
The man nodded.
“Very well then,” The Pastor sighed. “We will baptize young Mary first then we’ll baptize you.”
The man put his hand on the Pastor’s wrist and shook his head. The Pastor grew increasingly nervous as the man raised his free hand and pointed to the steel tub.
“V-very well. We’ll start with you,” the Pastor said, lifting the man up. They both walked to the edge of the tub.
The congregation began to sing Amazing Grace as the tub was filled with water from a garden hose. The man stepped into the tub and took the Pastor’s hand.
“Do you accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior?!” The Pastor shouted.
The man nodded.
“Do you accept his commandments?” The Pastor shouted.
The man nodded.
“Do you feel the weight of your sin?” The Pastor shouted.
And then, the man spoke in a raspy, hollow voice. “Do you?”
In a swift motion he grabbed the Pastor around by his neck and drug him down into the tub. A few members rush up to help their pastor, but when they got on the platform and looked down into the tub, all that remained in side was the water.
Mary pauses and looks around the room nervously. She explains that after the man came to visit that Sunday, some of the congregants broke into the Pastor’s house. They found a pair of his boots and a coat that were still covered in the same dirt that had covered the man, as well as a recently used shovel. They also noticed that the bumper of the man’s car was dented, and covered in blood, though he’d tried to scrub most of it off and had hidden his car under a tarp.
It didn’t take long to figure out what must have happened. On one of his trips into the city to buy some supplies he must have hit a traveler on the road. Rather than get the police involved, he simply buried the man himself out in the woods and tried to pretend as though nothing had happened. It could have only been a few days before the incident, given the physical evidence.
At that point the people had no choice but to call the police. They found the man’s body after a few days of searching. He was wearing the same suit and had the same hollow, lifeless eyes as the man who’d come to visit them that Sunday. Only his body was soaking wet.
After that event the town started to fall apart, and all the members of the Pastor’s church began to disappear one-by-one. A few died during their move, and others were found out in the woods a few weeks later. The ones that did survive were now mad, with the exception of Mary. She is convinced that because she was not baptized, she was spared from the curse.
We conclude our visit. I start to draw out the photographs again to study them further and Mary hastily flees from the room. I study the picture of the wash tub used for the baptism, and something catches my eye. There was a slight distortion in the picture near the right side of the basin. I pull out the negative that I have of the image and hold it up against the light. The cause of the distortion is a bit clearer in this image. I burned the photograph and the negative and will not print them in the book I intend to publish.
But believe me when I say that I saw what gave Mary such a cause for alarm at the photographs. Hanging onto the edge of the basin were two pale hands, clawing to get out of the tub.
Thank you, James, for your recent story submission!
its the 9th of november well i think it is but i cannot leave, i have tried to get out .. but i cant. soon it will be my birthday but i cannot leave its evil in here the stink is ransid . at all happen two days ago ,i was having a calm walk in the rain when i noticed a old man walking parrale to me on the other side of the street. I think i knew him .. yeah i did he was a doctor who help with my kids brocken leg , he was nice keppt to himself most of the time , he had been round for dinner now and then but then i noticed he just stopped . As he started to fall i droped my umbrella and ran for him, he said he ” dont worry .. i think im ok triped on a bloody lose slab” i got out my cell and called my wife to give us a lift , thats when i notice it . in a worried voice ” your arm it .. its bleeding ” he looked down and his arm his eyes were filled with terror , and then he fainted . I shout out in hope that some one would come to help, then a man came running , franticly he said ” whats wrong ” i then proceded to tell the man what happend when i noticed it look like he wasent listening . “hey” i yeld but then he just looked up at me slowly and befor i could say oh my God with his grinning face he raised his arm and bashem by head with a mallet. i woke up in compleate darkness . I then slowly turned my head thats when i realised i could not my body was num but i was incased in what seemed like a locker then i noticed three lines of light , so i did my best to look through them what i saw made my heart jump out of my chest. Two blood shocked eyes staring back at me and a whispry voice said ” your wife will be here soon and you son then we can all Play” as he slowly shoved a knife in to the box and then there was a knock at the door . “come inthe man said ” he turned to me and said “Play time”.
It was a night like any other night. James was with his friends, watching the game, drinking, having a good time. When James heard something. He heard a voice saying:
“I’m coming for you.”
James shook that off, only because he was drunk, and he thought that he was just hearing things. After his friends left, he cleaned up a little bit in the house. Cleaning stuff off the coffee table, wiping it down, making it look as good as new. He saw something in the window from his peripheral vision, which he thought took form of a face. He looked over, and didn’t see anything. Again, thinking he was just drunk he forgot about it. After cleaning everything up, he laid down on the couch, turning on the TV.
As the TV flickered on, he flipped through channels. Cartoon Network, FOX news, nothing really seemed to interest him. Until he came upon a horror movie. He put the remote down, deciding to watch it, and then pulled out his phone, to text his friend. He heard a door slam very hard, and the slam made some of his photos on the wall shake. He got up, and decided to investigate. He went upstairs, and looked at everything. Everything seemed normal.
“Maybe I’m drunk, or I’m going crazy.” said James.
As he went downstairs back to the comfort of his couch, he heard a whisper: “I’m coming for you.” Said a raspy, lady-like voice
James was frightened at what was happening but decided to not think about it until morning, and lyed down on the couch, and slept. The next morning he woke up, and he made himself some eggs and bacon for breakfast. While eating, he heard a sound in his kitchen. He stood up, and walked over, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. He walked back to his breakfast, finished up, and then decided to call his friend, see if he wanted to come over and play some Xbox. When he called, the phone rang a few times, and then someone finally picked up.
“Hey Zack, you want to come play some Xbox or something?”
Then, James was horrified to hear a voice from the other end say, in a raspy voice” “I’m coming for you.”
James then hung up, and sat on his couch, wondering what might’ve happened to his friend. As these terrifying images were flying through his thoughts, he decided to call his parents, and ask if he could stay there for a couple days. When James’ Mother picked up the phone, she said: “Hello?”
“Hi Mom it’s me.” Said James
“Oh, hello James.”
“Hey Mom, is okay for me to come and sleep at your guys’ for a couple nights?” Asked James.
“Hang on, someone just knocked on the door.”
“Umm, okay.” Said James.
He was mortified to hear what had come next, a scream, from the voice of his mother. He then heard the scream of his Father, and then, that same, raspy voice came on and said: “I’m coming for you.”
James was completely terrified and decided that he would try to sleep at a friends house that lived in the woods. On the drive there, he saw a person crossing the road, female, and he asked: “Hey, do you need a ride?”
The person slowly her head, and showed James her eyes. They were pitch black. The lady was pale and she wore bed clothes. She started walking towards James’ car with a limp. James, terrified, drove his car backwards into the woods, when he saw another frightening woman, who looked exactly like the one before, so he started driving forward. He then saw that the other woman was gone. He drove forward at a brisk space, when he then heard a voice, come from the back of his car: “I’m coming for you.”
Some never think to ask questions like, “What made him that way?”, or, “Why does he do these things?” People will just ask simple questions without delving further, namely, “What is wrong with you?” or, “Why did you do that?”
I’d like you to meet Max. What some may call a troubled teen, standing five feet nine inches weighing 180 lbs., sporting curly jet black hair and a long, constantly smug face with brown pitiless eyes and a smile that has never been seen by his peers.
Since age ten, Max had lost many friends, and had become a nuisance at home and in the classroom, never doing his homework, sassing his teachers, sassing his father, threatening other students, disrespecting anyone he possibly could because everyone else owed him something. The world owed him something. Being good was no longer on his agenda for many reasons. The only thing that had meant anything to him was a heart-shaped golden locket his mother had given him at age six with a picture of his mother in it. Although it meant everything to him, he lost it around age thirteen, but it didn’t surprise him, everything that meant anything to him always left anyways.
Max lives at home with his Father, Ron, an electrician. Max was always a promising young boy, winning spelling competitions, and earning high grades throughout the elementary level. Max’s role model was always his mother, Cherrie, a nurse practitioner who sported a beautiful bright smile on any given day. A jolly woman who genuinely appreciated life and all of its wonders. “What happened to Max?” Well, his life turned on a dime at what max considers the empty age of ten.
Ron and Cherrie were in the car on the way to Max’s fifth grade basketball game, they were let out of work with just enough time to arrive and watch the second half. Max’s team was down by 6 at halftime. The game went back and forth until the final minute remained with Max’s team being down by 4. A quick pick and roll sent Max to the hoop for an easy lay-up. 45 seconds remained with the other team having possession. They waited and held onto the ball eager to soak up as much of the clock as possible. The shot clock trickled down to 3 leaving 13 seconds on the clock. The shot went up. Missed. Rebound by Max. He went down and tried to call a play as the waning seconds crept up, 3, no one was open, 2, should he shoot?, 1, shot from 3 point range. Score! The game was over and Max felt an utter sense of joy that would never find him again. Max had decided to catch a ride home with friends Steve and Jack to get dinner and talk about the game.
Ron and Cherrie were on the highway home raving about their son, and driving to surprise Max with his favorite ice cream at the next exit for when he got home. A semi-truck was swiftly approaching in the lane to the left of them, a semi. It was going at least 75 MPH trying to, what looked like, pass them. Then, the semi, without a turn signal swiftly cut into their lane. The driver misjudged the distance he had to cross into their lane, crossing over and taking out the front end, spinning them out end over end on the highway with bumpers flying and blood curdling screams of Ron and Cherrie rang throughout the air for the remainder of the night. Cherrie was not wearing her seat belt and was ejected from the car and died from blunt force head trauma via ejection. Ron survived. Ron wore his seatbelt suffering only a few broken ribs and some gashes scattered throughout his body.
Max was approached at Applebee’s by a State Trooper, completely surprising the group. The trooper then took off his hat and held it in his hands over his belt. Needless to say, Max was completely devastated by the news. Sickened really. Those heinous words, something he wished he could forget altogether but would never be able to repress that horrible moment he heard the officer say, “Max, your mother is dead.” Max’s life was forever changed from that moment on.
7 years later
It was finally Max’s senior year in high school. How he made it there without either failing out, dropping out or outright expulsion was nothing more than a mystery to him. Max would pick on anyone and everyone; any peer considered a ‘friend’ was either out of fear or obligation. Fear of being bullied, obligation out of pity. He didn’t like to make friends. He didn’t like to be nice. All he wanted to do was implement the hell in others’ lives that had been stricken onto him. Naturally, the only thing to bring him a fulfilling emotion was to torture those that had joy.
Max always brought a knife to school, his favorite Winchester pocket knife. It was his go-to threat for everything. Would he actually ever use it? Maybe, who knows? As long as the illusion of willingness is there; the masses will believe. He liked to target the weak, the intelligent, the wealthy, virtually anyone who was better off than he was, which in his psyche, everyone was. Everyone was a target.
He had decided to step his game up and go out on a limb here and start issues with someone who was strong, successful, and most of all, happy. Dexter Price was the cliché high school quarterback. Team captain, 4.0 GPA, academic scholarship to Xavier, dating the head cheerleader. Max saw him as his next belittling challenge, intimidation was going to work for him, he was going to crush the soul of Price, and no one was going to stop him.
Max was passing Price in the hallway, Max, walking amongst a crowd but in his own clique of 1, yelled, “Hey Price, you fucking faggot, your mom must’ve been raped by a clown with how ugly your stupid ass is.”
Price was confused because he’d never spoken with Max before. Price just carried on carelessly and said, “Umm, okay?”
This angered Max. Max had to dig deeper to get to this guy. He might even have to get violent. That didn’t matter to him. Wrong and right was just a gray area set by the rich to protect themselves. He played by his own rules. Do what the hell you want and thrash anyone in your way.
Max saw Price again after school on the way to the parking lot and shoved him in the back angrily but not overly exaggerative. Just enough to get attention from Price and let him know it wasn’t an accident.
Price, with his friends says, “What the fuck is your problem man, what’d I do to you?” Max is a very sick child if you couldn’t tell by the story so far.
So, Max says, “Follow me I’ll show you.” Max leads him behind the parking lot dumpster away from his friends. The parking lot was crowded with slow moving traffic as usual, backed up to the hilt. Price went ahead and waved off his friends implying that they just leave.
Max told Price, “Here’s what’s going to happen you little bitch, we’re going to go out there and you’re going to French kiss me in front of the entire parking lot. Do I make myself clear?” Max wasn’t a homosexual but his mind was more sick and twisted than a contortionist with scarlet fever.
Price argued,” Are you serious??? What the Hell is wrong with you I’m not doing that! I’m gonna kick your ass!”
Max fell into rage mode as he usually does during his rash decision making. He pulled out his knife and grabbed Dex by his collar and said, “Do it or I cut your throat out and express ship it to your parents.” He held the knife behind his back and Price, welled up with tears, started to walk out from behind the dumpster with Max closely following. They walked about 15 yards to what would be the most congested spot of the parking lot.
Everyone is honking their horn angrily, trying to get home, wondering what the hell these two guys are doing in the middle of their parking lot.
Price begs, “Please don’t make me do this, I can pay you, I’ll give you anything that you want!”
Max reaches for his knife, “You’re about to piss me the fuck off.”
Price reluctantly says, “Okay, I’ll do it.” People still honking their horn wondering what the hell is going on at this point, when they see Price closing his lips in on Max. People insulting and staring in disgust as Max is yelling loud looking at the clouds with outstretched arms and a knife in his right hand, feeling on top of the world, seconds before Price’s lips met Max’s, Max then angrily says, “Hey get off me faggot!”
Max then steps back and sucker-punches Dexter in the mouth knocking him unconscious. Max stands there laughing insanely, way more than anyone should laugh. People are scurrying to check on Price and see that he’s okay and to push Max out of the way and yell at him. Security comes rushing in and grabs the mob off of Max while he is still laughing hysterically in tears with such joy that it outright sickens the student body and guards alike.
Max was expelled. He had a weapon at school and forced sexual actions on another student. Max didn’t care. He disgusted the entire city for a day and got exactly what he wanted. What’s not for him to love? His father was utterly and purely disgusted with him. Grounding him for 6 months with no TV, phone or internet. Max didn’t care, he had a small grin on his face for a while after this, just so pleased with what, to him, was so incredible and everyone would remember.
The Following Week:
Max had sufficed just fine with being alone in his room with nothing but the effervescent memory of that day. He, to him, had won in that situation considering Price agreed not to press charges. Max went on and laid in his bedroom looking at the ceiling before having a dark feeling come over him. Something almost unfamiliar to him in years prior. It was a slight fear in the back of his mind. Sitting there at night with his night light on, he looks up and starts hearing a slight creaking noise as if someone is slowly opening a door in a cheap horror film. He scans his room slowly only to gasp in his bed. He saw on the upper right corner of his slightly misty window, two light blue eyes. They were surrounded by a completely asexual, pale, and frankly horrifying face. No mouth. No Nose. Just a few scraggly hairs with what looked like singed eyebrows and nothing but a blank look like that of a cat when you first walk into their territory. Max was absolutely shocked. But, he could never show it. He got up and sprinted to the window urgently ready to gut whoever was looking at him, as he looked the entity violently and unnaturally slithered it’s head backwards and was gone by the time he arrived at the window.
Feeling frantic and sick to his stomach he sat back down and barely got a wink of sleep that night. The entity didn’t return that night.
The next night he was coming back from the gym with his father and came in to get the laundry out of the dryer, grabbing some clothes to take to the bathroom and take a shower. In the shower, he started to have that feeling again, that sickening feeling that someone was watching him, it made his neck hair stand up and heightened his senses. He blocked it out for now, finished his shower, got dressed, brushed his teeth, and then opened the bathroom door. He was walking down the hallway to his room for bed when he heard that newly familiar sound again. It was that creaking. Conditioned now with what that sounds means to him, he was scared to open his door. He was being watched. He knew he was. He reluctantly opens his door. His room is spotless. His bed is made and there was an envelope on his bed with his name on it. He opened the envelope. There were a few photographs and there was a small note written in bloody scrawl that said, “EYE SEE EVERYTHING.” Panicking he looks around to see nothing. But feels everything. Fear. Anger. Dread. Sickness. He decides to look at the pictures. They were pictures taken at what looks like an angle where his bed would be. It was of him standing up looking out of the window in every picture.
*Creeeeeak* He hears again, this time louder and he looks around. Frightened for his life he runs into the kitchen to grab a knife. When he tries to reach in the drawer he is stopped in his tracks. Staring at him from the opposite end of the house are those hauntingly familiar blue eyes. Not doing anything, not blinking, not showing emotion whatsoever. Just simply, staring. He screams, “What do you want from me?!” at the top of his lungs. The face holding those dead eyes ones again, unnaturally swivels away violently.
His father is awoken and comes out, “What the hell is going on?!”
“Dad there’s something in here I swear there’s something in here.” Max exclaims frantically.
“There’s nothing in here, now go back to bed before you piss me off.”
Max nods and begrudgingly meanders back to his room but is sure to snag his Winchester knife out from the hall closet where he hides it from his Dad. Max sits in his room, sweating, pondering what this face could possibly want to do with him. What had he done to deserve this? His mom was murdered, he didn’t have to be good? That went out the window when his mom died…. Right? Max eventually simmered down enough to get a few hours of sleep.
Max wakes up and his father is already gone for work and left a note saying that he’d be at work late and that he had some leftover lasagna Max could eat for dinner. Alone in this house. The only thought is, “What is he going to do about this figure?” This entity. Max saw his fair share of horror films. He was not about to wait to become the victim He goes out to the shed to grab some of his dads, hammers, nails, and 2x4 pieces of wood.
Max starts boarding up his windows in his room, only leaving a little room to be able to see out to the street where another house, a large tree, and a street light sits. He does a decent job of boarding the windows up. Nothing is going to get in. Not on his watch.
6 P.M. rolls around and it is starting to get dark, mainly because it’s storming heavily outside. Max heats up the Lasagna and eats it. It was one of the only things in his life he could gain joy from anymore. He begins washing his plate in the sink as he’s humming a tune to himself when all of a sudden the TV shuts off. Thinking nothing of it he goes to grab the remote. When he hears the familiar haunting creak yet again. He’s angered by this point, yet so scared at the same time; he looks everywhere to find out where those eyes could be. Where that floating head tormenting his soul could be hiding. Was it a person? He had become convinced it was someone out to get him knowing his evil life deeds.
He hastily opens up his bedroom door and finds the TV in his room on channel 7. The News headlines were, “father and son murder unsol—-,” he shuts off the TV. That wasn’t his concern. He wanted to know what was going on. He had to find out. He was always in control when fear was involved. But, when he is no longer the fear, insecurity takes form.
He notices on his bed of his freshly cleaned room that there is another envelope. His heart sinks, all these thoughts go through his head as to what could possibly be in the envelope. He opens it. There are a few things, he first reads the note, “EYE SEE EVERYTHING,” the note read once more in bloody chicken scratch. Fearful for what was next, he saw photographs of him boarding up his room, photographs of him eating dinner, and the most important one was him grabbing his knife out of the hall closet. He is in a frenzy of fear and looks in the envelope and a long lock of his hair lies within the envelope.
He hears the creak and is on the verge of a heart attack at this point. The storm is raging outside and he looks up and sees blue eyes staring at him, cold, dead. Barely seeing him through the aperture between the 2x4’s boarding up his window to the street. He let out a horrifying, murderous scream and sprinted towards the window and once again the figure demonically moves away from the window before he arrives. Max is crying and banging on the window with his eyes closed wishing he could just have his sanity back at this point.
Wait… What’s this? A person, or so it seems, wearing a trench coat, standing under the tree in the outer layer of the street light standing. Staring. His neighbors were on vacation that week and the rest of the houses on the block were vacant. Well, who could this be? Max was convinced this was his chance. It was his time to exact his revenge. He grabs the knife out of his closet and sprints towards the front door. Filled with anger in what he feels as a last ditch effort to regain his sanity, swings open the door with those eyes in sight he is running as fast as he can as lightning fills the sky and thunder muffles all sound excluding his sloshing wet footsteps. As he enclosed on the individual he pulled out his pocket knife and he could faintly hear the person trying to say something to him but he didn’t want to listen. He wanted it dead. The person started to run as Max had gotten within just a few feet of it. They started running far too late. Max exerts his anger stabbing them in the back screaming in rejoice and fear at the same time driving in the knife over and over and over again. It must’ve been 30 times before he finally turned the person over.
What? This can’t be. He pulled the hood away. His father was waiting under the tree because he locked his keys in his car and Max didn’t hear him pounding on the door over the thunderstorm. Max had just stabbed his own father; the only thing left that had hope in him was dying.
Ron looked up and said, “Max…. Why? Why would you do this?” Ron died right there in Max’s arms. Max was so sad and infuriated at the same time in the pouring rain under that tree, by that street light. Max let out the most saddening screech, very understandable, he had no hope left within him as he sat there crying his eyes out. Soon his sadness turned to an unthinkable rage. He let out a war cry and sprinted towards his front door as his father lay dead in the street. Max was ready for anything, he didn’t care what happened to him as long as he murdered the person, or thing, that made him do this.
Max busted through the front door and filled with rage sprinted all the way to his room to find everything completely ripped apart and in shambles, TV ripped down, clothes thrown everywhere, bed turned upside down, and it smelled absolutely awful. He looked to see on his upside down bed, sat neatly there, an envelope with his name on it. He keeps yelling out loud pathetically, “I won’t do it, I won’t do it, not this time!” He lay there going virtually insane, flailing everywhere, then just pitifully starts crying on his upturned bed and eventually caves. He opened the envelope. He saw two things in there. He saw more photographs, and something shiny, he looked at the photographs. They were of him stabbing his father and crying with him in his arms. He was filled with rage until he sees. What? How can this be? He saw the gold locket he lost. He begins to cry and clings it tightly to his chest. Then he heard the ever haunting creak again.
The lights in his room immediately went out. The only thing left on is was night light. In the corner of the, now, poorly lit room. He didn’t dare turn around. He was in a puddle of his own sorrow and regrets, he didn’t need to see those ghastly eyes again. But then he felt his spine shiver and that haunting feeling that he’s being watched and softly felt a cold breath on his neck. He turned around. No more than a foot away from his eyes were the Blue Eyes that have been watching him the past few days. He just looks into them, lifeless, as if he’d conceded.
He just asked one question, “Why are you doing this to me?”
The entity responded in a hauntingly angelic voice, “I. SEE. EVERYTHING.”
The Blue eyed entity took its deathly pale, white, bony, cold hands and harshly jabbed the knife into Max, twisting it over and over again tearing muscle and blood out with every instance while Max writhe in searing pain for all of the 10 seconds it lasted. Finally, with a calm hand, the entity sticks the knife into Max’s heart and pulls away.
It was almost as if time had stopped in that moment. Max being face to face with fear. Was this how other’s had felt at the hand of Max? He almost felt no pain in this moment, just felt the blood flowing out as his heartbeat rapidly declined in speed. The eyes. He felt as if they were almost staring not at him, But through him. Directly into the depths of his soul. It was almost as if the eyes were his own. Max just felt such a haunting familiarity with the eyes and only one thing remained on Max’s mind.
He managed to mumble while blood still pouring, “Why are you here?”
In the most bone-chilling voice one’s conscious could ever dream up, in a slightly happy tone without haste, the face answered, “Because I missed you.”
Max fell to his knees, bleeding out, and all of his lifelong regrets filled his mind just moments before his death. He then fell onto his back and looked up to see that there were two sets of blue eyes looking down on him as he take his final breath.
The locket lay open in his cold dead hand with a Family picture in it. Ron, Cherrie, and Max.
Thank you, Silas Coates, for your recent story submission
It was cold dark day. And i was sitting on my hood of my car. I could fell eveything around me the wind, the sounds and soft music playing from my car. looking off a hill in to the rainy city. Behind me was mountains trees, Lots of trees. It was about 12 O,Clock. RING RING. My phone buzzed it was a text from my dad. He said were are you. He seemed worryd. I replyed ill be home soon. I put my phone back in my pocket. I jump off the hood of the car. I reached for my keys on the hood and they wert there? I figerd the fell of the ground. I looked for about 20 mins. So i started to look for theem in the woods, Maybe they drop over there why i was moveing on the hood. The weather got harder. After looking for about 3 mins i felt someone touch me. I quckly look behind in fear. No one was there this feared me. I called my dad has it was ringing my phone died! So there was no other way down has im looking in to the city. Maybe i can crawl down this hill for about a minite it seamed to hard i can just walk down the trail. Has i turn around my car was gone! I stood there frozen. Has i wounder were my car is. I see this thing about 200 yards away i things its nothing as the lighting flashes i see hes pure white fac skin peeling off wearing some ripted cloths staring at me. The thing starts running at me in anger i start running down the trail. as fast as i can i see him chaseing me i start screaming down the hill. i run to the end of the trail in TERROR!! I see a pharmcy open utill 1. I run in People are stareing at me like im crazy I SCREAM HES COMMING. A man there say who? The Thing. And the lights go off. And i hear a chewing soud ans spit hitting the floor And then i fell him touch me!