The Deal | A Halloween Creepypasta

 

The Deal

Music by Myuu

It’s amazing, really. Halloween, that is, just the idea of it. Humans, we’re intelligent creatures for the most part, but during this certain time of the year we seem to lose said intelligence; we crave the need to be scared, spooked, and terrified. I, myself, used to be one of these people, until that Halloween three years ago.

Now growing up, I searched for anything and everything that would scare me. The feeling of being scared intrigued me, that rush of blood from your heart to your head, the sound of blood pounding in my ears.

My family seemed to travel a lot now that I think back on it. One town to the other, state to state. I still don’t know why we did, we weren’t militarily involved, my dad wasn’t a traveling salesmen, and he wasn’t a performer. I guess my parents just didn’t like to be in one place for too long, they were free spirits, or so I thought.

Halloween was a weird time for us, my father was just like me. He loved being terrified, even more than me, he even tried being a Daredevil for a short amount of time. My mom, now understand, was one of the happiest people I have ever come to know, she was so nice and gentle. But, for one night out of the year, she changed to this pale, ghostly image of a woman, drained of all color and life. She always looked scared, constantly looking over her shoulder, like something was following her. God I miss her.

It feels like an eternity since that fateful night. It started out like most Halloweens, my dad informing me of all the haunted houses we would be visiting, and my mother was her usual pale self.

As the day progressed though, my mom began to look increasingly worse, like the life was sucking out of her. Her cheek bones were sunken in like that of a holocaust victim, as if her skeleton was trying to rip free of the skin that held it. I just shrugged it off, as usual. That was my first mistake.

As my dad and I stepped into the cool autumn air, I felt the wind bite into my cheeks and turn them red. As we walked to the car I saw my dad fall to his knees; I quickly ran to his side. His face was that of my mother’s, pale and boney; he was grasping at his chest, and looking around, swiveling his head violently.

I asked him if he was okay. This seemed to snap him back to normal, he hastily replied that he was okay and we needed to get going so we didn’t have to wait in a long line. Too bad we never made it to that damned haunted house.

As we drove the color in my dad’s face returned, but he still looked scared. I asked what had happened, he just replied that he had heartburn. I, again being my carefree self, shrugged it off. As we turned off the main highway onto a side road, that I suppose was meant to take us to the haunted house, I felt a sudden chill creep over me.

We hadn’t been on the road for five minutes before I saw headlights, it was an 18-wheeler for some local supermarket whose name is lost to me. Now at this point a lot of things happened at once; something or someone ran out in front of the truck, the truck swerved into our lane, my dad swerved, but we clipped the truck and went spiraling into the woods that surrounded the road.

Pain. That’s all that came to mind after these events happened, and the loud rumble of an explosion, from what I suppose was the truck that almost killed us. My leg was caught under the caved-in dashboard. I was able to squeeze it out but this only intensified the pain.

I assumed I had a broken leg, or at the very least a major fracture. I observed my surroundings. The car was slammed up against a tree, the front end was basically non-existent. There was smoke cascading up in the distance, with the faint glow of what most likely was the truck on fire. In the midst of this silent chaos, my dad was nowhere to be seen.

As I dragged myself out of the car, I noticed something. I couldn’t see the road, it wasn’t there. I mean it was as if the road had never even existed in the first place. I don’t even remember how I reasoned it out in my head, but again like I did everything, I shrugged it off.

As I hobbled over to my dad’s side, I saw that the door was ripped off and thrown at least fifteen yards to the side of the car. There was a clear path though, outlined in the weeds by blood and ripped pieces of clothing. Had someone dragged my dad to safety? I remember thinking this; it was the only logical thing, unless he dragged himself, but why would he do that?

I followed the trail for what seemed like forever, almost losing it a few times, like he tried to walk at some point, but gave up. After what felt like forever, the woods gave way to an opening. There before me lay a cemetery, but, there was something different about this cemetery that was different from any I had ever seen. I felt a rumbling underneath my feet like the dead were resisting the holds of their earthly prison, the tombstones had no names, but were wrapped in chains.

Standing in the middle was a figure, it was dressed in black, beside him lay my father.

I called out to it then, it turned its head towards me. What I saw I cannot describe, because its appearance did not stay the same for long, one minute it was a skeleton. Next, it was my friends, then my relatives, then a snarling beast whose name I know not. Then he spoke, his voice was hollow yet commanding, it gave me a feeling that I can only describe as hopelessness.

He told me that my parents had committed great crimes. When I asked him what my father had done, he said that he had made a deal, that helped him cheat death, and that he had been running from it since then.

I stood there, still pondering on whether or not this was a dream. I heard an anguished cry gurgle up from my father. Silence. My father was nowhere to be seen, the dark figure sank into the ground, and with him went my sanity and consciousness. Darkness overtook me.

I awoke on the sidewalk next to my house. My mother was gone, the house was cleared out and nobody even remembers me or my parents.

Now here I am in this hospital with the only person in the world I love, my darling wife, Rose. Please take heed of my story, and know you cannot cheat death.

“There honey, it’s done,” I said to Rose soothingly.

“Thank you, baby.”

Knock, knock.

That must be the doctor; I walked over to the door and there stood the doctor in his freshly cleaned bone white jacket, looking very similar to a ghost.

“Tom, I know times have been tough for you and Rose, and over these past years I feel like we’ve all become good friends, so it kills me to tell you… It seems the cancer is terminal.”

That word, terminal, it echoed throughout my mind, it resonated through it like the sound of glass shattering.

“I understand,” I said back.

“I understand this is hard, I’ll give you two a bit to discuss.”

I turned back into the room, and started to walk to her bed, when I heard another knock. I backtracked to the door, and opened it. I saw a man of average height, gray pin-striped suit and a black fedora, his eyes were icy blue and chilled me to the bone. He looked me in the eyes with a piercing stare and said:

“Wanna make a deal?”

Follow Me or Subscribe:

RSS | iTunes/Podcast | YouTube | Twitter | Tumblr | Facebook | Pinterest | Instagram | Email

Are You Still There? An Anonymous Creepypasta

The cigarette tasted delicious as I inhaled the smoke. Oh, I needed this. Holidays were always stressful. I wondered why Mom invited me to her house for Thanksgiving this year. As much as I didn’t want to go back, I knew I had to in order to get some money out of her this time. She eventually figured out that it was the only reason I wanted anything to do with her anymore and didn’t seem to care. Our relationship was past the point of being repaired, but she seemed to be fine with it. Oh, well. I got money out of it, so why the hell did it matter?

I was sitting outside on her porch when I saw our next door neighbor’s son Richie, whom I used to have a crush on growing up, checking his mailbox. He looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. My friend Sarah told me that he was with Georgina now, that whore. How many men is she going to go through before she realizes that she’s a slut? I laughed to myself as I snuffed my cigarette butt out on the cement. I left this town for a reason, but something always pulled me back. Something other than the stupid gossip. And Mom.

I stood up and started to walk back into Mom’s house when I heard Richie call my name.

“Yeah?” I asked, turning around. I jumped as he was only standing a few feet away from me and I should’ve seen him walk up to me in my peripheral vision. I stared into his glacier blue eyes, expecting to see the same ambitious, passionate, and charismatic Richie that I knew before. But they were empty. I was paralyzed in fear to see his chalky face up close. He looked fine at a distance. “What’s wrong…?”

“What are you doing here?” he whispered.

“I…I’m visiting my Mom,” I said.

He shook his head and shot a fearful glance towards the house.

“You have to leave. Things aren’t the same here anymore. The…the town, it’s…” he said.

“Richie, what the fuck is wrong? You’re scaring me,” I asked.

He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned into me. His breath smelled of death as he spoke.

“Things have changed. For the worse. When you look at things here without really looking into them, they appear normal. But…they’re not. They’re…” he said, trailing off. I heard Mom whistling in the background.

“Daniella, sweetheart. Who are you talking to?” she asked. He must’ve lost his mind.

“Richie,” I replied.

“Leave and don’t come back. It’s too late for me,” he whispered.

“Dinner’s ready,” Mom said. I gently pushed him away from me.

“Want to join us?” I asked. He shook his head.

“Daniella, don’t go back in there. No one is who they say they are.”

“Not even you?” I asked.

“No. Not even me. You wonder why you keep coming back, don’t you? It’s this place. They lure you in,” he said.

“Daniella, come on before the food gets cold,” Mom scolded.

“I’m hungry. It was nice seeing you again, Richie,” I mumbled, turning and walking back into the house.

I saw Mom in the kitchen taking lasagna out of the oven and setting it on the counter, which was my favorite but an unusual Thanksgiving dish. “Lasagna, huh?”

“Yeah. Why not?” she asked, smiling. I sat down at the kitchen table and watched her cut me a piece of it, putting it on a plate and setting it down in front of me.

“So, Richie’s really lost his mind, huh?” I asked, trying to laugh about how fucked up he was now but failing miserably.

“Oh, honey. Richie’s been dead for years,” Mom said, laughing.

“What?”

“If you had visited often enough, then you would know that Richie died years ago. Freak accident,” she said as she cut herself a piece of lasagna.

“But…I just-”

“You just saw him? Don’t give me that shit, Daniella. You always used to say that you could see dead people when you were a kid, but you’re a big girl now. Eat your food,” she said.

I grabbed my fork, trembling, and looked down at the lasagna. It seemed to be moving. I leaned in closer to it, slowly peeling off the first layer and gasped when a huge spider scurried out of it, off of the table, and across the room. I kept peeling off layer after layer and found more bugs.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“What did you put in this, Mom?” I asked. I leaned in, removing the last layer of lasagna and gasping at what I saw. A finger.

“What do you mean? It’s the same lasagna I made when you still lived here,” she said, sitting across from me and taking a big bite of her piece. I squirmed as I heard her chomp down on of what sounded like a huge insect inside of her mouth.

“Mom…what’s wrong with you?” I asked.

“What’s wrong with? Me? What’s wrong with you?! Lasagna is your favorite food,” she said.

“I have to go,” I said, standing up. She raised her eyebrows.

“Oh? Where?”

“Home,” I said.

She smiled.

“This IS your home,” she said and grinned at me, flashing pieces of the bug she ate between her teeth.

“No, it isn’t.”

“You were never satisfied with what you had,” she mumbled, standing up and walking towards the kitchen drawers.

“Mom, I’m sorry. Just please stop acting like this.”

“Like what?” she asked, getting a knife out of a drawer.

“What happened to you? To this place?” I asked.

“Things change, honey. People leave, die, disappear. This town is the only town that’s changed for the better. But you just had to go and leave, didn’t you? Had to fuck everything up. Had to fuck up The Plan. If you would’ve stayed, like I asked you to, you would’ve changed with us. You would’ve gotten everything you ever wanted. But you never listened. You still don’t.”

“Please stop,” I mumbled, covering my face. Warm tears filled my eyes and my heart skipped a beat as I heard Mom walking towards me.

She removed my hands from my face and leaned in closer to me. As she got closer and closer, her face began to contort and become disfigured.

“I never wanted you to leave. But now, you never have to. You’re one of us now,” she said, jamming the knife into my stomach and twisting the cold, steel blade. I felt the blood begin to soak my shirt and pants as she hoisted the knife upward. As I slowly began to fade out of consciousness, I saw her for what she really was. Well, for what IT really was.

Mom was right. I never listen. Not even to dead people.


Original story: Are You Still There?

Music by Myuu

Follow Me or Subscribe:

RSS | iTunes/Podcast | YouTube | Twitter | Tumblr | Facebook | Pinterest | Instagram | Email

Heat Death by Avenging Angel

Summer was your favorite season; I said it was mine, too.

Dusk didn’t bring the brisk coolness of night, even as the breeze had kicked up dust fruitlessly towards the Sun, whose shades were dimming and growing heavy with the weight of the dwindling day.

Our smiles stood high, the corners curving upwards like sharp billhooks ready to strike. I took you by the hand, staring into your eyes. I saw my reflection in your glasses, and it made me want to breathe deep. With a big breath of that sickly, jarring evening air, I was certain nothing had disgusted me more than that very moment. But you didn’t know that. You were convinced we had some fucked up semblance of relationship or friendship or something. Anything just to make you think that you had someone in your life, and anything to save you from the wretched loneliness that the rest of society subjected you to. The way that we’d play with their bodies together every time it was over had you convinced that I loved you. You thought you had some kind of immunity, but really, I grew so sick of you over time that I’d purge onto your sleeping body. Brown, slimy clumps of that night’s romantic steak dinner would drip down your face and you’d just laugh. I would stare blankly, like I mostly do. Forgive me for my smiles, and for everything I was about to put you through.

There’s something cute about the way that you confided in me with all of your trust and sincerity. You were drawn to me like a fly to fresh dog shit in the stagnant August heat. We’d often go to the beach on the day you wanted to kill. God, you were so comfortable. Staring at me behind your flushed, amber eyes and scratched-up Ray-bans, your delusions were so dark and misguided. I used to be lonely, too. But as you’d gnash tuna sandwiches with your mouth agape and tell me your ideas for cutting someone apart, my blood ran icy. I would only stare back blankly and think of how alone in this world we really were. It was just the two of us, but you managed to make me feel crowded anyways. I remember how beautiful your scarred and sunburned body was, in spite of its imperfections. I was not infatuated; your flaws were so horribly apparent there was no time for the curse of infatuation. That’s not to say that I didn’t love you back at some point, but your cradle of love was so decrepit and threadbare that it was only a matter of time before it fell through.

That night was a night that I had long prepared for. The last belligerent flecks of day faded away, and I found you nestled into that apathetic corpse. You had slit his throat; you loved to bathe in the fleeting heat that poured from their bodies. You loved to watch their desperate attempts of grasping for life as they would put their hands to their throat, the blood seeping through the cracks in their fingers like water filling a sinking ship. You’d lick your lips and softly run your fingers through bloodied clumps of hair and lean quietly into their ears, giving them soporific whispers of reassurance. Soon, their breathing slowed and came to redundant gurgles and death rattles. Silence always followed, as though your voice had soothed them. But I knew otherwise; your voice was jarring and shrill, even in the most delicate of whispers. I always told you it was lovely.

I grasped the cadaver’s hand. He was a Libra, like me, or so his license said. Maybe we would have been friends. I made a fire with the money in his wallet. This wasn’t a robbery, except of my own emotions. I had lost all feeling. In every sense besides my beating heart, I was as lifeless as he. You ripped open his chest cavity and covered yourself in entrails. Every organ was a plaything, just as I had been. Your laughter was broken, staccato, and deafening. In that moment, I was not livid. I did not seethe, grit my teeth, or do anything else to signify to you that you were the most annoying and disruptive creature to ever stand on two legs. It was impossible; I no longer possessed the ability to hate.

My “playing” of your toys had always been subtle touches and affection. It was adorable to you, the fact that you didn’t like to share. I seldom had the urge to kill, let alone dismember a corpse. You were sawing through his legs as I told you to stop. You looked at me, and I looked back with the biggest smile I had ever made in my entire life. Perhaps it was a bit disconcerting, as I wasn’t one to smile. My expressions were generally emotionless. You smiled, but struggled to keep eye contact. Oh, how easy it was to expose that you were pathetically weak to me. How easily I took the bone saw right from your hands and pressed it to your throat, grabbing your greasy, filthy, terrible excuse for hair and pinning you to the ground, your eyes wide and mine even wider. You screamed the most beautiful sound you have ever uttered. It was so good that you picked this place specifically for how remote it was. You told me a scream would never be heard; a body would never be found. You’re so fucking stupid. That’s what I found to be adorable. You really trusted me and locked yourself in walls of false security that were slowly closing in on you. Now those walls were crushing your body, with bones dismantling and tendons tearing away.

Your screaming turned to pleading as the saw laid against your throat. You knew that I was stronger, that you would not be able to overpower me with your greatest effort. You were helpless, but I was not happy. Happiness is an emotion that is felt through entertainment or the success of a goal, but this was neither. It was cold and emotionless, like I had been to you. That was never a red flag, I guess. You were pretty fucked in the head, too. But you had emotions, having drained mine away. I would never get them back. I could only feel subtle tinges of bitter contempt as I slowly sawed through your throat, watching as blood pooled onto your white skin and spread like fire to paper. The saw burned through your neck, and I eventually heard the same gurgling and death rattles. I gave no whisper, feeling that you probably had thought something to yourself about it almost being over or whatever. I stood up once you no longer made noise. I didn’t want to touch you. Even in this moment you made me feel disinterested and lethargic.

Summer is a disgusting season, but you don’t deserve something you liked so much. I cut you up that night and put your remains in our freezer, which I planned on disposing of. One last time, I subjected you to my frigid gaze before closing the door shut.

Original Story

Follow Me or Subscribe:

RSS | iTunes/Podcast | YouTube | Twitter | Tumblr | Facebook | Pinterest | Instagram | Email