Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25602744-20141031040537

[Hello, this is my first attempt at a Creepypasta. I write short stories every now and again and have always wanted to do one of these so hopefully I didn't screw it up too bad. Please critique and be as brutal as you see fit. I did a few grammar sweeps but I know I must have missed a few things. Once I have some feedback, and assuming it’s not the worst thing ever put to page, I will definitely go back and recheck a few more times for grammar. Also if you have a better idea for a name please share. Thank you in advance.]

Let me share a quick foreword. This is a transcription of evidence taken from a private residence where a family of four lived. I read it as an recruit in training of sorts at the local police station. Since that time they fired me. I figured I’d return the gesture by sharing something that I wasn’t supposed to. They could probably identify me if they wanted to through this evidence, but it’d only bring further light to the story at hand.

This case was quickly, “let go” after no signs of foul play were found at the scene of the report. With that said, I personally found it to be by far the most interesting thing that happened while I was at the station. Things in brackets are notes from me. Take a look and decide for yourself.

 I came here to ask a question. I mean, what makes something real? I figured here at least I can’t be taken away or written off. Insanity is one thing. What I’m talking about, well, you know that old adage if a tree falls? Let me start at the beginning and you can speak for yourself.

I lived on the third story of “Clean Woods” apartment complex. It was a quiet place all things considered; neighbors were pretty nice and left you alone for the most part. There weren’t any dogs. My particular apartment was in the back of the building and looked out over a field and a canal. Anyway. When it rained really heavy my roof would leak. I’d have to throw down some old towels and a bucket. That particular night it was heavy as all hell, and I was getting real tired of the dripping sound. I went over to my living room window and opened up the blinds so I could see if the rain was letting up at all.

If you’ve ever stared at one of those hypnosis wheels before, you’ll understand the feeling I got staring out through the rain. At first I only saw the white blur of the raindrops. After a bit, though, I looked through the raindrops to the other side of the canal. Usually there are lights blasting from the apartment building opposite to mine, but this time the windows were dark and the only lights came from the parking lot. I saw, her, out in the open between two of the buildings; some kind of, woman, standing perfectly still with her arms partially up in the air. The distance was too far and the rain was pumping too hard for me to make out any major features, but I do remember, dumb prick that I was, that I felt we’d probably get along really well. I like people who are down to earth.

I watched her for like five minutes and she never moved, not once. Anyways. After the five minutes I closed my blinds. I made a sandwich, laid down in bed, watched some TV, and went to sleep. I didn’t really think twice about it.

The next morning the sun was out and it was a weekend. It was a win-win in my book. I crawled out of bed and started walking toward my kitchen for whatever generic store-bought cereal I happen to have in the cupboard. Then I thought what you’re probably thinking now. So I went back over to the blinds and pushed them up with only a bit of trepidation. Nothing. At least nothing at first; but as I stared at the spot where she had been more closely I couldn’t help but feel something. It’s hard to explain, but let me try. Do you know about the blind spot? We all have it, stare at this thing:

[At this point there was a “drawing” so to speak. Since the medium this was transcribed from isn’t great at being photocopied I found the closest thing I could on the internet.]













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<p class="MsoNormal">If you’re staring at the cross close your left eye and slowly move your head back and forth; eventually the dot disappears. You can do the same thing staring at the dot, just close your right eye.

<p class="MsoNormal">For me though, this is what that spot where she had been standing looked like no matter what. The place she had been standing was always there, but something was not being shown, the light not being projected onto my corneas. It wasn’t dark, just blurry. I tried, like any sane person, to convince myself I was just making it up. Anyways.

<p class="MsoNormal">I still had to get on with my life. I ate my breakfast, making sure to not look in the direction of my window. That night, it rained again. I was sitting in my living room, watching more TV, and trying to stop myself from glancing over at my curtains. At this point I was afraid to look, and yet not looking was worse. Not looking was making my hair itch and my palms sweat. Still I resisted.

<p class="MsoNormal">I got up to walk over to my bathroom, still desperately trying to keep my eyes on the TV. My apartment is small so short of being in the bedroom or bathroom you can see the whole thing by standing basically anywhere inside. By the time I reached the bathroom door I noticed it. Not the window; the carpet. There was this one spot. I’m not sure how I couldn’t notice it before, maybe because I never had anything to compare it to. It was blurry; blurry in the same way that, she, was.

<p class="MsoNormal">Except that this couldn’t be her. It was too, small. I didn’t know what to do. I stood at the door for a few minutes while the local news babbled on. Eventually, I took a knife out of my utensil drawer. Then I grabbed my phone, typed in 911, and placed my thumb on the call button. I walked over to the spot; it never ceased its blurry aura. I dropped to my knees in front of it, placed the phone next to me on the floor, and then waved my hand over the spot.

<p class="MsoNormal">For a second my hand was blurry too. I mean it was all still there; it just had the same blurry aura over it. A few seconds later it all sharpened up. It became a real spot again. My hand shook uncontrollably as I slowly moved it away, loathing whatever might be underneath. Carpet. Just carpet. Except, there was something different; an outline in the shape of an imperfect circle, about two inches in diameter. It looked like someone had pressed down a cookie-cutter there. I tried to rationalize it, but couldn’t.

<p class="MsoNormal">I grasped a few of the carpet fibers between my thumb and two fingers. I pulled at it, and it slowly rose up giving almost no resistance. Attached to the circle was not just the carpet but a decent amount of cement as well. At the bottom of this piece, just past the cement, was what I can only describe as red burnt plastic. It left a clear full hole looking down into the apartment below. I was breathing heavy, trying to keep myself under control. At the very least I was bringing my downstairs neighbors into this, and having any human contact at that moment would have been a gift from heaven itself.

<p class="MsoNormal">I looked down into it. Pitch black. I couldn’t see anything so I cupped my hands around my eyes, but still there was nothing. I thought maybe that all of their lights were off, but realized that at the very least the lights from the outside of our building would still shine through their windows. So, there were no windows. If it was a gift, it was from hell. Just then I caught a glimpse of a red light, sort of like a candle, that flashed across the darkness. Only, it seemed very far down, as if it were at the bottom of the world’s deepest well. The light got brighter and brighter until I could finally see something. It was me, hunched over and looking down into the floor.

<p class="MsoNormal">I fell back off my knees onto the floor and forced the phone back into my hand. I thrashed the piece of cement back into the hole but it would only go in half way. I stumbled to my feet and overturned piles of papers and trash looking desperately for my car keys.

<p class="MsoNormal">As I found them, I whirled around, beginning to head for the front door, when the piece of floor popped back out. I froze for a second, dropped my keys, and fumbled to get them back in my hand. A static noise, very feint, rose up from the floor in that spot, but not just that spot. Little blurry spots filled my vision. Some were in the floor, but some were also in the walls and the ceiling. Not a million, but one every so often, here or there, in places that’d make it easy to watch me while I eat, watch me when I sit on my couch, in my room, on my bed. I flung my front door open, mashing the call button on my phone.

<p class="MsoNormal">On the precipice of the third story steps my phone dropped out of my hands and crashed down to the cement below. I ran down after it, almost slipping off the wet steps. I knew right then that I had seen her out of the corner of my eye, standing across the canal. I didn’t want to look though. As I moved down the steps I noticed all the doors were open. In each, as through the hole, was nothing but pitch black. I panicked, thinking I saw hands move through those dark spaces, hands with rotting teeth jutting out of the back of them in circular configurations. Hands with fingers made of dark red skin that had popped veins running along them. In one door I saw the faintest outline of a blue-skinned man’s head shaking back and forth. I had no choice but to look away. First I looked down, but my head snapped up to peer out across the canal. It was like I couldn’t control myself. Is it even myself?

<p class="MsoNormal">I was running the whole time, but I still remember it vividly. What I saw was eight, maybe nine, people standing around her; each was biting viciously at a different part of one of her legs. Not eating, just one continuous bite down as if they were attached to her through the mouth. Their hands were tugging at their faces as if they were trying to pull themselves away but couldn’t. Her hands were higher than the night before, almost completely upraised. One hand was empty and in the other was something that at first I thought was a baby. The more I looked at it though, the more I realized it was a man. The man’s whole body was shriveled down as if he had been crushed to the size of a small child. I heard echoes across the canal, as if he was talking to me. He simply said, “we crave.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I made it to my car, unlocked it as fast as I could under the circumstances, and jumped in shoving the door closed. I started the car, thought I put it in reverse when it was really in drive, and drove straight through some hedges in front of the parking space. I drove as fast as I could to the front of the development, waiting only for the gate that blocks the entrance to open up. At that moment I looked down at my steering wheel. A small blur covered the center. As I watched, it sharpened, started to push out, and that feint static returned, only this time clear words amongst the white noise, “she takes us through pain.”

<p class="MsoNormal">I forced the door open as fast as I could unlock it and rolled out of the driver’s seat. The car kept rolling forward and through the gate as I ran around the side of the entrance and out of the neighborhood. I had forgotten to grab my phone but had no intention of going back; I just kept running and running. Eventually I made it to a nearby gas station that was open 24/7.

<p class="MsoNormal">When the clerk saw how panicked I was he called the police for me. They, upon begging and pleading from myself, took me to the station instead of taking me home. I slept there while they returned to the apartment complex to investigate my tale. Even then I knew they would never believe me.

<p class="MsoNormal">When they returned they only had a small square box. They told me they didn’t open it in respect of my privacy. They told me it was all that was in the apartment, that the rest was empty. They checked the next morning with the land-lord and confirmed I lived there, so they figured that I was just mentally unstable. Despite my incessantness that the police open the box they stayed firmly of the stance that they wanted nothing to do with it. I couldn’t help but feel like they had already looked.

<p class="MsoNormal">I got checked mentally in the weeks that followed, staying in several different places but never home. I accepted my insanity at that point, and that I’d be seeing a shrink for the rest of my life. I had to pay for quite a bit of repair to the neighborhood, the downed hedges, and damages to the gate from my car. During that period I grew weird habits. My body craved for me to eat paper and dirt. The doctor called it Pica disorder. I also couldn’t look through windows or I would throw up. I took pills but they were only ever a temporary fix.

<p class="MsoNormal">The box, meanwhile, stayed shut and placed away in a safety deposit container at the bank. When I finally did retrieve it, I took it to a nearby mall, so that if there was something horrible in it I’d be surrounded by people.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sitting down in the food court during lunch hour, I pried the lid open. Inside were two things. A picture of me and a small wooden carving that looked like some kind of religious symbol. The picture was of me looking through the hole in my floor. Except, chunks of my hair were missing, and my jaw bone was exposed through my skin. Even worse, I could see a grin on my face, as if I was taking pleasure in it.

<p class="MsoNormal">I ran over to another person in the food court begging them to take a look at the picture. They looked at it briefly and told me to fuck off. So, it was real. It had to be real at that point. Panicked still, I threw it all in the garbage, but as I left the mall I had realized I should bring it to the police. I went back in.

<p class="MsoNormal">As I pulled at the big glass doors that led into the mall I could feel a very hot wind rush at my face. It was if I had stepped into an oven. As the door swung close my mind processed my surroundings. A single small room, which was pitch black except for a feint amber glow that gave just enough light to see the barren walls. The doors were gone, everything was gone. I crawled around on my hand and knees screaming for help.

<p class="MsoNormal">Static filled my ears, but this time loudly. I heard voices, as if a thousand people were speaking at once. The voices came through the static in a way that made me think that maybe they weren’t voices at all. At first they said, “Through nothing shown sane.” I banged on the walls but they made no sound. Next they said, “One small hell is what we crave.” I bit down on my own hand just to make sure I was still alive, I bled. Finally they said, “She takes us through pain.”

<p class="MsoNormal">That was the last time I’ll hear anything besides this constant static. The last time I’ll hear anything beyond the ever-lasting white noise. Weeks passed, in which I prayed to die of hunger. I didn’t. Eventually I saw it. A blur, on the wall. As it solidified I could see there was a hollow that I could grasp at, and so I tugged at it, pulling it into the room and leaving a hole in its wake.

<p class="MsoNormal">I looked through. A house was on the other side; a big house that was significantly more upper-class than my apartment. A family sat on a couch. I screamed, I hollered, but they could not hear me. That’s when I had the idea. I said I came here to ask you a question. Why am I here? I tore it off; I tore myself off and wrote this. I had to, I had to, and I had to. Why am I here? I said the words, the words the static told me. Maybe not all at once, but at some point we all say those words, I’m sure you have too.

<p class="MsoNormal">I know you can’t help me, but there are others. Other holes. I see them laughing and crying, but they never see me. I’ll tear myself till I’m gone. I’ll push myself through the holes. Then maybe I can be at peace.

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<p class="MsoNormal">That’s it for the transcription. This was the only piece of evidence found at the scene. No dead bodies, no people in the walls. The family was quite disturbed when they found it and apparently moved out not more than a few weeks later. Take it for what you will.

<p class="MsoNormal">~ Thomas <ac_metadata title="[Static Words] Looking for feedback. (Unreviewed)"> </ac_metadata>