Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25689560-20141115222305

Does anyone want to make a creepypasta when we take turns writing short scriptures? If so, I'll start. By the way, the story shouldn't be more than 20 paragraphs

I am running through a tall corridor. The walls are stained with blood and the floor is covered with moss. The scent of rotting meat urges me to hurl. The sound of distant footsteps get louder. The sound of metal clanging and screams fill the halls. The corridor ends. My watch reads 2:36 P.M. when I hear a shrill voice to behind me saying,"Game over."

I awaken.

These dreams started when my stepfather, Brad, died in a car accident. He was a kind man with a deep voice but he had the smile of a maniac. It didn't matter much, considering my mother loved him so. She had fallen in love with an artistic man, who would spend hours drawing images with no real base. They rarely talked, and when they did, it would end subtly. When we saw him in the hospital, my mother bawled her eyes out. Feeling sympathetic, I awkwardly pat her back.

After the death of Brad, the small family tore apart. My mother started to write on the walls. The scriptures had no real pattern, but they were enough to frighten me. She starting drinking and smoking. She then left completely, leaving a note that listed her regrets, eventually saying bye, with a spot of red.  