Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-28428152-20170216014331

Second chunk of tge first story in The Book of Agony trilogy. Part I here: http://creepypasta.wikia.com/wiki/Thread:572171?useskin=oasis

I awoke the next morning to dazzling sunshine and a chorus or singing birds, as though nothing unpleasant had ever existed in the world. I eventually managed to drag myself downstairs, where a mountain of buttery pancakes and a towering glass of orange juice greeted me. I suppose that this could’ve been their way of apologizing, but after the previous night's events, I seriously felt that the universe was mocking me by being so cheerful.

“Mery morning!” my mother sang from the kitchen.

I sat down opposite Dad, who was hidden behind a ginormous newspaper and already dressed for work.

“D’ja sleep well, sport?” he asked off handedly. Yep, the universe was definitely mocking me.

“Well, how ‘bout it, son?” he added, with a sharp look from over the top of the paper. It was little difficult to take him seriously when the headline read: “MAN CLAIMS HIS DOG GAVE HIM MOUTH CANCER!” with a picture of a tiny little old man holding the leash of a colossal Tibetan Mastiff.

“Umm,” I replied, “good, i guess” I took a tentative sip of my orange juice.

“Didn’t let the bedbugs bite, did you?” Mom chimed over the running sink, giving a high, false chuckle.

“Nooo…” I said through a mouthful of pancake, shaking my head. What sort of game were they playing here, exactly?

“Say, sport,” Dad said seriously, folding up his newspaper and leaning sternly across the table. What had I done now! “You haven’t by any chance seen my pair of underwear, have you?”

I just stared at him.

“Oh, if you’d just let me buy you some--” Mom interjected.

“Penny, we both know how I feel about this!”

“But honey, it makes your thingy taste --”

At this, my father cleared his throat, turning his attention back to me. “Well, if you do see them--”

“You need more than one pair, Dave.” Dad closed his eyes, quite visibly restraining himself.

“Look, sport,” he said opening his eyes, “ just tell me if you see them, okay? And if you did take them, then that’s a pretty nasty trick, Ben. Hey, how about I drive you to school today? Sound like a plan?”

“No, “ I said calmly, “ I think I’ll ride the bus today.”

“But--”

“Dad, I want to ride the bus.”

He leaned back into his chair, and tapped his fingers on the table awkwardly for a moment, before getting up to go to work.

The cold winter sunlight was very warm, coming through the window. Not having slept much the night before, I swiftly drifted off into a light doze. About ten minutes we got to school, I woke up, and noticed a boy my age staring at me. I've never seen him before; I figured he must be a new kid. Like I said, I was a shy kid, so I didn’t get up to talk to him, although I was put off by his constant staring. Something looked off about him, too, he was very gaunt and sickly looking. I tried to ignore it, but I could feel his eyes burning a hole in my face. I decided that I’d try to talk to him after we got off the bus, but I never saw him get off the bus, and I definitely gotten off before him. The bus was empty as it drove away, too. I must have missed him.

I didn’t see him again until the next morning, when he stared at me the whole bus ride again. Again he vanished. I saw him at lunch, though, where he stared at me, not eating a thing. He wasn’t on the afternoon bus. It wasn’t until the next day, Friday, that I told anybody about this. I had suffered another uncomfortable bus ride, and at lunch I told my friends, Bobby and Thomas.

“This kid sounds creepy,” Bobby said as he cut a piece of pork chop. “Hey, you think the pork chops taste like cheese, or is it just me?”

“Lemme try some,” I said, for I had chosen a barbeque sandwich. “Nah… taste more like hotdog to me.”

“I thought it tasted more like mayonnaise,” Thomas added.

“I’m too hungry to care,” Bobby shrugged.

“Same,” said Thomas. “Hey,” he said to me after a moment,” maybe that kid has a crush on you!”

“What, like he’s gay or something?”

“Yeah,” Bobby whispered, “you could, like, let him see you steal one of the nudie magazines from the library again. Then, he’d know you’re straight!”

“Maybe….” There was a contemplative silence.

“Barbeque’s good,” I said casually as I aimed my spoon to hot a girl with a pen the next table over.

“Nice shot,’ Thomas complimented after it smacked her in the eye. “Hey, where is that kid, anyways?”

I scanned the cafeteria in a moment, spotting him alone at a table to himself. “There,” I said, pointing a rude finger at the boy. As I did so, he casually got up and started to walk away. ‘See? He’s getting up.”

“I don’t see anybody.”

“Yeah, there’s nobody over there. You should see a doctor. Hey, Thomas, did you the new episode of Lube Man last night?”

“Yeah!” Thomas exclaimed. “That scene in the Mexican Restaurant's bathroom had me sweating from the tension!”

And as they talked about the latest adventures of their favorite superhero, with nothing to trouble their minds. As I wasn’t much interested in a man whose superpower was to make things slippery, I turned things over in my mind.

Why couldn’t they see him, if they weren’t joking? Was I crazy? Or was it real? If so.. What did he want? Did he even want anything? What if he wanted to kill me, or what if…. What if he was already dead? At this thought, I gave a very melodramatic gasp.

“Uh, Ben, you okay?” Thomas asked worriedly.

“Yeah, I just… uh… I farted,” I lied stupidly.

“Thanks for the gift, bubble butt,” Bobby chided before returning to his conversation with Thomas about Lube Man defeating a creepy old man who owned a toy store. I spent the rest of lunch continuing my musings.

I hadn’t really expected to see the gaunt-faced boy until Monday, so I was somewhat surprised when I saw him on the afternoon bus. I was about to confront him, when he came up to me first

“Hello,” I said stiffly.

“Where is it?” the boy asked harshly. He was obviously above such annoyance as common courtesy.

“What?” I asked incredulously.

“Do not feign ignorance. You know precisely what I desire.’

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Do I know you?”

His face twisted in a rather nasty sneer. ‘If you do not presently know what I want, then you will in good time. Even then, you will not know what I am really after.” And without further ado, he took residence in a seat and resumed his gazing. I was seriously weirded out by this kid now.

“Who were you talking to?” a reputably obnoxious fifth grader in the seat in front of me asked.

“To Little Boy Oogle Eyes over there,” I said, pointing to the mysterious boy.

“That seats empty, freak,” he said before turning back around.

“Is it your imaginary friend?” the fifth grader chived after a minute.

“No,” I snapped.

“Is too. You know, only babies have imaginary friends.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Aww,” he cooed in a mockful baby tone, “ Is ickle shmudikums gonna cwy?”

“Shut the hell up, dickface.”

“Does baby need a bottle?”

“At least I’m not a--”

“Baby needs his mommy, doesn’t he?’

“At least I got a mom who loves me.”

“My mom loves me,” he said defensively.

“Yeah,” I chuckled, “Only a mother could love a face like that!”

“Well, your mom must look like a gorilla to pop out a kid as ugly as you!

“Shut up, butt-wipe!”

“I bet your moms a circus act! It must be cool seeing a gorilla fling shit!” he spat. Then he started imitating a monkey by scratching his armpits. That was the last straw.

“Hey, numb-nuts, come here,” I commanded.

“What?” he asked, leaning forward with his face still looking like a chimp. I grabbed his hair with my left hands, pulled his neck over the seat, and pummelled his face with my right. His squeals only fueled my fire.

“You broke his nose in three places!” my mother screeched.

“But the nurse isn’t a doctor! How can she tell?” I screamed back.

“A lobotomized bag of piss could tell you where it broke! His nose looked like somebody jammed a jackhammer to it!”

“What does ’lobotomized’ even mean?” I demanded.

“Oh, nevermind!” she grumped.

After the bus driver had pulled me off, he’d patched the kid up and made us sit separately in the front two seat until everybody else got off, then drove us back to the school. He’d called the school from his cellphone, who must’ve called our parents, because they were already there. The fifth-grader was sent to the nurse, and I was sent to the principal's office with my parents. Miraculously, I was let off with a wee’s bus suspension, rather than out-of-school suspension. Needless to say, my parents were royally pissed. At the moment, we were in the car on the way home, the black winter night already nigh.

“Look,: my father shot forcefully, “you better damn well hope his parents don’t press charges, or your little ass is fuck’n grass, you hear me? You fucked him up pretty bad, kid!”

“But he called mom a shit-flinging gorilla!”

At this he reached around the seat and slapped me in the mouth, screaming. “Watch your goddamned mouth!”

“But that’s what he said!” I protested.

“I don’t care!” he roared. “You don’t swear!”

“But you just--”

“He is an adult, Ben!” Mom yelled. “You’re only ten years old!”

“Ben, when we get home, you're to go straight to the bathroom and wash your mouth out with soap,” my Dad growled,” And make sure it’s the liquid, this time. Apparently, you didn’t learn from the bar soap last time.’

“But Dad--”

“No buts!”

“But--”

“Not a word! Y’hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” I mumbled dejectedly.

“And come back downstairs after you’ve got the soap,” he added. “ I’m not about to sit up there for half an hour.”

“Half an hour?” I whined.

“Make it an hour!” he said sternly.

“But Dad--”

“Does it need to be two hours?”

“No, sir,” I mumbled.

“Good. he sighed and relaxed into his seat.

“Dave,” my Mother said softly to my father,” do you really think an hour’s necessary? I mean, it seems a little--”

“Abso-lutely,” he said with relish, patting her knee and giving her a reassuring smile. “Boy’s gotta learn somehow, right?” After a moment, he muttered half to himself, “Yes, yes, absolutely necessary. Hey, Penny, how about some Domino's eh?”

“What about Benjamin?” she asked curtly.

“There should be some bologna in the freezer. Might have some freezer burn, but it’ll be alright.”

“Fine,” she sighed, “but no meat lover’s, okay?”

“Well, what kind do you want?”

“Extra meat.”

“Deal! Oh, and uh, sport?” he addressed me, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.

“Yes, Dad?”

“Don’t swallow the soap, it’ll give you mud’butt.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Diarrhea.”

“Oh.”

We eventually made it home, and I did exactly as I’d been told. I went straight to the upstairs bathroom, filled my mouth with soap (God, I can taste it just thinking about it), and went downstairs. It wasn’t easy to endure them gloating over their pizza, but I figured that’s what I got for caving that kid’s face in. After an excruciating hour, I was finally allowed to spit out the soap into the sink.

“Rinse your mouth out with water a few times,” Dad called from the living room. “Should do the trick.”

“Where’d you say the bologna was, again?” I asked, leaning over the sink, spitting out the last remnants of Watermelon-Kiwi hand soap.

“I’sh in da freesher nesh do da fish,” he answered through a mouthful of pizza.

“Can I put it in the microwave?”

“No.”

“But it’s frozen!” I protested.

“Thaw it out under your armpit.” Apparently Mom found this hilarious, because I heard a series of short, girlish giggles.

“Umm… I’m okay….”

“Damn, honey, this pizza is so warm and rich,” Dad gloated as I was forced to watch them eat their pizza while I only had frozen, fishy bologna.

“The crust is so thick and soft,” Mom added with exaggerated foodgasms, “ and the cheese is so moist and gooey.”

I glared at them and cursed them internally for somehow savoring their glorious pizza for nearly an hour.

“I sure wish Ben could have some,” Dad taunted as he reached for a particularly tasty looking piece.

“Do you have to rub it in?” I snapped.

“Go to bed, sport.” 