Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-29138396-20161117013540

This is my first real attempt at a creepypasta. While I am not over flowing with pride for it I don't think it is all that bad either.

I blew into my hands to warm them up but no matter how many times I had done the exact same thing in these past 20 minutes it did nothing to help.

Standing there on this cold November night I waited for the flashing I had seen coming from the forest the past few nights. No matter how hard I tried I just could not make out what was going on through the broken shards of glass that I called a window. As I waited, and waited, the temperature in the room slowly grew colder and fog began to cling to the window almost as if what I was searching for was meant to not be seen. Taking the sleeve of my shirt I carefully wiped a small corner of the window so that I could see, subtly hoping that the remaining condensation would serve to mask the fact that there was a hidden observer to these nights events.

Minutes ticked by one after the other after the other, slowly pulling with them the progression of time and the events of the night. After an hour of watching and waiting I found it quite difficult to keep focus on what I was looking for. Given just a few more minutes I found my eyelids taking on a mind of their own as I drifted off to sleep in my makeshift post.

I was awoken suddenly from my sleep by the sounds of voices and foot steps from below me. I could hear them talking, what sounded like an entire group of men! I listened intently to what they were saying but to my dismay they seemed to be speaking in a language that I was not familiar with but one that I felt like I knew. Before I could figure out what to do, whether it be to stay put or to hide myself away, I heard their foot steps as they stomped up the stairs. They were moving fast, as if they were taking the stairs two at a time, their foot steps heavy on the old, worn wood.

Panicked, I pulled the curtain away from the wall and around myself, hoping furiously that if they were to storm into this very room that they would perhaps not notice me. And so I stood there, trying to muffle my labored breaths so that I could hear them. I stood there, listening for any breath, step, or word that would be made by these phantom men, yet I was only greeted by the stiff tune of silence. As I waited I could feel my limbs growing numb from the cold yet I dared not to move about should I be heard.

After several minutes of silence I heard one of them speak, this time I could understand them.

"I don't think we should be in here", one of them said.

Such a comment was met with what seemed like mockery from the rest of the group. How could he be so foolish to believe in ghosts they chided. After all, they were only here to see if some of the blood was still left behind.

"Blood?", I wondered. "Why would there be blood in my house? And why would there be people here to see it?".

Before I was able to finish my thought I heard the door as it swung open slowly, its warn hinges squealing in protest. As I stood there, paralyzed in fear I could hear them enter the room, walk around a bit and then leave with nothing more than a few murmurs of dissappointment.

As soon as I heard the front door close I threw the curtain out from in front of me only to be greeted by the sight of a derelict house, my house. The wallpaper was peeling, the floor covered in a layer of dust, save from a few groups of shoe prints, and all of the furnature had been removed. It was as if no one had lived here in many years, but how? I had been living here this entire time, I even so much as remember everything and where it was. Yet, it was no longer there, and seemed to have been removed long ago.

Again, I felt a chill in my hands.

"Perhaps this has something to do with the lights", I say to myself, not wanting to confront reality.

"Yes, I... I just need to wait for them. Just one more time." 