Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-24486291-20140405231955

I'm not one to be using this board (I'm as egotistical about my writing as they come), but I understand that I should probably get a little "extra advice" from my fellow Creepypastians about the next story I've been writing.

I didn’t see the silhouette moving down the dark sidewalk until after it had knocked me down hard into a roadside puddle as it rushed by, following after another figure. As if I wasn’t wet enough from the rain, I was now face down in a miniature lake.

I crawled to my feet and shook the water from my leather jacket as best I could. Plodding down the bike lane beside the road, hearing that squelchy squeaking sound of my shoes against the concrete, I made my way to the alleyway in which both the shadow and the figure had disappeared.

As I made my way to the thin passage between a Gold’s Gym and a McDonalds (no, the irony in this did not escape me) in which people usually came to make love to strangers, drink toilet wine and otherwise throw their lives in a garbage disposal, I heard an ear shattering scream followed by the emergence of the shady form that had pushed me out into the road.

I could see that it was not some foreign creature now; it was a man in all black clothing, but his face was not concealed. He flashed me a wink and a smile. Before he faded away into the light mist that the downpour had created as he walked back down the road, I caught a glimpse of something on his jacket that was quite similar to mine. It was a small nametag:

'Hello! My name is'

      THOMAS

I darted down the street, taking care to avoid the hazy shine of the streetlights and the headlights of the few cars that passed by and stopped at the orifice of the alleyway. I couldn’t see five feet in front of me with there being no light down the alley, but the voice that emanated from within was as clear as day:

“Hey! Hey, you! C’mere! Help me out, would ya?”

<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="font-size:14.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:11.0pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"ArialNarrow","sans-serif"">His accent almost made me chuckle. It was a true stereotypical Italian one. Goodfellas, “You come into my house on the day my daughter is to be married,” and all that jazz. “Ay! You just gonna sit there with your thumb up your ass?! Come over here and… agh Christ, this hurts!” he seemed to bellow out at me.

I had forgotten that he could probably see me a little better than I could see him and had noticed that I was just standing there with a smirk on my face. I trudged towards the general direction of his voice, feeling the rainwater build up in my dark sweat pants and my undershirt as waterfalls cascaded over the sides of the two buildings.

"Ouch! Shit! Watch where you're goin', would ya?" he screamed, now only a foot away. In my blindness, I had appeared to kick his leg.

"Are you alright? What's wrong?" I asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Take an oggle, why don'tcha?"

As a car went by, the alleyway was filled with a brilliant burst of light for a split second and I saw that he spot on his leg in which I had tripped on him--right in the thigh--had a large switchblade knife embedded in it, about an inch or two deep. The suit pants he was wearing were starting to become drenched with both rain and blood.

"Can you get up?" I questioned.

My eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He pressed himself against the slick brick wall and attempted to pull himself to his feet.

"AUGH!" he shrieked. He slowly slid back down and sat with a plop on the gravel beneath him.

"I'm going to go get some help," I claimed in a mildly triumphant voice.

"I was just about to suggest the same thing," he said with bitter sarcasm, mocking my tone. "There's an emergency box on the sidewalk over there." He grunted in pain.

I cocked my head back toward the street, noticing the small dark blue house-shaped box on a pole that said "EMERGENCY."

"It'll alert the ambulance... go press the button on it, they'll come," he said with apparent effort.

I slogged over to the box and weakly slapped the large red button on the front. A small whirring not unlike a police siren came from inside, indicating that help was on its way.

As I strode back to the man, he tried once more to get up and failed.

"Hey, sit down. Help's coming," I warmly said in a calm and soothing voice. "Now, do you know who did this to you?"

"N- No, no idea," he stammered with obvious guilt creeping across his face.

"Now, are you keeping something from me?" I asked in a teasing mother-like tone.

"Wh-What's it to ya, Columbo?" he spat out.

"Nothing, really. I'm just trying to assist you," I told him in a quasi-soothing voice.

"Alright, alright," he ashamedly said as he plunged his veiny fist into the pocket on the bloodied side of his pants and pulled out a knick-knack snowglobe.

"What's this about?" I asked, taking the snowglobe from his hand and swirling it around, watching the little "snowflakes" settle on a miniature replica of New York.

"What is this, Twenty Questions? Dammit, where's that ambulance..? It... it's a present for my mom, alright? I was taking a little vacation and I decided pick up a lil' somethin' for her on my trip. Some kinda memorabilia or somethin', ya know?"

"That so?" I said, audibly uninterested. "What does this have to do with the knife in your leg?" The puddle underneath him had started to turn a weak red, like when you first drop food coloring into a cup of water.

"I might have... pocketed it. Unintentionally. It was an accident. Don't go accusin' me o' nothin'!" he shouted, defending himself.

"Where'd you get it?" I almost screamed back. The rain and wind had picked up now and was threatening to drown us in the small alley. A roar of thunder first grumbled like an upset stomach beneath the clouds and then suddenly jumped out, crackling like a glowing fire on Christmas Eve.

"Lil' mom 'n' pop shop down on the corner o' Church and Dwayne. You know the place?"

I knew the place. They were known for their strict action against loiterers and such. It wasn't but a block away from here.

"Yeah, I do. And... you think this man came after you for this little thing?"

"I dunno!" he bellowed, obviously frustrated.

I allowed the snow to subside once more on the pseudo-NYC and then dropped it into my pocket, hearing it clink against my keys.

"You gonna take that to my mom? That's nice of ya."

I cleared my throat and spoke:

"Not quite."

I watched his expression turn from genuine confusion to horrific realization as I fumbled through my pocket past my keys, wallet, a roll of duct tape, and a marker, grabbed a small plastic card and pinned it to my chest:

'Hello! My name is'

       GERALD

"Oh shit, you're... you're... you're one of 'em!" he stuttered, fumbling over each word.

Without saying a word, I dove my hand back into the side of my pants and wrenched out the tape and marker from my pocket. As I saw him attempt to get up again and drop, I walked to a stinking garbage bin, put the roll of tape against it, uncapped the marker and scrawled "SHOPLIFTER" on a strip.

As he was pawing at the wall, I asked, "Can I borrow this?" and yanked the knife from his leg. His howls were unbearable, but I could manage. I sliced the strip of tape with the accusation written on it off and slapped it against his mouth.

"Mmfff! Mmfff!"

His muffled screams echoed throughout the alley, but besides a dog or two barking in response, no one was listening and no one would hear.

"If you say so," I said with a twinge of remorse and quickly placed the switchblade back into its holding place in his thigh. He writhed around in pure agony. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to end it. I took in a deep breath and, with all my strength, stomped down on the knife.

It wasn't enough. It never was, was it? I tried again.

Kick. Kick. Kick.

Snap.

It had embedded itself in his femur and his femoral artery, spraying out a fresh fountain of blood. All of his limbs shot out, and for a moment, his eyes were open so wide that it appeared that he had no eyelids and I could tell that his mouth was agape even under the tape. Then, all at once, he fell limp and his eyes went hazy.

He was gone.

Even on this chilly, rainy night, I felt as if I was drenched more so in sweat than rain.

"Finally finished, are we?"

The voice made me jump. It had come from behind. It was Thomas, the shadowy figure who had pushed me out into the road.

"Thomas. How long have you been there?"

"Not long, but long enough."

"I thought I told you to finish what you've started."

"I figured you could handle this one, Gerald. C'mon, it wasn't so hard, was it?"

It wasn't so hard, but it was upsetting. I had never signed up for this.

I made my way out of the alley. "Hey," he said jokingly, "you've got somethin' on you." He pointed at me. I was covered from head to toe in blood, even with the rain. I had to dump these clothes before someone saw me like this.

"I saw what you did. I saw the way you did it, too. Why such hesitation?" he asked, as if he didn't know.

"I told you that I don't like doing this. I'd rather be back at the gas station than cleaning up after our little thieves."

"Tony already had the register covered tonight. Besides, you know the ru-"

Thomas' face was illuminated by a blue and red flashing light. It was the ambulance.

They were on their way to help.

We bolted out of the alleyway and made our way for the store. The conditions had gone from being a strong storm to a tsunami-like monsoon. I considered the fact that I was going to be the number one suspect if I was caught covered in the victim, so I trucked Thomas, sending him flying into a roadside ocean.

"Karma, bitch!" I yelled back, feeling as though I was the more just of the two of us.

I arrived at the store at the moment that the paramedics arrived at the alley, swarming like a frenzy of flies over, well, a carcass. I heaved myself through the door and collapsed, turning the tan tiled floor into a sea of red.

"What's got you all worked up?" said Tony from behind the register, clearly bored out of his mind.

"Had... to catch... thief," I gasped, out of breathe. I tossed the snowglobe to him and he barely caught it before it was sent tumbling to the floor, smashing into a million pieces and causing my brutal murder of an almost-innocent man to be in vein.

"Don't get so upset about it. You know the rules."

The same thing Thomas had tried to say earlier. Yes, I knew the rules, and even though I didn't like them, they had to be strictly enforced.

Shoplifters will be prosecuted.

---

I'd love to know what you guys think of this. I know it isn't the "creepiest" Creepypasta, but it might make you think twice before snatching a seemingly worthless trinket off store shelves.

Also, if you notice any typos, don't be afraid to tell me. Thanks!<ac_metadata title="Shoplifting - Critique Requested"> </ac_metadata>