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  • Everyone’s bullied. School wasn’t any harder on me than anyone else. Life is not like the movies; people rarely stand up to their bullies. It’s not that I was weaker or a coward. People talk about the flight or fight response. They rarely talk about the third option, which is to freeze. I’m freezer.

    One beating sticks with me. I’m not sure why he pushed me off my bike. My body became weighted, too heavy to move. His foot struck my ribs. Thud. The damp grass brushed my cheek. Thud. I could smell leaves rotting. Thud. The cold hard ground beneath it all. Thud. I never told anyone who did it. Not even when he started bragging about how he “earned” my bike.


    ***


    My first wife’s father was a cop. I’m not sure why she married me.

    It was the kind of night where the wind cuts to the bone, making it feel much colder than the mercury would suggest. As we moved beyond the cool glow of a street lamp a man emerged from the alley. The heaviness was upon me again. Stomach in knots. Body frozen in place. A small pocket knife. A gnarled voice. He had my wallet. A struggle for her purse.

    “That was stupid.” I pleaded, regaining my sense of time and space, “He had a knife. He could have killed us.”

    She replied, “That thing? It probably wasn’t even sharp. Have you ever taken a risk in your life?”

    No, I hadn’t.

    ***

    Asymptomatic balanced chromosome translocation, even for doctors it’s a mouthful. The world seemed to fall away in that cold exam room. Did someone turn up the AC? Any fetus I father will miscarry, as we had already experienced.

    ***


    The heaviness. Sinking into the couch, as my wife’s voice would rise. Bile spit from her lips. How could I blame her?

    She had a new husband and baby less than a year after our divorce.

    ***

    Heather and I met in a support group for people who couldn’t have children. As she walked into the room warm bugs danced across my body in waves. I could almost taste her lip, feel her soft skin.

    I’d crinkle my brow at her assertiveness. Like the time that our group leader dinged Heather’s car in the parking lot.

    “Come on Heather,” he exclaimed, “It’s only a small ding. Let me just pay to get it fixed.”

    “I’m not taking the risk, Aaron.” Heather’s voice was resolute, “I want to make sure my car gets fixed properly. I’m sorry, but we are going to do this right.”

    ***

    Our first date was at a steakhouse. I got so sick right before and almost canceled. As I waited for her at her door I was almost sick a second time.

    I took a drink of wine between dry bites. With a disapproving grimace, Heather said, “Didn’t you order that steak medium rare?”

    “It’s fine,” I said with a smile. I figured I’d eat what I could and hit a drive-through on the way home.

    “No, it’s not” Heather insisted, “That thing isn’t even edible. Waiter…”

    ***

    It was at that same steak house. The waitress brought out a large plate of petie fours with “Marry me” written in thick raspberry sauce. I got down on one knee. When she said yes, the room erupted. Red-faced, I retook my seat.

    ***

    Heather came home looking distracted and stern, “I want to ask you something.” She said pausing to gauge my mood.

    “Sure, what’s wrong?” I stumbled out. The heaviness was right there on the edges.

    “I want to have a baby.” She exclaimed.

    I look at her for a moment unblinking. The weight was taking my body. Why would she say such a thing? Was she trying to hurt me?

    Her smile reassured me as she explained, “I mean I think we should adopt. I’ve been running through the numbers and I think…”

    I cut her off, “I think we’ll make wonderful parents.”

    ***

    Adoption is difficult, but you can never realize the pressure of it without going through it. The agencies poke into every aspect of your life. We spent months talking to one birth mother. As she entered the third trimester, voicemail. I sat on the edge of our bed eyes closed. Was she hurt? Does she not like us?

    It was almost a month later that the agency told Heather that the birth mother had changed her mind. We wept together, the same tears I had wept when my ex miscarried.

    ***

    I felt the raised letters on the business card. Amens Adoption Agency. Heather explained, “They don’t allow the birth parents to meet the adopted parents. They acted like a matchmaker and only contact the adoptive parents once the birth mother is ready to sign. They want us to adopt a baby named Samantha.”

    I couldn’t believe it was happening. Heather smiled at me with her vague, mysterious smile.

    ***

    The first time I held my daughter was mesmerizing. Years of miscarriages and failed adoptions collided in a moment. As I looked into her face I could swear I saw the perfect blend of me and Heather. It was a silly thought, but it comforted me.

    Heather seemed less enthusiastic. “Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?” I asked.

    Heather scowled, “She’s a baby. They all look the same.”

    “But she’s our baby,” I replied.

    “You have no idea how much work this is going to be. You shut down. It’s going to be work for me.”

    I stared at her. Weight drifted over me. Heather had rarely been so harsh before.

    “I’m sorry.” Heather said, “It’s just been a lot. I… I think I need to lay down.”

    ***

    Movement out of the corner of my eye. A fluid blur somewhere in the shadowy edges of my bedroom. I froze, but it was already gone.

    I tried to control my breathing to push back the nervousness bubbling inside. I told myself it was nothing, all in my head.

    ***

    When babies start to laugh it’s a joyous milestone. It’s often the first sign that they are interacting with the world. Samantha laughed from her throat, like an old smoker, too gruff and deep for a baby.

    “Heather come hear this!” I shouted, “She’s laughing.”

    Heather crinkled her forehead. “That’s not a baby laugh.” She announced, “That’s a demon laugh.”

    I chuckled and asked Samantha, “Are you a demon coming to get us?”

    ***

    Heather did everything a mother should do. She fed Samantha, changed her, held her. Something was still off. There was a lack of awareness, a lack of doting, a coldness about Heather’s mothering. There was no denying it, Heather was disinterested in our child. There was that weight again.

    ***

    I started to see the thing in the shadows clearer. I could make out a human shape. But uncomfortably thin, with a long neck, narrow head. Now it was there almost any time I was alone. Playing coy, a grey, decrepit face peering from around a corner, or a body slightly beyond my eye’s focus. I could never quite make it out before it was gone.

    ***

    Samantha had no problems falling asleep. She’d go out right after eating, while we held her, in the car, in her crib, almost anywhere. The second I would hit that space between sleeping and awake she would start screaming. Not crying, screaming. Blood-curdling screams of terror. I’d rush into room finding silence as soon as I crossed the threshold.


    ***

    I had put Samantha to sleep for what I hoped would be the night and was in the kitchen for a drink of water. There it was staring at me from across the kitchen island.

    Her vaguely human face wrinkled yet to taunt. With barely distinguishable slit eyes. There was no nose, no ears, and tuffs of patchy hair protruding from her head. An immovable mouth appeared painted on leathery skin. The creature looked so frail almost harmless, except for thick claws on the ends of its long fingers.

    My chest heaved. Every muscle in my body tense. Heavy. Stiff. I struggled to find my breath. The world began to spin. I froze. She was gone.

    ***

    “Look at her eyes,” Heather demanded.

    “What about them?” I asked.

    “They aren’t right,” Heather explained. “Always shifting, never making eye contact. When you can catch her gaze there is no love behind them. She’s empty.”

    I took Samantha from Heather and held our baby in my arms. The baby’s eyes darted around almost nervous. Why hadn’t I noticed before? Finally, I caught those darting eyes, only for a movement; like catching a glimpse of a shooting star in the night’s sky. They were normal eyes, light brown, full, but for a spares moment, they were dark caverns. Empty voids in my mind.

    “You see it!” Heather exclaimed, “I can tell you see it.”

    “She’s an infant,” I replied, “She probably doesn’t even see us yet.”

    Heather spoke almost to herself, “I thought this would make us happy. I think I made a huge mistake.”

    “Huh?” I asked through a fogged mind.

    Heather stared at Samantha in my arms. I nodded, “You didn’t make that decision alone.”

    “I’m just tired,” Heather said, “Lack of sleep is catching up to me.”

    ***

    I answered my office phone, “Hey Hun, you never call me on my office line. Is everything okay?”

    It was Heather’s phone but a man’s voice on the other end. “Mr. Racki?”

    “This is Matt Racki, who is this?” I asked more annoyed than concerned.

    “I’m with the fire department. Heather fell down the stairs. She’s okay, but I think she broke her legs. You should meet her at the hospital.” The voice explained.

    When I got to the hospital the police were already there.

    “Someone was in my house,” Heather insisted, “They pushed me down the stairs.”

    “Did you get a good look at them?” The officer asked.

    Heather shook her head.

    “There was no one in the house when we got there. No sign of forced entry. What about your husband, where was he?”

    My jaw dropped. Was this officer really accusing me of pushing my wife down the stairs?

    “He was at work” Heather explained as I walked up. The officers glanced at me. I could feel the accusations through his glaze.

    With Heather in the hospital, life was a blur. Driving for visits. Taking care of Samantha. Moving furniture in preparation for a wheelchair. Rush. Rush. Rush. My head would hit the pillow my last bit of energy spent and the screaming would come.

    The world began to slow down. It was like moving through murky water. Every vision slightly out of focus, every movement took a lifetime. At least I had stopped seeing that woman. Maybe I was too tired to notice her.

    In my grogginess, Samantha’s laugh stopped being amusing. She would start laughing at the strangest times. While taking a bottle. While alone in her crib. For no reason at all. That laugh began to chill me to the bone.


    ***


    By the time I was back at work, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I felt myself nodding off everywhere. While in the bathroom, in meetings, driving. I always felt a little sick to my stomach. My hands shook and I felt sharp pricks all over my body.

    I don’t even remember exactly what set me off. A presentation? Then a question? I do remember yelling, every eye in the room fixed on me. You don’t talk to a VP that way and keep your job.

    I didn’t tell Heather. I was far too ashamed to say it out loud. I started getting up in the morning as I would for work. I'd attend job fairs or networking events. I called every lead. The interviews were a montage of questions, blank expressions, and intense bleakness.

    ***

    I was in the living room. I think the TV might have been on but I don’t remember watching it. She was there in an instant, crouched on the end of our couch. As I glared into that grotesque face a sound began to rise in her throat. Something like an ethereal scream mixed with a growl. It grew louder and louder. I closed my eyes and breathed in through my teeth. A sudden burning on my arm. Samantha screaming from the nursery.

    I opened my eyes to see my wife blinking at me from the doorway. “Please, hold it together.” Heather hissed.

    Gasping for air, I ran my finger over the two distinct claw marks on my arm.

    ***

    Samantha’s screams became louder with time, as she slept less and less. We were sleeping in ten-minute breaths between demanding shrieks. As we rushed to her side the laughing would start. Uncontrollable. Mocking. Unrelenting. We tried every sleep training program we could find. None made a difference.

    “I swear,” I told Heather one night, “She’s running a sleep deprivation experiment on us.”

    My joke fell flat as my wife glared at me.

    ***

    The attacks became a daily occurrence. Blink. There she is on the edge of my vision. Blink. She would close the space between us. Blink. I’d be alone with new, deep scratches. How could something so worn move so fast? Howls from the nursery.

    Hag. That’s how started to think of her. I don’t remember anyone else ever being around when she sunk her claws into me.

    I fell into a rhythm this way. Faceless interviewers. Screams. Laughs. Cuts. Somewhere, I lost a sense of time. The only evidence I had that time passed at all was the new scars on my body.

    I started seeing the Hag in the daylight. Following me around the city. Always at a distance in my peripheral. Perched on a park bench, walking on a crowded street, peering at me through a window. Always watching. Whenever I turned my focus she was gone.

    ***

    Somewhere in the space between the stress Heather and I stopped talking. I’m not sure if she was ever around, leaving me with Samantha and the Hag. Our dwindling savings filled me with guilt. Perhaps the evenings alone were my penance. The scars a reminder of some well-earned purgatory.

    ***

    I could hear that otherworldly throat sound even when the Hag wasn’t around. Even Samantha’s fits had become relief from that incessant noise.

    I woke in our bed, the Hag sitting on my chest. The sound emanated from her throat, in the far off distance I could hear Samantha’s faint screams. The Hag reached up one bonny finger and dug her claw into my forehead. She pulled down drawing a line of blood as my flesh tore, savoring my torment. Down the bridge of my nose, to the very tip. She was gone and Samantha’s screams grow louder. I swallowed the pain to take care of my daughter.

    ***

    The next morning, I was so tired everything had taken on a hazy veneer. I don’t remember leaving the house. At the convention hall, a woman gasped. Everyone turned to look at me. One man approached. “Sir,” he crooked, “What happened to your face?”

    I only grunted.

    A crowd was forming around as he continued, “That cut is bad. I’m calling 911. You need to see a doctor.”

    That was the first time someone had recognized one of my wounds. I collapsed into a heap of tears and released tension.

    My face throbbed, radiating out to the rest of my body. I should have stayed at the hospital as the doctor suggested, but I could not. I could smell the decomposing leaves, hear every insult, feel every cut, every strike. Where was Heather? I knew what I would do, I knew what I had to do.

    ***

    I stood beside the bed, wanting the Hag to come. I would not let the weight overtake me, would not freeze. My mind was spinning when I saw her in the doorway. The earth begging me to stay in place. Pushing the feeling away, I refused to blink as she rushed towards me, claws baring down. One claw caught the side of my neck as I grabbed her with a twisted. She fell onto the bed, me on top of her pinning her frail arms with my legs. She clawed at my shins as I wrapped my fingers around her narrow neck and squeezed. The Hag struggled. I felt a pop as something inside her broke. It only made me squeeze harder.

    As her slit eyes looked up at me, I could hear Samantha’s distant laugh. Then sleep. Sweet relieving sleep.

    ***

    When I awoke I was in a strange place. Something hard and cold around my wrist. I tried to sit up but whatever was around my wrist pulled me back to the bed. The bed. It was a hospital bed and I was handcuffed to it. “Get me out of here!” I shouted as people flooded my room.

    At the precinct, they begin to explain things to me. “A neighbor called us,” the detective said, “When we entered your house you were on the living room floor. Heather was next to you, strangled. You had been there for at least a few days.”

    That couldn’t be, Heather and Samantha were out that night. How did I end up in the living room? I couldn’t breathe.

    He continued, “We couldn’t wake you. That cut on your face was very infected. You could have died.”

    “How long did I sleep?” I managed to ask.

    “Two days in the hospital, before that who knows.” the detective replied with a shrug.

    “Where’s Samantha?”

    “Who?”

    “Samantha, our baby.”

    “Sir, there were no babies in that house only that sick doll.”

    ***

    I told my lawyers everything as I have told you here. They argued that sleep deprivation, stress, and infection had driven me temporarily psychotic. The DA argued that Heather’s fall, the incident at work and my scars suggested a pattern of violence and abuse. In their narrative, I resented Heather because she didn’t want to adopt a child with me. Our defense may have been effective if we could prove that Samantha or Amens exited.

    It was at the trial that I saw the doll. I recognized it right away. Filled with straw and covered in stitched human skin. Her vaguely human face wrinkled yet to taunt. With barely distinguishable slit eyes. There was no nose, no ears, and tuffs of patchy hair protruding from her head. An immovable mouth appeared painted on leathery skin. They found it in the crib in our nursery.

    This is the best I can do with my hazy, fragmented memory. I’m not sure who drove those events, Samantha, Heather, The Hag or me. It doesn’t matter anymore, at least not to me. Sleep is the only thing that matters now, and all I have is time.

      Loading editor
    • I've been writing mostly for myself for a while.  This is my first attempt at a CreepyPasta (or any horror). I'm normally a science fiction writer.  Anyway I really liked this idea when it came to me and wanted to get it down. I think this is close, but it feels like the execution is lacking somewhere and I can't put my finger on it.  I know Heather could use some more character development, but it's running long already.  Perhaps CreepyPasta is the wrong format for this story?  I was hoping someone here could get me over the hump.



      edit: corrected a couple of typos.

        Loading editor
    • I don't want to be pushy at all, but I've seen some reviewing going on since I posted this. Is the hesitence to review this story due to lengthe or is it something else?  I only ask because that information would give me a direction to rework the story.

        Loading editor
    • CreepingCreep wrote: I don't want to be pushy at all, but I've seen some reviewing going on since I posted this. Is the hesitence to review this story due to lengthe or is it something else?  I only ask because that information would give me a direction to rework the story.

      I can review your story when I get home in a few hours.

        Loading editor
    • William See wrote:

      I can review your story when I get home in a few hours.


      Thank you. I appriciate any feed back I can get.

        Loading editor
    • Some grammar fixes: 

      • Editable >>> Edible
      • Stare >>> star / starred >>> stared
      • tiered >>> tired
      • dr >>> doctor
      • "I think both her legs are broken (period). You should..."

      As for the story, I'm trying to find a balance in the progression. There was another story in the workshop that had similar build up in the beginning like this, however the scare was very minimal in comparison. Here, the tension builds up pretty early on, but a little too quickly.

      The wife almost immediately notices something is wrong with the baby and stuff goes down pretty quickly. I think you'd do well to have the more extreme scares happen a little while into having the baby, or at least having Heather be less overall suspicious in the beginning. After all, parents dote on babies their entire infancy; theoretically, you'd want the baby to be even more hard to detect when its acting spooky because the parents are already watching it like hawks. And I'm not saying have them be really stupid and dismiss obvious things, just be a little less...aware of what actually is going on. 

        Loading editor
    • William See wrote:
      Some grammar fixes: 
      • Editable >>> Edible
      • Stare >>> star / starred >>> stared
      • tiered >>> tired
      • dr >>> doctor
      • "I think both her legs are broken (period). You should..."

      As for the story, I'm trying to find a balance in the progression. There was another story in the workshop that had similar build up in the beginning like this, however the scare was very minimal in comparison. Here, the tension builds up pretty early on, but a little too quickly.

      The wife almost immediately notices something is wrong with the baby and stuff goes down pretty quickly. I think you'd do well to have the more extreme scares happen a little while into having the baby, or at least having Heather be less overall suspicious in the beginning. After all, parents dote on babies their entire infancy; theoretically, you'd want the baby to be even more hard to detect when its acting spooky because the parents are already watching it like hawks. And I'm not saying have them be really stupid and dismiss obvious things, just be a little less...aware of what actually is going on. 

      Thanks for all of that.  The grammar stuff is a great help. I'm dyslexic, so subtle word differences kill me.  I always need a good set of eyes for that stuff. I appreciate that.

      I think you are right about the progression.   At first I thought it was too much exposition, but I think you are right, the transition is kind of abrupt. 

      Heather has been my biggest struggle in this story.  Maybe if I explain what I'm going for it spark something.  I want to leave things open to interpretation.  There are allegories here for sure, but the three main literal interpretations I'm going for are.

      1. Matt is crazy.  In this version I'm taking the trope of an abused person turned killer and adding an element of realism to his decline.  Avoiding the, "he got mad and killed people".  In my version Matt doesn't even know what he is doing.

      2.  There is the demonic baby angle, which is perhaps the most obvious interpretation. 

      3.  Resolves around Heather making some kind of unknown decision that has lead them here.  In this version Heather knows the baby is off because she's part of why the baby is off.  In my mind, it's some kind of fertility ritual.  Think of this as a kind of "monkey’s paw" story in a way.  This is also why she speaks awkwardly a few times “I want to have a baby” instead of “I think we should adopt” and “I think I made mistake” Instead of “I think we made a mistake”.

      I’ve actually debated a squeal of sorts that centers on Heather’s journal and her version of the events.  They would only vaguely match Matt’s.

      I think trying to balance so many elements and make coherent story in a short form might be too much to manage.   I need to think about it some. Perhaps Heather needs to act sketchier earlier so that the transition is less abrupt.  I’m going to really think about this and probably read what you wrote a couple more times. I might shelve this one for a bit before returning and try to work on some shorter, simpler ideas that I have.

      Again I really appreciate it this is valuable feedback.

        Loading editor
    • It is a bit lengthy, but it does progress fast enough to keep you hooked. I agree with the comment above me though, it could definitely help to have them not notice anything wrong for a little longer. When my nephew was born his eyes darted everywhere, taking everything in.

        Loading editor
    • WitheredLily wrote:
      It is a bit lengthy, but it does progress fast enough to keep you hooked. I agree with the comment above me though, it could definitely help to have them not notice anything wrong for a little longer. When my nephew was born his eyes darted everywhere, taking everything in.

      Thank you fo the review I appriciate it.

      As far as newborn's eyes.  They all do that.  It's becasue they can't focus like we can, so they mostly only see light and movement.   It can be really creepy at 2AM though.

        Loading editor
    • Okay so other than the technical issues and all that, something is missing here. Something is missing big time. I didn't feel it until the closing part; at all. I just read it to get through with it until the final section. I'm not gonna be nice and pretend it wasn't that bad in this sense - it was terrible. It's not connective at all for the most part. It was like reading through a long list of facts. 

      - I can't have a baby - I have anxiety - I was bullied  - I got a married and then divorced - Got a second marriage - We adopted a child - Child is weird - Something is wrong with this child - Monster, I think there's a monster - More weird stuff - More weird stuff 

      The flow is just not there. It's way too dry. You use the theme of anxiety and reaction types to stress as a central theme in the plot and only just mention it in name; "I'm a freezer", "I have anxiety" There is no anxiety shown, hell for the most part it seems like Matt's anxiety is a former problem. People with anxiety have usually trouble sleeping or even keeping the same track of thought for longer than five minutes. Matt is the total opposite. Matt is in fact just an agreeable person, he avoids conflicts because that's how is personality is. He's not anxious, at all, until weird shit starts happening. 

      The whole FFF thing is sort of misrepresented here, A person with a fight reaction might be an awful literal fighter, he just has an aggressive reaction to stress that's the "fight.". Also a stressor should be significant in the case of Matt, since again, he doesn't come off as a madly anxious person, merely timid and agreeable. If anything, he's more of an overly chill guy as opposed to constantly stressed. 

      Heather realizing something's wrong with the baby is indeed to soon but I won't dwell on that since that was already discussed. 

      The whole ending seems a little confusing too. Is Matt actually just explosive (which he could be, sort of having an urge to hurt someone after boiling up for too long and hurting himself or hurting someone else off plot) or he's outright psychotic and is out of touch with reality for the most part. That would mean Heather is either a figment of his imagination, as his wife at least. You got all of it, with the baby and the monster and all, sort of mixed into this odd and murky cocktail. I'm not sure what you were trying to do here, and judging by one of your comments you haven't decided either. The insanity plea might work with Matt by the way in the case that he's psychotic or something of that sort and imagined most of the "action" because he's basically unfit to do any every thing for most of his waking time. That would also put him in a psych ward as opposed to being sent to jail like Ed Gein. 

      Also important to note that after prolonged bouts of sleep, or unsconsciousness the body and the mind are going to be "lost" quite literally, the guy should be dazed and confused to say the least once he wakes up. 

      It needs a bunch of work, but the base is there, now the ball is in your hands - let's see what you do with it.

        Loading editor
    • BloodySpghetti wrote:
      Okay so other than the technical issues and all that, something is missing here. Something is missing big time. I didn't feel it until the closing part; at all. I just read it to get through with it until the final section. I'm not gonna be nice and pretend it wasn't that bad in this sense - it was terrible. It's not connective at all for the most part. It was like reading through a long list of facts. ...

      I cut the quote for brevity. First and fore most thank you for taking the time to review it I very much appreciate it.  You gave me a lot a valuable feedback.

      The level of description is lacking.  That's part of what bothers me here. The first few edits were much more detailed, but it ran way too long.    In my mind the story seemed much shorter then it came out on paper.  I might try one more rewrite in this format and if it still isn’t working I might rewrite it and just let it be what it is.   I might be trying to cram too much in to small of a space, which as you point out can actually make something more boring and less readable then if you let the story breath a bit.  This might be best served as a slow paced longer narrative.

      You have some Hollywood views of what it means to have anxiety disorder.  There are people you have probably met who struggle with it and you would describe as quiet, shy or even stuck up.  While insomnia and racing thoughts are common so subtler symptoms.  It’s not a one size fits all, this is an anxious, al la Woody Allen.

      I’m not sure I follow exactly what you mean by, “The whole FFF thing is sort of misrepresented here, A person with a fight reaction might be an awful literal fighter, he just has an aggressive reaction to stress that's the "fight."”  While that is true I’m not sure how it pertains to what I wrote.  It seems there is something that I’ve written in a way that you have miss interrupted it but I’m not sure what it is.

      To answer this, “I'm not sure what you were trying to do here, and judging by one of your comments you haven't decided either.”  A murky soap was indeed what I was going for here.   To me, the stories that I find the most freighting are the ones that you are thinking about after you are done reading.  There are awkward lose ends, but underneath you know there is something there.  For instance, I find much of Lynch’s work terrifying.   I also recognize that that isn’t for every.   Working to leave the story open to interpretation is different than not having an answer myself.   I have a preferred allegory and a preferred litteral interpretation of this story.  It seems you prefer a much tighter explicit narrative.  Most people do.

      Your comments on sleep denervation are very helpful.  The story should feel hazier and even dreamlike as he loses sleep, and it really doesn’t.  I think that was the thing I was trying to put my finger on but couldn’t.  Thank you especially for that.

      You give a lot of valuable feedback and I hope you take this as the same.  You can be honest, even brutally so, without being rude.  When you cross that line as a reviewer many will get defensive or simply roll their eyes and ignore what you say.  I came here because I know this story isn’t coming together like I want it to, frankly I don’t like it as it sit.  If your goal is to help other people improve your stories, you are doing it wrong.  When you say things like, “I'm not goanna be nice and pretend it wasn't that bad in this sense - it was terrible.”  it comes across as more condescending then helpful.   I only bring this up because there are a lot of valuable comments here and they are likely to be missed for the tone at times. 

      Seriously though, thank you again. I appreciate your time.

        Loading editor
    • CreepingCreep wrote:

      BloodySpghetti wrote:
      Okay so other than the technical issues and all that, something is missing here. Something is missing big time. I didn't feel it until the closing part; at all. I just read it to get through with it until the final section. I'm not gonna be nice and pretend it wasn't that bad in this sense - it was terrible. It's not connective at all for the most part. It was like reading through a long list of facts. ...

      I cut the quote for brevity. First and fore most thank you for taking the time to review it I very much appreciate it.  You gave me a lot a valuable feedback.

      The level of description is lacking.  That's part of what bothers me here. The first few edits were much more detailed, but it ran way too long.    In my mind the story seemed much shorter then it came out on paper.  I might try one more rewrite in this format and if it still isn’t working I might rewrite it and just let it be what it is.   I might be trying to cram too much in to small of a space, which as you point out can actually make something more boring and less readable then if you let the story breath a bit.  This might be best served as a slow paced longer narrative.

      You have some Hollywood views of what it means to have anxiety disorder.  There are people you have probably met who struggle with it and you would describe as quiet, shy or even stuck up.  While insomnia and racing thoughts are common so subtler symptoms.  It’s not a one size fits all, this is an anxious, al la Woody Allen.

      I’m not sure I follow exactly what you mean by, “The whole FFF thing is sort of misrepresented here, A person with a fight reaction might be an awful literal fighter, he just has an aggressive reaction to stress that's the "fight."”  While that is true I’m not sure how it pertains to what I wrote.  It seems there is something that I’ve written in a way that you have miss interrupted it but I’m not sure what it is.

      To answer this, “I'm not sure what you were trying to do here, and judging by one of your comments you haven't decided either.”  A murky soap was indeed what I was going for here.   To me, the stories that I find the most freighting are the ones that you are thinking about after you are done reading.  There are awkward lose ends, but underneath you know there is something there.  For instance, I find much of Lynch’s work terrifying.   I also recognize that that isn’t for every.   Working to leave the story open to interpretation is different than not having an answer myself.   I have a preferred allegory and a preferred litteral interpretation of this story.  It seems you prefer a much tighter explicit narrative.  Most people do.

      Your comments on sleep denervation are very helpful.  The story should feel hazier and even dreamlike as he loses sleep, and it really doesn’t.  I think that was the thing I was trying to put my finger on but couldn’t.  Thank you especially for that.

      You give a lot of valuable feedback and I hope you take this as the same.  You can be honest, even brutally so, without being rude.  When you cross that line as a reviewer many will get defensive or simply roll their eyes and ignore what you say.  I came here because I know this story isn’t coming together like I want it to, frankly I don’t like it as it sit.  If your goal is to help other people improve your stories, you are doing it wrong.  When you say things like, “I'm not goanna be nice and pretend it wasn't that bad in this sense - it was terrible.”  it comes across as more condescending then helpful.   I only bring this up because there are a lot of valuable comments here and they are likely to be missed for the tone at times. 

      Seriously though, thank you again. I appreciate your time.

      Aye all is well. I do apologize for coming off somewhat violent on here. Om not the type to sugar coat things however. Sometimes people would hold back as to not hurt the recipients feelings. I do try to make the distinction between an author and their drafts.

      To address some of the points the thing about the FFF stems from the statement at the end where Matt is seemingly deemed a fighter as opposed yo a freezer. Regardless of it probably not being actually used in court it just feels weird to me that it's framed that only a physically violent person would have a "fight" reaction to stress by deafult.

      As for the conclusion being messy. It's not so much purposefully convoluted as much as it is "I started with this route and changed my mind mid-writing". That's how it felt, but it's probably a combination of a lot of things in this story that sort of contribute to it just not working right at the moment.

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    •  

      To address some of the points the thing about the FFF stems from the statement at the end where Matt is seemingly deemed a fighter as opposed yo a freezer. Regardless of it probably not being actually used in court it just feels weird to me that it's framed that only a physically violent person would have a "fight" reaction to stress by deafult.


      Interesting, that wasn't my intention at all.  It was more as a calculated choice to overcome his natural reaction to the stress.  Someone who had finally had enough and made a choice to kill his tourmenter. I didn't see this as a switch in his underlining response.  That is something I clearly need to make clearer.

      Thanks for the feed back.

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    • BloodySpghetti wrote:

      To address some of the points the thing about the FFF stems from the statement at the end where Matt is seemingly deemed a fighter as opposed yo a freezer. Regardless of it probably not being actually used in court it just feels weird to me that it's framed that only a physically violent person would have a "fight" reaction to stress by deafult.

      Yeah, I’m a really nonviolent person (for the most part) but I have accidentally punched my cousin a few times because I’m a “fighter”

      My immediate reaction to startle it to punch the source as hard as I can. I.. don’t know why, because I have extreme noodle arms..

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    • That was nowhere near as close as I thought.  It was a pretty big rewrite.  First thank you again for all your suggestions. I moved around some of the events and I think the story has a much better build up now.    I also rewrote the stressful moments with fragmented quips, and I think it plays much better to the story. 

      I think I was trying to hard to write a creepypasta and forgetting about simply writing a good story. I had adverb soup going on, way too much passive voice. I was trying to make it read conversational but all I was doing was writing poorly.  I think this i1s way better.

      Finally, I'm not sure if Samantha is the right tittle for this story as it stands now.  I'm thinking about calling it either, "I'm a Freezer" or "The Freezer" instead.  What are your thoughts?

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    • Just as subtle bump. I know everyone is busy right now, that includes me.  But I'd love to get comments from those who responded before.  I'd like to see if they think I fixed the issues.  Thank you either way.

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    • Yeah! I’ve been meaning to re-read and reply I’m just drowning in work and various projects-

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    • CreepingCreep wrote:
      Just as subtle bump. I know everyone is busy right now, that includes me.  But I'd love to get comments from those who responded before.  I'd like to see if they think I fixed the issues.  Thank you either way.

      ​​​​​​I think it should be fine to post now and let it see how it stands up. Sorry, I've also been pretty busy with the virus. Stay safe and good luck.

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    • William See wrote:
       

      ​​​​​​I think it should be fine to post now and let it see how it stands up. Sorry, I've also been pretty busy with the virus. Stay safe and good luck.


      Hey thanks for replying.  And I hear you. My work is closed and I've somehow been busier then I am when we are open.  

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    • A FANDOM user
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