CRAPPYPASTA

It was a calm night, with not a cloud in the sky. A young man, whom we’ll call Kane, was in his room working on a YouTube video on his laptop. He laid down on his bed, working on the lyrics, for the video. It was getting late, and the only illumination in the room, was the glow of his lap top screen, a small desk lap, and the black light he used for his pet snake, to keep her warm. In the sun, she was a rainbow of color. Which, was part of her species’ namesake, as the Colombian Rainbow Boa. Everyone else in the household was asleep, and our young hero was starting to get bored. So, he decided to play some Team Territory Two. As the game was loading, he was certain he could hear faint screams, and looked out the window, as lights were coming on in the house across the street. Then, they went out, one by one… Nothing about this was ever said, though no one from the house was seen thereafter…
About a week after the incident, Kane was in his room, reading a book, when he heard a bang outside. He promptly grabbed the nearest pocket knife, as he collected them due to the fact he often went camping, and was to go again that Saturday. Then, a creaking sound in the hallway, and Kane shut the light in his room off. He sat there, for what felt like hours. After quite some time, a sound resembling that of a glass of water being spilled could be heard from across the hall. After a while longer, our young hero managed to get up, clutching his weapon closely, and opened his door, with it sliding open on silent hinges. He then went into his brother’s room, across the hall. He opened the door, and looked to the floor, at his red-tinted reflection. He quickly ducked away and out of the doorway, and then, like a ton of bricks, another thought hit him. He quietly but hastily made his way to his parents’ room, and looked in. He almost started crying right there, but ducked out, sadness and anger welling up inside him. He retreated to his room, trying to be as quiet as possible, and instantly knew someone had been there, his snake now dead in her cage… Whoever had done it, however, was no longer in the room, and likely searching for him.
The hunt was on. “Game on. Bring it.” Kane whispered quietly. Filled with a quiet, misery fueled rage, he grabbed some other knives, his Zippo lighter, and some lighter fluid. Then, he inserted one of his heavy metal CDs into his radio, and paused the radio before it even started. Then, he turned up the volume until it would go no higher, and hit play. He then promptly fled the room, and hid, waiting in the bathroom. The radio would both make him harder to hear, and issue a challenge to the night-killer, this, Dagger in the Dark. “One on one… Take me on…” Kane whispered in sync with the song. Judas Priest, One on One. One of his favorite songs. Then… A shadow! A shadow crept by, and Kane jumped from his hiding spot. The killer turned, and Kane slashed at it. He knew not where though. But then, he felt the shock, of cold steel, slipping between his ribs. He managed to return the favor, and they both slumped to the floor. Kane then took out his Zippo, and let himself up, as he was drenched in lighter fluid. He was getting weaker. He could barely feel the flames creeping up his body. He used the last of his energy to pull the mask off his killer, to find himself looking into a mirror, the killer having his face “High score,” his dark doppelganger said, as Kane started to lose consciousness due to blood loss. “So, did I win…?” Was our hero’s last thoughts, as the smoke from the fire, and mortal wound still seeping crimson blood, took over him. The last sensation he felt, was one of peace and the dark embrace creeping through his body, and his mind going into eternal sleep, never to wake again.
Credit To – Kane
Credit Link – https://www.facebook.com/kane.nicholls.77

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I was taking a walk through my neighborhood like usual. I started to pass an old house that had been empty for years. There was a sign that said “Yard Sale.”I was a bit curious, so I walked up. There was an old man sitting at a table with a few things on it. I only glanced at some of them, I could have swore I saw a severed finger. The thing that really caught my eye was a very shiny object in a cardboard box underneath the table.

“What’s that,” I asked the old man.

“It’s not for sale,”
said the old man.

“But what is it?”

He shoved everything off the table and heaved the box up. It was a beautifully crafted mirror with gold like trimming around the edges. It looked brand new!

He said “You can have it.”

“But I thought it wasn’t for sale.”

He threw the mirror at me and I fell to the ground. It wasn’t even cracked! It was in perfect condition! The old man was gone, so I decided to take it home.

I hung it on the wall and I just stared at it. I was honestly curious as to why he just gave it to me. I felt a bit sick after a while, so I went to take a nap. I woke up after a while, so I checked the time. It was the middle of the night. I looked at the mirror, and was horrified. Staring at me in the mirror was a man. I took in every detail. He had slits going down the middle of each eye, which were pitch black. He had a bloody black zip-up hood on. He had bloody jeans on too. He had no shoes and some toes and fingers were missing. In places where skin was supposed to show, the skin was torn off.

After a few minutes I realized who it was. It was me. I feinted.

The next time I woke up, I was in the hospital. I was blind. This is what I was told. Someone (I think it was the doctor) told me that I was found being torn apart by a strange man. He said I was bloody with fingers, toes, and skin ripped off. What still haunts me to this day is that the doctor told me I had slits in my eyes.

Now I know what you’re thinking, “This is obviously fake, if he’s blind he couldn’t write this.” After a few months my sight did return, but now I have feint lines in my eyes, they’re now completely white, and I can’t look in a mirror.

Why? Well, when I look in a mirror, my head starts pounding. Except for one, yeah THAT mirror. When my sight came back, the mirror was shattered. I reassembled the mirror and noticed something. The cracks formed the words “No More.” I don’t know and don’t want to know what it means. All I know is that I’ll never be entirely sane ever again.

Please, if you’re reading this, don’t look. Don’t look too long at the mirror, and not just mine, any. Because it will find you, and it will get you.

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I spent most of my younger childhood living very contently in a relatively large two story house just outside of a major city in Florida. My time here was relatively enjoyable, living with my two younger siblings, one boy and one girl, and my widowed mother, all of whom were wonderful people. I currently exist at age 18, but my time is short, and soon I will no longer be watched.
Throughout my childhood I suffered massive anxiety attacks on a nightly basis. Being that my mother was the only one able to comfort me through my heavy breathing, seizures, and weeping, she would have to come to my aid late in the night, even when she had to wake up early in the morning the following day to go to work. Living like this was very tiring to both myself and my family, as the attacks would keep me awake throughout each night, causing me to act foolish and rude, and I was eventually ostracized by the children in my elementary school and my younger siblings. The only person who cared for me afterwards was my mother, who had trouble spending time with me, being busy with upholding a household as a single mother and working at the same time. I realized that she had very little free time, and began to try and cope with the attacks on my own. While I had very little success in keeping them from occurring, only managing to slightly suppress their effects, they began to fade away on their own once I hit age ten, in which something much worse took it’s place.
I first saw my Watcher on a cold January night. Dusk had just settled, and I had gone to bed early in order to try and recover some sleep from the anxiety attack that had happened the night before. While laying on my twin sized mattress that had been shoved into the corner of my small, dark blue rectangular room filled to the brim with Novels and Comic Books (I was a heavy reader, being that I was considered an outcast at school and lived life alone, with only the stories of adventurers and fat house cats to aid my dull life.) I first spotted my Watcher. He was standing in the outermost edge of my front yard, directly next to the wooden mailbox I’d grown so accustomed to seeing standing alone in solitary as I surveyed the outdoors each night before going to bed. It was very hard to see at first, and It looked like a normal human silhouette, but once my eyes became accustomed to the dark night, I discovered the truth behind the figure.
The Watcher has no eyes, only a single socket in the middle of its face that mirrors into another world other than mine. looking into the eye is like looking into a reflection of death. The eye not only watches me, but I feed the eye fear as it stares into me. The skin around the eye is rotting and has almost entirely fallen off the ancient looking seven foot tall creature. The little hair it has left on its head are long black clumps that seem to come together to form a mouth just below the eye. the lower section of its body is very thin and brittle looking, and is covered in a black, greasy liquid that is constantly shifting around the skeleton of a creature.
After examining It, I turned away in disbelief, feeling that I must be hallucinating, and that an anxiety attack must be coming on. I wait, wide awake for the next two hours, praying that I will have the attack and it will be over with, and the creature will disappear.
nothing.
I fell asleep.
The next morning I chose not to tell my mother about the creature. I still believe it must be a delusion.
I saw it again the next night when I looked out my window. It was in the same Place as the night before. It is there again the next night.
And the next night.
And the next night.
A year passes, and my everyday life goes generally unchanged, as it did not do anything but Watch from a distance. It was on my eleventh birthday that It changed.
The night of my birthday I look out my window, as I had become accustomed to doing, in order to make sure that It was still there, next to the mailbox, a safe distance away. I was very startled to find It standing on the hood of my Mother’s Mini-Van, Peering in through my window at eye level with me. It was so much closer, and I could see every bit of the creature in its full form writhing before me. Just like before, it stood absolutely still. the Strands of hair forming its mouth did not form any expression whatsoever. It was blank, except for that portal in place of an eye, in which I could see a grotesquely deformed version of my face staring back. I was immensely frightened by It’s sudden change in position, and after being frozen in fear by the newfound image of my demented self in It’s eye for almost a minute straight, I shut the curtains and curled up in the fetal position in bed in an attempt to hide from the creature. It began loudly stomping on the car hood at a very high tempo, and in a rhythmic fashion. I screamed at it to stop. It stopped, but only for a moment, before continuing it’s dance. I try to sleep with the loud, demonic banging ringing through my ears.
It Listens.
I Listen.
This continues night after night, for five years. I enjoyed the tune of the stomping from outside my closed-curtain window. It calmed me and put me to sleep each night. It was my sixteenth birthday in which It’s pattern changed.
It was crouched in the corner of my room, on the opposite side to where my bed layed. I walked in to my room the night of my birthday to discover It. I was scared, but pretended not to notice it in fear of it attacking me. I sensed hostility in it’s stare. I decide right then and there that I will only enter my room to sleep at night. I felt that as long as I didn’t bother It in It’s studies, It would not harm me. This may seem like I was under reacting, but after living with It for six years, I had learned to manage the anxiety and stress It brought into my life. I should have acted. Should have done something. Should have left.
I ignore.
It Watches.
Today is my eighteenth birthday. I am sitting in my room with It. It watches. I don’t want to look. I can feel a new wave of hostility coming from it, stronger than ever before. I hate it. I want it to leave. I want to leave. It is crouching in front of my door. I can’t leave. I’ll bet it can tell that I’m writing about It. I wonder if It is real, or if I’m imagining It. Should I try to jump out of the window? Should I attack It? Should I-
It Breaths.
It Touches.
I Feel.
I Am.
It types.
Credit To – Weston

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