whynotcreepypasta

     My daughter loves collecting dolls. She doesn't really enjoy playing with them, but she could look at them, admire them, and talk to them for days. I arranged them in a room we didn't use, and she spends half her day there, and I didn't have a problem with that. The only thing that bothered me was that she got bored easily and was always asking for a new one. She always asked for something special, something different than the others.
     I got her a beautiful doll, almost as tall as her with piercing blue eyes and thick, shiny brown hair. My daughter said that it was by far her favorite and that she was very happy.
     After a few days, she began saying she was scared of it, that it blinks and moves, and that she's even heard it whispering something.
     "There's nothing wrong with the doll, honey," I tried to calm her down. "But I can go see, if you really want."
I hastily make my way to the room and go to the doll, carefully looking at her.
     "I thought I told you to stand still," I mutter as I grab her shoulders. "This is my first and last warning. I don't want this to ever happen again."

     My father left us when I was just a small child. He had an affair, fell in love with another woman, and moved across the country to be with her while my mother stayed to raise two kids as a single mom.
     We were just the left-over garbage in his past. He never came to see us, never called to check on us - neither I nor my sister have ever received a single birthday card with his name on it. We had heard absolutely nothing from him for fifteen years.
     He showed up at our doorstep a week ago out of the blue. I didn't want to let him inside, but Mom is all about forgiveness. He isn't sleeping at our home (over my dead body), but he's spent the entire evening with us every day this week. He said he wanted to make amends, that he waited too long to say he's sorry, and I think he's right. I managed to track down his wife's contact information the other day. As soon as I told her I was his eldest child, she burst into tears, apologizing.
"I'm so sorry," she cried. "I would have contacted you if I knew how. But your father passed away two weeks ago."

 

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and smiled.

It smiled back.

He stopped smiling.

It didn't.

"911, what is your emergency?" I ask when the call comes in. An exasperated voice, running when she made the call, answered, "I'm being followed, I-I don't see him now, b-but he's there somewhere." She was stuttering, paranoid, and obviously very afraid.
"Alright, ma'am, calm down. Can you tell me your name?"
"Jessica Yates. My name is Jessica Yates."
"Okay, Jessica, can you tell me where you're at?"
"Um, I don't know... I w-was at 5th and Main when I n-noticed him. I just ran. I don't know what street I'm on."
"That's okay, Jessica. Can you describe to me this man who's following you?"
"I don't know, he's tall, and he has dark hair. He has a messy beard and he's wearing a long, dark coat. I think I saw a knife. Please help me!"
I recognized the description. There had been reports of a suspicious person near the locations where bodies had recently been found. A composite sketch had been all over the news for the last couple of days. Before I could respond, her voice came again. She screamed.
"Oh no, he's here again! He's found me! Please! Please, help! I don't want to die!"
"Well you'd better run fast then." I deleted the recording.

There have always been those mysterious stairs, spiraling downward from the lowest floor of the palace dungeon. The princess heard it whispered that there the many enemies of her father were questioned, never again to see the light of day. Many nights she lay awake, imagining the horrors taking place just a few floors below her. At times, she thought she could her the cries of agony, reaching out to her through the thick stones of the palace. She had confronted her father, who denied the existence of such a room and forbade her to inquire further - her mother, who had a sickness of the soul, had long ago fallen to insanity and ended her own life, casting herself from one of the upper windows of the palace.
The princess had to know.
She slipped past the guards at the entrance to the dungeon and went straight for the ominous stairs. She hurried down before her courage failed, and pushed open an unlocked, great steel door.
"I told you not to come in here," said her father, who stood before her in an apron covered with another's blood. "You women cannot be trusted!"
In one sharp movement, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her all the way to the topmost floor of the palace and flung her out of the window.

Timothy tried his hardest to blow out the fifteen flickering candles. He huffed and puffed... but to no avail. He glanced at his mother who had spent hours slaving away to bake the beautiful cake, and her expression made him feel unbearably guilty. Timothy's mother stared sadly at the unyielding flames that barely faltered in the face of Timothy's feeble attempts to snuff them out. She blinked a few times and the first tears started falling down her face. Whispering "Happy birthday, sweetie," she summoned a gust of wind and the dancing lights dissipated into puffs of smoke. Timothy didn't understand why he couldn't do that. It happened every year: his mother baked a perfect cake, he failed to blow out the candles, and she cried. The only thing that changed was the number of candles. Timothy went to go hug his mother... but to no avail. He merely drifted through her, and he didn't understand that either.

Mommy said we’re going to play a game. A game of hide and seek, and Daddy would be It. Mommy told me to find a really, really good place to hide, and not to make a sound. She said that if he finds me, then the game changes to tag, and to run away as fast as I can. I’m really good at hide and seek, though. I don’t think he’ll find me. I can hear him yelling for me and Mommy. He must be really frustrated. Oh, Mommy just screamed! He must have surprised her. I can hear her crying; she must really hate losing. She sure makes some weird noises when she cries! She sounds like she’s gagging on something. Ah, she’s quiet now; she must have remembered to be a good loser, like she tells me when I cry after I lose. there's light peeking into my hiding spot in the toy box and a figure covers me with its shadow. Man, Daddy found me! He’s really good at this game.

Brody was crying again; loud and clear over the baby monitor. I groggily checked the clock. It was 3am. They say having kids is worth it, but so far it's been grueling. I slowly sat up, rubbing my eyes. To my relief, I heard Brody's door open, followed by the sound of soft slippers padding their way into his room. It was my turn to take care of Brody, but Nichole must have beat me to it. I couldn't have asked for a better wife and mother. While still rubbing my eyes, I heard a soft, odd-sounding humming through the baby monitor. Brody almost immediately stopped crying. Thank goodness...I only had 3 hours left to sleep. I laid back down, turning over to get more comfortable. My eyes fell upon Nichole's silhouette. She was sitting straight-backed, looking down at me. Though I couldn't see her face, I'm sure it was as panicked as mine. I jumped out of bed with a start. I sped out of the room and into the hallway, followed closely behind by what sounded like Nichole raspily trying to keep up while tangled in sheets. Half naked, I rushed through Brody's doorway and flipped on the lights. Brody was being cradled softly by Nichole; anger and confusion plain on her face. Nichole's eyes drifted past me, and her face contorted with terror. The crying started again as I slowly turned around.