Creepypasta stories

The Hunt Is On

There is nothing more thrilling than the hunt. Nothing. Not even the kill. I am Nothing. I live for the moment of breathtaking anticipation when I pinpoint my prey. Stalking it. Waiting for the right moment to jump.

I crave the surprise on their face, the dulling of the corneas as I bring my weapon down and slash their throat. The feeling of life as it leaves their body. I can feel it, It's both suffocating and invigorating. The air grows heavy as the mind starts to shut down. They greedily suck in that final breath. Then it's over in a blink of an eye. If they have a soul, I am the one who devours it.

It doesn't matter who they are. I will take them and I will consume them.

This is why we were drawn to each other. We both wanted the hunt. The reasons were different, but none of that mattered. We didn't even particularly like or trust each other. We were too much alike in that way, but we still bonded.

We wanted the kill. We could taste it on our tongues. The sweet, sticky flavor of revenge. There would always be the desire to right the deaths for which we felt responsible. We weren't that different, although he'd have blamed me for turning him. Twisting his thoughts and making them my own. I had nothing to do with it. At least when I was hunting with him, I was still normal.

Well, as normal as I could be.

Secrets.

We had them. They were different, but at the same time, I wouldn't have been surprised to here they were the same. Something made me stronger when I was part of a team, able to push the darkness deep down inside of me. I could control it.

But it was always hard.

I didn't want it.

I lied to myself, refused to listen to the voices when they called. Tried to block them out. I needed to be strong enough to keep my own mind.

But they called to me.

When they grew too powerful, I'd get away.

Run. Run away.

Hide.

When they passed and I returned to normal, the guilt would eat me up.

And believe me, there was guilt. Lots of it. I lived each moment as if a thousand pounds of molten lava crushed my chest. You may not think I felt pity for my victims by the way I talk, but I did. I felt sorry for each and every one I harmed. I remembered them all in secret. All that weight on my soul took its toll.

Scratch that. I don't have a soul. It's gone. I lost it a long time ago.

And when I closed my eyes I saw their faces etched on my corneas. Staring down at me. Accusing, Hating. Wishing me the same death. Demanding to take back what I'd stolen from them. They'd eventually find me and drag me down. After a while I stopped looking in mirrors. I didn't want to see what they saw.

They all haunted me.

Even when I killed my own kind.