Creepypasta

Scratching (~part 3)

Alrighty guys /.\ here's part 3 :D Enjoy!
^---^
(=•w•=)~

Way back in 2005, I was invited to my first high school party. All I'd wanted since I turned 16 years old was to experience alcohol, friends and stupidity all in the same place; and after a long, boring year, I was finally able to.
I arrived at the party with Paul at 8pm and immediately got to drinking. We danced, laughed and avoided vomiting; but after being there for a few hours or so, we began to get bored and realised that we hadn't been missing much at all over the past year. We finished the last of our drinks and headed towards the front door. But just as we were leaving, I heard somebody shout my name from the corner of the room. I turned around and saw Tom standing there - swaying from side to side and happily slurring his words. I decided to stay a little longer.
After talking for a while, I felt as if I'd known Tom my whole life. He was a year older than Alex, but he seemed much more mature. He was very open about everything that had happened and didn't seem to mind talking about it. He told me that his foster family are not the nicest of people and don't seem to care about anything he does - they make him feel like an outcast and treat him like a stranger rather than a son. He told me that he hasn't heard from his mother since she disappeared and doesn't know whether she is dead or alive. He even mentioned that he was failing in school, but he just didn't care anymore. His life was ruined.
When the party was over, I told Tom that he could sleep at my house so he didn't have to make his way home. I set the futon for him and watched as he collapsed into a drunken slumber. When I woke up the next morning, Tom was already awake and holding something in his hands that I hadn't seen in over 2 years:
"Where did you find this?" he said.
"I haven't seen that in a long time - forgot I still had it."
"Okay but where did you find it?"
"I found it a couple of years ago. It was floating down a stream in Oakshale and I managed to fish it out of the water. Why?"
"This is my mum's jewellery box. That photo was taken on my 7th birthday - the day my Dad left."
"Are you being serious?"
"Did you find this box before my mum left me?"
"I did. When I got home a week later, Alex told me that your mum was gone."
"Look at this drawing. That's me and my foster family, I'm sure of it. Even the old house looks the same."
At this point, neither of us knew what to think. This all seemed impossible. I pointed to the man in the back of the drawing and watched as Tom's face lost all colour. I had to ask him about 'the man'. I told him about what Alex and I had experienced back when I was 12. How Alex had seen him but I hadn't. I mentioned to him about the scratching and the strange conversation with Alex back in Paul's grandparents house. He listened to what I had to say and it seemed to give him comfort. Maybe knowing that he wasn't the only one to see such things made him feel a little better.
After a long silence, Tom began to speak:
"When I was younger, I would see him all the time. He would come to my window, find me at school, watch me as I tried to sleep; he was everywhere. As I've gotten older I've been seeing him less and less. But I do still see him. He usually appears as a tall, scraggly looking old man. His eyes are the thing I remember most. Pure black, but with the most intimate glow behind them that almost seems relaxing. Yet, you are always full of terror - it's strange."
Before I could say anything to Tom, he picked up the photograph from the box and showed me something that was written on the back of it; "Follow the stream to 66". I had never noticed that writing before. Tom asked me if I would take him back to where I found the jewellery box in Oakshale. The way I saw it, I had no other choice than to say yes.
We set off walking to the stream with the hope of finding something - anything - to do with Tom's mother; but I don't think either of us really knew what to expect. We had been walking for around half an hour when Tom stopped and pointed to a sign in the bushes for a shortcut to Oakshale. Upon seeing the sign, I was filled with a sense of fear that I'd never felt before - I really didn't want to take that shortcut. I told Tom that I had a strange feeling - almost like deja vu or an extremely vivid dream - but he told me not to worry. As we were nearing the sign, I noticed a white, spotted bow on the floor. It was playing out exactly as I had seen it. I made my way back on to the main road and refused to go anywhere near the trees by the sign. I don't like to think of what might of happened in those woods.
Eventually, we arrived at Oakshale and began to follow the stream. As we neared an old wooden bridge, Tom pointed to a small house on the opposite side from us. We headed towards the front door but there didn't seem to be a house number anywhere. "This must be 66." Tom said quietly. We made our way along the front path and knocked on the door. To this day, I still find it difficult to explain what happened when that door opened.
Tom's mum answered the door and stared at both of us:
"Can I help you?"
"Mum?"
"I'm sorry, I think you're mistaken."
I stood silently as Tom exchanged words with the woman who was once his mother.
"Mum it's me, Tom. Are you okay? What happened to you?"
"I am not your mother. I don't have any children, so will you stop saying otherwise."
At this moment, a man I had never seen before approached the door and chimed in on the conversation.
"What's going on here? What do you kids want?"
"Dad? It's me. Where have you been? Where has mum been? I don't understand."
We must have stood there - shocked and confused - for twenty minutes before Tom's dad ended the conversation.
"Look, we couldn't take it anymore. It's your turn to deal with it now. We like it here and I think we're safe. So you should never come back okay?"
The door slammed shut and Tom began to cry. We left that house and made our way home in silence. As we were heading back through the trees to reach the main road, I turned around to look at the house one last time. Standing on the bridge - as clear as day - staring right at me was a tall, black-eyed man pointing at the stream. I tensed up, feeling sick and dizzy; but I didn't mention what I'd seen to Tom. That was the first time I'd see my worst fear. I wish I could say it was the last.
A month or so after going back to Oakshale, I was given a school report to do on local history. I had been doing research, working my way through the years and was going through hundreds of old newspapers. I stumbled across a paper that was dated August 17th 1958. The main headline was detailing the death of a young boy who had drowned near his family home. A headline from a paper dated May 8th 1960 was of another young boy who had drowned whilst playing near a local brook. Over the next 6 years, five more child deaths graced the front page of local newspapers. Then, in the winter of '66, the killer was caught.
On November 12th 1966, the front page headline boasted the quote "It's the only thing I'm good at". Solomon Wallace had killed seven children over the course of 8 years and had finally been brought to justice. His final victim was 7 year old Kimberly Matthews. She had been lured away from her back garden where she was playing and was drowned in the brook running along the back of her house on Kershall Street - the same street that I live on. Her body was recovered when a passer-by noticed her white, spotted bow tangled up in a plant on top of the water. During the final court hearing of the brutal killing spree, a disgruntled father of one of the children shot Solomon Wallace three times in the back. After being taken to the hospital and placed in the intensive care unit; his nurse returned to his room, only to find out that it was empty.
After weeks of intense searching, Solomon Wallace was never found. Most people believe that he died from the gunshot wounds; some believe that he got away with it scot-free. However, some people like me are still unsure to this very day. Besides the odd nightmare, Me, Tom and Alex were mostly left alone. It wasn't until meeting Michael on my 20th birthday that things would become worse than ever.

~/.\ [credit to original author] Hope u liked this part of the story :3 I'll continue to post the rest soon :D night night lovelies