Creepypasta Collection Book 1

Better in the Dark

The fear came in ripples. Even in a house full of people, phone fully charged, doors open, it came down, shivers and unsteady breathing. 'My parents aren't too far away,' you assure yourself. 'Just one loud scream and they'll come running for me.' You're on the internet, reading up on Creepypasta after Googling the absolute shit out of it. /x/, Creepypasta Wiki, Creepypasta.com, every single site just about explored, every category uncovered.

You just wanted a little read, that's all. Just something to do because you didn't want to go to bed before your parents, and you're too lazy to get any actual work done. You blink, hard. The screen distorts itself, blazing momentarily, and you wonder if it is a trick of the mind. You must've been on this thing for hours. Your eyes water and you're suddenly aware that if you close them, something will grab you from behind. You mock yourself inwardly, almost sustaining a laugh, but figure against blinking. That stuff's for chumps. You cringe a little as something rubs on your leg. You reach down to pet your cat and stop. You looked down.

Nothing.

Your throat locks and you can only face the screen, frightened that if you look anywhere else, it will get you. The fear alone locks you in place. Your cat. You need to call him. Silence fills the room, a faint white noise ringing from inside your head. You don't have the courage to break the barrier; besides, if you speak, something in the room may wake up. You just sit, too scared to even call for your cat, unable to look anywhere but the monitor. 'It's ridiculous,' you say to yourself, and, just to prove how wrong you are, you look towards the right. Your eyes widen.

The door. Bland white wood, bland silver doorknob. Same state as when you came in, no demon hands reaching in, no faces imprinted on the slate. Only...You don't really remember closing it. 'Relax, calm down, relax,' you insist to yourself, trying to recount your past activities. 9 PM, enter the room. Between 9 PM and 3 AM, close the door while reading horror stories, because you know that helps you feel safe.

Nausea washes over you in waves, and you try to still your heartbeat, about to close the browser and maybe look up something on YouTube. Your hand slows. What if they switched your wallpaper for images of dead bodies? Of a demon? Of something horrible, something so indescribably terror-inducing that you'll go insane and shrivel up like potpourri? You instead type the URL into the search box, wondering why you're being such a wimp. Another thought comes over you.

What if, whatever you type into that box, just one site comes up? It'll be the last site you see before you die. You decide to stay on that page, it's just some mediocre story about someone getting disemboweled in the streets. Not scary. You browse through some others, unaware of anything but your own breathing. The words on your screen are all too bright, all too small. Creepypasta to help you sleep. Good ideas abound at 3 AM. You pause, staring down at the clock at the bottom of your screen. Isn't 3 AM the witching hour?

Something creeks behind you, uneven and slow.

You freeze up, your heart slamming in your chest. The breath you take hurts your stomach, and your hands freeze up on the keyboard. In front of you is a picture from your latest read. A thing (it's hardly a person) with a white face and globe-like eyes and an enormous, happy smile. You're certain it's behind you. It walked like that on purpose and if you look anywhere else, anywhere other than the screen, it will get you. Its smile will brighten even more, its eyes widen with a look that could almost be called loving and then poof. You're gone from existence. You desperately ache to turn off your computer and just to get sleep, it can't be that hard.

Your phone is next to you, ready to be opened and used to call someone, anyone, just so you can have company. You can't be the only loser up at this ungodly hour. Besides, your parents are sleeping next door to you. They'll come in and, just like when you were five, they'll barge in and scare the Boogeyman away. You look back down at the counter-clock: It's 45 minutes past 3 AM, so the witching hour thing is 15 minutes away from over, and you probably shouldn't sleep anyways, since you've got school and you're an idiot. Maybe doing homework would help. You reach under your desk, feeling for your notebook, when you touch something.