Creepypasta Collection Book 1

Facial Features Not Recognized

"Facial features not recognized." Chimed a woman's monotone voice. I cursed beneath my breath. This laptop had been lying in my apartment for days now, and I still couldn't get it unlocked. My attempts at reinstalling the operating system were met with complete failure. Now, I'm no crook, but when I saw this fancy piece of equipment left unguarded on a patio table in some stranger's yard a couple days ago. I couldn't keep my hands from snatching it and dropping it into my backpack. Anyone rich enough to afford a laptop with such advanced security features, and smug enough to leave it unattended, is rich enough to replace it. It was time to take matters into my own hands. But, if only I'd known with a huge mistake I was able to make, I would never have taken the laptop in the first place.

It started off innocently enough. Once evening, I returned to the house where I found the laptop and casually glanced through the window from the sidewalk. A beautiful young brunette with a tight yoga body paraded about in the living room. I needed to know her name; I wanted to look her up online so I could get a photo to unlock the laptop. The next morning, I waited a few houses down for her to leave for work. She never even noticed my car tailing hers all the way to a parking lot outside a government agency building. She parked under a maple tree and smiled a beautiful smile that brought butterflies to my stomach. I ducked behind my dashboard as she exited her car, and slammed the door shut with an audible "THUD." As she made her way to the building, I began to feel a twinge of regret. This was weird, right? Here I was, stalking a perfect stranger so I could break into her laptop. I felt like the scum of the universe. I turned the car around and went home.

That night, I sat in front of the sealed laptop, drumming my fingertips nervously against its cover. I wondered what kind of stuff she had stored on its hard drive. Naked pictures of herself perhaps? I pushed the damn things away, but curiosity boiled within me. What was so important that it required this kind of security measure? I groaned and reached into my trusty candy bowl for a handful of goodies. I'd knocked it down many times during my childhood and it didn't have so much as a scratch on it. I poured myself a drink to clean my thoughts, and watched the night slowly drift away.

By the first rays of light, I had convinced myself to try again. This time, I drove to Mrs. Nicebuns' workplace and waited near the entrance. I sat down on a bench with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. When she finally showed up, I "accidentally" spilled my coffee, which made her slow her pace. My eyes darted towards her ID badge. Bingo! Allison Monroe. She took a little detour, gave me a sympathetic smile, and disappeared into the building. I returned home and looked her up online. Once I'd found a hi-res photo of her, I brought it up to the laptop's camera and attempted to sign in. "Facial features not recognized." It said. Damn. A photo wouldn't do the trick.

Social media is a wonderful and terrible thing. Finding Allison on Facebook was easy, and she'd brilliantly provided links to her Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest accounts. It wasn't hard to find out Ally's likes and dislikes. She went out every Friday night to get drunk with her friends, she took baking classes on Sundays (with little to no success), and she loved taking photos of motherboards. Like, a TON of them. She fancied herself the artist, zooming in real close and applying a variety of filters. To be honest, her work looked pretty neat. She turned used computers into sci-fi looking cityscapes. I came up with a fairy simple plan; I'd approach her Friday night, charm the pants off of her, buy her a bunch of drinks, and point the laptop to her face once she was sufficiently out of it. Turns out, it was even easier than that. By the time I arrived at her favorite pub, she was already three sheets to the wind. I waited for her friend to take a washroom break, quickly pulled the laptop out of my bag, placed it on the bar, and told the drunken girl that we were taking a selfie. Eyes half shut, she lazily made a peace sign with her hands and grinned at the camera. "Facial features not recognized." Warned the computer, as I snatched it up and made my way towards the door. Crap, crap, crap. Her eyes must have been closed.

The moon was but a small silver in the sky, and I watched it slowly make its way from rooftop to rooftop until the wee hours of the night. I waited for my little Ally to stagger out of the bar, and offered her a ride. She gleefully accepted and threw herself into the backseat. She probably thought I was a taxi driver. Oh, Ally. Sweet, naïve Ally. I chuckled and drove back to my place. There was only one option left. I dragged her barely conscious body inside, and set her comfortably on the couch. I got tape and attempted to stick her eyelids open, but this made her agitated for some reason. She thrashed, screamed and caused a scene. I panicked, what if the neighbors heard?! I instinctively reached for the candy bowl on the living room table, sending Skittles hurling in all directions. They bounced and cascaded onto the floor like a colorful waterfall. In a swift motion, I knocked the bowl against Ally's gentle head, intending only to calm her down. Blood gushed out of her skull like lava from an exploding volcano. I backed away in shock, slipped on the candy and fell to the floor. Everything went black.

By the time I came to, Ally was gone. I checked her pulse, her hands were cold and her skin had taken on an eerie blue sheen.Brownish stains of dried blood adorned the side of her head. My breath felt trapped in my throat, and I had to swallow hard to get the air flowing into my lungs once more. My fingers stretched out towards her delicate face. I pried her eyelids open and, much to my surprise, they remained that way after I let go. She has such beautiful green eyes, not unlike the color of her precious motherboards. I lifted the laptop, convinced this time that the facial recognition software would be satisfied. "Facial features not recognized." It said. Curses. I owed it to Ally to find out what was in there. What if she had other artsy photos to show the world?! It was my DUTY to open that laptop.

A thought crossed my mind, as I sat there desperately looking at my beautiful Allison; what if the facial recognition apparatus had some sort of heat detection sensor? Yeah, that made sense. How else would it know the difference between a photo and a real person? I had no choice. I grabbed a knife from the kitchen, carved her lovely features off and removed her eyeballs carefully with a spoon. It pained me to do so, and the gushing sound made me ill. What was once a vibrant young woman now sat lifeless on my couch, her face in my hands like stack of ham coated in chunky salsa.

I carefully brought Ally's face to mine; it was cold, uncomfortable, and hindered my ability to breathe. I left it on for a few minutes, waiting for my body heat to transfer onto her flesh, while I held her eyeballs in my hands. Once I was convinced the face was warm enough, I skillfully peeled the forehead back, and slipped the now warm eyes into its sockets, before pushing the skin back in place. I turned towards the laptop in a hurry. "Facial features not recognized." It said. DAMN IT! I tossed the darn thing across the room out of frustration. It landed upside down, and I spotted a label on its underbelly. I crawled over and looked at it. GOD DAMN IT, I am a MORON. Why hadn't I seen the label sooner?! Why hadn't I thought to check every inch of the laptop for clues?! What a horrible mistake! The label stated, in clear black letters, Steve Monroe. Urgh, I was going to have to start from scratch...