Creepypasta Collection Book 1

Mark

My name is Mark and this happened around 1985 when I was 11-years-old.

My family (Mom, Dad, my sister, and I) had recently moved from a beautiful big farmhouse outside of town into a flat in the city. For a kid who loved playing outdoors with our dog, wading in the river, or feeding the ducks and chickens, it was a big adjustment. The blocks of flats were old and only 6 floors, we were on the top floor. Like many old buildings, the flat itself was big with high ceilings and long passages. My room was furthest from my parents room and nearest the bathroom at the end of the hall.

One evening while my parents were watching TV in the lounge, I went to the bathroom to use the toilet. When I was done, I flushed the toilet and through the sound of the rushing water I heard a very distinctive sound, like a whisper, as though someone was standing right next to me, and it said: "Maaaark."

I remember the moment vividly! I ran from my bathroom into the lounge, trembling with fear. I told my parents what I heard. My dad thought it was funny, he laughed and said it was just the pipes in this old block of flats. My mom was a little more sympathetic, but also played it down.

Weeks passed again without incident, until one evening, about the same time, I was in the bath. My parents were, once again, in the lounge on the far side of the flat. While bathing I heard it again. Clear as day, right next to my ear, this bone-chilling deathly whisper calling my name: "Maaaaark."

This time though I was more prepared, my dad told me it was just the pipes and my logical brain kicked in trying to work it out...Still somewhat scared I listened more intently, putting my ear to the bath's overflow grate and waited...Nothing. And then just as I was about to relax and put it down to the pipes it called again, this time with more desperation in its voice, "MAAAARK."

And then I did something that horrifies me to this day...I answered it. "Yes? What do you want?"

Even though the bath was hot my body was covered in goosebumps, as I sat terrified silence waiting for God knows what.

And then it came; it was the most horrifying, yet somehow tragic, cry I have ever heard. Like the guttural, hollow wail of despair a mother might make upon discovering her dead child. "Aaauuuuuurrrgghhh!"

Terrified, I leapt naked from the bath and bolted to the lounge where I ran to my mother. Shaking and sobbing I could barely speak, but managed to articulate, "I...heard it...again!"

My father, being the man of logic he was, marched me back into the bathroom to prove nothing was there, and to my relief there wasn't anything. In retrospect I think that did more damage to me than anything else!

In the weeks that followed I refused to bath without one of my parents present. I would only use the toilet with the door open, or would rather hold off and keep my ablutions for school or when visiting friends.

Anyway, some months passed and we moved again, this time into a newly built house. Over time my fear of using bathrooms waned, and the incidents which so terrified me became a distant memory.

About 15 years passed and one evening while having dinner with my mom (my dad had passed away a few years prior). I asked her if she remembered those events in the flat. She remembered them well.

Her face got serious, "Do you know why we moved from there?" "No," I replied, now very curious. She continued, "I began to hear it too, at night it would call your name like something was wandering the flat, looking for you."