Creepypastas

Gold

I was walking down the street, hands stuffed in my pocket. It was silent, foggy, and horrible. I could practically feel the water seeping through my jacket, and it made me shiver. Everyone else had been smart enough to take a car--or stay inside--so I was walking alone, with nothing but the ever-so-often howls of stray dogs to keep my company.

Normally, on a night like this, I would have been quick to get back to my house. For one, it wasn't the safest part of town. For another, the game was on tonight, and I was really hoping for my team to win. But work had dragged on, and I hadn't even eaten my dinner yet. My stomach was complaining about the lack of food, but the rest of my was freaking out over every shadow that flitted across my eyes.

I would have gone home and made myself some dinner, but then I saw the glorious golden arches that signified my favorite fast food franchise. A quick look at my watch told me that I had just enough time to grab a burger before the game, and I ducked inside, out of the foggy horror.

Since home was more than a few minutes' walk, I dumped my trash in the bin and headed to the restrooms. It was late, and there wasn't anyone else inside, so my stop was quick.

"Hey," a voice said, it sounded like a gangster's voice, but an eerily, dark voice at the same time.

I spun around, water flying everywhere, and turned off the tap before I answered him. "Hi." I tried to play cool, even though the front of my shirt was soaked, I'm pretty sure my fly was unzipped, and there was a spot of ketchup on my chin.

He looked at me, spiky red hair shining under the lights of the bathroom. His white shirt was torn, and he reached into a battered leather jacket to pull out a brick of solid gold. Or, what I assumed to be solid gold. I was no expert in minerals and stuff, but judging from the way his muscles tensed when he picked it up, I was pretty sure it was real. I mean, gold was heavy, right?

"Free of charge, mate." He grinned at me, trying to pass the gold over.

"Uh, no thanks." I said, holding up my hands. "I don't want it."

But he was insistent, and he jumped to get in front of the door before I could leave. "Take the gold," he said, once more shoving it in front of my face. "Take the gold." He repeated, his hand firm against the door. "Just take the gold."

Because I really wanted to get out of there, and I figured I could just sell the gold, and I actually kind of wanted it, I slipped the gold in my pocket and moved past him to open the door. I didn't even bother thanking him, but that was only because he was forcing me to take the gold.

"Oh, and, one more thing," he called to me, right before I left, "don't lose the gold."

I turned around to ask him why, but the he was gone, and there was no sign of him anywhere.

Back at my apartment I was watching TV, the gold safely in my pocket. My team was currently winning, and, if they kept it up, I was going to be collecting my winnings tomorrow morning at work.

"Yes!" I shouted, when my team scored yet another goal on the football match. I jumped up, knowing that Ms. Davis was going to scream at me for making all the noise, and clapped wildly.

Like I had predicted, I heard Ms. Davis thumping her cane on the ceiling, and I sat back down, putting my hands in my pockets to warm them up--the heater was broken, and my cheapass super refused to buy a new one even though it was the middle of winter--but then froze when I didn't feel the chunky bar of cool gold.

"Where's the gold?" I jumped to my feet once more, ignoring my team scoring another goal, and searched all around the couch, in my jacket, and under the rug. "Where did it go?" I got down on my knees and looked under the couch, a panic setting in. How could I have lost it? It was in my pocket the entire time.

"I told you not to lose my gold."

I jumped around to see the man from the restroom, twirling a knife in his hands with a grim look on his face. 'W-what are you doing?" I asked, getting to my feet and backing away from him. "How'd you get in here? Did someone let you in?"

"I told you not to lose my gold." He repeated with a shake of his head.

"I-I didn't." I stuttered quickly. "It's in my pocket."

He shook his head at me. "Goodbye, friend," he said, expressionless.