Creepypasta Child Scenarios

Emotions? No Thanks, I'm Allergic

Masky couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment he'd been downgraded from being one of the world's most efficient serial killers to a part time wingman and permanently exhausted mother. It seemed as though it was only yesterday when he and Hoodie were smashing skulls, breaking necks, and making out in the woods with the blood still fresh on their clothes. Now, he was parent to a head strong and infuriatingly reckless teenage girl.

When the lights exploded over their heads with a damning flick of the switch, it only added to Masky's sour mood. More so, since it left him blinking like a madman trying to get those little black spots out of his vision, all while some yahoo stood against the farthest wall armed with a metal baseball bat...in his underwear. With his sight coming back in blotchy glimpses, Masky was able to see his idiot companion nearly brain himself with his own knife in his haste to shield his eyes.

"What--What the heck are you guys doing in my house?"

A valid question, Masky supposed, but not one he'd ask if the roles were reversed. He'd personally just bludgeon the poor bastard stupid enough to break into his home. But normal people were different. They wasted time asking questions trying to rationalize lethal situations. It's what usually got them killed.

"Fucking fuck, man." Jeff hissed through clenched teeth, "Your lights are fucking murder."

"Uh-huh...murder." The man was going for a laugh, but it sounded more like he was choking, "Like I really hope you're not about to do to me." He shrunk further down the wall until Masky was almost sure it was going to swallow him whole. He was trembling now too. It made sense, finding two ill-intentioned guys standing in the middle of your living room while you were wearing only your underwear was pretty shocking.

With a perfected glare, Masky turned to Jeff and crossed his arms right over his chest, "Abandoned, huh?"

"I never said it was abandoned. I said it looked like it could be."

"Unbelievable."

This was the first and ultimately the last time Masky would ever tag along with Jeff just because the guy spent the better half of the week pouting. He was a fucking professional for crying out loud.

"Hey uh, my roommate's gonna be home soon—any second now. And uh...he's a big guy." The man croaked. He was inching his way into the hall, "And he's got a gun. And he um...he knows jujitsu...so I wouldn't--I wouldn't stick around."

Jeff glanced down at the large dead man sprawled across the stained and worn out sofa. "You mean this guy?" He lifted the man's flabby arm and waved it over the back of the couch, "Kinda weird, I didn't get that impression from him at all."

Masky could feel the dull throb that promised the beginnings of a nasty headache pulsing in his temples. "What's your name, dude?" He asked, facing the man looking about ready to drop dead himself. Masky saw the guy blink once or twice, tearing his eyes away from the back of the couch where his roommate laid just a few feet away.

Consciously, he knew he wasn't supposed to give his name to two deranged lunatics who clearly just killed his roommate. What if they asked for his social security number? Would he just hand it over, No questions asked?

Absolutely.

"Um...David." The young man tried to swallow around his cinder block tongue, "I'm David. But my friends call me, D."

"Yeah, we're not friends." Masky sighed, "There's no way you're going to believe this, David, but we're just here for pizza--"

"I don't have pizza!!"

"--and I know that, but we," Masky pointed in between himself and Jeff, "ordered pizza and made this place--your place, the drop off point. You and whoever this...was...you weren't supposed to be here."