Creepypasta Galore

The Stitcher

It was a cold winters afternoon, soft flurries of snow were gathering on the boys window sill, much of it piling in a clump on his timbered bedroom floor, unfortunately his window panes, which were designed to keep him from catching a flu, had been shattered.

He wore a cheap-looking, dark blue hoodie, except, it wasn't much of a 'hoodie' because the sleeves had been cut short fraying slightly at the ends, and the actual hood was absent, his mother had bought this for him from the second-hand store which explained alot. Gray tinted skinny jeans concealed his thin legs and dark navy blue colored sneakers covered his feet. The boy had hazel brown eyes, with the same shaded hair.

"Almost done" he whispered to the small doll sitting patiently on his desk.

He gave a long weary sigh, then delicately slid the tip of his sewing needle through its frayed fabric. The boy continued the careful motion, looping the thread in circles down its exposed side, watching as the fabric was forced together, holding all the stuffing perfectly in place. Tying a small knot completed his work, and he placed the doll down in-front of him.

Next to the figure rested another, with long threads of brown silk for hair and an untidy grey dress. The one he'd finished had brown hair also, but more light as the boy had forgotten to restock on wool, it had a sewn black shirt on.

Both of the small figurines had black button eyes, staring at him gratefully, they represented his parents.

"Andy!" called the shrill demand of his father. "Get up here now!"

Said boy obeyed, rising from his chair and making sure all of his belongings were in place before he left.

Walking up the rasping stairs he met face to face with the drunk man.

Andy glanced down at the floor, he disliked looking at his father, the large dark rings underneath his eyes, how his disgusting breath travelled across the dining room, his large unsteady hands and his brutal form were all unsettling, but the true reason was because he couldn't stand to see what the man had become, what his mother or father had grown to be.

As usual the man wore a grubby tank-top and matted, rugby shorts, the man wasn't in shape nor was he fat, but the way he was heading he was soon going to be.

"Go down to Thomas and get me some more" his father requested, but it was more of an order than anything. "And be quick this time"

A large wad of money was driven into the boys stomach, Andy nodded, taking a breath and ignoring the pain he'd been inflicted, he took it in his hands and made for the door.

His mother, Katherine, greeted him as he passed, her usually bright blue happy eyes tired and low, which wasn't surprising, seeing that the women carried out every single one of her husbands drunk demands. She had her slimming gray dress on again, with long brown, leather boots. Katherine placed a hesitant kiss on her sons head and opened the door for him.

"Here sweetheart" she smiled catching his attention before enveloping his neck in an orange and black striped scarf. "Keep warm, its cold, and stay safe"

Andy nodded, he took one last glance at his father who fell onto their living-room couch, completely defiling the cushions. Unable to manage a farewell smile he just closed the door between him and his mother, there was no reason to smile anyway, if he had it would've been fake, like when he'd told her that his father wasn't abusive and that the reasons for his anger fits were because of his hard days at work, but this was before Andy had found out that the man had been using Meth.

Andy quivered, freshly falling shards of ice landing on his exposed face, he placed the money in his hoodie pocket, then arranged the scarf so that it was covering his nose down to his shoulders.