Shorts stories & Creepypastas

Vincent (Apocalypse Angel)

(This is a character from Apocalypse Angel: https://www.wattpad.com/story/288404229-apocalypse-angel-%7E-english-version )

My parents regularly welcome orphans on a temporary basis. They act as foster parents while these children await adoption. I've never had anything against it. When I was very young, there was a girl my age who came to stay, and we got along so well that she became my best friend. When she was adopted, we stayed in touch and continued to write to each other.

Later, when I was older, a little boy came. He was just a baby, and he was adopted fairly quickly. I don't remember it very well; he only stayed with us for a month.

Finally, when I was twelve, they welcomed a teenage boy. His name was Vincent. And he scared me. He had such a cold look when he looked at people. As if every person was guilty of a terrible crime. As if he expected anyone to attack him with a knife. He was very violent with my parents. He answered back rudely and even hit them, sometimes with kicks, sometimes with punches. Just like that, for no reason. He would strike them when they crossed paths in the hallway or when my father asked him to come to the table to eat with us. Or when my mother invited him to join us for a family board game.

I was afraid of him, but he never turned on me or my little sister, Canelle. He didn't hurt us and didn't even talk to us. He barely looked at us. I even sat in the hallway, stretching my legs to take up the whole width, while playing with a handheld console, but he just stepped over me as if I were a pile of clothes. Without even looking at me. I called out to him, but he just locked himself in his room without responding. It was as if I didn't exist.

My parents were tired. Vincent often stayed out late, and they preferred to wait for him, fearing that something might have happened to him. More than once, it was the police who brought him back, and that only frightened me even more.

One morning, I went to see my mother right away when I got up to share my concerns with her. She was in the bathroom, applying ointment to her bruised leg.

"Don't worry, meu amor. Vincent is not as mean as he may seem. Your father and I are just trying to understand. It's a bit like a mistreated dog. It will bite and show its teeth. You understand, Não é? Besides, he brought kittens home last night. He found them in the street. Your father set up a cozy box for them in the kitchen; you can go see them."

I had always wanted to have a pet, but my father feared that at my young age, I wouldn't be responsible enough. He ran a zoo and was very concerned about animal welfare. But I was about to turn 13. I could perfectly take care of a few cats.

When I arrived in the kitchen, I saw Vincent, on his knees on the floor, giving milk to the little cats. At that moment, I was stunned by his usually empty gaze, which was then sparkling with happiness, and the slight smile on his lips. A smile he lost when he felt me staring at him. His eyes, once again murderous, rested on me for barely a few seconds, and he ignored me as usual. I decided to approach him anyway, and I was able to pet the cats and even give them milk. I tried to communicate with Vincent, but even though we were doing exactly the same thing at that moment, he continued to ignore me.

From that moment on, my parents started to do more in-depth research. They questioned his previous foster families, as well as the institution where he had been.

The day my mother met Vincent's very first foster family, I didn't have school. She preferred not to leave me alone at home with him, so I accompanied her. It was the father who opened the door. At first charming, his face hardened into a terrifying grimace when my mother mentioned Vincent's name. What he revealed to us then increased my fear.

One night, when he was 8 years old, Vincent got up to go to the kitchen and take a knife. He then went to the room of one of the family's sons and stabbed him several times. He didn't kill him, but his life was seriously threatened. He spent several months in the hospital. As for Vincent, he spent a year in a correctional facility before being sent to different families, where he always showed violence.

Since I found out about this, I sleep very poorly. And the worst part is that I hear the door of his room open in the middle of the night, and his steps in the hallway as he heads towards the kitchen...