Creepypasta: Más headcanons y similares.

OC: Padre sanguijuela

Father Leech

A simple ghost

His house is filled with rotting food and moldy surfaces, because he has no body to clean it out and bring in new food. His house is falling apart and his body seems as young as it was once upon a time.

His eyes are full of life yet his touch is dead cold. Beware of Father Leech because his hugs are stiff and no longer can cover you in slime.

He's a ghost so sad that will never realize he died a long time ago, even before there was a story to tell about Father Leech. So now Father Leech can only wait and ponder about the many people that could arrive at his house, a home with spoiled food waiting at the table and clothes that were eaten by moths.

Don't stay for too long, because Father Leech doesn't know how to take care of the living, he can only feed you things that are falling apart and nests of flies. And you should worry, because Father Leech remembers how to tie people to his house, knots and beatings are stuff usually given by twisted men like him.

...

He was stretched

I feel stretched out, my bones and flesh were pulled until it all became a mess of sharp ends and bleeding walls. Made hollow and filled with portraits of things I never was, but I knew they were clean enough to not warrant questions. I was perfectly pieced together by parts that were meant to break eventually.

I would always allow people to take refuge in me. I was peaceful, quiet and warm. Until my broken bones and torn skin began to rot, oozing darkened blood and squirming creatures. How was I supposed to remain nice and clean from that?

I was young and sweet, but who made me like this are leeches who were hosts for other leeches. And I feel like making more leeches, bloodsuckers that will hollow me out even more.

...

I was made a place of sanctuary

While I was growing my body got twisted, the veins sprayed across the floor until those dug through the earth and my blood started to feed this ground. My ribs became columns and my skin got turned into leather, the walls were made of teeth and the concrete was sinew.

Inside my body people came to cry and seek answers, they asked so much and tried to tend to my aching self, yet they were never able to figure out how to actually preserve my rotting carcass.

I was a boy full of joy and I quickly was turned into a sanctum full of miserable people seeking for things one would find in older places.

...

A rotting paradise

Father Leech, He who was turned into our heavenly home. Creator of sanctuary, of places in which one can lay to rest and recover from infected wounds deep within the self. Here on His sanctum in which stories take place and are brought upon the eyes of those who have felt some connection to Him.

His name was said to be one alien to its own self, separating title from essence and creating a rift through which one cannot reach Him. Gallagher is simply a way to call Him, not really Him, not even close to His being.

He who created many places that were filled with rotting feelings. Bleeding stories with no purpose beyond cutting into the surface of someone's emotional side, to make them feel safe and captivated by fancy words describing heinous debauchery.

Father Leech is both place and creator, both character and author, both corpse and tomb.

He who lies and waits to give shelter.

...

Here lies Father Leech

Of liminal places, spaces in-between stretched phases in time.

Many faces are forgotten since they were only seen through your journey. Here the leeches wait and fill the floor under your shoes, leaving behind a trail of blood that will remind you of how long it has been since it all started.