COCK BLOOD! | CREEPYPASTA CRACKFIC

POP GOES THE WEASEL!!

I close my eyes, but the static intensifies. It's as if Slender Man is trying to claw his way into my mind. My dreams feel heavy, overbearing, like a weight crushing my chest. When I open my eyes, my brain feels foggy, reality blurring at the edges.

"Where you going?"

Ben's called from the living room, his gay ass black eyes boring into me as I place my hand on the doorknob. I glanced at the TV, this foos playing Fortnite. WHEN THE FUCK DID WE GET A PS4?!2

"Imma buy cigarettes," I mutter,raising a brow.

"Alright, I'm coming." Ben materializes beside me, his negative 200 aura making me shudder. I groan, frustration bubbling up inside me.

"NO! I wanna go myself. All of you guys have been hovering around me like I'm an idiot who's gonna get kidnapped!"

The sound of the toilet flushing grabs our attention as the bathroom door swung open, "That already hap-pened," Toby interjects, his neck cracking loudly as he twitches. Tongue click, whistles, involuntary hand movements. "Ben literally told us last week about Jeff and the rest of the Pastas going rogue. W-we need to—"

"Be careful. I know!" I snap, cutting him off. The voices of Francis and Juan echo in my mind, their laughter mixing with the faint static. It agitated me further. I try to push them away, focusing on the present. "It's just down the street, a liquor store. Imma just get cigs."

They stare at me, doubt etched on their faces. Toby's twitches intensify. Whistle, neck crack, verbal tic. He's stressin. "It's fine," I reassure him, feeling my foot start to tap from impatience.

Ben shrugs, his form flickering. "K." The elf floats back towards the couch, leaving a trail of pixelated distortion in his wake.

Toby groans, his scarred hands clenching. "If you get kidnapped again, I-I swear to G-God—"

He jabs a scabbed finger towards me, his stutter worsening with anxiety. I grab his finger, trying to soothe his doubts once more. "Don't worry, babygirl—"

Before I can finish, Toby pushes me out the door and slams it with a loud thud. The craving for nicotine battles with the dread of what might be lurking in the shadows. I push it away, it's fine. Guys, I just gotta lock in.

With a deep breath, I start walking, every nerve on high alert. The decrepit floorboards beneath my feet groan. A child's muffled sobs seep through a nearby apartment door, the sound raising the hairs on the back of my neck. The pungent cocktail of weed and cigarettes assaults my senses, intensifying my craving to a painful degree.

I descend the stairs, every shadow seems to writhe, every corner concealing potential threats. The weight of unseen eyes presses down on me.

Emerging from the apartment complex, I gulp down the sunset air. Freedom tastes bittersweet, tainted by paranoia. As I walk towards the liquor store, distant police sirens pierce the air. My pulse quickens, but I force myself to maintain a steady pace. Dusk paints the street in eerie hues, transforming familiar sights into something... sinister. Cholos cruise by on bikes, their expressions unreadable in the fading light. Weary workers hurry home, their quickened steps crossing a shared unease.