Creepypasta

Scissor Mouth

I have always loved scissors. I love the sharp edge of the blade. The sound of the blades slicing together, snippeting away at cloth, hair, or maybe even flesh.
Let me rephrase that first sentence. I obsess over scissors. In fact, I collected them. Up until seven years ago, when I was still fifteen. Let me explain the story from the beginning. It's pretty long, so sit back and bear with me.
It was August of 2012, and school had just let back in. Of course, I was an apathetic student. I spent most of my time ignoring my step-mom and listening to creepypasta. I would sit in my cutesy bed, biting on the end of my favorite pair of scissors, silently dragging my tongue across the blade. Like I said, I love the sharp, cool metal. I tried to drone out the sound of the Spanish lullaby music in the background of the story. The same theme that plays out of my jewelry box. I dropped the blade on the floor and hug myself, a tear streaming down my cheek. "How much longer do I have to bear the agony of every day life?" I think silently. I close my eyes and sigh, sitting back up quietly. I exit out of youtube, the sound of a dark voice still in the back of my mind. I pull up Facebook and hurriedly type in, "Does anyone know where to get collectible scissors? Like, sharp ones?" I get a few concerned replies. One person suggests Ebay, and then someone I don't know asks for my address, claiming to have a very old pair. I demand a picture. He's not lying. It's an old pair of sewing scissors, with a golden handle and sharp blade. I eagerly send him my address, and giggle. I close my laptop and tuck it under my mattress before curling up with my little dog and falling asleep.
The next day, out of nowhere, I receive a package from a boy in a dark outfit. It has no return address. The boy simply waves and says, "good luck." I watch the dark figure vanishing in the distance. He couldn't have been older than ten or eleven. I shrug.
Observing the package after school, I realize it has no return address. My friend Shannon takes a look at the packaging and can deduce nothing of it. I tear away the brown paper and look at a small wooden box. In-crested on it is a pentacle. I shrug it off, since I've seen them so many times.
Opening the box, I find my heart skips a beat. What am I expecting? I'm not really sure. Shannon blinks at the pair of scissors, their golden handle gleaming, the sharp blade just dying to cut something. And they would. In time. The small dog in my lap whimpered suddenly, and leaped down. He began to growl at my shoulder, and barked. His eyes grew wide with fear, and he whined, before turning and fleeing into the kitchen down the hall.
Shannon shrugged, and looked over at the clock. "I gotta go. Have fun with your new scissors, Hannah." I smiled and waved. As Shannon walked down the road and away, I looked into the trees across the street. The dark trees shivered. I shrugged. I turned into my house, pulling the door closed with the edge of my foot. The door creaks until bam, the door shuts. I quietly sat in my bed, and admired the shiny handle and sharp blade. I felt myself over-whelmed with a familiar blood-lust. The blood-lust I sometimes felt when my insomnia was too much and the screams were too loud. I put on a creepypasta. The stranger's dark voice whispering to me, lulling me. I chuckled, as I heard screams and gunshots. I don't remember the title of the creepypasta now, but it was one of the ones that had you certain until the ending. I put the new scissors in their box and placed them on my shelf. I lay in my bed, and my eyes closed. I don't remember all of the details, but here's the dream I had that night.
It's dark, and I hear heavy breathing. Someone grabs my ankle, and I look down. It's me. I'm bleeding and crying, desperately trying to stand on two completely destroyed legs. My baby brother is lying on the floor, and I go back to lulling him. A wicked laugh comes from the person I am in the dream. (For now we'll call her Sara.) Sara silently grabbed my baby brother, and I began to panic. I look at my shredded legs. Desperation becomes more and more apparent, as Sara swings up the scissors and slams them down into the baby boy's belly. She rips it open, and pulls out a bit of his intestines, flicking them onto my head. I begin the cry as she rips the small baby heart out of him. I became speechless. Those damned scissors. I shrieked in horror. A boy began wailing in the corner. I turned to see the boy who'd given me the package that day. He cried and screamed. "Mommy, please!!" I drew back in horror. The little boy looked over at me, and grabbed my shirt. "Please don't let mommy hurt anyone anymore! Please!!"
I wake up. My hands are covered in blood, and I'm crying. The small puppy I used to hug tightly, it lays in a crumpled heap, and blood soaked the carpet around it. The scissors were clenched in my hand. My eyes went wide so fast I thought they would explode. A quiet whisper said, "are you satisfied now? Do you need more people to die, or will you stop?" I looked up. The woman from my dream- Sara. How do I know her name? I'm not even sure. I quietly backed away. I shook my head, backing up until I hit the wall. Sara stepped forward and opened her arms. My arms raised themselves. "I own you, love." She laughed, pulling me into the coldest hug I've ever had in my life. She spun around, and I opened the door, my legs weak and limp.
The hallway was covered in blood. Sara pushed me into the living room. My eyes were filled with tears when I turned the corner. It was my family, all strung up and butchered. I looked down at my legs. They were covered in blood, and cut up, which would explain why it was hard to walk. Sara wrapped her arms around my father, and then hugged my brothers. I watched in horror as she danced around the room, singing at the top of her lungs, "It's a small world after all."
I backed away, until I fell to my knees. I felt cold metal under my hand. Those damned scissors. The tall woman looked at the scissors. "You hate me...", she whispered. I backed up to the wall, desperate, kicking. She crept closer, crying, I think. "Everybody hates me..." I silently hugged my knees, and looked at the ceiling. Sara sat down next to me, and took my hand. "I thought you wanted them to be quiet. I thought you wanted my scissors..." She looked sad, and I almost felt the need to comfort her. She smiled at the ceiling. "Maybe someone loves me..." I looked at her, and she smiled back. "I did it to my family too, only, I took my life as well." I looked at her fading in the morning light. Finally, it was just her voice, whispering to me. "It's okay, I'll always love you." I closed my eyes, and woke in my bed again.
That day I didn't leave my bed. All of the blood was gone, and my legs were fine. I didn't hear a word all day. Finally, the sun set. But that night, nobody showed up, and I did not sleep. I stood up, and walked into the kitchen, not looking up at my mutilated family in the living room. I picked up the phone, and dialed the police. I spent the next three days in a facility. I quietly sat in the little white room. Finally. The door opened and I was free to go. A little boy in dark clothes greeted me at the door. "Is this your brother?" I blinked, but nodded anyway. He grabbed my hand, and a woman in dark clothing grabbed his. She looked at me from under a black veil. "Hello Hannah." I looked at her. I looked at Sara. I looked back at the hallway, filled with blood and gore. I heard the screams of other patients. It was just too much. I was given two choices. I could give back the scissors and go- I don't know where, or, I could keep them, and spend the rest of my life killing people to satisfy an evil spirit's dark hatred. What did I choose, you ask? Well, I told you I love scissors, Didn't I?