Scary Stories and CreepyPasta's!

The Sky, The Stars and The Void (A Few Bad Apples Spoil The Bunch)

This will be the plague the Lord strikes; their flesh will rot while they stand on their feet, their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths." - Zechariah 14:12

"Turn off your mind - there's nothing to find out here." - Electric Wizard, "Saturn's Children"

December 23rd. Two days before Christmas. Still the question; why?

He thought he should have known why. But he didn't.

He didn't know these things.

He didn't know why the world worked the way it did. He didn't know how humanity had progressed so quickly over the years; and why did God, if He existed, pick them? Why didn't anyone else ponder things as crucial as these? And if they did, why so infrequently? He didn't know. He didn't know what had caused his parents to make a mistake on the road that was so bad it robbed them of their lives, or rather, he didn't know what had compelled the offending driver who bumped them off the highway to do it. These were some things explainable; drunkenness, probably. But could he ever really make a solid conclusion? It was likely wrong to think he could. Humanity goes by what they are told, and sometimes, he thought, it is better off to not be told anything at all. He didn't know why his almost three-year girlfriend's flesh and blood, Grace Lawrence and Reginald Lawrence, had spent the final several minutes of their existences doing something as mundane as driving out of town to a Kohl's down south near a tiny city adjacent of Bayhorse, a long deserted town that tingled at his spine. He didn't know how to react when Milly called him screaming and utterly out of her mind. He didn't know why the stars seemed to groan and sigh at him when he gazed up at them in the dark of the night. These were things he did not know.

And perhaps he was not meant to know them. Perhaps no one was meant to know them.

It had been the morning of an endless night, one that had started three days ago when he had attempted to sleep and found that insomnia had taken over, that he received the call. It was still almost full dark; the sun only cut in a sliver over the horizon, a reddish orange glow being cast over the blue morning. He had neglected his heater; the winter chill had crept its way in through the crevices in his home and stalked his way into the upstairs until his home was a cold, empty shell. After his binge, in which he had gotten violently sick beneath his porch to the point where he felt as though his stomach would rupture, he had spent most of his weeks curled up in bed, touching no food. It was as if this horrid malformation of his taste buds prevented him from relief, prevented him from comfort, prevented him from dying and ending this nightmare.

The dreams were surreal but at the same time, he could not remember them, and little did he know Milly was having them too; strange, abnormal things that seemingly no one could understand. In these dreams that peak at the edge of Windhand shone to them like the antithesis of Heaven's gates, a dark and soulless void that shattered their memories. In this void the stars seemed to twist and malform into an uncreation, a shapeless jumble overhead. In Milly's closet, something still pushed it slightly ajar each night, and in Nathan's walls in his room something still scratched like a wound that wouldn't heal.

The call had shrieked through the empty halls, but Nate did not jump; he merely twitched and turned over on his side, eyes directed at his cell which lay on the night-table across the way. He got up and, with a grace that seemed nothing short of zombified, shambled like the walking dead over to his counter. He stared in the mirror. His face was drained of all color, ghastly white and stark with nothingness. He neglected his hair; it was long and unkempt. His clothes were tattered. Clothes didn't matter. Clothes were clothes. He hadn't seen Milly since he binged; only talked to her on the phone occasionally. He lied that he was completely ill with a few week virus. He didn't want her to see him like this. A guilt still gnawed at him; a guilt for something he could not explain. Nathan's ribs shown like a skeleton; if he had a shirt on it would hover away from him if he leaned down even the slightest.