Creepypasta

The Stitcher

It was a cold winters afternoon, soft flurries of snow were gathering on the boys window sill, much of it piling in a clump on his timbered bedroom floor, unfortunately his window panes, which were designed to keep him from catching a flu, had been shattered.

He wore a cheap-looking, dark blue hoodie, except, it wasn't much of a 'hoodie' because the sleeves had been cut short fraying slightly at the ends, and the actual hood was absent, his mother had bought this for him from the second-hand store which explained alot. Gray tinted skinny jeans concealed his thin legs and dark navy blue colored sneakers covered his feet. The boy had hazel brown eyes, with the same shaded hair.

"Almost done" he whispered to the small doll sitting patiently on his desk.

He gave a long weary sigh, then delicately slid the tip of his sewing needle through its frayed fabric. The boy continued the careful motion, looping the thread in circles down its exposed side, watching as the fabric was forced together, holding all the stuffing perfectly in place. Tying a small knot completed his work, and he placed the doll down in-front of him.

Next to the figure rested another, with long threads of brown silk for hair and an untidy grey dress. The one he'd finished had brown hair also, but more light as the boy had forgotten to restock on wool, it had a sewn black shirt on.

Both of the small figurines had black button eyes, staring at him gratefully, they represented his parents.

"Andy!" called the shrill demand of his father. "Get up here now!"

Said boy obeyed, rising from his chair and making sure all of his belongings were in place before he left.

Walking up the rasping stairs he met face to face with the drunk man.

Andy glanced down at the floor, he disliked looking at his father, the large dark rings underneath his eyes, how his disgusting breath travelled across the dining room, his large unsteady hands and his brutal form were all unsettling, but the true reason was because he couldn't stand to see what the man had become, what his mother or father had grown to be.

As usual the man wore a grubby tank-top and matted, rugby shorts, the man wasn't in shape nor was he fat, but the way he was heading he was soon going to be.

"Go down to Thomas and get me some more" his father requested, but it was more of an order than anything. "And be quick this time"

A large wad of money was driven into the boys stomach, Andy nodded, taking a breath and ignoring the pain he'd been inflicted, he took it in his hands and made for the door.

His mother, Katherine, greeted him as he passed, her usually bright blue happy eyes tired and low, which wasn't surprising, seeing that the women carried out every single one of her husbands drunk demands. She had her slimming gray dress on again, with long brown, leather boots. Katherine placed a hesitant kiss on her sons head and opened the door for him.

"Here sweetheart" she smiled catching his attention before enveloping his neck in an orange and black striped scarf. "Keep warm, its cold, and stay safe"

Andy nodded, he took one last glance at his father who fell onto their living-room couch, completely defiling the cushions. Unable to manage a farewell smile he just closed the door between him and his mother, there was no reason to smile anyway, if he had it would've been fake, like when he'd told her that his father wasn't abusive and that the reasons for his anger fits were because of his hard days at work, but this was before Andy had found out that the man had been using Meth.

...........

Andy quivered, freshly falling shards of ice landing on his exposed face, he placed the money in his hoodie pocket, then arranged the scarf so that it was covering his nose down to his shoulders.

The ground was blanketed in white, dead trees lined the streets, four month old christmas decorations swaying dauntingly in the light gusts of frigid wind, the young teenager sauntered right, trudging through the freezing snow.

Andy could make out street lights flickering in the distance, a thick myst distancing his sight.

Everything surrounding the boy gave away an eerie and sinister aura, like if he stopped twisting his head to check if anyone was following him he'd be jumped and killed, it had always been a superstition of his, the day he turned six was the day he developed that strange feeling.

Suddenly, something dark loomed between his legs, interrupting his thoughts completely, Andy revolved around grabbing the first thing in his pocket for quick protection.

"Fuck" he whispered under his breath, watching as a dark and belly red, sleek cat weaved between his ankles, paws deep in the snow. "Hello meow, you scared me"

Andy stared at the weapon he'd managed to grab, scissor blades were tightly clutched in his palm, this would've been able to protect him, he must've been using them for stitching, he then returned them to his pocket.

The feline looked up at him, eyes bright red and beady and a rather smug look on its features, its mouth was arched up in an almost distorted grin, that wasn't normal. It must've been injured or abused and in result had suffered grim disfigurement.

"What happened to you?" he commented, feeling an odd, alarming sensation from his neck to his collar bone. "Did you get in a fight? Or are you just adding to this creepy atmosphere?"

The cats eyes beamed at him again, parts of its fur dark red which Andy conjectured was stained blood, the cat then sluggishly turned its head in the direction he'd been walking, ahead of Andrew rested the large, decaying black house he'd ventured to so many times before. He trudged forward, turning his head back as a farewell to the cat, but it'd disappeared.

........

It was a relief to be able to set foot on something that wasn't acres of deep snow, Andy pulled the scarf from around his neck, watching abnormally as a clump of gathered ice collapsed from around his shoulders and onto the un-renovated house's splintering floors.

The residence was empty of any fittings, no furniture but instead, piles of empty and mostly shattered vodka bottles scattered in piles over the floor, cigarettes were also chucked here and there, and in the corner of the room, a bong.

Andy took a timid step forward, his heart jerked as the ground moaned beneath his footing, alerting anyone who would've been inside.

As he'd expected, a gruff looking man with tattered clothing and wide wary eyes appeared at the top of the staircase not too far from the boy, the man's face quirked up into a horrid grin, obviously recognizing him from past visits.

"Look who's back for more" the man regarded through his black teeth, striding down the stairs, slightly hunched over.

This man, Thomas, was one of Andy's dad's close friends, the boy thought that he was more of an acquaintance though, Thomas had also been a drug addict and Andy assumed that he was the reason his father was obsessed and violent now.

"Andrew, Andrew, Andrew" Thomas crooned, he held his arms out in a friendly greeting but the boy didn't acknowledge it.

"My names Andy" he corrected, placing his hand in his hoodie pocket, clasping the money. "My dad wants some more meth"

"So, how HAS Ian been?" Thomas asked sneering, deciding to irk Andy more and continue the meaningless conversation. "More importantly, hows Katherine?

The boys face tightened, and his lips clamped together in hidden frustration, but it was still obvious, the truth was that Andy was just in a hurry to flee back home to the safety of his cellar bedroom, his goal was to avoid as little injury as he could today.

"Tired" he replied, leaning the money out in an indication he was hasty to leave.

"Nice, does that mean she's still looking as gorgeous as she normally does?" the man asked sleazily.

"Kinda"

"Still a man of few words I see" Thomas observed, running dirty fingers through his scratchy beard.

"Here" Andy spurred, anxiety building. "I want to go home"

With grubby hands the man snatched the money insolently, counting the notes and muttering under his breath grouchily, he paused once finished and looked down at the boy shaking his head solemnly. Andy prepared himself for the worst.

"You're fifty short Andrew" he explained, placing the money in his dirty coat pocket.

"W-what? No I'm not, two hundred and fifty as always!" he exclaimed uneasily, his thighs had grown weak.

"Since you come here all the time, I made a small exception" the man smirked shrugging simply. "The price is up another fifty"

"N-no! You cant! You dont understand what he's like at home, he'll hurt me if I return without the meth!" Andy pleaded, his ribs pulsing from reminded pain. "And give me the money back!"

"Your problem kid, not mine" Thomas dismissed, turning from the crushed boy. "And I think I'll keep the rest of the money"