Creepypasta Stories

Around the Bend

8.14.15

11:37 AM

"Charlie, I'm detective Schultz. Do you know why you're here today, son?" The detective gestured towards the unkempt sixteen year old boy, dressed in a loose blue sweatshirt adorning several holes and baggy jeans, his shaggy hair covering his forehead. The boy looked as if he hadn't bathed in at least a week and the odor all but confirmed it. "Do you have any idea why I brought you in today," the detective asked again.

Charlie slouched in his chair across from his interrogator, his arms folded at his chest. He stared blankly towards the middle of the table between them. "Is that you're question? Are you asking if I know why I'm here?"

"Yes, Charlie. I'm curious if you know why you're sitting in this room, talking with me." The detective lifted a cup of coffee to his mouth and sipped, then sat it back down and gestured towards a second cup that he slid in front of the boy. Charlie continued to stare blankly and the detective concluded the boy would not talk. "Charlie, do you remember the night of the fifth? What you were doing?"

Charlie grabbed the coffee that was offered to him, but instead of drinking from it, he pushed it back towards the detective. "I never cared much for coffee." He leaned back, folding his arms at his chest once again. "I like tea." He gazed deeply into the detective's eyes. "I don't remember the fifth. That was nine nights ago. I've done a lot since then."

"Have you? What do kids your age do around here?"

Charlie shrugged, "I don't do what kids around here do and you know that." The boy closed his eyes, tilting his head back.

"I guess you're right. What does Craig like to do?"

The boy scratched at the premature stubble under his chin. "Craig," he said, submissively.

"That's right. Your buddy, Craig Somers. Where is he?" The detective leaned forward, resting his weight on the table, his elbows pointed outward. Across from him, Charlie seemed lost in a daydream as seconds passed by, and with every one of those seconds, the tick of the clock kept them rooted in this otherwise silent room, pausing the world around them. "Do you know where Craig is, Charlie?"

Charlie, now looking towards the fluorescent light above, took a deep sigh. "Craig disappeared, Jim."

The detective looked bothered by the boy's assertion, leaning back in his chair as it squeaked loudly, breaking the tedium of the clock's ticks for only a moment. "Why did you call me Jim," he asked, bluntly.

"Why does anyone call anyone anything? It's your name, is it not?"

"You may call me detective Schultz, Mr. Schultz, or simply James. Do not call me Jim." James pondered for a moment, gazing into Charlie's inattentive hazel eyes. "How did you even know my name was James?"

The boy continued to stare above, as if looking past the light in the center of the ceiling and into some dark void beyond. There were several moths in the casing surrounding the bulbs, having died while trapped inside. "What is life, Jim?"

James was confused at the question. "Excuse me?"

"I asked a question, Jim. What is life? What is it to you?"

Baffled, James answered the question as best he could, "Well, to me, it was my family. My wife and children."

"Yes, a nice house, an expensive car, a swimming pool, food in the fridge, heat in the winter. A good job, one that provides for that family you have. Watching the games on Sunday?"

"Where's the point in this?"

"The point is that there are two types of people in the world, Jim. The ones that see a certain reality in which trivialities and luxuries are of any worth, and the ones too smart for their own good. The ones that know we're all clinging to something that might kill us." Charlie continued staring towards the fluorescent light and lifeless moths.