Creepypasta Stories

The Third

Her pale, soft hand gently brushed past my cracked lips as it slightly eased the dry flesh with a streak of warm blood. The sensation of the brief encounter lingered with my longing for it. - Ah, blood. Yes, blood still freshly stains her hand. Yet, her face refuses to show any emotion as I look at it. My eyes are even hopelessly begging. Didn't she feel even a bit pained when she- haaah, useless thoughts. I only have a little time left. But, haha, I could've avoided this. I've known. I was not oblivious to the signs - with every smile, every treat she gave me, every revelation she shared - to a pathetic, lonely woman like me. Now, most pathetically, I sit bloodied on the floor with my back on some cold wall. I figure this is the moment to reminisce.

=

"See you," I remember as her voice floated above the surrounding noise in the bus. My head was just leaning on the glass then while my eyes stared down into blank space. The motion of the bus as it left the stop changed nothing.

"May I?" rang the same voice. I felt a soft tap on my shoulder that finally made me automatically look up. "May I?" She gestured at the seat next to me with her eyes before looking back at me. I nodded immediately. I remember thinking then that I didn't own the seat anyway - after my head went through how beautiful she was. As she dropped into the seat, she told me that the guy she was with just left and she didn't want to bore her self by being alone- so she chose to sit next to someone she can hold a conversation with. I was sitting behind them.

"I know you," she said while smiling. I was surprised. "I know we get off at the same stop so I chose to sit beside you," she turned to me as she revealed, still with the wide grin. It unsettled me a bit, and then I thought that may not be the first time we're in a bus together. Afterwards, she said that was so. I'd usually show my total disinterest in such kinds of situation, but the idea of a beautiful lady being friendly with me attracted me. I got to know things about her - some of which now I know are not true - as our voices blended with the noise of the surroundings.

-

Knock, knock. I headed towards the door knowing who's going to be on the other side. It turned out she knew pastries and she started bringing me some she'd made from time to time after the bus ride. That day, she brought cookies with her common smile at the door. I liked it, her sweet but wicked grin. By then, I had looked at it enough to notice how her lips curl the least bit higher on one side. "Meat!" I remember her saying and interrupting my thoughts. Well, she came to cook me dinner for that evening as well- her offer.

Sitting, I watched her work, my eyes straying at times at the cookies that lay on the table in front of me. "The usual art," I thought. She's basically a fan of gore and the things that go with it, like a teenager in a phase. I was unsettled for a moment when I found out but then imagined her as a red queen - serene in an aftermath of a brutal and bloody scene - and it became kind of satisfying. When my attention went back to the cookies, I thought that strawberry's a favorite anyway and, maybe, I can later tell her that everything red on the sweet stuff has to be strawberry. That was what I thought. Happiness overwhelmed me then, like in an idiot. I went back to watching her work after deciding to wait until after the meal for the treats.

I watched her hands- her skilful hands- as it worked smoothly with the knife on the big chunk in front of her. The expression "cutting meat like butter" came to me as she tore sheets of it for some recipe. Then my eyes travelled to her face which revealed the hint of fascination I half expected to be there. Not wanting to be caught staring, I grabbed a nearby newspaper I just dropped randomly earlier that day and stared flipping. Random page, flip, flip, flip - an article on the probable first victims of a serial killer. I didn't feel indifferent. The two victims were females the same age as me and her. I remember the article saying the second victim was restricted with ropes, its strain leaving scratchy wounds on her wrists and ankles. The girl was also peeled in some places while her remaining skin was filled with shallow knife wounds. A final thing I remember the article said about the girl was that she was missing her head or, more precisely, the base of her neck up. All the descriptions were the same for the first girl, except that what she was missing was her feet. Ugh, I winced at that one- it said her feet were missing. Anyway, the killer is a collector. It didn't say it like that in the article though.