Pokémon Creepypasta A to Z

Up In the Tower

It's lonely up here, at the top of the tower, with not very many others up here, only a few. None of them talk to me, no-one can really talk here anyway, it's usually just a number of different noises, coming from the several different figures that wander these halls. There are people here, different to us here, they just stand there, not doing anything. They always say strange things, one even crying out for blood.

I looked out the window a few times, not that there's anything to see. It's always just those same people wandering around, doing nothing, doing the same repetitive movements. Sometimes, one or two people come along, and they sometimes break their patterns. These one or two people never follow any repetitive movements, and often come into the tower, not that it's an attraction, it's not nice. It's a graveyard.

If you haven't guessed it already, I'm dead, a ghost. There's several floors of graves here. I'm at the top, as I said before. All the floors are a mess of graves, with some people blocking some of the possible pathways, leaving only one possible route. One boy, he maneuvered these complex corridors. I heard from some of the others I can actually communicate with, that he met his friend one the way up. His friend was cruel, rude, bitter towards the boy. His friend was here paying respect to one of his most loved ones. I knew they starting fighting, because I heard plenty of commotion downstairs. The boy won. He came all the way up to where I sat. I told him, he could not pass, until he could see me. Then he left.

Well, that's most of the stories about here. All of them, but mine. My one, probably the worst of them all. See, I was killed, right in front of my child's eyes. I can't imagine how my child must have felt. I just see him, wandering around. I noticed that whenever the moon is full, a tear drops from his eyes. But the boy. The one I mentioned before. I have to thank him. He let my child come with him, and let him be friends with him, and the other five the boy had with him.

He came back up the tower. But this time, he could see me. He let my child see me. I told my child, I would not hurt him. He wept. The boy, he hurt me, my child crying, but I told my child, that it was okay, this time I wanted it. This time, I could move on. I want to say something to the boy. Red, thank you.