CreepyPasta

From Hell I Write

I write to you now, but I do not write from my room, with a bed so soft and a window so bright. I do not write from my home, with couches so comfortable and food so... so good. Oh, food, how I miss it. Water, too. If I could get one drop, oh how I would thank God... well, I'd thank someone for it, anyways. I do not write from my tree house, among friends so dear and chirping birds so near. I do not write even from the world you live in right now. No, I write from a place much, much worse. It's ironic because during my last moments in the world, I couldn't imagine any sort of place worse than the place we call Earth. I thought such a place couldn't possibly exist. How wrong I was. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Patrick, and for you to understand my train of thought, I'll need to take you back a little. Back to the world God (your God, no longer mine) put me on.

Oh, the 80's, what a time to be alive. Great movies, great music (somewhat), great friends, great family, great house, great life, great... sorry, I'm rambling. Eleven years old, that was me, living in a suburban home with my mother, Sarah, my dad, Vincent, my asshole 13-year-old twin brothers, Darren and Bryce, and of course, my five-year-old sister, Nancy. Come to think of it, I wonder how she's doing right now, sweet little Nancy. She was always so precious, so innocent. I hope what we went through together never changed that. Anyhow, I can remember the day so clearly.

I was playing a basketball game of two-on-one (I was the one) with Darren and Bryce. The two jerks were creaming me, of course, never hasting to shove me around and taunt me. "Patrick, you're ass at this", they would say. Well, of course I was "ass", I was an eleven-year-old playing two-on-one against two thirteen-year-old pricks. Actually, you know something? I'm gonna stop calling them names. See, when you're on Earth, it's easy to call your family members names and quarrel with them constantly. Where I am now, though, you'd give anything just to hug them for five seconds and tell them how much you love them. Oops, I'm rambling, again. Well, soon enough, our mother called us in, as we were having some guests over that night. Our new neighbors.

The new neighbors in question were the Hoffmister family. Up to that point, all I had heard my brothers say about the Hoffmisters were things like "They're creepy as shit", and "Weird-ass people who gotta go". I didn't share these opinions, they seemed like okay people to me. Nonetheless, the Hoffmisters came over that night. The family consisted of three. First there was 60-year-old Eileen, a skinny woman with short, gray hair, always wearing black dresses. Next, we had none other than 60-something-year-old Leo (don't really remember that bastard's age, nor do I care to), also extremely thin with a long nose that would make the pasty white guy on The Pink Panther Show jealous.

Then there was David, their eleven-year-old insecure adopted son. I'm pretty sure Leo and David are in the same place I'm writing from right now, but I'm not certain. See, we don't really get to speak with anyone else here. Anyways, it was quite an eventful evening. Eileen and Leo had tea with my parents while Darren, Bryce, David, and I hung out in our treehouse, playing cards. In the treehouse, I started to get to know David a little better. I must say, though, he seemed a bit on the weird side. He was pretty awkward when it came to discussing things such as where he moved from or what life at home was like. Still, he was a nice kid, just very shy.

Later that night, when the sun went down, my brothers had already gone home, and David & I were walking down our streetlamp-lit road. That's when he invited me to his house for a bit. It was a Friday night, so I figured it'd be okay. Let me say this: his house was big. It was the biggest in the neighborhood, down at the end of my street, sitting high on a hilltop as if it were better than all the others. Behind it was a large field that eventually merged into some woods, which lined the horizon.

Entering David's house, we walked into his kitchen, where he told me to take my shoes off so as not to upset his parents. I heard some footsteps upstairs, so I figured his parents must have gotten back from my house. We sat down at his counter, eating yogurt; with David continued to dodge my questions about his home-life, or just his life in general. All I knew was that he was adopted. Soon enough, I heard Eileen upstairs. "David, come upstairs, please!", she said. David told me to stay put, as he'd only be a minute, and just like that, he was gone.