creepypasta origins

If you want to live, look down.

WARNINGS: GORE, INSANITY!

As a life-long hotel maintenance worker, I've seen some bizarre occurrences throughout my career. I'm not going to bore you with the details of the people who broke their toilet while trying to flush human remains, or the time I had to call the hospital after I found a very, very high individual trying to 'consummate' a relationship with one of the hotel's boilers. It's a messier, nastier job than all the recruitment shit they slam into high school career fairs would have you believe.

I've heard that this place is a kind of confessional for people who have freaky shit on their mind, and boy do I have a doozy for you here. I can tell you what happened, but I can't even begin to explain the shit I saw, and I'm not sure I'd even want to. All the names and places have been changed out of respect for the people involved.

It started on the 25th of February. I was in the Marriott's employee lounge, getting myself a cup of morning coffee to tide me over until my lunch break, when my radio started buzzing. I was getting a call from Mike Chappell, another maintenance guy, who had started working here about six months ago. Employees came and went constantly at the Marriott - in essence, we were both just highly-qualified handymen.

"What is it now?" I mumbled tiredly into the receiver.

"Come up to the roof. You've gotta see this."

"What?"

"No time to explain, just get up here. I've never seen anything like this."

I took the elevator to the top floor of the building and headed for the stairway to the roof. For context, it's important to note that nobody would have gotten this far without a keycard, a ring of actual keys, and an intimate knowledge of the various keypad codes of the Marriot building. Just keep that in mind.

Mike was waiting at the top of the stairwell, wearing a worried-as-hell facial expression and holding a monkey wrench like it was a weapon. The door to the rooftop was open next to him, and a cold wind was blowing in.

"What's the problem, Mr Mysterious?" I asked, panting as I reached the top of the stairs.

"It's...her. She's been here for a while."

"Her?"

He gestured, with a nod of his head, to the space outside the door.

Leaning forward, I peeked out to take a look, and saw a figure standing in the distance. She had a tangle of wiry, silver hair, a white nightgown, and hands that dripped with red. Her head was snapped back, staring directly into the sky, almost like she was in a trance.

"How long has she been standing there?" I whispered.

"Beats me. The door was locked when I got up here, so fuck knows how she ended up out there."

"Has she done anything?"

"No, I don't think so. She's been standing there, just like that, for as long as I've been watching her."

"Which is?"

"A good twenty minutes. I've called the cops and an ambulance, they should be en route."

The longer I stared at that woman and at the blood staining her clenched fists, the more uncomfortable I felt about it. There was something incredibly unpleasant about being caught in the limbo of ignorance while waiting for the cavalry to arrive.

"Gimme the wrench." I sighed, offering an outstretched arm.

"What?"

"Gimme the wrench. I'm gonna go ask her a few questions."