Creepy Pasta

It's so dark I can't breathe, it's filling my lungs I'm going to choke on it
He's there I can feel him watching me, I wish I could see him
but I know he's there he's laughing at me just waiting for me to close my eyes
Someone please turn on the light.

I set the book down, it was getting late. The only thing illuminating my room was the cracked bedside lamp that occasionally flickered, casting my room into impenetrable darkness for a split second at a time.

I laughed nervously to myself. I knew there was nothing there. Of course I did, I had grown out of the tales of ghosts and ghouls and monsters that had been my favourite as a kid. At least I thought I had, until I got the email.

It was from an address I didn't recognise, and it came to me one night as I was staying up late to finish my homework. I probably should have questioned its source before I clicked on it (I've never been very good at keeping my laptop virus-free), nevertheless curiosity won me over.
It had been sent to a large number of emails, and the subject line read, rather simply:

it's here

What was here? It all became clear when I clicked – a single hyperlink directed me to an eBay page advertising an archaic-looking book. It wasn't a title I'd ever heard of, and it didn't even include the author's name, but the curious design of it intrigued me. It was on sale for a single penny, someone's obviously keen to get it sold, I thought to myself. Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or the way the find had rekindled the mystery-seeking child in me, but I started to giggle with excitement. Had I just found lost treasure? Grinning, I pulled open the drawer in my bedside table to reveal my dusty debit card, which had laid abandoned for weeks on account of the pitiful sum contained in my account, a little over a few pence. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I tapped in my details to purchase the book, which promised to be delivered within 3 to 4 working days. 'Thank you for your order; we hope you enjoy your purchase.' I felt exhilarated, but the feeling was a little odd, it was just a book after all. Yet as I sat there, the clock ticking 3am, I couldn't help but feel sick with anticipation.

The days passed slowly after that. I found it difficult to get the book off my mind, and I couldn't sleep at night, as if I were a small child with Christmas just around the corner. It finally came on Thursday, 5 days after I had received the email.

My mum had taken it, probably suspicious about what it was as I rarely ordered anything for myself. But I was 17, and she was being a nosy bitch. I wasted no time in snatching it from her grip, yelling something over my shoulder about how she should mind her own business. She shouted something back but I had already slammed my bedroom door, eager to finally get my hands on the book.
The package was plain, wrapped in brown paper with my address scrawled sloppily across the front. I flipped it, and scratched at the tape holding it together. Even when my fingers started to bleed after days of nervous nail biting I didn't stop, and after what felt like hours the brown tape gave way, and the book tumbled to the floor, landing with a heavy thud. I gingerly picked it up and sat on my bed. It was bound in some sort of animal skin that looked like leather but felt softer, and smelt somewhat revolting. It wasn't a strong smell, but it was distinctive and certainly wasn't leather.

Opening the book after the long wait felt somehow daunting, and I was hesitant. The sound of my mum weeping softly in the kitchen snapped me out of my daze and I suddenly felt disgusted at myself for giving her a hard time. I placed the book in my drawer and looked in the mirror at my pale reflection. I ran my hand through my greasy hair and sighed, the lack of sleep showing in the dark purple circles under my sunken eyes. Exiting my room, I saw my mum sitting with her back to me, her head buried in her hands, her shoulder blades rising and falling irregularly to the tune of her cry. I slumped towards her, my movements slow and heavy as if I was physically weighed down by my guilt. Reaching her, I placed my hand on her back and muttered an apology. She continued to face the floor, seemingly ignoring my words.