Cry Little Sister (Creepypasta)

Chapter Seven: That Scream I Hear

Screaming. Lots and lots of screaming. Blood piercing shrieks that bring forth goosebumps or the occasional whimper. No one would here my screams. No, it's not like anyone would care either way.

"Hey, cashew! It's Pops. Your mom and I are taking an extended vacation for the winter break. So, that's about... 2 and a half weeks more we'll be gone. We're sending emergency money just in case. I heard about your phone screen breaking. You're not getting a new phone. And don't you dare use that money to get it fixed. I'll know, because I'm going to look at it when we return. Anyway, you can manage without us, right? I trust that you're lame enough not to throw any parties. Delia is to come over twice a week to make sure the house is still standing- I've arranged it all. I've also arranged for you to spend the rest of the time with Delia at her house if you fuck up. You'd have too much fun at Jo's. Any-who, your mom says 'love you' and...goodbye."

I looked at my cracked phone screen. This was the voice mail they left me. God damnit. I can't survive on my home. I don't wanna deal with the Creepshow more than I have to.

Speaking of them, it's been a week since I became their "entertainer" and I already want to kill myself. Winter recess began yesterday. It's Saturday now. I'm bored as fuck.

I contemplated calling Jo over, but I really wanna distance myself for them so they don't get hurt. The Pastas said that I need to act as if nothing happened, but I'm still worried. I actually care about them. Maybe I could call Charlie.

Charlie Mays was a casual friend of mine who was closer to Delia than me, but we still sat next to each other at lunch and shit. He's gayer than a rainbow after a rainstorm. And also a notorious Satan worshiper. I'm not joking. I was friends with his big sister at one point- who is completely normal I must add- and so I don't know where he gets it from. His mom seems pretty chill too. I don't know, I've never asked.

"Hey, gaylord, get your ass over here. I'm home alone and have Netflix."

"Did you finish "Aristotle and Dante?"

"Yes."

"Be there in 15." He hung up.

I went over the mini fridge in the basement and pulled out a Budweiser. I was never really much for drinking, but with everything going on, I felt the need to break a law or two that wouldn't get me in too much trouble. I mean, my folks were going to be out of town for the rest of the month, plus a few days in January, so who's gonna stop me?

I plopped down on the old couch after putting on some music from my record player. The Beatles' "Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club." A classic.

I know, it's 2014, but does it really matter anymore? I like to act older than I really am.

"Knock knock, it's your unfriendly neighborhood gay boy!" Yelled Charlie from up the basement doorway. I must've forgot to lock the door.

"Come on in, fagatron. I was wondering when you were gonna show your homosexual self."

"Fuck you, you piece of shit." And with that, Charlie came down the stairs to my humble fortress of dankness.

"How's you know I was in the basement?" I asked.

"Because I know you. Also, what the hell is in your hand."

"A can."

"I know that, dipshit," he said, annoyed. "Are you drinking beer? That shit tastes so fucking gross."

I tugged on his dyed red hair and cartilage piecing, "shut up. Not a word to Delia or Jo."

He smacked my hand, "so what did you want to talk about, or did you bring me here to tell me about your alcohol addiction?"