Creepypasta Stories And More

Lily Lizzy

Bodies come and go, but spirits last forever

The room was painted light pink. It occupied two young people: a man and a woman. They had been married for a few years, and had prepared for the birth of their little girl, their first child. It seemed so long ago to them; the day the wife found out she was pregnant; the man was happy too, or at least they were at the time.

But as they removed the decorations, the face of the woman was sad and dull. It was melted and gray as she removed the pink, yellow, and glittering flowers and butterflies. The husband, though not cheery, was still firm and almost emotionless. Just a month ago his wife went into labor, ten hours later they would come out of the hospital, empty handed.

“I heard her crying,” the wife whimpered to her husband. “I swear I heard her crying. The doctors even said that she was crying too.” She crinkled the decorations in her clinching fists.

“Baby, please,” he held his wife. His face; a lamp under a thin peach colored rag, firm, lively, and calm; such a kind expression he wore. He held her close to him, trying to sooth her. His shoulder was under her chin and his neck was against her cheekbone, which forced her to not look him in the face. “It was a hallucination caused by what you know about childbirth and what you expected to hear. She’s gone, baby. What we need to do now is prepare for adoption.”

“But I don’t know if I’m ready,” she choked out through tears. “I can still feel the pain of labor.”

“Adoption takes a long time,” her husband tried to convince her. “By the time we get the boy here you’ll be over the other baby.”

“Lilly Lizzy,” she heaved out of her chest. “That’s what her name would have been.”

“Yeah, yeah,” her husband patted her head. “But we’ll have a young boy, repainting the room will be easy, and we can just return the girly stuff and use the money to buy boy toys and clothes. We did want a little boy, maybe this is for the best.”

“What’s for the best?”

“That Lilly was stillborn,” he removed her from his chest and looked down upon her. “I think it was God telling us something.”

“Maybe,” she wiped her tears away. “I can still hear her echo in my mind, her gorgeous voice, even in her brutal cry.”

“SARAH!” her husband shook her. “Stop talking about her! That’s not how you get over something! Just forget her! Forget about her! Forget about her!” he shook her more and more violently.

“I’m trying,” she bawled.

“Hey, hey,” he held her face in his hands. “Stop crying.”

She shuddered, trying to stop her tears and her throat from squeezing, but failed.

“I said to stop crying,” he became stern. His grip on his wife’s face and throat began to stiffen and his fingertips started to slightly dig into her cheek, jaw, and neck.

“Okay, okay,” she looked down, her breath trembling harshly, thinking of her daughter’s cries which must have been false. It wasn’t real. It was a mirage. She didn’t cry. She was dead. It was no one’s fault other than God’s, and even then, at least she’s happy with him. Still with the decorations in her grasp, she began to fold them away.

“Be careful, now, I want to be able to get as much money out of this stuff as we possibly can,” he removed a hook from the wall. “Even if it means reselling it for a higher price than what we paid for online or at a yard sale.”

“Isn’t that illegal?” she asked.

“Sarah, please,” her husband laughed. “It’s not illegal to take advantage of other’s stupidity.” He looked over at a shelf. It was filled with porcelain dolls.