Creepypasta Stories

Porcelain's Fishhooks

The year was 1942, and I was a young Jewish boy who was sent to the concentration camp, Auschwitz. My brother and I were separated from our parents a couple weeks back, and haven't seen them since. We were attempting to make it across the border to Russia in order to escape the Nazis, but we weren't fast enough, and they quickly caught up. My brother, Alois, was two years older than me, and went to Auschwitz when we were caught. Unfortunately, he died on the fourth day from too much hard labor.

I was all alone and on the verge of starvation, for I was younger and weaker than everyone else. When we got our small, disgusting portions of food, the greedy would beat me up and take it from me. I eventually learned to take a bowl of slop and run. Run fast and hard, as far as my feet could take me. Then I would hide. Only after the people hunting me down were gone would I start to eat. I would eat all of it in two or three bites, since the food was scarce, but I enjoyed every second of it.

A couple of weeks later, smoke started puffing up from the ovens in which the Nazis would take a large group of Jewish people and burn them until all were dead. The population in Auschwitz plummeted every week, although new arrivals kept on filtering in. I had made friends, but, sadly, they were soon after burned in the ovens along with their families. I was in that point of time in which I felt incredibly scared, but I wanted to be a hero, so I kept my chin held high and my chest puffed up.

Every so often, a new sickness would pop up and kill off nearly half of the people in the concentration camp. I don't really understand why, but nothing bad ever really happened to me. I didn't ever get sick, and, for some strange reason, the Nazis would skip over me when the next oven group was being chosen, even if everyone around me was selected. One time when this happened, a man that used to beat me up for my food gave me a deathly scowl and said, "Little brat. Always getting away with things," and then he spat in my face.

One day, I was so confused on why I wasn't being chosen to be put in the ovens that I asked a Nazi on guard. It's not like I wanted to be put in the ovens, but something was fishy about this whole thing. The Nazi told me, "We have something special planned for you," and deviously grinned at me. This just made me even more curious. I asked him what it was, and that was obviously a mistake. The Nazi shot me in the foot and I started to cry. He said, "You want something to cry about, kid? How's this?" and he shot me again, but this time, in my right shoulder. The man laughed and shoved me to the ground. I resisted the urge to cry out in pain, and I held back all of my tears, for I didn't want to get shot again. The Nazi started kicking me in the head. I was just about to scream and let it all out when he said, "Your lucky I'm not allowed to kill you, Jew." I stayed there, crumpled up on the mud-ridden ground, as the Nazi walked away, cackling to himself.

The next day, I was practically naked, for I had used my clothes to bind my wounds the Nazi had given me. I unsuccessfully tried to remove the bullets, so I applied pressure to the deep holes instead. It was time for a group to be chosen for the ovens, if I had guessed the schedule correctly. However, that day, only one little girl I recognized was taken out of the crowd of people. I recognized her because she had always been there in my sight, she just never said anything. As I looked at her, she looked away. However, she turned back, a fearful look in her eyes, when a Nazi shoved her forward and into the ominous shadows. I desperately wondered where they were taking her.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I kept on thinking about that girl. I was laying in a pool of sweat, and the hay lumps were not very comfortable beds. I felt a cockroach scuttle over my stomach. I fought back the urge to quickly grab it and eat it alive. I had seen others do that, and they quickly got sick and died. Even though I had not gotten sick before, I didn't want to risk anything. All of a sudden, a piercing scream cracked my eardrums. It seemed distant, like an echo, yet so close at the same time. I sat up, and the scream seemed to dissipate. As I laid back down, the screams got louder again. I put my ear to the floor, and the screams got even more vulgar. Then I thought that the screams were from the girl. When the voice said, "Stop it! Stop it!" I was certain it was her. I told myself that the Nazis had made an underground torture chamber right beneath the broken down hut that I lived in. Little did I know, it was much worse than a torture chamber.