Fear Its self (CREEPYPASTAS)

Heavensville

Heavensville was stunning to look at, with tall and lush trees lining the sidewalks, beautiful forests and lakes surrounding almost every corner, and gorgeous, low-priced homes for its residents that stood on $1 plots. The folks of Heavensville were polite and kind, albeit a bit quirky at times. But we really couldn’t have made a better decision. My wife and I were incredibly happy to finally be homeowners in this place. Coincidentally, all the residents of Heavensville seemed equally happy and perpetually smiley. And how could they not be? They lived in a place straight out of a catalogue.

At first we did find it a bit unnerving, how perfect it all seemed. But we slowly grew to fit right into the mold of things. With incredibly cheap and delicious restaurants all over town, breathtaking nature right outside our front door, free movies at the park at least three times a week, a local clinic with all the amenities, free yoga and meditation classes, and two dozen other perks, there was really nothing we could find wrong with Heavensville. Well, except for one thing.

The people of Heavensville seemed to really love starting bonfires. And when I say love, I mean that there was a bonfire almost every night in most backyards. The odd thing was that there was no fire department in the town, which we found to be rather dangerous given the amount of daily fires that were started. The smells from the fires wouldn’t have bothered us if it weren’t for the fact that everyone seemed to love to cook goats in the fires, which left a strong, pungent odor in the air. In fact, the residents of Heavensville really seemed to love goats in general. Goat cheese, goat meat, goat milk. Everything goat.

One evening, the goats seemed particularly loud, almost as if they were being tortured.

“Do you think they’re cooking them alive?” my wife, Yesi, asked me.

I laughed, picturing my seemingly perfect neighbors cooking a live goat. “What? Of course not. That would be insane.”

“But, they get so loud sometimes.” She was now very seriously thinking about it. She had a spaced-out look in her eyes.

“Goats are loud sometimes, honey. Even when they’re not being cooked alive,” I replied, chuckling.

She thought about it for a little and nodded.

“What about the Town Hall? Don’t you find it a bit bizarre?” she asked, suddenly sounding like a conspiracy theorist.

“I mean, yes. I do admit that the red is a bit over the top. But remember what the neighbors said? The mayor loves the color red because he’s a passionate man.”

The Town Hall had been built by the mayor and was a large, oval shaped building, which would have probably been beautiful if it weren’t for the loud, neon red walls it bore. We were told that residents were not allowed inside without an invitation and that it was heavily guarded.

“But, then, what about the movies at the park?” my wife continued. Yesi did this often. Sometimes she was too curious for her own good.

“What about them?”

“Well, they always show uplifting movies about love, triumph and good things overall.”

“So?”

“So then why do the people living here always seem so scared when they’re watching them? I mean, who’s scared of people saving each other? Or people falling in love?”

“Hmm,” I said, thinking back to the movie nights we had spent at the park. She did have a point. The time we saw the Lion King, people seemed to giggle when poor Simba tried to wake up the obviously dead Mufasa. And many did gasp when Scar died. I’m pretty sure I even heard someone crying for Scar.