☠✖ THE original Gaia Creepypasta thread ✖☠

[puddingdear101]

Something...coming closer and closer, smiling incredibly wide with jagged teeth and cold, icy fingers...

Something makes me open my eyes. I can see my alarm clock clearly from across the room. 2:43 AM. Dammit. I close my eyes again, but something still isn't right. I don't have to piss. Maybe if I turn over. Then I feel it.

Someone is holding my hand.

I sleep on my stomach, with my arm hanging off the side of the bed. Now I'm awake, wide awake, and someone is holding my left hand.

The hand is cold, far too cold for a night in August. It holds my hand lightly, but with force. My fingertips are pressed against thin, clammy skin, like frozen poultry. Though I can't see them, it seems like the fingers are longer than they should be, wrapping much farther around my hand than should be possible. I feel ragged fingernails touching my palm. How many? Six? Seven?

I should yell in surprise, but I don't move. Somehow the room is darker than it was before. I am completely still. I hear the faint buzz of my alarm clock, but I can't make out the numbers any more.

The hand moves. It grips me tighter.

I black out. I awaken at my usual time, piss, and shower as always. But after my shower, I just cannot seem to get my left hand dry.

[puddingdear101]

bump~

[puddingdear101]

~~~~~~~~~The Note~~~~~~~~~~

All this crap started when I found that little note.

On a square piece of paper I found at the bottom of a box I was moving out of my basement, it read, "HELLO? PLEASE RESPOND". I had no idea how long the paper had been there, those boxes had sat in my basement since I moved in. I ignored it until the next morning, when I opened my coffee maker to throw out the grounds, and inside was a sopping wet piece of paper that read "PLEASE RESPOND! PLEASE HELP". I figured it must have been put inside my coffee maker by whoever was pulling this pointless prank, because it wasn't there when I put my coffee grounds in.

I found more notes, under my mouse pad, inside my computer tower while I was putting in some new RAM, between the layers of tissue of my toilet paper roll, under my DVD player's disc tray. Places that no one would ever look, places you'd never think of putting a note, places you knew no one would ever look and it would be foolish to put a note, because who knew when they would see it?

But it kept happening, and they all said the same thing every time, begging me to respond and help them. Being the retard I am, one day I just got fed up when I found one inside a cup in my dishwasher(right after I had run it- the paper was dry) I wrote on the back of it "HELLO. I'M RESPONDING. PLEASE EXPLAIN YOUR SITUATION!" and slid it under a crack in my bath-fitted tub.

No sooner had I left my bathroom did I find another piece of paper, floating on the surface tension on the surface of my glass of sprite I had in the living room.

I carefully picked it out of my drink, it read "THANK YOU." and in larger letters, "I'M TRAPPED". I waved it around to dry it off a bit, and wrote on the back of it again, "where are you trapped? how are you sending me notes?" and, not creative enough to think of where to put it, I just threw it behind my couch. I waited and looked, but I didn't see any other notes for the rest of that day. The next day I checked my mail, inside of some spam letter was the next note, "IN THE SECOND DIMENSION. BELOW YOU". I wasted no time in responding "whoever you are, this prank is retarded. give it a rest" and threw it outside, the wind blew it away.

The next note I got was still in obnoxious capital letters, though it was much longer than before and the last sentence seemed to have been squeezed into the remaining space. I think it was a passage from some encyclopedia or textbook. "The first dimension is a defined point in space. The second dimension (this was underlined) is anything that exists with height and width, while the third adds on length. The fourth includes time, the and the fifth is the past: time that has already occurred and is solidified in time space." Everything beyond that was too squished in to read. I rolled my eyes and responded again, "How can you read this if you're in the second dimension? How can you even exist??" I slipped this note into the space in my toaster between the element and the metal casing.

my reply came when I brushed it out of my hair the next morning before I took a shower. "WRITING IS 2D. VISION IS 2D- TWO 2D IMAGES SUPERIMPOSED."

That didn't really get to the point of how I was supposed to "rescue" this person, which I defined in my next note that I flushed down my toilet.

"MAKE ME 3D" was all that was on the new slip of paper I found inside of a chocolate bar I unwrapped, later on. How the idiot was putting these inside sealed products was beyond me but at this point I decided to play along, maybe it was some kind of TV show thing.

"how?" was all I wrote for my reply. I remember exactly where I put it, because it was the last thing I wrote for a long time. I put it in a crack between my length mirror, and it's wooden backing. As soon as I let go it slid out of sight and I didn't see any papers again for a year and a half.

Getting dressed one morning for work, I went into my room and adjusted my tie and shirt in my mirror, the same one, only it was now on the opposite side of my room. Looking into it, I noticed a square behind me on the wall. Turning around, there was none. In the instant before I turned around again I thought it must have fallen off, but in the mirror it was still there, still suck to the wall. I touched my mirror thinking maybe it was some sort of warping or optical illusion, but it wasn't.

I lifted my heavy mirror up from the ground and slowly walked backwards with it, nearing myself to the opposite wall on which the paper was stuck. The closer I got, the clearer the message on it became, until I stopped, sandwiched between the heavy mirror and the wall, looking at the paper immediately over my shoulder: "MAKE YOU 2D" it said.

I moved the hell out of that house as soon as I could. After bunking at my girlfriend's for a while, I got rid of the mirror, the toaster, everything. My heart still skips a beat when I see any perfectly square piece of paper, sitting on the floor, all alone. I still live in fear of some day I'll open up a book or look in the inner lining of a jacket, and a piece of paper will flop out.

I check all my things, now. Constantly. I also don't drink coffee anymore.

[puddingdear101]

bump~

[Onigalore123]

(authors note; this started out as a real forum, but I twisted it to become a fictional story. maybe. but this is from a real forum, thats been closed down. He is waiting for the moon to rise as of now… )


Necronymous Forum
Private Message

Subject: Okay… Sent: Thu Jan 08, 6:36 pm
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
This is kind of random, but I notice your posts constantly mention this ‘Thorvaldr’ character. You always say it’s watching something or waiting for something, but no one else has any idea who or what it is. I’m just curious… Who is Thorvaldr? :O

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 2:17 am
From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior
Thorvaldr? I’m almost glad you asked. He’s just kind of there. A sort of presence, if you will. I can’t really explain it properly without it sounding completely odd. By the way… he sees you.

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 12:01 pm
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
Uh… could you explain that a bit better? Sorry, I don’t understand. I mean, is he a person, a ghost, a pet, or what? D:

Subject:Re: Okay… Sent: Fri Jan 09, 5:20 pm
From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior
Thorvaldr is a warrior king. He is waiting for the moon to rise as of now…

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Sat Jan 10, 4:14 pm
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
9_9 I’m sorry, that just raises more questions than it answers. Don’t bother wasting my time by replying if you aren’t going to say anything useful. I know I’m probably coming off a little bit harsh, but it doesn’t seem like you’re taking this seriously at all. I’d try to help you on the forum, seeing as everyone thinks you’re a complete weirdo and I want to see if there’s anything that could be explained to them so maybe you’ll have an easier time.

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Sun Jan 11, 8:43 pm
From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior
I almost considered just deleting that reply there and carrying on the way I have been, but I’ve a feeling you’re not going to give up either way. If it’s that important to you, I’ll explain everything. To the best of my knowledge, Thorvaldr is something of an entity, and like I said before, he’s just there. He doesn’t even have a body, but somehow I’m able to know his every move and that he wants me to tell others about it. It’s an impulse. If I don’t tell everyone about Thorvaldr, he gets angry… He starts clouding my vision and everything gets dark and blurry, then I can’t sleep at all because I’m just lying there shaking. I can almost hear his voice kind of, but he’s not saying anything in particular, only these syllables and non-words that come out of nowhere right when I think everything’s quiet. He’s there, and he’s always there. I can’t get rid of him. I don’t want to go to a shrink, because last time I did they just gave me these pills that only made everything worse. I started seeing Thorvaldr in my own reflection. Even though it was very vague and hard to make out, I could tell it was definitely him.

I can’t fight it. Can’t fight a warrior king, especially when he’s taken over my mind like this. I’m trying to remember what happened, but somehow my memory’s been shot. Maybe Thorvaldr did it. I vaguely recall something about getting lost somewhere when I was in Norway, but that’s it. I’d tell you more, but I fear he’s trying to choke me as I type this…

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Tues Jan 13, 11:00 am
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
Wow… that’s really weird… Anyway, the reason why it kind of took me an extra day to reply is because when I read that message, I had pretty much no idea what to say. That is really really weird. Maybe he’s just mad cause he doesn’t have a body? lol

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Tues Jan 13, 1:10 pm
From: Centurion616 To: Seraphine-Savior
Thorvaldr thinks that’s a great idea. Thank you.

Subject: Re: Okay… Sent: Tues Jan 13, 7:19 pm
From: Seraphine-Savior To: Centurion616
What?

Necronymous Forum Topic - Meet Thorvaldr By: Centurion616
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:20 pm
At least he’s not waiting anymore. (Pardon the blood)
[Video embedded]

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Demona
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:26 pm
That was really disturbing. Put up a warning next time.

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: milkofthedead
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:27 pm
^ I think “Pardon the blood” could count as a warning. Though he didn’t say anything about the ‘corpse.’ At least I hope it’s not a real corpse… :O

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Neocracy
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:29 pm
Could someone tell me what it is? I’m too afraid to watch the whole thing, I stopped as soon as he left the room.

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Demona
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:36 pm
Okay, here’s a summary of what happened, at least the way I saw it. If anyone has any corrections, I’ll edit this.
0:00-1:12 - Some guy (I think it’s Centurion, but I’m not sure) is standing over a partially dismembered corpse on his bed. He’s replacing the missing limbs and digits with other body parts he’s pulling out of a sack.
1:13-1:40 - He leaves the room, comes back with a rusty sword and helmet and “equips” the corpse with them. Then the video just kind of jump-cuts there.
1:40-3:40 - He’s now sitting in front of the camera, staring. You can kind of see the corpse in the background, only for some reason the limbs are attached to the body like they actually belonged there. Then the damn video jump-cuts AGAIN…
3:40-4:36 - Same thing as last time, only Centurion is gushing blood through his closed eyelids and mouth. You can see some blood on the corpse too, and at the end of it all, Centurion smiles and waves.

Like I said, really disturbing crap. It’s worse than it sounds.

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Neocracy
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:38 pm
Oh, that was it? It’s got to be fake. I mean, if he’s bleeding out his eyes like that, how can he see to post? And it’s definitely Centurion in the video. He’s got the swastika tattoo, remember?

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: ForTheEmpire
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:44 pm
If it’s fake, those are some really cool effects.

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Seraphine-Savior
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:49 pm
No, no, it’s not fake. And it’s all my fault. See, we were PMing one another before, and I asked about the Thorvaldr guy. If I hadn’t suggested that Thorvaldr needed a body, then none of this would have happened.

Subject Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: milkofthedead
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 7:55 pm
It’s not your fault, Seraphine. Centurion would’ve done it anyway, he’s just like that. Remember when he wouldn’t stop obsessing over that church arson guy?

Subject: Re: Meet Thorvaldr By: Winterwing
Posted: Tues Jan 13, 8:00 pm
4:21- It blinked. I swear to god, it blinked.

[Onigalore123]

BUMP~~~ smile smile smile smile

[Hyakkimaru-bear]

Man, i sure do love these! pure genius, i say~ i think I'll look for a creepy pasta right now and post! yeah! Although, i think its stupid why people say these aren't scary. just because there not scared doesn't mean that these talented authors aren't good. here, I've got a good one. with a surprising turn at the end.

You’re awoken from a dreamless sleep by a dull thud from the hallway. Your eyes snap open and fix instantly on the door. What made that noise? Breathing hard, fear beginning to twitch in your mind, you realise with a shiver that you’ve kicked your duvet off in your sleep. You quickly grab it, pull it around you and unconsciously begin to tuck it around yourself tightly as you curl up, leaving no part exposed. You become a warm, safe ball: coiled, leaving only a small gap between the duvet and mattress so you can see out, pillows becoming shields between your head and the wall. You are briefly reminded of your childhood, hiding from imaginary bogeymen. But this feels more palpable, more dangerous.

Another thud. This time, it seems louder, deeper, coming from just outside. Trying to keep calm, you run through all the things it Has To Be: the pipes in the wall, which have been groaning for weeks now, with ever-increasing frequency and urgency (they were never this deep or this loud). The blind in the bathroom, left to flap by an open window (you double-check all the doors and windows each night). Perhaps it’s your parents, returning late and drunk (they’re away on a cruise for another week). Your cat, prowling through the house at night (you put it out that evening). Despite all your desperate reassurances, you feel the fear turn to panic, and you pull the duvet tighter around yourself, reducing your field of vision to a thin crack

Another. The loudest yet, just inches from your door. Your churning brain conjures images straight from your childhood nightmares - masked psychopaths, giant spiders, shape shifting creatures: amalgamations of bone and gristle, twitching their way across the floor, scrabbling with twisted limbs for the door handle, then scuttling in with a burst of speed, claws grasping for your quivering body.

Another. Your breathing is hoarse and shallow now, mere gasps in a suddenly dry throat, lungs closing up, stomach churning and roiling, eyes wide and fixed. Your blanket is still tucked vice-like around you, your body pinioned underneath its futile protection, just inches of cotton between you and whatever is about to burst in, eyes burning, talons gleaming dully, to claim its prize.

Suddenly, in a flash of realization, you realize what the source of the noises is: the old, falling-apart bookcase in the corridor. One of the legs must have given way, and the tilt is tipping books one by one onto the floor. As you listen carefully, you can hear the quiet riffle of the pages as another tumbles to the ground. There ought to be one last thud and… yes. Silence once more descends, and with it, a soothing calm.

As you sink back into sleep, you glance around the room, still snugly cocooned, seeing the vague shapes becoming defined as your night vision improves. Your desk, chair and television all emerge out of the murk, imposing good, sane reality on the void of night. Then, just before you shut your eyes, you see something that makes the bottom of your stomach drop away into nothingness.

There, on the floor, is your duvet.

Your screams are muffled.

Now do you get it? outside, it was just your bookshelf falling, the REAL monster is the "blanket" your curled up in. most people don't get this story, but when they do, well, it just can't get out of your head. i sure hope your not reading this on your bed, curled up in your "blanket" after all...

[Hyakkimaru-bear]

Bump!!!

[Hyakkimaru-bear]

You probably shouldn't do this...

Every time you exhale, a little bit of your soul escapes. Luckily, you almost always inhale it back before anyone else gets to it. Almost.

Ever fogged up a mirror with your breath?

Don’t do that.

twisted

[puddingdear101]

A camp fire story of sorts...

December 10th, 2003

My frozen hands tremble as I fumble to work my little butane lighter. The tips of my fingers are raw and bloodied already, and I wince in pain with every failed attempt to spark a flame. Finally, I achieve a jittery fire which impatiently dances atop the lighter. I carefully lower it to my pile of kindling, and the fire cautiously creeps out and spreads until it is a healthy size. I watch it for a while, tending to it until it’s strong. Now, there is enough light to see around me, and enough heat to survive the night.

Here, deep in the forest, with everything frozen and quiet, the only light and sound comes from my fire. It is the whole world to me right now. It dances and sings in a raspy, crackling voice to me and I am happy to enjoy its company. I can almost imagine that I can hear it whispering and babbling happily.

“It’s so cold.”

I must be tired. I’m hearing things. The popping and sizzling of the fire is really beginning to sound like words. Maybe I’m just lonely out here. Maybe I just really want someone to talk to, so I’m hearing coherence in the chaos of the fire. I could have sworn I heard it say -

“It’s so cold.”

There it was again, softer this time. I lean closer to the blaze and its warmth caresses my face, setting me at ease. I’m listening intently now, anxious for what I’ll hear next.

“If you let me die tonight, you‘ll die tonight.”

There was no mistaking it. It said it clearly, albeit in the raspy, singsong voice of a fire consuming wet branches. Yet even as the words become clearer, they become softer, drawing me in closer to make out the next statement. The warmth splashes over me as I inch my face closer, and the frost that had settled in my bones begins to thaw. The fire is speaking constantly now, chattering quietly to itself, and I can only pick out bits of words and portions of sentences.

“Get closer. Watch closely. If I die, you die. I’m the only thing keeping you alive. Pay attention!”

The fire ends its tirade with a loud snap of burning wood and then is quiet. I lean in even closer, eager to receive whatever secret is coming next. The heat is no longer pleasant. It sears me as the flames playfully lick at my face. The fire is being coy, teasing me with its silence to see how long I will wait on it. The smoke reaches into my nostrils and the embers float carelessly from the heart of the fire into my eyes, which are now welling with ash. I don’t care. I just want to hear what comes next.

“Get closer. Pay attention. Watch closely, now more than ever…”

…

December 17th, 2003

“In other news, the charred body of an unidentified man was found deep in the mountainous forests east of the city. Investigators have stated that the man appeared to have caught fire while sitting by his campfire and, inexplicably, did not appear to have made any effort to extinguish himself. His burned remains were found, frozen in position by the icy temperatures, leaning over the ashes of a long extinguished fire. In what is most perhaps the most bizarre detail of the grisly scene, the man is reported to have been found with an ‘expectant‘ smile still on his face.”

[puddingdear101]

My damnation came in the form of a bottle.

No, not like that.

When I was a child my best friend lived next to a little junkyard. Great place for a kid to hang out, a junkyard. Full of mystery and exciting discoveries, and if you find anything nice nobody minds if you take it, except your parents, obviously. Well, not my friend’s mom. Most of their bowls and plates came from that junkyard. But anyway.

One day a bunch of us were hanging out, dismantling a car. Some of us might have been interested in the parts, I just thought breaking stuff was great. When we’d got the engine strewn everywhere we set to work on the interior. Under one of the seats was a little glass bottle, full of some green, bubbly liquid.

Curiosity trumped hygiene in those days. I uncorked it and sniffed it. The smell was pleasant, minty, a little floral. One kid, Jackie, dared me to drink it. It was a double-dog dare. I had to.

The taste was also pleasant, and it warmed me on the way down. My body was filled with a strange, pleasant tingling. Nothing else happened, not until that night.

First effect, I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t needed sleep since. It’s all right. I get a lot done.

Second effect, a month later. I started to cough things up. I was playing alone in the woods and I hacked up blood. Then there were chunks in the blood. Then I was puking. The entirety of my coiled long intestine came snaking up as I sat there quivering, tears on my cheeks, struggling to breathe, literally puking my guts up. My mouth seemed to unhinge like a snake’s to accommodate my lungs. My heart was on my sleeve. The bloodstain would never have come out if I hadn’t abandoned the clothes I was wearing. The police searched frantically for a missing person, but never found a thing.

I wasn’t empty when I finished, though. New organs built up inside me. I could feel them, I could see them when I closed my eyes, nameless lumps and spirals springing out of nothing.

Third effect. Two months later. I began to crave the water. I can’t possibly describe the feeling of thirsty skin, but it was a desperate thirst. I left my parents’ house one night and walked and walked until I came to a swamp. I moved in. The murky, bug-filled waters feel like home now, as they did all those years ago. I sit under the water, watching the fish and salamanders get eaten by herons, looking at the surface waiting for my prey.

I’m sure you know what the fourth effect was. I’m typing this on the cell-phone of my latest victim. She was delicious. She smelled like fresh melons.

[puddingdear101]

The hiker exclaim

I was through hiking the Appalachian Trail last year, when I got lost and found myself off the trail, in a strange, dark hollow with heavy moss and one running stream. It was getting dark, and starting to rain. I found a cave just above the creek bed, and there were no bear-tracks, so I went in for shelter.

Sometime in the night, a bear DID come, right into the cave, and I had no way out! Keeping my head, I crawled deeper into the cave and found a passage too small for the bear to fit. It led to a long crawl way ending in a little alcove.

I had no light, and was terrified. But the sound of the bear in the bigger room faded away. This new room was cozy, with what felt like mounds of soft moss and crackly leaves all over the floor. A breeze blew through, and the leaves, though I couldn’t see them, seemed to move all over, they tickled me all night long, making it hard to sleep.

The next morning I crept back out to see if the bear was gone - he was. So I exited back into the hollow. I had a terrible rash all over my body from the itchy bedding I had slept on, and couldn’t stop scratching as I gathered my stuff and went down the creek looking for a road and some directions back to the trail.

I found another trail along the creek, and in a few hours, it ended at a dirt road. There I rested, trying to decide which way to walk for help. My skin was bleeding in spots now, and pustules were forming at the itchiest places. I thought I might need some cream or something.

A Game Warden jeep came around the bend, and when the Warden saw me sitting at the trail head, he stopped.

“You planning on going up there?” he asked, gesturing up the trail I had come down.

“No, actually-” I began, but the itching on my skin made me stop short to scratch.

“Well, if you are, just stay the hell clear of Spider-Nest Cave.”

[puddingdear101]

If you grew up in the country as I did, you’ve heard it. The one about some bridge or some location, usually in a valley and almost always near water, where something horrible supposedly happened to a mother and her baby, and at night if you are quiet you can hear a baby crying or a woman calling for her child? Yeah, that one. It’s a great excuse to take your girlfriend out to a dark secluded location, get her all scared and have her jump in your lap. When she feels all safe and secure, the panties come right off, right? Scary places always landed me the choice a** back in the day. Know what I mean bro?

Yeah well, I know what really happened, and I know the place where it occurred. You see, there’s this old bridge down in a valley that crosses a small river. It’s not far from here, If you want I can take you out there. Yeah, we can go tonight.

The legend usually says a mother was rushing her sick baby to the hospital and ran her car off the bridge. The story also goes that the mother got out of the car, but drowned after repeatedly trying to find her baby in the dark water. The next morning the police found the car and the two bodies after a farmer called the wreck in. Years later teenagers used to hang out in the fields on the north side of the bridge, and they told stories of hearing a woman screaming “Oh god MY BABY SOMEONE PLEASE HELP OH GOD MY BABY”. There are variations, but this is usually the gist of the tale. Well, the truth is, the valley was haunted a long time before anything like that ever happened, and it wasn’t haunted by some woman screaming for her lost baby. Not then at least.

You see, out in the country here, there’s things that never see the light of day. Things not meant for mortal eyes. They wander the countryside looking for food. They feed on humans you see. They wear the skin of their kills, look just like us. Once it’s on them you can’t tell them apart from us. What they look like under the skin, nobody alive now knows.

The woman in the story, she WAS rushing her baby to the hospital, and she did wreck, but she didn’t run off the bridge. She came close though, and she seemed to be in luck, as a truck came along just minutes after she ran off the road and smacked a tree. Her lights were still on, and the driver of the truck spotted her waving in the middle of the road. What happens next, well… it’s pretty horrible. You see the driver of the truck, well, he was one of those things, and he was wearing the previous owner’s skin. He pulls over, offers to help. The mother is on the verge of passin’ out, so he helps her get the baby out of the car. He found it impossible to resist the tender, sweet flesh of one so young. The smell of it’s innocence was too much, and its appetite overtook it. He ate the baby right there in front of the mother. Jaws split like some sort of horrible giant snake, bit it right in half, swallowed it in two bites. Right in front of that poor woman. That’s where the screams come from you see. Right before he ate her too. Of course, she didn’t die so quick, being a much bigger meal than a little baby.

The real horror of these things is, once they eat you, your soul or whatever, it doesn’t move on like it does after a normal death. It lingers, you see. How do I know all of this? Well, I grew up around here. My grandfather told me all about it. He was one of the cops that found the car, you see. He ran across one of those things here in town once. Said it looked like a person, just didn’t seem to move right. His grandmother was an old Indian wise woman, she told him stories of the skin walkers when he was a child. Said he’d know when he met one.

So you want to see the place? It’s just a few miles from here. Yeah, hop in the truck, I’ll take you out there. She’s a beaut ain’t she? Belonged to my grandpa too, she’s a 55 Chevy. Restored it myself. Finish your drink, we’ll head out there In my truck.

[puddingdear101]

bump biggrin

[puddingdear101]

"Daddy, I had a bad dream."
You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness—it's 3:23.
"Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?"
"No, Daddy."
The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter's pale form in the darkness of your room. "Why not, sweetie?"
"Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy's skin sat up."
For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can't take your eyes off of your
daughter. Then the covers behind you begin to shift…