Post by phrostphyre on Mar 28, 2012 0:42:52 GMT -5
((For those of you that DON'T know, Creepypasta is scary writing stuff on the Internet. It's 12:41 AM in my place, and Phrost just finished his own creepy pasta. Oooooh, scary, right? I hope. Tell me what you think, please.))
WARNING. CONTAINS PROFANE LANGUAGE. READ AT OWN RISK.[/u]
The cops checked everywhere. No corpses, no limbs, no entrails, no decapitated heads. I checked my watch once more. 5:50 AM; Ten minutes until sunrise today. I keep telling myself that if I make it to sunrise, I'll be okay. He won't be able to get to me in the daylight. I grin savagely, knowing that I'm lying to myself. I chamber the round into my Colt, and switch the safety to off. I'm tired of losing sleep. I'm tired of having the cops glance askance at me, because they don't believe me, and yet they do. This son of a fucking bitch ruined my life. I'm going to end his, if it's even a life.
I told my priest what I was going to do. He blessed the 8 .45 caliber bullets in my magazines, the four of them. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, he said, crossing himself. The mirror over my dresser mocks my resolve. All lights are turned on as I lay on my bed, looking at the door and window. I wasn't always paranoid. I wasn't always hated by the parents and cops. I had a student that enjoyed Warhammer 40K. He'd be telling me to keep faith in the Emperor, faith and determination would win this day. I doubted it. I stroked my pistol's barrel slowly. Three more minutes until sunrise. Any second now, my door would creep open.
I didn't always know. It happened one Saturday evening, around 3 AM. I was trawling the depths of the Internet, on the 'creepypasta' section of 4chan, linked by a student. I knew enough to avoid the Promotions! boards, but I read one about a 'Slenderman'. I scoffed, smirking. For weeks, months, nothing happened. Until one day, the school burnt down, and every single student that had my class was found gone. No trace. Completely gone. I knew what it was. Soon, things out of my room, my apartment, my car, disappeared as well. Finally, enough was enough for me. I put on my best suit of clothes, a kilt worn to a friend's wedding, and had my weapon and bullets blessed by as many preachers of as many faiths as I could.
Now. It's now. My bedroom door's creeping open, inch by inch. Centimeter by centimeter. I stand, and yell at him. “Come at me, you son of a bitch! I'm Alasdair O'Finn, you fucking cunt! My blood's stained the sands of Iraq and Afghanistan because of goat-fucking herdsmen better than you!” He stood in the door. Fear didn't paralyze me. I knew I was going to die. Fuck it, I welcomed it. I brought my pistol up, and I unleashed Hell on the Slenderman. The bullets, all eight, hit him square in the chest. Center mass, fuck yeah. I didn't waste time watching him reform said center mass. I was busy reloading and pumping more lead into his chest. When in doubt, apply superior firepower. Always worked before, and it looked like it was working now. He stuttered back a step, surprise emanting from his blank face. I snarled savagely, dropping my pistol. I had just dropped thirty-two .45 caliber pistol rounds, hollowpoints, into his center mass, and he wasn't fucking dead.
Nothing doing, then, but close work. I drew the knife I had convinced the Army to let me keep, and I closed on him. Stunned, he drew back another step, shrinking from me as hatred and rage contorted my face into a demented mask, and then his unholy greenish blood filled my room as I kept striking and striking, driving him to the ground. I began dismembering him, even as I felt appendages wrap around my throat. Throttling me, then. That's how I'd go. At least it was on top of an enemy of all humanity, and one I had beaten.
~*~
On November 1st, 2011, Alasdair O'Finn, formerly United States Army, formerly a history teacher at =NAME REDACTED= High School, in =REDACTED=, =REDACTED=, was found deceased, the victim of throttling. The cause of his death, the 'Slenderman', was found dead beneath him, victim of thirty-two gunshots to the chest, and disemboweling. Alasdair O'Finn was buried with full military honors November 3rd, and awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously for action against an enemy of the United States of America in circumstances beyond his Reservist's contract, his duty, and his expectations. It was a closed casket funeral, attended by the =REDACTED= Police Department, the staff of =REDACTED= High School, the President of the United States of America, the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and the Director of the Federal Buerau of Investigation. The citation for Master Sergeant O'Finn's Medal of Honor is classified beyond that of the Deputy Directors of the respective government agencies, and has been ordered sealed by the President for the next hundred years. The corpse of the 'Slenderman' was placed on the next available rocket flight into outerspace. In public news, the rocket suffered a malfunction and exploded. In reality, the rocket was destroyed by an F-22 from Eglin Air Force Base, Florida. Every Halloween, and Veteran's Day, Alasdair O'Finn's grave is visited by a child. They're drawn there by some unknown force, but once there, they kneel, and feel a hand on their shoulder. A smiling face looks down upon them, and they know that if there's things Mommy and Daddy can't protect them against, this dead man can.
For even in death, Master Sergeant Alasdair O'Finn serves the United States of America. In the USA, disappearences of children have gone down. Murders are down, too. As are unexplained fires, and the number of mental patients admitted due to psychosis.
~*~
They thought they had destroyed him. It would take him a long time to reform, out here in the cold of space, but if he had had a face, he would have smiled. Time was on his side. Wasn't he the Slenderman, after all?
WARNING. CONTAINS PROFANE LANGUAGE. READ AT OWN RISK.[/u]
The cops checked everywhere. No corpses, no limbs, no entrails, no decapitated heads. I checked my watch once more. 5:50 AM; Ten minutes until sunrise today. I keep telling myself that if I make it to sunrise, I'll be okay. He won't be able to get to me in the daylight. I grin savagely, knowing that I'm lying to myself. I chamber the round into my Colt, and switch the safety to off. I'm tired of losing sleep. I'm tired of having the cops glance askance at me, because they don't believe me, and yet they do. This son of a fucking bitch ruined my life. I'm going to end his, if it's even a life.
I told my priest what I was going to do. He blessed the 8 .45 caliber bullets in my magazines, the four of them. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, he said, crossing himself. The mirror over my dresser mocks my resolve. All lights are turned on as I lay on my bed, looking at the door and window. I wasn't always paranoid. I wasn't always hated by the parents and cops. I had a student that enjoyed Warhammer 40K. He'd be telling me to keep faith in the Emperor, faith and determination would win this day. I doubted it. I stroked my pistol's barrel slowly. Three more minutes until sunrise. Any second now, my door would creep open.
I didn't always know. It happened one Saturday evening, around 3 AM. I was trawling the depths of the Internet, on the 'creepypasta' section of 4chan, linked by a student. I knew enough to avoid the Promotions! boards, but I read one about a 'Slenderman'. I scoffed, smirking. For weeks, months, nothing happened. Until one day, the school burnt down, and every single student that had my class was found gone. No trace. Completely gone. I knew what it was. Soon, things out of my room, my apartment, my car, disappeared as well. Finally, enough was enough for me. I put on my best suit of clothes, a kilt worn to a friend's wedding, and had my weapon and bullets blessed by as many preachers of as many faiths as I could.
Now. It's now. My bedroom door's creeping open, inch by inch. Centimeter by centimeter. I stand, and yell at him. “Come at me, you son of a bitch! I'm Alasdair O'Finn, you fucking cunt! My blood's stained the sands of Iraq and Afghanistan because of goat-fucking herdsmen better than you!” He stood in the door. Fear didn't paralyze me. I knew I was going to die. Fuck it, I welcomed it. I brought my pistol up, and I unleashed Hell on the Slenderman. The bullets, all eight, hit him square in the chest. Center mass, fuck yeah. I didn't waste time watching him reform said center mass. I was busy reloading and pumping more lead into his chest. When in doubt, apply superior firepower. Always worked before, and it looked like it was working now. He stuttered back a step, surprise emanting from his blank face. I snarled savagely, dropping my pistol. I had just dropped thirty-two .45 caliber pistol rounds, hollowpoints, into his center mass, and he wasn't fucking dead.
Nothing doing, then, but close work. I drew the knife I had convinced the Army to let me keep, and I closed on him. Stunned, he drew back another step, shrinking from me as hatred and rage contorted my face into a demented mask, and then his unholy greenish blood filled my room as I kept striking and striking, driving him to the ground. I began dismembering him, even as I felt appendages wrap around my throat. Throttling me, then. That's how I'd go. At least it was on top of an enemy of all humanity, and one I had beaten.
~*~
On November 1st, 2011, Alasdair O'Finn, formerly United States Army, formerly a history teacher at =NAME REDACTED= High School, in =REDACTED=, =REDACTED=, was found deceased, the victim of throttling. The cause of his death, the 'Slenderman', was found dead beneath him, victim of thirty-two gunshots to the chest, and disemboweling. Alasdair O'Finn was buried with full military honors November 3rd, and awarded the Medal of Honor posthumously for action against an enemy of the United States of America in circumstances beyond his Reservist's contract, his duty, and his expectations. It was a closed casket funeral, attended by the =REDACTED= Police Department, the staff of =REDACTED= High School, the President of the United States of America, the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, and the Director of the Federal Buerau of Investigation. The citation for Master Sergeant O'Finn's Medal of Honor is classified beyond that of the Deputy Directors of the respective government agencies, and has been ordered sealed by the President for the next hundred years. The corpse of the 'Slenderman' was placed on the next available rocket flight into outerspace. In public news, the rocket suffered a malfunction and exploded. In reality, the rocket was destroyed by an F-22 from Eglin Air Force Base, Florida. Every Halloween, and Veteran's Day, Alasdair O'Finn's grave is visited by a child. They're drawn there by some unknown force, but once there, they kneel, and feel a hand on their shoulder. A smiling face looks down upon them, and they know that if there's things Mommy and Daddy can't protect them against, this dead man can.
For even in death, Master Sergeant Alasdair O'Finn serves the United States of America. In the USA, disappearences of children have gone down. Murders are down, too. As are unexplained fires, and the number of mental patients admitted due to psychosis.
~*~
They thought they had destroyed him. It would take him a long time to reform, out here in the cold of space, but if he had had a face, he would have smiled. Time was on his side. Wasn't he the Slenderman, after all?