Results 1 to 3 of 3
  1. #1

    Here's a change of pace for anyone interested. Mister E.
    He moved in when I was young, about seven years ago; I was eleven then. Even then I felt something was off. For the first few months I was vocal about how I felt, I even convinced the police enough that they got a warrant. When they went into his house it ‘held nothing of suspicion, was empty.’. After that I kept to myself. But my mind was never changed, I know. I know he’s a killer.

    Wake up Bobby!’ I could hear my mother call from the kitchen. In my morning stupor I pushed off the covers and made for the door. Shuffling down the short hallway I could see my mother flipping an omelette. Without even turning around she lifted a plate to me, “Breakfast.” was all she said. Learning early on not to fight with her about what she serves I sat next to the window and people watched. Halfway through the omelette I saw an ice-truck pull into the lot. ‘7:20, right on schedule. My sculptor, hard at work’ I thought to myself.

    Clearing my plate I went back into my room to get ready for the rest of the day. As I sat on the bed, shoving on my shoes the door was opened, it was my father. “How you holdin’ up today?” he asked, head peeking through the door. I gave him an affirmative ‘Hmph’ as I put on my last shoe. I got up pulled the door open the rest of the way, making my way back down the hallway and out the door.

    “Thanks again, fellas’.” I heard when I closed the door behind me. Looking down the hall I saw the delivery men giving their courtesy wave while pushing their carts back out through the door. The man turned to go back into his apartment but caught my glare. “Morning Bobby.” He said cheerfully. I started down the hall again as I replied “Mister E.” His ‘pleasantness’ faded into thinly shrouded contempt “It’s just Sam, Bobby.” I had already passed him, and was steadily ignoring him. I could hear the door shut behind me. ‘Angry. I like that.’ I thought to myself, pushing the glass door open.

    Walking along the side of the lake I kicked rocks in every so often. The ripples collided with each other and faded before another set of rocks. A few meters ahead of me was a man very familiar to me, Marcus Paige. A local drug dealer, ‘Illicits only’ was his motto. He seemed convinced of his own safety, his invulnerability. That stopped the day he sold my sister the heroin that would end her life. He made his usual turn to where he was most comfortable dealing. I continued past him for the sake of retaining inconspicuousness, my hood blocked any view he could have had of me. I kept walk until a bend in the road, I was out of sight. I shed the cheap jacket and donned a black beanie, a quick look in the water showed that none of my hair was showing. The scruff of two weeks hid more of my features. I put on the reflective glasses and examined myself. ‘My very own alter ego.’ I thought. Feeling the strike baton I waited a few more minutes before jogging back out of the bend, blood racing.

    I covered the distance like any tired morning jogger just starting their routine, until I neared Marcus. He noticed me, playing me for a mark. I slowed a little to give him time to think, while keeping the path. “Eh, come ‘ere my man.”He said, I feigned obliviousness. “I’m talkin’ to you dawg.” He said, almost shouting. Stopping, I got ready for the act. “What.” I replied, deepening my voice enough to complete the disguise. “You looking to score, you shadier then me”. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak ebonics.” I said, working to boil his blood. He pushed me away by my shoulder, feigning a loss of balance, he took the bait. He moved in closer, as if he this went from drug-deal to mugging. Before he could take a second step I struck his knee with the baton. He went down but was fighting to get up. He reached along his belt and pulled out a gun. I backed away, letting him get up. ‘Interesting, must be a new addition.’ I thought. Marcus’ hands were shaking, probably the pain. His pants were getting wet on the left side, knee down.

    “Whatcha’ gonna do now nigga? Huh, ain’t so big now muthafucker!” He said as he started to turn the gun sideways, in typical slinger fashion. He stepped closer, so close in fact that improvisation was not out of the question. “Drop the stick, bitch.” He demanded. I obliged, reveling in the future. He moved even closer, touching the gun to my chest. “Sandra.” I said, hands at my sides, face motionless. “The fuck you on about?” “Sandra. That’s my sisters name. If it weren’t for you I’d still have her.” I explained. “Sandra…? Blonde hair bitch, yeah. She earned good.” He said, now working to boil my blood, and he had. The gun was only an inch from my chest, I ducked as I pushed it away from me. I heard the click of an empty barrel over his fear. Twisting the gun out of his hand I threw it to the ground. “Should’ve bought bullets, filth.” I said as he was hobbling away.

    Grabbing the baton off the ground I quickly covered the ground he had put between us. I grabbed at his hood, swinging him to the ground with the fullest force. Having knocked the wind out of him I roll him over, one foot on his wrist and another on his chest. He looked up, gasping for breath he couldn’t quite reach. “Marcus. I want you to beg.” Giving him some leeway he said through a coughing fit “Fo’ what?” “For this, to stop.” I said as I pushed the air out of him again. Moving back I let him move, he got on his hands and knees, coughing and gasping. Before he could recuperate I brought the baton across his head. As he looked up, blood flowed from his right ear. “What do you think-” I said, as I moved to his side, kicking him in the chest. “-Is proper punishment for murder?” He was rolling on the ground now, reeling in pain.

    “Should a murderer be killed,-” Adding another kick for good measure. “-Or should they live their life?” I stopped a moment to let him gather himself. He sat up, as he clutched his chest he winced. “Man, I ain’t gonna fuckin’ wax philly-sockiful fo’ yo’ ass” I looked over him again ‘We’re not through here.’ I knew. Feeling an end coming along, I brought the baton down again, knocking him out. I picked up the gun, wiping it off. I carefully placed it in his hand. Taking out a glove I searched him for a phone, and called 911. I frantically told them I had found a man with a gun and some drugs who was hurt real bad. I opened the phone up and took out the SIM card and left it off, I pocketed it for certainty. “No one, is ever going to believe you.” I said to him, knowing full well what he has in store.
    A tip
    1. Don't call a staff by their name and wait for them to respond before asking your questions
    2. Don't expect anyone to help you with anything that involves selections, if you're not there while you're asking

  2. #2
    Back at home as I lay on my bed feeling the smoothness of the shave I could hear the revving of a chainsaw. I roll over to see Mister E. doing another ice sculpture. Almost the entire complex has gathered for the monthly event. What first evolved from a simple showing into a massive potluck featuring his artwork, even the building staff are there. I roll back over, trying to ignore the sound of the saw through ice. ‘Bobby! You’re coming this time!’ I hear called at me, by mother and father in almost perfect unison. I got up and opened the door; they were starting down the hallway. “Just hold on.” I said, trying to buy time. I turned around, back against the door. I look across the room, ‘There’s no mess, nothing to do with the computer, bed is as neat as one recently lain on could be. The cabinets are sorted and the walls are clean. The walls. They’re bare… Posters!’

    I open the door again and look down to seem them talking. “Posters! I’m going to go get posters.” I shout to them. A confused look goes across each of their faces, and then recognition of the fact that it’s a change. “Alright son. The keys are on the counter, drive safe.” Said my father, ushering my mother out, closing the door behind him. ‘Now what am I supposed to do?’ I asked myself.

    I paced for a few minutes before I realized the opportunity to dig into Mister E.. I went to my room and grabbed a few pairs of gloves, the lock picking set, and a light camera. ‘This should cover it.’ I rushed out and covered the short distance to door ‘E’ and set to work on the lock. Setting the tumblers I turn the knob ‘Someone like him should have some more safeguards’ I think to myself as the door slides open. I close the door behind me and look around. The windows are covered in black-out curtains and the walls are sound-proofed, the multiple freezers housing his blocks of ice chill the air. ‘Same floor plan, this should be quick.’

    I walk over to the wall lined with freezers, each one padlocked. Curious as to what could be here other than ice, I set to work on each lock. Opening the first I only see several blocks of ice, a winch is situated nearby, I move on to the next. Opening it, I see there’s a block missing, ‘Must be the one he’s using today.’ At the third and last one my pick breaks inside the lock. Deciding against spending the rest of the time fishing out the broken piece I move on to the rest of the loft. Each room was either empty or sparsely furnished. The only bed was simple and ached under pressure, the kitchen was almost barren, stocked only with the bare necessities. I look out the window to see his sculpture taking shape. ‘Running out of time.’ I go back to the door, locking it behind myself. Back in my own room I look over it again, beginning to seriously considering getting some posters.

    Stopping the car at the front of the parking lot I look up seeing the big letters, “WAL*MART”.. ‘Posters...’ I thought to myself, walking inside. Making a beeline for the aisle hosting the catalogue, I noted the odd emptiness. Now flipping through the large ‘pages’ of posters I could see the lights dim; instead of the almost blinding fluorescents, the bulbs clung to life. ‘Now that’s more like it.’ I think to myself. Continuing with the posters for a time, I could hear footsteps. First they seemed to pace the aisles far, then they moved closer, almost with each flip to a new poster. The sounds were almost right on top of me, and they stopped. I felt something tap my shoulder, and suddenly the lights were bright again, there were people now, a plain-clothes police officer stood in front of me. “You okay son?” He asked, head tilted to see my face. I look up at him, and then check my watch. “Oh, man. Yeah, sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve had a good nights sleep. Infant siblings.” I said, feigning fatigue. “Come on, let me buy you some coffee or something.” He said, ushering me towards the food court. “Oh you don’t-” Before I could finish he interjected, “I insist, please. Wouldn’t want you to get into an accident driving home.” I began to fear that Marcus was a little more vocal than I thought he would be.

    “Two coffees, and one chicken salad, please?” Asked the officer. The clerk noded and gave a ticket to a runner. “Sit anywhere, we’ll bring it out.” She said. Sitting down, I took the time to notice the man. His badge was clipped onto a weathered belt and his boots seemed as old as him, only missing the graying hairs atop his head. His clothes were casual, but still professional. ‘Always on the job, it seems.’ I noted. “So, how’s your day been?” I asked him. He seemed a bit confused anyone showed any interest. “Well” He started. The coffee and his salad had just arrived. “Thank you.” He said, acknowledging the server. “It’s been, interesting, to say the least. Got a call about a mugging gone bad, guy had a punctured lung. He was dead before we got there; Marcus, I think his name was.” I sat back, trying to look shocked, appalled. It must have worked because he continued. “Oh don’t worry, he was the scum of the earth. Linked to several overdoses, even a few assaults. But nothing stuck. I just hope it wasn’t a vigilante, hate to have to deal with someone so narrow sighted.” I scoffed a little at the mention of his status. ‘Rest assured, that’s the last of my vigilante work’ I think to myself.

    “Yeah, it seems like an issue that’s a pain to deal with. Is that it though?” I asked, hoping for a one sided conversation. “Yeah, just about. How about you though?” He asked, launching me into the conversation.

    “It’s been rather uneventful, but that’s beside the point.” I started, beginning a story to disguise todays actual events.

    "That may be so, but tell me about it anyway. I'm running out of things to talk about." I leaned back a bit, in a position of confidence. The thought ran through my mind that I may be a suspect, but that couldn't bother me. I began and finished a simple story. Sat at home, wrote a bit, browsed for a job, dodged going to an event. All true, but how one loves to lie through omission.

    Back at home I unrolled the posters. A man dressed in grey wearing a headband crouched behind some crates, gun in hand. Another man was passing by, not realizing his imminent death. I stuck it to a spot on the wall as I heard the door open. My parents were talking, but I could hear a voice not belonging to either of them. It only took a moment to recognize it, Mister E.

    "Bobby! Come on out!" Called my mother, smothering an intoxicated giggle. My father chimed in after. "Maybe he's not home yet."

    "Nonsense, I saw the car." She said definitely in her stupor. They were in the living room now, setting mother down on a couch. "So, Sam, was that on purpose?" My father asked. "I'm sorry, I can't help it if someone had the gall to spike the drinks." He scoffed a bit before subsiding to laugh. I knew my father felt the tinge of alcohol as well.

    "I'll go fetch your boy for you now." Sam said while coaxing my father onto the couch next to my mother. "Down and to the left." My father said. I could hear the footsteps over the muffled giggles from my mother. Best face it, locking the doors won't help.

    The door opened as I sat in my computer chair, waiting. "Mister E." I said. Sams faced flashed disgust before he stepped in and closed the door behind him. I stood up, ready for anything. He simply sat down on the floor, gesturing for me to do the same. I obliged; I noticed he had no shoes, his feet were calloused as if this were normal. I took my attention back to him as a whole. Parts of his shirt were wet from newly melted ice fragments, his black hair was pulled back and wetter still. He still wore the gloves he would when working the ice. Leaning forward a little, he stared a moment before he spoke. "Bobby. I'd like to forgo the... banter." He moved a little as he said this, as if readying himself. I did the same. "I know about your escapade into my home. Id like you to buy me a new lock." I sat, half ready, for a bit before he continued. "Or, I could simply let your parents in on your other ventures. I'm sure Marcus would be glad to know if you were even slightly inconvenienced."

    I moved a little, out of genuine discomfort. Sam had pounced, pinning me to the ground. Not portraying shock, I looked at him. "Hmm. Didn't expect that. Wonder if there will be any bruises." Sam didn't seem to register at first, he simply stared, he licked his lips quickly before getting up. As he moved to stand so did I. His hand on the door he said. "Mind yourself. This is a dangerous game you're playing.

    The sun had set several hours before and the busyness had already faded away. There was the occasional drunkard to be enticed by the working girls, but every business that clung to life in this neighborhood had closed for the night. Sitting at a bus stop in the flickering light of a broken and dying street lamp was a man. He didn't fit in the area. His clothes did, but when he stood to reposition himself he had a presence. The man waited for hours, never boarding a bus. Not even an angry homeless man could run him off, as much as several tried.

    A fifth man was taking his chances for a place to rest, and instead of demanding his space he sat and moved to sleep upright. The man looked over to him and forward again, a look of disgust flashing on his face. He looked over again, but instead starred. The vagabond stirred slightly before seeing he was being watched. He pulled up the hood of his jacket slightly and turned to the other man. "What you want?" He asked in a fitting voice. The other man smiled slightly and spoke. "I couldn't help but notice your patches. Are you a veteran?" The veteran nodded solemnly. The other man stood and stretched out his hand; the veteran stood in response and shook his hand. A string of events unfolded with careful practice from the other man, and fading experience of the veteran. The waiting man had turned the veteran and slammed his head into the closest pole. He was dazed but still fought, pulling a knife out from under his jacket he slashed out, grazing the other mans hand. Undeterred, the man rushed the veteran, disarming him.

    The blood began to cover the sidewalk as the rain started. The rain cooled the warm blood, washing it away. Silhouetted by a flickering light was someone being dragged, a common sight in the neighbourhood. A thump was clear and the wafting of a cover was muffled in the rain. An engine turned over and lights brightened the street, a car pulled out of an alley and drove out of sight. The last of the blood drained away and a homeless man rushed under the cover of the bus stop, unaware.
    A tip
    1. Don't call a staff by their name and wait for them to respond before asking your questions
    2. Don't expect anyone to help you with anything that involves selections, if you're not there while you're asking

  3. #3
    Banned Ancient Sage Jeremy9600's Avatar
    Join Date
    Sep 2012
    Daniel, please make a creepypasta. I'd literally love you forever.

Thread Information

Users Browsing this Thread

There are currently 1 users browsing this thread. (0 members and 1 guests)

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts