Julian the Killer Part II by Julian Colwell

  I woke with a jolt as I heard the piercing scream coming from downstairs. I noticed that my wife Scarlet was not beside me & immediately went to action.

  I grabbed my shotgun from the closet & ran down the stairs.

  It…it was horrible…

   My wife’s stomach had been sliced open & her limbs hacked off. The worst was her face. Her eyes had been ripped out of their sockets, & a smile had been carved into her face.
   I fell to my knees as tears rolled down my face.

   “S…Scarlet…my…my Scarlet…”

   “She was a slippery one. But I got her.”

   I spun around to see a boy, probably 13 or 14. He had shaggy dark brown hair & a grotesque smile carved into his face, which appeared to have been stitched up. I pointed my shotgun at him & pulled the trigger.

  Clink!

  The boy laughed. He held up two bullets. “Lot of good you’re going to do without these,” he chuckled.

  He threw them behind them. “How does it feel? Seeing the one you love in such a wretched state…Not good I imagine.”

  “You…YOU BASTARD!”

  I threw a punch, but missed. He pulled out a hatchet & dug it into my spine. I let out a shriek. He let out laughter. “You truly are pathetic. I feel sorry for you. I think I’ll let you live.”

  He grinned & walked to the back door, but stopped. “You know, she would’ve died any way. She was going to commit suicide.”

  “W-what?”

  “She found out about the affair.  I was really doing her a favor. She died with some honor.”

  “H-how?”

  “I know many things. When the police come, you can tell them that Julian the Killer did this. Not that It’ll do you any good.”

   He laughed as he departed. When the police came, I told them what happened. Apparently I wasn’t the first. He & a girl named Kate had been slicing people up all over the country. Yet nobody had been able to catch them.

   The neighbors gave me their condolences & left small gifts. Thanks to him, I’m now paralyzed from the waist down. Yet, still. I can’t help wonder who was the villain. Me…or Julian.

I Am Not A Clone (Pokepasta)

I am the original! I am the best!

I care not what those journals say! They are wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!

I am the original!

…Aren’t I?

—-

  I fingered the Pokeballs attached around my waist. My Pokémon. My partners. My faithful companions. My best friends. Through thick and thin, we’d gone through the perils of Johto and into Kanto.

And now, here I was. Standing at the entrance to the old mansion.

I had been mesmerized by the beauty of a Ninetales I had battled against on my way here. I wanted one. I had to have one. The kind trainer told me that that Vulpix could be found in the old Cinnabar mansion, which was just about destroyed. Dangerous. But I was getting that Vulpix whether this stupid mansion wanted me to or not.

I double checked my party, making sure everyone was set and ready to go. My Feraligatr, Beedrill, Noctowl, Umbreon, and Rapidash all seemed ready.

But there was the question of whether or not he was ready or not…

I bit my lip, having been told by a friend of the journals that were scattered around the mansion. He had pointed out the connections to my dearest boy, and I, of course, denied every single thing he pointed out. I had to. My Pokémon were practically my children, and what parent would not try to protect their child?

But even I couldn’t ignore everything. I decided to just keep him in his Pokeball for this trip, even if his Psychic powers were good against the Poison Pokémon that practically ruled the place. I took the ball and shoved it down deep in my backpack.

I made sure I had plenty of Potions, Antidotes, and Burn Heals. After finding satisfaction in my stores, I slung the bag across my back and called out my Rapidash. I kindly asked her if she would light up the dark mansion for me, and the Pokémon whinnied and flared brighter. I smiled and thanked her, guessing that this was a ‘yes’.

—-

I’m so tired…

Where are we? I can’t tell. It’s dark and stuffy. It’s hot, too. Too hot. I don’t like it.

Why can’t I see?

This feeling… Why do I have it? Why do I suddenly feel so ice cold?

Wh-where are we?

—-

I felt the Pokeball rattle in my backpack. Considering my bag was so loaded with stuff, I was surprised I could feel it. My boy must be distressed. I frowned. I knew he didn’t like being in dark places, and yet I still did this to him.

He’ll be upset, but not as much as he would if he was out. The lesser of the two evils, I suppose. And I simply couldn’t leave him in the Storage System.

He’d live.

I slid my Pokedex out of my pocket, looking at the picture of the Vulpix on the screen. Studying it. I scanned over its info. I’d be ready to face this thing once I found it. I even had the brand new Ultra Balls in my pocket, ready to toss at the fox.

“Vulll!”

My gaze snapped up from the screen, my eyes wide. My prize had come to me, it seemed! Who was I to complain about that?

The Vulpix spotted me. With pinprick eyes, it took off down the decrepit hall. Grinning, I readied Feraligatr’s Pokeball and took off after it, my feet pounding on the moldy carpet.

—-

Ugh… I feel sick. I have a headache.

Is there anything for that? Maybe something for humans. Maybe it’d work for me, too. I’m not too different from them, after all, no matter how much it pains me to say so with some of them in the world…

Huh? We’re moving?

Urgh… That sick feeling got stronger. The air smells familiar. Are we in a cave? No, no, no, it’s not a cave. It feels too strange to be a cave.

Let’s see… There’s mold in the air. The air smells stale. We’re enclosed somewhere. It’s too dry to be a cave… The air isn’t dusty. There’s ash. Something’s burning or has recently burned. That explains the heat, I guess…

But there’s something… behind all that. It’s so familiar, it practically drills itself into my mind… And into my fear, it seems.

Where are we? Am I… In the bag? Is there something I shouldn’t see? Why not? I’m strong enough to handle it… I’m strong enough to handle anything.

—-

I chased the Vulpix through the dark. All of the sudden, it took a sharp turn to the right, into a room. Rapidash and I rushed into the room, my partner’s bright flames penetrating the shadows that lurked in every corner. It was almost eerie, now that I think about it.

I turned to the far side of the room. The Vulpix was trapped against the wall, hissing and spitting. I frowned. Water would just scare it more, I knew. So, with a quick Ember from my powerful Rapidash and a flick of the wrist, Vulpix was safely inside a Ultra Ball.

I walked over and lifted the Pokeball, tucking into a pocket in my bag. I’d stick it in the PC once I got back outside, I slung my backpack off, reaching down one of the side pockets to grab an Escape Rope.

That’s when I saw it.

The journal my friend had told me about. Why it was laying on the ground as though someone had pitched the old book against the wall, though, I’d never know. What was in that book, though…

I had to know.

My curiosity suddenly lurked in the front of my mind like my shadow on a sunny day. It was there. There was no getting rid of it.

Even though I practically promised myself and my boy I wouldn’t…

I reached forward and pulled the book toward myself, being extremely careful with the yellowed pages. I bit my lip, gently turning to the front of the book. I read aloud…

July 5

Guyana, South America

We have discovered a new Species of Pokémon. It seems that all member of this species are now gone, sadly. This makes studying the new Pokémon very hard. Luckily, we have recovered samples of the Pokémon’s DNA. They appear to be very recent. Have these Pokémon only very recently gone extinct, or are they actually still alive?

—-

Why does this sound so familiar? It’s so painfully familiar… I can feel it in the back of my mind.

Why can’t I remember?

—-

I turned the page, surprised to find a few pages torn out. I turned to where the book was laying, finding scattered piles of tiny bits of torn paper. I frowned. There was no salvaging that.

I sighed and continued to read…

July 10

Guyana, South America

Due to its supposed kitten-like appearance, we have decided to christen the new Pokémon Mew.

I smiled. Mew was a very cute name.

—-

Mew…

Mew… Mew… Mew…

The name is so easy to say. It rolls off my tongue as easily as my own name.

I can feel it burning in my mind. I know that name. Why do I know that name…

—-

I turned the next few pages, finding them torn out or simply destroyed to the point that only a few lines of text were readable.

Finally, I came to something useful.

February 6

Cinnabar, Kanto

The tests on the Mew have proved successful. We have cloned a brand new specimen. However, the limited DNA we have will not work. Professor Blaine offered some of his own blood for the research. While the clone is not what we had hoped for, being very little like the original Mew, it will have to suffice. We have decided to call this creature Mewtwo.

Mewtwo appears to be rather powerful. We don’t, however, yet know the extent of this power.

I frowned and bit my lip. My friend had lied to me. He hadn’t wanted me to read these. He had pointed out ‘small similarities’ that were painfully real.

My Mewtwo… Was really a science experiment?

—-

No, no, no, no, no…

I remember, now. I remember it all, now. I don’t remember this.

I-I… I refuse to believe I am just a science experiment. I had emotions. I had thought.

I had to ‘suffice’…

I believed them. I believed those stupid Humans. I believed they cared. I am as stupid as them for believing their charade. They care nothing about life.

I just had to ‘suffice’ though.

—-

I was almost shaking. My poor Mewtwo… This was really what he was intended for?

My bottom lip quivered. I choked back tears. My Mewtwo… What would have happened had he not escaped? What fate would he have come to if he was not with me now?

I read on. I had to know what the end would have been if he didn’t…

September 1

Cinnabar, Kanto

Mewtwo is far to powerful. All attempts to weaken its vicious tendencies have failed…

I flipped through the remaining pages, finding only blank paper. I threw the book against the wall and slung my backpack over my shoulder. I jumped on Rapidash’s back, trusting her to take me to the entrance.

I just had to get out…

—-

I remember now. Oh so vividly.

But, no matter how many times I run through it in my head… It just seems like a story. I am Mewtwo. I am myself. I am no one’s clone.

I realize I’m pushing into my dear trainer’s thoughts, but I don’t care. It’s better if someone knows what I’m thinking… I have to get it out!

I am the original! I am the best!

I am the original!I care not what the journals say! They are wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong!

…Aren’t I?

No matter how many times I say it, I can’t convince myself it’s true…

Blackout by Nick Farella (Terror Tale)

I hadn’t done anything different that day. It started off very normal, in fact; I awoke to the blaring alarm clock. I brushed my teeth. I fixed a breakfast, and ate it. I kissed my mum goodbye and I dashed out the front door, swinging my backpack with me. I sat on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for the bus to arrive. I get there early every day, just to be sure. The only thing different that I recall would be the grass; it looked a little greener.

I entered the bus and found a seat. At my seat near the back of the bus, I rested my headphones on my head and listened to some music. I listen to the mellower songs in the morning.

As time passed, the bus quickly filled up with people. It was a school bus. The children were chattering and teasing and twisting and shouting. They were normal kids. With the headphones, however, all I could hear was the music, the soft piano layered on melodic, spacy harps and horns. I don’t listen to normal music.

We reached the school. With the headphones still on, I get up with the rest of the kids and become a drop in a rushing ocean of children, not eager for class, but eager to arrive.

School was loud and busy. The classrooms, filled with students and teachers, went on teaching all matter of subjects; while the students remained restless and less enthusiastic of the knowledge. I met up with all my friends at recess. I played basketball with Tommy and Michael. They were my closest friends on the playground. After we tired of basketball, we went and dug around the rocks and woodchips that edged the enclosure, looking for bugs and worms.

I distinctly remember the moment just before the blackout. We were taking long woodchips and poking at the dirt with them. I joked with Michael about what we would do if we found a little bug friend. Tommy said he’d squish it, but we laughed, knowing he wouldn’t ever do such a thing. The giggles resided and I shifted my gaze to the dirt on the ground, smiling and stabbing away.

For three years, I’d been having these “episodes,” my mother calls them. They occur every few months or so, just when we think they’re gone for good. To my mom, I just go limp and blackout, waking up 45 minutes later in a hospital bed with doctors around me. My mother knew nothing of my experiences during the 45 minutes of being out.

Imagine a night of sleep where you don’t remember your dreams, where it’s a brief blackness that is ended by your eyes waking up to the morning light or your ears sucking you into reality from an alarm. That’s what I saw, except in that darkness, there is a figure. The face is shrouded and the details are indistinguishable. It didn’t feel like a dream either; rather, this figure has been watching me all my life and I just now peer through another world and meet his dark gaze. He just waits and watches. Nothing had been said, and nothing moved. But I knew he was there; I got that recognizable feeling of another presence with me.

As I stabbed at the dirt, the “episode” began. I recognized that it was beginning as soon as I felt my eyes were about to pop out of my face. But by then, my breathing had already stopped and I couldn’t speak. My fingertips began to tingle; my face and feet begin to burn, hot, as blood pooled to them. A horrible sensation deep inside my stomach wrenched and tore me. At this point, I lost my vision and consciousness. I don’t remember ever hitting the dirt.

I was in my blackness again. This had happened so many times before, that I thought I had become familiar with the figure, as well as the blackness. I was ready to meet him, and to stare into his strange gaze. However, for the first time, I was struck with fear. The figure was there, in the blackness, but I feared it. I hadn’t before. It was strange, but I just wanted it to end.

“Yes…” the figure spoke. I heard his voice with chilling clarity. It was deep and old.

“You are…” he took a deep inhale, as if he’d just completed a long, daunting task. “… done.”

Done. That’s it.

I woke up on the playground. The sun had moved to the other side of the sky, so time had passed. It was dead silent; looking around, the lot was completely empty. I get up, confused. Usually I wake in a hospital or on the floor of the office with the teachers gathered around.

I approached the glass doors to enter the school. Peering through the glass, I saw nobody. I walked inside. In the office, I sat in the chairs by the door to regain my thoughts. I hear the rustling of papers and look up. I see a folder floating through the air, from the main desk and down a corridor.

I quickly got up and followed the folder. Down the corridor, a door opened and the folder drifted in. I follow, and watch as the folder approached the desk. The swivel chair turns and the folder flopped down on the table.

I bolted out of the office, feeling alone and confused. I ran to a classroom and saw a piece of chalk writing a on the chalkboard. I panicked and left the school. I saw cars driving in the streets without passengers; doors opening for no people; gardens being gardened by floating tools.

I couldn’t see people.

After a very long while, maybe weeks or months, I noticed a few things. I couldn’t see my reflection. I could have guessed that. What’s interesting, however, is that I don’t seem to get hungry or need to eat. I just sort of wandered around, looking at things. The boredom drove me crazy. The only thing worse than the boredom, was the loneliness. I kept myself company by talking to myself while I aimlessly wandered city streets, houses, stores, parks, and anywhere my feet could take me. I’d watch as people I couldn’t see went about their daily lives.

The wandering eventually became an interesting task for me. I would go for very long walks during the day, counting the numbers on people’s home addresses. I’d see floating hoses watering lawns and drifting helmets riding bicycles. At night I would sprint through the streets, dashing under street lights.

I came up upon a library. That kept me busy for a long while. I scanned the bookshelves and read almost half the books in the entire place. I just sat alongside other floating books, knowing somebody invisible is getting a good read. I’m able to retain information very well.

I came across a cemetery. I spent a long while scanning the tombstones, reciting the names to see if any rang a bell. I recognized a few last names of my old friends. I would look at the dates and count how many years they lived to be. Sometimes I’d see incomplete dates, tombstones of those yet to die; this humbles me as I ponder those planning for death. I felt sorry for them. Sometimes I’d come back and find the incomplete dates completed; the dirt freshly turned. I’d go along, row by row. At night I couldn’t read them, so I’d sprint through the streets, dodging cars that couldn’t see me.

Today, I was finishing up my cemetery walk. I came across a tombstone with my name on it. The realization hit me hard, but it makes more sense now. The birth-year and the death-year were both engraved. I stared at it for a long while. You wouldn’t believe how upset I was. I thought one day I’d wake up and see my mum again. I thought maybe I was in the hospital, and I’d wake up, get better and go back to school to play with Tommy and Michael. I think I cried, but I understand that I probably don’t have any real tears.

After sitting for a while, an idea occurred to me that hadn’t before.

And that’s how I got here. I know I can interact with the objects in this afterlife, but I also know that the living live among me as well. I went into my old house – it’s more familiar.

I get on my computer and type what I know. I submit it onto this website where hopefully it won’t gain too much attention; creepypasta, where stories like this are abundant, but fiction mostly. I guess I’m mostly just writing this to organize my thoughts about what had happened, especially with today’s realization. I doubt I’d be able to actually send any sort of message to the living world. I had tried before, to no avail. Oh well; it’s not like I don’t have time to waste.

Tupla (Creepypasta)

Last year I spent six months participating in what I was told was a psychological experiment. I found an ad in my local paper looking for imaginative people looking to make good money, and since it was the only ad that week that I was remotely qualified for, I gave them a call and we arranged an interview.
They told me that all I would have to do is stay in a room, alone, with sensors attached to my head to read my brain activity, and while I was there I would visualize a double of myself. They called it my “tulpa”.

It seemed easy enough, and I agreed to do it as soon as they told me how much I would be paid. And the next day, I began. They brought me to a simple room and gave me a bed, then attached sensors to my head and hooked them into a little black box on the table beside me. They talked me through the process of visualizing my double again, and explained that if I got bored or restless, instead of moving around, I should visualize my double moving around, or try to interact with him, and so on. The idea was to keep him with me the entire time I was in the room.

I had trouble with it for the first few days. It was more controlled than any sort of daydreaming I’d done before. I’d imagine my double for a few minutes, then grow distracted. But by the fourth day, I could manage to keep him “present” for the entire six hours. They told me I was doing very well.

The second week, they gave me a different room, with wall-mounted speakers. They told me they wanted to see if I could still keep the tulpa with me in spite of distracting stimuli. The music was discordant, ugly and unsettling, and it made the process a little more difficult, but I managed nonetheless. The next week they played even more unsettling music, punctuated with shrieks, feedback loops, what sounded like an old school modem dialing up, and guttural voices speaking some foreign language. I just laughed it off – I was a pro by then.

After about a month, I started to get bored. To liven things up, I started interacting with my doppelganger. We’d have conversations, or play rock-paper-scissors, or I’d imagine him juggling, or break-dancing, or whatever caught my fancy. I asked the researchers if my foolishness would adversely affect their study, but they encouraged me.

So we played, and communicated, and that was fun for a while. And then it got a little strange. I was telling him about my first date one day, and he corrected me. I’d said my date was wearing a yellow top, and he told me it was a green one. I thought about it for a second, and realized he was right. It creeped me out, and after my shift that day, I talked to the researchers about it. “You’re using the thought-form to access your subconscious,” they explained. “You knew on some level that you were wrong, and you subconsciously corrected yourself.”

What had been creepy was suddenly cool. I was talking to my subconscious! It took some practice, but I found that I could question my tulpa and access all sorts of memories. I could make it quote whole pages of books I’d read once, years before, or things I was taught and immediately forgot in high school. It was awesome.

That was around the time I started “calling up” my double outside of the research center. Not often at first, but I was so used to imagining him by now that it almost seemed odd to not see him. So whenever I was bored, I’d visualize my double. Eventually I started doing it almost all the time. It was amusing to take him along like an invisible friend. I imagined him when I was hanging out with friends, or visiting my mom, I even brought him along on a date once. I didn’t need to speak aloud to him, so I was able to carry out conversations with him and no one was the wiser.

I know that sounds strange, but it was fun. Not only was he a walking repository of everything I knew and everything I had forgotten, he also seemed more in touch with me than I did at times. He had an uncanny grasp of the minutiae of body language that I didn’t even realize I was picking up on. For example, I’d thought the date I brought him along on was going badly, but he pointed out how she was laughing a little too hard at my jokes, and leaning towards me as I spoke, and a bunch of other subtle clues I wasn’t consciously picking up on. I listened, and let’s just say that that date went very well.

By the time I’d been at the research center for four months, he was with my constantly. The researchers approached me one day after my shift, and asked me if I’d stopped visualizing him. I denied it, and they seemed pleased. I silently asked my double if he knew what prompted that, but he just shrugged it off. So did I.

I withdrew a little from the world at that point. I was having trouble relating to people. It seemed to me that they were so confused and unsure of themselves, while I had a manifestation of myself to confer with. It made socializing awkward. Nobody else seemed aware of the reasons behind their actions, why some things made them mad and others made them laugh. They didn’t know what moved them. But I did – or at least, I could ask myself and get an answer.

A friend confronted me one evening. He pounded at the door until I answered it, and came in fuming and swearing up a storm. “You haven’t answered when I called you in fucking weeks, you dick!” He yelled. “What’s your fucking problem?”.

I was about to apologize to him, and probably would have offered to hit the bars with him that night, but my tulpa grew suddenly furious. “Hit him,” it said, and before I knew what I was doing, I had. I heard his nose break. He fell to the floor and came up swinging, and we beat each other up and down my apartment.

I was more furious then than I have ever been, and I was not merciful. I knocked him to the ground and gave him two savage kicks to the ribs, and that was when he fled, hunched over and sobbing.

The police were by a few minutes later, but I told them that he had been the instigator, and since he wasn’t around to refute me, they let me off with a warning. My tulpa was grinning the entire time. We spent the night crowing about my victory and sneering over how badly I’d beaten my friend.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when I was checking out my black eye and cut lip in the mirror, that I remembered what had set me off. My double was the one who’d grown furious, not me. I’d been feeling guilty and a little ashamed, but he’d goaded me into a vicious fight with a concerned friend. He was present, of course, and knew my thoughts. “You don’t need him anymore. You don’t need anyone else,” he told me, and I felt my skin crawl.

I explained all this to the researchers who employed me, but they just laughed it off. “You can’t be scared of something that you’re imagining,” one told me. My double stood beside him, and nodded his head, then smirked at me.

I tried to take their words to heart, but over the next few days I found myself growing more and more anxious around my tulpa, and it seemed that he was changing. He looked taller, and more menacing. His eyes twinkled with mischief, and I saw malice in his constant smile. No job was worth losing my mind over, I decided. If he was out of control, I’d put him down. I was so used to him at that point that visualizing him was an automatic process, so I started trying my damnedest to not visualize him. It took a few days, but it started to work somewhat. I could get rid of him for hours at a time. But every time he came back, he seemed worse. His skin seemed ashen, his teeth more pointed. He hissed and gibbered and threatened and swore. The discordant music I’d been listening to for months seemed to accompany him everywhere. Even when I was at home – I’d relax and slip up, no longer concentrating on not seeing him, and there he’d be, and that howling noise with him.

I was still visiting the research center and spending my six hours there. I needed the money, and I thought they weren’t aware that I was now actively not visualizing my tulpa. I was wrong. After my shift one day, about five and a half months in, two impressively men grabbed and restrained me, and someone in a lab coat jabbed a hypodermic needle into me.

I woke up from my stupor back in the room, strapped into the bed, music blaring, with my doppelganger standing over me cackling. He hardly looked human anymore. His features were twisted. His eyes were sunken in their sockets and filmed over like a corpse’s. He was much taller than me, but hunched over. His hands were twisted, and the fingernails were like talons. He was, in short, fucking terrifying. I tried to will him away, but I just couldn’t seem to concentrate. He giggled, and tapped the IV in my arm. I thrashed in my restraints as best I could, but could hardly move at all.

“They’re pumping you full of the good shit, I think. How’s the mind? All fuzzy?” He leaned closer and closer as he spoke. I gagged; his breath smelt like spoiled meat. I tried to focus, but couldn’t banish him.

The next few weeks were terrible. Every so often, someone in a doctor’s coat would come in and inject me with something, or force-feed me a pill. They kept me dizzy and unfocused, and sometimes left me hallucinating or delusional. My thoughtform was still present, constantly mocking. He interacted with, or perhaps caused, my delusions. I hallucinated that my mother was there, scolding me, and then he cut her throat and her blood showered me. It was so real that I could taste it.

The doctors never spoke to me. I begged at times, screamed, hurled invectives, demanded answers. They never spoke to me. They may have talked to my tulpa, my personal monster. I’m not sure. I was so doped and confused that it may have just been more delusion, but I remember them talking with him. I grew convinced that he was the real one, and I was the thoughtform. He encouraged that line of thought at times, mocked me at others.

Another thing that I pray was a delusion: he could touch me. More than that, he could hurt me. He’d poke and prod at me if he felt I wasn’t paying enough attention to him. Once he grabbed my testicles and squeezed until I told him I loved him. Another time, he slashed my forearm with one of his talons. I still have a scar – most days I can convince myself that I injured myself, and just hallucinated that he was responsible. Most days.

Then one day, while he was telling me a story about how he was going to gut everyone I loved, starting with my sister, he paused. A querulous look crossed his face, and reached out and touched my head. Like my mother used to when I was feverish. He stayed still for a long moment, and then smiled. “All thoughts are creative,” he told me. Then he walked out the door.

Three hours later, I was given an injection, and passed out. I awoke unrestrained. Shaking, I made my way to the door and found it unlocked. I walked out into the empty hallway, and then ran. I stumbled more than once, but I made it down the stairs and out into the lot behind the building. There, I collapsed, weeping like a child. I knew I had to keep moving, but I couldn’t manage it.

I got home eventually – I don’t remember how. I locked the door, and shoved a dresser against it, took a long shower, and slept for a day and a half. Nobody came for me in the night, and nobody came the next day, or the one after that. It was over. I’d spent a week locked in that room, but it had felt like a century. I’d withdrawn so much from my life beforehand that nobody had even known I was missing.

The police didn’t find anything. The research center was empty when they searched it. The paper trail fell apart. The names I’d given them were aliases. Even the money I’d received was apparently untraceable.

I recovered as much as one can. I don’t leave the house much, and I have panic attacks when I do. I cry a lot. I don’t sleep much, and my nightmares are terrible. It’s over, I tell myself. I survived. I use the concentration those bastards taught me to convince myself. It works, sometimes.

Not today, though. Three days ago, I got a phone call from my mother. There’s been a tragedy. My sister’s the latest victim in a spree of killings, the police say. The perpetrator mugs his victims, then guts them.

The funeral was this afternoon. It was as lovely a service as a funeral can be, I suppose. I was a little distracted, though. All I could hear was music coming from somewhere distant. Discordant, unsettling stuff, that sounds like feedback, and shrieking, and a modem dialing up. I hear it still – a little louder now.

The Crossing of Paths Part 3: Conflicts by Julian Colwell & Kathryn P. (A Creepypasta Crossover)

 “YOU SHOULDNT HAVE DONE THAT JEFF!”
    The sounds were nearly deafening.  I heard from the next room over: “Ugh…not again...”
    I got up & saw Kate. I followed her to BEN’s room. Jeff & BEN were going at it HARD. “What the fuck is going on here?!” I asked.
    “He took my hat!” BEN exclaimed, frantically dodging Jeff’s attacks.
    “STOOOOOOP!” Kate cried.
    They froze in their tracks. “For fucks sake BEN! You woke up the entire mansion just because Jeff took your hat?” Kate turned to Jeff. “What the fuck Jeff??!”
    “Revenge Kate. Revenge,” Jeff replied with a smirk.
    I…I honestly didn’t believe it at first…could it be…
    Then I noticed Jeff was looking at me. “Who's that?”
    “The new guy. And don't thi-“
    “I'm Jeff. I'm the boss here.”
    I was so pissed & tired I said something that would be the first in a downward spiral. “I call bullshit.”
    Jeff turned red & rage built within him. “I'll fucking kill you!”
    He pulled out his knife & prepared to thrust it within me. Kate stopped him. “Woah! Woah! Keep calm!”
    “FUCK YOU!”
    Jeff knocked her against the wall. That’s when I began to slide the knife out from my back pocket. “Big talk from the person who killed the one person you tried to protect. How’s Liu?”
    Jeff dropped the knife & BEN gasped. He quickly teleported out of the room. Kate stared shocked at me. “:.... Jeff... He didn't-“
     “Fuck me....” he responded, tears staining his pale white cheeks. He ran out of the room & up the stairs.
     My heart sank deep within my guts. I fell to my knees. “W…what the fuck did I do…”
     “Look, Julian…I’m pissed that you said that, but still..,”
     Tears rolled down my cheeks as all the horrible memories came back. Before I knew it I was in Kate’s arms, balling my eyes out. “J-Julian? What’s wrong?”
      “...I never should have said that...I mean, I of all people should have known that...maybe...maybe I should talk to him..,”
       She showed me a sympathetic smile. She held me in her arms a little longer, then we followed Jeff.
       When we arrived at his door we heard…Laughter…
       Kate’s eyes widened “Oh no. JEFF!! JEFF!!”
       She smashed her foot into the door, knocking it down. There sat Jeff…his hands were sliced up & bleeding… Jesus H….” I muttered.
       He kept chuckling. “Kate, do you guys have any Hydrogen Peroxide?”
       “Y-yeah..?”
       “Get it to me ASAP.”
       In the blink of an eye, she returned. “Thanks...” I replied. “Jeff, hold out your hands.”
       I began to pour the substance on his hands. “Shit! It burns!”  he cried!
       “Just be still…it’ll stop in a moment.”
       “Why Jeff.... Why.....” Kate asked.
       “I know why,” I replied. “...look...I'm sorry Jeff...I...I remember what its like...I had a friend...he was like Liu...he wasn't my brother, but...he was all I had...& in my insanity...I killed him...I still cry about it...but, you have a great life now. You have friends who don't fear you & would do anything to protect you. Right?”
       “I…I guess…”
       “You know it’s true.”
      I stood up & helped Jeff on his feet. “You okay?” I asked.
      “Yeah…Thanks man.. Sorry I was so pissed.... Sometimes I…”
      “It’s okay. I know,”
     Jeff paused for a moment & held out his hand. “Friends?” he asked.
     “…Friends,”
     We shook hands & Jeff, Kate & I all came in for a group hug. I ended up giving Jeff my copy of Pokémon Yellow the next morning. He was so happy…he said he played it all the time with Liu…
     Still…I’m glad were friends…I just wonder if Kate & I will ever become more…

TO BE CONTINUED…

The Crossing of Paths Part 2: Encounters by Julian Colwell & Kathryn P. (A Creepypasta Crossover)

“Welcome Julian. I’ve been Expecting You.”   
     She…she was beautiful…I felt my heart race & my palms become wet…
     “What's the matter? Oh!! Don't tell me you are scared of me?” Kate asked, Grinning widely at me.
    “You wish,” I replied, smiling back. “I was just confused...you had me pined to a wall by my throat...why didn't you kill me?”
     She took her knife out & began to spin it along her finger. “Let's say…We are two of a kind.” she said, smiling at me.
     “…Well, where do we start?”
     She blushed. “Where ever you want, boy. Oh! The name?”
     “Julian. Julian the Killer,”
     “Great!” she replied, laughing uproariously. “Well, we should start…erm...PRACTICING.”
     I smiled widely at her. We walked down the hallway. The house was small compared to what it housed. “Oh don't be scared of anyone here. Nevertheless they are all SCARY” she commented, chuckling. “So do you kill with your knife or...?”
     “Usually, yes...still, if it’s necessary I can use almost anything, if its sharp enough.” I replied.
     “Oooh interesting!” she said, laughing.
     She was gorgeous. I could tell already that we had a lot in common. Maybe...maybe this waouldn’t be such a bad thing. “Oh, Julian?”
     “Yeah?”
     “I was wondering, who did this to you?”
     “Leon. It was on a field trip...he thought it would be funny to push me in the road...he didn't see the car...rolled right over my head...I'm lucky to have survived...well, not to Leon it wasn't. His mother found his body on her doorstep. It was fun to gut him...lots of fun...”
      I couldn’t help but laugh...I mean, come on! That little bastard had it coming!
      “This sounds like FUN!” she giggled.
      I grinned. “…so…uhm…who else lives here?” I asked.
      “Why?”
      “I’m curious to know who I may encounter. Just in case. I've learned not to trust people in general.”
      “Aw you're a good boy!” she replied, grinning at me. “Weeelllllll there's Jeff The Killer, Jane The Killer, Sally, BEN, Slender Man, Eyeless Jack, Smile Dog, Masky and Hoodie.”
      Then, my urges became too strong. I fell to my knees & started to twitch. “A-are you okay?” she asked.
      “Wh-when can I kill something?” I replied with a smile.
      Her face brightened up with joy. “Now if you want. Let's go together.” She turned back. “YO SLENDER MAN. I AM LEAVING THE HOUSE WITH JULIAN. BYE!”
      “Don't be late!” he replied. “I’m making spaghetti.”
    As we departed, I commented “He's...surprisingly not that scary.”
    “Well, when he's not killing, sure.” she replied.
    Then, I was brought to the ground by…a large Siberian husky…who was smiling…
     “Smile!!! Down boy! Down!” Kate exclaimed.
     To my shock, the Dog TALKED! “Who's the dude?”
     “He's a new one. Treat. Him. WELL.” she replied.
     “ ‘sup.”
     I suddenly had an idea. I reached into my pocket & pulled out some beef jerky. I handed it to Smile Dog. “I just loved you,” he replied, grinning.
     Then, Kate & I continued on, into the forest. 
     “So.... What kind of people do you kill?” she asked.
     “Almost anybody really. More than anybody else though, bullies. I make sure they suffer the worst.” I replied smiling.
     “I kill anybody who walks by my side.”
     “Don't try anything,” I chuckled.
     That made her laugh really hard. “Don’t worry! I won’t.”
     Then she looked up. “The full moon. I love the full moon.”
      I looked up & smiled. “Me too.”
      She giggled. “Sorry if my laugh gets annoying. You'll get used to it.”
      “N-no…it’s okay…I like it.”
      SNAP! I looked around. “We’re not alone,” I said with a wicked grin.
      “Let’s go.”
      She giggled happily.
      Sure enough, there was someone there. It was fun. Kate stabbed the girl repeatedly, & eventually backed off a little to see what I was doing. I plunged my knife into the victim’s chest & brought it down. I proceeded to rip out her organs. It was a wonderfully gruesome sight.
      “Did you enjoy it?” she asked chuckling.
      “Yeah…”
      I stared at Kate…she was beautiful…I…I couldn’t contain myself…
      “I owe you one,” I said, hugging her.
      She blushed & looked shocked. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
      “N..nothing. I…I just don’t really get hugged…”
      “…sorry”
      “No…I…I actually kind of…liked it.”
      She smiled with that bright smile, & she held my hand with hers. As we departed back to the house, hands entwined, I knew that I would enjoy my time at Slender Mansion a lot more than I had previously thought.

TO BE CONTINUED...