Author's Note: I know that this will not thwart the "This isn't comic book related" comments, but I'd like you to know that I asked, and was granted, permission to post this story by Josh Wilding. This is my first attempt at writing a "CreepyPasta," and I'm looking for any advice to improve it. I intend on adding more chapters to this if my final draft is well-recieved. I trust that the majority of you on here will give me the constructive criticism that I'm asking for. One last request: Please hit the "Thumbs-Up." If it hits Main Page, that is just more exposure to get the help I need to perfect this. Enjoy!
Chapter I: The Introduction
I'm afraid of the dark. Sounds pathetic, doesn't it? I mean, what 25 year old man is
STILL afraid of the dark? I've got a wife, my own house, feed myself, and maintain the ability to wipe my own ass! So, why am I afraid of the dark?
For me, the unknown has always been far scarier than any physical manifestation like
“Jeff ‘The Killer’,” or
“Slenderman.” Although, most will argue that Slenderman’s nonexistent facial features translate into “fear of the unknown.”
But I digress…
For years, I’ve dug deep into the recesses of my mind, searching for any clue that would give me a little insight into why, at 25, I still remain terrified of the dark. You see, I’ve always had an inkling that some sort of darkness has trailed me for my entire life. I’m not sure if it’s an entity dwelling in the dark, or if it’s the darkness itself that follows me. The earliest proof of this darkness happened when I was around 3 or 4. As a child, my family lived in this wonderful little house that sat on a decent amount of land, complete with a barn, horses, and countless cats. On the cover, it was the perfect home. The pages within, however, told a completely different story.
This blackness enveloped the entire house, making it feel more like a prison than a home. I do remember, even as a small child, feeling that this house had something wrong with it, but wasn’t able to put my finger on it. Not until one day when I had to use the restroom. I walked my way down our hallway, making my way to the second door on the right, our restroom. When I entered the room, I shut the door behind me before switching on the light. I reached to turn the light on, but was unable to find the switch. I turned back to the door to open it so I could better see, only the door didn’t open. The lock on the door was one of those push-button locks that unlock upon turning the knob, except this didn’t.
I yanked and twisted the knob with all of my strength, but to no avail. Starting to panic and cry, I reached over to the wall that housed the light-switch. I began desperately rubbing my hands all over the wall, but I, again, couldn’t find what I was searching for. Now filled to the brim with terror, I reached once more for the knob. But, again, it refused to unlock. Tears streaming down my face and screaming for my mother, I began to pound on the door. After what seemed like hours, my mother rescued me from the bathroom by easily turning the knob and opening the door. I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to see my mother, or anybody else for that matter, to this very day.
From this day forward, I refused to go into any room before the light was switched on, no matter the time of day. Obviously I can’t prove it, but I know something malicious was in that bathroom with me. Something locked me in there for no reason other than to invoke terror within me. This obscure entity that I can only recognize as a darkness, has followed me my entire life.
This was my first memory, but it’s far from the only thing that’s happened to me. This was merely an introduction by this darkness. It’s been over two decades and there’s never been a lull in incidents. I find myself terrified of what might come next.
It’s beginning to get darker in my house, so I guess I’ll call it a night…