Creepypasta (Terror)

another story to scare my son

—Son, we need to have a very serious conversation about security on the internet — I said as I sat next to him. His laptop was open; I played Minecraft on a public server. His eyes are on the screen. There was an open chat window with various comments —. Son, can you stop playing for a minute?

He left his game world, closed his laptop and looked at me:

— Dad, is another of your stories of fear trite?

—What what? — I frowned for a second, and then I smiled at him —. I thought you liked my stories.

This little one had grown up listening to my stories about boys confronting witches, ghosts, werewolves and trolls. In the same way as many generations of parents, we use these horror stories to reinforce their morale and teach them safety lessons. Single parents like me should use all the tools at their disposal.

He frowned.

—They were fun when I was six years old, but now I'm getting big. They do not scare me anymore And they're a bit silly. If you are going to tell me a story about the internet, could you make it very, very scary — I saw him out of the corner of his eye, incredulous. He crossed his arms in rejection.— Dad, I'm ten years old now and I can take it.

—Umm ... Okay, I'll try."— I began.— "Once upon a time there was a boy named Colby.

His expression indicated that I had not impressed him with the introduction topic. He sighed heavily and settled for another trite story from his father. I continued:

—Colby surfing several websites for children. After a while, he went on to chat with other colleagues who have posted on their online games. It was there that he made a friendship with a ten-year-old boy named Helper23. We had the same games and TV shows in common. They laughed at each other's jokes. They explored new games together.

»After several months of friendship, Colby gave Helper23 six diamonds in the game they were playing. It was a very generous gift. Colby's birthday was close and Helper23 wanted a gift in real life. Colby believed there was nothing wrong with that if she had to give an address to Helper23, as long as she promised that she would give a strange or strange adults. Helper23 made the promise not to share with anyone else, determined to understand the package.

I paused the story and asked my son:

—Do you think it was a good idea?

—Do not! —He answered, shaking his head vigorously. Despite his attitude, he became interested in the story.

—Well, Colby either. He considers himself guilty for giving his address. By the time he put on his pajamas the next night, his guilt and fear were greater than anything else in his life. He decided that he would tell his parents the truth. The punishment would be serious, but I would have a clear conscience. He has found himself in his bed, while his parents were a bundle.

My son knew that the terrifying part was coming. Despite his swagger, he leaned forward with his eyes wide open. I lowered my voice deliberately.

—Colby could hear all the noises in the house. A balanced washing machine in the service area. The branches that hit against the outer wall of your room. Her baby brother babbling in the crib. And there were some other sounds that I could not ... identify ... at all. Finally, his father's footsteps echoed down the stairs. "Hey, dad," he called nervously. "I have something to tell you".

» father stuck his head out the door at an awkward angle. Under the darkness, you can not see the movement of his mouth and his eyes were not completely healthy. "Yes, son?" His voice was very different too. "Have you found yourself well, Dad?" The boy asked. "Aha," the father whispered in his oddly relevant voice. Colby covered herself with the sheets defensively. "Umm ... Mom is home?"

"" I'm here! ", The mother's head jumped under the door frame below her father's. His voice vibrated in false, something not at all natural. "Are you going to tell us that you gave our address to Helper23? You should not have done that! I told you never to give personal information over the internet! "

»He continued:" He was not a real boy. I just pretended to be one. Do you know what he did? He came to our house, forced the entrance and murdered us both! Just so I can spend some time with you! "

A fat man in a wet jacket emerged from the doorway holding two severed heads. Colby screamed, while the man yanked both heads, unsheathed his knife and found himself in the room to do his thing with the boy.

My son shouted too. He crossed his hands protectively over his face. But I was just warming up with the story.

-After many hours, the boy was almost dead and his cries had become moans. The killer noticed the crying baby in the other room and removed the knife from Colby's body. This felt like a gift. I had never murdered a baby before and I was excited about the possibility. Helper23 left Colby on her deathbed and pursued the crying as if it were the light of a lighthouse.

»In the baby's room, he walked to the crib, picked up the infant and held him in his arms. Wanting to inspect it more carefully, she moved to the little table to change diapers. But while he held it, the crying stopped. The boy looked up and smiled at him. Helper23 had never held a baby, but he cooed gently as a professional. He wiped his bloody hand on the sheet so he could caress the baby's cheeks. "How are you, little smiling?" The beautiful anger of sadism melted into something more warm and submissive.

»He left the room, took the baby home, named him William and raised him as his own.

After I finished the story, my son was visibly downcast. Between his irregular staccato gasps, he stammered:

-But Dad, William is MY name! I winked at her as I usually do and rummaged her hair.

- Of course it is, son. William ran to his room in relentless sobs.

But deep down, I think he liked the story.