The Deal | A Halloween Creepypasta


The Deal

Music by Myuu

It’s amazing, really. Halloween, that is, just the idea of it. Humans, we’re intelligent creatures for the most part, but during this certain time of the year we seem to lose said intelligence; we crave the need to be scared, spooked, and terrified. I, myself, used to be one of these people, until that Halloween three years ago.

Now growing up, I searched for anything and everything that would scare me. The feeling of being scared intrigued me, that rush of blood from your heart to your head, the sound of blood pounding in my ears.

My family seemed to travel a lot now that I think back on it. One town to the other, state to state. I still don’t know why we did, we weren’t militarily involved, my dad wasn’t a traveling salesmen, and he wasn’t a performer. I guess my parents just didn’t like to be in one place for too long, they were free spirits, or so I thought.

Halloween was a weird time for us, my father was just like me. He loved being terrified, even more than me, he even tried being a Daredevil for a short amount of time. My mom, now understand, was one of the happiest people I have ever come to know, she was so nice and gentle. But, for one night out of the year, she changed to this pale, ghostly image of a woman, drained of all color and life. She always looked scared, constantly looking over her shoulder, like something was following her. God I miss her.

It feels like an eternity since that fateful night. It started out like most Halloweens, my dad informing me of all the haunted houses we would be visiting, and my mother was her usual pale self.

As the day progressed though, my mom began to look increasingly worse, like the life was sucking out of her. Her cheek bones were sunken in like that of a holocaust victim, as if her skeleton was trying to rip free of the skin that held it. I just shrugged it off, as usual. That was my first mistake.

As my dad and I stepped into the cool autumn air, I felt the wind bite into my cheeks and turn them red. As we walked to the car I saw my dad fall to his knees; I quickly ran to his side. His face was that of my mother’s, pale and boney; he was grasping at his chest, and looking around, swiveling his head violently.

I asked him if he was okay. This seemed to snap him back to normal, he hastily replied that he was okay and we needed to get going so we didn’t have to wait in a long line. Too bad we never made it to that damned haunted house.

As we drove the color in my dad’s face returned, but he still looked scared. I asked what had happened, he just replied that he had heartburn. I, again being my carefree self, shrugged it off. As we turned off the main highway onto a side road, that I suppose was meant to take us to the haunted house, I felt a sudden chill creep over me.

We hadn’t been on the road for five minutes before I saw headlights, it was an 18-wheeler for some local supermarket whose name is lost to me. Now at this point a lot of things happened at once; something or someone ran out in front of the truck, the truck swerved into our lane, my dad swerved, but we clipped the truck and went spiraling into the woods that surrounded the road.

Pain. That’s all that came to mind after these events happened, and the loud rumble of an explosion, from what I suppose was the truck that almost killed us. My leg was caught under the caved-in dashboard. I was able to squeeze it out but this only intensified the pain.

I assumed I had a broken leg, or at the very least a major fracture. I observed my surroundings. The car was slammed up against a tree, the front end was basically non-existent. There was smoke cascading up in the distance, with the faint glow of what most likely was the truck on fire. In the midst of this silent chaos, my dad was nowhere to be seen.

As I dragged myself out of the car, I noticed something. I couldn’t see the road, it wasn’t there. I mean it was as if the road had never even existed in the first place. I don’t even remember how I reasoned it out in my head, but again like I did everything, I shrugged it off.

As I hobbled over to my dad’s side, I saw that the door was ripped off and thrown at least fifteen yards to the side of the car. There was a clear path though, outlined in the weeds by blood and ripped pieces of clothing. Had someone dragged my dad to safety? I remember thinking this; it was the only logical thing, unless he dragged himself, but why would he do that?

I followed the trail for what seemed like forever, almost losing it a few times, like he tried to walk at some point, but gave up. After what felt like forever, the woods gave way to an opening. There before me lay a cemetery, but, there was something different about this cemetery that was different from any I had ever seen. I felt a rumbling underneath my feet like the dead were resisting the holds of their earthly prison, the tombstones had no names, but were wrapped in chains.

Standing in the middle was a figure, it was dressed in black, beside him lay my father.

I called out to it then, it turned its head towards me. What I saw I cannot describe, because its appearance did not stay the same for long, one minute it was a skeleton. Next, it was my friends, then my relatives, then a snarling beast whose name I know not. Then he spoke, his voice was hollow yet commanding, it gave me a feeling that I can only describe as hopelessness.

He told me that my parents had committed great crimes. When I asked him what my father had done, he said that he had made a deal, that helped him cheat death, and that he had been running from it since then.

I stood there, still pondering on whether or not this was a dream. I heard an anguished cry gurgle up from my father. Silence. My father was nowhere to be seen, the dark figure sank into the ground, and with him went my sanity and consciousness. Darkness overtook me.

I awoke on the sidewalk next to my house. My mother was gone, the house was cleared out and nobody even remembers me or my parents.

Now here I am in this hospital with the only person in the world I love, my darling wife, Rose. Please take heed of my story, and know you cannot cheat death.

“There honey, it’s done,” I said to Rose soothingly.

“Thank you, baby.”

Knock, knock.

That must be the doctor; I walked over to the door and there stood the doctor in his freshly cleaned bone white jacket, looking very similar to a ghost.

“Tom, I know times have been tough for you and Rose, and over these past years I feel like we’ve all become good friends, so it kills me to tell you… It seems the cancer is terminal.”

That word, terminal, it echoed throughout my mind, it resonated through it like the sound of glass shattering.

“I understand,” I said back.

“I understand this is hard, I’ll give you two a bit to discuss.”

I turned back into the room, and started to walk to her bed, when I heard another knock. I backtracked to the door, and opened it. I saw a man of average height, gray pin-striped suit and a black fedora, his eyes were icy blue and chilled me to the bone. He looked me in the eyes with a piercing stare and said:

“Wanna make a deal?”

Mr. Messy Bits | A Halloween Creepypasta

Mr. Messy Bits by Credited to ScutigeraColeoptrata

Music by Myuu

My life took an unusual turn recently.

Until about two weeks ago, I was a successful lawyer, working as a legal advisor for a high profile software company. My life was orderly, lucrative, and quite dull. But all that changed one magical night, when I had a vivid dream of something glowing consuming my entire body. When I awoke I immediately knew something was odd. I remember running to the bathroom mirror to discover pieces of my body falling off, to reveal a strange and twitching form underneath, alien and ‘shifting’.

I was of course quite frightened at first. I gave out a loud yell and the remainder of my human body exploded messily all over the bathroom, revealing my new form underneath. It was, and still is, hard to describe, because so much of it is ‘shifting’.

There were great red eyes blinking and gazing, appendages like huge spider legs twitching and grasping the air, long tough hair that seemed to fold in and out of my human form, Massive maw-like folds over ashen-black ‘skin’, and a whole host of strange and otherworldy organs too bizarre for me to put to words. I panicked and ran through my apartment, my screams coming out as sickening gurgles from bubbling pores in my vaguely humanoid body. I soon fainted from the shock.

When I awoke I was again covered in my human body, regenerated over my alien form. Why my new body had done this I still cannot say, but it gave me much to think about as I was cleaning up the mess I had made of my apartment. I couldn’t go to the authorities, as I would surely be locked up and studied. So, as long as I was still myself, I decided to keep it a secret.

And then the next day I went shopping. Yes, you guessed it. All over everything.

There was a panic in the grocery store as my exploded human bits were sprayed over a large area, and my alien form was revealed to the public. I ran away quickly in the confusion. I learned from this experience that my body needed to ‘detonate’ at fairly regular intervals, and that I could predict when and where this would happen, so long as I did not put it off.

At first I confined my daily detonations to my own bathroom, maintaining my work and social life. But as this proved to be messy and time consuming, I began to have rather depraved, almost exhibitionist desires. To tell you the truth, I had started to rather enjoy the detonations, and I enjoyed still more the look of terror on the faces of those nearby when one of their own suddenly exploded into a monster. The thought of doing it regularly in public made me positively giddy.

So I started my reign of terror. I ‘buzzed’ weddings, funerals, public gatherings of all sorts, doctor waiting rooms (“there’s something wrong with me, AAAAH!”), schools, government buildings, even my place of work. While I had at first had some vague idea of keeping my old life, I soon learned to abandon my human way of living completely. My new body didn’t seem to need to eat, and I only rarely required sleep. I spent my down time in abandoned buildings or out in the woods. It was during a rest in the latter that I met Roger.

It was October 30th when I first met Roger in the forest outside of town. He was a young boy, about 10 to 12 years of age by my reckoning. He must have been running away from something truly terrible, as he didn’t seem fazed by my unnatural and writhing true form. I remember asking him why he wasn’t afraid, and he said I was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

I explained to the best of my ability what had happened to me, and he said he envied my lifestyle. He asked if he could join me on my next outing, and since I didn’t see the harm in it at the time, I agreed.

On Halloween night, Roger selected a seemingly random slum neighborhood, and I went to work presenting myself as a respectable representative of some human organization. I wore a smart black suit I had picked up one day during a ‘buzz’ at a clothing store.

I had gathered together most of the people in the neighborhood, and was about to detonate, when Roger suddenly fell to the ground, motionless. I detonated, causing a panic, and all of the adults ran away in the ensuing confusion. It was up to me to deliver Roger to a hospital where he could get proper treatment, but there wasn’t time for me to regenerate my human body. I would have to go as the monster.

To make matters much worse, I had become quite infamous in my former community. Someone spotted me carrying a small boy through the streets, and alerted the authorities. When I arrived at the hospital, police and military personal had the area surrounded. I did not know how my new body would hold up to bullets, but I was not eager to find out. I tried to speak, but could only gurgle in my natural form. When the man in charge gave the order to fire, I ducked into the hospital for cover.

Fortunately for me, none of the men present were brave enough to come in after me, and so fired off randomly into the lobby while I hid from sight. After a few minutes of this, the gunfire stopped. As I sat there, motionless with Roger in my arms, I noticed that all the shooting had hit something flammable, starting a fire that was spreading rapidly. The men outside must have seen it, as there was a great deal of shouting. Knowing that the smoke would surely kill Roger, I decided to brave the wrath of my enemies.

I boldly strode outside, my human body again starting to form across my alien hide. I walked up to the man in charge and gently handed Roger to him. He was noticeably stunned, and offered no audible protest. Just as quickly, I re-entered the hospital. The fire was spreading very quickly now, and could not be extinguished by any device present. I imagined the fire department was on its way, but by the time they arrived it would surely be too late for the other patients. There was only one thing I could do.

I breathed in deeply, and then proceeded to give the longest detonation I have ever done. Blood, mucous and other bodily fluids rained over a large area. Bits of my alien body also flew off in a great rain of carnage. The act left me tired and drained, but it worked; the flame was extinguished before it could grow any larger, the lobby of the hospital now covered in wet gore.

Tired as I was, I knew it wasn’t a good idea for me to hang around. I quickly ran out the back and into a nearby alley. The police and the military had their hands full with rescuing the hospital residents, so I had enough time to escape.

The next day I read the newspaper. The headline read, “Mr. Messy Bits Saves Small Boy and Hospital with Fountain of Gore.” To my amazement, the story gave a favourable review of my actions the night before. The writer said that the local monster that had been terrorizing their community had acted selflessly to save those threatened by the fire, and that it seems that said creature did not mean to cause harm. I would never have believed that I could have received such praise, but it made me rethink who I was and what purpose my life would have.

Mr. Messy Bits, eh?

To my relief, Roger made a full recovery. He met up with me again as soon as he was well enough, and the two of us set out together as partners in crime.

And that’s why it was the best Halloween ever…

The Moon Children

By Wayne Calhoun

Did you ever hear of the Moon Children? no, I suppose you haven’t. Ha! but see, I’m just an old drunk, you smell the whiskey on my breath, don’t you? Of course you do. So here I sit, just the old man to give you a story. Just the old man who tends a farm on the outskirts of town. The farm that is bordered by Morgan’s Woods. A good two-thirds of my property is entangled by that god-forsaken wood. Everything is unnatural about that place. Everything. It just isn’t right… oh, the drink isn’t necessary to loosen my tongue, but I appreciate it all the same. I just don’t know how I ever could have missed it. How I never could have noticed that WRONGNESS when I was growing up. It just looks wrong, smells wrong, the light barely reaches inside it. and…

Well, there were always stories about savage animals that roamed those woods at night. Some folks referred to such things as The wolves of morgan’s woods. Men who took the shape of monsters. Skinwalkers, the Injuns used to call them. As a child the stories of savage beasts roaming the woods at night were more than enough to dissuade us from venturing too close to the boundaries of our own farm in the twilight hours. Just the idea of being ripped to shreds and devoured by hairy monstrosities… little did they know…

Others claimed the woods were haunted by ghosts who were strong enough in the presence of the moonlight to possess those foolish enough to take a walk into the woods. Used as puppets to commit heinous acts. Then there were even older stories told about trolls and talking trees and other such fairy tale creatures. So with our childish imaginations our childrens’ games outside in the field always ended well before dark. But, if I had known then what I know now, I’d have never ventured beyond the back door!

Visitors to our home never stayed past the first tinge of twilight – making rushed goodbyes, leaving us children to watch them go in wonder. My parents were rather vague as to the details, mumbling about wild animals and such things. But, as I got older, my questioning became more determined.

what happens in the woods at night?”
“what animals stalk the darkness that scare everyone so much?”
“Why are there crucifixes in every room of the house?”
“why do the townspeople take the longest route to town when the road that passes our farm is the most direct?

Of course most questions went unanswered and I learned to just stop asking about it. I went to school, and worked the farm, and every night I was indoors by dark.

Every now and then the horses would get spooked by something and start whinnying and kicking their stalls, and it would be with the greatest trepidation that my father would load the shotgun, grab a lantern and cross the wide yard towards the stables. I still have vivid memories of my mother clutching a cross shakily to her bosom on some of those nights and murmuring the Lords Prayer. My father always returned never having fired his gun and if he ever found anything, he never mentioned it. My father was a large man who had done physical labour on the farm his entire life, and was afraid of no man. The only time I ever saw him look scared was on those odd nights when the horses got riled up for seemingly no reason.
I always remembered that.

And for the longest time, my sister and I learned to just accept the seeming inexplicable dread of my parents and the other townspeople. We just chalked it up to superstition. As I grew into early manhood, though, I became a bit more adventurous. I walked along the edges of the woods and even on occasion went in by myself, although during the daylight! My schoolmates and I often tried to see how long we could stay in the woods before our mothers began screaming for us to get out. There was nothing out of the ordinary during the day, so it seemed. We could never find any wolf tracks, nor traces of any other potentially dangerous animals. Only the raccoon and squirrel, woodchucks, rabbit and deer we hunted during the day, there was nothing scary about that. No wolves, no mountain lions, no bears. Nothing. Besides, the area of Morgan’s Woods directly in front of our fields only lasted about 100 yards before terminating in a huge bog. You could barely see across to the other side. you had to venture far to either side to do any real hunting. In my youth I could never see anything to justify the townsfolks claims of ghosts and monsters and the like. As it turned out, I just wasn’t seeing the forest for the trees, so to speak. I was overlooking the horror everytime I stepped foot in those cursed woods.

My father and sister were both taken by yellow fever the same year I reached My manhood. They were both buried in a small family plot on the far end of the east field. it was now just my mother and I. With this devastating loss, my mother retreated more fervently into her Catholicism, no longer satisfied with the crucifixes in each and every room, she now had the local pastor bless an inordinate amount of holy water which she placed in small bottles and left throughout the rooms of the house and the along the porch. I constantly questioned my mother about this, demanding to know why she was so terrified of seemingly nothing. At first, I thought it was just depression making her overly anxious and paranoid, but no. She was honest-to-God terrified that something was outside watching us. I never saw or heard anything and she never said just what was the matter,

“It’s those damned woods.” she said, clutching her rosary to her chest, “I hate those woods, Joseph. there are things there that have escaped the Lord.” Then she would go back to praying quietly. she would never go into anymore detail no matter how much I pressed.

Day after day I toiled In the fields and my mother soon began to act her old self again, only making vague mentions of the woods from time to time. I still thought it strange to have all the holy water around the house but I decided to just let my mother indulge and in time, I forgot all about the little bottles and my mothers superstitions.

One night in late fall, I was shutting up the barn when I heard the horses neighing uneasily. As I got closer they began making a racket over in their stalls, kicking furiously. It was close to dusk and I had my lantern already lit to make my way back across the field to the house. I reach the nearest stall and held the light on it as I looked in. the horse, Bess seemed to calm when she saw me but continued to make distressed noises along with the other two horses in out stead. I glanced around Bess’ stall but could see nothing save for all the hay she had disturbed with her tantrum. My heart suddenly began to beat faster as I remembered from what seemed like ages ago, the horses freaking out about something. my father had always come to investigate…with a shotgun. Suddenly all those old stories of wolves leapt back into my mind. I tried to calm the horses and eventually succeeded. but I could not locate the source of their disquiet. I searched the entire barn and it was full-on dark by the time I made it back to the house, my mother hysterical, asking where I had been and what I was doing. I wanted so badly to not tell her about the horses. It had been so long since an incident like that had occurred, I did not want to contribute to my mothers growing paranoia. Everything had been going so well for us since Pa and Gale died, I wanted to keep it that way.

I came up with some bullshit excuse, I don’t even remember what it was. it didn’t do any good anyway because three times that month I had to run out to the stables to check on the horses. They were loud enough to alert my mother that something was wrong and she locked herself in her room all but screaming the lord’s pray for over an hour each time.

I never found anything in those stables other than the horses…until, I evertually checked out the horses more closely and noticed that Bess had some strange wounds on her back legs. I figured she had done it from kicking at the stall door and carrying on. Except they looked almost… like bite marks.


I didn’t tell my mother about the marks on Bess’ legs, not until things got bad. I wasn’t sure what to think about them myself. I didn’t want to think about it. Rats, I decided. I didn’t believe it but I tried to convince myself that it was rats. small but vicious little nibblings on her ankles, what else could it be? certainly not these big wolves that supposedly stalked the woods at night. Besides, no wolf would have been able to get into the barn or stable. Rats could squirm their way in as they are capable of doing in almost any place. Maybe owls and other birds could come in through the hayloft, but nothing bigger than that. There was never any signs of forced entry, no holes dug around the perimeter. Just the hayloft, and I locked the ladder away inside the barn every night. I remembered my father running to the barn with his shotgun. but he never said why he felt that he needed such protection when there was never any sign of danger. Another thing was that those “barn incidents” were few and far between back in my childhood, but now they were becoming more and more frequent and making my mother more and more hysterical.

I pressed her still:

“What is getting into the barn? will you answer me? Three times this month alone the horses are freaking out. Why?”

“Wild animals.” she answered, distractedly.

“What kind of animals? There’s no signs of any animals in the barn other than the horses!”

“I don’t know, Joseph! something not right! that’s all I know! Its always been like that. everyone knows it!”

I stopped the inquiry there, not wanting to upset her further. My mother went to bed. I couldn’t sleep. I tried, but all I did was toss and turn. I got up and paced back and forth through the house, looking through every window as I passed it. straining my eyes to catch a glimpse of anything that might be moving out there, straining my ears to hear the slightest rustle.

Nothing. It was dead silent. The moon beginning to wane, casting it ghostly pallor onto the east field. I waited and watched and paced all night. The only sounds were my footsteps on the hardwood floors. I didn’t go to bed until well after dawn.

An entire month passed without another incident. things returned to normal. My mother calmed down and became her old self again and after a month of nocturnal pacing I was finally able to sleep at night again. until…Jesus, excuse me. (Loud slurping of liquor)

Ah, So… one night, after things had returned to normal. I was suddenly awoken from a deep sleep. I couldn’t explain it, but it was just this sudden sense of disquiet. Still groggy, I turned my attention to the east field which my bedroom window overlooked. and, God help me…God help me if I didn’t see…if I didn’t see Gale walking across the filed towards the woods. My heart jumped into my throat, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, all I could do was just watch my sister, a child who died years ago, in her funeral gown moving with jerky, stiff movements. As if she were a puppet walking on a stage of grass with the moon as a spotlight.

I…I couldn’t move, I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t do anything but sit there and stare at my dead sister as she gradually disappeared into the woods.

I sat there in shock for an unknown time before I finally snapped out of it. I got up and checked in on my mother as quietly as I could to make sure that she was still asleep. I went back to my room and got dressed, went downstairs and lit a lantern and loaded my father’s shotgun and carefully, make my way outside. I crossed the east field to the where the family plot was surrounded by Maple trees and shown my lantern around which wasn’t really necessary considering that the moon was so bright it already illuminated what I wanted to investigate, and which confirmed a by darkest fear.

Gale’s grave had been dug up. I dropped to my knees and turned out the lantern. I looked at the horrible scene. it didn’t look like it had been dug up by men with shovels, no. It looked more like wild animals had dug her up. the wooden coffin had been smashed open and the linen and pillow inside ripped and stained with what I can only assume were bodily fluids. The smell made me retch. working a farm my entire life I was used to bad smells and those of dead animals but this was like nothing I had ever smelled before. This was no dead animal or manure or anything remotely natural. I don’t know how else to describe it. It just was something that didn’t fit with this world…I couldn’t kneel there any longer than to just confirm what I had feared. that somehow, impossibly, Gale had got out of her coffin and with a little help at that.

I ran back to the house to get my mother and get her the hell off of the farm. Because I now knew that the things that had been breaking into the barn with more and more regularity were directly responsible for what I had just seen. I reached the house and ran upstairs and woke my mother up.

“Mom, we have to leave the farm, now!”;

“Wha…what are you talking about?”

“Those things. those things from the woods, they’re here!”

Her eyes widened in terror.

“Joseph, they left the woods again?”

“They’re not after the horses…They dug up Gale, mom. she’s gone from her grave. I saw…I saw her walking across the field…and into the woods.”

“No! No! not my baby!” my mother shrieked, clawing at me, trying to get out of the bed, tears streaming down her face. I tried my best to comfort her…but it was in vain.

“Mom, you need to listen. we need to get off this farm. we need to go in town. it will be dawn soon.”

Mother agreed and we sat up the rest of the night in the kitchen, she made tea and we sat mostly in silence. All she said was that the woods were haunted and had been for as long as she could remember. she really didn’t know anything.

At dawn, mom packed and I sent her off to stay with cousins who owned a farm on the other side of town. I stayed behind, despite her sobbing pleads for me to go with her. I kissed her goodbye and told her that I would be with her as soon as I could be. but not before I got to the bottom of this. Was there some secret pact with these ghosts or whatever they were? What happened to make them start coming out from the woods again to bite the horses? To do whatever they did to Gale? no one had gone into those woods. If there was some kind of age-old pact with these things to never go into the woods, then that pact had not been broken to the best of my knowledge. what had set them off? I had to laugh, I had no idea why I was describing the perpetrator so surely as “they”, but that was just what naturally came to mind. One animal or ghost didn’t do this, it was many. That’s something my gut just told me. and I didn’t care. I was going in the woods and I was bringing back Gale and putting her back to rest. I was never a superstitious person, but damned if recent events hadn’t changed that! I filled a small pack with the bottles of holy water that had been left around the house and put on a small crucifix on a gold chain. I loaded the shot gun and dumped as many shells as I could into the pack and into my pockets. satisfied, I made my way across the east field where I had seen Gale and stepped into the woods from there.

The woods were no different from when I was younger. although the noon sun provided very little light through the thick tangle of branches. It was early fall, the hell-fog of mosquitoes had gone, although, in retrospect, I would have preferred those tiny bloodsuckers as opposed to the horror I witnessed. I passed a clump of mushrooms so white that they appeared to be glowing. I don’t know why but I took that as a marker to where the normal woods ended and the… supernatural began. 100 yards in, the ground was becoming softer and wetter and the underbrush more and more tangled. the chatter of birds and other sounds seemed muted somehow. Walking between semicircle of boulders I came as far as I could go; the bog. This morass of foul water, sticky mud and twisted trees stretched off in all directions. It was like a… boundary to a new, forbidden land. But I decided that it wasn’t going to stop me. For a while I walked back and forth along its length. trying to find its end; but to no avail. One end eventually had it dumping into the Racoon Gorge, no luck there. The other end tapered off into such a tangled mess of underbrush and downed trees that it would have taken a year to hack your way through it. No, the only way to the other side was to go through it. Raising my pack and shotgun over my head I slipped in to my knees and then my hips. the mud sucked my boots with each step, every break I made in the gloppy surface freed a cloud of bugs to assail me. I pressed on, and on, and on. after what seemed like ages, the ground began to get more solid and started to rise, I climbed up onto a small island and adjusted myself. I don’t know why, but at that point I opened my pack and poured one of the bottles of holy water over myself. I put the bottle back and continued back down into the slop and towards the next island.

Finally, the bog receded and I came to relatively dry land. It was now late afternoon and I found myself on a rocky patch of earth surrounded by moss-covered trees. Half a dozen smooth rocks were settled here and there but they were in a pattern that looked too deliberate to have fallen there naturally. I walked between them and stooped to examine them.

Cairns. Headstones. I thought. And that paralyzing fear gripped me again. The dead live at night. Thoughts of old stories raced through my head as I dropped my pack and opened it. Grabbing the bottles of holywater. I set down the shotgun and opened one of the bottles. I had no shovel with me, no way to dig efficiently but the ground was very spongy once the stones of each Cairn had been removed. I had enough of the little bottles to empty two onto each of the graves. I did so. nothing happened. of course, I don’t really know what I was expecting but there was no sign that the holy water had any effect on what was underneath the ground. Unsure of myself and aware of the fading light I decided to quickly explore the rest of the island. I pushed through the thick underbrush behind the furthest grave and froze.

There were six more headstones on the other end of the island, practically buried in vines and roots, the underbrush camouflaging them perfectly. shot gun or no, I didn’t want to be here when these things woke up. I would get back to the house and face them on my own turf. And I knew they would come. All of them would come for me this time. I gave them all the reason to. I broke the secret pact. now horses would not sate their appetite. And one of these things would look like my sister…


It was time to leave this unholy place. I had no idea if the holy water had any effect on whatever horrors dwelled just below the surface of this ancient burial ground, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out. I had broken the old pact, I had set foot on this cursed land and provoked the wrath of these creatures who occasionally has sucked the blood of my horses.

But no. it was they who had come onto my property and not only defiled my sister’s grave, and turned her into one of them. Needless to say, I had quite an amount of anger welling inside me, but I knew that I couldn’t let that blind me. not here, not now. I needed to focus. I had to make it back to my farm and prepare myself. I knew there was going to be a fight, but it was going to be on my turf. I was going to put a stop to this.

The sun was fading as I slipped back into the murky sludge, holding my shotgun and pack over my head. The sticky muck clung to my boots as if it were alive, trying to drag me down into the depths. But I would not be swayed, not here, not with night fast approaching. Every time that I lifted my head the sky was darker and my heart beat faster in my chest. I had my loaded Remington and yet I was as scared as if I had nothing more than a slingshot.

As I reached solid earth it was full dark. I ripped my foot free of the last clinging glob of muck and swept my gun around the forest. It was dead silent. My breathing sounded like the chugging of a freight train compared to the unnatural stillness and deathly silence the enveloped me. It was as if the entire world was waiting with bated breath.

After several minutes with no sign of anything living…or dead, I began to make my way back through the woods and towards the east field. At that moment the moon came out from behind a cloud that’s when I heard it. A “popping” sound. I didn’t want to look, God knows that I just wanted to turn tail and run full speed back to my house but I looked. And I saw it burst from the bog I had just pulled myself out of. it popped straight up like a jack-in-the-box. A creature that looked like a little boy maybe eight or ten years old, despite the mud clinging to him, I could see he was wearing a very old-fashioned attire. I gripped my shotgun and trained it on him. He didn’t move for the longest time, he just stood there in the water, staring up at the sky. And then slowly, slowly lowered his head and turned to face me. eyes of the palest blue stared at me and into me. It was almost hypnotizing. With a yell I raised the shotgun and fired at it. I hit the thing square in the chest, but it didn’t even flinch. there was a groan, though. But then I realized with horror that it wasn’t coming from the thing I had just shot (that one still continued to look at me with those unholy pale eyes) , the noise was coming from behind him. Two more had popped up out of the sludge and were just finishing up basking in the moonlight. They slowly turned to face me. and they also, just stood there, staring at me. Were they like some kind of bizarre reptiles, having to bask in the moonlight before they could get moving? They were farther back but one looked like a little girl and the other a boy. I didn’t waste my ammo. I ran. I ran as fast as I could thorugh the trees and over fallen logs, I tripped over exposed root and was snagged by vines and creepers, I acknowledged no pain at that point, my only focus was to get out of the woods.

I reached the east field. in the moonlight I must have looked like a mad man; covered in mud, barely able to stand and clutching a shotgun taking ragged breathes. I was a man in his prime, but at that moment I felt as if I was a hundred years old.

Vampires. The word passed through my brain. they had to be, what the hell else could they be? I almost laughed. The wolves of Morgan’s woods, huh? The wild animals that stalked the woods at night. No one ever mentioned them by name, but they existed. And my farm was right on the border of their domain. I stood there catching my breath and another thought occurred to me. Those things rose up from the swamp. they weren’t coming out from under those little headstones. Shock hit me, my extremities went numb. There was nothing under the stones. no bodies. That island was the last remnant of an old burial ground. But all the bodies of that forsaken cemetary had been moved away by the crawling swamp over decades and decades. I had emptied all of my holy water on earth and nothing more.

The sound of my horses in the stable broke my concentration. they were screaming this time and making such a racket I thought the barn might collapse. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a horse scream but it is a disturbing sound to say the least. I ran around the side of the barn to the stables and took a deep breath and pushed open the door. I immediately through myself to the side as I was almost trampled by two of my horses, covered in blood and whinnying in terror as they ran off into the night. They had actually broken through their stalls in their desperation to get away. I got shakily to my feet and heard the unmistakable sound of chewing and slurping. I began thinking of the old stories of vampires. didn’t you have to cut off their head or burn them? I couldn’t remember, and every story you heard was different.

The sounds coming from the last stall were disgusting and produced ugly images. but I made my way to the stall and slowly pushed the gate open. What I saw will haunt me for the rest of my life.

A lone figure was crouched down in front of Bess, her face buried in the horses innards, pulled out handfuls of ropey intestines and shoveled them indiscriminately into her mouth. She hadn’t noticed me. I cocked the shotgun and trained it on her….it. She stopped what she was doing and slowly turned to face me. I went cold. I almost dropped my gun and ran screaming from the stable. But the shock of it, kept me rooted to the spot, unable to make a sound, let alone take any action.

Gale had turned to face me, her mouth still chewing autonomously, her eyes were now a glazed-over, pale blue. And her mouth was no longer filled with teeth that could be considered human. They were more like long, bony spikes and they were chewing off as much flesh from the horse as from her own bottom lip. She just crouched there, staring at me. I finally managed to muster the needed strength and I raise my shotgun. My voice was a shakey whisper, but I spoke.

“You’re not Gale.”

The thing that used to be my sister blinked as if pondering my words and then opened her mouth as if to respond, but the only sound that emerged was a reverberating groan in a voice that was too deep for a little girl and far too loud for any human being to produce. She stood up and I broke from my frozen state. I took aim and fired.

Under normal circumstances, a twelve gauge at point blank would destroy a persons’ head. But, these were not normal circumstances. Gale… That Thing’s possessing her body… that face was peppered with shot, but causing only superficial damage. The impact knocked her down but, only briefly. She recovered and lunged at me, seeming only to have suffered the most superficial damage and I batted her away with the butt of the shotgun but she got right back on top of me, hissing and grabbing, hissing and clawing. I knocked her down again and went for the work bench and fumbled for something sharp. I got my hands on the hatchet just as Gale… the… THING that looked like Gale grabbed me and latched down on my forearm. I cried out in pain and tried to shrug her off but she held on like grim death. Snarling and chewing down to the bone, I let out another cry and brought the hatchet down on her head but there was no immediate reaction. Again and again I opened large lacerations in the top of her head and she finally let go, staggering backward and falling, now I fell on top of her pulled her head back and hacked at her neck again and again and again until I finally was able to twist it off of her neck. the sound of stretching tendons and skin still haunts my nightmares.

I held my grisly prize and turned toward the door. There in the field, six child-sized creatures stood, with more moving through the shadows of the trees further back. I dropped Gale’s head to the ground and began to walk back to the house, leaving the shotgun where it was as it was a useless defense against these things. They made no move for me. They just stood there, watching me. Things that looked like children dressed in age-old attire and covered in filth. I mended my arm as best as I could and gathered the largest knives I could find along with an ax and the hatchet. I sat in the living room and waited for them to come. I knew how to kill them and I had just proved it with all of them watching. They were perhaps unsure of me as prey at that moment, but regardless, I still expected them to come for me.

They stood there all night. Some came up stiffly onto the porch, staring through the windows at me and I stared right back, unable to move, just waiting for the attack. But the attack never came. And at the first trace of dawn on the horizon they retreated back into the woods. Once the sun was fully up, I reburied Gale, trying to make her look as presentable as possible. I wept long and hard as I buried her. My arm was still aching from the wound but I spent the rest of the day cleaning up the remains of Bess in the stable and trying to track down the other horses… I never found them.

I went and got my mother and when I told her that Gale was at peace she didn’t ask for any details, she just cried a lot. Surprisingly, the wound Gale had inflicted on my arm had healed remarkably well. very little scar tissue actually remains. I’ll admit I was worried about that bite and what it might do to me, but I never got sick or turned into a vampire or werewolf or any other kind of monster. Mother and I had decorated the house with crucifixes and bottles of holy water, we had a priest come and bless the house and barn and stables. The things in Morgan’s Woods showed up every now and then but were more secretive about it. I would see them occasionally walking along the perimeter of the woods with that stiff, puppet-like walk. I never went back in those woods but every night when the light of the moon shines like a spotlight I still keep close my vials of holy water and my axe.


I’m well past my prime now, approaching old age. My mother died only a few years after these events and I buried her right next to Pa and Gale. It’s just me on the farm now, as it has been for a long, long time. Those child-like things have not aged. I still see them here and there walking the fields and occasionally coming onto the porch and leaving “presents” for me. I don’t even think about what these bloody bundles of flesh are or who or what they might have come from. Are they warnings? offerings? Treats? I have no idea but they never actively attacked me or anything on the farm since the night with Gale. I don’t know what they want….but I imagine that they are just biding their time. I think that they are still waiting for some, signal. And I think one night they truly come for me. I suppose that when you are as seemingly ageless as things like that, you can afford to wait a very, very long time for revenge…

I took to the drink rather fondly, and can you blame me? Hell, passing out in a drunken stupor is the only way this old man can get any sleep on nights like tonight. Nights when that moon is shining this bright. So the townsfolk will tell you not to listen to me and my stories, That I’m just an old drunk. Just a guy who sees funny things… ha! And yet not a single one of them will go near Morgan’s Woods after dark, but it’s not because they’re afraid that they will become marked for… some sinister and unknown purpose… No, nothing like that. You just don’t go in the woods at night. You might get mauled by a wolf!


– by “Wayne Calhoun”

31 Days of Halloween | Bunnyman Bridge | A Creepypasta

Back in 1903, deep in Clifton, there used to be an asylum buried deep within the wilderness of Clifton. Pretty soon after the civil war people started inhabiting the area, population-wise around three hundred or so. It was a very small town. Nonetheless people didn’t like the idea of having an asylum miles down the road, so they all got together and signed a petition for the asylum to relocate elsewhere. The petition passed and a new asylum was built, which is now known as “Lorton Prison”, a temporary facility for convicts to stay in until they are appropriately sentenced.

In the autumn of 1904, the convicts were gathered and piled into the bus, used to transport them to Lorton. Somewhere during the drive not too far from where they left, the driver had swerved to avoid something and the bus had started to tip, and soon was rolling in a terrible collision course.

Most of the convicts were injured, but managed to escape the bus and had fled into the night towards the woods. The next morning, a local police investigation had begun, and they begun rounding up the escaped convicts. Hours turned into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. Everyone was recovered after four months- except for two people, named Marcus A. Wallster and Douglas J. Grifon. During the search for both men, the police found dead rabbits, all of them half-eaten and dismembered, every now and then along their search.

Finally, they were to find Marcus dead by the Fairfax station Bridge (now known as Bunny Man’s Bridge). In his hand, he held a man-made hammer/knife like tool, made with a sharp rock and a sturdy branch as a handle. They thought nothing of it, and didn’t care how he died, only that he was apprehended and they no longer had to worry about him. They had a name for Marcus, but later on they would realize they had named the wrong person the Bunny Man.

Still searching for Douglas, they kept on finding dead half-eaten rabbits every so often while the search went on. Eventually, they were to name Douglas the “Bunny Man” from then on.

Months passed by and the police gave up their search. Everybody assumed the Bunny Man was dead by now, if not gone, so they went on with their small town lives. Come October, people started seeing dead bunnies reappearing out of the blue, and starting to fear the unseen.

Halloween Night came around, and as usual, a bunch of kids had gone over to the Bridge that night to drink and do whatever kids their age in the early twentieth century did. Midnight came around within minutes, and most of the kids had left. Only three of them remained at the bridge.

Exactly at midnight, a bright light came from the bridge, right where the kids were. A few seconds later, they were all dead. Throats slashed with that same type of tool that was found next to the other escapee, Marcus. Not only were their throats slashed, but they were cut up and down their chests, gutted like fish. The Bunny Man then hung both of the boys from one end of a bridge with rope around their necks, hanging from the overpass with their legs dangling in view of any passing cars.

The girl was hung the same way, on the other side of the bridge. This happened on Halloween in 1905. After that, they didn’t see or hear anything from him for another year.

Halloween 1906 was approaching, and parents as well as the teens in Clifton still remember the incident that had occurred one year ago at the bridge- his bridge, the Bunny Man’s Bridge.

That night, seven teens were left remaining right before midnight at the bridge. Thinking little of it, six remained inside the bridge while one, Adrian Hatala had remained a good distance from the bridge hoping to have enough time to escape if the same thing happened again. She was the only one to witness this, a dim light walking the railroad track just before midnight, stopping right above the bridge at midnight, then disappearing at the same time that a bright flash was inside the bridge. She heard the deafening sounds of terrified screaming coming from inside the bridge that lasted only seconds. Moments later, they were all hung from the edge of the bridge, in the same way as the corpses a year earlier.

Horrified, she ran home, and refused to tell all of what she saw, just spattered words mixed with incoherent mumblings that the people of her town had to put together to come up with her story. No one understood it or believed her. They charged her with the teen’s murders, and locked her up in the Asylum of Lorton. In 1913, the same thing happened- with nine teenagers this time, on a Halloween night once again.

Adrian was still locked up. They dropped her sentence, but it was too late. The insanity had finally conquered her. Even if she was released, she was too far gone to have a life, so she spent her remaining years in the asylum until she finally died in 1953 of reported shock.

No one knows what exactly she died of shock from, but supposedly she had died in her sleep, dreaming of that one dreaded night. Perhaps the Bunny Man had finally gotten to her.

More murders were to take place however, although after the murders in 1913, most people stayed clear of the bridge on Halloween.

1943 rolls around and six teenagers go strolling out on Halloween night. A couple hours later, all of them dead, same way as all the others. Investigations took place, but as usual nothing was discovered.

1976, the same situation occurs, this time with only three people.

The only other incident that occurred since then was in 1987, twelve years ago. Janet Charletier was enjoying the night with her four friends. Halloween night had finally come, and they had gone driving out to enjoy the night after invading the children’s candy bags. They had settled around eleven PM at the bridge, waiting for midnight to come. They didn’t believe in the myth so they decided to see it for themselves, and were to be the only ones who actually withstood the Bunny Man. They had waited around an hour or so, so it was nearly midnight, when Janet started getting a little scared. They all had been pulling pranks on each other, (jumping out the bushes and screaming), so she was already a little worked up. Midnight hits, and by this stage she is in a total panic.

She’s almost out of the bridge when the lights get really bright inside. When that happens, her body is halfway outside of the bridge. She sees her skin start tearing at her chest but nothing is piercing her skin. She manages finally to leave the bridge. Completely horrified, she hits a hanging body and knocks herself out.

When she awakens, she discovers that she has been bleeding. She was lucky that the cut had just started, and wasn’t very bad at all. She left and never returned to the bridge again.

She has been seen sitting on a swinging bench on her balcony every morning just staring in the direction towards the bridge a couple of miles down. From then on, the story remains untouched and unmoved.

Original Story

Music by Myuu

The Grinning Man

The Grinning Man

by Anonymous

I have a story to tell you, but I beg you not to read it. Please, don’t. I know it sounds stupid, but by the time you understand why, it will be too late. I know this will not deter many of you, but without this simple warning to ease my conscience, I may not be able to go through with this. And I desperately need to go through with this. Let me start at the beginning.

I have an old friend, Joe, who I’ve known since grade school. I’m in my late twenties – so is he – and he’s been my friend for at least half of that time. I’d say that we knew each other pretty well after all of that time. This may seem irrelevant and uninteresting, but I have to stress this; I know him, and I know him well. What he did was… it was nothing he ever could have done without some outside influence.

On the night of Friday, January 23, I was driving to his apartment to pick him and his roommate up; we made plans to go out, hit a couple of bars, and generally have a good start to the weekend. When I arrived, there were a number of police cars and ambulances outside the complex. I was, of course, curious, as I, like many people, rarely see such sights. As I got closer, I noticed a body covered in a bag in the street, surrounded by glass and no more than a few feet from a badly dented car.

I’m rather horrified, coming to the conclusion that someone was hit by a car and killed right outside the complex. As I finished gawking, I made my way inside and up the stairs to the third floor. That’s where my friend’s apartment is, and that’s where I found it wasn’t a simple accident.

The police were upstairs as well, talking to residents and taping off one of the apartments. My friend’s apartment. Panicked, I asked one of the officers what happened, why my friend’s apartment was taped off. I told him I was supposed to be meeting them for drinks, and asked if they were okay. The officer told me that it appeared that Joe had butchered his roommate with a kitchen knife and thrown himself through the plate glass sliding door into the street below.

I was a ghost, shaken so badly I could barely answer the simple questions the officer asked me upon finding that I knew the victims. My mind couldn’t process it. I knew him. He’d never do such an atrocity. It didn’t make sense.

I made my way back to my car in silence and drove home as though on autopilot. I couldn’t get the shock of it all out of my head. My wife asked me what happened and I explained it to her. She was shocked as well, but… she didn’t know him like I did. I told her I needed a bit of time and went to my room. She let me be. Lost, I found myself at my computer. I’m not really sure why I did it, but I found myself checking his email.

I know the passwords he commonly used, so it was hardly an issue to find the right one. I thought perhaps he had friends online who I needed to tell, or maybe I thought I’d find a window into what caused this. I really don’t know. If I knew then what I know now; I would’ve never done what I did.

I scrolled through his inbox, looking for familiar names. Joe, I, and several friends kept in touch online, and I instantly recognized several of those names in the last few days. The most recently opened email was what looked like a spam email with an attachment and no other information. Curiosity got the better of me and I opened it. The file itself was a picture, named nothing but a seemingly random string of numbers. It was simply a man, seemingly normal at a glance, but the longer I stared at it, the more disturbed I became.

He stood, staring, with a grin, sinister and unsettling, with eyes that were both vacant and focused at the same time. That terrible grin seemed to widen the longer I stared, and for minutes I was fixated at that horrible face, eyes burning as they stared back at me with equal intensity. Finally, I tore my gaze away to find the only other thing in the email: a single word. A word I can’t repeat. Not yet. I need to tell my story.

I couldn’t take the sight of it anymore. I had to close it. The face was still looking at me; I swear I could still feel his grinning stare. As I went to log out of his email and put that horrid thing out of my mind, I noticed the time it arrived: January 23, 5:35pm. We were supposed to meet at six. He likely saw this less than a half hour before he died.

For the next several days, I tried to get it out of my mind. I attended my friend’s funeral. I tried to go on with my life, but I kept feeling uneasy. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt like someone was watching me. At night, I started to have unsettling nightmares. I couldn’t remember much of them when I awoke, but they all had the same elements: that horrible grinning man, blood, violence, and death. I couldn’t get a good night’s sleep. I was struggling at work. I kept feeling tense and on edge. I needed to know what was going on.

It was hard to really know what to look for at first; all I had to go on was that image and the single word that accompanied it. “Grinning man” is hardly a descriptive search and “haunted grinning man” or “cursed grinning man” wasn’t really any better. Still, I did what I could with my limited resources.

I actually found a reference to it, or what I thought was it, on a website dedicated to conspiracies and paranormal things and other things I’d normally dismiss as utter bullshit. Still, this wasn’t natural, and I was willing to try to open my mind to any explanation, since this seemed to defy anything conventional. What I uncovered about this “grinning man” was that it was an image that seemed to circulate among image boards and forums a few years back. The article said the picture was harmless, if not a bit creepy (though I strongly disagree on the term “a bit”), but it seemed that something about it, when coupled with a key word that was unknown, could trigger extreme psychotic bouts, irritability, nightmares, and hallucinations.

It seemed so utterly stupid – simple text and pixels causing such harm – and yet I was sitting there, realizing that I was experiencing those same nightmares, irritability, and hallucinations. Joe obviously experienced the psychosis, evidenced by his sudden murder-suicide.

I was stunned; I thought it had to be a joke, some kind of bizarre hoax, but I knew there was more to it than that. I knew what I was feeling and I knew my friend. That picture and that word… it had to be the keyword. What triggers everything? Oh, God, was this going to happen to me, too? Was I going to kill my wife and then myself?

I started to panic, but my rational mind won over. If it was just paranoia and hallucinations… those couldn’t hurt me, right? They only had power if I gave them power. I decided that I would end this, put it out of my mind, rationalize it away each time I felt it. That would be the end of it all.

As much as my rational brain helped me through the day, it couldn’t protect me at night. My dreams continued to degrade, ending in me waking in the middle of the night, cold sweats and heart pounding. I started taking sleeping pills, though I refused to tell my wife – I didn’t want her to worry, though I knew she could tell something was wrong with me. The pills did nothing, though; in fact, they seemed to make my dreams more vivid. I could remember everything when I awoke; every horrible, bloody detail, that grinning, inhuman face. I found I started sleepwalking. The first night I woke curled in the bathtub; then in the kitchen. Three days later, with a knife in my hand and the bloodied remains of our black Lab at my feet.

I can’t even remember the next things that happened after that. I know I cleaned up our dog, hid him in a trash bag, and said he ran off in the night and got lost. I was terrified. I had no idea what to do. I tried to medicate myself heavily. I locked up all the knives in the house. My wife knew there was something terribly wrong, but I refused to say anything. I don’t even know if I could at the time.

The only thing I can still remember clearly was the dreams. I was irate and easily spooked at the littlest of things. I thought it had to just be my nerves from all of this and lack of sleep, but… I remembered my friend, the website. I knew I was getting worse.

The thing I remember most about the dreams, aside from that horrible grinning man, is the emotions. I felt each death that was inflicted in the dream like it was real. Like it was my own hand disemboweling my friends, my family, and random strangers against my own will.

Like each death, each vision of terror he showed me, was not just a vision but my own work. Each horrible death in the dream made him grin a little wider. He wanted me to snap. He wanted me to become exactly what he was showing me. He wanted me to become him.

So, I come here to tell you this because I’m desperate. I need help. You see… I can’t bear the thought of harming my wife, the woman I love most in this world. Yet, I know it’s inevitable. He’s always there, watching and grinning, knowing I’m close to breaking, and nudging me ever closer to the edge. I know what he wants. I can’t let him have that. I don’t know any other way out.

I’m reaching out to you in hopes that he’ll leave me alone. Maybe if you, the careless reader who I warned away, will give him what he wants, he’ll let me be. I have to try. I don’t know what else to do. I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive a man for acting in desperation.

Original Story

Gaze by KillaHawke1

Mmm… Watching.

I have something I must confess. I have been watching you. Yes, right this second. Unaware of my proximity, I’ve been watching you for the past several days. You have such a lovely home, full of space and dark corners. I like the dark. All that time, I have been in your home just watching you. Well, not just watching, but we’ll come to that later.

I never grow weary of watching you perform your nightly routines before you slip into your bed under your warm blankets. I know the exact moment you fall asleep and I am there to see you awaken in the morning to day break’s new light. I am so still, my stare remains unbroken and undisturbed for hours and hours. You are so beautiful when you sleep. I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Your body is a sensual furnace of heat that radiates endless plumes of vibrant red, orange, and yellow flames as you slumber. I bask in your warmth and light. Your rhythmic rising and falling of your chest is the source of a breath that can ignite the very air around you, announcing to the universe that you are here and you are alive! The beauty of the spectacle can hold me in a trance the entire night until the morning light forces me to retreat to my dark haven. Other nights, I come to you.

You don’t even feel my touch. Up and down your arms and thighs, I touch you with the utmost care. I would never want to disturb you while you sleep. Your skin is so soft and delicate, so unlike mine. Your body is a landscape of ecstasy, with a new wonder just waiting to be discovered and explored. Your aroma is intoxicating and invokes an insatiable hunger that I surrender to and gorge upon. I then quietly make my way back to my hiding place. I am hidden well before the first rays of morning peek through the windows. I am so quiet; you never realize I was there. You awake and go about your life as you would any other day while I sleep content, but still filled with anticipation for what the following night will hold for us.

I see that you have noticed the marks I left behind. Marks on your thighs and arms and throughout your body. I know they hurt and I am truly sorry for that, but things like that are unavoidable when it comes to matters such as these. I am always so careful that my kisses are soft and delicate. I kiss your body ever so lightly and cautiously. I would not dare spill a single drop of your blood.

It saddens me that soon I will have to share you with others. However, I take comfort in knowing that you will be just as beautiful to them as you are to me. I know their touch will be equally as delicate as my touches have been. I know their kisses will show as much tenderness as mine have always had.

My eggs will hatch any day now. The little ones will most likely hide within the mattress and frame of your bed; a trait for which we earned our namesake. I much prefer the nightstand next to your bed. The tiny crevice along its side allows me to look upon your face for as long as I desire. It is from here that I simply gaze and wait for our next encounter.

Good night, sleep tight,
Don’t let the bed bugs bite,
Wake up bright
In the morning light
To do what’s right
With all your might.

—Author unknown