Old Elementary School | A Haunted Creepypasta


 

Original Story

Music by Myuu

As a kid, I always found myself to be bored. I always craved adventure, and so did my friends. Everyday seemed to be the same routine, and it usually ended up with us getting in trouble. We were kids and bored, we wanted to find something new, something exciting. And we found the old elementary school.

It had been closed for nearly fifty years and aging showed well on the sides of the building. Some cracks in the sides and plants crawling up the side. This school became our hideout. We went there every day and explored the place. It was a very odd place though, it seemed to have no end. What I mean by that is there seemed to be no other exits besides the front. Or so I thought.

My friends and I had been playing tag around the building once, and we saw another door behind the old school. There was another entrance. We tried and tried to get in through that way, since it was a different thing. The door though seemed to be stuck, or locked. There was just something about that door that I couldn’t put my finger on, but I wanted to open it. God, all my friends did, but I really wanted to open that door.

Over time, I grew tired of the elementary school. Or maybe I just grew scared. My last few days hanging out there had ended rather… strange. It always seemed that there were others in the building, I could always hear the sounds of footsteps or creaking of doors. The lights seemed to flicker with life on rare occasions even though they would never turn on for longer than a second. These things weren’t the creepiest things that had happened though, if anything it was the visions.

The visions came to me around three days before I had stopped going to the old hideout. I remember seeing these children playing outside or in the halls of the school, they wore old school uniforms and bright happy smiles. Something about them though, was off. Their teeth seemed to be… larger than they should’ve been. Those eyes were so much darker too. Then… There was the laughter. That horrible, sickening laughter. It didn’t sound like laughter even, it sounded like someone scratching a chalkboard or a fork sliding against a plate.

I haven’t been to the old hideout in years, and I assume that none of my friends have either. We had all grown apart and lost contact of one another, I was never really sure if they still ever thought of the elementary school or not, I know I did. Only a few days ago, I decided to go back and visit my old home and greet some old friends of mine. Luckily I had spare time so I decided the only thing I thought of, go see the old hideout.

Man, the place had way more vines on it but it hadn’t changed a bit otherwise. I went inside the old place and looked around. I hadn’t really noticed it as a kid but the place had a very strange eeriness about it. It was a little difficult to explain. As I was walking around, some old memories and thoughts came back to me. Then I remembered the door.

My friends and I never could find the door from the inside. It seemed almost impossible, every time we tried to find the door we’d get lost. Then again, we never really had good sense of direction then. I decided to go try to find the door again.

Now, walking around and looking for the door seemed to be more difficult then I had originally remembered or thought. I also had a really uneasy feeling, I felt as if there was someone following. I could swear to you I saw a few shadows or heard footsteps. The thought of the laughter came to my head and a feeling urged me to leave. I didn’t, I wanted to find that door badly.

The longer I stayed, the more I noticed. I could almost hear the laughter in the back of my head or see children run around corners when I wasn’t looking. I was paranoid. I wouldn’t leave until I found that damn door. Finally, I did. It was bright red, it stood out from the dull greys and browns of the school. A strange excitement filled me as I reached forward and touched the handle to the door and pushed open.

I walked outside… back to the entrance. It was the same as if I was leaving from the entrance. I turned around and saw the entrance door, not the back door. I knew I had left from the back, I was certain I had. How the hell did I get back there? I looked up towards the school… In the windows… I saw the faces of children. Staring at me, smiling… Then they started to laugh… Their ungodly laughter pierced my ears as I turned and ran…

This experience had left me scarred, I never once turned back. I had even told my mom about what happened, but she just smiled and laughed. Confusion struck me and I asked why she laughed when I told her about this. She looked at me, and answered. “You mean that old empty lot you and your friends used to sleep at? You called that place your hideout, you had so many friends. Around ten I think. And all you guys would do would sleep in that old lot.”

I hadn’t said anything else. I was shocked. I only had 4 friends at the time…

Gravediggers | A Halloween Creepypasta

Original Story

Music by Myuu

It was a cold autumn night. A dense fog had rolled across London, it was impossible to see anything more than five feet ahead of you. The mist reduced people to vague, ghostly figures, or disembodied voices.

In short, it was the perfect Halloween night.

Fifteen year old Michael Blake shivered as he walked through the fog with his best friend, John. On John’s insistence, he’d managed to give his parents the slip so that they could perform that time — honored Halloween ritual — to walk through a deserted cemetery in the middle of the night. Conveniently, there was a supposedly haunted neighborhood cemetery nearby.

Trust John to come up with an idea like this, thought Michael. But he wasn’t going to complain. One of John’s ideas had once saved his life. Somehow, John always seemed to know the right thing to do, even if it seemed absurd at the time.

And then, out of the fog, the cemetery gates suddenly appeared before them — old and disused. The iron had rusted to brown so that they looked like twisted pieces of wood that had been bound together. In fact the entire cemetery was in disrepair; the authorities weren’t bothered about it and the relatives of the people in the cemetery didn’t complain.

The cemetery is abandoned and unloved, thought Michael, perhaps just like the souls of its residents. Then he chided himself. Why did he let such weird thoughts enter his head?

John kicked the cemetery gates, which swung open with a loud groan of protest. Michael looked around nervously, but nobody seemed to have heard them.

As they entered the cemetery, John suddenly stopped.

“I almost forgot,” he said casually. “We’ll have to watch out for gravediggers.”

“Gravediggers?”

“The poorest of London’s poor. They’re usually homeless and jobless. They go about stealing from the dead. They rob graves of glasses, watches, even the clothes worn by the corpse, if they’re desperate. And most of them are armed with knives.”

Nice of him to tell me now. Michael shivered. But once again, he didn’t complain, and followed John into the cemetery.

This is so cliché, Michael thought to himself. Two friends performing a Halloween dare get a lot more than they bargained for. He could see the phrase on the back cover of a dozen cheesy horror flicks.

John kicked aside a pebble. It skittered and came to a stop in front of an old tombstone. Despite the fog, Michael could make out the words inscribed on it- Here Lies FRANK JONES
Died as he lived- in the pursuit of justice

He must have been a policeman, thought Michael. It was a strangely comforting notion.

They continued onward through the cemetery. Michael had to admit, it made him irrationally nervous, even though he had thought that he had long since ceased to be afraid of ghosts. But the cemetery itself scared him. Unlike in a typical cemetery, there were trees planted at seemingly random spots, casting long shadows in the foggy moonlight. Birds squawked and chattered in the trees. The idea behind the planting of the trees was that the remains of the dead would give rise to new life. However, the trees had never been trimmed, and at this time of night, they only heightened the uneasiness one would naturally feel in a cemetery. They made the entire place look wild and overgrown. Michael imagined those branches reaching out to grab him…

He shivered and trudged forward, trying to keep up with John, who had gone totally silent. John went through these moods- he would be happy one moment, surly in the next. Right now he was making Michael feel nervous.

Don’t be stupid, he said to himself. It was the cemetery creeping him out, not John. He had no need to be afraid of John, or to be distrustful of him.

In front of him, John suddenly stopped, and pointed to a spot a few feet in front of him. The fog parted and Michael saw a crouching figure. He seemed to be digging into the ground.

A gravedigger, thought Michael. What had John said? Most of them were armed with knives. They were homeless, desperate. What if this man tried to steal from them, or kill them? He tried to pull John back. But John pushed him away.

“Who’s that?” he said loudly, and boldly walked forward. Michael hesitated, then followed.

As they walked up to him, the gravedigger gave a sudden start. He rose up and drew out a knife.

“Didn’t see you there, laddie. You shouldn’t be out here alone at night, a nice lad like you.”

He slowly moved towards Michael, making slow circular motions in the air with his knife.

Michael’s eyes were fixed on the blade- a few inches of metal that could mean his death. He was rooted to the spot with fear.

But as the gravedigger reached him, he crumpled, falling towards Michael. Michael grabbed him to stop his fall, and the gravedigger leaned on Michael like a dead weight. He could see the man’s strangely blank eyes, smell his rotten breath. Then, he pushed the gravedigger away, and he collapsed and lay there as if dead.

In front of Michael stood a policeman. Clearly, it was he who had knocked out the gravedigger. Michael sighed with relief, then gasped when he clearly saw the policeman.

His face was a pale milky white, with a crooked nose and two deep-set eyes that were pitch-black in color. Somehow, it did not look entirely human. The policeman looked unnaturally thin. Corpse-like was the phrase that came to mind.

“That was a close one wasn’t it?”

Michael just nodded.

The policeman moved forward to stand right in front of Michael and frowned down on him.

Michael saw his name tag, and gasped again.

The tag read ‘F. Jones’.

“What exactly are you doing out here?” asked Jones.

Michael stood speechless, staring at him. His heart was thundering- it seemed about to burst out of his chest. It seemed impossible, but it looked as though he had been saved from the gravedigger by the ghost of Frank Jones.

Michael turned to John, his throat dry.

John had gone completely white.

“You explain,” he said to Michael, then turned and fled into the fog.

I should have expected that, thought Michael, staring after John.

Officer Jones followed Michael’s gaze into the fog. But John was no longer visible. It was as if the fog had swallowed him up.

Jones frowned, then turned back to Michael.

“Well, boy? I’m waiting for an answer,” said Jones. He was speaking softly, almost whispering. “What are you doing here? Only gravediggers come here at this time of night. This place is one of their frequent haunts.”

Haunts. Funny choice of words.

Michael trembled. He was about to start speaking, but Jones interrupted.

“Unless…unless you’re a gravedigger.” Jones smiled. His teeth were yellow and rotten. Decaying. Now Michael was sure. Officer Jones was a ghost.

“You’ll have to come with me,” Jones continued. “Oh yes.”

He smiled again, and licked his grey, cracked lips with his grey tongue.

Michael was terrified. Jones thought he was a gravedigger. And what did he mean by “You’ll have to come with me?”

“I… I’m not going anywhere with you!” Michael screamed. “This is a mistake! I’m not a gravedigger!”

But it was useless to argue. Michael could see that Jones did not believe him. An evil fire had lit in his eyes.

“Save your protests for later, boy. You’re coming with me, where you belong!”

And Jones reached for his belt. Michael saw his hand close around his gun. Jones was going to kill him!

And so, without pausing to think, Michael acted.

He pushed his legs forward, falling as if he had slipped over something. Jones was right in front of him and Michael’s legs crashed into Jones’ feet. It was the last thing Jones had expected. He fell right on top of Michael, and as he did so, Michael punched him where it hurt most. Jones howled with pain, and Michael pulled Jones’ gun out of its holster.

I have to move quickly, thought Michael. Before Jones could react, Michael pushed him away, pointed the gun at his face and pulled the trigger. Blood spurted from Jones’ head and into Michael’s eyes, but he didn’t care. He was alive! He’d done it. For once, he’d saved his life without John’s help. He laid on the ground, laughing with relief.

Then he heard footsteps behind him. He got up, but before he could turn around, he’d been expertly cuffed and twisted around. It was another policeman. He stood staring at Michael, his face white. Then, without a word, he walked Michael to a nearby police station. He was taken to a holding cell. For what seemed like hours, he was left alone. Then the policeman who had arrested him walked in.

“What did you do?!”

And Michael told him everything — about the Halloween dare, Frank Jones’ grave, the gravedigger, and the ghost.

The policeman stared silently at him. Then he pressed a buzzer and Michael’s parents walked in. They looked pale, shocked. It seemed they had heard everything.

“Michael, how could you do this?” his mother asked in between sobs.

“I had to protect myself.”

“Why did you leave the house without telling us?” his father screamed.

Michael looked at him sadly. He had reacted similarly- last time.

“It was John’s idea,” Michael said.

“Did… did you say John?” his mother asked. She seemed to have gone even paler.

“Yeah, Mom. He told me to walk through the cemetery with him. He told me about the gravediggers.”

“No Michael!” his father said, clutching at his hair. “I told you about the gravediggers a week ago!”

He left the room with Michael’s mother and the policeman. Michael could hear parts of their angry conversation outside.

“…let him leave the house!” the policeman was saying.

Michael strained to hear his parents’ reply.

“…stabilised…they let us … for a few days… we never dreamed…”

“You should have,” the policeman snapped. “I lost a good friend today.”

And then all was silent for a few hours.

The policeman entered the room again. He grabbed Michael and took him out of the station and into a car. They drove him to the last place he wanted to be. His home for the last few years, until a few days ago.

They took Michael to a cell- his cell, deep within the facility.

They tried, once again, to feed him their lies. They told him that Frank Jones had been a criminal lawyer who had a heart attack while cross-examining a murderer.

They told him the policeman’s name had been Francis Jones. He had been a young, enthusiastic officer. When he confronted Michael, he had been reaching for his cuffs, not his gun.

And Michael had killed him.

Of course, Michael didn’t believe them. Six years ago, they had also lied to him. They told him that John, his best friend, was imaginary! It was a lie! John was real, but he was a ghost. Only Michael could see ghosts. That was why he had been able to see the ghost of Frank Jones tonight.

Six years ago, John had saved Michael’s life by warning him that his teenage cousin, David, was planning to kill Michael and his parents. Michael remembered the feeling of intense relief he’d experienced when he wrapped his hands around David’s neck and squeezed the life out of him- the same relief he’d felt when he shot Jones.

And they had arrested Michael for killing David, when he had actually saved his family! And now he was back in this hellhole for ‘killing’ Jones. Damn them all!

But Michael knew the truth. The policeman he had shot was the ghost of Frank Jones. Of course, shooting a ghost wasn’t a crime! And John… John was not imaginary. Michael knew that John would help him escape this place…someday…

And Michael laughed and laughed, his laughter mingling with that of some of the other souls condemned to spend their lives at London’s maximum security prison for the criminally insane.


Inspired by Anthony Horowitz’s THE HITCHHIKER

A Haunted Doll | A Creepypasta by BlueHero45

It’s absurd that I would die this way, its absurd anyone could die this way. It’s preposterous but I can feel the warmth of the flames grow closer, unable to move all I can do is search my memories and try to discover what I have done to deserve this fate.

My name is Elizabeth Downs. I am a twenty-four year old eccentric. I have an obsession with Victorian Dolls. They have just enough a mix of creepy and cute that I cannot get enough of them. My friends mock me for it, and not everyone is thrilled to see my collection but I never mind it. I was never one to care what others thought.

A new antique shop had recently opened and I was paying it a visit after seeing a doll from the window. It had on a black dress with a white umbrella in her hand. I had to take a look. A middle age man in an old suit approached me as I walked up to the doll. “Do you like her?” he said. He listened intently as I told him my own fascination with such dolls. I don’t know why I felt so compelled to tell this stranger my own hobby with such enthusiasm. He seemed truly absorbed in what I had to say, waiting patiently for me to finish with a smile on his face. “I can show you an even better doll in the store if you like?” With glee I followed the man to a small room in the back of the shop before suddenly the world went black.

I awoke to a bright light. I could not seem to move and felt like I was being carried somewhere. As my sight adjusted I could see the antique shop’s owner’s face close to mine. It seemed huge, as he stepped back I realized it was huge. I was high up, I could not move my head but I could see the doll from earlier out of the corner of my eye. It now sat next to me matching my size. “A beautiful doll indeed,” the man said in a sweet voice with a large grin on his face. The situation was deranged, I tried to yell out but my mouth would not move. I could do nothing but sit on my little shelf and watch as the man walked away.

Time was hard to keep track of. I was stuck in a plastic body with no way to move and left only with my thoughts. I know I would go mad if things kept up. I tried to entertain my mind by watching costumers come and go and the owner sweep and clean in-between. Every now and again he looked over at me and smiled. I was left with my hearing as well, but the sound of a little bell as costumers entered and exited and a few conversations with the owner were nearly all the sounds the store had to offer. Night had fallen twice, and I was left alone in the dark shop unable to even close my eyes. I could only wonder if anyone was looking for me, and if it was at all possible for them to find me in this state.

On the third day an older lady looked at me before walking off with the owner. They were out of my sight for a while before I heard the sound of the cash register. Then the owner walked up to me with a box in his hand. He picked me up and with surprise I could feel it. Why could I feel, hear or see anything in this plastic body? I was soon sunk into the darkness of the box. All light faded away as the top was closed. Claustrophobia soon set in. My mind panicked but there was literally nothing I could do. It’s hard to say how much time I spent in that box. Much of it has become blur of panic and sensory deprivation. My mind had floated away in that time.

Finally a light shone into my cage. It was blinding at first then someone pulled me into it. I saw the frowning face of a young girl. At least twelve or thirteen years old. She forced a smile on her face and turned to the old lady from the store sitting on a couch behind her. The words “Thank you, Grandma” forced their way out of her mouth. Confusion made way for the realization I was some kind of gift. I wanted to scream for help, but it was useless. Soon I was shoved back into the box, thankfully the top left open so I was no longer surrounded by darkness.

Sometime later I was removed from the box once and unceremoniously thrown on top of a rocking chair. I landed hard against the wooden chair. Filling my body with blunt pain. The room clearly belonged to the young girl. It was decorated with pink colors, stuffed animals, and all things girly. However despite the poor décor I saw an opportunity to try to communicate. Holding onto some slim hope that she notice me, or the me that was trapped in this body. Perhaps she did notice something, as time passed she stared at me. However my hopes died as she simply said “Creepy” and threw a pillow on top of me as she turned off the lights for the night.

Claustrophobia once again set in. Mixed with the frustration of all that has happened to me. Despite no longer having lungs I felt as if I was suffocating. I tried to will every bit of myself to move as my mind screamed. Then the chair rocked, just a little. Enough to knock the pillow off-balance and let it fall to the floor. I had somehow moved. Not by much but it was a small victory against my cursed fate. I could see the girl was already in bed sleeping. A small hope started to return that perhaps I would find a way out of this after all. I felt tired for the first time, and my mind drifted off to what I can only compare to sleep for the first time. I awoke some time later to see the girl standing over me. She had a scared look on her face. “Serves her right” I thought to myself. A woman’s voice yelled “Alice” and the girl turned away and left the room.

As time passed I understood that their were rules to my condition. I could move only with great willpower and only when no one was watching. It started with only an inch or so but grew the more I practiced. With this new hope I redoubled my efforts to try to seek help. It was one night that I managed to finally remove myself from the rocking chair. I had to drop with a thump to the floor. The impact hurt but I deemed it worth the pain. I sat facing the door to the room. Alice would notice me, she could help me if she know I was alive.

My plan worked, but held unforeseen consequences. Alice walked into the room and upon seeing me shrieked. A swift moment later her foot flow towards me kicking me across the room hard into a wall. The impact severed my plastic arm from my body. I was filled with mind numbing pain. I wanted to cry, scream, crumble in agony but once again I was unable to move. Alice moved towards me, I wanted to plead for her aid, for her mercy. She looked angry and I was scared. She picked me up, and took my severed arm in her other hand. “Enough of this,” she said as she walked out of the room with me.

We walked through parts of the house I was seeing for the first time. I saw no signs of her parents or the old lady I first met. We walked into the home’s backyard and I was set on a glass outdoor table. Alice moved towards a large metal bowl with wood sitting inside it. It was a fire pit. My heart sank. She picked up some matches from a nearby chair and lit them. With care she started a fire in the pit and watched it grow. “Always watching me,” she said in an angry tone. I tried to will myself away, I tried to scream “I don’t want to die!” but it was useless. Soon, as the fire grew, she approached me slowly like an executioner to the gallows. I was picked up and marched towards the fire.

I am afraid… really afraid. Please… old lady, man from the shop… anyone. I can feel the flames growing closer, their warmth growing with each inch forward… Please Alice…

Original Story: A Haunted Doll Story

Music by Myuu

The Accident

Last month, something very strange happened. My four friends and I went to a local haunted area for a scare and to kill an evening. It was about 9:00 p.m., so it was as dark as it was going to get for the night. We were arriving at the spot when it started to get extremely foggy to the point where you could hardly see in front of you, definitely the scene for a scary evening.

We started to slow down to park, and I saw a look of terror on my friend’s face, a look of terror that no one can fake. He then said “accelerate” in a tone that both intrigued and terrified me at the same time. Without really thinking, I just sped up about ten miles per hour faster than I had been going, just assuming that the spot we were in scared him a bit.

As we went farther up the road, the restlessness that he felt only proceeded to get worse. At this point I just wanted to get out of where we were, as his fear was beginning to rub off on me. As I continued to pick up speed, I saw what had scared him so bad. I had only seen it for a split second before I heard the crunches and felt the car go over a bump that no one would want to acknowledge, but was impossible to ignore.

I panicked in a way that I never had before, and stopped the car with such force that we all jerked forward into what was in front of us. Ignoring the pain with adrenaline and shock, we got out to inspect what my fear and carelessness had done, and after seeing what was there, I wish I had kept driving. The “man” was lying in a pool of blood, his chest flattened from one line of wheels, and his feet flattened from the other line. It was a sight that I knew would stick in my mind as well as my friends’ for as long as we shall all live.

After the disgust and horror we all witnessed, I convinced everyone to get back into the car. Once we all got into the car, the weather had completely cleared as if a tension in the area had been relieved. I had no choice but to take all of my friends home with the scars that I knew would haunt them for the rest of their lives. On the way home, no one spoke of the gore that we had just witnessed, and I had no problem with that.

I felt like there had been a presence following us, but I just brushed it off as shock and went on with my driving. I dropped off all of my friends, making them promise that the event would never be spoken of to anyone. I then made my way to my house to cleanse my car of the horror that it had endured. I hosed my tires and bumper off, then went into the house to take a shower.

I still had the feeling of a presence, which had begun to give me a very unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I knew that it was just guilt. Guilt is the mind’s form of karmic retribution; no one can completely get away with something. I went to bed once I got out of the shower, hoping that I could sleep this terrible night from existence. It took about 2 hours for me to finally fall asleep, but that would be the worst mistake of my life.

I woke up about 3 hours later to the worst sight of my life. At the foot of my bed, I saw the face of my accident. Sitting no more than 2 feet away from me was the personification of fear. His body was mangled. His chest was flattened along with the lower half of his legs. He sensed my being awake through my fear, and turned to look at me. He had no eyes, but the sockets showed all of the pain and anger that he felt. This was coupled, however, with a sick sense of amusement that he got from the control that he had over my sanity.

He lunged for me, getting within mere inches from my face. Even though he had no eyes, I still felt as though he could see right into my very light of existence. He then whispered in a tone of pure terror “Forever…” and crawled out of my room. I ran out of my house into my car and drove. I drove for six hours straight, well into the daytime. I don’t know what that creature was, but I do know that he will be forever with me, with me as a constant reminder of how fear and panic can ruin one’s life.

Gangster Vs. Train

 

This is something that happened a long, long time ago. I also had the story posted to another website that went down. I will need to transcribe it at some point. The story is that two bad 12 year old girls called each other’s mothers to say they were going to stay the night at the other’s house. We all know where that is going…they stayed out all night until one disgusting pig of a male, a Mexican gangster, did something horrendous. There was revenge though. This all happened next to the railroad tracks and he didn’t see that train coming.

The Morning Visitor | A Ghost Story

 

Story written by methodwriter85

I had this supervisor, Kate. One day, we had a discussion that turned into the unexplained, and she told me about something that happened when she was a teenager. She tries to debunk crazy things that have happened, but this is one she hasn’t been able to do. It was the summer after she graduated from high school, sometime in the second half of the 1990’s. She was 18 at the time. Her friend Billy was a few years older, but still lived with his mother in their house. This was in a small city in Western Maryland, and Billy’s house had just enough land that he could throw raging, day-to-night summer parties complete with bonfires. At the same time, they weren’t totally isolated, and random people from the surrounding neighborhoods would show up to his parties all the time.

One day, Billy met this skater kid named Nick at a park one morning, and being a social animal guy, Billy invited him to hang out with him at his house. Billy probably also took some pity on Nick, because Nick told him he was a runaway who was living at the park. They would basically play video games, go on rides, and party ’til late at night. Nick started showing up every day at Billy’s house, knocking on the door at 7 a.m. sharp and engaging him in the morning-til-night drinking. He was about 16, with dark eyes and dark spiky hair (remember, this was the late 90’s), and seemed fairly normal and everything except for a couple of things. The first was that he always wore the same thing- a plain t-shirt and a pair of camo-print cargo shorts. Despite the fact that he was sleeping at a park, his clothes always looked clean. The second is that he was never seen eating or going to the bathroom, despite the fact that Nick was drinking heavily with Billy. Finally, oddly enough, no one remembers actually feeling Nick’s skin- even my supervisor, who had sat next to him in a car during a road trip.

She hung out with Billy and Nick at Billy’s house two times, and each time she and her friend felt like something was very “off” with Nick, especially when he would give off this laugh that just sounded very evil and maniacal. He also seemed to get kookier and weirder when they went on a road trip and got further away from Billy’s city. Nick would also never shut up about his father’s gun collection.

Finally, Billy’s hospitality reached its limits- after two weeks of waking Billy up at 7 a.m. to go party, Billy snapped at Nick at his front door. He said, “Look, Nick, you’ve been coming here every morning for two weeks. You’re waking up my mother, who’s trying to sleep. You really need to go now. Please just come back later.” Then he slammed the door shut. Nick never showed up again.

Billy came to Katie, a little bit later, with a newspaper article. It was about Nick, who had apparently killed himself. Nick had escaped from the mental asylum his parents had put him in that was located in Billy’s town, got to his father’s house and shot himself with his father’s gun.

Billy was originally upset because he felt like he must’ve put Nick over-the-edge when he kicked him out, until he checked the dates.

Nick had committed suicide on July 10th, two weeks before they had met.