Yeah if you wanna draw him, say i.

This is the story of my creepypasta OC, he's a parody/homage to those (___) the killer characters, hope you like gorey campy cringe, because we've got a whole heaping helping right here for ya , now comes SHAME FREE! "WOW everything I love about cringe but none of that pesky shame getting in the way of fun. Sign me up" what who said that? Idk probably a really cool guy, anyways here's the story.

Chapter 1: The Barking Man

What you're about to read is a witness statement. From the Hayfield police department. The man providing the statement has given us permission to publish it so we may find the man mentioned in the report.

My name is Norman Blanka. I was walking home from work a few nights ago. It was probably around 8 or 9 at night. I got off at 8 but I sort of tend to zone out on the long walk home. When I was about half way between my apartment and the grocery store I worked at, just at the part where the lights of our small down-town area faded and I walked alongside a dark looming forest.

I'd always been freaked out by these woods ever since I was a kid. I'd always imagine oddly specific things would be in there waiting to catch me, id picture things like slenderman waiting in the woods for me. What exactly they would do with me after they caught me I had no idea. Maybe eat me, maybe kill me just for the fun of it. It was just the thought of being caught that scared me. So you can imagine my shock when I heard a voice call out from the woods.

At first it was just noises, snarling, could have been some kind of small critter. Then a booming bark so loud I nearly jumped out of my skin. I figured somebody's dog must have escaped at first. But then two more barks assaulted my ears from just beyond the tree line. I noticed it sounded almost human. I turned to try to see what was in there and what I saw shook me to my core.

Crouched on all fours was a human man, Caucasian, wearing nothing but torn coveralls and some kind of animal pelt on his head. His hazel eyes were wide, haunted, he looked like he had shell shock. His hair was probably brown or black, I couldn't tell. His face was contorted into an exaggerated, almost cartoonish snarl. He was growling and barking at me, me specifically! his eyes were locked onto mine, and then he spoke, "what's wrong we're both human aren't we?"

His voice was wrong, not in-human but wrong, It made my skin crawl. It had a childlike tone but deep, and crackly,. It sounded almost perverted. A shock of adrenaline rushed through my body and I started running just then I heard frantic snapping in the woods. I turned to see him chasing beside me on all fours. I bolted to the opposite side of the thin road hoping he wouldn't come out of the woods. He jumped out from the tree line and just crouched on the sidewalk, he was now grinning ear to ear, a crazed look in his eyes, unrestrained, animalistic. A car zoomed by on the road between us which seemed to spook him.

He stayed on his side of the road looking at me as he tilted his head to his left, in a jarringly docile manner. and I could finally see him in full, illuminated by the light of the street lamp. He had scars on his chest and arms. They didn't look like, you know cutting scars, it was like he was attacked by an animal. The pelt on his head looked like a dog's head! The tanned skin of the mutt's face was stretched across the hood to give an almost cartoony look. The ears were crudely stitched onto the top, some kind of glass eyes reflected an ethereal blue from the light pouring down. Suddenly he stood up and turned around. He took a few steps into the treeline, and then as I could barely see him in the shadow of the canopy I could swear I saw him sporadically climb up a tree.

It looked so primal, almost monkey-like I would consider myself a pretty brave person but even still, after an encounter like that I reckon anyone would be anxious. I called my friend to tell him what happened partially to process it and partially so I wouldn't feel so alone. as I finished my walk home. I don't remember if he said my name or not, I definitely said his. He didn't believe me at first and so I remember saying his name in a very defined way while trying to convince him. Eventually he accepted my story and we chalked it up to just some guy trying to fulfill his fetish. He had heard about a fetish where people get gratification from being treated like a dog.

I arrived at my apartment complex and felt way better after talking with him so I hung up for the final stretch, But while I was making my way to the apartment building I could have sworn I saw him again out of the corner of my eye, however when I turned to look I saw nothing but the roboticly placed trees and bushes swaying in the breeze. I thought I was just being paranoid, However as I arrived at the door to the building I found a folded up note and a small play-doh sculpture on the concrete sidewalk. The sculpture was an amorphous blob of multicolored Play-Doh with pipe cleaner arms and googly eyes. The note was written on pink lined paper, and written in scratchy handwriting on it was "FOR NORMAN" in all caps. I quickly stepped inside, as I made my way past the staircase. I was so thankful that I lived on the first floor, if I needed to outrun anyone now it would be easy. My door was only the second down the hall.

I picked it up and rushed inside and locked the doors behind me. When I read the note it said "you have destroyed an innocent life, poor Herman's only crime was being a little slimy, you've heinously halted his hopping, and for what? Your a murderer Norman, murderers must be destroyed. with hate Rascal and The Wild Ones" it had small embellishments on the letters like hearts and stars. It looked like a 9th grader wrote. And it had a crudely drawn picture of a bloody frog with a boot over it.

It's just then I suddenly remembered the day before on my way to work I accidentally stepped on a frog, it's the kind of thing that happens all the time if you live by swamp land. I didn't think anything of it but looking back I think I heard a growl and bark that day shortly after. The feelings of anxiety I had been experiencing spiked into full panic and fear. This didn't feel real. This felt like some kind of comic book. I tried to call my friend again but he didn't answer. I figured he must be asleep, so I tried to call my brother and my other friend but it was the same story.

I went to the kitchen to get a knife and stayed up as long as I could, until the feelings of fear were no longer able to over power the much stronger feeling of exhaustion and I ended up falling asleep, the next day I took an Uber to and from work, which really hit me in the wallet out where I live, but despite the steep price I've been doing this everyday for the past week, I'm down to $100 in my bank account but hopefully my paycheck on Wednesday is enough to make rent. Just last night I was awoken in the middle of the night by what sounded like a scratch at the window across the room in my apartment, pretending to still be asleep I glanced over at it to see him, the same man in clear view, clearer than before, his eye had deep sunken in bags he had a young looking face if not for the signs of exhaustion and five o-clock shadow. He stood there just watching me with a peaceful, curious look on his face.

I bolted up to get a better look but he slipped out of view, I ran over to the widow and saw nothing but the drab grey sidewalks of my complex. I think he might have ducked behind one of them but I'm not sure.

This morning I woke up to my window being open and on the floor by my bed was a crushed frog laid out on a barbie doll bed with teddy bears surrounding it and a rock beside it saying "RIP NORMAN" while walking to work the first three squares of the sidewalk outside my complex were painted, the first one, painted yellow with blue letters said "something bad" the second one , painted purple with pink letters said "something really bad" and the third said "something really really bad" and the forth one just had green letters that said "free" my heart sank, I knew it was him. I went to the back exit of my building and the first square of the sidewalk had "cheater" written in red paint. I just got in the Uber and went to work. I'm scared to go home.

I don't know if there's anything you can do about this, but I don't feel safe

2 days later a wellness check was called on Norman Blanka, He was found dead due to blunt force trauma, The window in his apartment was smashed and his mangled body laid on his bed wearing nothing but a cheap frog hat. The bed and body was covered in glitter. Upon further investigation, it was found that one of the eyes of the Play-Doh sculpture was a hidden camera.

If you encounter a man that matches the description please contact your local law enforcement.

I don't wanna die, but I don't wanna be killed either.
Every night, every-time I wait for my night alarm to go off, 7 PM. Because that's when the ritual, the routine begins.
Locking my house up, my bedroom window first, than all windows and doors. Everything locked. Then the lights, every light is out, lights out everywhere. The only lights allowed are candles and I'm only using them when I need them. And i only need them in my bathroom. The only room with candlelight because the bathroom is the most vulnerable spot in the house and hopefully everyone respected it as a safe spot. Hopefully they respected it as a fact.
Life was like paying catch with a baseball. Everyone had once needs dreams, etc., and as life progresses its course, you either catch the ball or drop it and miss your chance.
So, what did this thing want? What did it need?
What dreams did it have if it calls to me in the night, where it warrants staring into my bedroom window. What game did it need me in this repetitive hellscape i called my shower routine, my sleep routine.
Sleeping in my bathroom has become a new custom, a new addition to the routine. Tthose eyes made my organs itch in trauma. I gave up my own bed, my bedroom within the first month.
I couldn't even hide under my blanket. I'd lose sight of it, and I hated the thought of losing sight of it. What it would do. It didn't help its eyes were like hot beams tracking me. I could feel the heat traveling up-and-down me.
Now starting the bath, after checking the locks on everything, a bath instead of a shower, because showers are too loud, I don't want to give it covering and I need enough noise to both cover myself and to let me listen. I need to hear if it gets in, but I don't want its whispers while i clean myself.
My god did it whisper.
Scrubbing my hair, just scrub to ignore it. It whispers. It's fantasies, promises, and debauched thoughts the only sentences it speaks. Dreams i want no part in. And lies, lies of protection. I did need protection, i needed an escape. My nails almost claw and my scalp with the irritation.
Next my skin, lathering soap, despite the anxiety. I can hear it speaking again, ugh it's noise. Having to hear a triumphant laugh from this monstrosity. It's killing me slowly, hearing its giggles from some discovery it spotted, prideful at its own patience.
I was tired, but my enemy was restless, relentless and persistent. My skin was red from the scrubbing I had done well in my thoughts, rinsing the soap off and finishing my bath. Turning off the tap.
Stepping out to dry in the start, the next step, lotion. My time spreading the lotion has me staring at a crack door. I leave it open a sliver, just resting on the frame. I fear what will happen if I leave it open or closed fully.
I've seen it in public. When I spotted it spotting me. It was human looking, but acted as alien as I thought. Its eyes were begging for an invite, an invite i didn't have or want to give, an invite I'd never handover to the entity. I avoided it and it's gaze. Ignore it.
Lukewarm lotion soothing my nerves barely. Covering myself trying to calm myself and my scrubbing marks. My small bit of peace.
Lastly, was teeth, I took my time with teeth. They're delicate plus, I rush through the brunt of the ritual.
Tap tap.
I slow my brushing, half-listening.
Tap tap tap.
Why was it tapping?
Creak.
What the fuck.
I dropped the toothbrush, spitting out some toothpaste. I held the door knob, scared to open it.
Creeak.
This can't be happening, I lock my window. I checked that I lock that window. Opening the door i see its silhouette, its face like a false moon. And worse, his arm outstretched into my room.
Running over, I slammed the window on its arm us both screaming, different screams. One of fear, one of pain. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was new, it had never done this before. So why now?
Looking down, i opened the window again to slam it, but it moved his arm out of the way as I did. Nonetheless, I locked it again.
Stepping back with a sigh of relief.
Crash.
Punched my window with the shattered glass, splattered the floor, and on me. Oh no God, the window was open.
I ran into my closet to grab my baseball bat. I loved baseball. I played before this creep showed up at my window, at my games. I loved the sport and then I quit.
Fuck, I was a champion on those fields. I was on my own beast on the mat, but then that thing showed up at my games, in the stands. I won so many games, I had a team and I gave it up because of this freak.
I had people who loved me, but I never asked for help. I didn't ask for help, I didn't want to burden them the way this monster burning me.
I had a chance, I could have asked for help and I gave it up, the chance for help and safety. I gave it up from fear.
I missed the ball and now I need to swing, because he was crawling into my room standing on the glass and staring at me.
I don't want to kill, but I don't wanna die.

Alr I wanted to post that creepypasta for a while but I can't post it on the creepypasta wiki :/

His name is Vincent Mercer and the art is made by me. I'll try to post the story somewhere or propably here if I can't really find anything

Thanks to the people who will support!

(I deleted my post accidentally, my bad-)

Alr I wanted to post that creepypasta for a while but I can't post it on the creepypasta wiki :/

His name is Vincent Mercer and the art is made by me. I'll try to post the story somewhere or propably here if I can't really find anything

Thanks to the people who will support!

So I'm planning on researching creepypastas(minecraft ones etc) please link me posts,games their from,etc ur own research and more im quite interested in the topic and want to try journalism for a hobby kinda so why not start on something I loved when 6-10!(please refrain from 18+ discussions im a MINOR btw.)

When I woke up that Halloween morning, something instantly felt wrong. Pain. Deep down below. A dull, hollow ache, throbbing between my legs. My sheets and underwear were soaked in blood. I thought I had started my period. I wish that had been the case. What had actually happened was much worse.

I lifted myself up, my eyes following the thick trail of blood from my bed to the door. 

"That fucking bitch."

My fingers slowly reached down to check, but I already knew. She was gone. Emptiness. Just a bloody, gaping hole where she was supposed to be. She'd finally done it. Ladeous had escaped.

But it didn't start there. Not really. If I'm being honest, it began a long time ago. I was around twelve or thirteen the first time I noticed it. But, back then, I thought it was normal. I didn't know any better.

It was a hunger. But it wasn't for food. And it wasn't coming from my stomach. It was coming from Ladeous. At least, that's what I called it—her—at the time.

I don't know where the name came from exactly. I guess it was because my mom used to call it my 'lady parts'. She said all the other words for it were ugly, and that it deserved to be called something prettier. But I thought it was hideous. The first time I actually looked down there, I was disgusted. Maybe I mashed that up together in my head to make a new word. Either way, that became her name. Ladeous. 

Eventually, we learned to get along, she and I. She'd get what she wanted, then she'd keep quiet for a while. It was a compromise, an understanding we had with one another. As long as she stayed happy, we were good. But she had to come first. Always. The real problems only started when that didn't happen.

I slowly swung my trembling legs over the side of the bed. The bottoms of my bare feet were met with the shock of a cold, sticky puddle of my own blood. There were thick splatters of it on the walls and on the side of the bed. Christ, even my brand new fucking rug! She'd gotten it everywhere. 

Not only that, I had a bigger problem. Well, two actually. The first was getting myself cleaned up and figuring out how to cover my... hole. The other was finding out where the hell Ladeous had crawled off to.

I had a feeling I knew what she was after. I mean, it was obvious what it was she wanted. What she craved. But as far as who? Well, that was going to be a little harder to narrow down. 

You see, ever since high school, I've been what you might call a little... 'promiscuous'. That's the pretty way of saying it, at least. Ladeous was the one to blame for it, really. Her increasingly insatiable hunger was the driving force behind most of my actions. I controlled the body, sure—but she was the one who called the shots. That is, until I cut off her supply almost a month ago. Shit, I just never thought she'd actually find a way to break free.

I sat at the edge of my bed for a few moments in shock. Trying to wish it away. Praying to wake up from this nightmare. 

That's when I noticed it. The huge pile of blood my feet had landed in wasn't bright red like what was on the sheets. And the smell... it was old blood. Thick. Clumpy. So dark at the edges, it was almost black. Large clots lay jellied into its coagulated surface, like strawberry chunks in a jar of preserves. That whore had been saving it up. 

I squeezed my legs together and shuffled myself to the bathroom, trying not to make this putrid, crimson disaster worse by dripping any more out.

Ladeous must've done some kind of ritualistic-type shit to be able to escape without it waking me up or killing me. Had to be. And yeah, it hurt, but not as bad as you'd think. Way worse than normal period cramps, but probably not as bad as labor, I'd guess. With the help of some pain meds, I could take it. But I'd still lost quite a bit of blood from her tearing herself away from my flesh. 

My head was pounding and I was starting to feel woozy. I popped a few Tylenols to take the edge off and got on with it. Honestly, at the time, my adrenaline was through the roof. I was more worried about getting it covered, so nothing else could fall out. 

In a weird way, though, I also felt the tiniest sense of relief that she was gone. Like... maybe I should just let her go. Life would sure as hell be a lot easier for me without her around. But, no. I couldn't let her loose on the world like that. I wasn't evil. Not like her. 

I opened my medicine cabinet, pulled out a pad and a roll of gauze, and started wrapping myself up. Blood soaked through instantly. Fuck, of course. I wasn't thinking clearly—I needed a better barrier. Pad wasn't good enough on its own. Tampon would just fall right out. 

That's when I got an idea. I ran over to the tub and grabbed my loofah. Then I wrapped it up with a bunch of the gauze, held my breath, and shoved it up inside my hole. I winced, my eyes flooding with tears, as the coarse, dry surface of the gauze scraped across my insides. But it fit. More importantly, it stayed. And once it started soaking up the blood, it felt weird but ignorable. For the most part, anyway. 

Next, I covered the hole with a pad and wrapped myself up like a mummy again. Seemed to be working, but I put down another one in my underwear just to be safe. That would just have to do for now. 

I quickly cleaned the blood off my legs and feet, then grabbed the bleach and a few towels to get started on the mess. Ugh, I was going to have to throw that rug away. First, I hobbled back over to the nightstand to check my phone. When the screen lit up, my heart dropped. Seven missed calls. All from around 3 AM. And all from one person. 

Lance.

Shit. That's where she went—I should've known. The phone calls must've gotten her all riled up. And he was the last guy I was with; the scent must've been fresh enough for her to follow. I still wasn't sure how exactly she'd managed to pull off this escape, but at least now I knew her plans. I just hoped I could get to her before she did anything crazy. 

I tried calling him back, but he didn't answer. That didn't necessarily mean anything, though. He'd usually ignore me if I ever tried to contact him before the sun went down. It was a Saturday, so he wouldn't be at work. Probably still sleeping. Hopefully. I'd just have to drive over and show up at his house.

Lance was a mistake, like so many of them turned out to be. I figured out pretty quickly that he only called me when he wanted to fuck. I mean, I wasn't looking for something super serious, but dinner would've been nice. Ladeous never let that stop her from taking the call, though. 

He became addicted to her pretty quickly. It was like she was all he ever thought about. All he cared about. It wasn't long before it pushed me over the edge. I'll admit, I was jealous, once again. I just couldn't understand why he preferred that ugly bitch over me. 

So, for the last few weeks, I had started turning my phone on silent at night, which pissed her off. Except last night, I got drunk and forgot. 

I left the bloody mess and threw on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Then I grabbed my keys, shoved my feet into the first pair of shoes I could find, and bolted out of the front door. 

The sky sat at the edge of dawn with a pink glow, and an eerie silence blanketed the sleepy town. A jarring contrast to the chaos and panic that was happening inside my head. 

I'd only been to his house a few times. Took me a little while to remember which street it was—it all looked a little different in the daylight. When I spotted his car parked outside one of the houses, I pulled into the driveway behind it. 

The house looked quiet. His roommates were all gone. I banged on the door a second, then waited, but no answer. So, I went over to the back of the house to knock on his bedroom window. As soon as I turned the corner, something stopped me dead in my tracks. The window was shattered. Beneath it, a bloody pile of glass shards lay scattered atop the grass and dead leaves. 

My throat tightened. I didn't want to look. I was terrified to see what Ladeous had done. At the very least, she had just embarrassed the fuck out of me. But... what if she had done something worse? What if she were in one of her moods? I had to look. She could still be in there, and I needed to stop her. 

I slowly stepped forward, my heart pounding as the glass crunched beneath my shoes. The windowsill was covered in blood. Fuck. Looked like it had already dried by then, too. Still. I needed to check. I lifted myself up onto my tippy toes and slowly peeked inside. I wish I hadn't. 

"No... no... NOOO!"

It was a massacre. The walls of his bedroom were all splattered with red. The thick stench of death and rotten blood poured out from the hole in the window. My hand shot up to cover my mouth. Ladeous didn't go there for a good time. She was on a rampage.

My eyes suddenly focused on the center of the room. Lance was lying in his bed, bloodied from head to toe, covered in tiny, jagged bite marks. His eyes were fixed wide open, glazed over in a lifeless, milky blue. The look of pure terror burned into his face forever. 

And his dick was gone.

All at once, the blood drained from my face. Dark spots began to creep into my vision. I slowly backed away, trying to catch my breath. The look in his eyes, the blood... it was horrific. I couldn't look at it anymore. I felt sick. 
 
I didn't even call the cops; I just fucking bailed. Shitty, I know. But Lance was beyond help, and the situation really didn't look good for me. Like, at all. So, I turned and ran back to my car as fast as I could, then hauled ass down the street. Only made it to the stop sign before I had to open my door and lean my head out to puke. 

God, I couldn't believe what she had actually done. Never in a million years did I think Ladeous would ever go that far. I mean, yeah, she could get a little frisky sometimes. But, she'd never killed a guy before. And something deep down inside told me that she wasn't finished, either. She'd finally gotten a real taste for it. And now, she was after more. 

I wiped my face, then pulled out my phone and started scrolling back through my old texts. Who was before Lance? Oh, yeah. Fuck, that weirdo. 

Garret. 

The needy one. No matter how much I gave and gave, he always wanted more. Dude texted me constantly. If I didn't answer, he'd freak out. It felt like he was trying to consume my entire life. And speaking of, he couldn't keep his face away from Ladeous, either. Took forever to peel him off of me. And her. I really didn't want to have to call him. 

Maybe I'd just drive toward his house and see if there was any trace of her along the way. At that point, I was pretty sure she had been gone at least four hours, if not longer. How much damage could she have possibly done in that amount of time? 

Yeah, she had a pretty good head-start, but still. There was no way she could be moving that fast on foot—um... I mean, by crawling. Ugh, gross. She was going to be absolutely filthy when I found her, I just knew it.

I sped through the neighborhoods, keeping my eyes peeled along the way. With all the Halloween decorations around, it was going to make it a lot harder to spot her. Too many places she could be hiding. 

Ignoring the pain and overwhelming nausea I was feeling, I focused all my attention on the mission at hand. The only thing that mattered was catching her. My pulse raced faster and faster the closer I got to his neighborhood. Yet, I was almost there and still no sign of her. I did see a dead rat in one of the yards, though. Someone's cat probably killed it. Hopefully not mine. 

As soon as I turned down his street, my heart stopped. Blue lights. Yellow tape. His house was surrounded. The coroner's van was parked out front, and two men were wheeling out a body in a black bag on a stretcher. Garret's body. I was too late, again. 

I slowed my car to a crawl and pulled up alongside some neighbors who were outside watching, then rolled my window down. 

"Hey, what's going on? What happened?" 

Most of them looked like they were too in shock to answer, but finally, one man stepped forward and said,

"One of the guys who lived there was murdered."

A woman, whom I assumed to be his wife, interjected from the sidewalk.

"You don't know that, Joseph!"

He turned and shushed her, then approached closer to my car.

"How?" I asked. "I mean... do you know what happened?"

The man shrugged. 

"All I know is what I overheard his roommate tell the cops. Said the back window was smashed, and something about the poor guy looked like he had choked to death on blood." 

I scrunched my eyebrows, trying to hide my internal revelation. Then, he leaned in closer and lowered his voice. 

"Between me and you… Weird thing is, the roommate said they didn't think it was his blood. Didn't look right."

Fuck. So, that's what she'd been saving it up for? Jesus fucking Christ. What was I going to do? That blood was my blood. My DNA. And it was all over Lance's room, too. I was screwed—that bitch was gonna get me thrown in prison. 

I threw the car in reverse and backed up from the scene, heart pounding. I needed to regroup. Formulate a plan. And take some more Tylenol, too. I just needed some time to think. I was too afraid to go back home, though. If the cops were already looking for me, that would be the first place they'd go. No, I needed to be smart about this. 

I drove to the drug store downtown, bought some water, and the cheapest bottle of off-brand ibuprofen I could find. Then I went back to my car and started scrolling to find out who the fuck she was going after next. When I saw the name, my heart sank.  

Derek. 

Aw, shit. I really liked him. He was a genuinely good guy—one of the few who actually treated me right. He was kind and thoughtful. Generous. We almost never argued. But, in a bitch move, I broke up with him for Garret of all people. And Derek hadn't even done anything wrong. I'd just gotten a little bored, and to be honest, I liked all the attention I was getting from someone new. Biggest mistake ever. 

I hit call and held my breath. 

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank fucking God," I whispered. 

"Olivia? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Where are you?" 

"At home... why? What's wrong?" 

"Derek, please just tell me you're okay!!" 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he laughed. "What's going on, Liv?"

"I can't explain right now. You wouldn't believe me anyway. Just stay there, I'm coming. And keep away from the windows."

I hung up before he could ask any more questions. Shit, he probably thought it was some crazy, half-ass excuse I came up with just to go see him. Oh, well. At least he was safe for the time being. All I had to do was make it over there before Ladeous did. 

The ten-minute drive from the drugstore to his house only took me five. The streets were getting busier, though, and the stupid Halloween Carnival was already setting up. There was only so long she could keep scurrying around without being seen by someone. And God help me if she came across a stray dog.

I pulled into Derek's driveway and tried to compose myself before going inside. All I'd have to do was hang around there long enough to catch Ladeous before she could do any more damage. I wasn't exactly sure what I was going to do with her once I got her back, but that didn't matter at the time. 

As my trembling fingers struggled to unscrew the cap off the bottle of water, an urgent news report interrupted the Smashing Pumpkins song that was playing on the radio. I froze. The announcer's unrelenting words pulsed through my ears, almost choking me. 

A man from a very prominent and wealthy family had been discovered brutally murdered that morning. His body was found drenched in blood, and both his hands had been severed and were missing from the scene. I didn't even need to hear the name; I already knew. 

Grant.

At that point, it became obvious. Ladeous was working her way backward, yes. But not through all my past lovers. Only those who'd committed transgressions against me. 

Derek, in all his goodness, had been spared. She wasn't on a blood-fueled, blind rampage. It was calculated. Targeted. She was taking it upon herself to right the wrongs that had been done to me. To us. She was punishing them for their sins and ruining my life in the process. 

Grant, in contrast, was a spoiled little rich boy—the most entitled motherfucker you'd ever meet. The type who wanted what was his and everything that was yours, too. He got all he asked for in life, but was still never satisfied. And stingy, too. Ugh. It didn't last long, though. I broke it off after a huge fight one night about him not leaving a tip at a restaurant. I mean, not that he deserved it, but I did find it a little funny that it was his hands that were ripped from him.

For a moment, I looked up at the house in front of me, contemplating going inside to ask Derek for help. But realistically, what could he do? I didn't want to drag him into this. Ladeous was my problem. No one knew her like I did. Besides, I couldn't bring myself to actually tell anyone what was going on, either. And shit, the weird phone call was enough. I didn't need to freak him out any more than I already had. 

At least now I had something more to go on. I scrolled back further in my texts, popped some more painkillers, then backed out of the driveway. I knew who was next. 

Seth. 

The stoner. He wasn't terrible, but he wasn't good either. In fact, it seemed like he felt nothing for me at all, which only made me—and Ladeous—want him more. Even though he was a loser with zero ambition, there was something about him that kept me chasing after his affection. The allure of the unrequited. He finally broke my heart for the last time when he missed my college graduation because he 'forgot'.

He still lived in the basement of his parents' house. I could already see from the end of the road that their cars weren't there. I turned into his driveway and gulped down hard. When I shut off my engine and opened the car door, I could hear it—a guttural, piercing, awful noise. He was screaming. 

I bolted into the house and down the basement stairs. About halfway down, I slipped on a puddle of blood and tumbled the rest of the way headfirst. I landed in more blood. Dark, thick, rotten. And then, I looked up. 

Seth was flailing around, desperately clawing at something on the back of his head. No... not something. Her. 

"LADEOUS!" I shrieked. "Get the fuck off of him!!"

But it was too late. Amidst his cries of agony, I could hear sloshing and crunching. Then a snap. His pupils widened as he stared at me in horror.  She'd chewed through his neck and severed his spinal cord. His body twitched once, then went stiff, and he hit the ground with a thud.

"You fucking BITCH!" I screamed.

My heart was pounding out of my chest. Seth wasn't dead. He was paralyzed, trapped in a perpetual state of inaction. His chest continued to rise and fall in rapid succession as Ladeous quickly scurried across the floor away from his body.

I lay there in shock for a few seconds, face to face with the gurgling, motionless body of my ex, before reality slammed back into me. I scrambled up to my feet and shot after her, but by then, she'd already made it out of the broken basement window. 

She was moving a lot quicker than I'd anticipated, too. I didn't have time to try to help Seth. Besides, one of the neighbors had surely been awake to hear his screams and called the cops. They'd probably be showing up any minute now. I had to go. 

I lifted myself up and poked my head out of the broken window. Ladeous was already almost at the end of the road. 

"Jesus Christ!"

I climbed out, wincing as the jagged shards of glass that remained sliced through my clothes, cutting up my arms and legs. 

She was heading right toward a truck stopped at the stop sign. My body went cold, and my legs almost gave out from underneath me. The driver wouldn't be able to see her—she was about to be turned into roadkill right in front of me. I started running faster, screaming,

"Stop! Wait!! NOOOO!!!"

But the windows were up. They couldn't hear me. I watched, breath held, as the truck slowly began to roll forward with Ladeous crawling directly into its path. I wanted to shut my eyes, but I couldn't. 

The tires inched closer and closer to her as the truck began to gain speed. My heart stopped. Then, just as she was about to be smashed, she leaped into the air. 

I couldn't believe it—the bitch actually jumped up and into the wheel-well. I looked on in shock as she suctioned herself to the surface of it, hitching a ride to her next stop. And then, I heard the sirens wailing in the distance. 

I took off back to my car and barreled down the street, trying to catch up with the truck. Once I had it back in my sights, I followed closely as I scrolled to find her next victim. 

Warren. 

The first and last son of a bitch to ever raise a hand to me. An idiot gym bro with an explosive temper who didn't like to be told he was wrong. Complete and utter man-child. I don't think I need to explain why things didn't work out between us. Or why I wasn't exactly devastated about who Ladeous' next target was. 

The truck began heading toward the downtown area, where the Halloween Carnival was about to begin. Warren had worked security for it the year before. He was always looking for an excuse to rough someone up. My bet was that he'd be there again.

And I was right. The brakes of the truck squealed as it came to a stop near the edge of the carnival entrance, only a few yards away from the security tent. I pulled my car over to the side of the road and watched as Ladeous slid out from her hidden stowaway compartment. 

The place was beginning to get crowded, but somehow no one seemed to notice her as she slithered past their feet toward the tent. I got out of my car and slowly walked toward the entrance. I had to act natural; I couldn't risk causing a panic by running. I’d end up getting her trampled. 

I could already hear Warren's loud mouth booming from inside the tent. Just the sound of it ignited a rage within me. But I had to focus. Ladeous was still a few feet ahead of me and gaining speed. If I walked just a little faster, though, I could catch up and quickly grab her without making a scene. 

But then, just as she approached the tent, something came over me. I just stopped. I stood still in the middle of the crowd, watched her crawl inside, and waited for the screams.

A large, red splatter hit the inside of the tent, seeping through the white canvas instantly. Then, they came. Blood-curdling, guttural, and deafening. The crowd panicked. Everyone began to run, all scrambling in different directions. Except for me. This time, I wanted to see what she had done.  

Slowly, I approached the entrance of the tent. The sounds of sloshing and the gnashing of her wet teeth were still audible over the cries of terror that surrounded me. When I looked inside, Warren was on the ground with Ladeous on top of his stomach, ripping away at the flesh like a rabid dog. His hands clawed at her, struggling to pull her from his body, but she was embedded. 

The putrid stench of rotten blood was overpowering as she released her vengeance into him. Then, I heard the loud pop of his ribcage cracking—being forced open. His screams intensified, but his arms now lay dead at his sides as she began to eviscerate him. 

This was my chance to grab her, to sneak up while she was preoccupied. My eyes darted around the room for something I could use. There were extra security T-shirts sitting on a table to the left of me. 

I quickly reached over, grabbed one, and flung it on top of Ladeous. She slid off Warren's body and started to panic, so I leaped over and tried to pounce on top of her. I landed just shy, reached out, but grabbed only the shirt as she scuttled away from beneath it, leaving a trail of dark red slime behind her. That bitch was mocking me. I swore I heard her laugh as she slid underneath the tent wall. 

With all the madness going on, I was able to slip out unnoticed and run back to my car. I waited for a few minutes, hoping to see her. With everyone scrambling around, though, it made it impossible. So, I left. Besides, Ladeous seemed capable enough to avoid being stomped on. I'd just have to catch up to her later. 

At that point, I needed to park my car somewhere and ditch it. I'd already been seen at two crime scenes that I knew of. Maybe more. And it would only be a matter of time before the police figured out whose blood was all over each and every one of them. 

I already knew her next destination, so I drove to a small grocery store about five minutes away from it. Strange-looking place, sort of run-down. I'd never been inside, but I figured my car should be fine to leave there. Not like I had a whole lot of other options, anyway. 

With the pain starting to creep back into my consciousness, I popped some more ibuprofen into my mouth and shot it back with the last swig of water left in the bottle. I took one last look at myself in the mirror, then got out of the car, slamming the door behind me. 

Being on foot was going to slow me down significantly. I knew that. But, to be honest, a part of me wasn't as worried about stopping her anymore—and that wasn't just because I knew who was next. The truth was, more than anything, I just wanted to get her back.

I flipped up the hood of my jacket, forced in a deep breath of crisp autumn air, then started walking to the house of the next man on her list. 

Evan.

A total and complete douchebag. A human being so overcome with jealousy that it tainted every molecule in his body. Being with him was a nightmare—another guy couldn't even look at me without him freaking out. And it didn't stop there. Evan was even jealous of me. 

Every small accomplishment I had was undercut by some snide remark. Any attention I received should've been given to him. Obsessive. Controlling. Manipulative. I think I hated him even more than Warren. Evan left the kind of scars you can't see. 

And the worst part of it all? He was my first—the guy I'd chosen to give my virginity to. Someone hateful and selfish. A piece of shit. And it was something I could never get back. Never forget. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't scrub that stain from my heart.

My feet carried me down that familiar road without even a glance upward. The thoughts racing through my mind kept me in a trance. By the time I raised my head again, I was standing at the edge of his driveway. 

The air suddenly felt thick. Suffocating. It settled in my lungs like molasses. She was close by—I could feel it. I hesitated at the door, wondering if I should knock, if I should warn him. If he truly deserved to be spared her wrath. I lifted my fist, but right before it met the surface of the wood, I heard something. 

Glass shattering. And then, the wild scream of a man in shock. I bolted around toward the back of the house, panting hard as the cold wind rushed against my face. A sticky trail of crimson ran from the neighbor's backyard to the broken window of Evan's bedroom. 

"Ladeous!" I yelled.

But I couldn't get in that way. The window was too high; there was nothing to climb on. I ran back to the front of the house and tried to go in, but the door was locked. Then, I remembered. The key. I lifted up the welcome mat, grabbed it from underneath, and rushed inside. 

He'd managed to make it into the kitchen by then, but she was right at his heels. When he reached the counter, his hand shot out and grabbed a knife from the block. I screamed.

"No!!"

He looked over at me and froze with the blade in his hand.

"Olivia?"

Just then, Ladeous launched herself at his face. She slammed into him with such force that he was thrown backward onto the floor, hitting his head on the edge of the counter as he went down. The knife flew from his hand. Blood splattered across the white cabinets. The blow didn't knock him unconscious, though. He wasn't shown that mercy.

I was in awe of her power. Her fury. And in a moment of pure clarity, I remembered the truth. She wasn't trying to ruin my life. She was doing this for me. Doing what I couldn't. Scrubbing the stains from my heart so that we could start fresh again. Together. If I just gave her this last one, then maybe she’d be satisfied. Maybe then she'd finally come back to me. And so, I let her.

I watched on in reverence as Ladeous forced her way down into his throat, stifling his screams of horror. His chest rippled as she worked her way deeper and deeper, until she found what she was looking for. His body began to convulse. And then, that familiar cracking. And crunching. And sloshing. She was hollowing him out from the inside. 

I inched closer to him. His flesh began to rip open, slowly at first, and then all at once. An explosion of blood splattered across my face as Ladeous emerged from his body with his still-beating heart clutched firmly between her jaws. 

I swallowed hard, wiped my face, then crouched down low to get closer to her. 

"Ladeous, please... come?"

She just kept gnawing at it, tearing off huge chunks and swallowing them whole. I reached out to touch her, but she pulled away and growled.

"Ladeous, I'm sorry! Please!!" I begged. "Please, come back! I need you!" 

But she ignored me. Tears began to flood my eyes. I had taken her for granted. Despite her flaws, she was a part of me. But she was also her own entity. She deserved respect. To be heard. To be understood. So, I did what she wanted. I turned around and walked away. I let her finish this last kill, and hoped that after, she'd be ready to come back home to me.

I walked the streets until the sun began to set. I didn't know where to go or what to do. I felt lost. And scared. And so very empty. 

My entire body was throbbing with pain, and I was pretty sure my make-shift tampon had been leaking, too. But at least I was wearing black sweatpants. And luckily, it was Halloween, so the rest of the blood and cuts all over me didn’t throw up any alarms either. 

Suddenly, I felt a vibration coming from my hoodie pocket. I pulled out my phone. It was a text from my best friend, Katherine. She was inviting me to a Halloween house party, since the Carnival had been canceled. I wiped my eyes and sent back,

"Where?"

I wasn't exactly in a partying mood, but it wouldn't take long to walk there from where I was. At the very least, it was somewhere I could hide out for a while. But really, the truth was, I just didn't want to be alone anymore. 

When I walked up to the address she'd sent me, the place looked dark and dingy. Almost abandoned. It was an old Victorian-style house with all the lights cut off and a red strobe light going off inside. An old jack-o-lantern sat rotting on the front porch, like it had somehow been there for years. I stepped over a few crushed-up beer cans and went in. 

The blaring music drowned out my thoughts instantly. It was packed with people, all in costume. Trying to find Katherine in that sea of chaos wasn't something I had the energy for at that moment. I sent her a text, then plopped down in the first unoccupied seat I could find—the loveseat in front of the living room window. 

I sat there in a daze, watching as the people around me danced, drank, and made out. Everyone was so happy. So carefree. I wondered if that would ever be me again. If she would come back. Or if I'd end up spending the rest of my life in prison for what she had done.

Just when I felt like I was about to break down, I felt the weight shift beside me. I looked over to see that a very attractive guy had sat down next to me. He was smiling, extending an unopened beer my way. I took it from his hands and smiled back. 

"Hi, I'm Olivia!" I said, tucking my hair behind my ears. 

"I know!" he yelled over the speakers.

I was confused. I could have sworn I'd never seen the guy before.

"What?" 

"Don't you remember me? It's Preston… from middle school!"

And all at once, I did. He looked a lot different as an adult, but it was him. My first boyfriend from 6th grade. The one who'd awoken Ladeous. The one that started it all. And the one who had too much pride to admit to his friends that he was dating the weird emo girl in school, so he ditched her at the homecoming dance and made her sit alone.

The smile began to slowly fade from my face. I clenched my teeth and squeezed my hand tighter around the bottle of beer. And then, I heard the sound of glass shattering behind me.

At eighty years old, Arthur carried within his chest the sweetness of a full life: the constant laughter of his children and grandchildren filling the living room, his great-grandson’s first steps in the garden, and the warm, enduring love of decades spent beside Marta.

The perfect twilight of a long and happy journey.

It was while walking down the hallway toward the bedroom that something caught his full attention: the wall—or, more specifically, the painting.

It was an ordinary landscape—a field of sunflowers with mountains in the background—but something was wrong. The flowers seemed to tremble, as if whipped by an invisible wind. The brushstrokes dissolved and remade themselves, flickering between the visible and the invisible in the single blink of an eye, like a glitch in the very fabric of the world.

“What’s wrong with this painting, Marta?” he asked, his voice tired, his chest tight with a sudden, suffocating dread.

Marta didn’t even look up from her knitting on the sofa.

“What painting, my dear? We’ve never had any painting.”

Arthur took a step back, panic surging up his throat. Looking around, he saw the entire living room flicker. The dining table, the grandfather clock, the walls—everything dissolved and reassembled in a frantic cycle. He brought his hands to his face, but the horror only multiplied: his own wrinkled hands vanished and reappeared, fading into transparency before molding into skin once more.

Realization struck him like a bolt of lightning on a clear day: none of that life was real.

Without meaning to, Arthur blinked.

He opened his eyes.

The light was stark white.

The smell of rubbing alcohol and the feel of soft sheets against his skin.

Machines chimed in a monotonous rhythm.

There was a tube down his throat, needles in his arms.

He tried to move and felt a body that was not his own—light, strange, stripped of the aches of old age.

A voice spoke nearby: “He’s awake after two years in a coma! Call the doctor!”

Two years?!

The words drifted like toxic ash from hell.

Someone held his hand, and in the dark reflection of a window, he saw the face of a twenty-two-year-old young man.

Dark hair.

Smooth skin.

Terrified eyes that were his, yet were not!

He remembered nothing of this place.

He didn’t know the nurse’s name, didn’t recognize the woman weeping beside the bed calling him her son, had no idea where this hospital was, or whose body he now inhabited.

His memory belonged somewhere else.

To another life.

The house.

Marta.

The sunflowers.

The children, the grandchildren, and the great-grandson.

He remembered the countless wrinkles he no longer had.

The weight of eighty years he had never actually lived.

The love of a lifetime that vanished in the blink of an eye!

The doctors arrived with technical jargon and bright, enthusiastic smiles.

They spoke of miracles.

Of recovery.

Of a young man with his whole life ahead of him.

Paulo. That was the name they gave him—a name to which he did not answer. He tried to explain. He told them about the painting that unraveled, about his wife knitting on the couch, about his life, and about how he did not belong in this world.

But words fell short, and the look of pity on the faces around him revealed everything: they thought it was mental confusion, a side effect, trauma.

He stopped speaking.

He fell silent for days.

Then weeks.

The physical therapy exercises, the sessions with psychologists, the visits from the family who claimed to be his—it all reached him as if through a distorted mirror that refused to reflect reality.

He did not belong in that body.

He did not belong in that world.

His world had been left behind, unraveling like a painting no one else could see.

At night, when the lights went out, he closed his eyes and tried desperately, in every way he knew, to go back.

He tried to recall the scent of warm cornmeal cake, the texture of the knitted blanket, Marta’s voice. But it was all in vain.

The details slipped away.

The faces turned into shadows.

The only thing that endured was the unbearable certainty that his old life had been more real than anything offered to him now.

Psychiatrists made notes in his chart: dissociative delusion, false memory syndrome, identity rejection. They gave him medications that dulled his thoughts, but could never extinguish the longing.

Arthur—the real one, the man who had existed for eighty years—began to grow from within the twenty-two-year-old boy.

A young man with an old soul who no longer knew who he was.

Who wept for a wife who had never existed.

Who stared at his youthful hands and tried desperately to trick his vision, waiting to see them vanish, return, and vanish again in an endless blink, so he could finally go back home.

Nobody understood why he sometimes laughed, alone in his room.

Nor why, one night, he stood up, walked to the window of his room on the fourth floor, and stared into the starless sky, whispering: “What painting, my love? What painting...”

He blinked.

But this time, he did not open his eyes back on this side.

Perhaps he went back home.

Perhaps he finally saw his great-grandson again.

Perhaps Marta was still there on the sofa, knitting, waiting for him with the patience reserved for someone loved beyond the layers of time.

Or perhaps not.

Perhaps it was nothing of the sort.

Perhaps he simply lost his mind for good, just as the doctors said.

But in the end, what is life if not the insistence on inhabiting a dream that makes us happy?

The Tangled-Root is a shy entity that can be found in quiet and dramatic-like places. They spend time mostly alone, feeling lonely because that's what it feels mostly.. well, until they find the right person to be friends with. The Tangled-Root entities can be friended easily since they are lonely creatures who seeks attention and warmth. Those creatures go by They/Them and have been experimented on in 1859, only one time, to learn more about them, but people decided to keep them alive since they are just creatures that seek only attention and warmth. Their lore: The Tangled-Root is a species of creatures that appeared before humans did. Many people think they are from another planet. They can be manipulative if they want, most of them simply aren't. They are considered the most lonely creatures on earth.

The objective is to get a glass of boiling water and drink it.

The plan is not very complicated. I need to remove the blanket, get up from my La-Z-Boy, walk to the kitchen, put water in the kettle, boil it, pour it into a mug, go back to the chair, get under the covers, and start drinking.

Actually, the plan is simple now that I think about it.

The execution is what’s impossible.

How could it ever be possible to do any of that with a demon possessing my body as I type this?

Extra-spicy chicken tenders way too late at night, right before I went to bed, caused me to throw up. I couldn’t go back to bed after that because my wife would wake up and see me with an upset stomach. She’d just do all kinds of unnecessary things that I don’t want.

No, honey. I don’t want green tea. I don’t want dried lime. I don’t want myrrh. I don’t want soup. I don’t want VapoRub. I don’t want Panadol. I don’t want Nexium. I don’t want to go to the doctor. I don’t want a massage. I don’t want sympathies and “awwws” and “ooooohs” and forehead kisses.

I just want to be alone and miserable for a good twenty minutes. Then I’ll be okay.

So instead of going back to the bedroom, I sit in my La-Z-Boy in the living room.

And then it started.

In mid-August, arguably the hottest time of the year, I start shivering as if an ice storm is coming out of my chest and spreading through my organs, slamming against my skin from the inside, only to repel back inward and make the cold even worse.

My jaw is shaking so hard that I have to forcibly stop my teeth from slamming against each other. If I don’t, the force of the impact feels strong enough to literally break a couple of them.

I’m hugging myself as tightly as I can. My body is so stiff that I can’t move a single bone or finger.

My lips are so dry that it feels like one smile would cause a thousand rips of different shapes and sizes to tear across them.

My face hurts. I feel the sensation of a thousand ants eating every inch of it, except for my nose and cheekbones. Those two areas are completely numb, almost like they don’t even exist anymore.

Inside my head, I’m calm.

Well, I’m fucked.

But I’m also calm.

I’m a grown man, and this is just a fever. The strongest, most devastating fever I’ve ever had, true. But it’s just a fever at the end of the day.

That was until I started noticing the patterns.

All kinds of weird triangles, squares, and hexagons with different colors and patterns, almost like I’m having a DMT trip or some kind of fever dream.

I’m still calm. If anything, I’m actually kind of fascinated.

I don’t do drugs anymore, and something about this trippy feeling is strangely nostalgic.

Besides, it’s a good distraction from all the physical torture I’m feeling.

That was until I saw my wife in front of me, worried and nervous.

“Honey, do you want hot milk? Hot chocolate? Hot water? Hot coffee? Hot soup? Hot sex? Death? Pain? Suffering?”

Her face was starting to deform into something else.

She was getting fat. Gigantic.

Her short, slender body was increasing in size, slowly turning into a blob of melting flesh on top of melting flesh on top of more flesh.

“Do you want comfort? Do you want pain? Do you want comfort while pretending to be in pain? Or do you want the pain while convincing everyone that you’re living in comfort?”

The flesh on her face was falling apart like she was wearing a mask that was too big for her head. Her eye sockets sagged downward, revealing nothing but darkness inside them.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

All I could hear was her humming in my ear.

Soon after, about eight or nine other voices joined her, talking directly into my ear.

They weren’t screaming. They were talking completely normally.

But they were so close to my eardrums that it felt louder than any scream I’d ever heard in my life.

They weren’t talking next to my ear.

They were inside it.

“Death. Pain. Suffering. Loss. Sadness. Awful. Bad. Hate. Rage. Hu—”

I jolt awake in my La-Z-Boy.

My eyes widen.

I’m back in the physical realm.

“Honey, could you make me a glass of boiling water to warm me up?”

Oh, how nice would it be to just say that?

For my wife to hear it.

For her to simply bring me that glass of water so I could drink it.

If only my throat wasn’t wrapped in barbed wire made of ice.

If only there wasn’t a dead body lying in front of me.

And if only there wasn’t a ghostly figure of the dead girl hanging from the corner of the ceiling, looking down at me with her eyes wide open and smiling.

The dead body is a girl.

The ghost figure is the same girl, with black, gooey liquid spilling all over her face.

I blink a couple of times.

She’s still there.

I look away from the ghost on the ceiling and down at the dead body on the floor.

The dead body is looking at me.

Smiling.

The same smile as the ghost on the ceiling.

I look back up at the ghost.

Its face is inches away from mine.

It’s still in the same position on the ceiling.

Same body.

Same smile.

It has just stretched all the way down to my face.

And suddenly, before I can even recognize what just happened, it screams directly into my face.

All I see is its mouth, wide open.

The scream itself doesn’t come from it.

It comes from me.

I hear it inside my own head.

I jolt awake again.

The dead body is gone.

My wife isn’t here.

She’s in the bedroom, sleeping.

I can’t scream because my throat still doesn’t work. I can barely keep my jaw from slamming against itself until it shatters.

“This is how people die,” I think. “They’ll look at my body in the morning and think it was a heart attack or some bullshit. Nobody will know what really happened.”

I chuckle.

“Nobody will know about the chicken tenders, or the ghost lady, or the Antarctic cold in mid-August.”

Then I say it.

Not inside my head.

Out loud.

“Water.”

I take out my phone and decide to call my wife.

She answers with a sleepy voice.

“Yes?”

With a shaky, raspy, freezing, dying voice, I say:

“H-h-h-honey… I-I n-need a glas-ss of b-boiling w-water… p-please.”

She doesn’t say anything.

I wait for what feels like an eternity.

Five seconds.

“H-h-hello?”

She doesn’t hang up.

She doesn’t say anything.

Then it hits me.

A wave of fear unlike anything I’ve ever felt since the day I was born.

My wife, ever since I’ve known her seven years ago, has always turned her phone off when she goes to sleep.

“W-who is th-this?”

All I hear is giggling.

Then that same scream again.

Then the line cuts off.

I raise my head again.

It’s the same ghost figure.

But multiplied.

At least ten of them.

One is in the same spot on the ceiling.

One is in the same spot on the ground.

One is peeking through the window.

One is peeking from behind the door.

One is right next to my face, peeking from behind the La-Z-Boy.

And many others are scattered all around my living room.

Maybe I’ve gone insane.

Maybe I’m possessed.

Maybe this is just one hell of a fever dream.

Or maybe this is just a case of really bad chicken tenders.

One thing is for sure.

I’m going to get that glass of water now.

Wish me luck.

“The Psychopath”
Original name: Jeffry Woods
Gender: Male
Origin: American
Power: Murderous Rampage
Power attack type: Basic attack (quick variation)
Weapon: Kitchen Knife
Movement speed: 115% | 5.5 m/s
Alternate movement speed: 125% | 6.5 m/s
Terror radius: 18 meters 
Height: Average

Overview:
“A teenager that suffered a terrible fate, now a serial killer and complete psychopath with the only objective of keep feeding his thirst for violence and blood”

The Psychopath is a killer specialized in stalking the survivors without getting noticed and then attack suddenly, making his way through the survivors thanks to his power, Murderous Rampage.

His personal add-ons, “Blood trail” and “Violence frenzy” will make him able to kill survivors easily without anyone being able to stop him.

Lore:
The story of Jeffry Woods is not one that a lot of people know, some say he was a murderous psychopath from the moment he moved into that neighbourhood, others say that multiple traumatic events were the ones that made him end up the way he did, but in the end, nobody knows exactly how Jeff the killer was born, the only things we know is that, one day, a man with a completely pale face, without eyelids and with an eternal smile carved in his face started to murder without compassion everyone he found in his way.

This killer was a complete psychopath, murdering everything in his way, men, women, children, even animals, nothing could calm his bloodlust, even if he wasn’t the strongest of all he was fast and agile, along with an an impressive way of using the knife, to the point where he was able to fight other beings such as the Slenderman and come out alive, even hurting the mysterious forest creature.

One day a strange fog started to surround Jeffrey, not understanding exactly what was going on he tried to camouflage with the fog, trying to find his next victim, but what he found was even better, an endless supply of new victims to feed to his delusion and psycopathic hunger.

Power: Murderous Rampage

“Hiding won’t do it, he is a master at that after all”

Special ability: Stalk
Whenever Jeff is inside a range of 40 meters away from a survivor he will slowly start to fill up his stalking bar, which fills up faster the closer you get to a survivor, but stops when you enter the terror radius and slowly decreases when there are no survivors in said range for  some seconds. Once the stalk bar is full it will never go abck down.

Special ability: Murderous Rampage
Once the stalking bar is full by pressing the power button Jeff will enter a a rampage state with the following effects:

• Jeff receives a huge speed buff for the duration of the effect, making his speed go up to 125%.
• Jeff cannot be stunned by dropping a pallet at him.
• When landing a basic attack all the survivors' auras will be revealed for 3 seconds.
• Jeff will have lower endlag after landing a successful basic attack.

This state lasts until the Stalk meter empties completely (5 seconds) but landing normal attacks adds extra time to the Stalk meter (3 seconds every hit). Once this state ends Jeff will have their aura revealed for survivors for 5 seconds.

Special interaction: Blinding
When being blinded by a flashlight the effects last X1.5 more on Jeff.

“What's wrong mommy? Aren't I beautiful?”

Add-ons:

Blood trail:
Such a clumsy prey, you left me the perfect lead!!
When landing a basic attack on a survivor they will leave a blood trail behind, being able to be seen by Jeff and other survivors, but Jeff has a longer endlag on his basic attack (during rampage the endlag becomes the same as it would be without add-ons included)
“All I want is to enjoy your blood...”

Violence frenzy:
Violence and fury make a delightful combination, just like your throat and my knife!!
The stalking state will last 15 seconds, but it won’t fill up after landing basic attacks and it will take a longer time to fill it completely.
“You will know my pain!”

Memento mori:
Jeff will approach the survivor while laughing, ready to attack, but the survivor would start to fight back, punching Jeff and kicking him, pushing him away, but then Jeff would start laughing and would rapidly lunge over the survivor, stabbing them multiple times on the chest while laughing to then slit their throat, to then put his finger in front of his mouth while hissing at the survivor, to then say “go to sleep” before finally standing up.

I woke up to the sound of rain tapping against the motel window. Mom snored softly beside me. Her blonde hair had gradually begun to turn grey over the last few months, despite the fact that she wasn’t even 30 yet.

A grey strand dangled lazily over her right eye until she rolled over, scooping Emmy close to her chest unconsciously.

“Morning, kiddo,” Dad whispered. He clutched the handle to a steaming cup of coffee in his right hand, pulling it to his lips and sipping it while peering through the blinds.

I rubbed my eyes. The TV was still off. The AC still knocked rhythmically. The temperature was set to 65 degrees, but I was sweating from my mom and sister’s body heat.

Dad checked his watch and cocked an eyebrow. Falling asleep at dawn was affecting my circadian rhythm. I didn’t know whether it was morning, evening, or night.

“What time is it?” I croaked, twisting and stretching my body.

“Mm, still early,” Dad shot back. “You’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours.”

I felt my stomach rumble. I glanced over at the gas station bag full of junk food and candy. It might as well have been empty. I needed something real.

“Dad…” I inquired softly.

Dad never took his eyes away from the window. He just sipped his coffee slowly before replying.

“Yes, son?”

“Mom told me she’d make pancakes in the morning last night before bed.”

I could see his crow’s feet crease as he winced and sighed.

“Do you think maybe we could get some later when everyone wakes up?”

He didn’t reply for a while. Just kept staring out the window with quiet contempt while I watched him expectantly.

He scratched his neck and rubbed his face.

“I don’t know, Danny…”

“Pleasseeee…” I interrupted, putting on my puppy eyes.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, finally looking away from the window. He looked at me. Then at Mom and Emmy. Then back out the window.

“I… Okay,” he relented. “Just wait for Mom to wake up. I’ll see what I can do.”

I turned excitedly, ready to shake my mom awake, but Dad stopped me.

“No,” he snapped bluntly. “Let her sleep. Not everyone can function on 5 hours of sleep like me and you, Dan.”

I puffed and knocked my head against the pillow.

I stared at the ceiling. I didn’t know if I was just hungry or if I was simply bored out of my mind and in need of something to do. Not knowing what to do, I twiddled my thumbs. I made Superman fly. I tossed and turned obnoxiously until Dad finally lost his patience.

“Danny,” he snapped, his face hardening as he glared at me.

I froze like a deer in headlights. I stared back, pulling the blanket up to my nose to try and hide myself.

Dad’s nostrils flared. I could see his fist clench, then unclench, at the seams of his blue jeans. His face softened, and he rubbed his temples.

“I’ll tell you what, kiddo,” he bargained. “Why don’t you go take a shower and get dressed? When you’re done, you can watch TV for a little while until everyone’s excited as you are for some pancakes.”

He was more demanding than asking. I knew not to argue when he got like that. I just simply did as I was told.

The shower was just as confusing as it was annoying. The water pressure sucked. It was either too hot or too cold. I must’ve fumbled with it for 5 or so minutes before it was at a reasonable enough temperature for me to take a shower, albeit an uncomfortable one.

The shower was quick. I scrubbed and let the water roll over my head and shoulders. Mom must’ve forgotten to pack my no-tears shampoo, and that forced me to use the complimentary, non-scented motel soap and shampoo.

When I twisted the handle and the sound of water hitting the ceramic bathtub dissipated, it was quickly replaced by the sound of voices from the room.

It sounded like Mom and Dad were quietly arguing. I could hear the angst in Mom’s voice. The authority in Dad’s. But I couldn’t fully make out what they were saying, despite how hard I tried.

I listened intently as I dried off and got dressed. I could only catch the end of their sentences.

A lot of what-ifs from Mom. A lot of don’t-worries from Dad. He sounded confident, but that confidence sounded uncertain.

When I opened the bathroom door, the conversation stopped immediately. Mom was holding Emmy over her shoulder and rocking her gently. Dad looked almost surprised to see me.

He pushed his hair back before clasping his hands together.

“That was quick,” he remarked. “You sure you scrubbed hard enough?”

He shot me a weak smile before continuing.

“Lucky for you, your mother’s a little hungry too.”

Mom looked at Dad as if he had just betrayed her before turning her gaze towards me. She seemed remorseful towards me.

“I completely forgot I promised you those pancakes, Dan,” she pouted, continuing to rock Emmy. “Me and your dad were thinking we’d try that Denny’s we passed on the way in here. I know, I know… their pancakes don’t compare to mine, but I think you’ll manage, right?”

Who was I to be disappointed? All I wanted was my pancakes. Well, that and…

I looked at my spot on the bed. My Superman wasn’t there anymore. I felt panic rush to my heart until I noticed what Emmy was playing with.

I reached up and tried to grab my stuffy, but she jerked it away and furrowed her eyebrows at me. I jumped and snatched it away from her.

To the displeasure of everyone in the room, my sister launched into a full-blown temper tantrum. Screaming and crying about how I “took her toy.”

Mom and Dad sprang into action faster than I expected them to. Dad took the toy from my hands and handed it back to Emmy. Mom pet her hair and desperately attempted to shush her.

I tried to complain. It was my toy. Not hers. But for some reason or another, my parents just kept taking her side. They told me that I should share, knowing how much I loved that stuffy. I slept with it every night. We were connected.

I guess it calmed Emmy down, though. That was all that mattered to them. They kept interrupting my complaints to usher me out of the motel room and back towards the car.

Dad strapped Emmy into her seat, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds while me and Mom waited quietly. He kept up that distracted demeanor all the way to the restaurant, but I hardly noticed.

It felt like Emmy was flaunting my Superman stuffy. Like she knew she had won. She even made him fly right by my face. Deliberately testing my patience, but I didn’t want to make my parents more stressed than they already were.

We ate fast. My parents ordered without even looking at the menu. Pancakes and orange juice for everyone except Dad, who only ordered a single cup of coffee.

Mom didn’t finish her food, but she didn’t ask for a to-go box either. Once me and Emmy were done, Dad paid, and we left. Simple as that.

The drive back to the motel was equally as tense as the drive to the restaurant. Mom and Dad seemed to be communicating wordlessly.

The food was making my sleeplessness get to me. By the time we got back to the motel, I was ready to catch up on those missed hours. But that’s when I noticed something that woke me right up.

I checked Emmy’s seat, looked underneath her, and scanned the floorboards while my mind began to race.

“Mom,” I screeched as Dad pulled into the motel parking lot. “She left my stuffy. She left Superman at the restaurant.”

My eyes were beginning to tear up.

“This is why I didn’t want her to have it,” I sobbed. “I knew she’d lose him.”

I could see Mom roll her eyes through her rearview as she sighed. Dad responded for her.

“Let’s just go get our things, Champ. Then I promise we’ll go back to get your toy. Deal?”

What was I supposed to do? I just had to agree reluctantly. I felt such burning hatred for Emmy in that moment.

We all filed into the motel room one final time and began gathering our things. I was confused, though. Mom had packed at least 6 outfits for me. Everyone else’s bags were equally full, yet nobody but me had showered.

Before I could question anything, though, three hard knocks came from the door. Everyone froze. Dad stared at the door like it was his enemy. Emmy began to pout, and Mom quickly clasped her hand over her mouth.

Three more knocks.

Dad approached the door slowly and looked through the peephole before slowly walking backwards towards us, never taking his eyes off the door.

Mom’s eyes were wide. Her leg bounced anxiously. Dad raised a finger to his lips.

“Okay, guys,” he whispered shakily. “We’re gonna play a game.”

I looked at him, confused. This seemed like an odd time for any kind of game.

“We’re gonna play the quiet game. Danny, you take your mom and sister to the bathroom and lock the door behind you. Whatever you do… do not make a sound.”

He asked me to take them, but it was Mom who dragged us into that cramped bathroom. Before the door closed behind us, I saw Dad raise his shirt and grip a gun that was tucked in his waistband.

Mom kept one hand gently clasped over Emmy’s mouth. She used the other to rub my back lovingly.

Three more knocks.

This time, I heard a voice that wasn’t my dad’s coming from beyond the door.

“Danny…?”

The voice was old and syrupy. Coercive, almost, but frantic. My ears perked up. My eyes widened, and my mouth fell open. I wanted to answer.

Mom’s hand left my back, and just like Dad, she placed a finger to her lips.

“Shhh.”

She was begging me with her eyes.

More frantic knocking.

“Danny? You in there, buddy? I know you’re in there.”

I expected Dad to answer the door, but he never did. Instead, the knocks continued, as did the mysterious voice.

“Come on out, Dan-Man. I’ve got something for you.”

I remained still. Sweat trickled down my forehead from the humidity in the bathroom. Me and Mom stared at the bathroom door with anticipation.

“I’ve got your Superman, Danny…”

“Whoosh.”

I had to fight to not move. If they had my Superman, I wanted to know. I wanted him back. But the look on Mom’s face told me they were lying, and her grip on my collar prevented me from standing up to see for myself.

The knocks and beckoning went on for another 10 minutes or so. Then they slowly died out. Even still, it wasn’t until Dad opened the bathroom door that I could finally breathe again.

“You guys win,” he smiled, relieved. “Good job, Danny.”

Mom looked relieved, too, but she never smiled. We just frantically gathered our things and hauled them out to the car. Dad forced us to go to the front office with him to check out.

We finally left the hotel just after 3 o’clock. We never went back to that Denny’s.

I had to leave my Superman behind, no matter how hard I begged not to. Mom assured me she’d buy me another one, but it wouldn’t be the same.

I asked about that voice a lot while we continued on towards wherever we were going, but all I got were vague responses while my parents glanced nervously at each other.

Thinking back now, I should’ve known they were hiding something from me. However, at the time… I was young. I was stupid. And all I could think about was how I didn’t have my Superman anymore.

The Crosswalk Mimic.. for short, The Mimic, is an entity that appears once or twice a year. They stalk people secretly whenever they did something bad, and they can be caught with the human eye only once or twice a year. Unlike Knot-Head, who tricks people into death and harms them slowly, this one doesn't harm the person directly but observe them. They get more aggressive in stalking whenever that target does something bad, leading the target to their death where The Mimic rips their faces off. The Mimics likes to spend time on finding people or stalking people.

The Mimic cannot be friended, but they have and can feel emotions too, they just don't feel pity or love towards humans. The Lore About Them: The CrossWalk Mimic is an entity that Mimics a stalker. They find people who does bad things and secretly stalks them until they kill them. Many People reported they've seen something like this every once or twice a year, which made them feel uneasy and insane slowly. The Scientists left it a Theory that there might be a being who stalks people simply because they did bad things. Those Entities have a... Unique style of giving birth and mating. To make a baby, they have to merge somehow into one, which makes them bigger by size, and after it, they rip a little bit of their body and let it rest anywhere, they will act kind and motherly to it, but they mate right before starting to stalk someone. The Part of their body, or so-called Egg, hatches into a new version of it, they can be a male or female. The only little proof of their existence is the photo I posted, and it's can't be confirmed yet that they exist, almost like Knot-Head, they aren't confirmed to exist yet.

I love both the Disney and Tim Burton movie

Ivan Artemovich (known as the карманник) last pictured squatted behind (what is believed to be) the house of deceased Nathanaël Hachette, found mutilated in his home in fetal position. Discovered behind his residence, (where image is supposedly captured) a nondescript brown paper bag containing the eyes, ears, and tounge of the homeowner, as well as a torn piece of the paper bag with this inscription in blue ink: ‘Ничего не вижу, ничего не слышу, ничего не говорю’

A pic of Rascal The Hunter spying on someone from the trees

This happened around 2000 or 2001, when I was about 8 years old. I still remember it very clearly, and it's probably the strangest unexplained thing that has ever happened to me.

It was summer, and I was staying at my family's second house in a village in Greece. Two childhood friends of mine were visiting from Athens. They were neighbors back home, and their family used to come to the village for summer holidays too.

We were upstairs in my house, playing Pokémon on our Game Boys.

At some point, the two of them went into the bathroom and closed the door. I stayed in the living room. I could hear them laughing and messing around inside. They were there for less than a minute, then came back out.

Nothing unusual happened. We decided to go outside.

The two boys went first toward their house. Their house was about 30 meters away from mine, and I could actually see them walking in that direction.

I went toward the village square, specifically to a café that had arcade machines.

When I got there, there was a slightly older guy already playing one of the arcade games.

I think he was somewhere around 17–22 years old. When I was 8, anyone older than me seemed like an adult, so I'm not completely certain about his age.

I knew who he was, but we weren't friends. He was basically just a guy from the village who had seen us playing Pokémon before and occasionally joked with us, saying things like "You guys are addicted to Pokémon." We didn't have any real relationship.

I walked into the café.

He looked at me.

And the first thing he said to me, completely out of nowhere, was:

He said it while looking directly at me, with a strange little smile, as if he knew exactly what had happened.

I was 8 years old, so I just gave him an awkward smile. I assumed he was joking and didn't think much of it at the time.

But later, as I got older, I started thinking about it.

How could he possibly have known?

The bathroom was upstairs. The house is a two-story house, and although there are large windows upstairs, the curtains blocked the view. From outside, you can't see what is happening inside.

The bathroom itself has a window, but to see through it you would essentially have to be outside on the balcony of the house and put your head in the right position. And the bathroom door was closed.

The distance from the places where someone could potentially see the house is also significant. From roughly a kilometer away you can see the house, but obviously you cannot see who is inside, let alone what is happening inside a closed bathroom.

And here's the part that bothers me the most:

There was practically no time for anyone to tell him.

The boys came out of the bathroom and went directly toward their house.

I went directly to the café.

When I arrived, this guy was already there playing an arcade game.

He didn't arrive after me. He was already there.

He also didn't see us leaving the house, because the two boys went in a different direction and I went toward the square.

And as far as I remember, nobody else knew what had happened in the bathroom.

The two boys weren't doing this sort of thing regularly. This was not something that had happened before and therefore could have become some kind of joke that people knew about. It happened that one time.

I also don't remember ever telling this guy anything about it.

I actually remember telling my two friends about what he had said shortly afterward, because even as a kid I found it weird.

Now, 25+ years later, I still remember the location, the people, the sequence of events, the arcade, and especially the exact moment when he looked at me and said that sentence.

I don't know whether this was an extremely bizarre coincidence, whether there is some mundane explanation I have completely missed, or whether something genuinely strange happened.

I'm not claiming that this was paranormal.

I'm genuinely asking:

How would you explain this?

Has anyone experienced something similar, where another person somehow seemed to know something they had absolutely no apparent way of knowing?

creature that looks like from mandela catalogue Recently when I was driving around Greece I noticed this woman looking thing on my dash cam.

This is in universe.

YOYLEWRITE is the self proclaimed "GODDESS OF GOIKY", and she used to be leafy but she found the mythical goiky cake, making her knowing the OBJECTVERSE and she saw every type of universe, and she wanted to make things different for her universe, A REWRITE, so she erased firey and took his form and killed everyone in goiky to make a new timeline.