Murderous Minds — sixpenceee: Don’t Blink By Sixpenceee Stories
Ok so I was going from my house to the nearest town to meet my boyfriend. I get really bad anxiety and let me tell you this just threw me the everliving fuck off. You don't have to enter the October contest, there is a non-contest Story Forum. .. This is when I noticed the lights in my room flickering, before my computer. sixpenceee: “Don't Blink By Sixpenceee Stories user sigwada; October () Second Place Winner It's hard to believe that this happened just. sixpenceee: “ CREEPY THINGS TO WATCH A compilation of all the horror filled movies, . Don't do drugs, ladies and gents.
Nobody could have been in my room while I was in it, let alone set this up. I simply discredited the sight, untied the strings and left for school, leaving them balled up on my desk. Outside my house there were hundreds of them, tied between houses, around cars, across streets… This had to be some super elaborate prank. One of those hidden camera shows, or a comedy improv blog. They had gotten everyone else to play along too; passer-bys were tangled in them, tying them to objects they were walking towards and away from, as if they had been and were continuing to follow the course laid out for them.
I nervously continued my journey to school. On the bus, every except me was tied to the door. At school, groups of friends were tied to each other; teachers were tied to their desks and boards. Oddly enough, at this point all I could wonder was why I had been left out. When my friend Lucy sat beside me in first period, she simply plonked her bag down on my lap and rested her chin in her hand, looking right past me to the window outside.
All the books were tied to her hands. I grinned, and yanked one of the strings off a book. She took no notice. I bundled all the strings attached to her together with one hand, then pulled them all free.
She blinked, turning to stare at me. No one else in the class noticed. Do you see them too?? Everyone except me and Lucy murmured a good morning, and still, no one seemed to pay either of us any notice. I followed, and surprise-surprise, no one else noticed. We wandered the corridors, leaving and entering classes as we saw fit. We carefully picked our way through the tangle, making our way to a nearby coffee shop.
Not particularly grand, I know. I opened it to see the blackness of the depths below. My ears perked up. There it was again.
That hollow tapping sound. The same sound I had heard on my initial visit to the basement from hitting the drywall. I turned on the lights steeling myself to go down the stairs and investigate. The tapping continued as I took the first step. I ran back to my room and hid under my covers until the morning light gave way to a new day. I remember walking down the stairs. Being the first one up and about, I ran to the living room to play Nintendo. On my way, I passed the door to the basement.
Though I was in a state of near panic when I ran from it the previous night, I distinctly remember leaving the door open and not turning off the lights. I rationalized that my mother or father must have gone down there for some reason and lost myself in Super Mario Bros. Later, I mentioned the incident to my parents, and they just assured me that what I heard was the sound of the hot water heater clicking in the night.
I knew better, but welcomed a logical explanation. About a month after the move, my mother asked me to run downstairs and grab a load of socks as our washer and dryer were in the basement. I reluctantly told her I would. It was the middle of the day and enough time had passed to dull the fear I had felt a week prior. I turned on the lights. I ran down the stairs. Hearing the hollow sound echo with my footsteps, a cold sweat started to form on me.
I made my way to the dryer and grabbed a basket. I pulled the socks out hastily and shoved them into the basket. After I shut the door to the dryer, I surveyed my surroundings. The stillness of the basement was so eerie. Then I heard it. A faintly audible whisper. At first, I thought it was somebody calling from upstairs, and their voice scarcely making it down into the basement.
However, this was not the case. That sound was coming from the basement, specifically, from under the stairs. As I stood frozen with fear, it began to increase in volume but still remained barely above the threshold of human perception, what was being said incomprehensible to my young ears. Then it stopped as quickly as it began. I moved toward the stairs keeping my eye on the oddly colored portion of the drywall. As I took my first step to escape this ever growing nightmare, the most profoundly terrifying moment of my life occurred.
A loud, hollow bang shook the stairs. Almost knocking me to the ground. I ran up the stairs as fast as my legs would carry me. Through tears and shaking uncontrollably, I told my parents what happened.
They tried their best to calm me, but nothing they said could ease my mind. I told them in no uncertain terms that I would never go down to the basement again. They must have been convinced of how terrified I was, because they honored my request and never sent me down there again. After another three months in the house, things returned to normalcy for me, and honestly, there was about a two week period where I was happy again. The last time happiness would exist in my life or my families for that matter.
One moment in particular comes to mind. I remember lifting up little Jonathon above my head lovingly as his pacifier fell out of his mouth and brushed against my nose tickling me. I pulled him in for a big bear hug and remember how he smelled. That wonderful smell that babies emit and, for the last time, feeling content.
Any semblance of contentment came crashing down for me and my parents the night of July 2nd, That is the day Jonathon went missing. It informed my parents that if they contacted the police, they would kill Jonathon. My mother and father took to their room and argued loudly and emotionally over whether or not to call the police as I listened with tears streaming down my eyes.
My mother eventually wore down my father, and the police were called. Seeing as the location of the drop and time were indicated on the note, the police set up a wiretap just in case the kidnapper decided to call. I asked my parents and the police if they had thoroughly searched through the house in case he was still here. They assured me they had and that Jonathon would be fine after the drop, but the seed of an idea was already growing in my mind that would blossom throughout the rest of my life.
My parents followed the instructions to a T. They dropped off the money and then waited in the location that they were supposed to pick up Jonathon. Needless to say, this tore my family apart.
As the weeks passed and there was no news about Jonathon, my young, vibrant parents became husks of their former selves, my mother especially.
Aiden scratched his eyes out. There was nothing left but empty sockets. When I heard this, I wanted to vomit. It was all so sudden and such a blur. I locked myself in my room, wanting to be alone. My parents had to bring me up food, but I barely ate. Mostly I wept and slept, remembering the last few days. I put all the blame on myself.
Maybe if I stayed, he would still be here. My phone rang, and I looked at it. It was a text from Aiden. I sat up, wiped my tears from my face and read the text.
I have this dumb text scheduled, and I just finished filming something for you. You should get it around 10 pm. I checked the time. It was currently 9: I still had some time until then. I started up my computer so when it was 10, all I had to do was open the email.
I logged in and had it all ready. I sat on my bed, waiting. Tears still spilled from my eyes, but I rubbed them away, needing to see and hear what Aiden had to say. Five minutes before ten, I stopped crying. I blinked a final tear away, and for that quick second, I saw a silhouette of a girl. I flinched before looking around my room. I passed it off as nothing, but when I blinked again, I saw it, but closer. I inched closer to the wall and looked around my room.
I tried to put things together, seeing if any of my jackets that were hanging around could have took a shape, but there was nothing. I was so freaked out, I got up and ran downstairs, wanting to be with other people.
That was another mistake I made. I should have stayed in my room and waited for the video. I should have watched the video as soon as possible, but I forgot about it.
I suffered another week of the weird blinking, and forgot about the video. I forgot about it until this morning, over a week later. This morning was the first time I actually checked social media again.
Creepy as Hell: sixpenceee: Don’t Blink By Sixpenceee Stories
Quickly, I opened his email and saw a video attached. I played the video, and I saw my best friend again, alive and breathing, but crying. But, after you left earlier, I realized that you needed to know the truth. I need you to know though that I did not kill myself.
What matters it that you do what I tell you. Whatever got me, it travels through knowledge. It exists in whomever knows about it. But you were persistent and continued to ask. I would have been whatever I was seeing, unless I let someone else know before I died. And I need you to listen to me, okay. I freaking cursed you.
I have no idea if you have experienced it yet, but you would.