"Cathie, the mailman came back to give you this package." Dad called from the doorway. It was five in the evening.
"Huh?" I wondered, crawling back in to the window to the roof. Why would the mailman come back this late? I mean, why not deliver it the next day with the other mail? That would've been less trouble to go through.
"Here," Dad opened the door and tossed it onto my bed. It landed with a soft sound on my bed. It was a package wrapped in plain white paper with a purple bow on it. Another package from Jeff.
"I know that look! He's smitten! He likes you!!" Dr. Hatcher's words echoed in my head the first time he revisited me during one of my therapy sessions.
"Shut up," I thought, and unwrapped the package. There was a note on it. I picked it up and read it. This is what it said:
I know how much ya like ta read, so I got ya a book that'll take ya a bit to read.
I scowled and shook my head, rolling my eyes and groaning. I knew Jeff was just trying to be sweet, but I couldn't ever forgive him for what he did.
I touched my stitched cheeks, remembering that horrible night. I remembered the warm, metallic taste of blood as it choked me, my mouth and face feeling like it was on fire. I remembered Jeff coming up to me, the needle and thread ready in his hands.
"Jeff, no! Please! STOP!!" I remembered sobbing. There was only the cold, maniacal giggle in reply.
I snapped myself back to reality before I felt the entire nightmare unfold in front of me. I shook my head and opened the book:
A Guide To CreepyPastas, the cover page read."CreepyPastas? What are those??" I asked aloud. I got my answer on the next page:
I rolled my eyes. It scared me as much as 'Cupcakes' did. Not one bit. I turned the page:
OK, that one wasn't very concerning. It was just a doll. Then, of course, Chuckie was a doll.... No matter. I turned the page again:
Big deal. It had no arms, I could wrestle it down it ten seconds flat. I turned the page:
Woah. OK, that was a little scary. But not too scary. It looks too much like BOB, so it's probably fake. I turned the page. I nearly screamed when I saw it:
"Uh... Dad? Mom?" I called. No answer. I looked out the window, but it had already started to rain. It was coming down hard, and I heard claps of thunder in between. Lightining flashed brightly. I noticed the car was gone. My parents had gone out to Chinatown again. Trembling, I turned my attention back to the book. When I saw the next page, I SCREAMED:
"Oh my God!" I sobbed. Just when I thought I had forgotten those burning eyes, I saw them again. Why would he DO that to himself? Why would he kill his own family? The questions raced through my mind as fast as my heart was beating. I turned another leathery page:
"Sweet Jesus, have mercy on my mind!" I cried. I tried to put the book down, but there was one more page to read. I had to read it. I had to! I flipped the page and gaped at the horror in front of me:
It was the one from my dream. My tormentor. I closed the book and pressed it tightly to my chest. I lay down on my bed and gazed at the ceiling.
There were more of them. There were more people like Jeff. Psychopaths and mass-murderers.
I looked out the window again. This was clearly the kind of rain that meant bussiness, and clearly its bussiness was turning our backyard into a wet, muddy soup. Mom was going to have a fit about her rose bushes.
KRAK! Lightning flashed outside, and for a brief momet, I saw him. He wore a white hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head. But I could see the eyes cut out clearly through the shadow of his face. I also saw the sickening grin on his face.
It was Jeff. He was back.