Missing Pieces
Today I was chosen for the feeding. Not of my own free will of course. Rarely does one find themself in a situation such as this; beyond that, far rarer to be here willingly. No, you’re not given a choice. No letter will come in the mail informing you of the date and time you’ll be blipped from your existence to another. No courtesy phone call. No message. Zero warning. You may find it happens when walking through a doorway at the wrong time of day. What time that is exactly, I have not an answer, though in my limited experience avoiding entering or exiting rooms around 2:15 PM MST may not be the worst idea. Now, you can’t mitigate your usage of doorways completely, just because of how I was brought here. You may fall asleep in your bed and wake to find yourself lying on these same weather-pitted stones that I kneel. Perhaps a trip down the left side of the stairs, and you’ll be taking your next steps knee-deep in the “pond of decay,” as I’ve aptly named it, during my brief stay here. This is, of course, all speculation, based on the whispers I’ve heard coming from the fog-soaked pines surrounding me. I’ve truly no insight as to what the cryptic ramblings of the disembodied voice’s intentions are. A warning delivered too late—my best guess. That is, however, a minority of the constant vocalizations I’ve heard since arriving… hours? Minutes? Days? Weeks? Seconds… ago. I can’t say for certain how long I’ve been here. My watch hasn’t ticked a tock, nor has the half moon above me risen or settled. Yet I’ve been here long enough and heard enough screams breaking their way through the cloudy whispers to have an idea of what awaits me. I’ve approached the suffocating fog that flanks me. Each step takes me no closer to the wooden prison bars that hold the words of those who came before me. Unfortunately for me, this also means each step takes me no further from the stench of the pool behind me. Miles I must have walked, only to sit down directly on my starting point. I trace the outline of the slippery stones; My finger slides so gently through the grooves between. I feel the once jagged edges trying futilely to tear my skin, their razor blades weathered and waned by whatever version of time that’s been encapsulating this purgatory. I feel the gelatinous slime cling to me, like that of a newborn gripping its mother’s hand for the first time. I feel each grain of sand dig deeper into the ooze surrounding my finger. I feel… Hastily, I wipe most of the substance onto my sweat-soaked shirt, leaving behind a dried layer of crust that’s likely to be there until I next wash my hands. A gentle breeze walks its way to my nostrils, carrying the scent of the lake before me; The putrid decay forces my stomach to seize and bring bile to the back of my throat. I’d noticed the smell when I first arrived; in fact, it would be shocking to meet any prior victims who’d avoided being greeted by the odorous doorman, however subtle he may have been. The vile scent brought in by the breeze showed me just how fortunate I was to have such a subtle greeting. I warn you, dear reader, when your name is drawn from the lucky raffle, you too shall know the extent to which the lake had decayed. Ripples caress the stone shore, spawning from the center. The water bobs in and out, much like that of the oceanic tides guided by the grace of the innocent moon above—these tides were brought about by something juxtaposed beneath. The water rapidly rises to cover my bare feet. Uncomfortably warm. I futilely step back to avoid any more of my body being submerged. Chunks of raw ground meat greet my feet from the shallow depths, a piece entwined between three of my toes. I shake my foot to no avail. I try scraping the chum against a stone to slide it free; no luck. I reach down and grasp the sinew that lets out an exaggerated squish when I pull. The smell I’d gone nose blind to has returned tenfold. The muck I just liberated writhes and squirms, cawing for its mother to wash over my feet once more and save it from the mammalian demon who captured it. I decide to save The Water the trouble of returning for her lost child and give the meat a gentle kick back to its home. As a way of thanking me, The Water rushes in to cover me nearly to my knees. I feel even more squirming fragments brush my exposed legs. The whispers from the trees offer no sound advice, so when you inevitably find yourself in my situation, and believe me, my friend, you will find yourself in my situation, there is nowhere to run; no matter the voices that tell you otherwise. There is no way to — “don’t let it find you” — It will always find you. For every man, woman, and yes, even child that came before me has tried as hard as I to escape this destined death, yet here they remain, as too shall I, voices amongst the trees. I wade, chest deep in the macabre pool, shaken gently by the smooth, jagged ripples. Attempts of swimming to the submerged trees bear as much fruit as the laborious attempts of walking there. The source of the ripples grows closer. The depth of the water grows greater. I lose the only footing I have to this strange world. I continue to wade in the bottomless expanse of filth; waiting. The water makes me ill each time it splashes into my nose, something I’m afraid I’ll never grow accustomed to in my extended brief stay. The gelatinous meat worms, though slippery to the touch, love to stick to your skin at any opportunity they get. The face is an especially welcome target for the more active ones of the bunch. Brush them off and continue the wading-waiting game. A sound piece of advice I’ve found from the voices, which I’d like to pass on to you: “Keep your mouth shut. Don’t let them in your nose.” Do I know what happens if one of these chunks of ground beef were to wriggle its way into your face? No. No, I do not. However, IF, during your time here, you may be so compelled to let one take the journey through your facial canal, that is your own choice to make. Perhaps a preferable alternative to the experience I will be having shortly. My body fatigues from the uncountable amount of time I’ve spent treading water and meat. My head has dipped below the surface on several occasions now; a fate I’d truly been trying to avoid. The panged whispers of the branches have been suffocated beneath the water; my only friends in this place (besides the slime tickling my lips, desperate to slip its way down my throat, of course) have been drowned, as I listened to their last gurgling breaths disappear beneath the blood-bronzed water. Just as I feel a cramp forming in my hip, something new touches my feet. A wrinkled, fleshy mass caresses me gently. Almost calming. Which is why I’m hit with such shock as I’m violently pulled underneath the crimson water. The sudden jerk causes me to inhale a sharp breath of uncomfortably warm water. The pain of it hitting the back of my throat accompanies the pain of the teeth tearing my Achilles tendon to shreds. I feel the snap of the tendon slipping up past my calf, the crack echoes through the water and plays on repeat through my ears. I scream the last of the air from my lungs; a symphony of bubbles evacuates my mouth, rising further away from me… the last piece of me to ever break the surface. I grow dizzy, the feeling exacerbated by the endless rows of teeth moving further up my legs. Crunching. Gnawing. Shredding. I’m powerless to stop the fatal flesh from feasting upon my soul. You’d expect the lack of oxygen to shut your mind down, transporting you from this twisted realm; I know because I expected the same. The euphoric release of drowning will never come for you while you’re here. Only the choking grasp of starving for air awaits. You may equate the two, and currently be asking me how they’re different. I feel no need to explain, as you will be in my position soon enough, dear friend. Don’t you forget this fact. Up past my navel, and into my arms, the beast gnashes its teeth deeper. Twisting with each inch, it crawls up my body. My eyes burn whether I leave them open or closed, but oh, how I wish I’d left them closed. The leviathan grips its nasty mouth around my mangled chest, allowing me to see the thousands of soulless eyes lining its body, reflecting the horror of my doomed face. With another twist, and another, and another, my jaw is torn from the socket by a row of flesh-laden teeth. Another twist cracks the back of my skull. Another plunges me into total nothingness as my eyes are sliced open like a paper cut. I feel each twist from my feet to my head. I can’t remember how many twists must have happened before I started counting, but 1,750 is the last number I remember before being violently, and suddenly, reintroduced to my original world. The physical mark of the monster may not have followed me back, but I still feel that helical pattern it had engraved into my bones. I know not how many people are lucky as myself to be sent back to their original life, though I do know one thing: You’ll never come back whole. The leviathan that resides in those waters takes a piece of you. A piece of your mind. A piece of your heart. A piece of your soul. A piece nonetheless. For the rest of your life, you’ll meet others who have tread the waters of decay — as so shall you one day. You’ll meet others who have lost a piece of their heart. You’ll meet others who have lost a piece of their mind. You’ll meet others who’ve lost a piece of their soul. A piece nonetheless. Credit: James Tiktok Instagram Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta.com are the property of (and under copyright to) their respective authors, and may not be narrated or performed under any circumstance.