Cryptid Company
The Horror of Romance It’s hard to be a romance novelist when your life is full of horror, but, hey, sometimesyou gotta follow the contracts. My real mistake was going full “brooding author” after thedivorce. I moved clear across the country to ensure I never accidentally ran intoMarcy— or any of our old “friends”— again, and I bought a cozy house in the middle ofnowhere. It’s on the outskirts of a National Forest, and the closest town is almost an hour away;there are a few hunting clubs nearby, but they’re all abandoned this time of year. Thesoil is supposed to be useless for farming, so I got a great deal on five acres. I don’treally have plans for it— I just wanted to ensure hunters keep a fair distance. There’snot much of a clearing around my home, but I’m having some smaller trees removedsoon. I need a wider field of vision— plus some shotguns, security cameras, and an electricfence… Maybe some landmines… But bitter paranoia aside, it’s a beautiful spot; Ithought it would help me recover from the irony of writing a love story while it felt like myheart was being pushed through a shredder, but – if anything – it only made thingsworse… Which is why I’m writing this instead of deciding how Cassidy will first meetChristopher… Just once, I’d like to decide how Christopher murders Cassidy… Sorry, that was a littledark… I don’t fantasize about killing Marcy; I only mean that it’s hard to write aboutsomething you don’t believe in… Not that I believe in murder— I just don’t believe inlove… Look, I’m only trying to express some of these emotions before I drown, ok? Doesanyone have a problem with that?! It’s bad enough I’m losing my mind out here – thelast thing I need is for the police to show up asking if I’ve ever thought of harming myselfor others. The answer is no— at least, not outside of the literary sense. I’m a writer, giveme a break— this is how we process! Well, that and rebellious imaginations… Or maybe I’ve finally cracked, and they’re justfull blown hallucinations. There’s no history of mental illness in my family, but I’ve beenunder an extraordinary amount of stress… I wouldn’t be surprised to wake up in astraight-jacket with some stuffy doctor asking, “what’s the last thing you remember?”I wasn’t a poster-boy for sanity before coming here, but I never questioned the veryfabric of reality until my first night in this house. A friend recommended writing down everything that’s happened from start to finish in as much detail as possible. It’ssupposed to help me organize my thoughts in a way that makes them easier tounderstand… My hopes aren’t exactly high, but – screw it – I’m a writer, so why the hellnot. It doesn’t really matter how much time I spend on this anyway. That’s the thing aboutromance novels— no one gives a shit how Cassidy and Christopher meet; they onlycare about what happens after the clothes come off. I once changed how the maincharacters spelled his name halfway through a book and not one person noticed— noteven my editor! I guess I’m not exactly thrilled at the prospect of reliving the last several weeks, but I’mdesperate enough to try anything… Munchkin or Crane? I sent the moving trucks out two days ahead of myself, and the furniture was already inplace when I arrived. The boxes were the only things left for me to deal with, and Isettled for unpacking the necessities as they were needed; the spare bedroom is still fullof junk I’ll probably never need. It was around 9:00 on a Saturday morning when I first arrived. The movers were alreadylong gone, and I was completely alone. I converted the dining-room space into an office;it has a great view of the creek, and – when I sat to write for the first time – words pouredfrom me like they used to before I became a rotting husk of cynicism… Did that havemore to do with writing a breakup scene than the peaceful scenery? Maybe, but it’s amoot point now. Any sense of serenity quickly evaporated with a strange, high-pitched— ugh, how do Ieven describe it? I’ve heard it at least a half-a-dozen times since, but it never getseasier to define… It’s not a scream or cry… It’s not like that weird Predator clickingnoise, either… It’s more like the screech of nails on a chalkboard only more… I don’tknow, primal? If you can imagine a “primal… chalkboard…” Look, I said I don’t know! I really don’t— that’s the point. What matters is that I spent theentire day absorbed in a fantasy world only to come out of it hearing some ungodly,indescribable sound that made my blood run cold and sweat drip down my spine. I looked up to see it was suddenly dark out— I had no idea when that happened— andthe patio bulbs were dead. Replacing them was absolutely out of the question— nothingwould have convinced me to open the door. I hadn’t bothered buying curtains yet, andthe only thing I could see through any window was my own reflection… That was themost unnerving part of all; that sound was so loud— whatever was making it had to beclose by… My heart skipped a few beats as I imagined what might be out there—looking in at me plain as day… Eventually, I forced myself into motion and began turning off the lights. I wanted tominimize the view inside, but I didn’t expect to see anything myself… Yet – for a fractionof a second – my reflection disappeared, and I saw two glowing-red eyes set into ahulking humanoid shape not 20 yards away… It was dark out, but the stars providedsome slight illumination— enough to distinguish that pitch-black figure from thebackground… It was only the briefest glimpse… It disappeared into the tree-line, and I was left staringthrough my transparent reflection— wondering just how real that moment had been. It’samazing how one begins to question their own sanity when logic is threatened… ‘Hadthose red orbs really been eyes? Was it really the shape of something on two legs?’I keep thinking about the Wizard of Oz… There’s an urban legend that one of themunchkins actually hung themselves on set, and the footage made it past allpost-production edits. The supposedly fatal moment occurs when the Tin Man joinsDorothy and the Scarecrow— if you focus on the background as the three charactersskip away, you’ll see a large shadow seemingly rise and drop. Now— if the idea of a hanging munchkin has been implanted in your mind— that maybe what it looks like… But – if you were informed that the studio had several large birdsrunning around that day – it suddenly looks very much like a crane spreading and foldingits wings. I’m aware those two things don’t sound like they would look similar, but there’sclips all over YouTube if you want to see it for yourself… Basically, that’s just a roundabout way of saying I wasn’t sure if I really saw what Ithought I saw— you know? I was already one stubbed toe away from a full mentalbreakdown, and now I had to wonder if I was hallucinating! Well, spoiler alert— I wasn’thallucinating! That night— I hung blankets over every window before turning the lights back on andgoing to bed… I only had screws to get the job done, but you can’t argue with the results. Marcy kept the cats, but even their combined efforts wouldn’t be a match for myredneck curtains… In some regards, I’m adapting to country-life just fine… Sound Sleep I spent the next day buying and installing motion detecting flood-lights. I was pleasedwith myself for presumably “outsmarting” my new nemesis, but I failed to anticipate thenumerous false alarms wildlife would cause. I was getting up to investigate every fiveminutes— usually just in time to see a raccoon disappear into the forest— but mydetermination had doubled since the night before. I wanted pictures that would prove Ididn’t get “all worked up over a black bear.” I might not know much, but I know blackbears don’t have red eyes… Sadly that whole night was a bust… Unless you count experiencing my first case ofsleep paralysis. It’s been happening at least 2-3 times a week ever since, and – I gottasay – I’m not a fan. It was midnight when I went to bed, and – since my clock projects thetime onto the ceiling – I know it was 3:30 when something woke me… I was lying on my back – trying to remember what I heard – when the strange screechingnoise from the night before made my insides recoil with pure dread. It sounded like itwas coming from right outside the window… I tried to sit up, and simply couldn’t… Youknow the pins-and-needles sensation of a sleeping arm or foot? That’s how my entirebody felt. My sight was restricted to solely what I could see without moving my head, but – byfocusing my vision to the far left – I was just able to make out the window. An old, whitesheet still acted as a curtain, but it was thin, and the flood-lights were clearly visiblebehind it. Had it not been for the sound and the tall, hulking shadow outlined in thesheet’s center— I would have blamed another animal for setting off the motiondetectors. The pricks of pins-and-needles increased tenfold as I struggled to move, but it wasuseless— as useless as trying to maintain my focus on the window. My eyes burnedwith the strain, but I couldn’t look away, either. Somehow, my thoughts turned to Marcy,and how she was likely asleep in that mechanic’s arms… A mechanic for Christ’s sake!She won’t even pump her own gas because of the smell! Sorry— not important… Butthat’s what I thought about while staring at the mystery shape. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep because it was suddenly daylight, and I couldmove again. I leapt out of bed in a hurry to check around outside, and – though I didn’tfind any footprints – I did find something much more horrifying… My bedroom window was somehow cracked open, but I’m positive they were all lockedwhen I went to sleep. The wood was chipped at the bottom, like someone crammedtheir nails into the tiny crack and managed to force it open – despite the lock. I reallydon’t know what to make of it… When I reengaged the lock, it seemed to work fine…Unfortunately, I’ve never thrived under pressure, so I didn’t think to screw the windowsshut until the next incident, but I’ll get to that shortly. Things were actually normal for the remainder of that week unless you count a fewunusually vivid nightmares— I mean the regular kind, this time… Though, it’s debatableif one would label the act of brutally murdering their ex as a nightmare, but I digress…Don’t fall in love, kids, it’s not worth it— not in an era where you can buy electronicromance instead. Drunken Encounter The next couple weeks made the first week look like a vacation. There’s always 2-3quiet days between incidents, and this thing somehow manages to pick the exactmoment I drop my guard to suddenly start screeching. If I’m lucky, the strange soundsare where it stops… But on the bad nights— it’s only the beginning. After a particularly hard day, I decided to open the house warming gift from my editor— Idon’t know much about liquor, but the bottle looked very expensive. I never quitemastered the art of self-control, so I normally avoid alcohol— especially when alone—but at a certain point, you’ll do anything to numb the pain. With the amount I consumed,most people would have been on the verge of drunk— but I was drunk. So drunk, in fact, that when I suddenly heard the screeching noise, I rushed to turn onall the outside lights; it was like the sun returned for a late-night encore. That’s when Ifinally got my first full look at this thing … I could say it resembled the grim reaper, butthat would be misleading. When you think of the grim reaper, you probably imagine askeleton in a black, hooded robe, and this was… Well, this was different… The creature was shrouded in something black… It was like a half-liquid, half-solidsludgy substance. Dozens of inky tendrils rose from all over the creature’s body like Medusa’s snakes. They moved as if they were part of the entity rather than any type ofclothing— even seeming to form its very hands rather than simply covering them… Icouldn’t tell its fingers apart from the tendrils— or maybe it just had twenty fingers…Who the hell knows… And those eyes… God was I right about those eyes… Two large, bulbous red orbs wereset into the half-decomposed skull of a corpse. What little skin that remained was grayand mottled with a few white splotches of exposed bone. There have been momentswhere I’ve caught a whiff of its stench, and there are simply no words to convey the truehorror of that smell. This isn’t something I say lightly; I’ve worked some of the foulestjobs known to man, and I know the rotting stench of death— this was far more vile thansuch a simple explanation. We probably stared at one another for less than ten seconds before I remembered totake a picture, but I was shaking uncontrollably and immediately dropped the phone.You’re probably all familiar with the sickening sound of your phone colliding with a hardfloor— it was just enough to pull my eyes away from the creature. I only glanced downfor a fraction of a second, yet – when I turned back – nothing was there… I was almost drunk enough to go outside… There’s no such things as monsters, orcryptids, or whatever kids wanna call the boogeyman these days. As far as I knew—that thing was either some nut-job in a costume, or my mind had snapped in aforbiddingly real way. I tend to lean towards the latter, myself, and confronting myhallucination seemed like the best thing I could do. If I proved to myself it wasn’t real— Icould learn to ignore it and get on with my life… I mean, sure it probably wasn’t thehealthiest plan, but, again, I was drunk and thinking of my deadline. Royce wants chapters 1-15 before April— that doesn’t leave much time when you stillhave fourteen left to write… Maybe I can combine an element from real life and makeChristopher a Vampire Hunter. Those are still hot, right? Cassidy can be a hot 500-year-old vampire tragically turned at the age of 21, and all she wants is someone who will appreciate her for who she is on the inside… Even if that person has devoted his life to killing her kind! That’s the great thing about smut— it truly doesn’t matter how your characters end upnaked, so long as they stay that way for a few pages. Anyway – if it wasn’t obvious by the unnecessary tangent – this is when the next sleepparalysis incident happened… I went to bed just after 11:00, and the clock said 3:17when I woke drenched in sweat. Cold beads of moisture ran from my temple to the back of my neck in maddening succession, but I couldn’t wipe them away— I couldn’t moveat all. I was so mortified at the realization of what was happening that it took severalseconds before I noticed the screech that I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to describeto therapists. It sounded different somehow, and – at first – I couldn’t quite put my finger on it… Butthen, I strained my eyes to the left once again, and my heart froze mid-beat at the sightof my worst nightmare. Not only were the flood-lights on— my makeshift curtain wasflapping in the breeze of an open window, and – this time – I could see the dark,shadowy figure’s red eyes because they were on my side of the curtain… The motion detectors timed out at that same instant, and the room was left in totaldarkness except for those two glowing, red orbs. I’m not exaggerating when I say myheart came to a full stop. I thought a heart-attack would kill me before that thing could…I thought a lot of things in those few seconds, actually. To an extent, most people areprobably familiar with the sensation of processing several possible scenarios in a singleinstant, but – when you truly believe your life is in danger – that effect is magnifiedtenfold. In those few seconds I saw my entire life play like a movie in my head… At the samemoment, I saw myself trying to get up and run away… At the same moment, I sawmyself trying to scream— trying to flail my limbs in a desperate attempt to repel amonster that may-or-may-not be nothing more than the early warning signs of a fullmental breakdown. It was too much of a strain to keep my eyes on it— I couldn’t help looking away… It wasonly for the briefest instant, yet – when I looked back – the creature was closer! It wasjust a little easier for my eyes to reach those haunting red orbs, and their angle to thewindow was just slightly different… but what could I do about it? Nothing. So I keptstaring at its eyes— terrified it would come closer if I looked away again. I have no ideawhen I fell asleep; it could have been an hour later— it could have been ten minutes—but it felt like eternity. Cry for Help All I know for sure is that – when I woke up – it was 7:30, and my window was wideopen. I like to think I did what any sensible man would have done… I screwed every window shut while crying softly and questioning my sanity. I couldn’t stand being aloneanymore; I called my best friend, endured the keeping-in-touch lecture, and spilled mysorry guts. Landon has always been a practical guy; I’m sure he didn’t believe me in the beginning,but he listened to my crap recordings like the good sport that he is. The recordings mayhave been worthless, but he came up with the idea to call him the next time I heard thescreeching, and he only had to wait two nights before it happened again. Though it wasinitially difficult to make out – the sound became much more distinguishable once Icracked the patio door. He couldn’t explain it either— which fine, I didn’t expect him to— but I was just relievedsomeone else could physically hear it. The noise is real, and, well, if that’s real… Iguess the same is true for the thing making it… I’ve had sleep paralysis several times since the open window incident, but – as far as Ican tell – nothing has been back inside. I’ve only seen it one other time, and that wasearlier this evening… I was smoking on the patio just before sunset when I looked up tosee two glowing, red eyes staring back at me from inside the tree-line. It seemed like itwas waiting for the last light to fade, and I had the strangest urge to go to it. If the cherryof my cigarette hadn’t fallen on my barefoot, I may not have realized I was actuallymoving closer. This entire ordeal has shaken me to my core. I’m not cut out for things like this; I haveno idea what to do or how to cope. Do I never go outside again? Do I build a fence? DoI get a dog— a gun? What should I do? Christ, I can’t believe I’ve turned into one ofthose people who seeks comfort from random strangers on the internet… No offense ifyou are one of those people… I just have major trust issues— in case you couldn’t tell…You know what? Never-mind… I think I’ll get that dog, after all… Credit: Page Turner Official Site Please Note the Author of this Creepypasta does NOT give permission for it to be used for any podcasts or narrations 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.