The Wretch of Weed Park
Well, here I am. 2 A.M on a damn school night. Lying in bed, unable to sleep again, on my laptop, writing this. I’m writing to get my story out, to let someone know what happened. Because lord knows I can’t speak about this to anyone around here. I live in a small-ish town situated directly on the ‘nose’, if you will, of Iowa, where the Mississippi bends back towards the center of the states. I’m not going to give the name of the town. However, If you want to do some research, I’m not going to stop you. There is a park located on the edge of the town. It’s pretty popular. There are a lot of houses there, a small kid’s area, an aquatic center, some tennis courts, bike trails, and the Community College campus. Flowers are abundant in the park, and the city takes good care to make sure the display of colorful and well-kempt flowers stay that way. There is also the husk of what used to be a zoo, which housed an array of animals, from cobras to monkeys. This park has always been a big part of the community, and there are several well-known structures in the area, which are used or mentioned in some way or another. Which is strange why no one ever talks about the bandstand. The bandstand is a large stone gazebo fixed on the very edge of the main flat, which is used for nothing. Nothing ever happens there. No bands play. They used to, but not anymore. It’s about 8 feet in height where the ground is the highest up around it, 20 feet across in any given direction, and octagonal in shape. There is a cone-like roof over the top of the structure. When I said that the bandstand gets no use, it may have been a slight exaggeration. Every so often a group of stoners or just some kids will drag a park bench over, hop on top of it, and crawl up into the thing. I’ve been up there myself, as a group of friends and I often parkour, and it is a prime site. We’ve become pros at getting up into it without the assistance of park benches. There isn’t much up there. Usually it is filled with faded chalk writings from previous groups of teenagers, who also leave the box behind for the next group to leave their mark. But, that’s it. No officials ever use the place. The gothic-style gate to the entry stairs is chained and locked with an old-style iron lock. It’s rusty and dingy. When you are up in the bandstand, you can go down the stairs. They gently wind down around the center structure. When you reach the bottom, you can look out at your friends or whatever dumb shit you may be doing with a gate. But, at the end of the landing platform, to your left if you are looking out, is a door. The door is solid iron. Or steel, fuck, I don’t know. Metal. Solid, hard, cold, black metal. It’s about 5 feet tall, rather short. It is chained several times over. It’s locked with the same old gothic lock as on the gate. It appears to not have been opened for 60 years. There is rust, spider webs, dust, and all manners of grime and disgustingness covering it. I’ve never seen or heard about anyone using this door for anything. It’s just… There. Peeking, staring out from the gate into the open, forlorn. The first real encounter I had with this door was during a film project I was working on. At the time, I was a junior in high school. It was for an art scholarship. I had decided after many failed comedy scripts to make it a horror short film, a generic slasher/stalker/silent-scary-guy-moving-when-you-aren’t-looking film. The antagonist was named “Reaves”, a man whose face was terribly scarred and who wore a dark grey business coat with a hoodie underneath. I made the prosthetic mask and provided the costuming. It was an extremely low-budget film, but it was sort of meant to be. It was first person, “Blair Witch” style, probably a bad call. The center of the story was this door. This black, solid metal door that never moves, that is rarely looked upon, that is hardly recalled in even the most stoic of memories. Reaves emerges from the door to wreak havoc on the group of teenage filmers meddling with a power beyond their comprehension. The film never went anywhere. I submitted several graphic design and digital media projects instead. But this door… The door which has no name. The door which is neglected and rejected and left to rot in it’s own filth and bile… It fascinated me. I had always kind of looked and hoped for something spectacular in this world full of normal. Something that would inspire wonder, or maybe fear; a monster, a hidden place full of magic, a new sort of species of talking animal, something. But I’m reaching a point in life where I must put those childish hopes of wonder and adventure to rest. Or so I thought. I tried to research this door. The door which is called nothing. And that is what I found. Nothing. No specifics. Nothing. I had asked around my immediate peers. My mom said it was probably used for decoration storage. Chained? And this thing hadn’t been opened for decades. And it is solid metal. I don’t think decorations were in mind when this place was made. I figured I would just investigate this door myself. So, I grabbed a sleeping bag, a flashlight, and a stethoscope my mom had in her med kit (she is an RN). I decided it would be a good idea to go into that wretched obelisk and spend the night, gathering whatever information I could about the door that captivated me. It was so fascinating. It was just amazing. The door was wonderful. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It with no name. This was the worst idea I have ever had. When I was younger I swiped some nudie mags with a friend from his dad. Up until that night that was the worst thing I had ever done. But no… The door yielded results that I could have never imagined. The log below contains details that I recorded in a journal during my time in the gazebo. 8:00 P.M – I arrive. Nothing is happening. It’s dusk, and people are beginning to leave the park. I lay low, watching for any possible staff driving by, as the park technically closes at 10. 9:00 P.M – It’s dark now. The only light is from a street light about 40 feet away. It hardly reaches the bandstand. The air is chilly. I can say that I am genuinely uncomfortable, even despite being within the line of sight of at least 9 different households. 10:00 P.M – The park is “closed”. I put quotes around closed because there are no gates or anything to make the park literally closed. I have been listening to music since I got up here. It is about 40 degrees out. 10:30 P.M – I can’t hold out any longer. I creep down the stairs to the door which isn’t recalled. I tap on the door and hear a clear echo inside. Nothing out of the ordinary. 11:00 P.M – I grabbed my stethoscope. I put it up to the glorious door. I heard nothing. I decided to hold my position while tapping and manipulating the chains on the door. 12:00 A.M – I’ve heard something. I… I can’t believe it, but I heard something inside. Nothing otherworldly, though. I heard a faint sound, which I concluded was the sound of bees. 12:10 A.M – I still hear the bees. It started suddenly around midnight. Just… The sound of bees. Maybe three or four of them. I don’t know. 12:30 A.M – Bees. Bees. Bees. Buzz. Bees. I’m really tired… 1:00 A.M – The bees stopped, finally. Fuck, I mean, shit. I listened to the bees for a whole hour. Now there is nothing in there. Nothing. How did bees even get in there? There is literally an airtight seal on this door. No other point of entry into that area exists. 3:00 A.M – I think I heard something. 3:30 A.M – I really think I heard something. 3:45 A.M – That was something. There was something in there. I heard something. 3:50 A.M – Shit, it’s only been five motherfucking minutes. It feels like it’s been an hour. 4:00 A.M – There was fucking something in there. I heard something. It heard it. It was a whisper. One word, unintelligible. One word. I don’t know what it said; I could hardly make it out. It was low, harsh, and raspy. Fuck me, fuck me… What am I doing here? Is this real? Just calm down, calm down. It was nothing. You’re tired, you’re cold, go to sleep. 10:00 A.M – I’m awake now. I still think I heard something, but I’m not delusional anymore. I’m rested up. 10:10 A.M – I found a dead bee in my sleeping bag. Someone has to be fucking with me. A single dead bee. I’m done here, I’m going home. I get scared easily. I’ve been called “Super Weenie Hut Jr.’s” on occasion. I was terrified that night. It was a little over a year ago. And shit, I wouldn’t be here if things hadn’t acted up again. My lord, what have I done, fucking with that door… I was lying in my bed a couple weeks ago. I woke up around 2 in the morning. I went to take a piss. My T.V was still on as usual, and Adult Swim was playing.  I slunk back into bed, and began to drift off to sleep. I had a dream. I can recall the dream in vivid detail. It felt like it lasted about 4 seconds. It was a bee’s face, and the sound of buzzing was overwhelming. I woke up, literally within the same minute I fell asleep. I didn’t try to sleep again for the rest of the night. I haven’t slept since then. Believe me, I’ve tried. It’s no use. I keep seeing a damned bee. The bees… It’s fucking ridiculous. I mean, superstition? Supernatural? No. The closest thing I’ve ever been to that is my playthrough of Condemned: Criminal Origins for the PC. This stuff doesn’t actually exist. The dream thing doesn’t happen. But it is somehow… It’s happening to me. I decided to go back to the door which lacks a moniker. It’s always been in the back of my mind, what’s behind that door. So, I did go back. Last week, I went there in the dead of night. Once again, I heard the bees. This time, in an overpowering amount. And then I heard it. A word. A short, raspy word of which the likes have never been uttered before. I heard “Hide”. The voice told me to hide. And the instant it did, I got the feeling of fear that starts in your chest and radiates outward. It’s cold and uncomfortable. I was overcome with paranoia. I jumped out of the gazebo and ran through the night. I live 15 miles away, only accessible by means of highway. I was terrified. I still am terrified. I turned to look behind me, and there was nothing. I turned back to running, and I stopped dead. Around 50 feet ahead of me was a figure. Very, very thin. It had long legs, but a normal sized body and arms. It was kind of hobbled over, crouched, and just within the reach of light from a street lamp. It was contorted and naked-looking, and from what I could tell, covered in bees. It was just looking at me, not moving, not breathing. It was dark out. I don’t even know what the fuck it really looked like. Just thin. I blinked, and it was about 3 feet closer to me. I freaked the fuck out. I wanted to turn and run, but I felt like I needed to stare at it. I heard the bees buzzing. Those damn bees, they’re fucking everywhere. I finally decided to run. I looked back every so often to check if the fucker was after me, I saw no sight of him. I made it to my car and started it. I sped home. And now I’m here. I live in a secluded house surrounded by woods. Every once in a while, late at night, I can make out the faint sound of bees in the distance when all else is silent. I don’t know if it’s actual bees or if it’s him. It’s probably him, coming for me. I know it’s him, he who is the product of the door which is called nothing. I still don’t know what the fuck he his. Where he came from. Why he his here. Why he exists. I named him the Wretch of Weed Park. And he will come for me. And he will kill me. Maybe. I don’t know. He’s out there though… Outside my window. In the dark. Watching me. The scariest part to me is the fact that he is obviously sentient… Self-aware. It’s not like a bird, watching you. The bird isn’t thinking anything. Just looking at you. This thing, though, the Wretch, it’s not looking at me. It’s watching me. I can feel it. I can hear it. Even now, as I’m writing this, huddled in my bed, scared shitless for my life and in wonderment of what has transpired, I can feel him. He’s thinking about me. Practicing restraint. Practicing patience… The masterwork of a predator. I don’t know if he wants something material other than my flesh. I just don’t fucking know how any of this happened. All I wanted to know is what that door was about. And now I know it was made to house a malevolent evil. And I’ve unleashed it. Don’t come here. Don’t. Credit To – Be3m4n 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.