People Don’t Die. They Hide.
When I was ten years old, my brother came home to die on a frigid day in January. Purple lesions ravaged the skin that barely covered his bones. He looked an awful lot like a skeleton, unlike the friendly visitor I had come to know over my short lifetime. My brother Tobias was many years older than me, so I didn’t have much of a relationship with him. Still, he made a point to take the train home to New Haven for the holidays, filling our living room with plenty of gifts. One evening, he bought Mom the Fendi Baguette she always wanted to show off to her friends at the Junior Women’s Club. For my dad’s gift, he purchased the George Foreman Grill, and all his coworkers at the office buzzed about it. For me, he bought a Creepy Crawlers oven with liquid and mold containers. The last time he came home, I was excited to show him all the bugs and monsters I made. “You better not,” my mom said solemnly when I came home from school one day. My arms were filled with the new batch of miniature reptiles and amphibians I had created. They were a big hit at recess, and I knew Tobias would love them. “He’s super tired, honey.” “I thought they would cheer Toby up!” She shook her head and sobbed, drawing a handkerchief to her face. “Honey, we talked about this. Toby is very sick. He won’t be able to hear you now.” My mom sobbed loudly as my dad slung an arm around her, directing her down the hallway. “Devin, your… grandparents are in the living room. Why don’t you join them?” These words caused my mom to weep even louder for some reason as my dad ushered her away. As they reached the living room, I heard the faint words of the live-in hospice nurse that it “wouldn’t be long now” and something about “hearing the death rattle.” When the sobs faded and the conversation died down, I turned the knob to his room as quietly as I could. Standing in the doorway, my heart fluttered. My brother not only looked like a skeleton with his frail exterior and dissolving skin but like one of the grey aliens I made in my Creepy Crawlers oven a couple of weeks ago. Unlike the alien, however, he had several tubes attached to him that were hooked up to boxy, beeping machines. His body looked so thin that I swear it started to fade into the sheets of his bed. “Toby?” I said hoarsely. I waited a few minutes before I shouted his name. “Toby!” Minutes passed before his purple lips quivered and let out an audible groan that dragged on for several seconds. After the groan ended, six booming words escaped his lips- “Look for me on the walls…” A longer groan ensued these words followed by a long beep from the machine. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the nurse, my parents, and grandparents rushed into the room. I don’t remember much except for shuffling feet, screams, and my father whisking me out of the room and closing the door in my face. The adults were in the room for several minutes before my grandmother finally left with her head cast down. She threw her doughy arms around me and said, “I’m…so sorry, sweetheart. Your brother’s gone to heaven with the angels.” As the other adults came out of the room one by one to hug me, apologize, and sob into my small body, I wondered if I should be crying too. I supposed I loved my brother but I didn’t know him well. To me, he was just that friendly visitor who bought me gifts and read me stories. He popped in and out of my life like some magical elf that appeared only for holidays and disappeared like Santa up the chimney or Frosty the Snowman on a sunny day. I put my hands over my eyes and pretended to cry with them. After a while, I asked if it was okay to go up to my room. My parents permitted me. At once, I hurried up the stairs and slammed the door behind me. For hours, I plopped onto my dinosaur bed sheets and stared at the walls. I stared at the walls for so long that I thought my eyes would bleed. The walls of my room were sponge-painted blue, covered in posters of my favorite baseball players and movies. The shapes on my walls were unmoving. As my eyes drew tears and I yawned, I started to drift off to sleep. My room didn’t have any windows, so I couldn’t tell whether it was nighttime or not, but I supposed night was nearing by the increasing shadows in the room. Something was strange about these shadows though. They weren’t the typical black or gray, but shades of green. I blinked as green circles danced around my walls like a stage spotlight. “Are you awake, Devy boy?” a hollow voice echoed. “It’s time to wake up, Devy boy.” “Huh?” I said, rubbing my eyes. “Who-who are you?” “You know who, silly. I don’t have much time.” I blinked twice and the green circles faded together. All at once, the circles morphed into the shape of a human. The shape looked a little under six feet tall, perhaps taller, its figure reaching the brim of the ceiling. “Toby? Toby is that you?” “Who else, Devy boy?” The figure let out a bellowing laugh and stretched atop the ceiling, twisting around the fan in almost a rhythmic pattern. “But I thought you were…” “Dead?” The figure unleashed another bellowing laugh, this time twisting onto the carpeted floor, its green glow matching the soda I spilled the previous day. “I thought I would die too, Devy boy, but it’s the most unusual thing. You don’t go to heaven or hell like we learned in church. Don’t tell mom and dad though, especially not grandma.” “I won’t…” I said, scratching my head. “But Toby, if… you’re not dead, what are you?” “Hiding.” The figure’s voice changed from a bellowing pitch to a dull whisper. “What-what do you mean?” “You must swear not to tell anyone.” “I swear, Toby. I swear.” “People don’t die,” the figure whispered, draining from the carpets back to a small circle on my wall. “They hide.” “From what?” “I don’t know yet,” the figure said, its voice now trembling. “I just know that we’re hiding. We’re all hiding…” As the figure spoke these words, I saw dozens of green circles bouncing around my walls. They were varying shades of green. Some spoke in whispers like my brother. Others spoke in gibberish that sounded like different languages. I shoved my thumbs into my ear canals as the sounds grew louder and more varied. I jammed my eyelids shut as the lights flickered and burned into my retinas. As I screamed, I heard my brother’s voice once more. “People don’t die. They hide, Devy! They hide and they must never be found!” I screamed so loud that my cat Jasper hollered from the other room. I screamed so loud that my mom, dad, grandparents, and even the live-in nurse hurried upstairs and forced their way into my room. “It’s okay, honey,” my mom said, pulling me into her bosom. “It’s okay sweetheart. We’re all so sad!” As the others crowded around me, I continued to scream. Though the sounds had disappeared, I still heard my brother’s voice loud and clear, “People don’t die. They hide.” As the days faded into weeks and months, I saw the green circles everywhere, bouncing about the side of buildings, circling the screens of the downtown movie theater, and even on the fence of my backyard. Sometimes, the circles morphed into the shapes of humans, other times they looked like mere reflections. One time during a sleepover, I swore I even saw the circles morph into the shapes of falling bats on the outsides of my tent. I tried not to scream when I saw them. After a while, I tried not to look. When I didn’t look, however, I heard their whispers, which usually amounted to nothing but gibberish. As the months faded into years, I checked myself into therapy, the only chance I had to stop seeing the circles, to stop hearing the awful, muffled voices. As a college student, my campus therapist surmised that the shapes and whispers were my way of coping with loss and grief. He assured me that people truly did die and even took me to the local morgue, which his cousin owned, to show me what a corpse looked like. I admitted that I had never seen my brother’s corpse when he died. Seeing the corpses of an old woman and a man as skinny as my brother made me realize how natural death was a part of life. I kept in touch with my therapist after college and with each passing day, I began to hear the voices even less. For the first time in forever, I could appreciate the sounds of the outdoors that I had taken for granted, even the menial ones like a gust of wind or a child screaming on the playground. For the first time in forever, I could appreciate the laughter of Julia, the girl I took on a first date at the local Starbucks. I loved the sound of her laughter, the sounds of our laughter as we engaged in the silliest conversations. Throughout my life, I heard many wonderful sounds like church bells on my wedding day or the sound of my son Jack crying in my arms. I fell in love with the lights and sounds of my life until the day I started to cough profusely. My wife had taken Jack to daycare as I sat in my home office, typing a draft of my latest article. I felt the urge to cough, a large, bulging urge rising from my chest. As much as I tried to ignore it, I finally unleashed the cough, a cough so powerful that I doubled over onto my desk, spilling blood onto the keyboard. I began to shiver as the blood dripped from my mouth onto the keys and all over the floor. I scrambled to find my cell phone and dial 9-1-1 as I continued to convulse blood and cry. After I had emptied all of the contents of blood from my stomach, I collapsed onto the floor with the receiver by my ear. “9-1-1 what’s your emergency? Hello?” With what little strength I had left, I pushed my body across the floor to the phone. “I threw up a lot of blood,” I said weakly. I’m sorry about that sir,” the dispatcher said. Many moments passed before she spoke again. “Hello? Are you there?” “Sir…” the dispatcher said, her voice suddenly a lot lower and more muffled. “You better start thinking about a good place to hide.” As the voice began to cackle, a swarm of green circles danced around my body. Credit: Tristan Mason 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.