The Faceless
The night air was cool as a California breeze, the beats and laughter of my family inside celebrating my big day as I sat with my father on our back porch. It was the evening of my high school graduation, and he had finally let his guard down, a drink in hand. The shadows danced around us, the light flickering from the patio door stopping just short of the trees of our backyard. Why did the joy of my graduation feel so far away? My father had always been a quiet man, only sharing where he once came from and that we still had family their thoughts we’ve never been. When my father asked me to speak outside his face looked devoid of any life.“Son,” he began, his voice low and steady, “there’s something I’ve never told you about my childhood in the Appalachian mountains. I think it’s time you knew.” I leaned in, curiosity piqued. “What is it?” He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting into the distance as if he were staring down a long, dark path. “They call them the Faceless. If you’ve ever caught a glimpse out of the corner of your eye but couldn’t see their faces, it was them. They exist among us, some every day, and they’re dangerous.” I shivered slightly. “What do you mean, dangerous?” He continued, “They exist deep in the woods where I grew up, in tattered dark robes. Where their faces should be, there’s only smooth, white skin, and their eyes and mouths are as black as night. They lure you in with sweet, mysterious songs, tempting you to play their games. But once you lock eyes with them, it’s over.” “Over?” I echoed, feeling a chill creep down my spine. “Yeah. Staring into those black depths is how they steal your face. Once they take it, you become one of them—just another faceless figure wandering the woods, playing their games and looking for revenge to once again be free.” His eyes were haunted now, and I felt the weight of his words. “What happened to you?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “The night before my graduation, many years ago,” he said, “my two best friends and I decided to sneak into the woods to drink and celebrate. We wanted to be free, away from the prying eyes of the town. As the night wore on, we started hearing these beautiful, haunting songs drifting through the trees.” “What did you do?” “We followed the sound,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “That’s when we saw them—faceless children playing between the trees, dancing their silly dance under the moonlight. I’d heard the stories, though. My mothers favorite bedtime story. A warning about them for me. So, I closed my eyes tight, hoping they couldn’t make me open them.” His hands trembled slightly as he spoke. “But I could hear my friends laughing, then screaming. I felt cold hands gripping my shoulders, and panic surged through me. I ran, stumbling through the dark, barely daring to open my eyes.” “How did you make it out?” I asked, the few drinks I had quickly leaving my system. “I stumbled and fell all the way. Still I never looked back for my friends,” he said, looking down. “My friends were never found. After graduation the next day, I moved to California to escape, to start anew. I thought I’d left it all behind.” I tried to process the horror of his tale, the creeping dread filling the air. “Why are you telling me this now?” I asked, my heart racing. He looked at me, his eyes heavy with a mix of sorrow and fear. “The reason I’m telling you is because the boy who graduated in front of you… and the one behind you? They had the faces of my friends. They wanted me to join them back then, now they’ve come for you.” The world fell silent around us, the laughter of my classmates a distant memory. I glanced into the dark woods, feeling the weight of something unseen, lurking just out of sight. The songs echoed faintly in the back of my mind, pulling me toward the trees, whispering promises of play and secrets. “Dad,” I whispered, my voice shaking, “what do we do?” He set his drink down, eyes wide with urgency. “We don’t look back son.” As the night deepened, the distant echoes of laughter twisted into something sinister, I could almost see the faceless figures behind every tree waiting for their next victim, calling me home deep in the woods of Appalachia. Credit: Keenan Schlecht YouTube 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.