True or Not

True or Not

Maybe I am going about this all wrong. I keep trying to write a masterful Creepypasta that will haunt readers for years to come. The problem is I get writers block, or, well, maybe I am just not scary enough. I hear plenty about blood and gore but weaving a tale so utterly terrifying that you truly are scared to sleep is a daunting task. I have moments where I want to give up. I won’t though. My issue is this, Creepypasta is true even if it isn’t. So, how many of these stories are true and how many are not? How many horrifying experiences are there in the world that we will never know are real or not!? It is frustrating for a mind like mine.

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Can a Creepypasta disguise a killer’s confession? Can these tales confirm the paranormal, the supernatural or cryptids? Who knows? This is where my thoughts take me when I consider the art of Creepypasta. The ‘what ifs’ are endless. Needless to say, this is a major preoccupation for me.

For example, I once heard a story where an intruder was in the woman’s home all along. In the end she met her demise despite her rational fears. Bravo to the writer, could the writer have indeed committed this murder? Probably not. So, I will sum this bit of rambling up for you. I am going to do an experiment, and I will let you decide. Is this Creepypasta true or not? What do your instincts scream, what does your gut say? By the end of my experiment I want your honest opinions. Do you ever ponder the same sorts of things that I do? How far would you go to write the story that sticks with the reader or listener? Is this my confession?

There is a girl that I am completely in love with. She doesn’t know I exist, despite my efforts. She says that I am “not her type” whatever that means. I am not a bad looking guy, I have a good job, no kids, no exes, nothing. I am a clean slate, she just won’t give me a chance. It is that kind of frustrating that makes me want to beat my head on a wall. I fantasize about how her skin would feel against mine, how her lips taste and I just want to run my fingers thru her hair and take in her scent.

I suppose that would be creepy except, I have never told her any of my private thoughts. She acts repulsed by me, it is very hurtful. Every time I see her at the deli where she works she will either dodge me or wait on me with a look of disdain on her face. I thought once about complaining about her customer service anonymously, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I love her too much. I don’t know why she doesn’t feel the same about me, she doesn’t even have to love me, just give me a chance!

This is the male kryptonite, when our self-esteem takes such a hit. Like an eighteen -wheeler slamming into a scooter. I have had enough of the looks of disgust and her speaking to me like I am repulsive. I must show her that I am not what she thinks. I am very romantic, and attentive. She could and will be my queen. I have been watching the deli for around two weeks and I have her schedule down inside and out, I am going to approach her tonight. I hope that she doesn’t rebuff me yet again. I am getting ready now, she is about to exit the building. I will let you guys know how it goes.

Well, things didn’t go as planned. I approached her, and she looked at me with disgust. I am ashamed to say that I lost it. Before I knew what was happening I had punched her square in the face knocking her out. I grabbed her before she hit the ground, I think that was nice of me. Anyways, I put her in my car and took her to my apartment. She was out for a good stretch of time. I had laid her on my bed, removed her shoes and covered her with my quilt. I wanted her to be comfy. I was sitting at the kitchen table waiting to hear her stir but instead I heard the most god- awful screaming. I ran into the room and she looked at me wild eyed. I don’t know why she was so scared! I asked her to stop screaming and she screamed louder! I began to wonder what it was that I had seen in her? She was acting like I was a monster, she was being a selfish bitch.

I didn’t want to, but she forced me to gag her, the last thing I wanted was the police at my door. I mean, shit, she was going to wake the whole complex! She started swinging on me, trying to square up on me like a dude. I just grabbed her scrawny arms in one hand and stuffed a sock in her mouth. I explained if she would calm down we could sort this out. She wasn’t going to have any part of it because she kept flailing around and then started to cry. I seriously don’t know what her problem was, she did have a black swollen eye. That made me feel bad, but it was necessary. I wish that she wasn’t such a jumpy gal, we could have had such a good time together. Things were too crazy for my taste, I was getting tired of begging her to just shut up and chill out. Finally, I just dragged her to the kitchen and tied her to a chair.

This was not how I had this night planned. She was making a nice evening together impossible. She looked like a maniac, I was kind of scared of her to be honest. We were in a predicament to say the least. I didn’t like feeling scared, I hadn’t felt scared since I was a little boy and my dad would come in my room drunk and beat the shit out of me. That went on for years, until he died when I was 15. So, back to what is going on now. She is tied to the chair, I am writing my Creepypasta and she is staring at me. I won’t take the gag out, I can’t handle the screaming. She did stop crying though, so that is good.

My dad used to scream at me, all I ever wanted to do was be a writer and that is what I do. I write, I blog, freelance whatever makes me some money. Of course, that is a side job for now. Like I said, I have a good job. So but, I was saying, my dad, he was a yeller. I could hear him long after he was dead, his screams always ravaged my brain, his damn yelling was seared in my head. So, here we are, I am typing, and she is being silent, for now. I know she can’t really scream with that knife sticking out of her chest but when I take the gag out, dammit… she is going to start that yelling and fussing and I really can’t deal with it. I know that’s what will happen. Dad did the same damn thing.

Submitted October 09, 2018 at 06:58PM by Paris_Michaels

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