Forced Storytime (Intro) :
I just got my computer privileges back. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been without it, but it’s amazing to have my laptop back. You might think I’m some young fuck who’s gonna tell you how much my life sucks because mommy took the computer away cause I did something bad or some bull shit. That’s not the case. I don’t live with my parents anymore. We’re not estranged, I’ve just grown up. I wonder how long it’s been since I talked to them last. How long has it been since I talked to anyone? I suppose I should start at the beginning. The beginning of this living fucking nightmare.
As I’ve hinted at, my sense of time is shot to shit. Now that I have my computer I can tell you the date , but that doesn’t matter. It still doesn’t tell me how long it’s been. If I had to take a guess it’s been at least three months. Three months as some sensory deprived zombie huddled in the shadow with a notebook and a pen. However long ago it was I was sitting in my apartment, insomnia plaguing me yet another night. I was more then use to it. It took me a few hours to assemble all the details of the night but I think I’ve got all that’s needed to tell you my story.
I’ve always been a fan of horror. Short stories, video games, movies, books, you name it. Nothing would attract me to something faster then a good creep factor. Even at a young age I’d bemoan my great misfortune to never have a paranormal encounter. A lack of any sort of event to prove to me first hand that the paranormal even exists. Had I any clue, and idea, any premonition I would have fuckin’ dropped the interest right there and then. Maybe get into ponies or some other frilly, girly, safe interest. But I didn’t, so here I am. Yes, this is important to the story.
So it was another insomnia plagued night, looking for something to make myself paranoid, send that cold chill down my spine, maybe even force a suppressed cry of surprise from me. It was a fairly successful adventure. Short stories on the internet where my source for the evening. It started out with me listening to narrated stories on YouTube while playing on my 360. Yes, by creepy short stories I do mean creepy pastas, I just can’t bring myself to seriously include it in this account. Every time I hear it referenced or mentioned in one of those short stories it just strikes me as jarring, taking me from the moment. It’s the whole fourth wall concept, but that’s just me. Anyways. I got frustrated at the game I was playing and just put the controller down. Besides, I had already listened to all the creepy stories on YouTube. I decided to focus singularly on finding something creepy on the internet.
I tried ‘Ghosts Captured on Camera’ and a dozen other variations, searching for interesting YouTube videos. Nothing new. I watched a few of my favorite that still gave me slight shivers. With nothing else easily found on YouTube I turned to the greater internet. I ended up on a number of less well known forums. They had some decent stories on them, made me check behind me a time or two. The last one I can remember reading is the one I regret the most. It was short, it wasn’t even a story. It was just a short description of an unnamed creature. I thought it was sorta cool, would have liked to see some art of them.
It was then that I heard the scratching. I barked at my cat to knock it off, but when I looked over my shoulder, the cat was sleeping on the bed. So it wasn’t her. Great, I had mice in the apartment again. I fucking hate mice. I’ll just try to ignore it and hope they invade one of the neighbors or the cat gets them if they dare to stick their heads out of their hiding holes. I went about my business. The scratching continued, and was it getting louder? Come to think of it I had never heard mice make such noises. Rats? I hate Rats more. If they where in the building me and the landlord where going to have a talk. And still, that fucking scratching. I got frustrated. I wanted, no needed to know what was making that noise. I checked around the kitchen. In the cabinets, under the sink, in the oven, even around the fridge. Nothing. It was only as I gave up that I saw it sitting on my counter. A small black creature, no larger then a kitten.
I’m not going to tell you anything more about the creature. I’m not sure even sure what to call it. I can’t tell you what attracted them to me, but I have my suspicions, and I’m doing all I can to put you in as little danger as possible. One suspicion comes from the fact that these creatures are eerily similar to the ones I read about, as mentioned above. It’s possible that it’s coincidence, or it could be knowing how they appear attracts them. Hell, maybe they put up the description and just waited for me to find it and read it. They seem to have a taste for the dramatic.
It’s here that my memory goes. I have snippets. Just flashes of images, ideas, smells, vague gut feelings, odd sensations. It’s all blurred, not sure if some of my ‘memories’ aren’t just from my head or badly assembled pieces from other memories. So from here I’ll do my best, but I won’t be able to tell you everything. I myself don’t know everything.
Somehow, I ended up writing fiction or these black creatures. From what I remember they can communicate, not verbally, but they communicate. Mostly they use motions, gestures, and growls. Mind you I’ve only ever seen then communicate with me, never each other. They interact with each other, but it’s different. Anyways, somehow they got me to write fiction for them. They remind me of people, or at least some people. They like short horror stories. So most of my memories are writing short horror stories into a notebook. When I’d finish a story I’d tear it out and give it to them. They’d cry and cheer as the pages where carried off, fought over, and eventually taken somewhere else. I’ve never seen any of those pages again.
They didn’t like the last story. This is where my memory gets a little more concrete. I was starting to regain control of my consciousness. Up to this point I was just some half-minded barely conscious zombie churning out work. I guess being more cognizant my work was different. I forced a lot of it, cutting out some ideas and parts just to get the creatures who had obviously been kept waiting too long their new story. I gave it to them, unsure of this one. They didn’t like it, they screamed and hissed, gesturing violently at me as they ripped the pages up. I tried to defend my case, telling them I was tired, I lacked inspiration, I was hungry, I needed time and a break. I guess something got to them, they allowed me my computer back for ‘inspiration’ and fewer of them are around watching me.
I’m not sure why they gave me some privileges back. Do they know I’m becoming more aware again? Are they setting me up for another nightmarish vapor trip? I don’t know. All I know is they want more stories. I’m not sure what will happen if I displease them again, I can only guess and imagine. It’s not uplifting. So for now, I’ll do what I can. I’ll write, try to talk them into giving me more back. Maybe next time I can get my phone back.
One of them just scampered over to my desk and started screaming at me. A high pitched crackling noise. It used a claw to cut my check, pointed at the screen, made more noises, and then scampered back to the shelf where it had been sitting. I guess it somehow figured out that I’m not writing a story for it. I’ll have to finish here. I’ll try to get more out to you when I can.