Creepypasta, Practice, Short Stories

Creepypasta #1

I pulled the comforter up over my ear, snuggling down into the bed, consolidating whatever warmth could be found. It was well past midnight, but I couldn’t seem to get settled. My thighs ached from trying out my new bicycle this afternoon, and my body tottered between too hot and too cold no matter whether I snaked a foot out from under the sheets or not.

Plus, there was that thing with the Wi-Fi speaker.

I’m not sure of when it began – I’m generally a heavy sleeper – but I know it’s gone on at least a week now. Sometime around midnight, Google answers a question.

I know it sounds insane. Maybe I’m hearing things. Well, certainly I am. I’m hearing the generic male voice I chose respond to… something. I don’t know. Even I think it’s insane.

You may ask, do you talk in your sleep? and yes, I have in the past and have no reason to believe I haven’t continued to do so. But here’s the thing: my phone’s screen is dark. I didn’t activate the Assistant, at least not from my phone. The app isn’t even running. Not ever. I checked every time.

There has to be a logical explanation. Right? I mean, I’m pretty bright, but I can’t think of anything except a serial killer toying with me or ghosts looking for directions to the nearest Starbucks.

That’s why I got the camera. Fancy infrared and everything. I set it up almost defiantly, my back stiff, hackles raised. If there was a ghost watching me, I did not want it to think I was afraid of its translucent ass. I mean, I was. Obviously. But it didn’t need to know that.

Maybe I should get a cat? They can see ghosts, right?

I shook myself back to the task at hand, brushing my hands together and padding back over to my laptop to check the camera angle. I pulled up the feed and saw the seafoam puck centered on the screen. Running my thumb over the touchscreen on my phone, I verified that I had the same view in the app. Nodding in satisfaction, I softly closed the device.

***

I sat bolt upright. A quick glance at the clock showed 12:01 am, my phone next to it, the screen dark. The darkness was almost palpable, thick and heavy around me. And still. As if every atom held its breath.

I scrambled for the phone, nearly dropping it in my haste to open the camera app. The light stung my eyes at first, but quickly adjusted.

Nothing.

Not a damn thing was happening on camera. The light on the puck wasn’t even on, indicating that it had spoken.

But it had.

I heard it. I heard it plain as day, as if I had been standing right next to the speaker as it answered yet another question. And while I had no idea what the question was, my heart nearly stopped at the answer.

Just two little words. Spoken succinctly in that confident, baritone voice…

She’s upstairs.

Short Stories

Otterbox

A friend challenged me to compose a complete story in 100 words or less which had to include the phrase “then Jen showed Tawn her otterbox.”  Never one to back down from a gauntlet thrown at my feet, I came up with the following micro-story.  Note: I did cheat just a little bit by not including the 6 word phrase in my total word count.  My entry comes to exactly 106 words.  Enjoy!

Giggling, the two girls scurried one by one up the gently swaying rope ladder to the rickety tree house. The wind had died down, easing the grownup’s fears that the structure – built by Jen’s grandfather – would not be carried away to Oz with the girls inside.

Eyes bright and breath labored in excitement, Jen secured the “No Boys Allowed” sign to the ancient green blanket they used as a door and turned with a conspiratorial grin.  Then Jen showed Tawn her otterbox.  Sunlight illuminated it through a gap in the roof.

Tawn gasped, “It’s beautiful! Can I hold it?”

Jen laughed, elated.