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By the time you read this, I know that I will be dead. It's no surprise to myself. Now, I know what you are thinking right now. “He's gonna die? This is not cliche in even the slightest way, right everyone?” You'd be right. It is cliche.

I've written 3 stories that I haven't deleted later, mainly because I like them, and they didn't get horrid reviews. I have always found it strange though, that the stories I write with less effort, get better reviews.

This however, is real. Don't expect replies to comments. This is my true last story. And for this, I am sad. As of now, tears stream down my face. Not only for the loss of my favorite past-time, but for the horrors that await me in my death.

I won't get graphic with how I came to be as I am, because I'll likely run out of time. In fact, I'm wasting it now. But, I need to be quiet. If He hears me, I doubt I'll live to finish my last sentence.

I had a friend named Liam in 7th grade, when I was in my rebellious stage. I somehow ended up in the wrong places at the wrong times. For instance, I was blamed during a fire drill for a huge rock thrown by my other friend Wolfe while walking back inside. So, it came as no surprise when I met, The Skin Man,” as I called him.

He was tall, and covered in of dark, leathery patches. At first, I mistook him as a homeless person, due to the copious amount we have in this area of America. He walked with a limp, and his left arm was badly mangled.

At first, I wondered if he'd been attacked, and then he looked at me. His teeth were covered in dirt, or maybe dried blood. His arm wasn't mangled, it was torn and twisted to support the hundreds of needle-like spiked protruding from his bones. His eyes were hollows of madness, and he had no hair. He resembled The Jockey from Left 4 Dead in the way his face looked. His teeth were sharpened to a point, and looked like the canines of a vampire, long and very menacing. His legs were thin, like sticks.

He was covered in someone elses' skin.

I pissed myself right then. I wondered how painful my death would be, and I learned the second he leaped for me, and for an ironic twist, pounced on Liam who walked out of the comic store, where we had bought a new comic, the one where Ghost Rider fights Pumkin Head. He ripped Liam to pieces like a shredder would to paper. Blood flew around like water from a sprinkler. It was a grisly sight. I took that chance to run. I knew Liam wasn't going to survive, and I sure as hell wasn't going down without a fight.

I felt like a deer running from a cheetah, or some other simile. I seem to be making a lot of those. It's funny, really. I still take time to correct improper grammar that I catch. This will be the death of me, quite literally.

As I dove into the abandoned warehouse, I questioned the absence of humans on the street. And then, I remembered something. Three weeks before all of this, Liam and I had read a story online about a strange creature who mauled a family, and then killed the person writing it. He warned us, that he was in a world, alone. His surroundings were the same, but there was not a trace of life. In fact, we had left the comic store when we realized no-one was tending the counter. Strange coincidence right? Well, the information he provided about this thing heavily resembled what was coming for me.

I heard the metal door bend and contort as I desperately searched for a hiding place where I could prolong my life long enough to warn the ones reading this story. I eventually found a large metal transport container, right as the door gave way, followed by an ear-splitting scream echoing in the building. He then started to tear at the wooden boxes, and after that, wandered around.

I could see him through a few conveniently placed holed around the sides. He inspected each crate carefully.

Have you ever seen a movie where a character was hiding, and they couldn't stop their loud breathing? You know what I mean, when their breath is skippy and sounds like laughter in a way? Well, it's what really happens. I don't know why, but it just does that. I tried desperately to keep myself quiet, but to seemingly no avail. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, the monster left the room, to inspect another one. I opened the door as slowly as I could, and eventually got it to open silently. I dashed through the broken metal door, in the general direction of my home. I knew he had heard my departure, because I snapped a twig from the leftovers of Autumn as I sprinted through the grass outside. I reached my home, and for my own sanity, locked every last door and window I could think of in my panic, and then running to my room and barricading the door. I had received a lever action Marlin 3030 for my birthday after my father bought it from a lady at an auction. She apparently hated guns, and gave my father a good deal of 400 dollars according to my memory. I loaded the rifle with around 6 bullets before I heard another screech downstairs at the front door. I then grabbed my laptop and threw myself into a small floor cupboard I had discovered after moving into the house a year before. It was just large enough for a collection of, “magazines,” and childhood memories along with the other objects I had brought along. I opened the laptop, and brought myself here, where I'm warning all of you. Avoid any suspicious websites, and stick to Creepypasta which are almost always undoubtedly fake. I know that my fate is sealed, and I want to change it somehow. So, I will take the bullet in this gun, and I will fire it into my skull. I'm not even sure if this will reach any of you, if this world is truly isolated. But, I shall quote my favorite song, as a final comfort.

“What's the worst that I can say? Things are better if I stay! So long and goodnight! So long and goodnight!”

Fiction


 

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