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Ahh, winter. The colder and bitter time of the year, the perfect time for going back to work, I believe. It has to be; that is, after all, when all of this first began. I have been stalking her for the past month now; she was a mother of two children, her husband died last year after committing suicide at his job. It was quite impressive, to say the least. She did find another man sometime after that, however. They lived happily together, in a small house at the end of the street.
She was next. She wouldn’t know why she was next, but she’ll understand.
Everything dies. I am merely speeding up the progress.
Dressed up as the old guy in red as bright as the hair upon my head, I gripped my preferred tool tightly. My green eyes filled with nothing but determination, of bloodlust. My face was twisted into a mask of malice – that was a metaphor, folks. A year of poetry taught me that one.
I made my crossing across the lines on the pavement, passing by the neighborhood diner. Canines sensed my presence, and howled into that good night. It was music to my ears, but if only it were a scream would it be a symphony, like a soothing Mozart piece, or perhaps a classic Bach concerto.
I slowly opened the window of the back of the house. Christmas carols filled the empty air. It was “Jingle Bells”, to be exact. This only made sneaking up on her easier. My heavy winter boots did not make too much noise, thankfully.
Hidden in shadows, I watched as she finished up with the tidying of the tree that they had only just put up moments before the family left to the store. To get something for mom, I remembered hearing one of the little boys said.
After she was done with the (rather nicely put together, I must admit) tree, she sat on the chair in front of the deck they used for their personal computer, not unlike the one I had at my own house that nobody dared enter.
I walked a few steps closer to her.
There was no time for much reaction, for she caught me at the corner of her eye through the reflection of her computer screen a tad too late. When she turned around, she was quickly met with a golf club to the face, spiraling out of her chair with a loud thump on the ground. A broken nose and a large bruise covered the right side of her face; her lips bloodied as a tooth was knocked right out and laid on the flooring. The Christmas music continued to play as though a strange and ironic dirge.
" 'Tis the season to be jolly,I grinned widely and even hummed along to “Deck the Halls” aloud; tapping the palm of my hand with the cold steel as I slowly raised my murder weapon once more, aiming straight for her nose. Instinctively, she held up an arm, bawling her eyes out pathetically.
"Fa la la la la, la la la la."
“What do you want from me!?” she cried out with a crack in her voice, sobbing hard with confusion.
To that, I only smiled wider, lowering the club again. I looked at it briefly, seeing a tiny amount of red caked on the side of it. I tried to keep my voice hidden of all the excitement and glee I had while doing this, how hopeful I was.
“I want another Creepypasta of the Month win, you filthy bitch!”
With a swift movement, two more swings came down hard at her. The first she screamed at, the second only gave a muffled groan. Lying in a pool of her own blood, she gave a small twitching movement.
I smiled a little more at that, panting again. I looked back at the Christmas tree. The always morbid mind I had, I wondering if I could perhaps chop her into pieces and wrap her up. Or, better yet, tie her intestines around the tree, and hang her organs up as decorations! It was the perfect plan! It was poetry in the making.
But first, there was one more thing I had to do.
I loaded the Wiki page up and started to type all of this down for you sick bastards to read. Yes, I know who you are. You think I make all this shit up? Of course I don’t!
I am the ruiner of friendships. I am the giver of sorrows. I am the prince of suicides, the swallower of souls. I am the one porcupine that the Creepypasta world will never forget.
I am the king of the SomeOrdinaryGamers Wiki.
I am th-
A low groaning sound directed my attention across the room. She was only unconscious, her cute face beaten in as she tried to reach towards the doorknob.
Now, if you excuse me for one moment, I have a story to finish…
Written by FlakyPorcupine
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