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You know the theory that there's an infinite number of parallel universes? Well, if there is an infinite number of universes, then literally every possibility exists somewhere. There is an infinite number of you, some having gotten up from their computer to go get a drink. Some of you, dinner. Some of you decide to cut up some vegetables for a stew. Some of you, as you take the knife from its drawer to the counter, trip, your entire weight coming down hard on the cold metal blade. Some of you, a family member hears the loud thud and help arrives shortly. Some of you live alone, and no help arrives for you. Some of you are not found until the stench leads one of the neighbors to investigate.

Some of you have no neighbors. Some of you are never found. Some of you rot in their homes for all eternity, forgotten by the rest of the world. Some of you never left their computer to get something. Some of you are reading this. Some of you get bored shortly and close this tab without reading this to the end. Some of you really shouldn't have done that. Some of you shouldn't look behind you. Some of you just looked behind you to find nothing. Some of you think you might have seen something out of the corner of your eye.

Some of you turn the light back on for comfort. Some of you can't. Some of you go to check the fuse box. Some of you only make it to the living room before they discover the serial killer that's been in the news recently has decided to make you their next victim. Some of you wish that was a serial killer dripping blood onto your carpet, about to do who knows what to you. Some of you know that thing isn't real, but it continues to haunt you. Some of you just want it to stop. Some of you baffle the police as to why you would take your own life. Some of you have no means to take the coward's way out.

Some of you can't make the monsters go away. Some of you can only drown out the monsters with the screams of your victims. Some of you are caught. Some of you are acquitted, and are free to kill another day. Some of you are sentenced to life in prison. Some of you get the chair. Some of you rot in a mental asylum for the rest of your life. Some of you manage to paint the walls with your blood, the detailed images of horrors beyond most people's imagination disturbing even the most hardened doctor in the facility.

Some of you are still reading. Some of you getting it yet? Some of you can't handle the existential implications of this realization. Some of you have no idea what that means. Some of you will get it eventually. Some of you finish reading this. Some of you are done with creepypasta for the night. Some of you think this means you're safe. Some of you are wrong. Some of you are very, very wrong. Some of you are wondering which "you" you are. Some of you are about to find out...

Some of you...

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