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Subjected to a Beating

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Creepycloset

She had been locked up in my closet for the past five days now. I feared that the last one I starved didn’t really have its belly described well, so this time I wanted to make sure I would. I also wanted to keep this one more on the simple side, not as farfetched as the others I had done with. Sometimes I would get complaints that I was a bit unrealistic with some of them, that it would sometimes kill the mood of it. Oh well.

I met this particular one on the streets, as opposed to my usual lurking at the nearby forest. She was walking alone, a foolish mistake on her part. She was a cute one, which is why I chose her. Past experience had shown me that the ones you feel sorry for the most are the ones that get better reactions. I walked up behind her when nobody was looking, gagging her quickly and knocking her unconscious before dragging her home. During the first few days of her stay, I heard her moan sadly, but after she had grown quite silent. Maybe she realized how futile it was, or perhaps she was pretending to be dead. Or maybe she was sickened by the sight and smell of a rotting, small body sharing her space inside of my closet, at least during the first few days.

I kept a small animal in my closet for a while now, more than two months to be exact. It has long since decayed, the poor thing’s remains are nothing more than bones and a few strips of whatever flesh still remained on it. It was my first victim, one that I held with pride. You know what they say, we always start with small animals, right? Last time I checked, the carcass had suddenly vanished without a trace. I didn’t care. It had outlived its usefulness.

I usually look outside of my window when I wake up, watching a man sway to and fro from the tree in my backyard. On my window sill was a group of family pictures – none of which were mine – of those families I have ruined. One in particular always gets a chuckle out of me every time, even to this day and even more so to the object beside it. What is beside the photos, you ask? A snow globe, except this one had no “snow” inside of it whatsoever, and instead of a beautiful and well-crafted city landscape were the remains of one. Well, that world’s fucked.

But enough of this petty tour, there was still the girl at hand.

I yanked the girl out of the closet, watching her squirm futilely with tied arms and feet. Picking up a golf club, I slowly approached her, watching her eyes slowly widen with fear. She tried to plead with me through the gag I had stuck in her mouth. I took a swing at her, taking note of the bruise forming on her tear-stained cheek. I also placed a finger around her neck, wanting to know how fast her heart was beating. I took another swing. And another. The fourth one drew blood. Pushing her on her back with my foot, I brought down the club on her nose, hearing a painful snap as it was smashed into her brain.

I panted hard, watching a pool of blood form around her head as she lied there lifelessly. I took note of the condition of the club, writing a bit about it in my notebook before cleaning and putting it away. I didn’t like the smell of iron in the air, ironically, so I dragged the limp body into another room, wondering where I could leave her when I was finally done with her.

I sat down on my favorite chair in my bedroom to think, grabbing my blue laptop onto my lap.

I opened up the tab I had left open and was greeted by a welcoming invitation to the website on its front page. Yup, my name was still up there, although I am sure it won’t be by the time you’re reading this, whenever that will be. I smiled, opening up the login and putting FlakyPorcupine in as the username I was signing myself into.

I think I have another Creepypasta in the making.



Written by FlakyPorcupine 
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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