Hi, my name is John. I don't know how to describe what I've found other than just creepy. This is an excerpt from a.. book, I guess. Hmm, it seems that this book was cancelled after the author went missing, and murders with pages of the book have been found at crime scenes. So, uh, here it is.
Chapter 1: DiscoveriesEdit
I was awoken by screams and the horrible, devastating discovery that it was my child. I heard my child screaming from the room just upstairs, so I ran as fast as I could to get my baby boy. On the third step I tripped, but shook it off and kept going. The yelling got louder and louder as I kicked open his locked door seeing him in his crib, shaking in fear, laying in a pile of his own urine. I took him out of the crib and downstairs to the living room. I eventually changed his diaper and called the police, the strange part is that there was a doll in his room that wasn't there before. The police found nothing out of the ordinary, no sign of any breaking or entering at all.
The officers found hand prints on the doll, but they were my sons. He was an eleven month old baby, and he'd never seen the doll before in his eleven months of life. I hadn't in my life ever heard of it either. It was called a "Rothenburg Doll." The police told me their origin was to warn people of death's presence. Sort of a bearer of bad news to whoever would get it to let them know their time was up on Earth. I stared into blank space for quite awhile till an officer shook me out of my trance, my baby boy was due on his life. I was mortified at the discovery in my mind, though if death wanted him, he'd have to pry him from my arms into Hell itself.
When the police left, they told me to be careful from here on out. I replied with a simple nod and closed the door violently behind them. After that, I've spent more time with my kid than I ever have. I loved my life until a few more strange occurrences happened later in the same year. My son grew to be 1 and 1/2 years old and he developed talking, but he only would say "Help." Of course he was a baby, so it sounded muffled under the baby chatter that all children go through, but nonetheless hearing help and having the doll were definitely a story worth telling.
Chapter 2: SeparationEdit
As the years went by, me and my Jimmy became more and more distant as all parents and children become. Some more than others, but Jimmy was different in the way that he'd be so obsessive about everything he owned and when I even touched an action figure or anything in his possession he'd go off on me. He then said something to me that baffled me. He said, "Dad, I don't want your curse." I laughed to try and lighten the mood, but he just stared in disapproval and went back to playing with his toys that were scattered across the floor.
When I walked out of his room that night, the door shut on me, and I heard the click of the lock. He yelled, "Stay out, and go back to where you came from!" I replied hesitantly, "What?! Jimmy, what are you talking about? I wasn't the one with a doll from Hell, okay?!" As I said that, he said in retaliation, "What if it wasn't meant for me? Maybe if you got your sociopath mind-set out of your thick skull you wouldn't be so damn blind!" I blanked out for a minute, and walked to my bedroom, falling asleep as a total wreck.
My son hated me, and didn't want the slightest thing to do with me because I was blind to see that maybe he was right. Wait, he's a eleven year old kid, I'm a fucking thirty year old man! Who does he think he is talking to me like that?! I'm going to teach him a lesson. [A Child Screams.]
Chapter 3: Life in ruinsEdit
So, after the events of Chapter 2 my son has been removed from me by the Child Protective Services. Now I sit in my house alone, hoping for somebody to come along and be in my life. Although, yesterday I met a man named Nebula, or that's what he wanted to be called. He was a creepy fucker at that, and he wasn't a normal man. His face was scratched up and his eyes had a glare that could drive a scientist mad. He had a cut going down toward and underneath his eye, like someone vertically slashed his eye out. He always wore an expression of utter hatred, and you could see he'd been a tortured soul from the start the very second you met him.
He told me that he was a big fan of my books, said he's read every single one of them. I was surprised so I told him about my new book, but he kept the expression of depression on his face. At this point I was rather eerie about meeting him, but we got along great! Though we had a certain chemistry, like we were the same person, however he had a darker side to him. Perhaps it's just me, perhaps I've gone mad. Anybody around him could tell he was just waiting while being perfectly calculated and precise to all his surroundings.
Then, I asked him if it'd be okay if I came over the next night. He said, "It'll be fine if you come over 6:00, no later, no earlier." I didn't take his warning and came over at 5:45. As I pulled into his driveway, I realized this was my old house. I saw people in my old house, and anger rose in me. I stormed in with my wrench, kicking the door open as the kids yelled and the parents ran them to a hiding spot. I chased down the family and when they were cornered the father jumped at me.
When I saw him I smacked him aside with my wrench and grabbed tweezers from my back pocket, and then stabbed the father in the right eye. The children screamed and the mother came at me, then the kids... all that I recall after that was me awaking in my current house covered in blood, and I had a sickness in my stomach.
Chapter 4: AcceptanceEdit
Now that I have come to the conclusion that I am a murderer, I forgot I had never gone to Nebula's house. I called him and he answered catching his breath. A faint greeting rang through the line. "Sorry I didn't come over last night. I-uh, I was.." He cut me off with, "At your old house?" I waited a second, then responded with, "Yes... How'd you know?" I heard his reply. "I was there, I know what you've done. Those poor kids... *Laughter* So it's fine you were... distracted." I dropped the phone, and recalled every memory.
I went back to my old house to watch the tapes, I left my laptop here. This will be the end of the story, sorry to those who "like" it so far. Because it's creepy, right? Disgraceful.
Hi. I need help.
I then stared into a mirror to see a man with scars on his face...a gaze that could drive a scientist insane... a scratch on his eye.... like tweezers had vertically cut his left eye... and you could tell from the second you met him that he was a tortured soul.