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They've Changed

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My parents have been acting strange lately. Before now, they were loving, caring, and affectionate towards me. I was sheltered, yes, but I didn't mind. I loved them, I was their only child, and they seemed to love me too. Now, the atmosphere within the house is so thick and humid that it's suffocating. Ever since I went on that trip to Mexico with my best friend, my parents have changed.

Some things happened there that were unforgivable to my parents.

My father, a well respected man amongst our community, no longer looked me in the eye. His facial expression was cold, almost as if he was gravely disappointed in me... or himself. He, the head of the house, pulled my mother aside daily, giving her specific instructions he believed I couldn't hear as he whispered.

My mother, what my father would call the weaker vessel, was a stay-at-home wife. She may not have held too much responsibility in her odd behavior, but she pushed her own daughter away the second her husband demanded. She no longer went out of her way to brag about her beautiful, brilliant daughter. Instead, she walked on eggshells around me, making it her mission to go out daily with her friends to avoid being alone in the house with me.

I became a stranger to them. Something tainted, ruined. And, unfortunately, their odd behavior only increased as time progressed.

My mother, the domestic one, began preparing my meals after she prepared her own and my father's. Not only were my meals prepped after theirs, my clothes were also washed separately. She went above and beyond my father's requests and completely severed the line between love and hate. I was a traitor to them, and I knew exactly why.

At night, once my parents locked their bedroom door, I would listen in on their conversations. Routinely, my mother made a plea to my father that I attend a rehabilitation boarding school, but my father relentlessly denied her suggestion, reminding her that I would "taint the other kids". They would go back and forth with different options, but nothing seemed to accommodate me, according to my father. Every discussion would end with my mother crying and my father attempting to comfort her, as I swelled with rage outside of their bedroom door.

Being that I had little control of my own actions, I would experience a terrible tantrum after listening to their late-night discussions that would leave me kicking at their door, scratching at the walls violently, yelling obscenities, and violating my own home. I couldn't stomach them turning against me. I was their only child. They were supposed to do anything for me. And yet, they were willing to support their morality in place of supporting their flesh and blood. Instead of going to bat for me, they carried on with their disturbing scheme against me.

That's when I began noticing critical changes. As my violent outbursts picked up, the lacing began. My mother didn't even have the decency to conceal her treacherous plans. Many of times, I saw the vile of poison atop the kitchen counter, sitting in plain view as if I was dumb enough not to notice. The clear liquid within the vile was odorless, which I'm sure my mother and father appreciated.

Any time I saw the vile, I avoided eating. I began dropping weight so fast that I could barely keep up my energy. My skin began to grey, and my hair began to shed aggressively. But, with my rebellion, my parents grew desperate. I watched on as my mother attempted to douse my clothing in the poison, hoping it would seep into my pores and kill me off before I did anything reckless again. Unfortunately for her, I refused to change clothes.

The foul odor I gave off began permeating throughout the house after a few weeks went by. I refused to shower, thinking maybe my mother substituted my shampoo, body wash, and toothpaste with the poison. I didn't want to take the risk.

That's when things escalated.

For food, I began sneaking out of the house at night. Though I was raised in an extremely strict home, before my father became involved with the church, him and I regularly went hunting from time to time, him teaching me the basic tricks to catch small game. So I hunted, preying on easily caught game for sustenance. My hunting skills naturally increased with practice, and I would regularly hunt bigger and better game, growing hungry with ambition.

Eventually though, my parents caught on to my absence. My mother, the one that paid me no mind previously, began noticing the blood stains on my soiled clothing. I attempted to wash away the evidence after each hunt, but without the proper equipment, and the ongoing poisoning which made me question anything that wasn't brand new, my efforts proved useless. In a panic, she informed my father. Naturally, things intensified thereafter.

Men began visiting the house, my father attempting to pass the visitors off as friends. I knew he was lying. My father had no friends. He was reserved, as my mother was, and barely left the house outside of preaching. Those men were no friends of his. They were there to get rid of me, and my suspicion was confirmed soon after they began visiting.

"Juli, these men only want to talk to you, okay?" My father started, loosening the band around his neck.

I backed away, glancing back and forth between the two men approaching me. Regardless of my effort to flee and fight back, I found myself cornered.

"Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit: As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end," they began, chanting away.

The priest pulled out his Bible, thrusting it before me as he read from its pages. As he chanted away, laughter escaped me.

"You people are pitiful. Your God has no say, has no power here! Try as hard as you want. In the end, you'll see who's left standing," I announced, laughing.

Still, they insisted upon chanting their useless rhetoric. They continued spraying the holy water on me, burning my flesh unbearably as their chants increased in volume, however, their efforts were null and void. No matter how much poison they threw upon me, no matter how many prayers were delivered to my ears, they couldn't hurt me. They could only hurt their sweet, sweet child.

Wastefully, they've been at the same routine for weeks, trying with all their might to get rid of me. Unbeknownst to them, I'm a tough one to get rid of, and I have no intentions on leaving anytime soon...

"They've Changed" - Creepypasta Horror Narration-007:57

"They've Changed" - Creepypasta Horror Narration-0

Written by GreyOwl
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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