I read too many scary stories
I had just gotten home from a long day at work. The house was dark, the light from the porch unable to reach the back of the living room. I lived alone in a house that was, perhaps, slightly to big for one person. That meant that the house was a bit too quiet, and a few side rooms had no furniture in them. Just boxes of junk or entirely empty. It meant the house had never quite felt like it was lived-in, despite having moved in close to a year ago.
I set my phone, wallet, and keys onto the table next to the front door and flick on the light, squinting my eyes from the sudden brightness for a moment. I move to the couch and open the laptop resting on the coffee table. The start up sound seems to echo a little, in the quiet room.
I start to watch some horror themed videos on youtube. Short horror films, narrations of stories on reddit, even some videos about Junji Ito comics. My friends alway say I read too many creepypastas, but I just find them interesting. Besides, who can say so many stories are fake? Especially the ones about depraved killers, or other human beings doing terrible things. Suddenly the blackness outside my windows was putting me on edge. My dim reflection looking back at me made me feel like something unseen was watching me.
As I watched the videos, I couldn't help but jump a little at the creaks and groans I heard from upstairs. I had to tell myself that it was just the noises an old house makes. It always sounds like this. I don't know how many times I've nervously gone upstairs with a baseball bat jumping at shadows, just to find I was alone.
About half way through a video about a particularly gruesome tale about a killer who used his victims as macabre art, my stomach bubbled. Nature calls, and I make my way up the stairs. The air seemed thick, the dark was almost too dark. I couldn't see into one of the rooms. Was the door closed, or was it just too dark? I couldn't tell.
I hit the light switch, but in a flash, its back off. Great, the bulb burned out. But my guts were getting more urgent. The cheep Mexican food I had earlier was not doing wonders for my stomach. I clutch my stomach as I enter the bathroom, thankfully just very close to the top of the stairs.
I flick on the bathroom light and sit. I hear a soft creak, from the hall outside, which made me clench up. Had to have just been the house, right? Then I heard another. Closer to the door this time. My entire body froze up as I sat and listened for what felt like an hour.
Suddenly, the door was swung open. In the door way, stood a man in a dirty tee shirt and what looked like a hockey mask. Things seemed to move in slow motion as he stared at me. Here I was, basically naked and defenseless. I did the only thing I could think to do.
I hoisted my legs straight up, leaning back some. I produced the highest pitched, loudest screech that a 300 pound man could produce. And I clenched.
A blast of shit streaks across the room. Right against the attacker's masked face. He toppled backward, seemingly startled. I hopped up, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I squatted directly over his head, shrieking again, and beating my chest as I unloaded what seemed to be 5 pounds of shit, with the consistency of diced up Salisbury steak, directly into his face.
The man pushed me off of him and tore off his mask, puking into my toilet. He looked back at me, an obvious expression of anger on his now familiar face. "What the fuck, dude?" It was my cousin, just playing a prank.
Maybe my friends are right. Maybe I do read too many scary stories.
Credited to TheJakal13
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