The Table: Difference between revisions

 

I don't remember what happened next. Hell I can't remember my name, my birthday, or what my voice sounded like. I can remember that day only. I couldn't start selling the table like my killer had said until everyone I had ever met in the town had died. Don't ask me why but it must be some afterlife rule. I'll stay here for the rest of my days selling that table the man had died making. I don't know why I can't pass on the curse like he did. I've killed all the owners and more, but every Sunday I set up shop here and try to sell it without saying a word. So come buy it I may try to kill you but its nothing personal I just don't want to be here anymore. No more of that single evil table.

[[Category:Deletion Log Refugees]]

[[Category:Bad Creepypasta]]

[[Category:English Class Failure]]

[[Category:Cliche Madness]]

{{Comments}}