Tricia

My name is Tricia Sherwood, and the first night of the rest of my life started off gruesomely.

I was eighteen years old, five foot five, and the serial killers that just murdered my parents and brother were making out on my couch. My father laid splayed out in his armchair, my mother on the floor, her body shielding my 10-year old brother unsuccessfully. Even from my spot on the stairs, I could see his small, blood-covered hand poking out limply from underneath my pale mother's bloodless corpse.

The bile churned in my stomach as their killers, a boy and a girl, continued swapping spit. I finally managed to get a good look at them through my horrified haze, my heart thumping rapidly in my ears as I looked the monsters up and down.

What the fuck?

The scene only got more and more confusing as my vision focused. The girl, around sixteen, had brown hair and one green eye. A clock face took the place of where the other eye should have been, and a smile was stitched into the girl's cheeks with dark thread. The boy, he couldn't be older than thirteen, was much worse. His skin was paper white and his eyes were ringed in black. Even as the girl kissed him deeply, he didn't blink, and I realized that he had no eyelids to speak of, nor a nose. His mouth was mutilated into a wide smile, but neither that nor his lack of eyelids failed to stop his kissing. Their knives were placed on the coffee table in front of the couch. They didn't need them anymore, at least as far as they knew.

I backed up a step, holding in my breath. These people... weren't they scared of leaving evidence? They were burying their tongues into each other's mouths so casually that it seemed they'd done this a million times before.

My blood turned to ice, chilling my veins as I stopped, frozen, on the stair. Maybe they had. Maybe they had. I forced my body to thaw and backed up another step, and then another, until I made it to the top floor. I turned slowly and inched my way down the hall, slipping into my bedroom. I grabbed a steel softball bat from my room and wandered back into the hallway. My mind raced as I approached the stairs again.

They started talking.

"That was good stuff back there, Clockwork," the boy praised her. "You're so good at killing."

"Their time was up," 'Clockwork' said, and I could hear the grin without even needing to see her. My fingers curled around the handle of the softball bat. How fucking dare she? I bet she thought she was really fucking clever too. Ha-ha, their time was up and I have a clock in my eye, how fucking witty. My fingers tightened around the handle as I took another step down the stairs. The two were too busy laughing to hear my descent.

Good. Let them laugh. Let them laugh at how monstrous they were, let them laugh while my baby brother and my parents laid their in their own blood only feet away. Let them laugh with their knives on the table like they fucking owned the place.

I came upon 'Clockwork' and I swung the bat. The boy with paper white skin noticed me far too late to warn her. The steel bat crashed down on the girl's skull as I screamed. How dare she?! How dare she?! She slumped over, rolling onto the floor as the boy reached for the knife. I kicked the coffee table away and it slid across the floor until it hit the wall. He turned his head to reach for it and I swung again, a loud crack echoing through the room as he fell as well, knocked out.

I turned back to 'Clockwork', who was on her side, breathing shallowly, her one eye-half glazed over in pain. She was awake. Good. Good. I wanted her to be. I swung the bat again, screaming and bringing it down on her skull.

Again.

Again.

Again.

"How dare you?!" I screeched, continuing to deliver each blow. "How fucking dare you!? What did they do, what did they do!? HE WAS ONLY TEN! HE WAS FUCKING TEN!" I wailed, tears blurring my vision, the image of her skull transforming into a red and brown mess of hair and blood as I wept.

I lowered my arms to the side after what felt like an eternity. Blood covered the bat, dripping onto the floor. I fell back onto the couch, eyes stuck wide open. My breath left me all at once as I let out a heavy sigh. Everything became clearer with each passing moment, the fuzziness slowly ebbing away.

I looked down and my dinner fled my lips, splattering on my floor. I dropped the bat, trembling and hugging myself, the smell of vomit mingling with the stench of blood. The tears rolled down my blood-dotted cheeks and I heaved again, weeping as my gaze fixed itself on my work.

"You killed her..."

My head jerked up so fast it dizzied me. It was the boy. He shakily rose to his feet and his unblinking eyes looked down at what used to be 'Clockwork'.

"Guess her time was up, huh?" the boy asked, and he laughed. He held up his hand. Was he... expecting me to high five him? For what?! I just murdered her!

I just murdered her. I just killed another human being.

The thought made me want to throw up again, but nothing was left in my stomach. I shook my head and he lowered his hand, appearing a little disheartened by my lack of enthusiasm. I wanted to bash his fucking brains in too, but the adrenaline was wearing off and I felt so tired.

"Ah, alright, a little shaken up," he said. "Don't worry, though! I'll go and get the others! They'll love to meet another Creepypasta! I'll be right back!"

I wanted to ask him what the fuck that was supposed to mean, but my lips wouldn't work right. They opened and closed as I panted, shutting my eyes as I felt the world spinning. I reopened my eyes just in time to see him shutting the front door behind him, leaving me to my own devices.

I let the steel bat clatter at my feet, falling to the floor and landing in the expanding pool of blood created by 'Clockwork's head.

One thought stuck out in my mind more than any other.

What the hell was a Creepypasta, and why did it sound so stupid?

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