Creepypasta 1294: Repeat… Repeat… Repeat…

Length: Short

At first, I was scared.

But then I
started to enjoy it. I mean, what would you do if every morning you woke up to
the same radio talk-show about Trump’s hair, the same rainy day and the same
old man tripping on the loose rug in the hall (that was still funny even on the
12th repeat), you’d have some fun, right?

Because
that’s all I could do after the hotel trapped me. The hotel everyone warned me
not to go to. I should’ve known from the way the receptionist… but I digress.

At first I
was scared, confused and most of all, lonely. I tried everything to break the
curse. I went to sleep in another bed, I drove as far away as I could… I even
killed myself. But every morning, I wake up here. Every morning is the 16th
July.

I started
having fun. At first, I laughed openly at the old man who tripped, not worrying
about the non-existent consequences, and continued my day in a similar fashion.

Then I
started going further, enjoying the freedom to do whatever I wanted. I’ve
stolen cars, robbed stores… I don’t mean to brag but there aren’t many women
left in this town that I haven’t managed to seduce (after a few attempts of
course). The world was my bitch, I could do whatever I wanted, to whoever I
wanted.

The old man
was always my first target though, the first victim of the day to get me in the
mood for some mischief.

I saw what
would happen if I knocked the tray out of his hands; he gave me a death stare.
A week later I punched him in the gut. A few weeks after that, I shoved him
down the stairs. The sound of his bones crunching sent delightful shivers down
my spine – fuck him and whatever has me trapped here.

The day after
that was different.

When I opened
my door, the man was not walking down the corridor, about to trip on the rug.

He was
standing at the end of the hall staring at me.

I rushed past
him to see if I had broken free, but everything else was still the same.

The next day,
he was staring at me again, only this time he was standing closer.

I yelled at
him to fuck off and left.

The next day
he was closer still.

And closer.

Until one
repeat I awoke to him standing in my room, staring at me.

I started
beating him, stabbing him, strangling him. Anything to try and get him away.

But every
morning, he got a little closer.

Every
morning, his face got a little angrier.

And now here
I am. I deserved this.

Every day I
awake to darkness. I can’t breathe. There’s a pillow over my face. I’ve lost
count of how many times I’ve died and re-awoken. I thrash and squirm and panic
but his strength is too much.

Is this hell?

Credits to: MaadV (story)