Category: short

Creepypasta #1315: Mime Time

Length: Short

You
know what sucks? Being the best in the world at something and it being utterly
unmarketable. I’m an incredible mime. I can fake climbing a rope like you
wouldn’t believe. But mimes don’t rake in the cash like they used to.

And
busking is hard. On a good day I might take in thirty bucks. No matter how many
walls I’d walk into or jump ropes I’d skip, my act just wasn’t making money. I
was going to lose my apartment.

I’m
crediting my desperation for me not noticing how creepy the man was. I guess
when your diet mostly consists of 99 cent tacos, you don’t think twice when you
get offered magic gloves. But he said they’d make me put on my most memorable
show ever. So I took them.

The
next day, I set down my money bucket, slipped on the gloves, hit the play
button on my stereo and got to work. I started with the rope climb. Then
something amazing happened. As I closed my hands around the invisible rope, my
fingers latched onto something solid. I could feel the rope in my hands. I gave
it a strong pull. My feet came off the ground and I hung there, dangling from a
rope that wasn’t there. It was incredible. And I was rewarded by the sound of
clapping and applause. A small crowd had gathered, staring in wonder as I hung
in mid-air.

So
I continued my show. I sat on chairs that weren’t there, leaned impossibly
against walls. I even rode an invisible bike through the ever-increasing crowd
to uproarious cheers. And my money bucket was filled with cash.

And
then I tried the classic: The invisible box. I crouched and stretched out my
hands, feeling the walls around me. I faked hysterics as I pounded on the
walls. The crowd loved it. I gave a flourish of my hands to the crowd and got
up from my crouch.

And
my head slammed into the ceiling. I stifled a yell. The crowd laughed. I put my
hands out and pushed on the invisible walls, but they wouldn’t budge. I began
to pound and kick and slam myself against the walls of my invisible prison, but
nothing worked. I tried to take the gloves off, but it was like they were fused
to my skin. I gave up the mime shtick and yelled for help. But my mouth
produced no sound.

Then
the walls began moving inward. I tried to brace myself against them as the box
grew smaller and smaller. The crowd cheered loudly as I pushed with all my
might, trying to stop the walls’ terrible advance until I could feel it on
every side, squeezing in on me like a vise.

And as my breath left me and my bones
cracked and as the jubilant laughter of the crowd turned to terrified
screaming, I couldn’t help but think that this was definitely my most memorable
show ever.

Credits to: Lloiu (story)

Creepypasta #1314: The Most Obscure Disney Fil…

Length: Short

TRIGGER WARNING: CHILD AND ANIMAL CRUELTY AND DEATH

For
supposedly being the happiest film company on Earth, Disney films were filled
with all sorts of frightening moments.

Anyone
remember the Coachman’s horrific grin in Pinocchio, followed by the
painful-looking donkey transformation? What about the infamous segment
from Fantasia with
the enormous demon on Bald Mountain? Or Dumbo’s drunken Pink Elephant
hallucinations that scared us away from drinking alcohol?

If you
were frightened by any of the above scenes, or any other similar scene in a
Disney film, be thankful you never saw The
Pathway to Hell.

Never
heard of it? Don’t worry. I can’t find a single person online who has.

I
only saw it once, when I was six or seven, during the mid to late nineties. I
remember my mom bringing it back from a random thrift shop and putting it on
for me.

I
know for sure it was a Disney film, because I explicitly remember seeing the
Disney logo on the VHS cover, and previews for other Disney films before the
actual film started.

That
film terrified the ever-loving crap out of me. I remember constantly covering
my eyes and praying it would be over soon, but I couldn’t stop watching it
anyway. I felt drawn to it, like a moth to a flame, despite me feeling
increasingly frightened more and more as the film continued.

The
film was about a pair of kids, a boy and a girl, who lived on a farm with their
grandparents somewhere in the northern United States, like Montana. They were
told by their grandfather not to visit the well on the far side of the yard.

The
kids disobeyed their grandfather and visited it anyway. A bunch of demons came
up out of the well, stole the boy’s head, and now the girl had to go down and
find it.

The first
few minutes of the film was animated in the typical cutesy Disney style. But
after the girl went down to Hell (and yes, they did refer to it as just that),
it suddenly switched to a more twisted and surreal appearance, similar to that
of Stephen Gammell’s infamous illustrations for the Scary Stories to Tell in
the Dark series.

I
still remember how Hell was depicted in the film perfectly. It was mostly gray
with a few reds and blues here and there. The rocks looked like skulls, and the
trees looked like hands. The latter constantly reached over and tried to grab
the girl as she ran through all of this with a terrified expression.

Throughout
the film, the girl constantly encountered various obstacles. Some of the demons
she met ended up helping her, while others were less helpful. There was no
possible way of knowing who was friend or foe.

The
first creature she met was some sort of eyeless pig/rat/bug thing that made a
screaming/laughing sound like a demonic Donald Duck as it tore away the girl’s
dress, and she ended up spending the majority of the film in her underwear.

I
don’t remember most of the other obstacles she encountered, save for the Kitten
Eater.

The
Kitten Eater was an enormous pale-skinned obese being that sat on a chair
clearly too small for him. He had no facial features other than a pair of black
jelly blob eyes and an enormous wide mouth filled with sharp teeth.

True
to his name, he had a cage full of adorable blue-eyed kittens all drawn in the
traditional Disney style sitting next to his chair. The kittens were all mewing
in a heart-wrenchingly realistic manner as the Kitten Eater would reach down
into the cage, pull out a frightened kitten, pop it into his mouth, and and
chew it up with the sound of crunching bones. I even remember him wiping away
blood in one shot!

I
remember when the girl saw the Kitten Eater, he spoke to her in this horrible
deep distorted-sounding voice, lower than any human voice I’d ever heard,
before grabbing her by the back of her panties and trying to swallow her.

There
was also the Devil itself. I use “it” because I couldn’t tell if it was a male
or female. I remember it having long stringy hair, pale corpse-like skin thinly
stretched over a lanky skeleton, empty black eye sockets, and sharp fang-like
teeth. It spoke in a horrible high-pitched screeching voice, that sounded a lot
like that horrible screaming sound red foxes made, except forming words.

I
remember there being a strange song that played as the Devil and its minions
tossed the boy’s severed head around in one scene. Speaking of which, that’s
another thing I remember quite vividly.

See,
the boy’s head was alive while it was separated from his body. As the Devil
held the head, it cried and begged the Devil to return it to its body. I also
remember the film constantly cutting back to the farm where the headless boy’s
body continued to walk around, picking up random stuff like rocks and placing
them on its neck stump trying to replace its old head.

After
it got to the scene where the girl finally makes it to where the Devil is
keeping her brother’s head, my mom came in and saw what was going on in the
movie. Then she noticed me looking petrified as I continued to stare at the
screen. I think she then realized this film was too much for me, as she took it
out of the VCR, put it back in its case, and returned it to the store, so I
didn’t get to see how the movie ended.

I
never saw or heard anything about that film ever again. I never found another
copy of it, neither can I find any info about it on the internet. It seems to
have just vanished from existence, despite being from probably the most famous
animation company on the planet.

But
I still remember that film explicitly well, even twenty years later. It’s been
haunting me for years. Right before I wrote this, I asked my mom about the
film, and she said she remembered it too, but didn’t know anything about it,
which proves I didn’t imagine or dream it. I have no idea where that VHS of the
film is now, or even if there’s more than one copy.

If you have a copy of the film,
please provide proof of some kind. Like a screencap or a picture of the cover.
Just so that I can show the world that I’m not crazy, and that Disney’s most
nightmarish animated film ever really did exist.

Credits to: SummerAndTinkles (story)

Creepypasta #1313: Janus

Length: Short

Chief Wells,

The four suspects
were detained and brought in for questioning by Private Investigator Daniel
Reed at 9:30 AM on July 23, 2017. According to Reed, the pertinent information
regarding the murders of the 8-year old Wilkinson twins is as follows:

SUSPECT
1: MATTHEW WILKINSON, FATHER OF THE VICTIMS

“I
can’t believe you’d think I’d do this to my own children. I am at a loss for
words right now. How much more pain do you people plan on putting me through?
I’ve told you: the last time I saw Abby and Michelle was before they left for
school that morning. When I was driving home from work, I got the call from the
police that they had found my little girls in the woods. My God. There was so
much blood…”

SUSPECT
2: OLIVIA WHITE, DISCOVERED THE BODIES

“I’m
telling the truth. I was doing my afternoon jog along the forest trail and
decided to veer off the beaten path. It was hard to miss them. Those poor
girls… I called the police as soon as I ran back to my car, where I could
finally get a signal.”

SUSPECT
3: PATTY SMITH, TEACHER, LAST ONE TO SEE THE VICTIMS ALIVE

“No. I didn’t like
the little brats. They always yelled and screamed until they got what they
wanted. But they didn’t deserve this. I
watched them walk home at the end of the day because teachers in our district
are supposed to make sure that the kids who don’t take the bus get home safe. I
would have escorted them further if their father hadn’t come to pick them up.
Now, before you call me irresponsible, I’ve had parent-teacher conferences with
this man before. I am 100% certain it was Matthew Wilkinson.”

SUSPECT
4: BURT LAWSON, PRIME SUSPECT IN SIMILAR HOMICIDE CASE ONE WEEK AGO

“We
really gonna do this? Again? I’m just gonna tell you the same thing as last
time. I didn’t do it, but I know who did. You need to find Janus. He’s a local
actor. He killed the Stevenson boy a week ago and slipped away right under your
noses. He’s predictable, too: makes up fake identities and impersonates people
until he gets away with it, then lets someone else’s life get destroyed. His
one weakness? Can’t name his identities for shit. He just ends up taking
whatever he used to kill his victims and rearranges the letters into a name.
I’m telling you. He’s one sick $&@!.”

We tried looking
for this Janus character but our teams found nothing. Personally, I think the
testimonies point towards the father, but we need more evidence to convict. It
makes me sick to know that we still can’t identify the killer, even after four
other homicide cases.

I’m sure we’ll
solve it soon. I’ll let you know if anything else turns up.

Best,

Officer Shawn Cai

Credits to: ShadowScribe (story)

READ ON FOR AN EXPLANATION:

Officer Shawn Cai (rearranged to become ‘chainsaw’) is the killer. 

Creepypasta #1309: Heather From Millwood Drive

Length: Short

Early
March, 2010

She
was just sitting on the guardrails one Saturday morning, looking bewildered and
confused as if she had just gotten off the bus at the wrong stop. It looked
like she had been crying, because she had. Her blonde ponytail was starting to
unravel, and the light blue, plaid summer dress and short red cardigan she wore
were not protecting her from the icy air of the early spring day.

The
sight of the girl made Laura worried. She wondered why any parent would send a
child out on a cold morning, dressed like that. Did they even know she was out?
Had something happened, and did she need help?

Laura
called in her dog, retracting and securing the leash, before approaching the
child. Getting closer, she could tell that she had seen this girl before, but
she couldn’t quite place her. It was not one of her children’s classmates, or
any of her friends’ kids, she was sure of that.

“Is
everything alright?” Laura asked.

The
girl looked up. She had unusual eyes, bright blue with a darker circle around
the iris. Her face was really familiar, somehow, still Laura was at a loss as
to where she knew her from.

“I
think I’m lost,” the girl said in a shaky voice. “I was just going to
the post office for my Mum, and just suddenly there was this road, and I didn’t
know where I was. It was really scary. I tried finding the way back to our
house, but I can’t see it anymore. And suddenly it got really cold.”

She
must be new to the area, Laura thought. Maybe her mother didn’t remember how
far the post office was, or didn’t realise her daughter had changed from
pajamas to a favourite dress that was wrong for the season. It was probably the
latter, or at least she hoped so. The child wasn’t dressed to be outside at
all, even for a short walk. Looking more closely at her outfit, Laura noticed
that she wasn’t even wearing socks, only a pair of old-fashioned T-bar sandals,
similar to the ones Laura had worn herself at that age. All her clothing looked
new and clean, though.

“Where
do you live?” Laura asked. “I mean, do you know your address?”

The
girl looked a bit surprised. “Of course I know,” she stated.
“It’s Millwood Drive number 16. I’ve always lived there!”

Laura
was surprised by the answer. Millwood Drive was close by, on the other side of
a small copse. Having three daughters of around this girl’s age, she thought
she knew the face and name of all the girls in the area.

“It’s
just on the other side of the trees,” Laura reassured the girl. “I’ll
walk you there. You’re not afraid of dogs are you?”

“No,”
the girl said with tiny smile. “The only dog I’m scared of is Mrs.
Berwick’s. It bit my sister once, so she had to have a tetanus shot! Yours
looks friendly. Can I pat her?”

“She
is very friendly,” Laura confirmed, releasing a bit of leash so the golden
retriever could greet the child. “Her name is Wendy. She really loves
meeting people.”

“My
name is Heather,” the girl said, scratching Wendy behind the ear.

That
seemed right, actually. Laura still couldn’t remember exactly when or where she
had seen her before, but somehow she remembered that as being her name. She
took off her jacket, and draped it around Heather’s skinny shoulders.

“My
name’s Laura,” she said. “Laura Stockwell. I’m Caitlin, Nicole and
Emily’s mother.”

Heather
shook her head. “I don’t know them.”

That
didn’t seem right, Laura thought, as they started walking towards Millwood
Drive. The local school was smallish, and her girls seemed to know everyone’s
names. Even if Heather went to a private school somewhere else, it was odd that
she didn’t know children who lived less than ten minutes away, in a semi-rural
area. She seemed to be isolated, for some reason.

It
was also bad news if Mrs. Berwick had gotten another dog, after the last one
was put down for attacking a home care assistant three years previously. Mrs.
Berwick was over eighty years of age, with very poor knees. Although she had
owned dogs for most of the sixteen years Laura had lived in the area, none of
which had been well behaved, she should know better. Irresponsible dog owners
was something that really rubbed Laura the wrong way, along with irresponsible
parents.

Millwood
Drive came into view around the bend. Laura had decided to walk Heather all the
way to the door, and if possible talk to her parents. Maybe she could get a
small impression of what kind of people they were.

“Which
house is yours,” she asked.

“That
one,” Heather said pointing. “It’s the one with the big oak tree
behind it. But… why?! It’s
not supposed to look like that! And what are all these strange cars doing
here? What
is going on?!" Heather started crying.

Laura
felt the blood freezing to ice in her veins. The Newgates. She had never paid
attention to the street number, but she knew very well who lived in that
house. Everyone
knew that. Everyone knew about the tragedy that befell them
over thirty years earlier, and which in some strange way felt even more
sinister now, shrouded in the fog of the past.

Laura
had lived on the other side of town when it happened, but it had been all over
the news. She had recognized the couple the first time she saw them, after she
moved to the neighbourhood, although they were quite elderly by now. The
Newgate family had gained a sort of fame they had never wanted, that summer
evening many years ago, when their oldest daughter disappeared without a trace
on her way to the post office.

It
wasn’t possible.

It shouldn’t be
possible. Still, there she was, looking exactly like she had done in her
picture on the news. Heather, with the blue eyes. Missing since 15 of June,
1974.

Credits
to: TassieTigerAnne (story)

Creepypasta #1308: Playground God

Length: Short

Children are funny. Do you ever
think about the things you talked about on the playground? Or the games you
played? They’re all so bizarre when you think about it, but to the eyes of a
child they’re such magic.

In
second grade, the playground was a wild place. As always, the children divided
themselves into two groups: the storytellers and the players. The players, as
they called themselves, would take the field and the slides, running around and
playing tag or horses or whatever other games kids found amusing. The
storytellers would take the jungle gym or the swings and sit around to relay
stories to each other. It worked out well, if you felt tired you could listen
to stories, but if you felt energetic you could frolic on the half dead grass.

I
was usually one of the kids to play, but unfortunately for me I had an awful
cold, so on that day I decided to join the storytellers.

They
were sitting inside the spider web jungle gym, which, at the time, seemed
gigantic. I pushed my body through one of the opening, and joined the group
just in time to catch the next story. One of the stranger kids from my class
stood up and started spinning a tale with extreme gusto.

“Did
you know that we’re standing on a burial site?” He began.

A
girl raised her hand. He pointed at her and she asked “What’s that?”

“It’s
where they bury dead bodies!”

Everyone
gasped. One of the kids jumped up and said “Ewwwww!”, but soon sat down as the
boy continued talking.

“The
reason for this is because there’s a magic creature who lives here, and he will
give you anything you want! But fiiirst… you have to KILL someone!” He swiped
his hand at the girl who had asked the question and growled, causing her to
scream. He laughed.

“There
are some rules. He only appears at night, and if you summon him without killing
someone, then he kills you!”

“How
do you summon him?” Another kid asked.

“Hmm…
well you have to hold hands with someone and spin around in a circle while
chanting his name! His name is.. Um… ka-… hm..” He seemed stumped, and the
other kids were growing a bit restless.

“Kathoosa.”
I said. It came out of me without me even thinking, like something else was
putting it into my mouth. He looked pretty happy with that answer. “Yeah!
Kathoosa! We must all honor Kathoosa!”

Despite
the creepy story surrounding him, all the kids seemed excited, and we all threw
their arms up and yelled “Kathoosa!”

Unlike
most playground stories, Kathoosa stuck around, and everyone was eager to add
onto the story until we had a very clear mythos for him.

“He’s
a god!” a girl named Kelly added at the next recess. “He’s going to get mad at
us if we don’t give him stuff!”

“But
how do we give him stuff?” Asked the original creator of Kathoosa, Rico.

Kelly
hummed in thought for a moment before pointing to the center of the sand
covering the spider web floor. “Bury it right here! This can be his church.”

So
it was agreed, and each recess we brought offerings such as crayons or drawings
or even pieces of our lunch. It became mandatory to bring at least one thing
for Kathoosa, and Rico, who had deemed himself the leader, had to give you the
okay to put it in the sand. If it wasn’t good enough then you couldn’t join the
group for the day. The items were always gone the next day, which was probably
just the janitor’s doing, but we were excited by it.

The
players started noticing our weird behavior, and gradually started coming to
ask us what was going on. We let them in without an offering for their first
day to initiate them. After all, Kathoosa would understand if we were getting
him more followers. At the height of the year, all of the players had joined
us.

We
all noticed that the more we honored Kathoosa, the better things started to be.
The grass got greener, our grades got better, and our teachers seemed to get
nicer. Hell, some kids even claimed that they were having a better time at
home. Kathoosa seemed to be making our lives better in every aspect.

And
then a boy named Daniel’s dog died. He missed school that day, and the next day
when he came in his eyes were still obviously puffy. We were all very saddened
by this news, and as does every religious human, our eyes turned to our god in
this time of loss.

The
meeting in the spider web that day was solemn. We had a moment of silence for
Daniel’s dog, and then Rico spoke up.

“This
is bad.” he said. “Kathoosa needs blood. We haven’t given him and blood and
he’s getting mad.”

“Do
you mean we have to kill someone?” I asked in a whisper. He shook his head.
“No, just blood. Someone needs to give their blood. Anyone?”

It
was silent. No one wanted to do it, but I was prepared. I was ready to give
anything to Kathoosa. I already had a scab on my arm, it was meant to be. I
raised my hand.

Everyone
silently acknowledged my sacrifice. I peeled the scab off my arm and Rico held
it over the sand until the red liquid dripped onto it, and then we all buried
the small red spot with more sand.

It
became a weekly thing, and I was named “Royal Sacrifice”. Silly name, I know,
but I felt important. I’d usually peel off a scab to drip the blood, but if
there was no scab we’d use safety scissors to carve away a new wound. Other
than that grisly detail, our usual meetings and offerings stayed, and so did
our prosperity.

But
like all children’s games, Kathoosa only lasted that year, and the next almost
all the children had forgotten him.

Life
went on. Rico and I began dating as we entered high school, and we were the
hottest couple for all four years. I blossomed into a beautiful woman, always
thin, always with perfect hair and makeup. My grades were always perfect, and
so were Rico’s.

In
our senior year, Rico and I won prom king and queen, but unfortunately that
same night Kelly was found murdered. They never found the culprit.

After
we graduated, both of us got into the universities of our dreams, and on that
same night Daniel was found murdered.

We
got married, we had kids, we began successful careers, and all our former
classmates died one by one.

It’s
been twenty years since we discovered Kathoosa, and everyone forgot about him.
Everyone but me and Rico. We are the only ones who have never forsaken him. We
continued our rituals and our offerings from second grade onwards, and we
prospered. When we began middle school, we snuck into the elementary school at
night in order to do the rituals. By the grace of Kathoosa we were never
caught. We continued this through high school.

I
got so used to the popularity. I was so perfect, I didn’t want to lose at
anything. When a rumor came out that a cheerleader at our school was going to
win prom queen, I cried. I sobbed. I couldn’t lose that, I couldn’t! You have
to understand, I was not ready to lose such a title when I was the one who was
sacrificing a piece of myself every week to be who I am. Rico was as distraught
as I was, but he had a plan. Kathoosa was a sacrificial god, and he would give
you anything if you gave him a life.

It
was easy to pick our victim. All of the people who had forgotten Kathoosa were
our enemies. How could they do that to him?! Kathoosa deserved to be honored,
but they turned their back on him, and now it was time for them to pay up for
all of the years they missed. Kelly was easy to knock out, and light enough to
drag to the playground. We weren’t afraid of being caught, we had the
protection of Kathoosa.

We
removed her skin cleanly and removed all her limbs, and buried her body neatly
in the center of the spider web.

Kathoosa
blessed us. We arrived at the prom as soon as we washed the blood off of our
bodies, and we won. The cheerleader cried, and I laughed at her tears.

From
then on sacrifices became routine whenever we wanted something big. All of our
success was paid for in the blood of heretics. Rightfully so. We’re happy, and
our children will enjoy the same success as we have, for we are teaching them
about The One True God.

Children are funny. Do you ever
think about the things you talked about on the playground?

Credits to: spooktibbles (story)

Creepypasta #1307: Bus 330

Length: Short

November 14, 1995, Beijing. It was near midnight and the
weather was unusually cold. The last bus of the day was slowly moving across
the outskirts of the town. Since it was the last bus, only few people were on
it.

As the bus
turned a corner, the driver saw two men waving under a lone street light. Oddly
enough, the driver was not expecting any more passengers in this middle of
nowhere. Nevertheless, he let them on. 

In fact it was three people. 2 were
wearing traditional Chinese robes that have long gone out of fashion, and they
were carrying a man with absurdly long and messy hair, with his face looking
down. The three sat at the back seat of the bus, and the passengers were
frightened. But the driver tried to calm the passengers by saying they were
probably movie actors who had drunk too much and forgot to change, and everyone
took his word.

Everyone
except an old lady, who constantly looked back at the three men with suspicion
and fears in her eyes. As the bus approached the next stop, the old lady
suddenly stood up and frantically started to accuse the young man behind her for
stealing her wallet. The young man was confused and everyone tried to calm the
situation. But the old lady was stubborn, and forcefully dragged the young man
down the bus, claiming that she was taking him to the police station not far from here. 

After they got out the bus, the young man, furious that he missed the last bus
of the day, was about to throw a fit with the old lady, but saw that the
expression of the old lady had suddenly turned calm and relieved.

“Young
man, I just saved your life. Those three men back there, they aren’t humans.
When I looked at them, a wind from the window blew over their robes, and they
don’t have any legs at all!”

The next day, the bus company reported that bus 330 never
returned. Four days later, the bus was found hundreds of kilometers from
Beijing, with 4 severely decayed bodies inside. How the bus got there, and how
the bodies were so severely decayed in such short amount of time, no one knows.

Credits to: TheQinDynasty (story)

Creepypasta #1305: In Their Best Interest

Length: Short

Jacob Crane watched from his raised platform as the undead
mob gathered itself around him

They came
from all walks of unlife. The badly decomposing World War II veteran, the
bottom of his torso scraping along the paved road. The freshly killed college
student, rigor morits still setting in. The mother keeping a death grip on her
child’s hand so that he didn’t shuffle off.

Jacob
couldn’t even guess how many zombies were here, pouring out into Chicago’s
streets. From apartments, schools, businesses. And even from their graves,
as cliched as that was. But did an exact number really matter? For historians
and news crews, maybe.

But any talking head could spout out
some large number. It wouldn’t mean anything. But seeing LaSalle Drive teeming
with the dead from one edge of the street to the other, slowly shuffling their
way towards City Hall was much more tangible. More real. It was
something you couldn’t deny. Already the video of this congregation of zombies,
being taken live from one of the local news choppers, was making it’s way
across social media, with everyone with a Twitter account and followers chiming
in.

The undead
were here. The sea of decomposing and rotting flesh surrounded the platform,
their hands reaching out to him. He could hear their moaning. Their groaning.
Those with still working vocal cords called out what they wanted in no
uncertain terms.

Ccccrrrrrrraaaaaaaannnnnneeeeeeee

They called
out to him. For him. For Jacob Crane, mayoral candidate of Chicago and the
premier champion of undead rights.

Every good native of the Windy City
knew that come election time, the dead voted. It was just an accepted, if
illegal, part of city politics. There was always outcry and threats of scandal,
just like every other time the election ended up in dispute. So when the dead
rose from their graves three years ago, it was no surprise Chicago would be
first to grant zombies the legal right to vote.

And the
zombies knew that Jacob Crane had been at the forefront of the charge, fighting
for their rights. Death shouldn’t strip anyone of their rights or citizenship,
he’d said. Why shouldn’t they be treated like everyone else?

And
considering his only serious opponent was Richard Greenfield, who had once said
that the government should just round up all the “deadies” and drop them in the
Mariana Trench, it wasn’t hard to see which way the dead would vote.

And Jacob
knew that this mob was only the beginning. Election day wasn’t that far away.
Soon the largest horde of undead ever seen would slowly descend on every voting
booth in Chicago. They’d shuffle. They’d crawl. They’d be carried, if need be.
There was no barricade Greenfield could erect, legal or physical, that could
stop this undead tide from making it to the polls.

For in Chicago, the dead vote. And they vote in their best
interest.

Credits to: JamesMarieParkerIII (story)

I’ve been told many things, persuaded, told insistently, but in the face of these determined therapists and psychiatrists, I remind myself of one firm belief.

That thing I killed was not my brother.

Credits to:

Noclervius_Atam (story)