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My Dad Was Not a Very Nice Man (standard:horror, 1036 words)
Author: Chris MichlewiczAdded: Apr 29 2002Views/Reads: 2498/0Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A tortured young man's last words

As found on David Kepner's computer screen the night he disappeared. 

My dad was not a very nice man.  When I was little, he used to tell me
horrible things about...things from the other world.  He was a 
tormenter.  He loved to scare, intimidate and torture me only because 
it amused him in some sort of sick way.  He drank a lot so that 
probably had something to do with it, but most of it was because his 
father died in a freak accident when he was little.  Something to do 
with hitting a woman who was crossing the street with his pick-up truck 
in the summer of 1949.  He hit her so hard that she went through the 
windshield and ended up killing him, too.  He was drunk, of course. 

Ever since then, my dad's mind has been in a psychotic stupor.  Not
quite enough to put him in a mental hospital, but not well enough to be 
living amongst the civilized.  His way of coping with what has been 
dealt to him has led to an unfulfilling and meaningless life.  His only 
entertainment was to scare me so bad that I cry myself to sleep nearly 
every night.  I can explain it in a few words, I guess. 

He used to tell me that if I yawned and failed to cover my mouth, that
some creature would be standing behind me, to reach it's half-rotted 
fingers in and make a hooked shape, leaving the decaying flesh to brake 
off from rubbing against my teeth.  A grin would form on its mouth 
while I screamed helplessly. 

A person died in our house long before we moved in, or so he said.  The
man had died of fright from the things knocking on his wall of the room 
I slept in.  When you're little, you believe everything your father 
tells you.  Even when you're older it creeps into your mind when you're 
trying to get to sleep no matter where you are. 

There has been a woman standing outside my door all night whispering
something but I haven't been able to make out what it is yet.  I have a 
feeling I will though because she has gradually gotten louder over the 
last ten minutes or so. 

So I need to tell you that I am one messed up individual now as a
result.  They have been especially bad tonight and I'm frightened to 
stay awake.  I'm also afraid to go to sleep.  That's partially the 
reason I'm writing this.  I may end up like Henry in the long run but I 
want to know it when it's coming for some strange reason. 

Dad used another one on me... a real doozy.  The shadow people is what
he used to call them and they lived in our crawl space.  They were in 
the form of humans but a very black form.  A kind of fog that you could 
still see through but not without realizing something was standing 
there.  They come out only at night if I get up for any reason.  To get 
a drink of water or to go to the bathroom, which has resulted in many 
bed-wettings over the years.  Until I was about twelve, I think.  Ten 
long years ago.  Now I've just learned to hold it in. 

They are what cause the creaks and groans throughout the night, and
those I hear.  The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I 
close my eyes, thinking that this night will be the one when they'll 
finally come for me.  Pull me kicking and screaming into the attic 
while my parents sleep soundly downstairs. 

He told me that I would have a sister now, too.  She would be about
thirteen years older than me if she hadn't hung herself on the shower 
rod in the bathroom downstairs.  He told me that I was the reason she 
did it; that she was an attention hog and couldn't bear to see them 
coddle a new baby.  My mother was eight months pregnant with me when 
she did it.  The image of my older sister swinging back and forth with 
her head slightly cocked to the side and resting on her shoulder enters 
my mind whenever I go to the bathroom.  No matter where I am, I pull 
the shower curtain back, just to make sure she isn't hanging there with 
her eyes still open.  To make sure she won't reach out and grab me 
while I go to the bathroom to accuse me of killing her all those years 

The woman outside is starting to lightly knock on the door now.  Her
whispers are turning into more clear words.  My fingers are shaking as 
I type this but I have to stay awake.  I have to know what is going to 
happen so I won't dare go to sleep. 

My parents never hear any of this and just tell me it's all my
imagination.  My dad is usually passed out from another night of heavy 
drinking and my mother is a sound sleeper.  It's even hard to wake her 
up if you shake her and call her name.  If she only knew what I go 
through every night. 

I need a drink.  Something to calm my nerves.  I'm not sure I will make
it through the night so whoever finds this, please let everyone know 
the torture I have endured in my pitiful existence on this earth.  Let 
them know that my dad has made my life Hell and will end up there 
himself someday. 

She is starting to bang now and I can even see my door rattling with
each pound.  It's punctuating her words.  I hear what she is saying 

“Let me in, it's not very nice to disobey me.  You know why I'm here. 
Open this door, young man!  I know why I died!!  He was drunk and you 
know it!  Didn't even see me there!  Open this door so I can punish 
you!  I know why I died!!” 

She is shouting now and I don't know what to do.  Should I open the
door?  She'll just come get me anyway.  Oh God, please help me.... 


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