|My Dad Was Not a Very Nice Man (standard:horror, 1036 words)|
|Author: Chris Michlewicz||Added: Apr 29 2002||Views/Reads: 2380/0||Story 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 ago. 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 now. “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.... Tweet
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Chris Michlewicz has 7 active stories on this site.
Profile for Chris Michlewicz, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.