CREEPYPASTA'S

20-20

There are still conflicting reports regarding what exactly happened the morning of February first, 2009 in the tiny Californian community of Actis and what took place over the course of the next several months. When asked, only a few neighbors admitted to knowing anything about the resident of the house that came into question and only a teenage boy out jogging and an elderly woman walking her dog recall the sight of a stout little man with a long beard approaching the place.

A pounding came on the door in the little community that dreary morning. It took several minutes for anyone to answer, the home's owner no doubt unused to company, particularly so early in the morning. The home's owner was a woman in her late thirty's, wearing a worn flannel and a pair of sweatpants, scratching at her eyes.

"Can I help you?" She asked, her tongue swirling in her mouth, trying to wipe away all the bile. She was not used to being awake so early, not anymore at least.

"Mrs... Walsh, is it?" the knocker asked.

"Not since the divorce," she said sarcastically. "Miss Walsh."

"Ah yes yes, Miss Cassandra Walsh. I am here on behalf of-"

"Can I get my contacts in?" She interrupted impatiently, "I can't even see you."

"Oh of course. I will be right here."

Cassandra left for a few minutes, walking into the bathroom just down the hall and again scratching her eyes when she walked out, only to be taken aback when she saw the man who had approached her house, muttering, "Jesus" under her breath as she did.

He was ugly. There is no way around it, he was ugly. Standing only barely over five feet, balding, a nose like a hog's and two eyebrows like giant, fuzzy caterpillars devouring his upper face.

"Did you say something?" He asked.

"No... No. What did you need now?"

"May I come in?" He asked gingerly.

"I don't mean to offend you sir," she said under her breath, "But I'm a former cop. Excuse me if I have a bit of a problem with strange men approaching houses at weird times of day. Now cut to the chase."

"Very well, very well," the man said calmly. "My name is Bertram. I work for a little company called 'A Vision of Tomorrow', you filled out a survey for us on the internet last year."

"I did?" Cassandra asked. "What was it regarding?"

"We are a firm of optometrists Miss Walsh. We deal with sight and were looking for subjects to participate in a study involving a new pair of glasses."

"I prefer contacts, as we've already established," she muttered.

"Oh but these are not normal glasses," he replied. "They are an experimental set of corrective vision lenses."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, "Corrective vision?"

"Yes, you wear them and, over time, they repair your vision. We're very close to perfecting them and just need a few more subjects, and you did sign up last year."

"I still don't remember that, but I guess it was a while ago," she said. "Just what's the catch here?"

"No catch," Bertram assured. "We just need a few more case studies to put these on the market officially. And of course you'll be paid a large sum of cash for your services to us."

Cassandra gave the man a last long look before asking, "Is there a contract I have to sign?"

Bertram smiled at her and reached into the briefcase he had at his side. Miss Walsh examined the thing in passing, noting only the bare minimum of its information before exclaiming, "Ten thousand dollars a month?! You want to pay me ten thousand dollars a month?!"