CREEPYPASTA

Choke.exe

Well, I'm not sure where to start.

The past few weeks have been pretty rough for me. I'd lost my mother last Spring to cancer, it caused a great deal of grief among my family. However, my father took it the worst. He was never the same after Mom's death. He'd lock himself in his house, all alone, spacing himself from the rest of the world. Spacing himself from me. It was odd. Throughout his entire life, he's always been so outgoing. My mother, my sister, and I were all he had. Now that my older sister had grown up, married, and moved a few towns over, I guess I was all he had now.

Two Weeks Ago

I'd received a call. I was on 4Chan, an infamous image-board site, reading comments in one of those "You Laugh, You Lose" threads. Ugh, What ever happened to Original Cont- Oh. Right. Straying away from the topic.

Having been in front of my monitor for hours in dead-silence, I'd been caught offguard when my ringtone, Joey Scarbury's "Believe it or Not", blared from my phone's tiny-yet-powerful speakers. I nearly jumped out of my seat. I grabbed my phone, and checked the caller ID.

It was the local hospital, calling to tell me that my father had killed himself.

A Week Later

My sister came down for the funeral. It was nice to see her again after all these years, even if it was under harsh circumstances. She didn't bring that douchebag of a husband with her, either. We shared a few hugs, talked about the deceased for a while, and then she was on her way.

His house, and all of its contents, were given to me. Needless to say, it was a nice step-up from my one bedroom apartment. I decided to go snooping around in my new place the following day, maybe clean the place up a bit. Honestly, I had no clue what I'd find in there. For all I know, he'd lost all sense of modesty following the death of mother. I half-expected to see shit smeared all over the walls, along with wrecked furniture.

I was at the front door. Upon grabbing the doorknob, an instant feeling of dread overcame my body. I froze up. The idea of being in the same room that my father had hung himself in didn't sit well with me. I shook my head, and swallowed my disturbed feelings. I took a deep breath, preparing myself. I closed my eyes, and opened the door...

The front door lead me into a hallway that split in two directions. In front of me was a door, leading into the bathroom. To the right was the living room. Expecting the worst, I turned the corner... To my surprise, everything was in pristine condition. I scanned the area. There were a few couches surrounding an ancient-looking television set. My father had never been all that tech-savvy. What caught my eye though, was the large fireplace near the seating. I didn't remember this. Granted, I'd only been in the house a handful of times before, but from recollection, this wasn't here before. Now, the fireplace isn't exactly what caught my attention. It was what was mounted above it.

It was a large framed painted portrait of my mother, surrounded with candles on the fireplace mantle. Something just seemed a bit off. She had a condescending smirk on her face, as if to say, "I know something you don't". Again, that eerie feeling. I really felt as if I wasn't supposed to be in this house. Being the dumbass I am, I decided to stick around for a while longer. Venturing into the kitchen, I snooped around. Cupboards were filled with new-looking dish sets, and the fridge was filled with nothing but beer and water. Good ol' dad.

A thought crossed my mind. I should check out the master bedroom, the room where he'd hung himself. I pushed back any unsure feelings I had, and started heading toward the back of the house. The door to my father's room was slightly open. Knots in my stomach growing ever-so-tight, I slowly pushed the door ajar. The hinges let forth an obnoxiously loud creak. I had no idea why I was being so quiet. I tried hard to convince myself that I was the only person in the house. The butterflies in my stomach refused to go away.