Creepypasta Collection Book 1

My Son Told Me He Was a Serial Killer. I Believe Him.

People look at me strangely when I tell them that I have an eighteen-year-old son. I'm thirty-three. When James and I go out it isn't uncommon for people to ask if he is my little brother. He could easily pass for being in his twenties, and so could I. The past eighteen years haven't been without their trials, but I like to think I did the best I could given the situation. During my freshman year of high school, I knocked up my girlfriend. Her parents were going to put the baby up for adoption, but my mom stepped in and helped me get custody.

My son is a straight-A student. He is a point guard for the school basketball team. I scrounge together enough money to get him a halfway decent car. He's popular in all the ways I wasn't. By the time I was his age I had a two-year-old son, a GED and a job at the local Pella factory. We live in a two-bedroom apartment duplex a few blocks from his high school. He does his homework without much prompting, and spends his downtime with friends or in the living room kicking my ass on Call of Duty.

At one point I thought he might be gay. I wouldn't have cared, but I thought it was weird that a boy his age had never had a girlfriend. I asked him about it and he smiled saying.

"No, Dad, I'm not gay. I just want to wait until I'm a little older to get out there. Wouldn't want you to be a grandfather in your thirties."

That was our sex talk. Between the internet and the sex-ed class I had to sign a permission slip for, I figured he knew the basics. A few months ago he told me he was going to be out late. When I asked why he told me that he had a date. I didn't ask any questions. I slipped him a hundred dollar bill, and told him to be home in time for breakfast. He was a good kid. I trusted him.

After that, it became a semi-regular thing. He'd let me know on Friday afternoon that he was going to be out late that night. Each Saturday morning he'd be home and sitting on the couch playing on the Xbox before I climbed out of bed. I never met any of his dates, but I figured he was keeping it to himself. Like I said, I trusted my son. He had a good head on his shoulders, and I had no reason to suspect that anything was amiss.

I don't normally watch the news. Between my Facebook feed and Twitter, I usually knew enough about current events not to care. For whatever reason I found myself sitting in front of the television at five in the afternoon and decided to watch the news. I kinda wish I hadn't. The television switched from commercial to showing the anchor sitting there with a somber face. She looked at the camera and said.

"Later tonight we'll cover a developing story. Several area women are still missing, as police look for clues as to whether or not the disappearances might be related."

We lived in a sleepy little town. The idea that something like that could be happening so close to home shook me a little. The idea that my son could be out and about, with something like that happening in town scared me a little too much. I talked to him about it. He told me not to worry. James was a big kid. He stood just under seven feet tall and had a wide frame. I wasn't worried about someone getting the jump on him, but as a big guy myself, I knew that having a large frame meant very little if someone else had a gun.

James assured me that I had nothing to worry about. Just to be safe, I swiped his cell phone while he was asleep. I installed an app that allowed me to see his location at all times. Maybe I was just being paranoid, but I remember being seventeen and thinking that I was invincible. I didn't give it much thought. After setting the app to the hidden mode, I put it back on the charger in the kitchen and didn't pay much mind after that. I figured if I ever got worried while he was out, I could put an app on my phone and see his location. As long as it wasn't out of sorts I'd relax and go back to watching Netflix.

I started following the case of the missing women online. It was developing into a bit of a media sensation in our area. Six women had gone missing over the course of ten weeks. They varied in age and appearance. No bodies had been recovered, but police were operating under the assumption that foul play might be involved. When the seventh woman went missing, my heart skipped a beat. I hadn't seen Rochelle in ten years. She came back around when James was about seven. She tried to do the mother thing, but didn't have the chops for it. After a few months of broken promises and missed appointments, I filed a motion for the court to do a drug test. After she failed the test, I had my lawyer file another motion stripping her of any visitation with our son. I didn't want my son to have to deal with that.