Creepy Pasta Stories

You're Alone

The fears of the craziest schizophrenic, the cries of the most irritable child, and the stare of the boldest and deadest eyes. We all have fears. We all fear one thing, and we all wonder why we even go far to avoid that one thing that drives us up the wall. But we all ponder on why we are scared of something we have never seen. Why did our minds shrink at the thought of something that had never prodded our minds in the open?

Because it is all in your head.

Imagine it. You're sitting there in the darkness of your room. Your mind doesn't think to fear or to look down at your feet. What you can't see is never proven to be not there. What you can't feel isn't proven to not be grabbing at you. As you take a glance, nothing is there. You feel relieved, but you still feel it. You felt the gaze of something, the something that seemed to be waiting. You brought your legs up to your chest, your toes clenching as they hung over slightly at the end of your computer chair. Never before had you felt so alone, and so cold. Maybe it was the fan that was blowing on you, but you feared turning it off. That would leave you engrossed in a deafening silence.

Why did you not turn anything on?

Remember, your mom and dad were out retrieving food. Your sibling was locked away in their room, so any comfort that one would think would drive from that didn't appear to even flicker on in your mind. To you, you were alone. There was no gentle rain washing the window of your bedroom, or the silent cracking of thunder against the clouds. No, the worst thing seemed to forecast in the skies of your mind. Silence.

When would your mom and dad return? The question plagued your mind, and you wished for anything such as a knock on the door to break the silence, or a sound of a message popping up on your computer. Anything. You shivered as you stood, your arms chilled up and down with the breeze of the fan that sat on your bed. You walked towards your bedroom door, opening it and walking out. You left it open, seeing as you'd just return moments later. From your door to the front door, right down the hall and past the kitchen. You refused to let your eyes meet the open window in the kitchen. There was no screen to bare you any relief that someone could jump in at any second.

What if someone were to come in? Or something? Except for the fact monsters didn't exist, so there was nothing to fear. But, in the silence, your mind had a funny and sick way of convincing you that some things were real, and that they wanted you. Not anyone else. Since you were the center of your own mind, where all the thoughts of monsters came from.

You shook this away, unlocking the two locks on the front door, creaking it open. You looked out, and there wasn't anything put the slight light from the neighbors windows and your own house keeping the street lit. There were no lamps. Your neighborhood didn't exactly have the most modern feeling to it. Nor the most safe. You stepped out from the doorway, peeking out from left to right to see if your mom and dad's car were anywhere in sight. It wasn't.

The strangest thought struck your mind like a chord on a guitar, grabbing your attention. What if there was a man, just riding down the street? On a bike? Staring at you the way down. But the catch was, you couldn't see his face. But you'd feel the eyes in the back of your head, burning. Why would you think of such a thing in one of your most vulnerable of moments. You quickly escaped the sudden cold air and retreated into the 'comfort' of your home. Which didn't feel as comfortable anymore with the thought of the man boring into your skull.

It was then that you noticed the habit your mom had. She always kept the windows open, she always did. Even after your dad removed the screens. The bugs and the nightmares slipped past your head, and they both bothered your equally so. You walked past to your bedroom, passing your kitchen. You took the time to glance to the window, but your eyes shifted elsewhere quickly. Why did you feel as such, like something was there to stare back at you. Your mind pictured a man holding onto the rim of the window, as if he was to attempt to climb in.

Walking into the open door of your bedroom, you collapsed into your chair. You wanted to feel relieved that you were there, but it was like it was just the same as the entrancing and soul-snatching cold air of the outside world. Those thoughts were still prodding with your mind, those thoughts were eating at you. What if? And only what if. Since it really wasn't there. That's what you said, that's what you would always say. You accepted the darkness of your room as your eyes scanned the screen of the computer you were typing away at. The more you thought of what could linger outside, by the window, or under your feet just made you want to shut it out, and turn on a happy song. But your fingers couldn't find their way to type in a song. You just accepted the silence that was killing you.

It was like a burning in your back, the burning that matched the gaze of a killer's eyes. You were fooling yourself again. The manifestation of your fears would always be there, and you would always have to accept that. Unlike previous times where you could solve your problems by lifting your feet onto your chair, you couldn't find yourself turning around to relieve the comfort of what could or could not be behind you. You couldn't tear your eyes from your screen to look into the mirror that was on your right, to see what was on your bed, or to see what was behind you.

You didn't want to know what your mind would put there this time. You didn't want to know a human's capabilities. You kept your feet lowered onto the ground, letting the burning intensify.

Knocking on the door broke you from the sudden sense of giving up. You sighed curtly, lifting yourself from your seat and exiting your room. You didn't want to pass the kitchen again. But you did, and you glanced. White, curled hands gripped the window sill, and a man smiled at you. He held a calm gaze, and he looked of the thing you feared above all. His eyes were black and hungry, the white light shining off the corner of them making you rush past the opening to the kitchen. It was all in your head.

You went to the door. Unlocking the doors, you realized you had locked it instead. You hadn't relocked it in the first place. You didn't let anything in, you thought. Opening the door once more, you looked out. No one was there. Not your mother's or father's car. You heard the ringing of a bell, and saw a man riding a bike down the street. The same one that sat so calmly at the kitchen window. His gaze was on you, but yours couldn't see him clearly.

He threw a newspaper onto your lawn, and continued to ride, not stopping. You couldn't move. Your feet were glued in place. You watched him ride back around, about to pass once more. He was about to just ride around your house once more, and you would lock the door, but no. He stopped in front of your house, one foot stretching out to hold him and the bike up. "The news is in! Come outside and join the festival!" he called, "We're celebrating!"

You slammed the door, your heart racing as your back pushed against the door. No, you would not pass that kitchen. He was there. He was always there. He was waiting to take you through your front door, and if you felt the eyes of him on you once more, you'd break down.

His eyes were on you now, as you felt the knob of the front door turn, opening. You never locked the door you were pressed up against. "Miss! Come to the festival! It's quite fun the way the people cry seeing their home after so long!" Your stomach was pressed against the wall, your back still on the door. You were trapped.

"Ah, Miss! Come along, now. You want to join us, we'll come back in a few years, for sure. The way that they cry every year on the exact day you left startles me. You were just returning this once, right?"

You didn't want to believe it. No, your mom and dad just saw you. They weren't crying, were they? They had left, saying to your sibling they were to return in a few hours. Your sibling, it sounded like they were crying from their room.

"I forgot, some of them can't talk. Well, we'll be moving along, now. Say goodbye!" he said, cheerfully. Grabbing your hand with his cold one, you realized it was just as cold as yours. The tears flowed freely down your cheeks as you watched you and the man move farther away from your home. You saw it. Your family crying.

"We'll miss you so much... You left so soon..."

Your heart wasn't racing, it wasn't beating. Your mind did this to you every year. You couldn't speak anymore. Your vocal cords wanted to tear through and yell bye, but they couldn't. The cold hand was your new family, the human mind takes you in strange ways.

Was it really your mind? You always tried to stay longer than needed at this old home of yours. Death always brought you back with him once it was time to leave. We all have to say goodbye sometime.