Creepypasta Collection

The Proposition

Yet another grim day started with the alarm clock blaring maddeningly.

Beep, beep, beep!

The day itself wasn’t the issue, or even the morning alarm. More specifically, Cathy dreaded facing her husband, Marty. Their marriage, once brilliant with the colors of life, now dwindled into greys.

Fourteen long years of marriage to this man has been like a stent in purgatory. Marty’s consistency and predictability, once a source of comfort, now pained Cathy. His haircut – the same haircut that he has had since he was sixteen – irked her.

You are a man; get a grownup’s haircut, idiot.

Of course, she never spoke this aloud, but her internal dialogue provided the soundtrack. Every morning was filled with the same tired jokes.

“Is this coffee, or is this mud? It looks like…blah blah blah.” Even his boyish smile, wide and toothy, infuriated her.

What the hell are you so happy about?

She wore a porcelain smile, choking back the urge to strangle him. He never complained or argued. Even when she tried to goad him in to an argument, he kept the same calm demeanor.

Show some emotion, you robot! She screamed in her head.

Marty worked as an accountant. He was smart. Jeopardy smart. While they watched evening game shows, Marty would answer questions a split second before the contestants. He wasn’t always correct, but he usually was.

“Why don’t you go on one of these shows, and win us some money?” Cathy often asked. He always brushed the notion aside, saying he wasn’t that smart, stating “Anyone could answer these questions.” Cathy couldn’t. She found his modesty dishonest.

He knows he is smart, she complained internally. He’s just fishing for compliments.

At this point in her life, Cathy couldn’t stomach anything about her husband. Even the way he drank his coffee grinded on her nerves. She was sick of how he talked. Sick of how he smelled. Cathy was sick of him all together.

Her only morning rest came after Marty left for work. Cathy would have sixty minutes of alone time, before she had to leave for work herself.

The front door shut as Marty left, and Cathy exhaled deeply in relief.

This morning, she decided to catch up on some light reading, while enjoying some green tea. Well, she tried to enjoy it. Cathy didn’t care for tea, but she read it was the only healthy thing to drink besides water.

Ding-dong!

The doorbell rang out.

Oh no. That idiot came back. He must have forgotten his house key again. Why he insists on keeping it separate from his car keys, I will never know.

She slumped out of the puffy recliner and lumbered to the front door, expecting her dull husband. However, on the other side of the door stood a thin man in a dark blue suit and matching Fedora.

He looked like he had come straight out of a Humphrey Bogart movie or something. His pencil thin mustache danced on his upper lip as he spoke.

“Hello, madam. I am hoping you can spare a moment to hear my proposition.” Normally the door would be closed before a door-to-door salesman’s first sentence was out, but Cathy was caught off guard.

Cathy composed herself for a moment.

“I am not sure what you want, but I am not buying anything,” she spoke her well-rehearsed line. Besides the sales people and religious zealots, she typically had to fend off charity workers and girl scouts. Those damn cookies go straight to her thighs.