Fear Its self (CREEPYPASTAS)

I'm one of the unknown

The thing appeared to shiver slightly. Cam squinted, trying to get a better view, but he couldn’t for the lack of moonlight. Something was rising behind it. Like someone else standing up.

But it wasn’t a person. It was an odd, wide figure, spindly and only coming up to the taller form’s shoulders. After several seconds of the thing standing there, just staring through the darkness at him, he registered that the second shape was a part of the first.

Wings? Those couldn’t be wings. They appeared tiny from the distance. Besides, people couldn’t…

Nah. No way. He hadn’t had anything to drink, but alcohol wasn’t the only factor in hallucinations.

Were those wings dripping something?

Bell clapped him on the back. “Whatcha starin’ at, Ace?”

“Can you see that guy?” Cam pointed at the dark figure staring at him. “I think there’s someone out there. Far away. Just standing there.”

Bell just laughed. “I had more to drink than you, man. And that’s sayin’ something. I don’t see nobody.” Cam managed a smile even as he watched the feminine figure uncomfortably. Bell’s classic joke. He knew alcohol would never touch Cam’s lips.

They both made their way from the entrance of the bar, away from the woods and back toward the street.

Cam was going to be graduating college soon. Only community college. His grades, he knew, would drop dead if he tried to go farther than that. He felt like he’d pushed his luck far enough in life already.

He hung out with Bell Wadington, a football player for the college’s team, the Camdon Storm Falcons. Bell was enthusiastic about football. He even wore his dark purple-gray jersey most of the time, Falcon-01. Sometimes he carried around a small foam football too, to toss from hand to hand while he talked.

He brought up the Eastern Board Boar Hogs along the way. “You know man, when you think about it from Animal Planet’s perspective, falcons can just dive-bomb hogs again and again till they dead. Ain’t no way the Boar Hogs can beat the Storm Falcons!”

Cam absently agreed, but he couldn’t get his mind off of what he’d just seen. He and Bell, celebrating a Storm Falcons victory by their brothers over at West Camdon Community, had come down to the Crow Club for some drinks. Cam stuck to soda, while Bell usually downed two or three Strikas before he was satisfied.

Cam couldn’t have gotten any alcohol anyway. They’d ID him if he tried to buy it, and he was only eighteen.

But tonight, when Bell had been ready to head out—right after a bathroom trip, he said—Cam had stepped out front to wait for him.

That was when he’d seen the oddly standing figure out behind the building, where the mossy back of it met the woods. It looked like a short-haired boy with his head down, but there was very little moonlight with no stars, so it was hard to tell.

He’d slowly raised his head to look at him. He couldn’t see the kid’s eyes. He stayed back in the trees, staring at Cam, like the form of death come to meet him as an innocent human being. How wicked.

Then came those wing-looking things. He started to wonder if Bell had actually mixed something in his Coke to try to get him to loosen up. But he’d known Bell for over a year; he was wild about football, but had no bad side.

That night, back at the apartment he and his older brother shared, he fell asleep, glad that he hadn’t gotten a view of those eyes after all. That would have made sleep impossible, for sure.

•

The next day, after classes, he found Bell with their usual group. They were all eating from the Buzzoo Burger inside the cafeteria, cheering about the recent victory for their relative team.