CREEPYPASTA

And So The Rain Continues To Fall

began to rain in the town of King's Point, New York. A light drizzle, nothing unusual. Merely an annoyance. It wasn't even heavy enough to merit umbrellas. The people went about their regular routines. The rain continued to fall.

By the afternoon it was still raining. A little more than sprinkling, but not quite a full-fledged rainstorm. Umbrellas went up, people cursed their wet clothes and the sky, life went on. And the rain continued to fall.

As everyone in King's Point was winding down and going to sleep the rain was still falling. Quicker now, and larger drops, but still nothing concerning. Some people might have even considered the rain pleasant, an ever-present rhythmic plit plit plit plit. No thunder, no lightning, just rain.

The next day the sun didn't rise. The sky was grey and dull. And the rain was falling in its rhythmic pattern. Plit plit plit plit. Local meteorologists made wild predictions about when the rain ought to clear- some said within the day, some within the week, a few even said within the hour. Undaunted, the rain continued to fall.

Nobody seemed to notice it had grown heavier in the night. Under their umbrellas, everyone in King's Point went about their business. The grey oppressive sky above, the hard grey asphalt bellow. The people mucking about in between.

Of course, two days of rain wasn't anything to get worried about. "It's normal for this time of year." "We could use the rain, the grass has been pretty dry." "I'm sure it'll be gone soon," the people said to one another, optimistic of what they thought would come. Nobody paid the rain much mind. The rain continued to fall.

A day later, nothing changed. A week later, nothing changed. The rain kept falling, ignorant of the meteorologist's predictions that it ought to have moved south by now. The clouds never moved, never dissipated. King's Point was isolated by a blanket of grey clouds, a personal little crown of gloom.

The people went about their lives, annoyed and aggravated that the rain still had yet to go away. Nothing flew above the city - not a bird, not a plane, nothing - but if something had, it would have watched the intricate dance of umbrellas scurrying to and fro, keeping their masters dry.

The rain had grown stronger yet. What started as a light drizzle had become a veritable storm now, and it showed no sign of stopping.

Yet nobody quite knew when the rain got stronger. It simply happened. For the people of King's Point, it was a fact of life. Grass grows, birds fly, and rain slowly gets stronger over time. They still didn't mind much, though. The clouds, grey and depressing as they might have been, brought no thunder. The wind, when it came, was cold and clear.

Children went about their Halloween festivities under umbrellas. Parents saw no reason to cancel a holiday on account of a little rain, and umbrellas had become so ubiquitous in town everyone was expected to have one anyway.

The rain claimed its first victim that night. A boy, Thomas Shelley, slipped and fell into the local river. Little Thomas wasn't a very strong swimmer, and he was encumbered by his costume. He drowned on Halloween night, still wrapped in his little ghost sheet. His body was never found- the authorities expected he drifted downriver and he would show up later. He didn't.

The tragedy of Thomas Shelley rocked the small town. The people began to treat the rain as a menace, a threat to their children. The rain, however, remained as impassive as ever. It continued to fall, hard but familiar.

The next day, King's Point closed schools. Nobody wanted another Thomas Shelley incident, and everyone figured it was better safe than sorry in the circumstances. Children stayed at home, playing their games and reading their books, safe from the rain. Adults went about their lives on edge but undeterred.