Creepypastas

NCN's

The two gathered their bearings once more, and took a quick look around to see which way they had come from. The road, which had been directly behind them, was no longer there, replaced by what looked like 100 years of overgrown vines, thorn bushes and brush. Cal panicked. "The fuck, what the fuck do we do now?" he yelled. They jumped in the car and took off, past the single row of houses, and onto the only street. Several miles down the wooded road, there was a massive tree on the right side with a large carving in it, which had stood the test of time. It said, "DO YOU WANT TO BE SAVED FROM THIS HELL?" Under the words was an arrow pointing to the right. Past the tree, a small path stretched to the right, not quite big enough for a car, but seemingly too big for just walking. The two decided this may be their last hope, though they expected more abandoned buildings. They hopped out, put the cloth roof up on the car, locked in, and started walking down the path.

The air seemed to get hotter as they moved, more humid, to the point where they were pouring sweat, and breathing became difficult. After walking for 15 or so minutes, they began to hear a commotion. It sounded like a party. People yelling, cheering, and music, singing. Instantly, they broke out running towards the sound, knowing that someone was out there who could likely help. They saw light, which turned out to be coming from a shack on the left side of the path another few yards down. The shack looked ancient. It was covered in vines, the wood appeared to be rotting its way off of the structure, and a badly rusted sheet metal roof, with pieces missing, sat on top. This was the source of the noise. Cal and my dad walked towards the shack. A single window on the front, caked in dust, showed light inside, it looked like fire burning inside of the place. The doors were no more than old, saloon-style swinging doors, so they walked in.

The place reeked of vomit and grease, as well as harsh liquor. The source of the noise sat in the left corner, where an old black man of about 60 with tattered clothes sat with a badly worn acoustic guitar. His gravelly voice sang, "Jesus is on the main line..." and a crowd of 10 or so other black men in front of him finished, "just tell him what you want!" Several others sat at tables closer to the door, eating some sort of awful looking (and smelling) fried food.

At this time, the two made several realizations. Everyone in here wore the same battered clothing, with rope around their waists. Also, the layout of the inside of this place was identical, down to the last detail, of the abandoned tavern they had encountered in Coon Holler. Finally, they were shaken to realize that all of the people in here were black. They were all large, muscular black men, none looking under 30 or so. Their teeth were all badly decayed, some completely grey. There didn't appear to be any women, until they looked behind the bar. A large black woman stood behind the bar, glaring at them with her arms crossed tightly. She seemed to be the only one to notice their arrival. She turned to the collection of bottles behind the bar, took two of them and clinked them together softly. Instantly, the music from the back corner stopped. Suddenly, everyone in the place was looking at them.

Their looks spoke hatred. None of them moved, however, as if they were waiting for something. Footsteps from their right side. A man walked out from a back room. He was a black man, heavy set, around 6'5" with a chest-length salt and pepper beard. He was dressed nicely, in a dusty tailored suit and wide-brimmed hat, though not a cowboy hat. His face wore a grin that sent chills through my dad and Cal, and his eyes gleamed "like those of the devil." He approached them slowly, until he was only a few feet away. He shone them a massive smile. Perfect, Alpine-white teeth lined his mouth, unlike the others in the place. He spoke calmly, in a smooth, surprisingly alto voice with a thick, unplaceable accent.

"Why'd you come?" He had a hint of sarcasm, amusement, in his voice, like he was taunting them. Cal spoke up. "We....got lost." My dad described it as difficult to think, it was easy to get "lost" in the big man's eyes. Neither broke their fixation on his eyes for the entire encounter, as he recalled. The big man spoke again. "Nah, nah, boys, you came here for a reason, whether you know it or not." He grinned that big smile again, before turning to the crowd gathered around them and saying, louder, "what say we show these boys what they came here to see?" The crowd cheered as the big man turned to the woman behind the bar. "Pour these boys a drink!" he bellowed. His voice seemed to shake the foundations of the ramshackle building. Two men grabbed Cal and my dad and sat them at a table. The big woman walked over to the bar with a dented platter carrying two shots of some sort of liquor. The big man sat at the table across from them.