Creepypastas

Blue Kings

Shit, I'm at work! I realized.

I didn't attribute the feeling to the cigarettes at the time. I just freaked out. I wanted to feel normal. And across the parking lot, by the dumpster, I still saw that fern-looking thing.

My whole perception of the thing changed in one single moment—when it... moved. And huge,

shiny black eyes fell upon me. I remember thinking about my girlfriend. I remember thinking how illogical it would be to run inside, despite how utterly terrified I was in that moment.

I should get closer. I should see what this thing is.

That idea didn't last long. The thing, whatever it was, I still don't know, put its hands over its big black eyes. I remember being particularly shocked by its fingernails—long, yellow and twisted. When I still held my ground, that's when... it screamed. It opened its big toothless mouth far wider than I've ever seen a mouth open, and it made this pathetic wailing sound.

It sounded like it was being tortured.

Now, I was scared. I ran back inside the store and promptly locked the door. I didn't know what to do. I was still feeling really fucked up. Nothing was staying still. I could hear my heart beating in my ears.

I'm going to die from fear, I remember thinking.

It's in your head. It's a bad trip. You got drugged. You're having a bad trip. You're at work, get your shit together.

There was a woman at the counter, and she nearly made me shit myself. Half her face hung dead. Sagging. Expressionless with one eye looking ready to roll out. The other half was contorted with anger. I was ready to cry out and make a run for my car, but I realized, with unimaginable shame and sorrow that she was a stroke victim, or something of the sort. I think, at the time, I thought she had a birth defect, or something.

Whatever I thought, I felt horrible, and mortified by the way I was thinking and acting. This is some strong shit I'm on, I thought.

"I'm sorry," I said to her. "Can I help you with anything?"

And I recall, my words sort of hung in my ears after I said them.

She said something in a broken voice, and I asked her to repeat herself. She said it again, clearer: "Fuck you."

I remember feeling like shit. I must have offended her, or kept her waiting, or both.

"I'm really sorry, I was taking out the trash-"

"Fuck you."

She said it even clearer that time. And the muscles in the half of her face I presumed non-functional twitched into life. She twisted her head to look at me—twisted it at an impossible angle—and started screaming it: Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! For what felt like far too long. So long the words began to lose meaning and definition. Just loud screeches.

At one point, as I cowered by the door I'd locked, I couldn't distinguish words at all. I closed my eyes, unwilling to look at her—it—and the screaming continued, even once I opened my eyes and found her absent. The distorted curses kept coming. Until they blended into a sound like microphone feedback.

Eventually, it stopped, leaving me sitting against the door with a ringing in my ears.

This is all some kind of dream. A trip. I'm on a bad trip.

I kept telling myself shit like that when I thought to dial the police or make a run for it.

I went to the bathroom and washed off. I felt a little better. I could see my reflection rippling like the mirror was a standing wall of liquid.