I grew up in the city where it was busy, bustling, and full of noise. But my mother and I always went regularly to visit family who lived out in the country when I was around 8 and 9 years old. There was Aunt Violet and Uncle Zach, Aunt shelly and cousin Kelsy- it felt like family would come from all over the world in large droves… family members that didn’t even look like family.

There was this one Uncle that would always sit quietly in the back of the room. He had dark circles underneath his eyes and always seem paranoid, looking around the room like a million eyes were staring back at him.

When I met him the first time, he gave me a little smile and told me to call him Ichabod.

He was always pleasant to talk to, if not at least a little creepy. He always told me spooky stories which became some of my most famous tales among my friends when I was hanging around campfires. But there was always one story that I never told.

One that I always kept scecret from my parents. And If I thought about it for too long, I would start to get paranoid just like Uncle.

Ichabod told me stories about dark shadows that moved at their own will. Shadows that’d move just out the corners of his eyes. He’d always say that if he kept still and waited long enough, he would see something move closer to him. But as soon as he moved his head or tried to focus on them, they’d go away and he couldn’t see them.

The next time I saw him at a family gathering, he looked super pale and tired. More than usual. Worried. He’d start even at the smallest sound with his dark eyes darting everywhere while looking around the room.

Me being the caring child I was, I went up to him and asked what was wrong.

Uncle Ichabod stared me straight in the eyes. Thinking back to the look he gave me still chills me to this day.

“Remember when I told you about the shadows, Emmie? Do you remember what I said? They keep coming closer. Every day, they keep coming closer. Never try to focus on the shadows, Emmie- it gets their attention.”

My mother had called me to her side to show another Aunt the deformed looking dog I had drawn earlier that day. The Aunt that’d refuse to remember my name. I was disappointed because I wanted to comfort Ichabod- who looked like he was going to fly out of body to meet Jesus- but my mother had the disobey me or die face on.

I shot uncle an apologetic smile and went to my mother and aunt to talk about the thing that I had made.

It was the last time I ever saw him again.

Later on that day, my mother grabbed me from a corner in the house that I was drawing in and told me that it was time to leave. She looked afraid so I didn’t question her. I grabbed my things and left with my mother.

I didn’t hear the full story until I was 23.

That day, the last family gathering that I ever saw Uncle Ichabod at, was found dead outside on the back porch. They discovered claw marks on him and his jeans and jacket were to slashed to shreds. The autopsy had come back that he had died of shock- his heart stopped beating inside his chest.

I sighed, saying goodbye to my mother and ended the call.

A small part of myself felt empty for the dead uncle that I had liked the most growing up. Other adults never really cared to talk to me except for my mom. They always told me to “shoo” to play with the cousins that didn’t really like me either.

Though Ichabod always seemed a bit disintrested at first or looked like he was about to pass out from lack of sleep, I could always tell that he enjoyed my company. And I had enjoyed his.

Reaching over, I clicked the light out on my nightstand. It was late and I had work in the morning. I was just about to cover my head with blankets when I saw something move out of the corner of my eyes.

My blood ran cold.

 

“Remember when I told you about the shadows, Emmie? Do you remember what I said? They keep coming closer. Every day, they keep coming closer. Never try to focus on the shadows, Emmie- it gets their attention.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

This post is a bit different from my usual deal. Let me know if you enjoyed my creepy little pasta or if you want my normal cheery posts back!

 

CreepyPastaFunny
This is what I always think of when I hear “Creepypasta,” lol.

 

And as always, thanks for reading to the end of my post!

~Felicity Annora

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