CreepyPasta Delight

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I walk the same loop every night. Same three streets, same forty-five minutes, same stretch of sidewalk past the house on Linden where the hedge comes right up to the curb. I've been doing it for eleven years. I know every crack in the concrete. I'm telling you that so you understand — I would have noticed her before. I would have noticed a face in the leaves. I would have noticed the old woman on the porch. I noticed them both on the same Tuesday in April. Now there's a space in the hedge, and it's waiting.

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Cole moved to Las Vegas with nothing but a failed plan and a one-bedroom apartment off Boulder Highway. When a woman named Dahlia matched with him on a Thursday night and disappeared by morning, she left behind a mark on his skin — small, warm, spreading. The doctors have a name for what Cole believes is happening to his body. They're wrong. What began as an itch beneath the surface has grown into something deliberate, something architectural, something that knows exactly where it's going. Cole is writing this from a hospital bed. He's running out of time to be believed.

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I bought the house because it was cheap and I needed to disappear for a while. Five acres of Ozark hill country, a gravel road, and neighbors just close enough to wave at. For three weeks, it was everything I needed. Then the kids next door found a sinkhole behind the property line, and something about them started to change. The angle of their heads. The timing of their movements. A smell on the evening wind like chalk and old pennies. I left before I understood what I'd seen. I'm two hundred miles away now. It isn't far enough.

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I've run the I-40 corridor sixty times. Oklahoma City to Albuquerque, straight shot, nothing to it. But something followed me out of El Reno on a November night and it stayed in my mirrors for three hundred miles. It tried a broken-down car. It tried a voice on the CB — a woman, a child, freezing in the dark. It tried a rolled eighteen-wheeler with a driver crawling through the grass. Every time I didn't stop, it got a little closer. And every attempt was a little more convincing than the last. I made it through. I don't know if she did.