Welcome to Spooky Boo’s Creepypasta and True Scary Stories
I am your host Spooky Boo. Tonight I have for you stories about coffee drinkers. I have to admit, I am addicted to coffee and these stories fed my addiction to horror and my beloved grounds of dark roast. Yes, of course I like dark roast!
This Saturday night, watch my premiere on YouTube and then head on over to Creature Features with me to watch old horror movies and have fun the chatroom. Just search for Spooky Boo’s Scary Story Time on YouTube. I’ll be waiting!
Now let’s begin…
Story Number One
Pleasant Coffee
An Anonymous Creepypasta
“Would you like a cup of pleasant coffee? It’s very nice… That’ll be one fifty.”
As I sat in this diner, just off of route 66, a strange little man was serving me a strange brand of coffee that I’d never heard of. I sat there, slowly sipping on this mug of brew. It had a smooth texture, and a nice little zip to it. I had quite a few hundred miles to go before I hit my destination, so stopping for coffee seemed like the natural thing to do at five in the morning.
I stared into my half empty cup o’ joe, and was thinking about the journey ahead, when the strange little man initiated a conversation with me.
“You know, I used to have an uncle who drank this stuff all the time. He used to drink a cup of of it every day, it used to refresh him so… Come to think of it, a lot o’ people in my hometown used to drink this stuff.”
I looked up at him, he looked pleased with himself. Almost happy, but not yet fully content. An expression I’ve never seen on a person before. Trying not to appear rude, I spoke up to him:
“…Tell me more about your hometown then.”
“My hometown? Well, it’s not a very well-known community. Pleasant Springs, Illinois.. They used to grow coffee beans there, and that’s where the name of this coffee comes from…”
He chuckled to himself lightly, but in an almost cartoonish way.
“I haven’t been back there in half a decade! I should go back someday and see how things have come along…”
I suddenly felt a trembling from within me. My stomach felt as though it were on fire. I didn’t know whether it was the coffee which didn’t agree with me, or because I hadn’t eaten in a while, or that this man had poisoned me.
No. It couldn’t be poisoned, this was just some sort of coincidence.
“You look a little shaky there pal. Here, have another cup of coffee, on the house…”
Yes. It was definitely poisoned. The way this man stared at me intently. The way I felt like I was burning inside. The way he was then offering me cups of coffee for free. But then again, he could’ve just been a nice guy trying to help me. I held my stomach, and said,
“Perhaps could I get some water instead?”
“Oh sure. I’ll go get you some.”
He walked slowly over to the sink, and turned the valve slowly. Nothing came out of the tap, and he walked nonchalantly back over to the counter.
“Sorry, our sink appears to be out of order. Would you like some bottled water instead?”
I, busy contemplating what to do at the time, blurted out in the heat and confusion of the pain mixed with my own paranoia, “Yes, sure, how much?”
“On the house, friend.” He smiled an unsettling smile. He slowly walked through the back door and within a split second he came back out again, this time looking more pleased with himself, and with the bottle of water in hand. I accepted it hastily, unscrewed the lid, and drank about a quarter of it down. I felt the pain disspate, and I felt better.
“Thanks,” I said, not feeling as creeped out.
“Oh, it’s nothing… I’m happy to help.”
When I say, not feeling as creeped out, I don’t mean I felt entirely comfortable being here. I sat there, taking a few breaths, counting them in my head. All of a sudden, the pain reemerged, this time stronger and more intense than the last time. I writhed on the diner stool, trying to look normal yet failing.
Maybe I just needed more water. I went to drink a bit more from the bottle, when suddenly, the label caught my eye.
Pleasant Water.
This was weird. This was strange. This was unnerving. I stood up from my stool, and backed away to the door, shoving the bottle into my jacket pocket.
“What’s the matter? Where are you going?”
He cocked his head slightly, having a mildly aggressive tone. I opened the door, keeping my eyes trained upon the man.
“Come back.”
He had an expression of sadness, falsely etched onto his face. His voice imploring me to come back and sit. I was not prepared to do that. But what I was prepared to do, was run to my car and get the hell out of there.
I ran as fast as I could over to my car, fumbling for the key to get in. I unlocked the door and got inside. As I tried to start the car, the man came outside, his head cocked to the side. His face almost questioning why I was leaving in such a hurry. I managed to start the car up, and drove away.
The nightmare was over, except for one thing. The bastard had slashed my tires.
I was swerving across the road, slowing to a stop. I got out of my car and looked in the back of the car. All I had was one spare tire and a tire iron. One spare tire wasn’t going to be enough, so all I could use was the tire iron. I shoved it into the back of my trousers, and I walked away from the direction of the diner.
I had been walking for a couple hours. I’d maybe walked about six miles, and I was feeling tired. I heard a noise, it was coming from the road, more specifically, from the direction of the diner.
I was ready.
I waited at the side of the road to see who it was, maybe they could give me a lift. If it was the man, I was prepared to defend myself.
Off in the distance, I saw a mini convertible driving towards me. I stuck out my thumb, hoping that it would be someone good, and not some psychopath trying to kill me.
The driver halted to a stop, and smiled at me. It was an old man wearing a suit and tie, along with an old fedora.
“Where ya headin’, stranger?”
I bent down to look at him through the car window, and said, “I’ve been running away from some psychopath! Back about several miles there’s a diner with a madman running it. He tried to kill me!”
He lifted his brow and invited me into his car. He started driving again, and said, “I’ve just come from that diner. The guy running it seemed perfectly fine to me.”
I implored him, “Please, just drive to the nearest town with a police station in it!”
“Alright, calm down son. There ain’t nothin to be afraid of now. There’s a town about twenty miles ahead, I’ll drop you off at the police station once we get there.”
We sat there quietly. The long slow hum of the motor, mixed with the rumbling of the tires on the old unkempt road calmed me. It would’ve sent me to sleep if I wasn’t aware of my situation. I looked around at my surroundings, the car was filled with bits of old junk that the elderly usually keep in their car.
A few minutes later, I readjusted myself in my seat. I stretched my legs and my back and settled back onto the chair, I looked into the rearview mirror, and that’s when I saw something I had never anticipated.
The man was in the back seat, sitting up, and grinning.
I froze, too scared to say anything, in fear of what he might do to me or the driver. The old man changed gear and looked into his rearview mirror.
The old man smiled, and said, “Heya Jim! This the guy you were talkin’ about?”
The man stared at me through the rearview mirror.
“Yes, thank you for helping me find him. You, I never got your name. What is it?”
I was frozen. I could not speak, move, not even blink.
“No matter, I just wanted to let you know, you didn’t pay your tab for the first coffee you bought.”
“That’ll be one fifty…”
That’s when I blacked out.
I woke up in my car. I opened the door, and checked everything. The tires were not slashed, I didn’t feel sick or in pain anymore, and everything was fine.
I must’ve stopped to rest my eyes and dreamt all of it. Funny how nightmares can relate to the subconscious fears of what you’re doing.
Smiling to myself in relief, I felt my jacket for my keys and I felt something in the pocket of my keys. It was badly torn bit of paper, it felt dried out, as though it had been wet previously. I pulled it out, and in the darkness I read out the words:
Pleasant Water
Story Number 2
I Have An Addiction to Coffee
A story submitted to scarystoriesboo subreddit by 17aingraham
Let me start off by saying that this addiction is…new. I didn’t always have it, it actually started a few days ago. I’ve been awake for eighty-six hours now, and I have no intentions of ever sleeping again. You see, I can’t sleep. Well it’s not that I can’t sleep, it’s that I won’t. I refuse. This all started a few weeks ago.
I’m a night owl, so a lot of times I’ll stay up until the wee hours of the morning trying to get things done that normal people would do when the sun is up. This means that about 80% of my day I’m running on caffeine because of the sleep deprivation I get from forcing myself to stay up until 4a.m. I know, I know, not exactly the best way to live your life. But as long as I’m productive and get stuff done, there’s no harm in it. So I thought.
This started taking a big toll on me, so much so that I started having some pretty..bizarre dreams to say the least. The first night seemed like any other night of insomnia. I stayed up, got my work done, and crashed around 4:45 a.m. Now normally when I’m this exhausted my brain just skips the dreaming phase, but that night was different. The dream started off pretty normal, I was sitting with my mother at our kitchen table, chatting brightly over a cup of tea. But her face was turning red, no purple…blue maybe? A shade much darker than her normal peachy face. And her words were slurring, were they even words at all? It sounded more like a breathy chatter than anything, and then it stopped completely. She fell forward and slumped onto the table, a choking gasp leaving her mouth.
Immediately when I felt the thud I awoke, sweat pouring down my back and forehead. I looked around the room expecting to see her but all I was met with was my dark bedroom with light barely breaking into my window as my clock read “5:56a.m.” I reluctantly fell back into a deep slumber, luckily without dreaming of a single image this time.
I awoke around noon, got around as best as I could these days, which mainly just consisted of changing the sweatpants I wore to bed into a new, fresh pair, and poured myself a bowl of cereal. The day went on as normal, I shuffled around the house, probably took a cat nap or two, and as soon as it turned to dusk my busy night got started. I cleaned my whole downstairs, scrubbed every toilet and dusted every shelf. Meal prepped for the week at two o’clock in the morning and finished that paper I’ve been pushing off for days. I fell asleep a little earlier that night, I’m not even sure I made it to 4 like I normally do. Again I passed out and was in such a deep slumber that I had no images to recollect from my dreams, or lack thereof, the next morning.
I was startled awake early in the morning to a phone call. It was my brother, sobbing into the phone informing me that our mother had hung herself earlier in the night. Her neighbor found her body when he went to bring her mail over to her, as she was old and frail and couldn’t get around much anymore. When the dispatchers arrived at her house it was too late. Died of asphyxiation surprisingly, the rope hadn’t managed to snap her neck so I’m assuming she died a slower, more agonizing death than she had planned.
My mother’s funeral was a few days after her death. I know she was getting up there in age, but I still hadn’t expected her to go so soon, and for what reason? Last time I had spoken to her she seemed happy, delighted even. So what would’ve caused her to take her own life? The insomnia had gotten worse after that. I could hardly close my eyes without gruesome pictures flashing through my mind. I had to wait for utter exhaustion to take over before I could even think of sleep. I had another dream a few days after the funeral.
I was sitting with my friend Carter on a bench beside the old baseball fields where we used to play in senior high. It was good seeing him, and reminiscing over long forgotten memories about scuffing our knees and getting nailed in the head with a rogue baseball every once in a while. It’s no wonder we turned out the way we did. We laughed and joked, and everything seemed to be so peaceful, until I noticed the pinhole sized dot on his shirt in the middle of his torso, that seemed to be growing larger. The crimson color started to seep through, dripping down to his pants. I looked up into his lifeless eyes as the same thick substance starting pouring out of his mouth. I screamed as his body hit the dusty ground, and immediately shot up in my bed, just as I had done when I dreamed about mother.
This time the dream seemed so much more realistic. I could smell the iron as his shirt was drenched in the red liquid. I could hear it bubbling up into his throat. I immediately called him, not bothering to check the time, and to my surprise he answered on the second ring. “Hey buddy,,,everything okay? Do you know what time it is?” “Yeah,,,yeah man I’m sorry, I just haven’t heard from you in a while and I was making sure you were doing well. Sorry, sometimes I don’t realize that the rest of the world sleeps during this hour.” “ That’s okay bud, you get some rest now okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I’m not so drowsy.” “Yeah that sounds good, sorry again, you have a good rest of your night.” Click. I tossed and turned and realized the sleep was not coming for the rest of this night, what little was left of it, so I got up and started my day at 7 a.m.
I did all of my work that I’d usually do at night in the morning, and was surprised to see all of the downtime I had when nightfall actually did come around. I turned on the tv, and once realizing there were no good programs on, mainly the reason why I don’t watch it, I turned to the news channel.
To my utter horror, I saw a breaking news broadcast. A man had walked into an appliance store, took the nearest, sharpest knife he could find, and plunged it right into his stomach. I gasped. It was Carter. I turned the volume up as loud as I could as the news broadcaster told the viewers what had happened. Carter was rushed to the hospital, but died a few hours later despite the doctor’s best efforts to stop the bleeding. I was wide awake. I don’t remember what time I had fallen asleep after that, probably around 3 in the afternoon the next day. But what I do remember was the dream I had immediately afterwards.
I was with my brother, down by the lake, watching him poke around the fire he had so meticulously made. He was always great at outdoorsy things, always managed to impress everyone around him with his grilling skills and his balance while waterboarding. It was a beautiful autumn night, and the fire was the perfect temperature to keep us warm with the chilling breeze that constantly blowed. We talked and very poorly sang campfire songs, and smelled the sweet sent of roasting marshmallows. The scent didn’t last long however, and slowly turned into the smell of burning flesh. I looked over and watched as my brothers skin started to bubble, he screamed as the fire engulfed him, melting away his skin cells until nothing was left but charred flesh.
He died. And this time, I was there for the whole thing. I went to his house the next day, just to make sure he was alright. He invited me in for dinner, where he was frying his famous chicken and baking potatoes in the oven. I of course agreed, I could smell the food before I even opened the door, and it always smelled delicious. I excused myself to use the restroom and when I came back, he stood there, no expression on his face as he held the pan of hot boiling oil in his hand. He didn’t say a word as he doused himself with the liquid, and I don’t even want to get into the sight…or the smell…of his skin when it poured onto him.
I have an addiction to coffee. Well, I’m trying to train myself into having an addiction. I haven’t slept in 3 days. I can however remember the last time I dreamed. I was alone, standing in front of a mirror. As I gazed into the shiny surface, I noticed a hole forming in the middle of my forehead. Just like Carter, blood started gushing from the wound, spraying the wall behind me as I realized there were two holes, one in the front of my skull, and one in the back. I woke up and poured myself a cup of coffee. That’s all I’ve been drinking these days. I refuse to go back to sleep, I refuse to know what might happen when I lose consciousness and no longer have control over my body. I don’t like coffee, but I drink it. It might be giving me side effects though, or maybe it’s the lack of sleep. But I don’t own any weapons, no knives, no firearms, no archery equipment. Nothing of the sort. But maybe my mind is playing a trick on me, because I swear I saw a gun lying on the end stand of my favorite chair. I have a coffee addiction, or maybe, I just don’t want to sleep.
Story Number Three
Cups of Coffee
OCD is a pretty tricky thing, apparently. Yes, a lot of the times it revolves around a harmless pattern we must repeat throughout the day. Just a daily nuisance that one must learn to integrate into his schedule, it can’t possibly have such a drastic effect on your life style right? It’s just time consuming, if anything.
So why am I here then? Every time I ask the nurses or the doctors for some sort of explanation they just force a pill in my mouth. I spend most of my day trapped in a restraining jacket in a dingy room, counting the minutes in complete silence. I am sure I am as sane as any of them, but they insist that I require mental treatment. Is all of this really necessary just because I have a minor form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder? A lot of people I know suffer from OCD and I don’t see them being labeled as mad.
How did they even find out? It’s not like my obsession is that noticeable or anything and I haven’t really told a lot of people about it. In my case, I just feel the need to reward myself with a cup of hot coffee every time I complete something that I see as significant, like after a hard day of work for instance.
I mean sure, my caffeine level might be a bit high but that’s hardly a reason for cramming me inside an asylum full with nutcases. No matter how hard I try to think, I just can’t list another reason that might justify me being here. Plus, I have yet to experience any sort of cooperation from the workers here. I do believe that after your home gets stormed by a dozen uniformed men, which are apparently authorized to beat the shit out of you before finally putting on the restraints, you at least deserve a fucking explanation! The bastards didn’t even let me finish my coffee.
The whole ordeal is a bit fuzzy, probably from having my head bumped against the hood of the police car several times, but I think I recall the important parts. Perhaps you can enlighten me on what in the actual hell I did wrong.
I believe it was around six or seven pm, but I might be wrong. I just got home from work, hung my coat in the usual place and tiredly stumbled into the kitchen. I had to fill in for a colleague, so I’ve been doing double the work. Unfortunately, there were still the mangled bodies laying on the floor from yesterday that needed sawing up. I have a pretty big fridge, but cramming a fully grown human adult in there is pretty much impossible, so dismemberment was in order. My daughter and son were already prepared and stuffed in the fridge, but I didn’t have time to take care of my wife’s and her lover’s corpse.
My dad’s old saw was pretty dull, but it did the job eventually. The bones took a little bit more, as the blade kept getting stuck, but it had to be done and I am not the type to simply ignore chores. Once I was finished, I stuffed the remains in the fridge next to my children’s, mopped the blood and, of course, plugged in the coffee machine. As you can tell, my OCD doesn’t interfere with my work. In fact, it makes me look forward to completing every important piece of business I have on my schedule. I couldn’t imagine a better reward for a job well done than a hot cup of my favorite brand of coffee. I even felt like adding some cream, thinking that I deserved it after such an excruciatingly difficult week. As I took a sip, I started to wonder about how I was going to spend my weekend.
Suddenly, my door was knocked down and the aforementioned morons piled over me, yelling as they kicked and punched me around my own kitchen. One of them was pointing at my fridge, as if he hadn’t seen a household appliance in his life. He even started shouting at me about it, but I couldn’t determine what he was saying over the loud buzzing in my ears. By the time they got me in the back of the car, I already passed out. Surely I have the rights to press charges for unneeded physical assault, but nobody seems to care for my opinion here.
It’s been several weeks now since I arrived in the mental institution. Two weeks, three days and twelve hours to be exact, I don’t have much to do besides count. Fortunately, they were kind enough to allow me out of the cell and remove the goddamn jacket, so I can at least wipe my ass like a normal human being. I am still not allowed around the other inmates though, for god knows what reason. My therapist gave me this audio log and told me to record my thoughts, and seeing as I don’t have anyone to talk to I might as well. At least she is all right, and appears as if she wants to help me. Regardless, I want nothing more than to leave this place. I keep telling them that it’s just a habit and that it doesn’t affect me or the people around me in any negative way, but that usually results in me getting more meds pushed into my system.
It’s just coffee people, what’s the big deal!?
Story Number Four
Reasons to Drink Coffee
An Anonymous Creepypasta
Reason One: Several chemicals in coffee are anti-carcnogens, chemicals that help prevent cancer.
Reason Two: It helps regulate digestive health.
Reason Three: It helps delay the mind-shattering, soul-crushing agony that may haunt your dreams. …I suppose I should explain that a bit more.
One evening I was on Facebook, not doing much in particular, when I got a random friend request from someone named Jessica Kenaga. I accepted it on a whim. A few minutes later, one of my friends got a request from the same Jessica Kenaga, declined it, and went to her page to investigate. He sent me a message that said there was nothing there. At all. Just her profile picture, the fact that she was using FB in English, and that I was her only friend. He told me it sounded like hax or something bad so I unfriended her. The next day, I noticed a message from her in my PM box, and it was all just gibberish, so I blocked her.
About an hour later, I got another friend request from her, except something was different about her profile picture. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but what was unnerving was the fact that I had blocked her so she shouldn’t have been able to contact me. I figured she had made another account and sent another friend request, so I blocked it and reported her. Mere moments passed before I got another friend request from Jessica. By now, I was a bit weirded out, and her profile picture seemed very strange, but I couldn’t figure out how. I logged out of FB after blocking the third request and immediately got a phone call. It was from Jessica. Somehow, there was already a contact of her in my phone, complete with that unnerving profile picture, despite the fact that I had never met her.
I declined the call, but she immediately called back. This time I decided to answer it and tell her to quit being weird, but when I went to listen for a reply, there was nothing but static and a faint hissing in the background, almost like running water, so I hung up and went along my riveting day of browsing Facebook and Memebase. I got a text from Jessica, that said only:
“hELLo ThErE, LiTTLE onE.”
At this point, I was more than a smidge freaked out, so I called the number to tell her off but this time there was sound before the first ring had even finished. It was this long-winded wailing that sounded like it was from far away. After about thirty seconds, it stopped and was replaced by an ear-spitting shriek. I dropped my phone and jumped back from the unexpected noise.
The sound stopped after maybe ten seconds, so I went and got my phone, figuring the call ended when the sound cut out, but it was still going when I looked at the screen. Scared, and pissed that I was scared, I rapidly spoke into the phone, commanding this person to stop what she was doing. After I was done, I felt a bit better and said I was going to call the police, then hung up. The moment I did, my phone notified me that I had one new voicemail, thinking I might have missed a call while “Jessica” was on the phone, I got the voicemail.
It was a weird, warped voice that said, “See you soon, little one.”
Naturally, I lost my shit and freaked out. Leaving my phone and computer upstairs in my room, I went downstairs and turned on all the lights I could, including the TV. My mom was in the room, which reassured me somewhat.
After a couple episodes of mindless programming, my mom went up to use the restroom. As soon as she hit the second floor, the television turned to static and the lights went out. Beyond terrified but wanting to reassure myself, I did what any gutsy seventeen year old male would do. Using the light of the television static, I found the baseball bat we keep in the corner in case of robberies, and turned around to see none other than good old Jessica. I shit myself. Not literally, but you get the point. I screamed and swung the bat. As soon as it connected with her, she vanished, the lights came back on and the static cleared up. The lack of something to actually hit made me lose my balance and fall onto the couch. My mom came barreling down the stairs to find out what was wrong. I began to explain it to her, then realised I sounded like a nutcase. So I told her I must have nodded off and had a nightmare or something. She looked skeptical, but didn’t question.
After that, nothing happened until I went up to shower. All was well until I opened the curtain. Boom. Jessica. I screamed again and slipped on the water, sliding into the tub and hitting my head. When I looked back up, nothing was there. I must be crazy, right? Or just really paranoid. My mom shouted up the stairs to see if I was alright, so I told her I slipped on a bar of soap in the shower. I tried my best to put it out of my mind. I got out of the shower, went to my room and started to play League of Legends. Good old rage inducing League. I played a few matches but couldn’t get into it very much, so I shut it down and decided to hit the sack early.
I fell asleep pretty quickly, or I guess I did, because it seemed that as soon as my head hit the pillow I was dreaming. I was just floating in nothing, thinking that this was nice, or at least not bad. Then, that same long-winded wailing drifted through the void. It sent a shudder down my spine because I knew what would happen next, but couldn’t bring myself to wake up. Like I knew would happen, the wailing stopped and that shriek from before tore through my head, this time accompanied by light and vision. The void was illuminated, to show a stark white, sterile room with two people in it, not counting myself. One was a hunched, crying figure sitting against the wall. The other was Jessica with her back to me and looking down at the other person with one clenched fist. Only Jessica had no shadow and seemed to radiate this aura that made my hair stand on end. Jessica was just staring at the crying figure, doing nothing for several moments.
After what seemed like a very long time, she clenched her hand once more and the hunched figure shrieked again. I covered my ears to try and block it out, but the sound pierced through. I must have made some sound or something, because Jessica turned around, and looked at me with eyes that were bottomless. They were just entirely black, and seemed to absorb light. She grinned at me, exposing the whitest, sharpest teeth I have ever seen. She clenched her hand again, and I was wracked with pain. I couldn’t scream, and for what felt like hours I was crushed and stabbed and beaten.
Suddenly, I woke up in a cold sweat, panting like I had just run a marathon. I looked at my phone for the time, it was only two hours after I had gone to sleep. I noticed a new voicemail and shuddered in dread. I saw it was from my mom, and gave a heavy sigh of relief. It said she had gone out with a couple friends and that she would be back in the morning. I shook off the nightmare with the knowledge that I wouldn’t sleep anymore tonight and went downstairs to the kitchen to get something to eat. I got some cold cereal and ate it on the couch, watching some Adult Swim, because why the hell not. I finished an episode of whatever was on, and went to put my bowl in the sink.
As I entered the kitchen, I saw Jessica in front of the door, complete with bottomless eyes and scary grin. I bolted from the room as fast as I could, but she tackled me from behind and hit me in the back of the head like she had a brick in her hand. I blacked out. Boom. Gone. Out like a light.
I woke up back in that room where the crying person was, sans the crying person. I was sitting against the wall and just knew that if I looked up, I would see Miss Kenaga. I knew it was inevitable, so I looked up into those light-drinking eyes and that predatory grin. She stared back at me. I watched her watch me for a long time. Then she did what I knew would happen. She clenched her fist and I was wracked with pain. This went on for days and days. Or maybe it was only seconds. However long it was, it reduced me to tears. I was weeping in pain and futilely hunched over for protection. Eventually the pain stopped and Jessica leaned down and whispered in my ear in that weird, warped voice, “Mine, forever more.”
Then I woke up. How glad I was to wake up, you have no idea. I was in my nice warm bed, with my nice warm sheets and my nice soft pillow and my nice great life. All was amazing and bright and happy. Until I realised I had to pee. Really bad. So I went to the bathroom and did just that. After I was done, I looked in the mirror and felt my blood run cold. On my chest was a series of scratches that read “Mine.” I ran back to my room and sat with my back to the wall, staring opposite me. I must have done this until I fell asleep, because I woke back up in that room, and knew what I was about to endure. And it came. The pain. The body wracking agony. It came in waves, over and over for hours and days.
I woke up that time to the sound of my school day alarm and went through my day, the scratches on my chest now gone. I tried to stay awake as long as I could to delay the horror that came with sleep. Jessica didn’t plague my waking world anymore. Only when I slept, now, or passed out is more accurate, did she come. Wracking my body with pain until my alarm pulled my out of that nightmare. Every day, I delay sleep as long as possible. I get through the day with coffee and sugar. So much coffee. I can go for days at a time now, before passing out, but Jessica is patient. She waits and waits. She knows that I must sleep sometime. And when I do, she greets me with that twisted grin and welcomes me back to that room I dread so much. She welcomes me with agony and anguish.
