I don't know how to properly tell this story, my mind is jumbled all over the place, and
I have been shaking for the past few hours.
Everything has gone to shit, and I don't know who else to tell this to.
Maybe just telling you guys what happened tonight will help me calm, I don't know, something
is trembling inside of me.
Now, I'm going to be honest, I used to think this place a was bullshit, honest to God bullshit.
I never believed in ghosts, in demons, in spiritual, not at all.
But after last night, man, I don't even know any more.
Let me just explain what happened.
I work as a nurse at a hospital, a nice old place in a nice city (hiding details for privacy
of course).
Now, it's rooted in a metropolis, not some backwoods small town, which worries me even
more.
Either way, I'm was happy at the job, it was difficult and stressful, but I found it rewarding,
helping people no matter what.
That was always my philosophy, "help people, no matter what."
This belief carried me through getting my degree, through the tough early years, through
everything.
I just wanted to help people, and that was what led me to my big mistake.
Now, I'm one of only a few male nurses at the hospital, and while it rarely affects
me in any serious way, there are few examples of patients that are more comfortable being
around a man than a woman.
When these people came, I was almost always assigned to them, giving them just a slight
boost in comfort.
Well, yesterday I had one of those cases.
This boy comes in with this mother and father, both slightly backwards, hard religious folks.
All three of them are dressed in raggedy clothes, the fathers t-shirt has a massive stain on
the tip of its blue edges, the mother's makeup is creased and messy, signifying a long, brutal
day.
As for the kid, the kid was dying; he was young, 8, short for his age with thin brown
hair and an obviously malnourished body.
He was keened over, not saying a word or making eye contact with anything, it was harrowing,
but we kept on as it was our duty.
Now normally, with cases of malnourishment, it is the fault of the parents.
Sometimes they simply do not have the resources (but that couldn't be the case, the father
was a very fat man, so they couldn't have been without food), or it was intentional
(yet, by the emotional response of the parents, it didn't seem to be so).
The mother was sobbing from the moment she walked into the hospital, yelling that her
"Baby was dying!
My Baby is dying!", the father had a similar nervous expression, but hid it, let his wife
do the significant talking.
As they swarmed, the child was hunched over in a small wheelchair, cold dead skin and
focusless eyes staring ahead on a tilted head, almost seemingly in rigamortus already.
Now, nothing phased me anymore, I had been a nurse long enough that even a case like
this, a dying child who probably had been malnourished for weeks, maybe months, would
be frightening, but I kept on, I had other patients.
I left the lobby and left the screeching mother, but could not escape the vision.
As I left for a nearby hallway I turned for one last glance, and just by my sheer placement,
the kid, ridged, cold, was staring directly at me.
He had not moved, it just was...
Something to note.
I paid no attention and moved on.
I was working with another patient, an older lady with a broken leg when a fellow nurse,
Melissa, walked in.
"David."
She called me by my first name, we had a friendly, casual relationship, "we need you to look
over someone else right now."
"I'm already with--" "You're the only man available.
Right now."
Melissa told me, practically an order, and I understood the call.
I turned back to the older lady and apologized, I was needed elsewhere.
In a few seconds I was walking out the door.
"Who exactly?"
Pining, I watched Melissa's face, she seemed, troubled.
"This kid that came in, just a few minutes ago--" "Malnourished?
Brown hair?"
"Yeah."
Melissa nodded along, it was slightly jarring, the thought of the eye contact stayed with
me, and I couldn't shake it.
"Only wants a male nurse, I don't know why, but something about this case just worries
me."
Melissa continued, reaching the room.
"Relax..."
I assured.
"Probably religious nutjobs and a diabetic child, we'll raise his blood sugar, call Child
Protection, and be done with it."
"I don't know, just something--" We reached the room, number 145, and I gave a deep breath
and walked in, leaving Melissa to herself.
I walked in clutching a deep folder, ready to make a bold entrance to a family, making
small-talk, reassuring and...
The door creaked open slowly, oddly, and I was entranced into the room, lit only with
the pale, crystalline lights at the top of the roof.
In the room, dim, pale with only blue beds changing the white demeanor and decoration,
was the child.
Only the child.
I stopped, slightly confused, before I adapted.
"Hi!"
I told the child, he was in his wheelchair, his only signs of life were slow swivels of
his neck to my position.
Something felt wrong, and I should've listened.
I should have sprinted out of that room with maximum speed, vowing to never return, stomping
out all thought of helping whatever the Hell that boy was.
But, it was against my philosophy, I help people, no matter how I feel.
And believe me, my stomach was in knots.
"Where are your parents, buddy?"
I asked the boy, shaking my writing hand slightly.
I didn't expect an answer until I saw his mouth open just enough to form a whistle.
"Gone."
"Gone?
Where did they--" "Gone."
The boy swiveled his neck to the right, resting on the other side, I saw perilous bruise marks,
wrapping all around the left side of his neck.
"Do you know where they've gone to?"
The boy didn't speak, and I took it as a queue to begin again, I walked up to him, all the
while beginning to feel very, I don't know how to describe it, but, cold.
Not a shivering cold but a drainless cold, the type of cold that fills you in, like a
cold shower on a cold night.
Everything just freezes, blood tingles.
"Well, m-- mr.
Let me just take a look at you, r-r-real quick and I'll...."
I couldn't make out a sentence, just staring at the lifeless body, the bruise marks, the
motionlessness, it all pointed towards something beyond the realm of, well, living.
As I stood closer, I could tell he was ice cold, without any heat within him, almost
impossible.
I should've known, I should've known, I don't know why I'm such an idiot, but I didn't leave,
I kept looking over at him.
I made notes of the marks on his body, his temperature (53 degrees fahrenheit, impossible).
After a few minutes I needed to inspect more, and I asked the child to take off his shirt.
"I need to record any incidents of violence."
I was shivering now, it was a warm day in a desert state, but somehow I was shivering,
my entire body chilling up.
I could hardly take a full breath without looking down, composing myself.
But I will not be unprofessional, I have this job, I have my philosophies for a reason,
and I will not be-- The boy lifts up his shirt, and directly over his heart, a blood-red entrapment,
an entrance to his body.
Beyond the pale while skin, this red hole inside of his, an inch wide, serrated and
jagged, horrifying.
I stared at it, not knowing what to make out of it.
Was it a bullet hole?
It looked like it?
Was it a stab wound?
Anything was possible, but improbable because of one thing, there was no blood coming out
of the raw wound.
I jumped back at the conclusion, and immediately contained myself at the start of the door.
Barely focusing, nearly falling over, I was deathly afraid and cold, which was the perfect
time for the child to speak once again, his words ringing in my ear even now.
"You will be perfect."
Suddenly, this swarming, shifting feeling inside of me, my organs were bending and breaking,
everything being twisted in knots.
I felt to the ground in absolute fear, vomit appearing from my nose and mouth, but this
thickness surrounding the upper portion of my body.
Behind, the boy stands, somehow, watching me vomit and daze around in complete horror,
I do not see him but I hear him, walking all so slowly, his light-up sneaker clit-clat
on the hard floor and I sense his presence.
I turn around, feeling as if I'm about to cough up a frog, unable to breath (strangulation,
now that I look back, and from the bruises on my neck).
Behind me, the boy, clit-clatting pulls out the tiniest knife you'd ever see, and begins
to walk.
I believe I'm alive for one reason, and one reason only.
Just as the boy, knife in hand, walks towards me with aggression the door opened, the heat
reemerged, the strangulation ended, and the boy was sitting at the wheel chair again,
limp, dead, not bleeding.
The only different thing was me, lying on the ground, screaming in agony and terror,
as the head doctor stared.
"Mr. Lewis, what's the matter--" I didn't give him time to complete the sentence, I
started to run, faster than I ever have before.
I left my job early, and I'll probably get fired, but I don't care.
I don't think I'm ever going to go back to that hospital again, I can't, something is
wrong, that boy, that feeling, the bloodlessness, those words; "you will be perfect."
It's been 30 hours, and I am far too terrorized to sleep, I haven't left my home, to worried
of that boy, of what he was planning to do.
I am currently on the last of the alcohol that is in my house, something to calm my
nerves, but I doubt they'll ever be calm.
I just gotta pray, pray that whatever that was, it won't come for me.
But I'm not a fool, and as it said, I am perfect.
My name is Beck, and I work part time as a janitor at a (smallish) university as part
of a work study program.
While I'm definitely not going to miss having to mop up puke or clean toilets, there are
some parts of the job that I will miss when I graduate.
As someone with social anxiety being able to do my job without being required to wait
on someone or talk with customers is a major relief.
I also love being able to see the building in a whole different light when I work night
shifts.
While the university has a minimum of fifty different janitors on payroll at any given
time, there's usually about 15 of them that are willing to work night shifts, and only
5 of them (of which I am included) will work in Jackson Hall.
While the building isn't exactly hard to clean (in fact, since most classes are out by 5
the day crew gets most of the rooms clean by the time my shift starts) it makes up for
it in having the highest number of shit related emergencies.
In short, Jackson Hall has the worst plumbing on campus.
Apparently the plumbing hasn't been updated since they replaced the lead pipes sometime
in the 70s because it got too expensive after the building was listed as a historical site.
I've also heard rumors that they just really don't want to spend extra money on anything
not associated with athletics, but it's not really my business.
Despite it's reputation as clogged toilet central, a night where I have to break out
a plunger is fairly rare.
The actual suction per flush for the building is pretty weak, so most "clogs" can be fixed
by just taking the time to flush it again.
The issue is that most students won't spend an extra minute in the bathroom to do this,
which means that by the time I get to it, it's gotten stained to the point that I have
to actually find a toilet brush.
A couple of months ago I notified administration of the issue, and they gave me the OK to start
hanging signs in the bathrooms reminding students to check to see if the toilet actually flushed.
It seemed to work for about a week, at which point my signs disappeared and the toilet
issue got to the point where I was certain the day crew was fucking with me.
However they assured me that they clean the toilet right before they get off work.
This is where things get... interesting.
There are really only two classes in Jackson Hall that let out after 5pm, and neither of
them have enough students to leave shredded shit and toilet paper in every toilet in the
building, even if there were doing it on purpose.
The building actually locks down about an hour after the last class ends, so there is
no way someone could come in and fuck everything up unless they were hiding in a closet somewhere
and waiting for everyone to go home; especially considering that the day crew would wind up
in the exact same situation when the building was unlocked in the morning.
This wasn't an unheard of, which is why I decided the best course of action was to spend
the night in the bathrooms after I clocked out.
This turned out to be a horrible mistake.
I had started to doze off, and was awoken sometime around 3am by the toilet I was sitting
on shaking violently.
This particular toilet was actually broken, which was why I had chosen it as the spot
for my stakeout.
I had closed the lid before sitting down because while I was hoping that whatever frat was
behind the prank would leave the toilet that had been marinating in shit for well over
a week in favor of the others, I wasn't desensitized enough to actually sit on the rim.
I jumped out of the stall because I was terrified that the toilet was going to explode, but
instead the lid slowly lifted itself up.
I was astonished to see dozens of pairs of glowing eyes starring at me under the lid,
and even mores stunned when whatever was inside started making birdlike chirping noises.
I suddenly realized that I was in over my head when these chirps were answered by a
chorus of louder, deeper chirps coming from inside the other stalls.
I just managed to lock myself in the janitor's closet when they got to the door and started
slamming themselves against it.
I know that these things will have to give up sooner or later, mainly because none of
the day crew has ever seen one, and their shift starts in about two to three hours.
I'm just hoping that they won't figure out about the hole in the ceiling before then.
Hi.
I guess before I begin this story, I need to introduce myself.
My name is Chloe.
I live in the Southern United States.
I used to love Creepypastas and scaring myself.
I used to take joy in doing very risky things.
I need help.
I did something I should have never done.
I opened a door that I can never close.
I found a 'game' called 'Hide and Seek Alone'.
It's a simple ritual, I guess that is the true word for it, that lets a spirit inhabit
a doll.
Then you can play hide and seek with it.
I began researching how to do the ritual, and found the instructions.
I would tell you the instructions myself, but I want you to stay away from this thing.
Whatever you do, don't do this.
I used a doll that has some significance to me.
It's an American Girl doll from when I was about 9.
They're limbed dolls that cost over one hundred dollars.
I had named my doll Maria.
She had been my best friend through every crisis I had.
She and I used to be inseparable.
Keyword here is used to.
Since I had a TV in my room, it was no surprise that I decided I would hide in there.
I would use a knife, since I couldn't figure out anything else to use.
I began the game at 3 am by saying "Maria is the first it.
Maria is the first it.
Maria is the first it."
Then I went back to my hiding spot, turning on the TV and counting to ten.
Then I went back to Maria and stabbed her with the knife, telling her three times that
I was it.
The game only lasted about 10 minutes.
I got too scared, even though nothing happened.
No flashing on the TV, no doll wandering around.
So I took my salt water, then found Maria still in the bathtub.
I spat the salt water and poured the rest of the cup on it.
I said I win three times.
I took Maria out of the tub water, dried her off and put her on the doll bed my grandfather
gave her.
There was no point at the time to do as the ritual said – burn and discard the doll.
I mean, the spirit/doll hadn't even left the bathtub.
I doubted that the ritual even worked.
Oh, but it worked.
God, it worked…
And I was so stupid enough to not protect myself.
I turned off the TV and went to bed.
That was about 3:30 am.
I woke up startled at 5:30 am.
I was paralyzed in bed.
The TV was on.
It was… flashing weird colors.
Yellow, blue, red.
Blue, yellow, red.
Red, yellow, blue.
And it would repeat.
But sometimes, there was darkness.
And I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck come up.
I wanted to jerk the covers over my head.
Red.
I saw a shadow creeping up onto the bed.
Yellow.
I saw that blonde hair.
Blue.
Maria was on my bed.
I wanted to scream.
I…
I can't explain how I felt.
As I stared into her eyes, I felt there was a malice in them.
Like she was plotting to kill me.
For the first time in ten years, I prayed.
I prayed to anything and anyone who would listen.
But it didn't help.
I felt a searing pain in my left leg.
I screamed in agony.
Between my teary eyes, I couldn't see Maria on the bed.
But I saw the knife that was deeply embedded in my leg.
My mom came in, worried, as I laid there screaming.
I was happy for once to be living with my mother.
She pulled me straight of bed and took me to the hospital.
The knife had gone through my whole leg.
I almost died from losing so much blood.
The doctors and my mom kept asking me, begging me to know what happened.
All I could manage to say was 'Maria… doll… kill..' or something like that.
The doctors thought I was insane from blood loss or something.
No one believed me.
Mom had to convince them not to take me to the mental wing or something.
And here I am, in the hospital.
My left leg hurts nearly all the time.
My mom brought me a few things to keep happy and sane.
Or that's what she told herself she was doing.
She brought Maria.
When she brought that damned thing into the room, I started to cry.
They thought it was just because I had loved Maria so much…
Mom put Maria on the bed beside me.
I pushed Maria off.
Mom picked it up again and placed it back on the bed, not understanding the torment
it was causing me.
I just decided to let the thing that wanted to kill me sit beside me.
I had no choice.
Thankfully my mom also brought my laptop and gave me the hospital's internet.
Please help me.
I know that this might as well be the only place I can go in order to get the help I
need.
I'm lying here in the hospital bed, next to my would be murderer.
I need to rid myself of it.
I need it to die.
If an evil spirit can die.
How can I convince everyone that I'm NOT insane?
The doctors say that it is going to be a while before I can walk by myself.
I'm about to be given some sleep medication.
Doctors say I NEED to sleep.
I don't WANT to sleep.
I know if I sleep, Maria the doll will kill me.
Maybe she won't kill me here.
Maybe she'll wait until I'm home again.
That's my only hope for now.
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