WARNING: THIS IS A DIRECT SEQUEL TO ANOTHER CREEPYPASTA. If you haven’t read Never Stop Running yet, go and read it first. Otherwise, you’ll be quite confused.
I'm really hoping this lives up to expectations. Since so many people liked the first one, there was a lot more pressure this time around. 5 months should be enough time to write a decent pasta though, and God knows it's taken me 5 months to write this.
Again, if this is read by Mutahar, it should PROBABLY be read word for word.
“Shall I tell you what the real evil is? To cringe to these things we call evils, to surrender to them our freedom, in defiance of which we ought to face any suffering.” – Seneca
A Discourse Worth Noting
“So now that we’ve read the letter, let’s clear a few other things up. Earlier you told me that you weren’t looking for any more answers. What changed?”
“Well, sometimes you go looking for answers, and other times answers come find you. Unfortunately, this was one of those other times.”
Jesse Davies, 20
Living unselfishly, he died unselfishly
Keeping other people from suffering
You will be forever missed.
There wasn’t a lot of room on the obituary page of the paper the day we had the funeral. I didn’t need that much room anyway – all I put was what we had engraved on his tombstone. It was easy to sum up Jesse’s personality in an epitaph, even if you weren’t his mother. Kyle tried periodically to find the cursed hack with no success. I was worried about him for a while. He was taking his brother’s death very hard, to the point where he started skipping school. He told me he was going when I confronted him about it, but something told me he wasn’t being real with me. I tried to tell him that junior year was the most important year for getting into good colleges, but it had little effect on his behavior. I’ve worked with kids enough to know what happens if he becomes truant. It’s something I’d need to keep my eye on and if I was completely honest with myself, I was grateful for the distraction.
I kept putting it off, but I knew that it was finally time to go get Jesse’s things from his room up at college. This time, I mentally prepared myself for the dog, still unsure exactly what happened between it and Jesse. Why in the world was the dog alive? Thinking back to the letter, I realized that the dog being alive wasn’t strange, but how it “died” in the first place that was strange. The letter gave no indication as to how the dog kicked the bucket and the chances that the owner, A VET, no less, couldn’t find a cause of death were slim to none.
I pulled into the small parking lot and went up to the door. One of his housemates let me in before I even knocked. As I passed him into the house, I noticed that he looked visibly distraught – even more so than the other people there, and he wouldn’t make eye contact with me. For the moment, I ignored him. It took me about an hour or so to get everything packed into the van. Jesse was always a minimalist when it concerned material possessions, but finding all the knick-knacks hidden around his desk took me longer than I thought. As I was taking the last box out, the young man who let me into the house approached me, wringing his hands. “Mrs. Davies, uh…” He stuttered. He looked even worse than before, almost to the point of actual, physical pain. It was obvious that something was wrong. “When we found Jesse, we weren’t able to find a note. Did he… happen to leave one with you?” He choked back a sob at the end. Was this guilt?
“Yes, he mailed one to me.” I replied, not really wanting to go into further detail, but knowing at the same time that it was probably inevitable.
“This is going to sound like a horrible question, but did he say WHY he committed suicide?”
“Yes, why do you ask?” I queried. I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know, but for his sake, I thought I might at least talk him through whatever was bothering him.
“We… got into a huge fight the night before. Things were said on both sides that shouldn’t have been said, and we both stormed off angry without apologizing…”
“And you think that whatever you said might be the cause of his suicide?” He nodded shakily. “Let me save you the worry, you weren’t the reason. I wish it were that simple.” He looked relieved which annoyed me more than it should have. “And the fighting… that certainly doesn’t sound like him. He rarely got into fights - barely even raised his voice.”
“I know! He was one of the friendliest people I’ve ever met. If you want my personal opinion, I think it was the stress his classes. He was in an unusually hard course load. I’ve been there too. It can seem like the walls are closing in, getting ready to crush you, and you just snap.” I froze. Something about the way he said that made me shiver, like he knew about the hack Jesse played that led to his death. “Yeah,” I said, narrowing my eyes, “I was in college once too. By the way, I love your dog.” I said to the owner dryly. I couldn’t have gotten out of there any faster.
A Crazy Story
I now had to contend with the possibility that the letter was written not by my son, but rather his housemates in order to cover up an elaborate prank gone wrong. Programming a ROM hack with one changed level didn’t seem too hard – I know from previous letters that there was a computer science major living in his house – and the vet would know what drugs to give the dog to make it seem like the dog’s heart stopped beating. The thought that his housemates might have had a hand in his death didn’t help my mood. I even snapped at Kyle a few times about his prolonged and frequent absences from school. I hadn’t gotten any calls from the school yet but it was only a matter of time before they would come asking why I wasn’t getting Kyle to school - and if there were any concerns with the home keeping him from school, that would also make foster care a very real possibility. If that inquiry ever came, I’m not sure that I would pass it. Maybe a week ago, but now? I was less than certain, and it scared me a great deal. My psychology was taking shaky steps towards a cliff. A few days later, though, I received a mysterious email from someone named Melissa that helped me regain some of my bearings.
I read in the paper about your son’s death. I’m sorry for your loss. From the sound of it, he must have had a very hard choice to make. You’re probably still searching for answers, and believe it or not, I might actually have a few for you. If you want to know more, let me know.
At the bottom of the email there was an address, which I assumed was where she lived. Normally, this was the type of email I wouldn’t bother replying to or even paying attention to, but I had to know if Melissa was serious. I decided to visit the address the next day without telling her, so if her story was bull, she wouldn’t have time to get her story straight and I would be able to tell. Rather than throwing her off guard, I was the one thrown off guard when I arrived. The last thing I was expecting was a psychiatric ward.
I walked up to the receptionist, wondering how I was going to get permission to see Melissa. Typically, only family is allowed to see patients, and even then, only during certain hours. “I’m here to see Melissa?” It was meant as a statement, but came out as a question. I was praying that I timed the visiting hours right.
“Okay,” the lady behind the desk said, “I’m just going to need you to sign the check-in sheet.”
“Just like that? Is security really that thin here?”
“Ma’am,” the receptionist replied with a waving hand that signaled me to follow her, “this is a voluntary psychiatric ward. No one is here unless they choose to be and friends as well as family can visit them. Typically, our patients are dangers to themselves rather than other people. And besides,” she finished as she opened the door to what I assumed was Melissa’s room, “Melissa told me to expect you.”
I went into the room, and the first thing I noticed was that it was empty except for a bed and the person on it. “I’m gonna be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure you’d come.”
“Until I got here, I wasn’t either.” I replied sheepishly. “But you promised answers and I need them so I can put this whole thing behind me and move on.” She shook her head.
“Sorry, but these won’t be the types of answers that solve all of your problems. They might even create new ones.”
“I’m not sure I can take more of those answers.” I was getting frustrated with just how many answers led to more questions.
“If it helps, you should know that the questions will find their answers eventually.” I thought I smiled, but it felt more like a grimace. I just needed answers, not comfort from a psych ward patient. “First things first, did you get a note?” I nodded, and handed it to her. I figured she would ask for it and it helps to be prepared. After glancing at it for a minute, she started smiling, a tear rolling down her face. She mouthed the words 'I'm not crazy.', but no sound came out. I gave her a moment to collect herself. “Well, I can tell you for a fact that the hack he talked about exists.” I wasn’t surprised. I was convinced at that point that there was one, even if it was just a prank hack. At least it confirmed that Jesse wasn’t crazy.
“What do you know about the hack?” I asked, afraid but at the same time not caring that my desperation was starting to show.
“I have no idea why the hack exists, but I know what it does. It’s basically…” She paused, trying to find the right words. “Well, think of it as the guilt trip from hell. It takes a particularly traumatic experience and feeds it back to you again and again until you feel like hurting people is all you’ll ever do. It becomes your fate. At least, it became his. Can I assume that Jesse wasn’t a very defiant person?”
I thought about it for a moment. “No, Jesse wasn’t the type to break the rules.”
“Then he probably felt stuck in the same pattern - cornered by the hack and its effects. Me, I was way different. I bent the rules almost always and broke them completely when I felt more rebellious than normal. My main method of rebellion was sleeping around, especially in college. One night, my fling’s girlfriend walked in on us and she lost it. Started breaking down, throwing things, even threatened to kill us if I didn’t leave, so I did. The next day, I began seeing all of the guys I was with being murdered by their jealous girlfriends, and it didn’t help that it was my fault. I was close to losing it and ending it, but I checked myself in here, determined to beat what was happening to me - to escape my so-called fate. In a way, my defiant streak saved my life.”
“Do you think that these hallucinations of the murders were caused by playing the hack?” When I first read the letter, it seemed like a stretch, but now, it seemed more plausible.
“I’m more convinced now than I was before you arrived. I had a similar story. Besides playing with peoples’ hearts, I was also a gamer. Never got into the consoles, but the hacks were easily accessible. From what it sounds like, the final level’s gameplay is different for everyone, but the objective is the same… to run. In my version, I was Peach and I was running with Luigi following a ways behind me. I felt – although towards the beginning, I couldn’t be sure – that I was luring Luigi away from someone else. We finally made it to a house and entered, only to find Daisy waiting there for us. I’m not sure how well you know the Mario characters, but Daisy is supposed to be Luigi’s girlfriend like Peach is Mario’s." Some of this sounded familiar to me, but I let her keep talking.
"Anyway, she has a gun and shoots Luigi first. It was horrifying watching blood paint the walls with a scream clearly not from the game following closely after. This was something I wasn't expecting from a Mario hack. There was never any blood." In that way, I thought to myself, you and Jesse were the same. "Then she shoots me and the screen goes black instantly. The only thing to happen afterward is a pop-up with the text “You Stopped Running.” I’m pretty sure you can figure out the rest.”
“So the level is contextual?”
“Based upon what I now know, I would assume so.”
“Well, that explains the difference between your experience and his. The walls closing in... his housemate did say he was under a lot of extra stressfrom classes. And you never stopped seeing these murders?”
“I still see them to this day. In fact, since you arrived, I’ve seen four, each more brutal than the last. The first just got shot and the last was thrown into a vat of hydrochloric acid. I’ve learned to live with them. I’m actually a month or so away from releasing myself and getting on with my life.
“Congratulations,” I said as I stood and extended my hand, “and thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Like I said, I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m glad I could clear some things up for you.”
As I walked out of the room and to my car, I muttered under my breath, “You and me both.”
No Rest For The Weary
It took a few days, but things finally started getting back to normal. Kyle still wouldn’t go to school, but if the school hadn’t contacted me by now, they must not have really cared. There were still some things that needed answers, but I finally felt like I had a decent grasp on what had happened. That feeling didn’t last long, though.
Three days after my meeting with Melissa, I was cooking lunch and Kyle was sitting at the kitchen table again trying to find the hack. I just wanted him to give up on that. The last thing I wanted was a repeat of what happened to Jesse happening to him. The food had just finished cooking when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting any visitors. Annoyed, I just assumed it was a solicitor. Walking to the door, I had to think of a polite way to tell them to leave me alone, but when I opened the door, there was a young man - probably in his mid to late 20's - standing there with a suitcase. I didn’t recognize him. Before I could ask him who he was, he let go of his suitcase, reached out and hugged me. “I’m so sorry.” He said. I stood there awkwardly in his arms, trying to figure out who he was.
“Um, thank you?” There was a silent pause.
“Are you going to let me in?” It seemed an odd question to ask. I didn’t know this person. Was he really expecting me to let him into my house?
“I’m sorry, but I don’t know who you are.” He put a hand on his face as if he was embarassed.
“Man, those pills seriously did a number on your memory. “ He waited a second, looking into my eyes to see if there was a glimmer of recognition.
“I’m sorry… still nothing.”
“Geeze, mom,” He said, brushing his way past me and putting his suitcase on the steps. “I know that you’re getting old and that you’ve just been through a traumatic experience, but even with the pills, your memory can’t be THAT bad. It’s me… Kyle?” My throat went dry. I thought he said his name was Kyle, but there was no way that was possible.
“Then who…” I whirled around to see my Kyle, sitting at the kitchen table just moments before, was nowhere to be found. Ice ran down my spine. Running up the stairs, I burst into Kyle’s room hoping to see him in his bed or at his desk, but no one was there. It didn’t even look like it had been occupied in months.
Something was definitely wrong.
Wow. After almost 5 months, I've finally gotten around to the sequel. I hope you enjoyed it. School was definitely brutal in the last few months, but don't worry about that cliffhanger ending - I promise it won't take me 5 more months to do the last one. Expect that one within the next month.
This pasta was pretty cut and dry with the sequence of events. I didn't get to go into as much detail as I did in the last one, but I feel like more people will like the pasta for that. Some people don't appreciate the excrutiating detail in my first pasta, which I'm okay with.
I want to see theories in the comments, people! Not only are they interesting to read, but they help me formulate ideas. For example, so many people on YouTube thought that it was a prank that got out of hand that I decided to make that a possibility. (Don't worry, it wasn't a prank gone bad.) It actually served me well in segueing into the meeting with Melissa.
Third and final pasta is out! ---> Out For Blood