This is an original creepypasta I wrote with the intention of making the details (locations, time scale, etc.) as close to reality as possible. It is in the journal entry style.
You can listen to me reading this creepypasta here.
Thursday, September 8th, 2011. 7:32 PM- IntroductionEdit
My name is Brian Mitchell. I am a single father and an author of mostly detective novels. I spent most of my early life studying to become a cop, but after a knee injury I suffered playing football in college, I couldn’t pass the physical. So, I found a career in my second love: writing. I found my third love in the publisher of my first book, Twisted Mind: The Psychology of a Serial Killer, a work of pure fiction by the way.
Diana was sweeter than the peaches she would have shipped to her from her home state of Georgia. After coordinating a few local book signings, I finally had the guts to ask her out. We married two years later and soon after, our first child was on the way. We were unbelievably happy and we soon found out it was a boy. However, little William was born with a deformity that claimed his life within days of his birth. It shattered our world into a pile of broken dreams. We stood by each other, but it took five years for us to work up the courage to try again.
God blessed us with a healthy baby girl this time, and we named her Mira, because she was our little miracle. We lived for three and a half blissful years in our humble Chicago apartment before tragedy struck us once more.
My wife was walking home after a late night of work when she was attacked by a knife-wielding maniac. According to the police, he forced himself on her and she fought back, so he stabbed her to death out of rage. They caught him trying to rob a liquor store a few weeks later, still in possession of the bloody knife. I thought the son of a bitch was just a homeless alcoholic, but while awaiting trial he apparently fashioned a rudimentary shiv and badly mutilated his face before cutting his own throat.
I thought I would feel relieved by his death but, more than anything, I felt empty and alone. There was no justice, no way to bring Diana back, and I now had to raise my daughter all on my own.
You may be wondering why I’m writing all this in a journal. The reason is two-fold. For one, I might one day use this to write an autobiography if anyone is interested enough to read it. Also, Mira has been acting strangely since we moved into the small town of Green Valley, Illinois.
It very well could be her form of grieving over the loss of her mother, which no one could blame her for. But part of me is worried because just yesterday, she mentioned a strange man watching her on the playground at school. If there is a predator around here, I’m going to see what I can find out so I can keep my daughter safe.
Tuesday, September 13th, 2011. 4:17 PM- Mira’s DescriptionEdit
I finally decided to ask my daughter about the man she saw at the playground. She said he came a little closer today and he had his eyes closed the whole time. I found that strange because of my early suspicions of it being a sex offender. Why would a pedophile keep his eyes closed and not look at the children he was stalking? It didn’t make sense, but I’m far from giving up on this. I’m going to the school tomorrow to keep an eye out for this guy.
Wednesday, September 14th, 2011. 6:49 PM- Something’s WrongEdit
I spent the whole school day waiting outside the playground in my car. Armed with a pair of binoculars and a camera, I was ready to catch the creep like any good private investigator would. I even had a really good view of about three or four blocks on either side of the school. I was fully aware that what I was doing would probably seem just as suspicious as the guy I was looking for if I were to get caught. But, I knew I wasn’t doing anything illegal and was prepared to explain myself if necessary.
I waited there all day, but I saw nothing. When Mira was playing outside, I saw her look over past the school’s boundary fence over by some trees. I peered at that area several times with binoculars, but couldn’t see any signs of life or movement other than the early autumn leaves blowing in the gentle wind. For a brief moment, the writer in me even reflected on the poetic beauty of the scenery. Of course, within seconds I refocused and kept looking for the potential stalker.
I saw nothing, but when I asked Mira if she had seen the man today, she confirmed that he was there. Now, it stands to reason that she’s merely grieving or just developing an overactive imagination. Lord knows her mother and I are both creative souls. But I can’t shake the feeling that something is still off. Perhaps I should look into some child psychology techniques to see if there’s a way to find out for sure if she’s making it up or not.
Friday, September 16th, 2011. 9:26 PM- The Coloring BookEdit
I did some research on child psychology to look for ways to get Mira to open up about what she’s been seeing, or at least what she claims to be seeing. One suggestion was to get her a coloring book and a box of crayons to see how she colors the world in it to match her perspective of the real one. So while she was at school, I went to the local shop and bought her one with a pony theme, since she’s always seemed to like them, and a big box of crayons.
When I picked her up from school, I greeted her with a smile and told her I had a surprise for her. I handed her the book, which I had been hiding behind my back. “Thank you, Daddy!” she exclaimed joyfully, as she gave me a hug before getting into her booster seat.
As soon as we got home, she started coloring in it. I was busy preparing her favorite dinner of macaroni and cheese but, as soon as I was finished, I checked her work. The first few pages were normal, consisting of ponies colored in light blue and pink, which reminded me of the Wizard of Oz’s “horse of a different color” scene. Of course, those were her favorite colors, so it made sense that she would use them first.
But about four pages in, there was a picture of a cowboy in the background who had a small pony with him. She had filled in his eyes with the black crayon and drawn little x’s over his mouth. I continued on to find a “connect-the-dots” activity page where she had drawn lines that seemed to spell the words “see”, “hear”, and “speak”.
This startled me because Mira was only beginning to learn how to read and write her own name. Granted, they are simple words that she definitely had in her vocabulary. But I still found it very odd that she would think to connect the dots on the page to spell them like that. I am now considering bringing Mira to see a professional child psychologist to maybe dig a little deeper into whatever is going on with her.
Tuesday, September 20th, 2011. 8:31 PM- The DrawingsEdit
I brought Mira to a child psychologist after school today. Her name was Dr. Ellen Petrowski, Psy.D. She led her into a play room with a variety of toys and children’s games strewn about the carpet floor. She asked Mira what she wanted to play with. She went straight for the art supplies. I figured that must be a sign of creativity, but I still couldn’t shake the bad feeling I had in my gut since looking at what she did in the coloring book.
Several minutes went by as she gleefully made picture after picture, until finally Dr. Petrowski motioned for me to come over and look at her work. My heart sunk at what I was seeing. Mira had drawn a small stick figure with a misshapen head lying in a tiny casket with a male and female stick figures standing over him and crying. She drew flowers in front of the gravesite that unmistakably spelled out the name “WILLIAM”.
Her second picture was of a man standing over a woman, who was lying on the street with red crayon marks all around her. He was holding a bloody knife that was dripping onto the pavement. The third drawing was a man behind the bars of a prison cell, holding another red-colored knife to his throat. She hadn’t drawn eyes on him like before, and those same x’s were over his mouth.
The fourth and final picture was of the man from the prison cell standing next to the small stick figure from the first one. The small boy had little black curves for ears, but the man had short wavy red lines instead. I asked her who the boy was and she said “That’s William. He’s not like other kids.” I silenced a gasp because neither Diana nor I had ever told Mira about her brother. We thought it would be too painful and difficult for her to understand.
I hesitantly pointed to the man in the drawing and asked “So who’s that, honey?” She responded, without a moment’s pause “That’s the man that made mommy go to sleep.” I very nearly broke out into tears. I was so in shock at what was happening and yet simultaneously so gut-wrenched by the memories of the night my Diana was taken from me. I told Dr. Petrowski I would call her to set up another appointment, as it was clear that Mira would need further evaluation and possibly psychiatric counseling. At that moment, I just wanted to get out of there as soon as I could.
Saturday, September 24th, 2011. 11:53 PM- The Police StationEdit
I’ve had so many thoughts racing through my head since Tuesday. Everything seemed normal since then. Mira hasn’t had any trouble at school or said anything to me about the man at the playground. But I just couldn’t suppress this burning curiosity that started with her drawings. So, I took Mira for a little road trip to Chicago, where Diana was murdered.
The drive was about three and a half hours and I could tell that Mira was getting fidgety. Nonetheless, I stopped off at a flower shop and bought a single red rose. I drove to the street where it happened and laid it on the very ground where she took her last breath. While on my good knee, I prayed for the strength to help me deal with what was happening and the guidance to get me through it.
Then, we left for the Chicago Police Department precinct they had brought me to over a year ago when they needed me to identify Diana’s body. I asked to see the detective who handled the case, Detective Daniel Harken. My true purpose for going to Chicago was to ask him a few questions about the man who killed my wife. After he greeted me and asked me how I was holding up, I said “I could be better, but I want to know more details about my wife’s killer.”
Harken had spared me a lot of the more gruesome details because of how distraught I was immediately following the murder. I assured him that I was ready now and he began telling me the story. He told me that Diana was stabbed more than fourteen times in the chest and much of her clothing was torn off from the attack. After catching the man with the murder weapon, they asked him who he was several times, but he didn’t breathe a word the entire time he was in custody.
When they found him in his cell, he had severed both ears and his tongue, dug out his own eyes, and used a thread from the bed sheet to sew his mouth shut. Before slashing his throat, he had apparently used the blood from his other wounds to write the words “SEE”, “HEAR”, and “SPEAK” with the words “NO EVIL” in larger letters beneath them.
I was baffled by this story. I paused for a moment before puzzling “Wait, so you mean to tell me this guy did all of that and not a single guard was around to see it?” The detective took a quick swig of his coffee and said “The guard thought he was asleep. And even though he was standing not ten feet away from the cell door, the prisoner never made a sound.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I thanked Detective Harken for his time and I took Mira back home to Green Valley. My thoughts were inescapable. What kind of psychopathic freak was that animal? How could he kill an innocent woman? Why wouldn’t he say anything to the cops? How could he mutilate himself and not make so much as a groan?
I couldn’t stop thinking about it all. Then, I came to a realization. The way he had cut up his face would have looked a lot like Mira’s drawings. Empty eyeholes, severed ears, and the little x’s to represent his sewn-up lips. I got so nervous thinking about it that I nearly ran the car off the road. Thankfully, we returned home safely tonight.
Sunday, September 25th, 2011. 4:49 AM- I Saw HimEdit
I don’t know if I was awake or asleep. Perhaps I was somewhere in between. I’ve read about a half-conscious state called sleep paralysis, which can often lead to vivid dreams and nightmares. Most people who claim to be regularly abducted by aliens likely have it.
I don’t know if that’s the explanation for what I just saw, but I could swear that the man with no eyes, ears, or tongue was just standing at the foot of my bed alongside my daughter. I heard her voice as clear as day, saying “It’s okay, Daddy. I’ll make it all better.” Then, everything went dark and I couldn’t scream or move at all. I think maybe I need a psychologist more than she does.
Thursday, October 13th, 2011. 2:43 AM- Missing Persons Report, Possible HomicideEdit
At the residence of a Mr. Brian Mitchell, 781 Oak Street, Green Valley, Illinois. Units were dispatched when neighbors had reported an accumulation of mail as well as the absence of Mitchell’s daughter, Mira from Green Valley Elementary School for the past two weeks.
Upon approach of the residence, officers noticed blood stains on the front door handle as well as directional blood spatter from a wounded individual. The residence was clear of any persons living or deceased. Mr. Mitchell’s bedroom appeared to be the scene of a crime.
Officers noted restraints attached to all four bedposts. The bedside table contained two severed human ears, as well as a severed human tongue and two detached eyeballs matching the color listed on Mr. Mitchell’s driver’s license. Officers also found a spool of black thread as well as a threading needle, both of which appeared to be stained with blood.
Additionally, there were two sets of footprints leading out of the bedroom. One set of small prints appeared to be leading a much larger pair, which appeared to have a leftward limp. The trail led out the front door and ended on the porch steps.