File :-(, x, )
ORIGINAL CONTENT (again) Anonymous
I'm a group home kid.

It's what comes with being 'in the system', this sense of being orphaned, a gypsy-like existence. Most group home kids migrate from location to location every six months, or less, and have to learn a new set of rules, register at a new school, and fight a whole new set of bullies.

It's alright, though.

I should start by describing myself. Tallish, about six even. I'm Brazilian, which means I get passed off as black on a regular basis. Dark eyes, a face that looks too young for my age, and a lean, athletic body. I ook, and am, pretty strong, but my stamina is shot. Another thing that comes with being in the system-boredom. If you aren't at school or work, or fighting (because yes, the fights were frequent and dirty), you were sleeping or smoking. I couldn't sleep. I chose to smoke.

And why couldn't I sleep? I couldn't tell you now. What I do know is that this is a two-parter, of sorts. Let's call part one 'Happy Days'.

Happy days had to do with my initial insertion into group homes. I was already in the middle of my teens, and in that sense much luckier than kids forced to grow up under these strange, shifting regimes. I could adapt. But I liked it at the first group home, I did. Mainly because it was co-ed. A lot of bungled fuckery aside, I'll cut to the chase.
>> Anonymous
i'm brazilian, but i frequently get passed off as white.

hey, im not complaining, i am caucasian after all.
>> Anonymous

There came a night where someone got the smart idea to play hide and seek in the dark. Being the brave young man I am, I couldn't resist. I grinned as I thought of how Ann Marie's sweet backside would feel in my hand, and how she would squeal in panicky fear when it happened.
The lights went out, and we were lost to one another as Dave started countng down from 30. I found myself in the kitchen, lying along the counter, beneath the outwards jut of the cabinets. I felt sure my blue jeans would be visible in the darkness, but Dave walked right past me, apparently oblivious. I grinned. As he went into the next room, I heard Ann Marie's panicked squeal, and groaned-he'd found her. And he probably pulled the same trick I was planning to.The game was short and sweet, and I won. I was also reprimanded for lying on the counter. Yeah, fuck off.
>> Anonymous
>> Anonymous

And then...Then came the second game.

As the winner of the last game, I decided who would be the seeker.

And I chose myself.
I thought about Ann Marie. She and I had been blowing hot and cold for a while. It was strictly against the group home's policies for these kinds of relationships, but hey, who cared? Certainly not me. I was getting some play, living in the same building as her, and wasn't paying rent. Neither of us had to cook or clean up, besides our rooms.
I thought about Dave. Man, I wanted to scare the pants off him. I wouldn't say I'm sadistic I'm dry, I'm a bit of an asshole, maybe. but not sadistic. I know sadistic. I know bent, and I'd know it up close and personal soon.
I grinned in the darkness. What could scare a guy like me?
'Ready or not...Here I come.'
I straightened, and allowed my eyes to adjust as best they could to the dark. I could make out basic outlines, but what I really loved was my 'sixth sense'-a combination of sound and sight that let me sense disturbances in the air flow around me. The way you can hear someone disrupting the static of a TV on mute.
>> Anonymous

Let's call part two 'Fight Club.'

The new place was dripping with testosterone. As soon as I stepped inside, a large boy who would become know to me as Dice stared me down. I kept his gaze-if there's one thing I'm not proud of, it's my stupidity surrounding bravado. One of these days, my big talk would probably catch up with me. In fact, it would be very soon. I'd break his nose, but...You'll see.
It was a large change from the last place. The entire house had a charged feeling to it, like a powder keg ready to blow. Let's face it-you've got a neo-nazi fuck like Dice packed in there with two gangstas, Khalid and Neffar respectively. Add a skater kid named Nick, and emo boy named osh, and then me, the mongrel Brazilian with his shattered hair, scrffy chin and penchant for AC/DC and Van Halen.
The fight broke out over dinner, when Joshe refused to acknowledge Dice's existence when he was asked to-
'Pass the hot sauce, jewfag.'
Quicker than a whip, Dice's meaty arm shot across the table, grasped Josh by his greasy hair, and slammed his face forward into his plate of tacos. I watched with the mildly bemused, noncommittal expression of the innocent bystander of a fender bender that leaves one person with a broken arm. The staff rushed in to break it up. As if they could.
I wanted to get the hell out of there. But Dice caught sight of me, and I barely had time to dodge the fist he sent sailing my way. This will not be a blow-by-blow recount. It happened very quickly. After missing me, I dropped back, took my hands and planted them in Dice's ridged neck, and brought my knee up into his face. He flew back, blood spewing, and I had two seconds to feel a rush of vindictive pleasure before he was back on me. He moved quickly for such a fatass. One fist to the side of my head left my ears ringing. A second to the face broke my nose in the same fashion I had his, and I was already blacking out when the uppercut hit my stomach.
>> Anonymous
Write faster dude
>> Anonymous

I returned to the same group home a day later. My ribs were intact, no internal bleeding, and my face...was hamburger.
But I was suddenly respected, by residents and staff alike. I had not shied away from the challenge, but more than that-I had laid some pretty heavy whoopass on the fat fuck. Granted, he owned me in the end, but none of the otehrs had left him with a lasting memento such as the swollen, shattered bridge he now sported, a twin to my own.
We sat across from each other at breakfast, staring each other down as we downed our cereal. No words were passed between us. The others stared, hoping, praying for a rematch. It didn't happen. I finished my food and got up. I didn't look back.
Later that day, Dice and I were both called into the office to talk with the group home manager, a witchy woman by way of warts and general ugliness called Shelley. Unlike the rest of the staff, she did not approve of our sparring match. She reprimanded us, and Dice and I found ourselves playing off of her mutually. I could eel us falling into the same path-the way preiously hostile friendships begin. We glanced at each other, and I think we both pretty much knew our fight was over for the time being.
It wasn't until we were leaving the office until I remembered my last group home. The office, you see, was in the basement. I turned back to ask Shelley if anyone had died in the group home. She started as if prodded, and frowned heavily. 'No. No, of course not, that's absurd. Who told you that?'
No one. No one, but her response was quite suspect.
>> Anonymous

I started asking around. All I got were rumours about your generic urban myth victims or outlandish tales of blood and carnage which would have surely shut the group home down. The staff? They refused to comment on the matter. After badgering one of them while we were oth out smoking one day, he turned to me and said 'Listen, I can't tell you anything. Shelley will fire me if I let you run arond bad-mouthing this place.'
'So it's true?'
He rolled his eyes. That wasn't a no.

I'd seen enough horror movies to know what I needed to do, though. I went to the nearest library, got online, and searched for any mysterious deaths at that address.
17 year old Merrill Hasker was found dead in his bed on December 24, 2000. But that wasn't the worst part.
A head was found in bed with him. The head of his roommate, apparently torn from his neck through the use of nails and teeth. The bone was snapped with fearsome strength. The muscle had been torn at and bitten.
And Merrill Hasker was in perfect health except for being dead.

I shook my head. It sounded ridiculous, but it was on a legitemate news site. Who was I to challenge it? I went back to the house and marched down into the basement to confront Shelley. A shouting match erupted, and I was threatened with expulsion from the home if I pushed the issue. I told her I already had the proof. She laughed scornfully. Proof! A single news report? Among hundreds that treated the deaths as a complete, unspecified accident?
I shrugged.
She narrowed her eyes. 'Don't push this. Or I'll make your life very hard.'
>> Anonymous

I couldn't sleep that night. I was busy thinking about what I'd read. Of course there was no phot accompanying the story, but my mind painted a vivid enough picture. It fascinated me.
I needed to get into that office and look through the records. See what happened, and why. What led up to it. Who the other boy was (as it hadn't been specified).

I slid out of bed and crept downstairs to the first floor. The night staffman, a black bastard by the name of Ian, was too busy watching TV to notice me. I had my hand on the basement doorknob when a meaty palm planted itself over my mouth, stifling my sudden yelp. I turned, and there stood fatass Dice, a finger to his lips. I didn't need to ask. He just wanted to break shit, after Shelley chewed him out. We snuck down into the dark basement, and made our way to the office door.
It was locked, of course, but this didn't stop Dice. He rammed the door. I pushed him.
'Be quiet! Ian will hear us.'
'Do you know how to pick a lock?'
'Okay.' He rammed the door again.
That's when I heard it. The sound was half man, half beast, and something else entirely. And it was getting closer. I took a few moments to wonder what it could be when Dice began to scream. And then I was hit with...lood. A spray of hot blood flew through the air, and hit me in the cheek, feeling corrosive. It took me a few seconds to realise why he was screaming-I couldn't reconcile the hot liquid and his yelling, but when I did, I shouted myself, and bolted for the door. I was shitting bricks.
The door swung open as I reached it, and there stood Ian.
>> Anonymous
Keep typing, kid. Surely the sound of your fingers going tippity-tappity on a terminal in total darkness will keep the monster away.
>> Anonymous
>> Anonymous
>> S.A.F.M.
Kind of lame, but you get points for trying.

>> Anonymous
What's that one that ends in WITNESS? That's some good creepypasta...
>> Anonymous
Wait a minute, you are lean and athletic, yet have no stamina?
Couldn't be bothered to read any further.
>> Anonymous
White = Caucasian
>> Anonymous
Was that the one that was hellaz long? I haven't seen that in a long time... but then I don't usually visit /x/ anymore. If it's the one I'm thinking of then that creepypasta was probably the best.
>> Anonymous
I've got it if that's a request.

SCPantera posted it the other day.
>> Anonymous
Really good, 8/10.
Great Job, OP.
>> Anonymous
     File :-(, x)
>And then I was hit with...lood
>> Anonymous
You know, I don't think the OP is telling us the truth here. I think there mat be a 'slight' amount of embellishment in this story.
>> Anonymous
>> Anonymous
I laughed.
>> Anonymous