Hey there, thank you for checking out my story! I have recently got into creepypasta again and wanted to write something about it, so here we go! If you review (pretty please!) comment who you think this is about! Please enjoy :)
A young man walked down the street, his long legs stretching across the cold pavement beneath him, dim streetlights brushing over him as he walked. It was early for him to be roaming this lifeless area, but the winter brought the looming darkness early, the darkness that he thrived in. When two pale hands reached out to pull a blue jacket around his shivering form, the boy began to hate the biting cold the winter also brought. The houses he passed were crumbling and almost… dead. All lights were off. People were hiding their existence, almost as though the darkness couldn't be disturbed. A smile appeared on the man's face as he thought this. A slamming of a door sounded, and the man jumped and stopped dead, pale blue eyes flickering up, startled.
A girl was leaving one of the houses. She can't have been much older than him. A black hoodie adorned her upper body and faded blue jeans her legs. In her hands was a phone, clearly revealing the headphones that were in her ears, most likely blocking out the sounds of the world around her. The man watched with curious eyes; she hadn't noticed him. He watched as she lifted a flowerpot by the door then grab a key from underneath it to lock the door behind her. He watched as she pulled the hood up around her face. He watched as she slowly lifted her head, almost looking right at him. He shrunk back into the shadows, silent as a cat, and followed her with his eyes as she crossed the road and made off into the streets. He remained unseen.
The man began to walk again, his feet falling heavily now at a steady rate. Clouds began to sweep into the sky, grey patches on a dull black, bleak and intimidating. A small sigh escaped his dry lips now as he turned a corner down an unlit path, which led to the entrance to the woods. Leaves and twigs crunched underfoot now as he journeyed out, weaving between trees and picking his way over twisting roots. Finally he reached his destination.
There lay in front of him a small cabin. Once it must have been beautiful, but now it had perished in isolation, falling victim to the harsh rain and wind and neglect. One wall seemed ready to cave in; a push with a little force behind it would surely have that in pieces on the floor. The door was hanging off its hinges which were old and rusted, and the door itself seemed to be decaying and covered in moss. The windows were blacked out from dirt and dust, the roof was barely standing, but it was still shelter. The man pushed the swinging door slightly out of his way and walked through the doorway, knowing his way around even without light. This place was his home, a roof over his head, privacy, and place to be alone. Not that he was often around people, but having somewhere to call his was comforting. As he walked towards the uninviting living room he grabbed a candle from somewhere on his right, lighting it with a match he must have grabbed too.
"Fuck," he whispered, looking at his burnt fingers. The match hadn't gone out when he had shaken it, but he hadn't noticed. He dropped the now charred match onto the floor. The small flicker of light from the candle enabled him to find the others he had placed around the cabin, which he lit in turn until a warm yellow glow illuminated his surroundings. The man walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, removing his dirty boots and undressing. He stood again and went into the bathroom, turning on one of the taps. When he had first arrived there was no water, but since then he had discovered the well outside and was refilling the cabins water supply every day. The water was freezing as always, and he rinsed his burnt fingers under the soothing flow or liquid, a breath of relief forcing its way past his lips. He half closed his eyes and then placed his other hand under the water too, beginning to wash the dirt off them. Then he splashed water onto his bare skin, flinching slightly, the cold water being like ice. Cleaning his body, the man ran his hands over the scars that were littered across his legs and torso, wincing at the memories that came with them. Finally he came to his face.
His hands flickered up and gently grasped at the edges of the white mask.
