Jeffswoman666- Well thank you. :)

slenderxlover- I see it as one of my weak points. :( And wait no longer!

I love all of my followers and favoriters (That is so obviously not a word). It makes me feel so happy to know that people are actually taking the time to read and enjoy my story. :D Thank you all.

P.S. I own nothing relating to Creepy Pasta. And I just realized that Ben has the same name as a certain *Coughs* Pasta character and is a letter from sharing the name with a famous actor I didn't know existed until my friend pointed it out.

Ha!

So on with the show!

. . .

Graffiti found spray painted onto the upstairs' desk:

Welcome 2 hell

Outside of Drerry was a small ghost town once home to loggers but now inhabiting stray cats living off of the diseased rodents. One of the buildings was once a store with an ornate tile ceiling that drooped in places. In some places the ceiling had fallen completely, covering the floor with its sandy rot. Smells of mold and dust smacked you in the face when you walked in. The only source of light came from the five windows. There was the front door, which read "NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ACCIDENTS", the hole in the wall next to the open back door, the two rear windows that were curtained by rusted metal mesh and dead vines, and the two upstairs. It wasn't enough, for the building was large. The cat that slept on a tarp would always bolt when Jeff entered. Water dripped down, making the sandy floor moist and the little drops echoed in the entire building. The corpse of a mocking bird sat in the middle of the room, wings splayed out and eyes rotted out. There was sort of an upstairs that was only an open floor with wooden columns and the, as mentioned, two windows. Both had the same metal mesh but no vines. One corner curled into the downstairs bathroom, posing a threat. When Jeff carried his prize up the debris-littered stairs, vines ran against his shoulders. A lone desk sat at the other end of the room, the matching chair sitting in the center. On the wooden desk sat several mildewed books that either crumbled or clumped together when touched. The pages had been glued together by mildew.

He stepped around a hole before dropping Wendy from his shoulder. She hit the floor with a thud.

. . .

Ben ran his fingers through his brown hair, staring at his feet.

"Can't talk right now, beating the maid." He heard penny giggling in the background before the beep sounded.

He did just that. "Hey, Wendy. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight? Penny told me about how you liked collecting B-movies, and I found Sleepaway Camp in my movie collection so. . ." He hung up angrily. How stupid, asking her if she wanted to watch a movie she'd mostly have no interest in. Well, he wouldn't have interest in. Ben ran his hands over his face and into his hair. His phone started to buzz, sending him into a shocked jump. Instead of Wendy, as hoped, it was Penny.

"Hello?" He didn't like how his voice choked.

"Hey, Pinhead, have you talked to Wendy?" Penny said.

"Pinhead" shook off Penny's sarcastic anger before replying. "I just called her. She didn't reply to my texts. Why?" The sounds of clacking dishes on the other end of the line became to focal point for ten seconds.

"Because she isn't answering my calls."

"Did you piss her off?"

"No." Penny blew into the phone.

"Try calling her brother." he replied.

"Don't have his number." They fell silent.

"Want me to drive by her house?"

"Sure, and be sure to film it when she sends Smiles after you, stalker." And with that she hung up.

. . .

Drip

Wendy shivered, a cold breeze nipping at her nose and ears.

Drip

She dared to open her eyes to the horrifying world of rot. Sunlight blinded the poor, almost helpless girl. Wendy clambered to her feet, wiping her hands on her sweatpants. They looked so dirty, as did her blue T-shirt. The silver locket hanging down between her breasts burned unbelievable cold against her goose pimpled skin. It was so cold it hurt her bones, turned her sinuses runny, forced her knees to clatter and arms to wrap around her chest. Why was she here? Where exactly was this odd place called here? The smell pushed against her mind, turning her dizzy. She wondered if it was a dangerous mold making her eye sight dilate.

Twip

A cold drop hit her shoulder and ran down her back. On the other side of the surprisingly bright room was a door with chipping maroon paint. The color of the room was odd. Once wall was rugged bricks poking out from behind patchy drywall. White squares almost touched her head, and she wasn't very tall. She placed a hand on one of the square wooden beams. Blue paint flaked onto her palm like when she used to chew the paint off pencils and the yellow would get stuck in the crevices of her hand. The other wall, adjacent from the brick windowed one, was painted light blue. A brick column painted peach ran up the center.

"Weird." She didn't remember exactly how she got there. Then it hit her.

Jeff.

Why hadn't he just killed her? Kidnapping would lead to too much trouble, and she could count on two hands how many people would notice her missing. And what the Hell was up with this place?

Ugh, the boards felt terrifyingly soft underfoot. Wendy feared the floor would follow the corner's lead and curl into itself, letting her fall and break her back. Which was better: Death by bad footing or being choked with her long intestine? She stepped to one of the large windows with all the care in the world. The mesh was too tight laced to fit a finger through, and was not the type of metal to budge.

Iron, most likely. she thought, walking over to the door. Wendy rattled the doorknob until she was sure it clicked.

Too bad it wouldn't open.

She waited an hour, pushing the windows and doors with the hopes of breaking through. Neither budged. While sizing up the drop from the corner to the lower bathroom, a shuffling came from behind the mockingly flimsy door. Soon enough she found herself staring at Jeff. His hoody was much more bloody than normal. Wendy tried to imagine it wasn't fresh, but the glistening blood on his hands and boots reminded her it wasn't so.

"What do you want with me?" she croaked. Jeffery knotted his fingers in her hair and yanked. He loved how she peeped like a frightened bird.

"I want you dead." He untangled his fist from her scalp. His voice was unbelievably raw and growly.

"And I want to live." Wendy stated, shrugging her shoulders.