I found a letter from my stalker | Scary Stories & Creepypastas

I found a letter from my stalker | Scary Stories & Creepypastas


I found this note, nailed onto a tree on my
front lawn. I really don’t know how to describe it. I’ll just let you read it yourself I saw you today. It was your birthday. You didn’t see me, you hardly ever do these
days. . Your skin looked so nice and healthy, and
your eyes, they were the most beautiful I’d ever seen them. You’ve grown so much. I remember how you different used to look
when you were younger. I remember the day I first met you. It was four years ago. I was sitting on my desk, head down, listening
to the teacher rattling off names for attendence. The teacher called out a name I didn’t recognize,
and a stranger’s voice answered behind me. Was there a new student? The teacher didn’t pause for a second, just
continued calling out name after name. I turned my head to where the voice had come
from. I saw you, a pale thing, so thin, your eyes
so red, at a seat that should have been empty. I saw the fireflies flying around you, flickering. Dozens of them, never straying far from you. I saw them going through you, and coming out
through your skin, like you were a mist to them. Can you believe I thought you were a ghost? No one else seemed to acknowledge the new
stranger sitting at the back of the class. Class after class, hour after hour passed
as I waited for something to happen. For someone to notice you, for you to leave,
for you to let out a ghoulish scream and claw at me like in the horror story I was certain
I was in. But nothing happened . Teachers came and went. My classmates laughed and slept, and you just
sat there. The bell rung for recess. The other kids ran to their mundanities for
the day, leaving me and you together in the empty classrom. You stood up and pulled a chair from the desk
next to you, making it face your desk. You turned your head to me and spoke “Well you’re slow today. Come on. Ask me your questions” I don’t know why I didn’t run away screaming
at that moment. Probably would have turned out better for
me in the long run, but let’s not speculate. I guess, at that point in my life , I was
pretty bloody lonely. I figured there was only a 50-50 chance you’d
eat me and the other 50 was that someone wanted to talk with me. Kid priorities don’t make sense to me either
these days. So I went along with the flow. I walked over to your desk, sat down on the
chair you pulled for me, and asked my question. What were you? You told me you didn’t know. You said that once you were a child, just
like me, with parents and friends. You used to go to the same schools as me. Then, one day, one ordinary day, when you
were ten, you just woke up and you were like this, covered in fireflies and no one could
remember you the moment they concentrated on anything else. No one, not even your parents. You told me of how I’d notice you, everyday. How I’d think of you until recess everyday. How I’d come to you everyday. How we would talk, everyday. How we would meet for the first time, everyday,
for the last three years. About how I’d forget the instant I walked
out of the room. How everyone would forget you. How the fireflies would make them. How for the last three years, you’d been alone. Your story was very hard to believe. So I didn’t. I asked what reality prank show I was on. You looked, well, unimpressed, and asked me
to continue telling my story. I was caught off guard by the non sequitar. You said last time I was here, I was telling
you a story, a horror story about a haunted house As you detailed the story, goosebumps prickled
my skin. It was a story I’d been making up in my head. A story I hadn’t told anyone yet At that moment, a million reactions were open
to me, all simultaneously adequate and inadequate . But the only thing that seemed proper was
to finish the story for you. So I did. Halfway through, you interupted me to ask
if my mother HD recovered from her sickness yet. I had to shake my head, a bit ashamed at the
fact that I shared this private matter to a stranger. The story ended a few minutes before recess. My next class was in another room You told me to go. Your steadiness took me back. You seemed so…. accepting of your fate. Like you’d already gotten used to the idea
of being forgotten forever I was a kid back then. I wasn’t a particularly smart kid, and I was
probably on the onset of a crush. So you can excuse what I did next as an example
of my childhood stupidity. I grabbed my scissors, pressed it against
my arm’s skin, and dug in. As it drew blood, I pushed it forwards, till
the cut forms the shape I wanted. Letter by letter, I carved your name onto
my arm. Just so you up know, I don’t regret that. Don’t get me wrong, kid power might have made
me do it, but it sure as hell didn’t make the pain go away. It was one of the most painful experiences
of my life. But even then as a kid, I thought what was
happening to you was unfair. I remember how your eyes looked when you saw
that. The confusion. How strange it was for you, that anyone would
want to remember. I remember that look so clearly. When I woke up the next day and saw your name
on my arm, I remembered you. I didn’t forget. That day, for the first time, we had a conversation
that wasn’t so one sided. You said no one had ever done anything like
that before and suggested I might have a mental illness . I won’t deny it, that drew a little
blood. As we talked, a creeping thought came into
my head, Did you prefer it when I didn’t remember? That night, I was sitting up on my bed, staring
at your name on my arm, wondering if I should cover it up so I couldn’t see it and give
you back your privacy, when I heard a crash. I looked up to see my bedroom window shattered
and a dirty rock on my floor. I looked out of the cracked window, to see
a dark figure on my lawn. You were outside yelling, about how we should
hang out. It took me a while to get used to how bad
you were at talking to people. Years without practice, made you a quite a
bit rusty. That was all right. We had a lot of time. For the next two years, we spent the most
of our free time together. Most of the time, we talked. You’d tell me an aspect of your life and how
you lived. You still stayed in your old house. Your parents never noticed the food gone missing,
never noticed the extra room, and you’d stolen the extra keys One night, I confided in you, that I was beginning
to think you were a part of my imagination, Fight Club style. After all, what could you do to me that I
couldn’t do to myself? You spent the next month or so trying to leave
bite marks on my ear or neck, to prove a point. I still have some on my ear, so I guess you
did. Looking back, I could see the warning signs
even then. Your skin seemed to get worse and worse, paler
and paler, and you’d rub your eyes raw. It was in winter we had our wake up call. The morning began like any other. I woke up, brushed my teeth, and started searching
for clothes to wear. It was a winter morning, and my room was dark,
so I didn’t see your name on my arm, The cold sent shivers through my body, and
pulled out a long sleeve jacket. A small bell rang in my head *Don’t you usually
roll your sleeves up? * Yeah and why did I? That l I finished tidying up and headed to school. On the school bus, I felt oddly content, like
something I’d been worrying about had just… disappeared. I walked up the school stairs, down the hall,
through my class door, and sat down on my desk. The same feeling of a burden forgotten hounded
my mind. What was I forgetting? When recess came, I started came, I just sat
at my desk, while my class mates ran out. It felt like a ritual , but I didn’t know
what for. I was contemplating just walking out to join
them, when I heard it. It was something small in the wind, like a
whisper, but it came over and over, incessant. It sounded like my name. I knew this was strange, that this was worth
my attention, but I felt oddly calm. Everything would be alright, everything would
be fine, just ignore it. I sat there on my desk, my mind a war zone
between two conflicting, contradictory, voices, when I felt a force tugging on my sleeve. The moment I noticed this, my jacket sleeve
tore open. I saw your name on my arm, and then your hand
that had ripped my jacket open. You’d been yelling at me for over 20 minutes I think that was the moment we realized how
on edge our friendship really was. One accident away from complete erasure. We spent the most of the next year in the
town library together, trying to find out what the fireflies were. It wasn’t really a problem for me. Because of my mother’s treatment, my family
couldn’t afford to go on any trips, and our house didn’t have heating anymore, so I was
happy to spend my time with you. Trying to find information was a puzzle in
and of itself. After all, how would I read about people I
couldn’t remember and how would you find out who was special when no one could even remember
enough about them to record them? We found out old family trees and records. Individually, we’d write down the name of
everyone in the book on two lists and then we would compare. The names I hadn’t remembered to write down,
but you had, would become the focus. They were the names who were under the curse
of the fireflies We compiled a list of ‘suspicious’ books. Books we though could help us, because they
were written by or were about the people we were searching for. I’d read the books, with the list of names
side by side, reading it again for every page of the book. You’d sure the internet on the library computers
, for articles about the people. Our search would lead us to the first glimpse
we got of what was really happening to you. It was late at night when you found the picture. I was a bit drowsy at that time, and almost
about to nod off when I heard a sharp intake of breath. I turned to see you standing up, pointing
at the screen I didn’t see anything. Well, anything noteworthy. On the screen was a picture of a clearing
somewhere in the woods You held up your piece of paper where you’d
marked out two names. Susie Applebee-Reagan, 13 Terry Applebee-Reagan, 12 Siblings For a moment, I saw the paper and the screen
side by side Side by side. And then I saw them. Two figures, emerging from the woods, towards
the camera. They were almost humanoid, but all five limbs
stretched to nightmarous porportions. Blank white skin, pure albin that looked more
like tree bark than anything on a mammal. A cloud of fireflies surrounded the duo. The shorter one looked emaciated. I could see the ribcages around which their. Their eyes, God, their eyes. So small, so red. The longer one with their white hair, didn’t
look alive anymore. They were just skin wrapped around skeletons. Their empty eye sockets had fireflies swarming
out of them. Bothreaching for the camera man. I looked at the article surrounding the picture. It was a blog post by hiker, twenty years
after the two kids had been written about last. The picture was a mystery to the camera man
as well. He’d been wanting to go to the woods pictured
for a while now, but he never actually remembered going there. The picture had just appeared in his camera
one day, out the blue. For a moment, I looked at your face. Your thin pale face, with those red veined
eyes. Would that be you when my scar faded? Just a walking horror I’d glimpse, then forget? We worked through our reading list at a much
faster pace starting from that moment. Maybe we should’ve gone slower. At least every book, every website we’d left
untouched promised hope. The books we finished and tossed aside promised
nothing but the clearing in the woods as your future. And we tossed aside a lot of books. I believe I tore through three fourths of
my reading list before I stumbled across the journal. Oh God, that horrible, horrible journal. The journal used to belong to a mental patient,
named Joey, who claimed to be a serial killer. He was locked up in an asylum when the police
discovered his supposed victims never existed. He was ‘diagnosed’ with a need for attention,
and shoved away. They should have electrocuted him. They should have fried him until his flesh
melted and his hair burned. In the journal, he talked about how he carried
out his killings. He knew things, bizarre and disturbing things
no one else knew. He knew of strange creatures that lived in
the woods. Of them, his favorite were the fireflies. I’m not going to tell you how he summoned
these things. I trust you, I trust you more than anyone,
but a thing like this belongs to the ground more than it ever will to the human mind. It’s sufficient enough to know that, these
things were not fireflies. Joey would start his ritual by taking a kid. Any kid, anyone he’d liked. He could take them at any time, the dead of
night in their own homes, or in broad daylight on their front yards It didn’t matter if he was seen. He’d take them to his house and drag them
to a room. Usually, an Amber Alert came up around now. He didn’t care. Like I said, it wouldn’t matter soon He’d drag them to a special room in his house. Here the fireflies would come and latch onto
them. Now, nobody was searching for the kids. Not the police, not the parents. Nobody From then on, he could do whatever he wanted
to the kid. He’d get bored of them after a day or two,
after the child had broken. And then the kid would go too. Hacksaw, kitchen knife, anything would work He detailed a large pit of bodies he kept
in the woods, swarming with the bugs. I guess he got bored of that too one day,
so one day he went right to the police station and turned himself in. Not of guilt, nonono, he just wanted someone
to know about the stuff he was doing. Sick fuck. Oh, don’t get the wrong idea. He never stopped killing kids. The asylum doors didn’t stop him from doing
what he liked. It just made him improvise. He made a new way. He modified the flies, so they could survive
without a host, just in a dormant state. When a child (he specified the age) would
approach the swarm, it would latch on and begin its effect. Over the years, the child would warp horribly
into the things we saw in the woods I wish I could hate him in peace. I wish I could say the world owed him nothing. But that wouldn’t be true. He detailed a way out. On the final page, was an exact explanation
on how to get rid of the fireflies You must have seen something in my face, at
that moment you asked if had I found anything I said no and closed the book A few minutes later, you shut down the computer. You picked up the last book and went through
it yourself. When you reached the end cover, you tossed
it aside. I asked what we should do now. You said it was alright. I could go home. We’d talk about it in the morning I stood up and walked past the shelves of
books. I headed for the library entrance, butstopped
right outside the door and waited. I waited until I heard the sniffling sounds I sneaked back to our table, where you were
quietly sobbing. You had your head in your hands. I sat back down, as you raised your eyes to
me. You said you wished you’d never met me. How happy you were when you had nothing to
lose. How I ruined your life. You’d never really gotten better at talking
to people. That was the worst love confession I’d ever
heard I remember how we kissed that night. I remember your hands gripping my hair. I remember that kiss. I wish it could’ve been just a kiss. I’m sorry I ruined that moment. When my arms were around you, I was close
enough to steal a firefly without you noticing. I remember holding the fireflies in my hand. I remember how it struggled, until it didn’t. Until it was a part of me. The fireflies shifted. They came over me, and left you. I remember the familiar look in your eyes. The confusion. I never wanted to see that confusion in your
eyes again. You deserved to be loved and you deserved
to know that. I wasn’t really living anyway. You reached for me. I pulled away,as the last lights of recognition
faded from your eyes. And then you were just staring at a stranger,
walking away into a crowd of strangers. That was a year ago. You’ve gotten so much better since then. You have so many friends now. So many people at your birthday party. You also look so much healthier. I haven’t been as fortunate My skin’s gotten a lot paler, and my eyes
hurt all the time now. I couldn’t go to school like you did all those
years. I haven’t wasted my time though. I found Joey’s pit. The bodies, there were so many bodies. There’s a grave for those children now. Without me, my mom could afford her surgery. She looked so happy. Just yesterday, I saw her playing with my
baby brother. I saw you crying yesterday. You were with your friends, laughing. For a brief moment, your eyes met mine, and
then, they were so wet. I think I’m going away. For good I think. You’re not going to be happy if I stick around. I’m so happy I met you, even if you don’t
remember me. Note end Sometimes I go through depressive episodes. I feel so lonely, even with my friends. I don’t know what’s going through my head
during these times, and sometimes I’d end up in a bath tub, a knife in my hands and
my wrists bleeding. Uptil now, I thought I was cutting my wrists. I wasn’t. The cuts, they’re letters. I’ve been carving a name onto my arm.

84 thoughts on “I found a letter from my stalker | Scary Stories & Creepypastas

  1. why would he freakin give him a letter? like just pull up the alphabet like theres 26 letters

  2. I love when you narrate stories like this. Your reading is so smooth and your voice has so much of the writer’s intended emotion endowed in it.

    These are a treasure.

  3. Great story. Sad. But great! The emotion in your voice gets me everytime!!!! You're so good at what you do!!!

  4. What an eerie, interesting, but most importantly emotional story.

    Your narration made it all the better too, keep up the good work :D.

  5. Amazing job! I swear with every video your getting better at your narrating! Your narrating is so easy to listen to! Thank you for making these videos!

  6. An ad came on about how black people are the first to die in horror movies but I've seen plenty of horror movies that don't have this. But its so funny to me because they're making a horror documentary about it 😂

  7. This is a lot more sad and beautiful than a scary story, man. Great job in narrating these, your voice brings so much raw emotion to them.

  8. I had a stalker. He used to leave necklaces and flowers on my Camaro. Never did find out who it was.

  9. Would you ever consider making artwork for the stories or is that not your thing. I’m new to your channel so I’m not sure how things run

  10. I can't believe the perfection of this story. The emotion in your voice. Thank you. I would say that I wish I got to experience this story for the first time again but…well, you're not covered in fireflies now, are you?
    I'll never forget what this brought out from within me.

  11. I don't understand the story. Can someone please explain what happened here. They were hanging out, they kissed and she doesn't remember him. Can someone please explain, I'm confused.

  12. I loved and hated this so much. Forgetting something or someone important is such a horrifying thing for me. Just the feeling of not being able to do something about and not trusting yourself for that. Being forgotten is nightmarish too. Not only dying but not really existing is the reason I'm afraid of dying, that I'll be forgotten. You made me cry so hard near the end dude…

  13. I watched it the first time and was in tears and really wished their was another part to this so I rewatched it just in case I missed anything and here I was cryin again and I didn’t even miss anything 😭😭 great story totally fell in love with it definitely my favorite of your narrations alongside “Forgotten valentines”😭😭😭

  14. Ouch, my little heart can’t take this—I’m gonna cry again. I would do this for the person I loved tho, because they deserve to be happy and loved, so I’d take the bugs so I could see them be happy, because I love them just that much

  15. I cried for like 15 minutes cus this made me think about alzheimers disease and thought about how itd feel if my significant other got it

  16. Honestly the best story I've heard on YouTube it's so haunting and beautiful I hope there's more like this coming

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