u/Campfire_chronicler

I think that, in this day and age, you have to be a certain kind of parent to hire a birthday clown for your child’s party. I know, I know, sometimes families can’t afford the big bouncy house, or a mini zoo, or something else big, but Clowns should stick to amusement parks and shows. Not that my family had much of a choice back then. 

My family isn’t well off, lower middle class would be a good place to put us. Barely above that line. A couple of days before my little sister’s tenth birthday, I came back home from school to hear my parents talking about the party. When they noticed me, I saw their smiles and knew I couldn’t really rain on their parade. My dad told me the news, “I found someone cheap. Same clown company we used when you kids were little.” 

I immediately knew which one he meant, and that meant I was going to be creeped out the whole time. It was that weird clown again. Every year the same one. When my older brother came back home and heard the news, he wasn’t as creeped out, it felt like he always forgot that weirdo, same with my other sister. Neither of them ever want to talk about him, they just seem to forget whenever he leaves. Anyway, I had to prepare, make sure the back gate was unlocked so I could make a quick getaway, maybe hide out at a friend’s house until after the clown was gone. I just didn’t want to see that wide smile again. 

The day of the party came a lot faster than I expected. A friend was already waiting with some games and food being delivered in a couple of hours. Then the van arrived.

No company name.
No phone number.
Just “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” plastered on the side in bright, colorful, letters. 

Then the clown stepped out. Same costume. Same silly happy face. 
He hadn't aged from the first time I saw him. Bobo the Clown.

The party started the same way. It always went like this. Balloon animals, streamers shooting out, juggling, all leading up to his “infamous” “Bobo’s Birthday Count!" The call was shouted out at the same time every year. Noon, right on the dot. He’d gather everyone, count them one by one, in those exaggerated motions, leaning too far over to one side or another, then he’d count again. And he’d get the number wrong. Every time. 

“One, two, three, four, five, six…”
He stops.
“Hmm.” Rubbing his chin and dropping some streamers from his nose when he tapped it. 
The children giggle.
He starts again.
“One, two, three, four, five…”
“You missed Tommy.”
The clown looks genuinely confused.
“Who's Tommy?”

Everyone would laugh, except for Tommy. He’d even count me and my siblings, everyone still considered a kid. My mom once said that we should make sure he counts us too, for some reason, as if it was really important. Now though, she seems to accept it, but says she never told us to ask to be counted too. Maybe she was embarrassed that we were still asking, with my older brother and sister almost going away to college now. That doesn’t stop her from stopping us from asking to be counted. Now it’s almost like a tradition. One no one wants to acknowledge. 

I still stay though. I stay because I know what happens if you don’t get counted. 
Greg was my best friend. 
I made sure he was always invited to my birthday parties, even when we could barely afford a cake, he was always there next to me. Until Bobo didn’t count him again one year. Then people stopped remembering his name. My parents thought he was my imaginary friend. Then the pictures changed. I didn’t have my arm wrapped around his shoulders for my birthdays. Now I was just standing there, almost awkwardly alone. 

Then he was gone. 
It doesn’t happen all at once. It took me years to figure out what was happening. Greg. Mikey. Sarah. Charles…
His parents thought I was trying to sell them something when I went to talk to Greg one day. 
No one remembered him in school either, his desk was just…empty. 
I don't know why I remember the kids Bobo misses. Maybe it’s because this all started when he was hired for my birthday party first. Maybe it's because he always counted me. Maybe there's something else wrong with me. I've stopped trying to figure it out.

I thought it was just friends, until I saw the rest of the pictures in our albums. The ones from when I was born. They were all framed weirdly, I was always off center. When I asked my parents about it, they’d get a strange look in their eyes for a second, then shrug and say they were probably tired. There’s one picture, from six years ago, that I don’t like looking at. I’m on one side of Bobo, with his hand on my back, and his hand is in the same position on the other side. On the back, it says ‘Jake and Jenny’s 9th birthday!’ My name is Jake. No one I’ve asked knows who Jenny is…  I don’t like thinking about it, but now I make sure we’re all included in the counting. 

Now, I’m watching Bobo start his count. I made sure my siblings are first, playing it off like we want to get it over with. We’re counted. Emily isn’t. My youngest sister’s friend. Bobo passes over her and ends his count one short. Another little girl points to her, “You forgot Emily!” Bobo smiles widely then looks confused, “I don't see an Emily.” He says, in his goofy voice, drawing out the “e” sound at the end. The parents let out a nervous chuckle. They never respond. Five minutes later, I go ask her mother where Emily is, just to check, and of course, she doesn’t know who I’m talking about. 

It’s not like I can throw him out. Not like I didn’t try already, but no one else sees it. He keeps to his jolly and happy attitude. Saying silly things like, “There can't be too many candles on the cake.” “Don’t run too fast, you might dash dash away!” and creepy stuff like, “Everyone gets counted eventually.” “No one should ever get left out” 

The uncounted child is always left behind, but I try every year now. They try following their parents but get completely ignored. Usually they just wander off. This time, I brought her over to her parents, pointing to her to remind them that they have a daughter but they just seem confused. Bobo turns towards the commotion and starts walking over. I asked them to check their cellphones, they had to have some photos of her, but the pictures are already gone. Emily starts getting scared, asking for her mom to pick her up, but she just takes a step back. Bobo is a lot closer now. I pick her up myself and start walking faster away, out of the yard. 

Bobo keeps following. 
Still smiling.
Not running.
I heard, from behind me, “you can't take a guest home before the party's over.”

Before I could leave the yard though, I heard it, “one, two, three…” 
He had started counting again. 
I turned around slowly, watching him count every kid, counting my siblings, then pointing to me, and looking at me almost curiously. “Hmm. One extra.”
He’d never counted an “extra” before. What did that mean? Emily had stopped crying, probably just as confused. I looked toward my brother and asked for his help, his car keys or something. 

He looked confused. “Sorry, who are you?”
That was the last straw. Now I knew I couldn’t interrupt his show. That didn’t matter though, I had to get Emily to safety, even if it meant I couldn’t come back. Running with her, we moved out of the yard and into the street. Before I could turn towards where I knew there was a police station, another van turned into the street. The same white van, with the same “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” plastered on the side. The same smiling clown face behind the wheel. 

I turned towards the forest. Maybe I could cut across it and get to another town, find another police station and ask for some help there. I started running, letting Emily down to walk from time to time, so we could keep going. Every time I tried to stop or slow down, I heard that squeaky clown horn in the distance, his laughter coming from behind. Calling out for “Bobo’s Birthday Count!" to start again and again, but he only ever got to two. “ONE, TWO” “ONE, TWO” “ONE, TWO” 

As the sun was setting, I saw a light in the distance. It looked like a warm orange flicker through the trees from a distance and I ran towards it, but when I got closer, I realized it was just a false hope. Sitting in the middle of a clearing was a picnic table, with a cake and two bright birthday candles in the middle. With two chairs waiting in front of us. Bobo was nowhere to be seen, but I could hear a tiny bicycle horn ring out from the other side, and his happy voice calling out, “make a wish!” 

I barely caught my breath before we were off again. Almost staggering as I pushed through the bushes, this time, Emily was completely silent, not even daring to cry anymore. Eventually, we stopped hearing the bell, his counting, and his laughter. 

Again, I saw a fire in the distance, but I was too tired. Too hungry. I kept moving, my feet barely getting me closer after so much running. It felt different this time. I smelled woodsmoke, the light was more orange this time too. I heard different voices this time. Older and younger. 

Stumbling into the clearing, I saw the Campfire. There were people there. Some with wrapped and bandaged arms, some with canteens, and an older man stirring a cooking pot in the middle. The man stirring the cookpot took the spoon out and pointed at something. Looking to my side, I saw that Emily and I had balloons tied to our wrists by strings. How did those get there? The man walked over and untied both. I let Emily down as he released the balloons and watched them float away.

“Clown?” He asked in a deep, calming voice. I could only nod as he gestured for us to sit by the fire. “How did you-” “Later.” He cut me off, as the laughter came from the forest. Emily and I took several steps back, closer to the Campfire, but he just stood there, near the edge of the circle of light, “Everyone around this fire counts.” Bobo coalesced out of the shadows, bright makeup and a wide smile looking straight at us. Until the man started to count, pointing at himself first, “One, two, three…eight, nine.” He ended with Emily and me. When he counted us, Bobo finally stopped smiling. Frowning now, he still didn’t dare to walk into the circle. “Don't look so surprised. You're not the first birthday he ruined.”

Walking us back to the circle of people, he shows us to a couple of seats before taking up the spoon again, and saying, “Everyone here has to be remembered by somebody else.” I don’t understand what he means, until he pulls out a book. Patting the cover, he opens it to the last pages with writing on them. “You're safe until sunrise. After that, tell us who he tried to make everyone forget.”

Driving down country roads, sometimes you’ll meet some interesting folks. Other times, you’ll find places that were meant to have been abandoned or left alone to rot. Polar Ridge is one of the latter…

I was driving cross country on a trip to see the US, as much as I could see along one highway. Guess the third time really is the charm, my car finally gave out halfway through. I had a running text chat with my brother, ‘Car died. Stuck in some nowhere town. Call you tomorrow.’ His responses were the usual mix of jokes and insults to my heritage, regardless of how many times I reminded him we’re related. 

Leaving my car on the side of the road, I started walking towards the next town and finally spotted an exit after an hour of endless trees. Finding a garage, I gave a mechanic directions to get it towed. The streetlights were on. Most shops around were dark. The diner was one of the only places still open. I walked in after making sure they’d fix it by morning the next day. 

Ordering some steak and eggs, a good midnight meal. I'd made good time to get into town before midnight, barely. Around 11:30 though, they started to act a little strange. The waitress started closing the blinds. Some customers started moving the patio chairs inside too, and I even saw someone turn a car towards the sidewalk, parking slanted so the headlights wouldn’t face the middle of the road. Feeling even more confused, I even saw a mother hurry inside with a sleepy looking child, telling him quietly, but firmly, not to look towards the windows. The boy was nodding midway through, like he’d heard that a thousand times before, I mean, even the dogs were pulled inside, and they immediately went under the tables. 

No one looked panicked, almost like it was part of their routine. 

I eventually got roped into helping, arranging the chairs on the tables, one of the waitresses even told me, “whatever happens in the next three minutes, don’t look outside.” 

I was about to ask why, when an older man confirmed, saying, “Don’t you dare look outside son. Don’t answer if ya hear someone calling your name.” He waved a finger in my face to drive his point home. I eventually had to agree, just to get him to calm down and move away.  At least not everyone was acting all strange, I noticed one or two people still just eating their food like it was normal. 

At 11:43, people started looking down at the floor. I tried asking them some questions about what was happening, why they stopped eating, why was the furniture hauled in. Nobody answered me. The people in the diner seemed to even stop breathing. I had to strain my ears to still hear them, even the old guy was working hard to stay silent. The fridge was still on and humming, I could hear the sizzle and smell my steak burning on the griddle. Someone’s fork was halfway to their mouth. Then the scratching came. Not like from claws, more like fingernails, like the kind from someone with sharper nails. One of the dogs underneath a table had its muzzle pressed against the floor, not even whimpering.

Then I heard them.
Footsteps. 

Not thunderous, just the regular steps from someone in shoes. 
Slow
Steady

One person walking down the street. At least, I thought it was just one, but it sounded like it could be more.

Then. I heard my name. The only person that should have known it was the garage worker, but it didn’t sound like any of them. It had to be a joke, it had to be someone from town playing a prank on the stranded guy. Right?

Looking around, I wanted to laugh and say that they got me, but the absolute fear on their faces stopped me. 

Then my phone buzzed. A message came in from my brother;

11:45
Brother:  Dude, what the hell?
Me: What?
Brother: Why are you outside?
Me: Outside where?
Brother: I can literally see you.

Then the photo arrived. It showed ME, just standing there, outside my brother’s house. Hundreds of miles away, looking inside the window at my brother taking the picture. 

My hand started trembling. I almost dropped my phone. What was going on? Why was I there? Was the picture edited? I was about to respond again when I heard knocking coming from the window. Then my OWN VOICE, almost whispering, saying, “Don’t look. Don’t. DON’T”

I couldn’t help it, I started turning towards the window, looking towards the blinds, even as the waitress started reaching towards me to stop. I was about to ask who was messing around with me, thinking my brother had set up the most elaborate prank I’d even heard of when I saw it. 

I don’t know how to describe it. I don’t know if I’d want to even if I could. At first, it looked normal, like an ordinary person wearing normal clothes. They were standing under a streetlight, directly beneath it, but there were hints. Their clothes were slightly wrong, posture looking a little crooked, head lowered. 

Before I could get a better look, I heard whispering. Looking around, I saw everyone else in the diner staring at me. Anger. Fear. Outrage? A whispered, “you looked…”  The waitress immediately locked the kitchen door, and two men started pulling furniture away from the door, as if they were preparing to toss me out. 

It wasn't that they thought looking at it would hurt me. They didn't want it knowing that we could see it. 

11:46

People started acting more normal. The blinds stayed closed, The streets were empty now. Everyone turned to look at me again. The old man walked up with a sad look on his face. “Sorry son, we should have warned ya better.” Looking at the waitress, then towards the window, barely. “It comes every night. Walks that same route, one end of town to the other. No one looked, no one acknowledged it. No matter what it says.” Then he got this scared look on his face, “cause if ya do, it starts looking back.”

People who look start seeing themselves in places they shouldn't be.
If that starts happening, they don't have much time.
Nobody knows what happens to the actual person.
I heard, quietly, from one corner of the diner, “we know what comes back.”
Then the original person disappears.

“No one ever sees them again, at least not till the next night, when the person comes walking down the street. One last time.”

11:50

He told me to leave town tonight, or early tomorrow at the latest.  Someone else tried to convince the others to push me out of the diner right away. “If we send him out, maybe it follows him.” “If he stays, it’ll just come back here like always!”

The waitress tried to convince the others to let me stay. Someone else told her that saving me won’t bring back her husband. Someone said that he was the last one taken. 

Moving to the diner’s bathroom, I wanted to splash some water on my face. Getting inside, I started running the water to warm it up. I looked into the mirror. Someone was standing behind me… It was me. Turning around quickly, I didn’t see anyone. Nobody. I received another text from my brother;

Brother: You’re still outside
Me: Don’t look at him!!!
Brother: At who? That's you.
Brother: Dude… you moved.
Brother: You're closer to the window.

I immediately called him up to get him to look away, close the blinds, do anything but keep staring, he confirmed again that the double was just standing there, “wait. Dude, it's at the window.”

The call cut off.

11:55

Footsteps started sounding outside the diner again. Looking around, I saw the old man's face turn white. “No…” Someone else whispered, “It doesn't come back.”
The footsteps kept getting closer.

Walking out of the bathroom, I saw the fear on the people’s faces growing. Everyone was looking down again. Before I could look, I heard crying from outside. Then the begging started. 

My brother. My mother. My own voice. Then a strange man’s voice. The waitress’ husband, from her reaction. Had it heard our conversation? 

I think something inside her broke. She rushed outside, slipped past the people that tried to stop her. Unlocked the door and ran out, no one kept trying once she was at the door. They refused to look, the mother gently turned me away from the window. Everything else that happened, I could only hear, looking down at the floor with the rest of the people there. 

Her, calling her husband’s name. 
Footsteps stopping. 
Her crying? 
Silence
Then one sharp crack.
Nothing else. 

The old man told me to stay inside until morning, that I’d have the best chance. “Don’t take the highway. Go into the woods.” 

When morning came, I started running. I left my car. It didn’t matter anymore. I left at dawn. The next thing I remembered were trees, feeling exhausted, skin burning from scrapes against branches and bushes. By the afternoon I couldn't see the road anymore. By sunset I'd stopped trying to keep track of where I even was. After dark, I heard the footsteps again. All around me. Following. Chasing? They kept up for a while. 

Then stop.
Eventually, I saw some woodsmoke. Orange light. A Campfire.

Stumbling into the firelight, everyone around the Campfire deliberately looked away from me. At the ground. Nobody would look into the trees behind me. Panicking, I tried to ask what was going on. “Sit down,” someone said. I asked what was happening. “Don't turn around.” Someone stopped me, “Give it a minute.” 

I didn't understand what he meant until the footsteps behind me stopped. I glanced back without fully turning around. At the edge of the firelight stood a crowd of five or six people. None of them stepped into the light. None of them seemed able to. Two looked frighteningly familiar. From behind I heard, “You looked, didn’t you?”

It started as an end-of-summer camping trip. Just five of us, Sam, Rachel, Marcus, Jenna, and me, trying to squeeze in one last weekend of stars, marshmallows, and peace and quiet before our senior year.

Sam was the only one with a license, so he drove us deeper into the woods, away from the other campers. From there, we hiked to Marcus’s “special campground,” the place his family always used. Then, we started to hear footsteps behind us, branches snapping like someone was catching up. I thought Sam had gone back to double check the car was locked, but he was ahead of me. The footsteps stopped, so I guessed it was a fox or something, curious about the newcomers.

“Deer,” Marcus said. We laughed it off as city kids getting paranoid and kept walking. We reached the campground without any other trouble.

It wasn’t too bad looking, a nice fire pit, several benches, and space for all of our tents. We started setting things up. Marcus worked on the fire, Jenna and Rachel were setting up some tents, Sam, Rick, and I were gathering firewood, enough so we wouldn’t have to go looking every day.

After we managed to get everything set up, the sun had almost set, but luckily Marcus was experienced enough to help us make sure no tent collapsed. We all settled in for the first dinner, I was enjoying seeing the embers floating up into the sky, tracking them as they faded into the starry sky. Eventually, Sam started handing out the burgers and sodas, classic camp fare, right?

Rachel laughed.

“Lucky nobody else came. We’d have needed another six-pack.”

There were six burgers.

Six drinks.

Six people.

I counted again.

That stopped me for a second. I…thought that there were only 5 of us. Then I noticed the looks on the others' faces, realizing the same thing. Looking around the fire, I mentally noted them, Sam, Rachel, Marcus, Jenna…Rick? My eyes almost glided over him, before I managed to focus long enough to see him. I looked at Rick properly for the first time.

I couldn’t remember him getting into the car.

His burger was still untouched on the paper plate, his soda sitting by his feet. Leaning over to Jenna, I asked her, “When did Rick show up?”

She frowned. “He rode with us.”

“What seat?”

“I don’t know. Rachel probably sat on my lap.”

Marcus overheard us. “Yeah. That sounds right.”

Sam laughed. “Rick always finds room.” Marcus heard and said that was definitely it. Nodding along, Rick finally picked up his burger and started eating, still watching me. Sam drew the attention away, looking into the cooler. “Who had doubles?”

Rachel blinked. “Doubles?”

“There were eight burgers.”

“No,” I said. “There were six. One for each of us.”

Marcus shook his head. “There were always eight.” Now that stopped me. I thought there was only supposed to be 1 extra. Everyone else seemed to look around now, it finally made me tear my eyes away from Rick. Jenna joked that she definitely didn’t eat more than one. Sam said he remembered only stopping by 3 other houses to pick people up. Rachel swore that Jenna slept over the night before, to get ready together.

No one seemed sure anymore and I looked from one face to another. Were there supposed to be six of us? Five? Four?

Had Rick come with Marcus? Had Rachel actually been in the car? Was I even remembering the beginning of the trip right anymore?

Then I looked back at Rick.

He was chewing on his paper plate.

I just ran.

I didn’t grab my phone charger. Didn’t take my bag. Didn’t ask anyone else to come.

I ran straight into the woods. I wasn’t sure anymore who was who. Had I even had 5 friends before this? Who drove me here? Why?

Behind me, everyone started shouting my name.

Sam.

Rachel.

Marcus.

Jenna.

Rick.

Their voices overlapped, telling me to come back, that I was being stupid, that I was going the wrong way. I still kept running, especially when another voice joined them…

Mine.

That was when the screaming started. I don’t know who was screaming. Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them.

I didn’t turn around.

Eventually the voices faded, but by then I’d lost the trail. My phone had no signal. Branches had scratched my arms and face, and every sound behind me just made me run faster.

I don’t know how long I wandered before I smelled woodsmoke. A little farther ahead, an orange light flickered between the trees. Another campfire, with several people sitting around it. One of them looked up when I stumbled into the clearing and calmly moved aside to make room. Behind me, something called my name, in my own voice.

Nobody around the fire even flinched.

The man nearest the flames glanced toward the trees, then handed me a cup of water. “You’re safe here until sunrise,” he said.

Then he nodded toward the empty place beside him. “Sit down. When you’re ready, you owe the fire a story.”

It started as an end-of-summer camping trip. Just five of us, Sam, Rachel, Marcus, Jenna, and me, trying to squeeze in one last weekend of stars, marshmallows, and peace and quiet before our senior year. 

Sam was the only one with a license, so he drove us deeper into the woods, away from the other campers. From there, we hiked to Marcus’s “special campground,” the place his family always used. Then, we started to hear footsteps behind us, branches snapping like someone was catching up. I thought Sam had gone back to double check the car was locked, but he was ahead of me. The footsteps stopped, so I guessed it was a fox or something, curious about the newcomers. 

“Deer,” Marcus said. We laughed it off as city kids getting paranoid and kept walking. We reached the campground without any other trouble. 

It wasn’t too bad looking, a nice fire pit, several benches, and space for all of our tents. We started setting things up. Marcus worked on the fire, Jenna and Rachel were setting up some tents, Sam, Rick, and I were gathering firewood, enough so we wouldn’t have to go looking every day. 

After we managed to get everything set up, the sun had almost set, but luckily Marcus was experienced enough to help us make sure no tent collapsed. We all settled in for the first dinner, I was enjoying seeing the embers floating up into the sky, tracking them as they faded into the starry sky. Eventually, Sam started handing out the burgers and sodas, classic camp fare, right? 

Rachel laughed.
“Lucky nobody else came. We’d have needed another six-pack.”

There were six burgers.
Six drinks.
Six people.
I counted again.

That stopped me for a second. I…thought that there were only 5 of us. Then I noticed the looks on the others' faces, realizing the same thing. Looking around the fire, I mentally noted them, Sam, Rachel, Marcus, Jenna…Rick? My eyes almost glided over him, before I managed to focus long enough to see him. I looked at Rick properly for the first time.

I couldn’t remember him getting into the car.

His burger was still untouched on the paper plate, his soda sitting by his feet. Leaning over to Jenna, I asked her, “When did Rick show up?”

She frowned. “He rode with us.”
“What seat?”
“I don’t know. Rachel probably sat on my lap.”
Marcus overheard us. “Yeah. That sounds right.”

Sam laughed. “Rick always finds room.” Marcus heard and said that was definitely it. Nodding along, Rick finally picked up his burger and started eating, still watching me. Sam drew the attention away, looking into the cooler. “Who had doubles?”

Rachel blinked. “Doubles?”
“There were eight burgers.”
“No,” I said. “There were six. One for each of us.”

Marcus shook his head. “There were always eight.” Now that stopped me. I thought there was only supposed to be 1 extra. Everyone else seemed to look around now, it finally made me tear my eyes away from Rick. Jenna joked that she definitely didn’t eat more than one. Sam said he remembered only stopping by 3 other houses to pick people up. Rachel swore that Jenna slept over the night before, to get ready together. 

No one seemed sure anymore and I looked from one face to another. Were there supposed to be six of us? Five? Four?

Had Rick come with Marcus? Had Rachel actually been in the car? Was I even remembering the beginning of the trip right anymore?

Then I looked back at Rick.
He was chewing on his paper plate.

I just ran.
I didn’t grab my phone charger. Didn’t take my bag. Didn’t ask anyone else to come.

I ran straight into the woods. I wasn’t sure anymore who was who. Had I even had 5 friends before this? Who drove me here? Why? 

Behind me, everyone started shouting my name.

Sam.
Rachel.
Marcus.
Jenna.
Rick.

Their voices overlapped, telling me to come back, that I was being stupid, that I was going the wrong way. I still kept running, especially when another voice joined them…

Mine.

That was when the screaming started. I don’t know who was screaming. Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them. 

I didn’t turn around.

Eventually the voices faded, but by then I’d lost the trail. My phone had no signal. Branches had scratched my arms and face, and every sound behind me just made me run faster.

I don’t know how long I wandered before I smelled woodsmoke. A little farther ahead, an orange light flickered between the trees. Another campfire, with several people sitting around it. One of them looked up when I stumbled into the clearing and calmly moved aside to make room. Behind me, something called my name, in my own voice.

Nobody around the fire even flinched.

The man nearest the flames glanced toward the trees, then handed me a cup of water. “You’re safe here until sunrise,” he said.

Then he nodded toward the empty place beside him. “Sit down. When you’re ready, you owe the fire a story.”

I don’t know how to feel about an old internet story making me an orphan. At least, I think I am now. It started during lunch, my friends were joking about those creepy stories from the internet, the one about the dog, the video game, the tall guy, then eventually someone brought up the smiling one. That one always creeped me out, when the picture was included. Really ruined the mood for me. One of my friends started joking, teasing me over still being creeped out by that picture. Almost like he forgot all of the other times he’d brought it up over the years. I think it’s because of the eyes, but he should know better by now. Didn’t stop him though. 

After school, it was still running around my mind, so I looked it up again to see if there were any new stories, anyone keeping the story alive after all this time. I read through a few of the oldest ones before my mom called us down for dinner. It was mom’s turn to make some dinner, the usual taco night, nothing too exciting. She told me to stop reading so much in the dark too, I guess she was worried I’d ruin my eyes or something. After dinner, I went back to it. Reading story after story, sometimes just the titles to see if any of them jumped out at me. 

Then I found it, past a few popular stories that everyone read, a new one, uploaded this morning! It had my town’s name in the title though “Jeff the Killer visits Newham”. I immediately thought that one of my dumb friends had written it up after school to mess with me, after that reaction. I hardly had a second to read more than the title before my sister walked into my room, asking what I was doing. Getting up, I pushed her out, telling her I was reading some old scary stories. She only got to see it for a second before I slammed the door in her face, annoyed by the interruption. I could hear her from the other side of the door giggling that I was still “scared of that thing.” Like I could choose what my mind thought was creepy. 

Walking back and reading from the start, it even had our lunch conversation, talking about the scary stories, and somehow the author even guessed my reaction to that last one. Guess that narrowed down who wrote it… Reading further, I saw something even weirder though. It was describing what was happening in MY home now, after school. It was describing my dad washing some dishes before stopping when he heard a tap at the window. I could even hear the faucet running as I was reading it, then it stopped as I reached the part where the dad goes out. It went really into it, with my dad looking through the window, seeing nothing, checking the door, then hearing something in the garage. 

That’s when I froze, because it said, “at 11:47, his father opened the garage door.” and right after, “he shouldn’t have.” My eyes slid down to the time, it said 11:45…

I immediately ran downstairs and stopped my dad. He looked really confused but, after a LOT of convincing, he eventually agreed that he wouldn’t go to the garage tonight. I had to promise to clean any mess, if a raccoon got in there and he just left it to roam. He joked that I’d be spending the next afternoon sweeping up any “gifts” whatever was making the noise left for us. 11:47 came and went. Nothing happened. Sighing in relief, I went back upstairs and walked in just in time to see the screen glitch. Stepping up to the screen, I saw that the second half of the story had changed. The part I just read was gone, now it read, “His son stopped him from opening the garage. Jeff hadn't expected that.” I stood rooted there. I’d changed it! But whatever was writing it had noticed already, and had thought ahead. Directly under it I read, “fortunately, there were other ways in.” 

My mom. 
My sister. 

They were both already upstairs. Running out of my room, I shoved my little sister’s door open and looked around frantically. 

Nothing.

The window was open, the curtains flapping in the wind. Bed empty. Her phone was still on her pillow, screen open to the SAME STORY. With bold words in the middle, “GO TO SLEEP” 

I shouted for my mom, rushing out to my parent’s room. No answer. My dad came running upstairs, drawn by all the noise. An alert sounded from my room. Rushing back, I saw another change to the story, “His sister was easier than expected. His mother wouldn't be.” Then, “his father would try to protect him. Try…That was why Jeff decided to kill him first. Even if his father would try to protect him.”  I barely heard my dad’s steps walking up next to me. Quietly, he asked me if I’d read ahead yet, if it mentioned what happened to the family. My eyes dared to drift down any further before he was  grabbing my shoulder. He turned me around, tearing my eyes away from that screen before I could get much further, but I was still able to see there were only a few more sentences left beyond that. I looked up to him, only to see that he was finishing the story, hand gripping my shoulder a little tighter before telling me to lock myself in the bathroom. Call the police. Don’t make a sound.

Then the lights went out. He pushed me into the bathroom, only leaving me with my cell before he closed the door and walked into the hallway, or just to my bedroom door. I heard him shouting after, something breaking, then…silence. 

My phone buzzed this time. Somehow, I received an alert from the site. I couldn’t help myself. I had to look. Opening the page, I scrolled down to the bottom, where I left off on my PC. There was a new paragraph now. It started, “His father died upstairs. His mother died trying to reach the front door. Now he was the only one left.” That’s as far as I got before I heard the footsteps. They were coming upstairs, one solid footfall after another. 

I immediately closed the page. I threw my cell into the sink, turned the faucet on max, washed it fully out. Maybe if I broke my phone like that, it would stop whatever this thing was making the story come to life. Then I heard another alert sound out, across the hall…my sister’s phone was still on. 

Knock. Knock. Knock. 

I don’t have to read the last sentences to know how this story ends.