My Cousin Tommy is a Bit... off. · 5:54pm Sep 1st, 2014
My cousin Tommy was always a bit… off. Mom told me he suffered some funny illness, but I was too young at that time to understand the definition of “sociopathic.”
Tommy never sat with us at family dinners, never shared quality time with anyone, never had a friend before. He spent all his time cooped within the darkness of his closet.
Hearing this saddened me. I couldn’t imagine a life without my friends, and just thinking of them gone managed to toy with my heart.
One day, Mom, Dad and I were heading up north for yet another family get-together. I knew Tommy would be there, and it had been a long year since our last encounter.
Upon entering the home, I made my welcomes quick before running upstairs. Tommy’s door had been adorned with “NO TRESPASSING” signs.
I opened it without much hesitation, resting my eyes upon the newly founded room. It was surprisingly normal. I was expecting a voodoo doll collection, books of black magic, or decapitated heads lining the floor. Instead I’m greeted with a typical nine year olds room. Baseball cards stacked on his bedside, posters of various rock groups, even a mountain of recently touched action figures.
Yet Tommy was nowhere in sight.
I called his name a few times, ducking my head beneath the bed, checking every drawer, rummaging through piles of unwashed clothing, yet Tommy was nowhere to be found. I assumed he had already gone downstairs to greet my parents, but as I turned to leave, a peculiar smell caught my attention.
I turned to face a door I had not yet investigated. It emitted a funny aroma, like the stench of tree sap or freshly cut timber.
Upon opening it, I didn’t believe my eyes. The floor was blanketed in layers of wood shavings, the walls sticky with sap, and a single switchblade lay among the debris of wooden fragments. But these are not the things that truly caught my attention.
Leaning against the wall was a set of wooden figurines. Upon further inspection, I was shocked to see that these sculptures were of my family. Mom, dad, even me. Almost all my relatives had been replicated into these miniature, wooden models.
With trembling hands and a shaken heart, I grabbed at my doll. It wore the spitting image of me, and I felt the need to puke at the abnormality of this situation. I gave the doll a closer look. It appeared that just at the base of my neck was a slash, piercing through the wood.
This odd mark didn’t look like a mistake, but before I could turn to leave, the chilling coldness of a blade had been planted to my neck from behind.
I wrote this at 3AM, definitely not my best work.
Now that is something that should be in a fanfic.
That's... creepy... very, very, creepy.
(And don't worry, I submitted a story at 3 a.m. last night. You're not the only insane person here.
)
meh creepy but not creepy enough