It was an autumn afternoon, in a cold breeze, blowing dead leaves into the distance. Little boys and girls were playing in piles of them, throwing them up in the air. Some people weren't interested in going out in the cold. Most teenagers were at school, getting ready to leave, to go home to do whatever they need to do. The others, adults, went on shopping or going to work at their jobs.
And I'm at school, just like I explained about teens being at school. I'm currently at my locker right now, loading my backpack with whatever I needed, especially my textbooks. I don't really like school much, but hey, I'm just trying to get a good career in college.
As I slammed my locker closed, carrying my backpack over my right shoulder, I heard booming footsteps come near me. I turn my head around, and tried to run. I didn't look back, but I know who it was. Jack Nielson, or what people call him, Big Jack. He's the toughest and meanest kid at school. He's twice the size of about 75% of the kids at school. Nobody would dare go near him, or talk rumors about him. One time, a friend of mine, Ryan King got his ankles broken for calling Big Jack "a fat good-for-nothing loser". So tragic, but that's not the point I'm getting to. I was being chased by him. I decided to look back while running, seeing nobody but a few kids, staring at me, in horror.
"What?" I said, but the kids just ran away with their stuff. I realized they weren't staring at me. They were staring at something behind me. That made me too afraid to turn around, but I needed to know if he was. I turned my head a little, but a big, beefy hand grabbed my shoulder. I turned my head back, looking at his big, beefy face and his dandelion yellow eyes, peering into the back of my skull. Then, Big Jack shoved me to a locker, my back starting to ache from the backstabbing pain that shot throughout my body. "Listen here, Rick. Remember my rules, if you look at me, or even tell on me, I will come to your way with a little pocket knife and lemon juice going into your scars and bruises. You understand me, Little Ricky?" He told me, holding his left forearm on my chest to hold me still. "Little Ricky" was a nickname he had given me when he first bullied me at school. "Yes yes yes!" I started to squeal, because his arm randomly moved up to my neck, choking me. He removed his big arm off my neck, but before he was about to walk off, he shoved me to the locker again. The pain was back again. It might not be that painful, but to me, it was unbearable, hitting the locker handle on my back.
I missed my bus, so that meant I had to walk home, which didn't really seem far. While I walked home, I noticed how dark and cold it has gotten. It used to be a bright blue sky out. And a hot and cold mix, not like warm temperature though, but a little warm and mostly cold. But now, it's more of nothing but cold temperature now and the sky is pale gray, like pale skin color. The tree leaf colors used to be spring green, but now they changed to red, yellow, and brown. This is why I sometimes hate autumn. There's no hot temperature, where you get to go out, swim, get active, and even hang out with your friends more often.
I made it to my house finally. It just seems a little gloomy under the miserable shades of gray blankets covering over us. The house is a normal three-story house, with red bricks and white pillars holding the roof and porch together. There, on the porch, was a swing to relax on. I went up the stone steps, opening the glass door and stepped inside. As I laid my stuff down on the couch, I heard a clink come from the kitchen. I ran to the kitchen, thinking someone was in the house.
I stepped afoot on the linoleum floor, watching as Keith was digging through the cookie jar. "Keith! What are you doing here?" I asked my friend, Keith. He turned his head to me, then smiled, as if he was expecting to see me.
"Yo, Big Ricky, just here to watch over your house, because your mother and father told me to while they're gone," he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. Yes, he also gives me a nickname too. Keith is a little older than me, although he's in college. I'm only sixteen years old, and I'm about to graduate soon, maybe. Keith can be a big friend and all, but sometimes, he can be a little derpy to be an intelligent college student. He's actually our neighbor's son, the Farmers family. He has long, blond hair that hangs low on the back of his head, that would stay untidy. He's always wearing his college leather jacket and ripped jeans. Literally, he never would take it off, which is why he smells like old cigarettes and Axe body spray.
"They left? To where?" I asked as I took his arm off my shoulders. Keith went to the kitchen counter, and grabbed a written piece of lined paper, with a message written on it. "They left to go off to a fancy dinner," said Keith, his mouth full of Oreo cookies.
I start reading the note, it reads: "Keith, I want you to look over our house, in case if anything bad happens. If Rick comes home, make sure to keep an eye on him. He sometimes loves to wonder off to hang out at video stores on his own. Please and thank you. From, Mr. and Mrs. Watson."
I groaned, going into the living room. I pick up my backpack, and go upstairs to my bedroom. I heard his voice from downstairs as he called me. "Remember, don't go to the video store on your own," he said, sipping a small glass of milk.
I laid down on my bed, feeling more relaxed and calm. I felt like forgetting my worries about things and just let it be. I got up, getting my laptop from the end of my bed. I check the battery, it was full. That would mean that I had free time, since today is Friday, the thirteenth of November. I typed in my computer password, and clicked on the Internet Explorer icon. The internet popped up, sending me to the Google website. Then as I went to look for something when typing in the search bar, I looked at the top right corner. It said I have an email from someone. Who would send me an email? I thought. My friends at school don't really have a Google account, but I do. I clicked on the message inbox.
The message had a disturbing subject title: HELP ME!!! However, the message subject line really sent a chill down my spine, just imagining those words being said out loud. I clicked on the email, reading the message, which was said was sent about seventeen minutes ago. I read the message: "Rick, this CD, it's too powerful. It's after me. I need you to destroy it, or get rid of it. I sent you the disc in aoutside your door. If you play it, it'll kill you too. Please, get rid of this at once! Now!!" I checked the email, saying it came from a guy named Kyle. That's odd, I thought, because I don't know a guy named Kyle, and I don't know any CD he sent me. I slammed my laptop shut and climbed down the stairs. I ran to the door, which caught Keith's attention from watching some MTV. I looked down, through the glass door.
My eyes widened as I saw the cardboard, with a white post-it-note on the package. I opened the door, picking up the package, reading the label information. It said the box was to be sent at my address, with my name written in black marker on the box. I went to the kitchen, followed by Keith. "What's that?" he asked me as I got out a small kitchen knife and cut the tape that sealed the box closed. I lifted open the flaps, seeing nothing but packaging peanuts. I digged into the box, finding a case, with a disc in it. The disc seemed to be a burnt copy or something, because a title was written in Sharpie on the disc, reading SONIC.EXE.
Keith, behind me, gasped in shock, gleaming at the disc. He ran into the living room, screaming like terror had just invaded. Does Keith know about this disc? I thought. My mind was racing like a race track being used. I walked into the living room with the disc. I looked around until I saw Keith, huddled in the corner. "Keith, do you know this disc?" I asked him, holding out the disc in front of him. He didn't answer, he just murmured something under his breath. I went closer, and I could hear it finally. "It's real. He's real. It's real. He's real." This just started to tick me off. "Keith, what do you know about this?" I asked him again. Keith got up from the corner, recovered calmly.
"That disc, is Sonic.exe. It's a hacked version of the original Sonic The Hedgehog, well, it seemed hacked," Keith told me, taking the disc from my hands. "This game is haunted. If you play this game, Sonic will kill you." I thought about the email message I received from that guy named Kyle.
"Really? I'm going to put it in, and play the stupid game," I said, grabbing back the disc, going to our family's laptop. Yes, our family has a laptop, and I have my own. I sat down, clicking on the eject button on the side of the laptop. Before I could put the disc in, Keith grabbed the disc from me.
"Hey! Give it back! I just want proof!" I shouted at him as I lunged at Keith, fighting over the disc. I tried grabbing the disc, but he flipped me over, with him on the top. He held my arms down, pinned to the floor. Keith lays his knee on my forearm, which pretty much hurts, bring back the pain I had at school from Big Jack. He takes the disc, and throws it away from me, into the dining room, under the dinner table.
"No way dude, that game is evil. And sorry for doing this tho-" he was about to say when we heard a little beep. The beep sounded a little like an email notification. You know that beep that it makes when you receive a little notification? That's what it sounds like.
"Get off of me Keith!" I shoved Keith off of me, and went to the laptop. The Internet Explorer opened up to Google.com. That's weird, I thought. I never opened up Google when I went on the laptop. I clicked on the notification icon, and it sends me to another message that I received. Under the message from the Kyle guy, above it was a new message, said that it was sent to me just now. The subject title said DON'T PLAY THE GAME. I clicked on the message, that's when Keith came up behind me, looking at the laptop screen. The email message says: "Rick, I know what you got in that. If you had opened it, don't play the game. If you didn't open the package or didn't get it yet, make sure that it never exists. Get rid of the game now! Whatever you do, don't play Sonic.exe. DON'T PLAY THE GAME RICK WATSON!" I checked the user who sent me the message, and it said the user was MrCreepypasta666@gmail.com.
"Mr. Creepypasta?" I asked in confusion. I looked behind me, and Keith has his mouth hung open in shock. "It's him, it's really him!" Keith said in surprise. I looked at him in more confusion. "Um, Keith, you know this guy?" I asked him, pointing to the user's profile picture, which seems to be a yellow skull, with long Pikachu-like ears poking out from the front of the skull. Keith nodded. I never seen him in such surprise and joy ever in my life.
"It's Mr. Creepypasta. He created the internet sensation of horror story collections, called Creepypastas. That disc, Sonic.exe, is a Creepypasta. But does this mean that those Creepypastas are actually real?!" Keith told me, with big breaths in between words, as if he was running out of breath. I looked at Keith, with even more confusion. "I never heard of Creepypastas," I told him, as I went to the search bar, typing CREEPYPASTA. As the link loaded, it took me to a bunch of links that talked about Creepypasta. I clicked on the Creepypasta Wikipedia page, which sounded more useful to look up about. As I got to the website, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Creepypasta. It says here: "Creepypastas are horror-related legends or images that have been copy-and-pasted around the Internet. These Internet entries are often brief, user generated ghost or alien stories intended to scare readers. They include gruesome tales of murder, suicide, and otherworldly occurrences. According to TIME magazine, the genre had its peak audience in 2010 when it was covered by The New York Times."
I looked at the email message, which was still popped out on our screen, and then at the Wikipedia page. I need to know who this guy is, I thought. Is he really real? And what was his purpose for those Creepypastas? Those questions still frighten me at this minute. I exited out of Internet Explorer and turned off the laptop. I went to the dining room, under the dinner table, picking up the game disc. I handed it to Keith.
"What do you want me to do with this?" Keith asked me, putting the disc on the table where the laptop is. "I want you to watch the disc, if anything happens. And whatever you do, don't play the game yet," I told him, as I grabbed my jacket. "Where are you going though?" Keith asked me again. I turned around at him, glaring through those eyes. They were widened with fear and trumatism. "I'm going to ride my bike, because it makes me think more," I said, before I headed out the back door. I grabbed my bike, and opened the garage door. As I got out of the garage, I rode my bike out, into this cold, autumn air.