I once had a great friend by the name of Johnny. He was the type of guy who could cheer the air wherever he went. A very laid back fellow, the kind that could come up with a joke for any situation. He was a bit of a slob, but I’m no neat freak myself. Regardless, Johnny and I where inseparable. We hit on babes together, talked all the time about life in general and critiqued each other’s writing.

Oh, I should add that we were probably the biggest writing buffs at our school. My favorite genre was fantasy, still is to this day. But old Johnny boy had a different taste, and that taste was horror. Now, I can get behind a good horror story, but they aren’t my favorite. Johnny, on the other hand, was borderline obsessed with horror. He would always show me these amateur horror stories on the net, called ‘Creepy Pastas’. Still, to this day, I have no idea what pasta has to do with horror. But I digress.

But oh, did Johnny love them. He would always tell me “One of these days Alex, I’ll be the best damn Creepy Pasta writer on the internet.” I didn’t really think much of his boast. I mean, everybody says they’ll be the greatest X sometime in their life.

Still, Johnny was hellbent on making the ‘Greatest Pasta Ever’. I still remember what he said the last day of school. He grabbed me by the shoulder right when the bell rang, and told me that he would “fall off the radar for a while”. When I asked why, he just said he would be busy writing. When he said ‘writing’, he gave me a little wink.

True to his word, Johnny all but disappeared after school let out. He was absent from all his usual haunts. Truth be told, I was a tad bit worried. But with the help of my girlfriend, I found ways to keep my mind off Johnny. Then, things took a turn for the ugly…

I honestly can’t say why I went to Johnny’s house. Maybe my worries got the best of me, perhaps I had left something over there that I needed at the moment. Whatever the reason, the… things inside that house have wiped the reason from my memory.

The first thing I noticed that was off about Johnny’s place was that the lawn was overgrown. I’m not talking a couple weeks worth of overgrowth here, the lawn looked like it belonged to some sort of abandoned house. Instantly, I knew that my worries had not been misguided. A tad bit uneasy, I made my way to John’s front door. As a token of friendship, Johnny had intrusted me a key to his home a couple months back. I gripped that key with all my might as I made my way up the weathered, concrete steps that led to the house’s front door.

I slid the key into it’s hole with trembling hands. As the key slid into the lock, I contemplated just running back to my car and driving the hell away. I managed to muster up the courage to go on, though. I thought to myself, “It’s only Johnny in there, right? He wouldn’t hurt a fly, so what would his best friend have to fear?” I heard the lock click, and pushed the door open.

The smell! The smell! Oh dear God! As soon as the door came open, the odor of a rancid corpse filled my nostrils. I even vomited in my mouth a tiny bit, but I choked it back down. Everything was telling me to just ran the hell away, but I couldn’t. I was filled with both a sense of morbid curiosity, and concern for my friend.

As I entered the house, I noticed… pictures, on the walls. They depicted some truly vile beasts, ranging from a faceless man in business causal, to numerous imp like creatures, to abstract monstrosities. Sewn among them where pages of plain text. I felt a sense of absolute dread pour over me. As I made my way around the house, I found that the pictures became more and more crudely drawn.

After a few moments of wandering the house, I found the poor creature. He was huddled in a ball, completely motionless. He clutched several papers to his chest. As I drew closer, it became obvious he wasn’t alive. I wanted to scream, I wanted to yell for somebody. I didn’t want to be in that house anymore.

I bolted out of there faster than I thought humanly possible. I didn’t bother to close the door, I just wanted out of that fucking place. Eventually, I managed to get my wits together and call the police. They questioned me a bit before ruling me out as a suspect. They found the cause of death to be a heart attack.

The strangest thing, however, were those pieces of paper he was holding. Apparently, when the paramedics came to take him away, they removed the paper from his person. The papers were some sort of a story, they were also confiscated by the police.

The suicide rate among police personal in the county has risen dramatically since.

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