Log 4

Thursday, February 20th

Day fricken four. This one, I don’t even have the energy to complain about this. I know, I should be happy this is already halfway over, but I’m not. I’m dreading what’s next. This is starting to become way too much for me. At first, it seemed bearable, but now? It’s not even close.

After last night, I wasn’t in the mood for going to school so I lied to my parents, telling them I felt ill. I’m nineteen so they didn’t really bother trying to make me go anyway; it’s my life after all.

Still a little edgy and a little pissed from last night, I paced in my room most of that morning. I knew I needed to try contacting the freak responsible for this nightmare but doing that in pissed-off mood—not wise. I needed to calm down. It took me a good hour before I managed to breathe normally again and put myself in a somewhat stable mood to contact him (emphasis on “somewhat”).

I sat down at my desk, logged on to my computer, opened the Creepypasta page, and with my arms crossed, leaned back in my seat and waited. As I did, I kept going over in my head about what I might say to this thing once it showed itself. Should I yell and demand answers for why it’s doing this to me? Or should I keep a cool head and try to probe this thing for hints on what might be coming next? Or maybe just keep my trap shut and hope he lets something slip on its own?

Decisions, decisions.

After about twenty minutes or so, the monitor finally beeped, and that all-too-familiar black text box appeared on my screen.

Oh, goody. My arms tightened against my chest, but I stayed silent. For the longest time, the box remained empty. The cursor blinked over and over as it waited for words to appear. It reminded me of the first day all of this had started—I’d been waiting for words to come then too. Funny how much has changed…

Another ten minutes passed, before it finally chose to speak.

“Are you going to sit there? Or are you going to speak?” it asked.

Unanswering, I stared.

“Very well then. Remain silent. I have no trouble with that. A silent audience always hears more than a talkative one,” it wrote. “I very much enjoyed last night’s little piece. Your attempt to find a friend in all of this was, while pointless, very touching.”

My fingers dug into their palms and my eyes narrowed. This guy didn’t need to remind me of last night.

“You handled the situation in a semi-controlled manner,” it went on. “You were not as afraid as the first night this story began, but still failed. You were doing so well too, up until the end. You did not learn your lesson from the first night it seems.”

Oh, jeez! Brilliant deduction, Sherlock! I gritted my teeth but kept a cap on my expressions. No way in hell was it going to goad me.

It paused in its typing, as if waiting for a reply. I gave it none.

“Hmm,” it wrote a moment later, “judging by your blank face and lack of reaction, I take it you no longer care about any of this?”

“Correct,” I lied. Hell yeah, I cared. I cared about all of it—this whole situation! But I’d chosen to start acting apathetic. I figured he might reconsider sending me another “visitor” if I did. My reasoning: You can’t have a story where the main character won’t participate/care about what happens next. What would be the point of reading a story where the protagonist didn’t respond to anything? It would make a dull read.

“Well then,” it wrote, “we will have to make you start caring again. Hmm…Perhaps sending tonight’s visitor to your friend’s home would make you care; which also means, unlike you, if he dies, he will not have a second chance. But that is acceptable. And if that fails to motivate you, then we can just send the next visitor to see your parents the following night.”

“What!?” I jolted forward. “No! Please don’t!”

“Ah, there is the emotion I was looking for.”

Crap. I closed my eyes shut and clenched my fists. I felt stupid. Damn it. How did I fall for that?

“Not as “uncaring” as you appear,” it wrote with a smugness I found disgusting.

I took a quick breath before I answered.

“Okay,” I said, “so maybe I do care. You happy?”

“Only if you do what you are supposed to.”

“Which is?”


I had to suppress a groan. Is there any way out of this?  It wasn’t looking like there was. But maybe I could use that to my advantage.

“Can I make you a deal?” I asked.

“A deal?” it echoed.


“Perhaps. What do you propose?”

I smiled. Maybe I had a shot at this after all.

I sat up in my seat and cleared my throat, ready to give my best pitch.

“I will fully participate,” I said, “without giving any more trouble if you answer a few questions.”

“If I answer a few questions?”


“You will fully participate?”

I nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see me (I think). “Right.”

The box emptied and stayed empty for a good second before filling once more.

“Allow me to fully understand this,” it wrote, “your proposition is as follows: You will be completely compliant with your role for the rest of the story, without giving any more trouble, in return for a few answered questions. Regardless of what I just said about having future visitors see your friends and family instead of you when you do not listen. Is that correct?”


Okay, you know what? I take back what I said earlier about me not being stupid. I am, just a little bit.

I took a deep, reluctant breath before answering, “No.”

“I thought as much.”

I didn’t. 

“But you can’t expect me to go on like this without a little information,” I exclaimed.

“J.T. you have no form of power over me, neither by bargaining nor threatening. I do not have to give you any information, unless I wish to.”

I sighed and let my head sag. “That’s terrific,” I muttered.

“But this is your story and I suppose making it this far has earned you some information, but not much.”

I perked up at that.

“Really?” I asked.


Surprised, I leaned back in my chair, not believing my good fortune.

“I’ll answer three questions,” it explained, “but not the ones I find to be invalid.”

Good enough for me.

“Alright then,” I said. “First question: Who are you?”

I had a hunch he’d probably say that question was one of the invalid ones, but it was worth a shot. And, to my surprise, was valid.

“Who am I?” it echoed. “A very good question. I have had many names throughout time, but none that you would recognize. For now, you may simply refer to me as, The Sender.”

“The Sender, huh?” I slowly nodded. “Okay…Are you human?”

I kind of already knew the answer to that one, but I wanted to be certain, regardless. (Don’t judge me.)

“No,” it said.

Knew it. 

“Okay, then,” I said. “Last question: why are you doing this to me and more importantly,” I narrowed my eyes at the screen, “what do you get out of it?”

“Finally, you ask something rather intelligent. I must say, I was beginning to think you were a lost cause.”

Lost cause? What’s he mean by that?

“Unfortunately,” it went on, “those were two questions. I am doing this because you asked for a story, so therefore I am giving you one. The second question, which while was a very good one, exceeded your limit, so I cannot answer.”

“What!? Oh come on! That’s the same answer you gave a few days ago! That one doesn’t count.”

“It does indeed count. I said I would answer three questions, you asked me three. Whether they were good or poor questions, were entirely left up to you. You chose to ask poorly and waited to ask a good one when it was too late.”

“You know what?” I lowered my voice. “I. Fricking. Hate. You.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

I wanted to choke this guy. But it would have to wait. I needed to know what was coming next.

Doing my best to swallow the rising bile in the back of my throat, I asked, “So, who’s visiting tonight?”

“You have asked that since Log 1, and have you ever received an answer?”

I remained silent.

“I thought so, what on earth makes you think I would tell you now?”

Wishful thinking, I suppose?

“Well then,” I grunted, “I guess there’s not much of a point continuing to talk to you today is there? Since, after all, you’re not going to answer anything else.”

The box emptied itself and for a moment, stayed that way before filling again.

“I suppose there is not. But before I go, I will say this, you are already beginning to change.”

I raised my eyebrows, giving the computer a confused look, before asking, “What do you mean?”

In answer, the box vanished from the screen.

I let out a sigh. “Of course, you don’t answer. Jerk.”

So I will admit: this conversation was somewhat enlightening. I have a name for this freak now, or at least, a title for him. And while I still don’t have the answers I need, this is better than nothing.

But it was time to get back to what mattered: My next visitor.

At this point of time, I was trying to figure out the connection to these freaks. Besides the fact that they were Creepypasta stories, why had these particular ones been chosen?

I didn’t know, so I had no way to guess what would come next that night.

But I wasn’t going to be as unprepared like the last few times. This time, I would be ready.

I got up from my desk and started gathering things I might need for that night’s visitor. I grabbed the following: a knife, phone, flashlight, lighter, handycam (yes, I was going to try and film again), and last but not least, my laptop. After collecting these items, I placed them in my backpack and got ready to leave. I’d already discovered that going to a friend’s or staying at home would be a deathtrap, and not only that, these places had few people. So why not even up the score?

“Mom, I’m headed to library,” I called up the stairway after putting on my favorite hoodie.

“I thought you said you weren’t feeling good!” she called back.

“I’m feeling a little bit better, and while I can’t make it to school, I can go work on my research project.”

“Oh, okay then. Be careful.”

I couldn’t help but laugh when I stepped out the door. “Be careful? Heh, if only you knew.”

I headed straight for the library after that. It was an ideal place to deal with this crap. It was public, spacey, and I knew the layout. And besides, I might just find something out about this so called, “Sender”. You never know.

When I pulled into the public parking lot, I made sure everything was tucked carefully away. The last thing I needed was someone to noticed I had a hunting knife on me and get my butt arrested; I had more important things to deal with and trying to fend off a visitor in a jail cell was asking to die.

It was about 3:00 p.m. when I stepped through the glass doors of the library. I had plenty of time to get settled.

The library wasn’t particularly too big. The front entrance was just a small corridor with a restroom on its left. Most of the library was one big circular room with the reception desk in the center and bookshelves separating the rest of it.

If I wanted to find anything about my situation, my best guess would be to start with legends or something of the like. The Sender had a thing for that, he admitted that he had been around for a long time and wasn’t human. There was bound to be something on him (assuming he even was a “him”).

I spent the next three and half hours flipping through dozens of books and the catalog, but the closest I came to finding anything remotely related to my dilemma were pieces about storytellers who brought their creations to life, which didn’t really help me much and mentioned nothing of this “Sender”.

In the middle of flipping through the pages of an old German tome about legends, static crackled from the intercom above with the announcement, “The Public Library will be closing in ten minutes. Please finish checking out any books.”

“Uh, no thanks,” I muttered. I wasn’t going anywhere. I set the book down and picked up my bag then headed for the public restroom. I remembered seeing a janitor’s closet near it. When I reached it, I tested the handle to find it unlocked.

Sweet! With a smile, I hurried inside and locked the door.

About thirty minutes later, once I was certain the library staff had gone home and the entrance doors, locked, I took a tentative step out of the closet and looked around. The place was empty. No one save me, and the books.

Good. I smiled. Back to researching.

I returned to my table and, to my surprise, found the book I’d left still there.

“Huh, lazy librarians,” I murmured.

I set my backpack on the table and started pulling everything out. I needed to be ready for the next freak. I didn’t know when it would show, but I knew it would be soon.

After everything was in place, I sat down and took another good look around.

The place had a surreal atmosphere now that everyone was gone. A few lights remained on to break up the evening darkness, but it did little to comfort me.

“Man,” I said under my breath, “I hadn’t realized how spooky this place could be at night.”

It was ironic. Libraries were always meant to be quiet places to read, but once people are gone and there’s nothing but you and the books, you realize there’s a big difference between quiet and dead silence.

This was dead silence.

And on that happy note, a sudden ringing decided to break the said silence up.

“HOLY—!” I nearly jumped out my chair as my cell phone vibrated on the table.

Damn it, I forgot about that.

I flipped it open to see my mother’s number on screen.

Huh, wondered why she was calling.

I hit answer and brought the phone to my ear.


“J.T.?!” I yanked the phone from my ear with a wince (worried much, mom?) “Where on earth are you? It’s nearly 7:00! The library closed at six!” my mother exclaimed.

Whoops. I hadn’t thought about this part of my plan.

“I... uh... I’m staying at a friend’s house,” I lied.

“You’re what?”

“Staying at a friend’s house?”

Her voice dropped into a monotone. “Uh-huh? Whose?”

Uh-oh. I’d lived with her long enough to know when she would check behind me. She was going to call whoever I told her I was staying with. Which was: no one.

“I…I um…” I stammered in panic. Think! What’s something that would convince her I’m not lying! I grimaced as my mind drew a blank. Damn it, why did I have to have an overprotective mother?

Wait. My eyes widen as enlightenment hit. That’s it!

Taking a deep, mocking sigh, so she could hear me, I answered, “Okay, okay, you win. I’ll head on home. I’m sorry, I just thought since I was nineteen and all I wouldn’t need to ask you. But,” I sighed, “that’s okay.”

I turned away from the phone and hollered out to no one, “Sorry man, my mom just called. She says I can’t stay.”

The phone grew silent in my hand, then, “No, no, no, wait, wait, wait!” my mother pleaded.

“Oh, hang on man.” I placed the phone back to my ear. “Yeah, mom?”

I heard her sigh, then say, “You can stay the night. I’d just like you to tell me when you do.”

“Really?” I asked with mock surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s just that I worry about you sometimes. That’s all.”

I felt a pang of guilt sting my heart. I worried for them too, that’s why I was here at the library and not there at home.

“Well, okay then,” I said, sounding positive. “Thanks mom. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you then, love you.”

I hung up the phone, then with a victorious smile, leaned back in my chair.

“And that, my friends,” I said to my imaginary audience, with my arms spread, “is how you fool your mother.”


This time, I really did fall out the chair.

Log 4 (Part B)

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