Is that a chilly December wind whispering through the crack in your door… or is it something else? Maybe it’s just a little reminder that it’s time for a new creepypasta! For this week’s installment, I found the perfect winter-themed entry, posted three years ago by an anonymous user.
The author recounted suffering years of abuse as a teenager at the hands of her alcoholic mother, her only relief coming in the few hours of peace during the wee hours after the woman fell asleep (or passed out). It was during one of these rare quiet nights that the author was surprised by a soft knock at the front door.
She opened it to find a young girl, about six years old, with dark brown eyes and blonde hair, her frail, pale body shivering in the cold. The author took in the tiny visitor and wrapped her in a thick blanket, though it didn’t seem to make her any warmer.
“What’s your name?” she asked… and before the little girl finally answered, the author realized that her eyes were not brown, but pure black.
“Lacy Morgan,” the girl whispered.
The author made a bed for the girl on the living room couch, keeping watch on her to assure she could sleep comfortably… but she never saw Lacy fall asleep. Instead, the author drifted out of consciousness while watching over her.
The next morning, the teen was awakened by a harsh smack from her mother, who was raging about a mess in the living room. When she looked over at the couch, she saw that Lacy was gone… but the blanket and couch were smeared with mud and dirt.
The next day, she overheard a conversation between classmates in which they spoke the name “Lacy Morgan.” Listening closer, she heard them talking about a young girl by that name who was found dead the previous night.
That evening, a news report confirmed it: the body of six-year-old Lacy was found buried on the property of her mother, Marissa Morgan — who was reported missing and a primary suspect in the child’s death. The broadcast included the last known photo of the girl, who was nearly identical to the child who appeared at the author’s door the night before. The only difference was the color of her eyes: in the photo, the irises were not black, but pure blue.
Terrified, the author huddled in her bed that night, unable to sleep until well after midnight… whereupon she was awakened by a cold hand brushing her face, caressing the spot where her mother had struck her the day before.
“Never again,” whispered a tiny voice.
The author flinched away, turning reflexively toward the sound… but there was no one there.
She shivered in terror, unable to move for several minutes… until she heard the sound of her mother’s shrill screams from the next room — screams which turned from sheer terror to cries of agony. She finally mustered up the courage to creep to her mother’s room… and while she was deeply horrified by what she found there, there was a tiny part of her that already knew what she’d see.
The girl who called herself Lacy Morgan was straddling the woman’s mangled body, her tiny hands embedded deeply in the torn, ragged flesh, her face and arms stained in fresh blood.
The girl suddenly sat up, spat out a chunk of the dead woman’s face, and turned to look at the author, staring intently at her… and finally smiling through a mouthful of blood. It was the last thing the author remembered before losing consciousness.
She awakened in her own bed the next morning, then ran to her mother’s room, assuming she’d had a horrible nightmare. The bed was empty, but also clean and tidy, as if it hadn’t been slept in for days. That’s when she saw the footprints: dirty smudges from a small child’s bare feet, leading from the edge of the bed to the open window.
The author concludes by stating these incidents happened many years ago, that her mother’s disappearance was never solved, and that she is now married with a daughter of her own.
In her last entry, she mentions seeing the next-door neighbor’s child with bruises on her arms. Some days later, a little blonde girl came to visit their house after midnight…