Today’s powerful and horrific tale, credited to user aCJohnson and a favorite on the Creepypasta Wiki, contains elements common to the most violent and grisly viral legends… but in this particular case, the eeriest and most effective aspect of this story is the way in which it’s told. I’ll do my best to recreate that feeling in my summary of the events as they allegedly transpired.
[Note: If you know how this one ends, please play nice and don’t give it away!]
The narrator, who was adopted at a very young age, has no clear memory of his birth parents, but considered himself lucky, having found a good home with a loving family. Despite his father’s occasional angry outbursts (he had a tendency to spank his children for even the mildest transgressions), the narrator nevertheless found comfort and security thanks to a gentle, caring mother, and a close bond with his sister Emily.
He looks back fondly on his friendship with Emily, and how they had shared a room when they were younger; they often spent long nights talking and sharing secrets, and he liked to think of himself as her protector and guardian — even if she was actually a year older than him.
But then came that fateful night… the night he could no longer protect Emily from danger… the night the family received a horrifying and lethal visitor.
The narrator and his sister were staying up late watching TV on the living room couch, Emily chatting about whatever school gossip was circulating that week while he tried to focus his attention on the program. He was happy, but at the back of his mind was a tiny itch… a nagging feeling that something wasn’t right.
When they shut off the TV and prepared for bed, he noticed a movement in the darkness outside. By the time he could focus on it, whatever it was had disappeared. It may have been a mere reflection in the window… but he still couldn’t shake the sensation that someone was watching.
He lay awake that night, his instinctive protectiveness toward Emily preventing him from dozing off.
Before long, he heard a faint sound outside the bedroom window. The silence of the night seemed to magnify that tiny noise… but soon he could distinctly make out the sound of feet crunching on dry leaves.
His suspicions were confirmed when he heard the sudden crash of glass: someone had broken a window in the house. He wasn’t yet sure which room, but first he had to make sure the family was safe.
He quickly woke Emily, then ran down the hall toward their parents’ room, adrenaline coursing through his body… and found his father dead, his throat raggedly slashed open, his body contorted in an expanding pool of blood.
That’s when he saw the man standing in his parents’ bedroom… and that man saw him too.
He describes the intruder as a large, bulky and rugged man with maniacal eyes, crooked yellow teeth, dirt-smeared face and clothes, and a wiry unkempt beard. He reeked of sweat and blood — the latter having been spilled by his victim, who was still bleeding out on the floor between them. In the horrible man’s hands was a straight razor.
Behind the monstrous invader, the narrator noticed the master bathroom door was closed, and he instantly knew his mother had locked herself in there in a vain attempt to fend off the intruder… who nevertheless crashed through the door like it was made of cardboard.
He was too late to save her, and yelled out in horror and rage at the man, whose blade slashed downward toward the woman, hacking over and over again…
Then the narrator heard a sound that horrified him more than anything he’d witnessed that evening: the sound of his sister in the bedroom doorway, screaming as she watched their mother die.
He yelled at Emily to run, and pursued her even as the intruder stood and bolted past him, strangely ignoring him as he raced after the girl, his knife gleaming as he sprinted by.
He expected the horrible man to kill Emily next… but for some reason, the man did not swing the razor at her; instead, he grabbed the girl by the wrist and began to drag her down the hallway. The narrator tried to defend her, desperately flinging himself at the killer, but he had no leverage against this hulking brute, and he instinctively flinched back against the wall when the man suddenly reached toward his face.
Frozen in terror, he could only stare helplessly as the intruder extended his hand, his eyes displaying a twisted sort of affection… then the man patted him on the head, tousling his hair.
“Good boy,” the man said in a low, gravelly voice.
Turning away abruptly, he dragged still-screaming Emily toward their front door, yanking it open and carrying her outside. Emily tried to call out, begging for help, but the man clamped a grimy hand over her mouth as he hauled her away, shutting the door firmly behind him.
The narrator stood there, frozen in place. In that very moment, he hated himself for his inability to help the one person he loved more than anyone in the entire world.
He could only stare down at his paws… wishing he could open doors.