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Songbirds, A Creepypasta
Published 3 years, 3 months ago
Description
Songbirds
by Mr.Zalgopasta
The Coming StormI have always loved songbirds. I have always loved any type of bird quite frankly. That's why I, Richard Percy, am a zoologist. I love animals too much to not do something in that field. The pay wasn't great but being able to live my dream was worth it. Because of this lack of money I haven't been able to keep a steady relationship. Which is a shame because I had always wanted kids. Oh well, too far past my prime now.
I looked out over my four-acre plot of land settled on the edge of West Boylston, Massachusetts from the porch of my two hundred year old Greek-revival Victorian house. It was moderately sized... Certainly big enough for a man living all alone save for his thoughts and the songbirds. I watched as the storm clouds slowly came rolling along the horizon. The land below was instantly cast into shadows and darkness. A shrill rumbling emanated from the direction of the storm. It was a sound... similar to... the sound a hammer makes when driving nails into a cedar coffin.
There I go with my obsession for the macabre and morbid, I say under my calm, stoic breath, which was slowly being taken away as the mockingbirds tweeted despairingly... semi-mournfully in the not-too-far distance.
When the thunder made a grand crescendo from the sound of hammers on wood to the sound of a thousand volleys of cannon fire, I decided to head indoors. There I made afternoon coffee and my dinner. I always cooked from scratch out of some stupid fear of being laughed out of town by the snobbiest of the snobby whom just so happen to live in the same town as I.
Christ only knows they would, I chuckled to myself at the absurd thought.
Just then the power went out.
Great, I thought pessimistically, no dinner tonight. And I sure as hell AM NOT gonna go fix the fuse in this shit-storm.
I decided to go to bed. I trudged up the stairs to the bedroom passing several closed doors that hid nothing but dark rooms and covered furniture. I got into the bedroom and looked at the clock. It said, in blinking lights, “8:30” ...p.m.
Nevermind, I'm going to LAY in bed and at least wait for the storm to pass.
The VisitorsDoing nothing but twiddling my fingers and staring off into the dark corners of my room I lay still for about an hour. Then I hear a knock at the door. Sighing, I dragged myself back downstairs to answer the door. I tried the lights on the way down but the power was still out. As lightning flashed the house would light up for one tenth of a second at a time. Long enough to watch the shadows turn to the rotting talons of some long dead, anonymous ghoul. Long enough to see the faces on the family portraits turn into unknown demons brought to life through the darkest nightmares conjured up by the collective minds of Lovecraft, Poe, Stoker, Hoffman, and Merritt. Long enough to see their faces contort into under-worldly sneers and grimaces.
Fucking with my own head again, I said out loud, why do I DO THAT?
As I made my way down the staircase the knocking got quicker, more desperate, more anxious.
Must be drummers, I joked to myself... mostly to keep my mind off the macabre and morbid that I have gained a love/hate relationship with.
I opened the door and I tried my absolute best not to make eye-contact with whomever was on the other end of the door. Both in black suits, tall, thin, frail, and pale-as-all-hell, they both stood side-by-side. In a monotone that practically drove me nuts, lefty said my name. “Mr. Percy.” I couldn't tell if he was asking or telling me something.
“Yeah... what do you want?” I responded. It was still pouring out. What could be so important that it couldn't wait for tomorrow?
“We need you to come with us,” righty stated with a harsh tone. They both flashed a “badge” that said nothing but the affiliation they were with and some government seal.
“You've got to be kidding me.” I said. Then I read t
by Mr.Zalgopasta
The Coming StormI have always loved songbirds. I have always loved any type of bird quite frankly. That's why I, Richard Percy, am a zoologist. I love animals too much to not do something in that field. The pay wasn't great but being able to live my dream was worth it. Because of this lack of money I haven't been able to keep a steady relationship. Which is a shame because I had always wanted kids. Oh well, too far past my prime now.
I looked out over my four-acre plot of land settled on the edge of West Boylston, Massachusetts from the porch of my two hundred year old Greek-revival Victorian house. It was moderately sized... Certainly big enough for a man living all alone save for his thoughts and the songbirds. I watched as the storm clouds slowly came rolling along the horizon. The land below was instantly cast into shadows and darkness. A shrill rumbling emanated from the direction of the storm. It was a sound... similar to... the sound a hammer makes when driving nails into a cedar coffin.
There I go with my obsession for the macabre and morbid, I say under my calm, stoic breath, which was slowly being taken away as the mockingbirds tweeted despairingly... semi-mournfully in the not-too-far distance.
When the thunder made a grand crescendo from the sound of hammers on wood to the sound of a thousand volleys of cannon fire, I decided to head indoors. There I made afternoon coffee and my dinner. I always cooked from scratch out of some stupid fear of being laughed out of town by the snobbiest of the snobby whom just so happen to live in the same town as I.
Christ only knows they would, I chuckled to myself at the absurd thought.
Just then the power went out.
Great, I thought pessimistically, no dinner tonight. And I sure as hell AM NOT gonna go fix the fuse in this shit-storm.
I decided to go to bed. I trudged up the stairs to the bedroom passing several closed doors that hid nothing but dark rooms and covered furniture. I got into the bedroom and looked at the clock. It said, in blinking lights, “8:30” ...p.m.
Nevermind, I'm going to LAY in bed and at least wait for the storm to pass.
The VisitorsDoing nothing but twiddling my fingers and staring off into the dark corners of my room I lay still for about an hour. Then I hear a knock at the door. Sighing, I dragged myself back downstairs to answer the door. I tried the lights on the way down but the power was still out. As lightning flashed the house would light up for one tenth of a second at a time. Long enough to watch the shadows turn to the rotting talons of some long dead, anonymous ghoul. Long enough to see the faces on the family portraits turn into unknown demons brought to life through the darkest nightmares conjured up by the collective minds of Lovecraft, Poe, Stoker, Hoffman, and Merritt. Long enough to see their faces contort into under-worldly sneers and grimaces.
Fucking with my own head again, I said out loud, why do I DO THAT?
As I made my way down the staircase the knocking got quicker, more desperate, more anxious.
Must be drummers, I joked to myself... mostly to keep my mind off the macabre and morbid that I have gained a love/hate relationship with.
I opened the door and I tried my absolute best not to make eye-contact with whomever was on the other end of the door. Both in black suits, tall, thin, frail, and pale-as-all-hell, they both stood side-by-side. In a monotone that practically drove me nuts, lefty said my name. “Mr. Percy.” I couldn't tell if he was asking or telling me something.
“Yeah... what do you want?” I responded. It was still pouring out. What could be so important that it couldn't wait for tomorrow?
“We need you to come with us,” righty stated with a harsh tone. They both flashed a “badge” that said nothing but the affiliation they were with and some government seal.
“You've got to be kidding me.” I said. Then I read t