Wrote

Supernatural Stories | Oct 14, 2014 | 6 min read
304 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
I open my laptop and log on to my favourite website, shortnscarystories.com. The dark page looms in front of me, New stories just waiting for me to read them. For now, though, I go to my personal page. None of my stories have any new comments, but I decide to look at the views anyway.

Two of my stories have over 2000 views, but one has only 735. It was the first one I posted, but I decide to reread all my stories, for nostalgia's sake.

I'm in my first year of high school, and I've been posting stories since about the beginning of the 8th grade. This is the first year we've had a short story writing assignment, and I'm excited. The prospect of reading one of my stories to the class makes me giggle with a nearly infantile glee. They don't know what'll hit them.

Or so I think. Every one of my stories, I realise as I read them, are pretty awful. One even has wacky punctuation. These are the stories I've been parading around? One of these won an award at the library?

I nearly cry as I imagine the invidious stares of my classmates as I read one of my stories, their laughter at the lacking plot and character development.

"Don't cry, Lily," a voice says from behind me. I whip around from my spot on the bed and see a ghostly figure hovering above me. Looking closer I realize it IS a specter. I gasp and move across the bed, trying to get away.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you," the spectre says. "In fact, I want to make a deal."
"What?"
"My name is Ben. I've been watching you for some time now, and I want to offer my services to help you with your...problem."
"My...problem? You mean my writing?"
"Yes. I can help you write the best story you've ever written, if you'll give your consent."
"What's the catch?"
"Catch? There is no catch. Stop being so circumspect. I will help you write a story, you post it. That's the deal."
I ponder for a moment. Usually, making deals with ghosts isn't a good idea. I only responded so quickly to attempt to get a straight answer.
"Ok, I'll let you help me. How fast can we get it done?"
He smiles. "It can be done in as soon as a week."
He reaches his hand towards my face, and everything goes black.

When I wake up, Ben is gone. My laptop is sitting on the bed, and a new Google Docs tab is open. I click on it and gasp

There, written on the screen, is a full introductory paragraph. Normally this wouldn't be much to spit at, but it's written in a way most writers would kill to write.
"Twas a day unlike any other. The wind brushed through the trees like a flag on the battlefield. The sun beat down with an invidious heat, as if it could melt the world. A single girl stood on a hill, her own flag beating out above her in the autumn wind. Her battle armour glinted in the oppressive sunlight.

Surrounding her were the bodies of her enemies. They had fought to their dying breath, but to no avail. The battle was over, and Charlene McPherson had won.

She walked over to one of the bodies and crouched down, removing her metal gauntlet and caressing the face with her soft hand. Slowly, a light seemed to glow from her hand and into the body of the man. His body seemed to decompose a little, while Charlene's battle scars started healing. It was a useful skill, but not her only one.

She spread her arms to the sky and the gold-etched wings on the back of her armour glowed, stretching into huge anamatronic golden wings. Jumping off the hill, Charlene used the lift from the jump to glide into the clouds."

This is...amazing.
I look down at my hands. Did they write this? Was it Ben? Or was it the two of us?
I can't figure it out, because I fall asleep shortly after.

For the next few days, Ben and I operate on a tight schedule. When I come home from school, he writes for me.
In all my excitement, I don't notice how tired I am after writing, how my body seems to age a little with each session.
By Friday, the story is almost finished.
"Remember, class," my English teacher says, "next week we will begin work on our short stories. Make sure you have an idea for your story!"

"If you only knew," I mutter under my breath.
That night, Ben and I finish the story.
"Charlene fought back tears as she fought Genon. She moved as much as she could, but it was no matter. Her wounds were taking over, covering her body in a mass of scabs. Her body was wracked with pain with every step, but she knew if she stopped she would never move again.
One step, two steps, and she fell over. The wizard shook his head and lifted his staff, bringing it down to rest on Charlene's back. She finally let the tears loose as her body stopped moving. Her body became the wound, and she died.

At her funeral, they set the coffin in the Stream of Death. As she floated away, her father shot a flaming arrow at her coffin. "A warrior's funeral for a true warrior," he said.

The embers of the coffin burned, and finally all was still.
Charlene McPherson was at peace."

I cry as I read the last sentence. So full of emotion, yet so scary at the same time. It's better than anything I could have written.

I copy and paste the story into the entry box, and hit the submit button. Then I wait for the story to be published.

A week later, I haven't looked at the story views yet. Ben keeps asking me to, but I want to wait. Is that so bad?
Finally, though, I break down and go to the page. The story has been uploaded, and I look at the views.
"0 views
0 Stars
0 Comments"
"What the..?!" I say. I turn to Ben, fury in my eyes. "You said you would help me write a good story!"
"I said I would help you write one," he says calmly, "but I never said anything about it being popular."

I scream and nearly throw the computer at him. All that work, all that time wasted, for nothing! I close my eyes and hit the laptop, accidentally refreshing the page.

"3,487 Veiws
5 Stars
3 Comments
ScaryBoy01 wrote:
Keep up the good work!
CreepyPasta284 wrote:
Spooky!
Dramarama90210 wrote:
This is AMAZING!"
I gasp. What the...
"Do you see?" Ben asks. "It is popular after all."
He asks me if I'm ready to write again.
I look down at my hands and realise what's going on. Ben has been using me for energy, for life. Even now he looks more real, bolder, stronger.
"I don't want to do this anymore."
He gasps. I can feel his anger and brace for an attack.
"You think you can do all this without me?!" He yells. "I'm the reason this is so popular!"
"Well maybe I don't want it to be popular!" I yell back. "Maybe I just want to write a story without aging a few years!"

He pushes me off of my bed and carries my laptop out the window. He drops it, and I hear it smash on the ground below.
I start thinking of ways to exorcise a ghost. On tv they usually use salt, but I don't have any of that.

Then I remember the box of sunflower seeds on my desk.

I grab a package from the box and rip it open. I start tossing seeds at Ben, hoping it will work. The salty seeds tear small holes in him, and he howls. I keep throwing seeds at him until he leaves my room, vowing to never return.

I sit down on my bed, my energy slowly returning. After all that, I'd like to sleep, but right now I have a mess to clean up, and I have to figure out what to do about the laptop.

A few weeks later, I sit down on my bed, New laptop in hand. It took me awhile to convince my mother to get me a new one, but it was worth it. It's not as high a quality as my last one, but I can write again.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath before going back to the website where it all started.
"1 New message from MrCreepyPastaMan"
I open the message cautiously. There are an alarming number of creepypasta accounts on this site, but there's no way it could be...
"I will be back, Lily.
I will show you revenge."
I sigh and delete the message. The only way to get my impending doom off of my shoulders is to write, so that's what I'll do.
I open a new Google Docs tab.
"Alright," I say, "let's get started."

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