12 Jan This is Your Fault – Creepypasta
It started during our annual Halloween party for our local writing group. I had never met Becky in person. After the pandemic hit, we switched to Zoom, and we’ve been using it ever since.
That night, as we all sat listening, some of us wearing makeshift costumes, Becky presented a ghost story to us. In the story, the protagonist, a girl that was about the same age as Becky—who I think was named Joan or Jane, was binge-watching shows on Netflix when she fell asleep on the couch and when she woke up in the morning she had this very real, creeping sensation that during the night someone had been standing above her and whispering softly, over and over, this is your fault.
It wasn’t your typical ghost story, there was a nuance to it, and my description just now doesn’t give her writing the justice it deserves. She was a good storyteller and there were always levels to her work that were hard to pin down. At the time I didn’t think it was real or anything. The story that is. I mean it was one of many good stories that night. But Becky’s writing was so good, and her presentation so emotional, that she made everything in her stories seem like it really happened. It felt really creepy as she told it. Like you didn’t know if the girl was going crazy, or she was actually seeing ghosts, or even maybe a real person.
Honestly, I didn’t know much about Becky. She might have been a new student in the area. We got new students all the time. I think she lived alone. At least, her writing always hinted that she lived alone. Since she had joined the group, she had been presenting pieces of a story about a woman that was being stalked by this really weird guy at her college. We weren’t sure if the story was a real experience from her life, and none of us ever asked. Although in some of the critiques some of us would give hints, like, “oh, if I was that girl, I would definitely just call the cops” … you know things like that.
Well, a couple of weeks after the Halloween party we met again on our usual night.
In our group we bring a couple of pages of our story that we had written over the previous week and we read it out loud to the group for their opinion. Well, it was her turn and she was reading the new pages to her story. The story about the stalker.
Becky was at her desk, and she was looking down, reading from the pages she had printed out. I think her desk must have been facing the wall, because in the background of her unfurnished room, there was a door that opened to a dimly lit hall. She always must have kept the lights off or something because we could only see her ghoulishly radiated face under the laptop’s light. The rest of the room, and especially the hallway through the door, were completely covered in shadows. And that’s when I first saw him.
Becky gets very into the reading of her story. You know, like changing pitch and tone, and lowering and raising her voice for the different characters—well, when she was in the middle of reading it out loud, we saw a tall man slowly walk down the hall—a very tall man I should say—the top of his head was actually above the door frame. When the tall man got to Becky’s door, he just stopped and stood there looking into the room. We couldn’t see his face or anything because the room was so dark. I don’t know how to explain it, but it seemed like he was surprised to see Becky in the room. He stood there for a few minutes as Becky read her pages—and at this point in Becky’s story, the protagonist had been receiving pictures from her stalker. He was sending her messages, saying how beautiful she was and sending her pictures that he had taken of her, in her class, or riding her bike, and even one—which when Becky read it, there was a slight slip in her throat, like a little high-pitched yelp as though she was holding back a cry—one of the pictures was through the protagonist’s window while she was sleeping.
The tall shadowed man in the hallway just stood there listening, and then his hand kinda lifted as if to wave, and I’m not sure if he was waving to us or to Becky, but he only stood there for a few seconds longer and then walked past Becky’s door and out of frame.
I didn’t think about it much in the moment, and when the story was done we gave our critique one by one, telling her how we felt about the story, which for Becky was always pleasant compliments and encouragement. Well it was Sarah’s turn—another girl in the group—and she gave the customary platitudes she always gives and then, flippantly, she said something—she was always the catty one—she said something like, “oh, Becky, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend”.
Well Becky kinda smiled, she looked confused and leaned towards the screen like she didn’t really hear what Sarah had said. So Sarah told Becky she saw a man walk by, down the hallway. And then Sarah gave a smile and said, “he is tall, isn’t he? What’s his name?”
And Becky’s face suddenly changed. I remember it vividly, even now. That change of her unnaturally lit face bordered by the darkness of the room. Her face went from a pleasant kinda smile and then slowly dropped away, and there was this look of confused fear and anger. Becky turned quickly to look back towards the door, jarring the desk when she did, and the laptop shook a little and then she looked back at the camera and tucked her hair behind her ear nervously. And she said, “that’s not funny, Sarah.”
And Sarah kinda laughed, confused, I think. And said, “what do you mean, Becky?”
I didn’t want a confrontation. I never like confrontation, so I spoke up quickly. “I saw him too,” I said. “In your hallway. He was walking down your hallway as you were reading.”
Becky seemed really upset and it was quite awkward for a few seconds. And she kept looking behind her, she even got up and walked to the door and looked sheepishly down the hall both ways. Then, she slammed the door shut, came back and said that she lived alone and asked us again if we were sure we saw someone.
The strange thing is not everyone saw it, or maybe they just didn’t notice it. To me, I couldn’t understand how others could’ve not seen it. I mean he was huge. Well, I definitely saw him at least. And apparently so did Sarah. But the others didn’t see him, and now Becky seemed to think we were messing with her. That somehow Sarah and I planned this.
I didn’t say anything for the rest of the meeting, and we ended up finishing early because we could tell how upset Becky was. And by the end of the meeting, Sarah even apologized and hinted that maybe she had been mistaken.
We met again a week later, and we weren’t sure if Becky would join us. But she showed up a few minutes late, and she looked really tired. There were bags under her eyes, dark and blue, and her nice hair was all messy and she looked like she hadn’t slept in ages. I thought back to her Halloween story and how that girl would wake up feeling like someone was standing over her, whispering to her, this is your fault.
Well we all gave our pleasantries and did our small talk asking how everyone was, how we were handling the pandemic. Becky didn’t really say anything to anyone. I think she had moved her desk, because she wasn’t facing the same way now. Now, all we could see behind her was a window that was darkened by the night. I think she did this so she could face towards the door, because as we were talking, I could see her paranoid eyes staring intently at the other side of the room. I don’t even think I ever saw her blink once, but I’m sure she did. She stayed that way for the whole meeting, hardly giving any feedback, hardly saying anything. Just staring down the hallway. Sometimes I wonder if she just joined our meeting so she wouldn’t feel alone.
Well, we were almost done with the meeting, and everyone had presented their few pages of new material except for Becky. So, she started on her story about the stalker, reading the new lines she had written. The protagonist in the story finally went to one of the professors at her school and showed him the messages from the guy and the pictures that he had secretly taken of her. And, ultimately, the guy lost his full ride football scholarship and was expelled from the college. He continued to send her messages, but they were more violent now. Talking about killing her for what she had done to him, talking about killing himself. Telling her it was all her fault.
And by this point in the story I had been drinking a little bit, I generally like to have a glass of wine during our meetings. I don’t really feel comfortable behind the screen until I’m about halfway through that glass of wine. I say this because what I saw was so strange that I thought it might have been the wine affecting me.
Like I said, there was a window behind her. And as she read, her face was earnest and sweaty. The window had been glazed with a sheet of black night for the whole meeting and then all of a sudden, for just a few seconds, I think as a car must had passed, or maybe pulled up into a driveway near her house, the window lighted up for just that split second and I could of swore I saw a man, a huge man, standing right outside her window. I mean he couldn’t have been more than a foot or two from the back of her. I leaned forward quickly to see if I was actually seeing what I thought I was seeing, but the light was gone, and the window was dark again. I quickly looked at the other faces on the screen and no one seemed to be reacting. I mean if they’d seen it too, I knew I would’ve noticed it in their faces, because it was downright one of the creepiest things I had ever seen.
But everyone was smiling and nodding or acting like they were listening while their little eyes twitched and zig-zagged to whatever they were reading on the internet. I didn’t know what to do. I was scared to say something. If I said something she would definitely freak out. And it didn’t look like anyone else saw it, not even Sarah. I didn’t even know for sure if I saw it. Maybe it was just a humped shadow of a bush or something.
Well, Becky was still reading her story and I could tell this was the final chapter, that this story was coming to an end. There was a pressure building, you know? Because the girl in the story seemed to be happy again for a few weeks. She hadn’t heard from the guy, and she was able to go out again and feel like she was safe. And for some reason I knew that Becky wouldn’t let it just stay happy like that. She couldn’t do that.
So, the protagonist had gotten home from her part-time job, exhausted, and after she sets all her stuff down from the day, keys and purse and everything, she walks into her bathroom and undresses. She notices that the vanity mirror was open, and she didn’t remember opening it. So she closes the vanity and as she sees her pale naked body standing there in the fluorescent light, there was something written on the mirror—the words this is your fault written in a childish scrawl with blood—and then she saw a trail of glistening crimson drips along her sink, and her toilet, and a hand-smear of blood on her shower curtain. She put her hand to her mouth to hold in a scream and she stepped softly to the shower curtain and slid it open slowly, the metal rings of the curtain scraping along the bar—
But just before Becky finished the sentence, she broke down crying. And everyone in the group was silent for a few seconds. And I felt like I had to say something, I had to tell her what I saw. So I unmuted my mic and I leaned forward, and I said, “Becky…listen to me…” And I remember her looking at the computer and she must have been looking at my screen for just a second before there was a loud crashing sound, and shards of glass rained down and a massive hand reached through the window and grabbed her roughly by the hair, and for a split second I saw her eyes bulge in terror, and a horrifying scream escape her mouth before she was dragged like a ragdoll through the gaping black hole of the shattered window, and out into the silent night.