Sharon’s note: This is my attempt at a creepy pasta, broken into parts because . . . well, because. Warning: Some language and blood. Possibly some guts. Possibly Chuthalonic horror. I haven’t decided yet. If you like this, please leave a comment.
“Are you Ok?” Katy poured fake sympathy into her voice like spoiled syrup. She knew very well I had a headache, just not for the reasons she thought.
“Go to hell.” I growled, holding a glass of ice water against my forehead as I tried to leave the breakroom.
She moved to block the doorway and prevent me from leaving. “Have you ever considered not binge drinking the night before you come to work? Maybe you were misinformed, but a hangover is not actually mandatory for coming in on a Monday.”
“Oh, really?” I put the hand not holding the water over my heart and gasped in mock surprise. “Thank you so much, Katy. I would have never have known if you hadn’t of told me. For your information, I didn’t drink at all, yesterday. I’ve had this same headache since Sunday morning. I barely slept last night.”
My coworker eyed me suspiciously, peering into my eyes as if she could catch me in a lie. Good luck with her on that. I wasn’t lying. “Did you hit your head or something?”
“I don’t know. Maybe? I did go out Friday. I had a few drinks, but not that many.” Catching the disgusted disbelief on Katy’s face, I corrected, “Not many for me. Anyway, I remember meeting this guy and a little after that, I don’t remember anything until I woke up in my apartment Sunday morning.”
Katy’s eyes went wide. “Holy crap, did he rape you?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. When I came to, I was still wearing the same clothes, and everything was still, you know, in place. I felt fine, except for this bitch of a headache.”
“He didn’t rob you or anything?” Katy hadn’t been this interested in my affairs since we’d stopped being friends.
“My cell phone was missing.” I admitted. “He could have taken it. I also could have left it at Mike’s. It’s happened before. I’m going to swing by after school. Hopefully they found it when they were cleaning up.”
Katy hesitated for a long second before asking, “Do you need a ride?”
I laughed, then winced as it felt like someone was stabbing me between the eyeballs with an ice pick. Lacking my planned enthusiasm, I groaned, “You don’t have to come with me just to find out what happened. I’ll fill you in tomorrow, when I find out what happened.
Frowning, she thumped me in the side of my head with her index finger, and I whimpered. “You’re in no state to drive. I’ll take you.”
“You are a scholar and a gentleman.” I gave her a wan smile, and her frown deepened as she waved me away.
“Go in the back and receive those boxes we just got this morning. I’ll watch the register. Looking like that, you’d scare all the customers away.” She sulked, but I could swear there was genuine concern in her eyes.
“Bless you lady.” I went to make an exaggerated bow, but as soon as I went to lean forward, a dizzying wave of pain shot through my head. I straightened up, and slinked off to the back. Kelly laughed at my misfortune, but I couldn’t really blame her. I’d have done the same in her position.
A trickle of moisture slid onto my upper lip, and I swiped the back of my hand under my nose. It came away smeared with blood. Oh, great. I totally needed a nose bleed on top of everything else. I hooked a right to stop by the bathroom to wash my hands and hold my nose with a paper towel. The blood was trickling down in a steady stream, and I was starting to taste it. My headache intensified, and between that and the copper taste, my stomach started to churn.
I groaned, and gripping the edge of the sink, I leaned forward to rest my forehead on the mirror. In headaches past, resting my head against the cool glass had brought relief. This time, the pain of the pressure made me yelp, and straighten up. Dizziness washed over me, and I would have fallen if not for my hold on the porcelain. My eyes fluttered open, and I beheld, among the river of red now flowing freely from my nose, there were individual threads of black.
More Here:
Read More:
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9
Gray Matters: The Works of Sharon and James Gray 
These days, losing your cell phone practically counts as horror by itself.
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