A Creepypasta Story
The first unusual thing about Bellweather was that nobody ever talked about tomorrow. I discovered this during a business trip when my car broke down just outside the small town. It was late October, and I needed somewhere to spend the night, so I checked into the only motel I could find. The woman behind the reception desk was pleasant enough, although she seemed confused when I asked about the weather forecast for the following day. "Tomorrow?" she repeated, staring at me. "We don't really discuss that here." I laughed, assuming it was some local superstition. Later, at the diner, I noticed something even stranger. Every newspaper was dated October 17. The waitress explained that the newspapers arrived every morning, but October 17 was the most recent date anyone could remember. I checked my phone. It was October 24. When I showed her, she quietly walked away without saying another word.
That evening, I decided to investigate. I spoke with several residents, but everyone gave me the same uncomfortable response whenever I mentioned tomorrow. An elderly man sitting outside the general store finally explained that Bellweather had experienced something terrible many years earlier. One morning, the entire town woke up and discovered that the calendar had stopped advancing. People still aged, clocks still moved and seasons still changed, but every new day somehow became October 17. He told me that occasionally, strangers arrived in town, just as I had. They always left the following morning, or so everyone believed. I asked what happened to the people who stayed. The old man looked towards the church at the end of the street. "They eventually become part of the town," he whispered. Before I could ask what he meant, the church bell rang thirteen times. Every person on the street stopped moving simultaneously. Then, as if someone had given a signal, they all turned and stared directly at me.
I returned to the motel and locked the door. At 2:13 a.m., someone began knocking. I looked through the peephole and saw a little boy wearing pyjamas. He held a calendar in his hands. I opened the door slightly, and he whispered, "My mother says you're supposed to leave before morning." I asked him why. He turned the calendar around. Every page had the same date: October 17. On the final page, however, someone had written my name. Beneath it were the words: "OCTOBER 25 — THE DAY HE STAYS." Suddenly, the hallway lights went out. I heard dozens of footsteps approaching from both directions. The little boy grabbed my arm and screamed, "DON'T LET THEM SEE YOUR SHADOW!" I looked down. My shadow was standing several feet away from me, facing the opposite direction. Then it slowly raised its hand and waved.
I don't remember leaving Bellweather. I woke up in my car on the highway, approximately forty kilometres from town. My watch showed October 25, and I convinced myself that the entire experience had been some bizarre nightmare. I never spoke about it again. That was six months ago. Yesterday, I received a package with no return address. Inside was an old newspaper dated October 17. There was a photograph of Bellweather on the front page, showing the main street and the church. I almost threw it away until I noticed something familiar in the background. Standing outside the motel was a man wearing my clothes. His face was turned towards the camera, and he was smiling. On the back of the newspaper, someone had written a message in red ink: "YOU LEFT YOUR SHADOW BEHIND. IT HAS BEEN ASKING FOR YOU." Last night, at exactly 2:13 a.m., my bedroom wall began casting a shadow. It wasn't mine. It was the shadow of a little boy holding a calendar. And the date on the calendar was tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment