It All Happened Too Quickly

At first sight, maybe it was my fault. I refused to move with them to London, wanting to stay in Sweden to finish my astrology projects. I had a lot of plans for the future, but it all slid down into nothing except pure sorrow of mine.

Realization of someone being dead hurts, it surely does. Even for a grown up man I’d keep on being mama’s boy who would visit her daily if he could.

I didn’t expect them to simply vanish from my life, straight into the coffin, to rot and be forgotten.

I now understood the phrases we learnt throughout our lives, they only appreciate us if we’re dead. But if I am dead, who will appreciate me, if I’m dead together with the ones who would be crying above my grave?

Who will cry above my grave if not the rain?

The Brompton Cemetery and the Battersea Bridge.

After participating in the funeral, I had an opportunity to visit the house my parents bought when moving here. It was near the Battersea Bridge, where they would usually stand to smoke and talk with me on my mother’s phone. I would always see the ceiling of the bridge once talking with them, as they told me that they love this place due to its beauty. I didn’t find any beauty in it, I thought it was a bridge which was built through history, that’s all. What was so beautiful in a bridge above the river? I’ve seen plenty of those, wondering what the difference is.

I took my car keys out, closing the door after myself and locking my car with the key. My car was parked in a surprisingly empty parking lot. I wonder why no one approaches this place during the evening. Such a peaceful solitude when there’s silence..silence, and only silence. The only things to accompany me are my footsteps and the sound of crickets in the distance, elsewhere in the bushes.

I’d take out my cigarettes, inside a Marlboro package which I bought recently. Those cigarettes remind me of my mother, since they were her favorites, from what I knew.

I’d stop in my tracks whenever noticing the Under Bridge. The place my mother usually called me at.

The funny thing was that it had multiple names, and one of them was the small Albert Bridge – which reminds me of my middle name. I was surprised when I looked it up and saw that the name of it is similar.

It was dark under there, no wonder why, though. It was mid November at the time. I had my winter jacket on, with fur surrounding the edge of my hood.

Standing there, frozen, I would think twice before approaching the Under Bridge.

It was until I heard a voice from the dark, and seeing a mattress laying down, with the company of an old, soiled blanket.

“Aye, young lad! What’re you doing here?”

I let out a sigh of relief once seeing the homeless man peek out from the shadows, raising a brow at me.

“Good evening, sir. Uh..Is this the Battersea Bridge, I suppose?” I did sound very awkward, which I absolutely despised doing. I’d rather be sounding more confident than have a nervous attitude. Knowing the answer is obvious already makes me feel stupid, too. But checking twice is never harmful.

I’d light up my cigarette while approaching the guy with light steps, unsure if I even should get near him.

“Yes, yes it is. So what’re you doing here?” He’d sit down on his mattress, glancing up at my cigarette and extending a hand out to me, gesturing as if he wants one as well.

“Visiting the city.” I’d take out my pack once again, handing him a cigarette and lighting it up once it’s in his mouth. In a reply, he’d just nod to approve my sentence.

Staring further in the river and exhaling the smoke out of my mouth. Shit, all of this reminds me of my parents. The smoke, the man, the under bridge. Even London in general.

“I’ve never seen ya around before. Are you some new lad in London? Perhaps searching for a job, huh?” The homeless man turned to face me, as well exhaling the smoke out his mouth once finishing the question.

“My family died and I didn’t have the courage to stay in my country.”

“Oh, shucks, sorry little guy.” He’d cough, as I saw him with the expression of concern and pity.

I did look pained and bothered by my family being a bunch of graves now, it felt lonely being on your own.

“I guess it’s my damned destiny. ”I expected the man to laugh, but he kept quiet. Maybe saddened by my story.

I’d take my phone out of my pocket, unlock it and get into the gallery app. It’ll bring me a bunch of pain, but I wish to see them again. Anyhow, on a device or not, but alive. Alive, healthy and glad.

I press on the video with my mother as the cover, as she comments on the little me dancing. I was between 6 and 7.

“Yeah, Nick! Great moves!” She’d comment, as I chuckled at the background music and me dancing.

“Yeah, Nick! Great moves!” I stood in place, hearing a raspy, mocking tone. I thought I had been hearing things, until turning around and seeing something I was unable to describe.

Eyes glancing at me, with a beak put into a grin. It didn’t show itself immediately as I took a step back in shock, taking a look at the mattress. The man was gone from his spot, as I kept backing away from the creature.

“What the fuck are you?” I mumbled out, still shocked at the sight of the creature. It finally reveals itself from the shadows – a body of a mound, figuring out it was green-ish, though brighter at its stomach and breast. Skinny legs, similar to bird ones, holding the creature’s large body on itself. It’s neck..being twisted, to glare up at me. But its glare didn’t show frustration. It shows satisfaction, the satisfaction of my fear.

It was feeding on my fear.

“What the fuck are you?” It repeats after me, its gaze not turning away from me. Walking further away from whatever the hell it was, a hallucination, possibly.

But no, it felt so real. I could practically feel it heavily breathing, I felt it eyeing me with a sadistic look in it’s eyes.

I’d look around, to get rid of that piercing stare through my soul. Noticing the homeless man.

His body was twisted. In a literal sense, twisted.

His limbs were turn into unnatural angles, his head in its own pool of blood. I could feel as if he was still alive, feeling that pain, his cracked bones and twisted flesh right before his fate.

Without thinking, I step back off the edge, finding it the only way out of the situation and doing it out of shock. I felt quilt for not saving the man. I felt quilt for every action I’ve made – I could’ve ran away already, but my stupidity won this round. At this point I just felt stupid and naive, messing things up in the worst way possible.

Sinking to the bottom, already thinking I’d die a peaceful death rather than being twisted in different angles by some mound creature. Both are ridiculous deaths, I expected to die known by history. We all expected it someday, but instead we would die forgotten.

Its face disappeared from my sight. I heard something screaming, right before I felt myself gasping for air and closing my eyes.

It felt so peaceful. Under the water, all alone, drowning in cold water.

Solitude before death.

Being able to keep secrets.

My head felt heavy once I got up. And as I did, my eyes widened at the sight of an unknown to me location.

The place seemed odd, something about it made me feel uneasy.

Rain pouring outside with thunder made the environment seem creepier, yet so comforting. The sound of fire cracking in the distance, somewhere near me. Once I look at the source of the sound, I notice a fireplace and a coffee table nearby the place I sat in. It held up a hot chocolate cup with marshmallows inside of it, cup being black coloured with an eye sticker on it. Right beside it, a plate with a meal of two eggs and two bacon slices, freshly cooked. I’d look up at other sofas, noticing a person with a suit and crossed legs, looking at me in curiosity.

I jumped back, holding my head. I wondered if I’m dead.

“Good morning, Nicholas Dalman. Am I right?”

A male voice spoke, it felt as if they were mad at me, even though they would sound so calm and collected. I could sense their anger, somehow.

I’d nod as a reply.

They would sigh, still looking directly at me.

“We have discovered what you have seen at the Battersea Bridge. And to get rid of it -”

He’d pause, as if studying my expression.

“We want you to keep yourself quiet. To keep it a secret that you have been ever associated with the creature in any way possible. Interacting with them is the last thing you wish to do, right?”

I thought about it, sitting up on the couch and staring back at the unknown figure.

“Right. And how are you going to prevent me from stumbling upon it again?”

I’d tilt my head to the side in curiosity, shifting in my position.

“It is none of your business. Listen, you do not wish to be involved in this, lad. We will appreciate you for being quiet. By being quiet you’ll manage to help with a lot of things, for example – letting us do our job.”

“And what if I refuse?” As I asked, the man’s eyes narrowed at me and he spoke once again after a short while.

“Let’s just say you’ll face consequences by spreading information about the creature. We will make sure to keep you in place. At this point, our conversation has come to an end. You have been warned, and you’re on thin ice, Dalman.” He’d stand up and walk further in the dark, leaving me alone on the sofa. Being lost in my thoughts, I’d stand up myself, heading out to grab my jacket over at the counter.

“And remember,” He spoke again, as I slowly turned around to face him being right behind me, staring at me with the same piercing glare.

“We are always watching.”

I felt myself feeling a hint of fear, before brushing it off and heading out with my jacket in my palm. I’d get my shoes on, open the door and walk outside. Getting at a fast pace, I saw the man watching me from the windows of the cabin, as I sped up to find my car.

Once seeing my car facing me, I’d run up and sit in the driver’s seat, starting the engine and immediately driving away, further in that foggy path.

A foggy evening, I felt myself shivering from the cold, even in my winter jacket. It almost felt as if I was in a dream, lost and hopeless. If I ever tell anyone, I might end up dead. Low chances someone will believe me, though. They spread rumours as if i’m a suicidal man from the streets who recently got his whole bloodline dead. The police didn’t even bother – they just made sure I’d admit the words of my “savior”, who dragged me out of that river and put me on a stiff couch.

I had all the rights to speak, yet something held me back. The thought of me dying such a stupid death again – I will not manage to accept my fate again. The thought of me dying forgotten haunts me, since there is not a single soul to remember me. And plus ruining their job for curiosity of mine is unnecessary.

I kept quiet for a long while, not speaking about it, making me feel less watched by the unknown company team.

Tend to forget

A quiet evening in a little house somewhere in the woods. Everything being frozen in time – forgotten and left to rot.

The rain kept dripping outside of my window, as I closely watched the nearby road with cars passing by from time to time.

I never spoke about that situation ever again, but it kept haunting me. The river, the feeling of dying peacefully. It kept following me like a dog in my mind.

I couldn’t get rid of the creature’s presence, the quilt of not noticing the man’s suffering.

I had a decision to try and forget it, moving on with my astrologist job.

It was New Year’s Eve soon. I celebrated Christmas on my own, with a pack of 15 minute lasagna in the oven and a salad out of the store products. To drink, I bought myself a bunch of cheap ice tea. Spent my evening alone at the table and called my friends through the town. They all were busy, and sadly didn’t manage to come over.

It felt lonely but nice, though.

The Journal

I tend to forget all the things that happened to me.

Though the quilt kept following me around until the end of my days.

It was hard for sure to become an astrologist, the job of my dreams, now exploring space through documents and writing, through telescopes and decisions.

But I never got to truly enjoy it.

I felt as if… It was mostly useless. I wouldn’t discover anything new, anyways.

The next few months I kept working, though. Found a company and possibly found the joy in my life, through being a decent, depressed man.

It all happened too quick, everything passing by such a small amount of time.

I wish myself luck, I guess. / 01/11/2019 / New Year’s Eve.

This Creepypasta is based off Cai Jan, The Mocking Bird