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Aftermath ( A very short scary story)

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Spoopy Stories
Weasel, Your Acting Teen
By: Weasel

I was never a nice kid when I was young. I was the playground bully, the one who constantly bragged about winning in sports, picked on anyone who I didn't consider a friend, and was a nuisance to every teacher I've had. I'm now in my twenties, on trial for a crime I didn't commit. Mass murder, arson, and kidnapping.
it wasn't me.

All the way through high school I made her life a living hell. The quiet girl, the one who always sat alone. I harassed her all hours of the day, both on social media and in school. She soon went missing, I saw her every night in my dreams. Staring me down. Sometimes she wasn't there psychically, but I could feel her presence. Watching as I drowned in oil, or was beaten by my past victims, or burned alive.

I couldn't take it any more. The torture and the pain of those dreams. My parents put me in therapy. It didn't help. My therapist said it was the aftermath of my actions. It was my guilt. My conscience. I regretted what I did, not for her sake but for mine. I just wanted to stop it all.

Then came the whispers, in and out of my head. Some small things at first. Steal this or that. Get in a fight with so and so. I ignored it, but it became unbearable. After I did the voice was quiet. Then it got worse. Telling me to kill, first animals, then people. It told me to set people and their homes on fire. I refused.

Each day whatever it said would happen. A family going missing. A charred corpse found in the forest. A building burned to the ground. Security footage was found and shown to me after I was arrested. It was me, but yet it couldn't be. It had to have been the girl, she did those things to frame me. She told me to do those things, but I had always refused. Didn't I?

I was sentenced to be in jail as long as I would live because of the crimes carried out, but it couldn't have been me. I wouldn't do those things. I never could. Could I? No I couldn't. It was the girls doing, returning the favor of her torment and the pain I caused her.

I still had those dreams, but it was the people killed and hurt. People burned, stabbed, starved, and beaten. All from that girl. The one I treated badly. The one I hurt. This is my fault. This is the aftermath of actions.

(A/N: Want to read more like this? Check out my book "spoopy stories" on! My account is @PhanicingTwentyOneFallOutRomance! Hope you enjoyed!)