Life After Death
Creepypasta / Marble Hornets x Reader Fiction
Credits: I do not own anyone’s Creepypasta OC nor any characters from Marble Hornets, divider done by gamingchii18 on Pinterest
Warnings: This fanfiction contains violence, gore, murder, cult-like sacrifice, stalking, heavy angst, mental illness, Tourettes, car accidents, body disposal, and other dark themes. I am still adding tags as the fanfiction progresses. On another note I am aware that the story of Marble Hornets and the Creepypasta AU are separate, this is a Crossover AU. Reader is depicted as Female.
Chapter 2
“God if I close my eyes, I pray my soul to keep” Nightmare on Elm Street By The Misfits
The sun is rising, it’s a new day and yet nothing about you feels ‘new’. Most likely because you have been driving all night.
You have just crossed state lines, a big ‘Welcome to Alabama’ greeting you.
The road is long, there is an open field you drive by. The sky is painted by hues of violet and orange mixing together, it’s pleasant to look at but you don’t do it for long.
You must stay focused.
You drive for another two hours until you enter Blue Ridge, a small town near the Appalachian Mountains.
Its population is a little over 3,000— you hope you can find some decent work.
This is what you do now— hop from place to place, work a couple of months and then take off like a bat out of hell to the next place.
You used to wait until something went wrong; them finding you, you murdering yet another poor soul.
You're smarter now, or at least that’s what you tell yourself.
Although you did just have a slip-up.
You groan.
You drive over an old wooden bridge, a vast river lay below. You hold your breath till you reach the other side. It takes a short drive to get to town.
You would dare describe the place to have some sort of rustic aesthetic. Each building looks aged but well loved and cared for.
As you drive through, the town begins to stir, everyone is getting up for work.
Although what really catches your eye is a help wanted sign posted on a wooden stand outside of what looked to be a local grocery store.
Perfect.
You find a cheap place to stay, a little rental cabin near the edge of town. There are two other cabins to your left, though they don’t look as well kept as the one you stay in.
Worst case scenario, if you couldn’t afford the one you were staying in you most likely would have camped out in one of the others. The thought of having to sleep in your car another night didn’t sound pleasing to your back.
It was a lady you spoke to when you were paying for the rental—Margret— who told you that the other two cabins were under construction as the electricity didn’t work in either.
Margret was a sweet old lady with a gray bob cut and almost cartoonish, round glasses that sat on the bridge of her button nose.
Her pale skin was dotted with beauty marks. She looked to be maybe 5’6, but was slightly hunched over.
She was inviting and warm— these traits made her feel familiar. Reminding you of a time when the world was kind to you.
She offered for you to join her for tea at her home as she only lived a half mile away from the cabins. You politely declined— claiming to be too tired from the drive. Best not to get too close.
Margret simply nodded and told you that the offer was always open.
Once you dragged your luggage into the cabin you did a brief look around at your new home for the next couple of months.
The wall paper was a cream color with royal blue flowers printed on it.
As you walk in deeper—your old beat-up sneakers making soft tap, tap, tap sound on the polished wooden floor.
The dining room, kitchen, and living room were all connected within the same open space. The sight makes things feel a tad cluttered.
There was an old red sofa across from a fireplace. On both sides of said fireplace were two full bookshelves, perhaps Margret was an avid reader.
Adorning the wall were painted pictures of what looked to be some of the places you passed within the town on your way to the cabins.
The dining table and its three chairs were painted white— a nice contrast from the dark oak floor. It was placed by one of the kitchen windows— natural light cascaded over said furniture.
It would be a nice place for a family to share a meal together.
You think back to when you were younger. Sharing dinner with your parents had been a staple in your childhood— a perfect way to end the day.
Mother would make dinner— something tasty but also nutritional. Often taking vegetables out of the garden she had grown as she hated going into town to get groceries.
Father would come home after a long day of work at the lumberyard. He looked worn but would always have something sweet to say to you and your mother.
Dinner would be a time to forget of the trials and tribulations earlier that day and to simply sit and enjoy family.
What a simpler time.
The kitchen within the cabin was nothing to write home about. It was simple and clean. No microwave— you would have to cook your meals.
Not ideal but you could work with it.
The cabin’s bedroom was small. A queen size bed sat in the middle of the room, a nightstand on either side, and a closet with five hangers for your clothes.
On either nightstand was a lamp— big enough to light up one half of the room if turned on.
Above the bed was another window. You decided to close this one’s blinds— the cabin was one floor only after all.
Connected to your bedroom was a bathroom— complete with a shower, a sink, and a toilet.
This place was a real step up from sleeping in your car all of last month. To rent the cabin for a month was six hundred dollars. For your situation it was a little pricey but ultimately do-able.
You want to just go straight to bed after hanging up some of your clothes and doing a little unpacking— but you can’t.
The job at the local grocery store, Community Goods, is calling your name.
You shower first— wash away all the grime thoroughly.
You feel more awake after.
You dry off and dress yourself in tan khakis and a navy blue polo shirt. It's an ugly combination but it’s all you got in terms of “nice” clothes. You throw on a jacket and grab your keys.
The grocery story was a typical grocery store, although lucky for you the manager had to fire someone, leaving a position wide open for you.
The manager, Katie, had practically hired you on the spot.
She was nice enough.
Katie seemed to be in her mid thirties, she had an athletic build and was on the taller side. She was well put-together, her auburn hair was placed in a low ponytail, her uniform held no wrinkles, and she looked awake and bushy tailed—a characteristic you were jealous of.
She reminded you of someone who as long as you got your work done and didn’t get up to any trouble she would be pleasant to be around. No nonsense—you could respect that.
Katie informed you that you were not her only hire that day, as she wanted more people on the night shift. She gave you clear instructions to be back at the grocery store at 4pm sharp to be trained alongside the other new employee.
Easy enough.
You had about six hours to kill until then.
You exchanged information with Katie, you gave her your burner phone’s number and a fake name. Dawn— this would be the last “D” name you chose.
Typically you choose five names from each letter in the alpha bet. You have been going in alphabetical order, after ‘D’ you would move onto ‘E’ names.
When it came to last names you had a rotation of five: Smith, Johnson, Williams, Brown, and Jones. Basic American last names. Today you would be known as Dawn Smith.
A part of you misses hearing your own name—for people to know the real you. It has been what feels like forever since you’ve had a real companion. This new lifestyle is lonely, but to drag someone else into your mess wouldn’t be fair. You were selfish, but not that selfish.
You headed back to the cabin after the exchange.
You set out your new uniform neatly on your nightstand before you get into bed.
Changing out of your clothes into something more comfortable would be ideal but it slips your mind as you begin to doze off.
Dreams could be hellish nightmares or simply nothingness until you awoke.
Although as you found yourself coming to the pavement on the sidewalk you guessed which option you got.
A headache greeted you from within your temples. You are warm—a little too warm. It smells like a campfire. A groan escapes past your dry lips as you try to peel your eyes open.
It takes a minute—your vision is blurry.
You blink away your blearyness and take in the nightmare you’ve been thrusted into.
Houses are burning—a neighborhood on fire under the night sky.
The sight sobers you up and you pick yourself up off the pavement.
You should have gotten up slower—the world around you spins. You stumble.
Leather gloves are pressed into the sides of your shoulders. Your back now pressed against something firm.
You have played this game too many times to wait around and see what has its claws sunken into you.
You jolt forwards—but the gloved hands keep you in place with a vice like grip.
“I-It’s buh-beautiful isin’t?”
The voice—male— is muffled.
The body behind you shutters before it locks up, then easing once more—a twitch.
You are becoming painfully more aware of who is behind you at the moment.
Fighting is useless against him—he never feels the blows you deal out.
Running is your best option. You just have to time it right.
“Did you do this?” You start slowly, choosing your words carefully.
“I th-think so.” he replied as you could feel his gloved fingers dig into the flesh of your shoulders.
“Tha-That’s nu-not what we are huh-here to t-t-talk about Champ.” he continues, he twitches again—a cracking sound emanated from behind you. His tone is taunting. “Yuh-you’ve been ruh-running for a wuh-while now—leaving a MUH-MESS for us t-t-to clean up. Buh-Boss isn’t huh-happy about it.”
There was venom in his tone as he spoke. His chin then found purchase atop your head—the edge of his muzzle digging into your scalp.
His body went rigid once more, he jerked his right side forward— knocking you forward in the process as his grip loosened a smidge. You had a sliver of an opening. You took it.
You dropped low and then sprung into action. You pushed yourself to move as fast as you could— you charged towards the tree line—away from the burning houses, away from him.
You don’t dare look behind you—that is a waste of time.
As you run farther and farther away from the fire you no longer feel the heat that had been keeping you warm. The air holds a chill to it.
You make it past the tree line—your shoes connect with dry leaves and you wince with how loud you are.
“YUH-YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER!” His voice carries through the woods— raw and hungry. He’s too close for comfort.
A wolf closing in on its prey. You don’t want to feel his jaws clamped down on your throat.
It’s becoming too dark to see now—the moonlight does not shine through the canopy provided by the trees.
Something whizzes past your head— so close to your face you could feel the wind be cut to make room for the object. For a moment you shift your gaze away from the path ahead in time to see what made its way past you embed itself into the base of a tree— a hatchet, specifically one with the neon orange handle.
Any thought of slowing down to hide has been put to rest by that simple action.
Panic crawls up your spine. You couldn’t keep this up forever. At your realization of impending doom, static seems to bloom within your head.
Oh how IT relishes in your suffering.
Although you turn your focus back to the dark path a little too late as you collide with a tree.
Your ass hits the forest floor—hard. Your hands had done nothing to cushion your fall as they were cradling your now battered nose.
Something is definitely broken.
No time to dwell on the pain that throbs from the area or the warm, viscous liquid that pools into the palms of your hands.
You’re loosing precious time, you have to pick yourself up.
The tree that had been in your path moves—its branches twisting unnaturally.
That’s not a tree.
Slowly—you tilt your head up until you have to crane your head as far as your body will allow.
A pale, blank, face greets you.
Adoring it’s long, slender figure was a suit and tie—most of it’s attire blended into the darkness. Yet it’s stark white face stood out among the shadows of the night—peering down at you.
Suddenly you are no longer afraid of your original pursuer. Your heart has dropped to your stomach.
Time freezes, and so do you. You don’t move, you don’t even dare to breathe.
Hell, you can’t even form a proper thought.
Leaves crunching under shifting weight alerts you to another guest joining this little powwow.
It shifts it’s pale gaze from you to the twitchy individual behind you— his ramblings muffled by his mask.
You do the same—and there he stands in the dark.
A figure standing among the trees— you can barely make out his signature beige sweatshirt— the sleeves have brown stripes going up to his shoulders. His brunette locks of hair splay every which way—free from the blue hood he usually has up.
Covering the lower half of his face is a ribbed muzzle. The accessory is gray and black in color. His eyes are hidden behind these chunky, amber goggles—the same ones that had greeted you all that time ago on the back road.
His jeans are dirty and torn. He has a thick belt, attached are two holsters—empty as he holds a hatchet with a wooden handle in his gloved hand.
He can’t seem to stay still. His head snaps to the side before his shoulders bob up and down. A sharp sound pierces the air—he is cackling.
“No muh-more running Chuh-Champ!” he taunts you once more as he approaches you—slow and steady.
He is the wolf, and you, the lamb ripe for the slaughter.
He rears up—hatchet held tight in his grip as he holds it above his head.
You don’t even get the chance to scream as he swings down—aiming for your head.
He never makes contact.
You awake with a start—sweat beading on your skin in cool drops.
You're trembling— but you at least are able to breathe again. Shaky, shallow breaths pass through your dry lips.
It doesn’t take long for your breath to hitch once more— a sob tears its way up your throat. Tears—hot and fresh— stream down your cheeks. You curl in on yourself.
You want to feel safe—to reassure yourself that it was just a dream. But you know better.
You must stay on your gaurd—you will never know another day of being at ease, to live without worry.
You mourn as you weep into your shaking palms.