what makes him happy.3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: October 06, 2016

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Submitted: October 06, 2016



Have you ever done something you enjoyed, but you were ashamed for liking it? Of course you have. I don’t want to say what mine was, but I will tell you that it got me arrested. I’ve already confessed and I’ve paid the price for it. I deserved it. I really need to tell someone why I chose to confess. Deep down, even though it ruined my life, I was glad that it happened.

It all started eight years ago. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of children laughing. It appeared to be coming from the kitchen. I didn’t have any children. There was a light banging and the sound of something spilling onto the floor. I grabbed a baseball bat and went to investigate.

I burst into the kitchen and turned on the light. “What are you doing?!” I shouted.

Three small children were on the kitchen table. Food was scattered everywhere. They were greedily stuffing food into their mouths as though they hadn’t eaten in days. Two of them were boys. One of the boys appeared to be at least six years old while the other two, who I assumed were twins, appeared to be five. When they finished their mouthfuls, they turned to me.

“Hello,” the five year old boy said happily. “Sorry about the mess, mister. It has been years since we have had fruit, and meat, and cheese, and sweets.”

“How did you get in here?” I demanded.

“We walked in,” he cheerfully replied. “Mama let us go ahead. We got bored, so we decided to go through your fridge. You are so fat, we thought you would not miss any of our food.”

“Get out or I’ll call the police!”

The little girl started swinging her legs over the chair. “Do it then,” she challenged. “If you call the police, then Mama will come sooner.”

“Right!” I marched towards her and went to grab her arm. I didn’t really want to call the police on some kids, but something about them made me feel uneasy. I was going to kick them out and if they wouldn’t leave, then I was going to call the police.

Just when I was about to grab her, something in the back of my mind told me that if I touched any of those kids, I would regret it. I stopped myself and backed away.

The five year old boy smiled. “You cannot touch us,” he proudly stated as though he had read my mind. “If anyone tries to threaten us, then they will invoke her wrath. Even Papa knows better than to try and hurt us. Unless you want to suffer, you cannot make us leave.”

“What do you want with me?”

“We know that you like to watch horrible videos with children in them,” he told me. “That means that you are filth and it is our duty to rid the world of filth.”

The children’s smiles got bigger. “Mama will not be much longer,” added the six year old boy. “She is going to punish you. How you do think she will punish you, mister? She keeps it as a surprise for us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Mama curses people for being filth,” the five year old boy explained. “Sometimes, you will die slowly. Sometimes, you will die quickly. Sometimes, your life will be ruined instantly. Sometimes, your life will be ruined eventually. I hope you die instantly, mister.”

I jumped when I heard the front door slam shut with such an impact, the windows rattled slightly. There was a slow shuffling sound, like someone was limping.

The three children started giggling. “Mama is coming for you,” the six year old boy said in a cheeky voice.

I turned to the hallway. I stared into the darkness to see a figure slowly approaching me. It looked like a young boy in a long white robe. As he got closer, I realised that it was in fact a woman in her late teens with long dark hair. She had her arms crossed over her chest with a pink book in one hand and a doll in the other. She was covered in scars, as though she had been beaten by something curved and heavy. Her left leg didn’t seem to be working properly as she limped towards me.

She stopped in the doorway. She ignored me and turned to the three children. The children started smiling.

“Mama, this food is so tasty,” the five year old boy declared.

“Can we watch this time?” the older boy asked.

The woman slowly shook her head and turned to me. She met my eyes and I felt a strong urge to start crying. She looked away and her gaze returned to those children. The sad look in her eye went away and a small smile appeared on her face. She took a step forward into the room towards my table, turning her back to me. The children held their arms out to her, expecting her to pick them up and hold them.

I noticed that her dress was backless and it exposed a horrific sight. Black, pulsing veins sprouted from her shoulder blades. Between the veins were half-moon marks, circular burns, lines of dotted sores, and deep scratch marks. They looked fresh, yet severely infected.

I covered my mouth with my hand as I repressed a retch. The woman immediately turned to hide her back from me. She looked concerned and frightened as she stared at me.

“Mama, you do not have to be sorry,” the eldest boy told the woman. “The mister is filth and you should not feel bad if he’s scared of your back. He should be horrified.”

“What happened to your back?” I managed to ask.

“She was the victim of filth,” the five year old boy informed me. “Our Mama is broken because of filthy humans like you. Filth do not think about their actions and the consequences they have. We will never meet our real Mama because of filth like you.”

“People like you deserve to suffer,” the six year old added. “But you must be worse than the one who broke Mama. At least she only ruined the lives of two people. You are trying to ruin the lives of lots of children.”

“When you get to hell,” the girl finished, “they should wrap barb wire around your willy and make you watch those videos again. You should burn in hell because you are one of the worst kinds of filth out there. You are ashamed of your filthy deed and yet you still enjoy it. Why? Why do you not admit to liking it? Why not admit to it?”

Without thinking, I ran towards the girl. I didn’t realise I had raised the knife at the time. The woman suddenly appeared in front of me. I didn’t have time to stop until I drove it into her chest.

I felt like I had just come back into reality as I watched her white dress slowly turn red. I let go of the knife’s handle and slowly backed away.

The woman started to slowly breathe in and out. Her eyes slowly changed golden. The look in her eyes turned my hair white.

Her body started to change. She grew taller and wings burst out of her back. Her left wing was like a bat’s membrane and the right was more like a bird’s wing. The wounds along her body opened and soon, her dress and skin turned red. She pulled back her lips to reveal her long and pointed teeth. Her gums and lips turned back. Her nails grew longer and curved over her fingertips, like a cat’s claw.

“I-I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t…”

She let out a scream. I don’t know how to describe it. It wasn’t human, demonic, and no animal on earth could have made such a noise. The children cowered in fear at the sound. I stumbled and fell to the floor.

The woman dove on top of me. She knocked me to the ground. I screamed as she clawed at my face. I saw everything turn red. It got hotter. I could feel my bones breaking and blood escaping from my body.

I don’t if I had passed out, or I started hallucinating to cope with the pain. I saw someone who looked like that woman. Her scars were gone. She appeared more human, yet she seemed so angry and cruel. She was staring at a small child. I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl, but their face resembled the woman in my hallucination.

The child looked up at the woman – presumably their mother – in fear as it was yelled at. It slowly turned around, removed its shirt, and lay down on the floor. The mother violently started kicking their back, leaving half-moon marks. The child grew older, slowly turning into a young woman with every kick.

The child was suddenly standing up again, looking up at their mother. They turned around, removed its shirt, and lay down on the floor. The mother buried a cigarette into the child’s back, leaving circular burns. The child grew older, slowly turning into a young woman with every burn.

The child was suddenly standing up again, looking up at their mother. They turned around, removed its shirt, and lay down on the floor. The mother started stabbing the child’s back with a fork, leaving a straight line of dotted sores. The child grew older, slowly turning into a young woman with every stab.

The child was suddenly standing up again, looking up at their mother. They turned around, removed its shirt, and lay down on the floor. The mother ran her nails along the child’s back, leaving deep scratch marks. The child grew older, slowly turning into a young woman with every scratch.

I stopped dreaming. I couldn’t move. I could smell something burnt. I could hear the sound of a fire burning. Every part of my body was in tremendous pain. I could barely see, but I caught a glimpse of the night sky and a house on fire. Before I passed out, I faintly heard the sound of a woman sobbing.


I awoke in the hospital. The majority of my body was burnt and several of my bones had broken. I lost the ability to see and hear properly on the left side of my face. Despite this, when my body recovered to some degree and I was released from the hospital, I was arrested. Somehow, my computer’s files and my search history had been emailed to every police officer in town. I was sent to prison for five years, and I’m currently on parole.

Earlier today, I read an article about my house burning down. Apparently my furnace had exploded from a pressure problem I was not aware of. According to some witnesses, a young woman had dragged me out of the house. Three small children had followed me. Smoke rose from my charred body, but they were fine. The woman stayed beside me until the firefighters arrived. The children sat around her as she started wailing. When help arrived, she vanished.

It’s been eight years since this happened. I don’t why she let me live, especially when all four of them considered me such a disgusting individual who deserved to die. She had decided what my punishment was.

And she knew who was going to carry it out.

In prison, nobody wanted anything to do with me. I was frequently beaten up every day before being placed into isolation. Sometimes I wouldn’t be fed for days. I silently spent days staring at my wall until they put me on parole.

When I was released, my family and friends pushed me out of their lives. None of them would answer my calls. They wouldn’t let me into their houses. I was banned from so many places and I stayed at home all the time. My neighbours in my new home would avoid going near me. Some of the kids would throw rocks through my windows.

I wish that woman had killed me. I wish I had died from my injuries. I wish I had died from my beatings. I wish I had starved to death. I wish I had died before I was released. I wish I could find that woman again and thank her for allowing me to suffer.

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