Porcelain Shylo [A Original Creepypasta OC Story]

Chapter 4

Shylo crept deeper into the hallway, rage burning inside of him.

His footsteps seemed to echo off the walls. Nothing scared him anymore. Not after what he just witnessed.

He would never forgive his mother for what she did to him.

That sickening face that she made on that doll. It seemed happy to be murdering his father.

His vision was red, and his heart was beating fast.

He had to get that knife. If he got it, then it would all be over. He knew that if he picked it up, and cut her throat, she'd be dead. And everything would be over. All the pain she had put him through would melt into oblivion.

All the abuse, all of the days he came to school with bandages on his arms, bruises on his legs, and much worse. All of the days she would call him worthless, good for nothing, and incapable of being a good person.

She was the most narcissistic, bad mouthed bitch he had ever met. And he was going to put and end to what she had caused.

This was her fault.

Shylo heard something behind him. Just like in his nightmare.

He had just made it to the kitchen, but something told him to stand still, and don't move. As if saying, 'if you move, you'll die.'

He was completely still. No movement could be detected.

The noise grew louder.

Flashbacks of his nightmare came to him.

He remembered a cracking noise in the dream. Maybe his dream was trying to warn him, about what was about to occur.

The cracking noise, followed by footsteps got even louder.

It sounded like it was filling up his head. As if someone took a needle and injected something in his skull. But with the cracking and chattering noise.

Loud footsteps quickly moved in many directions.

He remained still. He was too angry to be scared. Whatever it was, would have to face Shylo.

He closed his eyes. He remembered something his father taught him.

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"Okay Shylo, I'm trusting you. Remember what I've taught you, my son."

Shylo and his father sat in an open field some where on the outskirts of where they lived.

"This technique will help you with your anxiety. If you use this technique daily, your stress will melt away."

Shylo took a deep breath, in and out.

He imagined a room full of butterflies. He had always loved them. They were so graceful.

Before they are a butterfly, they're just a small worm, helpless. But as they grow in the cocoon, they evolve into a beautiful butterfly.

Shylo felt as if he was flying. All of his anxiety melted away.

"Remember. I will always be with you, my child."

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Shylo felt at peace. The noise had been canceled out, and the thought of his mother dissapeared.

Shylo's eyes we're still closed, and the technique worked.

Despite all of the chaos that happened behind the scenes, it was like Shylo was under a spell.

The room seemed quiet, even though it wasn't.

His heart stopped beating so fast, and he slowed his breathing.

He could hear a faint giggling noise, and figured out it was his mother.

He snapped out of it.

Shylo turned around.

There she was. His mother was standing right in front of him.

She looked even more terrifying than before. Her smile was even wider, showing her teeth, and her gums. The buns on her hair were falling out, and her hair had little pieces of grass in it. Her dress was stained bloody, and covered in dirt. She looked as if she hadn't showered in years. She looked absolutely crazy.

Shylo couldn't move. He had never seen his mother look this terrifying before.

He started crying again. He had no hope. The technique that his father taught him only lasted for a little bit.

Shylo's throat felt heavy.. Like he was drowning. He began coughing. Uncontrollably.

After minutes, his mother still stood in front of him, in the same way she was 2 minutes before.

Shylo felt a sharp and burning pain inside his stomach. Blood ran from his mouth all the way to the floor. The pain was unbearable. He began screaming. And that's when, he noticed the knife, that was deep inside him.

His vision went blurry, and everything went black.