CREEPYPASTA STORIES

Ticci Toby

The long road home seemed to go on and on. The road continued to outstretch in front of the vehicle endlessly.
The light that shone through the branches of the tall green trees danced across the window in random patterns, every once in a while, obnoxiously shining in your eyes.
The surrounding was full of deep green trees forming a forest around the road. The only sound was the sound of the cars engine as it traveled down the path. It was peaceful and let off a serene feeling.
Although the ride seemed like a nice one, it lacked every form of 'nice' for both passengers.
The middle-aged woman behind the steering wheel had neat short brown hair that fit her complexion quite well. She wore a green v-neck t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. Diamond stud earrings decorated each of her ears which partially shown from behind her hair cut. She had deep green eyes which were brought out by her shirt, and the lighting seemed to make them more noticeable. There wasn't much significance to her appearance. She just looked like any "average mother" that you'd see on t.v. shows and such, but one thing for sure made her differ from those "average mothers" and that was the dark bags under her eyes.
Her facial expression was gloomy and sad, although she genuinely looked like one who smiled a lot.
She would sniffle every once in a while, and occasionally glance back in the rear-view mirror to look back at her son in the back seat, who was hunched over partially, his arms held tight around his chest, and his head pressed against the cold window.
The boy lacked any normal appearance, anyone could blandly see that something was wrong with him. His messy brown hair went in every which way, and his pale, almost gray skin was brought out by luminescent lighting. His eyes where dark, unlike his mother's and he wore a white t-shirt and scrub pants that had been provided to him by the hospital. The clothes he had worn before where so shredded and blood stained, that they weren't 'wearable' anymore.
The right side of his face bared a few cuts along with his split eyebrow. His right arm was bandaged up all the way up to his shoulder, which had been shredded when his right side had hit the shattered glass.
His injuries appeared to be painful, when really he couldn't feel a thing. He never could feel a thing. That was just one of the glories about being him. One of the many challenges he had to face growing up, was growing up with the rare disease that caused him to be completely numb towards pain. Never before had he felt himself get hurt. He could have lost an arm and felt nothing. That and another major disorder he had faced, was the one that deemed him many insulting nicknames in the short time he attended grade school, before he was moved to home schooling was his Tourette syndrome, which caused him to tic and twitch in ways he couldn't control. He would crack his neck uncontrollably and twitch every once in a while. The kids would tease him and call him Ticci-Toby and mock him with exaggerated twitching and laughing. It got so bad he turned to homeschooling. It was too hard for him to be in a common learning environment with seemingly every kid poking, or more like stabbing fun at him.
Toby stared blankly out the window, his face was empty of any depict-able emotion, and every few minutes his shoulder, arm, or foot would twitch. Every bump that the car tires hit, made him stomach turn.
Toby Rogers was the boy's name. And the last time Toby remembered riding a car, was when it crashed.
Thats all he thought about. Unconsciously replaying everything he had remembered before he blacked out, over and over again.
Toby had been the lucky one, when his sister hadn't been so lucky. When the thought of his older sister came, he couldn't help but let his eyes begin to tear up. The horrible memories replayed in his mind. Her screaming that had been cut off when the front of the car was smashed in. It all went blank for a moment before Toby opened his eyes to see his sister's body, her forehead pierced with glass shards, her hips and legs where crushed under the force of the steering wheel, her torso pushed in from the late inflated air bag.
This was the last thing he had seen of his dear older sister.

The road home continued on for what seemed like forever. It took so long to get home due to his mother wanting to avoid passing the sight of the crash.
When the surrounding gave into a familiar neighborhood, they had both been more then ready to get out of the car and step back into their own home.
It was a older neighborhood, with quaint little houses all next to each other. The car drove in front of a little blue house, with white window panes.
They both quickly noticed the old vehicle that was parked in front of the house, and the familiar figure who stood out in the driveway. Toby felt automatic anger and frustration take over him at the sight of his father. His father who wasn't there.
His mother pulled the car up into the driveway beside him before turning off the engine and preparing to step out and face her husband.
"Why is he here?" Toby said quietly as he looked back at his mother who reached to open the car door.
"He's your father Toby, he's here because he wants to see you," His mother responded with a monotone voice, trying to sound less shaky.
"Yet he couldn't have driven up to the hospital to see Lyra before she died," Toby narrowed his eyes out the window.
"He was drunk that night honey, he couldn't drive-"
"Yeah when is he not," Toby pushed open the door before his mother and stumbled out onto the driveway where he met his father's gaze before looking down at his feet with a stern expression.
His mother stepped out behind him and met her husband's eyes before walking around the car.
His father opened up his arms, expecting a hug from his wife, but she walked passed him and put her arm around Toby's shoulder and influenced him to begin walking inside.
"Connie," her husband began to say under a raspy voice, "What, no welcome home hug, huh?"
She ignored her husband's obnoxious words and walked passed him with her son under her arm.
"Hey, He's 16 he can walk by himself," his father began to follow them in.
"He's 17," Connie glared back at him before opening the door to the house and stepping inside.
"Toby, why don't we get you in your room to rest okay? I'll come get you when dinner is ready-"
"No, I'm 16 I can walk by myself," Toby said sarcastically, and glared back at his father before stumbling up the small staircase and turning into his room where he slammed the door violently.
His little room didn't have much in it. Just a small bed, a dresser, a window, and his walls had a few framed pictures of his family, back when they where a family.
Before his father became an alcoholic, and acted violently towards the rest of his family. Toby remembered when he was arguing with his mother and he grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to the floor, and when Lyra had tried to break it up, he pushed her and she hit her back on the corner of the kitchen counter. Toby could never forgive him for what he did to his mother and sister. Never.
Toby didn't care how much his father beat him down, he couldn't feel it anyway, what he did care about was how he intentionally hurt the only two people he cared about.
And when he waiting in the hospital, where his sister took her last few breaths, the only person who didn't rush there, was his dad.
Toby stood by the window and looked out onto the street. He could have sworn he saw things out of the corner of his eye, but quickly blamed it on the medication he had been put on.
When dinner time had come around and his mother called up to him, Toby came down the stairs and hesitantly sat down at the table across from his father, and in between his mother and an empty chair.
It was quiet as his parents picked at their food, but Toby refused to eat. Instead he just watched his dad with a blank stare.
His mother caught onto his stare towards his father and elbowed him slightly. Toby looked over at her slightly and look down at his uneaten food, in which he didn't touch.