Creepypasta & r/nosleep Stories

Tales from the Gas Station (5/?)

I should begin this entry by saying how truly sorry I am to anyone who read part 4. I had no idea that was going to happen. The agents have assured me that every trace of the story has been removed from the internet, and that there is nothing to worry about.

If you were unfortunate enough to have read part 4: I beg you, for your own sake, try to forget everything. If you experience nose bleeds, dizziness, migraines, or hallucinations, go immediately to the emergency room. If you have a recurring dream of an island made of song, under no circumstances should you approach or attempt to open the blue door with the painting of a crow on it.

If you did not read part 4: There was no part 4. It does not exist. Forget you ever heard of it.

By now, you probably already know that there is a shitty gas station at the edge of our small town, and that weird things have been happening there. The city council has personally asked me to stop talking about it, as there have been some astute readers that not only tracked down our small town from the brief descriptions I've given, but actually come and visited me at work. I heard that one of them has joined the Mathematists, and as far as I know the other two are still missing. Once again, I am sorry.

I'm not working right now. It's the first legitimate break I've had since I first started writing my stories on receipt paper all that time ago. Time moves funny here. Flowing slow and fast all at once, like molasses out of a shotgun. It's a good thing I've been keeping a journal. I've got a few moments before my laptop dies, and I think now would be the perfect time to transpose my journal entries, before the battery runs out or the blood loss gets me. Right now it's a race to see what happens first.

Before any of you worry, I've already called Tom. He said he's on his way here to give me a ride to the hospital, right after he picks up dinner for the Ledford orphans, John-Ben and Little Sister. Tom and the other deputies have been taking turns checking in on and bringing them food in an attempt to make the whole thing less tragic. They've been living on their own ever since the incident that totally did not happen (and anyone who says otherwise is a damned liar).

There I go again, off on another tangent. I guess I'll get to it, and type up my journal entries while I still can.

11/02/17

9:00 PM

So much has happened here since the Halloween incident that we aren't allowed to talk about. I've been much busier than usual, dealing with the aftermath as well as the cult. The Mathmetists have been cleaning out our inventory on a daily basis, planning ahead for some kind of secret event that I only get to hear about in hushed mutterings and whispers.

Night is coming earlier, and the weather is getting colder.

11/03/17

2:00 AM

The man in the trench coat is back. He's standing just outside the gas station door, staring in. He's been there for almost an hour now. On the bright side, I haven't had a customer come in since he showed up. On the not-so-bright side, I can't help but feel like he's trying to put thoughts into my head. He won't be able to, though. I've had way too much practice.

Kieffer came in earlier today, before the sun went down, and sat in a booth drinking coffee for a while. Eventually, Spencer Middleton showed up. Spencer had a word with Kieffer, then came storming up to my register, screaming at the top of his lungs. He grabbed the display of lotto scratch-offs and threw it across the room. It was obvious that something had upset him. That's when I took the earplugs out.

"Everything ok?" I asked, stupidly. I knew damn well everything was never "OK".

"Did you hear a word I just said?" Spencer asked.