You Won't Wake Up: A CreepyPasta FanFiction (Watty's 2014)

Liar: Ben's POV

I sit there, growing fascination at each new article. Sally had left, I'm guessing it was too much. Not now, not when Jane is dead. Me, I have to hide it. I can't allow myself to show any other emotions other than the normal cocky smile, the normal irritated glance.
And yet I do feel sad. I do want to be able to finally just let out all the rage, the sadness I've been boiling up inside of me, but it's impossible.
I've already let out some yesterday, I can't continue it. I can't allow myself to sink further into emotions. I had let myself be weak, I had really asked that priest if I could still reach heaven.
Childish ideas, childish games.
And then in my idiotic attempt to run, I had to kill him. I remember sliding the sword into his ribcage, and how it no longer felt enjoyable to take another life. I can't tell if it was the circumstances, or if it was the fact that I'm changing. I'm becoming weak, I'm allowing myself to care about others. I shouldn't continue to help Sally, I shouldn't keep leading her on like this. I hurt her, and now I can't look at her without wincing at the blue black bruise around her eye, or how her nose is now adjusted to a new angle. And I cringe because I never wanted to hurt her. Something had come over me.
But isn't that how I started this idiotic game? I had become so enraged I killed my best friend. And I then had to pay for my actions by drowning beside him. And here I am, scrolling aimlessly in a dusty room, blood slowly seeping through my shirt, the computer's screen dimming as it loses power.
Demons can't die.
But they sure as hell can't live either.
And yet I decide to try and become more absorbed into the article. And as I continue to try and read the articles, I try and push her out of her mind. How she still managed to smile at me, even after what I had done. How she didn't push me away even after I had to her. How she could still manage to creep into my thoughts even after I tried so hard to forget.
It's just a crush.
People often talk about crushes and say that, 'it's called that because that's how it feels to have one!' But it isn't that at all. It's more of a slow, lingering feeling, that you can't escape unless you act on it. And if you don't act on it, you try and forget. But how can a person like me forget?
I sigh, leaning back against the bed, and I drop onto my back. I close my eyes, as I rest my head against the rumpled sheets, remembering how nine years ago I had slept in this bed. I had lived in this house.
And now it's rotting, falling apart, ripping at its seams.
Click.
That's enough to make me jolt up, remembering what Sally had said happened earlier.
If the Rake is here-
But it sounded more like a lock clicking open.
Could someone be coming in? It's likely that someone is just staying here, if they don't have anywhere else to go. But why would they have a key?
And then I freeze. Remember, Ben.
The empty beer bottles.
The stacks of unopened mail.
The food on the kitchen counter, not yet rotten, still fresh.
"Hello?" A man's voice echoes throughout the house, as I wince, and grab the sword.
Ben, calm down.
"Is anyone here?"
I close my eyes, not daring to look out into the hallway. The door slowly squeaks open, as I turn my head, finally opening my eyes.
"Who are you-" The man trails off, as his mouth slowly drops open in shock. His hair is graying, but you can tell how it used to be blonde. A seemingly permanent trail of a five o'clock shadow traces his face, the wrinkles in his face deep, uneven, making him seem years older. My hand unknowingly goes to my mouth, as I stare back at him, almost looking in a mirror. The blue eyes, even the way he holds himself, are uncanny.
For once, I allow myself to slip. I allow myself to show the tiniest hint of emotion, and my eyes grow watery, as I try to stop myself from crying.
"Benjamin?" He asks, looking at me with disbelief.
"Dad?" I respond, my voice almost cracking. It's not true, it isn't true, it can't be true, this isn't my dad, this isn't my dad-
But I know it's true.
"I thought you were dead. We had a funeral-"
"Looks like you didn't check." I smile ruefully, trying to hide the emotion I had let slip out.
"Ben, what- how?"
"I don't know." I respond, trying to edge away from his gaze. It makes me want to scream, yell, I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't-
I hesitantly stick my hand toward the computer hand, trying to escape, finally let go of what's happened. Just my luck, and the computer powers off.
"Ben, I thought you had died that day. I- someone had- they had killed you."
"I know."
He looks at me with the same perplexed gaze, as he shifts uncomfortably away from me. I stand, and swing over to the other side of the bed, finally facing him. He turns his head, not meeting my glare.
The person who had killed me was wearing a ring, on his ring finger.
A big bulky ring, silver, with a simple engraving on it that I couldn't read.
I look at my father, as it all clicks.
My mother was out of town, so my father had to take care of me.
My father was wearing a ring.
I hadn't bothered to be silent about killing David.
My father was wearing a ring.
My father's office had a direct view of the pond.
My father was wearing a ring.
My father noticed me dragging my friend out, prepared to kill him.
My father was wearing a ring.
I hadn't bothered to look at the face of my attacker, but who would if you're being held underwater?
My father was wearing a ring.
My father killed me.
I look at him, jaw open, as he refuses to meet my glare.
"You- you- you killed me." I stammer out, as my father looks up, guilt and fear mixing in his eyes.
"I was only thinking of you, Ben. My son, a killer! Would you wanted to have lived with that guilt?" He protests, stepping back as I near him.
"I spent nine years, Dad, nine years. I never once thought-" I mutter, looking down at my hands, blood soaked.
"Ben, would you have wanted to live your life in jail? Would you wanted to have ended up like that?" His voice cracks, as I notice the glint of tears in his eyes.
"What have I done?" I killed so many people, hoping to know my attacker, and it was my father. I look back down at the crimson ooze staining my tunic, at the sword caked in blood and flesh.
"Ben, please, I never wanted you to-"
"From the moment you heard about me on the news, you knew it was me-"
"Please, Ben-"
"You lied to me-"
"No, no I didn't, I- I was trying to protect you-"
"You killed me. You're only son-"
"Ben, I did it because-"
"Oh my god-"
"Ben, I did it because-"
"You liar! You liar!" I scream, as my father wrings his hands, tears streaking down his face.
"Would you have wanted that, Ben?"
I fall to my knees, tearing at my hair.
"Why? Why-"
"I did it because I love you, Ben! I did it because I love you! You're my son, Ben! You would've done the same thing!"
"Oh my god! You never loved me!"
"Ben!"
"No father kills his son!"
"I love you, Ben! A father will always love his son!"
"Liar! Liar!"
"You were standing over the corpse of David! What was I supposed to do?"
"You lied to me." My voice cracks, as I cover my mouth, feeling the sticky liquid on my hands, as it sinks into my skin.
"No, no, Ben, I never lied-"
"You killed me!"
"It was for the best-" My father protests, dropping to his knees with me.
"So I wouldn't kill? Is that it?"
"Ben, I never forgave myself for what I had done to you!"
"Then why can't I forgive you?" I scream, covering my ears with my hands, feeling the blood smear onto my scalp, coating my ears with a thick red paste.
"Ben, I'm so sorry. It was so you couldn't hurt others."
"A demon never dies."
"Ben, I never thought you would come back, not like this-" He stops, choking on his own blood as I slam the sword into his chest, under his ribcage.
"I thought you loved me!" I scream, my voice ragged, breaking, as he falls backward from the force. I stand over him, tears pouring out of my eyes as I scream a wordless, agonizing screech as I watch the blood pour out of his chest, staining my feet.
"Ben-" He croaks out, blood and tears covering his face.
"You liar!" I screech, as I twist the sword in his chest, until finally my father goes limp, a massive hole in his chest.
"Liar! Liar!" I scream the same word over and over as I continue to stab him with the sword, using all of my strength to batter his lifeless body into a pulp. "Liar! Liar!"
Blood sprays onto my face in little droplets with each downward stroke, his organs turning into red mush, his bones little white specks in the large cavity I made. I drop the sword, falling to my knees.
"Liar." I whisper, as I hold my head in my hands, as my father, the one person I thought would never hurt me, lies on the ground in a broken pulp.
"Liar."