I Need to Believe in Ghosts

The elevator door opened and I stepped out.

The lights were out, for some reason. My apartment unit was somewhere further down, near the end. It was a walk I had taken so often, every single day, without even thinking. But never in the dark.

I began walking, eyes turning involuntarily to each passing doorway.

Then I heard it.

Scraping. Dragging. And a noise that I convinced myself, oh so hard, was due to an old air-cond unit starting up.

Until I saw it. Emerging from the doorway.

Hollow eyes. A flayed mask for a face. Ruined, fingerless hands, reaching forward.

And oh so much blood.

I had stumbled back two steps, nearly falling over, before the reptile brain kicked in and I sprinted for the elevator.

Behind, I heard it croaking. And the scraping. Dragging itself after me.

I didn’t look back. I punched the elevator button over and over and over.

Scrape

Then, mercifully, the doors opened, flashing a ray of light into the hallway.

I dashed in, hitting the wall, nearly weeping in relief.

Then I realized that I hadn’t closed the doors.

It was still crawling on. Inch by inch. Toward me.

I smashed my fist on ><, and prayed.

The last thing I saw before the doors closed were its eyes. Bloodshot. Lidless. Staring straight at me.

It’s been a month.

I believe in ghosts now.

I believe that there are monsters who haunt this world.

I believe that what I saw wasn’t human.

And I must, must, ignore the newspaper reports that she had crawled on her stumps, bleeding gallons, dying only inches away from the elevator door.

By: thebestcreepypasta

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