The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester Himawari

  Heyo, guys~! Just a small breakaway from my posts to give you a short announcement that I have imported some of the old creepypasta I collected and posted on past blogs into here, and they were sorted out via date published, so you might have to browse the archive by clicking on the right side bar and check out stories that you haven't read yet in the past years posts. Also, I've been experimenting and playing around with ChatGPT for fun, and I thought it should have a blog of its own instead of it being cluttered into this blog and be lost into the ethers of time. So if you're interested to read it, feel free to click on the picture at the bottom to go check stories and poems and other forms of literature that I have been collaborating with ChatGPT. Hope you'll enjoy!

    Phoebe has always hated Halloween. Even back when we were dating—she never came to any Halloween parties with me. I have a cold. I have a headache. I ate something bad. After we got married and moved into the suburbs, she wouldn’t even join me handing out candy to trick-or-treaters. I’m going to sleep, she’d say, even though it was only 6 o’clock. She'd even ask me to leave the house because I was "making too much noise." I let it slide… until Anthony was born. ”Come on. We have to go trick-or-treating.” Anthony was dressed up as the cutest little pumpkin—only 8 months old. He smiled as I bounced him in my arms, looking out the door into the night. “I’m really not feeling well,” Phoebe replied, lingering on the stairs. “You seemed fine ten minutes ago.” “Well, I don’t feel well now.” “I don’t believe you.” It was mean, but I was annoyed. She’d given me the same excuses for eight Halloweens in a row

  Evan continued to grow in my arms. My urge to hold onto him, to protect him, struggled against my growing fear and revulsion as I felt his body shift and expand, growing large and heavy enough to slide out of my grasp and thump softly to the floor. I started to reach out to him again, but something in me recoiled at the idea of touching him. With everything going on, could I even be sure this was my son anymore? So instead, I took a step back as a hissing orange glow blossomed out in the hallway. It was the thing that looked like Cody carrying a lit gas lantern into the room. The light cast shifting shadows as the lantern shifted and swayed with her steps, making the room and the woman look vaguely sinister in the ever-dancing dark. Meeting her eyes, I saw she was smiling at me. “It’s hard, isn’t it? You may think I don’t understand, but I do. You’re confused and afraid, and a part of you wants to just run away. Be safe. Another part feels gui

  “Get away from him.” Her smile widened. “What’s wrong, honey?” Stepping forward, I grabbed Evan under the armpits and started to pick him up. He even felt heavier and bigger than he had before. What had she d- “You’re acting strange. And you’re not taking my son anywhere when you’re like this.” Her hand was suddenly on my arm, painfully tight and twisting my right hand away as I tried to pick Evan up. Grimacing, I yanked my arm away and gave her a shove. “Stay the fuck away from me. You’re not Cody.” Glaring at her, I shook my head. “I don’t know who or what you are, but I know you’re not her.” “Stop it, Steve. Don’t hit me again. Leave us alone!” Her voice had gotten louder and higher as she spoke, breaking into a tremulous falsetto. Her expression had never changed from that mocking smile, her eyes doll bright and staring as she got to her feet. I stared at her. “What the fuck? I didn’t…” The air was knocked o

  I sped all the way home, and once I got there, I fought to keep from running into the house. I had to act normal, whether there was something wrong or not. And what real evidence did I have that anything was wrong? A creepy story from a tow truck driver and a muddy fingerprint that was probably my wife’s? I gave my head a small shake as I unlocked the front door. Time to get my shit together and act like everything was fine unless and until I was sure it wasn’t. Walking into the house, I heard my parents and Cody talking in the living room. Their voices sounded relaxed and cheerful, and I felt myself calm down a little as I stepped around the corner and said hello. My parents were sitting on the sofa and Cody was in one of the recliners nearby, while Evan was sitting on the floor playing with a group of robot action figures, his face drawn down into a concentrated frown. When he looked up and saw me, his face lit up and he ran over to give me a big hu

  “You think I don’t see who you really are. But I do.” I looked up from the discharge paperwork to see Cody smiling at me. I’d gone back and tried to talk her out of leaving the hospital yet, but it was no use. She wasn’t rude or angry about it, just firm. She felt like she had given them enough time to do whatever tests they needed to do, and she remembered enough of her life now that she was ready to get back to it and remember the rest. I told her I understood, and I did, but I also held back some of my own doubt and worries. Not just about her memory, but Is she really your wife? how leaving before we had more answers might lead to more problems down the line. Not just for her, but for me and Evan. What if You let a stranger, an invader, into your life? Into your son’s life? she acted different with Evan and he didn’t understand why? Obviously she couldn’t stay there forever, but would a few more days to give them

  The next two days seemed like a bad dream, somehow moving agonizingly slow and too fast all at once. I wanted Cody to be okay, to be back to herself, but I also wanted there to be something wrong that they could identify and fix. I felt guilty at that, even though I knew it was because I wanted Cody to be okay and as she was, and I didn’t see a clear path to that without some idea of what was behind her sudden memory loss. Except it wasn’t just that, was it? It was the call from the man at the wrecker service, with his talk of bears and broken glass. I’d called him back the next day to tell him to keep storing the car and so I could set up a time to go by and get anything valuable out of it, but I had to leave a voice mail. I was somewhat relieved, as I dreaded the idea of talking to him again, of him telling me more things that made me worry or doubt that I really understood what was going on. That I could trust what was going on. That I could

  My wife Cody and I have run an assisted-living home for the last seven years. She inherited it from her mother, and while I was initially very unsure about us taking over that kind of responsibility, it’s actually turned out great. Our twenty tenants have their own bungalows, and we aren’t taking care of them directly in any capacity. Our job is mainly maintenance of the property, helping the tenants get in contact with the services they need, and normal business administration stuff. And having our house next to the property means that we can spend more time together and with our son, Evan. He’s going into preschool next year, and having this time with him and each other…well, we’re all really close and very happy. And if you’d asked me two months ago how things were going, I would have said everything was pretty great. But then back in September my wife had an accident. I got the call while driving through the country a couple of counties over. The