Creepypasta: The Provider of Nightmares

Creepypasta: The Provider of Nightmares

Every night it was the same nightmare for Tommy. The whelp of barely five years old dared not tell anyone about this night terrors that infested his sleep, and for a very good reason. The monsters had told him what would happen should he mention them in the real world. Even a brief description would allow them to cross over, forever erasing the line between when Tommy’s eyes were open and closed.

These monsters wanted nothing more than to plague Tommy. They never killed him in his dreams, that would be too merciful. Instead they drove him into that pit of absolute terror one only reaches in a frenzied nightmare, making him awake in the middle of the night shuddering and covered in a numbing sweat. But there was something that even the monsters seemed to be afraid of.

The big door.

This “big door” often appeared in the background of these nightmares, set into a wall or even simply floating in space. It was crafted of a splintered and badly worn series of wooden panels, and painted with a sloppy coat of red paint. A tarnished brass knob seemed to invite one to explore beyond, but Tommy wouldn’t dare do such a thing. Because even the monsters knew better than to go near it.

Then one night, when the monsters were going about their usual grotesque routine, Tommy had an idea. He opened his mouth and instead of letting out a shrill, piercing shriek, Tommy threatened the monsters. He said that unless they left and never came back he was going to open the big door.

Surely whatever was beyond it couldn’t be worse than this.

The monsters bought it. They vanished into pools of ichor and clouds of foul-smelling, gritty smoke. But now Tommy’s curiosity was piqued. He genuinely wanted to know what was behind the big door. Tommy approached the door, picture of the mundane as it was, grasped the handle, pushed it open and before he could stop himself he had stepped inside.

Within the room beyond the big door there seemed to be an endless pitch black space. And it was cold. Very cold. It would have felt somewhat like floating in space, except there was still a sense of up and down and there were no pinpoints of light that stars would have provided.

Tommy then heard footsteps. He spun around but the big door was gone. In the space of a millisecond he realized how grave an error he had made when he saw the source of the little pitter-pattering sound. It was another little boy, wearing old-fashioned pajamas with hair gone sheer white. Tommy was too scared to move as the other boy neared closer and closer. The boy’s dead eyes gazed off into space, a constant trickle of drool seemed to spill out from the corner of his mouth, and his fingernails were freakishly long. Those long nails grated against Tommy’s skin when the boy at last stood before him, placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder, and spoke in a dull, dry croak.

“It’s good you came here, child. It was about that time for another to take my place.”