This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/HeatConfident4673 on 2024-10-11 08:39:34+00:00.

We were untouchable back then—Emma, Lila, Jess, Brianna, and me, Clara. Five girls who ruled our little town, perfect on the outside but rotten beneath the surface. We took what we wanted, did what we wanted, without a second thought. And then there was him—Simon.

Simon was easy prey. Limping, stuttering, always avoiding eye contact like he was afraid of his own shadow. We hated him for how pitiful he was, hated him even more because he dared to exist in our world. It was a joke at first, something to pass the time after one too many drinks. Just scare him a little, make him run, watch him trip over his own feet. But it spiraled, like things do when you’ve got cruelty running through your veins.

He begged us to stop. I remember his voice, trembling as he stumbled through the trees, his breath coming in ragged gasps. We didn’t stop. Not until he fell—hard.

That sound. The crunch of bone hitting rock. The way his body just crumpled, limp and broken. I swear, for a moment, everything was silent, except for the crackle of leaves underfoot. We just stood there, staring down at him, frozen in horror. His eyes… they were still open, still wide, but he wasn’t seeing us anymore.

We ran.

We swore we’d never talk about it again, and we didn’t. We let the silence swallow the memory. We moved on, or at least tried to. But Simon didn’t.

It started with Brianna. She drowned in her own pool, which was strange enough. But the scratches on her neck told a different story. It was like someone had held her under, someone who wasn’t there. At her funeral, we didn’t even have to say it—we knew.

Then came Lila. She fell down the stairs, except her parents said they heard her laughing before she screamed. Laughing. The kind of laugh that makes your skin crawl, like something inside her snapped. They found her at the bottom, her neck twisted, her eyes wide and glassy, just like Simon’s.

Jess didn’t last much longer. She drove off a cliff late one night. Witnesses said they saw a man standing by the edge, limping, just watching as her car went over. No one believed it, but we did. We knew.

One by one, he came for them, and I watched, helpless, knowing my turn was next. I tried to run, to change, to hide. I dyed my hair, cut it short, dressed differently, even lost weight. I became a stranger to myself, thinking I could escape him. But there was one thing I couldn’t change.

The birthmark.

A small, crescent-shaped scar just under my collarbone. Ugly. Stupid. I’d always hated it, but now… now it’s the thing that will doom me. Because I know—Simon remembers.

Emma was the last to go before me. She started seeing him everywhere: in the corners of mirrors, in the shadows of empty rooms. She called me, frantic, saying he was inside her house. The next day, her parents found her, twisted in her sheets, eyes bulging, her face frozen in a mask of terror.

And now it’s just me.

I feel him, you know. In the walls, in the whispers that creep through my empty apartment at night. He’s always there, just out of sight, just close enough to remind me that I can’t escape. I try to stay awake, try to keep the lights on, but it doesn’t matter. Every time I close my eyes, I feel his breath on the back of my neck. I hear that dragging limp, the sound of his twisted leg scraping across the floor.

Last night, I woke up to laughter. Not my own—his. He was standing at the foot of my bed, his face a pale, bloated echo of the boy we left behind. His eyes… empty, like they’d never seen light. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move. He just looked at me, his gaze sliding down to the birthmark on my chest, that cursed crescent shape that gives me away.

And then he smiled.

He’s not here to kill me quickly like the others. No, that would be too easy. He wants me to suffer, to feel the weight of what we did pressing down on my chest, suffocating me day by day. He’s going to torment me, just like we tormented him, until there’s nothing left but the sound of my own screams.

I can’t run. I can’t hide. He’s always watching, always waiting. I know he’ll never leave me. Not until I’ve paid for what we did, piece by piece. Every breath I take, every flicker of light in the corner of my eye—he’s there, reminding me that it’s not over. It will never be over.

I can’t escape. He’s coming for me, just like he came for the others. And when he does, I’ll hear that limp dragging across the floor, I’ll hear his voice whispering my name, and I’ll know that this time, there’s nowhere left to run.

Because Simon always gets the last laugh.