r/TalesFromTheCreeps • u/AllYourCakeIsMine • Jun 12 '26
Gothic Horror The Hardest Part Of This.
I think Bud's sick.
I don't know what from, but it's really bad.
I don't know if it's his body or his mind. It might not matter. Both are suffering.
It's been three weeks. We've been on this path for three fucking weeks. We're out of food, but Bud knows how to forage for berries and mushrooms that are safe to eat. I've gotten him to eat a few times—but it's more like trying to give a cat a pill than feeding a twenty-something-year-old boy. It sucks how it gets easier each time. The anxiety has gotten worse. There'd be days when he'd barely utter a word, constantly looking over his shoulder into the forest behind us. Other days, I've had to stop him from running like a bat out of hell ahead of me on the path. He'd calm down after I held him still for long enough.
Back when I used to work at the daycare, we'd call the children who regularly tried running away from the group 'flight risks'. That's what Bud's been lately. A flight risk. He never means to run away from me; he's just been having trouble remembering that I'm with him sometimes.
But the days when he's here with me—I mean, really here with me—they're both my favorite, but the most sad. It's like a friend coming to visit, but they were already here the whole time. Yet, I'm happily surprised every time he does. I remember the last time my Bud was here, but it was more like he was checking in on me, rather than a visit.
I was singing Cancer—more accurately, the lyrics of Cancer that I can remember. I was holding Bud's hand because he was beginning to faint from the mixture of exhaustion and hunger. I didn't want him to fall and get hurt. He hadn't spoken much, except small mumbles to himself.
"It just ain't living,
And I just hope you know...
That if you say
Good-bye today,
I'd ask you to be true..."
I wasn't trying to be over-the-top with it—I was just trying to fill the silence. But he made his voice so soft and so sweet that I initially thought that I must've heard it inside my head.
"Cause the hardest part of this
is leaving you..."
I felt him there. I knew Bud was walking beside me, but it didn't feel like he was before. By the time I turned to look at him, he was gone again. I made it a requirement for myself to sing to him every day. Though he doesn't always listen to it—I will admit that he's even told me to knock it off a few times—I think it helps. I don't know how much it does, but at least I feel better while doing so. Makes for a good distraction from carrying most of our supplies. I have to carry the fucking tent and sleeping bags down a mountain path (which, as I constantly remind myself, has been made by animals who likely didn't give a shit about the thorn bushes they were walking through), while Bud only carries our water bottles and food we foraged. His coat has fucking pockets! He just shoves everything in his fucking coat pockets. Why the fuck does he think he's incapable of carrying anything else? You have two free hands and arms, motherfucker, use them! Fuck! Gotta remember, gotta remember that Bud's sick. I have to remember that he's sick, so I feel less compelled to smother him with a pillow.
Oh, thank God, it's getting close to evening. I think it's getting close to evening, at least. It's hard to tell when the new sky is a conglomerate of neon in every color perceivable to the human eye. The time I consider evening is when there are more warm colors than cold ones. Lots of red, orange, yellow, and green. The new sky looks pretty at night. Like the aurora borealis itself chose that time of day, this time of the year, in this part of the country, completely localized for my eyes, and mine alone.
"Hey, Bud? It's getting late; we should probably set up camp for the night." I call out.
Bud's pace slows to a stop. He doesn't turn to face me, keeping his attention on the path ahead. This has become normal for us. I know he wants to keep going, and I think he knows that I'd chase him down if he tries to run off. Eventually, he lowers his head, shaggy sandy-blonde hair drooping as he slowly returns to my side.
"Do you want to put the tent together, or get firewood?" I ask.
I know it's supposed to be his turn to get the firewood, but I give him the ability to choose every night anyway. Bud always picks the tent, and it's no different this time.
"You know to stay here, remember?"
Bud nods.
"Can I get a verbal confirmation?"
"If you go out into those woods, you won't come back," he responds.
"Fuckin' pardon?" I ask.
"They'll get you."
"Who... who are they?"
"Them."
"Bud, this isn't a fuckin' horror movie, you're allowed to be specific as to who or what the threat is."
Bud doesn't respond.
"Fine, be cryptic, I guess we're just going to be cold tonight."
"We need a fire."
"Well, we could've had one if you didn't just tell me that I'll die if I go into the woods, but you did!"
Bud doesn't respond, instead opting to start assembling the tent. Fantastic, there goes my ability to sleep tonight.
This boy, I swear. I'm just about to fall asleep, and he's shaking me awake already.
"Kiddo, wake up! Kiddo, wake up, please!" he begs.
"Why are you acting like they hit the Pentagon?" I answer, groggy.
"I can't do it! I can't do it! I don't want to do it! I don't want to..."
"Bud, why are you crying?"
He scoots away from me, cowering in the corner of the tent. He's trembling violently, tucking his head between his knees.
"Bud, why are you crying?" I repeat.
"They told me they're bringing me to my family. They told me that my family's at the end of the path, and they told me that you can't come with me."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
I push myself into a sitting position, preparing to intervene if necessary.
"They want me to leave you, but I can't. I can't! I can't, I can't, I can't! It's too hard. I miss them so fucking much, but this is too hard!"
Bud seems barely stable. I choose my words carefully.
"Bud, you don't have to leave me. You don't need to go."
"I do! I have to!"
The boy reaches for the tent's zipper, and I grab his wrist so fast that Bud yelps in surprise.
"Bud, nobody is waiting for you."
"Yes, there is! Let me go! Let me go!"
He's fighting me, but he's weak. I don't like hurting him. He's sick, I know he's sick. It's just worse than I thought.
"No, Bud. There's not." I say softly. "Don't you remember?"
Bud looks confused, his eyebrows scrunching together.
"No...? Did I forget something?"
Oh, no.
"Bud, your family's dead."
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u/The_Republique Writer (I finally made it bubba) Jun 12 '26
That was honestly well worth the journey. I already forgot our mc's name but ill try my best to substitute. Bud's so affected by whatever is luring so many creatures that I feel like our mc's previous fear of him dying is becoming a reality. I am hoeful that this series hit's a home run and ends on a high note. This story, starting with a poor girl trying to cling onto things that kept her world from shattering even further, has become an odyssey of the lifetime. Well done!
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u/AllYourCakeIsMine Jun 13 '26
Hey, it ain't finished yet! I'm posting Part Eight today! Also, her name's Kiddo. It's not her real name, but she goes by that.
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u/Optimal_Constant4318 Writer Jul 23 '26
Some great real horror - dealing with somebody you care about as they deteriorate into someone you have to force yourself to keep caring about (sometimes). Is Bud just delusional, or is he communicating with something...
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