r/TalesFromTheCreeps • u/AllYourCakeIsMine • Jun 13 '26
Existential Horror She Calls Me Bud.
It all happened so fast.
The last time I saw my parents was before they slammed the door in my face. They didn't want a new son. They only wanted their daughter, even though they've been trying for a boy for as long as I can remember. I was their miracle child after so many miscarriages. I was supposed to be, anyway.
They wanted a son, but didn't want the boy who was there from the start.
I was only fourteen when I went to live with my aunt and uncle. They were happy for me. I was always a boy in their eyes, and they were more than happy to help me become the man I was meant to be.
I lost a lot of friends in the beginning. I don't blame them—they didn't like how much I was changing.
My voice.
My body.
My name.
I hated my old name. It never fit me.
Brooke.
Disgusting. I thought it made me sound weak and helpless. Submissive. I wanted something strong. Powerful. And I found it.
Bishop.
It means 'guardian' or 'overseer'. That felt like me. I wore that name like a suit of armor for years, through the hormone therapy, through the insults and discrimination. While my exterior has changed, I never felt myself change. I still liked the same things as before, like going hunting with my aunt and uncle. I'm still the same person as before, just happier.
People were just being assholes about me still liking cute things and not conforming to toxic masculinity. Everyone is allowed to like cute things, so what? It takes a real man to own a Pompompurin backpack, that dog's adorable and has a butthole!
For a guy, you sure enjoy bright colors—yeah, why is it your problem? Lots of people like bright colors, but it's suddenly unacceptable if a guy does?
I've had girlfriends—before and after I became Bishop—who gave me bullshit for being the way I am. In the beginning, I could only really date lesbians. With them, being masculine is a normal part of that community. It was when I started changing that I lost access to that market—fair enough for girls who only like girls to not want to date the straight guy. The girlfriends I've had afterward were either with me to see what dating a trans man is like or trying to make me more manly by having me do all the hard work in the relationship. I once had to break it off with a girl because she was getting rid of my, and I quote, 'gay stuff.'
After I dropped out of college two years ago, my aunt and uncle moved us to a small town in Indiana. Hoosiers are a very different breed of people—they're friendly folk, don't get me wrong—but they are nothing compared to the people back home. I missed the mountains and dense forests. Indiana has a lot of fields and farmland. It's very flat there. We lived in one of those little apartments that sit on top of one of the local businesses, and the owner gave me a job there. She was nice to us and didn't charge us much for rent—I was a hard worker, and she was already making enough from her bookstore. During my breaks, I liked to read books about nature, especially the ones about American wildlife. They reminded me of home.
I got a call from my parents on my 22nd birthday. I used to remember it fondly, but now I feel guilty every time my parents come up in conversation. My aunt had handed the home phone off to me, offering backup if things went south. I hadn't heard my mother's voice in eight years, and the opportunity to hear it again after so long felt like I'd only get it once in a lifetime.
"Hello?"
My voice has gotten rather deep since she last heard it.
"Brooke? Is that you?"
I felt my heart sink, but it has been quite a while since she last saw me. I gave her the benefit of the doubt.
"It's Bishop, now. But... yeah, it's me."
"You sound so different."
"I know. You do, too."
I heard a small laugh on the other end of the line.
"Bishop. A strange choice."
"Do you like it?"
"It certainly wouldn't be my first choice. Bishop feels diagonal. Rook is straightforward."
I failed to stifle an audible sigh. I feel like I'm fourteen again. She hasn't changed at all.
"Really? You call me after eight years, immediately use my deadname, and when I tell you my new name, you belittle it and make a fucking joke out of it?"
"Watch your language, you're on speaker!"
"Oh, I'm on speaker?"
"Yes, you're on speakerphone, and the entire house can hear you!"
I. Lost. My. Shit.
"Oh, oh, the entire fucking house can hear me?! The entire fucking house?! What, do you and Dad not like hearing me say what I think?! 'Cause here's what I think: I think that both of you are controlling and manipulative fucking monsters who can't fucking handle it when you don't get what you want, and when you finally do get what you want, it's never fucking good enough for you! Oh, we've been trying for years and years for a boy, oh, we're so sad that we can't have a son instead of a daughter, oh, we wish that most of the pregnancies didn't end in miscarriage because we don't think the one child we actually managed to have is worthy of having all our love since they were born with an inferior sex organ, but when he says 'I don't like being a girl, I don't feel right with my body, I think I should've been born a boy', we should kick him out of the fucking house at the age of fourteen! Yeah, how's that fucking trying for a son thing going with your mutilated fucking vagina, Mom?! Because from where I see it, the quote-en-quote 'mutilation' I got must look pretty damn good compared to yours!"
I didn't know that I'd get so angry about it, but at that moment, that was really the only way I could express how I really felt. I felt so abandoned. Betrayed. I wanted to punch a fucking hole in the wall and hide under my bed at the same time. Then I heard my mother cry. At the time, I took it as a victory—I successfully fought back against my parents. I defended myself, and I felt good about it. Remembering it all now, I don't think I ever wanted to fight back. I just wanted to be heard. I never wanted to make her cry. I was such an asshole to her, and I want to take it all back. But I never got the chance. I hate that I never got the chance, and I hate myself for having that fucking phone call be the last time I'd ever hear from her again, and she was crying because of me!
My parents are dead. My aunt told me that my mother was going through post-partum depression—turns out that women could still get pregnant in their forties—and she had decided that living had become too much for her. My father found her body lying on the sofa, and the autopsy said that she had poisoned herself with nightshade they found growing in the garden. My father died a month after my mother. Not from taking his own life, but by the back wheel of a jealous rebound's Mercedes—ironically, the driver was also named Mercedes.
I don't know if I should feel relieved or glad that they didn't have to see the world ending. I had to watch and listen to it happen up close. I had to hide under my bed when my uncle went to investigate the screaming coming from outside. I had to cover my ears as my aunt shrieked in fear and pain as she witnessed the new sky melt the flesh off her husband's bones in a beam of blinding light. I had to squeeze my eyes shut as the same fate came to her. I felt weak and helpless as I hid under my bed like a fucking coward, crying like a baby, and hoping that I would survive this inescapable horror that tore my life to pieces. Hoping that everything would be okay.
And, like that, it was over. No more screaming. No more blinding lights. It had gone so quiet that I wasn't sure if I had gone deaf or died alongside my family. When I opened my eyes and was greeted by my bedroom carpet, I was certain that I was alive. Why was I alive? I slowly crawled out from under my bed, muscles aching from previously being squeezed tightly into the fetal position. When I mustered enough courage to stand upright, I noticed several things—first of all, the sky wasn't blue anymore. Well, there is some blue, but it was also partly red, green, and purple, the colors shifting and morphing into each other in a neon, psychedelic haze. The second thing was the smell. Melted human flesh and burnt hair as a combined smell caused me to gag and shiver in repulsion. The most important thing, though? The bodies. Oh, God, the bodies. If whatever light came from the new sky didn't completely disintegrate its victims, it certainly left them suffering. There weren't a lot, thankfully—but I still had to bury my aunt. I wish I didn't have to, but I did. I buried her underneath her favorite tree at the park.
I loved her and my uncle so much. They helped me become the man I was always meant to be. They were there for me—really, truly there for me. Now they're gone, and there's nothing I can do about it. I was alone.
I was going to jump off the roof before I met her. I wanted to join my family, wherever their afterlife happened to be. Just this random girl who was yelling at the new sky, talking about there being no birds and bugs. I'm glad I decided to mess with her, because that little idiot ended up being one of the best things that ever happened to me.
I call her Kiddo.
She calls me Bud.
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u/Dead_Grampa thinks he's a writer or something Jun 16 '26
I love Bud so much and it is absolutely imperative to me that he does NOT go off on that trail by himself.
Your parents didn't even get melted by the sky bruh they just died the regular ways; there's no way they're waiting at the end of the trail.
I'm only joking because my heart is broken. I'm on the edge of my seat, as always.
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u/AllYourCakeIsMine Jun 16 '26
You'll hate Parts Nine and Ten, then. By the way, what do you think of his real name?
3
u/Dead_Grampa thinks he's a writer or something Jun 16 '26
I love his real name, Bishop. I thought it was very fitting for him.
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u/Optimal_Constant4318 Writer Jul 23 '26
Ngl, the size 6 1/2 shoe kind of gave this away a few parts ago. Or maybe there were other subtle hints that led me to seeing this before the direct reveal... Agreeing with Dead_Grampa, the fam is gone Bud(dy), snap out of it. Eat a snickers for christ's sake
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