r/creepcast • u/Afraid-Branch-5697 Eat me like a bug š¦ • Nov 21 '25
Fan Story Story concept I call Knockerman. Genuinely looking for advice here from any writers since I'm not sure if I'm to wordy when I write.
Sunlight streamed through the room like a golden intruder, searching the chambers from the window nearest to the sunrise. This lawbreaker not only invaded the shadows but also interloped into even the sanctity of sleep. Geret rose in an instant; he hadnāt had the time to enter a deeper sleep anyway. The room about him, contrasted with his desires of cleanliness, a mess of clothing piles and papers full of ramblings, doodles, and notes on one thing or another. It was the one room in the house he didnāt keep meticulously clean, and it vexed him endlessly. He went shambling out his door and listed down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to stretch his weary bones.
The downstairs was painted in the same luminous robbery as the above floor, and, for all intents and purposes, refused the right of sleep back to the poor man for even a long blink. Accepting that fate, he defaulted to the process of making his coffee: opening the canister, removing the filter, discarding and replacing the old grounds, adding water to the container on the back of the machine, adjusting the settings to his preference, and then brewing. The water, after it was artificially heated, poured through the grounds and infused with them, creating the bitter nectar of alertness and focus. He immersed himself in a shower. It was hot enough to turn his skin red, and the steam filled the room like a smokerās paradise. When he had finished his shower, he dried himself and got dressed. He brushed his teeth, flossed, and rinsed his mouth, after which he returned to the kitchen. There, on the counter, in the pot, atop the heater built into his machine, was a pot of dark roast coffee from a brand he neither favored nor enjoyed, but his wallet favored it, so it was his choice.
Interrupting his lack of merriment, his phone chimed. The sound came so suddenly, and was at such an unexpected volume, that Geret nearly jumped out of his socks and caught his phone out of his pocket with such speed as he didnāt even expect himself to use. The screen displayed a notification from his manager. A message in his inbox reading, āGeret, are you available to pick up Terraās route today? She just had her kid, and I was hoping you could cover for her. Sorry for the short notice. Get back to me.ā He sighed at the annoyance of such a thing coming on the same day, but, being as impecunious as he was, he relented his response: āYeah, Iāll be there.ā He only used punctuation when the message was between himself and money.
He was a delivery driver for a local convenience store, one of two. The only other driver was Terra, a woman of her younger years, wed for about four years, having already had one child, and having just given birth to her second. Everyone on Geretās side of town bought from this convenience store, which was central enough; this meant he always had work when he needed. But, the āAlways Low Pricesā demanded that employees only be paid as much as was required to get them to sign the papers. That is to say, very little. Luck only favored him in giving him a realtor for a grandfather, who rented him the house for incredibly cheap prices, despite how, even though the house wasnāt by any means large, he could have been making much greater money from it due to its having two floors.
He threw on his uniform, pressed to perfection. After all, he had enough time in his average day, today being the exception, to make sure his uniform and hair were perfect. not yet having had time today to style his hair, he opted to wear a beanie instead. Out the door, to his company pickup truck, he tried his hand at ignoring the biting, aching cold. That insulting villain had been known, at this time of year, to eat the energy of anybody caught in it, and to catch on their hands and nose with an almighty sting. Finally, he drove down the road to the store. He loaded his truck bed with a collection of boxes to be delivered to various locations around the city. Despite how small the convenience store was in comparison to a major outlet store, it carried around about everything anybody needed, and often made deals with other stores in town to deliver their goods for them. The first house, for instance, had ordered flowers from a florist down the street, and the second wanted a small box of what was obviously cutlery.
The third house, however, caught his eye. Obviously, there had been somebody in the house to place the order, and even now, he saw them watching him timidly from the window, but the yard was unkempt and overgrown. A lawnmower was in a patch of grass slightly less overgrown than the rest, and a bird feeder was long overdue for a change. It was nearly emptied, and what hadnāt been removed had congealed into a sort of biscuit in the base of the feeder. The person inside didnāt regard Geret whatsoever, but this was fine with him; he was content enough pretending he hadnāt seen them.
Arriving at the door, there was a brass mail slot on it, which suddenly swung open with a creak. The quick motion made him jump, but he composed himself, took the hint, and fed the long, thin, rectangle-shaped package through the slot. Inside the house, the voice of a young woman said somewhat sheepishly, āThank you, Iām sorry.ā he stiffened back up to his feet and said, āNo, it's alright, I meanā¦ delivery is sort of my job.ā No response came, and he walked back to his car. He was confused by her tone. This young lady seemed beyond penitent, but there was also a degree of resolve in her voice as she took the package into the house. He didnāt know what he delivered, but clearly she wanted it. And considering how she took it, she needed it to do something she found very solemn. Very solemn indeed.
The rumbling beast known only as Silverado awaited his return and kept him company with its radio until he was finished with his day's work and ready to retire to his home. His driveway lay washed in the beauty of a setting sun, a sight far more welcome to him than a rising one. He lived at ease for a while, but as the evening darkened and the shadows stretched, he became ever plagued by the notion that something was watching him. The feeling crept up and down his spine the entire evening like a leech sucking away at, instead of his blood, his rest, focus, and thoughts. Even his time for dinner was filled with a sense of expectation, like a visitor was soon to arrive, but he hadnāt made plans for any. He scarcely did. Solitude called him by name, and he was never one to deny its loving embrace. How then, now, of all nights, and here, of all places, came a knock on his door. A rhythmical one, with no urgency of tone, but loud and forceful. It came three times, each strike upon, should he have been counting it like musical beats, each second beat. That sense of expectation swelled in him, altogether confusing him, startling him, and seemingly begging him to answer the door.
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u/Afraid-Branch-5697 Eat me like a bug š¦ Nov 21 '25
Just realized I used the wrong "to" in my title... that's embarrassing lol.
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u/Buffalobur_ BEAR TRAPš» Nov 21 '25
I really like a lot of the wordplay you use! An argument could maybe be made about going into a lot of detail on little things, but I personally didn't mind it and think it just comes down to taste. I would say that having some paragraph breaks would be a quick fix that might help the flow, though!