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Bloody Painter Creepypasta Christmas animation-In Kitchen 
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[Voice actor]

LanceLight

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[Character]

BloodyPainter © DeluCat

Eyeless Jack © Azelf5000

Sally © Kiki-Hyuga

The Puppeteer © Maja Cronvall 

Judge angels © Yaguyi
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Merry Christmas!!!

Creepypasta #357: The Forgetful Game

The unlocked door that you definitely remember locking. The shining light bulb that you’re sure you had turned off. Something that happens to people all the time. That minor detail that wouldn’t catch your attention if you weren’t absolutely convinced it hadn’t been that way just a moment ago. It catches your eye as you pass or as you’re about to exit a room. You furrow your brow and wonder how this could possibly have happened. You decide shortly that you must have just forgotten. With a shrug, you turn the latch, flick the switch, and things are as they should be.

The open window that you could swear you had closed. The keys on the kitchen counter that you know for a fact had been placed on the dinner table. Something completely mundane, a minor inconvenience at the very worst, but for that first second. That brief moment where your senses flare and your spine tingles. That fleeting opening in your mind where fear flashes behind your eyes. It’s not even long enough to form a proper thought, but enough for your instincts to shriek “danger” into your ears. Who could have done this if not you? Is there an intruder in your home? Someone hidden somewhere, anywhere within your sanctuary, your safe haven? But your senses clear and that terror releases its clenching hold around your heart as quickly as it appeared, before you even had a chance to truly process it. You write it off as being absent-minded, shut the window, pocket your keys, and never think twice.

The water faucet running long after you last used it. The television screen blinking back to life after you are positive that you shut it down before leaving the room. I call it the Forgetful Game. A bit of a contest you have with yourself as you try to remember whether or not something is amiss in your little world or if you’re just not recalling correctly. You catch movement from the corner of your eye, hear a floorboard creak from another room and your eyes dart and your head whips but you see nothing else, hear nothing else. That fear bubbles up, catching your breath in your throat as the notion that you are not alone crawls from the back of your mind and bears its cruel claws and jagged teeth. In this handful of seconds, you debate investigating further, checking the other rooms of your home. You convince yourself that if you turned around at that moment, someone, something would be there. Someone, something that found its way into your safe haven with the sole intention of hurting you in the most unimaginable ways. But, once again, that thought passes in the blink of an eye, as if it were never there. You’re just getting yourself worked up over nothing. It was a simple, everyday mistake. You turn the handle and the water ceases to flow. You click the remote control and the television goes silent once again.

And that is how you win the Forgetful Game. You fix that tiny break in your life’s continuity. Plug the leak, seal up the cracks. Everything is back to normal and it never crosses your mind again. That’s how it usually goes; it’s an easy game to win. But there are those of you who will break the rules. You won’t bother to lock that door again, to shut that window. You’ll let the terror take hold and search the dark corners of your home. You won’t make right the inconsistencies. You won’t forget that the shadow you saw flit by your peripheral vision had a very distinct shape, a definitive form. You won’t look past how much that distant creak sounded like a careful footstep and not just the building settling.

You’ll go off, leaving that light shining, leaving the television to broadcast to no one. You’ll go and seek for the source of this wrongness instead of accepting that it was just a slip of the mind, a trick of imagination. And when you do that, you’ll find me. You will find me and I will tell you that you have lost the game.

Credits to: Evergrey06

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a thing i did for despairkuroha last night

Autopilot

Have you ever forgotten your phone?

When did you realise you’d forgotten it? I’m guessing you didn’t just smack your forehead and exclaim ‘damn’ apropos of nothing. The realisation probably didn’t dawn on you spontaneously. More likely, you reached for your phone, pawing open your pocket or handbag, and were momentarily confused by it not being there. Then you did a mental restep of the morning’s events.

Shit.

In my case, my phone’s alarm woke me up as normal but I realised the battery was lower than I expected. It was a new phone and it had this annoying habit of leaving applications running that drain the battery overnight. So, I put it on to charge while I showered instead of into my bag like normal. It was a momentary slip from the routine but that was all it took. Once in the shower, my brain got back into ‘the routine’ it follows every morning and that was it.

Forgotten.

This wasn’t just me being clumsy, as I later researched, this is a recognised brain function. Your brain doesn’t just work on one level, it works on many. Like, when you’re walking somewhere, you think about your destination and avoiding hazards, but you don’t need to think about keeping your legs moving properly. If you did, the entire world would turn into one massive hilarious QWOP cosplay. I wasn’t thinking about regulating my breathing, I was thinking whether I should grab a coffee on the drive to work (I did). I wasn’t thinking about moving my breakfast through my intestines, I was wondering whether I’d finish on time to pick up my daughter Emily from nursery after work or get stuck with another late fee. This is the thing; there’s a level of your brain that just deals with routine, so that the rest of the brain can think about other things.

Think about it. Think about your last commute. What do you actually remember? Little, if anything, probably. Most common journeys blur into one, and recalling any one in particular is scientifically proven to be difficult. Do something often enough and it becomes routine. Keep doing it and it stops being processed by the thinking bit of the brain and gets relegated to a part of the brain dedicated to dealing with routine. Your brain keeps doing it, without you thinking about it. Soon, you think about your route to work as much as you do keeping your legs moving when you walk. As in, not at all.

Most people call it autopilot. But there’s danger there. If you have a break in your routine, your ability to remember and account for the break is only as good as your ability to stop your brain going into routine mode. My ability to remember my phone being on the counter is only as reliable as my ability to stop my brain entering ‘morning routine mode’ which would dictate that my phone is actually in my bag. But I didn’t stop my brain entering routine mode. I got in the shower as normal. Routine started. Exception forgotten.

Autopilot engaged.

My brain was back in the routine. I showered, I shaved, the radio forecast amazing weather, I gave Emily her breakfast and loaded her into the car (she was so adorable that morning, she complained about the ‘bad sun’ in the morning blinding her, saying it stopped her having a little sleep on the way to nursery) and left. That was the routine. It didn’t matter that my phone was on the counter, charging silently. My brain was in the routine and in the routine my phone was in my bag. This is why I forgot my phone. Not clumsiness. Not negligence. Nothing more my brain entering routine mode and over-writing the exception.

Autopilot engaged.

I left for work. It’s a swelteringly hot day already. The bad sun had been burning since before my traitorously absent phone woke me. The steering wheel was burning hot to the touch when I sat down. I think I heard Emily shift over behind my driver’s seat to get out of the glare. But I got to work. Submitted the report. Attended the morning meeting. It’s not until I took a quick coffee break and reached for my phone that the illusion shattered. I did a mental restep. I remembered the dying battery. I remembered putting it on to charge. I remembered leaving it there.

My phone was on the counter.

Autopilot disengaged.

Again, therein lies the danger. Until you have that moment, the moment you reach for your phone and shatter the illusion, that part of the brain is still in routine mode. It has no reason to question the facts of the routine; that’s why it’s a routine. Attrition of repetition. It’s not as if anyone could say ‘why didn’t you remember your phone? Didn’t it occur to you? How could you forget? You must be negligent’; this is to miss the point. My brain was telling me the routine was completed as normal, despite the fact that it wasn’t. It wasn’t that I forgot my phone. According to my brain, according to the routine, my phone was in my bag. Why would I think to question it? Why would I check? Why would I suddenly remember, out of nowhere, that my phone was on the counter? My brain was wired into the routine and the routine was that my phone was in my bag.

The day continued to bake. The morning haze gave way to the relentless fever heat of the afternoon. Tarmac bubbled. The direct beams of heat threatened to crack the pavement. People swapped coffees for iced smoothies. Jackets discarded, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened, brows mopped. The parks slowly filled with sunbathers and BBQ’s. Window frames threatened to warp. The thermometer continued to swell. Thank fuck the offices were air conditioned.

But, as ever, the furnace of the day gave way to a cooler evening. Another day, another dollar. Still cursing myself for forgetting my phone, I drove home. The days heat had baked the inside of the car, releasing a horrible smell from somewhere. When I arrived on the driveway, the stones crunching comfortingly under my tyres, my wife greeted me at the door.

“Where’s Emily?”

Fuck.

As if the phone wasn’t bad enough. After everything I’d left Emily at the fucking nursery after all. I immediately sped back to the nursery. I got to the door and started practising my excuses, wondering vainly if I could charm my way out of a late fee. I saw a piece of paper stuck to the door.

“Due to vandalism overnight, please use side door. Today only.”

Overnight? What? The door was fine this morni-.

I froze. My knees shook.

Vandals. A change in the routine.

My phone was on the counter.

I hadn’t been here this morning.

My phone was on the counter.

I’d driven past because I was drinking my coffee. I’d not dropped off Emily.

My phone was on the counter.

She’d moved her seat. I hadn’t seen her in the mirror.

My phone was on the counter.

She’d fallen asleep out of the bad sun. She didn’t speak when I drove past her nursery.

My phone was on the counter.

She’d changed the routine.

My phone was on the counter.

She’d changed the routine and I’d forgotten to drop her off.

My phone was on the counter.

9 hours. That car. That baking sun. No air. No water. No power. No help. That heat. A steering wheel too hot to touch.

That smell.

I walked to the car door. Numb. Shock.

I opened the door.

My phone was on the counter and my daughter was dead.

Autopilot disengaged.

ON A Hill: The #1 Rated Creepypasta on Creepypasta.com

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