Creepypasta #1052: The Beast In The Dryer Liked To Eat My Clothing When I Was Seven
The beast in the dryer liked to eat my clothing.
I didn’t know why, but he told me he loved the taste of my socks, sweaters, underwear, pants, shirts, tights, whatever he could gets his paws on. He told me he lived on soap, little girl’s clothes, and prayers at night, but if I wanted to sneak him a candy bar now and again, he wouldn’t complain. Because I was seven, this made perfect sense to me.
The company was nice when I was down in our scary, unfurnished basement doing laundry. I was forced to do my own laundry because my family was giant and difficult to manage, so I had lots of time to sneak out a pair of socks, a shirt I didn’t really like, or an old and holey pair of tights. In return for his “snacks,” the beast was the best friend I’d ever had. I’d tell him about my day, about my friends. I would even tell him all the secrets I was scared to tell my parents, like how I found my oldest sister Victoria naked with her boyfriend, or how Daddy talked about money problems when he thought we were all asleep, or how my fourteen-year-old brother Levi snuck out every night and came back smelling sweet and rotten. The beast told me I was a good observer, that I noticed things nobody else did. He said this made me very special, especially because I didn’t go blabbing all these secrets I carried.
He said, “Dolly, you’re a special girl and I’m a special beastie, which is why we’re such good friends.” Dolly was his nickname for me, since he said my real name, Diana, was very stuffy. I kind of agreed.
I liked talking to the beast in the dryer so much that I started offering to do other people’s laundry. My nine-year-old sister Millie, who was the meanest person in the world, told me that because I offered she wouldn’t flush my goldfish down the toilet. Levi said thanks and gave me a brownie that made me feel funny and then throw up. Victoria said I could, but I was to absolutely never look in her drawers or touch her “lingerie.” The second-meanest member of my family, my twelve-year-old brother Danny, told me now I had to do his laundry forever, and I’d better give it to him all folded and neat, or else he’d “mash me.” My siblings were horrible and I hated them all. I told the beastie.
“I was being helpful and really nice,” I lamented to him as I folded Danny’s laundry, making sure his shirts were nice and neat. “Nobody even said thank you but Levi, and he gave me that dumb brownie. I think it was a prank.”
The beast snorted furiously. “Dolly, don’t you think about that. You’re so polite and kind to your brothers and sisters. They just don’t appreciate you. But I do!” The dryer rattled and I could tell he was mad. He cared about me so much, even more than my mom and dad. “I appreciate you more than anybody else, and don’t you ever forget that.”
“They don’t appreciate me,” I repeated. “You do, though.”
“That’s right,” the beast affirmed. “Now, do you have any snacks for me today?”