Creepypasta #715: Secure

Story length: Long

“What is this?” I said looking down at the lengthy and very official document before me. “Is this a joke? What the fuck is this?

The man in the suit sitting across from me let out a sigh. “I’m very sorry-”

Fuck you,” I scoffed. “Shut the hell up. You obviously don’t give a shit about me or else I wouldn’t be here at all.”

“The program is completely random, I assure you. I’m sorry.” The way he spoke was concise and cold. Everything in the room was. The metal table, the concrete walls. My handcuffs.

“I’m not fucking signing this shit.” I pushed it away from me towards the man.

“That won’t be needed. You’ll notice there isn’t a place for you to sign. All of your information is already notarized.”

“Oh no- fuck that, I have a say in this!” I tried to stand but the handcuffs kept me to the chair.

“Afraid not,” the man said, retrieving the documents and sliding them into his briefcase. “Now please,” he said, motioning to the door. Both my cuffs and the door unbolted with a click. “Follow me.”

The man pushed the door open and stepped through. I followed behind and as soon as I was out, two large men, also in suits, began walking behind me. We entered a foyer where a secretary sat at her desk, typing on her computer. She glanced up quickly before catching my eye and returning to her work. Above her hung an American flag. Next to it stood the seal of the D.H.S.

Department of Homeland Security, my ass I thought to myself.

We entered a long corridor that was intercepted by 4 thick, metal doors that required three forms of identification. Each slid open at the man’s IDs.

When we reached the door at the end, the two giants drew their pistols and trained them on the small metal door. We all just stood there quietly, staring at the door.

“My condolences,” the man said from behind me.

“Do I get, like, some final words or anything?”

The man pursed his lips.

“Fuckin’ hell,” I whispered under my breath.

My heart raced and my breath came short and fast. This is it I thought.

The door opened after 5 different IDs and the inside was completely black. It was like a wall of darkness.

“Thank you for your service,” the man said, gesturing to the abyss.

I shook out my nerves and walked in about two feet.

In that moment, my situation struck me. “Wait. Wait, please!” I turned, but the door had silently shut.

The room was so silent, I could almost hear my heartbeat, and totally black. Suddenly, a light appeared in the middle of the room from the ceiling. “Fucking hell!” I screamed.

In the middle was a little girl with no eyes. No nose. Just one, huge mouth.

“Oh, good,” she said sweetly. “I thought they forgot about me.”

Credits to: BeezHuts

My childhood.... ༼ つ ಥ_ಥ ༽つ

Take a break from binging netflix and binge some Lost Episodes. (and theorypastas)

“Ed, Edd n Eddy: Lost Episode” narrated by The Creeper

Squidward’s Suicide” narrated by @mrcreepypasta

Rugrats Lost Episode: Chuckie’s Mom” narrated by @creepypastajr

The Truth Behind Hey Arnold” narrated by CreepPasta

Goosebumps: Lost Episode” narrated by DeadPasta

Thomas and the Children” narrated by Mr. Nightmare

Ash’s Coma Theory” narrated by @creepsmcpasta

Dead Bart” narrated by Dead Palette

Frozen Theory” narrated by @naturestemper written by @mrcreepypasta

Naruto Lost Episode” narrated by TheCreepyPastaWizard

Little Cows

About ten years ago, I dated a masseuse named Valerie. Well, masseuse in training. She was passionate and enthusiastic and she practiced as frequently as she could. That meant I got a ton of free massages. Obviously, since we were a couple, those massages would escalate and turn into that usual thing couples do, but it was only after she felt she’d gotten in a good practice session.

After one of our, ahem, “sessions,” Val looked a little confused but also relieved. I asked her what was up. She told me the sores she had on the inside of her mouth didn’t hurt anymore. We’d talked about those things before. She said they weren’t contagious, thankfully, but she’d had to endure them for most of her life and they were intensely painful; sometimes even debilitatingly so. Doctors prescribed an ointment for her to put on them when the outbreaks occurred, but they barely took the edge off. Plus, she was deeply attached to the ideas of natural healing and homeopathy and all that, so she very, very rarely used the medication. But that night, for the first time in a while, I could tell she wasn’t powering through her pain. She genuinely felt good and had no idea why.

Her pain returned a few hours later. As always, she did her best to ignore it. Fast forward a couple days - another massage, another occasion for sexy times. Midway through, she stopped kissing me and exclaimed, “that’s it!” I didn’t know what she was talking about. She rolled off me and stuck her finger in my mouth. Not really sure what the hell was going on, I just sat up on the bed and let her do whatever she was doing. She pulled her wet finger from my mouth and stuck it in her own. I saw her rubbing the inside of her cheek. Her face brightened and she informed me, with complete certainty, that my saliva was taking away her pain. I laughed and said something encouraging despite thinking she was nuts. Then she hopped back on me and I completely forgot everything she’d said.

The next day, I was lying face down on her massage table. She was doing her usual, outstanding work while I stared down at the floor through that little padded hole where one’s face goes. Without any warning, there was a blinding pain in my head. I passed out. I have no idea how long I was unconscious. When I came to, I tried to get up, but I was completely immobilized. I couldn’t turn my head or lift my arms. It felt like I was taped to the table. Not only that, but there was something metal in my mouth. I couldn’t close my jaw or even dislodge the thing with my tongue. I yelled around it. Valerie, who’d apparently been standing next to me, simply said, “shhhhhh.”

I saw her hand and arm appear in front of my down-turned face. She held a small, glass baking dish, which she placed on the floor under my mouth. “I’m sorry if the speculum is uncomfortable,” she said. At the mention of the word, I gagged. A thin column of saliva drooled from my gaping maw and landed inside the glass container. She reached under and gathered a dollop of the fluid onto her fingertip. Her hand disappeared from my field of view, but I knew where it was going. I heard her moan with relief.

“I’m not sure how long I’ll keep you here,” she informed me. “But don’t be loud.”

In response, I yelled. A hideously sharp pain erupted from my lower back, right around my left kidney. “That’s a 3 inch long pin,” Valerie said. “Please don’t scream anymore. I hate hurting people.” I shut up.

As the hours went by, the bottom of the pan grew slick with a cloudy puddle of my saliva. I heard Valerie walking around the house, doing laundry, washing dishes; basic, everyday activity. The clatter of pots and pans told me it was almost dinner time. I was ravenous; I estimated it’d been almost 24 hours since I’d had any food.

Glorious aromas wafted from the kitchen as she cooked. My salivary glands went into overdrive and I drizzled their secretions into the waiting container. I heard Val walk in and she placed a plate piled high with spaghetti carbonara and what appeared to be a pork chop directly next to the collection pan. My mouth oozed.

“You can’t have this,” she whispered in my ear. “But feel free to enjoy the smell.

She walked away and turned on the TV. The room filled with sitcom banalities as my body leaked its desire for the meal into the waiting dish. I wanted to cry.

At some point, I fell asleep. When I woke up in the morning, the plate of food was gone. The house was quiet. I assumed Val had gone to class. I gargled out a weak yell, but there’s no way anyone would’ve heard it. I was so incredibly thirsty. The smell from the collected saliva was absolutely horrendous. I could see particulate matter dotting the glass bottom, probably old food that had detached from between my teeth. My mouth felt terribly dry. Saliva still leaked from the glands, but it was thick, almost like corn syrup. The color was milky gray. When it hit the stuff that was already in the pan, it separated like salad dressing. Oily liquid swirled to the top. I couldn’t believe how much I’d produced over the last couple days.

The sound of the front door opening heralded the return of Valerie. She walked over, putting her sneakers in my narrow view. I felt her scratch the top of my head. “You doing okay?,” she asked, sounding genuinely concerned. I muttered something obscene from around the speculum. She bent down and picked up the pan. Saliva sloshed thickly against the sides. “I’m going to let you go today,” Val informed me. I choked out a sigh of relief.

I saw a knife for a second and was certain she was about to cut my throat. Instead, she sliced through the duct tape that was holding my head to the table. I craned my neck upward and tried to shake out the awful muscle cramps. In front of me, I watched Val carefully pour some of the accumulated spit into a glass. She brought it to her lips and took a tiny sip. I almost threw up. She didn’t swallow right away. I could see her swishing it around her mouth and aerating it as if she were a disgusting sommelier sampling a fine Brunello. She smiled at me as she swallowed.

Valerie reached into her purse and pulled out a small handgun. Of course she had a fucking gun. I didn’t move. She calmly told me she was about to cut me loose but if I ran before she could talk to me, I’d get shot. I nodded.

She cut the tape away. I was suddenly self-conscious as the smell of my old spit was replaced by the ammonia odor of when I’d pissed myself those two times. “Don’t worry about it,” she whispered. After everything was cut away, she apologized in advance before pulling the tape off my head to unsecure the speculum still violating my mouth. Chunks of hair came with the tape and I winced. I let the metal instrument drop to the ground. My jaw felt like it’d been pummelled by a prize fighter.

I stood up and Val pointed the gun at my chest. I stretched, slowly, then sat back down. She took another small sip before she spoke.

“When you leave, I know you’re going to call the police. And I know I’ll get arrested. But I just want you to know how much I appreciate you for helping me.”

I didn’t say anything. She was nuts. Obviously. She gulped down the rest of the cold saliva and put the glass on the coffee table. The pan was still 75% full.

“You can go,” she told me.

I grabbed my car keys from the table and left. As soon as I closed the door to her apartment, I sprinted as quickly as my cramped legs would allow, got into the car, and drove away. As I went home, I called 911 and did my best to explain what happened. They said they’d stop by her place and see what was going on, then they’d visit me at home. Sure enough, a few hours later, the police visited my apartment. They told me Valerie was dead. Self-inflicted gunshot wound. She’d left a note, but all it said was, “you’ll understand soon enough.”

A year later, I started getting sores in my mouth. The pain was indescribable. They’d last for a couple days before bursting. They’d eventually heal, but two weeks later they’d just reappear. I was missing work because I couldn’t even breathe through my mouth without searing agony. The doctors gave me some awful-tasting ointment to put on them, but it might as well have been water. Nothing helped.

I didn’t want to, but I started sleeping around. Men, women, it didn’t matter. Partner after partner crossed my bed. Finally, I found one. Then another. Then another. Seven years later, they’re up to a gallon of production per day. The flavor took some getting used to, but hey, the taste of medicine doesn’t matter much when it actually works. The trick, I learned, was to keep my producers hydrated and fed just enough so the quality doesn’t drop off. Early on, my little cows (that’s what I call them) used to be pretty boisterous in the mornings when I went to collect their “milk,” but they’ve calmed down over the years. I just hope they know how much I appreciate them. Deep down, I bet they do.

Knock by Reddit user  MeanPete

There is a knock on the door.

It might have been a knock on the door.

It’s so quiet, it might be your imagination.

There it is again, louder and louder.

Now that was definitely a knock on the door.

You get up to investigate.

It’s locked.

Whoever knocked on the door is responsible for the lock on this door.

You turn to the window but the handle won’t budge.

You are definitely locked in by whoever knocked on this door.

The window won’t break, the door won’t budge, the walls will not come down.

You’re stuck here now for ages to come.

It’s been a week, or maybe a day.

A month has come and gone.

You look around, and know you will find, something to end it all.

Because all there is left, besides laying on the floor, is listening to that knock on the door.

Critique a Critique.

Right, so, I had been given the word that someone had recently reviewed my OC, Elska Ruth. A person by the name @ihavegivenuphumanity did the review I am about to critique.

Now, now - I am not saying I disagree with too many things here. I just happen to read their review, and see that they are disingenuous with their advice, little to none in fact, to help me improve Elska to be a better character.

But here’s the fun part - we’re going to critique a crituque!

I know, the horror. But let’s get started!

Before I started, the reviewer wrote in italics. I will be writing in my usual normal font with the usual blockquote, so that you guys can see who is who.

Appearance wise, it’s more of an “eh” score. We of course have the pale skin, bags under the eyes, and cutter marks, and some of the proportions are off, but it’s not even close to the worst I’ve seen.

Icelandic people are considerably pale people, living in such an icy climate. Of course, having such white skin can bring out a person’s flaws more visibly, right? The cutter marks are there for reasons explained below, but we’ll get to that soon.

I completely agree that my proportions are very off. Dear lord - every time I draw arms, they look bigger than his legs, like what the fuck.

[Real Full Name] Elskan Jónsson Svenson
[Alias] Elska Ruth

Any reason that he picked that name?

Which are you talking about? Real name, or alias?

[Age] 28
[Eye] Grey

Yes, gray eyes are actually possible (though rare), I don’t want to hear it.

Sooo, you completely understand that grey eyes are possible, yet you don’t want to hear that they’re possible? If that’s the case, I better keep these video documentaries about eye color away from you.

[Hair] Pale, Dirty Blonde
[Height] 6’3”
[Weight] 172lbs (slightly muscular.)

Honestly, this just makes him seem way too much like eye candy.

Is there something about blondes you don’t agree with? Is it his height? Genetically, Elska cannot seriously help that he’s this tall.

But you’re probably talking about his muscles, right? Well, I implied this because he needs to be visually attractive to the women, doesn’t he? Guys like boobs, girls like muscles, unless they’re gay.

And besides that - Elska is suppose to be very strong and agile to kill. You cannot seriously think he’s suppose to look as weak and frail as Nina or Jeff, do you? Such standards.

[Nationality] Icelandic-Polish
[DOB] August 15th
[Zodiac Sign] Leo

No one cares.

Then why did you care enough to write this part in?

[Sex] Male
[Orientation] Bisexual

[Status] Single (You are allowed to freely crack-ship with Elska Ruth, but please, do not make your shippings canon with him without my permission.)

You can’t make ships canon without the creator saying it’s canon.

… Thank you very much for rewording the exact same thing I just said.


Sven Ruth (Father, dead.) Sven’s (father) previous lover died in a car collision, sending him into a survivor’s guilt and spiteful nature towards his Son after seeing the patterns repeating in his footsteps.

Of course he has daddy issues.

ED: We also get no explanation on how the dad died.

Unless you live in a functional household, WHO in the world DOESN’T have father/mother issues?

See, this is why I never question the death of an OC’s parents/siblings/friends, because I know it will be explained once I read further down.

But of course, not everyone can sit tight.

Meriam Leia Ruth (Mother, alive.) Meriam (mother) was born in a broken home, but found salvation in God after “hearing him speak to her” in a dream. She wanted Elska to acknowledge God as well, but would eventually
  shove him away when he would show no desire to do so.

I didn’t fuck with the formatting; it was already like that.

Oopsie-poopsie. No, I’m not joking - I really did fuck up on the formatting.

[Species] Human

[Place of Birth] Mosfellsbær, Iceland.

[Skin Tone] Dull, pale wheat color.

I get putting skin color, eye color, etc. even when you have a colored picture so people know what colors you wanted to go for,  but you don’t need to include these things if you already put them on the ref.

But I’m being a considerate person, in case people such as yourself would like to copy-and-paste all those useful information onto your Tumblr to “review.”

[Body Type] Ectomorph

[Voice] Husky and low - speaks with an outrageous amount of confidence, and loves using complicated wordings like an encyclopedia book. He has a thick British accent, but only because his mother-language makes his words roll out as such. When he jokes, he’s bubbily and quirky. When around women, he is very much a gentleman.


Is that all you got for me?

He’s gotten past eye candy and nearing the “boyfriend with issues” category.

Yeaaah, because if only you would just read his shortened biography or entire backstory I have linked, it would make sense.

Oh, and Elska is MEANT to be eye-candy. Again, how else is this guy suppose to lure in girls? Throw candy at them? Hit them up on Tinder?

[Languages] English, Polish and Icelandic.

[Style] Plain-clothes, simple and decent. He likes to wear sharp suits, but only on special occasions.

[Habits] Makes a snarky chuckle when he feels challenged or insulted | smiles too much | stalks women that he finds “familiar” to a certain Hania’s hair and face, thinking they are a reincarnation of who she once was | addicted to zolpidem | humming to himself while “working” or thinking | sleep-walks due to his medication’s side-effects | always wakes up before dawn (around 3 in the morning,) to cook something for himself and “wait for the world to wake up, too.”

Most of these aren’t habits.

This is actually correct, what the reviewer said. Most of the things I’ve listed aren’t necessarily habits - some are just impulses or conditions.

But of COURSE, I had to ask SOMEONE ELSE this because this reviewer lacks the ability to point out the exact detail of what is wrong with anything she bashes on.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you this,” she’ll probably say. But then again, you’re a reviewer, yeah?

[Personality] From the outside of his shell, Elska appears to be very unique and charming, and always acts pleasant towards others. Especially women. He loves to act helpful, fun and exciting, to lure in as much attention as he can and be given the praise and affection he starves for. Though inside, Elska is a torn-up sociopath, who thrives to hurt and destroy others that he wants to watch suffer. It’s difficult for him to express emotions, however when he does, Elska becomes defensive and dishonest as possible so that he won’t reveal his secrets. When it becomes too much, Elska steers to violence to protect himself, abusing his victims and scaring them. In reality, the abuse of a form of paranoia and fear he tries to hide, and he unleashes it when his victims pry him for the “truth.”

I’ll give you that the personality something that’s not done a lot.

Thank you for the plus, but I had to re-read what you said because you misspelled.

For many years as a child and teenager, Elska craves for the affection he was never given by both his parents. He was always seen as sexually-inadequate in his mid-teens, which tore down his self-esteem. Even Hania found him inadequate, but she never told him this. But after some months of stalking and sneaking into her account on a social website where she talked about Elska behind his back, he found out the hard way that he was no good. Not only as a partner in bed, but also as one that was absent of emotion and difficult to please when it came to support and love. This caused Elska to become controlling of Hania, now seeing she was a “tík,” basically calling Hania a bitch and a liar.

If he’s so obsessed with Hania to the point of stalking and killing girls for the sole reason that they look like Hania, then why does he think Hania is a bitch and a liar? Or I’m missing something since this reads so weird.

It explained in the paragraph you just read. He believes Hania is a bitch and a liar because she’s talking shit behind his back.

Stalkers do not work on one mindset. I do feel this small digging in my brain to believe that this reviewer truly believes a stalker works one way, which would be a Yandere’s way, right?

ED: If someone has that level of self esteem, chances are they won’t even be able to successfully seduce anyone because they’ll just be a nervous wreck.

Then you obviously haven’t heard the term, “sociopath.” You know - learn from someone else’s personality, mimic it, and build that self-esteem overtime even if it’s not yours. Pathological liars.

Or here, I shall quote this helpful paragraph and let you be the judge of it:

“Another outcome of these abnormal emotions is that the charm that sociopaths turn on and the love bombing they do in the beginning of an encounter with a target is all an act. They are masters at impression management. They spend their entire lives watching people, mimicking and mirroring them, and then they use that knowledge to exploit others in order to get what they want. One thing is for sure…they do NOT feel bad about anything! They do not feel guilt or shame or remorse, because they do not care. This lack of caring also means that they do not demonstrate empathy for others. Remember, they do not feel real emotional pain, which prevents them from experiencing empathy.”


After running away from his previous life and coming into America as a runaway killer, Elska found solace as he took refuge within a farmhouse just in the outskirts of New Jersey’s countryside. He found an abundance of chocolate cosmos growing in the backyard, finding them oddly beautiful. He took great care of them, studied them, and wanted so much more from these. Every time he saw a cosmo, a shot of Hania’s image flashed before his eyes. He knew her soul resided in these flowers, and he knew he would find her once again, if only others would hold them. Or mayhaps behold their beauty in art.

Again, why did we have that part about him and Hania hating each other if he’s supposedly so attached to her?

What on earth made you believe Hania hated Elska?

I must explain the ways of a stalker:

You see, dear readers, stalkers DO NOT work on the “ooo, I love you, kyaaa.” Stalkers do their thing because of hate, love, infatuation, and/or it’s their job. Elska is in the stage of being a spiteful stalker, wanting to get back at Hania for breaking up with him. He loves and hates her at the same time, both because she was his first love and that she broke his heart. The fuel of hate towards Hania is because he wanted the pain to stop, but after realizing what he did, the pain never lifted.

ED: Mayhaps isn’t a word.

But let’s keep it real, you big-brain bastards. This is not a real fucking word.


“Dearest? Why do you look scared? I’m here…”

“Elskar þú mig?” (“Do you love me?”)

“Hahaha! Don’t be so fucking stupid. You’re not going anywhere.”

“You look… familiar… Have we met?”

“I noticed you have an arrhythmia when you sleep. I counted your breaths.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

Totally not out of character.

Again, no explanation as to WHY it’s out of character on your part.

Oh yeah, there’s a reason, down below.

ED: I thought he was supposed to be very wordy.

He is wordy - talks too much and can’t learn how to keep quiet.

What, did you think in a way of “he uses highly intelligent words?”

[Likes] His agility to run very fast | his powerful strength |

If he’s strong and fast, what are his physical weaknesses (and YES, you DO need both physical and mental weaknesses)

Yes, reviewer, this is what you call “advice.” The only one you gave me the entire time of this “review.”

But joking aside, right? Elska DOES lack a shitload of weaknesses, and I need to work harder on adding more effective flaws about him.

exercising | absolutely loves Cosmos flowers | long-haired women | sweets (mostly cakes) | reading (loves science fiction and biography novels of murder/mystery,) | children | expert student in psychology, and uses his techniques to manipulate and persuade | playing the piano (his favorite songs as Canon D Major, Ode to Joy, Moonlight Sonata, and sometimes likes playing children music from the piano,) | drugging his victims with “rohypnol,” to knock them out and take them to his farmhouse home | singing to his victims as they drift to sleep, or while his victims’ are under “construction” to look beautiful.

The rest is fine.


[Dislikes] Losing | victims that pity or feel sorry for him | being confronted about his odd personality | being unable to capture his victim | being alone | when a victim draws him something unappealing, especially if they draw the Cosmo flower wrongly | when a victim becomes too submissive (he finds it boring and wants them to struggle,) | hates when he hears loud, obnoxious music.

[Weaknesses] Allergic to sour candy |

Allergies don’t work like that.

Eeh? Of course they do.

Now see, people are allergic to citric acid - in other words, oranges. Sour candy is dusted with powdered citric acid. Tons of people cannot eat sour candy because they’re going to break out into hives or suffer worst symptoms.

Again, linking proof:

despite Elska being a strong being, Elska is still vulnerable to guns |

Oh, so like everyone?

Yeah. He’s a fucking human, you four-legged bastard.

gullible to a victim showing “love,” can be tricked.


He uses a keyhole saw: The saw’s teeth are drenched in a homemade liquid form of “fentanyl” (this drug is powerfully strong, only provided to cancer patients who are in severe-deep pain. If someone is injected with this potent drug with a heavy dose, they will develop signs of overdosing, passing out, so that Elska can finish murdering them while they are in a deep sleep.

How are you keeping this liquid on your saw? Wouldn’t it make sense to just inject people with it? How are you making this drug? Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to use any other sleeping drug/anesthetic? How are you acquiring the materials to make it? Where did you find out what the ingredients of fentanyl were? Why is it green?

Yes, these are legitimate questions for once. I’ve never made it a clear answer to Elska’s packing of fentanyl. This type of drug is SO HARD to get, because as I said in my description, this drug is specifically made only for cancer patients. However, drug dealers connected to these patients can obtain this drug if they wanted to sell it, but don’t expect it being easy to buy.

Not only is it deadly, but as said in this article, fentanyl is MORE addictive than OxyContin alone.

Now let’s get specific - Elska carries his knife in a normal sheathe at his side, and within the sheathe is a fentanyl-drenched cloth wrapped around it. This keeps the blade lethal and not able to dry out. When he whips it out, he stabs you in the most vital area, and then boom, you’re a goner.

Elska CANNOT make drugs. He’s smart, but not a fucking pharmacist. I don’t know where you are getting these ideas. He obtains them as their liquid form in a little bottle.

Why is fentanyl green? Same link up above tells you why - fentanyl is known as the “green monster.” Yeah, the liquid-form is clear, but I made it green to show that it’s a potent drug.

Bouquet of Hammers: Elska loves flowers - especially cosmos and roses. He will bring either flowers in a giant bouquet, and bring them to any unsuspected victim that is home alone, visiting them late at night to their apartments/houses unexpected. When they have him in their interest, Elska removes a claw-hammer (with a red handle) from within the flowers and forces them into their apartment to murder.

It’s going to be extremely obvious what you’re doing since that bouquet is going to weigh several extra pounds and is going to have a shiny metal object sticking out of it.

Really now? You know, Valentine’s Day is near. Clearly, you’ve seen those big ass bouquet of flowers around, right? Elska uses a hammer that is short enough to cover in. Short hammers are more faster to swing, and easier to hide.

And what makes you think the victims get to hold the bouquet? ONLY if he decides not to carry the hammer will they be allowed to carry the flowers, but other than that, he doesn’t let his victims hold them.

Fiber wire he created from a snapped piano-cord from his own piano - he named the weapon “Mozart.”

9/10 simply using your hands while wearing gloves is going to be much more effective than a string.

Originally posted by beccaoneal

Of course you’re intelligent enough to say “wear fucking gloves, you dumbass.” I personally don’t let Elska wear gloves because he feels no need to use them. He watches his target for awhile to eventually find their place that they are alone in, so he sneaks in and uses Mozart to strangle them out.

Oh yeah - are you implying high-carbon steel piano wires are not lethal? If that’s the case, fuck, I must be fucking up, right?

Bare-hands (because it feels more personal to inflict without weapons.)

Hope you’re wearing gloves.

Hope so, too.

[Elska’s NEW Cosmos Chart]

Elska is a lover of flowers, considering them as Hania’s children. He thinks of her as a gold cosmo, as well as other women who he finds to be rebirths of his murdered love. And he represents them as such in the following:

Again, if he thinks Hania is a bitch and a liar, why is he so obsessed with her?

Again, I have to explain:

Stalkers are trying to end their emotional pain of stalking. They are so damn obsessed with their victim, that they just cannot stand it anymore, and their only escape is to kill their victim. An love-obsession eventually turns to an obsessive hate/love.

Elska’s Cosmos Chart by Leaved

A White Cosmo represents a peaceful death.
A Purple Cosmo represents poisoning.
A Gold Cosmo represents a vengeful death (you’re stealing Hania’s cosmo!)
A Blue Cosmo represents suicide.
A Red Cosmo represents a brutal, slow death.
An Orange Cosmo represents a hired kill (a horrible experience before death.)
A Pink Cosmo represents a romance! But if you reject Elska, he’ll kill you for lying/breaking his heart.
A Double-Click Cosmo represents turning you into his Doll.
A Chocolate Cosmo represents an outraged murder (he treasures this cosmo as much as he treasures the gold cosmo. He hates it when someone draws it.)

There’s no reason for you to include this. (Because no one cares…)

Well, if you didn’t care, you wouldn’t comment.

See, this is where the reviewer falls flat. OBVIOUSLY, Elska’s chart is needed, because you as a Internet person can study what color represents what, and be able to escape potential death.

You can’t just think I made Elska’s new catch “flowers,” and not talk about what flower represents what, do you? Also, what makes you think people don’t care? Or are you implying your Tumbling self?

[Shortened Bio] Elska grew up as a quiet child, who was always isolated from publicity by his God-fearing Mother and a verbally-abusive Father. They filled his head with lies – saying that people were cruel and that they wanted to hurt him if he befriended them, making Elska feel too scared to be influenced by anyone. By the time he reached his teen-hood, he was at the stage of being sexually-inadequate, and was wanting to finally open up to his peers as a new person.

If he’s been told since a child that people are evil and you shouldn’t interact with them, I doubt he would be able to connect with anyone ever.

Yeah. He can’t connect. Because he’s a sociopath. Like I said above.

And what makes you think he can’t interact with others just because he’s a sheltered child? I’m obviously talking to someone who’s had more freedom than myself as a child, so here’s how I can try and explain it as crystal clear as possible:

Elska’s evolved into a mimicking sociopath, who knew his introvert self couldn’t get anywhere with his hollow personality. So, he copies others, and boom, he was able to be as believable as possible.

But, without the influence as a child to teach him how to build his own personality, Elska begun to build a “corrupt disposition,” by studying the faces and traits of the most outgoing males in his school. Eventually, within a year, Elska became a false entity of a “cool kid,” that was stealing the attention from the other famous kids in school. He was determined to keep up the persona, so that he could continue to consume more of their attention and praise that he’s never been given before.

As he delved more into popularity, Elska’s status pushed him to meet a pretty, bookworm girl named Hania Kohser, the girl that he’s watched for the entirety of freshman and sophmore. The two became friends, then finally began dating after a few months of getting to know each other more. Elska and Hania dated for a few months, but when Hania was told that her future college was located two cities away, she had to tell Elska. When he heard heard the news, Elska suddenly flew in a fit of rage and tried to force Hania to give up on the opportunity and stay with him. Hania became fearful, and angry, and immediately broke up with him on-spot after he grabbed her forearm and left a bruising hand-mark.

1. Two cities away isn’t that far.

Where the hell do you live to say this?

And have you seen the map of Iceland and their biggest cities? It’s fucking massive. It would take so long to travel everyday, wouldn’t it? Unless you’re good on gas, I don’t think so.

2. She got a bruise because he grabbed her arm?

Yeeeah. My dad grabbed my arm hard enough to bruise when I was little.

And look - this woman was grab by her abusive husband hard enough to leave bruised finger/hand prints.

3. This isn’t what you said happened with Hania earlier.

I never did. Are we living two different worlds here?

Elska was still in a fit of rage as he returned home, destroying his bedroom and screaming at everything, calling Hania names and continued to punch holes in the walls. He was outraged of being denied, being so drowned in love and attention from the school that blinded him from reality. But as he saw himself in the split-mirror, he realized that this brand-new personality was something he didn’t make up – he finally developed a personality!

Literally everyone has a personality. It’s not something you just randomly develop.

Unless you’re a sociopath copying and mimicking others’ personalities.

I like how the reviewer ignored the fact that Elska was so sheltered that he couldn’t explore and discover himself in his childhood.

He grew incredibly happy about this discovery, but, he didn’t want it to end. To continue this hidden disorder, he started to grow fonder of Hania in a desperate attempt to win her back, but also make her suffer greatly for denying him.

Wow, non-specific disorder, my favorite.

Sorry if I keep repeating, “sociopath,” but really.

I have to keep repeating this because she seems to have forgotten her train of thought so suddenly.

For months, he stalked Hania’s home and her every move, making himself only known to her, but would hide if anyone else was there. As much as Hania would tell her family about the trouble, they only thought Elska was a whining ex that would eventually give up. But it went on for an entire year, and Hania couldn’t stand the constant watch and disgust of being emotionally-violated. Elska enjoyed her suffering greatly, so much that he would boldly look through her bedroom window, sneak into her backyard to try and get into the kitchen (when the parents weren’t home,) or would show up at the grocery store or park whenever she would go out.

Psssst… call the cops…

OK, I am going to suggest a very great TV show I always watch:


This show pretty much talks about all the problems with trying to call the police on a stalker. Without solid evidence from the victim, Hania cannot just have Elska thrown in jail so easily. And by far, stalking cases are the hardest to make. Stalkers aren’t stupid.

The day came when Hania was left home alone, as Elska took his chance to cut out her power and break into her home (without anything alarming his break-in.) He chased Hania upstairs and hit her to the floor with a punch. He continued to proclaim how much he loved her, prepared to take her life that night.

He loves her so much he’s going to kill her for no reason.

Obviously skipping reasons is obvious.

Listen, reread what was just happening above, OK?

Hania’s cries and pleas for him to stop only egged him on to physically-abuse her, until she was too weak and unable to run. He sat in the corner of the bedroom, cuddling Hania in his arms. He wanted to hear Hania say she loved him one last time, before he strangled her to death with his piano-wire.

Now, he continues to prowl for the attention he craves, the love he desired, and the girl that could be his Hania.

Again, no reason for him to kill.

Sociopaths do this for personal enjoyment and entertainment. After Hania died, Elska developed the murdering spree as a game. To find his perfect girl again. AGAIN, reread story. Or better yet, read the ENTIRE backstory I so kindly took my precious time writing.

Hey wait, didn’t you just say, “he kills girls because they resemble Hania?”


Notes about Elska:

Elska speaks fluently in Engilsh, Polish and Icelandic, and is currently studying German.

Chocolate cosmos are the most dearest species to him, and if he sees someone disregarding their significance, he will brutally murder them. He found rebirth from these flowers, and will not anyone take it from him.

Killing people for not caring about a flower…

Yep, you’re going to get caught.

Well of course, he’s going to get caught.

But hey, nothing you can do.

Elska is not specific when he asks someone to draw him a cosmo. He wants them to guess what color they would like.


How can you guess which color you want?

What did you just say? “ How can you guess which color you want?”

I don’t know what to tell you, but that was probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.

That’s like saying, “how can you choose? How can you think about it? How can you make these decisions?”

He is very narcissistic of his skills, finding his abilities above all.

Narcissistic isn’t the correct word.

nar·cis·sis·tic: “having an excessive or erotic interest in oneself and one’s physical appearance.”

You know, if I used the word “egotistical,” that probably be wrong still in this reviewer’s eyes.

He likes to use others for his personal gain, addicted to murdering and refuses to stop.

It’s difficult for him to like or have a serious connection with anyone/anything.

Confrontation makes him uneasy, but he tries to not show it and acts cool.

No other murder he’s committed phases him, but when Hania is brought up, he either is close to a breakdown or will become violently furious.

He likes calling his victims, “dearests,” or, “entities.”

Entities? Why?

Because people like Elska see these victims as his dolls, toys, barbies. He doesn’t see them as valid human beings with feelings.

You know, Ted Bundy called his victims “entities.” Why don’t you ask him?


When he’s peeved, he tries to silently shake it off by wringing his hands when they’re at his sides, or not speak but shake his head.

His Father is full Icelandic, and his Mother is full Polish.

I doubt that.

Why’s that?

My mother is full-caucasian, and my dad is full-Laotian.

I guess that’s doubtful, guys.

Elska, even though resistant to visiting church as a young boy, is still religious in his own beliefs of a God, and does carry a necklace with the Christian cross as a pendant.

Elska’s forearms are sliced due to self-infliction, but hasn’t died due to cutting at the wrong places to damage a vital vein. He is too scared to do it.

Those are going to get infected.

No shit.

He loves wearing ties - he hates bow-ties.

Which is why he isn’t wearing a tie in the ref.

In his old style, he wore ties. Even if he isn’t wearing it now, he still loves them better than your hipster bow-ties.

No research I see.

Elska was only top-student in P.E. as a high schooler, and still loves working out and doing track.

He is very brave, and takes any challenge to heart to prove his pride worthy.

Elska loves playing the piano, in any canon major.

We’ve entered the “boyfriend with issues” territory.

What? Because he plays piano?

You know, that’s insulting to a pianist. “Yo, you’re a fucking issue if you play pianos, cheeky boyfriend material.”

What, did you want him to play drums? Romantic.

When he captures his victims, Elska tries to make them dress and look like Hania - making them wear her favorite styles of dresses and try changing their hair color to a pure-blonde like her’s. If he can’t make them change,
  and they resist, he will murder them out of a fit of rage when seeing red flashing behind his eyes.

Red flashing behind… What?

YES. Flashing behind his eyes. Look it up.

Elska’s severe insomnia causes him to lose the desire of sex, and is mostly fixed on having more of his addictive medicine that was prescribed to help him sleep - now he uses it to get high and stay up and “work.”

You can’t get high off of sleeping pills.

What world are YOU living in?

And also, this gives me another reason to believe this person doesn’t research diddly squat. As I stated above, Elska is prescribed “zolpidem,” and it is only used to help those that have serious sleep deprivation. However, one of the most notable side-effects of zolpidem are:

“Though very effective for anxiety disorders, benzodiazepines and drugs that mimic them, like lunesta and ambient (zolpidem), can become physically addictive.”


He is confident and charming, and at times, very bubbly and welcoming. His positive attitude is warming and lures in women into his trap.

Elska is self-conscious of himself.

He has a scar across his left-breast from a victim that tried to fight back and manages to slice a cut at his chest with a broken pair of scissors.

It then got infected.

No. If it did, Elska wouldn’t be here and still killing.

Elska’s bags under his eyes are permanent and cannot be healed with sleep or medical attention.

Elska’s IQ is 145.

You realize this is incredibly high, right?

Yes, I do. Because Elska more intelligent than you believe.

You realize not everyone can be average, right?


Elska was created out of inspiration of Ted Bundy and The Son of Sam.

Elska was also inspired by many stalker songs I’ve listened to.

Elska was created out of my biggest fear of being stalked.

Elska was inspired by a stalker ghost from video game, “The Calling (Wii).”

[Theme Songs!]

- Denmark + Winter, “Enjoy The Silence:”…

- Avatar, “Tower:”…

- Akira Yamaoka, “Rain of Brass Petals,”… (Elska’s Theme Song.)

Final Thoughts:

This isn’t even “eye candy” or “boyfriend with issues,” it’s more in the “Edward from Twilight” range.

Still waiting to know why you think this.

But eh, probably won’t happen.

This is probably the poorest example of a stalker OC.

Comparing a human stalker to a monster. Congrats.

Slenderman is a beast, not human. He has all the advantages of being a better stalker OC, because DUH, Elska’s human.

Final Words:

Well, I can take my heart off my sleeve now. But, before I do, I just want to make it clear for you guys who are reading:

Elska Ruth is always opened for critique and criticism. He’s a guy that has no shield, no protection from me or his fans. You’re more than welcomed to review/rant about him, and I will gladly accept it…

Unless you’re being as closed-off and the least helpful, like this reviewer.

Of course, I had to say something, because I can’t stand ignorance. This person is not the most peachiest, and I don’t know why. Period everyday, I suppose.

And if the reviewer does see this, I’m more than certain they will just ONCE AGAIN rip apart everything I said and try telling me, “Leaved, you should have added all this information in the first place to his reference sheet, you dumb cow.”

Well, the thing is - I can’t see the mistakes I’ve made as a creator. That is why a reviewer exist - point out my mistakes and explain what is wrong. A reviewer - like this person - shouldn’t expect me to detail everything and expect not to do any work on their own. Research is what reviewers all rage about, so why didn’t you - the reviewer - do that?

Oh, I know. Because bashing OCs for the sake of bashing, right? Fuck being helpful.

But, anyways, before I posted this, I had someone else read this, just to know if I was doing a good job responding. Well, they said I was coming off as a bitch, but a rightful bitch at that.

Am I butthurt? YES! You are absolutely right!

Because I thought reviewers did their job right!

But despite the reviewer being a beginner, I am more than happy to go back to Elska’s reference sheet and redo tons of things and make changes. However, the only person being thoroughly honest and helpful is a real-life person who doesn’t hide shit, like this reviewer did.

They are free to respond if they want - I won’t repond. I’ll just let them roll in it.

☣ Leaved.

They Move Through the Trains

{Disclaimer: Links Below}

I hate living in London.

Now, anyone born and raised here could offer you a whole catalogue of reasons as to why that’s a perfectly valid statement: traffic congestion, air pollution, premium pricing, droves of tourists from Germany to America to Zimbabwe flocking in like the bloody pigeons in Trafalgar to gawk at you on your way to work. I could go on.

But for me, those all take a back seat to the underground. Yes, that bloated network of clogged veins that tangle underneath the skin of our “beautiful” tourist city. It’s not even the trains themselves, in all honesty - it’s the people, and the sense of silent paranoia like a fart nobody wants to admit to.

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