“Don’t read this to the end.”
I’ve always been a fan of creepypastas. Jeff, Slenderman, Smile.dog – you name it. But the ones I found more interesting are those that included case reports, first person experiences, and fiction. And that’s how I discovered Nora.
Nora has never been popular amongst other creepypastas. Being eleven and Roman, her first question when she came into this family was “Why are we not creepypastae?”. That ended her pR record – she never really had one.
I first read about Nora in a random spam message – that she’d kill me if this message wasn’t forwarded. Partially true, and I hope you understand which part.
I was intrigued by her background – a eleven year old Roman brutally r***d by a p********e – substantial evidence as to whom the p********e is hasn’t been discovered yet, so he goes unnamed – although he never meant to kill her. She bled to death while his carnal pleasure was satisfies halfway.
It was then that sightings of her started to terrify people. A closer look would suggest that she killed men, and an even closer look would suggest that they’d die exactly an hour and eight minutes after they’d go missing. But, like all of us, Nora’s spirit had committed a blunder – she’d let a man free, halfway through her act. And that’s how her legend was born. Questions regarding her act are still debated by the underground clergy.
One of the legends state that her ‘act’ involves brutally r****g men, till they bleed to death. She’d wear a black strap-on, coat it with blood and hot wax, and perform without mercy. Although this is just a theory, it makes no sense. But wait, does anything else make sense?
I’d have regarded all of these as complete b******t if I hadn’t had a first hand experience. Once her legend had spread like wildfire, writers began to make facts up and spread them along with the truth. I came to know more about Nora via a story – it had about forty views, but the image had caught my attention.
It explained the history and the acts of Nora. But it warned the reader to stop at several places, as knowing about her would mean regular sightings of her henceforth.
I paid no heed – although I wish I had. It’s 2:30 in the morning here, and about twn minutes ago, my closet dooe had slowly creaked open. I saw hair dripping with blood, and a pale hand. She’s waiting for me, there. I have about eighteen minutes left, now.
I’m typing this as fast as I can. No, I didn’t do this because I felt like I wanted this world to know – no. This isn’t a tale. It is an experience, a moral, a folklore’s beginning, and … a warning.
For all I know, I haven’t interrupted you anywhere. Albeit I might have creeped you out, you now know all you need to. I may not survive through her act, and now it looks like you’re next.