Madeline Wrote a Creepypasta While Jon Was at the Jail

Madeline Wrote a Creepypasta While Jon was at the Jail By Our Staff

It was a dark, evil night. Really just the average weather in Binghamton, but this night was particularly the evilest and darkest night we had seen in a while. Another Binghamton Review meeting was coming to a close. We had just designed the funniest and most perfect magazine issue the world had ever seen when we were interrupted by a strange knock at the door. Who could it be? Everyone knows that people need a lot of convincing to come to a Review meeting. (Sadly. Please come to our meetings. We don’t bite. …well, most of us don’t anyway.) The door opened sinisterly, and we all pogged in fear. “HARVEY STENGER?!!?!?” we all said in accidental unison.

Harvey pulled out of his pocket a mummified Bearcat hand. “Out of my pocket, I have pulled out a mummified Bearcat hand!” Harvey exclaimed. Or at least, that’s what he said. No one actually knows what a bearcat looks like. There was something…off about the hand though. It didn’t actually appear to be made of flesh and bone, instead, of fabric and macroplastics.

As we observed the ‘mummified bearcat hand’, one of us (amogus) had to speak up. “Why are you giving this to us? Is it magic or something?” asked Shayne gayly.

Harvey suddenly became more serious, “Yes”. The Review gasped dramatically. Harvey started whispering to us, but not in the good ASMR way, more like in the “I’m about to be abducted by the feds” way. “The bearcat’s paw gives you three wishes,” Harvey crowed. “I am gay”, exclaimed Shayne. Then he left.

Harvey continued explaining, pretending like he didn’t just hear that. “A very holy man in the engineering department put a spell on it. The last user’s third wish was to go to the moon. Then I got hold of it”. Harvey then shoved the bearcat’s paw into my hand, and quickly ran outside, screaming about the baseball stadium and all the money he embezzled or something. “Are we gonna pretend like no one heard that?” Dillon asked. “I am,” answered Arthur, “it is, after all, a complete contrivance of the opium-mad balderdash whence comes the superstitions of magic objects. One can, as a rational atheist like myself, dismiss this ‘bearcat’s paw’ as nought more than the material remains of an animal which my beloved science contends is my ancestor. In short, GO GRANDPA!!”

“Shut up!” I said in my best Smosh impression, “we should test whether this thing is truly magical or not.”

“We should ask for an office,” said Sid. He then banged the bearcat’s paw against the wall. “How do you even get this to work?” Sid continued to mutilate the hand.

I took the paw back. “Probably by just wishing for something—you know, like this. I wish we had an office.” Faith, trust, and pixie dust motivated me to believe immediately.

“Madeline, no way this is gonna work, I mean the SA has been sidestepping us about an office for 3 years now,” Dillon said, shaking his head. Dillon was immediately proven wrong when my phone started ringing. “Hello?” I asked, femininely.

“Hi, I am an unnamed worker of the SA, and I am ohso-sorry to break the news to you, but one of your members, Shayne, has been hit, killed, and desecrated by a blue bus. We were only able to identify him by the remains of his Weezer shirt. As a gesture of our goodwill in these trying times, and in hoping you won’t sue us, we are finally going to give you an office. You can come get your keys right now.”

“Oh cool, a new office,” I replied. “Sucks that Shayne is dead though, now we need a new Copy Desk Chief.” “Eh, they’re a dime a dozen,” Dillon remarked. “Guess we don’t need this bearcat paw anymore,” I said, throwing it in the recycling bin with the knowledge it would end up in a landfill. “It was probably cursed anyway since Shayne died so quickly.” Little did we know, after we left, Arthur went rummaging through the recycling in hopes of bringing back his late clandestine lover.

The next day, we walked into our new office to see Arthur bashing the bearcat’s paw against the wall. “What the hell do you think you are doing Arthur?” I screamed.“I’ve been trying to turn it on,” Arthur cried, “I just wish Shayne could be alive again and come back to me—I mean us.”

“Arthur, Shayne is dead and he’s never coming back, idiot!” Sid said. “Let’s just start editing so we can go home before 3 in the morning.”

An hour later, as we were about to tape Sid to the ceiling, we heard a knock on the door. “HARVEY STENGER!?” we all said again in accidental unison.

“No, it’s him!” Arthur blubbered. In excitement, Arthur ran to the door and opened it feverishly. It sure looked like Shayne, but the eyes revealed no natural life within him. Arthur’s cries of joy quickly transitioned to cries of pain as zombie Shayne started tearing the skin off his body. It was horrific, I heard and saw things that would haunt me for the rest of my college career.

Arthur screeched,“HELP ME!!! I’m LITERALLY DYING!! Wait, where did you guys get that popcorn?”

The rest of us sat there eating popcorn, unable (or just unwilling) to do anything further as Arthur was torn limb from limb. Eventually, Sid questioned the group. “Should we do something?”

DIllon, having held the bearcat’s paw for well over the hour it took for Arthur to die, took a deep breath, gathering up the strength to bear the curse of the bearcat. “Bearcat’s Paw, I wish Shayne was truly dead again”.

Zombie Shayne collapsed, the unnatural life being expelled from his body. We could hear Buddy Holly faintly in the distance.

I looked around at the carnage that marred our new office and turned to the remaining living members of the club. “Welp, I guess we need a new Copy Desk Chief AND a new Social Media Shitposter.”

“You know, they’re a dime a dozen!” Sid jested. We all laughed for the rest of the night, proving to us that the true friends were the ones who didn’t die along the way.