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The creepy pasta is worded a little differently from one version to another, so the Wikia's will be indicated by "CP1", Scary4Kids's will get "CP2", and where all versions mesh, it'll be "ððââïžCP:". This stands for creepy pasta..
ðCP1: During my childhood
ðââïžCP2: When I was a child,
ðCP1: my family was like a drop of water in a vast river,
ð§ââïžOcean: Huh?
ðââïžCP2: my family moved around a lot.
ðCP1: never remaining in one location
ðââïžCP2: We never stayed in the same place
ððââïžCP: for long.
ðââïžCP2: and it seemed as if we were always on the move.
ð§ââïžOcean: Maybe so, but in trying to bring that point home in so many words, you've managed to keep the plot from moving.
ðââïžCP2: Because of this, many of my early memories are fuzzy and unclear.
ð§ââïžOcean: That and just being a child - you're not going to remember a lot of stuff with absolute clarity from your formative years.
ðCP1: We settled in Rhode Island when I was eight, and there we remained until I went to college in Colorado Springs. Most of my memories are rooted in Rhode Island, but there are fragments in the attic of my brain which belong to the various homes we had lived in when I was much younger.
ð§ââïžOcean: "in the attic of my brain". Ugh.
ðCP1: Most of these memories are unclear and pointless â chasing after another boy in the back yard of a house in North Carolina, trying to build a raft to float on the creek behind the apartment we rented in Pennsylvania, and so on.
ð§ââïžOcean: Not pointless to you, though, fond childhood memories are part of what helps you stay young at heart.
ðCP1: But
ðââïžCP2: However,
ððââïžCP: there is one
ðCP1: set of memories
ðââïžCP2: period of time that
ðCP1: which
ððââïžCP: remains as clear
ðCP1: as glass,
ðââïžCP2: in my mind,
ððââïžCP: as though
ðCP1: they were just made
ðââïžCP2: it all happened just
ððââïžCP: yesterday.
ððââïžCP: I often wonder whether these memories
ðCP1: are
ðââïžCP2: were
ððââïžCP: simply
ðCP1: lucid dreams produced
ðââïžCP2: hallucinations caused
ððââïžCP: by the long sickness I experienced that Spring, but in my heart, I know they are real.
ð§ââïžOcean: Sickness would explain them if they were particularly strange, but that sort of memory usually fades quickly.
But whatever.
ððââïžCP: We were living in a
ðââïžCP2: large
ððââïžCP: house
ðââïžCP2: on the outskirts
ðCP1: just outside the bustling metropolis
ððââïžCP: of
ðââïžCP2: the city.
ðCP1: New Vineyard, Maine, population 643.
ð§ââïžOcean: Like holy crap, that totally dwarfs New York City! Lol
ðCP1: It was a large structure, especially for a family of three.
ðââïžCP2: As a family of three, we didnât really need such a big home and
ððââïžCP: There were a number of rooms that
ðCP1: I didnât see
ðââïžCP2: we never used
ðCP1: in
ðââïžCP2: during
ððââïžCP: the five months we
ðCP1: resided
ðââïžCP2: spent
ððââïžCP: there.
ððââïžCP: In some ways, it was a waste of space, but it was the only house
ðCP1: on the market
ðââïžCP2: we could find
ððââïžCP: at the time,
ðââïžCP2: that was close
ðCP1: at least within an hourâs commute
ððââïžCP: to my fatherâs place of work.
ð§ââïžOcean: Good to know. Interesting how vague this memory of yours was of all this...
ððââïžCP: The day after my fifth birthday
ðCP1: (attended by my parents alone),
ð§ââïžOcean: Oh boo-hoo. I get it. You gots no friends because you were moving' all da time. I'm just so sick of everybody trying to yank the sympathy centre in my brain for themselves or for people they want me feeling sorry for and horrible about.
ððââïžCP: I came down with a
ðââïžCP2: terrible
ððââïžCP: fever. The doctor said I had
ðCP1: mononucleosis, which meant
ðââïžCP2: to rest in bed for three weeks and concentrate on getting well.
ðCP1: no rough play and more fever for at least another three weeks.
ð§ââïžOcean: Well, if you want to come out of this all right, you have to take it easy.
ððââïžCP: It was
ðââïžCP2: a
ððââïžCP: horrible
ðCP1: timing
ðââïžCP2: time
ððââïžCP: to be bed-riddenâ
ðââïžCP2: as
ððââïžCP: we were
ðCP1: in the process of packing our things
ðââïžCP2: getting ready
ððââïžCP: to move
ðCP1: to Pennsylvania,
ððââïžCP: and most of my
ðCP1: things
ðââïžCP2: toys
ððââïžCP: were already packed away in boxes,.
ðCP1: leaving my room barren.
ðââïžCP2: My bedroom was almost empty and I had very little to keep myself entertained.
ððââïžCP: My mother brought me
ðââïžCP2: some
ððââïžCP: ginger ale and
ðââïžCP2: a few
ððââïžCP: books
ððââïžCP: several times a day,.
ðCP1: and these served the function of being my primary form of entertainment for the next few weeks.
ðââïžCP2: Other than that, there was precious little for me to do.
ðCP1: Boredom always loomed just around the corner, waiting to rear its ugly head and compound my misery.
ð§ââïžOcean: You talk as if boredom is something to be dreaded, when as far as negative experiences go, it's actually at the milder end of the spectrum.
ðââïžCP2: I was always bored and grew more miserable by the day.
ð§ââïžOcean: If you are really sick and fatigued, you're going to be too tired to be bored. The problem is more discomfort.
ððââïžCP: I donât exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with
ðCP1: mono.
ðââïžCP2: the fever and confined to bed.
ððââïžCP: My first memory of
ðââïžCP2: him
ðCP1: the small creature was
ðââïžCP2: is
ðCP1: asking
ðââïžCP2: when I asked
ððââïžCP: him if he had a name. He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth, because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his bodyâ his head, his eyes, his crooked earsâ⊠but his mouth was by far the largest.
ð§ââïžOcean: So, he was misshapen and goofy looking.
ððââïžCP: âYou look kind of like a Furby,â I said as he flipped through one of my books.
ð§ââïžOcean: Hardly. Most furbies have small mouthes, that is, from an appearance standpoint.. They have big mouths figuratively speaking, in that, they don't know when to shut up. Their ears aren't generally crooked, they may stick out or lop down to the side or forward, and some furbies don't have visible ears.
Examples:
So apparently the point was to compare the following furby from the Mark story to Mr. Widemouth.
Here's Mr. Widemouth.
And here are some furbies that really don't look anything like him.
ðCP1: I shrugged. âYou know⊠the
ðCP1: toy.
ðââïžCP2: toys.
ððââïžCP: The little
ðââïžCP2: furry robots
ðCP1: robot
ððââïžCP: with the big ears. You can pet
ðââïžCP2: them
ððââïžCP: and feed them,⊠almost like
ðââïžCP2: theyâre
ðCP1: a
ððââïžCP: real
ðCP1: pet.â
ðââïžCP2: pets.â
ððââïžCP: âOh,.â
ðââïžCP2: replied
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouth
ðCP1: resumed his activity.
ððââïžCP: âYou donât need one of those. They arenât the same as having a real friend.â
ð§ââïžOcean: Know what, Widemouth? You wouldn't know the meaning of real friendship, and even furbies make better friends than the likes of you. They don't try to get five-year-olds to kill themselves, and they don't put people into dangerous situations where they could be killed or seriously hurt. So stick it in one of your big crooked ears and shut your wide mouth.
ððââïžCP: I remember
ðââïžCP2: that
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouth
ðââïžCP2: seemed to disappear
ðCP1: disappearing
ððââïžCP: every time my mother stopped by to check in on me.
ð§ââïžOcean: Just like that other exceedingly vile clown known as Laughing Jack. *Scowl*
ððââïžCP: âI
ðCP1: lay
ðââïžCP2: hide
ððââïžCP: under your bed,â he later explained. âI donât want your parents to see me because Iâm afraid they wonât let us play
ðââïžCP2: together
ððââïžCP: anymore.â
ð§ââïžOcean: Because when even a sickly little kid can figure you out for what you are, an adult would in no time.
ððââïžCP: We didnât do much during those first few days. Mr. Widemouth just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained.
ð§ââïžOcean: Nah, he was just pretending to be fascinated to lull you into a false sense of security and friendship with him.
ððââïžCP: The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with a large smile on his face.
ð§ââïžOcean: Because he got some really no-good idea up his sleeve concerning you.
ððââïžCP: âI have a new game we can play,â he said. âWe have to wait until after your mother comes to check on you, because she canât see us play it. Itâs a secret game.â
ð§ââïžOcean: "It will be our secret" said the child molester to his prey...
Never trust strangers who want you keeping their secrets.
And to Widemouth, if a game has to be kept secret, it's obviously not a good game...
ðCP1: After
ððââïžCP: My mother
ðââïžCP2: came in with
ðCP1: delivered
ðââïžCP2: a few
ððââïžCP: more books and
ðââïžCP2: some
ððââïžCP: soda at the usual time.
ðââïžCP2: After she left,
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouth slipped out from under the bed and tugged
ðââïžCP2: me by the
ðCP1: my
ððââïžCP: hand.
ððââïžCP: âWe have to go the the room at the end of
ðCP1: this
ðââïžCP2: the
ððââïžCP: hallway,â he said.
ððââïžCP: I objected at first,
ðCP1: as
ðââïžCP2: because
ððââïžCP: my parents had forbidden me to leave my bed without their permission,.
ðCP1: but
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouth persisted until,
ðââïžCP2: finally,
ððââïžCP: I gave in.
ððââïžCP: The room
ðCP1: in question
ðââïžCP2: at the end of the hall
ððââïžCP: had no furniture or wallpaper. Its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway.
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouth darted across the room and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open.
ðCP1: He then
ðââïžCP2: Then, he
ððââïžCP: beckoned
ðââïžCP2: to me and told
ððââïžCP: me to look out at the ground below.
ððââïžCP: We were on the second story of the house, but it was on a hill, and from this angle the drop was
ðCP1: farther
ðââïžCP2: more
ððââïžCP: than two stories due to the incline.
ð§ââïžOcean: There was no mention of the size of the window, so if it was just a small one and well above the level of the floor, it's cool. Weird room, maybe a storage room.
ððââïžCP: âI like to play pretend up here,â Mr. Widemouth explained. âI pretend that there is a big, soft trampoline below this window, and I jump. If you pretend hard enough you bounce back up like a feather. I want you to try.â
ð§ââïžOcean: Clue to Mr. Widemouth, you can pretend as hard as you want but that won't turn your pretence into reality. But you already know that... You're just hoping this poor sick kid doesn't. *Scowl*
What in the world would a window big enough for a five-year-old to jump through, be doing, close enough to the ground and openable, making that jump even possible? Really, the design of this in a residence makes absolutely no sense. There would be way too much risk of falls out of it. If there was a balcony to step out on, it would make sense. But this just doesn't.
ððââïžCP: I was a five-year-old with a
ðââïžCP2: high
ððââïžCP: fever, so
ðââïžCP2: I wasnât thinking very clearly
ðCP1: only a hint of skepticism darted through my thoughts
ððââïžCP: as I looked down and considered the possibility. âItâs a long drop,â I said.
ð§ââïžOcean: I wouldn't even chance a drop like that now, so how much more terrifying it would look to a small child. *Glares at Mr. Widemouth*
ððââïžCP: âBut thatâs all a part of the fun,.â
ðââïžCP2: he replied.
ð§ââïžOcean: Fun for you only, Widemouth. *Continues glaring*
ððââïžCP: It wouldnât be fun if it was only a short drop. If it were that way you may as well just bounce on a real trampoline.â
ð§ââïžOcean: Duh, Widemouth, real trampolines are actually fun...
ððââïžCP: I toyed with the idea, picturing myself falling through thin air only to bounce back to the window on something unseen by human eyes. But the realist in me prevailed. âMaybe some other time,â I said. âI donât know if I have enough imagination. I could get hurt.â
ð§ââïžOcean: Good thinking.
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouthâs face contorted into a snarl, but only for a moment. Anger gave way to disappointment. âIf you say so,â he
ðCP1: said.
ðââïžCP2: sighed.
ð§ââïžOcean: Loser! Definitely nothing at all like a real friend!
ððââïžCP: He spent the rest of the day under my bed, quiet as a mouse.
ð§ââïžOcean: And that would've been great if he never reared his ugly head again. But...
ððââïžCP: The following morning Mr. Widemouth arrived holding a small box. âI want to teach you how to juggle,â he said. âHere are some things you can use to practice, before I start giving you lessons.â
ððââïžCP: I looked in the box. It was full of knives.
ð§ââïžOcean: *Rolling eyes* Why am I not surprised? *Pfft*
ððââïžCP: âMy parents will kill me!â I shouted, horrified that Mr. Widemouth had brought knives into my roomâ.
ðCP1: objects that
ððââïžCP: My parents would never allow me to touch.
ðââïžCP2: them.
ððââïžCP: âIâll be spanked and grounded for a year!â
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouth frowned. âItâs fun to juggle with these. I want you to try it.â
ððââïžCP: I pushed the box away. âI canât. Iâll get in trouble. Knives arenât safe to just throw
ðââïžCP2: around
ððââïžCP: in the air.â
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouthâs frown deepened into a scowl. He took the box of knives and
ðââïžCP2: then
ððââïžCP: slid
ðââïžCP2: himself
ððââïžCP: under my bed, remaining there the rest of the day.
ð§ââïžOcean: Like I said, loser moron Widemouth doesn't know the first thing about being a real friend.
ððââïžCP: I began to wonder how often he was under
ðCP1: me.
ðââïžCP2: there.
ð§ââïžOcean: The proverbial monster under the bed. *Sneer*
ððââïžCP: I started having trouble sleeping after that. Mr. Widemouth often woke me up at night, saying he put a real trampoline under the window, a big
ðââïžCP2: invisible
ððââïžCP: one,.
ðââïžCP2: He said
ððââïžCP: that I couldnât see
ðââïžCP2: it
ððââïžCP: in the dark.
ð§ââïžOcean: *Scowl* Waking up a sick little kid who needs rest to get well, trying to get this kid to jump out a two-story window. Somebody should jump, but it is not this kid, Widemouth! *Glare*
ððââïžCP: I always declined and tried to go back to sleep, but Mr. Widemouth persisted.
ð§ââïžOcean: Aaaagh! Good job on your part. As for you, Widemouth, buzz off, or else!
ððââïžCP: Sometimes he stayed by my side until early in the morning, encouraging me to jump.
ð§ââïžOcean: Not staying by your side to comfort you the way Toby the furby does for Jessica in this story. Toby is welcome. Widemouth is not!
ððââïžCP: He wasnât so fun to play with anymore.
ð§ââïžOcean: No kidding...
ðCP1: My mother came to me one morning and told me I
ðââïžCP2: was well enough
ðCP1: had her permission
ððââïžCP: to
ðââïžCP2: go outside and walk around
ðCP1: walk around outside.
ðââïžCP2: for a while.
ðCP1: She thought the fresh air would
ðCP1: be good for me,
ðââïžCP2: do me some good,
ððââïžCP: especially after being confined to my room for so long. Ecstatic, I put on my sneakers and trotted out to the back porch, yearning
ðââïžCP2: to feel
ðCP1: for the feeling of
ððââïžCP: the sun on my face.
ð§ââïžOcean: Good sign you were getting better.
ððââïžCP: Mr. Widemouth was
ðââïžCP2: outside,
ððââïžCP: waiting for me.
ð§ââïžOcean: *Unfriendly stare at Mr. Widemouth* Next you're going to tell this kid to play in the street because the cars are all pretend and won't hurt him if they hit him, right? *Scowl* Oh, shove off already!
ððââïžCP: âI have something I want you to see,â he said.
ð§ââïžOcean: Yeah I'll just bet you do... *Hiss*
ððââïžCP: I must have given him a weird look, because he
ðCP1: then said,
ðââïžCP2: added,
ððââïžCP: âItâs safe, I promise.â
ð§ââïžOcean: Yeah right. You kept trying to tell him your nonexistent trampoline was safe too. Liar.
ððââïžCP: I followed him
ð§ââïžOcean: Not a good idea.
ðââïžCP2: and he led me
ððââïžCP: to
ðCP1: the beginning of
ððââïžCP: a
ðCP1: deer
ððââïžCP: trail
ðââïžCP2: that
ðCP1: which
ððââïžCP: ran through the woods behind the house.
ð§ââïžOcean: Better go back home before this louse gets you lost out there.
ððââïžCP: âThis is an important path,â he explained. âIâve had a lot of friends about your age.
ð§ââïžOcean: Keyword, "had" as in, you were so odious that everyone eventually turned against you, or else you managed to kill at least some of them, Mr. Widemouth. *Sneer*
ððââïžCP: When they were ready, I took them down this path, to a special place. You arenât ready yet, but one day, I hope to take you there.â
ð§ââïžOcean: Ready, for what exactly? Oh, just shut up and take off, Widemouth...!
ððââïžCP: I returned to the house, wondering what kind of place lay
ðCP1: beyond
ðââïžCP2: at the end of
ððââïžCP: that trail.
ð§ââïžOcean: Good. You got away, unharmed.
ððââïžCP: Two weeks after I met Mr. Widemouth,
ð§ââïžOcean: He had become a real twisted nuisance.
ðââïžCP2: we packed the last of our belongings
ðCP1: the last load of our things had been packed
ððââïžCP: into a moving truck.
ðââïžCP2: and were about to set off on the long drive to our new home.
ðCP1: I would be in the cab of that truck, sitting next to my father for the long drive to Pennsylvania.
ððââïžCP: I considered telling Mr. Widemouth that I would be leaving, but even at five years old, I was beginning to suspect that perhaps the creatureâs intentions were not to my benefit, despite what he
ðCP1: said otherwise.
ðââïžCP2: claimed.
ððââïžCP: For this reason, I decided to keep my departure a secret.
ð§ââïžOcean: Very good thinking. Otherwise, he would've found another way to try bumping you off before then.
ðCP1: My father and I were in the truck at 4 a.m. He was hoping to make it to Pennsylvania by lunch time tomorrow with the help of an endless supply of coffee and a six-pack of energy drinks. He seemed more like a man who was about to run a marathon rather than one who was about to spend two days sitting still.
ðââïžCP2: It was 4AM by the time we were ready to leave. My mother helped me into the truck and my father was sitting behind the wheel.
ðCP1: âEarly enough for you,â my father asked with a hint of sympathy?
ððââïžCP: I
ðCP1: nodded and
ððââïžCP: placed my head against the window, hoping for some sleep before the sun came up.
ðCP1: I felt my fatherâs hand on my shoulder. âThis is the last move, son, I promise. I know itâs hard for you, as sick as youâve been. Once daddy gets promoted we can settle down and you can make friends.â
ðCP1: I opened my eyes
ððââïžCP: As we backed out of the driveway,.
ððââïžCP: I
ðââïžCP2: looked up and
ððââïžCP: saw Mr. Widemouthâs silhouette in my bedroom window.
ð§ââïžOcean: And did your parents see it as well?
ððââïžCP: He stood
ðââïžCP2: there,
ðCP1: motionless until the truck was about to turn onto the main road. He gave a pitiful little wave good-bye,
ð§ââïžOcean: *Pfft* Tough life, eh Mr. Widemouth? *Smirk*
ðââïžCP2: a
ððââïžCP: steak knife in
ðââïžCP2: his other
ððââïžCP: hand.
ð§ââïžOcean: *Scowls back at Widemouth* So you didn't get to kill this kid, boo-hoo for you. *Sneer*
ððââïžCP: I didnât wave back.
ð§ââïžOcean: Good! The last thing you should do is invite him to try something like jumping on to the roof of the cab and following you to your next residence.
ððââïžCP: Years later, I
ðââïžCP2: was passing through the area and decided to
ðCP1: returned to New Vineyard.
ðââïžCP2: return and pay a visit to that house.
ðââïžCP2: I found that
ððââïžCP: The piece of land our house
ðââïžCP2: had
ððââïžCP: stood
ðââïžCP2: on
ðCP1: upon
ððââïžCP: was empty except for the foundation, as the house burned down a few years after
ðCP1: my family
ðââïžCP2: we
ððââïžCP: left.
ððââïžCP: Out of curiosity, I followed the
ðCP1: deer
ððââïžCP: trail that Mr. Widemouth had shown me. Part of me expected him to jump out from behind a tree and scare the living
ðCP1: bejeesus
ð§ââïžOcean: I really don't like that expression...
ðââïžCP2: daylights
ð§ââïžOcean: that's better.
ððââïžCP: out of me, but I felt that Mr. Widemouth was gone, somehow tied to the house that no longer existed.
ð§ââïžOcean: Now that's where I get curious. Did he move on to a different house, or did he just die of old age or some nasty illness, or did he get himself killed while trying to kill another kid? There are some possibilities.
ððââïžCP: The trail ended at
ðCP1: the New Vineyard Memorial
ðââïžCP2: a small
ððââïžCP: cemetery.
ð§ââïžOcean: That's it?
ððââïžCP: I noticed that many of the tombstones belonged to children.
ð§ââïžOcean: *Scowl* It would be just like Widemouth to loiter around a place like that. But all this "You aren't ready" stuff, I don't get it.
One thing I really like about this story, though, is that unlike so many other pasta creeps, Mr. Widemouth couldn't prevail on this kid, and actually failed to have him/her done in. A refreshing change to see a killing spirit fail and have their potential victim get away.