Stitches (A creepypasta inspired story)

For you creepypasta fans, you may enjoy this.

There was a teddy bear that I had ever since I was a tiny baby. He was my first friend, I felt like he was the only one that could ever understand me in life. The name I gave him as a young child was Stitches, since he had a little red heart stitched into the middle of his chest. My mother had told me that while she was pregnant with me, Stitches was made with her own two hands, nothing more. This made me love him even more. I grew up with Stitches always there for me, through good times and bad. Even though he was just a stuffed animal, I knew he loved me just as much as I loved him. He was perfect for me. However, when I got older, he became different.. Very different.

I awoke one morning to see Stitches sitting on my dresser, next to my mirror. I sat up, stretched, and looked at him with a sleepy expression.

“Good morning, Stitches,” I said to him cheerfully and sleepily, like I had done since I was a kid. Of course he never said anything back, but I bet he would reply back, if he could. I got out of bed, picked him up, and headed downstairs. I did this every morning since childhood as well, I always went to breakfast with him. It got on my mother’s nerves quite a bit, but she never really made a big deal out of it. After all, I was a child. However, when I got older and she noticed I was still doing it, she would confront me about it. She would say, “Samantha, aren’t you a little too old for Stitches?”

“I know, but I love him!” I would say happily and hug him. All it took was to look happy with him and she would let it go, until the next time she felt concerned about it.

I went into the kitchen and sat Stitches on the counter, then got started on breakfast. I made eggs and a bagel, like I usually did every morning, and sat down at the table and ate with Stitches.

“Oh man, I have work today.. You’re lucky you don’t have to do stuff like this. Working, paying bills, trying to live in general. It gets tiring.” He just sat there and looked at me with his beady eyes. I smiled, “At least I have you to talk to, Stitches. I love you.” I finished eating and put my dishes in the sink. I looked at the clock hanging on the wall and sighed. “Time to get ready for work.”

I grabbed Stitches and headed upstairs to my room. I sat him on the dresser, changed clothes real quick, and put on some makeup. I checked the time again on my phone.

“I gotta go!” I said quickly, kissed Stitches on the head, said bye to him as I grabbed my car keys, and headed out the door. As I was driving to work, I really started to realize how much I hated mornings. All I felt like doing was laying in bed with Stitches. I lived alone, and me and my mom never really talked, so all I had was him. It sounds sad, yes, but I actually was happy. He would never ditch me, like others did in my life. My mom told me about how my dad had left her and me alone when I was a baby. It made me resent him, how could he just leave us?

Every time I asked her about him, she never said much. It made me sad but I respected her silence. If she really didn’t want me to know because the truth would hurt me, then I would’ve died without ever knowing. This is how much I really loved my mother. After working all day until the sun went down, I finally got to go home. I walked out of the building and got into my car. As I was about to start my car, my phone rang in my purse. I opened it, pulled out my noisy phone and answered it, “Hello?”

“Is this Samantha Rivers? Tammy River’s daughter?” It sounded like an older man. I began to get nervous, but I remained calm and said, “Yes? Is everything okay?”

“Samantha, if you are driving right now, I suggest you pull over. If you are at home, have a seat. I am Detective Reynolds from the Carrollton Police Department. I have some news for you.” I felt my heart drop. This can’t be good, it’s never good news to get calls from the police department, let alone a detective. “What is it?”

He was silent for a couple seconds, then said, “Your mother was found dead in her home this afternoon. She… Committed suicide.”

I immediately felt like my life was truly over. I felt my heart drop to my stomach. It was bad enough that she was gone, but by suicide? Why would she do such a thing? She was always a strong woman. I didn't understand at all.

After a moment of silence, the detective said with sadness in his voice, “I am truly sorry about this. I wish I could change this. Are there any other family members that you would like to inform about this?” After finding my voice, I replied, “No. There isn’t.” He told me that I need to stop by the local hospital tomorrow to identify her body and pick up something she left behind for me. I agreed and hung up. I sat there for a few minutes, silent. Then I knew what I needed to do.

I raced home and ran into my apartment. I ran to my room and grabbed Stitches from where I had left him earlier that morning, and hugged him and cried into him. I sobbed on the floor for hours, holding him tight. He really was the only one I could count on then. I had never felt so distraught, angry, and confused. I sobbed with him in the middle of the floor until I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up and looked at Stitches laying by me. I sat up slowly and told him good morning. Then, I thought I had heard him say something back… I looked back at him. I’m still half asleep and traumatized, I must be hearing things, I thought. I stood up and looked in the mirror. God, I looked terrible. Makeup smeared on my face, my face was flushed, and my eyes were red. I picked up Stitches, went to the bathroom and washed my face. I went back to my room and changed clothes. Then I remembered that I had to stop by the hospital today. The tears came back again. Just as I started crying again, I heard a voice say, “Don’t cry! Talk to me!” I jumped, feeling alarmed. Was someone in my apartment?

“Talk to me!” It said this over and over. It sounded like a child’s voice. Then I walked out of my room and tried to find where the voice was coming from. Maybe a child had found their way in and got lost? I didn’t lock my door the night before, after all. Then I heard it more vividly as I walked past the bathroom. I quickly looked into the bathroom, no one was there. However, as I listened, I knew it was coming from in there. I walked up to Stitches, I had left him on the counter. I heard it one more time, and realized where the voice might have been coming from.. Stitches? I stared at him and said, “Stitches, are you talking?” He said nothing. It was official, I was losing my damn mind.

I just shrugged it off, laid him on my bed, and went to the hospital. I identified my mother’s body, and quickly noticed that she really did die from suicide. There were dark purple indentations around her neck; she had hung herself. I cried just about the whole time I was there. It turns out, she had left a letter behind, but it was labeled only for me to open. Because the cause of death was already known, the police had no reason to read it and handed the note to me. As I was leaving, Detective Reynolds said that if I needed anything, that I should give him a call. I thanked him and drove home. I cried the whole way there and on the way to my room. I locked the front door, and my bedroom door. I sat on my bed in front of Stitches, he was laying on my pillow. I looked at the note in my hands and put it in my dresser drawer. I didn’t feel like looking at it. I laid on the bed next to Stitches and fell asleep.

I quickly woke up to a noise later that night. I sat up quickly and looked around. It was silent for a moment, but then I heard, “Mommy is dead!”

I turned my head to Stitches. It sounded like it was coming from him.. Was it? I heard those three words again, and again. It sounded so.. Haunted. Disturbing. Eerie. It terrified me, in all honesty. Those words made my skin crawl. I rushed to the switch on my wall and turned the light on in my room, and noticed something about Stitches. Each time I heard those words, something in his chest would move up and down, making the stitched heart on his chest move. What? Was I truly going crazy? Had my mother’s death really impacted me that much?

I just stood there, staring at him. “Don’t be scared, it’s just Stitches! I love you!” There was that child’s voice that I had heard earlier. That voice.. Was coming from my teddy bear. My stuffed teddy bear, that had something inside him moving. I became very frightened, I knew I had to do something, but what? This was my best friend. And for the first time, I was scared of him. I tried to think of something, but I was too scared to think.

Then I remembered my mother’s note. Maybe that had some sort of answer? I doubted it, but there was nothing wrong with trying. I opened the drawer in my dresser and yanked the note out. I opened it frantically and began reading:

“Dear Samantha, I just wanted to say that you are my gift, my blessing, my world. I love you so much. I’m sorry I went away like this, you must be very mad at me, dear. I’m so sorry, from the bottom of my heart. But I couldn’t live like this anymore. You are a beautiful, strong, and smart woman now. I think it’s about time you learned the truth, honey.”

Stitches began speaking that same sentence in a more demonic tone while I read on:

“I’m going to start with your father. He was a wonderful man. I met him after I had been released from the psychiatric hospital. Charming, wise, and romantic. But I couldn't let him touch my babies. No. Never. So I killed him. Stabbed him, chopped him up, and put him in giant garbage bags. I then watched as his remains floated to the bottom of the lake.”

I screamed and threw up right then and there, all over the floor. What?! As much as I hated it, I kept reading, I had to now:

“After that, my baby was safe, safe as could be. However, I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about your twin brother, sweetie. He was safe, until he got very sick. I knew he wouldn’t live much longer. So I sent him to heaven early, to be with the Lord. His special little heart is somewhere where I knew it would always be kept safe. With you. You were perfect, so I kept you. I love you, Samantha. I’m glad you know the truth now.”

I tore the note violently and screamed. I never knew I even had a twin brother. This was horrifying. I then turned my head to Stitches. He was now saying, “Hi, sister! I love you!” I looked at his chest. Whatever was in it was still moving. Then I knew what I needed to do. I got up and ran to the kitchen, almost falling down the stairs. I grabbed a knife and came back up to Stitches. I took him, laid him on the floor, and started cutting into his chest.

“Mommy killed me! Mommy killed me!” He yelled in a horrible, high pitched tone. I cried as I ripped him wide open. Then, I saw it, buried in the cotton in his chest.

It was a tiny human heart, beating with gushing blood until it could beat no more.

Author's Note

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Reviews

[Gatekeeper]

Dying for more of creepypasta please.

[The Rubik]

Eerie and definitely creepy. Well done :)