Misjudged Child

Most people think children as innocent humans that could do no harm. No, not at all. The story here on Daphe Lane is different. Rumors have spread about a disease going on, making children go crazy, but no disease could do this. It has made East River's reputation drop. Nothing has gone like this before, not even the Massacre of '93. Little Luke Cargmeire has been diagnosed with this disease, doctors say, but he's always been crazy, and his parents don't know how this devilish child is not innocent.
I'm Luke's babysitter. I spend hours- even days babysitting this horror. He wrecks, destroys, and can even be found holding dead rats and mice. He loves grabbing knives from the kitchens and cutting wild animals head's off, once he killed Mrs. Kagay's cat. Luke's parents didn't believe Mrs. Kagay, and innocent Mr. Kagay was sent to prison for animal abuse.
One by one, Daphe Lane's population drops. People are believing this disease is killing them. I believe not- Little Luke is the killer. I hear footsteps at night while watching the television waiting for the Cargmeire's to come home. Luke sneaks out at night, coming again the next day. It's not fair. People are getting arrested from Little Luke.
I slowly pack my things as the door creaks open, and Little Luke came to the door, handing me a Thank You card. I read it, in sloppy handwriting it reads: 
I smiled and walked out, sighing. He's crazy, I tell you. C-R-A-Z-Y. Not all kids are innocent. Especially Luke. 
Stumbling home, Luke's crazy blue eyes haunt me. His black hair oily, like he hasn't bathed in days. I shake my head, walking home. Tomorrow's another crazy day, since Luke will be there. This is not a disease, maybe asking the Cargmeire's to take Luke to therapy.
Loud static came from my living room as I opened my door. A bright light shone in my eye. Shutting the door, loud footsteps scatter into the dark hallways. I rush into the living room, gasping as blood dripped from the ceilings. The television had static, yes, but a face of a strange man was shaped on the television. Bloodshot eyes, ripped skin, bone-thin figure. I blinked, walking closer to the image.
As soon as I walked closer, the television shut off. Hearing footsteps behind me, I spun around. Green eyes stared at me. Noodle-thin brown hair, baby bangs. The lights flickered on and the blood was no longer dripping from the roof. My sister giggled and my heart dropped. It's only Kayla, thank the lord! 
This town gives me the creeps. Ever since I was 11, it has became creepier, scarier, and darker. Whispers always scare me when I walk through this town.
This is NO joke. This town's creepier than my grandmama on steroids. And that's creepy. Very.
My house is the oldest in East River. Being here over a century, not all visitors think this place is appealing. In 1809, it was built by a wealthy man. Many say that him and his kin were always evil, crazy, or even both. Upon my research, the man's name was John Cargmeire. 
You may think I'm crazy, but no. This is true. The Cargmeire kin. Luke Cargmeire. Wendy Cargmeire. Even John Cargmeire VIIII. Yes, a junior. This is going to be one tough story to tell.
Category:Deletion Log Refugees
Category:Bad Creepypasta
Category:TRUE STORY
Category:Pointless Violence
Category:Well, that was pointless.