Three Truths and Other Unsettling Tales by Thomas O

Author:Thomas O [O, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: demon, ghost, creepy pasta
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“Okay, so then what happened?” my son asked in anticipation. I was telling him the same story I just told you, though for him I cleaned it up a bit.

“Well, I’m not sure exactly,” I responded.

“What do you mean you’re not sure? Where did that man Corbin go?”

I looked at my son’s face, which was lit by the few remnants of dusky sunlight that filtered through the window of my study. I could see his brow furrow as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. He was just about the same age as I was when Corbin first came to me. He looked out the window to the grounds of Biltfort Manor. Our second-floor vantage point gave us a spectacular view.

“I don’t know where he went exactly. I guess he returned to his garage. All I know for sure is that I woke up the next morning in the same spot where he left me. I brushed off the snow and dirt and crawled back to the house. I never saw him or Magda again.”

“And grandma and grandpa were okay?”

“Yeah, they were fine.” My parents, who’d lived happy lives, passed away naturally many years later. They were never even aware of what had happened.

“Why didn’t he kill you?”

“I’m not really sure.” I continued to study my son’s face to gauge his reaction to what I was telling him. I didn’t want him to get too disturbed by what he was hearing. I suppose it may seem weird that I was telling my young son a real-life horror story, on Christmas Eve of all nights, but I had some good reasons. First, it was therapeutic to finally tell someone what’d happened all those years ago. He was at the right age where he’d still believe me, but was old enough to rationalize it away if he wanted to. Second, I wanted to make sure that Corbin hadn’t ever come to visit him, and judging by how he responded to what I was telling him, he’d never met the man. Finally, I told him the story because he asked me about the 1958 Christmas tree. And to be clear, my son didn’t ask me why it was missing, as I had once asked, instead he asked why it was so big.

I continued with my story. “So that spot where I woke up Christmas morning, the spot that Magda lured me to, can you guess where it was?”

“It was where the 1958 tree is. Right?”

“Yep!” I said. “When I passed out I dropped Perla in that exact spot. And do you remember what she was made out of?”

The cogs and wheels in his brain turned. “Wasn’t her head a pinecone?”

I nodded yes. “That next spring, I noticed a new tree growing. By the time the next Christmas came along, it was already over ten feet tall.

My son, who was much more logical than I ever was, took issue. “Trees don’t grow that fast! And you didn’t even plant it correctly,

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