She Called Me Daddy

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I need to find Sabrina. Something bad has happened in this house that was once a home. This was no place for a child, especially for one that calls me Daddy. Within the darkness she lies. Where? I do not know, but I will find her. God help me, I will find her.

My hand reaches for the light switch by the front door. A blinding bulb illuminates the room with a flash, then with a pop, it fades back into darkness. In that moment, I spy my daughter standing atop the warped staircase, “Sabrina!” I call out. A quiet pitter-patter of footsteps echoes upstairs as small bits of dust fall through the cracks of the ceiling.

I took the first step on the flight of stairs with a groan resounding through the empty cavern of a home. With every motion forward, my palms shake more violently along the grimy hand rails. At the last step, I see a word written within the filth covered wall, Guilty. “Sabrina!” I yell down the upstairs hall. A faint whisper creeps through a doorway, “Daddy.” With every step closing the gap, my heart beats faster in my chest and sweat forms at my brow.

While traversing the dimly lit hall, I find a message written in lipstick red to my left on the drywall, Three Counts-First Degree. “Sabrina!” A shrill voice answers me, “Daddy.” I shuffle my way to the last door on the right. I freeze seeing another message that awaits my viewing, Murder.

“Sabrina! Are you in there?” I shout into the barrier of mahogany. “Daddy, there’s something wrong with mommy.” My hand grasps the door-knob and gives it a twist. With a deep breath of musty air, the door opens revealing the small darkened figure of my child kneeling on my bed before a moonlit window.

I step quickly to her and stand at her back near the window. My child rests there on her knees motionless. “Sabrina. What’s wrong?” I softly inquire, yet she does not respond. I reach into my pocket and pull out a lighter. With a quick roll of the flint, the flickering light strobes to life a number written on the wall above the bed, 8-2-7-4-5.

My eyes then gaze downward to the horrific sight. There on the bed lies a nude man and woman. The man lays facing downward and the woman upright. A multitude of red gashes speckle their corpses. From them oozes a drying paste of blood that has since pooled onto the bed sheets.

I gasp shaking at the knees as the realization sets in, for there on the nightstand rests a bloodied kitchen knife beside my child. I lean over the footrest and inspect the scene more carefully. The man I recall in a symphony of metallic clanking and gears meshing. The woman is my beautiful wife Vanessa. Judging by the vastly greater number of wounds that dot her, the attacker had the most rage towards my one, my only.

I look back at Sabrina, “What happened?” She slowly turns her head to look at me, in her hands she holds a rag-doll Vanessa seamed together before the birth. She clutches the doll like dear friend as she shutters and shakes in fear.

From out of nowhere, the doll suddenly animates and reveals the same small knife that had been laying on the nightstand. With slow, deliberate motions, it raises the knife with a plush hand to its mouth. The edge of the blade moves across the embroidered smile and leaves a red streak of behind in its jagged path.

The felt mouth begins to move and speaks to me with a low and hoarse voice that could only be mimicked by a life-long smoker, “Look upon the man that lies in your bed.” I place a hand upon the dead man’s shoulder and roll him over onto his back, “His face. Look at his face.” I peer into the shadowed features of the lifeless corpse, “My friend. A coworker.” I stammer.

My head quickly turns back to the doll as it lets out a haggard laugh. “Now, look at the bastard child that loves you so.” I make eye-contact with the teary and trembling face of the girl. She whimpers and holds the doll to her chest like a shield. “What do you see?” the soft figure inquires. “They’re one and the same.” I say starting to cry. “No child of yours.” it croaks. “No child of mine” I alliterate.

The doll reaches forward with the knife handle facing towards me, “Finish what you started.” it commands. I take the knife and hold it over my shoulder, “No child of mine. The last five years have been a lie.” I whisper. “No child of yours.” it says goading. My hand puts a death grip upon the wooden handle as the anger builds within me, “No child of mine.” The girl peaks behind the doll’s head, “Daddy, what did you do?”

With a sudden burst of burning-red anger, I scream out the words, “No child of mine! No child of mine! No child of mine!”

The blade slices through the air. In the moment of contact, a flash of darkness fills my vision.

-{\||/}-

My head jerks upwards out of bed. The nightmare still plagues me as I walk to the sink to cool my sweaty brow. Shivers run down my back as cool water douses my face. In a moment of clarity, I look down upon myself. I have donned the same orange jumpsuit for the last twelve years, bearing the number 8-2-7-4-5. “No child of mine…” I croak in the darkness of my cell, “but she was the only one in this world who called me Daddy.”

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28 Comments on 'She Called Me Daddy'

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  • Commented on October 15, 2015 at 5:03 pm

    Pure Gold, my friend.

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  • Commented on October 15, 2015 at 6:15 pm

    Stay gold Pony Boy!!!

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  • Commented on October 26, 2015 at 1:09 am

    This is the author here,

    I’m overwhelmed that this story has been so well received. Is it the most original? Absolutely not. Could it have been written better? Absolutely yes. When I wrote this over a year ago, I was really trying to capture the feeling of what it was like to have a terrible nightmare. I included things that would not be seen within the confines of reality, yet I wanted to have these things reflect reality. I also wanted the feeling to be somewhat disorientating. I know that goes against all arbitrary laws of writing, but I thought it would be the best style. I for one have never had a dream that was straight forward or perfectly grounded in reality.

    Much like dreams, one has to think about them a little before they actually make sense. And that was one of my goals, I wanted people to think about it. I wanted people to analyze every word.

    Since it has been out for a while, I have seen things that I wish I could have had the foresight to alter before the release. If I had to do it over, I think I would have cut out the doll. In this genre, the symbol of the doll has become far too cliché to be seen with any sort of relevancy. Originally, this story was written for a contest, unfortunately it lost to a writer that was far more talented than myself. Either way, the rules dictated that the story had to be based on two images. One image was a musty old staircase and the other was a hand holding a rag doll. If it was not for this, I don’t think the doll would have ever made it in there.

    The second thing I would have changed is the title itself. I haven’t seen it yet on this site, but CreepsMcPasta narrated this for me a while back. I didn’t have the foresight at the time to predict that the phrase “She Called Me Daddy” would lead to so many lewd comments. I like jokes as much as anyone, but I think it distracted the audience from the story. Again, I haven’t seen it on this site yet. I would like to think that people who actually take the time to read these stories have a higher level of maturity.

    I would like to think that my writing is different, and I don’t mean to come off as pretentious, but I always have a one main goal. I want my readers to feel something. In this genre, it seems as if children are simply used as shock value, like a commodity that can be tossed aside with the intent of disturbing the reader. I am probably guilty of this as much as anyone. Although, I do try to do it in a respectful way. This story may be fiction, but something like this has happened in the world. With that in mind, I did my best to show the innocence, plus the raw emotions of anger, sadness, and regret. I think by doing so, some readers have felt something. If so, I have succeeded. If not, I have failed.

    Thanks for reading,

    G. Preeb

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  • Commented on October 17, 2015 at 4:54 pm

    That was awesome! Can’t wait to read more!

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  • Commented on October 16, 2015 at 1:44 pm

    gave me shivers >-<

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  • Austin W.
    Commented on October 15, 2015 at 6:18 pm

    I agree MissCuttThroat. Yet, I could have done without the repetition of “No child of mine”. Left me wanting more.

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  • Commented on October 19, 2015 at 1:06 am

    Really well written. I didn’t want to stop reading, my eyes were glued to my computer screen.

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  • Commented on October 19, 2015 at 7:02 pm

    I love this story it’s beautiful and its beautifully written keep it up<3

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  • Commented on October 17, 2015 at 9:16 am

    amazing

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  • Commented on October 23, 2015 at 1:33 pm

    Loved the suspense

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  • Narnia_Is_Real23
    Commented on October 24, 2015 at 3:25 pm

    Wow! That story was amazing! I loved it, with the whole wife having an affair with her husbands friend and finding out in the end his daughter isn’t really his daughter, just wow. Bravo my friend I give you on a scale 1-10 a score of infinity! Keep it up your a great writer!

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  • slenderlover44
    Commented on November 14, 2015 at 12:01 am

    Loved it that was one of the best story i every read thanks to much for writing it

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  • Commented on October 15, 2015 at 4:02 pm

    Nice creepy story(shudder)

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  • Commented on October 18, 2015 at 7:16 pm

    really good story.

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  • Commented on October 19, 2015 at 11:25 pm

    Spooky and moving.

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  • dixiefayth
    Commented on October 20, 2015 at 1:47 pm

    That was the best story I’ve read in a long long time good job.

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  • Commented on October 20, 2015 at 1:53 pm

    It was good

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  • Commented on October 21, 2015 at 5:36 am

    Cool story. Loved it. Keep up the good work!!

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  • Commented on October 26, 2015 at 2:46 pm

    this was very well put together i thought the daughter would’ve been a ghost and the mother killed the daughter. kept me on the edge of my seat.

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  • sharplayer66
    Commented on November 30, 2015 at 1:54 pm

    not the creepiest pasta I’ve read but still good

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  • Mim
    Commented on October 20, 2015 at 6:50 pm

    beautiful story… loved it 🙂

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  • tiffany neill
    Commented on October 21, 2015 at 4:20 pm

    awesome story! <3

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  • Commented on September 19, 2016 at 3:07 pm

    i like it got a nice feel to it : )

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  • Commented on February 26, 2017 at 8:31 pm

    I LOVED this story

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  • Commented on April 30, 2017 at 2:14 pm

    Nicely done. Little extra creep factor for me since those numbers also happen to be the date of my 55th birthday…I’m glad it turned out not to be a date lol easily 4/5

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  • Maci Abbott
    Commented on October 17, 2015 at 12:18 pm

    This was a good story but you could have made it better. Just my opinion? Or does anyone else agree?

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  • Commented on November 27, 2015 at 5:13 am

    this is amazing the twist at the end though….. omg

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  • Commented on October 17, 2015 at 2:31 pm

    Didnt really get it tbh

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