{"id":264,"date":"2018-05-28T02:43:37","date_gmt":"2018-05-28T02:43:37","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/?p=264"},"modified":"2018-05-13T02:46:56","modified_gmt":"2018-05-13T02:46:56","slug":"did-you","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/did-you\/","title":{"rendered":"Did You?"},"content":{"rendered":"

She didn\u2019t take it well. Our breakup. It really got to her. She didn\u2019t see it coming. I don\u2019t know how. I\u2019d wanted to break up with her for a quite a while now. But I always thought we should try harder. Besides, it had only been two months. And there was nothing wrong <\/em>with her. But something was off. We weren\u2019t gelling. Our jokes stopped being funny. Our conversations became stilted. And when I told her I was moving to Mumbai for work, and we shouldn\u2019t see each other anymore, she begged me not to go. Or to take her with me.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSumi, I can\u2019t. I don\u2019t even know where I\u2019m living. You don\u2019t have a job there, and I can\u2019t support you.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSumi, I just don\u2019t think long distance would work for us. I think it\u2019s best if we let it go now.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cNo Sumi, I don\u2019t think it\u2019s going to work out in the future either. Just let it go.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

My reasons started becoming tenuous. My patience wore thin. But she persisted. Told me I was her everything. Told me that without me she\u2019d be nothing. Like dust in the wind. Told me she\u2019d give me everything she had, everything I wanted. And as she told me these things, I realized I was making the right decision. I couldn\u2019t stay with someone who wanted me that intensely. I couldn\u2019t handle it. I didn\u2019t want her that intensely. There was nothing in my life I wanted as intensely as she wanted me. I didn\u2019t want to see her again. I didn\u2019t want to hear from her again. I told her these things. To hurt her. To push her away. Eventually, it worked.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

And I was out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I had spent two weeks in Mumbai when the first letter came. It came to my work address, and I instantly recognized her handwriting on the envelope \u2013 the sharp curves of the S, the confident flourish of the T\u2019s. The envelope smelled of her. Sitting in my cubicle, about to go on my lunch break, I looked at the envelope. I didn\u2019t want to open it. I didn\u2019t want to see what was inside. But I opened it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

One page, single sided. It started off cordially, rambled for a bit about how well her life was going. But there was a hint of crazed desperation in the handwriting. The A\u2019s that were marked by three strong lines at the beginning of the letter devolved into a large curve and an angry bisection. She didn\u2019t like having to write my name. I read the letter and threw it away. I didn\u2019t respond. I didn\u2019t call. It was over.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

There was another letter the next week. I didn\u2019t read it. I didn\u2019t even open the envelope. I threw it away. Then another one. Every week, one letter.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

They got thicker. The tiny envelope holding one A4 sheet of paper had now become a manila folder. But I didn\u2019t even look it over now. I saw her name on the return address, and threw it away.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Every week, like clockwork. By week 8, even the handwriting on the envelope was barely legible. The devolution was almost complete. Something had snapped. But I wasn\u2019t going to find out.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

By week 10, I\u2019d started seeing someone. Nothing serious, just something casual. At least I thought it was casual. She was interesting, but who could really tell? I was taking it one day at a time. It didn\u2019t really matter, did it?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The letters didn\u2019t stop though. By week 12, even the office peon knew to throw the letter away. By week 13, I was single again. It didn\u2019t work out. She wasn\u2019t really my type. She wasn\u2019t happy about it, but such is life.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The letter for week 14 was different. I could feel it in the peon\u2019s eyes as he brought it to me. Like he wanted to throw up. He couldn\u2019t possibly have read it. He wouldn\u2019t dare to open a personal letter. In any case, I\u2019m sure he couldn\u2019t read. But\u2026there was something. Unmistakable.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\u201cSir\u2026\u201d His mouth was dry, as he handed me the manila folder. This one felt different. Heavier. He\u2019d felt it too. But what was inside wasn\u2019t just paper. It was something else. Something squishy. Something\u2026organic. The peon looked at me, half wanting to get the hell away, half wanting to see what it was. What do we do, Ram Singh, do we give in to my stubbornness or your curiosity? Ding ding ding! We have a winner!<\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

For the first time in 13 weeks, I opened Sumi\u2019s letter. Sure enough, it was just the one page, single-sided. But\u2026there was something else inside. In the envelope. I put my hand inside to grab whatever it was, and something dry and squishy touched my fingers. I pulled my hand out like it\u2019d been bitten by a piranha. Nope. Not doing that again.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I used my fingers to hold the envelope open and emptied it out onto my desk. Ram Singh watched with morbid curiosity, his eyes following my movements as if I was scratching the winning lottery ticket. The winning lottery ticket of gossip. He\u2019d be a hero among all the peons if something interesting came out. He\u2019d have the best \u2018You wouldn\u2019t believe what happened to my boss today\u2019 story. Well, good luck to you, Ram Singh. <\/em><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

And sure enough, something plopped onto the table. It was round, and it stared back at me. I screamed. I consider myself a relatively macho guy. I love horror movies. I love haunted houses. I don\u2019t scare easy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But as Sumi\u2019s disembodied eye stared back at me from my desk, I screamed. Ram Singh screamed too, so that was nice. Comforting, even.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

An eye. It was an eye. An eye ball, to be precise.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I picked up my trash can and threw up in it.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I called the police from my desk and told them what had happened. That Sumi Manchanda, resident of Greater Kailash, New Delhi, had sent me an eye. In a manila folder. There was silence on the other side. They thought I was joking. Or insane. I registered my complaint anyway.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I decided to go home first, before I took the eye to the police station. If it had survived being delivered here, it could survive another few minutes. I needed some time alone.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

As I climbed onto the lift to go up to my apartment, I realized the ridiculousness of having a woman\u2019s eye in a manila folder in my hand. An eye. As another woman entered the lift, I wanted to tell her with a certain grotesque fascination that there were now five eye balls in the lift. But I didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I got off on my floor and went up to my apartment. I hadn\u2019t even opened the door when I knew something was wrong. Something smelled off. Like something was stale. No\u2026 not that. Like something was extremely fresh. Living. Heavy in the air.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I opened the door and closed it behind me. Something was wrong. Someone was here. Or someone had been here. I could tell. I don\u2019t know how, but I could tell.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I carefully, almost gingerly, walked up to the bedroom. I opened the door. And for the second time in the day, I screamed. Although this time it was more of a wail than a scream. It sounded more pathetic than terrified to me. But it was a scream.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sumi turned her head to face me, without moving off the dressing table chair. She stared at me with one eye. She\u2019d been combing her hair. Well, the hair on one side of her head. The other side was blood red. Her ear was gone. The floor beneath her was covered in hair and blood. She was holding the comb with her thumb and her index finger. All the other fingers were gone. Her other hand was just a paw. No fingers. That explained the bad handwriting. The empty eye socket drilled a hole through me. There were marks over her throat, like she\u2019d unsuccessfully had a few goes at that too. She slowly got to her feet.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

She pointed her finger at me. \u201cI told you I\u2019d give you everything. Did you open my letters? Did you? Did you? Did you? Did you? Did you? Did you? Did you? Did you? Did you?\u201d <\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I don\u2019t even know when she put the comb down and picked up the knife. I don\u2019t even know when she sliced my throat. But in my dying moments, her crazed, cacophonous voice rang in my ears. \u201cDid you? DID YOU? DID YOU? DID YOU? DID YOU? DID YOU? DID YOU?<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

She didn\u2019t take it well. Our breakup. It really got to her. She didn\u2019t see it coming. I don\u2019t know how. I\u2019d wanted to break up with her for a quite a while now. But I always thought we should try harder. Besides, it had only been two months. And there was nothing wrong with […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":45,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[43,127,33,129,128,116],"class_list":{"0":"post-264","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-creepy-stories","7":"tag-horror","8":"tag-love","9":"tag-murder","10":"tag-mutilation","11":"tag-self-harm","12":"tag-suicide","13":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/264","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/45"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=264"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/264\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=264"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=264"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.horrorpalace.com\/creepypasta\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=264"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}