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  • (disturbing music)

  • - [Narrator] I remember the first child,

  • the first one we killed.

  • His name was James.

  • He was eight years old, same age as my boy.

  • Same hopeful look my boy once had too.

  • He didn't know what was going to happen,

  • that he was simply a meal soon to be consumed,

  • soul and all.

  • Being the toy maker, they are drawn to me.

  • It just takes a smile and a toy.

  • I handed James a train, a nice choo choo.

  • I told him I had a son

  • he could play trains with if he liked.

  • He came so willingly.

  • So much trust and innocence.

  • Poor thing.

  • He never knew I was leading him to a feast.

  • What had become of me?

  • I used to bring children such happiness.

  • They would smile their bright, shiny smiles,

  • as bright and shiny as the toys I used to make.

  • But now ...

  • Now they only cry.

  • Tears will run down their faces,

  • and they'll cry for a parent

  • that's not there and never will be.

  • They'll be scared.

  • But all of this is for him, to my precious boy, Silas.

  • I sat James at the table next to Silas.

  • He looked at him strangely, not sure what to make of him.

  • I mean, Silas isn't like other boys.

  • He's ...

  • different.

  • Unique.

  • It can be hard getting used to the idea of a wooden boy.

  • They think him nothing but a puppet.

  • But he's real.

  • Boy, is he ever real.

  • But he's always been a bit shy at first.

  • Tell James to go right along and play with his train

  • and that Silas is just being an old stick in the mud.

  • But he's only pretending.

  • He's just waiting for his moment to feed.

  • I waited and watched James

  • drive the train along the tabletop.

  • Among him making his choo choo noises

  • for the train, I hear him speak.

  • I hear Silas.

  • "A life for a life, Daddy."

  • It seems James hadn't heard him, which I found surprising,

  • because it seemed so clear.

  • At these words, I knew it was time for me

  • to do what I had to do to keep my boy alive.

  • In all the years since James, it did get easier.

  • At first it felt like I couldn't wipe

  • all the blood off my hands.

  • All day and night scrubbing at it.

  • The forever stain of a child's blood.

  • But it got easier.

  • It truly did.

  • To hear my precious boy's voice

  • once again ring through my ears once more.

  • "A life for a life, Daddy."

  • There's no parent that wouldn't do what I have for him.

  • I boiled some water and made some tea,

  • a very special tea, one that would make James

  • fall into a forever sleep.

  • It was the most peaceful thing I could do for him.

  • I offered a cup to James, but he declined.

  • I insisted he have the tea, but he refused,

  • saying he didn't like tea, that it tasted icky.

  • I told him he had to have the tea,

  • and maybe I spoke a little louder than I should have,

  • because suddenly he seemed quite frightened

  • and said he wanted to leave.

  • "Drink the tea!" I told him.

  • "Just drink the damn tea!

  • "It'll be better if you drink the tea."

  • He cowered into his chair away from, and then it happened.

  • He happened.

  • My greatest creation came to life,

  • his heavy head rising, showing his blacked-out eyes.

  • James was in utter fear,

  • unable to even scream, as he laid witness

  • to my beautiful boy come to life, come to feed.

  • His wooden hands reached out for James

  • and took ahold of his arm.

  • James pulled back and wrenched his arms away,

  • but not before losing some flesh

  • to my boy's splintered grip.

  • He cried horribly as he ran.

  • I had to cover my ears, it was too much.

  • But I had to watch my boy Silas

  • take his first steps as he chased down James.

  • How proud I was to see him walk again.

  • As Silas came upon James, he screeched

  • between his edged teeth, "A life for a life!"

  • James did everything he could to get him off,

  • but Silas was simply too heavy for him.

  • Again he got ahold of James's arm,

  • but this time he pulled at it

  • with every bit of strength a wooden boy could.

  • He tore the poor boy's arm right off.

  • (screaming)

  • Blood poured from it like a broken glass of water.

  • It sputtered everywhere across the room.

  • Then Silas did something I never thought possible.

  • He took his own wooden arm off

  • and attached James' torn arm to his body.

  • It was incredible to see,

  • to see my precious boy grow in his own little way

  • as the arm just molded right into him.

  • It was then that James, somehow managing to stay alive

  • as the life flowed out of him like a raging river,

  • grabbed one of the trains surrounding him

  • with his still attached hand

  • and smashed it into Silas's face, breaking his jaw off.

  • "My poor boy!" I thought in that moment

  • as I watched my Silas hurt.

  • I was petrified seeing him beat down by that child, James!

  • I felt stuck, unsure of what to do.

  • James then pushed Silas off and rolled onto his knees.

  • He crawled his way to the front door.

  • He pulled himself up with such strength.

  • I was in awe of it.

  • James grabbed the door handle, turned it,

  • getting the door just ajar, just a moment from running free.

  • And as if he had made no progress at all,

  • I reached out from behind him and closed the door.

  • James turned around to find myself

  • and Silas standing over him.

  • There's a strange defeat to be seen in a child's eyes

  • when they know they won't get out alive.

  • Silas then affixed his jaw back on, cackling out

  • a child's laughter as he came upon that poor boy,

  • devouring the rest of him. (screaming)

  • I have never seen such want to live as James,

  • at least not from anyone aside from my boy Silas.

  • James was 23 years ago.

  • 23 years I have done this.

  • I'm an old man now,

  • and I still hear his screams the loudest.

  • They never go away.

  • They only get louder.

  • I only wanted my Silas back, but not like this.

  • So many days I toiled to bring him back,

  • only for him to become this endless chasm of hunger.

  • I built this thing from what was left of my poor boy.

  • A heart, his tiny heart, weak as it was,

  • I kept it beating and built him from the inside out.

  • But evidently, it takes more than a heart;

  • it needed a soul, or that's what I'd like to think.

  • Had I known this is what he would have become,

  • I never would have done it.

  • But I did, and he's my boy, and a father must provide.

  • Sometimes, though, I wonder, what if I could give him

  • a brother or a sister, someone exactly like him,

  • built from the leftover bits of his consuming?

  • It just takes a heart, and maybe, just maybe,

  • I could capture some of another soul in that heart,

  • enough to share with him

  • and end his constant hunger for more.

  • I've tried to tell him that it's too much, to let it stop,

  • to not make me do this anymore, to let me go.

  • But he's not the puppet.

  • I'm the puppet, tethered by strings held by his hands,

  • strangled by them like a hangman's noose,

  • never letting go, never loosening,

  • only getting tighter and tighter and tighter,

  • with no possible way to cut the strings.

  • How has this become my curse?

  • My greatest love, my greatest regret.

  • A life for a life.

  • (disturbing music)

(disturbing music)

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A2 US silas james tea life wooden poor

GEPPETTO | "Toy Maker's Curse" | Crypt TV Extended Universe | Creepypasta

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    Amy.Lin posted on 2020/03/27
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