Penpal creepypasta full novel free download

It was a "running away" letter. It said that I was unhappy and never wanted to see her or any of my friends again. The police officer exchanged a few words with my mom on the porch while I stared at the letter. I didn't remember writing a letter. I didn't remember anything about any of this. But even if I sometimes went to the bathroom at night and didn't remember, or even if I could have gone into the woods on my own, even if all that could have been true, the only thing I knew at that point was,.

There were a number of questions that made me curious about certain details about my childhood and so I spoke with my mother. Exacerbated by my questions she said "why don't you just tell them about the goddamn balloons if they're so interested. This story will provide some greater context for the previous story, which I think you should read first. Though the order isn't of vital importance, reading that story first will put you in my place more effectively since I remembered the events of Footsteps first.

If you have questions or anything, feel free to ask and I'll try to answer them. Also, both stories are long, so heads up on that. I'm just hesitant to leave out any details that might be important.

When I was five years old I went to an elementary school that, from what I've come to understand, was really adamant about the importance of learning through activity. It was part of a new program designed to allow children to rise at their own pace, and to facilitate this, the school encouraged teachers to come up with really inventive lesson plans.

Each teacher was given the latitude to create his or her own themes which would run for the duration of the grade, and all the lessons in math, reading, etc. These themes were called "Groups". In Kindergarten in this country, you don't learn much except how to tie your shoes and how to share, so most of it isn't very memorable. I only remember two things very clearly: I was the best at writing my name the right way, and the Balloon Project, which was really the hallmark of the Community group, since it was a pretty clever way to show how a community functioned at a really basic level.

You've probably heard of this activity. On one Friday I remember it being Friday because I was excited about the project and it being the end of the week toward the beginning of the year, we walked into the classroom in the morning and saw that there was a fully-inflated balloon tied off with string taped to each of our desks. Sitting on each of our desks was a marker, a pen, a piece of paper, and an envelope.

The project was to write a note on the paper, put it in the envelope, and attach it to the balloon which we could draw a picture on if we wanted. Most of the kids started fighting over the balloons because they wanted different colors, but I started on my note which I had thought a lot about. All the notes had to follow a loose structure, but we were allowed to be creative within those boundaries.

My note was something like this: "Hi! You found my balloon! You can keep the balloon, but I hope you write me back! I like Mighty Max, exploring, building forts, swimming, and friends. What do you like? Write me back soon. Here's a dollar for the mail! The teacher took a Polaroid of each of us with our balloons and had us put them in the envelope along with our letter.

They also included another letter that I assume explained the nature of the project and sincere appreciation for anyone's participation in writing back and sending photos of their city or neighborhood. That was the whole idea—to build a sense of community without having to leave the school, and to establish safe contact with other people; it seemed like such a fun idea Over the next couple weeks the letters started to roll in.

Most came with pictures of different landmarks, and each time a letter would come in, the teacher would pin the picture on a big wall-map we had put up showing where the letter had come from and how far the balloon had traveled.

It was a really smart idea, because we actually looked forward to coming to school to see if we had gotten our letter.

For the duration of the year we had one day a week where we could write back to our pen-pal or another students' pen-pal in case our letter hadn't come in yet. Mine was one of the last to arrive. When I came into the classroom I looked at my desk and once again didn't see any letter waiting for me, but as I sat down the teacher approached me and handed me an envelope.

I must have looked so excited because as I was about to open it she put her hand on mine to stop me and said, "Please don't be upset. Initially I was mystified that she would even know what was in the envelope, but now I realize that of course the teachers had screened the contents to make sure there was nothing obscene, but all the same—how could I be disappointed?

When I opened the envelope I understood. The only thing in the envelope was a Polaroid, but I couldn't really make out what it was. It looked like a patch of desert, but it was too blurry to decipher; it appeared as if the camera had been moved while the picture was being taken.

There was no return address, so I couldn't even write back if I wanted to. I was crushed. The school year pressed on, and the letters had stopped coming for nearly all of the other students. After all, you can only continue a written correspondence with a Kindergartener for so long. Everyone, including myself, had lost interest in the letters almost completely. Then I got another envelope. My excitement was rejuvenated, and I reveled in the fact that I was still getting a letter when most of the other pen-pals had abandoned their involvement.

It made sense that I received another delivery—there had been nothing but a blurry picture in the first one, so this was probably to make up for that. But again there was no letter at all This one was more distinguishable, but I still didn't understand it. The photograph was angled way up, catching the top corner of a building, and the rest of the image was distorted by a lense-flare from the sun. Because the balloons didn't travel very far, and because they were all launched on the same day, the board became a bit cluttered, and so the policy for the students still exchanging letters became that they could take the photographs home.

My best friend Josh had the second highest number of pictures taken home by the end of the year—his pen-pal was really cooperative and sent him pictures from all around the neighboring city; Josh took home, I think, four pictures. The envelopes were all opened by the teacher, but after a while I stopped even looking at the pictures. However, I saved them in one of my drawers that housed my collections of rocks, baseball cards, comic book cards Marvel Metal cards, for those who might remember , and little miniature baseball batting helmets that I'd get out of a vending machine at Winn-Dixie after T-Ball games.

With the school year over, my attention turned to other things. My mom had gotten me a small snow cone machine for Christmas that year, and Josh had really coveted it—so much so that his parents bought him a slightly nicer one for his birthday which was toward the end of the school year.

That summer we had the idea that we would set up a snow cone stand to make money; we thought we'd make a fortune selling snow cones at one dollar. Josh lived in a different neighborhood, but we eventually decided that my neighborhood would be better because there were a lot of people who cared for their lawns; the yards in my neighborhood were slightly bigger. We did this for five weekends in a row until my mom told us that we had to stop, and I've only recently come to understand why she did that.

On the fifth weekend, Josh and I were counting our money. Because we both had a machine, we each had a separate stack of money that we put together into one stack and we then split it evenly. We had made a total of sixteen dollars that day, and as Josh paid out my fifth dollar, a feeling of profound surprise consumed me. Josh noticed my shock and asked if he had miscounted.

I told him about the dollar and he said, "That's so cool, man! The idea that the dollar had made it right back to me after changing so many hands floored me.

I rushed inside to tell my mom, but my excitement coupled with her being distracted by a phone call made my story incomprehensible and she responded simply by saying "Oh wow! That's neat! Frustrated, I ran back outside and told Josh I had something to show him.

Back in my room, I opened the drawer and took out the stack of envelopes and showed him some of the pictures. I started with the first picture, and we went through about ten before Josh lost interest and asked if I wanted to go play in the ditch a dirt ditch down the street from my house before his mom came to pick him up, so that's what we did.

We had a "dirt war" for a while, but it was interrupted several times by rustling in the woods around us. There were raccoons and stray cats that lived in there, but this was making a little too much noise and we traded guesses at what it was in an attempt to scare each other.

My last guess was that it was a mummy, but in the end Josh kept insisting that it was a robot because of the sounds that we heard. Before we left, he got a little serious and looked me right in the eyes and said, "You heard it didn't you? It sounded like a robot. You heard it too right? It's only now that I understand what we heard. When we got back Josh's mom was waiting for him at the kitchen table with my mom. Josh told his mom about the robot; our moms laughed and Josh went home.

My mom and I ate dinner, and then I went to bed. I didn't stay in bed for long before I crept out and decided that, due to the day's events, I would revisit the envelopes since now the whole affair seemed much more interesting. I took the first envelope and set it on the floor and set the blurry desert Polaroid on top.

I laid the second envelope right next to it and placed the oddly angled Polaroid of a building's top corner on top and did this with each picture until they formed a grid that was about five by ten; I was always taught to be careful with things that I was collecting, even if I wasn't sure they were valuable.

I noticed that the pictures gradually became more decipherable. There was a tree with a bird on it, a speed limit sign, power line, a group of people walking into some building.

And then I saw something that vexed me so powerfully that I can now, as I write this, distinctly remember feeling dizzy and capable of only a single, repeating thought:. In this photograph of the group of people entering the building I saw myself holding hands with my mother in the very back of the crowd of people. We were at the very edge of the photo, but it was undeniably us.

And as my eyes swam over the sea of Polaroids I became increasingly anxious. It was a really odd feeling—it wasn't fear, it was the feeling you get when you are in trouble. I'm not sure why I was flooded with that feeling, but there I sat floundering in the distinct sense that I had done something wrong.

And this feeling only intensified as I looked on at the rest of the photos after the one that had so powerfully struck me. None of them were close shots. None of them were only of me. But I was in every single one of them—off to the side, in the back, bottom of the frame. Some of them only had the tiniest part of my face captured at the very edge of the photo, but nevertheless, I was there. I was always there. I didn't know what to do.

Your mind works in funny ways as a kid, but there was a large part of me that was afraid of getting in trouble simply for still being up. Since I already had the looming feeling of having done something wrong, I decided that I would wait until tomorrow. The next day, my mom was off work and spent most of the morning cleaning up around the house. I watched cartoons, I imagine, and waited until I thought it was a good time to show her the Polaroids.

When she went out to get the mail I grabbed a couple of the pictures and put them on the table in front of me as I sat waiting for her to come back in. When she returned, she was already opening the mail and threw some junk mail into the trashcan and I said:.

After a minute or two, she came and stood behind me and asked me what I needed. I could hear her shuffling with the mail behind me but I just looked at the Polaroids and told her about them. As I explained more and pointed to the pictures her frequent "uh huh"s and "ok"s decreased, and she was suddenly completely quiet and only making a little noise with the mail.

The next noise I heard from her sounded as if she was trying to catch her breath in a room that had no air left in it. At last her struggling gasps were conquered and she simply dropped the remaining mail on the table and ran to the kitchen to get the phone. I nervously fiddled with the mail sitting next to my Polaroids.

The top envelope had something sticking out of it that I thoughtlessly and anxiously pulled on until it came out. Confused, I thought that somehow one of my Polaroids had slipped into the stack when she threw the mail down, but when I turned it over and looked at it I realized that I had not seen this one before.

To my dismay, it was me, but this one was a much closer shot. I was surrounded by trees and was smiling. But it wasn't just me, I noticed. Josh was there too. This was us from yesterday. I started yelling for my mom who was still screaming into the phone. I repeatedly yelled for her until she finally responded with, "What?! She answered me with a response that I never understood until I was forced to revisit these events from the earliest years of my life. She grabbed the envelope off the table and the picture of Josh and I spun and slid, landing next to the other Polaroids in front of me.

She held the envelope up to my eyes but I could only look at her and watch as all the color began draining out of her face. With tears welling up in her eyes she said that she had to call the police because there was no postmark. If you haven't read Footsteps or " Balloons ", please do so before reading what's below so you'll understand. For those of you who have read my other stories and asked if there was more and received cryptic answers from me, I want to apologize for being dishonest.

I said several times in the comments that nothing really happened after "Footsteps", but that wasn't true. The events of the following story weren't locked away in the recesses of my mind; I've always remembered them. It wasn't until I remembered "Balloons" and spoke with my mother about the following events that I realized how intertwined this story was with everything else, but I originally hadn't really planned on sharing this anyway.

My desire to withhold this memory was due mostly to the fact that I don't think I showed good judgment in it; I also wanted consent from another person to tell it, so as to not misrepresent what transpired.

I didn't expect there to be a lot of interest in my other stories, so I never thought I'd really get pressed for more details, and I would have been happy to keep this to myself for the rest of my life. I haven't been able to reach the other party, but I would feel disingenuous withholding this story from those who wanted more information now that I've spoken with my mother and another connecting line has been drawn. What follows is as accurate a recollection as I could manage.

I apologize for the length. I spent the summer before my first year of elementary school learning how to climb trees. There was one particular pine tree right outside my house that seemed almost designed for me. It had branches that were so low I could easily grab them without a boost, and for the first couple days after I first learned how to pull myself up I would just sit on the lowest branch, dangling my feet.

The tree was outside our back fence and was easily visible from the kitchen window which was just above the sink. Before too long my mother and I developed a routine where I would go play on the tree when she washed the dishes because she could easily see me while she did other things. As the summer passed, my abilities grew and before too long I was climbing fairly high. As the tree got taller, its branches not only got thinner but more widely-spaced. I got too confident and one afternoon I tried to step from a branch before I had firmly grasped the next one.

I fell about twenty feet and broke my arm really badly in two places. My mom was running toward me yelling and I remember her sounding like she was underwater—I don't remember what she said but I do remember being surprised by just how white my bone was. I was going to start Kindergarten with a cast and wouldn't even have any friends to sign it. My mom must have felt terrible because the day before I started school she brought home a kitten.

He was just a baby and was striped with tan and white. As soon as she put him down he crawled into an empty case of soda that was sitting on the floor. I named him Boxes. Boxes was only an outside cat when he escaped. My mom had him declawed so he wouldn't destroy the furniture, so as a result we did our best to keep him inside.

He'd get out every now and then, and we'd find him somewhere in the backyard chasing some kind of bug or lizard, though he could hardly ever catch one because he had no front claws.

He was pretty evasive, but we'd always catch him and carry him back inside. He'd scramble to look back over my shoulder—I told my mom that it was because he was planning his strategy for next time.

Once inside we'd give him some tuna fish, and he came to learn what the sound of the can-opener might signal; he'd come running whenever he heard it. This conditioning came in handy later because toward the end of our time in that house Boxes would get out much more often and would run under the house into the crawlspace where neither of us wanted to follow because it was cramped and probably crawling with bugs and rodents.

Ingeniously, my mom thought to hook the can-opener to an extension cord out back and run it right outside the hole that Boxes had gone through. Eventually he would emerge with his loud meows, looking excited by the sound and then horrified at how we could run such a cruel ruse on him—a can-opener with no tuna made no sense to Boxes.

The last time he escaped to under the house was actually our last day in it. My mom had put the house on the market and we had begun packing our things. We didn't have much, and we stretched the packing out a while, though I had already packed up all my clothes at my mom's request—my mom could tell I was really sad about moving and wanted the transition to be smooth for me, and I guess she thought that having my clothes in the box would reinforce the idea that we were moving but things wouldn't change that much.

She came out with Boxes pretty quickly and seemed pretty unnerved, which made me feel even better about getting out of it. My mom made some phone calls while I packed a little more, and then she came into my room and told me that she had spoken to the realtor and we were going to start moving into the other house that day.

She said it like it was excellent news, but I had thought we had more time in the house—she originally said that we weren't moving until the end of the next week and it was only Tuesday.

What's more, we weren't completely finished packing, but my mom said sometimes it was just easier to replace things than pack them and haul them all over the city. I didn't even get to grab the rest of my boxed clothes. I asked if I could call Josh to say bye, but she said that we could just call him from our new house. We left in the moving van. I managed to stay in touch with Josh for years, which is surprising since we no longer went to the same school.

Our parents weren't close friends, but they knew that we were and so they would accommodate our desire to see one another by driving us back and forth for sleep-overs—sometimes every weekend. For Christmas one year our parents even pooled their money and got us some really nice walkie-talkies that were advertised to work across a range that extended past the distance between our houses; they also had batteries that could last for days if the walkie-talkie was on but not used.

They would only occasionally work well enough that we could talk across the city, but when we stayed-over we'd use them around the house, talking in mock-radio speak that we had taken from movies, and they worked great for that. Thanks to our parents we were still friends when we were ten.

One weekend I was staying over at Josh's and my mom called me to say goodnight; she was still pretty watchful even when she couldn't actually watch me, but I had gotten so used to it that I didn't even notice it, even if Josh did. She sounded upset.

This must have been a Saturday night, because I had spent the night at Josh's the previous night and was going to go home the next day because we had school on Monday. Boxes had been missing since Friday afternoon; I gathered that she had not seen him since returning home after dropping me off.

She told me not to worry. He always does! Three weekends later I stayed at Josh's again. I was still upset about Boxes, but my mom told me that there had been many times when pets had disappeared from home for weeks or even months, only to return on their own; she said they always knew where home was and would always try to get back.

I was explaining this to Josh when a thought hit me so hard that I interrupted my own sentence to say it aloud. He was raised in my old house a couple neighborhoods away. Maybe he still thinks of that place as home, like I do. Well that'd be great! We'll tell my dad tomorrow and he'll take us over there so we can look! My mom said that we couldn't ever go back to that place because the new owners wouldn't wanna be bothered.

She said that she told your mom and dad the same thing. Josh persisted, "Ok then we'll just go out exploring tomorrow and make our way to your old house—". If we get spotted your dad will find out and then so will my mom! We have to go there ourselves We have to go there tonight It didn't take that much convincing to get Josh on board since he was usually the one to come up with ideas like this.

But we had never snuck out of his house before. It actually turned out to be incredibly easy. The window in his room opened to the backyard and he had a latched wooden fence that wasn't locked. After those two minor hurtles we slipped off into the night, flashlight and walkie-talkies in hand.

There were two ways to get from Josh's house to my old house. We could walk on the street and make all the turns or go through the woods, which would take about half the time. It would have taken about two hours to walk there taking the street, but I suggested that we go that way anyway; I told him it was because I didn't want to get lost.

Josh refused and said that if we were seen they might recognize him and tell his dad. He threatened to go home if we didn't just take the shortcut, and I accepted it because I didn't want to go by myself. The woods were much less creepy with a friend and a flashlight, and we were making pretty good time. I wasn't entirely sure where we were, but Josh seemed confident enough and that bolstered my morale. We passed through a particularly thick patch of tangled trees when the strap on my walkie-talkie got caught on a branch.

Josh had the flashlight and so I was struggling to get the walkie free when I heard Josh say:. I looked over to where he was shining the flashlight, though I closed my eyes as I did, because I now knew where we were. He was pointing at the pool float.

This was where I had woken up in these woods all those years ago. I felt a lump in my throat and the sting of fresh tears in my eyes as I continued to struggle with the walkie. Frustrated, I yanked on it hard enough to break it free and I turned and walked to Josh who had partially laid down on the pool float in a mock-sunbathing pose.

As I walked toward him I stumbled and nearly fell into a fairly large hole that was sitting in the middle of this small clearing, but I regained my balance and stopped right at its edge. It was deep. I was surprised by the size of the hole, but more surprised by the fact that I didn't remember it.

I realized it must not have been there that night because it was in the same spot where I had awoken. I put it out of my mind and turned to Josh. You saw I was stuck over there, and you were just laying here joking around on this float!

A screeching rose from it. Josh's smile inverted. He suddenly looked terrified and was struggling to get off the float, but he couldn't in a quick manner due to the awkward way he had been laying on it. Each time he would fall back on the float the screeching would intensify.

I wanted to help Josh but I couldn't move myself any closer—my legs wouldn't cooperate; I hated these woods. I picked up the flashlight that he had thrown in his thrashing and shined in on the float not knowing what to expect. Finally, Josh got off the float and rushed next to me, looking at where I was shining the light. Suddenly there it was. It was a rat. I started laughing nervously and we both watched the rat run into the woods, taking the screeches with it.

Josh lightly punched me in the arm, the smile slowly returning to his face, and we continued walking. We quickened our pace and made it out of the woods faster than we thought we would, and we found ourselves back in my old neighborhood. The last time I had rounded the bend ahead I had seen my house fully illuminated, and all the memories of what transpired came flooding back.

I felt a skipping in my heart as we were finally turning the corner and about to face the full view of my house, remembering last time how incandescent it was. But this time all the lights were off. From a distance I could see my old climbing tree and as my mind traced the steps of causality backward I realized that I wouldn't be back here this night if that tree hadn't grown, and I was briefly in awe of how all events were like that. As we got closer I could see that the lawn looked terrible; I couldn't even guess when it had last been mowed.

One of the shutters had partially broken loose and was rocking back and forth in the breeze, and over all the house just looked dirty.

I was sad to see my old home in such a state of disrepair. Why would my mom care if we bothered the new owners if they cared so little about where they lived? And then I realized. The house was abandoned, though it looked simply forsaken. Why would my mom lie to me about our house having new people in it?

But, I thought that this was actually a good thing. It would be easier to look around for Boxes if we didn't have to worry about being spotted by the new family. This would make it much quicker. Josh interrupted my thoughts as we walked through the gate and up to the house itself. You have no choice but to confront yourself. In your old high school you might have been the big fish in a little pond.

You have to make your own way. Depression rates are high. People are alone. You have to create a life for yourself. You will spend your life alone. You will not have the comfort of the family home anymore. Beginning with a diagnostic test, the book explains dating, falling in love, and finding romance in a concise and entertaining manner, showing all the clever strategies successful men use. Time-tested methods are illustrated with humorous anecdotes and memorable thumb rules.

Score: 4. Your Rating:. Your Comment:. Home Downloads Free Downloads Penpal pdf. Read Online Download. On one hand, it is downright creepy. You get a keen sense of foreboding while reading it and it actually sends chills down the spine.

On the other hand, the execution of the story is slow and the ending feels I wanted answers. Did I get any? So that's very frustrating for me as a reader. I feel like I invested time into a story that wasn't wrapped up. If you DO plan to read the book then I highly recommend not reading the rest of my review.

It would absolutely RUIN your reading experience. Here goes: view spoiler [. The book details the life of a little boy who is essentially being stalked by an unknown person. Readers NEVER find out who this person is or why he is stalking this child which is both nerve-wracking and baffling. We learn that this stalker doesn't want the child to have friends as those who become close with him end up dead.

This isn't the kind of horror book that readers see murders happening in a gruesome way, but it's a slow process of understanding their deaths. I think this is why it's so terrifying. The mother clearly knows whats going on but doesn't tell anyone. This makes me think it's a little closer to home than one would have imagined but again, we don't get answers. It's open ended. Regardless of this though the novel is pretty creepy and I had goosies from reading it hide spoiler ] With that, this is a terrifying novel that will probably stay with me for a long time.

While I may not have really liked the execution of the novel- everything unfolds very slowly- I can appreciate it and understand why the author chose to go this route. Would I recommend the book? Actually, despite giving it 3 stars I would. It's one of those books that seeps into your bones and makes you feel chilled. It's just not for everyone. Nov 08, tyoung rated it it was amazing.

One of the creepiest stories I've read in a while. Sep 05, s rated it really liked it. This book was my borrowed book for the month from Amazon Prime. I selected it because it was a highly reviewed horror book, and i am a huge horror fan.

Penpal has the first two down pat -- the atmosphere is chilling because of its normalcy -- and the dread built with each chapter to the point where you wanted to yell at the narrator to just stop Miss Maggie's son's name was Chris! Clearly that means this is about time-travel reincarnation! Penpal was a happy accident. I stumbled upon this title after completing another eBook and noticing the odd cover among recommendations. Although I admit to indulging in its darker qualities This is a story that unfolds slowly as our nameless narrator endeavors to make sense of his murky childhood through recollection and the interr Penpal was a happy accident.

Although I admit to indulging in its darker qualities This is a story that unfolds slowly as our nameless narrator endeavors to make sense of his murky childhood through recollection and the interrogation of his mother. As pieces of the puzzle fall into place what is revealed is a disconcerting past that has not only affected his own life but upset that of those closest to him.

I find myself moving further and further away from summarizing plots and providing recaps. That is what our synopsis is for, and well once again, revelation is a crucial part of the experience here as often is the case. Here is a quick look at what does and does not work in within the story for myself.

Pros: A distinctive plot that effortlessly delivers more than a few disquieting and sinister moments. A nonlinear narrative that is successful in contributing to the fact that our narrator is recalling and piecing together the story that is his childhood.

I found a lot of appreciation in this, because it is easy to misconstrue and forget so much as we grow and I like that this is addressed in a very creative manner. The writing is fluid and light, remaining effective but creating an easy read. I am not going to lie: I love that this began as a series of creepypasta stories posted on Reddit and was then funded by Kickstarter to become a debut novel.

I found the mother to lack credibility. Her actions and motives were super questionable at best. Some seriously poor decision-making occurs.

The ending felt inconclusive. While it is easy to understand what happened, there were still several grey areas left to speculate on. However, maybe this is exactly what the author intended. Ultimately, I am comfortable recommending Penpal for anyone seeking a fast and fun read with a nice hint creepiness. If you are able to move past the smaller issues within the novel, it actually manages to serve a few hours of solid entertainment.

As a debut novel with interesting origins, I feel it is worth the time invested. You can also find this review here. Jan 08, John Jilwan rated it it was amazing. Great read, a very sad and terrifying story. Unlike a lot of works of horror that focus endlessly on bloodshed and pointless murder, this one takes on a more classical perspective of character development by focusing on a few characters, and watching everything they thought they knew come crumbling down on them and knowing that they will never be safe.

I first read this as on the nosleep community of reddit, and am currently rereading it as the book. I have no qualms paying a bit of money to sup Great read, a very sad and terrifying story.

I have no qualms paying a bit of money to support a great author which is why I will discuss some of the negatives I have heard. The first is that the author tends to ramble. Bear in mind the story is written from the perspective of the main character, and as people we tend to ramble. Since the story is really more of an account than a tale though fictional it helps to have a few grammatical errors for sake of placing yourself in the character's shoes.

The second being that he author leaves many details out such as the character's name and appearance. Personally I liked this, as it allows room for creativity, though I have pictured the character as myself as it adds a whole new level of enjoyment and creepiness to an already beautiful work. Thus I just refer to the character as "John". Others have also said other things such as that the descriptions are awkward, or that it's unreadable, or just takes too long. With those I would like to say that I felt the author knew what he was doing when he wrote it, but it isn't a book for people just getting into the genre.

I remember my first real experience with similar stories being a reading of candle cove on youtube done by thelittlefears. I would recommend this book to anyone into the horror genre, or just looking for a change of pace to the usual books that seem to come out today. Feb 04, Tom Lewis rated it liked it. What did I just read! I literally had to turn on all the lights in my house. Oct 16, Pantelis Andreou rated it liked it. Still a fun halloween read. How far can you go into the woods?

This book had a great deal of potential, and I think that it did what it intended well enough, but I found it lacking towards the end and did not feel that many of the events toward the end were entirely necessary.

Much of the plot felt convoluted and unbelievable, which took me out of the mystery and made me question the entire premise of the story. The writing was interesting because sometimes, especially in the beginning, I thought it was actually quite excel How far can you go into the woods? The writing was interesting because sometimes, especially in the beginning, I thought it was actually quite excellent, but as the story went on, it dragged and I often had to re-read entire paragraphs just to understand what was even happening.

Generally, the philosophical waxing was done well but the actions were done terribly. One thing this book did very well was suspense. I was very intrigued by the mystery and really wanted to know how everything fit together. The world is a cruel place made crueler still by man.

The story followed a nonlinear plot which often made the order of events very confusing, especially since the perspective and actions of the narrator when he was or so did not read like a young child but rather like an older child or even an adult. Some elements felt very To Kill a Mockingbird , which I'm sure was intentional, but other times, it just didn't sync. The book had an excellent atmosphere , though, and the unsettling implications of the story were reminiscent of Sadie by Courtney Summers.

The themes of the book were also very well done for the most part and the subtext was well crafted throughout. Sometimes forgetting is the gift that we give ourselves. I really enjoyed this creepy,quick read. It made me feel very uneasy at times,and I love that! The main character tells the story of his childhood,and it jumps in time. I liked the way it was written.

There were parts when it felt slow,and I was hoping the story would just move along. The whole book was written surprisi I really enjoyed this creepy,quick read. The whole book was written surprisingly well.

I wasn't expecting that,although not sure why. The creepiness built up as the story moved on. I was itching to know what the hell was going on! There were unanswered questions at the end,but that didn't bother me that much. The thing that did bother me though,was the way the people reacted on certain things,and what they did,or didn't do. I won't go into that because I want this to be spoiler free. And I think going into this book blindly is the best way. I knew nothing about it before reading it,except that it started as creepypasta stories on reddit.

It certainly had that feel too,like you were reading a creepypasta. All in all an enjoyable,properly creepy,at times even disturbing,quick read. Jun 09, Melissa Chung rated it really liked it Shelves: owned. Finished this book in about 12 hours. It held my interest from the first chapter. It explains how memories fade over time. After reading the book the prologue really sets the tone of the ending. Sometimes forgetting is better. The book is narrated by an almost thirty year old man.

I have to admit books rarely scare me. My breathing quickened a few times. It was eerie. If you like reading a slow paced book filled with dread. Where you have to look behind you often, check out this book! Oct 29, DeAnna Knippling rated it it was amazing Shelves: flavorwirescariest-books , nprfavorite-horror-stories. A little kid sends off a balloon inviting someone--anyone--to become his pen pal. Someone very, very bad finds it.