You Make Me Feel so Young
You Make Me Feel so Young scary stories

lukas Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago
Hatred but admiration, resentment but captivation. Malakai Young has it all for this boy.

You Make Me Feel so Young

"Ma! Let me go! Let me go!" a young boy screeched, his eyes bloodshot red. He banged his bruised hands against the foggy glass, his mouth turned in a grimace.

A tall, dainty looking woman stood outside, her hands cupped around her face, tears forming in the corners of her milky blue eyes.

"Oh, Kai. I can't see you like this," she faintly murmured. The boy's blonde hair was matted with sweat, and his chest was heaving.

Hot, salty tears poured down his face and trickled into his mouth.

"Ma, don't leave me! Please!" he cried. The woman outside didn't reply. She simply stood, a silent spectator.

"Alright, it's about time to go," an unfamiliar voice said. Frank Sinatra's, You Make Me Feel so Young softly played in the background, and the woman's figure gradually grew smaller.

The boy sobbed as he stared out the window at the woman. He was unable to speak. The entire ride, his cold brown gaze was set out the window, and he wouldn't move an inch.

Malakai Young:

The first days- then weeks, I arrived at this place, I kept to myself, and uttered a word to no one. I held no interest in forming new friendships.

Why am I here? The answer remains unfathomable to me. I can only remember the peace and nature I've found, and the people and animals I have loved. I am a good person.

I have spent 16 years here- half my life, mind you- and I am now returning back to the place I was raised.

As I stand up to take one last look, I notice the paintings covering every inch of my wall. They depict wondrous creatures like butterflies, birds, squirrels, cats, and mice.

Then, it strikes me. I also remember the way I felt when those creatures died. I recall the smallest of smiles on my face as I watched them scream in pain. It was strangely satisfying.

As we pulled into the driveway, I was surprised to see my mother's family there. I surmised they were there to celebrate my return.

My aunt Julie, my mother's baby sister, had a son named Charlie whom I had never met. I swear to God, he was the spitting image of me.

I stood there in bewilderment, as my lost 16 years of youth came spiraling back at me like a torpedo. His eyes were the most alluring shade of brown, captivating me in a matter of seconds.

Our similarities were uncanny.

"Hello? Malakai?" a new voice called my name. It pulled me out of my thoughts, and I bitterly turned toward it, only to meet the innocent face of the young boy.

His features were even more marvelous up close, and it was difficult to refrain from admiring them.

"You must be Charlie. I'm so glad to meet you!" I exclaimed, sticking my hand out for him to take. But instead, I found myself being held in a warm embrace by the boy.

An obscure feeling entered my being- and I oddly derived pleasure from this act. Soon enough, Charlie and I were deep in conversation.

We chatted about music, animals, and art; several of the things I enjoy.

My aunt and mother had to of noticed our friendship flourishing, because within minutes, they approached us and suggested that I take Charlie on a stroll by the stream.

Perhaps this could serve as an opportunity for Charlie and I to bond.

Small, white clouds dotted the azure skies. Charlie sauntered slightly ahead of me, while I observed his every move.

His graceful manner piqued me- for how was it possible for someone to behave so composed? Perhaps the burdens of life had not yet been placed upon his shoulders.

Whatever the reason, I was envious.

"Hey! Kai, look at me!" Charlie shouted with a wide grin.

The young boy was chasing a magnificent looking butterfly, his hands extended in front of him, and bountiful laughter escaping his mouth.

My dark eyes widened at the horrific sight in front of me. Within those few brief moments, my sense of beauty completely collapsed into rage.

My heart twisted with fury, and my once fine and good-natured thoughts quickly dissipated and returned as violent and

corrupt ones. They stripped me of my beauty! They stripped me of my youth! My glorious, glorious youth!

It felt as if a switch had went off in my brain. Charlie was everything I could've been. He was everything I was supposed to be.

It was truly ineffable, how I held much resentment and felt so much hatred for this boy- yet found him so perfect.

My most beloved song plays in the background as I sit, cross-legged on the cold, hard floor. It's You Make Me Feel so Young, by Frank Sinatra.

My father was a man of music, so I suppose you could say that's where I get it from. This song has certainly earned a special place in my heart.

I stare blankly at the bare walls of my room, envisioning the possible things I could do to them to make them exquisite.

My eyes scan the room, searching for things useful to the challenge at hand, when suddenly, they land upon various jars of paints and rows of canvases, and brushes of all sizes.

A wonderful idea then strikes me.

I'll make paintings and dress the walls with them till every inch is covered! There was a creative glimmer in my eye, as I clutched one of the brushes, dipped it in paint, and rushed to work.

With a grin of satisfaction, I slowly stepped back to admire my job. At first, I thought it was a very fine self portrait, that displayed my handsome features perfectly.

Then suddenly, I dropped my paintbrushes in horror- only to realize that it was not me, it was in fact Charlie that I had painted! How did this happen? What's happening to me?

Time passed on, like it does. Though I cannot say how long. One thing was for certain, Charlie and I began spending more and more time together. I suppose in a way I became his mentor.

He looked up to me, and always wanted to play, and in those moments, he brought me back to my childhood, my curiosity, and my sense of wonder.

And yet in those moments, I would often freeze in my tracks...

I had visions of tearing wings off of beautiful butterflies, bludgeoning the nest of baby bunnies with my Louisville Slugger, and choking our family cat. All while shedding false tears.

Slowly, my nightly paintings began to change. They were of Charlie, but also of the creatures I had forgotten I had harmed. One particular evening, it was quite blustery and cold.

Charlie knocked on the door, and asked if he could see my studio and paint. I look at the child , and reluctantly agreed.

There was a very dark feeling consuming my soul, which I cannot describe. I was about to let Charlie into my secret world. Charlie was ecstatic, and he bounded up the stairs.

I slowly opened up the door. He sat in my chair, his innocent eyes glimmered as he looked all around and gasped with admiration.

And then a minute passed and his expression changed and he turned to face me.

"Malakai, are these paintings of me? And why are the animals all dead?" he inquired. A darkness fell over me, and I smirked,

"Because life is fleeting Charlie."

"But I don't understand."

"Oh Charlie, you're just a mere boy. You could never possibly understand," I replied.

I began to feel the rage that I had suppressed for the past 16 years emerge. I felt the pulsing of the veins at my temples. My jaws and fists began to clench. It was starting again.

The joy in seeing the suffering. Oh, how I hated this boy. This boy who was the spitting image of me when I was his age.

This boy who represented everything I was and could have been if I had a future.

So what did I do? Yes, you are right to suspect the worst. I did kill that darn boy. That sweet boy. That awful boy. That boy who had the life that should have been mine.

Now I can remember the peace and nature I've found, and the people and animals I have loved. I am a good person.

I say this now as I stare out the bus windows, with Frank Sinatra playing in the background. I am looking forward to going back home.

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