[creepypasta] "Come With Me"

I wasn't going to post this but it's been stuck in my head so here we go.

Let's call the guy at the center of this story A.

If you asked me to describe A in one word it'd be "leader." Not in a loud, commanding way. More like... people just naturally gravitated toward him. Quiet energy, you know? The kind of guy you want around.

A had this motorcycle crew, and one of the guys in it, let's call him B, was a whole situation. B was the type who only operated on his own frequency. Like during group rides he'd just randomly gun it ahead without telling anyone, leaving the rest scrambling. Not malicious about it. Just... oblivious. Soft-hearted dude underneath, so everyone put up with it and they stayed friendly.

A's exact words about B were something like: "Every group has one. No bad intentions but zero self-awareness. He's a bit out there. We're not super close but we're not on bad terms either."

So one evening A and the crew finish a ride and split at a fork in the road, everyone heading home their own way. A and B lived in the same direction so they're riding together.

Then B suddenly hits his blinker and pulls into a family restaurant on the left.

A just thinks "of course he does" and follows him in.

B comes out of the bathroom grinning. "Sorry. You thirsty?"

"...you went to the bathroom." A laughs it off and waves down the server.

The server walks over expressionless, says "Welcome," and points to the sign on the table listing the recommended items. Passion fruit juice. That's what's on it.

A just wants to go home. "Okay, one of those."

B: "Me too then."

"Two passion fruit juices," the server says flatly and walks off.

And then A starts feeling SO SLEEPY. Out of nowhere. Heavy, dragging exhaustion.

B, meanwhile, won't stop talking. Which is weird because B barely ever talks. A is half-listening, barely keeping his eyes open, when the passion fruit juice appears in front of him. Red. Vivid red.

A keeps nodding along, nodding off, nodding along.

Then B SLAMS his hand on the table.

"HEY. A. Are you even listening to me?!"

A snaps up. That voice. That wasn't B's voice. B was always quiet, almost timid. This was sharp. Wrong.

"You NEVER listen to me. You think I'm a joke, don't you."

"No, that's not—"

"DON'T LIE. I know you talk shit about me behind my back."

B slams the table again. Hard. The juice goes everywhere.

It soaks into A's clothes. Red spreading through the fabric.

But it's not cold.

It's warm. Body temperature warm.

A tries to wipe it off but his arms won't cooperate. Too heavy. Too tired.

B's clothes are soaked red too.

A forces himself to answer. Fighting through the fog.

"I have NEVER talked shit about you. You're my friend."

"...for real? I'm your friend?"

"Obviously. We rode together today didn't we."

"Then you'll ride back with me too, right?"

And something in A's brain just goes. DANGER. RIGHT NOW. GET OUT.

His phone rings.

One of the crew members they'd split from earlier.

A's hand fumbles toward it, barely functioning.

"...you'll come with me, right...?"

B's eyes go wide. Something horrible in them.

"You AND this guy" (meaning whoever was calling) "you're both my crew!"

A screams something, he doesn't even know what, and his fingers finally hit the answer button.

From the phone, somehow, he hears his parents calling his name.

......

A woke up in a hospital room.

On the way home their bikes had collided. Both of them went off the road and rolled down a slope. Found way below street level.

Both were critical.

Only A survived.

B died right before A opened his eyes.