18 Sep The YouTuber

Posted at 11:00h in Strange and Unexplained by CreepypastaStories.com 0 Comments

📅 Published on September 18, 2020

“The YouTuber”

Written by Chris J. Vero
Edited by Craig Groshek
Thumbnail Art by Craig Groshek
Narrated by N/A

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🎧 Available Audio Adaptations: None Available

⏰ ESTIMATED READING TIME — 6 minutes

Rating: 9.80/10. From 5 votes.

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Being a successful YouTuber comes with a lot of advantages. You’re invited to gaming assemblies, conventions, and you attract the interest of prominent sponsors and the privilege to be treated like a king.

I even met some of the most well-established names in the industry, some of them gathering subscribers by the millions.

But as you can guess, having just over a million and a half subscribers doesn’t come only with perks. You also receive some unwanted attention. Some people, for whatever reason, give themselves the right to force themselves into your life. Let’s be blunt, you don’t do what I do if you can’t handle a few people waving at you from a distance or asking for a selfie. But this is not the kind of disruption I mean. Some people have a tendency of getting close, too close. Some of them even go the extra mile, this thin line that separates the hardcore fans and the crazed fans.

A few days back, I had to deal with an issue of the sort, some young bloke came up to me as I was walking down the street. Nothing completely uncommon, I got used to it with time. It was the kind of encounter where I’d try to guess if I was dealing with a regular, a hardcore, or a crazed fan. This one seemed strangely familiar; I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had already met him somewhere. I’m quite good with faces and already at that moment, my instinct was trying to tell me something. But I had a long week, filled with meetings, daily videos and preparations for an upcoming event, I have to confess, I was exhausted both mind and body. So, I let my guard down, I took a few pictures with him, I even summoned what I had left of energy to make a short video for his Instagram story. Then again, as I finally got home, my instinct was still bugging me. I couldn’t really put my finger on it, but something was off with this young guy. His behavior was strangely calm. He wasn’t jumpy and restless, yelling OMGs constantly. It looked like he was gauging me, studying me. The only thing I remember is that I really badly wanted to sleep.

During the following days, I saw the same young man in some places where I had my habits. A coffeehouse I was going to several times a week, a small restaurant where some friends of mine work, even an old arcade where I used to work. Running into the same person once or twice in a specific place isn’t unheard of, but when it goes to multiple places in a handful of days, the coincidence is a bit harder to believe. Since he was keeping his distance, I decided to let it slide. Another bad call to put on my exhaustion.

Things got out of hand about a week ago. I woke up and went for a coffee in the kitchen when I saw him. He was just outside my window, checking something on his phone. I just had the time to jump back out of his visual field. I could feel my heart racing, out of rage, not fear. I was mad, firstly at him but even more with myself. I knew something was off and I didn’t listen to my instinct.

For a second, I was tempted to go outside and kick this creep out of my front yard. But I had an image to maintain, the friendly neighborhood streamer, always nice and polite, almost never cursing. This kind of image is already difficult to obtain, you’re bound to keep it. So, I decided to give patience a go with this creep. Maybe, with enough time, he’d get tired of it.

So, I went on with my day to day life. I really tried, for a few days, trying not to mind the young man shadowing my footsteps. But, eventually, my patience grew short. I even called 911 one night, as I spotted his shape across the road in front of my house. The police brushed it off, telling me that they couldn’t do a thing about it since I wasn’t in any immediate danger.

But what these gentlemen from the Force didn’t understand is that I wasn’t afraid for my own person. I was afraid for him, because the time was coming for me to take things into my own hands.

It finally happened yesterday. In the middle of the night, I heard noises coming from my basement. Some muffled thuds and light grunts. Unluckily for my thief, my basement wasn’t a place where I’d casually put some items and forget all about them, in between two moves. I use it on a daily basis.

I got out of bed silently and went straight for the stairs, a taser in my hand.

I was correct in my assumptions; the burglar was there, obviously looking for something. He didn’t feel like a crazed fan looking for a specific item to proudly expose in his collection or a junkie in search of an easy score. I did have some pricey equipment down there. Should he have been a little bit more cautious, he could’ve got in and out without me noticing. He had a target in mind and if I wasn’t wrong about that, he could never get it out of there, let alone speak of it.

He never heard me coming; the taser knocked him out clean.

He was heavier than he looked, muscular and clearly equipped for more than a robbery, unless opening safes with a gun is a new trend. He definitely didn’t look like some lowlife in need of quick money, this was a professional job and I knew exactly why he was here.

His eyes opened slowly, his grunts were quite self-explanatory, he was more afraid than in pain.

“I know why you’re here. FYI, you suck at what you do. The whole following routine? Was it supposed to be low-profile? We’re you paid to do that discreetly? Might as well put a neon sign over your head: PI on the job. You’d at least make some people laugh.”

His eyes never stopped following me. From the movement of his shoulders, I could tell he was trying to break free of his restraints.

“Good luck with that, these handcuffs are quite sturdy, they’re yours by the way. I couldn’t thank you enough; I was running low on rope.”

While he was out, I went through his phone and tablet he was carrying in his backpack. He had done his job thoroughly, with efficient detective work. My former addresses, the car box I rent under an alias. He even hacked my secret email, the one I use to purchase the equipment I store in my basement. The kind of furniture you don’t expect a friendly YouTuber to have.

“I bet you’re curious about these crates. What use I could have of them. Congratulations on finding this basement but this is not where I keep the “good stuff”. My secret is hidden, away from here, but I can give you a peek, since you’re not getting out of this place.”

I went to one of the crates, at the back of the basement, in an area he didn’t have the time to investigate. Each of these wooden crates has a secret compartment in which two large jars were lying, covered with a cloth. I took one of them and laid it in front of him. I took the cloth away and my guest grunted in fear. Did he know what to expect?

“These come from a nineteen-year-old gamer who thought he could trash-talk me. Don’t you think my technique improved since my first? Something funny about this one, he literally shrunk when I stood in front of him. They’re always brave and cocky when they post something from behind their monitors. And when it comes to me, I need a bit more than an unapologetic excuse. So, instead of his apology, I took his hands. But wait there’s more.”

I took two larger jars from another crate. These were still empty, but labeled.

One had the mention: Daz Black.

“Do you know this one? An English YouTuber, the good friend kinda guy, but a bit too loud to my taste. I think this jar will be enough for his head. I have the same for Markiplier. These two will do great in my collection.

But you know what? I don’t have any room for you, you don’t belong here. This is an exclusive membership. You will have to go somewhere else.

Don’t worry about it, though, it won’t hurt… much”.

As I was prepping my gear for a new livestream, I was trying to estimate the time it would take for his body to dissolve in the acid bath.

This incident made me think though, I had to be more careful. He was already the third person I had to dispose of since the beginning of my collection. If I ever want to complete it, I’d just have to learn to let things slide. And also, stop inviting various followers or YouTube colleagues in my basement.

On another hand, they make it so easy. After all, I’m already in their lives, day after day. I already slithered into their intimacy. They’re only a text message away.

They make it so easy.