"The Seven O'Clock Man" Creepypasta│by Manen_Lyset

I've always been fascinated with folklore and by how people respond to it tell someone you saw Bigfoot or that your apartment is haunted and they'll laugh at you or try to discredit you share a piece of folklore with someone and they'll sit there and listen with riveted interest I used to wonder why folklore gets a free pass but I think I get it now folklore is history it's part of our cultural fabric it's far enough removed from us that while you can't say any of it is true it's still a story worth sharing because it's part of where we came from the age of a story gives it weight kind of how an 18th century haunted house has more credence than a haunted RV take the folklore out of its historical context and apply to modern day however and you start getting those weird looks and Snickers from people again I found this out when I was a kid and even though my parents were the ones who warned me about him they would never believe my run-in with the infamous bond hem sceptre for those of you who don't know the Bonhams scepter is a character from Quebec folklore translated his name means the 7 o'clock man most regions have their own take on him but the way he was described to me as a kid was a tall lanky old man with a long crooked nose who'd roamed the streets at night carrying a large burlap sack he'd snatch up any child that stayed up past their 7 o'clock curfew stuffed them into his bag and quietly leave town the children would never be seen or heard from again he was similar to the Sandman in that the end goal was for children to be in bed by a certain time but more frightening to me because there was nothing magical about him he was just a guy with a bag and a knack for finding kids at night he could have been real I thought and for the longest time the idea of him terrified me but then I got a little older and my fear faded it was nearing the end of December when it happened with the Sun setting as early as 4 p.m. it was hard to gauge time my friends and I had gone straight to the frozen pond turned outdoor skating rink to play hockey after school we started off five against five with a few extra kids swapping in and out his parents came to poach others away eventually it was down to just four of us and by then we were all getting cold and hungry Rene and Jean Pascal took off together down Main Street leaving Mathieu and I alone on the ice I hadn't quite learned to read the exact time on my analogue watch but I could tell it was getting close to 7:00 now that might seem a little odd to all of those helicopter parents out there who dragged their kids around on literal leashes and put GPS tracking software on their phones but I was born in a very different era and in a place with an equally different culture back in my day it was perfectly normal for kids to be out late into the evening this was before parents started checking Halloween candy for nails and when you actually knew your neighbors rather than being afraid of human contact I lived in a kind of rural suburban town hybrid and native to Quebec I don't think there's a real English translation for the word but I suppose the closest you could get to is a township our plots of land were big but not so much that we couldn't easily run to a neighbor's house if necessary it wasn't quite farm land but it wasn't a bustling city by any means either there were two main roads one going north and south the other east and west a single school and only a couple thousand residents us kids would mostly get around on foot or on one of the two school buses servicing the entire township the pond the favorite winter get-together spot for us living on the north side of town was about a 25-minute walk from my home and as my stomach screamed out again I knew it was time to go I waved goodbye to Matthew and took off down a path of flattened snow I looked behind me only once and saw him dragging his feet as he walked circles around the rink he had once told me his dad liked having alone time after work but I knew better we had all seen the bruises he was in no hurry to get home it was quiet that night but I wasn't afraid the moon was high in the sky and it's already refracted light refracted a second time off the blanket of snow covering the landscape even as I entered a strip of woods quartering off the town proper from our homes I could still see clearly I was going at a leisurely pace and feeling safe until I heard a distant shriek cutting through the naked treeline I think my cowardice saved me that night because if I had stopped to investigate I'm sure I wouldn't be here telling you all this story today thankfully as luck would have it my immediate reaction was to run and oh boy did I run it doesn't matter how long ago this happened I could still remember how it burned to breathe in the cold air as I ran as fast as I did and I can still remember the sound of snow crunching with each football I kept up my pace as long as I could but I eventually slowed to a walk alone in the middle of the woods I strained my ears to listen for any other screams I was on edge and felt as though my body was wrapped in an electric current which constantly flickered and drew my attention to benign things twigs howls rocks everything was a danger but the more danger you experience the more desensitized you get to it I slowly grew more comfortable again everything was fine I released the tension I had built up in a loud sigh of relief it was just a normal quiet winter night I was safe and I was alone I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and at first I didn't notice the sound of my footsteps persisting but how can I hear the crunch of snow under my feet if I was standing still the static of fear fizzled in the Nook of my neck the footsteps were heavy and slow they came once every two I would normally take but as I started running in terror it was more like one every four unless I listened carefully inserts specifically for them they seemed to disappear in my chorus of footfalls I would have looked back if my neck hadn't become stiff with fear and if my mind hadn't been focused on keeping my pace I would have looked back if only to know how close or how far the source of the footsteps were maybe it was best not to know I finally cleared the forest and I could see my porch light beaconing me like a lighthouse in the dark a 10-minute walk away but I can make it in five if I kept running even if my stamina should have failed me three times over I still managed to maintain my pace the stories of my parents had told me about the 7 o'clock a man ignited my engine and the fear of being caught fueled my run finally I jumped the wooden stairs up to my porch and swung open my front door my parents didn't ask or didn't notice I'm not sure why I ran up the stairs into my bedroom and threw myself underneath my covers I wanted to sleep but I was so wired and awake and then I felt a prickling sensation like the feeling you get that tells you to check your closet for monsters mine told me to look out the window however wrapping my blanket around me like a hooded cape I slowly crept out of bed to the window peering between the blinds that's when I saw him that's when I saw the seven o'clock man standing in the street the stories had it right he was tall but not inhumanly so old wrinkly wore tattered clothes safer and immaculate black preachers hat and carried on his back a large brown sack some would tell me I imagined him entirely others would say he was just a wanderer passing through but everyone and I mean everyone tells me I'm wrong about his bag they tell me I couldn't possibly have seen it writhing and twitching as though someone were inside trying to break free a bony old man they reasoned would never be able to carry a bag of children on his shoulders funny how they don't question that part when they hear the folklore only when you tell him that it's true he smiled at me and waved sending a funnel of cold to drain out all the warmth in my body still holding the bag in one hand he stretched out the other and gently tapped his wrist as though motioning for a watch and then he wagged his finger disapprovingly hi Topher my bad and close my eyes praying he wouldn't come for me I pretended to sleep even as my parents came in to get me for supper I stayed on that bat until morning thinking it was the only thing keeping me alive I only shared what happened when I found out the next day that Matthew had gone missing nobody believed me of course it was too far-fetched legends aren't real after interviewing my friends family and teachers the police eventually arrested his father I'm not sure what ultimately happened to him since Matthew's body was never found not even to this day as though a northerly wind had swept him away I'm the only one who believes the truth the only person who knows the legend of the bon hem scepter the seven o'clock man is real you [Music]

Channel: CreepyPastaJr

Views: 140,629

Rating: 4.9043775 out of 5

Keywords: creepy, creepy pasta, creepy story, creepypasta, creepypastajr, creepypastajr., fear, horror, horror story, narration, nightmare, real, real scary horror, scary, scary story, storytelling, true, true creepy story, true scary story, Manen_lyset, Seven Oclock Man, Bonhomme Sept Heure, Creepy Canada Story, Manen Lyset

Id: 8gXPA-q2YL0

Length: 11min 18sec (678 seconds)

Published: Tue Jan 23 2018