CreepsMcPasta Creepypasta Radio - "Fifteen years ago, we locked a classmate in a locker. He came back wrong" Creepypasta

Episode Date: May 27, 2025

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Greg had always seemed untouchable. He was the type of guy who could talk a cop out of a ticket or drunk and half conscious, then somehow get the same cop to drive him home. So, when his sister called me crying, struggling to get a word out, I thought something had happened to their mom. When she finally managed to speak,

I had to ask her to repeat herself. It turned out that the police found Greg's body in his apartment after his boss called in a wellness check when he didn't show up to work for two days. The responding officers broke down the door and found him in the living room. They wouldn't let the family see the body. From what his sister had heard

when she'd caught the officers on break discussing the scene, his limbs were twisted, his spine curved like someone had wrung him out from both ends and his eyes were gone. Whoever had done it, was sadistic beyond belief. There was no forced entry, or weirdly enough, signs of a struggle. The case was being ruled as suspicious,

but that just meant they didn't have a clue who was behind it. Despite having a wide net of friends, Greg's funeral was small. Only a few people made it in person. Jamie hugged me outside the church, her eyes were red, and a man. makeup had started to smear, but she still looked the same, sharp, blunt, unapologetic. The others were there too, Raff and Lex. We all grew up together.

Back then, we used to joke that we were stuck with each other for life, and for the most part, we were. Sure, we drifted apart for a few years during college, but we always ended up circling back. But now Greg, a part of us, was a closed casket and a photo on an easel. The priest mumbled his way through a handful of generalities, though I didn't really listen. I kept looking around the room, half expecting Greg to appear at the back and make some sarcastic comment about how weird it was to watch people cry over you. For a moment, I thought I saw movement near the exit, but my brain had been plain tricks on me, since the night I got the call. After the burial,

we stood in a loose, uneasy circle in the parking lot. None of us seemed ready to go home. Then Jamie brought up that night at the lake, when Greg fell off the dock trying to chug a beer upside down. We laughed. Then we stopped.

The laughter felt wrong. I still don't get what the hell happened, Raff muttered. Nobody knew how to respond. Our silent grieving was interrupted by a man in his late 40s wearing a plain suit with thinning brown hair. He moved with a kind of tired professionalism that told me he'd been doing this a long time. He stopped just outside our circle and introduced himself. Detective Harlan, sorry to intrude.

His tone was respectful. You were Greg Sutton's closest friends, right? We all nodded. I was wondering if I could ask a few questions. I understand today's not ideal, but I found people tend to remember important things in the hours after a funeral, brings things into focus. I know you people have already been interviewed and questioned.

I'm aware that none of you are deemed to be suspects, but... Jamie crossed her arms. Go ahead. Did Greg have any enemies? I'm aware you've been asked this question before, but are you absolutely certain there's no one from the past, someone who held a grudge, maybe something that didn't seem serious, but could have been taken the wrong way? No, Raff said immediately. Everyone liked Greg. I don't mean dislike, I mean resentment, anyone he wronged, even by accident. We looked at each other. I could tell. I could tell. we were all thinking the same thing. No, I said finally.

Not that we know of. He nodded slowly. Understood. Did he mention anything strange recently? Unusual messages. People showing up where they shouldn't. Anything like that? He shook our heads.

Last question. Does the name Danny mean anything to you? There it was. His tone hadn't changed, but I felt my chest tighten. I glanced around. Everyone held the same expression as me. No, Jamie said, doesn't ring a bell. The detective watched us for a moment.

I could tell he didn't buy it, but he didn't press. He thanked us, gave us his card, and walked off towards his car. As soon as he was out of his car, soon as he was out of earshot, Raff led out a shaky breath. Danny Truillo, I said, a name I hadn't said aloud in over a decade. Danny had been in our class from sixth grade until the middle of sophomore year. He was a thin kid with a quiet voice and thick glasses. He was always hunched forward like he was trying to disappear.

He didn't fit in, and we didn't let him. To make it simple, we bullied the kid. The last time we saw him, we did something that was supposed to be funny. A dare. Raff said he couldn't fit. Jamie said we should find out. It was after school and the hallway was empty. Greg blocked the nearest stairwell while I held the door.

Danny fought harder than I thought he would. He cried, screamed and begged. It only made us. more determined. I remember the heat of his shoulder press against mine as we forced him into a locker. I remember the sound of metal slamming shut. The way it echoed and his fists pounding from the inside while we walked away. I don't know how long he was stuck.

Maybe until the janitor came in the next morning, maybe longer. After that, he was gone. and that changed something in all of us. The school didn't make a big deal of it, which in hindsight was to be expected. One of the guidance counsellors said he transferred. Some whispered that his parents pulled him out after a breakdown. There were rumours about his mom showing up in tears at the principal's office

demanding to know what happened. We didn't face any consequences. And we started to start. thinking about him. Until now. I don't think it means anything, Raff said. Could be a coincidence.

Someone with the same name. Jamie frowned. He said Danny, not the full name, sure. Could have been any Danny. But why on earth did the detective bring that name up

in the first place? What if it was him though? Lick said. Raff rolled his eyes. Geez, don't start. I'm serious. Yes, like said. He said the name right after asking if Greg had any enemies.

That means something. Raph snapped. You really think some kid we bullied 15 years ago came back and twisted Greg into a goddamn pretzel? Ralph softened a little. We were bad, yeah, but we were kids. I don't feel good about it either, he continued. But that doesn't mean we jumped to wild-ass theories.

Greg's dead. That's horrible enough, without spinning it into a revenge fantasy. We don't even know if Danny's alive. Jamie exiled through his nose. Look, if it turns out something more is going on, we'll talk to the cops. Right now, we'd sound insane. You want us to bring up a kid we bullied 15 years ago in a murder case? I shook my head, no. Exactly. We agreed not to bring it up again. We went home, each returning to our separate houses under the glow of street lights and the silent orbit of patrol cars. I lay in bed for hours with the covers pulled up to my chin, staring at the ceiling and reminiscing.

The next day, Raff and I were at his place, sitting on the couch of the television on, though neither of us was watching it. A game was playing, but the volume was low, yet neither of us had the energy for small talk. We hadn't seen Jamie since the funeral and didn't talk about Greg anymore, not because we were already moving on, but because we didn't know how to carry the weight of what happened. It sat between us like a third person in the room. We were speaking about some things, trying to crack the silence that loomed when we were interrupted by an incoming call on Raff's phone.

His mom, he answered it on speaker. "'Rath,' she said, and a voice cracked halfway through his name. "'Something happened at Lex's apartment complex.' He sat forward, slowly, eyes narrowing, already braced. "'What do you mean? "'Someone's dead,' she said. "'It's bad. Have you not seen the news?' They said—'

She couldn't finish. We both stared at the phone. Raff asked for details. she didn't have many. He hung up without saying goodbye, then turned to me, pale and still. We need to go check up on Lex. On the drive to Lex's place,

Ralph drummed his fingers on the steering wheel the entire time, a nervous tick he'd had since middle school. By the time we pulled up to the complex, it was blocked off with police tape. Flashing lights turned the lot into a mess of color and shadow. An officer out front was talking to a reporter. She asked if he was related to the Sutton case. The officer said they couldn't comment.

The reporter kept pressing. She mentioned the name we weren't expecting to hear. Lex. We got back in the car without saying anything. We drove straight to the police station. Rav ran two red lights. I didn't stop him. her silence had turned heavy and there was less shock and more fear now we walked through the glass doors

and we met with the sound of voices paper shuffling and phones ringing the front desk officer looked up recognized us somehow and nodded us through without much hassle jamie was already there she sat in one of the waiting chairs near the front arms folded foot tapping her hair was tied back in a spun and looked like she hadn't slipped. Her face went stiff when she saw us. I heard already, she said, did you? Raff nodded. Yeah. I wanted to contact you guys, but I was in such a rush to get to the police station.

I was so scared after finding out I... Jamie stood and walked down the hall with us. I already told them we need to talk to Detective Hal. "'Hallon, he's in a meeting.' "'This wasn't a coincidence,' I said, "'and I hated how thin my voice sounded. "'This person is clearly targeting our group.' "'Danny,' Jamie said, biting down on the word.

"'You think it's him?' "'I don't know who else it could be.' "'We waited.' "'Eventually, Harlan came out of a side hallway. "'His eyes moved across the three of us before settling. He didn't look surprised. He waved us into a back room without a word.

Once the door shut, Jamie spoke first. We lie to you, about Danny. The detective nodded slowly. I figured. Ralph stepped forward. We knew him a long time ago. We went to school together. His name is Danny Truillo.

What happened? We bullied him, I said. Hard. It wasn't teasing. It was full on cruelty. We pushed him out of that school, maybe out of his mind. We locked him in a locker and left him overnight. Then, he was gone.

The detective took a breath and rubbed his jaw. You didn't mention that? No, Jamie said. Because, well, We didn't want to bring him up. We thought we're all being weird or conspiracy theorists. You think he's doing this after all these years? He was the last person we ever hurt.

I said. Danny going away changed us. We felt guilty. He looked at the table, then back at us. We've had that name at both scenes. Danny, no other traces or clues. Whoever did it definitely knew grey. and now Lex.

If you're saying this person might be Danny Truillo, then that gives me something to go on. We'll start pulling records and see what we can dig up. If you think your targets, I'll make sure patrol stay in your area in case this person comes back. Find him, Ralph said. Please.

After we left the station, I couldn't sleep. I kept picturing my dead friends. I waited until morning. and then started calling around. The high school secretary remembered me. She didn't remember Danny, not until I gave her his last name. I lied and told her it was for an old alumni project.

She gave me the principal's name from that year and said he'd retired, but might still have some information on him. I contacted Raff and Jamie about it, and we all tried getting as much information as we could. Later that day, Jamie sent a message in the group chat and she told us she drove to the local records office. She had a hard time, but apparently she managed to get something.

Danny's parents were found dead in their home less than a week after he moved. Both bodies showed signs of massive internal trauma, blunt force and tearing. No weapon was recovered and no one was recovered, and no one was arrested. The case was marked undetermined and closed after eight weeks. The report was cold and clinical.

He was relocated to a state facility, new residents sealed per court order. That was it. There was no trace of him after that. It was as if he disappeared completely. I stared at the block of text on my phone. My hands were shaking. but I didn't notice until my phone started to slip from my grip.

I used to think guilt was something you felt in moments, right after something happened, or when someone confronted you about it. But it wasn't like that. It spread. It pushed into your ribs and your spine and made it hard to breathe. I knew what we did to him was cruel. I knew that for years.

But I never thought about where he went or what came next or who he had become to survive. Jamie came over the next night. I heard a knock and felt a flash of panic in my chest before I saw her through the peep-pole. She was holding two coffees in a tray and a fast-food paper bag. Her hands were shaking slightly. I let her in and we sat in the living room with the TV off.

I keep hearing him, she said after a while. Greg, I nodded. Yeah. I haven't slept since they found legs. I'm scared to close my eyes. I feel like something is watching me when the lights go off. I told her I felt the same. We laughed for a second.

The laughter came quick and shallow, with no weight to it. We sound crazy, she said. probably are i replied then we went quiet again the conversations after was short and awkward but it felt good to be in someone's presence i'm sure that's why she came over in the first place we parted ways shortly after that she texted me the following afternoon the police approved it i'm going into protective custody They're placing me in a secure prison unit. It's the safest place they've got. I called her immediately.

She didn't answer. Ten minutes later, she sent a voice message. I'm sorry, I can't keep doing this. I'm losing my mind. Every sound at night makes me flinch. I barely eat. I'm scared I'll end up like Greg and Lex, and I don't want to die screaming.

This place is safe and... you guys should probably do the same. I texted back that I understood. I told her we'd miss her and that I'd stay in touch however I could. She replied with a thumbs up and a broken heart emoji. Later, Raff and I sat together in his living room. He'd packed a duffel bag but didn't know where he wanted to go.

He said he didn't trust any systems meant to protect people. I didn't argue. you. I felt the same, and we decided that we wouldn't be going into anything like protective custody. He ended up crashing in my couch that night. We made a deal to stick together for now. We had each other. We had a weapon, and we had police patrols circling the block. We tried pretending life could go on. Raff kept sleeping on my couch, and I stopped logging into work entirely. We stocked up on groceries, though most of what we bought stayed unopened. I didn't say it out loud, but we both believed Jamie was safer than us.

She was supposed to be the one that made it. The call came from the detective, not the news. He didn't speak right away. I remember his breathing more than his voice. He came to the speaker like he'd been running or pacing. when he finally said a name, my legs buckled. I sat down on the floor next to the coffee table or raft stood frozen by the door.

They found her that morning, dead in her cell. Her body was destroyed, and somehow there were no traces. The prison surveillance system had failed overnight. All footage from her wing was blacked out between 302 and 3.17 a.m., three guards were found unconscious outside a unit. And again, that name. Danny, Raff and I sat in silence after the call ended. He put his head in his hands.

I could hear him whispering to himself. He didn't cry, but he shook hard enough that the glass on the table rattled. Detective Harlan came to the house later that day. He looked like hell Look He said Voice low I understand you boys

Don't want to be placed in police custody Not after what just happened But I say this as a friend Not as a government body now Pack your things And get the hell out of here We didn't reply But he continued

I've got nothing to go on He said solemnly We're increasing between trolls, I've pulled favors for federal assistance. But this person, who he assumed is Danny Truillo, is skilled to a degree I've never witnessed in my life. The things happening at these scenes don't make sense. I've seen 20-year veterans vomit at what was left of that girl. He shook his head and stood. We'll keep a car outside. But if I were you, I'd damn it all to hell and go as far away as you can. After the detective left, Raff and I decided to follow his advice.

I brought up a plan, said we could go west, stay with my cousin, disappear until this all blew over. We wanted this case solved. We truly did. But we were too scared. Raff said going west would still mean being close. Jamie was in a maximum security location and Danny somehow got to her. We packed our things, decided we'd start the following morning, drove until we reached the coast, and then decided from there, I woke to the sound of something pounding that night. It took a few seconds to understand what I was hearing. My mind was still fogged with sleep. I sat up and reached for the gun instinctively. I'd replayed what if situations hundreds of times my mind already.

The pounding came again. Three dull thuds, somewhere on the other side of the house. I called out to Raff. No answer. I moved toward the hallway, keeping the gun raised. I tried not to think about why the air smelled sour.

I tried not to think at all. Raff, I whispered. Still, nothing. I reached the door to the guest room and stood outside it. I could hear something moving on the other side. A wet dragging sound like wet meat pulled across the wood floor. My fingers closed around the doorknob. I turned it and pushed.

The door opened slowly, hinges creaking loudly. The smell hit me first, rot and bile. The room was dim, the blackout curtains kept most of the light out, but there was enough from the hallway to make out shapes. Raff was on the bed. Oh, what was left of him. His body was bent in half, his spine cracked backward. One arm had been torn, cleaned off, and tossed against the wall.

His jaw hung open from one hinge. the tongue swaying beneath it. It, on the other hand, was hunched over him. The creature looked up when I stepped inside. Its skin was tight and grey, pulled so thin I could see every bone beneath it. Sores ran up its back and neck, leaking a dark yellow fluid that clung in thick strings. Its arms were long, ending in hands that dragged down to the floor. Each finger tipped in what looked more like bone than claw.

Its chest heaved with uneven, wet breaths. It didn't move. I raised the gun and emptied the clip into its torso. Each shot hit, but it didn't fall or seemed phased at all. It stepped toward me like the bullets had annoyed it. I turned and bolted down the hallway. Behind me, the door exploded. I felt pieces of it bounce off my back.

The thing was moving faster now. I could hear its feet slapping the floor. I reached the bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it. I grabbed the dresser and pushed it in front of the frame, then the bookshelf. My breath came too fast. My chest clamped down in waves. I could barely see straight. I dialed 9-1-1, but before the operator could even pick up, glass burst behind me in an eruption of sound and wind.

It came in all at once, the window imploding inward, spraying shards across the room. Hands grabbed me from behind, one clamped around my wrist, the other gripped my shoulder. The next thing I knew, my feet were off the floor, and a voice was barking into my ear. Move. He dragged me through the broken window frame, and I hit the lawn hard. My shoulder slammed into the dirt. I rolled tasting blood in the back of my throat. Behind us, the bedroom door cracked open.

Get up, the man said. He bawled me again. We ran through the yard, past the collapsed garden bed, over the gravel path that tore up my souls. My legs moved on instinct, powered by nothing but fear. I didn't even know what was going on anymore. There was a car parked two houses down. We got to it, and the man yanked the door open and shoved me inside before climbing in after me. He started the engine without hesitation.

It sputtered and groaned, but it roared to life. We peeled away from the curb. I turned to the man behind the wheel, heart-pacet heart pounding. What the hell was that thing? I asked, and who even are you? He looked over at me slowly. His face was worn down to the bone.

Deep creases were carved across his cheeks and forehead. His eyes, darker than I remembered anyone's eyes being, watched me for a second longer than felt comfortable. It's me. Danny, he said. My mind refused the process what he just told me. This man couldn't be the same kid we stuffed into a locker. This man looked like he'd walked through deserts and lived in parking garages.

His beard was wild, patchy around the jawline, thick in the middle. His voice carried gravel in every word. You're Danny Truillo? He nodded. Before I could respond, he spoke again. I just want to say, I forgave you, he said, a long time ago. I wanted to speak, but I let him continue. I used to lie awake every night, he said, back when I lived at home, I used to pray

to anything that might have been listening. God, demons, shadows on the ceiling. I didn't care what it was. I just begged for something to take them all. all the way. Everyone who hurt me. My parents, the kids at school, anyone who made me feel smaller than dirt. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. And one night, after you guys stuffed me in a locker, I was more adamant that something answered than ever before. And something did answer. He stared ahead again, eyes glassy, expression still. He wasn't recalling it like a

memory. He was reciting it, something he told himself so many times the words had become carved into the inside of his skull. The first ago were my parents. I found them in the living room. My dad's back was snapped in half. My mom, she looked like she'd been folded into the carpet. The police said it was some kind of freak collapse. They moved me into a home two towns over, and that should have been the end of it. But it wasn't. He finally looked at me again. He kept going.

Every name I had ever whispered in anger, every person I wished Harmon, every curse I made with tears in my eyes. It hunted them down, one by one. Sometimes years later, sometimes across the country. His voice dropped lower. You were the last, because you were far.

That's it. You lived too far, and it took time. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know it would last this long, he said. I thought it would burn out or turn on me. I tried to keep ahead of it. I really did. I moved every six months.

I tried attacking it. And every solution you could think of, I've probably tried it. It didn't help. I'm sorry about Greg. I'm sorry about Licks. Jamie, Raff. I tried my best. The car sat in silence for a long time.

Then his story drifted through the air like a bad smell that wouldn't leave. I turned toward him, my voice catching before it escaped my throat. How do we stop it? He didn't answer right away. He reached between the, the seat and the center console and pulled out a dented metal thermos.

He unscrewed the lid and took a sip. The smell that rose up was sharp and chemical. My stomach turned. I've been preparing for years, he said, testing things. I don't know if it's alive in the way you and I are, but it reacts to pain. I've harmed it before, so it can die. How? I've built something that might work.

Ammunition soaked in a mix I've been tweaking for the better part of a decade. Silver powder, industrial salt, lye, iron fillings, and a few other things. He reached into his pocket and took out a single round. The casing shimmered, not with polish, but something deeper, something buried in the metal. He held it between his fingers. with care. I created the first version of this bullet a few months ago. I hit it,

and that was the first and only time I've ever heard it make a sound. My throat was dry. How many of those do you have? Three, and that's enough. Maybe. I leaned back, mind racing. Every instinct in me was telling me to run, to take whatever car I could find and disappear into the back roads until the fuel ran out.

But there was nowhere left to run. I'd seen what happened to people who tried hiding. What do you need from me? I asked. Danny looked over, his voice quieter now. It needs bait. And you're the last name left, I nodded. There was nothing else to say. We made it to an abandoned house eventually.

The porch leaned toward the dirt. We drove in under the moonlight and killed the engine a few hundred feet back to avoid drawing attention. Inside, the house was worse. The walls were covered in pages, scribbled diagrams, symbols, names, ingredients. Half of them I didn't recognize. The other half made my skin itch. There were dozens of shell casings lined up on the cracked bookshelf, a single mattress lay in one corner, soaked through with old sweat.

Danny opened a chest in the back and pulled out the weapon. It was a hunting rifle, heavily modified, with wire wrapped around the barrel and scratches etched into the stock. He held it like a man holding a relic, not at all. I'll take the shot, he said. You stay in the centre of the room. Try to distract it. We waited.

Hours passed. The moon drifted. Every sound made my muscles twitch. I sat on the floor with the empty gun from my house across my lap. It was useless now, but I couldn't let go of it. At some point, the wind died. Danny raised the rifle. without a word.

The door exploded inward. It moved through the door, leaving no trace behind. His chest rose and fell in quick jerks. Puss spilled from the holes in its shoulders. His head tilted as it found me. Danny fired. The creature shrieked. A high, rattling sound cut straight through my brain.

It reared back, smoke, rising from the impact point. His chair steamed. The flesh there blistered and peeled. It lunged. I ducked behind the table while Danny reloaded. The thing threw the couch aside and slammed its clawed hand into the floor

I'd been seconds earlier. Wood split open. I rolled and kicked out at its ribs. It didn't flinch. Danny shouted and fired again. This time it hit the side. spine. The thing screamed again, louder, and twisted in itself in mid-air. His body started to collapse inward. His torso folded over its own shoulders, cracking like ice under pressure. It swung

toward Danny. I moved before I could reach him. I grabbed the fire poker from the hearth and jabbed it into the side of its skull. Its head snapped to the side, black icor spills. It's head snapped to the side, black icar spilling around the wound. The stench hit hard, my eyes watered. Danny raised the rifle one last time and fired into its throat. That did it. The body froze, its limbs trembled,

then bent inward, collapsing against its own weight. A low moan echoed to the room. Then it fell apart into ash. I dropped the poker and stood. coughing through the smoke. Danny leaned against the wall, one hand pressed to his ribs. The silence after the creature fell apart pressed on the inside of my skull. My ears rang, not from the volume, but from the vacuum that followed it.

Dust drifted through the air where it had been. Danny dropped the rifle and slid down the wall. His knees gave out first, and he ended up sitting on the floor with his back to the crumbling drywall. His breathing was uneven, and he had one arm pressed against his ribs. I saw a line of red seeping through his shirt, trailing down from beneath his elbow. He looked up at me through strands of sweat-drenched hair. We did it, he said. I nodded. I didn't have anything to say. My throat was raw, and my chest ached.

Danny motioned for me to come closer. I stepped over to him. He reached behind and pulled out a revolver. He didn't lift it toward me. He held it between his knees. I need you... To shoot me. I stared at him.

What? In the side, nothing vital, enough to look real. I took a step back. Why would I do that? Because the police are going to need someone to blame. They're not going to take this story and put it in a report. You know that. He tilted his head and met my eyes.

His voice stayed calm. You shoot me. Tell them I lost it. Tell them I killed your friends. Came for you next. You fought back, barely survived. I take the blame. It's over

And you go home That's insane You've saved my life His gaze didn't waver I crouched next to him and grabbed his arm There has to be another way There isn't He pressed the gun into my hand

No one's gonna believe what we saw You know that You can barely believe it yourself I can see him all over you. What we kill didn't leave proof. There's no body or explanation you can give to the cops. They'll think you snap too, unless you have someone to point to. I'm not doing this. Danny leaned back and let his head rest against the wall. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened again. If you don't do this, they'll keep digging. You'll end up locked away.

or worse, blamed for it. They already think I'm a ghost. Make it real. I sat there, gripping the revolver, feeling its weight press into my palm. You don't owe me this, I said. He didn't answer. I raised the gun slowly, hands trembling. I aimed at the soft space below his ribs.

Do it, he said. I pulled the trigger. Then he groaned and slumped sideways, one hand clamping down over the wound. Blood poured between his fingers and darkened his shirt. He didn't scream, he didn't even fall fully. He slid until his shoulders hit the floor, then gave me a small nod. Call them, he said through his teeth. Tell them it's over.

I did. The sirens reached us 20 minutes later. I stood outside, blood in my shirt, hands raised, gun on the ground. They moved fast, weapons drawn, shouting commands. I gave them the story Danny told me to give. The detective didn't argue. Danny was loaded into an ambulance under heavy restraint. I never saw him again.

The press latched onto the narrative. A local tragedy. A case with decades of history. An unstable man, allegedly traumatized by years of bullying, returned to take revenge. Authorities called it a revenge spree rooted in trauma and delusion. The public swallowed it whole. I was left, empty and hollow. Everyone that surrounded me was now dead.

I spent a few months organizing funerals and accompanying grieving parents and siblings. I would late to find out that Danny died in custody, wounds from the bullet I had given him. I wrestled with that for a while. I had killed him twice, the first time in a locker and the second time with a bullet, and I don't know which one. I regret more.