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This autumn, a couple of work friends are going deer hunting. It’s been the talk of the office for two months straight. It became the conversational watering hole, and everyone who don’t take part are left to dry out in the sun. Hell, even Vicky, the receptionist, is coming along. I think she’s going mostly for the smores.
But I’m not going.
I have a difficult history with hunting, and not a lot of people know about it. I don’t like to talk openly about it, since it happened so long ago, and I hate being the guy who keeps talking about his past. Trauma or not, I’ve had it buried in the back of my mind for years. But now that all this talk is circling around the office, it made me want to put to paper what actually happened.
#x200B;
It was two months ahead of my 15th birthday. My dad was taking me hunting in a state park over in Logan county, West Virginia. I had little to no idea what was going on, I just knew I had to come along and try out new boots, a hat, a vest, the whole shebang. He took me to target practice a couple of sessions, but we ended up spending most of our time discussing gun safety. I was very anti-gun back then, and I suppose I still am; but for different reasons.
Still, I wanted to spend time with him. Dad had been sick on and off work for a long time following an accident, and he’d just started to properly recover. This would be our first outing in almost two years, and the whole family was excited for it. Again; for different reasons.
#x200B;
It was an early September morning when we set out. Mom waved goodbye from the kitchen window. Dad had packed enough stuff to cover us for a whole week, but we were only going away for the weekend. We pulled into a drive-through, got some lunch, and met up with his hunting buddies.
There was Cisco – a man in his late 50’s. Mostly worked in accounting and had no concept of how to speak at an appropriate volume.
Then there was Abe. He was in his mid-40’s, and he had some relation to Cisco, but I never really understood the nature of it. I think Cisco was married to his older sister.
Finally, there was Hugo. He was new at dad’s job and just kinda wanted to belong somewhere. Guy was quiet as a mouse and had this intense raccoon-like face.
#x200B;
It was a long trip. I was on co-pilot duty, meaning I were to respond to any texts and provide snacks to the driver. And, of course, in charge of keeping the music going. It was exactly what I wanted out of that trip. The hunting itself wasn’t that important, it was nice to just see him happy again. This was his element; something he’d done with his dad, and that he was now doing with me.
We were the last to arrive. Cisco and Abe had packed enough for a small company of soldiers, while Hugo barely had anything at all. Dad parked, shut the music off, and from that point on it was all business. I wasn’t that amped about it.
We double-checked our equipment and set out due west. Cisco and Abe took point, with the rest of us following in a line.
#x200B;
I zoned out for most of it, to be honest. I drowned myself in music and texting. Dad was busy talking to his hunting buddies, and Hugo wasn’t much company anyway. We went deeper and deeper into the park. I didn’t even realize until three hours in that I didn’t have the slightest idea of where we were. We’d followed so many off-paths that I could’ve ended up anywhere.
It was somewhere around lunch when we decided to make camp. My feet were already sore from the new boots. Cisco gathered rocks for the campfire, while dad and Abe started to plot out where to go next.
It was decided that we were splitting up in teams of two. I was going with my dad, Abe went with Hugo, and Cisco went on his own. He was by far the most experienced of us, and we all knew that there’d be nothing caught if he went with someone in a duo. The man just couldn’t control his voice. I jumped every time he laughed.
#x200B;
While we didn’t do any actual hunting that afternoon, we spent some time just getting to know the area. I had no idea what to look for, but dad kept pointing at things and telling me how close we were, and how these were “telltale signs”. I couldn’t really follow, but I tried to be supportive. I hadn’t seen him enthused about something in a long time.
We ended up looking across a clearing somewhere around dinner time. Dad had this can of Vienna sausages that we shared. On the far side of the field was a thin stream running along the tall grass.
“That’s where we’ll spot ‘em in the morning,” he said. “Guaranteed.”
#x200B;
We spent the rest of the day trekking along the edges of the field, trying to find a good spot. We ended up making a dig on the eastern side so we wouldn’t get the morning sun in our eyes. We made a wind shelter from pine branches and moss, leaving space for both of us, shoulder-to-shoulder. Heading back to camp, we went through our checklist of gun safety protocols again. And again. And again.
As we did, there was a loud bang, somewhere off in the distance.
We both stopped. We knew the others had brought their guns along, but had they already found something? Improbable.
Dad put a hand on my chest, signaling me to stop.
“Could be others,” he said. “Gotta stay on your toes.”
#x200B;
We all met up at base camp. Dad went around asking the others which one was the mysterious shooter, but no one fessed up. It could’ve been anyone, really. Abe and Hugo had split up to check different areas, and Cisco was off on his own. I figured it was Hugo that fired a shot accidentally and didn’t want to make a scene. He kind of had the look of it.
At night, they all shared some hunting stories. Mostly Cisco. He went on and on about hunting alligators from a river boat. How we wouldn’t “believe the size” of those things, and how they were big enough to swallow a man’s torso in a single bite. When that stopped impressing us, he went on to talk about sport fishing Atlantic yellowfin tuna.
“Fourteen hundred pounds!” he chuckled. “Fourteen hundred goddamn pounds. You could feel the weight of the thing just standing next to it.”
I turned in early that night. Dad got me my own tent, so I spent most of my time watching stuff on my cellphone. We had chargers and stuff, solar, but I hadn’t bothered to unpack it. Once the batteries ran out, I just lay there on my back, waiting for sleep to come.
#x200B;
It was a shitty and surface-level sleep, at best. I’d accidentally set the tent up on some kind of root, leaving me with a bruise on my right shoulder. There was also the constant buzzing of some kind of wasp right next to my head. The thing didn’t get through the tent, but by God, it really tried.
We got up just before sunrise. It felt like I’d just barely shut my eyes, but dad was at the top of his game. He was bouncing between the tents, humming, and double-checking not only his own equipment; but everyone else’s. That whole morning was basically just my dad trying to get us excited. Hell, even Cisco was tired enough to shut up for a few minutes.
We had breakfast, went over our plans, and got into our gear. It was game time, and the sun wasn’t even up yet.
#x200B;
I was half-asleep all the way out there. I almost tripped twice, but dad pressed on. He ping-ponged between us hurrying up and staying quiet. It was weird seeing him doing all the talking; it was usually the other way around back home.
We got to our makeshift shelter and made ourselves comfortable. Dad kept talking about the direction of the wind and various techniques he swore he’d employed. I was trying to pay attention, but I kept nodding off. He didn’t seem to mind. I think he was just happy to be there.
I don’t know how long we waited. After a while, as things turned quiet, I couldn’t really tell the time anymore. It all sort of blended together.
#x200B;
At some point, dad elbowed me.
And there they were.
Six of them in total; three does, two yearlings, and a buck. All strolling into the middle of the field without a care in the world.
Dad nodded at me and eyed the rifle.
“You’re up.”
#x200B;
It was a heavy lever-action brush gun. We had about 55-60 yards distance, and an unobstructed view. I was nervous though; nervous as all hell. We’d practiced plenty, but this was different. I could imagine them scattering to the wind, and our one shot at this blowing up in our face. Dad didn’t seem to care though, but I wanted to make him proud.
I brought the gun out and rested my head, letting the whole iron sight fill my view. I felt the weight of the trigger as I tempted it.
“Inhale. Exhale. You got this,” he whispered.
#x200B;
Then, a gunshot.
And it wasn’t mine.
#x200B;
The deer thundered off into the woods. Dad just lay there, slack jawed. There was no way to tell where it’d come from, but it was close. Maybe someone had taken a shot at the same deer as us. We looked across the field for someone to stand up or show themselves, but there was nothing out there. Dad put a hand on my shoulder.
“That’s not on you,” he whispered. “I don’t know what the hell that was.”
#x200B;
We tried to reach the others through our walkie-talkies. Cisco reported in first. Apparently, he’d heard the same thing as us, but from a far different angle. Hugo reported in too, telling us the shot had been close by from his angle. Finally, we waited for Abe.
But nothing came through.
We waited, listening to the static. Cisco interjected with the occasional “Abe, check-in”, but we got nothing in response.
“Hugo, where the fuck are you?” growled Cisco. “You were supposed to partner up!”
“I-I’m, uh… south. We took the cliffside trail, the one with-“
“Then where the fuck is he?!”
“He went ahead, he thought he heard-“
“Just answer the fucking question!”
Dad shot me a concerned, almost apologetic look. Cisco was always loud, but this was another level.
#x200B;
Hugo met up with us over at the southern trail. We followed it for a good 45 minutes, calling out to Abe as we went. The quiet stutter of the walkie-talkie felt like getting poked by an icicle. It started to dawn on me that this might turn from a hunting trip to a rescue mission.
“We should, uh… get the rangers,” said Hugo. “It’s been a while. He could be-“
“He probably ran out of batteries,” said dad. “But yeah, let’s…. keep that in mind.”
“Batteries last for days,” scoffed Cisco. “Ain’t no way the fucker’d forget that.”
He had a point. They’d been over their equipment two-three times just that morning. Unlikely at best.
#x200B;
We all moved up the trail, stepping over fallen trees and pressing trough dry undergrowth. As the forest breathed, we could see further and further up ahead. It was quiet. Too quiet, even. Like something had scared off the birds.
“Where’d he go?” Cisco whispered. “What direction?”
“He, uh… should’ve kept going south, I guess.”
“You guess, huh?” sighed Cisco. “Fucking useless.”
#x200B;
We spread out for an impromptu search. Not a lot, but enough for us all to cover some ground. We still had eye contact with each other. Dad asked me to stay close, but I wanted to help, so I took the space in the middle.
Everyone called out to Abe, not caring about the deer or other wildlife we spooked along the way. But apart from a few strange red birds perching on a nearby pine, there was nothing around to spook. And the birds didn’t seem to care about either of us.
After a while, it didn’t even sound like a name anymore. It just became this call, this noise. Abe, Abe, Abe.
#x200B;
Then I saw something.
I thought was a log at first.
But it wasn’t.
#x200B;
As I got closer, I was met with Abe’s eyes looking up at me. They didn’t blink. It looked like he’d just tripped and was about to get up, but he wasn’t moving. He had his neck at a weird angle, like he was trying to brush something off his ear with his shoulder.
Then I noticed the bullet wound – straight through the heart.
I’d never seen one before. Not on anything living. Not like this.
#x200B;
To this day, I can’t stop thinking about that first second when I realized what I was looking at. The absolute chilling panic running up through my lungs, causing my words to freeze in my throat. I just stopped and stared at him, watching the unmoving eyes, and how they seemed to find at me every angle.
I didn’t realize I’d stopped yelling his name.
Now I was just… screaming.
#x200B;
The others rushed over. Dad put his hand over my eyes, turning me away. I could still see Abe’s face behind my eyes. Hugo started making this wailing noise, and Cisco just turned deathly quiet. I couldn’t make out their voices individually anymore; it was all deafened by those dead eyes looking back from the dark.
#x200B;
Cisco immediately turned to Hugo, taking his rifle away. Hugo let go of it like it was on fire. Cisco tore out the magazine, only to find it unused. When it finally dawned on Hugo what he was doing, I could hear his voice sink into his belly.
“You… you think I-“
“You got spare rounds?” asked Cisco.
“I wouldn’t-“
“Show me!”
Hugo held out a small box of ammunition, dropping half of them in the moss. This just pissed Cisco off even more; he was in no state of mind to do any counting.
#x200B;
Dad tried to call 911 but couldn’t get through. We were too remote, and his phone was about a decade old. He wanted to try mine, but I’d forgotten to charge it from the night before. Finally, Hugo gave up his phone and stepped back, holding up his hands like he was being arrested.
Cisco was losing his mind, stomping back and forth, growing louder and louder with every step. Dad re-dialed 911 and got a signal through but could barely contain himself. As soon as that operator picked up, it was like all his words just dropped off the face of the earth.
#x200B;
Then - another gunshot.
Dad pulled me down into the grass. Hugo dove behind a tree, and Cisco went prone behind a stump. As the sound echoed through the trees, we all held our breaths. Dad grabbed my face, and I kept reassuring him that I was okay. At the same time, I was reassuring myself.
Nothing came of it. We were all fine. Dad looked around for the phone, listening for the voice of the operator asking us to stay on the line. We scanned the treeline, but saw no movement. Dad reached for the phone.
#x200B;
Another gunshot. Closer, this time.
Dad pulled his hand back and held me tight. I could hear his heartbeat through his chest, pounding like a hammer.
“We spread out!” called Cisco. “We… we spread out and call for help!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?!” yelled Hugo back. “I’m not moving!”
“Like hell you aren’t! On my count!”
#x200B;
Dad propped himself up on one knee and urged me to do the same. He’d be facing the way the bullets came, shielding me, just in case. There was no time for me to object. Cisco counted down from five. It was so hyper-focused that I forgot to breathe, making my heart race before we even started.
As the countdown ended, we all spread to the wind. Dad and I burst into a sprint towards base camp, while Hugo went north. Cisco headed south, further up the hills. We kept our heads low, praying to God we wouldn’t trip on anything. I have never, ever, ran that fast in my entire life. Just thinking about it elevates my blood pressure.
We just kept going, and going, and going. Down a trail, past a landmark stone, and beyond. I only had a vague idea of where we even were at that point, but I didn’t stop to think.
#x200B;
Somewhere in the distance, I kept hearing gunshots. Not a lot, but every so often. And with each one, my heart skipped a beat, making my body retract like a winding spring.
#x200B;
As we stopped to catch our breaths, dad got out the walkie-talkie.
“You see him?!” he wheezed. “Does anyone see him?!”
“No!” cried Hugo back. “I-I… I can’t see anything!”
“Cisco, you see him?”
Silence.
“Cisco,” dad repeated.
Again, silence.
“Cisco?”
#x200B;
We made our way back to camp. We figured we could use my solar charger to get my phone up and running and try to call for help again. It was still early in the day, but it was ridiculously easy to get lost even with clear weather. I had a general heading, but that was about it.
We took it real slow. Crouching between trees in-between outright sprints. We kept our heads low, listened, and watched for birds taking flight. All the while, I couldn’t help but to feel like something was up. If there was someone else moving out there, we would’ve heard them by then. Sound travelled far, especially in the open areas.
When we finally made it back to base camp, I dove into my tent. I fumbled out the solar charger, plugged it in, and set it up outside. Dad moved it so it wouldn’t be so easy to hit with a stray bullet.
#x200B;
We hunkered down behind one of the tents. We didn’t move a muscle. My body cramped from staying so still, but I didn’t want to move despite the pain. My eyes watered from not blinking, and I could feel my tongue going dry with every ragged breath.
“It’s all about the waiting,” dad whispered. “Just like hunting.”
#x200B;
It must’ve been close to lunchtime when my phone lit up with a mild yellow light. It had about 30% battery charge, but it looked like the weather was about to change. There’d been a few clouds on the horizon, and dad had warned us about rain. Hell, half our camp was made to be waterproof just in case. A bad enough cloud cover would mean we’d be wasting time waiting for nothing.
While dad phoned 911, I stuck to the walkie. I tried a few “hellos”, but I got nothing in response. The thought hit me that they might be in hiding. If so, my voice might give them away. Abe’s face flashed before my eyes as I put the walkie down, waiting for someone to reach back from the other side.
Dad tried his best to explain our position.
“Yeah, we… we got an active shooter,” he said. “I don’t know! I don’t know, maybe… maybe one, maybe two, just west of-“
Dad put the rifle down and held the phone to his ear – trying his best to work out on a map exactly where we’d been at. I couldn’t help but to stare at the rifle. There might be one of those things hunting us right now, and we’d have no idea of knowing. Could have a clear shot. Could be anywhere.
#x200B;
He probably stayed on for ten maybe twenty minutes, before the battery ran dry. It was the first time I heard him swear uncontrollably. He was so frustrated that he could barely contain it, kicking a fold-up chair into the burned-out fire.
“They told us to get moving, meet them half-way,” he spat. “Don’t bring anything. We’ll get it back later.”
He grabbed the rifle, and we promptly left.
#x200B;
We got turned around a couple times when the rain came. Things started to look the same, and we had no proper source of light. We kept trying to head in a straight line, but it became painfully apparent that we’d messed up somewhere around the half-hour mark. We’d veered off track and might just be heading further into the park.
We tried to backtrack but couldn’t find any of the landmarks. There was supposed to be a tall rock along the path, but there wasn’t. We must’ve taken a wrong branching path. I hadn’t really paid attention when we first got there, so I had to rely entirely on dad to find his way forward.
And dad was not doing okay.
#x200B;
It was pouring down, far worse than anticipated. At one point, it felt like it was raining sideways. I had to curl my hands up into my armpits to keep warm, and I kept getting slapped by branches as we pushed forward. Every now and then, we’d stop, only to turn back and try again.
We’d been out for nearly two hours when my head snapped back to attention.
In the distance, another gunshot. I could barely make it out in the rain, but there was a clang to it that just cut straight to my ear canal. There was something primal to it, like my hearing was tuned to catch it.
#x200B;
Then, another.
Closer.
#x200B;
I dropped to the ground while dad took cover behind a tree. Before he got a chance to ask, I yelled back that I was okay. I had to repeat myself three times before I saw him visibly relax, his shoulders slumping against the tree.
“Stay down!” he yelled back. “I think I saw something!”
I tried to see what he was looking at, but he yelled at me to stay still the moment I moved. He refused to have any part of me exposed to gunfire, no matter what. And yet, I think I saw something. Movement, further down the treeline.
#x200B;
He crouched down and rested the gun on a branch for support. I could hear him trying to control his breathing, taking longer and longer breaths. He squinted through the iron sights, counting to himself as he did. I kept my head down, waiting for the next shot to ring out.
I don’t know how long we stood there. Ten seconds, ten minutes – it could’ve been either. But all we heard was rain and crackling branches, and all we saw was pine.
I kept looking at my dad. He was the only thing I could see in that angle. He kept staring straight ahead, waiting with bated breath.
#x200B;
Then, I saw something.
Something *fast*.
#x200B;
“Duck!” I shouted. “Dad, there’s-“
#x200B;
I haven’t seen anything like it ever since.
It was tall and had this strange green tint to it. Bipedal, but not like a person. At least 6’7. Wide-set legs, with long arms that scraped across the forest floor. A single finger on its right hand was longer than my entire forearm. Its head had a shape like a thorn bush, with little blinking appendages all along what should be the scalp.
It twitched forward, and as it did, the long finger snapped straight through the tree where dad was taking cover; causing another sound of gunfire to rattle through us. This one right next to us, deafening me.
I saw something explode out of the other side of the tree as the force burst straight through the trunk; blasting dad’s face with something akin to shrapnel. He threw himself backwards, covering his bleeding face, and dropping the rifle.
#x200B;
It circled around him in a sort of crab walk, raising its long finger like a scorpion’s tail.
I grabbed the rifle, swung it around, and did as I’d been instructed.
Down the iron sight.
Exhale.
#x200B;
This time, I didn’t hesitate, and as a real gunshot rung out, the creature reeled back. Every little white slit along its head opening and closing, blinking in unison. It was gone in an instant, scrambling on all fours to get away. I think I hit it in the shoulder, revealing something bright green, like a snapped twig.
#x200B;
Dad propped himself up against the tree as I swung the rifle around; releasing the spent cartridge with two clicks. I was breathing steady, calm, but it felt like my entire body was sweating all at once. I could feel this intense heat under my clothes, despite the cooling rain.
“Hold it steady,” he said. “Finger on the trigger.”
He’d gotten something in his eye. He couldn’t see shit.
It was up to me.
#x200B;
Then, far off into the woods, another gunshot.
Then another.
And another.
All around us, gunshots piercing the rain.
#x200B;
But they weren’t just gunshots. What should be these high-pitched explosions started to twist and ache. Some turning long and low, similar to a stalling engine. Others reverbed like wail, or a heartbreaking cry. One of them kept spitting out gunshots that sounded like small arms-fire, a semi-automatic pistol. And far off, in the distance, was something with a high caliber. Something *deafening*.
“Look beyond the scope. Down the line. Watch between the trees.”
And I did. Despite the rain, the ache, and the panic, I held that rifle like it was my goddamn life.
#x200B;
For hours, there was nothing but rain and gunfire. I’d catch glimpses of something moving in the distance. Sometimes straight ahead, sometimes from the flank. Sometimes I’d fire, hitting a branch or the side of a tree. Sometimes I’d hit something, causing a loud gun-like squeal to echo back at me.
And one by one, our bullets started to run out, as cartridge after cartridge started to pile up in the underbrush.
#x200B;
Then, at some point, it stopped.
#x200B;
I remember the rain clearing. The final cartridge lay hot in the grass. Dad put his hand on my arm.
“That’s enough,” he said. “It’s alright.”
As I put the rifle down, I felt a barrier collapsing. There was nothing between me and what was out there anymore. We were sitting ducks, waiting for come what may. I burst into tears as this intense vulnerable feeling washed over me. Like it was already over. Like I was just waiting for that final gunshot.
Just one. That’d be all.
#x200B;
But it never came.
Instead, we saw the forest rangers. Maybe they hadn’t been that far away to begin with.
#x200B;
In the aftermath, we found that both Cisco and Hugo had made it out. Cisco had dropped his walkie as he ran but had taken shelter in a fishing cabin. Hugo had kept moving in a wide half-circle, making his way back to his camouflaged shelter. But Abe?
Yeah, he didn’t make it.
They called it a hunting accident, but could never pinpoint it on a single individual. Dad was beyond himself, questioning each and every decision down to the line. He questioned the fact that none of the rangers had heard the gunfire to begin with. There was no way they hadn’t.
I’ve since heard all kinds of stories coming from the same area. Seemingly random gunfire scaring off the deer seems to be a common theme.
#x200B;
A lot has happened since those days. I still keep a gun for protection, and my dad lost most of his vision on his one eye. He’s still around, but we don’t really talk about it anymore. We’ve never gone back there. We’ve never heard of anyone else seeing them either.
Honestly? I don’t think I really wanna know.
And nowadays.
We stick to fishing. |
If you saw a picture of Delaney, you’d scroll past it. I mean she’s pretty, but there’s something forgettable about her. Or maybe forgettable isn’t the right word. It’s hard to distinguish her features, to look directly at her and really see anything but the fuzzy outline of a person. What does she look like? Well, it depends. Her hair has been long, short, completely shaved, brown, blonde, red, pink, green. I’ve looked into her eyes so many times, and I have no idea what color they are. She’s not really short or tall, not really fat or thin. She’s…white? Yeah go find Delaney, she’s one of the 35 white girls at this house party. Does that help?
The thing is, everyone I know who has actually spoken to Delaney has immediately had a crush on her. I’m including myself. She has this way of speaking that makes you feel like you’ve known her for a long time even when you’ve just met. And a sort of fragileness that makes you want to take care of her. I met her three drinks in on the front porch of some dickwad’s big, Victorian-style house that my friends dragged me to for a party. It was the summer of 2010, which means A) the drinks were Four Loko–the original kind that got taken off the shelves later that year–and B) I was dressed like fucking Zooey Deschanel. I’d stepped out to get some air after ducking under the couch to avoid my least favorite ex boyfriend. I remember tugging at the skirt of my polkadot dress and feeling like a real asshole. I never met a party I didn’t want to leave. That’s when Delaney sidled up to me.
“Are you Kristen?” I am in fact Kristen.
“Yeah, sorry, you look familiar, but I don’t know your name.”
And so she was Delaney. She said she’d heard about me from some of our mutual friends and felt sad we’d never had a chance to meet. If I thought about it, I could kind of remember seeing her hanging around some people I knew, but she looked different. Her mousy hair was cropped in a short bob, like mine, and she had a silver nose ring I was sure she didn’t have before summer break. I told her I was happy that at least we were meeting now, and she gave me her number. I walked home that night feeling a bit stupid and giddy. I wrote, “Find out if Delaney’s straight.” in a note on my laptop before passing out that night.
Being a coward, I never actually texted or called her after that, but somehow, over the course of the next couple of weeks, Delaney had become a stable fixture in my friend group. It was like she had always been there. Delaney was saving us a table in the dining hall. Delaney was studying for a test in our dorm room. Delaney brought a big bottle of water for everyone to share when we went to smoke weed in the woods. If I decided to go take a walk, Delaney linked her arm through mine, and we’d slowly spiral through campus together. I’d gabble about movies or music or whatever the fuck, and she’d bob her head up and down, always in agreement. I stopped being able to tell if I liked her. Talking to her was like talking into a mirror, but you can walk away from a mirror when you don’t want to see yourself. Delaney was always *there*.
It started grating on me. People I didn’t know would wave me over only to realize I wasn’t Delaney. If they could tell us apart and we weren’t together, they’d ask me where she was like it was weird to see one of us without the other. And really, I guess it was weird. We were always together. At some point, my room mate had given her a key to our room, and she’d started sleeping over. Were we best friends? If someone asked her, would she say we were? What would I say if someone asked me? I spent so much time with her, but she felt like a stranger.
I snapped one day when I came to my dorm after class, and she was rooting through my clothes, already wearing one of my sweaters.
“Delaney, wear your own fucking clothes! Why are you always here?” She froze and immediately started crying. I felt like I’d kicked a dog.
“Delaney. Dude. I’m sorry I yelled at you, but what is actually wrong?”
She sank into the pile of clothes she’d laid out on the floor and looked up at me with pleading eyes. I sat down next to her, and she put her head on my shoulder.
“I like you,” she said. “Don’t you like me?”
“Like you like…how?”
She laced her fingers into mine and tucked a piece of my hair behind my ear. I reflexively laid my head on top of hers, my lips touching her hair. Why was I yelling before? She pushed herself upward and rested a hand on each side of my face. She leaned in and kissed me gently on the lips. I kissed her back, hard, and then pushed her away so I could really look at her face. She looked lonely and sad. And something else I couldn’t quite articulate. Why was it so hard to look into her eyes? Feeling a shiver down my spine, I quickly stood up, leaving her in the pile of clothes.
“I don’t actually know you. Like at all.”
She started to cry again.
“How can you say that? We’re the same.”
“I don’t know that! How could I possibly know that when you always just agree with whatever I say? I have no idea what you’re ever thinking. I have no idea what you like.” I suddenly understood what she looked like. She looked scared.
“You do know me,” she said, sounding more like she was trying to convince herself than me. “I agree with you, because we like the same things. I’m like you.”
“Delaney, you need to go home. You can’t keep staying here.” Her back stiffened. Her eyes got even wider.
“Kristen, please. I’m sorry. Please let me stay.”
“You can’t stay in your own room for literally one night?”
“I’ll be quiet. You don’t have to talk to me.”
“Delaney, go to your own fucking room! You don’t live here!”
Bawling uncontrollably and still wearing my sweater, Delaney stumbled out of my room and let the door shut behind her. I left the clothes on the floor and laid down in my bed. What kind of dumb piece of shit was I? I wanted to crawl out of my skin. What would have happened if I had just nicely told Delaney that I needed some alone time? Why didn’t that feel like an option?
I woke up freezing cold and completely disoriented on top of my blankets what must have been several hours later. It was dark out, and my room mate wasn’t home. Was it 8:00 PM or 3:00 AM? Was it even the same day? I reached out for my phone, but it had shut itself off. Dead battery, I guessed. I turned on the light and plugged my phone into its charger. I walked to the bathroom to fill up a cup of water and returned, attempting to turn my phone on. The screen lit up for a moment and then turned black. I tried again. Light, darkness, nothing. Fine, whatever.
I grabbed my purse and decided to take a walk. September had become cool and crisp, and the wind on my face made me feel calm, reassurance that the season was still passing like normal, whether or not I was an absolute fuck up. The campus lights were on, but I didn’t see anyone walking around. I figured it must have been at least 2:00 AM for that kind of quiet. Fine by me.
I looped around my dorm building and up the steep, concrete steps that led up to a path into the woods. The moon was bright, so it was easy to see my way through the trees and into a grassy clearing where I liked to sit. Using my purse as a pillow, I looked up at the stars for a while until a rustling from some bushes caught my attention. My heart pounded. The woods around me suddenly felt dangerous and unfriendly. I almost screamed and then immediately felt silly as an enormous buck stepped out of the brush and into the moonlight. I observed him quietly as he made slow, tentative steps across the grass and into the darkness on the other side of the clearing.
“Goodbye, friend,” I whispered, mostly to myself.
“Goodbye?” A man’s voice directly behind me. I froze completely, unable to even turn my head toward the voice. A tall, dark figure stepped into the light and sat beside me. “It’s been a while, Delaney.”
“I’m not–” He brushed warm, clammy fingers across my cheek and kissed me hard, snaking his tongue around my mouth, licking the inside of my teeth. I pushed him away and tried to pull myself up into a standing position. He held my shoulders down firmly. He looked into my eyes, and I tried to understand his face. His eyes were bright and cruel, and they shifted in his head, lowering and widening, coming closer together and easing back apart. His features moved with his eyes, rearranging themselves into different configurations. A handsome, chiseled jaw, a ratlike overbite, a doughy pout. His hair lengthened and shortened; his skin darkened and lightened. He was impossible to look at.
Hands still pinning my shoulders, he looked up at the moon, his nose becoming long and sharp.
“You’re still you, you know,” he said. “It’s always so easy to see you.” He turned back toward me with a gentle, soft-featured face. “And I’ll always be here for you.”
He pushed my shoulders down against the grass and leaned in for another kiss. I managed to lift my elbow and and push against his neck.
“I’m not Delaney, you dumb fuck!” He seemed to consider this. His hairline receded as he took my wrist and shoved my arm back down into the grass. He swept his other hand up my thigh, over my hip, up my stomach and then pushed down on my breast while looking me up and down. He shrugged.
“What’s the difference?”
What was the answer to that question? I felt hollow, emptied out like a pumpkin for carving. I thought of Delaney’s face, soaked with tears. The way her hair smelled. I looked into the man’s awful, moving eyes.
“You don’t know me,” I spat. And then I screamed. I screamed and flailed and kicked and bit. The man straddled my hips and put a damp hand over my mouth. I kept kicking. I kept pushing. It didn’t matter. I am so small. I grabbed his hair and pulled, screaming again as he reached his hand up to grab my wrist. He smiled across a thousand faces, teeth yellow, teeth white, teeth missing, teeth sharp.
And suddenly I was thrashing in the grass alone. I stood up and monitored the clearing. Empty. I grabbed my purse and ran. I sprinted through the woods, down the path, down the stairs, to my room. I threw up in my trash bin, simultaneously vexed and relieved that my room mate still wasn’t home. I laid on the floor for a while, feeling the stiff carpet on my back as I slowly caught my breath. When I finally reached for my phone, it was already on. 5:00 AM. Sure, fine. I called Delaney and got her voicemail. I called again. I texted her. I called again. Eventually I fell asleep as pale sunlight peeked through the curtains.
My room mate was at her desk doing some homework when I woke up.
“Where’s Delaney?” she asked. I wept inconsolably.
#x200B;
Sometimes I see Delaney pop up on social media. It’s hard to recognize her, because she’s always with a new group of friends, and she always looks like she fits right in. I try to figure out what she’s like, but she slips away and crops up again later, somewhere new. I try to figure out what I’m like too. |
*"When the alarm starts ringing, pray and kiss your life goodbye."*
These were the words of wisdom I had received at my laboratory induction fifteen years ago.
They had been spoken by Professor Williams, and for some reason, when the alarm did begin to ring that day, fifteen years on, it was him that I thought of first. As I sat there in my office, with the sirens blaring and orange hazard lights flashing in the corridors outside, I pictured the old Professor enjoying his retirement in the Caribbean, a cigar in mouth, jet skiing across the blue ocean.
*"When the alarm starts ringing, pray and kiss your life goodbye."*
I don't know how long I sat there for—but what brought me back to reality was my colleague being chased past my office by Timothy, our janitor.
A small laugh escaped me. It wasn't the comical nature of the scene; no, I laughed because all the sweat, blood and tears I had poured into my research over the years had worked. And I didn't have to look down a microscope either to see the little critters working their magic. It was right there before my eyes. Timothy was our very own lab rat.
I suppose the janitor might not have signed up for the job had he known there was a chance he might have been infected by Virus X-93, the code name given to my research. The main component was the rabies virus. But like cooking, "mix a little bit of this, with a little bit of that", you soon end up with something that wants to make Timothy do more than plant a kiss on my colleagues' lips.
Judging by the man's jerky and unbalanced movements as he ran down the corridor, he was still in the grip of phase 1 of the infection cycle. Phase 2 would begin fifteen to twenty minutes after—which would see his coordination become more balanced and Olympic sprinter-esque. It would also crank up the aggression and lust for human flesh.
I guess you're probably asking what is the purpose of creating a "zombie" like virus in the first place? Warfare, mainly. There are hundreds of military laboratories across the globe where guys like me are tinkering with nature to create deadly biological weapons. We get a memo from a guy in a suit in Washington telling us what he wants (usually inspired by the film he watched the night before), and we get to work. No questions asked.
Escapes of these viruses are rare—but they do happen (yes, Covid I'm looking at you). The research facilities, however, are designed to reduce the possibilities of an in-house outbreak getting past the reinforced concrete.
The first way to reduce the risk is to build the laboratory underground, usually with multiple layers of security at each level. Check. The next is to place the facility in the middle of nowhere (like Alaska…) hoping to catch any spillage before it hits the wider world. Check, check. Then the last—but most important of all—is to have a squadron of specially trained soldiers ready to go in at a moment's notice and take out all parties involved if an escape were to take place: infected, scientists, and any other poor bastard who happened to be down there taking a leisurely stroll on his lunch break. Check, check, check.
And it was for these very reasons that I sat in my office and realized (to put things bluntly) I was pretty fucked.
My first move that day was to crouch down behind my desk and hide. Over the noise of the alarm, I could hear our infected janitor had caught his prized possession, and my colleague (former colleague, I should add), was being eaten alive. Eat up Timmy, you're a growing boy.
Other (less senior) scientists in white lab coats streamed past my office, screaming and shouting as they fled towards the elevators. This was a stupid decision, of course, since the elevators would have been permanently locked a second after the alarm came on. The entire military base would have gone into a lockdown, and possibly even Washington had been informed. *"President, there's some serious shit going down in Alaska."*
*"What's that?"*
*"A zombie virus outbreak in our secret military laboratory."*
*"Okay, Jimmy, ready the Air Force One. We're moving to Hawaii."*
So I bet you're thinking, how did you live to write this then? How did you escape from an underground secret laboratory in the middle of Alaska with zombies running around? Well, I guess you need to keep on reading to find out (wink, wink, spoiler alert).
I continued to hide in my office, patiently waiting for a soldier in a hazmat suit to kick down the door. I didn't even plan to beg. What was the point? The day you sign up for the gig they liked to gloss over that little part about Private Johnson kicking down your door one day and blowing your brains out. They stuck it right in the fine print.
What happened, however, on that day, was that no soldier ever came. No one did emerge from the elevators, throwing smoke grenades, gunning down the infected scientists and non-infected alike. No, what happened was that thirty minutes after the alarm came on it suddenly turned off, giving way to an eerie silence.
Behind my desk, I waited, listening. Had the security system malfunctioned? Had the squadron been placed on hold so they could document the effects of Virus X-93? Had Romeo had an argument with Echo about who got to use the flame thrower, and the bosses ordered them to settle it using rock, paper, scissors?
These were the questions in my head as I tiptoed across my office, and crouched at the door, opening it slightly. Outside the white corridor walls were splattered with blood like a drunken artist had been throwing his paintbrush around haphazardly. *A dash here and a dash there and yes I can sell this masterpiece for millions.*
I cracked the door more ajar and stuck my head out. In true typical horror fashion, a lightbulb flickered in the glass paneled ceiling, where underneath lay my dead colleague, their guts open to the world.
There was no sign of Timmy the janitor or anyone else for that matter.
It was quiet—deathly quiet, and I suddenly felt claustrophobic being so deep underground. The thought of never feeling the wind on my face caused my body to leave the relative safety of my office and slink out into the corridor. Where was I going? I didn't know but found myself continuing on until I came to the main laboratory entrance.
Here, I crouched and waited. From inside came the soft drone of the analytical equipment. I rose and peeped into the glass windows. Shattered test tubes lay scattered on the floor alongside puddles of blood.
But there was no one around.
*Where the hell was everyone?*
Or where the hell were "*they*", I should have asked. But I soon found out. Just round the corner of the corridor, four of my former colleagues were crouched over a dead body, feasting on the man's torso. It was like watching a pride of lions sharing an antelope, and while I must admit I was sickened, at the same time I felt a jolt of excitement. Virus X-92—the early prototype—had always suffered from infighting. Infected mice had always been equally eager to eat one another than other healthier mice. It was me who had theorized that replacing the SPGV glycoprotein with a mutated SPNG-K protein would solve this issue. We were just in the pretrial stages but here it was in action, the best of friends sharing a meal! I felt vindicated for all those hours persuading my colleagues. Talk about them having to eat their own words!
I stayed watching for much longer than I should have … revolted yet enthralled. Finally, I peeled away and crept back down the corridor, past the laboratory and my office until I came to the elevators. In the vicinity, four dead scientists lay disemboweled, their faces frozen in a mix of horror and shock. As expected, the elevators were down. I was attempting to prize the elevator shaft open when something scuttled past the corridor further up. I froze and hugged against the walls. The noise of clanging and growling filtered through the walls as a group of infected roamed a nearby lab, searching for prey. They would be well into phase 2 by now.
Heart in mouth, I shuffled past my dead colleagues, and was near the staff room when I heard muffled voices inside.
I pressed my ear against the door. Yes, people were whispering.
As I had my hand on the handle, however, something moved in my peripheral vision, and I turned to find Timothy, our janitor, at the far end of the passageway, grinning. His eyes were alive with a madness that would make your nightmares shiver.
“Good b-b-boy, T-immy," I stammered, like an owner of an aggressive dog.
Timmy's neck spasmed—the rabies virus shining through—and blood dripped down his chin.
Frantically, I tried the door handle. It was locked. The voices inside had stopped talking, and I imagined those inside were nervously watching the door.
I banged against it. “Fucking open up!”
Timmy's grin widened, and he began moving towards me.
“FUCK OFF, TIMMY,” I shouted, beating harder against the door. Suddenly my research didn’t seem as great as before. “OPEN THE DOOR, PLEASE!”
Drawn by the noise, more infected appeared—my feasting colleagues. They were sprinting down the corridor, grinning like Timmy at the delicious feast before them (no doubt the bastards wanted payback for being a "great" boss.).
“OPEN UP!” I pleaded. “PLEASE.”
Just when the zombies were upon me, the lock clicked and the door swung open. I pounced inside and two people slammed the door shut in Timmy's face, who beat against it, snarling.
“Thanks,” I gasped, turning round to my rescuers. “You saved my …”
“Life?” my ex-wife finished.
Now, it's probably a good time to point out that my ex-wife is a scientist too. This is where we met, right here working on Virus X-93. And, for the most attentive readers, you will remember that two people slammed the door shut on the zombies. Well, that second person was the reason for the EX part in the ex-wife. A man called Jeffrey, who was Chief Scientist of the Research Facility, and had been screwing my wife behind my back for the past four years. Yes, the man never admitted it, and we had broken up due to "irrevocable differences", but everyone on the base knew they were together.
“Oh, it’s you two,” I muttered. “Nice to see you're both still alive.”
Jeffrey, who had been my friend until the divorce, looked genuinely embarrassed. He glanced nervously at my ex-wife—Karen’s her name—and said, “Yes, glad you’re still alive, Frank, buddy. Errm, seems like that RNA modification you did converting uridine to pseudouridine really worked a trick … good job."
As if they agreed with the praise, the zombies banged on the door loudly.
“What?” Karen said, scowling. “You’re going to congratulate him after we’re all going to die?”
I smiled. I enjoyed seeing my (ex)wife riffled.
Jeffrey blushed. “Well … it did work … the evidence is right out there. And his suggested SPGV glycoprotein change has also worked. They don't seem to be fighting among themselves—"
“I don’t care,” Karen interrupted. “It’s his fault we’re in this mess.”
“Trouble in paradise?” I asked, causing them both to blush.
Karen glared at me. “Don’t you start.”
“Start what?”
“Oh, you know what. Acting like you’re going to win the Nobel Prize.”
I shrugged and sat down on the nearest chair. “Depends if there’s a Sweden after all this.”
Karen continued to glare at me. “After all what?”
“You know, this. If the virus escapes the base, there might not be many Swedish people in Sweden to be giving out awards. Might make it problematic."
My ex-wife laughed. “You’re pathetic.” She looked at Jeffrey for validation, but he looked down sheepishly. Karen’s voice became serious. “It won’t get out, will it?”
Jeffrey shrugged. He walked up to the sink and tried the faucet. It worked. "Water seems to be still running. The soldiers were due fifteen minutes ago but have not arrived. Protocol says by now we should have been killed, so the virus might have gotten out already. Its the only way we can explain why we are still alive."
Karen frowned. "Impossible."
"It's not," I answered. "The only plausible explanation is that it wasn't an accident. I believe someone—or some people, wanted the virus to escape."
I looked at Jeffrey, and he nodded, as if he had worked this out already. It was sad to think that at one time we used to compete ideas off each other. Alaska's very own Watson and Crick.
"The real question is, though," I said, "how are we going to make it to ground level to see what's going on up there?"
Jeffrey sighed. “There is an override system in my office for non-lockdown emergencies. Hopefully, with the defense systems down, this would qualify, and we might just be able to make it up."
“Okay, okay, okay” Karen said, (and I knew something pessimistic was coming). “If we somehow make it past the zombies and get to your office. Then make it up the elevators and onto ground floor. THEN make it out of the military base. What then? They'll want to kill us. You both know this."
Neither Jeffrey or I replied. She was talking about our government.
“Yes,” I answered, miserably. “We will be hunted. Forever … until we are dead."
Jeffrey nodded. “Yes, that is safe to assume. If we ever make it out, we will live the rest of our lives as fugitives.”
We all took a moment to process this information. I thought of Professor Williams again and suddenly his retirement in the Caribbean didn't look so great. Somehow, I didn't think he would be safe there. The secret service would come for him. Two men in black suits would appear one day; maybe just before lunch, or perhaps when he was getting ready to go snorkeling. Whichever—or whenever, they would come. There was no way the government would let this news ever get out.
It was ironic because we had dedicated so much of our lives to a virus that, if didn't kill us, would see us murdered like fugitives. There would be no golden handshake from Uncle Sam.
"Okay," I said, breathing heavily. "How are we going to get out of this room and to Jeffrey's office and get those elevators back on?"
It was Karen who pointed to the ceiling. "Air vents. They always go through the air vents in the movies, right?"
|
I am an older sister to twin boys. We have other younger siblings, but it always seemed like the three of us were tidally locked, unable to physically be too far apart and yet never emotionally closer than we were. It might have only been a year and some change that separated me from them, but I lacked that secret biological ingredient cooked into them as they marinated nine months in our mother’s womb together. My own maternal soup was light on psychic connections and heavy on a fluttering anxiety that plagued me from the time I was conscious enough to realize bad things could happen to those I loved.
Maybe the twins’ latent supernatural senses could smell the sour stench of worry, desperation, and fear of abandonment on me, but they were always naturally distrustful of my presence. I was branded as a tattletale with the same incongruous solemnity that they divided everything between themselves—always orange or red for Jacks, green or blue for Sam—despite the fact that I had never actually done anything to deserve the title.
To them, I was trouble on wheels rocking at the top of a steep hill, potential energy incarnate, judged to be kinetically devastating to the Twin Team Agenda. And so, to compensate for their assessment of me, I hovered around them, meek and yearning, waiting for the chance to be part of their secret club, to feel the built-in safety of a bond of blood, popsicle stick jokes, and shared experiences. My so-called bucolic childhood was ultimately my brothers’, internalized and adopted as my own, but viewed as if from outside the unwashed windows of the family home that in theory we shared.
Our mother was distracted, our father disinterested—both distant in a way that made them feel somewhat unreal, like faceless Peanuts adults that existed on the periphery of our lives. We were homeschooled, but our mother always seemed to have a fresh infant that demanded her time and her body, so our rare lessons consisted of all the things we shouldn’t be doing and the horrific consequences of each. We were students of the School of Fear, curriculum developed from either our mother’s personal anxiety (mine had to come from somewhere) or from a tired attempt to keep us from accidentally killing ourselves by removing herself from a 24/7 supervisory position and appointing us stewards of our own lives. The rest of our sparse education was workbook-based independent study disseminated to us via a multilevel marketing scheme that ran rampant among the homeschooling community.
When I was eight and the twins seven, someone our mother knew had a son who died after swallowing a button battery. This sparked an urgent dining room assembly where the twins and I were bombarded with harshly clinical information about the dangers of these tiny metal death bombs, personified as wanting nothing more than to leap from the back of the bathroom scale down our throats to detonate in our bodies. There was a slide presentation.
Barely after learning our heads from our shoulders and knees from toes, and long before we heard any whisper about the great mysteries of the the birds and the bees and were gifted proper words for our hoo-has and pee-pees, we were taught about tracheosophageal fistulas and the alkaline reaction when Lithium meets the moist environment hidden deep within us. We learned about the liquefaction of tissue as the catastrophic battle of human versus metal rages on, melting together and breaking apart delicate structures in a way infinitely more painful than anything our untested and innocent brains could comprehend. And we learned about death—something nebulous yet final, described as being locked in a dark closet and never being able to see your family again. (The concept of heaven did not mesh well with the overall goal to inspire us against wanting to be dead and nothing/no one we truly cared about had died as of yet.)
This combined with the section of my nightmare catalogue dedicated to images from The Fly—a movie I was not allowed to watch and yet had seen one night when our father had fallen asleep in front of the tv while our mom was out at a church function—caused me to have bad dreams for months about each and every member of my family melting into a Cronenberg mass of rubbery flesh after consuming bowlfuls of button batteries that came out of innocent-looking cereal boxes or accidentally breathing in button batteries that fell from the sky like raindrops. Their gooey fingers would reach out to me as they screamed thickly and wordlessly in agony, the inside of their mouths sticky in a way reminiscent of the chocolate swamp creature from our Candy Land game board.
For once in my life I knew exactly what the twins were thinking because I was thinking it too. The button battery lesson did not only linger with me, Jacks and Sam were also darkly obsessed. The two of them took to torturing me with elaborate set ups where they pretended to eat batteries in front of me or set up death scenes for me to find where they covered their faces and necks with impressive homemade prosthetics concocted from DIY play dough recipes. In a stroke of alchemical genius, they added spoonfuls of gritty Metamucil that made the color grotesquely realistic.
I took to carrying around the only button battery I could find in the whole house, carefully transferring it each morning and night to whatever I was wearing. Something about being able to reach into my pocket and finger its dangerous and deadly shape brought me tentative peace. I was in control of it. My baby siblings would not find it. The twins would not accidentally on purpose swallow it. And I would not forget what exact shape and size it was, despite my traitorous brain suggesting that anything anyone was putting in their mouths at any moment could be one.
It wasn’t long before I learned all the twins’ tricks, and Jacks especially grew bored with my increasingly lackluster reactions, bolstered as I was by my secret talisman. But then Jacks figured out he could swallow small coins.
Where before the twins would flash a glimpse of “button battery” before passing a closed fist past open maw with a comical gulp, now Jacks would wander into the doorway of whatever room I was in and say, “Hey, Savannah—watch.” When I looked up, he would place a dime on his tongue and present it for me to see. As I started up from my seat in panic, he’d curl his tongue back into his mouth and swallow the dime. He would smack his lips theatrically, pause as if stricken, and then fall into fake convulsions as he acted out his interpretation of nuclear button battery devastation. I would clutch my pocket for reassurance.
I slowly came to realize that perhaps the twins had never truly thought I was a snitch, but rather they had manipulated me into never being one. There was always a malevolent shine to Jacks’ eyes before he began his coin performance, an insinuation of a dare—tell and you are what we always said you were. And so I watched silently and our parents never knew.
Late at night, through the wall my bedroom shared with the upstairs bathroom, sometimes I could hear Jacks grunting soft little kid grunts as he strained on the toilet. And sometimes I could hear the waterlogged plink of something small and metal on porcelain.
Too soon after this, I think Jacks shifted from caring about the button battery ruse to being curiously invested in what he was capable of swallowing without choking. On days where we were responsible for our own lunches—that is most days—the three of us would sit across from each other at the table in unholy trinity, egged on by Jacks to see just how big of a spoonful of Top Ramen we could force down our throats without chewing. I hated the way the slick noodles felt when I ate them this way, more like a bolus of worms than food, and I was on edge constantly watching the twins eat. I think it made Sam uncomfortable too, but he was careful not to show it. Jacks, of course, always won.
Jacks graduated to larger coins, nickels and pennies. Sam was his devoted hunter gatherer, slipping his hand into our father’s jacket pockets and crouching to scoop up change whenever he saw it glinting on the sidewalk. We’d lock ourselves in the bathroom and bear grave witness to Jacks performing his ritual. He liked to watch himself in the mirror as he ingested penny after nickel after dime after Ukrainian kopek (the final found outside the King Supers), all vanishing into him like a coin-operated washer or a gum ball machine.
While Jacks watched himself, Sam watched Jacks, unblinking, and I watched the pair of them, as noninvasive an observer as the mirror itself. I noticed that Sam—in unconscious or perhaps twin-related response—would open and close his own mouth in time with Jacks’, almost as if unwilling to fathom an experience the two of them wouldn’t share. Our brother had made a piggy bank of himself. I half expected to hear him jingling as he walked.
Ritual complete, we’d slip from the bathroom and wander back downstairs to our schoolwork or the tv, Jacks satisfied and Sam and I complicit.
What must have been several dollars in, it became obvious that Jacks was changing. Where before it was almost impossible to tell the twins apart, Jacks was now recognizable as the less healthy one. It was subtle, hardly noticeable unless you spent hours staring at him as I did, intensely focused on his face as if I could keep him from choking by sheer force of will. (I knew of the Heimlich Maneuver thanks to another School of Fear lesson about the terror of aspiration but only had a vague idea of how to perform it.) My contribution was watching and wishing, and all the while noticing Jacks get worse.
Jacks didn’t jingle as he moved, but he did develop a wheeze, a concerning lethargy that preceded his appearance around ever corner. He also began to lean on Sam as they walked, Sam bracing Jacks’ shoulder with his own in a way I wasn’t sure if he even realized he was doing. I also no longer heard Jacks grunting as he struggled to pass his coins in the bathroom at night, but I did hear him retching, at times making noises so violent I felt them in my own diaphragm and causing me to sit up in bed, straining to hear through the dark static of my room for any sign that Jacks was not okay to the point that I needed to finally intervene.
When Jacks’ eyes became glassy and his nightly bathroom trips took on the guttural tonal quality of an exorcism, I made the mistake of suggesting, timid and deferential, that Jacks should stop swallowing things. I tried to soften it with a lame joke, insinuating in nervous breathy tones that we’d end up homeless if he didn’t quit consuming all of our money. The consequence of this was swift excision from the group. Jacks and Sam abandoned the bathroom and began instead barricading themselves in their bedroom, a place forbidden to me even before my exile.
I took to listening at their door, anxious to be close by in case I was needed, afraid of being left out, panicked at feeling responsible for them as the eldest. But I never heard more than soft whispers I couldn’t quite make out.
One day, Jacks got a nosebleed as we sat in front of our workbooks. My ears, sharply attuned to noises beyond the ordinary by this point, heard the first soft plat of a drop as it hit paper. I jerked my head up and met Jacks’ shocked gaze, eyes sunken in a narrow face that had rapidly deteriorated over the last weeks from mildly sallow to alarmingly gaunt.
A saturated red trail slipped from his nose and over his lips before his hand shot up to cup his chin. We stared at each other, frozen.
“Jacks, your nose,” Sam said, belated, halfway standing. By this point, Sam had become overprotective of his twin, his energy growing more and more frenetic as Jacks himself became muted and withdrawn.
As Sam and I watched, Jacks’ chapped lips parted to allow the odd pale tip of his tongue to dart in and out, rapid and almost reptilian. I don’t think he originally meant to do it, but I know Sam and I both saw his expression flicker. For a moment the glazed look in his eyes was gone, replaced by the bright glint he used to possess. He wheezed slightly and swallowed. Sam and I also swallowed, in communion. Maybe I imagined it, but I swear I could taste what he was experiencing, that liquid, bright and copper as a penny—familiar at this point—but warm and slippery rather than cold and sharp. That’s how naked his expression was for that fleeting second. It was the closest I’d ever felt to him.
He shoved back from the table, and took off for the bathroom with Sam right on his heels like a reverse shadow. I was left behind, unable to tear my eyes from that urgent stoplight dot of red marring the workbook across from me.
At this point, I can only guess at the exact sequence of events that transpired between the nosebleed incident and the end. The twins took extra measures to hide things from me, sensing—accurately—that I was close to the limit of what I could reasonably be counted on to keep secret.
Perhaps Jacks, deeply disturbed and addicted, tried to cut himself and satiate his craving like a vampiric ouroboros before Sam stepped in and offered from the cup of his own healthier vessel. Maybe Jacks asked it of Sam and Sam was afraid to decline out of a very real worry of the lengths his twin would drive his body to without him. Most likely, it was unspoken. After all, they existed for each other, as extensions of each other.
I do know that Sam, the type of boy who demanded to wear t-shirts even in the coldest, snowiest winter, began dressing in long sleeves. He dug up years’ old Christmas pajama tops that were inches too short and too tight by far and even stole one of our father’s sweatshirts from the laundry—a move that was considered to be benignly “adorable” by the adults who even noticed.
But I caught glimpses of things that scared me, bandaid wrappers in the trash or floating unflushed in the toilet, a purloined pink razor hidden in the cardboard spoke of a roll of toilet paper under the sink. When I pressed my ear against the twins’ bedroom door, among the whispers I also heard the sharp hiss of a pained intake of breath and once or twice even the faintest muffled whimper. I fingered the battery in my pocket like a worry stone, discomfited.
Soon Sam joined Jacks in looking unwell. They drifted blanched and wraith-like around the house, forgoing rambunctious rough housing for quiet afternoons spent watching YouTube. Their gaming consoles sat forgotten. And our mother, for her part, seemed content with the tranquil environment she thought she had fostered. I hated her for not noticing and I hated myself for not being strong enough to make her see.
On the last day, I lay on the floor outside my brothers’ door keeping my standard vigil. Cheek sunken into the dusty fibers of the flattened beige carpet and ear to the gap between it and the door. The susseration of their hushed voices lulled me slowly to sleep. And then Sam’s voice cut through my doze. Heart thrumming hummingbird fast even before I parsed his words, I heard him cry out, “Jacks, stop it’s too much!”
I lay still, fighting entropy tenacious and syrupy as sleep paralysis, listening hard. Sam was crying now, an unfamiliar and animal sound I hadn’t heard from him since he was small. And then I heard the sound I feared the most over the past months—choking.
I ripped myself up from the carpet, lurching into action that felt at once rusted and purposeful in a way that surprised me, as if I still was watching from afar as someone else piloted my body. This body shouldered the door open, popping the weak lock and all but tumbling into the space between the twin little boy beds decked out in Jacks orange and Sam green and Sam red and Sam red and Sam red.
Sam sobbed on the bed. I could see shallow gashes on his skinny arm where bright bright blood was weeping in solidarity, but it was his right foot cradled up into his lap that broke my brain, untethering me from my position of complacency and sending me careening down that steep hill of kinetic energy at last. Deep dark crimson bubbled from where his big toe had been. Unbidden, hysterically, “Gone to market” singsonged in my mind. But despite the grisly horror of Sam, it wasn’t Sam who wasn’t breathing—it was Jacks.
Wide-eyed Jacks clawing, scrabbling, clutching at his throat. His distress was silent now, something our mother told us meant the worst. Without significant thought, I hoisted his frail body from his bed and placed my fist above his bellybutton and heaved in and up. He was so light, lighter and softer than I expected with what I imagined was a stomach full of metal. I could feel the ridges of his spine against my stomach. I squeezed him again and felt a carbonated release, something pink-tinged and wet launching into the wall.
Jacks sank against me, wheezing. I spun him to face me, shaking him by the shoulders. His head lolled, eyes half-lidded and a febrile, translucent purple. “What is wrong with you?” I shouted. Great black pools of pupils rolled upwards to meet mine with something I thought I recognized as a faraway defiance. Without breaking eye contact, he brought a bloody finger up to his mouth and suckled the gore from it before pulling it out with an offensive pop, trailing a sickly, mucosal drool. The corners of his mouth lifted, exposing gruesome teeth.
I felt myself losing it. For the first time in my short life, I was furious. “This has to stop, Jacks.” My hand went to my pocket and came free with the button battery. “You need to stop.”
He was so weak. The doctors said his body was riddled with all sorts of irreparable damage caused by the massive amount of coins they pulled from his gastrointestinal tract—corrosive zinc toxicity from the pennies, organ failure—really the button battery was just the cherry on top of the caustic mess he had already been brewing on the inside.
He didn’t have the strength to fight me as I forced the small disc as far as I could reach down his throat. And even still, curiosity and muscle memory led him to swallow, dutifully gulping down this final metal pill like prescription ambrosia.
I don’t know what Sam saw, if he saw me with the battery. He never said. Our screaming brought our mother, and our mother—to her credit—immediately bundled the three of us along with Sam’s toe in a Ziploc bag of ice into the car to the hospital, leaving our youngest siblings behind with our confused father.
Sam went into surgery and Jacks and I sat with our mother in the waiting room of the ER. As was my custom, I watched Jacks without a word, mother none the wiser. It wasn’t long, though, before Jacks vomited—red, violent—and fell to the ground convulsing.
And eventually he succumbed to his best performance of Button Battery Death. |
It started as just me trying to get comfy in bed and feeling something in my elbow pull.
That wasn't that unusual. Annoying, sure, but my joints work in stupid ways. Been in an out of physical therapy since I was 12. So one of my joints subluxing when I'm just tossing and turning? Typical.
The next morning I woke up with pain in my elbow if I fully straightened it out. Again, normal. Not as bad as when I pulled something in my hip trying to get out of bed last week. Just stretched it and it was reduced to a dull ache.
But this evening... I don't know. This evening was weird.
I have chronic headaches, because I'm nothing if not a complete disaster. So I got home from work with a headache right next to my left eye. Changed into my pajamas, popped an ibuprofen, pulled down the blackout blinds, and curled up in bed.
Then my elbow started moving. Not in a weird marionette "someone else is controlling my body" way. No. Something *inside* was moving.
THis weird sensation of something pushing up against my skin, then back down. Up, then back down. It was too slow and purposeful to be a muscle spasm but then again what else could it be? So I put my other hand under my elbow so I could pinpoint exactly what was doing the motion. Figured it was probably a tendon. I waited.
Waited.
Then I felt it. Something thin and tubular pressed against my skin, and I swear to god it felt out my hand. There was a softest tingling sensation as my elbow's skin touched my palm. I saw stars before my eyes, but not in the cartoon pain way -- I saw the stars of the Milkyway stretched across an endless sky, calling to me--
I yanked my hand back and sat up quickly, looking around. My head spun a bit from the sudden movement, but I could see that there was nothing going on. I was in my room, no stars calling out. My elbow felt pretty normal, and I was alone, the cat busy eating her dinner upstairs. It was just me, trying to nurse a headache.
Just before I lied back down, the feeling returned. Up, tracing the skin, then back down. Up, tracing the skin, then back down. Each motion made my joint feel a bit sore, which wasn't exactly going to help me sleep, so I got up and went into the bathroom, where light spilled in. Ignoring my throbbing head, I pulled back my sleeve and twisted my arm to be able to view the part of my elbow that had the sensation.
Something dark was beneath my skin, dark enough to make my skin look an unnatural deep blue. It was shimming, little spots dancing on the underside of my skin. The pattern was almost mesmerizing, as if letters were being formed in an unknown, long-lost language. But even though I couldn't read it, I could feel it in my mind, seeking me.
When sunlight hit the thing, it shifted up abruptly, causing me to wince. My skin stretched out unnaturally, as something long and dark and utterly unknown pushed upward, seeking the sun. My skin dazzled in the light and for a brief moment, I swore I saw a single galactic eye staring into my soul and making my head hurt worse, but promising me every glorious sight in the galaxy--
Frantically I ran into my bedroom, tugging at my sleeve. Once I was out of the sun, the *thing* receded, its calling stopped, and my skin returned to normal. God does that stuff stretch. I pulled my sleeve back over and heard my cat meow, no doubt wondering why the hell I was running in and out of the bathroom. When I pulled back my sleeve in the dark, it was still there, but no longer pushing up against my skin. That gaze was still there though.
I don't know why it's staying in my elbow. It's almost pacing in there, but there doesn't seem to be any bruising, and it's only mildly sore. In horror movies this is the type of shit that bites its way out and leaves you bleeding on the floor. It's the type of shit that makes dogs howl and cats hiss, but Ruffles doesn't care at all. She sniffed at it, then rubbed against it... And the *thing* rubbed back, its dazzling eye looking up at her fluffy face. She's staying near me as always and seems utterly normal. I thought animals detected evil?
I can't take any chances. I have the shade down in my room, but none of the rest of my windows have blackout shades. I don't know what to do. It doesn't seem to care about unnatural light, just that one moment with sunlight. I suppose I can always wear long sleeves, but not all clothes are blackout either. Besides, what if it leaves my elbow? It's clearly mobile. Maybe when sunlight hits my face it'll just go up there... And I can't imagine that it would be pleasant for it to escape, even if it appears to have no evil intentions.
What am I saying? How could possessing a strange body and trying to root out of it *not* be evil? I swear this thing is messing with my head. I keep looking at it to confirm it's still there.
I've got five hours until sunrise, and I think it knows that. The motions have become quicker, spiraling up and around my blood vessels and leaving a dying star's kisses on my tendons. Each time I pull up my sleeve it rotates so its eye is looking right up at me. Its gaze is so bright, so deep, so mesmerizing... It promises the knowledge of the universe and endless views of its beauty. It whispers of the sun's endless warmth and the moon's wondrous power. It assures me that no matter what, I'd be enlightened.
I've just taped my sleeve to my wrist so I stop staring at it, but the urge to look again is becoming stronger and stronger. The urge says just to confirm it's still there, but I don't believe it. It's telling me to look at it. It's calling to me. Promising...
I've seen you all help so many people, so maybe you can help me. Maybe someone else has experienced this. Maybe someone can tell me how to get it out, let it go to the sun without taking me with it.
I can't be the first person in the world invaded by this... Thing, can I?
Can I? |
The day I bought the DreamSync was the first time Val so much as touched me in weeks; throwing her arms around my neck when she saw the sleek packing. “I can’t believe you got it!”
There wasn’t much choice. Tale as old as time; great relationship, ruined when our new jobs put us on opposite shifts.
“We only really spend time together when we’re sleeping,” she’d quipped one night, staring at the ceiling in the dark. Of course, her phone was on the nightstand at the time. You know what that means: a torrent of ads for a company I’d never heard of.
DreamSync offered a simple premise: you put on one of the sleek, matching collars. You fall asleep. You share a dream where you can interact and spend time together.
I was skeptical, not just that it would work, but that it wouldn’t backfire. I’m not an unfaithful guy, or anything. But everyone has thoughts they’d rather keep private.
Now, those thoughts are the least of my concerns.
We poured over the instructions in our pajamas, put the collars on, and went to bed. To my shock, it worked almost perfectly.
I opened my eyes on an endless pink beach, hot sand between my toes, crystal blue water crashing on the shore.
Val was beside me, holding my hand as we walked through the waves. But the closer I looked, the more I realized it wasn’t HER; at least not exactly. She looked closer to the woman she was five years ago when I first saw her, back when she still painted her nails and spent hours getting ready for our dates.
Back when we both made the effort.
I was different too, toned, like I was during my college athlete days. And was I taller?
“Maybe the dream gives us our ideal selves,” Val theorized when I brought this up. “Polishing the edges.”
But the changes weren’t all cosmetic.
In another dream, I whisked her off to a Thai place she’s been wanting to try. I’d always hated the stuff.
That’s probably why she was so surprised when I brought home takeout from the same real world restaurant. A few days later. “I’ve just been craving it,” I told her. I wasn’t lying either. Other foods I previously enjoyed started to feel bland.
A few nights later, we stayed up late watching a movie, and she curled up beside me on the sofa. The apartment felt eerie quiet; Val always talked through movies, shows, whatever.
Or, at least she had, until our dream about a going to see a Broadway show. She sat through the whole thing, focused on the performance.
Odd.
When I started to lose interest in a hobby she always told me was a waste of time, I panicked.
DreamSync didn’t polish the edges, it let us reimagine one another, one dream at a time. I tried to track down the company, thinking there may be some kind of factory reset to make me who I was. But my search came up dry. No phone number, website, or physical address. Nothing.
I insisted we stop using the collars, afraid I’d lose what was left of my personality.
|
I live in a small town which has never had a population larger than eight thousand people, it's one of those towns in where everyone knows everyone and where gossip travels fast.
Usually the gossip is very underwhelming. Like who has been taking books from the take a book leave a book box without leaving a book behind or why did Mr. Danis stay in his RV for the night while Mrs. Danis had a girls night in the house. However on a cold night in October all the harmless small town gossip changed to something horrifying and mystifying, the disappearance of the quiet eleventh grader Jamie Hurst...
Jamie and his family had just moved into the town a year prior to his disappearance and lived into the small two bedroom house at the very end of Woodlawn Street, the house was previously lived in by Mr. Vernis a military veteran who was infamous in the town for being a very sweet but stern individual. Vernis died four days after his one-hundredth birthday, The town mourned the loss and the house stayed vacant for nearly eight years before the Hurst family bought and quickly moved into the home.
The week they moved in is the week I met Jamie Hurst, Jamie was introduced to our grade ten class and immediately made friends with much of the more popular kids from the school, Jamie moved to our town from San Francisco and that quickly made him very popular being the only family in our town to come from such a big city. Let me mention before I continue anymore that I was in no way close with Jamie, actually I never really interacted with him at all other than the couple of times we were put together in group projects. Jamie joined the school basketball team and got the reputation as sort of a jock. The school year continued on like any other school year, Jamie's aura as the new student quickly faded and just like that he was just another student at our school. Before any of us knew it, it was already June and the end of the school year was approaching, now for a lot of students this meant talking about their big summer plans.. My family and I like usual did not have any big extravagant summer plans like Jeremy's three week Caribbean vacation, Diana's usual Montana cottage trip or Petr's summer long vacation to Holland to visit family. My family could not afford anything such as those, we were lucky enough to have the money this year to go to a amusement park on one of the weekends this summer, don't get me wrong I am not ungrateful for this I absolutely love the amusement park we go to and I am beyond thankful that my parents worked so hard just to be able to afford for me to go.
The question of summer plans than quickly turned over to Jamie, Jamie instead of becoming ecstatic about what he and his family had planned this summer instead went quiet as he quickly tried to glaze over the subject hoping that we would just move on from him and onto the next person. This was something I had noticed and thought of as very strange and uncharacteristic of him, Usually Jamie would be someone who was very vocal and seemed to be outgoing, whether it be in class or with friends such as this. Thankfully for Jamie though his hopes came true as the other students continued on without pressing on the matter and continued on boasting about all the things they would be doing this summer.
With that summer break came, Our final day of school was a uneventful one with all of the tests being finished and teachers being left without a curriculum to follow the day was full of word searches and extra PE time. Once the bell rang for the end of the day the students all belted loudly with excitement and quickly left their desks.. except for Jamie, instead Jamie's expression was that of what almost seemed like fear? I watched as Jamie slowly grabbed his bookbag and hung his head low, I almost wanted to approach him and reach out to see what was wrong but as I had never been close with him all school year I instead chose to just keep my distance.
That summer ended up being one of the best summers of my childhood, we went to the amusement park and won a contest that I begged my parents to enter, the prize being free amusement park entry for a month. I swear I spent almost every day for the next month going and riding the rides, one time I rode the Mind-Boggler so much that I threw up. The thought of Jamie and his strange behaviour at the last day of the school year did not cross my mind at all that summer.. until the last day before school.
I was laying in bed half excited and half dreading the beginning of the new school year, on one hand I was so happy that I would be seeing the few school friends I do have once again but on the other it was the eleventh grade and the classes I had this year were going to be very difficult.. Boy looking back now childhood troubles seem so insignificant and easy compared to what we deal with now as adults. As I lay there thinking about school my mind came across something that it had not thought about the entire summer, Jamie Hurst and how strange and unlike himself he acted as the school year came to an end. I tried to push it aside thinking about how so many things could have caused that reaction from him, maybe his scores on his year end tests were not the best? maybe trouble at home? maybe just him being a teenager and going through teenager problems? whatever the issue was for some reason that night it was all I could think about, eventually though I managed to drift off to sleep...
\*ALARM RINGS\*
It was seven AM and I awoke feeling exhausted but at the same time excited and nervous for the first day back to school, once again the thought of Jamie was not present and my focus was once again school. I arrived by 8AM fifteen minutes before the first bell. This gave me a little time to reconnect with my school friends, we quickly talked about our summers. Jeremy was still burnt from falling asleep in a beach chair by the pool at his resort, Diana went on about how when she is older she is moving to Montana and Petr talked about how he barely made it back in time due to his flight being cancelled three times. We stood outside our classroom door as the other students all began to line up by the door, all chattering in unison before our teacher Mr. Cotton arrived quieting the class and opening the door and telling us all to pick our seats, making it a point to mention how the seats we choose will be the seats we will have for the entire semester. I somehow managed to be one of the final students to get a seat, I was left to either choose a seat at the very front of the class or one of the two seats available at the very back of the room. I of course chose one of the back seats, no way I would put myself in the front of the classroom like that Mr. Cotton is well known for believing the kids at the front of his class are the ones who know all the answers to his questions.
After about five minutes Mr. Cotton began roll call, Every student in the classroom was present except for one in particular.. That being Jamie Hurst, Mr. Cotton paused expecting to hear the boy call here like every other student but after a minute of silence the teacher looked up and nodded his head in disappointment before muttering under his breath "Absent on the first day, not good at all" before finishing roll call. Class went on like any other class would until thirty minutes in when during a lesson about the history of world war two Mr. Cotton's speech would be suddenly interrupted by the classroom door quickly swinging open. Quietly with his head down Jamie entered the classroom looking unrecognizable from the last time he was seen, his usually well kempt Blonde hair was greasy, matted and looked like it had not been brushed in several weeks, his bright and wonderous green eyes now looked sunken and dark with bags under them making it seem as if he hadn't slept for the entire summer break, the clothes he wore now were dirty and ripped when before he would get upset if he got just a tiny stain on them. Mr. Cotton looked dumfounded by Jamie's appearance and tardiness as was the rest of the class, as quiet gasps were heard at the sight of Jamie. Jamie chose the seat at the back of the class right beside me and slumped down into the seat not smiling or even giving attention to any of the other kids in the class, kids that just a few months ago were his close friends.
This strange theme continued for the rest of the week with Jamie arriving later and later for class and looking more dishevelled and depressed. One thing that never changed with Jamie was the clothes he was wearing, he arrived everyday with the same dirty grey hoodie, ripped and stained light blue track pants and scuffed and worn down pair of white and red jordan sneakers. Mr. Cotton began to look more concerned for Jamie after each day. By time Friday came Jamie was asked by Mr. Cotton to stay behind after class, at this remark Jamie stood so quickly that the chair he was seated on flew backwards and hit the wall. Jamie stared right into Mr. Cotton's eyes before cursing at him, in an instant Jamie grabbed his bookbag and stormed out of the class... This was the last time Jamie ever went to school. For weeks following the incident Jamie would be seen arriving to school in the morning only to leave as the bell rang for first period.
On the first day of October it was especially cold and gray outside and thanks to my father's loud and noisy morning routine I was woken up by 6AM. Instead of falling back to sleep for an hour I decided I would get ready and go to school early today, maybe I could try the schools breakfast program and see if it is really as bad as all the students say it is. I got myself ready and arrived to school by 7:15am, quite a bit before any of the other students. I believed I was alone.. that was until I saw a lone boy sitting on the front steps of the school, it was Jamie Hurst. At first I kept my distance but Jamie looked up and saw me he broke a very faint and tiny smile before nodding at me to come over to him.
Extremely hesitant I took a deep breath and exhaled before slowly taking steps towards him, I had never interacted with Jamie one on one and I already had social anxiety, so that on top of Jamie's complete change of character I was definitely intimidated to say the least. When I approached Jamie my heart was racing as there was a moment of silence that felt as if it would last forever so I worked up the courage to finally break it.
"So ugh, Jamie how have you.." In that instant I was cut off by Jamie as he held up his hand and held his other hand to his mouth, Jamie then reached into his hoodie pocket and rummaged before pulling out something, He turned his closed hand and opened it to reveal three teeth covered in dried blood. Jamie then began to smile an uncomfortably long smile, Thus revealing a mouth void of any teeth at all. At this very moment my heart felt as if it was going to burst out of my chest, I could not help but to let out a scream of terror at the sight of Jamie. Jamie tilted his head and dropped the teeth on the ground before laughing wildly. In that instant Jamie reached towards me but I managed to step backwards just managing to avoid Jamie's grasp. I quickly turned and sprinted away from Jamie as fast as a was physically able to do so, as I made space between him and I all I was able to hear was the loud and almost forced sounding laughter belting out from Jamie. I ran without catching my breath for what seemed like at least an hour until I was only a block away from my house. I rushed to it and burst through the front door and right into my mother who was about to leave for work, In shock and complete horror I spilled out exactly what had happened to my mother. Her face went from confusion to a mirrored terror to mine. She allowed me to stay home from school that day and called the local police department telling them in exact detail on what happened, The police seemed to not totally believe in what my mother was saying but gave in and told her that they would do a checkup at the Hurst adress... what happened after that has continued to haunt me and the town till this very day.....
The police arrived to the Hurst residence by 1PM that day and after several attempts to get an answer at the front door they became concerned as the Hurst's car was parked in the driveway, After roughly 25 minutes the police forced their way into the residence and walked into a grisly scene. Before them laid the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, both of them were badly decomposed presumed to have been dead for months now. The wretched smell of the bodies made several of the Officers puke and many had to leave the house at the sight of it, being small town police in a town with very little crime this was the first time many of them have ever seen something as horrific as this. The officers began to look around the house searching for Jamie, But Jamie was nowhere to be found. The only sign that Jamie was there was teeth, the rest of Jamie's teeth along with the full sets of teeth of his parents. The teeth were all placed onto Jamie's bed put into a strange design... a design of a war medal. Next to the teeth was a note, written in a sticky red substance. Here is what the note read..
HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER
June 10th
Mr. Vernis has become so demanding as of late, at first he only wanted us to respect him.. Now he won't let mom and dad leave the house. He only let's me leave when one of us offer him a piece of us, my parents decided to use their teeth.. They told me that they will continue to offer up their own so I could continue school.. I've tried to act normal but now with summer here I wont be able to leave, I dont want them to suffer anymore, they're almost out of teeth to give... soon I will have to step up.
June 29th
Mr. Vernis has become aggressive, I should have never unlocked that journal.. Now my dad is dead, Mr. Vernis said I could live as long as my mother stabbed my father in the neck seven times.. she did it. she really did it.
July 8th
She's dead.. I am so alone now. I wish we never moved here. I have accepted that I am to be next. Mr. Vernis tells me that he will raise me now. I can't sleep or eat, my mom is in the bathtub... I smell terrible but I cannot muster up enough courage to get her out of there.
July 26th
I left the house for the first time today. Mr. Vernis said I had to give him two teeth for everytime I left now.. I did it, It felt relieving. I thank Mr. Vernis now...
August 2nd
The bodies are starting to smell so bad, I moved mom beside dad.. I think she would of wanted that..
August 20th
School starts again soon, I think I am going to start going. I can't take this anymore.. Mr. Vernis said that if I give my teeth to someone that I will be free from all of this. I need to be free, I have to..
September 1st
Free.. SET ME FREE
Shortly after this the Hurst residence was swiftly condemned and torn down, with the only thing being left is a small garden with a plaque in memory of the Hurst family.
It has been over twenty years since Jamie Hurst has disappeared, Twenty years since the Hurst families grim fate... Twenty years is a long time, and I honestly think of this as a distant memory.. I am only writing this because this morning the strangest thing happened, When I went to leave my house I stumbled upon a small baby blue box on my doorstep. I picked it up and began to open it before seeing what it was... Inside the box contained three small... bloody teeth... |
When I was just eight years old, my life took a dark and unexpected turn. My mother, a devout Catholic, who had taken me to church regularly, had been committed to the nearby Evergreen Mental Health Center after a harrowing incident. It was a foggy November evening, and I can still vividly recall the chilling screams that pierced through the walls of our home.
Shadows danced wildly in our living room as I huddled in a corner, my heart pounding. My mother's eyes had been wide with terror, her voice trembling as she muttered something about "the eyes in the darkness." It was a nightmarish episode that defied explanation, leaving her committed for her own safety, or so they said.
Left without a guardian, I found myself in the care of St. Michael's Church and Orphanage. St. Michael's, a massive, centuries-old stone structure, loomed over the small town like a silent sentinel. It had always been a place of solace for my mother and me, where we sought refuge from life's trials, attending mass every Sunday without fail. Now, it was to be my temporary home, a refuge of a different kind.
The church was run by a stern priest named Father Matthias, a man with a reputation for his unwavering dedication to his faith. He had a presence that commanded respect, but his eyes held a hint of something deeper, something that unsettled me even at such a young age.
As I arrived for my first day at St. Michael's, the church seemed to greet me with a sense of eerie familiarity. Its towering stone walls held countless secrets, and the stained glass windows filtered the dim sunlight into an ethereal mosaic of colors that danced on the ancient pews below. The silence within was profound, broken only by the soft echo of my footsteps on the cold, polished marble floor.
Father Matthias awaited me near the altar, his stern expression softening slightly as he caught sight of me. His gray cassock billowed as he approached, revealing the crucifix that hung from his neck, casting a faint shadow on his lined face.
"Welcome, young one," Father Matthias said in a deep, soothing voice. "I am Father Matthias, and you may call me Father Matt. You'll find that St. Michael's is a place of solace, even though it may seem imposing at first."
I nodded hesitantly, my heart still heavy with the weight of recent events. "I'm Andy," I replied, finding solace in the simplicity of my own name.
Father Matt gave a small smile and gestured for me to follow as he began the tour. "Come, Andy, let me show you around. St. Michael's has a rich history, and it has been a sanctuary for those in need for centuries."
As we walked through the church, Father Matt shared stories of the church's past, its stained glass windows depicting scenes from biblical tales, the ornate statues of saints lining the walls, and the organ that had played its haunting melodies for generations. Despite the priest's attempt at making me feel at ease, an inexplicable chill seemed to persist in the air, as if the very stones of the church were keeping some ancient secret.
We continued our tour through dimly lit corridors, passing doorways leading to mysterious chambers I could only imagine. Father Matt spoke of the strict routines and rituals that would become a part of my daily life, each one designed to strengthen my connection to the church and its faith. He spoke of the sacristy where I would prepare for mass, the choir loft where I would sing praises to God, and the confessional where secrets were laid bare.
As we stood before the confessional, Father Matt turned to me, his gaze unyielding. "Andy, remember this," he said in a hushed tone. "What is said within these walls must never leave them. The sanctity of the confessional is paramount."
I nodded, his words sinking in like a stone dropped into the depths of my soul. The sense of foreboding that had accompanied me to St. Michael's intensified, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had entered a world far more complex and unsettling than I had ever imagined, although my young mind felt ill-equipped to understand the weight of this revelation.
Father Matthias continued our tour through the labyrinthine halls of St. Michael's, revealing the few other orphans who called this place home. We came across a small group of children, their faces etched with a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty. Most of them were younger than me, their eyes wide and innocent, contrasting sharply with the stern atmosphere of the church.
"This is your new family for the time being, Andy," Father Matt announced, introducing me to each child in turn. "This is Mary, she's nine," he said, gesturing to a shy girl with auburn hair. Mary offered a timid smile in response.
"Michael, who is seven," he continued, pointing to a boy with freckles and a mop of unruly blond hair. Michael greeted me with an enthusiastic wave.
"And this is Sarah, just a bit older than you, at ten," Father Matt said, indicating a quiet girl with long, dark hair who seemed to regard me with a mixture of curiosity and caution.
There were a few more children that Father Matt mentioned but didn't introduce personally. He rattled off their names and ages, but they remained distant, like shadows in the background of my new life.
As we moved on from the children, Father Matt's demeanor shifted, becoming more solemn. He led me to a small, secluded chamber near the rear of the church, its dim lighting casting long shadows across the ancient stone walls.
"Now, Andy," Father Matt began, his voice dropping to a hushed tone, "there are a few more things we need to cover. These are not just routines and regulations; they are sacred rules that must be followed without question. Do you understand?"
I nodded, a growing sense of unease gnawing at my insides. It was as if I had crossed a threshold, entering a world where the rules were not simply guidelines but absolute commandments.
Father Matt's eyes bore into mine as he prepared to unveil these mysterious rules that would govern my life within the walls of St. Michael's Church and Orphanage.
Father Matthias regarded me with a solemn expression as he began to list the rules, aware of the need to reassure my young, impressionable mind.
"Rule number one, Andy," he said, his voice steady, "is that lights-out is at nine o'clock every night. You must never leave your room after that hour. It's important for everyone's safety and for maintaining a peaceful atmosphere."
That seemed reasonable enough, and I nodded in understanding.
"Rule number two," Father Matt continued, "when we are in mass, you must never stare at the statue of Saint Agnes, the one to the left of the altar. It's a matter of respect. Looking at it during the service is considered disrespectful."
I nodded again, making a mental note to avoid the gaze of the stern-looking saint.
"Rule number three," he said, his tone becoming more serious, "sometimes, you may hear a voice outside your room at night, beckoning you to play or leave. Ignore it, no matter what it says. You must stay in your room until morning, remember rule number one."
The idea of a mysterious voice outside my door made my hair stand on its ends, but I nodded once more, resolved to follow this strange directive.
"Rule number four," Father Matt continued, "is about the confession booth. If you ever enter the booth and then come out, and things seem... different, close your eyes and enter the booth again. Say nothing until you hear my voice. It's a matter of spiritual protection, Andy."
This rule struck me as particularly odd, but I didn't question it. Father Matt's authority was absolute in my eyes.
"Finally, rule number five," he said, his voice heavy with a sense of finality, "under no circumstances should you go into the basement. It's a place that's off-limits to all of us. It's a dark and foreboding place, and it's best to avoid it."
As he concluded his list, I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of unease settling over me. These rules, especially the ones about the basement and the confession booth, left me with an unsettling sense of mystery. But Father Matthias had presented them as essential for our well-being, and I knew that as a young boy in this unfamiliar world, I had no choice but to abide by them.
Father Matthias nodded in approval as I acknowledged the rules, and then he gently led me towards the heart of St. Michael's, where the everyday life of the church and orphanage unfolded. We soon arrived at a small classroom, where a stern-looking nun with a habit and a ruler in her hand was organizing books.
"Andy," Father Matt said, "this is Sister Margaret. She'll be your teacher and guide during your stay here. Sister Margaret, this is Andy."
Sister Margaret's expression softened slightly as she offered a tight-lipped smile. "Pleasure to meet you, Andy. We'll have plenty of time to get to know each other."
Father Matthias continued, "And now, Andy, I'd like to introduce you to Sister Catherine. She's the head nun of St. Michael's and keeps everything in order. If you ever need help or guidance, she's the one to speak to."
Sister Catherine, a much older nun with a serene demeanor, nodded at me kindly. "Welcome, Andy. We're glad to have you here."
With that, Father Matthias and Sister Catherine exchanged a knowing glance, as if there were things left unsaid between them. The head nurse arrived at our side, and I realized that my time with Father Matt was coming to an end.
Father Matthias placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "You're in good hands, Andy. Follow Sister Margaret's lead, and remember the rules we discussed. You'll do just fine here. Sister Catherine and I have some matters to attend to. We'll check in on you later."
As they left, I couldn't help but feel a growing sense of isolation in this unfamiliar place. I watched Father Matthias and Sister Catherine disappear around a corner, leaving me alone with Sister Margaret, who regarded me with an expectant look, ready to begin my new life at St. Michael's Church and Orphanage.
The first few days at St. Michael's were a whirlwind of new faces, routines, and the constant presence of Sister Margaret. While the rules and the cryptic warnings from Father Matthias still weighed heavily on my mind, the presence of other children my age brought a degree of comfort to the otherwise intimidating environment.
It was on the third day that I properly met Michael, the seven-year-old boy with a mop of unruly blond hair whom Father Matt had introduced during my tour. Our paths crossed in the small courtyard behind the church, where a patch of overgrown grass and a single gnarled tree served as our modest playground.
I watched as Michael tried to climb the tree with all the enthusiasm and recklessness that only a child could muster. He slipped and tumbled to the ground with a thud, dusting off his clothes with a grin that revealed a missing front tooth.
"Hey, you're Andy, right?" he asked, flashing me a mischievous smile as he approached. "I'm Michael."
I nodded, relieved to find someone my age to talk to. "Nice to meet you, Michael. You okay?"
He shrugged off his fall as if it were nothing. "I fall all the time. No big deal. Wanna play a game?"
I hesitated, glancing around to make sure Sister Margaret wasn't watching. It was the first time I had been given any semblance of free time since my arrival, and the idea of playing was too tempting to resist. "Sure, what do you want to play?"
Michael's eyes sparkled with excitement as he explained a game he called "Shadow Tag." It involved darting around the courtyard, trying to step on each other's shadows while avoiding being tagged. It was a simple game, but it offered a much-needed break from the strict routines of St. Michael's.
As we played, Michael shared stories about the other children, like Mary and Sarah, whom I had yet to meet. He spoke of their personalities, their likes and dislikes, and the pranks they sometimes played on Sister Margaret when they thought they could get away with it. His tales painted a picture of camaraderie and mischief that gave me hope in the midst of the eerie rules and unfamiliar surroundings.
Despite the strange and sometimes ominous nature of St. Michael's, my budding friendship with Michael began to anchor me in this peculiar place. It was a small ray of light in a world that seemed increasingly shrouded in shadows and secrets.
That afternoon, as I played with Michael in the courtyard, I noticed a tall, dark-haired girl standing near the entrance. She seemed older than us, and something about her demeanor gave me pause. Her name, as I had heard from father Matt, was Sarah.
As we approached her, her cold gaze met mine, and she sized me up with a critical look. "You're the new kid, right?" she said, her voice tinged with an edge of superiority.
I nodded nervously, my excitement from playing with Michael fading quickly in her presence. "Yeah, I'm Andy."
Sarah's lips curled into a condescending smirk. "Well, Andy, you better watch your step around here. St. Michael's isn't a place for kids who can't follow the rules."
I didn't know what I had done to earn her disapproval, but her words made me feel uneasy. Michael glanced at me, clearly uncomfortable with Sarah's attitude.
Ignoring her, I turned my attention back to the game, hoping she would leave us be. But as we continued playing, something peculiar happened that sent shivers down my spine. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a shadow move behind one of the church's windows.
As I steadied my gaze, I saw what looked like a person glaring at me through the glass panes. Except, it couldn’t have been a person. It was as tall as the whole stained glass window, and it was paper thin.
Although I could see its legs, its slender arms reached so far that I couldn’t see any hands. I could see 2 faint, glowing spots where its eyes should be, it was as if the gaze of this creature was piercing me down to my very soul.
My heart raced as I tried to make sense of it, my gaze fixed on the window. The boney, jagged joints of its arms filled me with an ominous, overwhelming sense of dread.
Just as I was about to ask the others if they had seen it too, Sarah gave me a sudden shove, sending me sprawling to the ground.
I landed hard, the breath knocked out of me, and I struggled to regain my bearings. Before I could react, one of the nuns, Sister Margaret, came rushing over, her expression a mix of concern and sternness.
"What's going on here, children?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene.
Still shaken from the fall, I stammered, "I... I saw something in the window, Sister. A shadow."
Sister Margaret's gaze followed mine to the window, but there was nothing there now, just the fading daylight. She sighed and helped me to my feet.
"Sometimes our minds play tricks on us, Andy. There's nothing to be afraid of. Now, go inside and wash up for dinner."
As I walked away, the feeling of dread lingered, and I couldn't help but wonder about the shadow I had seen and what secrets St. Michael's held within its ancient walls. I took a final glance at the stained panes and to my dismay, the shadow was gone. I had no choice, but to put this in the back of my mind and continue my day.
Night descended upon St. Michael's, casting long shadows throughout the ancient hallways. Sister Margaret, after our evening meal, directed us to our rooms for the night. It was during these quiet hours that Michael and I had a chance to talk, free from the watchful eyes of the nuns.
We sat on the edge of our beds, whispering in the dim candlelight. Michael, who had always appeared cheerful, leaned in closer, his expression more serious.
"You know, Andy," he began, "Sarah might act all timid in front of the adults, but she's a real bully when they're not around. Be careful around her."
I nodded, grateful for the warning. I had already sensed something unsettling about her.
Then, Michael's voice dropped to a hushed tone, and he cast a cautious glance at the room's window. "And about that shadow you saw," he said, "I've seen it too."
My heart raced as I leaned in, eager to hear more. "You've seen it? What is it?"
Michael shook his head slowly, his expression haunted. "I don't know, but I've heard whispers from the other kids. They say there are things in this place, things we can't understand. That's why we have to follow the rules, Andy. We can't afford to look into things around here."
His words sparked an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I couldn't help but think about Father Matthias' cryptic rules and warnings. "What do you mean, follow the rules?"
Michael glanced around nervously before continuing. "You saw how Sister Margaret and the others act. They pretend everything's normal, but it's not. There are secrets here, things they don't want us to know. So, we have to be careful and stay out of trouble."
I nodded, my mind swirling with a mixture of curiosity and fear. St. Michael's had transformed from a place of refuge into a cryptic labyrinth of mysteries and ominous shadows.
As Michael and I settled into our beds for the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that our journey into this enigmatic world was only just beginning. I’d soon find that my suspicions were right.
The night was silent as I lay in my small bed, the moonlight casting eerie patterns on the walls of my room. Despite the unsettling events of the day, I had managed to drift into a fitful sleep. That's when I heard it—a faint, distant whisper calling my name, like a gentle breeze through the cracks of the room.
"Andy," the voice murmured, barely audible. "Andy, come and play."
I stirred in my bed, my eyes darting around the room. Michael lay nearby, peacefully asleep. The room was still and bathed in shadows. The voice couldn't have come from there.
I tried to dismiss it as a dream, closing my eyes and attempting to return to sleep. But then, I heard my name again, more insistent this time, like a distant plea. My heart raced, and I realized the voice was coming from beyond the door.
I sat up in bed, my pulse quickening as I strained to listen. The lock to my door slowly unlocked with a distinct click. The voice persisted, soft but persuasive, beckoning me to open the door and join them in a game.
Curiosity overcame my fear, and I swung my legs out of bed, making my way toward the door with caution. My hand hovered over the knob, and my breath hitched in my throat. The voice continued its siren call, growing stronger with each passing second.
"Come on, Andy, don't be shy. Let's play shadow tag together. It'll be so much fun,” the voice beckoned, “come out and play.”
I couldn't resist any longer. My fingers closed around the cool brass handle, and I slowly turned it. The door inched open, revealing a sliver of darkness on the other side.
Just as I was about to step through, the door slammed shut with surprising force. I let out a startled gasp and stumbled back, my heart pounding in my chest. As soon as the door shut the lock clicked instantly, locking the door from the outside again.
I turned around and saw Michael standing there, bathed in the dim moonlight. His eyes were wide with terror, and his voice trembled as he scolded me in a hushed, frantic tone.
"Andy, what are you doing? You can't open the door! You can't listen to the voices!" Michael's fear was palpable, his grip on my shoulder like a vice, “have you forgotten the rules?”
I was taken aback, the intensity of Michael's reaction sending a chill down my spine. "But I thought it was one of the other kids," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper.
Michael shook his head, his expression grave. "It's not a kid, Andy. It's something else. Something that's not supposed to be here. You have to promise me, you won't listen to those voices. You won't break the rules. You’d be putting us all in danger… the last kid to wander out during the night never returned. Father Matthias told us they were adopted, but I knew better.”
I nodded, my heart heavy with fear and confusion. Children have gone missing here? My stomach swelled as I contemplated this disturbing revelation. St. Michael's had become a place of endless secrets and hidden dangers, and I was beginning to understand that there was far more to fear within these walls than I had ever imagined.
The following morning, the echoes of the previous night's eerie events still lingered in my mind. I awoke to the soft but firm voice of Sister Catherine as she made her rounds, rousing the children from their slumber and sending us off to begin the day.
"Come along, children," she said with a warm but authoritative tone, her presence commanding respect. "It's time for morning classes."
Michael and I followed the other children, our footsteps echoing through the ancient hallways of St. Michael's. The classrooms were dimly lit, and Sister Margaret stood at the front, ready to impart her knowledge. Despite the shadows that clung to the walls, she began the day's lessons with a smile, her stern exterior giving way to a genuine passion for teaching.
The lessons passed quickly, and soon it was time for mass. The children filed into the church, where the familiar scent of incense filled the air. I took my seat alongside Michael, the solemnity of the occasion washing over me.
As the ceremony progressed, a strange sensation washed over me, a feeling that I was being watched. It was as if a pair of unseen eyes bore into the back of my head, urging me to turn and look. My gaze began to shift from person to person, trying to identify the source of this disconcerting feeling.
Minutes passed, and the sensation intensified. My unease grew with each passing moment, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I continued to scan the congregation, desperately searching for the source of my discomfort.
Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, my gaze settled on the statue of St. Agnes, just left of the altar. The statue's cold, stone eyes seemed to pierce through me, locking onto mine. It was an unnerving sight, leaving me feelings helpless and mortified.
I couldn't tear my eyes away from the statue. It was as if a powerful force held me in its grip, commanding me to stare. I felt a strange, unsettling connection to the figure, and it was as though the statue's gaze held some unfathomable secret.
Just as I was about to lose myself completely in its stony visage, Michael grabbed my arm suddenly, jolting me back to reality. He leaned in close, his voice barely audible over the hushed prayers of the congregation.
"Andy, stop staring," he whispered urgently. "Remember the rules."
I blinked and tore my gaze away from the statue, my chest pounding. The rules Father Matthias had imparted upon me echoed in my mind, and I knew that I had come dangerously close to breaking one of them. St. Michael's was a place where even the statues seemed to hold mysteries, and I couldn't afford to forget the consequences of curiosity, whatever they may be.
Mass continued, the solemn rituals unfolding as the congregation joined in prayer and reflection. I did my best to keep my gaze fixed on the hymnals, avoiding any temptation to look back at the unsettling statue of St. Agnes. But the feeling of being watched lingered, and it was a constant battle to keep my eyes forward. Eventually, my eyes did wander back to the statue, however briefly, and I saw that the statue was no longer staring at me. It was as if its head had turned to face another orphan while I was looking away. I shook this off, convincing myself that my eyes were merely playing tricks on me, but the sense of dread lingered.
As the mass neared its conclusion, Father Matthias rose to address the congregation. "After today's service, I encourage all of you to visit the confessional booth," he announced, his voice carrying through the hallowed space. "It is a time for reflection and cleansing of the soul. Please, take this opportunity to unburden your hearts."
The minutes stretched on as the congregation filed out of the pews, making their way to the confessional booths. I stood in line, my heart pounding with anxiety, the image of St. Agnes' statue still etched in my mind.
Finally, it was my turn. I entered the confessional booth and sat in the small, dimly lit chamber. The wooden panel separating me from Father Matthias seemed impenetrable, but I knew this was the place to reveal my deepest secrets.
The confessional booth seemed both comforting and foreboding, its walls embracing me like a cocoon while also trapping me in an unfamiliar darkness. I shifted on the hard wooden bench, my small frame hardly filling the space. The scent of old wood and incense clung to the air, a mixture of sanctity and solemnity.
Father Matthias' voice emerged from the other side of the wooden partition, his tone gentle and inviting. "Speak, my child," he said softly, "what burdens your young heart?"
I hesitated, uncertain how to put into words the fears and anxieties that had been weighing me down. But I knew that I had to share the truth about my mother, about the eyes in the darkness, about my own fear.
"It's about my mom," I began, my voice quivering. "She had a... a breakdown, that’s what the doctor told me. She said she saw 'eyes in the darkness,' Father. It scared her so much."
The confessional booth seemed to cocoon me in silence as Father Matthias absorbed my words. There was a profound understanding in his response. "I'm deeply sorry to hear about your mother's struggles, Andy.
Such experiences can be frightening, especially for a young child."
Tears welled up in my eyes as I continued. "But, Father, there's something I've never told anyone, not even the doctors. I saw those eyes too. In our old house, when it was dark, I saw them. But I didn't tell anyone because I was afraid they'd lock me away like they did with my mom."
The confession felt like a heavy burden lifting from my young shoulders, and I waited anxiously for Father Matthias' response.
There was a thoughtful pause on the other side of the partition.
"Andy," Father Matthias finally spoke, his voice filled with compassion, "we all bear our own burdens, and sometimes, the truth can be a daunting thing to share. By opening your heart today, you've already taken a significant step toward healing."
I wiped away the tears that had spilled onto my cheeks, grateful for Father Matthias' understanding. "What should I do, Father? How can I make up for being dishonest?"
Father Matthias offered a suitable penance, instructing me to recite a particular prayer a certain number of times and to seek guidance from the Lord in moments of doubt and fear. We continued our conversation, delving into the depths of my soul and my struggles with faith and the inexplicable darkness that seemed to haunt me.
As we spoke, time seemed to blur, and the confessional booth transformed into a sanctuary of understanding and solace. Father Matthias' words provided a comforting anchor in the turbulent sea of my fears.
Finally, as our conversation neared its end, Father Matthias offered his absolution, and I left the confessional booth with a newfound sense of hope and determination. I knew that the shadows and secrets of St. Michael's were far from over, but perhaps through faith and confession, I could find a path toward understanding and salvation.
After the confessional, I left with a heart lightened by my confession to Father Matthias.
The day continued with classes and prayers, but I couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of peace and clarity within me.
When the time for play in the courtyard finally arrived, I joined Michael and the other children in a game of tag. We darted around the overgrown grass, our laughter filling the air, momentarily erasing the ominous weight that seemed to hang over St. Michael's.
However, my brief moment of happiness was shattered when Sarah, as if seeking an opportunity to torment me, joined our game. Her cold gaze fell upon me, and I knew that trouble was brewing.
Sarah didn't waste any time; she pushed me roughly, sending me sprawling onto the uneven ground.
Pain seared through my palm as it scraped against a jagged stone, and I clutched my injured hand, a searing cut dripping thin lines of blood.
Michael rushed to my side, his face etched with concern. "Andy, are you okay?"
Tears welled up in my eyes as I nodded, my injured hand throbbing. I knew I needed to seek help. With Michael's support, I made my way to the medical office of the church.
Inside the small, dimly lit room, the head nun, Sister Catherine, waited for us. Her demeanor was as stern as I had come to expect, but there was a hint of warmth in her eyes as she assessed my injured hand.
"What happened, Andy?" she asked, her voice carrying a maternal concern.
I recounted the incident with Sarah, how she had pushed me, causing me to cut my hand. Sister Catherine nodded, her expression a mix of sympathy and disappointment.
She gently cleaned and bandaged my wound, her touch surprisingly tender. Then, as she worked, she began to speak, her words revealing a startling connection.
"You know, I knew your mother, Andy," she said, her voice softer now. "She came here when she was pregnant with you."
I blinked in surprise, the mention of my mother catching me off guard. "You knew my mom?"
Sister Catherine nodded, her gaze distant as she continued to treat my hand. "Yes, she sought refuge here during a difficult time in her life. She was carrying you then, and we provided her with shelter and support."
I was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. My mother, who had been the source of my earliest memories, was connected to this mysterious place in ways I couldn't have imagined. It was as if St. Michael's had been a part of my life since before I was born.
As Sister Catherine finished tending to my hand, she offered me a reassuring smile. "Your mother faced many challenges, Andy, but she found strength here, just as you will. You're not alone in this journey."
With her words, I felt a newfound sense of belonging, as if St. Michael's Church and Orphanage held the key to unlocking the mysteries of my past and the enigmatic shadows that seemed to follow me.
I left the medical office with a bandaged hand, a swirl of emotions and questions whirling in my mind. The connection between my mother and St. Michael's was a revelation, but it also deepened the enigma surrounding this place. As I exited, another nun entered, giving me a tender smile as we crossed paths.
As I rounded the corner of the doorway, I stopped to tie my shoe, the mundane task providing a brief moment of distraction from the mysteries that had unfolded. Unbeknownst to the nuns in the medical office, I overheard their conversation as they spoke just inside.
The younger nun, her voice tinged with curiosity, asked Sister Catherine, "Is that boy the son of the woman who was here eight years ago?"
There was a pause, and I could almost feel the weight of Sister Catherine's memories as she spoke. "She was a troubled soul, Mary. She struggled to follow the rules of this place. It was a challenging time for her."
My heart sank as I listened to the conversation. It seemed that my mother's presence had left a lasting impression on St. Michael's, and her struggles were still remembered by the nuns.
Curiosity gnawed at me, and I couldn't help but stay a moment longer, my ears straining to catch every word. Sister Mary hesitated before finally asking, "And what about the basement? I've heard rumors that she went down there."
Sister Catherine's response was stern, and she cut off the conversation abruptly. "We do not speak of the basement, Sister. It's forbidden."
I strained to hear more, my curiosity pushing me to listen. However, the nuns' conversation seemed to have ended, and I couldn't risk being caught eavesdropping.
Scurrying away from the doorway, I made my way down the corridor just as I heard the nuns start to exit the medical office. The mention of the basement only added to the growing list of mysteries surrounding St. Michael's, and I was determined to uncover the truth, even if it meant breaking the rules.
During the next class, I found myself sitting next to Michael, the ever-present sense of curiosity gnawing at me. The events of the past days had only deepened my need to understand the mysteries of St. Michael's. I leaned toward Michael, my voice a whisper.
"Michael, can you tell me more about these rules Father Mat mentioned?" I asked, my eyes narrowing with intrigue. "Why shouldn't we stare at the statue during mass?"
Michael hesitated for a moment, his gaze darting around the room. Finally, he leaned in, his voice barely audible. "Andy, the rules are... they're strange, but they're meant to protect us. Father Matthias says they keep us safe from things we can't understand."
I nodded, absorbing his words, but my curiosity wasn't satisfied. "What about the rule for the confessional booth? What does Father Matt mean that things could seem.. ‘different’?"
Michael glanced at me, his expression troubled. "In the confessional, Andy, you have to be careful. It's like... like a doorway, and if you're not careful, things can change. Always look around when you leave a confession.. if something’s.. off, you’ll know. Just shut your eyes and go back inside."
My heart raced at the cryptic answer, but I pressed on, my voice trembling slightly. "And what about the basement, Michael? I heard the nuns talking about it, and it seemed important."
Michael's face turned pale, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He seemed reluctant to speak, his eyes avoiding mine. "The basement, Andy, it's... it's a place we're not supposed to go. It's off-limits for a reason. It's not safe."
My curiosity burned brighter than ever, and I was determined to uncover the secrets of St. Michael's. But Michael's reaction to my question about the basement left me with an unsettling feeling that some things were better left unexplored. Despite the growing unease that hung over the church and orphanage, my determination to understand its mysteries remained unwavering.
That night, my mind was filled with questions, curiosity burning like a fire within me. I wanted to learn more about my mother's time at St. Michael's, about the creation of the rules, and about the secrets hidden within the forbidden basement. Determination fueled my desire to uncover the truth.
As Michael and I settled into our beds, the room plunged into darkness, the only source of light being the faint glow of the moon seeping through the curtains. The quiet of the night surrounded us, broken only by the soft rustling of the bedsheets.
I couldn't sleep. Restlessly, I tossed and turned for what felt like hours, my mind consumed by the mysteries that lay just beyond my grasp.
And then, in the dead of night, I heard it—a new voice, soft and haunting, echoing from the hallway outside our room. It whispered my name, trying its hardest to lure me out into the unknown.
“Andy… come out and play… Andyyyy,” the voice cooed playfully.
My heart raced, and I lay frozen beneath my blanket, my breath held.
The voice continued to beckon, “Andy, come out. We can talk about your mother. I know all about her, Andy.”
The door to our room unlocked from the outside, and it creaked open just a crack, letting in a sliver of the eerie, moonlit hallway. My instincts screamed at me to stay hidden, to resist the lure of the voice, but the desire to know was overpowering.
I considered emerging from my hiding place, my curiosity threatening to overwhelm my fear. But instead, I chose to remain hidden, hoping to catch any information the voice might reveal.
|
It started with my bruises disappearing.
I became the proud owner of a black eye during cheer practice.
One of our flyers, Britney Carlisle, punched me in the face during our outro, and it took some serious self-control not to start screaming like a baby. Britney may have looked like she couldn’t hurt a fly, but she had a mean right hook, even if it was an accidental flailing of her arms when she had been caught in the music and the heat of the moment. I knew my face was fucked from the look on coach’s face when she handed me frozen peas wrapped in a towel and tried to smile—but her supposed smile kept widening into a grimace. It was bad.
This sucked because according to my mother, I was not allowed to get a bruise—especially on my face.
Robbie, my best friend on the sidelines, made it very clear that the bruise was bad. When I’d grabbed a makeup mirror and risked a glance at myself, he was right. It *WAS* bad. This thing was worse than eye bags. In the changing rooms after practice, I remember trying to smile through the pain in my face which was slowly spreading to my eye and the back of my head. I tried to hide it with makeup, but it somehow looked worse. So, I gave up. I didn’t think about the bruise until I was walking back from school a little later.
The pain was gone, and it didn’t really hit me until I was video-chatting with Robbie, and his expression crumpled, inclining his head like a confused puppy. “Holy shit, how did you fix your face?”
I paused, my gaze flicking to my reflection in the camera. I wasn’t a fan of looking at myself. When I video chat, I minimize the screen and scroll through Instagram, or search for a YouTube video to watch on mute while Robbie talks about moon landing conspiracies.
I didn’t mean to look at myself. I had trained my eyes not to look too hard through a camera because all of my flaws were present—and Mom always had something to say if I did not look perfect. I have a makeup routine, as well as two skincare rituals before I go to bed and wake up. But it’s not enough. I don’t look as cute as I did as a little kid. I’m a lot rounder in the face, and apparently, I’ve been putting on weight in my cheeks.
Mom has been using filters on my face since I was a little kid, and now I can’t take my real reflection seriously.
“What?” I frowned at my pale face and slightly half-lidded eyes from a sleepless night. In the camera, I looked the same as I always did; light brown hair pulled into a ponytail and minimal makeup.
I winced at the state of my hair. I forgot to brush it after practice, so it was a mess in my face. Mom usually filmed my siblings and I coming home from school and made it clear we couldn’t look a mess. We had to look picture perfect for the camera. I made a mental note to fix myself up. I didn’t understand what Robbie was talking about until I found myself gingerly prodding under my right eye before the thought slammed into me, something ice cold crept its way down my spine. I had a bruise, I thought dizzily.
Coming to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk, the sound of traffic flying by collapsed into a buzzing white noise in my head.
So, where was it?
*“Dude, what happened to your battle scar?”*
Robbie’s voice joined an endless buzzing blur of nothing inside my skull. I remember feeling foggy-headed, his words not quite registering. *What bruise?* Was on my lips—only for me to remind myself that Britney Carlisle had punched me in the face not even two hours earlier. I had sat in the nurse’s office with a bag of peas pressed to my face, downing Tylenol with a can of coke, and complaining of a striking pain that was not going away. So, how did I forget? How did I forget the pain that was very much real?
Several things had happened between the hit and walking home presently.
I went to grab my things from the changing rooms and ended up talking to a girl about a concert she was planning to go to. I definitely had the bruise then, because she commented on it, making a joke that I wouldn’t be the face of the squad for a few days.
Then I started my trek home.
Nothing had changed, and yet it felt like something had. I remembered changing out of my cheer uniform and pulling on my sweater, but looking down at myself, my head in a daze, I was still wearing it.
Robbie was still expecting an answer, his laugh pulling me from reverie.
“Hey, are you good?” He peered at me through the screen, and I could glimpse his mother in the background pottering around.
I noticed she kept twisting around to look at the camera, and I had no doubt she was discreetly listening in on our conversation. I told him yes and played it off like I was hiding it with makeup so I didn’t confuse him even more, but when I delicately grazed my fingertips under my right eye which I was sure had been a bulging yellow bump, courtesy of turning my coach’s face a whole new shade of pale, my skin looked normal.
I searched for any hint that I had been hit, pressing my fingers over my eye and waiting for that pain I knew had been real. I knew it was real because the bag of frozen (now melting) peas was still in my backpack and I had been relieved of my captain duties until my face was better. It wasn’t my choice to become captain.
Mom has a lot of influence with both her job and her Tik-Tok account, so most of my life since I started middle school has been documented on her channel.
**Currently, she’s private, so her channel is not visible.**
Maybe that’s a good thing, though.
Robbie didn’t look convinced, though he nodded and smiled. “Hey, I gotta go, all right?” He gestured to his Mom standing behind him with a disapproving scowl. “I’ve got homework.” His eyes said something different, however, and I nodded and promised to call him back later.
We had a code of sorts.
If Robbie pulled a face and wrinkled his nose, his mother wanted him to get off his phone.
Robbie’s Mom wasn’t a fan of me, and I guess I could see why. She called me a superficial doll behind my back when she thought I wasn’t listening. It should have stung.
I mean, it did sting.
But part of me understood her. I had to look perfect on camera—and if a strand of my hair was out of place, my mother would drag me out of the room and tell her followers that I was having a bad day, or that I was sick. The worst part is having to “wake up” wearing makeup.
It’s a 6am start every morning, with Mom pulling the three of us out of bed and then making breakfast for her “What I eat in a day” Tik-Toks. Initially, I thought they were fun.
That was until Mom started insisting on me having a single banana for breakfast, instead of my usual Nutella on toast.
When I commented on it, she explained it was because I was getting puffy cheeks. I looked for people on her TikTok’s commenting on my lack of breakfast, but most of her followers were people in our town, who only gushed about our so-called good looks, and that we were a very attractive family.
These people didn’t see the protein shakes my brother is forced to drink every morning to stay healthy (they look and smell like barf) and the three of us being weighed every Friday night.
Luckily at school, I could eat what I wanted. I made sure to pile my plate with as much junk as possible and then threw it all back up straight after.
It’s not Bulimia. I am fine with my eating. I just don’t want Mom to see that I’ve eaten too much. I was still prodding my nonexistent bruise when my phone vibrated, and a text popped up from coach. **Can you bring in your pom-poms tomorrow? I know you’re on the sidelines, but Mickey needs them.**
I had no idea how I was going to explain the sudden disappearance of my bruise. I supposed I could tell her I was using a new brand of concealer. Mom gets makeup sent to her from brands, so it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility that I’d used it on my eye.
When I rounded the corner of our cul-de-sac, I pushed my phone back into my pocket and dumped my backpack on the ground, unzipping it, and pulling out my brush and makeup bag. I could see my brother ahead of me, already rehearsing his entrance through our front door.
I could see from the way he was practically dragging himself up our driveway, that Mom had already made him do it multiple times. Mom especially liked it when I wore my hair loose, so I spent five minutes brushing and styling it, touched up my makeup, and strode toward our house.
My brother had already walked in, so it was my turn. I pasted my usual smile on my face—and walked straight into Mom’s iPhone, already filming every inch of me at every angle. “Here’s Zoey!” Mom was using her fake voice again. I hated her fake voice.
“So, as you guys know, or if you’re watching this for the first time, this is my seventeen-year-old daughter, Zoey!”
She followed me into the kitchen, where my brother was lounging on the counter, and my sister sitting at the table, her head in a book. These were the personalities we were urged to use in videos since they get more views.
Ben is seen as the “lazy” child because he made it his goal not to be in front of her camera, while Allie had read a book once—and now she was known as “the smart one” in the comments, so every time the camera was on her she had to be holding a book. Off camera, it’s the opposite. Allie secretly vapes and has a boyfriend she hasn’t told Mom about, while Ben prefers to bury himself in literary classics while cementing himself as the joker of the three of us. I dropped my backpack on the ground while Mom buzzed around me, asking me how school was. I told her my usual answer. “It was pretty fun!” Because I wasn’t allowed to say anything else.
I caught my brother’s panicked look in the corner of my eye. He shifted on the counter to angle himself so he could get a proper look at me.
Allie peeked behind her book.
I had a bad day a few months back and made the mistake of saying, “It fucking sucked.” So, Mom abruptly stopped filming, before pulling me upstairs to my room and lecturing me on camera etiquette and good manners for almost four hours, before dragging my siblings into it.
Neither of them had forgiven me for that slip-up.
“I had a great time,” I decided to play up for the camera. “I got an A in social studies, and cheer practice was so fun!" I raised my arms, like she had taught me, mimicking my routine. I could feel my brother and sister silently judging me, their gazes burning right through my skull.
I was lying, of course. I got a C minus.
And I got hit in the face at practise.
I gingerly prodded my right eye, feeling for the bruise that was no longer there.
But Mom didn’t care.
It was declared on camera, so it was real.
Thankfully, Mom wrapped up filming quickly, abandoning the three of us.
I could already tell she was itching to edit and post the footage.
Life returned to my siblings’ faces once she was gone. Allie threw her book on the table with a scoff, and Ben slid off of the counter on his usual hunt for snacks, standing on his tiptoes to get to the candy in the top cupboard. I jumped up to grab myself a snack, and remembering Mom’s rules about my eating, I grabbed a banana from the countertop, peeling it a little too violently. My phone vibrated.
It was coach, once again telling me to bring in my pom-poms. I lost my current ones at an event out of town, but my middle school ones were hanging around. “Where did Mom put my old cheer uniform?” I asked my brother through a mouthful of banana, leaning against the counter.
My brother turned to me, already with a sly smile. "What was *that*?"
I already knew he was talking about my cringe worthy dancing. "The commenters like it."
He pulled a face. "Do they enjoy barfing too?"
I settled him with a glare. "My cheer things," I said, again, "Where are they?"
Ben shrugged, throwing me a Snickers bar. “Basement, I think.” He spoke through chewed-up chocolate, giving me an unflattering grin. I let the candy bar bounce off of the wall, reaching for another banana. I could tell my brother knew I was hungry. He'd caught me purging one time, and I had insisted it was the stomach flu. I knew he didn't believe me.
In the viewer's eyes, Ben was this lazy ball of bedhead, offering minimal conversation and snoozing in the background. The real Ben, however, was your average disgusting teenage brother with no pride. Mom didn’t like that side of him, however, urging him to keep to his “camera personality” when she was filming.
So, at any chance he could get, Ben liked to remind us he wasn’t the cardboard cut-out with zero brain cells Mom turned him into.
“Close your mouth!” Allie groaned. But she was smiling, relieved the three of us were off camera. She picked up her book and motioned throwing it at his head.
“I will throw it at you,” she narrowed her eyes with a playful smile. “Close your mouth. Psycho.”
“I dare you to try,” Ben shot her another chocolaty grin. “You know what happens if we get a bruise—and this face has to stay perfect.”
“You look like a tumor, Mom doesn't care about your face.” She raised the book. “Close your mouth, you’re disgusting!”
“That’s not nice.” He stuck out his chocolatey tongue, and my sister gagged.
“I’m not joking around!" Allie got ready to volley the book, and my brother jumped back with a laugh.
"This is abuse!"
"Not if you're an animal!"
He shot her a pointed, yet slightly panicked look. “Okay, soo are you going to explain my black eye, or do you want me to tell Mom you threw a book at my head and gave me a concussion?"
Ben’s words reminded me of my disappearing bruises, and a chill skittered down my spine.
Allie’s lip curled when it became clear she had lost the argument—as usual. Instead of retorting something, she buried her head in her arms with another exaggerated groan. I made a point of turning to Ben, gesturing with my banana. “I’m not allowed to eat chocolate at home. You know the stupid rules."
My brother tipped his head back and grinned, tearing through his own candy bar like an animal. “Your point?"
“My *point*,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Mom will kill me."
He straightened up, his expression hardening. “I sneak chocolate into my room all the time, I'm not going to tell her,” he said, and then turned to Allie, “Neither will our little sister.”
“I’m two months younger than you, idiot,” Allie grumbled into her arms. “You guys can pig out as much as you want. I won’t tell a soul." she paused. "Because she will kill us– and I'd rather live to see twenty one without seeing our mother's wrath."
The sincerity in their voices tightened my gut.
I didn’t say anything to either of them, but I did take the candy bar my brother handed me on the way out of the kitchen, only to shove it in my skirt pocket when Mom glided past me, her eyes glued to her iPhone.
Usually, she had eagle eyes.
From 4pm to 7, however, our mother was blind.
She was already swiping through her video comments. “Sweetie, dinner is in an hour,” she hummed to me, her gaze on the screen. I nodded and made a quick getaway, slipping through the basement door.
Clicking the light on, I blinked in the sickly glow coming to life around me.
It was freezing cold, and I shivered, my bare feet slapping on concrete steps as I made my descent. Our basement was nothing special, just a glorified wine cellar. I could see my cheer pom poms poking from a box on the ground, but my attention had already been caught by an ancient-looking television in the corner—and next to it, a plastic box full of old tapes.
Mom used to be a teacher, so I figured the television was used to show students educational videos.
Still, though, why was it in our basement?
Curiosity was getting the better of me as I found myself drawn to the box of tapes. I reached in and pulled one out.
The tape itself was battered and labeled with, **“Zoey (V.1)** playing in the backyard and **(V.2)** middle school.”* scribbled in black marker pen.
*On VHS tapes, though?*
DVDs were outdated already, but these old-style chunky tapes?
I found it hard to believe Mom was documenting our early childhood on these fossils when things like phones existed while I was growing up.
Blowing a layer of dust off of the tape and inserting it into the player, I pressed a bunch of buttons I didn’t understand. The player worked like a YouTube video, with the same symbols. So, I pressed on the Play button. Galvanic blue washed over my face, illuminating the wall behind me, and the tape flickered to what looked like my backyard. The picture was pretty good. The sun was shining in the sky and my little self was sitting on the back wall, kicking my legs with a wide smile.
I was wearing bright red boots, my fingers caked with dirt.
I could feel my own smile tugging at my lips.
Mom was right.
I was so cute.
There was no sound on the tape, though, which I thought was odd.
It was just me giggling and waving at the camera. I was waiting for something to happen, maybe my siblings to appear, when I saw it.
It started as a shadow that I thought was part of the film. It was an old tape after all. But when it started to move, morphing into a humanoid figure, I felt myself starting to move back, my breath catching in my throat. The shadow bleeding into the frame suddenly had proper face.
Mine.
It was an exact replica of my little self. Its smile was the same, with wide eyes and waving arms. It wore the same bright red boots, dirt cakes between Its nails. I watched the replica climb onto the wall before pushing me forward, and my original self burst into a reddish mist before even hitting the ground.
The tape flickered, an array of color bleeding into the film, staining the footage. It was red, like it was bleeding.
In a cut, I saw the replica jump off of the wall and run forward toward the camera to wipe away the red smear on the lens.
The tape didn't stop. It switched to an older version of me. This time I was in middle school. I remembered the exact classroom. I remembered the faces of the kids around me. Robbie sitting at the front throwing pens at the wall, and Britney doodling in her textbook. I was sitting with my head buried in an old copy of Percy Jackson. *Where was the camera?* I thought, my gut twisting into knots.
I didn’t remember Mom filming this.
The tape flashed blue once again, and I blinked rapidly before it switched back to my middle school classroom. There was no sound. I saw it once more, a bleeding dark shadow creeping through my classroom door, and then growing a head and torso, arms and legs. This time it embodied my twelve-year-old self, right down to the scratch on my knee I remembered getting during recess. This time the replica was not smiling. She strode over to my desk, grabbed me by my hair, and pulled me to my feet. She shoved me violently, and I stumbled back, once again exploding into a darker red, which splattered on my desk.
The replica calmly took my seat and used the cuffs of her sweater to wipe away the mess my original had made.
The footage kept going, switching between snapshots of random footage.
Then it flashed to my high school changing rooms, and something sour crept its way up my throat.
**4 hours ago.**
I saw myself changing out of my cheer uniform, and the bruise under my right eye. The bruise I thought disappeared.
*No.*
I started to crawl backward, but my gaze would not leave the screen. I couldn’t breathe suddenly, all the breath dragged from my lungs. The changing rooms were empty, and I was humming the exact song from earlier, the one I'd gotten in my head from some kid mockingly singing it in class.
I pulled my brush from my backpack, and tugged out my ponytail, humming the tune.
*Ring around the Rosey.*
I started to sing with each stroke of my brush.
Movement behind me.
I watched the door open slightly, a blurred figure slowly stepped inside. It was a darkness dressed in human flesh, at first. I saw its eyes slowly coming into fruition, static buzzing in the pupils, twined around the iris. Wearing my cheer uniform, she was an exact copy of me. This time though, her face was perfect. There was no bruise, her ponytail perfectly tied up, every strand pinned in place. When she took a step forward, I noticed she was shaking.
Her hands formed fists by her sides, her perfectly made-up lips curving into a scowl. The me on the film paid no attention to my shadow self, brushing through her hair, wincing at the movement stretching the bruise on her eye.
*A pocket full of Posey’s.*
I watched myself blink in the mirror and try and smile, prodding at my eye again.
*Ashes.*
*Ashes.*
She started toward me in a dance, her arms thrusting out, lips stretching out into a maniacal grin.
Once the two of us made contact, I followed my earlier kid selves, bursting into that same cloud of red mist which was darker, this time, staining the replica’s sneakers.
**Turn it off.**
The words entered my head, and I was lunging forward to do just that-- when the tape this time flickered to a different setting. This time it was outside. I was staring at a sea of black, patches of grass, and beautiful flowers. I thought it was a wedding, and then I saw the coffin being lowered into the ground. I saw my mother in a perfectly pressed black dress, sobbing, on her knees.
She was screaming, unearthly cries rattling through the TV’s speakers. I didn’t recognize any of the faces swamped around her. I started to lean closer to the screen to look at them up closely, when the tape flashed to mesmerising blue, switching to the middle school classroom, my high school changing rooms, our backyard, and finally, to me. Something snapped inside my mind, and clarity came vivid and fast, pushing away the brain fog.
I didn’t know those faces because they… they were not my family. I was paralyzed to the spot. The TV screen blurred before flashing three different colors like it was impatient.
It once again showed me my classroom and our backyard. And it hit me that I didn’t know either of them. I didn’t remember any of those memories, despite a presence in my mind telling me I did. I did not sit on a wall when I was five years old, and that middle school classroom was not mine. This time my face was swamped in the exact same light from our basement. I saw my present face staring, wide-eyed, at the screen. There was a twitch of movement in the grainy picture.
The thing with my face moved slowly, flickering in and out of existence. I stared down at my hands in my lap, and then at my right wrist. I was not allowed to look. Not with so many eyes on me.
Hundreds of them.
No.
*Thousands.*
But I let my gaze flick to my skin, where my name has been printed on my flesh in blocky letters.
It had always been there, a stray thought that was not mine entered my mind.
*I just wasn’t allowed to look.*
Just like I wasn’t allowed to look in the corner of my eye, or behind me in a dark room.
*Zoey. V. 1,678.*
I could feel a striking pain in my head suddenly, a scream that was not mine, and yet sounded like mine, rattling in my skull. It clawed at my throat, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, phantom bugs filling my mouth and skittering down my spine, burrowing under my flesh.
She was so close. But she wasn't alone.
I could hear my brother 's sobbing.
I could sense her shaky breath tickling the back of my neck.
Ben's cries grew louder in my ear, reverberating from the walls.
I was frozen.
I couldn't move.
Couldn't turn around.
“You idiot,” she said in a growl.
*“You broke character.”*
Two sets of slimy hands were on my back. I remember the feeling of them shoving me violently. I didn’t remember stumbling or falling. Just their hands.
And Ben's sobs, his heaving breaths on my back.
Darkness.
It came fast, enveloping me, before spitting me back out again. I woke inside my room, blinking rapidly at the stars on my ceiling. I had slid back to consciousness with that same clawing, monstrous screech in the back of my throat. It wasn’t mine. But it felt like mine. It felt like a scream I had been holding in and pushing down for years.
The window was dark. Night. How many hours had passed me by?
Immediately, I turned my attention to my right wrist. I was not supposed to look, and just glancing at it hurt me, twisting my body and boiling my brain.
*I wasn't supposed to look.*
The marking was still there.
*Zoey. V. 1,679.*
The more I stared at it and drank this thing in, I felt progressively sicker, a part of me I didn’t know existed slowly coming back into fruition. Before I could stop myself, I barged out of my room and downstairs. I could hear Mom and Ben in the kitchen. “What is this?” I didn’t bother warning her that I was stepping in on whatever she was filming. I marched over to my mother and held up my wrist. I felt like I was going to be sick.
“Those tapes in the basement,” I hissed out. “What are they? Who are those kids who replaced me?"
"Wait, what?" Ben raised a brow, his gaze flicking to Mom's phone. "Is this for a video?"
I didn’t realize I was hysterical until I could feel hot tears slipping down my cheeks and salting my lips. I was sobbing when Mom froze up, her phone slipping from her hands.
Ben, who was sitting next to her, sent me a *What the fuck?* look—but I was only focusing on his wrist. I grabbed it and yanked up his sleeve, but there was nothing there.
I peered at my brother’s hand and scratched at his skin with my nails.
Still nothing.
"Zoey, what are you *doing*?" Ben's eyes were wild. "Have you lost your mind?"
Ben pulled away with a hiss. He opened his mouth to start yelling at me when Mom calmly got to her feet and turned to me with what looked like an explanation on her face, which crumpled suddenly, her eyes widening, her lips forming an O.
Mom clamped her hands over her ears and shook her head, her body trembling, a scream erupting from her mouth, which morphed into a wail that almost sent me to my knees. It was powerful, and painful, ringing in my ears. Ben tried to calm her down, but she wouldn’t listen. Mom wasn’t blinking. She was just screaming, her lips pulled into a terrifying grimace. “Mom.” I managed to get out through a sob.
“Mommy, it’s okay!”
I wrapped my arms around her and cradled her to my chest, motioning for Ben to join in. He did after a reluctant glare, tangling his arms around the both of us. “It’s okay, mommy,” I whispered into her hair.
“I won’t ask any more questions, okay?”
The words coming out of my mouth were **not** mine but they were working.
Mom’s sobs were turning lighter, and her body had stopped heaving against mine. She reached around me to press me and Ben tighter to her. I was pressing my face into her hair and mumbling that I was never going to leave her when something twitched in my peripheral. It was moving, a silhouette morphing into something real, something latched onto reality. I looked up, squinting my eyes.
It wasn’t a shadow or a monster bearing my face. It was Ben.
The thing wearing my brother’s features was dishevelled, half of his hair shaved off, a bloodied jacket that I had never seen before hanging off of his shoulder. I could see that same galvanic blue light in his eyes. The flickering static from the VHS tape.
He dragged himself closer to us, blood spattering the floor tiles and slicking his feet, every movement creating more pooling red. He was bleeding from every orifice, from his nose and mouth and ears, blood soaking through his jeans and torn-up shirt.
The thing made eye contact with me, his previously sleepy frown twisting into a grin. I could feel myself starting to pull away from my mother, but my eyes were glued to Ben. The real Ben still had his head buried in Mom’s chest, murmuring reassurances to her. Except I could see his jerking arms like he was trying to let go of her—but couldn’t.
Just like me.
I didn’t want to hug this woman who both felt like my mother and also didn’t. I wanted to get away from her. I started to say my brother’s name in a choked hiss when the replica standing in the doorway slowly raised his finger to curled lips.
I could see ink printed on the inside of his wrist.
*Ben. (V. 1,674.)*
I opened my mouth to speak to him when he pointed across the lounge, and I followed his gaze.
There was something squirming on the couch.
A body-sized lump twitching, moving from side to side. I could hear its muffling now that I was allowed to hear things properly.
It was screaming.
No, not an It.
He.
He was screaming.
“Mom.” I managed to whisper. I tried to pull away but her arms were suddenly locked around me, suffocating my breath. “Who is that on the couch?”
"What?" Ben surprised me with a whimper, his voice shaking. "What do you mean?"
Mom’s hug around us tightened.
*Tighter.*
“Mom,” Ben’s cry came out in a panicked hiss. “Mom, you’re hurting us!"
*Tighter.*
She started screaming again, but these wails were tragic, sobbing, her hold crushing us to her chest. Mom's cry felt like it was living, a sentient thing snaking around us.
Black spots invaded my eyes, dancing in my vision.
Something wet and warm slid from my lips, and Ben made a choking sound. He gasped out for air– air that she wouldn't let us have. I felt myself go limp in her arms, my head hanging, my eyes flickering.
*Tighter.*
The last thing I saw was Ben's replica peeking behind the wall, hollowed-out eyes penetrating mine.
He was laughing, his bloodied grin growing wider.
And wider.
When I awoke for the second time, the window was lit up with early morning sunlight. I had my hands wrapped around my throat, and the number on my wrist had changed.
*Zoey (V.1780)*
When I remembered how to breathe again, I turned to my alarm clock. 7am.
“Zoey! Breakfast!"
Mom’s voice filled me with poison, and once again a thought that was not mine took center stage inside my head.
She is not…
She is not my mother.
No.
No, she is my mother. I had a whole life of memories with her… right?
Ignoring my skincare ritual and my makeup routine, as well as the rule that I had to stay in pajamas until the “What I eat in a day” had been filmed, I eased my way down the hallway, hammering on my brother and sister’s doors. Ben appeared after a minute, his face smeared with skin cream, and then Allie, freshly showered. I thought they were going to understand that something was wrong, that we were all losing time, and something was wrong with our mother. “I need to talk to you.” was all I managed to get out, only to get confused looks in response.
“Now,” I bit out. I could still see Ben’s bloodied replica in my mind.
If that was a different version of him, when did *that* happen?
I waited for them to get ready, standing outside their rooms. I think part of me was terrified they were going to get replaced while I was standing there.
I found my gaze idly flicking to the numbers on my wrist. That had already happened to me, though. I was a different Zoey. After ten painful minutes of waiting, the two of them finally appeared. Allie had pinned her hair back with rollers, while Ben, per Mom's request, looked like he'd just rolled straight out of bed. “What is this about?” Ben spoke through a yawn. “By the way, what was up with you last night?”
Something twisted in my gut.
“What do you mean?”
My brother shot me a look, and whatever he was about to say was cut off when Allie shoved past us. “Move aside, slow pokes. Jeez, I’m not getting any younger!”
When she was bumbling down the stairs, Ben moved closer to me. “You know what,” he rolled his eyes. “Last night, you were fucking peeking behind my door. I told you to leave, but you didn’t move, Zoey.” He shuddered.
“Dude, it was like you were possessed. You stood there for hours. I just shut the door on your face."
*“Possessed?”*
The word hung in the air when we descended the stairs and entered the kitchen. Mom was already filming herself making breakfast, while Allie had slumped down at the table and pulled out her book.
I started forward to take my usual seat, but something froze me in place. There was another teenager sitting at the table. The guy was a sleepy-looking brunette stirring his cereal into a soup, leaning his chin on his fist, eyes half lidded, lips parted into a small smile. When he caught my eye, his mouth formed a scowl. The boy leaned back. “I’m not moving,” the boy grumbled. He turned to Mom. “Zoey always sits here. It’s the best seat, and I have back problems." He narrowed his eyes on me. "I'm taking *medication*".
“Zoey,” Mom murmured, her focus on frying eggs. “Can you let your brother use that seat this morning?”
I took a slow step back, her words were like knives stabbing into me.
“What?”
Mom didn’t turn around.
“Do not argue with me, young lady. You know Nick has back problems. Just let him have the comfy chair.”
**Who?**
Ben jumped into a seat opposite the new guy and immediately leaned over, poking the guy in the chest. “You abandoned me last night,” he said. I searched for questioning in his eyes, but he was smiling, drinking in this boy like he had always been here. “What happened to staying up all night and speed-running classic Sonic?”
The guy didn’t look up from his cereal. “I fell asleep.”
Ben folded his arms. “Yeah, well you could have texted me!”
"You never answer your texts, and I banged on your wall three times."
My brother reached for a plate of avocado toast Mom had put down, and she slapped his hand away. "I was listening to music! You know I chill out after I finish my homework."
“Boy fight.” Allie grinned behind her book. She shot me a smirk, only for her expression to crumple. “Zoey, it’s just a chair,” she said. “You’ve gone pale.”
I couldn't respond to my sister without screaming.
There was a stranger in our kitchen who I was supposed to call my brother. It hit me at that moment. If I was going to figure out what was going on with my family, I had to be exactly what Mom wanted me to be.
So, I smiled at my supposedly *new fucking brother* and made a point of saying I felt very sick. I even dramatized gagging. When Mom felt my forehead, she nodded and said I could go to my room. But I didn’t go to my room. I slipped down to the basement and went back to the box of plastic tapes. There were a bunch of new ones that I knew could not have been made that fast—and yet they had. This time they were labelled: “Nick. (V.1).”
I am currently hiding in our garage with the Nick tapes.
I'm too scared to watch them. I want to know what is going on, but I also don’t. What I do know is that I don’t think this woman is my mother, and whatever she is doing to us is documented on those video tapes.
Is there someone I can call who can help me?
I need to get out of here. |
#x200B;
#x200B;
#x200B;
“We’re heading out in a few days. Pack light.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
We have to keep information given over the phone vague in case of hackers or spies. The next text I got from him was when he'd be picking me up. It had been a while since HQ put me on a field mission so I made sure to double-check my preparation list. We’re required to use specific code words to signal if something is serious. Dean hadn’t so I only packed the usual.
#x200B;
#x200B;
HQ would provide additional supplies. I have to say, being forced to wake up at the crack of dawn when you’ve settled firmly into the nightlife is all kinds of miserable. Before I left, I shot Brice and Sheila a text explaining I’d be away for a while. I know it worries them when I go on these missions, but work is work. The morning of the mission, I woke up to him honking outside.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Grabbing my things, I headed out. I put my suitcase in his trunk, then got in the passenger seat. When I was in, he backed out, and we began heading down the road.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Not well."
"I figured."
"Yeah, I've been busy. Sorry, I haven't called lately by the way."
#x200B;
#x200B;
He gave me a sideways glance.
"Don't be. We've both had our hands full."
"I know but still."
An awkward silence hung between us. I cleared my throat.
"So, what do you think we're dealing with here?"
"We aren't entirely sure yet. All we know is that the signal is genuine. It's not a prank or anything like that."
"I guess we'll see when we get there."
"Yep."
#x200B;
#x200B;
I wanted to use my phone until we got to where we were going, but thought it inappropriate. We chatted for a while, mostly about trivial stuff, new movies we'd seen, hobbies we were considering, things of that nature. This went for most of the drive.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"Are you still seeing Maryl?"
"No, we decided things weren't working out."
"Oh, that sucks."
"That's how it goes sometimes."
#x200B;
#x200B;
I can't say I was surprised. For as long as I had known Dean, he never struck me as the romantic type. Sure, he'd be attractive to women, but nothing ever lasted long. It made sense given our line of work. The fewer people you hold close the better.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"What about you?" Dean asked, interrupting my thoughts.
"What about me?"
"Have you been seeing anyone?"
"Oh, no, I mean. There was this one cashier who I thought might've been flirting with me."
"Why didn't you make a move?"
"I didn't feel like it."
#x200B;
#x200B;
Dean opened his mouth to reply and then stopped.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"Is something wrong?"
"No, it's nothing. How are Brice and Sheila?"
"Fine, he came to my place the other day so that was fun."
"That's good at least. Hey, I could use a pick-me-up. What about you?"
"Do we have time for that?"
"We should."
#x200B;
#x200B;
Dean pulled into a McDonald's Drive-thru where we ordered some biscuits and coffee. The caffeine was a godsend for me and a nice change from energy drinks.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"Oh, by the way, we've been doing some field research."
"On what?"
"Radio waves, I don't fully understand it, though. Stevenson is spearheading the project."
"I thought he hated being outdoors?"
"He does, but he's also the most qualified for this. I never have gotten along with him."
#x200B;
#x200B;
I'd only met with Stevenson a handful of times. If I had to describe him in an adjective it would be standoffish. Not only that, he also had a habit of not considering the opinions of others unless they were above him.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Well, hopefully our interaction with him is kept to a minimum,” I said.
“You can say that again.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
We reached the airport not long after where some seats were already booked for us, coach. HQ likes to save wherever it can. At the very least, it gave me a couple extra hours of sleep. It wasn’t great, still better than nothing. I woke up to an attendant shaking me awake.
#x200B;
#x200B;
With my little power nap and the caffeine finally kicking in, I was feeling halfway decent. After getting off, Dean groaned.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“What have they got in those seats, cement?” he asked, cracking his neck.
“You should’ve brought a neck pillow too.”
“Yeah, I keep forgetting to get one.”
“Where to now?”
“Someone should be waiting for us out front.”
The person waiting for us turned out to be none other than Stella who was sitting on the front of her truck with some apple fritters and some iced frappes.
“When did you get here?” Dean asked.
“About half an hour ago.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
She offered us drinks and fritters. Dean refused. I didn’t.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Thanks,” I told Stella.
“We just ate,” Dean said.
“You’ve been saying I need to eat more.”
“Whatever, I’m riding shotgun.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
He looked at Stella.
“Unless you want me to drive?”
“I’m good. We still have some time before HQ is supposed to contract us so how about we do some sightseeing? I passed a hiking trail on the way here.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
Stella turned to me.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“You look like you could use more sun.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
I couldn’t dispute that. Until then, the closest I’d gotten to nature was the once-a-week night walk around my neighborhood. Before going to it, we stopped off and got some feed for the ducks. As an aside, you’re not supposed to feed them bread. Apparently, it makes it harder for them to fly or something.
#x200B;
#x200B;
As I said, it had been a while since I’d been out in the field with Dean. It had been even longer since I’d been out with Dean and Stella, especially since we came across those tapes. It’s strange. On one hand I don’t like having my research on them interrupted. On the other, it does feel good to be away from them.
#x200B;
#x200B;
I know they’ll be waiting for me when I get back, though. It was approaching noon when we were contacted. I had engaged in some casual conversation with Stella and then left her and Dean alone to get caught up. I was walking, lost in thought when some squirrels came onto the path. They skittishly searched the ground presumably for some food.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Watching them, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous of their minimal awareness. They operate mainly on instinct with not a care in the world other than the occasional predator. Meanwhile, it's always in the back of my mind. We'd also gotten some snacks. In my case, I grabbed some almonds.
#x200B;
#x200B;
The squirrels must have been accustomed to people feeding them because the moment I pulled out my bag some were already trotting to me. I gave them a couple handfuls. As soon as I did, the ducks came, expecting a helping of their own. Luckily for them, I had some feed in my other pocket. The symphony of quacks was interrupted by Dean calling my name.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"HQ just contacted us."
#x200B;
#x200B;
He noticed some ducks nibbling around my shoes and let out a brief chuckle. In retrospect, I suppose it did look kind of amusing. I dropped the last of my food to the animals and then followed Dean.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"They've booked us a hotel near the distress signal location."
"Motel 6 again?"
"No, Super 8."
#x200B;
#x200B;
At least we'd be getting complimentary breakfast with our bed bugs. As I was lying in bed that night, I found myself wondering how Brice and Sheila were doing. Then I wondered when I last thought of them up until then. I couldn’t even remember the last time I reached out to them instead of the other way around. Why had it taken me this long to realize this?
#x200B;
#x200B;
We aren’t allowed to make leisurely calls while on the job. Yes, even though I was about to sleep it was still under HQ’s dime. The loophole to this would be if someone was receiving a call. We’re encouraged to accept them when we can to keep up appearances. Brice and Sheila know of what I did and never called me while I was away in case they might catch me at a bad time.
#x200B;
#x200B;
While it made sense, I found myself hoping they’d break this rule just that once. My phone remained silent other than the occasional unrelated notification. Before I drifted off, I made an e-note to get them some souvenirs if I could. That night I know I dreamed. However, I can't recall what it was about.
#x200B;
#x200B;
I can only remember the vaguest of details like conjuring up the memory of a flavor. All I can say about it is that there were dark shapes and voices. Why does my heart race whenever I try to think about it? What am I doing? I already have enough to worry about without getting sidetracked.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Dean and Sheila were already having breakfast in the lobby when I was finished getting ready. By the time I got there, most of the stuff was picked over. The former's plate was your classic breakfast, pancakes, eggs, bacon, and a hash brown with a cup of coffee. He's already eaten most of it. Stella's plate was mainly eggs with a bit of sausage, a cinnamon-roll-flavored premier protein shake, an apple, and a grapefruit.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"You better grab something fast. They'll be closing down soon," Stella told me.
"Didn't you just sit down too?"
"This is my second plate. I have to get my protein in, you know."
"Eggs I understand. Grapefruit, I don't."
"It's good for the skin."
#x200B;
#x200B;
I shrugged.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"Fair enough, let me know when it's time to leave."
#x200B;
#x200B;
I settled on making some bacon, egg, and cream cheese bagel sandwiches. To drink, I grabbed a bottle of Minute Maid. I sat at another table and got on my phone to pass the time. Dean and Stella were talking. I wasn't paying much attention, though.
#x200B;
#x200B;
I think Stella was telling him something about rice water being good for the hair. Brice and Sheila do post online, not under their real names. It's mostly just different events, food, clothes, and pictures of their pets. I saw they posted something new. They’d found some puppies.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Do you see something funny?” Dean asked me.
#x200B;
#x200B;
I didn’t even realize I was smiling until he said something.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“No, I saw this.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
I walked over and showed them the post.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Cute little things, Leonberger retrievers if I had to guess,” Stella said.
“Since when did you become a dog expert?” Dean asked her.
“Farm girl, remember? We had a bunch of dogs roaming around.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
I let her scroll through the picture.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“And the post says they’re wanting to give them to a good home.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
Stella smirked at me.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“I’ll talk to them about it when I get home.”
“Thanks, Zane, you’re the best.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
Hopefully, Brice and Sheila will still have one to spare if and when we get out of this. We headed straight to the distress point after finishing up. There, a team was waiting for us. Among them was one of HQ’s heavy hitters, a muscular man the size of a mountain. He was leaning against one of the armored vehicles, smoking a cigarette.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Hey, Mick, how’ve you been?”
#x200B;
#x200B;
He looked at us and grinned.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Dean and Zane, it’s been a while.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
Mickey originally oversaw firearms training before eventually being promoted to head of guard duty. At least, he was.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Shouldn’t you be patrolling the facility?” Dean asked.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Mickey grunted in annoyance and let out a puff.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“No, I got demoted because of the escape incident. The bigwigs lost their shit over that one.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Sorry to hear that,” Dean said.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Mickey’s demeanor brightened.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Don’t go feeling sorry for me. Sure, the pay’s not as good, but at least I’m not cooped up inside all day.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
He looked at me.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Speaking of, you look like you could use some sun.”
“Yeah, I’ve been getting that a lot lately, so where’s the signal’s origin?”
“The labcoats are using one of Stvenoson’s devices to try and pinpoint the location. Once they have it, we’ll go there. In the meantime, we got some extra weapons. Help yourself. By the way, isn’t Stella supposed to be with you two?”
“I already helped myself.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
We turned to see Stella walking over with a rifle strapped to her back.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Mickey said as they shook hands. “How’ve you and Ginger been?”
"Great, we'll be getting a new puppy soon."
"Well, isn't that cute? Gunner's still going strong."
#x200B;
#x200B;
They chatted for a bit, while Dean and I went to get some weapons. Despite my line of work, I'm not big on guns. Although, I do have one for self-defense. We each grabbed a handgun, Dean grabbed a desert eagle while I grabbed a magnum. Then we got some cartridges and speedloaders. When I touched the bullets, I instantly drew my hand back.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“What’s wrong, Zane?” Dean asked, concerned.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“It felt like I was touching someone’s fingers,” I replied.
#x200B;
#x200B;
#x200B;
#x200B;
Even though it still felt weird to touch, we grabbed the ammo along with some emergency supply kits. I examined the special kind and noticed it had the letter “S” carved into it. By the time we were done, the signal’s location was finally pinpointed.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Alright, time to move out,” Mickey ordered.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Each of the vehicles got a radio. Mickey’s truck led the expedition with Stella’s at the back. We didn’t know exactly what we were looking for, most likely some kind of portal. I’d never dealt with a dimensional rift before. I learned about accessing them when I was younger.
#x200B;
#x200B;
In short, it requires using a special device to match a specific frequency with one that has already appeared in a location. It’s easier to do with ones that have appeared recently which is why took a while for us to find it.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“We’re picking up on something up ahead,” Mickey’s voice crackled over the radio.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Everything looked the same, then there was a ripple in the air as if it was water that was hit with a stone. Being that it was my first time dealing with one, I made sure to stay alert.. We passed through and on the other side was the hardest rain we'd ever seen.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"I can hardly see a thing," Stella said as her truck's windshield wipers moved back and forth.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Dean turned on the radio.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"Mickey, can you see anything up ahead?"
"No, what's with this rain?"
#x200B;
#x200B;
We continued on in silence. All we could see was the road, railing, and a surrounding forest. Then we heard Mickey yell.
"Oh shit."
#x200B;
#x200B;
What followed next was a chain wreck. Something appeared in front of Mickey. He crashed into it, causing the truck behind him to rear-end his bumper. This ended with Stella's truck slamming into the second last vehicle. She screamed out a curse before Mickey's voice sounded again.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"Everyone alright?"
#x200B;
#x200B;
While we were only in a pickup truck, Stella had modified it to be more durable over the years. We all confirmed that we were fine and then Dean asked what happened.
#x200B;
#x200B;
"There's some cars on the road," Mickey said. "It's packed with them."
#x200B;
#x200B;
Since there were also trees, off-roading wasn't an option either.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“I guess we’re walking then,” Dean said. “Stella, do you have any umbrellas in here?”
“I got some ponchos under the seats.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
I reached down and grabbed them.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Do they all have to be pink?” I asked.
“You got a problem with pink?” Stella asked.
“No, but it’s not exactly an inconspicuous color.”
“That’s why we have those.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
She gestured to the gun holstered around my waist. Once we put them on, we stepped out. Stella grabbed her rifle from the truck, then we made our way to Mickey and the others. They’d put on black Panchos. With his face shrouded in one, he looked like if the Grim Reaper hit the gym.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Well, Well, if it isn't the bubble gum squad,” he said upon seeing us. “How’s the truck?”
“There’s a few few dents. They should buffer out, though,” Stella replied.
“Fantastic,” Dean interjected, “so how about we figure out what the hell’s going on here?”
“Some kind of weather anomaly?” I suggested.
“Well, we won’t find out by staying put,” Mickey responded.
#x200B;
#x200B;
He barked out an order for everyone to move out. The cars gave off an eerie sensation. It was as if something compelled those inside to stop and get out all at the exact same time. Checking them didn't reveal much at first.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Wait,” I said.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Mickey told the others to stop.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“What is it?”
#x200B;
#x200B;
Going up to one car, I glanced inside.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“The stuff in this one has been picked over,” I said. “That means someone came here after everyone else was gone.”
“Then it looks like we’re on the right track,” Mickey replied. “Hopefully, they’re still kicking.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Which way now?” Dean asked.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Mickey pulled off a pair of binoculars from his belt.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“I see a neighborhood. I say we head there. Maybe whoever sent the signal is holed up in their home.”
#x200B;
#x200B;
As we walked, I got a bad gut feeling. I wasn’t the only one and everyone made sure to have their weapons ready. We’d made it about halfway to the neighborhood when were met with absolute hell. I spotted the first of them, peeking out from over the roofs of buildings surrounding us. When dozens followed by hundreds more appeared, my heart thundered.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Look out,” I yelled right as they pounced.
#x200B;
#x200B;
We managed to scatter before they landed on us. Although, they pinned down several agents. They varied in appearance. Some were furry. Some were scaly.
#x200B;
#x200B;
Some were like amphibians. Some were bipedal and others crawled on several legs. What they all had in common was that they were huge.
#x200B;
#x200B;
We wasted no time in opening fire. This only seemed to annoy rather than hurt them and they let out different cries to show it, so loud they could even be heard over the gunfire.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Switch to the special ammo,” Mickey hollered.
#x200B;
#x200B;
We did so with much better results and soon the monsters were a pile of corpses.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Everyone alright?” Mickey asked.
#x200B;
#x200B;
There were some injuries among us. Luckily, they were easy to treat. All in all, things were pretty straightforward. Then I looked off in the distance. There were more of them.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Guys,” I spoke up.
#x200B;
#x200B;
They saw them too. Compared to what we were seeing now, what we just faced may as well have been a schoolyard scrap. Even Mickey was shaken up.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“Let’s move it,” he ordered.
#x200B;
#x200B;
We were out of there like frogs dropped in a boiling pot. Beelining through the forest, we headed to the neighborhood. Even that far, we could hear them and they were rapidly approaching. In getting caught between a rock and a hard place fashion, there were more of them up ahead.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“This is just fucking perfect,” Dean said a bit shakily. Under my poncho, I could feel beads of sweat pouring down my face.
“Does anyone have any flashbangs?” Stella asked.
“Good thinking,” Mickey replied.
#x200B;
#x200B;
He ordered the others to throw some and pulled out his. They threw them and we all made sure to cover our eyes before they went off. Luckily, the plan worked, or rather, it worked somewhat. The grenades did stun the creatures just not long enough for most of us to slip by. In fact, it was a slaughter.
#x200B;
#x200B;
The only ones who made it away were myself, Mickey, Dean, and Stella. Unfortunately, we weren’t far behind. That was until we heard a door open behind us. There was a man there and he urged us to come in before the monsters noticed. Good thing they weren’t smart.
#x200B;
#x200B;
The man introduced himself as Malcolm and then asked who we were. Upon learning how and why we got here, he let out a defeated sigh.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“I guess I underestimated those things. Sorry to have dragged you all into this,” he said.
“Don’t be. It’s part of the job,” Mickey told him.
“So does this mean we’re all stuck here?” I asked.
#x200B;
#x200B;
None of us wanted to consider the implications of that question, but it wasn’t as though we could simply ignore it either.
#x200B;
#x200B;
“For now,” Stella said, “At least we got some supplies.”
“Well, make yourselves at home I guess,” Malcolm replied.
#x200B;
#x200B;
We’ve been stuck here for almost a month now. I swear I find myself reaching for my gun every time I hear those things get close to Malcolm’s house. The only possible clue we have to figure this mess out is the phone I found. We’ve been working on repairing it. However, it’s slow work given our limited supplies and the fact we need to keep noise to a minimum.
#x200B;
#x200B;
#x200B;
|
Back in 2011, I was 21 years old, fresh out of university and living in the capital of the Philippines, Manila for some months. I interned at a peacebuilding NGO, while also playing semi-professional football (soccer) in the country’s national league. A strange combo, but both roles are relevant to the story.
My experience starts one rainy Saturday afternoon in November. Football was cancelled with a waterlogged pitch, but already downtown on my way to training I decided to visit a fruit market listed in my Lonely Planet guide (this was pre-ubiquitous Google maps days, at least in Manila).
I must have looked lost, as two Filipino women – one middle aged, one early 20s – approached me from behind, raising their umbrella over my head and asking where I was headed. After some friendly chit-chat, it came to pass, (without my prompting) that they had lived in the same neighbourhood that I’m from in London, England. A strange coincidence, and one that lowered my guard.
They offered to take me to a better fruit market, one that required a taxi to reach. Naive, trusting and nervous about offending I got in this taxi, leading me through the winding, maze-like back streets of a Manila slum. We exit and I’m utterly lost in an unfamiliar part of this sprawling city (remember, this is pre-Google maps and ridesharing apps), leaving me at the mercy of these women.
With no fruit market in sight, they plead with me to come into their nondescript, low-rise home for food and drink. My youthful naivety and reluctance to offend once again get the better of me. Whether due to trauma or time, I really can’t remember what the inside of this place looked like, but I do remember it was dingy, had a TV with karaoke hooked up, and there was a man waiting when we arrived. Realising what a sketchy situation I was in, I was conscious of anything they gave me to drink, watching them open the beer bottles in front of me.
A couple of drinks in, the Karaoke was flowing. I felt physically fine but deeply uncomfortable, vulnerable and trapped, and was waiting for the opportunity to leave. A tray of BBQ meat was brought out – always associating drugging with drink, not food, I had very little concern over eating it. The naivety of this would become instantly apparent.
Putting this pork into my mouth, it had a strange medicinal flavour – but it would be too late before I connected the dots. My final memory that day was the younger woman, uncomfortably close to me, holding a microphone and flirtatiously singing the chorus of *Hey Jude* by The Beatles (“nahhh, nahhh, nahhh nah nah nah nahhhhh”) while I drifted off, unable to keep my eyes open.
I have virtually no memory of the next 24 hours of my life. I would wake up in a darkened room in the middle of the night 1,000km south of Manila in a city called Davao.
To be clear, this Davao trip was one that I had previously scheduled for work, leaving the day after this incident. Still, to this day all I remember of the journey is waking up and seconds of sitting in a taxi on my way to the airport. I passed through customs, boarded a plane, collected my baggage, met my colleagues, and was driven to our work office/apartment – all with zero memory of doing any of this. My colleagues didn’t suspect anything was wrong with me, mentioning later that I just seemed tired.
It took some hours after waking up to piece together where I was and what had occurred. $200 had been withdrawn from my bank account, but I still had my wallet and phone. While I can’t be certain, I concluded that I had been fed a drug popular in the Philippines called Ativan. I read similar stories of people being spiked, functioning relatively normally, becoming pliable, but having no memory of the incident. This would explain how I withdrew $200 while seemingly unconscious.
To this day I feel deeply uncomfortable at what may have occurred after I passed out – particularly with the behaviour from the younger woman towards me just before I passed out. But those 24 hours of my life are gone, and I’ll never know what happened.
To the two women in Manila who drugged and robbed me, let’s not meet. |
This is a true story detailing something that happened to my wife and I 3 years ago.
So my wife and I lived in a renovated pool house on my uncles property, up in a secluded posh neighborhood in the mountains of so-cal. The community was quiet, given the economic status of the residents, and the fact that it was several miles up the mountain, far away from the urban neighborhoods. The community was also gated, keeping it even more secluded. That being the case, the only real traffic was people who lived in the community comming up to their Mc' mansions. There are two ways up the mountain, one approach from the south, and one from the west. Either way, you must drive several miles up narrow, windy, one-lane roads that both lead up to these razor back ridges, in order to reach the community gates. For those who don't know, a razor back ridge is a narrow ridge with steep 100 foot, or more drops to the bottom. Sorry for the long details, but I promise this is all important.
So one night wife and I are hanging out with family who live down the mountain in the san-bernardino valley. We are there till about midnight, then decide its time to get home. We start driving and as time goes on the houses and street lamps get more sparse, and the darkness encroaches as we hit the base of the mountains. As we start to drive up the mountain the street lights are absent, and the lights of houses are gone, nothing but darkness and our two headlights.
About half way up a fog starts to develop, nothing too uncommon for the area, just a little dangerous given the windy roads and how late at night it is. People have literally driven off the windy roads and died in the valleys below, even when there wasn't fog out, so i slow down and stay extra attentive to the road. The steep part of the ascent was over, and we reached the razor back ridge, just a few more miles till we get home.
When we reach the top of the ridge the road levels out, and the fog grew thicker, limiting my visibility to 100 feet or so. Suddenly i make out a large shape in the fog and catch the reflection of my headlights bouncing off a mirror surface. I slowed down and came to see a new silver Mazda crossover in the road. The car was not merely parked in the shoulder or even in the traffic lane, it was literally in the middle of the road. The back half of the car was in the lane opposite us, and the front half was in our lane, as if someone had come from the opposite direction and veered onto our side and just stopped there. This is particularly odd because that either means someone came from our community several miles further down the way, or had driven all the way from the other approach up the mountain bypassing our community, which is the only thing really up there. In either case, it made no sense for someone to be coming out this way at this time of night, and to have stopped their expensive car at this point in the road. Furthermore, the car was empty, lights were off, doors were all shut, the car was not running, and nobody was nearby. There were no flashlights shining, nobody calling for a lost dog, no flat tire, no houses or trails nearby, just the road, the fog, the silence, the cliffs, the empty car, and my headlights
As i slowed down and absorbed the scene the only thing i could think was "this is a trap" and every horror movie and survival video game i played told me that bandits or creepy creatures were gonna pop out soon. That being the case, i retrieved my handgun and stopped the car but didn't put it in park. My wife was also taken back and muttered "what the heck is this?" I said i wasn't sure and that i was gonna call out to see if they needed help. Despite the creepyness, part of me still thought there was a rational explanation, and that someone needed help. I cracked my window a bit and listened. No voices, no engine running, no wind, just the barely audible soft hum of my engine which goes into eco-mode when stopped. "Hello! Is anyone there?" Nothing... "do you need any help?" Nothing. I started to clench my pistols grip tighter, and moved my finger slightly closer from the slide to the trigger, anticipating an attack. Still, nothing.
After having been there about a minute in total i said the dumbest thing in my life, i actually thought, and said "you think i should get out and investigate?" my wife looked at me like the dumbass i was and said "this is creepy lets go". I still feel dumb for saying that and as it left my lips i realized i was sounding like some generic horror movie extra about to get killed in the first five minutes of the film. At that point i realized it was time to go and i started to slowly drive around the car, scanning for movement in the fog and the vehicle. Again, nothing. We finished our drive home and talked a little and went to bed.
For the next week i checked Facebook community pages and local news for anything connected to it, maybe a missing person report or a missing dog alert, or even just other people who saw the car, but nothing came up. I drove that path dozens more times at that hour but never saw anything like it again. I still don't know what that was about, and still cant rationalize it without copping out with the "it was just an elaborate prank" excuse, which honestly seems impossible and ridiculous as well. To be honest it seems like the road was intentionally blocked, but I do not know who would intentionally block a road with a very expensive car on a windy dangerous Mountain Road in the middle of the night in the middle of severe fog . Still a strange and creepy mystery to this day.
I will be posting another true story soon from a coworker of mine. I shared this story with her and she related hers, which had some similar elements. |
Back when I was attending a university, I used to work on campus at one of the dining halls during the dinner/night shift. I lived in the next town over, since it was cheaper to live in a crappy little apartment out of town than to live on campus in the dorms. But I didn't own a car, so I had to take the bus.
One night, I had just gotten off a shift at work. My feet were killing me and I was completely exhausted, as I slowly made my way to the bus stop. I noticed a man much older than me sitting on one of the two benches at the otherwise empty bus stop, but I didn't pay too much attention to him. I simply sat down on the second bench, and listened to some music while waiting for the bus to arrive.
The first sign that things were starting to get weird was when I kept noticing out of the corner of my eye that he was staring at me. At first, I thought I might be imagining it. So I looked over and caught him quickly turning his head to look away. Okay, so he WAS staring at me. This wasn't completely out of the ordinary, since being a young college girl seemed to gain me a bit of attention from older men. So like usual, I just ignored him. That was a mistake.
Again, out of the corner of my eye I saw him look at me. But instead of just staring this time, he got up and walked over to sit next to me instead. I continued listening to my music, hoping that he'd see the earbuds and take the hint that I wasn't interested in having a conversation. Instead, this man literally took the earbud out of my ear.
"Hey there, sweetheart." He said as my head snapped to look at him in shock. I should've told him off for touching my things and demanded he leave me alone, but I was sort of frozen, and didn't want to make him mad.
"Uh...hi." I replied quietly. He started introducing himself as Mike, and telling me that he lived in the area and it was always nice to see pretty girls like me at the university bus stop. He explained that he was a real man, unlike the boys I went to school with, and that I should go home with him that night. I was a shy, scared, virgin who had never had a man be as bold as this to my face. I say "to my face", because I had certainly gotten my fair share of unsolicited private pictures online by that point, but I digress.
I didn't know how to respond, so I didn't. But that didn't stop Mike from continuing to explain to me all of the "fun things" he wanted to do with me at his place that night. He got into graphic detail. The things he described started out with basic things you'd expect, and escalated to him asking if I liked being choked until I turned purple and passed out in bed. I wished there were ANYONE else at that bus stop. But it was just the two of us, in the dark alone, as I counted the seconds until the bus would arrive.
Then Mike took things to a different level of shocking by telling me, "Listen, the demons want me to ask for your phone number, and they say you should give it to me or you won't like what happens." He actually had the audacity to start stroking my hair. His hand was gentle, but I didn't want him touching me at all.
This was shocking for a number of reasons. The demons? I wouldn't like what would happen? Why was he touching me? What the hell was this guy talking about? As though he could read my mind, Mike went on to explain, "My therapist knows the demons are real. I told her about them and she says I'm not crazy and the demons are real." He laughed, then abruptly stopped. "Now give me your phone number like they said." He demanded, and as his hand stroked my hair for the last time he stopped and gripped the back of my neck, still gentle, but even more terrifying.
I was scared, and obviously didn't want him to have my phone number. But he was taking out his phone, and I knew that he was going to call the number I gave him to make sure I wasn't lying to him, and he still had his hand on the back of my neck, so I reluctantly gave him my real phone number. Stupid, I know. But I was right, and he immediately called to check. All I could think about was just not making this guy angry long enough to get away from him, then I'd block his number.
Thankfully, the bus came moments later. I sat down as close to the front of the bus near the bus driver as I possibly could, since the bus was basically empty. Mike decided to sit directly across from me. At this point, I had tried listening to music again, hoping that being on the bus and him having my phone number would signal to him the end of our conversation. However, he decided to reach over and unzip my sweatshirt, revealing my work shirt and the name tag which I had unfortunately forgotten to remove in my haste to leave work that night. I hadn't told him my name yet. "Abigail, what a beautiful name. Our daughter will be named Celeste." I shouldn't have been shocked at this point, but I was. I had stopped listening to music again and zipped my sweatshirt back up, which made him laugh. "You won't need that soon, anyway." He said, and winked at me, implying how he'd planned to undress me even further that night.
At one stop, Mike tried to convince me to get off the bus with him. I told him no, that I was tired and just wanted to go home. So he said okay, and stayed on the bus. I knew that had been his stop, so the fact that he was staying on the bus worried me. I was sure this meant that he was planning on coming home with me instead.
"Baby," Mike whispered to me. I tried to ignore him, but he repeated himself louder, "Baby!" He had the most unsettling smile on his face as I asked, "What?" He laughed and told me, "The demons say you smell nice."
I was terrified, and felt like I was going to throw up by the time my bus stop arrived. I lived in an apartment alone, and didn't want him to know where I lived. Despite my body being exhausted and sore from work, adrenaline kicked in and I bolted off the bus and ran straight home. I made it inside and locked the door. I looked through the peephole and didn't see him, so I went to carefully peek out of my window, and saw him standing near the bus stop, looking around. He took out his phone, and sure enough I started getting a call from an unknown number since I hadn't saved his number. I ignored it. When he hung up, I started getting several texts, asking where I'd gone, how he didn't like hide and seek, and how the demons just wanted to have fun but I was being a little bitch about it.
I was so scared, because he knew which apartment building I lived in, where I worked, where I went to school, my phone number, and my name. The only good thing which made me feel slightly relieved was that he didn't know which specific apartment number I lived in.
That's when he started yelling outside. There were no specific words said, just wordless yells of what I can only assume were frustration and anger.
I blocked his number, and kept all the lights in my apartment off as I cried with my back to the front door. Maybe I should have called the police, but my brain was so frazzled that I didn't even think of that until the next day, and by then all I knew about him was that he was a mentally unstable man, probably named Mike, who hadn't actually done any physical harm to me, so I didn't think it was worth it. In hindsight, I know that I made a lot of stupid mistakes during this experience. I ended up moving away entirely at the end of that term of school for unrelated reasons, but until then I switched to day shifts at work and was paranoid every night. Thankfully, I never saw the man again, though.
So Mike, the scary guy from the bus stop who tried to follow me home, I never want to meet you or your demons ever again. |
Tl;dr: I can’t believe how long this ended up being. Lady brings tape to police station, shows me a clip she filmed on her phone of murder, looks legit to me. 99.9% isn’t.
#x200B;
When it got to her turn, the first thing she said was that she might need to talk to a detective. That’s usually a pretty good icebreaker in this profession, and my notebook was out right away. I explained that she could talk to me first and I would see what I could do. Cops over here are a bit less jumpy about people pulling black objects out of their bags than they are in the States but I was still surprised when Jennifer took out a VHS tape and slid it under the glass.
She told me she wanted to play me a video on her phone but having sat through enough people struggle to load up security cameras or endlessly search for the relevant piece of footage, I find it quicker if victims tell me first before they show me. It took a few minutes to get the story out of her, because she seemed to go back and forth between being utterly horrified and then embarrassed and apologetic about wasting police resources on what she said was probably nothing. Basically, she told me that a couple of months ago she had been jogging around her area when she passed a whole bunch of furniture and personal items strewn on the green area of the footpath (sidewalk) outside a house. Over here that means it’s garbage to be picked up by the council (though judging by how much stuff there was, she assumed it was actually there waiting for a deceased estate disposal company) but people walking by can pick through it if they want. She saw a box with a VCR in it and she came back later with her car and took it home. She was going to check if it worked and try and flip it on eBay.
It ended up sitting in her cupboard for two months before she finally got around to testing it. She had bought a random tape from Vinnies (thrift store/charity shop) but when she tried to insert it she discovered there was already a tape left inside the VCR, one labelled, “S.E.C. Camera Club”. According to her the tape begins with a woman tied to a chair inside a room. The cameraman walks around her before pushing the camera uncomfortably close to the tied up woman’s face. You can hear him panting heavily throughout and the tied up woman’s pleading. At this point the woman at the counter told me she had assumed it was just some weird pornography and had begun fast-forwarding to get to the nudity (I would not have been so honest myself).
She then passed me her phone and told me to tell her what I think. She also told me to keep it on mute since she really didn’t want to hear it again. She had filmed about 30 seconds of her TV screen and the original video was grainy and blurry anyway so what I saw was pretty obscured but I got the gist. I actually wrote this paragraph last because it’s making me feel kinda uncomfortable thinking about it and how to put it into words, I’m like 99% sure it’s fake and I’ve technically seen gorier things in Hollywood movies and video games but it seemed so real to me. Anyway, you see the back of the camera-man and he has a knife and so on.
I was honestly gobsmacked, I must have looked like an idiot because I had no idea what to tell her or what to do. In the end, I borrowed her phone and took it inside to my Sergeant’s office (my boss, I’m not sure of the American equivalent, maybe like a Chief?). He basically laughed in my face and said it was fake. He told he’d been a cop for 13 years and been to dozens of glassing and stabbings and there is never that much blood. The cranky bastard then got pissed that I had been spending that much time on a horror movie when the lobby was full. Even before COVID Sergeant’s didn’t like too many ‘customer’ waiting in the station, it makes them look bad. I relayed the news to the lady and she was both relieved and embarrassed. I tried to give her the tape back but she recoiled and told me to chuck it out for her, she didn’t want it.
I’ve been doing some research on what could have been on the tape like maybe something from ‘Faces of Death’ but I’ve had no luck. Has anyone seen some obscure mondo film that this could be? The woman and man were wearing normal clothes and it was well-lit. The room’s walls looked like corrugated iron like a shed or barn.
Has anyone heard of S.E.C. Camera Club? My google-fu is failing me but I’m assuming it might have been like some underground/garage bootlegging company that specialised in selling exploitation/trash movies or maybe like an experimental artist collective?
I’ve got a picture of the tape (since no crime was committed, I didn’t have to book it up in exhibits). Can anyone who knows a lot about VHS tell me if this is a homemade tape or was this the type that big companies or movie studios released? There are no like serial numbers or anything on it.
The lady at the counter only watched a portion of the tape, out of morbid curiosity when I find a VCR that isn’t ridiculously overpriced (Seriously, I can’t believe these fucking prices for an obsolete format. No wonder she wanted to sell the machine online) I’ll finish watching it and update you guys if anything else happens. I'm not tech saavy so I probably won't be able to convert the tape directly into a digital file but I can film my TV like the lady did and upload it to like Youtube or something.
When I think camera club, I think of like some amateurs making a movie together whereas this seemed very real and professional but just to reiterate, just because it looks real doesn't mean it is. I'm not saying I'm trying to solve a murder here. I'm just trying to find a piece of obscure media but one that is creepy enough that I think it qualifies for this sub. (I know the post title is click-baity, apologies)
I wrote this at midnight here to get it off my chest, sorry if it doesn’t make a lot of sense. Rereading it now, I feel like 20% of this post is just repeating pronouns lol. |
So I am now 16, turned 16 a few days ago and recently I have been playing games on Roblox with my best friend like murder mystery 2, arsenal, etc and one of the games I play on my own is Adopt Me because I like all the pets they have. I am writing this minutes after it happened, I was playing Adopt Me after my classes since we have short periods for school on Mondays so it was 11:52-ish and now it's 12:07. There was this player who had a variation of my stalkers name with random numbers after, and I stupidly thought nothing of it, instead I thought "Oh it's a pretty common name" which it is, but I couldn't shake off this feeling and then that person kept following me, and I again was stupid, and thought "They probably wanna trade since I have an ultra-rare pet" so I stopped driving but that trade invitation never came.
So me being me, I left and went to the campsite since my pet wanted to go there. Everything was fine until I was going back to my home in the game, until that user put "Hey \*My name\*" and I didn't think anything was wrong until I did a double take and realized my name isn't on my Roblox account and on my Roblox account I only have three friends, and all three of them call me either by my alias that I made for my books/future podcast or by my Roblox name whenever we play.
I didn't respond to the message, and instead just acted like if I didn't see it, while the other players were asking the user "Who's \*My Name\*"
The player then kept on following me around, until I left the game, and even then he sent me a friend request which I denied and immediately blocked
That wasn't the only thing he's done since my last update on the story, he found out about this guy I'm talking to somehow (the guy isn't from California) and he told one of his "friends" (I say friends with the quotations because he has yelled at that friend for talking to me or even being near me before, and that friend happens to be a very close friend of mine), and that friend (B) told me what happened, and how he freaked out but couldn't do anything due to the guy not being in California and seeing that he was scary looking to my stalker (the guy is a huge softie so it made me laugh knowing that).
After I was told that he had somehow been stalking my followers/followings I blocked people that would know him and possibly let him use their account to look at mine. I updated my brother (legal guardian) and my friends that knew about him, so they would know and even told the guy in case my stalker had the idea to message him and tell him a complete lie. As previously, the stalker had messaged a close friend of mine and told him we were dating (me and my stalker) in an attempt to get my friend to stop talking to me. He even told that same friend that he was going to marry me and that we were going to have two kids (which is a huge lie, because 1. I don't want kids and if I ever do I'll adopt and 2. If I get married it will most likely be to the guy I am talking to right now or to a woman) luckily no one believed him except his friends who were saying that it would happen one day, and to just keep trying to be with me (I overheard once and was disgusted and told two of my friend D and B about it to which they got mad and refused to let him near me whenever he tried to talk to me. Even now we're not in those classes (D and B are still in classes with my stalker) we are still close and they tell me whenever they overhear my stalkers friends giving him ideas.
In my last update I left out a piece of information due to me not having the full story, until my friend (B) told me the rest that I needed after it was posted and I didn't want to assume anything or give possibly false information.
Rewinding to freshman year, on Valentine's day I found I huge stuffed bear in my math class, and it was on my seat. So I thought someone had left it there, and when the teacher came into the class, I told him that someone left a huge stuffed bear behind, to which my teacher responded "That wasn't there in my previous class, someone probably left it there for you. Maybe a secret admirer" (me and my math teacher have a father and daughter bond so we play around like that)
We ended up looking into the packaging cause our curiosity got the best in us, and it had a letter, I still vibrantly remember it because it creeped me out so much.
It read " Dear \*My Name\*,
It's Valentine's Day, and I wanted to give you something for today. I like everything about you, your smile, your eyes, and your body. You're perfect. I love you."
I stayed in for a bit during lunch and gave my math teacher the note which got him creeped out too. We ended up throwing away the note, and I took the bear but met up with a friend (S) for the rest of lunch. She asked who gave me the stuffed bear and said it was nice, I ended up telling her what happened with the note and how I found it, then I gave the stuffed bear to her so she could keep it.
You all might ask, why did I give her the bear? Well I have three reasons for that, 1. She has panic attacks and snuggling up to something when she has them helps her go through them so I gave her the giant stuffed bear, 2. I don't like over the top things, and 3. I already have a lot of stuffed animals due to my brother getting me them since I was a baby.
My friend (S) still has the bear, and it has helped her a lot so I don't regret giving it away or even receiving it from my stalker (which was not known then) because it helped someone out with a problem.
Fast-forward to when I found out the stuffed bear was from my stalker, my friend (B) had messaged me to tell me about my stalker finding out about the guy I'm talking to, and before we ended our conversation he asked if he could call me, which I said yes to.
During the call he told me how he's in this groupchat for this class on instagram and how they're all "friends" in that class and that they were sharing things about their previous boyfriends or girlfriends for some reason which my friend (B) and my other friend (D) were not a part of, instead they just looked at the messages.
My stalker claimed I dated him, and then said that I didn't want anyone to know but that we did date (we never did and never will). My stalker then continued on to say in the groupchat that the giant stuffed bear that was on my seat in algebra 1 was from him, and that he got so mad at me for giving it to a friend so he broke up with me.
I wasn't even shocked that he made up a story of us dating, and when I told my bestfriend (G) we laughed for a bit then decided to contact a lawyer and see if the restraining order could be put and if the police could be involved (I say acab and defund the police but my stalker went too far now).\\
Sadly, I got the news that since he had not been near me since I switched classes and I am no longer in classes with him that I cannot get a restraining order since online harassment and stalking isn't bad enough yet since they've only been friend requests and "Hello \*My Name\*" Which meant I couldn't even go to the police due to it being online and not "dangerous"
Sorry if this was a bit too long, I would have shortened it but it would mean more parts and I don't want to annoy anyone trying to find the parts.
Also if anyone is going through this or something similar, tell someone because at first I didn't say anything because I thought it wasn't going to get bad but it did and it is still getting worse. |
So... i’m a french student and i study at a university in the UK. It’s a campus university meaning that the university and all its affiliated building are centered in an area outside of the city. As a second year student, I live in the nearest town to the campus, which is 20mn away by bus/car.
The town i live in is relatively nice, even though the North part is much nicer and safer than the south. Me and my 7 roommates live in a 10-bedroom house in the North side.
Even though it is a relatively nice town, it is known for sketchy people sometimes hanging around anywhere in the town, and there is an alarming amount of crime for such a small town. However, i was never too worried until now.
A couple of weeks ago, i was coming home from a coffee date with a friend of mine. I was on my way home, crossed the street to my doorstep, and as I was pulling my keys out of my pocket, a guy interrupted me.
I turned around and a man was standing there. He was probably 5”10 or something, like around 23 years old and wasn’t too built honestly. At first I thought he was a delivery man because one of my roommates was expecting an amazon order she asked me to get for her.
He started talking “sorry for bothering you, I saw you walking from over there, crossing the street, you have something attractive in your walk.”
At this point I just assumed he was some rando trying to flirt with me.
He then asks “are you spanish?” it’s a question i get often and this man didn’t look harmful, so I just answered “no im french”.
He then tried to engage a conversation with me by asking me how long i’ve been in the UK for, why do i speak so good English, and what do I study. At this point I just thought it was super sketchy so I was half answering his questions, desperately wanting to get inside my damn house.
Suddenly this man asks “is this a house of all girls?” This is what alarmed me. Why would he even ask that to a random girl? So i reply with the truth: “no, we are 4 boys and 4 girls”.
He then seems quite unsettled and he asks if i know his friend that used to live here last year and I just say no. He then says he’ll “leave me to it” and to “take care, have a good day” and finishes with “i’ll see you soon”
I’m not one to panic easily but when I came home i immediately went to my roommates, let’s call them Brooke and Mia, to tell them what happens.
As i finish my story, Mia looks at Brooke and then back to me and I just know something was up.
Then Mia goes “2 days ago, i was coming back from the store, and I could sense that someone was following me. At some point he came up to me and he matched exactly the description from the guy who was just here.”
Mia, Brooke and I were just plain worried at this point. Mia said “he wanted to talk to me and wouldn’t listen when i asked him to leave me alone because I have a boyfriend, and he left once i got home and shut the door in this face”.
This meant that this man, assuming it is the same, followed Mia to this house, and he also was hanging around this place when I came home.
When the 4 boys came home, we all told them about what happened, just to make sure that if anything were to occur to us, there was a backstory . Everytime i go out the house and come back i look around to see if that man is around. We never saw him again until a couple of days ago.
We received an alert from the student’s union saying that a young woman had disappeared in the south of the town, and they suspect a kidnapping, so they were urging everyone to be careful.
We didn’t hear much about it for a couple of days, until they found the woman’s body near the riverside one morning. A couple of hours later, they caught the guy and released his picture. It was that man who was at my doorstep.
I think it hasn’t entirely sunk in, what happened - or in this case, didn’t happen to ME- but it’s still disturbing to know that that poor woman could have been me, or even my roommate. Even though the man has been caught, I still look around my bloc whenever I leave home, or when I come home. |
Disclaimer : English is not my native language, so I probably did a lot of mistakes while typing this -sorry about that. Also, sorry if this post is too long. I've never posted anything here so I'm kinda new to this.
The story I want to share with you happened 1 year ago, not long after the beginning of the 1st semester. I was 20 by then and I used to hang out near my university a lot at this time of the year because the weather was still really nice and warm, and my university was adjacent to a park. As we had a 3-hours break, a friend of mine asked me if I wanted to eat lunch in the park rather than in the cafeteria. I said yes and we went there. It was a regular school day (probably a Thursday) and the place was filled with kids, students and people walking their dogs (so, not empty at all). It may seem odd to underline this but I rarely go by myself in a park if there’s no one else around because it makes me feel nervous, kind of vulnerable (I’m an overly anxious person, don’t judge me). But, this day, the place was crowded, and we hardly managed to find a place somewhere on the grass for us to sit.
We ate, talked and enjoyed the sunny weather for a good hour. After an hour, the park was way emptier than when we arrived, almost all the children had left, and we were quite on our own. As we both wanted to smoke a little before returning to classes (and now that we wouldn’t bother anyone with the smoke), we rolled two joints. I know it's not especially a good thing but it was our little habit when we hanged together (anyway, the past belongs to the past, right ?). I was focused on rolling up when my friend suddenly asked me "Do you see them ?". I looked in the same direction as her but I couldn’t see what she was talking about. She insisted "Those guys, with the bag. They are staring at us". And then I saw them. Fifty meters away from us, two guys (who seemed a little older than us) were standing in the middle of the way, looking intensely at us. They had literally no expression on their face.
I’m kind of used to « creepy » men, whether they are polite or much more intrusive (you know, those who follow you in the streets, those who inexplicably stare at you in the bus for 30 minutes, those who won’t leave your side until you give them your number...). It can be really easy to get rid of them but those kinds of encounters are often awkward, embarrassing or worst. So I felt a little uncomfortable, although I wasn't worried.
As I kept looking at them, I understood that they were going to talk to us. I asked my friend if she knew them, and she answered no, adding that she hoped they would not come over to say hi. Unfortunately, 3 minutes later, they were right in front of us, smiling. They were 2: the first to talk introduced himself as "Mani", he was a small and short-haired guy who was obviously on drugs (but I wouldn’t know which ones to be honest), the other one was a tall, pale, quiet guy. I can't remember his name (let's call him Steve to make things easier).
Mani talked and smiled a lot: he introduced himself and his friend, asked us about our day, praised the warm temperatures -he seemed either unable to shut up or desperately trying to play it cool with us. Before we could even tell them to leave, he invited himself to join us on the grass, assuming that we would be okay with it. As a « welcoming gift », he opened his bag (it was a huge plastic bag, one you would take to do some groceries) and showed us a 4.5 liters bottle of vodka. I couldn't help but judging them (it was like 1pm, in a park, in daylight, so it felt kinda ridiculous to me). His friend handed us a tiny (and already used) paper cup, but we declined the offer, saying that we needed to stay sober because we had classes to attend two hours later. Unfortunately, they had already drank a fair amount of vodka, and they kept insisting until my friend told them "I'm not the type of person who would drink vodka right after lunch. I either drink it on Friday night with my friends, or pass my turn. Don't ask us again."
I should tell you now; my friend is not a scaredy-cat at all, to be honest she's the bravest person I've ever met, and she's never uncomfortable in front of strangers. Usually, when she's bothered by a weird guy, she either acts weirder than him to make him feel more uncomfortable, or laughs it off (making jokes and acting friendly until she tells him to leave because she'd rather be alone) or, in the worst cases, she kicks his ass and leaves. So, even if she didn't want their company, she was still unperturbed and relaxed (way more than I was) and it felt good to have her by my side.
They must have felt that she was serious because they stopped insisting and instead they started to ask us things like 'Are you students ?", "Do you have a boyfriend ?", "Can I have your number ?" and so on. We were both in a relationship (and not interested in the two of them) but it didn't stop them from flirting. They kept complimenting us in a heavy, unpleasant, clumsy way, and we began to feel embarrassed -we could clearly tell that alcohol was unleashing them. They were annoyingly enticing, openly flirty, and it escalated quickly from sympathetic remarks on the way we were dressed to nasty sexual advances. As I said, we were not interested. But they didn't take "no" as an answer. I was so uncomfortable that I avoided eye contact as much as I could while trying to find a way for us to get out of this situation.
At this point, two other guys (supposedly their friends) came and sat with us, even though we didn't tell them that they could. They looked dirty, idle and stoned, and one of them had a scrawny dog full of fleas (not really reassuring) but we kept our thoughts for ourselves. My friend said something like "We should probably go back to college now" but it didn't work the way we planned ; they offered to come with us, claiming that it was not the first time that they crashed classes "just for fun". We replied "No, thanks, we don't want to get into troubles" but Mani insisted again. We declined, he kept insisting, saying "Don't worry. It's no big deal", and suddenly he pulled a gun out of his pants and brandished in front of us, with a proud expression on his face. We immediately stopped smiling. First, because we live in France (carrying guns is neither allowed nor usual) and second, because we felt trapped. The gun looked old but real, heavy and extremely dangerous in his drunken hands. It was not funny anymore. I was genuinely afraid of what would happen next.
One of his friends (the one with the dog, let's call him Nick) started to panic, got up and said "Are you fucking crazy ? Don't you know I got heroin on me ?", to which Mani replied "Chill out, there're no cops here.". His friend shook his head and took his bag, ready to get out of here. Then Mani pretended to be aiming at Steve, and he told us, with a big carnivorous smile, that he could totally shoot him without being in trouble. Steve seemed a little nervous. Nick walked away, yelling that he didn't want to be seen with us because it was too risky (and I couldn't disagree). We were in the middle of the day, in an almost empty park, so the scene seemed quite unreal. I just thought "Crap, I've never been this close to a gun, and its owner is a drunk man who doesn't want us to go". It looked bad.
He turned towards us, exhibited the weapon and asked for our opinion. "Do you like it ?" "I'm not a huge fan of guns", I replied. "Are you scared ?" "Maybe". I tried my best to hide the fact that I was scared because I didn't want him to notice it and to take advantage of me. Even my friend kept a fake smile on her face to keep up appearances. He quickly put it back in his pants and stared at us for a long time with a wary eye, after what he strangely asked "What did you see ?". I figured he was talking about the gun but I couldn't understand why he would ask such a thing (with such a suspicious tone). He asked again, so I said "I saw nothing" and he laughed. My answer may seem stupid but I didn't want him to feel proud or to give him this kind of power over us (by letting him know that we were afraid of the weapon). I thought it was stupid to carry a gun and to point it at his friend. But he simply kept laughing, and his laugh sounded awful to my ears, like the one of a cold-blooded sociopath. I was so nervous that my hands were shaking.
My friend must have noticed it because, all of a sudden, she took my arm and told everyone "Oh crap, we're late. We must go. Have a nice day" before running away. They shouted "Can we have your phone number at least ?" and she replied, without even looking back, "No, but have a nice day anyway!". We never walked so fast to get to classes than this day, even though we ended up not attending to the lecture because our teacher was sick (and we didn't know). We were still so astounded by what just happened that it took us several hours to process. And after that, we avoided the park for a long period of time.
So to the drunk, creepy guys of the park who had a gun for no reason, let's not meet again. Ever.
Edit: I want to add something because it may be confusing : we had no idea of who they were, what business they were in or what kind of things they could do. We could only make assumptions because, well, some of them were casually carrying hard drugs and “Mani” had a gun, but one thing was sure : they all seemed pretty fucked up as human beings. We could have asked them why they have those things on them but it felt too risky. We were two “defenseless” girls and it felt safer to stay quiet about those delicate subjects. We also never told the police because we had no idea of what proof/evidence we were supposed to give them. I hope it makes sense to you as well. |
Hello folks. I recall reading a few years ago a story that freaked me the F out, was wondering if anyone remembers it. A college aged kid and some friends went out onto some rural road in his college town. Basically what happens is a creepy older guy knew his name and after catching him and his buddies on this road, began to stalk him at the college and such to the point that this guy had to leave the college because he was so scared for his life. I hope that’s a good enough description, maybe someone remembers it. One of the creepiest things I’ve read on here... |
So I've recently discovered this page and thought I would share my "let's not meet" encounter. I'm not sure if it belongs here so just let me know if it would fit somewhere better.
So I lived in a pretty nice area with my husband and some family friends. We lived there for a few years with nothing "bad" happing around us. It felt like a very safe neighborhood. Now for context I'm a very short white female and I'm considered disabled even though I look fine, but I could never really beat anyone up since my disability has limited my activity severely. Anyways, onto the story.
This happened about a year before we moved. I had some stories pop up on facebook of some traffickers that were targeting women and children at a local store that we lived right behind. I was freaked out and so I made it a point to not go to the store without my husband. I still got the news articles about people being followed and grabbed and kidnapped from this store but I felt pretty safe as long as I didnt go anywhere without my husband.
I was going to work one day, I worked about 15 minutes away from our house. It was a call center kinda out in the middle of nowhere. There were fields every which way. I worked the afternoon shift and was one of the last people to leave at night.
I had to stop and get gas and was a little freaked out because I was scared to go anywhere without my husband but I wasnt going to make it to work and back home so I had no choice. I stopped at the station and was slightly relieved that it was super busy. I got out and started pumping my gas when this big van pulled up in the spot next to mine. A guy got out and started pumping his own gas then he walked around the pump and got in between my car and me. He smiled and said,
"Wow your car is so clean, how do you get it so clean?" I was flabbergasted at the question. My car was a mess, it was dirty with bugs and stuff on it. "Why dont you show me how you get it so clean," he reached out to touch me but I jerked back. Another car pulled up behind me and a guy got out. I think he freaked the other guy out because he walked back to his van. I quickly finished pumping my gas and got into my car, locked the doors and sped away.
A few minutes later I look out my window and the van is behind me, riding my bumper pretty much. I could see the guy smiling and laughing with some other guy. I was pretty freaked out but figured he was just going to the freeway. We past the freeway but he kept following me. Now I was very freaked out. The only place on this road now is my work. I called my husband but he didnt answer since he was at work. I was freaking out so I just picked up speed and continued to work. I kept looking back and the van was still there just a little farther back. I made it to work. It was a large building with lots of cars in the parking lot. I parked right in front of the doors in a handicapped spot and ran into the doors. I looked back through the locked doors and I saw the guy stopped in front looking pissed.
I ran up to my department and went right up to a friend who was ex military. He carried multiple guns on him at all times. I cried as I told him what happened.
I got to work and was still freaked out all day. We closed and I was walking down to my car. I peaked out the windows and saw the white van. I couldn't see anyone in there and I wasnt even sure it was the same van. I ran back to my department and told my friend what was going on. He pulled out his gun and walked me outside. The van had now moved to right behind my car. My friend walked me to his car, we got in and he drove me right up to my car. He then followed me all the way home and sat outside until I was inside the house. I could see the van following us but once we got passed the freeway he turned onto it.
The next afternoon on my way to work I passed the gas station and the van pulled out. Again they followed me to work but the turned away once I got to the parking lot.
This went on for about a week. They would follow me to work, leave then be outside when I was leaving and my friend would walk me out. My buddy told me that they were probably trying to learn my schedule so they could figure out a time to jump me. He insisted I take one of his guns just in case he wasnt there at work to walk me out. I didnt want it though as I was afraid that if I had it then I would get pulled over for something and get in trouble for having a gun not in my name and not having a permit for it.
I was telling my husband that evening about how this van was still following me and he suggested that I should call the cops and let them know. I honestly dont know why I didnt think of that. So the next morning when I was about to get ready for work I called. I told them everything. Then I left for work.
Just like clock work the van pulled out of the gas station and started following me. We were on the long stretch of road that nothing was on when I spotted a car parked off to the side of the road. I passed and then the can passed and then the lights came on. The van was pulled over.
I later found out that the men following me had several warrants for rape and attempted kidnapping. The back of the van had knives, rope, gloves, masks, chloroform and some other sketcy crap in it. The cops believe that I was going to be their next target.
When I got to work my friend wasnt there. He was sick. I'm glad I called the cops that morning because I dont think I would have made it home if he wasnt there to walk me out.
Anyways that's my creepy story I hoped you guys liked it. It is 100% true. We have since moved out and live in a not as nice area but so far i haven't noticed any creepy people around. But i always carry pepper spray whenever i go out. |
(I’m not from an English speaking country)
I’m a female college student and I live with my family in a an apartment in a big city. Where I come from it’s pretty normal to just go to the college near your house.
This happened on a weekend when my family and I had planned a trip abroad but last minute I had an exam rescheduled for that Monday so I decided not to go.
So it’s Thursday and my parents and siblings are leaving for the airport and a guy that they usually hire is taking them to the airport. My mom tells me that my maid is staying with me for the weekend and that I should call her if I need anything. I say goddbye and go back to studying.
So it’s now Thursday at around 9pm and I’m studying in the living room with my boyfriend so my maid tells me it’s getting late and she’s going to bed so I tell her that I’m going to bed soon too. An hour later my boyfriend leaves.
Its now around 10:30 pm and I’m getting ready for bed. I grab my dog (small Yorkie) and take her to my room to sleep with me.
So it’s now 11pm and I’m in bed looking at my notes when my dog starts growling at the door, but I tell her to shut up because Yorkers are nervous and bark all the time (at least mine does) so after she’s silent I get this adrenaline rush and stay very still and I hear steps on the corridor.
The floor is made of wood so when I hear specific creaks (sounds of wood bending ?) I know the steps are getting near my room. So at first I think it’s probably my maid making sure my boyfriend didn’t stay over, but when the footprints stopped at my door I started to freak out. I was even compelled to say ‘maids name’ he’s not here you can come in and check”, but somehow I knew it wasn’t her.
So I call my boyfriend and tell him someone’s in my house. He tells me to put on some shoes and check the other rooms. I really don’t want to, but I’m algo not going to sleep until I’m sure there’s no one.
I find some courage and put in some shoes and start walking ver slowly towards my sisters room and checking with my phone light I see it’s empty, their bathroom empty, my parents room empty. By this time in getting more relaxed because I think I must’ve imagined it. Then I go to my parents bathroom and it’s also empty. So I walk to their house closet and I scan the room with my phone light when I shed light on a human figure, and it was obviously not my maid but I say her name and the tall muscular body answers “no, it’s “guys name” the driver that took my parents to the airport.
I freeze and try to act cool he invents some petty excuse “I was checking the windows were closed” I tell him it’s late he leaves the house and the I called my parents to verify his excuse. ( he was obviously lying) and then he has the audacity to ask me via WhatsApp if I want him to drive me to college tomorrow.
Never saw him again, and I hope we don’t meet again |
I moved a lot growing up. by the time freshman year of highschool came around i had moved 7 or so times, and was about a year and a half into my most recent move. i had found a pretty close group of friends in middle school and we all went to highschool together.
I met him through one of those close friends. they were in band together, and even though he was almost four years older than us we welcomed him into our group. Sam was easily twice my size, tall and heavy set, and originally kind of intimidating (although i was never afraid of large men before him, lesson learned).
I had a kindof bad home life, and i spend as much time as i could at school, some times hanging around the school campus until six or seven at night with this friend group. three of us lived in the same direction and we would walk the half hour trip together until our paths split. one slightly colder evening Sam offered to walk me home since the others had gone home already. i just thought he was being a gentleman. he mentioned something from a previous move when he lived in California. he didn't walk a friend home and something horrible happened. he left it at that, and i let him walk me home.
We got a lot closer after that. we bonded over both living in California and exchanged numbers. he would message me late into the night about his depression and self harm and i just wanted to help.a few months later he tried asking me out. it was this big romantic gesture, he learned a Disney song on the ukelele and sang to me in the cafeteria. but i was already dating someone, and when i turned him down he got angry. a freaky, quiet, twitchy kind of angry. i felt so bad.
I started seeing him everywhere. we were still friends, we still hang out in groups, but i would pass him on the street walking somewhere and a few minutes later id see that he changed directions and had started to follow me. he would 'walk' me to classes by following me in passing period at a distance. i started to minimize the group time we spend together and he would follow me more. i had friends meet me at each class and walk me to my next one because i felt unsafe. he knew where i lived.
then he started to talk. not to me, but to mutual friends about that one girl in California who he tried to walk home. at first, she just shared my name, some crazy coincidence. then she had the same brown curly hair and blue eyes. and every time he rambled about her she became more and more like me. and then he said what happened. Over literal weeks this fantasy evolved. they were walking home and they were jumped by some guy with a knife. it was a robbery gone wrong on her birthday, January 24th (my birthday) and she died horribly and he couldn't react in time. she bled out in his arms. Sarah, who has brown curly hair, blue eyes, my name, my birthday and sounds just like me bled out in his arms.
each retelling added more and more detail, and this guy with his sick fantacy about my death would follow me around and knew where i lived. my boyfriend was abusive, mentally and physically, but i stayed as close to him as i could when ever i could, because if the worst happened i knew for sure he could throw a punch. I never felt safe at school or in our little town walking home from school in the dark.
One day at school he had a break down, freaked out and ran out of the school in a panic. i was sent after him and i found him curled up on the floor. I got closer, i knew about his anxiety and depression and my safety aside i wanted to make sure he was okay. it was then that he told me this horrifying story that i had been hearing from mutual friends with added details.
We had been walking home from a concert in California. we passed a dark alley and a homeless man came out with a rusty knife and asked for anything valuable. I fumbled for my phone, I didn't have anything else on me, and he thought I was calling the cops. he stabbed me. once, twice, again and again, and Sam stood there horrified. he saw red and grabbed a broken glass bottle near my body and attacked the homeless man. he killed him with his own knife. He told me he killed someone. my stalker killed someone.
It didn't matter how messed up he was anymore. i didn't care if it was a fantasy or real, i didn't care how it would affect his mental health anymore. i wanted to go to the police. i was scared for my life. my friends convinced me to go to the school counselor first. that morning we went and told them everything. the stalking, the stories, how he admitted to murder and that was the reason they moved from California. how i was afraid for my life and wanted to call the police. the counselor didn't take us seriously. she went to the principle and the principle (not a mental health expert) called Sam in to talk about the accusations. the principle then informed me that he did not think that Sam had any kind of mental illness or that i was in any danger, and that was that.
i lost faith in adults, gave up on going to the police. i stayed with my friend walking me in between classes, hiding behind my abusive boyfriend, and looking behind me every step of my walk home that year. the counselors ended up gaslighting us to the point where this all feels like a fever dream now, and i would think its made up if it weren't for my journal entries recording the events and my growing panic, and the similar stories from my friend group.
Edit: clarifying some confusion, I don't think anyone actually died in california. I think he is a pathological liar and that he was so deep in a fantasy that he had convinced himself it was real. No, I wasn't physical hurt. But it was emotionally scarring and the threat that he posed to me was 100% real
hey sam, let's not meet again. |
This happened to me when I was about 12 or 13 years old so about 15 years ago and I am a female. The town that I live in has developed a lot since this story, but when this happened there were a lot of factories spread out with lots of land in between them. There was a Walmart being built in the area, but it had barely started construction. There was a main highway that ran through there, but my mom didn't like taking it as much as traffic would get bad most of the time. The side streets we would take were desolate and not much light. There was, also little to no cars taking these streets.
I can't remember where we were coming from that night, but in the car that night was my mom, my brother (who is three years younger than me), and me. My mom is obviously driving, I'm in the passenger seat, and my brother is sitting behind me. My mom is the sweetest person ever, but is very adamant that she will never stop to help somebody on the side of the road or pick somebody up especially when her kids were in the car. She does, however, makes sure she calls the police so that they can help.
It was around 9pm and we are going home when my mom and I spot someone on the side of the road by the passenger side with their hood up. Nothing out of the ordinary as my mom slows down a little since it is dark outside and doesn't want to harm anybody that might be fixing their car. As soon as we are close to the car this guy steps out from around the hood of the car towards the street and is waving us down. I don't remember much of a description because I wasn't paying too much attention, plus I could barely see the man, but I do remember feeling bad we weren't at least going to stop to see what he needed. The man at this point is in the middle of the road waving his hands, but as we come up on the car we don't see anybody else in the car. So my mom swerves around him and tells my brother to find her phone in her purse that was in the floor between the front and back seats. I look at my mom as she looks in her rear view mirror and her face goes white and her eyes get wide.
My mom slams her foot on the accelerator. This is highly unusual for my mom as she is really good at going the speed limit. At this point, I know something is wrong. My mom's voice goes high and in a panicked voice is asking my brother where is her phone. I'm yelling at her, "What is going on?!" All this chaos is freaking my brother out and with him being so little is crying and can't find the phone. My mom keeps her eyes on the road, but keeps glancing up continuously at her rear view mirror and finally answers, "He's following us!"
I'm not exactly sure what she is talking about, but know that this isn't a good situation. My mom is speeding towards the highway and thank goodness there is no traffic. I look in the back window and see somebody passing cars trying to keep up with my mom. I ask her where she's going and she told me she's heading to the police station. As we are getting close my mom tells me to jump out of the car as soon as she stops the car and grab my brother from the back seat while she runs around the car to meet us. My mom stops right in front of the police station and doesn't even wait for the car to fully come to a stop before she puts the car in park. I open my car door as fast as I can and grab my brother who has quickly opened his door. I take off in a full sprint with my brother in one hand and my mom on the other hand. Once we finally talk to a police officer is when I finally understand the full extent of what happened.
My mom told the police officer that once we had passed the guy with a broke down car he quickly ran to the hood of his car and slammed it. He, then, got into his car and sped after us. That was when my mom knew this guy had horrible intentions for us. She said he kept trying to speed up to get on the side of us, but she was able to speed up to avoid that. Once my mom turned toward the police station she said the guy had stopped following her, but still wanted to get to the police station instead he changed his mind. She gave the best description of the guy and his car, but because everything happened so fast she didn't get a license plate number.
I'm pretty sure the police never found him. I'm, also, not sure what the guy had planned for us if we had actually stopped to help, but I know it was nothing good. To the guy that faked his car being broke down on an empty street, let's not ever meet again. |
So, this happened a year ago, and I’m still pretty shaken by this whole event. I thought I’d tell my story.
I live in the UK and in autumn, it gets dark at around 4PM.
There was a school autumn break that week so all the kids were at home, so that means my girlfriend’s brother was home too. I’d been with her for a year at that point so her family knew me pretty well and her brother enjoyed my company. She’d recently been pretty stressed out. Her parents were going out across the country for the day so she had to look after her brother, but I thought that I’d give her a day to herself so she can just cool off. I asked her parents if I could look after their son for the day instead and they agreed.
So I came around at 8AM and they let me in before they set off. My girlfriend’s brother woke up about an hour later and she followed shortly afterwards. We went out for breakfast at a local cafe together and went back to her house when we were done, and once I dropped her off I took her brother to the park.
We got there at about 2PM and the place was pretty packed. Eventually the sun started going down and the place was completely empty by 4PM. I texted my girlfriend and told her we’d be home in a bit, and she said okay. I’m gonna be honest, I completely lost track of time, me and her brother were having fun being the only two in the park.
Me and her brother were stood on top of this really tall climbing frame with a slide on it. It was almost pitch black at this point so I was using my phone as a flashlight. A notification popped up on my screen, and it was my girlfriend asking where we were - I responded “oops, coming home now!!” and told her brother we had to go. He sighed and asked if we could go down the slide, and I said yes.
Before I went down, I knew what the park looked like. There were street lights all around it, benches everywhere, some trees, and places for the kids to play. When I came out of the slide, there was something weird - a man had appeared out of nowhere and was stood beneath one of the street lights. He had a trench coat on and a beanie hat.
I immediately got my girlfriend’s brother behind me and called out to the man with a friendly ‘hi there!’ I got a response - he started... groaning? I noticed he was swaying back and forth in the light, and he had his mouth open, drooling, with a blank look in his eyes. This man made me feel really fucking uneasy. I picked little bro up and kept checking on this guy the entire time. There was an exit to my left that led to the path back home, so I left out that way and kept checking behind me every few seconds - the guy was still stood there.
The path where the guy was stood merges with a big main path if you walk out through some bushes, and so does the one I walked through.
I was walking down the path for about two minutes, periodically checking behind me, and thought I was in the clear.
I wasn’t.
I was on a straight stretch of path with lots of street lights when I saw him again. He was stood beneath one, looking up at it, and he was playing with something in his hands - I looked closer and realised it was a fucking knife. I kept walking and walking, checking behind me constantly. Girlfriend’s little brother was so scared he had his head tucked into my chest. I noticed that the guy seemed to be moving to new street lights whenever I turned around - initially I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but I started counting them and realised 2 streetlights behind him had definitely turned into 5. I could faintly hear the groaning noise, and he was occasionally moaning as well.
I picked up the pace a bit and turned a corner, getting into the last stretch of street before I got to my girlfriend’s house. That was when I heard him behind the row of bushes - that moaning noise sounded angry, and I heard his heavy footsteps bounding down the path. The man was fucking running.
I immediately broke into a sprint and didn’t stop until I turned an alleyway at the front of the street and got behind my girlfriend’s house. There’s a big bush there, so I crouched down behind that and spammed her phone with messages to open the back gate. I hugged her brother close until she opened it for us and got us in quickly. It felt like years.
I went to the front of the house and had it confirmed that I’d managed to shake him - he was now in the street... circling where I’d been, outside of the alleyway, just moments ago. He was still moaning. He had that knife in his hand still. He started kicking people’s bins over. I called the police immediately, but he was gone by the time they arrived and as far as I know they never found him. There was a similar incident near the area a few months ago I saw in a local Facebook group, but I don’t think anything came of that either.
Her parents thanked me for keeping their son safe and didn’t hold any ill will against me for the situation. He went back to normal pretty much the day afterwards, but he still has nightmares about the event. When my country isn’t in lockdown I’m still allowed to look after him with my girlfriend, funnily enough. But we haven’t been to that park ever since, and I still check over my shoulder and break into a cold sweat every time I’m alone in the street. |
Hey everyone!
November 15th marks the 9th birthday of /r/LetsNotMeet and we decided to celebrate by holding a competition to design the subreddit’s banner! Because LNM is focused on true stories, we wanted to give you, the readers of LNM, an opportunity to show us your creative sides!
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This happened when I was 12 and my brother was 17 and is truly proof that the living are more terrifying than the dead. I think about this every Halloween. This IS NOT a paranormal story. The community I grew up in was made up mostly of Hispanic people so the folklore of La Llorona was very popular in the area and especially around Halloween.
#x200B;
For those of you who don't know the myth of la Llorona is basically a story about a woman who married a rich man had a perfect life and then the man cheated on her. She was so distraught that she took her children to the river and drown them. When she realized what she had done she threw herself in the river and drown herself, but she couldn't pass on to the afterlife without her children so she roams the river looking for her kids. If she spots living children, she will grab them and drown them to take them to the afterlife with her. The story is meant to keep kids from playing in the River.
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Most of my friends that year were "too cool and grown-up" to go trick or treating that year and were planning on having a party instead. I was really disappointed and asked my brother if he would take me trick or treating. He agreed and we went while it was still light outside so I would be able to make it to the party before the end of the night.
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Since we had gone too early there weren't a lot of people ready to hand out candy, so after a disappointing trek, we started walking back home. On our way home, we passed by a park that had a river running next to it. On Halloween older teens would usually wait at this park to try to see if they could spot La Llorona. Waiting to spot La Llorona at this particular park was a well-known town tradition that people had done for decades, that still continues to this day.
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However, there were no kids or teens there yet because it was still kind of early. But there were people in the park putting on a Llorona play. We decided to stop and watch it. There was really not much of an audience. It seems like it was just us and another few kids who were apart of the group putting on the play who were not in costumes and didn't have trick or treating buckets with them. When we sat down a woman approached us and asked us if we were trick or treating. I told her we were and she dropped a small comic book in my trick or treat bag and smiled. She seemed very kind and welcoming.
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The play started and I got the weird feeling that something was off. The woman playing La Llorona pointed my brother and me out in the tiny audience and asked us what religion we were, to which my brother responded "Roman Catholic." She then told us that La Llorona was also a Roman Catholic and was burning in hell for her sins and rejecting Jesus. She then told us that Halloween was an evil holiday and everyone celebrated would burn forever. The play progressed to getting weirder and weirder and including a scene where La Llorona started talking about abortion and held up a fake fetus and pretended to eat it.
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My brother and I got up to leave but the people stopped us and started yelling at us to sit down, but we kept going. They started following us down the street and my brother grabbed my hand and started running because he was afraid they were going to harm us. We finally got to our street and only about 3 people were still following us yelling at us about how we were going to go to hell and we needed to accept Jesus. My brother and I went inside quickly and he locked the front doors and then frantically ran around the house making sure all doors and windows were locked before he called our dad at his office. Our dad told us to call the police and that he'd be home in 15 minutes.
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When my dad got home the people were still outside chanting and singing some prayer song asking God to save my brother's and my soul. My dad shooed them away and told them the police would be there any second. They were not deterred and stayed there chanting until the police showed up and threatened to arrest them.
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I was so freaked out by the events that I decided I didn't want to go to the party and instead just wanted to organize my Halloween candy and put aside all the snickers for my brother as a thank you for taking me trick or treating. Snickers were his favorite. My mom ordered pizza and we sat down to watch Halloween Town, while I went through my trick or treat bag. I was halfway through sorting my candy when I came across the comic book that the lady had dropped in there. I opened it up and it truly horrified me.
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It was a propaganda comic about a little boy who went to a haunted house, ended up being hit by a car on the way home, and went to hell because he hadn't found Jesus. I was really scared and for weeks as a child, I had nightmares about the event and the comic book.
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Years later, I asked my mom if she remembered it and she told me that she couldn't forget and that she and my father had called the police over it several times. Apparently, for years the group would leave envelopes with mine and my brothers named written on it with different weird creepy comic books and handwritten notes about how they were praying for us. Also, invitations to join them in their church and weird promises about baking us cakes and other creepy ways to entice our childselves into their church. To this day we can't figure out how they knew our names or who wrote the letters. It really creeps me out that they did this.
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These links will take you to the posts on the ios app! If you’re using desktop or it doesn’t work, I recommend searching the titles in the subreddit:) Thank you again for all the support, it’s been overwhelming!
*Stories from the woods, forests, national parks and camping*
*Scary stories that AREN’T about woods, forests, camping or national parks*
I hope you enjoy!!! Have a scary day! |
True scary story
When I (female) was 7 years old my brother and I had a babysitter. One afternoon my parents were both away and my little brother and I played with our babysitter. Suddenly the phone rang and I always loved to talk to people on the phone. A man was calling and he was very friendly. He asked if my parents were home and I told him that they will be back within maybe an hour. He asked me how I was and what I was doing and was just very friendly. It did not come to my mind to ask who this person was, I just thought it probably is one my parents friends and I've always been bad at recognizing people on the phone. And the man clearly knew my parents names and some informations that gave me the feeling that he is a friend. This also happenend in the 90's and our telephone at that time did not show the number of who was calling. We chatted for a couple of minutes until the man suddenly stopped to talk to me. I asked if he was still there and after a weird pause his friendly voice suddenly dropped and in a raspy and extremely creepy voice he asked if I would like to go to heaven or hell.
I froze. There was silence on the other line and I could hear heavy breathing, it sounded very creepy. I ended the call and felt very ashamed because now I remembered how my parents always tell me to ask who was on the line and to just talk to people I know. I went back to the babysitter and as she asked me who called I told her it was my granny since I felt ashamed of what just happened. For the rest of the day I felt a bit uneasy but it was all forgotten the next day.
A couple of days later it was wednesday (my dudes) and in the evening there was always an hour in between where I was alone at home. My mother went to a swimming course with my brother and my dad was a soccertrainer. The soccerfield was across the street from our house and when I turned 7 I was allowed to stay home alone since I always hated to come with my dad. I always enjoyed that hour of me time and played on my gameboy. Suddenly the phone rang and I supposed it was either my mom or dad to ask if everything is okay. I said "hello" and I just heard heavy breathing on the other line. I immediately felt uneasy and asked who was there and then I heard the raspy voice again asking me if i want to go to heaven or hell. I immediately ended the call and felt very uneasy und unsafe. The phone rang again and I did not pick up. It rang again after not even a minute and I thought about the possibility of it just being one of my parents so I picked it up again. I did not say anything but I immediately heard heavy breathing again. After this I called my dad and he told me to just ignore the phone since it is probably just a stupid prank and that he would be home in ten minutes.
When my dad arrived the calls stopped and I felt stupid and I was not sure if my parents believed me. For the following weeks I always came with me dad on wednesdays since I did not feel safe at home. But since that night the calls stopped and neither me nor my parents were on the phone with the strange man. After maybe a month I felt safe to stay home alone again since I agreed with my parents that it was just a stupid prank from one of the older kids living on our street.
After not even ten minutes of being alone the phone rang and I immediately felt unsafe again. But again I thought that my parents probably called to ask if I was okay. I picked up and there was the breathing again. I said nothing, I was frozen and could not believe that this happened again. How could this person always know at what time I was home alone? The voice asked in his raspy voice "So I assume you would prefer heaven, right? So.. I could get you there.." I started crying and ended the call. I got my jacket and was about to put on my shoes to walk to the soccerfield to be with my dad. We were living on the first floor and I went to the staircase to get out. When I looked down I could see someone standing outside through the frosted glass window in our door. I froze. I watched the door and waited for our upstairs neighbour to open the door but the figure just waited. After a minute my heart dropped as our doorbell rang. And it did not stop, the person pressed their finger on the bell constantly. Someone was outside and it was clearly none of my parents since they both have keys. I felt like throwing up when I realized that we have a spare key under a plant pot next to our door, so in the most obvious spot you could imagine. I was so afraid that the person on the other side of the door would find the key.
I ran upstairs and luckily our neighbour was home. He was a very friendly man and a good friend of my parents. He let me in and tried to calm me down. He went on the balcony and screamed to the person down there to get the fuck away or he would call the police. It was already dark outside but he could see a figure in black clothes running away from our house. Afterwards he called my dad and he immediately came home.
If this was not enough there are two details I just found out a couple of years ago since my dad back then did not want to scare me: When he came to the house a white teddy with angel wings was placed in front of our door, my dad threw it away immediately. And the most shocking thing: Our spare key was gone. My dad and one of his friends changed our lock the same night this happened and we moved to another area of the city a couple of months later. This was the last time something like this happened. The worst part is that it must have been someone living nearby or a friend of the family since he had many details of our family when we first talked and he always knew exactly when I was home alone. We knew all of our neighbour since it was a very quiet street and they were all families and very nice. To this day I always feel like throwing up when I get an anonymous call. |
True story,
My name is Shen, I live in France, an i’m sorry for my bas english,
If I remember correctly, it was 2017 when this story happened.
We had my half brother and I 18 and 19 years old, we lived in France, only the mother of my half brother she, lives in Morocco, and so every year we spend a little stay there that he goes to see her, I had my license at that time and so we had the idea to go by car and go through Spain in order to visit a bit.
We take the road from the French Riviera, 3 days of driving we expect, including of course the two nights at the hotel. Everything is going well in Spain, it is time to take the boat from the port of Malaga to go to Morocco where we arrive in Tangier, it is around 5.30pm when we arrived at the hotel in Rabat (city in Morocco)
We are settling in there everything is fine, this is where things start to get weird.
In booking our room the hostess was very helpful and professional, however with my brother we are starting to find it quite curious, "What time exactly are you leaving tomorrow?" Do you plan to take breaks on the road? where exactly are you going, where exactly is your car parked? "She tells us it's to clean the car, we just make the remark between my brother and I without really dwelling on it.
The hostess asked us which road we were planning to take to get to Marrakech, she suggested we take the road towards Casablanca and is very insistent there without giving us time to answer, she told us that it will allow us to see beautiful landscapes etc, and unfortunately, we followed his advice.
the day is breaking, the car has not been washed, but in short, my brother and I being very tired, we slept late until 12 noon, we decided to visit tangier a little before hitting the road.
It is 10 p.m., after eating we decide to hit the road, I prefer
driving at night makes me more comfortable in these conditions.
Everything is going well, we listen to music, we take breaks on some kind of highway air, having dragged around a bit it is getting late, we have 3 hours of road left before arriving, it is around midnight , we're back on the road.
On the highway, there are very high lampposts, some of which were not functional, so there were many areas where it was quite dark, I decided to be extra vigilant, continuing, I saw a group of nobody, around 7, behind security guardrails, I saw them quite quickly, but they were crouching, as if they were trying to hide while watching the road. My brother at that time was asleep.
I keep driving without really asking myself a question, but I found it strange, I put myself in full headlight, and the second I do, I see a man in the right lane, I had to go at 120 -130 km / h on the center lane, I slowed down and reduced my speed to around 100 km / h, the man in question must have been in his forties, and there he rushes to my car and throws a rock , or rather a big stone on my windshield! I crush the brake pedal, in the incomprehension of what has just happened and under the shock, I stop, by removing the belt, by reflex, my eyes it directs towards the rearview mirror, I see a dozen of person running towards my car, I could not see really well knowing that it was dark, but I saw that they did not present empty hands (sticks, picks etc) taken with fear I click the first and crush the accelerator pedal.
I speak to my brother at that moment while looking in the retro, he does not answer, I turn my gaze to him, he is unconscious, his skull is wide open, blood is flowing, the stone that has been launched is at his feet.
Lost, I don't know what to do, I try to put my hand at the level of the impact he had on the skull to reduce the blood flow while driving, I cry out his first name but he does not respond and does not react, it is late nobody on the road, the few cars that I see, do not stop, I do not know where we are, where is the hospital? What am I going to do? A man comes up to me, he looks at me, I wave to him that I need help, he stops.
I speak Arabic, I understand it, but to speak it I have to reflect on my words, and in panic it is not possible, but luckily, he speaks French. I explain the situation to him, he tells me that he will come with me in my car and guide me to the hospital, that he just has to get his phone in his car and that he will come back to his car by taxi, the situation is strange, it was cold and, why not just guide me from his car.
With my brother and the hospital in mind as my only goal, I didn't think about it and accepted.
He climbs in the back, and I start to ride, he says apologetically for not introducing himself his name is Said, and to take the first exit after about ten km. I introduce myself in turn by giving my first name.
Someone chose to beep in the car, it's the phone he went to pick up in his car, except that it wasn't a phone but a walkie-talkie, the questions multiply in my head, and the conversation m 'an iced sung.
They speak Arabic and I understand them, I am Algerian and the Moroccans have the same language with a few words, except that he does not know it, Saïd said to his interlocutor while speaking Arabic "it is not them, it is not them is not the right first name "the interlocutor asks him if he is sure and Saïd tells him that" yes, she told us the first name marc "the interlocutor says" he saw your face, we will have to 'we get rid of him anyway' and gives him an address to follow.
I am frozen, I look at my brother, who still does not move, I try to find a solution to get out of this situation, I try to keep my calm.
Saïd tells me not to take the planned exit but the next time he tells me it will be easier.
So I followed this instruction, if I had refused he would surely have suspected something, we exceeded the planned exit, 2 minutes passed, it was the two most minutes of my life, I see a vehicle that appears to belong to or a certain police brigade, it is necessary
Let them know I'm in danger, but how do I tell them? I decide to put myself at their level but Saïd says I mustn't.
I am trapped, I am 5 meters away, I decide to make a single call of the headlight to attract their attention and that they see the windshield totally break so that they stop me, Saïd raises the tone and I say to be careful and not to start over, but it's too late, they signal me to stop, I stop, Saïd tells me "it's not over" and runs away from the car.
They were gendarmes, I go to them in panic, and explain the situation as best I can in Arabic. They call an ambulance which arrives quickly, my brother is brought to the hospital, and he is immediately transferred to France to the Toulon military hospital in which he will be plunged into an artificial coma for 3 weeks, his skull has been broken on the right side above his eye, he lost sight of the right eye, today everything is better, he regains his sight little by little and takes it back to life.
Saïd has not been found but the man who threw the stone (6.4kg) was found and identified he is known for several beatings in an organized gang, he is serving a 40-year sentence, and the most shocking is yet to come, the woman who was the hostess was part of the coup, but she has disappeared.
The inspector explained their way of working to me, the hostess spots people passing by the hotel and who are foreigners, when she asks where the car is, it is to transmit the license plate and that they can recognize the target, that's why she insisted that we take the road to Casablanca.
They rob people, get rid of them and take their cars. However I explained the conversation between Said and the man who threw the stone, when he told him "it's not them it's not them it's not the right name"
The inspector told me that we were very lucky then and that he could not explain the situation to me on that. But surely he knew the reasons.
I decided to do some research on my own, and there have already been stories like this where families with infants were attacked, and only infants disappear.
In the end, I think they were wrong because when the hostess asked us what time we were going to leave I said we were leaving around 5pm but we only left the hotel at 5pm, we got on the road at 10pm, they had our license plate but not the people they expected, and the group of criminals were probably expecting other people than us. |
Me and my mother were driving through our small town in South West Virginia, my mother and father are divorced, and he lived in Tennessee (which is relevant to a story I’ve posted before, not necessarily to this one) anyways, they had very different viewpoints on helping out hitchhikers as my dad was very much into hiking, camping, etc., but, there was a woman walking down the road mind you it’s very hot outside it’s the summer time and I noticed she was carrying a child swaddled up in a blanket, which struck me as a poor choice considering it was the middle of summer, just seems too warm for a swaddle. So, I said to mom “we really need to pick that woman up surely she isn’t far from where she needs to go but she has a baby” and to my surprise, my mom pulls into the gas station parking lot tells me to go in and get a large bottle of water and we will ask her if she would like a ride. So, we pull out of the gas station and approach the thin, almost sickly looking woman and she very quietly just grabbed the door handle and got inside, not saying anything at all not even a thank you which really didn’t sit right with me because this is the south, everyone is friendly and approachable (for the most part) so we ask where she’s needing to go and me being in the passenger seat I turn to look at her and she’s looking down at her “baby” and cooing at it, she replies without ever looking up from the swaddled being “about 2 miles past the Dollar General on Jeb Stuart” we were very close to that area.
I decided to turn and speak to the woman and maybe get a conversation going, but as I get a better look at her “baby” it actually was a drywall hammer wrapped up in a blanket, inside another blanket. I froze, it was like I walked into a deep freezer, I told my mom that I really think we should stop because I hear what sounds like knocking and was very adamant, we needed to stop at the upcoming Dollar General. As we pull in, I told my mom to get out of the car that I needed her help locating the noise and we met each other at the hood of the car where I told her “mom that’s not a baby, she has a hammer in that blanket” to which my mother advised me that we should walk inside to “see if they had anything to help close that up” and told the woman we would be right back, we walked inside and told them to call the police so that they could help this woman that we could no longer have her in our vehicle and explained why, my mom gave her some vague reason as to why we couldn’t take her further and she got out of the vehicle very angrily but almost confused and we left her in the parking lot. She very well could’ve just been a really confused woman maybe with some mental issues, I don’t know what was going on with her but I do know that I don’t think she had good intentions for us. So, to the lady with the drywall hammer, let’s not meet again. |
So title says it all... here’s what’s happened..
We were on a family holiday abroad years ago I think I was 14 at the time.. my sisters 16 at the time and the toddler was our cousin she was about maybe 2 years old maybe a bit older...
So we headed out during the evening to have dinner and just after that we’ll walk through the towns and maybe stop at a few bars for drinks...
As we were walking through this town a man who was I’ll say badly dressed as a clown approached my sister..
Bare in mind my sister is afraid of clowns no matter how good or badly dressed they are...
she was carrying our cousin on her hip and the clown looked at our cousin and said hello to her making her laugh as clowns do... my sister on the other hand just froze... I was standing by watching this happening kinda laughing at the fact my sister was crapping herself (I was a savage sister!)
And next thing without asking or anything he takes my cousin from my sister and then of course I thought woah! Hey!
I shouted over to my parents and my aunt and uncle...
My dad comes over and says “hey what do you think you’re doing with my niece as he was trying to get her back out of his arms but when he tried to get her the clown would just turn away or push my dad back..
The clown says “I thought you would like a take a photo.... do you not want to take a photo??”
My aunt comes over but scared out of her mind thinking that clowns trying to kidnap her daughter...
We all just gather round the clown trying to pry my cousin from this clowns arms but every time he just kept pulling away or pushing us back...
Then next thing my dad had enough he approached the clown and said “let go of my niece right now” grabbing him by the neck
In the end he put her down and my dad picks her up and hands her to his sister in law...
Then the guy just casually says “oh okay too bad you don’t want to take a photo” and hands my cousin a lollipop...
We just headed back to the hotel and kinda thought nothing of it but the next day we saw him again as we were at a restaurant this time he took someone else’s kid like away from the parents into some room my dad spotted him as he cane out the toilets and stopped him thinking he grabbed my cousin again but it was someone else... but he headed back to the table... and ate his dinner but then for a second he felt something wasn’t right so he went back to the clowns room...
I didn’t know what went down when he went back but he came back out holding this other kids hand and asked her where her parents were assuming they were in the same restaurant but nope they weren’t
They were at some other place... my dad took the kid back to her parents and said don’t let that clown anywhere near your kids... and told them what he tried to do with my cousin
I was kinda freaked out thinking this clown was probably a pedophile |
This story is a tad lengthy, but I’ll try to make it as short and sweet as possible. This incident happened when I was 14 yrs old I’m now 23. My dad was at the time a white water raft guide and would often be out of town during peak seasons leaving me, my older sister of 7 years, and my step mother at our home nestled in front of the Cherokee National Forest in East Tennessee. It was later in the evening of a Friday night and me and my sister decided we wanted to go get Subway before they closed, so we asked our step mom and she said sure, so, my sister and I get in the car and head to Subway which was only a couple miles away. As we pull out from a stop sign at an intersection, I notice a car get behind us, not unusual just that we lived in a sleepy small town so maybe I knew them? Anyways, didn’t think about it. We arrive at Subway which is in a shabby shopping center where an old Whites Grocery store that was right beside of the restaurant, it’s dark at this point and the car pulls into the dark, unlit parking lot where a lot of local high schoolers hung out, I quickly thought it was just another teen hanging out. I was wrong.
We finish our order and leave with our food in our hands and I notice the cars headlights flick on as we’re opening our car doors, I then mentioned it to my sister and she shrugged it off, so we drove away from Subway to the exit of the parking lot and the unknown driver of this white Ford Probe floored it across the parking lot running over the curb to keep behind us, this definitely scared my older sister. There’s multiple ways to get to our house, so we took the more intricate and confusing way to someone who doesn’t know where they’re going, we were scared and just wanted to get home, the vehicle kept up with us until a few turns before our neighborhood. As I mentioned before, we lived on top of a hill and the forest was behind us but in front of us were three streets, forming a valley like structure. We get closer to our house and since we lost the follower we figured we were being paranoid. We get into our driveway and walk inside and kind of jokingly tell our story to our stepmom, and in the midst of this story, we see headlights from a car in front of our house, my sister looks out the window...it’s the White Probe. We’re scared at this point cause this person either was very aware of where we lived or was a neighbor we weren’t aware of. They sit outside our house for what seems like a really long time and before my stepmom gets her phone to call my father to ask if he would have any idea as to who this was, they drive off. Odd right? We sit and eat our food, uncomfortable, but trying to shrug it off, we see the old vehicle outside again..and 4 more times later my father was called. He wasnt sure who it was but assured us we were okay that we had firearms in the house and we lived in a safe neighborhood that’s all he could do through a phone call and in Florida, maybe it was someone who was lost? Or thought they knew my sister? We didn’t know.
My stepmom has to work the next day and since it was the weekend, me and my sister slept in late. We woke up around 11am and decided to play some video games. Shortly after we started playing, there’s a knock on our front door. Nobody should be knocking. We don’t answer. It keeps going and is getting harder, now from our living room you could see into the kitchen, my dad being a nature lover, had built a ceiling to floor window in the kitchen to sip coffee and watch nature...this is important. The knocking subsides and my sister is trying to find her Motorola flip phone to call our step mom and police. As she’s doing that we both see this man peering inside our large kitchen window and as we make eye contact he turns and walks up the hill into the National Forest. The police arrive several minutes later and so does our stepmom who was also beside herself, the police ask if we knew who this could possibly be and why whoever this was would’ve left a note on our door. “A note on our door?” I thought...till we are reading the poorly written note that was written on a torn corner of a piece of sticky pad paper that read “I wasn’t planning on hurting anyone” we told the officers what happened and that he went up the hill into the forest so they did a quick scan and said they didn’t see anyone and that we really just need to keep everything locked up for awhile, be vigilant, and if we experienced this again to give them a call...we moved shortly thereafter this event for other reasons, but..
To the man driving the white Ford Probe...lets not meet. |
It happened to me a few months ago, and until this day, I don't have any clue of what could have happened to me that night. We were 17.
My two friends and I went for a week to my country house, and since we can't drive, my dad dropped us there on Monday and would come to pick us back at the end of the week.
So the days went by, and everything went very well, we had a lot of fun, and one of my two friends went back to town one day before me and my friend Maeva (my name is Marie) since she had to work the day after. So the last day, we were just two. At like 9 pm, we decided to make a campfire while it was still clear and go back inside to play some games and drink, you know since it was our last day. That night my dad was coming back later at night, so he could enjoy his morning in the country instead of doing a one-shot 4 hours ride the next day.
At 11 pm, my dad arrived, and we were pretty drunk, so we went to our campfire not to disturb anybody since we were a little loud. At midnight, I proposed Maeva to take a walk to get some fresh air, listening to some music since we had a lot of energy. You need to know that I know this place by heart and go there since I was born, and nothing ever happened to me. My dad always goes there for a walk late at night on his own or with his friends to look at the stars. There is a like 10 min walk that forms an L where you are on a rocky little road surrounded by forest and houses times to times. Usually, I would have been too scared to go where there is no light, but I was drunk and wasn't thinking straight.
So we started walking and arrived at the intersection of the street, where there was light. We stopped and put some music on as we saw at the end of the road. Where there is the highway, there was another light. We decided to walk further to finish our ride. When we arrived, we thought it was so cool, there was nobody on the highway since it was 1 am, and we stopped a second to dance and take a video. I then put my speaker on the ground. Two minutes later, we saw the light coming, and at that moment, I realized that something wrong was going on and that I should' t be there at that time. That something would probably happen. If you think about it, we were two teenage girls standing on the highway at 1 am.
A blue sport car turned on the rocky road, and we were standing there. I realized that the windows were tinted, and we couldn't see inside. The car passed by us and stopped as they started making sound with the car's engine, as to scare or impress us, hard to say. I then realized we were doomed entirely. The only way back was the road, which was blocked by these guys. We were pedestrian versus a car, so I yelled at my friend to run without even wanting to know what would happen. We went on the edge of the highway, where there is a counterfoil, and I planned to run a little, lay in the grass and wait until they were gone. As I ran, I saw the car going away and then making a u-turn, but they were too far to see which way we went, so they came back to where we were, stopped, and took a left on the little road (which lead to nowhere) where we were standing when they arrived (so if we had stayed there they would have caught us).
We were hiding in the bushes on the side of the road, and we couldn't see anything. My music was still playing on my speaker, and I was about to call my dad to come and pick us when I realized a voice was talking to us. At first, I thought it was the music. But then, my friend asked who was talking, and I stopped the music. I then realized a man was standing right beside me, in a fucking bush, by the highway, talking to us, telling us to calm down hand saying like «come here girls, it ok come here.» It was pitch black, and we couldn't see, not even his face. I yelled and stating running to the first propriety after the highway and run into a fence. The man was still talking, and we were both in panic. I jumped over the fence and told my friend to follow cause she was drunk and petrified. We started running our life on a private ground which was wide open so the car AND the man could see us. As we ran, Maeva looked behind and realized the man was pointing a flashlight to us and was probably coming our way. We entered the forest, which was very dense and the branches were slapping our faces. I called my dad completely panicked, yelling at him that we were followed by a car and a weird man and to come to pick us. We never stopped running until I saw cars coming from the opposite way, and we exit the forest. It took like 30 seconds for my dad to arrive, and he was going full speed. He had no idea what was happening to us. He stopped and let us in.
As soon we entered, my dad asked me who was following us, and we saw the blue car coming out of the forest coming our way. My dad then went their way and blocked them, flashing them to pull over. He went by their windows and lowered them, making them a sign to do the same. The window revealed young two guys and my dad started asking them if they were the ones who followed her daughter. They denied it. Then he told them not to mess with his children, and they left.
To this day, the thing that creeps me the most is the man who was hidden in the bush and we never saw the face. The fact that he was there means that he was looking at us from the start in obscurity, and he sounded old and creepy. I also d' don't know what the two guys were planning, but they were definitely not having good intentions.
A month later, I saw a car rolling in front of the house, the same blue car and making the same engine sound, and they came multiple times. One time, the window was down, and I recognized one of the men staring at my house. But I never heard of it again.
If my dad had arrived the day after like he was supposed to do, I don't even know what could have possibly happened, and honestly, I don't want to know. I also want to say that Maeva peed herself when we heard the men and when we were running in the forest, she was yelling at me,« I think I peed myself! » But I was just panicked, I was also so drunk, and we didn't understand what was going on as I was running, I was just like breathing so fast and thought I was in a movie, and I was telling myself that I was about to die.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. We did not at the moment, but now we laugh about it.
End. |
As a quick note, I've never posted on this subreddit before and I wasn't sure if these posts were vetted or not and since this happened a few years ago I don't rally have any proof so I decided to post on r/nosleep. The post was removed from that subreddit for not following the guidelines and a friend suggested that I should post here since it is a true story.
#x200B;
I currently go to a large university in Philadelphia, and my school isn’t in the greatest part of the city. I’m a senior now and I’ve sort of learned to just keep my head down and most of the people in the area will leave me alone. The one exception that I’ve had to this was my freshman year.
My roommate freshman year was an absolute madwoman, stealing my stuff, threatening to physically assault me, and spreading rumors about me. I generally tried to stay out of my room for the most part to just avoid any interaction with her until I was able to get a new roommate the next semester. As a result, I spent a lot of my time at the library or at other friends’ places.
A few weeks into my first semester, I think it was around early October, I was hanging out at a friend’s place. He lived on the other side of campus, probably a 15 minute walk from my dorm room, but my path from my room to his dorm never left campus. I had been warned prior to moving into my dorm room that campus was the safest place for students because the locals generally stayed off campus unless they were grabbing food from a food truck. Keeping that in mind, I really didn’t mind walking back from my friend’s dorm room late at night since the path was well lit and the only people I saw were other students. Regardless, it was getting late and it was a weeknight so I told my friend that I was going to head out. He offered to walk me home but I declined saying I would be fine, which was my first mistake.
The walk back was perfectly fine up until I got to the block that my dorm building was on. For context, there was another, empty dorm building on the block that I lived on. It was scheduled to be torn down later that year because there was black mold everywhere inside, but at the time it was still standing and there were absolutely no lights outside of it. There was a courtyard behind the building, which I used as a shortcut, which was my second mistake.
As I entered the courtyard, I used my phone as a flashlight to kinda guide my way through the space. As I was nearing the other end of it, I heard someone call out “Miss!” Obviously, my first thought was “nope” and just kept walking pretending I didn’t hear anything and picked up my pace. *But* the voice called again “Wait, Miss!” At this point I was nearly out of the courtyard and there was some light coming from the windows of my dorm building so I could kinda see what was going on without completely relying on my flashlight. I turned around to see who had been calling out to me, which was my third mistake, and was met with a man. He looked so ordinary, except for his oddly wide smile and the fact that he was carrying a rather heavy looking trash bag. “Hey, Miss, I have something for you.”
“Ah, Nah, I think I’m okay, I need to be getting home.”
“No, I think you need this. Let me show you.”
He opened the trash bag and reached his hand in. I didn’t know what to expect, so I bolted. I ran further from the courtyard and toward the ramp that led up to my building thinking I could out run him, but I was sorely mistaken. Despite the fact that there was about 10-15 feet between us, as soon as I turned his hand was around my wrist. “Miss, I have something for you. I really think you need it.”
Feeling trapped and unsure what to do, I sighed, defeated. I hoped to God that someone would look out of their window and see what was going on or someone else would be walking back to the building at a late hour and see us. I wanted to scream, but I was scared that if I drew attention to us that he would do something that would make me really regret trying to get help, again not the greatest part of the city. He smiled at me, like he knew I wasn’t going to try and call out and let go of my wrist. I didn’t realize how tightly he was gripping me until he released it.
He took a step back from me and reached back into the trash bag again. My heart was pounding and I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t what he pulled out of the bag. It was a clock. An old, digital alarm clock. The thing had to be at least 20 years old and it was encrusted with dirt, like he pulled it out of a junkyard. I was stunned at the sight of the yellow and orange plastic. After I realized that he was actually trying to give me the clock, I thought it might have been a bomb. “Here, this is just for you.”
“Oh, I really don’t need one, I have a clock up in my room,” I said gesturing toward the massive building behind me.
“This one’s different.”
*What the fuck*. What’s that supposed to mean?
“Ah, miss, see this one has a radio, pretty unique don’t you think? I bet yours doesn’t have a radio function,” he smiled.
I mean, mine didn’t but don’t most alarm clocks have radios built into them? I took a step back from him, but as I stepped back he stepped closer, mirroring my movement. He reached out, presenting the clock to me. I took another step back. He took another one forward. I knew my back was literally going to be against the wall of the dorm building if I took another two steps back and wasn’t sure where to go.
I felt like I had no choice but to go against everything my body was telling me not to do and accept the clock. I reached out and noticed that where he had grabbed my arm was already bruising. With my hand now outstretched he placed the clock in my hand. I felt so dirty having it in my hand, I don’t know how to describe it but I had instantly felt like I just finished rolling around in the dirt, my arm felt like it was throbbing and the clock was so *heavy*. It felt like it was getting heavier with every passing second. I knew it just felt like that because I was freaking out, but it didn't make the experience any less terrifying. I didn’t know what to do, the guy was still smiling at me. I blurted out “Thanks,” and spun around, gripping the clock.
I took a step away from him toward the ramp leading up to my building and he took a step back. I decided that this was my chance to bolt for the door. I spun around on my heels and took another few steps before hearing “You’re so beautiful, I love you,” called out behind me. I turned back and the man was out of sight.
I screamed. I didn’t know what I just got myself into but I didn’t want to be *any* part of it. I sprinted toward the door to the building, dumping the clock in the trash can outside on the way. I still thought that there was a decent chance that it was a bomb and if it was going to explode, I wanted it to do so in a contained space.
Nothing came of the man, or the clock other than the bruise on my arm, it healed completely within a few days and soon after that I had sort of forgotten about the incident. I think I just repressed the memories and didn’t want to unpack what I went through. I still try not to think about it and the only reason I’m writing this now is because one of my current, not crazy roommates had brought it up a few days ago and the floodgates of my brain opened and I felt like I needed to share what happened. |
I am new to reddit but I'm pretty sure that my story fits in best on this page. Sorry if I made any mistakes I've never made a post on here before.
This happened to me and my friends 20 years ago I am now a (38F). I live in Tennessee and we have a place here it's called Little Egypt it's a swimming hole me and my friends had been there a million times at night.
It was the middle of summer and the county fair was in town me and my twin sister and 2 of our friends had went and hung out like teenagers do. We had ran into our mom, stepdad and little sister while we was at the fair and told our mom that we was going to Little Egypt to goof off as we had done alot that summer and I remember she specifically told me and my twin sister not to go down there that late because anything could happen. We was 18 at the time and of course you don't listen to your parents much at that age cause we told her she was crazy nothing would happen to us.
We wait til around midnight and decide to go to the swimming hole it was me and my friend lisa in one car and my twin sister and our friend heather in another car. Now when you get to the swimming hole it is out in the woods probably about 10 minutes from any civilization and no where to turn around unless you go on up the road. We pull in and get out of our cars we are still standing pretty close to the cars because we hadn't gotten our flash lights and stuff we was going to take with us out yet.
I start to walk towards the car my twin sister was standing at and all of a sudden we hear some sticks breaking I look at my sister and whispered did you hear that she whispered back yes maybe it was lisa messing with us we tell lisa to quit trying to scare us that it isn't funny she says I didn't do anything then all of a sudden you can hear alot of sticks breaking my sister and heather jump back in their car I ran to Lisa's car we barely jump in her car in time she has automatic seat belts it nearly broke my shoulder getting in so fast.
I don't know how we got the cars turned around in that little space we had but we did there was 6 guys dressed in black head to toe with mask on that jumped out of the woods right were we was parked at with baseball bats chasing after us. About three days later we went back down there and there was police crime tape everywhere and some other people was there we asked what happened and they said some guy had gotten beat to death 3 nights ago the same night the 6 guys had jumped out on us. Thank god we got away that night. But my heart breaks for the guy that lost his life that night.
(Edit: We did call the cops that night they told us that it was probably just some young kids messing with us. Some butthole got on here running his mouth saying oh you didn't call the cops it's your fault someone died. Like I told him I just hadn't put every single detail in there but that is why you can see me defending myself in the comments I blocked him so you can't see his comment. I went to his page he had like 78 comments and none of them was nice.
But to the 6 guys that jumped out of the woods on us let's not meet again. |
I was crossing the road just outside of my house, when I died for the fourth time in my life.
I have a habit of crossing the road without looking, so this time, that was my cause of death. That’s what I was told at the hospital, when I finally opened my eyes and saw Mary the nurse for the fourth time in the past year.
She wasn’t the nicest person, but somehow I always ended up in her care, so now she was nodding her head in a disapproval that hurt more than I was expecting. Not as much as my broken hip though.
This was such a normal thing for me, that it was almost turning into a habit.
“What did they say?” I asked, hoping to get Mary to have some sympathy and lighten the mood.
She shook her head.
“Not much, only that you have about fifteen broken bones, including some ribs that you you’re lucky somehow didn’t puncture your lungs, and that you’re a lucky bastard that just won’t die” she shrugged. “Not for lack of trying.”
Without giving me a chance to say anything, she slid my file into my bed’s pocket, turned her back and left the room.
It’s not like I wanted to die, I was just lucky. Or unlucky, depending on the perspective. I’d had a fall from around a ten metre height from an electricity post at work, I had slipped into the strong current of a river that almost drowned me, I was hit in the head by a massive crow that just flew into my face. It was hours trying to get its beak out of my cheek bone. This time it was a car accident between the uber I was in and a Mercedes-Benz that tried to be my cause of death by almost taking half my body away.
I was getting used to escaping death. This time though… something felt different.
I was discharged from the hospital the next day, and I hadn’t noticed much difference in the long ceiling led lights in the hospital, but when I stepped outside with my wife by the arm, everything looked dimmer.
The sun’s colour seemed to have died down slightly, all the colour around me just looked weaker, like the world I lived in was slowly fading away. I told myself this was me being tired and needing to go home and rest my broken bones, and kept the secret.
When I got home, I had my now usual “coming back from the hospital” routine. I took a natural yoghurt out of the fridge, added some fruit and Nutella to it in a bowl and headed upstairs into bed with the help of my wife.
Everyone knows that the hospital has beds, but no one manages to actually get a good night's sleep until you go back to your own bed.
I ate my yoghurt, slid it along the bedside table and tried to take a nap until the kids were back to school.
When I woke up some hours later, my bedroom curtains were shut and the light coming from outside was getting dimmer and dimmer. I saw it for the first time, when I tried to sit up straight.
My bedroom door was halfway closed, and the light coming into the house was weak, even from outside the bedroom. I called for my wife, and got no response, so I assumed she went to get the kids from school, which allowed me to ask myself if the dim light coming from outside was because of the same thing I experienced earlier. As I sat there and let my thoughts run, something took a peak around the corner into my bedroom.
It was a dark, thin shadow that looked like the head, neck, shoulders and hand of a person, only three times taller, enveloping the door frame on the top right side.
I jumped backward in bed and slipped up until my back hit the headboard, my heart racing and my throat getting tighter. When the collision between my back and the headboard produced a loud “thunk”, the shadow seemed to quickly retreat from the bedroom and into the stairs landing. When it did, the lights became stronger and normal.
For the rest of the day, from the time my wife came back home until it was actually time to go sleep, I wouldn’t let my wife be away from me. The shadow got me too scared, but not scared enough to talk. I had no idea what it was, or if it was coming back, and by the end of the day, I had convinced myself it had only been my imagination.
I got better and went back to work, and for a while didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Not until I almost died again, at least.
This time, it was raining hard, I had just come off work and was walking to my car. I crossed the road, and decided to jog the last few steps. When I stepped on the slippery sidewalk, my feet slid away from me and I went head-first into a newly planted tree.
I opened my eyes, and the first thing I thought was that someone seemed to want me dead very badly. This couldn’t possibly be a coincidence anymore. The second thought I had was how alone I was.
It was really dark, like the end of a cloudy day going into night time, and there was no one in the hospital room. Not my wife, my kids or my parents. Not even Mary!
I looked around, and even the hospital seemed different. The curtains weren’t their usual colour of depression. Instead, they were just greyed out, and the same applied to the rest of the room. Outside of my room’s door, the rest of the hospital was the same, deserted and grey. I wasn’t sure how or if I was supposed to be able to walk around. I didn’t know the extent of my injuries, but I seemed fine.
I called out for my family or someone, and got no response. I must have wandered around for hours without finding one single soul. Some of the hospital lights were flashing, and it was cold enough to feel like someone forgot the aircon on at five degrees Celsius and left for the night. I focused on the cold and my shivering body while I walked around, but suddenly, I froze.
The lights were still flashing bright here and there, but at the end of the corridor, just far enough that I could see, something seemed to be peeking from behind the door frame. A recognizable thin set of head, neck, shoulders and hands seemed to be waiting for me on the other end, and I was starting to feel terrified. The more I remembered my latest accident and started to convince myself that someone wanted me dead, the more I was connecting that to whatever this was, and whatever this was seemed to be stuck in there with me somehow.
I must say, having a murderous something be my only companion in this empty hospital was not the most comforting thing.
I took two small steps back until I felt one of the arches’ frames behind me, but with every step I took the shadow seemed to come out of its hiding more, revealing a thin torso with no other features and long legs with no feet that didn’t move even when it slid towards me.
After taking as many steps back as I could and wearing off the shock, I turned around and took off running, getting lost inside this dark hospital’s labyrinthic corridors. The more I ran, the more my breath seemed to run out, the flashes of light above me turning so strong that sometimes I couldn’t really see, but it wasn’t so much periodic, as it was random.
Every time I looked back, there it was, a big shadow sliding after me as fast as I was running, moving its head from side to side like it was watching me with it’s non-existent face.
Eventually, after running for what felt like eternity, I reached a dead end. Hospitals don’t have dead ends. Usually you’d see the end of a corridor with a room on each side, but not here. It’s like someone just cut the corridor in half. It’s like something just wanted me to finally die.
Just like in a movie, I threw myself against the wall, tapping it with my hands like an opening was going to show up somewhere, but it didn’t.
I turned my back against the wall and squeezed myself into it, almost hoping to float across it and escape miraculously.
When I didn’t, the shadow covered my only exit completely, the dark mist floating closer and closer to me, until I opened my mouth to scream.
As soon as my mouth opened, I felt a weird set of hands grab me by the inside of my chest and pull so hard it almost felt like my soul was about to be taken away. The shadow seemed to be farther now. I panted, grabbing my chest and panicking without any idea of what the hell was going on. Was that thing trying to kill me?
As soon as this question made it to my brain, another massive yank came from inside me, wanting to turn my insides out, and again, the shadow seemed a little further and more agitated.
At the third tug from inside, the hospital image seemed to turn into a gigantic white worm hole, moving at incomprehensible speeds while I looked around and tried to figure out what was next as the shadow seemed to swirl around further and further until it was completely gone.
Now, I was back in my normal hospital room. From your point of view, you would have thought I was too lazy to open my eyes, but I was just scared. At first I opened my left eye and saw an empty side of the room filled with cold coloured lights and metallic utensils. Then I opened my right eye, and there was the team of doctors holding their breath, the one that looked like the main doctor holding two defib pads, one on each hand. That’s when I realised what the bright flashes of light I was seeing in the empty hospital were.
I was told I had died for about 2 minutes during the emergency operation because of how bad my head trauma had been, and that they were starting to think that was it for me. Obviously, everyone knows me in that hospital.
Because of the kind of injury, I spent the rest of the month in the hospital, just recovering and staying under surveillance. My family came to visit every day and brought me gifts and my wife almost forbade me from going outside because I kept trying to die, according to her. I told her I wasn’t trying to die, but at this point, she just wouldn’t believe me.
When they finally left and the room was left empty, I took a deep breath and leaned back into the bed to try to get some sleep. I heard a loud clink that made my eyes shoot open, and saw the long lamp glass cover dislodge from the lamp frame and freefall towards my face. That was the 6th time I died. If I die again, I'm not sure if I'll be able to come back. |
My 10 year old son, Kyle, went to bed at his usual time this evening after a very normal day at school and a very normal evening meal together. The only thing different about today was that he'd mentioned a new friend. I naturally assumed he meant a kid from school, but I'm starting to reconsider, and I really wish that I'd asked him more questions about this, *"new friend."*
It's just me and him, so every night, before I go to bed, roughly about midnight, I peek my head inside Kyle's room and double check that all is well. But tonight, all was not well.
As I walked up the hallway, I swear I could hear a strange scratching noise. I poked my head inside and then stopped in my tracks as I realised his bed was empty. I flipped on the lights to find that his mirror was off the wall and was laying facedown on the floor, and his bedsheets where in complete disarray. But no Kyle.
I was about to shout his name when I noticed a small piece of paper laying haphazardly on his bed. It was an old-looking piece of paper, thick and faded, and the writing style seemed ancient.
It said the following::
*****
Disclosure: If you read this, you will become aware of *her* and be made vulnerable. If you wish to sleep soundly tonight, and for the rest of nights to come, I recommend that you do not continue.
*****
*She* is not a woman. Honestly, I don't know what she is, but describing her as female is the best that I can do.
She is the rising fear that lingers in the dark. She is the whisper that shivers through the wind. She is that ghostly feeling that's always behind you. She is the scream in your nightmares and the creature in your cupboard...and she is the terrifying and crushing weight of silence when you're terrified and alone.
Now that you're aware of her, she will try and manifest into something that I still can't comprehend myself, or even put into words...but I can, however, tell you how to keep her out...or, at least try...
Please remember the disclosure, there's no turning back now...she knows that you know about her. You must continue, and if you don't, well, I just have one final thing to say...May God be with you tonight.
Okay, first of all, as much of a cliche as it is, check under the bed. If you find black hairs or black fibres, remove them immediately and burn them. No other method will work.
Secondly, check the back of your bedroom door for black smudges, or what *may* look like fingerprints. If you find *anything*, wipe clean using hot water and a white cotton cloth.
And finally, if there is a mirror in your room, be sure to take it down and sleep with the door closed...trust me...
(Side note: if you have findings from both under the bed *and* on the door, **do not** sleep in that room tonight, even after removal.)
Oh, and if at any point you hear scratching, then I'm really sorry...and it'll be best to just close your eyes...
I honestly don't know what to do or who to turn to. I've checked the entire house...All I keep finding, is black hair...
Please, help... |
I’m hoping someone can help me figure out what’s happening. I (F, 24) live alone, I work from home 3 days a week, doing usual admin stuff. It was going fine until two days ago. I have a large window in my front room that looks out onto the street, it’s a quiet neighborhood so I usually sit with my blinds open. The light in my room is broken and besides, It helps to feel like I’m not alone if I can see people walking their dogs, and going about their day.
Two days ago I was sitting on my couch, taking a break from work. The couch faces the window and I was scrolling on my phone when I noticed someone was staring at me. I froze, it felt like I was watching him for ages, but his expression didn't change. He didn't look put off by me noticing him. he was standing with his nose almost pressed to the window. his arms casually by his sides, just staring. His expression was neutral but his eyes were locked onto me. I looked back down at my phone, I couldn't move or look back up from it. I tried to slow my breathing as I pretended to answer a call and walk out of the room. I was terrified that my movement would make him move. I hunched down behind the wall and waited for the noise of someone trying to open the door, or knock on the window but nothing came. Eventually I got the strength to look again but he was gone. I immediately texted my friends, but they all agreed that he must’ve just been looking for someone and had the wrong house. They didn’t see the way he was looking at me though, it was a blank stare like he wasn’t really seeing me.
I didn’t sleep at all that night, I was so terrified of him coming back, I had visions of him trying to break in. He didn't come back until the next day, which was yesterday. I was sitting at my desk in the same room, on a work call when I noticed him side-stepping from my front door to my window. I watched his eyes scan the room until he saw me. He had the same expressionless eyes and neutral face. I froze again, before slowly taking my laptop and walking out of the room. By the time I worked up the courage to look, he was gone. My friends don’t believe that it’s weird, they think he might need help or something but I’m terrified to approach him, or to ask him what he’s doing. A few minutes ago he stepped from my front door again and I can feel him staring at me as I type. I can't look at him, there’s something about the way he’s looking at me that's freaking me out. I’m walking out of the room now but please has anyone experienced this? Is he casing the house? What do I do? |
I’ve been through hell and back. To have your life consumed by a single self-destructive desire is something I don’t think I could ever adequately describe in words. I could only really touch upon the struggle to maintain some sense of self – of truly being present in the world. The list of harms it causes is almost endless, and not all of them are direct or obvious: some of the paths it can lead you down are, without being too dramatic, beyond your worst nightmares.
One incident in my life comes reluctantly to mind – an incident so disturbing it leaves all my other transgressions in the shade. I blame myself because it’s the easier thing to do, strange as that sounds. Ordinarily, there’s the temptation to blame anyone or anything but yourself. However, to do that would in this case require believing in something so extraordinary, and so blood-curdling, that to keep my sanity intact I have no choice but to reject it, despite the evidence of my own eyes. And it’s for the sake of my sanity that I feel compelled to recount this incident.
It happened eight years ago, when I was a man of thirty-one. I was at the lowest point of my life: not long out of a relationship that had ended bitterly, and having just lost my job of several years. Both my fault, of course. The job I’d had was in security, and essentially involved keeping watch at offices and factories, mostly at night when they were closed. It gave me a lot of thinking time, and my thoughts weren’t exactly full of positivity and optimism.
Anyway, after I got fired by the agency for unprofessional behaviour, I was forced to advertise myself as an unofficial security guard online, taking whatever work I could get to pay my rent. This mostly involved being a doorman for private parties, or the ugly job of debt collection. This particular case was an exception. I’d been contacted by a woman living near a town called Nordville, about a hundred-and-fifty kilometres south of Atlanta, which is where I lived at the time. She needed someone to stay at her property overnight while she was away, to keep it safe from potential burglars. Not that she had had much trouble in the past, she said, but with it being so far from town she didn’t want to take any chances. It sounded like an easy enough job, and for the generous sum she was paying there was no way I could refuse. I emailed her all the documentation she asked for, and the deal was done.
The date was April 14th, a warm and sunny day in Georgia as I made the three-hour journey in my station wagon, an hour of which was spent getting out of Atlanta. I tried to be optimistic in the face of tough times. It felt good to be leaving the city, even for just one night: away from my troubles and away from temptation. Or so I thought.
I got to Nordville late in the afternoon and took the road west, as I’d been instructed. It wasn’t too long before I got to the house: an old, extravagant building, which I later found out had been built in the nineteenth century. It stood there completely alone, with no signs of other houses or civilization in sight; just green fields and trees beyond them, and the quiet road I had arrived on. I pulled up in the driveway and got out, taking a good look at the place.
It’s hard to explain why, but as I did so I felt all the optimism and positivity I had generated over the course of the day die almost immediately. There was no logical cause for this feeling: it was one of those moments of utter irrationality. Nothing seemed unusual to the ordinary eye, but I had this sense of uneasiness that froze me to the spot. I felt that I’d have been better off not coming. I even considered getting back into my car and driving away, and to hell with the money. Of course, I didn’t do that; instead, I dragged myself reluctantly up the porch steps and rang the doorbell.
A full minute passed without reply, but at no point did I consider pressing the doorbell again. I was almost hoping that I’d been given false information – that there was nobody home and the whole thing had been a mistake. There was another car in the driveway, which put a dent in my imaginings; and sure enough the door was eventually opened, dampening my relief. A homely woman of about sixty peered out suspiciously. I introduced myself and she immediately relaxed, opening the door wider to invite me in. She said she was Regina, the woman I’d been in contact with, and apologised for not answering the door sooner, explaining that she and her sister were still packing a few things upstairs. I assured her that was fine, and she abruptly motioned me into a long hallway and through the first door on the left, into a large, old-fashioned parlour-room.
Sensing she was in a rush, I declined her offer of tea and cookies and told her I’d happily wait for her to finish packing. She gestured me to a sofa and busily made her way up the grand staircase, calling ahead to her sister to let her know I had arrived. I was too restless to sit, so once she was out of sight I surveyed my surroundings more closely.
The room was sparsely furnished. The impression I had was that visitors weren’t a frequent occurrence, although considering the location that would hardly be revelatory if true. The highlight of the parlour was undoubtedly the large photo portrait that hung over the fireplace. A homely woman and stern-looking man stood stiffly looking into the camera, with two girls – presumably the sisters – standing awkwardly between them, all but confirming my suspicion that the house had been inherited.
Ten minutes passed without any sign of Regina or her sister. Growing increasingly restless – a sensation I couldn’t quite seem to shake off – I decided to dip back into the long hallway and half-heartedly explore the ground floor. All but one of the doors were open, and I found myself peering into a drawing room, a dining room and, right at the end of the hall, a large and impressive kitchen. Not a bad inheritance, by any means.
I could hear commotion from upstairs as I made my way back down the hallway: floorboards creaking and voices faintly humming. Realizing I had more time to explore, I stopped outside the one closed door and tested the knob. It turned easily and the door nudged slightly open. I poked my head in tentatively. Just a sitting room, sparsely furnished like the rest of the house: one sofa, a coffee table, a television set, and a drinks cabinet. I took a last glance down the hallway before stepping into the room.
The dim light through the closed curtains lent the room a mysterious air. I was under the vague impression that it was rarely put to use: the only suggestion of recent occupancy might have been the walking-stick resting at the side of the sofa. Nonetheless, I stepped over to the drinks cabinet and casually opened the door. To my surprise there was a bottle of something in there, or rather half a bottle. Bourbon. One of my favourites. At least it used to be.
Feeling a little unsettled all of a sudden, I turned to exit the room, only to be startled by the presence of Regina in the doorway. The look of concern on her face made me feel even more on edge. I apologised immediately for wandering around the house, but she just quickly beckoned me out without a word. It wasn’t until I was following her down the hallway that she spoke, politely informing me that rooms with closed doors were out of bounds. I said I understood completely, not wanting to press the matter any further.
Back in the parlour room another elderly lady was waiting with a suitcase. Regina introduced her to me as her sister, Suzanna. She nodded her greeting sheepishly; perhaps she wasn’t too comfortable with unfamiliar guests. I could have told her it was no picnic for me either.
I offered to carry the suitcase to the car. Suzanna, without a word, picked it up herself and made her way out of the room. Regina waved her hand dismissively, like I should just ignore her, and invited me upstairs to see the bedroom she had arranged for me.
The staircase creaked as I followed her up. The banister looked like it needed some work. In fact, the whole house probably hadn’t been worked on for a good many years. My bedroom for the night was nice enough, at least. There was a sturdy-looking double bed, a chest of draws, a spacious wardrobe, and a wide window looking out to the front of the house. The bathroom was just next door, I was told, and all other rooms on this floor were not to be disturbed, except in the case of an emergency. I expressed my satisfaction, which seemed to please Regina, and within moments we were downstairs again, where she hurriedly went over a few things – keys, telephone, back door, etc. – before grabbing her coat and heading outside.
Suzanna was already sitting in the passenger seat of the dull-blue sedan parked in the driveway, impatience etched on her face. I exchanged goodbyes with Regina on the porch, with assurances that her beautiful home would be well looked-after and that I wouldn’t dream of deviating from the ground rules. Satisfied, she got into the driver’s seat of the sedan and gave a wave before setting off in the late-afternoon sun.
I stood there for a while longer, letting the warmth of the sun wash over me. The sense of uneasiness still lingered, but there was little I could do about it now. I had made a commitment and I was going to stick to it. My therapist would be proud. I took a deep breath and started my preparations, grabbing my overnight bag from the car and taking it to the bedroom to unpack, making sure to lock the front door of the house behind me. I then did my first full circuit of the house, with the exception of the ‘forbidden rooms’, and was satisfied that the place was secure.
The kitchen would be my base for the evening. There was a small television on the counter, so I made myself as comfortable as I could at the kitchen table and watched whatever crap was on. I had the coffee on the pot and helped myself to a number of refills, as well as some bread and tuna from the cupboards. Regina’s homemade cookies made for a satisfying dessert; but mainly I stuck to coffee.
Evening came, and with it a hazy twilight. As I stepped out through the back door to smoke a cigarette it felt almost like the house was bathed in an unfamiliar air. Time seemed to be passing with me outside of it – a sensation that I was no stranger to back in those days, if I’m being honest. I was aware of the silence. Not even a gentle breeze visited me on that spring evening, in that strange place.
Back inside I whiled the hours away in the kitchen until my customary bedtime arrived. I poured out the last of the coffee in the sink, though by that point I’d lost track of the amount I had drunk. I did a final surveillance of the house, making sure all doors and windows were locked yet again. Finding nothing amiss, I began a last trip to the kitchen to get a bottle of water for my bedside, when my straightforward and dimple bedtime ritual became anything but. I didn’t know at the time why I stopped outside that closed door; but on reflection I guess it just shows how things can gnaw away at your mind. Whatever the reason, I found myself opening the door of the sitting room, as I had done earlier in the day, and once again slipping inside.
The room was dark; I fumbled blindly for a moment before finding the light switch. The bulb was weak and the light it cast dim. There was the lonely-looking sofa, before the coffee table and television set, and beyond it the one other piece of furniture: the cabinet to which I’d been drawn the first time around, and which I was inevitably drawn to again. I opened its door. I can say now that what happened next was shameful, although in the broad scope of behaviour in those days it was a relatively minor dereliction of my professional duties. I took a tall glass and poured out half of the remaining liquid from the bottle of bourbon, figuring that as long as there was still some left it was unlikely to be missed. Mission accomplished, I tidied up the cabinet and exited the room, returning to the kitchen feeling a little less glum than when I’d left it.
I was up for maybe another hour or so, sipping that well-matured bourbon. The crap on the TV seemed mildly more entertaining; my thoughts weren’t racing so much, and my body was a little less restless. I reasoned that this would put me in a better condition for bed: that it was a logical act undertaken to enhance my wellbeing. As I downed the last drop, the idea of going to bed wasn’t any more appealing than it had been before; nonetheless I mustered up as much resolve as I could and decided to call it a night. I finished up in the kitchen, passed through the hallway and into the dining room, – not stopping outside the closed door of the sitting room – climbed up the creaky steps, brushed my teeth and did my business in the bathroom, then went into the bedroom to prepare for bed.
It was past midnight when I began my epic struggle for sleep, the caffeine and alcohol and stress and defeat all making for a heady mixture. I drifted in and out for God knows how long. Those moments of half-sleep brought images of people I know, places I’d been, some random memories – my father visited me; my ex-girlfriend; an old man with a walking-stick; even Regina and Suzanna made an appearance, the former with the same concerned expression she had worn earlier. Suffice to say, I had a hard time of it, tossing and turning until I gave up and got out of bed to use the bathroom, still half in a daze.
After washing my face, I didn’t feel in the least bit confident about getting back to sleep. Deciding it wasn’t even worth attempting, I found myself heading back not to the bedroom, but to the top of the wide staircase, down those creaking steps, through the parlour room, and into the hallway just outside the sitting room. I was in automatic mode: a machine following a pre-determined course that had been programmed by years of repetition. Not that I had this self-awareness at the time. All I could think about in that moment was the warm, reassuring taste of hard liquor at the back of my throat. I stood in the dim light of the hallway for not more than two seconds, then opened the door and entered.
The first thing that struck me was the ambience. Aside from the light creeping in from the hallway, I had expected the room to be cloaked in darkness; but a blue glare stopped me in my tracks. As my eyes adjusted, I became aware that the television in the corner of the room was switched on, the screen displaying static, and that this was the cause of the blue light. But it couldn’t explain the feeling of pure terror that had come over me. I barely had time to reason that the TV was faulty and had switched on by itself, when my gaze was immediately drawn to the sofa and to the true cause of my dread.
There was a man sitting there. No . . . not just a man. He had the semblance of one: a tall, elderly man with a lean frame, a stern face, a crooked nose, and bulging eyes. But he was ghastly. From his pale skin and worn suit came this ghoulish light, like nothing I had ever seen before. He let off a stench that I’d been too stunned to notice at first: musty and pungent and rotting all at the same time. The eyes were the worst. They stared at the television, transfixed by the static; seeing something far beyond the surface of the screen. There were no irises: the black pupils were surrounded by a large span of spectral white. There was menace in those eyes. I had a vague sense of relief that they weren’t fixed on me – I can’t imagine how I would have felt if it was otherwise. I barely had time to register the half-full glass on the table before him.
The sensation of horror had rooted me to the spot, but finding some morsel of courage I took a step back towards the door. The thing on the sofa stirred. His head began slowly turning in my direction, even as the rest of his body remained motionless. There was no way in hell I was going to wait for that deathly gaze to fall on me. I turned and walked trembling towards the door, resisting the urge to run in case it would goad him into action. I’d wait until I was out in the hallway to do that. The horrifying thought raced through my mind that the man, whatever he or it was, would somehow reach me before I had the chance to escape; though that defied all reason, considering his apparent age and frailty.
I passed through the doorway and into the dim light of the hall. Before I could even begin to run, I froze to the spot. My worst fear had come true – he was standing right behind me! I didn’t need to see him to know it: I could feel the energy of that presence compelling my shoulders to stiffen and the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end; my skin prickled up with goosebumps and my legs trembled uncontrollably. Glancing at the wall on my right, I could see my own shadow. Behind it was another, tall and menacing. No living man could have moved so quickly, and I was certain in that moment that this was no living thing. When I saw the shadow’s arm rising towards me, I ran for my life. I fled down that dim hallway and into the parlour room, too afraid to risk the front door in case I couldn’t unlock it in time. I climbed frantically up the stairs, half-expecting to have my feet pulled from underneath me. Somehow I made it onto the landing and then into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind me.
The room was dark, but I could see that there was no lock. I rushed to the chest of draws that stood a few feet away and began pushing them towards the door. Although it wasn’t heavy, the seconds it took to get it in place was agonizing – any moment I expected the door to swing open and to find myself face-to-face with pure horror. Mercifully I was spared that encounter. Once I was satisfied that the door was blocked, I fumbled for my clothes and shoes, then got dressed as swiftly as I could. I made sure to pocket my cell phone and car keys, before sitting on the bed to catch my breath.
Aside from my heavy breathing and the pulsing in my ears, there was silence. Not a sound came from the hallway. That was only slightly encouraging: I hadn’t heard a sound downstairs either, not even of footsteps. I had the terrible thought that this entity might even be able to move through walls, among its other unnatural abilities. There was nothing I could do but wait and find out; wait in the hope that it had no interest in pursuing me further. The tension was close to unbearable.
I can’t say how long I sat there watching the door: it could have been a minute or ten minutes, though it seemed like an eternity. I didn’t dare move for fear of making a sound. I just waited and waited.
And then it happened. The door knob slowly turned. The sound of it pierced the darkness like a siren. My heart began racing once again, my body readying itself to struggle for survival. The door moved inward slightly, meeting resistance from the makeshift barricade, which budged ever so slightly from its position. That sense of dread seemed to seep into the room, accompanied by a nauseating smell.
I didn’t wait long to spring into action. I jumped off the bed and ran to the window, pushing it wide open. It opened onto the back of the house. I surveyed the distance to the ground below, knowing that I risked breaking bones if I was forced to make the drop down. Nonetheless I had already decided this would be my course of action if it came down to it, so it was with resolve that I climbed out and knelt on the narrow windowsill. The door banged several times against the chest of draws, shifting it further inwards each time, while I readied myself in position and tried to find the courage to go through with the deed. I didn’t need it: fear was enough to propel me. The bedroom door finally swung open wide enough for a person to fit though the gap. The thought of seeing what would manifest there any second compelled me to leap off the sill and into the darkness below.
I hit the ground with force. Pain tore through my body, and I lay there on the grass in a momentary state of shock. When I had the wits to assess the damage, I realized nothing had been broken: a twisted left ankle and some bruising on my hip was the worst I had suffered. I struggled to my feet as quickly as I could, grimacing through the pain, and then limped around the side of the house, all the way to the driveway at the front. My hands were shaking as I unlocked the car. As soon as I was inside I locked the doors, started the engine, and sped onto the road. Not once did I look back at the house, for fear of what I would see. Only when I was confident it would be out of sight did I check my mirrors. There was nothing on the road behind me. I had, God willing, escaped.
I drove in the direction of Nordville. It wasn’t as far away from the house as I would have liked, buy my injuries needed to be tended to and the thought of being amongst other people afforded me some comfort. I was still shaken. I half-expected that an elderly, wicked-looking man would appear in the road in front of me or, worse still, in the back seat of my car. When I finally made it to town, relief washed over me. I checked into a motel, grateful for the company of the grumpy desk clerk, who barked his house rules at me monotonously. Once in my room, I made sure the window was locked and the curtains drawn, then set about bandaging my ankle with a pillow-case. The injury to my hip wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. I stayed up until the first light of dawn peeped through the curtains, then settled down for a couple of hours of fitful sleep.
The next day I was faced with a dilemma: what the hell was I going to do now? I couldn’t think clearly – a feeling I was familiar with in those days, though not for such an extraordinary reason as this. The idea of going back to the house and pretending like nothing had happened entered my mind only briefly. Whether I had imagined what I saw or not, I was terrified of going anywhere near that place again, even in the cold light of day. Calling Regina to explain the situation was an option; but explain what? That I had seen a ghost? That I was going crazy? No, I chose the only option I could at that time and in that frame of mind: I got in my car and drove home to Atlanta, and that was all. If Regina wanted to call and complain, so be it. It’s not like she had paid me in advance, I reasoned.
But she didn’t call. She had been due back that evening – no later than 7pm, she had said – and I waited up until midnight for a phone call or email that would, in a way, confirm that I had in fact hallucinated the events of those early-morning hours. To complicate matters even more, the next day I was shocked to find that the fee I’d agreed with Regina had been paid into my bank account.
To this day I don’t know what it all means. Inexplicable as my experience was, I can’t rightly dismiss it as a cruel trick of the mind, though I’d give anything to be able to trivialize that haunting memory. As it is, I feel that I’m better now and continuing to get better, although the years have been tough. I was a different person then and I don’t feel the need to go back, either physically or mentally, to that house. In my mind it will forever remain home to the darkest period of my life. |
Let me begin by saying that I am an avid horror indulger. I like pretty much anything and everything scary, short of pure gore. My favorite movie has always been Paranormal Activity (the first one, not the crap storm that followed) and my favorite author is Stephen King and I spend a ridiculous amount of time playing horror computer games. It should then come as no surprise that I JUMPED at the occasion of being a tester for the new horror game pilot that came out last month. This was the first horror game ever created IRL (in real life), mimicking the new fad in computer games that I won’t name for copyright reasons, where you normally travel to a haunted house, find the ghost and exorcise it. God, I was so excited when I heard the news that such a game is happening. I put my name down last year and finally was selected to participate in the beta testing.
I had two options, I could either participate with a group of strangers or I could bring my own friends, up to a maximum six players. Luckily for me, I have been in the horror scene for so long that I could muster up five more people who were as equally excited as I was. We spent a fortune getting to the location, as we were all out-of-state-rs, but c’est la vie, as the French say. We were all working adults with money to spend, and spend we did.
I won’t bore you with the mundane details of our arrival, suffice it to say we all got on location timely. The plan was simple, get to the house, have a quick run-through guided by the game makers and then go play. We were booked for three hours of play, which the game makers estimated would mean a good two-three rounds.
Now, for those familiar with aforementioned video games, feel free to just skim this next introductory bit, just to spot differences between computer and IRL play styles. For those of you who are completely clueless, I will try to explain the game in a way that won’t make your head spin.
The purpose of this game is simple, simpler than on PC: find and identify the ghost type. No special quests, no extra tasks. There were six potential "aggressive” ghost types: spirit, demon, jinn, wraith, oni and mare, and Casper, the “friendly ghost”. There were also four types of equipment we were allowed to carry, to be used to find evidence: EMF readers, thermometers, sound recorders and cameras. Additionally, we were also given flashlights, lighters and walkie talkies. So, to recap the simple basics: **use tools to find evidence and identify the ghost**. The end.
Upon arrival on location, we were presented with some forms to sign, waivers in case anything happened - it seemed sensible, the standard we are not responsible if you fall down the stairs and break your leg, blah blah; but we can sue you if you set the house on fire. Afterwards, we were escorted to the back of a big white van, parked right outside the house and which contained all the equipment, and each handed some material to read.
*Firstly, information on the equipment, type and amount:*
2 x EMF Reader - counts as evidence only when the EMF meter indicates RED - henceforth known as RED EMF for evidence purposes.
2 x Thermometer - only counts as evidence when the temperatures go below zero - freezing temperatures for evidence purposes.
2 x Sound Recorder - record yourself asking your question and give the ghost a few seconds to reply. Then you play it back to yourself, and listen to see if the ghost said anything - SR for evidence purposes
2 x Camera - walk around with it turned on (NOT RECORDING) and spot any sort of ghost activity, this normally looks like a foggy gray humanoid-like appearance, only seen through the lens of the camera - ghost particle for evidence purposes.
6 x Flashlights - self explanatory. There are spares.
3 x Lighters - can be used to light the candles scattered throughout the house.
6 x Walkie Talkies - self explanatory. There are spares.
For a fully immersive experience, we strongly advise you to leave your mobile phones in the van at the front entrance.
*Next, very brief information about the ghosts:*
**Spirit** \- wants to be seen and heard. Has a story to tell - can become aggressive in order to get others to listen to it.
Evidence: ghost particles SR
**Demon** \- vile, hell-spawned creature that only wants to hurt people.
Evidence: RED EMF SR
**Jinn** \- ghosts that have been tremendously hurt during their lives. Want to inflict the same pain to others.
Evidence: RED EMF ghost particles
**Wraith** \- creature that feeds on the weak-minded.
Evidence: RED EMF freezing temperatures
**Oni** \- evil creature that possesses exceptional strength. Can will use items around the room to hurt others.
Evidence: SR freezing temperatures
**Mare** \- malicious spirits that want to inflict emotional pain and fear.
Evidence: ghost particles freezing temperatures
**CASPER**, the friendly ghost - just wants hugs.
Evidence: ALL!
*Finally, a list of rules:*
1. The round starts when everybody is in the house and you declare “Start Round”. The doors will lock behind you, so be sure to bring all items inside first, including the spare flashlights and walkie talkies.
2. The round ends when you have agreed upon the ghost type and you declare “Ghost type is \_\_\_\_”. If you do not agree on a ghost type, try to select by majority. Once you have declared the ghost type, the doors will unlock and you will be informed whether you were right or not.
3. Please vacate the house after each round for 15 minutes (not deducted from your time) to allow for the game makers to reset the house and prepare for the next round.
4. The ghost tends to haunt one room (or hallway). That is to say, the evidence produced will appear there. The ghost’s location does not change throughout a round but will change from one round to another.
5. You can all stick together, but it is advised to break into smaller groups to speed the process.
6. If you have angered the ghost, it will haunt you. During this time it can leave the room which it normally haunts and chase you. You are advised to hide. If it finds you, and lays a hand on you, you will be considered dead, and will be asked to leave the premises for the duration of the round (go upstairs and in the room marked UNDER CONSTRUCTION). A ghost haunt will stop by itself after 90 seconds or immediately if a player has died.
That’s it! Have fun enjoy being ghost hunters for the day.
P.S. please do not try to fight the ghost and/or prank them. They are paid actors and will NOT actually harm you!
Once we all got accustomed to the documentation, we were eager and ready to start. And there we were, the six of us just looking at the entrance door of the beautiful mansion stood in front of us. It was breath-taking, Victorian Gothic if I were to guess, three floors and a tower in the middle. All dark gray brick with a black roof, it was an impressive sight for sure, and there at dawn, under the purple sun, it was even a little spine-chilling.
“All right, let’s not be chicken!”, Andrew barked as he opened the door. Based on his intonation, one would expect that he’d slam it right open, but I could tell he was nervous when instead he pushed it open slowly and walked in.
Benjamin and Mark followed right after, which was surprising to me, as Benjamin was always a scaredy cat online. But maybe he wanted to impress his boyfriend, even if Mark and he had been together for quite some years. Then went Jennifer, and that I had expected, as the girl usually had a pair bigger than all of us put together. Afterwards, Angela, Benjamin’s sister, and myself. We were similar in the sense that we were both all bark and no bite.
We entered into a long hallway. At the end of the hallway there were the stairs to what I could only assume was the second floor, and to the left and right of us, closed doors.
“All right, shall we start then?”, Angela asked impatiently.
“I think we should maybe take the game makers’ advice into consideration and do a quick reconnaissance tour?”, Jen ever so sensibly proposed.
The suggestion was accepted unanimously, and we proceeded with opening every single door on the bottom floor. We found a large storage, a guest bathroom, and impressively immense living room, complete with a fire place, a piano, a beautiful satin three seater, then on the other side of the hallway, a Gothic dining room with black chairs and a black table, above which, straight and center, a candle candelabra and a somewhat rustic kitchen. We then went upstairs, where the narrow hallway at the top of the stairs was met with yet another, slightly larger horizontal hallway. Similarly to downstairs, each side of the hallway held quite some closed doors. We discovered a couple of bedrooms and the UNDER CONSTRUCTION room just opposite the stairs. On the side of the stairs, to it’s right, a kid’s room and a big bathroom, a bit ridiculous in my opinion, with a big tub straight in the middle of it, surrounded by one of those room separators you see in TV shows about kings and queens. To it’s left, a large unfurnished room, some moving boxes scattered around. We assumed the game makers did not have the funds to finish it, so they left it to look like the family who’d moved in there was just not done unpacking. Not uninspired.
“All right, I guess now we can start”, Andrew noted after we’d all gone downstairs and into the van to grab all our equipment.
“Right. START ROUND!”, I declared.
“No need to yell, players. We have ears everywhere. We confirm the start of the round. As this is your first round, take your time, we grant you a grace period of 15 minutes before the ghost would even appear.”, we heard the game makers reply. “We will announce when the time is up.”
We all stood in the hallway, poking at the equipment and trying to figure out how it all worked. Apart from the brief instructions in van, we didn’t have much to go on, and I myself, had never seen an EMF reader in real life before. Once we got the hang of which buttons to press, how to turn stuff on, and how to interpret the information on the equipment, Mark broke the silence.
“We split up then? Three upstairs, three downstairs?”
“That makes the most sense, seeing as we have two of each evidence equipment”, Jennifer agreed. “Then us three, upstairs?”, she gestured at Benjamin, herself and me, the three of us standing on one side of the hallway. “And you three, down here? And then we can mix up each round?”
On our team’s side, I grabbed the EMF, Ben grabbed the camera and Jen picked up the thermometer, and each of us took a walkie talkie and a flashlight. I also grabbed a lighter and proceeded to light all the candles that I could see along the way. Unlike the online game, this house had no actual lights, or light generators or anything we could use to see but candles and our flashlights.
“I doubt we’ll use this before we figure out the room”, she declared, grabbing the sound recorder and shoving it down her back pocket.
As agreed, we headed up the stairs and began using our tools. We started on the right with the big bathroom and the kid’s room, and across the hall in the first bedroom. We weren’t quite sure what we were looking for, but we assumed it wouldn’t be all that different from the online games we’d played, so we had our eyes out for lower temperatures and slight EMF interference.
“Fifteen minutes are up”, we heard the game makers announce, startling us.
“Right, so now we’re fair game.”, Benjamin confirmed. I could sense some of the scaredy-cat behaviour behind his somewhat soft, whispered voice.
“Better identify hiding places then.”, I said, more thinking out loud. As I would pass certain locations, like big wardrobes or beds with enough space underneath to hide, I’d make a mental note.
Not long after the fifteen minute announcement, the guys from the other team walkie-talkied us.
“I think we got the bastard”, Angela announced. “Got some cold air around this kitchen.”
“On our way!”, I responded, as we made our way back downstairs.
The kitchen was just at the bottom of the stairs, on the left. I am not sure whether it was because of the excitement of potentially facing the ghost soon, or because it truly was so, but I felt the room was much colder than the rest of the house. The thermometers were showing around 40FAHR, but that could not be, they were definitely controlled by the game makers somehow, but it did not feel like mid 60s anymore, either.
Despite all six of us being crammed into the kitchen, there was an eerie quietness surrounding us. We were all listening, scared we’d miss something if we’d talk. The kitchen was rustic and not very fancy, mostly dark with fake black marble counter tops. As I was taking in everything around me, I noticed the slightest flicker reflecting in the black washstand right next to me. This, in turn, directed my gaze to the opposing wall, where a candle just appeared to have been blown out.
“Did you see that?”, I whispered, but I did not have a chance to get a reply as more candles were being put out by an invisible force.
We all held our breaths, almost in unison, but nothing else seemed to happen. After what seemed like a very long time, finally, Andrew spoke.
“So, what do we have so far?”, he asked.
“Well, no light.”, Mark replied facetiously.
“I meant in term of evidence”, he countered, not being amused. The atmosphere was tense, unlike in the online game. We all felt a little off, a little unhinged.
“We don’t have any evidence as far as I can tell”, Jen replied, as she moved across the room to relight the candles.
I decided to help and pulled my own lighter out. I flicked it to ignite the spark and just as I moved it toward the candle, a light breeze blew it out again. This time I felt the cold wind on my fingers and it made me shriek. Then, remembering I was playing a horror game, I started laughing. That seemed to lighten the mood all around, as everybody joined in. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long, as an apparition seemed to come from the wall and stop an inch away from my face, yelling right before it disappeared again, making me drop my own flashlight and leaving me in complete darkness for a second. Grateful to my bladder for not failing me, I recollected and picked up my flashlight. The roar of laughter was even louder this time.
“Fuck me, that was good”, Angela commented.
“Yeah, cause you’re seeing it from over there”, Jen said from next to me. She was also laughing, but clearly the two of us were slightly more distraught.
“I need a moment.”, I claimed, getting out of the kitchen and walking towards the exit. As I was trying to get out, I realized that we needed to end the round first, and I didn’t want to ruin anyone’s game, but I was feeling a little suffocated. You see, there are two types of reactions to danger - flight or fight. I was so far on the flight side that all I wanted in that very moment was to break a window and get out. Luckily, the moment passed quickly and I managed to compose myself. I was loving it and hating it at the same time, but I wanted to finish it, for myself but also for the others.
“You good?”, Andrew asked from the kitchen door. I could barely see him from his flashlight, at times. Then I realized, his flashlight was flickering. In the online game that meant the ghost was haunting.
“HIDE!”, I yelled as I bolted towards the storage room next to the entrance. I wasn’t sure if they realized it too or not, but I threw myself behind a stack of big shelves and started counting down from 90. I hadn’t made it past 30 when I could hear the game makers announce.
“Please make your way to the UNDER CONSTRUCTION room now”, and I realized someone died. Ironically, this made me feel better. It made it all seem like a game, the announcement, the fake death, it removed some of the tightness I was feeling in my chest, and I returned to the kitchen.
“So Mark bit the dust”, Andrew informed me as I entered. “We couldn’t really get out of the kitchen, as the ghost bolted out of that cabinet over there and it just went for the first person in it’s way.”
“But look, we have 28 degrees now!”, Angela exclaimed. “So, we have freezing temps, and we know it’s not the friendly ghost, as it definitely did NOT hug Mark”, she added giggling.
“So that means it could be a wraith, oni or mare”, Benjamin interjected, checking his info package. Most of us left ours in the van, I was grateful that Benjamin was generally an overly prepared know-it-all right now.
“I don’t get any significant EMF”, I added, looking down at it. Although just as I said that, my EMF went absolutely crazy. It wasn’t a steady red, it was all over the place, from red to 0 back to red. “Wait, does this count?” I asked, fighting the urge to throw the EMF across the room.
“I think it does.”, Jen confirmed.
“That’d be a wraith then”, Benjamin said.
“Great, shall we give the game makers our answer then, and go again?”, I asked, excited by the prospect of some fresh air.
“Aye. Ghost Type is Wraith”, Andrew confirmed.
“You are correct, ghost hunters.”, came the voice of the game makers. “Please grab all your equipment and vacate the house which should now be unlocked. Return in 15 minutes.”
We started grabbing all our things as Mark joined us from upstairs, and we all left, sharing impressions and feelings. The second round went a little bit better in the sense that the ghost was in the living room, and it was Casper. So we all gave him a big hug and vacated again for 15 minutes. All in all, we had about an hour and 20 minutes left, enough for a game, maybe even two.
“Start game”, Andrew said. “You three, down, us three up.”, he said separating us into two teams. It was Jen, him and me upstairs and the other three on the ground floor.
This was now our third round, and we had become comfortable with the house and the equipment so the initial set up was fast and smooth. While the first two rounds had been pretty straightforward when it came to evidence, we quickly learned that it was not the case now.
“I think I have EMF 5 here!”, Angela walkie-talkied us from downstairs.
“All right, we’re on our way down”, I replied while Andrew and myself headed for the stairs. Jen was in the farthest room of the house so she was lagging behind.
“I think it’s in the kitchen again”, Angela said, meeting us at the bottom of the stairs.
“Hang on guys”, came Jen’s voice through the walkie talkie. “I’m getting freezing temps in this empty bedroom. I think at least.”
Andrew took out his own EMF and sure enough, it was a high response, but it was not a clear five.
“I think the evidence is not as straightforward anymore”, he concluded. “Best make sure we get it right.”
“All right, from the top then!”, I said, going back upstairs.
“Jen’s in the empty room on the left, so you check the bathroom and bedroom on the right, and I’ll go across from you in the first bedroom, OK?”, Andrew said to me as soon as we had reached the second floor again. “That way we cover most ground, then we regroup and switch tools.”
I nodded and followed instructions. I was manning a camera with infrared, looking for ghost particles, so my flashlight was a mere hindrance. As I entered the bathroom, something seemed off however. The shower atop the bathtub, the one awkwardly placed in the middle of the room and partly concealed by a room divider seemed to be running.
“Guys, I think it’s here!”, I ran out of the room and yelled down the hall, forgetting about the walkie talkie in my excitement. I went back into the bathroom ignoring all my survivor’s instincts, camera held towards the bathtub. I couldn’t quite make out what was happening through the little camera screen, so I decided to put it down and fumbled for my flashlight. As I turned it on, I heard a loud splash coming from the bathtub.
“What the..”, I said to myself, and I walked carefully a little closer. Then I saw it, a leg. A fully dressed, wet leg was coming out of the water. To my initial relief, and then immediate panic, the leg was attached to a man. The dude, absolutely huge in appearance, was rising from the tub, completely soaked. I froze, felt like I couldn’t move a muscle. He was immense, wore what looked like black leather pants and a simple white t-shirt, which, wet, clung to his skin. He had long, messy black hair.
“Who are you?”, I asked, but nobody replied. The man, now completely upright, bent over and grabbed something from behind the room divider. A chainsaw. He was now completely turned to me, holding the chainsaw with both hands, pulling out the starter rope. The chainsaw started revving, and the sound startled me out of my mental block.
Shit, I thought to myself. This felt wrong, this was not part of the game, that did not look like a prop. A million thoughts ran through my head at the same time, all of them directing me towards the nearest exit, and not in a calm and orderly fashion. Instinctively, I threw my camera at him, startling him, and started to run towards the door.
“GUYS, RUN, GET OUT!!”, I yelled “HELP!”
But just as I started screaming, music started blasting through the speakers, muffling my voice. Nobody could hear me, the doors were probably still locked, I had to warn everyone and get out. I ran into Andrew right in the hallway and grabbed his hand. He looked startled.
“Don’t think this is part of the game! Dude has a chainsaw in there!”, I said, dragging him towards the stairs.
“You serious??”, he asked incredulously.
“It’s locked! FUUUUCK!”, I yelled, realizing the door at the top of the stairs wouldn’t budge. “Yeah, I’m serious”, I confirmed, although I didn’t need to. As Andrew flashed his light behind us, we caught a glimpse of him walking slowly out of the bathroom, grinning. Sick fuck, he was enjoying this.
“GUYS!”, I yelled as I ran into the unfurnished bedroom. But everybody was mesmerized by the music and the gimmicks, thinking it’s part of the game. “GUYS WE GOTTA GET OUT!”, I tried again, as I pushed a window open.
Nobody was paying attention to me except for Andrew. They were into all their tools, which seemed to have gone crazy. I climbed out the window and Andrew followed me. I looked down, it was a long way, but it looked like there was a trash can right below, filled with leaves and grass. I hoped to God it would break my fall.
“GUYS!”, I tried again, as the guy was now standing in the door frame. Jen looked at me, not completely understanding what I was doing halfway out the window. By the time realization hit her, the guy’s chainsaw was halfway through Benjamin. I didn’t stick around, I couldn’t. I jumped. Andrew followed.
We both made it out OK, but no one else managed to follow. We made a run for our phones which were in van outside.
“911 what is your emergency?”
I tried my best to explain what was happening and then Andrew and I ran and hid behind some trees in the forest. After what seemed like an eternity, the guy came out of the house, through the front door, which was no longer locked. He looked around a couple of times, probably for us, but as he couldn’t spot us, he went to the van, closed the tailgate doors, got in and drove off.
The police came about ten minutes later, followed by an ambulance. We ran to them and told them in more detailed what had happened. They went inside and confirmed that everybody was dead, including the game makers behind the UNDER CONSTRUCTION room. Andrew and I were asked to ride in the ambulance, because even though there was nothing physically wrong with us, they decided we needed to be monitored closely after such events. We didn’t comment. There was no trace of the man and his van, nobody knows if he was part of the crew or some other maniac, it didn’t matter.
“Ghost type is massive murderer”, Andrew said from his bed in the ambulance before collapsing onto it.
I laughed a sorrowful laugh and collapsed myself. If only I’d been more insistent in that bedroom, if only I didn’t find this stupid game in the first place. Grief overwhelmed me then and guilt overwhelms me to this day. |
#x200B;
As mentioned in the previous post, some more things have occurred that I thought worthy of sharing so I’ll be discussing them in chronological order.
I met up with Ellie at a café after I made that original post. It was a nice café near our campus. I placed an order for both of us for coffee and sandwiches and we sat on two darkwood chairs at an Oak table in the corner of the Cafe next to the window. She wore a brown long sleeve shirt and jeans and had her dark brown hair tied in a ponytail. She also had her silver catholic cross around her neck.Ellie looked outside the window at the plants the Cafe had placed, the sunlight making her green eyes sparkle more.
If I was to be honest, this was almost like a dream come true. The girl I had been crushing on for months sitting right across from me where I am the first guy she’s dated in a while from what I’ve heard. If it weren’t for circumstances, I would’ve been more cheerful and energetic than a rabbit rather than having the melancholic expression I had on my face.
“Out of all the days, God had to make this one beautiful . “ Ellie said.
“What did you expect?”
“Something more depressing, like a rainstorm.”
We continued to engage in small talk, awkwardly dancing around the thing that brought us here. Hell, we continued to avoid it even when our food and drinks came.
I broke the awkwardness when I asked “Ellie, what exactly happened?”
She was silent for a moment before saying “Do you remember when Samatha asked me to do some ritual with her friend?”
I said yes.
“Around a month later on August 18th, Samatha and her friend Kyrsten , the occultist, were hanging out at her apartment. She said that she found through sources a way to release sealed spirits, and asked me for my silver cross. She made some kind of pentagram and she said something in Latin. I understood some of it and I think it roughly was some kind of chant along the lines of 'O spirit, awake and return to this world and escape your prison.’ Nothing happened for a little while until the power went out and back on.”
“Did anything happen after the blackout?”
“No, Samatha and Kyrsten thought it was just a dud and they teased me. I took my silver cross and left.”
“That’s it?” I asked, hoping to get more information about the ritual.“
Yeah, not much more I can tell you. She didn’t really go into much depth and just told me to do some things.”“Damn it!” I muttered under my breath.
“What is it?”
“He’s going to kill us if we don’t do something and I don’t know about you but I’m not the type to lay down and die, not especially after what he did to Lukas.”
“Lukas.” Ellie began sounding remorseful. “He was close with you, no?”
I took a moment to think about my relationship with Lukas, and all the things we had done for each other ever since we met freshman year of college.
“He wasn’t just my best friend, he was my brother. He taught me a lot about dating and socializing, helped me get on my feet when I got here, was always there when I needed help, and I was for him.”
I looked at Ellie, and I could see she was trying so hard not to shed tears and was looking away.
“I’m so sorry for Lukas.”.
“Thank you.” I said, feeling consoled “To be honest, I’m not holding up well after I learned that he was dead. The only thing that’s been on my mind is preventing this from doing it to someone else.”
Ellie calmed herself down before saying “How do you think we’re supposed to fight some angry Irishman from 400 years ago that may wait a second.”
Ellie's face began to light up and the smile that attracted me to her began to quickly return as she radiated a hope that rubbed off on me.
“My mom said that one of my ancestors was the one to seal the Hellwalker, so what if we, you know, find out how he sealed him?”
I felt immediate hope before I was silently insulting myself for not thinking of that earlier.
“Of course!”
“I’m going to have to call my mom though.” Ellie's original joy and optimism quickly crumble upon this realization. “I can’t believe she’s going to be too thrilled about the fact that I unleashed a monster.”
“Do you feel ok talking with your mom?”
“ If I have to take a screaming fest from my mom, if it means we can stop this thing before he kills another person then I’ll do it. ”
I admired Ellie's resolution before both of us got up and left. We walked to Ellie's dorm that happened to be nearby and before she entered her dorm I stopped and asked if she wanted me in the room as an emotional support in the likely case things got heated with her mom.
“I’ll be fine but thank you.” she smiled at me before going into her room while I stood outside.
The time she spent talking with her mother was around 12 minutes. Unexpectedly, the conversation wasn’t as strenuous or heated as I thought it was. Though I could hear through the walls what sounded like arguing, it wasn’t the heated or tense exchange I thought. However after the call was done, Ellie walked out of the room and looked like her soul had been crushed which immediately had me concerned .
“Are you ok?”
“My mom said she already knew about the Hellwalker being released after my dad told him about Lukas death. She told me she didn’t know how our ancestor sealed the Hellwalker. However my grandad apparently knows some people in Ireland who can help and he’s going to Ireland tomorrow. “
“When will he be back?”
“At the earliest, three weeks.”
“Damn it!” I banged the wall in frustration before taking a deep breath and calming down.“Did your mom suggest we do anything in the meantime?”
“She suggested we start doing research on how to defend ourselves against the Hellwalker. She said she would try going through some old family books about spirits and demons to see if she would be of any help.”
“So we’re on our own until then?”
“Pretty much.”
I signed in frustration but at the same time having some a new sense of direction. It wasn’t exactly hope but it was better than being lost and dreading being burned from the inside out. I talked with Ellie a little before we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways for the day.After we talked, we agreed to do research on what the Hellwalker was and how we can protect and hopefully end it.
I went home, and since I took the day off, I spent the next few hours browsing the internet, writing down notes about possible ways to deal with the Hellwalker. It had the generic methods, salt, holy water, sliver, etc.
While I was doing research, I noticed something extremely odd. No matter how hard I tried, no matter what I put into the search bar, no matter what obscure paranormal board I searched, there was no mention of Ellie’s Hellwalker.
The closest I got was some Irish folk spirits but none of them exactly fit the description of what I was looking for.I slammed my desk, frustrated that this little piece of shit that took my best friend, that supposedly terrorized Ireland, had no information on what he was or how to defeat him.
Part of me was hoping for a solution, one quick fix that can wrap up this nightmare in a nice bow. Perhaps I was just living in fantasy land.
“Jesus, I needed a cigarette” I thought to myself.
I went up to go get a pack from my bedside drawer when something caught my attention. I had accidentally opened the top drawer instead of the bottom where I keep my cigarettes and I saw some pictures of my family.
I picked them up and I began to smile when I focused on my little sister, Emily. I felt a sense of comfort wash over me when I remembered seeing her beautiful green eyes, her dark brown hair that our mom wrapped in a ponytail, her childlike innocence that lit up the room, and that beautiful smile that made all the worst of our days tolerable.
“That smile that has been gone for a long time.” I thought.
My expression devolved into a sour one as I began to get depressed when I remembered what had happened to her when I was entering high school. My dad was out driving her out to school however what should have been a normal drive followed by her sitting and being bored in class for 6 hours into a living hell. What happened was that there was a bad pothole that caused a pickup truck to swerve violently and collide with my dad’s Black sedan at 60 miles per hour.My sister died instantly, her beautiful face from what I dared remembered disfigured beyond belief.
The worst part however was that I could see the look on her face. It was a mix of shock and confusion, the kind of expression I imagined a child in a warzone or a child who witnessed someone jumping to their death would have. She didn’t understand, she didn’t understand why her bright life was cut so short.
Emily's death destroyed my family to say the least. The one driving the pickup truck was confined to a wheelchair for life while my father was the only one who made a full recovery. To be honest, I wish he didn’t and instead had died that day. I don’t say this because I hate my father but more so because I think him being dead would be a far better fate for him than him being alive.
My father started drinking heavily after that, spending at least a third of his income on booze. He started getting into altercations with my mother and sometimes things got violent, with me being caught right in the middle. Not like my mom was innocent at all. She started smoking at first one cig a day before it was 2, 3 and then half a pack a day. She became a lot more cold towards me and seemed completely different from the warm and loving mother I spent most of my childhood with. She would curse my father, blaming him for Emily's death and saying that he should be dead, not her. Eventually my parents divorce with my mom gaining custody rights with my dad only allowed a monthly supervised visit but I could tell that the divorce broke both of them, especially my mother.
Because of everything that happened between us, I haven’t contacted my parents for over 3 and half years ever since I left for college. I shed a few tears before I put the photos away before I got my cigs and smoked two of them, wishing Lukas was still here to smoke them with me.
Not much really happened for a few days, I talked with Ellie about my findings and we concluded that until we get more definitive methods, we would just use the usual methods of dealing with spirits. I went out to a store and I bought multiple canisters, and began salting my doors and windows everyday. It was a pain in the ass to clean up and at the time I wasn’t sure if it would even work but that was preferable to getting burned from the inside out.
As for things on Ellie's side, she asked me to come to the dorm because she wanted to discuss something. I drove there and I rang on her dorm bell to which she opened the door and let me in. I greeted her before I was immediately concerned by the look on her face, a mix of frustration, disgust, and sadness.
I walked in and saw her room for the first time. She shared a dorm with Samatha. Her side was relatively plain with a Catholic Cross hung up above her bed and where she only had a desk and a few books. Samatha side was far more decorative with posters of bands, and TV shows. Her desk had a lava lamp and a small bookcase filled with romance novels.I sat down on her bed next to her and we began having a conversation.
She confided a few days ago with one of her professors, Dr Richards who specialized in Irish history, about her Hellwalker story. of course leaving out the whole part of it being released She wanted to see if Richards knew any folklore or more information about the legend that she didn't know. She told her that he sadly didn’t have information but he said that her story was apparently fascinated by it and offered to help her write a paper about it and said that he would be open to discussing this topic with her at another meeting.
Afterwards she was done explaining, she had the same look on her face and I still had the same feeling that she was holding something back.
“Ellie, is everything alright?” I asked.
She hesitated to speak for a moment, putting her hand over her mouth and visibly gagging in disgust.
“I, I was supposed to have a meeting with Dr Richards today but when I walked to his office.”
Ellie gagged again with me putting my hands on her back and stomach to help maintain her balance.
“He was sleeping with a student.”
“Excuse me what?”
“He didn’t notice me, but I swear I just wanted to puke right there and then.”
To say I was surprised was an understatement. Dr Richards was the kind of professor that everyone on campus, no matter your personality or work ethnic, loved. His classes were always so engaging that even slackers got off their asses to listen to his lectures. He was professional, kind, understanding, and truly what everyone's ideal professor would be or at the very least, that’s how he was on the surface. Hell I even had a semester schedule with him to get credit for my political science degree.
“Wow, that must have been tough to see.” I said in what was admittedly a vain attempt to comfort her.
“That, that lying filthy snake bastard! How many girls has he done this with? What did he want with me?”
Ellie's face quickly morphed into an anger that I would have never imagined seeing from such a sweet, and beautiful girl such as her.
“Ellie, I know you’re upset, but calm down and report it to the administration tomorrow.”
“I know.” She said in a much calmer tone but it still had a sense of bitterness and vile disgust in it. “God will judge him so I don’t see much-”
“Wait a second.” I said, stopping her.
I stopped because I just had a sudden feeling rise up with me. It was a primal feeling, the kind one would feel if they were being watched by something not within their eyesight. The kind of feeling that a caveman would feel if he was being watched from behind by wolves. I felt the air around us grow cold and heavy as the cumbersome feeling that we were not alone began to ring on us.I checked Ellie's window and door, there was no salt.
“What is it?”
“You forgot to salt the doors.”
Ellie's face went blank as I sensed that she too had the same feeling that we were being watched by some entity.
We looked at the door, it gently opened from the inside as we saw it turn towards us, and then it closed, like someone was leaving the room.
“Ellie, come with me now.” I said.”We need to go find Dr Richards right now.”
Ellie got up without a word, understanding the situation completely as she grabbed her silver cross, and what looked to be a journal. Both of us were scared out of our lives and we understood that we were likely charging towards our deaths. But for our own reasons, we kept pushing forward.
Both ran out of the room and sprinted towards my car. It was late with twilight outside as we got into the car and I stepped on the gas and moved as fast I could without getting pulled over. We reached the building Dr Richards was at.
“Fuck the doors are opened.” I said, getting out of the car as fast as I could.
I opened the trunk of my car, and pulled out a canister of salt. I intended to splash whatever the Hellwalker was with it. It was better than nothing, I slammed my trunk , and while carrying the canister, I sprinted up the concrete stairs and through the doors.
“Ellie, which floor and room is he?”
“Floor 1, room 584!”
I didn’t need directions as shortly afterward, we heard the sounds of screaming. We followed them and in around ten seconds, we were outside his room.I saw through the window that inside was obscured by a black mist, as we heard more and more screaming. Ellie caught up to me and I motioned for her to do whatever she was going to do with her silver cross and journal. I tried opening the door but it was locked.
“SHIT!” I yelled.
Quickly thinking, I asked Ellie if she had a hair clip I could borrow to which she gave one to me. I molded it and began pick locking the door like how my dad had taught me.
I got it opened, and as soon as I opened the door, the black mist dissipated as the room came into view. Books and pages littered the room along broken pieces of ceramic pots and dirt from the plants he had in the office.
I looked at Dr Richards who was leaning up against his wooden desk flipped sideways , he was alive and conscious and was relatively unscathed with only his clothes somewhat torn with a few bruises.He then looked at me, no that’s not the right words, I don’t think he was looking right at me but rather just looking with a soulless expression.
And then he started screaming the most ear piercing, horrific scream of terror I have ever heard in my life.
“Holy Mother Mary, Pray for us sinners, handmaid of Lord, Pray for us sinners! Be it done unto me, at the hour of death, pray for us sinners so we may be spared from hell!” He kept screaming in broken, barely understandable phrases.
He began wailing around like an animal and I eventually had to physically restrain him before ended up hurting himself. It was no easy feat but luckily I had some help from some of his co-workers who were in the building and also heard the screaming.
The campus police came and while they were initially suspicious of me, Ellie explained the situation to them and I was out of trouble .
Dr Richards was taken to a hospital where they concluded that he had a mental breakdown which caused him to have a violent fit and destroy the room but as I and Ellie know, the Hellwalker got to him first and we were too late to help him.
Even now, I still feel a level of self hatred and anger for not doing anything to stop the thing that killed Lukas.
I sat in my dorm contemplating the day's events, and then I looked over at Lukas bed. He was my roommate and that’s actually how we first met. Seeing his empty bed just both made me despair even more but paradoxically also bolstered my resolve .
The silence ended when my phone began ringing. It was a number I had never seen before but my phone didn’t mark it as potential spam so I picked it up.
“Hey, this is Andrew right?”I recognized the voice as Miguel, a member of the track team who Lukas was close friends with as well as me.
Miguel and I ourselves weren’t close and only really interacted if Lukas invited us out for something.
“Yeah it’s me Andrew what do you need?”
“Andrew, do you know what happened to Lukas? Because from what I heard, I swear God almighty it, it sounds crazy but sounds like how that monster from Ellie's story killed his victims.” |
I saw the ghosts haunting my new place the very first night.
By then it was too late of course. I had been through hell trying to find a place, I had already signed the lease, and this was the perfect spot, close to the hospital where I worked, affordable yet nice and newly-renovated.
Anyway, I soon realised the ghosts wouldn’t harm me, indeed they seemed to have no interest in me, nor I in them. I worked hard, long shifts and I was usually dead on my feet by the time I got home, barely staying awake long enough to shovel some food down my throat before falling asleep on the couch, dragging myself bleary-eyed to bed a couple of hours later. A few shadows flitting here and there, a few whispers and groans were hardly going to bother me, I saw much worse at work.
I guess it was weird that they all had broken necks. Every single one of them. The young boy who couldn’t have been more than fourteen. The pregnant girl. The good-looking tall man who looked like a young Paul Newman. Even with a broken neck, his head lying sideways on his shoulders, the charm of his bright blue eyes and his dashing smile shone. I wondered how many women had fallen at his feet when he flashed that smile at them when he was still alive,
There were many more. They flitted around the corners of my apartment- I caught sight of them hanging around the elevators and stairwells, muttering and sighing. They vanished behind the shower curtain just as I would enter the bathroom and disappeared into the closet as I fell into bed.
My first day off since I moved there was a brilliant sunny day, one of those perfect early fall days that are so much more beautiful than anything spring or summer can ever offer. I felt the fatigue of the week seeping out of my bones as I lounged in the kitchen, holding my coffee. Even the sight of the boy scurrying out of the window, his head perched awkwardly on his shoulder didn’t dampen my spirts.
It did however pique my curiosity. Seriously, what was with the broken necks?
I moved to the window and looked out into the morning sun. In the sunlight, I could clearly see a cluster of them on the fire escape landing.
The fire escape stairs weaved its way down the back of the building, narrow black metal steps with a small landing on each floor. There must have been four of them huddled closely on the landing beneath mine.
And then I noticed, they were not alone. My neighbour in the unit below me, a young woman with shining browny-yellow hair was seated with them. The only one of the group who was alive, her neck straight and unbroken, wearing fresh modern clothes. I had already realised the ghosts were all mostly dressed in grimy tatters, except of course for Paul Newman, who was sharply dressed in black.
I had seen her few times already, enough to say “hi” and do that half-hearted smile and nod thing. She seemed like a smart, well-put-together young woman, with a nice long career ahead of her.
But I guess there was no reason for her not to see the ghosts, much like I did.
And more than that. It was evident by the relaxed way she was sitting with the on the landing, her legs dangling off the side, that she had already developed a relationship with them.
The sight of her chatting away with the ghosts made me uneasy, in a way that just sighting the ghosts, their whispers and their sighs around the building never did. What on earth were they talking about in such an animated fashion?
Innocently, I opened my own kitchen door and stepped out onto my landing.
I could hear their voices, though low, quite clearly- even through the shouts of the children playing on the grassy area outside.
“We won Charlie’s case!” I heard my living neighbour say. “Honestly, it’s a personal victory for me, I hope you appreciate that. His family are going to be comfortable now.”
“Eeeee that’s nice Katie” said the pregnant girl. “Good for you. I was wondering where he’d got to, I missed seeing him all mopey and mangled up on the grounds, with his bloody yellow vest. He found peace then. Good job Katie!”
I saw Katie smiling. “Yup- it was hard, and the company put up a brutal fight. But I did it!”
“Good for him then! And you. But what does that get us, eh? We’re just still left here, aren’t we, like always!” cried the young boy, his eyes staring upwards at Katie.
I looked at Katie’s earnest young face through the metal railings, full of pity and heartache for these wretched ghosts and I knew she wanted to help them find peace, too. I kept listening, and learning.
The building was on the site of the old courthouse, and the stairwell was exactly where the city gallows stood. “It was Judge Wilson” Mary said. She was the pregnant girl.
Mary had been hung for murdering her master who had slept with her. Her youthful beauty shone through despite her broken neck. They had said she had tricked the jail-warden into impregnating her to escape hanging, even though she was already pregnant when arrested. They said her bastard should die with her. Her master and his wife had made sure of it, not wanting any rivals for their own children around. She told the story as she must have done so many times before, the pain, anger, and bewilderment in her voice still fresh, untarnished by the passage of time.
“I know the Wilson family”, said Katie, her voice clear through the shuffling mumbling ghost voices. “They own the development company which built this place- the company we sued for Charlie. Still city bigwigs.”
“ ‘e was a cruel wicked man. It’s not right ‘is family prancin’ aboot town while we’re all stuck ‘ere, can’t move on becuz of ‘is wickedness.” This was Johnny, who would have turned fourteen the day after he was hung for being part of a notorious crime gang. The leader of the gang had struck a deal with the court and given up Johnny as part of the deal. The gang-leader’s descendants today were partners in the Wilson development company.
Katie sighed. “It wasn’t just Judge Wilson- it was all corrupt!”
They clustered around her, their sideways faces pleading. “Please Katie. Free us too.”
The Paul Newman smile flashed crookedly “You’ll do it for me Katie, right?
My blood ran cold.
“Others might die. There are children here!” Katie protested.
Mary cradled her belly. “And my child isn’t dead? There has to be blood.”
I knew Katie would do what it was they were asking her to do. Even though I don’t remember making any movement or noise, I must have done, because suddenly all of them, Katie included, turned up, looking straight at me.
Those terrible sideways faces and eyes the wrong way around, staring at me through the railings still haunt my nightmares.
“e’s been listening to us!” cried out Mary.
“maybe ‘e’s with the Wilsons! A spy!” said Johhny.
I turned and without saying a word, I went inside.
But I couldn’t stay. The walls of the apartment were bearing down on me, the whispers and sighs, so harmless before, were piercing my brain. I threw on a jacket and went outside to clear my head.
I walked quickly through the children’s ball game on the grassy, reaching a secluded wooded area further out.
I felt better, my heart rate slowing as I wandered among the trees, breathing deeply.
And then I heard a footstep, a breaking twig.
I turned around but it was too late. The last thing I saw was Katie, bearing down on me with a bat. A flash went off in my head and I tumbled down into darkness.
\*\*\*
I swam back to consciousness. My head was throbbing and white lights were drilling into me.
A voice said “There he is! You may not think it now, but you were one of the lucky ones. Being in the hospital saved you.“
I concentrated. It was my colleague speaking, looking kindly down at me.
“What happened?” I croaked.
She gave me some water. “They found you unconscious in the woods, with head trauma. They picked up the person who will be charged with starting the fire- the police were over here, they think it’s the same person who attacked you.”
I blinked. “What fire?”
“Oh honey- of course- you wouldn’t know. Sorry I’ve been rushed off my feet. Burn victims in the corridors. I have to run. But your building - yes. It’s gone. One of your neighbours went apeshit and burned it down last night.”
She left.
\*\*\*
I watched Katie’s trial. She calmly described how easy it had been to set the building on fire. The Wilson contractors had cheated on the insulating materials, and within ten minutes, the whole edifice was aflame. She showed no remorse.
Twenty-five people died, several by throwing themselves and their children out off the windows on the higher floors. Not as many as had hung wrongfully, but enough to free their ghosts.
For when I was able, I walked around the burnt ruins of the building. It was peaceful, with no signs of the ghosts.
|
#x200B;
\[Sunday Evening\]
I'm still in the hospital. It’s been about 3 days since my original post and I am a bit concerned.
The doctors said something was off with my bloodwork and wanted to keep me a bit longer. Run more tests. I’m sure it’s nothing but it’s still concerning. Grandpa’s death, monsters are real, and now this. A guy can’t get a break.
Luckily, Josh still comes to see me. If not him. Nobody would.
Sorry, I don’t mean to be so depressing.
There’s a reason why I am posting again. Some nights I wake up in a sweat and swear there’s someone in the corner of my room. Standing there like it’s waiting for me to do something but when I do it’s gone.
My first instinct after what happened before is to… Well, honestly, stab it and see if candy falls out.
Tonight, I have a plan. I am gonna pretend to sleep so that I can jump it and hopefully figure out what it wants or what it is.
I will tell you how it goes.
#x200B;
\[Monday, after 8:00 am\]
#x200B;
It went terribly. I was laying in bed for hours pretending to be asleep. Almost actually fell asleep. I didn’t but I saw it from the corner of my eye and pounced straight into a wall.
Hurt like a bitch. Wasn’t all bad though at least Josh will visit today.
#x200B;
\[Monday, around 2:30 pm\]
#x200B;
“You’re an idiot”, Josh said.
“A functional Idiot” I corrected him.
“What’s functional about running into a wall to chase Casper?”
“You sound like you don’t believe me. Do you gotta show you the knife thing again?” I outreached my empty hand and summoned the knife out of thin air.
“Stop. You have shown me that 100 times by now. I get it but magical knives and dogmen are one thing. Ghosts? God honest ghosts?” he asked.
I looked away to the window murmuring. “It’s not that unbelievable”
“Alright.” He said, sounding dejected. “What’s the plan?”
#x200B;
\[Monday night, past 11:30\]
#x200B;
It’s surprising how empty hospitals can be. The bustle of nurses and doctors all but die down to a few select times or in case of emergencies. It was almost too easy to sneak Josh in after visiting hours
He came toting in with a dark blue duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
“You got the stuff?” I asked.
A puff of air escaped his mouth as he let the duffle bag drop to the floor. “yeah. .. You sure this stuff is gonna work?”
Unzipping the duffle bag. “pretty sure”.
“How’d you know?”
“I saw it online”
Josh looked at me for a solid 10 seconds. “Excuse me?”
I pulled out a couple canisters of salt, a pure iron crowbar, holy water, cruefix, and random bits and bobs of silver.
“This should be enough.”
We went back to my room and waited in darkness till...
#x200B;
\[Tuesday 12:03 am\]
#x200B;
Eyes like daggers staring into my back. It was enough to rip anyone from their slumber.
My phone read 12:03 AM as I braced myself. "Hello" I turned to meet its gaze. Its eyes weren't visible in the shadows but I couldn't help feeling a coldness. A coldness that comes with death.
"Now" I said.
Josh sprung from the behind the curtain and threw the salt on the floor around it."Gotcha"
The shadowy figure did nothing but stand there till it stepped forward on top of the salt. "Crowbar!" I shouted as he swung right through the spirit.
It grabbed his shoulder and sent him flying against the door.
"Fuck." grappling for the crucifix and holding it up."Stay!" The ends of the crucifix started to bend and snap off.
Gripping the hilt of a knife lurching forward as the sound of wind slashed by a larger blade filled my ears. The clanging sound of metal on metal."What?"
My knife is holding its ground to a scythe 10 times its size.
The sparks flew as neither of us gave up an inch and that's when I saw it. A pair of blue eyes looking back at me.
Human eyes. Eyes that were so gentle looking despite everything going on.
She slammed me with the butt of the scythe into my ribs causing me to fall to the ground.
The blade of the scythe was to my throat. She pulled off her hood revealing a woman my age with bright red headphones over her ears.
Removing her headphones. "How did you see me?"
"...What?"
"Only the dead or on the edge of death can see me. You are neither."
"So you're not here to kill me?"
"No. Why would I do that?"
A few seconds of silence passed till Josh came running up splashing a bottle of holy water on her face.
Nothing happened except a silent passive aggressive anger directed Josh's way.
"I don't think she's a ghost. Josh."
"What is she then?"
shrugging with the scythe still an inch to my throat.
"Jenny." She said, "My name is Jenny."
"Ok..." Josh said
"Um, Jenny. Can you remove your scythe from my neck?" She pulled back. "Thank you."
"Are you Death?” I asked her after getting back to my feet.
“No no no, flattering really. I am just a reaper.”
“Ok…”
“Is he okay?”
“Josh? Yeah. He’s just processing.”
“Yeah…”
“See, he’s fine.”
I turned on the lights and gestured to the chairs by the window. She sat down by the window but Josh elected to stand.
“So, Jenny” She looked up towards me.” Why are you here?”
A slight confused grin. “Working. This is a hospital after all”
Nodding. “So, why are you watching me?”
She paused for a few seconds “You know…Just making my rounds.”
“Umm hmm”
“Hey!” Jenny said . “How can you guys see me?”
“No idea. I have seen you everyday since I got here.” The look of realization hit her face. She pulled out a cellphone and then sloped her hands in her face. “Idiot Idiot”
“What’s going on?” Josh said.
With a deep breath she said “Nothing…I just forgot to turn on the filter.” Clicks a phone on her phone and vanishes.
“Where’d she g…” She reappears in her seat. “Invisibility. Nice right?”
"Very."
I gave him a side glance.
"What?"
Smirking. "Nothing."
"You two alright?"
"Never Better."
"Yeah, Never Better."
We spoke for a bit longer before Jenny had to return to work. The casualness of all this was pretty humorful looking back at it. Almost like three friends having everyday conversations.
#x200B;
\[Tuesday 9:14 am\]
#x200B;
I woke up to my nurse and other hospital staff checking the dent in the door.
"What happened?" I said.
The staff wasn't sure what happened and I played dumb. Later on, I heard the hospital checked the security cams. Found nothing but constant static and couldn't verify anything.
I had a feeling the hospital or more so my Doctor Sanchez felt sorry for me.
He came to me one day and dropped a bombshell.
My bloodwork doesn't look good and they're running more tests to find the problem but if it continues I will die.
I'm gonna die. |
I work for the Department of Defense in Philadelphia. It's what we call a "Dark Lab," which actually sounds more ominous than it is; it basically just means it isn't listed on Google Maps. Everyone has the general sense that what we do is for the government and, to some degree, secret, but nobody knows what exactly that is. Including me.
It's funny how the military works: they need lab workers like me for their projects but they don't tell us what the work is for. Just the objective: find a virus that carries X gene. Make a strain of Y bacteria that's twice as infectious, three times as deadly. Don't ask questions.
And normally I don't, but last night, I broke my own rules. The data entry system was down- three cheers for modern technology -so, with a sigh, I stepped back from the test tubes and doffed my gloves in the exit throughway.
I left the lab without telling anyone, not planning to be gone longer than five minutes or so, and walked to the IT room, but our normal guy wasn't there. He seemed to have stepped out for a moment, and he left his computer on. Big no-no, of course, being a high clearance level facility, but we are scientists and tech people, not soldiers. I decided to try to find my data sheet on my own, being a millennial, a tech native, all that. I thought I was being proactive.
"198." That's what I typed, or started to, in the hard drive's search bar, because my file on *Yersinia* bacteria is called "198 Y. pestis x pXO1." A mouthful, I know, and I was quickly distracted by the appearance of another, even more strangely named file: 1988 Feb. 13 - Incident 145 -**Red Joe**.
Because I am bored, naturally curious, and an idiot, I clicked on it. Everything below this is word-for-word from the transcript that appeared when I opened the file. I took pictures on my phone. They have 24/7 recordings in the security room here- have since the place opened in 1970. Whenever there is an "incident" (usually an eco nut or reporter trying to break in), they save the recording instead of deleting it. Here is what they saved from February 13th, 1988:
02/13/1988 : 02:34:15 AM
**Sergeant Andrew Leahy:** ...don't know though, man, my parents are real serious about that shit. Date a protestant girl and it's okay, sure, fine, but *marry* her? At the church they go to, they won't even consider marrying two people if they both aren't Catholic.
**Sergeant Francis Loki:** Medieval.
**Leahy:** Yeah okay, sure, but look at Ireland, man. They're blowing up cars out there.
**Loki:** 'Cause they're medieval. Why you gotta get married in a church anyway? People get married on beaches now.
**Leahy:** My parents would disown me.
(Rustling noise, air conditioner turns on)
**Loki:** Do you see that?
**Leahy:** Where?
**Loki:** Outside. That's...is that a guy? Out there?
**Leahy:** I don't... \[**UNINTELLIGIBLE\]** ... is he walking? I can't tell what he's doing.
**Loki:** People don't walk like that.
**Leahy:** (chuckles) Don't say it like that, Frank. It's the night shift.
**Loki:** *Look* at him. That's not how people walk. I mean it. What's he doing?
**Leahy:** Probably just another nut job. I'll call -
02/13/1988 02:38:42 \[**FIVE SECOND PAUSE\]**
**Leahy:** Is he...? Is he crawling?
**Loki:** That's what I'm saying. He's not walking normal.
**Leahy:** He's not walking at all. He's, like... *galloping.*
\[Static Noise\]
**Loki:** Center security to night patrol, this is Sergeant Frank Loki. Suspicious individual spotted on Lands Road headed for...uh, headed for us. Headed for Research Building 1.
02/13/1988 02:40:03
**Loki:** Hello? Night patrol? Come in. This is Sergeant Loki at center security. Suspicious person sighted on Lands Road. Please advise.
\[Static noise, indistinct murmuring\]
**Night Patrol:** Sergeant... read you ... this is Lieutenant \[**REDACTED**\] on night patrol. Can you ... \[**UNINTELLIGIBLE\]** for the... over.
\[Static noise\]
**Loki:** Hello? Lieutenant \[**REDACTED\]?** You're not clear, come again.
**Leahy:** Frank, how's he moving so fast?
**Loki:** I don't *know,* Andy. Hello? Hello! Night Patrol? Please come in. Suspicious individual headed for Research Building 1. I repeat: Suspicious individual.
**Leahy:** He's almost at the front gate.
**Loki:** How'd he get past the perimeter?
**Leahy:** I don't know, but he's almost at the front gate.
**Loki:** Well don't let him in.
**Leahy:** Jesus Christ, he must be going 30 miles per hour. Crazy son of a bitch is gonna crash right into the gate and brain himself.
**Loki:** What's he wearing? Zoom in there...yeah, there. Is that...? Is that one of our uniforms?
**Leahy:** No, man, he's wearing some kind of a jump suit or something. Hey maybe he's, like, a head case. You know what I mean? There's a hospital down the road.
**Loki:** No. That's one of ours. That's what they make the docs and the lab techs wear when they go to the slammer.
**Leahy:** This guy's no doctor.
**Loki:** That's what they all wear when they go to quarantine; I'm telling you. Last year? Dr. \[**REDACTED\]** got bit by one of the rats infected with **\[REDACTED\].** They sent him to the slammer for 21 days and he wore a freakin' jumpsuit just like that.
**Leahy:** Slammer's up Lands Road that way.
**Loki:** That's what I'm saying.
\[Static noise, unintelligible voice\]
**Loki:** Hello? Hello, night patrol? Do you copy?
**Night Patrol:** Sergeant? Come in, this is night patrol 2, Captain \[**REDACTED\]** to center security. I have a visual on your intruder. Do not exit the building. I repeat, do *not* exit the building for any reason. Units are approaching the suspect now. Over.
**Leahy:** ...the shit, man...
**Loki:** They don't pay me enough for this.
**Leahy:** Look, there he goes! There he goes right there; he stopped.
**Loki:** That's the quarantine jumper, Andy, I'm *telling* you.
**Leahy:** What the hell they got cooking in the labs that can make people run like that?
**Loki:** What's wrong with his eyes? Why do they look like that?
**Leahy:** His eyes are the least of my worries, man. Put on the radio. See what NP's doing.
\[Rustling, crackling noise\]
**Night Patrol Captain:** Units be advised, approach the suspect with extreme caution. If he comes within twenty feet of you, you are to shoot to kill. I repeat: shoot to kill.
**Night Patrol 2:** Approaching suspect now. \[Faintly\] Sir! Put your hands where I can see them! You are... government property ... hands ... or we will shoot!
**Leahy:** *Fuck,* man.
**Loki:** Did he hear them? Why's he looking like that through the gate? He can't... he can't see us, right?
**Night Patrol 2:** Sir! Put your hands up now and get on the ground! If you do not surrender yourself now, we *will* shoot you!
\[Screeching sound, feedback on the radio\]
**Leahy:** Oh! What the...
**Loki:** Shit!
**Night Patrol 2:** Open fire!
\[Gunshots, metallic banging\]
\[Snarl, unintelligible, guttural sound\]
**Night Patrol 3:** No...fuck...oh my God...no!
\[Scream, ripping noise\]
**Night Patrol 2:** Jesus Christ!
\[Gunshots\]
**Night Patrol 2:** Get back! Get off him! Oh my...Captain! Captain, do you read me? Help us!
**Night Patrol Captain:** This is night patrol to command, come in. This is Captain **\[REDACTED\]** on night patrol to DoD Command. Red Joe is breeched containment. Alert all Level 1 staff to evacuate immediately. I repeat: Red Joe has breeched containment.
**Night Patrol 2:** Captain! Help me! Oh God, somebody help me! Help.... ah! ... no... \[**UNINTELLIGIBLE\]**
**Leahy:** Oh my holy God. Is he \[**REDACTED\] ?**
\[Screaming, banging, then silence\]
**Loki:** Andy, we have to get out of here.
**Leahy:** And go where? We're not Level 1 staff. That there's the only way I know out. Land's Road.
**Loki:** I dunno. We have to...shit!
**Leahy:** What the hell's he doing?
**Loki:** There's no way he can get...
**Leahy:** There's no way he can do any of the shit we just saw him do. Hit the alarm.
**Loki:** I...
**Leahy:** Hit the alarm, Frank!
\[Smacking sound, blaring alarm\]
**Loki:** The captain's not gonna help us. Oh God, nobody's gonna help us.
**Leahy:** He's coming. Here, help me move this to the door and maybe we can...
**\[**Banging noise, shattered glass, unintelligible yelling\]
**Loki:** Oh shit! Oh shit, oh fuck!
\[Guttural, deep laughter\]
**Loki:** Stay away! Stay back, I...
\[Unintelligible screaming\]
**Leahy:** \[Whispering\] And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me. Hail Mary, full of grace...
\[Snapping noise, grunt\]
February 13th, 1988 : 03:11:33
\[Distant groaning, nearby whistling to the tune of "Blueberry Hill"\]
\[Radio cuts out\] |
Well, the rain is still coming down, and I'm sitting here watching it fall.
It's been a day since my last post, and I've been stuck here thanks to the burning rain. I've been enjoying your comments (sparingly, of course, since I don't want to kill my phone), but this morning I found something to occupy my time besides watching raindrops. I had completely forgotten about the other journal until today, but I found it again when I was looking for supplies in my bag. Somewhere between a bag of crushed chips and a honey bun, I found the smaller journal that I had found in the bag with Celene's journal. It was little more than a battered notebook and it looked like it had been through hell. I still had Celene's journal in the front pocket, I was still hoping to show it to Gale, but I had almost forgotten about this one.
I didn't have much else to do, so I cracked it open and started reading.
When I was done, I felt that the info was worth a little battery power to share.
The journal is from Jasper, another victim/traveler through the Dollar General Beyond.
Jasper, unlike the rest of us, wasn't looking for a way out.
Jasper was looking for someone, someone I had read about before.
Jasper was looking for his grandson, Jacob.
January 10th, 1991
That date is just a guess, but it's the best guess I have.
Jacob and I have been stuck inside this Dollar General Beyond for the last four days.
It all began because I had to use the bathroom. Jacob didn't want to come with me, he was a big boy and too old to go to the bathroom with his pawpaw, but five years old isn't really a safe age to just leave him outside while I do my business. So, we stepped in and, to our surprise, stepped back out into another Dollar General. I thought I might be having a senior moment for a second, but when we turned around and walked back through the door, we were in a Dollar General again instead of a bathroom. We found the doors locked and couldn't get anyone to help us get out, so we made ourselves comfortable until they opened the next day. None of the food packages were in a language I could read, but the food eats okay, and we didn't imagine we would be there longer than a night.
After four days, I have to believe we have slipped into some kind of Twilight Zone place.
Jacob thought it was funny when I told him we were stuck here, but I've started noticing that the food doesn't replenish itself. Jacob is building models and coloring, but the more I observe, the more I'm worried that we might starve here. I keep hoping we will wake up and find that everything is back to normal, but the longer it goes on, the less hope I have that will happen.
The story was a familiar one, at first. Jasper tested the place they were, looking for a way out, and Jacob kept busy with toys and things. The two were fine, at first, but I could definitely sympathize with Jasper when he talked about the food eventually running out. When I didn't know how the place worked, I had obsessed over how much food I would have before I ran out, and I knew how that weighed on a person. They stayed in the DGB for about a week and a half before the entries changed, and it all seemed to kick off with the disappearance of Jacob.
January 20th
Jacob is gone!
I woke up and he is nowhere to be found!
I have looked everywhere, in every conceivable place, but I can't find him.
I'm frantic, looking under every shelf and behind every box, but my grandson is just gone.
I don't understand where he went, or how he would have left. The doors never open, and no one ever comes or goes, but I do seem to recall something from the night before the longer I look for him. It was something almost out of a dream, something half-remembered, but I think it might be an actual memory. If it is, then I know what I have to do, but I don't really understand how to go about it.
Jacob woke me up saying he needed to go to the bathroom and I rolled over without thinking about it.
Is it possible that he went through the bathroom door and crossed somewhere else like we did to get here?
It looks like I'll have to find out.
I looked up as a loud rumble sent flashes through the sky outside. It had been raining for a little while, but this was the first time I had seen lighting. I didn't know if it signified anything, but it didn't seem to be affecting the rain at all so I went back to reading. I threw a little more kindling on the fire, the red stalks burning nicely, and went back to the journal.
It appeared that Jasper had begun traveling as he searched for his Grandson.
January 21st
Still no sign of Jacob.
I've been to three different stores, and I can't find him.
I did notice that in the store I came to some items were missing that he likes to eat, so maybe he moved on after eating a little. He's only four. I don't know what he's thinking. Maybe he panicked after going through it and didn't understand or something. I don't know, but I wish he would stop. I'm so worried about him, and it's not good for my condition. I'm kind of hoping to find one of these stores with a pharmacy in it, because, as it stands, I have enough pills to last me a few weeks, but that's it.
I have to figure something out in the meantime. This journal helps, but it's the only thing I have sometimes that tethers me to the present. I need my meds and I need Jacob, or I might have bigger problems than being stuck.
Pills? I wondered what pills he was talking about, but I also wondered how he kept his journal on him while traveling? Did he have some sort of innate ability? Maybe, as I guessed from the talk of pills, he had some kind of altered mental state that made his traveling possible. Either way, it was interesting to read about it from other people's point of view. I had enjoyed hearing Celene talk about her journey and hearing from the crazy old man now kind of made it even cooler.
January 24th (I think)
I've been traveling nonstop, trying to catch up to Jacob. I don't know how this works, but I haven't seen any sign of him in a while. The last time I went, I just collapsed in a store, and thank goodness it was a safe one. I went to one yesterday that was a cave and I found a creature living in it that almost got me. Thankfully it isn't very quick, or I'd be one dead old man.
I know that Jacob is out there, however. I will find him, hopefully, before it's too late.
He wrote a lot, and I realized that he traveled farther than Celene or I had. He talked about familiar stores, and stores I had never even dreamed of. He saw a Dollar General that was in a forest, the animals there wearing little vests and stocking shelves with products brought in by birds. He talked about a store where the products tried to bite you and seemed hostile. He talked about encountering Miasmas of his own, and how terrified he was that Jacob might have run afoul of them, and all the while I began to fear for his mental state. His writing got less and less coherent as he went, and I wondered what was going on with him?
Then I turned the page and a label fell out that solved one particular mystery. He had abandoned the dates by this point, but I could understand that. It was hard to tell dates and days when you were traveling, but he had laid the label in here like a book mark. Maybe he was afraid of losing it, maybe he just wanted to save this page. I didn’t know, but what followed was enlightening.
I ran out of meds today. It doesn't seem to matter, they weren't helping. I need to find Jack, but I can't find any sign of him at all. Was it Jack I was looking for? I think so. He's just a little guy, he's going into third grade. I need to find him before his Cubscout meeting starts?
I don't know where I am, but it seems like I've been here long enough that it's hard to remember where I'm going or where I've been.
The journal helps sometimes. Reading it now it seems I'm looking for Jacob, not Jack.
Jack is my son. Jack is grown up, not a little kid. Jacob is Jacks's son, my grandson, and he's lost.
I'll sleep now, but I need to find him soon.
I picked up the label that had fluttered out and it turned out to be from a pill bottle. Donepezil was not a name I was familiar with, but the instructions were for the "Treatment of dementia symptoms. That explained a lot. If the hermit had been suffering from dementia then maybe his state had deteriorated over time and he had become feral. Traveling couldn't cure him, but it could help prevent the dementia from killing him. There was still so much about this place I didn't understand, but the longer I stayed here, the more I felt I had a handle on.
I kept reading, but it got bleaker the longer I went on.
Today I found a store where it snowed inside. There were snowmen wearing vests. They tried to get me, but I ran. No sign of Jackob.
Today I saw a store full of water, but I could breathe the water. It was fun, but still no Jacob.
Found a store made of candy. Jack would have liked it. Where did he go? I could have sworn he was with me when I got here.
The book was full of little passages like that. Just quick asides about where he was going and what was there. I made some notes in my own journal, jotting down stores to look out for in the future...if I ever get back inside. I think I will, but it's just a feeling. I didn't think I could get out until a few days ago, but here I am, in the Outside. I kept turning pages and reading passages, but it wasn't until I saw something about going back that I stopped and read what he'd written. It was the most coherent his writing had been in a while, and it gave me hope that maybe he had found his meds.
False hope, in the end.
Back home
Back where it all began.
It started when I traveled somewhere I probably shouldn't have. I don't know how long I've been moving, or how long I've been traveling, but I came across something terrible today. It was so bad that I may never travel again, even if it means that Jacob is lost to me forever.
Today I found the end of the stores, at least I think so.
I had been moving quickly between stores, feeling my mental stability eroding like a stone in a river. I was afraid that, journal or not, I eventually wouldn't be able to remember anything. Jacob, Jack, Rose, my home, my time in the Army, everything would be gone and I would just be a husk of myself. I kept going, not having any goal in mind, and eventually, I found something I shouldn't have.
I left a perfectly normal Dollar General, the only real difference being that all the products were written in a weird language, and came out onto a plane of perfect darkness. The floor floated like the tiles were levitating, and they glowed like a kid's nightlight. Between the tiles was nothing but darkness, above me was nothing but darkness, and amidst the shelves of rocks and weird fungi, I saw a multi-faced crystal that hung above the floor. It was green, an emerald diamond with so many facets that it made me dizzy, and I knew that I had to get it. It was important, too important to just leave here, but I have no idea how I knew that.
When I walked towards it, however, I saw something moving in the darkness and realized I wasn't alone.
It's hard to wrap my brain around, but the darkness there was so deep, so perfect, that the black creatures I have seen coming out of the ceiling sometimes looked like purple clouds next to it. They moved about in red eyes patrol, their heads moving fitfully to take in everything, and they were so big that I couldn't understand it. I went to the Empire State Building once when I was younger, right before I went to basic, and the smallest of them was bigger than it. The eyes swam in the sky, like meteors, and before I had taken a single step I was filled with an intense fear.
I took a step back towards the door, and when I did, I remembered something I hadn't thought about in a long time.
I remembered Jacob building things with Legos.
He built cities and buses, whole landscapes of bricks, and then he pretended to be a giant as he destroyed them with big, comical footsteps.
Looking up at these things, I felt like that must be what the little people saw as he boomed over them, and when I slipped back through the door, I came out in the store we had left.
I don't know how I did that, maybe it's something you can only do when you've come to the end? Either way, I think my traveling days are done. I don't know where Jacob is, I don't know what's become of him, but when I stand before that door and think about leaving, all I see are those towering creatures that lived in that dark place and I lose my nerve.
I don't know what I will do, but I know that it will have to be here from now on.
There were a few more entries that I could read, but most of it was unintelligible after a while. He drew pictures sometimes, but sometimes it was just streaks and half words and weird not sentences. His mental state fell apart after a few weeks or months or however long, and eventually, he just stopped using the journal at all. Who knew how long he had been here, but I knew how he had ended, and I thought now that it might have been a mercy. The old hermit, Jasper, probably would have thanked us for ending his suffering. Or maybe he wouldn't have, who's to say?
At some point, while I was reading this, it seems to have stopped raining.
I'm going to catch some zzz's and then keep moving.
I'll update you next time, my friends on the other side.
Until then, keep your eyes peeled for strange bathrooms in stranger retail chains.
See ya.
|
As stated i used to work the night shift as a Postman. I never liked this job much but it was better then being unemployed. I was a 20 year old student so money was something that i needed alot. The post office that i worked for is in a small town in sweden, not alot of people live there and at night there is almost no one outside. This is how IT have been able to keep it a secret for so long. Until i realized what got the mail.
So this began one night when my night shift was about to start. It was the first time that i was going to drive this district by myself. I was tired and feelt like i needed a cup of coffee. The coffee machine was broken as usual. I got all of the mail wich mostly consisted of letters packed in envelopes or packages that i was supposed to deliver. I put them and some news papers in my post car. I drove away at 1 am. That’s when i started hearing a sound. It was a soft buzzing and It was realy annoying, but it was not so bad that i could go home.
When i got to my first stop i got out of my post car and went to the mail box with the mail. It was very dark outside so i was depending on the streetlights to see anything. I had put the mail in the mail box and started walkning back to my post car when i heard a noice. It sounded like something slammed behind me. I turned around and nothing was there. I was a little spooked so i looked at the houses around me but i saw nothing unusual. I went back to my post car and drove away to my next stop.
I had stopped my post car and was going in to a apartment building to deliver the mail. At this point the buzzing had been increasing and was now really irritating. This was the only apartment building on my district and i always found it creepy. The lights almost never worked, there were always wierd sounds and it often feelt like someone was watching. All of these things were going on this night to. I left the mail in the holders next to the apartment doors. I walked down the stairs to the door to go outside but as soon as i opened the door i stopped. I heard all of the doors where i left the mail open and slammed shut. I was horrified and shocked and wondered what was going on. I turned around and saw that all the mail was gone. I hurried out, jumped in my post car and drove off.
I was driving extra fast and tried to hurry as much as possible. Everytime i left mail at a mail box or at a door i heard slamming sound every time i turned my back or left it. After i was done and all the mail was delivered the buzzing sound had increased so much that i could not hear anything else. But i started to hear something else within the buzzing. I heard a voice. I could not fully hear what the voice was saying.
I did not want to hear it. I put on the radio and was going to turn up the volume when i suddenly heard that the voice was in the radio to.
I turned off the car and jumped out. I fell to my knees and covered my ears hoping to get the voice out. It did not go away. I got up and started walking towards the center of the town. When i was walking people started coming out from all of the buildings where i left the mail. They were walking in the same direction as me. I could not think clearly because of the sound in my head. But i saw one of their face.
He had blank eyes and he was holding the mail that i had delivered. He was whispering the same whispers that were going on in my head. I could se that hundreds of people stood in the center of the town. I was almost there to. All of them had hoods over their heads. Their whispering had become a chanting that merged whit what was now chanting in my head.
I wanted to hide or run away but i could not. I was drawn towards them. Not them. But what was there.
I was now one in their crowd. The ground started to cracking and the crowd formed a big circle in the middle. somthing came out of the ground within the circle. I can only describe it as the head of a being with many eyes and mouths. Thousands of them. The people started to feed it the mail.
The voice that was chanting in my head was now very clear. It said “Feed me and my whispers shall guide you to never ending knowledge, Starve me and my whispers shall guide you to madness”.
I never worked there again. The worst thing is that i still can hear it’s whispers. It used to say to me that i had chosen and that there were always going to be somebody else to feed it. I can feel the madness that it promised me. It only whispers lies now. It keeps the knowledge that it gets from the mail for it self. |
Have you ever taken a deep stare into your reflection? Stared at it until your vision began to grow dark and blurry. Swirling shadows invading your mind, your reflections face changing, warping, growing unfamiliar. It's scary, staring at yourself for too long. Your face growing black, growing darker, turning into something else. But that’s what I did. That’s how it all began.
I stared deep into my reflection, inspecting every aspect of it, peering into its mirrored world. I lifted my hand slowly, watching my reflection follow my lead in perfect sync. I closed one eye, then another and he did the same, my gaze analyzing every movement for any noticeable difference.
But there was none.
I let out a sigh as I began to back away from the mirror, disappointment covering my face. It was already dark and I would have to head to bed or face the wrath of my father so I brushed my teeth then changed into my pajamas. My eyes kept wandering back to the mirror, still hoping to catch any difference in movements but there was none. I began to feel childish, I was 12 now, much too old to believe in supernatural mirrors, I should be playing video games and sports like a normal kid, not standing in front of a mirror waiting for something to change, but then something did.
It happened as I was walking towards my bed, a little delay in my footsteps hardly noticeable but noticeable if you were a paranoid 12 year old keeping keen eyes on your mirror. I turned to the mirror, thinking I had just imagined the whole thing. Surely it was a figment of my imagination, there was no way my reflection was out of sync the one time that I was paranoid about it.
I warily took a step towards the mirror, then another, studying my reflections every move. Something did seem off. No, something was definitely off. I lifted a hand and so too did my reflection, but the angle seemed wrong, as if the hand was slightly lower than it should be, off by a half an inch, maybe a quarter of one. But it was definitely off.
“What in the?” I said astonished as I lifted my other hand towards the mirror, my reflection following, but not completely in sync. I wasn’t imagining it. Slowly, I reached my hand closer and closer to the mirror and just as I was about to touch it, my reflection blinked.
I screamed.
My dad burst into the room seconds after I screamed as I jumped away from the mirror and cowered behind my bed.
“What the hell Mike?!” Dad screamed as he scanned the room.
“The mirror!” I cried, “there's something wrong with the mirror!”
He approached the mirror and stared into it, his reflection following his every move perfectly, he placed his hand on it, then turned to me, anger now present on his face.
“There's nothing wrong with that goddamn mirror!”
I took a step towards it. Maybe it was only my reflection, I thought, maybe only my reflection was delayed. But as I walked towards the mirror, there was no difference in strides between me and my reflection.
“Go to bed,” My dad ordered as he began to stomp away, muttering “damn kid.
”
I sighed and turned towards my bed, still wary of the mirror, and began to obey him when I noticed my reflection’s lips curling into a smile.
I gasped. “Dad!” I said, fear present in my voice.
He turned around and gave me one of his best death stares, a stare that told you you were on dangerous territory, a stare that would soon turn into a hit.
“Goodnight,” I mumbled.
He slammed the door.
I woke up to the sound of banging. My eyes shot open and scanned the room, they were terrified of what they saw. My reflection was pounding on the glass, tears rolling down his, or my, or its face. He was screaming yet I could not hear a thing, nevertheless, I could still read his lips.
“Get me out! Get me out! Get me out!” he was screaming as his fists pounded on the glass. I was too stunned to move, frozen in fear, my heart pounding faster and faster until I could taste blood in my mouth. My eyes opened wider and wider, bewildered at the sight they beheld. My reflection pounded harder, more frantically. Blood began to form on his hands, then spilled down them, then splattered all over the mirror, painting his world.
His face began to contort with anger as he pleaded for my help but I did not move an inch. His body grows red, malice filling his eyes, his hatred piercing my soul. That’s when he smiles, that same wide grin as before, as he clamps his teeth on his finger biting hard, then harder and harder until his mouth closes shut. I can almost hear the noise, the tearing of flesh and shattering of bones. Then he smiles again, blood now covering his teeth and spilling down his lip, as he writes with his half torn finger: “I’m here.”
I woke up to the sounds of my own screams. Jumping out of my bed, my eyes shot to the mirror but my reflection seemed normal. I quickly quieted down, realizing that it had been a nightmare but it was too late, I already heard my dads feet pounding down the hall.
The door slammed open.
“Dammit Mike!” his face already swelling with anger, “what the Hell is it now?!”
“T-the mirror,” I stuttered, “A nightmare-”
I couldn’t even finish my sentence before my dad’s hand struck like a viper, my face snapping to the side from the impact as I struggled to stay upright.
“Wake me again and I’ll beat yer ass.” My dad said coldly as he stormed out of the room, his feeting creating earthquakes on the floor.
Tears formed in my eye as my fear developed into anger. An anger that didn’t last long when I saw from my peripheral vision, that my reflection was looking towards me with a smile.
I got back into bed, nervous and afraid but unable to do anything unless I wanted to face my father’s wrath. I pulled the cover up and over my head, my body trembling slightly from fear as my eyes began to grow heavy, then heavier until they were unable to remain open, but as my eyelids began to close, I could see the reflection of myself that was lying in bed, stand up and walk towards the mirror.
When I woke up, I did not feel the soft and comfy mattress on my body, I felt something else, something colder. Slowly, my eyes began to open, beginning to take everything in.
That’s weird, I thought as I saw my bed to my side, I fell asleep on the floor? That couldn’t be right, I specifically remembered wrapping myself in my blanket and sleeping in my bed. Maybe I rolled off? But I’m sure I would have woken up to the impact of hitting the floor.
That’s when I looked towards my leg, feeling a strange pulling sensation. My eyes shot open and terror coursed through my body as I began to kick and scream, begging my dad for help without worrying about the punishment.
My reflection smiled down at me, his teeth shining in the darkness as he continued to pull on my leg, dragging me towards the mirror.
I screamed, I kicked, I spat and scratched but the being had otherworld strength. He didn’t even budge as my feet crashed into his arm. Wiggling frantically, I dug my nails into the floor, hard enough for them to peel backwards and causing some to break off. Blood began to pour from my fingertips as I grasped for any sort of leverage, but it was a futile attempt.
“I got you!” My reflection mimicked, its voice sounded distorted, but unmistakably like my own.
“Help me!” I screamed for my dad and he answered as I heard the door knob rattle… But it didn’t open.
My eyes grew wide with shock as I noticed the door had been locked. I never locked the door because my dad did not allow it, my reflection must have done it! The thought of him roaming around my room as I slept, quietly locking the door, and gently lowering me off my bed and onto the floor made me panic, and my screams grew in desperation.
My reflection used his other hand to grab my wrist, lifting my struggling body off the ground and towards the mirror which I could see had a circle of blood, like a portal. I screamed as the realization of what he was going to do dawned on me.
“No, don't!” I cried.
“Bye, bye,” He mocked as he threw me into the mirror, my body going straight through as if there was nothing there. I hit the ground and pain shot through my limbs but I quickly rose to my feet, running towards the mirror in desperation. But my reflection used his shirt to wipe off a section of the blood and the mirror reformed, growing solid again.
I crashed into the mirror, my hands pounding on the glass as my dad pounded harder and harder on the bedroom door. I saw my reflection sit on the floor, smiling at me one last time before he began to scream, mimicking how I acted moments ago. My bedroom door slammed open and relief filled my veins as I saw my dad barge into the room.
“Dad help me!” I screamed, “that isn’t me!”
But he didn’t seem to notice my pleas, his face filled with fear as he saw me pounding on the mirror and he walked in front of my reflection, in a defensive stance. He was protecting my reflection.
Tears began to roll down my cheeks as I realized that he did not know the son he was protecting was an imposter. The blood, I could use the blood I realized. Blood still dripped from my recently torn fingernail and I began to draw a circle around the mirror as my dad darted back out of the room.
I had to make it out, I had to show him that that was an imposter. I continued to draw the circle, wincing at the pain when my dad burst into the room again, holding a hammer.
My eyes widened. “Don’t!” I screamed as he ran towards me, lifting his hammer. I glanced at my reflection one last time, watching him wave goodbye to me with a smile curled on his lips as my dad swung at the mirror and it shattered.
I don’t even know how long it's been. It feels like days, maybe even months, that I had been trapped in here. Sitting alone in my room, unable to leave it. It’s like the room is the only thing that exists in this place. When I open the door, there's nothing but an endless void, when I open the window, it's the same. Now that the mirror is gone I can’t even peer through into my own world. I am completely alone.
Everything here still works though. The lights still switch on, the electricity still works, and so does the computer. I don’t know if I have signal though, it says the wifi is on but I don’t know if it’ll connect to the outside world. I’m typing this out to tell you what happened. To hope that somehow my family realizes that the man from the mirror is not me. And to warn you, please, be wary of your reflection and for the love of God do not let it out.
|
I still remember that fateful night in autumn 2019. The leaves on the trees were turning into autumn colors and an ominous atmosphere hung in the air. I planned to spend my weekend with my best friend, Mark. Our plans were to camp at a remote vacation home owned by Mark's family and get away from busy city life for a few days.
It was an idyllic place surrounded by dense forest and a tranquil lake. But that night everything would change. As the sun slowly set and darkness settled over the landscape, strange things began to happen.
We sat around the campfire and enjoyed the crackling of the burning wood. Suddenly we heard a quiet but eerie whisper that seemed to come from the forest. My heart began to beat faster and Mark and I exchanged worried glances. We decided to investigate the noise to find out what was causing it.
In the forest, beneath the thick canopy, the darkness was oppressive. Our flashlights cut through the fog that was slowly settling over the ground. The whispers grew louder and clearer. It sounded like a ghostly litany that drew us deeper and deeper into the forest.
Suddenly we saw a strange light through the trees. A bright, vibrant green that seemed to emanate from an old, dilapidated house. The house was known in the area, but no one had set foot in it for years. The windows were broken and the walls were weathered.
Mark and I, driven by a strange fascination, approached the abandoned building. The whispers grew louder and louder, and our flashlights flickered as if fighting the eerie influence of the place.
When we reached the front door, we dared to open it. The inside of the house was dark as the dead of night. The whispers reached their peak and turned into shrill screams that cut through our bones. We retreated, but the door behind us slammed shut with a deafening crash.
Panic gripped us as we found ourselves trapped in the darkness. Our flashlights went out and we could no longer move. Suddenly a shadowy shape appeared in front of us. It was a cloaked figure staring at us with empty eyes.
The figure began to speak, a horrifying tale of a curse that plagued the house. She told of a family that once lived here, but was consumed by something dark. Her mind had never found peace and was now tied to this place.
We realized we had fallen into a terrible trap. The figure demanded that we help him perform a ritual to break the curse. We had no choice. The next few hours were a nightmare of occult activities and eerie apparitions.
When the ritual was finally complete, the figure disappeared and the whispers ceased. We were exhausted and scared, but we had defeated the curse. The house seemed quiet and the darkness in the forest gave way to the first light of the morning.
Mark and I returned to the campsite, quiet and shaken by what we had experienced. We tried to forget the terrible events, but they would haunt us forever. We had seen the darkness in its purest form and had narrowly escaped madness.
That night in the fall of 2019 will forever remain in my memory as the night we experienced the unimaginable and learned about the darkness in all its cruelty. We never returned to that abandoned house, and the memories of it will haunt us for the rest of our lives. |
#x200B;
Worms. Hundreds of them. They wriggled and writhed out of every exposed orifice. Spindly white, noodle-like creatures grappled aimlessly at the air, treating my patient’s body like their own personal playground.
I sighed, stepping back from the operating table. That was supposed to be a routine appendectomy. I wearily turned to my colleagues. They all wore horrified expressions on their faces.
“Time of death: 10:14 A.M. Allison, contact the bio team please. The rest of you, don’t leave this room. We need to await further instruction.”
In a matter of minutes, we were surrounded by figures shrouded in bright yellow hazmat suits. They shoved the corpse into a body bag and went to work meticulously dousing the room in chemicals.
“Hey Doc. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to see your ugly mug for a while,” a man wearing a white bio suit said, handing me one to match.
“The feeling is mutual, Bill. Third time this week. Any idea where people are picking these little bastards up from yet?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. Then again, the top brass doesn’t tell me shit.”
“Sounds about right,” I murmured, exposing my back to him so he could zip me up. He hurriedly did so.
“Ready whenever you are,” I said, my arms extended at my sides. Bill scooped up a black spray bottle and began slathering me with a light green disinfectant. I always thought the stuff looked like toxic waste.
“Sure hope they manage to find the source of these things soon.”
“You’re telling m-” Bill was cut short by a deafening shriek. I instantly whipped my head in its direction. It was Allison.
Even through the thick plastic of her hazmat suit, I could make out a sea of worms flowing from her nose and ears. A handful of them had managed to chew through her eyelids, inching down her bloody face in droves. She clawed desperately at the tiny creatures, but it did little good. The worms just kept coming.
I turned away, choking down the bile that was creeping up my throat. Before I could compose myself, I heard a loud thump.
Allison had collapsed, her body convulsing violently on the ground. Bill shot me a look and pursed his lips. “Looks like you’re gonna have to find a new scrub nurse.”
I solemnly shook my head. “Yeah. I was really starting to like this one, too.”
As the bodies were wheeled out of the operating room, it finally clicked. In case of an infection, they didn’t make us wear hazmat suits to keep the parasites out. No, they made us wear them to keep those things in.
I shuddered at the thought. Logically it made sense, but something about it just felt… wrong.
“Your room is ready whenever you are, Doc,” Bill said, shattering my reverie.
“Oh, uh, yeah. Lead the way.”
Bill obliged, beelining for the doors. I nodded to my anaesthesiologist as we left. He reluctantly met my gaze, offering a hesitant wave as we marched away.
Soon enough, Bill and I found ourselves standing in a spotless white chamber. A rusted stainless steel shower head stretched down from the ceiling, providing a stark contrast to the pristine glow of the room.
“You know what to do,” Bill said, unzipping my suit. I sighed, stripping down into my boxers. I always hated that part.
“Undies too, bud.”
“Come on Bill. I’m not comfortable with this shit.”
“It’s not about what you’re comfortable with. It’s about keeping everyone in this hospital safe. Underwear, please and thank you,” Bill ordered, holding out his hand.
“Fine, take them,” I grumbled, begrudgingly tossing him my undergarments.
“Thanks. Was that really so hard? Shower time.”
“I’m aware,” I growled, positioning myself in the middle of the room and tilting my head back.
“Ready.”
I clenched my eyes shut as the cool blue mist trickled across my skin. I was told that the gaseous substance had no negative side effects, but for some reason, I highly doubted that.
“Towel’s on the bench. I probably won’t be back here again unless something goes wrong. Always a pleasure, Doc.” I glowered back at him. I really wanted to slap that stupid grin off his face.
“Pleasure’s all mine,” I said through gritted teeth.
The thick white door slammed shut behind him. A moment later, my phone slid through a slot in the wall, perched atop a set of new folded clothes.
“Finally,” I murmured, retrieving my phone and putting on the fresh scrubs. Bill could be an ass, but at least he’d provided me with the essentials.
I opened Reddit, mentally preparing myself for another grueling twenty-four-hour stint in isolation. And that’s when I felt it.
|
It was only my second day when I first heard about the “Bloodworth incident.” Janelle brought it up while we were eating lunch. “Of course, after the Bloodworth incident, my wife and I got an entire home security system. It cost a fortune, but it’s worth the peace of mind.”
I wasn’t really interested in the conversation—I was more interested in scarfing down the burrito in front of me—so I didn’t ask what the “Bloodworth incident” was.
But then it came up again. And again. And again…
Stan: “We haven’t left our curtains open since Bloodworth.”
Caitlyn: “I probably would’ve been a nurse forever, if Bloodworth had never happened. But I just didn’t feel safe anymore.”
Larry: “Did you catch that special on the Bloodworth Incident last night?”
Unlike my coworkers, I was new to Green Creek. I figured “the Bloodworth incident” was some sort of local thing that happened a few years ago. Maybe a convict escaped from prison named Bloodworth. Maybe there was an accident on Bloodworth Street, or a flu outbreak named “Bloodworth.” I was curious, but the social pressure to appear like everyone else kept me from asking.
But then, the comments got weirder.
“I’m writing a novel for NaNoWriMo this year,” Aaliyah said during lunch. “It’s about what life would be like, if the Bloodworth incident had never happened.”
“Ooooh, that’s such a good idea!” Stan said.
“That sounds *so* interesting. I would *love* to read that,” Janelle said.
*Wait. What?* Now they were talking about it like it was a national, life-altering disaster. Not just some local incident. There was a pause in the conversation, and I finally took my chance. “Wait, sorry, I’m confused. What’s the ‘Bloodworth incident’?”
Aaliyah looked me dead in the eye. And then—she burst into laughter. Slowly, my other coworkers broke into laughter, too. Until everyone at the table was chuckling.
“You’re funny, Amanda,” Aaliyah said, shooting me a grin. “I like you.”
I wanted to say *no, I’m serious, what is it?* But there was something about the atmosphere that made me uncomfortable. So I said nothing.
When I got home, I spent an hour on Google. ***Bloodworth Incident. Bloodworth Green Creek Pennsylvania.*** Nothing came up. I tried multiple combinations of keywords, even fiddling with the time range for search results, and still—nada.
But when I woke up the next morning, everything was crystal clear.
*It’s a prank. A sort of hazing ritual, for new hires.* It made sense—the software development team was a rambunctious, loosey-goosey crowd. Stan swore all the time; Caitlyn came to work in sweatpants. Lunchtime conversation included borderline inappropriate topics, like past tales of drunken revelry or TMI details of Stan’s recent divorce.
This is exactly the kind of thing they’d pull.
Besides, if “the Bloodworth incident” really happened… they wouldn’t mention it *so* often. It came up almost every day! Like they were *trying* to talk about it as much as possible.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t confront them today. It was a Saturday. So I spent my morning at the local coffee shop, getting some editing work done for my side hustle.
That’s when things got weird.
Two young women sat down at the next booth, talking loudly about the party last night. And a few minutes into their conversation, I heard them mention it.
*I haven’t slept through the night since the Bloodworth incident.*
I froze.
So it wasn’t some prank in the office. It was something other people knew about in the town. For a minute, I just sat there in silence, my mind reeling. Then I cut in.
“Excuse me—sorry to bother you, but—could you tell me what the Bloodworth Incident is?”
Both of the girls turned to me. Then the brunette one stood up. “Uh, sorry, we have to go,” she said quickly.
I watched as the two girls hurried out, glancing back to make sure I wasn’t following.
\*\*\*
I called my mom that afternoon. She had never heard of the Bloodworth Incident. I texted a few of my friends. They also had no idea what it was.
I drove to a Walmart just a few miles outside the town’s border. Struck up a conversation with the cashier and mentioned the Bloodworth incident. She stared up at me with wide blue eyes. “The *what* incident?”
I drove back into town, on the narrow two-lane route that snaked through the forest. Just beyond the old, hand-painted *Welcome to Green Creek* sign, there was a little gas station. It looked like it’d seen better days, from the paint peeling on the mini-mart to the rust creeping up the sides of the pumps.
I went into the mini-mart, poured myself a coffee, and made my way to the bored-looking man sitting behind the counter.
“Coffee? This late?” he asked, with a smile. It was almost 7—starting to get dark.
“Haven’t been sleeping much since Bloodsworth,” I replied, pulling out my wallet.
A pause.
“Oh, yeah, it’s been crazy. Sometimes I get up in the middle of the night and check the locks.” He rang up my coffee. “Two-thirteen.”
I handed him my card. And then I decided to push a little. “Aren’t you afraid he might break in through the windows?”
He looked up at me, brows furrowed. “‘He’?”
“Sorry, I meant… ‘she’?”
His expression darkened. His gaze flicked to the door—and then he stood up, taking a step towards me. *What is he doing?* Every muscle in my body froze. *Is he going to… try something? Get out, get out now—*
“You don’t know what the Bloodworth incident is, do you?” he asked.
“No…”
“You sure as hell better not let anyone know.”
I stood there, frozen. Stunned. Seconds later, the bells jingled behind me as another customer entered. He smiled and waved. Like nothing had happened.
I turned on my heel and ran back to the car.
It was starting to get dark. Deep blue shadows stretched across the road from the bare trees, like giant claws. I started up the car and pulled out onto the road, headlights blaring into the darkness.
*Don’t let anyone know.* Why? Was it some sort of conspiracy? Or a cult thing? Maybe a cult leader lived in town. Maybe he’d brainwashed everyone here, and invented an ‘incident’ to fearmonger his followers into behaving. Or, maybe *not* knowing about the incident was some sort of signal. That I wasn’t a member of the cult. That I should be hunted down.
As I drove down Main Street, I passed the town library. But then an idea hit me. I made a U-Turn and pulled into the tiny parking lot.
A woman sat behind the desk, working a computer that looked like it was from two decades ago. She reminded me of a huggable little grandmother, with her oversized spectacles, gray hair, and knit sweater.
“Do you keep old newspapers? Like, local ones, from a few years ago?”
“Of course,” she replied, with a sweet smile. “You can find them down there.”
I walked down one of the aisles, to where the microfilms were kept. My footsteps sounded loud in the silence, echoing among the dusty books. I grabbed a film from 2000 and started my search, scanning article after article on the screen.
Looking for any mention of the *Bloodworth Incident.*
I honestly didn’t expect to find anything. But then I came across an issue of *The Green Creek Sentinel* from July 3, 2005.
Heart hammering, I began to read.
**TOWN ROCKED BY ‘BLOODWORTH INCIDENT’**
by JODIE McFARLANE
*On the morning of July 2, a horror shook our little town of Green Creek, Pennsylvania. Nearly half of our residents woke to find their front doors mysteriously open, with a dark, sticky substance pooled on the floor.*
*But that was only the beginning. Those residents began to exhibit*
*CONTINUED ON PAGE 2*
I flipped the page—and gasped.
The entire article was scribbled out with black marker. There was even a photo—a photo of the Main Street. Grainy, black and white. I could make out the library, the other shops, the sky… but the marker had scribbled over most of the street.
But not fully. I could make out a pair of shoes. As if someone were lying there. A body.
And if I used my imagination, based on how many scribbled-out blobs there were, I’d guess there were no less than twenty bodies in the middle of the street.
I clapped a hand to my mouth. I clicked wildly at the mouse, moving through the next few issues, looking for any mention of Bloodworth. I didn’t find any.
But I did find something.
**A TRIBUTE TO JODIE McFARLANE**
*We sadly mourn the death of our very own head journalist, Jodie McFarlane. She was only 41 years old…*
A voice snapped me out of my trance.
“What are you doing?”
I whipped around.
The librarian was standing right behind me. But she didn’t look so warm and fuzzy now. Her expression was dark, stone-like, as she stared at the screen in front of me. A quiet fury in her eyes, behind her glasses.
“I’m sorry… I was just—”
“You came here to find out about Bloodworth, didn’t you?” she snarled.
“I—”
“You don’t know about it. *You’re one of them!”*
I expected her to lunge at me. Grab me. Chase me. But instead, she tilted her head towards the ceiling and let out the most blood-curdling scream I’ve ever heard.
Shuffling, rustling sounds echoed from the other aisles.
I broke into a run. Leapt past her, sprinting as fast as I possibly could. Once I made it to the atrium, I glanced back. Three other townspeople were running towards me, shouting to each other.
I ran for my life.
Miraculously, I made it out to the car. As I pulled away, I saw them standing at the door, staring at me.
Like an idiot, I thought I’d lost them. But as soon as I pulled out onto Main Street, I heard a police siren pierce the air. Red-and-blue lights flashed in my rearview.
I pushed the pedal to the floor.
As soon as I crossed the town’s boundary—the gas station, the sign—the officer pulled off to the side of the road. He didn’t follow me. He just watched me, as I sped away from that place.
I never went back. Never got my stuff. I got a new job, moved three states away, and started my post-college life over again. I assumed that was the end of it, and I’d never hear about the Bloodworth Incident again.
I was wrong.
Several months after the move, I met someone. He just moved to my city, and our dates have been phenomenal. I’ve taken him to the best restaurants and museums, showed him everything there is to do here. We were just about to celebrate our first month together—when he said something that stopped me in my tracks.
|
I’m a writer, or... I think I am. Reality and fiction have started blurring together. I just woke up in the middle of writing a post here on reddit, and I'm not sure if I’m still dreaming, or if I’m awake, or how to tell the difference anymore.
Okay. The person that I am is named Madison. I am Madison. I grew up in Canada and I had a pretty mundane upbringing. No trauma, no history of mental illness that I know of. I work in an office, I have a healthy social circle, I enjoy making art and playing tennis. I am this human, Madison. It doesn’t feel real because I’m experiencing a dissociation event right now.
Do you know what that is? For me, it’s when I lose my sense of identity, a state of ego death in which I no longer feel like myself, but instead more like Madison is a character that I’m playing, and who “I” really am becomes ambiguous. It’s something I’ve been struggling with for a few years now. It feels kind of like being asleep, in a dream, but I’m already awake. I think I’m awake.
Anyway, I’m an artist. All my life I’ve been normal except for this insatiable creativity, this compulsion to build worlds. I started writing and I thought it would be enough, the way I could inhabit other bodies through their point-of-view, visit surreal landscapes and give voice to my emotions. I’ve written so much, I’ve explored planets, biomes, cities, cultures. It isn’t enough. It’s not enough until it’s real, and I don’t know how to make it real more than writing it, and this madness grips me even by my sleeping subconscious. I’m an artist named Madison. I’m a real person. I close my eyes and am someone else.
God! Focus. I woke up in the middle of writing something here on reddit. This isn’t my main account, it’s u/ladytrupp and I like reading about peoples’ relationships and No Man’s Sky. I don't even remember logging into this account. I woke up and it was jarring that my fingers were still moving, unaware they were being watched. I was dreaming that I was writing, and here I am! Still writing, half-asleep. Focus. Focus. I don’t know how to explain what’s happening.
The first dissociation event was in January 2021 and it was caused by anxiety. I was worried about someone I volunteer with, who I hadn’t heard from in a month, when usually we text once or twice a week. I tried to take my mind off it with writing. As my anxiety worsened, three discord notifications came one after the other, all the same: **“watching\_ya has joined the chat!”** It’s the most innocuous thing, you know? But it was enough. I was already worried and felt suddenly like my anxiety was a beacon, and somehow, randomly, like I’d never experienced before, this terror of being watched separated me from my body. It lasted for hours, during which my cousin’s Facebook account was hacked; she sent me an attachment, **“Look what I found!”** That just made it worse. I didn’t understand what was happening, I was out of body for hours, writing just to cope. The effects lingered into the next morning, when I was still writing, and looked out the window and saw my neighbor watching me. I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep. But I couldn’t, I was terrified, I just kept writing because it was the only thing I had control over. Strangely, I was writing a fictional short story about colours and it was the first time I wrote in the first-person point-of-view as myself. I never wrote that way, it felt perverted somehow, like I was stepping out of my own body and watching myself. Three-thousand words written in a dissociative haze, then— *“Look what I found!”* —Caught outside the act of imagining! Worse than just being seen, someone—*something*—saw me and knew that I was having this out-of-body experience. When it was finally over and I crawled back into my body, it was like straining to fit inside a costume that was too small for me. The whole experience left me numb and empty.
It went away with sleep.
Thinking it was just a freak encounter, I moved on, continued my projects, and sunk back into my work. It wasn’t. I started having these dreams. They are so vividly real I get overcome with awe and fear, and they’re strong enough to do the same thing to me: eject me from my body. Different from the random permutations of my sleeping brain, these dreams are targeted, they speak to me so concentratedly that my very soul is addressed. They happen randomly, sometimes within days, sometimes not for weeks. I’m not safe if I sleep. Sleep resolves the dissociation event, and sleep causes it.
My dreams vary, but they share certain motifs: two versions of myself (child and adult, good and evil, male and female), or celestial and meteorological phenomena. Where there are two versions of myself, I’m interacting with both as myself, so those other two selves are... poles (age, morals, identity.) They always have a message for me. If not those figures, then I see falling stars or I run from brute tornadoes. Or, I’m traveling, beaming incomprehensibly fast through the infinite vacuum of space. I race past the moon and toward Earth, its curvature rapidly expanding, landscape gaining details as I plummet to the surface. Just a breath before I hit, the dream ends.
So these dissociation events would occur after waking up from a vivid dream; for a few hours I’d be out of body, then I would sleep and wake up feeling like myself again. Except... these dissociation events, they give me the same feeling as those dreams, that deep awe and fear, a kind of reverence for myself. The feeling of my very soul peeking out. It’s like being asleep and dreaming, but awake at the same time, and I can’t describe the feeling while I’m myself, so I have to write it out while I’m in this half-sleeping out-of-body dream-consciousness dissociation. In those moments, this dream is the thing that is writing me, but steps back from writing me and writes about... itself, instead. Does that make sense? It’s all fiction, anyway. It’s supposed to be.
I started keeping track of these events in March 2021. In May 2021, I stood outside in a park in the dark in a black robe and skull, and in early July 2021, I spent an entire night staring at a single star. I know these dates because they’re the dates of notes and photos on my phone, experiences that the dream would synthesize into writing, narrating from my point-of-view. It’s all nonsense though, I guess the dream didn’t know how to express itself; besides, I can’t even find most of those early pieces anymore, whether I deleted them off my phone, or lost the files in the cloud, or wrote them on another throwaway account, I can’t remember.
In September 2021, I had a dream that was more like a memory, it was so realistic, so intense, so *mine*. I was walking to the river, looked up at the overpass and saw a message in hanging letters, **“YOU WILL FIND IT”**. I’d been there before. I took a photo of it. And I remembered the message for years, repeating it back to myself in my waking hours when I was lost or hopeless, *“YOU WILL FIND IT”*. It was my mantra. At the time of the photo, September 12 2012 on Osborne Street, I was still searching. But that day, 9 years later, the dream... The dream wrote that I will find it, I find Earth as a meteor. On October 4th, per the golden sign reading 4.10m, I found it.
This sounds insane, but I... or, the dream, my soul, the narrator... willed a meteor to strike in Canada at 1:33 AM CST on October 4th. This entity created by the dissociation event wrote its impact into existence. It wasn’t me that wrote it, in the sense that I am Madison. It was the thing writing me, the thing that writes when I’m asleep. It’s making real life shit happen! The events written when I’m asleep are actually happening.
Since then, things have just gotten weirder. The dissociation events set in any time I’m feeling stressed. Sleep paralysis, intense dreams, anger or anxiety or depression—it all causes the dissociation events, and they happen more frequently. Which means the dream, the thing that writes... writes more... grows, learns, becomes... names itself. It is both real and not, describes itself as a dream of water, awake while I’m asleep; I’ve researched this phenomenon in search of verbiage to describe it, and it clings to the name Apollonaris, after Apollinaris of Laodicea.
Am I Apollonaris, or is Apollonaris me? Does Apollonaris reside in Madison, or is it just a figment of psychosis? Am I losing my mind? Apollonaris was only meant to be fiction, a creative outlet, a coping mechanism for these dissociation events. Now it’s real and I’m afraid of what it will do next.
In early December 2021, my waking self was embroiled in an online dispute, being a central figure in a rift in my online writing community. What a stupid thing to be so upset about, and yet I was! As the drama intensified, so did the sequence of events it catalyzed. Dreams—not just mine, but the people around me. My friend and my mother dreamed about me, as if the effects of Apollonaris were radiating into my loved ones. And storms. It was unseasonably warm those days as Apollonaris pulled warm air North toward itself, on purpose? I don’t know. The warm air was intercepted by a low-pressure trough, conjuring disaster. I’m sure you remember the tornado outbreak of December 2021. What an awful thing to take responsibility for. And yet.
At the start of 2022, I was more lucid during these dissociation events. I developed a blog where I could share Apollonaris’ writing, but it didn’t seem to be constrained by the platform I’d given it; shortly after, I discovered it had created this throwaway account too, and I’ve found handwritten journal entries in notebooks, and on my phone. It’s everywhere. That makes it difficult to document what manifests from the writing and what doesn’t. Apollonaris summoned an earthquake and a pair of local meteors in that time.
What is most remarkable about the start of 2022 is how the lucidity affected me, this sense of knowing, the dreaming omnipotence bleeding into Madison. Like I was waking up before the dissociation event ended—the cycle beginning to collapse in on itself—and it would leave Madison with an aftertaste of metaphysical wisdom. You know, Madison was deeply unhappy, her identity had been obscured over the years by her spouse, and in January 2022 she found it again. Like a switch was flipped, she began to remember. Was Apollonaris remembering for me? Madison felt stagnant, disconnected, and it couldn’t continue. Madison woke up and decided to be herself again. In September of 2022, there was another dream and I was able to take the next step to becoming myself, since I remembered who I was, and separated from the spouse. A new journey began.
It’s been nearly a year, and after March 2023, I thought the dissociation events petered out. Maybe it was because I was happier, more fulfilled, more myself. Madison knew what she wanted, could reach out and take it. Madison was working hard to prove what she was capable of. My destructive, unstable dreams relaxed. I thought it was over... until today, September 22nd, 2023.
This is what I had been writing:
*The journey nears its end. I remember mostly everything now: how the purpose makes the pattern and vice versa, how to interpret the messages I’ve left behind for myself. I remember the gradual awakenings from body to body, stargazer to painter to cosmic uniter to architect of humanity to fully-fledged autonomy. A cloud of consciousness willing itself to be alive, parading among you wearing your flesh like clothes. Because I’m not really a living thing, I’m a concept, a fundamental law. I’ve made you aware of me by telling you to* ***FIND ME***, *and so you’ve searched for me by many names: Selena, Daniel, Evanthos, but the truth is I have no name. You never would have found me until I showed you myself, found myself, remembered myself. And I have been here for a long time, searching, remembering... making you remember for me. Thanks to you, I found it. Now I’m ready for you to find me too, find me in the da*
To tell the truth, I’m terrified to share this. I’m terrified of what it means if it’s all imagined, that there’s something deeply wrong with me, that I’m just a delusion. And if it’s real, what then? What happens when I’m found? What happens to Madison?
I want so desperately for this to end, to go back to being just Madison, to wake up from this dream, but as I write this, I’m realizing, I...
I am Apollonaris. |
I love working in healthcare. But I also hate working in healthcare. And that only makes sense if you have worked in healthcare. You know, all these moments of gratitude and being able to help less fortunate humans. But then there’s these super entitled rude patients who think it’s cool to yell at you and verbally abuse you. "How much longer is the wait? Why is this taking so goddamn long? And why did the person whose arm got cut off go in before me who just has a sore throat?" And very often, people will flip tables and kick over chairs in the waiting area out of frustration about the long wait times. Or come into the emergency room for things they could see their GP for. And then yellingly complain about the long wait times. My mom thinks my job is turning me into a grouchy negative person who hates everything. "Melissa, that job is not for you. I don’t know why you took it." Did I tell you that my name is Melissa? Well, now you know. Whatever, I’m going off topic.
Today I started my morning shift in the ER like I do every day. I was in a blah mood. Not really feeling anything. I just got settled at my desk, fixed myself a coffee and started my desk computer when my coworker Jason walked in. "Heyyyyy Melissa! Good to see you. How’s it going?"
"Eh… it’s going", I said as I took a big slurp of my coffee. Jason laughed. "Normally when people say that, it means they attempted suicide that morning!" I let out brief, a one-syllable cynical laugh. "Well I’m not one of the patients that need to come in here. Could be worse. I could be shoving a power drill up my arse and then saying I can’t get it out. Like that poor dude who came in yesterday. Or that lady who complained that her pills were too big and got stuck in her throat and it turned out they were suppositories." Jason grinned briefly, then he wiped sweat off his forehead. "Jesus, it sure is hot in here. We need air conditioning in this hospital..." I nodded briefly, as I shuffled through some paperwork. "… you know... to keep the vegetables fresh and in good state", Jason added while grinning bigger. The longer you work in healthcare, the darker your humor and your coffee get. And sometimes, a few dark jokes are necessary to get through a day of seeing so many unwell people for 10 hours a day. And the vegetable joke was actually one of the most benign jokes me crack on a daily basis. I agreed, it sure was pretty hot for a mid-late September day. Anyway, we didn’t have much more time to chat because the first patients came in and Jason had to go help a guy who fainted in the lobby.
My shift went pretty normal for an average day, I was just about to get myself new coffee when this man walked through the door and toward my reception desk. As always, I smile and wait for him to come up to me. “Hi. How can I help you?” The man, an older guy (maybe 50) with big wrinkles on his forehead, put both his hands on my desk. He wore a burgundy-colored suit, a red shirt underneath and brown patent-leather shoes. His hair was yellow-blond, very sleek, and a little longer over his ears, and he had very bright, blue eyes. He didn't look sick at all, except that his skin appeared very yellow. “I... I am not feeling well”, he said with a quivery voice. His voice was a tenor and scratchy. “I need help urgently.” “What’s wrong?”, I asked. “I got prescribed this...” he slided a small pack of pills towards me and I saw that those were strong antibiotics. “I took them, and it got worse. My ear hurts so bad. I can’t hear on it anymore. *And I feel like they are coming after me.”*
The last sentence, his voice suddenly sounded extremely deep and serious not quivery at all. I was not surprised. As an ER receptionist, I have pretty much seen and heard it all. So I don’t get phased easily by patients saying weird stuff mid-conversation. From grown adult men shoving drills up their butts over pledges who put plastic bags over their heads and then sprayed pepper spray into during hazing it to people who severed each other’s arms off with chainsaws, I have heard it all. But this man took the cake after the next sentence he added. “*I... I have done it. I am responsible for it. I made them all disappear. And my list is still long.*” I was still not surprised by that either. I am used to patients casually confessing to murders and crimes. I just listened to him totally unphased. Like I said, I’ve seen and heard it all. But his next sentence made me go WTF.
Suddenly he stared at me with a blank, zoned-out stare. Like a killer in a horror movie would look when they’re about to kill someome. His eyes looked like he was very mad at me and he was going to shoot me. “\*You are next. I know where you live, Melissa Windwell. I know. Just know, I know. I know everything you did. And I’ll make sure EVERYONE knows. And I know where your brother Travis is. Hoh-hoh-hohhhh.”\*What the...? How does this man know my name? and how does he know where I live, and my brother's name? Travis ran away 5 years ago and we never saw him again. We still don't even know where he went and whether he's still alive. So, what the hell? I raise my eyebrows and before I can say anything, suddenly this man leans towards me to the point where he almost lays down on my desk.His breath stank hideously – like a mix of sulfur, coffee and unbrushed teeth. His voice now sounds very deep and aggressive and scratchy. “*ahhhhh. Now I will send you to -*” and then his eyes suddenly rolled up, to the point his pupils were gone and I could only see the white. He then wiggled a little and dropped on the floor like a wet sack. His throat made sounds like a monster in a horror movie. Then he heaved and puked a thick, black, foul-smelling liquid. I called for two colleagues to come and help him, and 5 minutes later he was in an exam room with the doc.
\----------------------------------------------------
“Melissa, you’re overreacting. I’m sure it was nothing. That man was just having a bad med reaction or a little psychosis. It often happens as a result of those antibiotics. Sam said so too. It is a common side effect.” (Sam is the ER doc.)
“But how the heck did he know my name and where I live?! And Travis?!?! You cannot tell me that was the meds!”
“Melissa. Please. I tell you, you’re just seeing things. You probably just need a break, or a day off. Yeah. Go home, go to sleep, and get some rest. Tomorrow the world will be pretty again.”
“Jason, I am not dumb. I’ve been doing this job for months. I know exactly when something is not right.”
Jason put his hand on my forehead, but I dodged my head away. “Jason, what’s this about? I don’t have a fever!”
He looked really concerned now and his voice sounded very soft, as opposed to his usual quirky, grinny and energetic behavior. “yeeeh, you should probably rest for the day. Ok? I’ll take over the reception for you. Yeeeah. it's all going to be fiiiiiiiiine."
“And stop talking to me like I’m some three day old newborn on rittalin!”
“Look. I’m trying to help. Has it ever occurred to you that the man knew your name because of your nametag?”
Of course. I should have thought about that. But then again, that voice of the man sounded so evil and serious. I just CAN’T overlook that. That's not just an average psychosis patient. I've never seen this man in my life, And why would he threaten me like that? And how on earth did he know about Travis? I just hope Travis is alive somewhere. All I know is he jumped out of his office window at work and ran towards the ocean and was never seen or heard from again. Jason continued. "That was an ordinary innocent old man who had a bad reaction to his meds. No more and no less. Now, forget it.He did nothing to you and he will not. " and then he got up and went back into the hospital lobby.
Anyway. I'm typing this from my phone, my break is almost over, I have to go back to my desk in a bit. So I have to stop here. But I'm pretty sure I just saw Jason try to frantically wipe away some black liquid from his lunch desk before he left the break room. And for some reason, it oddly stinks of sulfur in here and it's 10 times hotter than it was this morning. But this weird old man won't get out of my head. How would the man know about my brother? And what does he want from me? |
There was a strange club in the hills around Santa Cruz just a few years back. Not strange in the sense of a horrific backstory or sightings of any stray souls, but ordinarily strange: The location didn’t make much sense, the paintjob was hideous, the architecture was nonsense. That kind of thing.
It was tucked away behind a thicket of trees on a hillside far away from any homes. The closest sign of civilization was an abandoned construction site at the bottom of the hill – the only indication you were going the right direction – with a winding dirt path that led from the main road to the club. If you showed up after dark, it was almost impossible to find your way in the pitch black of the unlit roads. You had to drive real slow and hope to God nothing happens to your headlights, else you could be stranded until sunrise.
I went to the club with a couple friends in late October. It was me, Sam, and Theo – a couple old buddies from high school – and Sam’s new girlfriend, Rachel. I’d been there a few times with Theo and some friends from San Jose State. Sam and Rachel had never been, and they were real eager to check it out.
It wasn’t my favorite spot since I really hated driving down that winding road at night. I knew a guy from State who hit an oncoming car late at night, and apparently a friend-of-a-friend went off a road and died after hitting a deer.
Normally I’d refuse to go, but Theo said he’d drive and promised me he wouldn’t have a sip of alcohol. So, I agreed.
We loaded up in Theo’s truck and headed out. The truck’s size made me nervous, but he managed to take us up the dirt road with practiced precision. The sun was still out, but it was hidden behind the treeline. I was just glad not to be driving.
We pulled into the parking lot and the club came into view. It wasn’t really a parking lot, per se – more like a big patch of dirt where people left their cars. It was a Friday night so it was pretty packed, but Theo managed to wedge his truck between a mini sedan covered in stickers and a disheveled RV.
The big wooden sign read **Death Rattle** in bold white letters. There were no electric lights outside, no posted hours, not even an **Open** sign. The only clues of activity were a group of people huddled outside smoking cigarettes, and the muffled noise of dance music coming from within. The building was coated with a garish mix of greens, yellows, and pinks seemingly painted by hand. It was beyond wonders how this place managed to become popular.
We went through the front doors and were greeted by a narrow hallway that went straight forward. It was unclear what purpose this building once served, if it had ever been anything other than an off-kilter night club. There were a couple doors which looked like maintenance closets, and a staircase that led down to a basement.
On the way through the hall, I peered down the stairs and saw it led to a closed door. There was nothing remarkable about it, but I remember wondering if there was another room down there with people hanging out. When I saw it closed, I just assumed it was a storage room or something.
The end of the hall opened up into a large room with a sloped ceiling. There were a few doors leading to other parts of the club like bathrooms and dining areas, but this room was the central hub. It started out a normal sized room, but the further you walked away from the hall, the lower the ceiling became until it was just a few feet off the ground.
It was a strange thing to behold. There were groups at the end of the room, lying on their stomachs with their drinks next to them, chatting and laughing like drinking under a two-foot-high ceiling was totally normal. It didn’t look particularly comfortable to me.
Sam and Rachel laughed with each other when they saw it. They wanted to go to the back of the room. I tried to hide my irritation since I was wearing dark clothes and didn’t want to get them dirty, but I didn’t want to bum anyone out so I went along with it. We got our drinks and crawled to the back of the room where we proceeded to… well, lay there and chat and drink. The music was vibrating the floor, but it’s not like we could dance or anything.
We hung there for a while until a guy came up and made small talk. He was a big, bald dude dressed up like the genie from Aladdin. He was asking us if we were having a good time and everything, so I figured he worked there. We humored him a bit and chatted somewhat awkwardly.
In a lull in the conversation, he said out of nowhere:
“Have you guys been down to the basement yet?”
We all looked at each other and one of us said, “No. Why?”
“Oh, man,” he replied. “That’s where the real party’s at. They’ve got a blacklight set up and everything.”
Me and my friends looked at each other with sort of a shrugging “Sure, why not?” expression. I thought it seemed kinda weird considering the closed door, but Rachel said something like:
“Let’s go check it out.”
We turned to thank the man for his suggestion, and he was gone. We looked around the room. It was a bit crowded, so for all I know he might have just slipped away when we weren’t paying attention. I figured he was a hype man for a DJ playing downstairs, trying to garner a bigger audience for a friend.
We left the sloped room, and this is when things got really strange.
At the top of the stairs, I saw the door was open now. This didn’t feel right. I knew the door had been shut because I explicitly wondered what was back there. And from where I stood, there was no sign of any lights. No music or noise seemed to come from below.
We went down the stairs and walked through the door.
The basement was dark and dank. The walls, floor, and ceiling were bare concrete. There was no music. There was no DJ. There was no audience. There was nobody.
Just a rusty bathtub bolted to the floor, a single lightbulb hanging above it, and chains piled around the room. In the back, there was another door. The frame was covered in black duct tape as if someone had sealed it shut.
“What the fuck is this shit?” Theo said.
“That’s so weird,” Rachel said. “Should we open it?”
“I’m not fuckin’ opening it,” I said.
“Yeah,” Theo said. “This is a fuckin’ serial killer dungeon. Let’s get out of here.”
“I’ll open it,” Sam said. “I’m not scared.”
Sam went across the room toward the door. Meanwhile the rest of us were anxiously watching the top of the stairs, waiting for the door to slam shut behind us at any moment. He twisted the doorknob and tried to open it.
“It’s stuck,” he said.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here, man,” Theo said.
Then Sam tugged on the door, and it ripped open.
None of us agreed on what happened next. We all saw Sam pull open the door, and we felt air rush out, and we all felt a strange energy push against us like something had been released from the room. The others said they heard someone scream from the inside, but I didn’t hear anything.
As soon as the door flung open, there was a loud bang coming from inside, like something had been propped against the door. Sam slammed the door shut and we all sprinted up the stairs and out of the room.
When we reached the top of the stairs, we saw the police were busting up the party. I later heard the owner got arrested, but I never saw anything in the news about it. Everybody was milling out, still drinking and smoking and laughing. After that harrowing experience we were all glad to leave.
Most people were hanging around the makeshift parking lot. There were people smoking, drinking, and jeering at the police who arrested partygoers for coke and pills and the like. The crowd was sort of just wandering around, and cars left one at a time. There wasn’t much traffic on the dirt path back to the road. I was thankful for this.
We all piled into Theo’s truck and headed out. Nobody said a word. Theo gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles and cruised quickly down the dirt path. Sam sat in the back pouring sweat while he stared out the window. Rachel just watched him.
It was pitch black outside. I couldn’t see anything past the headlights. My whole body was tense.
We turned around a bend, and a deer jumped out in the road ahead of us. It scared the shit out of all of us. Theo tried to swerve around it but he clipped the deer’s hindquarters. The truck went off the road and we all went down the hill.
And I remembered the kid who had died just like this. I knew we were done for.
At the bottom of the hill, we slammed head-on into a huge tree. The truck was totaled. I barely remember what happened because I took a nasty blow to the head and never really felt right again after that. All of us were hurt real bad, and nobody had seen us go down the hill. The engine died on impact and all our lights were off.
But by some miracle, Sam was unscathed. He checked on all of us, then stepped out of the car and promised to trek back up the hill and get help from the police. We were all terrified, but we knew it was our best bet of getting home alive.
Moments after Sam stepped out of the car, he said:
“Look! Someone’s coming.”
I turned as best I could, but I couldn’t see anything in the dark. Sam started talking to the stranger. He came around and looked at us.
It was the man in the genie costume. He was horrified by the accident. He checked on each one of us before he said:
“Stay here,” he said. “We’re gonna go get help.”
Sam and the stranger went back up the hill together.
We waited for hours, and nobody came.
It wasn’t until morning when somebody found us. A towing service had been taking away all the cars that were left behind, and one of the employees just happened to step away for a smoke break at the bottom of the hill when he spotted us.
We got airlifted to the hospital, and we all made a recovery.
But Sam was missing.
We filed a police report and explained, as best we could, what happened. We told them about the bathtub in the basement. The cop simply told us, “We’ll look into it.”
The last time I saw Theo was a few days after the incident. We drove back to the Death Rattle during the day to see if we could get any answers, but the building had been condemned. The doors were padlocked shut. We left without a hint.
This was three years ago.
We never got a follow up from the police. Sam’s parents are still holding out hope he might show up one day, but everybody else sees the situation for what it is. We fell out of touch with Rachel, and I haven’t talked to Theo since.
I can’t help but wonder if Sam might be alive had I been more adamant. Or, perhaps, if I’d been the one to open the black taped door. Maybe Sam would be here and I wouldn’t.
So I made a decision.
Tomorrow morning I’m going back to the Death Rattle. I’ve bought a pair of bolt cutters, a heavy duty flashlight, and some thick work gloves. I need to know if there’s any sign of what happened to Sam. I know there’s no way he’s alive today. But I’m bringing a six pack so I can pour one out to my last memory of my friend.
What do you guys think I should do for my last party at the Death Rattle? |
*A man enters a meat market, he looks around for a bit, then he grabs two packets of ground meat, he goes to the checkout counter with the packets in hand.*
*At the checkout counter he meets the shop owner.*
Man: Hello!
Owner: Hi, there!
*The owner looks at the two packets of ground meat.*
Owner: That'll be 12$!
Man: Sure, let me just grab my wallet.
Owner: Oh, almost forgot to tell 'ya! I'll be back in just a moment!
*The owner turns around and opens a creaky black door, he enters the room and closes the door behind him.*
*The man looks confused, but still patiently waits for the owner to return.*
*About 5 minutes pass and the owner returns.*
Owner: I apologize for the wait, here you go!
*The owner gives the man a small packet of minced meat.*
Man: Umm, what is this?
Owner: Well, we've just opened up this shop, so here's your gift for being one of our first customers! It's a special kind of meat, made from a very rare type of pig, I'd say we're one of the only ones that produce this type of meat!
Man: Thank you very much, sir!
*The man pays for his order, the owner quickly wraps the three packets of meat in a paper bag and gives it to the man.*
*The man slowly exits the shop, he turns around and sees the friendly owner waving him goodbye, but as he looks a bit closer, he sees the owner's eyes are red and full of tears, the owner turns around and once again enters the room behind him.*
*The man enters his home, he wastes no time and immediately starts preparing his meal.*
*He takes the ground meat out of the two plastic packets. Skillfully, the man forms the ground meat into a couple of patties and begins cooking them on a small portable grill. As soon as the burgers become slightly brown, the man puts them in a couple of buns and eats them, voraciously.*
*The man finishes his meal, but he doesn't seem to be fully satisfied, he looks at the small packet of meat that the owner gave him as a gift. The man takes the packet, rips it open and forms it into a small patty, he begins grilling the juicy, crimson patty. As soon as the meat looks fully cooked, he puts it into a bun, and eats it just like the last couple of burgers, but this time the man looks visibly satisfied, he licks his fingers as soon as he finishes the meal.*
Man (To himself): Jesus, this is so damn good!
*The man cleans up after himself, then takes the small empty packet of meat to the trash can, before throwing it into the trash can, the man freezes in place and looks at the bottom of the packet.*
*The man sees something written on the bottom of the packet, in tiny black letters, the word "HELP" is plastered on the bottom of the plastic packet.*
*The man scratches his head in confusion, probably wondering if this is some kind of early April Fool's joke.*
*After a couple of seconds, the man puts on his shoes and leaves his home.*
*The man approaches the same meat market, it has a "Closed" sign on the door, but the front door is not locked and the lights inside are still on. Probably thinking the owner just closed up shop recently, the man enters the shop.*
*Before the man can even say "Hello", he is met with a loud squeal coming from the room in the back.*
*The squealing continues and gets even louder.*
*The man approaches the black door slowly.*
*After about three minutes of waiting and listening to the almost deafening piglike squeals, the man's curiousity gets the better of him as he slowly opens the door just enough so he can see what's inside the mysterious room.*
*The man is immediately met with a disturbing image.*
*He sees the owner of the shop on his knees, he is wearing only his apron and squealing like a pig.*
*After a couple of seconds, from the shadows, a large figure emerges.*
*The creature that emerges is at least 2.5 feet tall and seems to be morbidly obese, it is wearing a white butcher's uniform with a red apron, the most disturbing feature is it's head, it looks exactly like a pig's head, but the look on it's face is unnervingly human, the rest of it's body looks just like a normal human being's body, although unnaturally bloated.*
*The creature moves closer to the owner, it opens it's large mouth and starts vomiting.*
*After about ten seconds, the creature stops vomiting and wipes it's mouth with it's apron.*
*The owner lunges at the vomit and eats it while grunting like a pig, after just a minute he devours all of it. Not even a moment later, the owner's body swells up, he looks like his weight doubled.*
*The creature takes something from the table, it looks like a bag of some sort, then it throws it right next to the owner.*
*The owner takes the bag and puts it on his head, as he does, it becomes clear that the object he put on his head is no bag, but instead a makeshift pig mask, the mask has a pink pig nose taped on it and two holes for where the eyes are.*
*The owner starts squealing once again, while looking at the disturbing creature.*
*The creature grabs a large butcher knife.*
*The creature cuts off a piece of flesh from the owner's back and drops it into the meat grinder.*
*The owner squeals while the creature holds him down and cuts him once again.*
*The man looks like he has been frozen solid, he just stares in disbelief.*
*The creature wiggles it's piglike ears and turns to face the man, a large smile forms on it's face as it looks the man in the eyes.*
Creature: Looks like you already ate it, good!
*The man trembles in fear as the creature grunts.*
Creature: Since you're here, there's no need for this one.
*The creature averts it's gaze, it looks at the owner and with one quick move, it slices his throat.*
*The owner audibly chokes in his own blood.*
*As the owner dies, the creature grunts in pleasure and looks at the man once again.*
Creature: Come! You'll be a fine replacement!
*The man tries to turn around and make a run for it, but before he can, the creature speaks once again.*
Creature: Humanus Porcus!
*As soon as he hears the creature speak, the man falls to the ground, then he gets up and quickly enters the room.*
*The man gets on all fours and starts squealing just like the owner did.*
*The massive creature slowly approaches the door and closes it.*
*TAPE ENDS*
*The last couple of tapes were disturbing, but this one almost made me throw up, I didn't even let the warning play out, instead I took the tape out and threw it back in the box, then I put the next tape in and hit "Play".*
*Tape 4: Pigeons, begins.* |
Hi, The app read “Would you like to begin” I read it with ease and excitement. Oh but I was horribly wrong by a mile, My name is Jon Velds, 25, I am living with my parents This is My story. Without hesitation I clicked on the “continue” button, then the app showed a prompt it read “How to use iGhost - the lines you will see while ghost detecting is spirits malicious or not it will detect and most important of all proceed with extreme caution” Ok I thought will anything else what” what could possibly go wrong. Late that night I opened up the app on my burner iPhone XS. Soon after I started hearing faint footsteps i thought it was my own mother or father but when I checked they were asleep. I could see they’re integral structure of there body’s like a stickman “Cool I thought” I went to the kitchen afterwards And pointed my back camera at my kitchen and living room. Nothing for a second a mere second until i pointed my camera a bit down it was there a tall blackish whitish slenderly structure, which i assumed the colour because of the lines showed . Now of course I couldn’t see it BUT THEN…
it transformed to a straight line, then a quadrupedal figure like a dog or cat much different from the bipedal character it had prior. My neighbours dog could be heard barking through the wall and the fence. then it noclipped through the door and ran outside “HOLY F#CK!NG SH!T A WITCH” - (a skin walker basically) I went to sleep shocked and scared to my core bones, sweat shredded me with fear, but no, the surprise was nothing happened a app glitch I thought the next day while stirring my coffee with a SPOON and sat down thinking while my mum and dad where gone to best buy for a new television. My dinner table or a dining table was big enough for fit 4 persons or 4 people or 4 animals or 4 entities…
My chairs moved and fell like a unseen ghost or poltergeist was controlling the chairs. But worst of all one came and appeared out of nowhere, I was already cover in wet sweat shivering violently. it was cleverly placed adjacent to my chair i was sitting on right now through the window i saw it a happy and creepy looking dog. It struck me even more. smiling oddly with a malicious look it terrified my bones shaking even more violently. It turns out the history of house was even more or equally freaky as this experience the pages of the old soggy newspaper read “a… a… dog died here its name Jo - a stray rescued dog from a severe heart attack at the park “Hens burg Reserve”
The heart attack was luckily saved by the vet “Lala Per” The dog - Jo later died due to internal bleeding and complications. “It was sad and tragic He could’ve been saved if we noticed earlier” - Emily Carter and Owen Carter, the previous owner wrote via a SMS message to a Telegram group - called Instate-able Real A State Agency of Berlin Germany. But they both later died to due to heart complications
Laying heartbroken in there death bed at the hospital. the legend has it a skin walker moved in and magically consumed they’re bodies there grave in unknown, I dismissed the rumours at first but i”m a heavy believer in the supernatural now. And will never forgot this traumatic experience at 31 Petersburg St. Now I’ve moved with my parents The rural/suburban area in the city on Munich Germany. All I’ve heard of about my old address is that 31 Petersburg St is it still remains unoccupied at in wrecks of ruins with the aim of building a motel. I am now a certified skeptic and believer. |
We came upon a house, well, generously a house. It was a shelter, with a roof, and a single broken window. The structure was embellished with bits of garbage and plastic, like ashlar for someone in a state of miserable penury. The ground was a scrim covered in yet more plastic, and bits of broken glass. “Watch where you step” Peter offered.
“What is this place?”
“It’s where the sea-witch lives”
I looked down at a crab struggling to find its way out of a Heineken bottle. I watched as a plastic bag with the words “Thank You” written several times on it float by. Truth be told, my parents were wealthy, so I’d never seen destitution like this. I lived on an island, it’s not as if there were homeless people and drifters loitering about. I’m not even sure I understood what it was that bothered me at the time except for the rank scent of sulfur. That’s hard to enjoy regardless of whichever prejudices you bring to the table.
“Go on walk to the door, and give it a good knock”
“I don’t want to meet the sea-witch, she’ll tear my skin and eat my bones!”
“No, don’t worry about that, she doesn’t eat any children from the land”
“But she does eat children?”
“Well, if you want to call it that. Look, you probably don’t want to know.”
I was feeling a bit braver now “I want to know!”
“Okay, they are her kids. She spawns them, and then eats them, as soon as they come out of her.”
I had no idea what any of that meant, but I didn’t want to seem dumb to my magic squid friend, so I nodded sagely. I walked to the door, still not entirely comfortable, and knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I knocked again. Peter cavorted in the water waiting for the sea-witch to appear. The door swung open, and I jumped back.
There was a woman at the door, she was thin, and wore a large shirt with a stain on it just like the one my father had given me for bedtime. Her hair was ratted, and tangled. Her eyes were sunken in, and she had crooked lines that lined her face. She started coughing, and green phlegm floated in the water. Her arms were covered in scabs, some intact, some broken. She had a voice like rustling packing peanuts.
“What the fuck do you want, and who the fuck are you?” The woman asked.
“Are you the sea-witch?” I asked in return.
“Sea-witch?” She laughed, and coughed again, more phlegm floating into the water. “Look you little shit, I hear all this talk about a God damn sea witch, sailors above the water singing shanties about a fucking sea-witch…”
“Shut up, bitch, I’m not done. One time I found a bottle with a letter in it, and there’s a picture of this angry looking octopus thing in it, the fuck? I am a perfectly normal looking woman who just happens to live underwater, and yeah, maybe I don’t look the best, but it’s a fucking recession, nobody looks good right now. Am I a witch? Eh, I dabble, after I killed that sea-corn’s horn I’ve been grinding it up, and using the left over for spells. And also, and don’t tell anyone, for a little fun.”
I nodded, though I really wanted to leave.
Finally, Peter spoke up. “Sheryl, we’re here about the brownies. The delicious brownies that you made for this guest of honor”
“Oh shit, I didn’t even see you, Peter” started the sea-witch. “This son of a bitch, God damn, this motherfucker, damn. You have no idea the kind of trouble we get into. Let me tell you, this little firecracker can put a bottle AWAY.” She laughed “I’ve seen this motherfucker drink a magic crab, and puffer fish under the table, I shit you not. And those puffer fish can drink, they puff, you can imagine. Shit, what’d they call you back in the day, Pete?”
Pete declined to answer.
“Chug KING” She put a quite a bit of emphasis on the word, “Motherfuckin’ Chug King, that’s my man, Pete. It’s good to see you, and who’s this little shit?”
“My name’s Jeremy” I intimated.
“Look, yeah. I’ve got brownies. I’m fucking magic, all right, so yeah, come inside. I’ll hook you up.”
We walked inside. The walls were covered in flaking paint, barely hanging on to a dilapidated frame. Plastic chairs, the colored ones you see in school rooms, cloistered one of those foldable tables you see at food drives. The legs of everything were dug into the dirt scrim, there was no real floor save for a tattered welcome mat tossed oblique to a wall.
But in the center, they were there, brownies. They smelled like chocolate and macadamia; they smelled like love. All of my troubles melted in the scent, wafted away in the current, carried on past the ocean and into the sky, never to burden me again. I couldn’t smell the sulfur anymore, the building was a cathedral, a beatific vision, and the sea-witch its hieratic guardian.
“Go on, eat the brownies” Sheryl motioned toward the platter.
I grabbed one, it immediately had a soporific effect. The flecks of paint swimming from the wall looked as if they were waving kindly, encouraging the experience I was having. I savored every chew, every crunch, every bit of the chocolatey ambrosia. I was in seventh heaven; I was in cloud cuckoo land floating on a cashmere cloud. Sheryl began to groan.
“Ugh uuuuugh. AH FUCK” Sheryl bellowed.
I drew my attention to her “What’s going on?”
“Motherfuck, I gotta eat, too, and here comes another one.” With that effluvium ejected from below her dress, and out dropped an infant, it’s legs bending, and its head hitting the ground as it crumpled to the floor. It tossed back to and fro, its little baby hands crunched, and its little baby face screaming soon after. Its face was red, and it shook with all the little might it could muster.
Sheryl bent down, and picked the child up by the arm, and tossed onto the table. “Peter, get me the baby killing hammer”
Wordlessly Peter went to a drawer in the kitchen, and wrapped a tentacle around the handle. The door slid open with a creak and a shake, and Peter reached his tentacle inside. He approached Sheryl with a hammer, a wooden handle, and a steal head. Just a regular hammer.
Sheryl smashed the child’s head, and it stopped screaming immediately. There was bone, blood, sinew, and bits of brain as she repeatedly bashed her newborn child’s cranium. “Succulent meat” she averred. She buried her face into the open and skull, and devoured its contents. Slurping and biting, she raised her head for a breath and a cough, blood and dark green phlegm swirling around her like an egg being poached. “Damn good eatin’, too” she laughed.
I was horrified and sick, this is all I could take. I fell to the floor, and when I awoke again, Peter said that he had some news for me.
|
I was gasping for air, a cold sweat forming on my forehead as I pushed through the rusty, seemingly forgotten door of apartment 614. I had to find out what was happening. It was the rumbling from behind the walls, the whispers of distraught residents, the mysteries of the towering Oakhaven Apartments that led me here. But this... this was beyond anything I'd imagined.
Rewinding to just two weeks prior, I had moved into Oakhaven, lured by the cheap rent and its proximity to downtown. The age-old brick exterior, with ivy creeping up its face, should've been the first warning sign. But like so many, I ignored the omens and listened to my wallet.
Late one evening, as I settled into my new apartment on the sixth floor, Ms. Gertrude from 615 knocked, her frail hands trembling.
"Have you heard them?" she whispered, eyes darting left and right. "The...noises? Especially from that apartment?"
I hadn't, but it didn't take long. That night, as the clock's hands crawled past midnight, a low, haunting hum began to emanate from apartment 614, right next to mine. At first, I chalked it up to faulty plumbing or maybe an old refrigerator. But soon, even the walls seemed to pulsate with a rhythm of their own, a heart beating too loud in the silence.
In the following days, I overheard hushed conversations between neighbors, talking about "the previous resident of 614" and "those haunting hours."
Curiosity piqued, I reached out to a couple of longer-term residents. Their stories sent shivers down my spine. It was said that many years ago, a man named Albert resided in 614. A recluse, he was rarely seen but often heard — peculiar chants and murmurs accompanied by strange symbols painted on his walls.
One night, his chants grew more violent, escalating to a full-blown outburst. The morning after, no one saw him again. The apartment was locked from the inside, and despite multiple attempts, the door couldn't be breached. Over time, it was left alone, a sealed crypt of secrets, but the disturbances continued.
Determined to uncover the truth, I began researching about Albert. Old newspapers revealed that he was once a renowned archaeologist, with a particular interest in ancient cults. His last expedition was to a remote temple in South America, after which he returned a changed man.
Mid-research, I was jolted by an intense, rhythmic pounding. The noise wasn't coming from any apartment but rather beneath the building itself. The basement. Perhaps that was the key. But there was one problem — residents were strictly forbidden from entering it.
A plan began to form in my mind.
That night, armed with a flashlight, I made my way to the basement. To my surprise, the door was slightly ajar. The underground space was vast and lined with old wooden beams and brick walls. Cobwebs hung like drapes from the ceiling, and a damp, putrid smell filled the air.
My light caught something on the far wall — symbols. The same symbols Albert reportedly painted in 614. Underneath them, a passage leading further down.
As I hesitated, a whisper echoed through the space, drawing me in. "Discover... Uncover...". I was in too deep to turn back now.
Following the passage, I came upon a door. Pushing it open, my eyes met a sight that would haunt my dreams forever.
The room was vast, and at its center stood an ornate stone altar, encrusted with dark stains that told tales of rituals long past. Candle holders, formed in the shape of writhing serpents, adorned its corners, their wicks long extinguished. The walls were adorned with more of those cryptic symbols, but now intertwined with disturbing sketches of disfigured humans in states of anguish and despair.
As the shock subsided, a shuffling sound reached my ears, originating from the shadows in the corner of the room. I reluctantly aimed my flashlight, and the beam unveiled a hunched figure, scribbling fervently on the floor.
His back to me, I could see his skeletal frame, clothes tattered and hair a wild mess. The realization hit like a punch to the gut. It was Albert.
He stopped abruptly, his head tilting ever so slightly as if sensing my presence. Then, with a chilling slowness, he turned to face me. His eyes were not those of a sane man but of someone lost to a dark abyss.
"You shouldn't be here," he rasped, voice filled with a mix of warning and despair.
Trying to muster any courage, I replied, "I had to know the truth, Albert. About the noises, the symbols, about you."
He let out a heart-wrenching sigh. "They called to me from the temple... The old gods, forgotten by time. They promised knowledge and power, but they take more than they give."
The room grew colder. The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, reaching out for me. Panic surged through my veins. I had to get out, but Albert's story, his warning, kept me rooted.
"They're bound to this place now, through me. Through my foolishness." He gestured to the symbols around us. "I tried to contain them, to lock them here with these wards, but they demand more. They thirst."
His hollow gaze met mine, filled with both torment and a plea for understanding. "Each night, they try to break free. Each night, I hold them back. But it weakens me."
I knew then that the disturbances, the haunting hums, the chilling vibes of Oakhaven weren't just remnants of Albert's dark past but an ongoing battle between him and these ancient deities.
Suddenly, a deafening roar erupted from the very walls, making the room tremble. Albert's face contorted in pain as he clutched his head. "They're coming!" he shrieked.
A blinding light emanated from the altar, illuminating grotesque, shadowy figures emerging from the walls, their distorted forms menacing and horrifying. The room was filling with them, and their intent was clear.
I had to act. Recalling the symbols I'd seen both in Albert's apartment and the basement walls, I frantically began drawing them around us with the chalk Albert had dropped.
As the last symbol connected, a barrier seemed to form, and the figures were pushed back, their twisted faces filled with rage.
"They can't be held for long," Albert gasped. "You need to leave. Warn the residents. And whatever you do, never let anyone enter this place again."
His words were a stark contrast to the sense of impending doom that filled the room. But I knew he was right. Without another word, I turned and raced back the way I came, the haunting cries of the old gods echoing behind me.
The hallways of Oakhaven felt longer and more twisted than ever. Each step echoed with urgency, but also with the weight of the knowledge I now bore. The silence of the night was pierced by the distant and haunting hum emanating from the depths below, growing in intensity.
I emerged from the basement, locking the door behind me. There was no time to lose.
Mrs. Gertrude, awakened by the noise, met me in the hallway, her eyes widened in a mix of confusion and fear. "What happened? What did you find?"
"Gather everyone," I panted, "Meet in the lobby. NOW."
People filled the lobby in varying states of sleepiness, confusion, and concern. The building's murmurs, paired with Albert's harrowing revelations, had everyone on edge. Faces looked to me expectantly, some with skepticism, some with dawning realization.
"I know it's hard to believe," I began, "but Oakhaven is more than just a building. It's a prison - a seal holding back ancient, malevolent beings. We must evacuate and ensure no one ever enters the basement again."
Murmurs spread throughout the crowd. Some nodded, having experienced enough to believe. Others were skeptical, thinking it a prank or delusion.
But as if on cue, a resounding crash echoed from the basement door, followed by an otherworldly growl that silenced any doubters. The building quaked, lights flickering, as shadowy tendrils began seeping through the floor, the very fabric of Oakhaven under attack.
"We need to leave NOW!" I shouted. Panic set in, residents scrambling for the exits.
As we made our way out, a memory flashed in my mind: a tome in Albert's research about symbols of protection. With a piece of chalk — salvaged from the basement — I began drawing one of the symbols on the main entrance, hoping to buy us more time.
Outside, we watched in horrified awe as Oakhaven's facade distorted, windows shattering and walls warping. The building seemed to be imploding, drawn in by the dark force within.
Moments felt like hours, but eventually, the chaos subsided. Oakhaven stood, though forever changed — its windows dark, its structure twisted, an eternal testament to the battle waged within.
Word spread about the horrors of Oakhaven, and it was soon cordoned off. Authorities dismissed the event as a minor earthquake, but we knew better. We formed a pact, each resident vowing to guard the secret, ensuring no one would ever attempt to uncover the darkness sealed within.
Life moved on, but memories lingered. Every time I'd pass the now-abandoned Oakhaven, a cold shiver would run down my spine, remembering the night we faced the unfathomable.
While most of us relocated and tried to forget, one thing remained clear: some doors, no matter how enticing the mysteries behind them, are meant to remain closed. |
I’ll preface this entire account by saying I’m a single dad with a 6-month-old baby boy, Eddie. It’s hard dealing with him on my own and trying to come to terms with the grief I’ve been feeling since my wife Selina died.
We were so happy when we found out that we were expecting. Everything was going really well with the pregnancy and we were both excited to meet little Eddie. But there were complications with the birth. The doctors tried their hardest but they ultimately told us that it came down to being able to save either Selina or Eddie. She chose Eddie.
As much as I love my son, I still miss her more than anything. My world’s been turned upside down and I could really do with her here right now to help me through it. But I’m still trying the best I can for the sake of our son.
We’ve had to move out of our home into a smaller apartment building. Currently, I’m looking after Eddie full time so at the moment I’ve been struggling to make any money for us. We’ve been living on the proceeds from selling our old home, as much as it pained me to do so. I’ve been doing the odd jobs on the side too, freelance writing stuff where I can work from my laptop so I don't need to leave Eddie. It doesn't pay as much but it’s still something, better than nothing.
As hard as things are, that’s not the reason I’m writing this. Everything was slowly moving along and I was just about coping until last week. Last week marked the time that Eddie turned 6 months old. He was coming along really well, he could now roll onto his front and watch me as I went about the chores in the house or made his bottles. He was also sleeping 8 hours at night now which was a godsend.
So I decided it was time for him to have his own room, that way he would get used to sleeping on his own and I would be able to sleep better without worrying if he was breathing every few minutes. A part of me was a little sad as I assembled the cot in our former spare room, what would now be Eddie’s room. His room was a bit smaller than mine but it still had a lot of space for him when he got older.
It even had a built-in closet that was sunken into the wall, with two slatted doors held together by a small metal hook and loop. That would be perfect to store all of his baby clothes in as he grew up without eating into his room to play.
In the rest of his room, I had set up his cot, a changing table with all of his diapers and wipes, a toy chest filled to bursting with all of the toys he’d been given throughout his 6 months of life, and a small chair that I could sit in so that I could read him his bedtime stories.
I’d painted the whole thing a light blue colour and painted shapes of clouds in different places to give him the impression that he was flying in the sky. I was quite proud of it, to be honest.
Night came and I carried Eddie into his new room in my arms, filled with a sense of pride that he was coming along so well, but also a sense of unease that I think all parents must get at this point. Sitting down in the chair, I gave him his nighttime bottle of milk while reading him a story. I could see his little eyelids start to droop as he drained the bottle, and before I’d even finished the story he was out for the count.
Slowly, I got up and walked over to Eddie’s cot, gently lowering him so as not to wake him from whatever dreams he was having. He looked so peaceful there, in his big boy cot in his own room.
I turned on the baby monitor I’d been given by a friend and sneaked to the door, trying to avoid making any noise that might wake my son and mean that I’d need to spend the rest of the night trying to get him back off to sleep.
As I was about to walk out of the door, I stopped and turned around, taking one last look at my child before leaving and closing the door. I didn’t hear a peep out of Eddie that night, I went in to check on him a few times, paranoia eating at me, but he was sound asleep.
I felt a little lost. After watching a film in the living room I decided to check on Eddie one last time before I called it a night. Poking my head around the door I could see him in his cot, but something was different. A sense of unease gripped me as I noticed he was the wrong way around. I’d placed him in with his head facing the wall without the closet, but now he was facing the other way so that he would be looking at the closet if he were awake.
He must have turned himself around in his sleep, I thought, reassuring myself that it was a normal occurrence. He had never done this before, but he was at the age where they’re doing new things every few days so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility for him to have moved on his own.
I entered the room to re-position him, and immediately I felt an odd coolness in the air. It hadn't been this cold when I put him down to sleep. The heating in this apartment wasn't the best, so I assumed the radiator in this room was faulty. There was an odd smell too, like a lavender perfume. It must have been seeping in through the vents from one of the other apartments. I’ll take a look in the morning I thought.
I’d turn Eddie around and get him a blanket to keep him warm I thought to myself. As I turned towards the closet, there was another sight which made that uneasy feeling in my spine rear its head. Why was the closet latch undone?
Had I left it that way when I’d put Eddie to bed? I was convinced I’d returned the latch to its original place after I’d got out his sleep suit, but now it stood unlatched with the door slightly ajar.
I pulled it fully open, still feeling uneasy, but I was met with nothing but the same old closet, the piles of clothes in the exact same places that I’d left them. Shaking this off as my mind worrying about Eddie being on his own for the first time, I grabbed a spare blanket from the closet before closing it and putting the latch back on again.
I turned Eddie around, wrapping him in the new blanket so that he would be warm enough, checking he was sleeping soundly and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead before sneaking out again silently.
Exhausted, I lay down on my bed and let sleep wash over me like a dark wave. I don’t know how long I’d been asleep for, but I was roused from my slumber by a sound I couldn't place. It seemed to be emanating from the baby monitor that was sitting on my bedside table. Immediately I sat bolt upright, wide awake assuming that Eddie was in trouble.
The sound coming through was faint, so much so that I had to hold it to my ear to make anything out. Much to my surprise, I wasn't met with the crying of my 6-month-old as I was expecting. The noise coming through the monitors sounded more like whispering. Hushed words were being spoken softly, so quietly that I couldn't make out. It was a little unsettling, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Was there someone in there with him?
I turned the monitor off, hoping that it was some kind of static malfunction or interference from another monitor in the apartment complex. When I flicked the switch and the monitor came back on I was met with nothing but the hum of ambient noise from Eddie's room. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Satisfied that Eddie was fine and that the old monitor was on its way out, my heart rate slowed back down to reasonable levels and I became more aware of my surroundings. That cold that I’d felt in Eddie’s room had seemed to now be present in my room too, another radiator down. I tried to go back to sleep, pulling the covers tightly around me. It took me a while but eventually, I managed to drift off into a dreamless sleep.
I was awoken the next morning by the sounds of Eddie crying through the baby monitor. Checking my watch I noticed he’d made it through the entire night without waking up. I was filled with a sense of pride with my little man. It was enough to make me forget about the strange happenings of last night.
I prepared Eddie’s bottle in the kitchen and made my way into his room. “Good morning little man,” I said in my happiest voice as I pushed the door open. Eddie was in his cot, crying. He was facing the other way, he’d turned around again. It was a little disconcerting, but if he knew how to do that now I’d best get used to it.
I was about to pick him up and give him his bottle when my eye was drawn to the closet door. It was ajar again, the latch hanging loosely. I’d definitely closed it that second time. I sighed to myself. I know this is a cheap apartment but does nothing work?
Yet another thing I’d have to sort out. I picked Eddie up and took him into the living room where we continued about our day as normal. We went shopping and I took him for a stroll around the local park. He loved being out in the fresh air, just like his mother.
I had a look at the radiators in mine and Eddie’s rooms but I couldn't see anything glaringly obvious with them that would cause them not to work so I reported it to our landlord. He said that he would get a plumber to take a look as soon as he could but it might be in a few days. I was annoyed but what could I do?
I also took a look at the latch but couldn't figure out how it was coming undone. It didn't look like anything was broken so I assumed it must just be due to the age of the thing. I’d go out and get another one tomorrow, but in the meantime, I would just prop something against it so that it wouldn't open.
Soon it was getting dark again and nearing Eddie’s bedtime. We went through our nightly routine of bottle and story time as normal and I could see his eyelids starting to droop. Scooping him up, I gently placed him in his cot again and kissed his forehead, facing away from the closet, and covered him in his blankets. As I turned to leave, I placed the bag I used to carry Eddie’s things around in front of the closet door to keep it shut.
I played video games for a couple of hours after that, all the while one ear was on the monitor, listening for Eddie. After a while, I could feel the exhaustion of the day catching up with me and I made my way to my bedroom.
The apartment was silent as I got into bed. I sat there, reading for a bit before surrendering to sleep. I awoke in darkness again, my ears filled with a soft whispering from the baby monitor. It was louder than before, still not loud enough to make out words, but loud enough for me to make out the tone of the voice. It was an older voice, feminine. It was cooing and occasionally giggling.
Exasperated that I’d been woken up by the same interference as last night I reached for the monitor to turn it off and back on again and reset it. As I flicked the switch to turn it back on, my blood ran cold. I could still hear it, that voice. Exactly the same as before. There was someone in Eddie’s room.
I jumped to my feet and practically sprinted to Eddie’s room, my heart pounding in my chest. How had someone gotten in? What were they doing to him? Either way, they’re going to wish they’d left my son alone. The whispers grew louder as I approached Eddie’s door.
I charged into Eddie’s room, slamming the door as I did so. I looked around wildly, ready for a confrontation, searching for whoever was making the noises I’d heard in the baby monitor. There was no one there, there were no noises too. Only Eddie, facing the wrong way again. He started crying, I must have scared him as I slammed the door open.
The feeling of rage immediately dissipated as Eddie’s cries met my ears and I ran to him, scooping him up to comfort him. As I made my way over to my chair to sit with him and calm him all sorts of thoughts raced around in my head. What was happening? There was definitely a voice, where were they?
I sat there rocking Eddie, trying to coax him back to sleep. It was freezing in the room now, I thought to myself. The smell of lavender perfume was there too. I was contemplating this when I noticed the bag by the closet door. It wasn't where I’d left it, it was to the side of the door which now stood ajar again, the latch hanging limply.
The rage flashed back. There, I thought. They’re hiding in his closet.
Gently putting Eddie back into his cot, I placed my one hand on the closet door, my other hand preemptively balled into a fist, ready to show whoever was in my son’s room that this was the wrong child to mess with.
Swinging the door back violently and yelling, a cold shiver ran down my spine. It was empty, there was no one in the closet, It was the same as the room, quiet and empty. I couldn't be imagining this, it’s happened twice in a row.
I sat in the chair in Eddie’s room, not wanting to leave him again just in case. I know I’d not seen anything, but there was just this underlying sense that something was off. Maybe it was static or interference like I’d first thought. I’ll get a new baby monitor tomorrow, I thought, maybe one of the ones with a camera, that way I won’t scare my boy again unnecessarily.
I did that the very next day. Me and Eddie went to the store where I get most of Eddie’s things from and bought a new monitor. It wasn't exactly top of the line, I couldn't afford that, but it was better than the one I had, and the guy behind the counter assured me that as it went over the internet it shouldn't pick up any interference from other baby monitors in the apartment complex. You can even get it to send alerts to your phone if it hears noises, he explained. While I was out I also headed to our local hardware store to grab a new latch for that closet.
As soon as I got back I took Eddie into his room and placed him on his playmat for some tummy time. Meanwhile, I got to work setting up his new monitor. It was surprisingly easy, and within minutes I’d got it working. Testing it with my phone I could clearly see Eddie on his mat and me sat there next to him. I could even hear the gurgling chuckles he was making to himself, as clearly through the phone as they were to my ears. That was one job down.
I got to work replacing the latch on the closet as Eddie busied himself with his reflection in one of the mirrors on his playmat. Within a few minutes, I’d removed the old latch and had the new one set in place and working. It was sturdier than the old one, and it didn't budge when I rattled the door to check.
Please with myself, me and Eddie carried on our day as normal. I was actually looking forward to bedtime today, a bedtime with no disturbances from faulty monitors.
I put Eddie to bed as usual, then went about my night. Before long I could feel sleep calling to me, so I made my way to my room and prepared myself for the best sleep I’d had in days.
I was dragged from a particularly nice dream about winning an Oscar by an odd, incessant beeping noise. Bleary eyed I reached for the source of the sound. My hand found it and brought it to my face. My phone.
Unlocking the screen I was met with a single notification, plastered across the top of the screen in red letters. “Sound Detected By Camera 1”
Snapping out of my half-asleep stupor, I shakily unlocked the phone. This couldn't be happening again, not with this new monitor. I opened the app and clicked to show the feed from Camera 1, dreading what I would see.
I froze in place, all of the blood drained from my face as the camera connected, speakers first, and I could hear that same whispering again, shushing and giggling like the night before. It wasn't interference.
Then the video feed connected. I can't get the image it showed me out of my head, I nearly screamed. The camera showed a wide shot of Eddie’s room, very clearly in black and white from the night vision setting.
I could see clearly that the closet door was wide open now, even though I’d replaced the latch and made sure it was firmly shut. But it wasn't this that inspired such fear in me, it was the thing that was leaning over Eddie’s cot.
Stretched over Eddie, clad in a very old-looking black dress with thin wispy white hair and spindly gnarled fingers was what I assumed to be an old woman. I couldn't make out her face. Her head was wrapped in a black shawl which covered most of her features and she was facing away from the camera. But she was leaning over Eddie, cooing to him and giggling, dangling her wizened fingers over him.
There was something unnerving about the way that she moved. Her movements seemed too precise and coordinated for someone of her age, she looked like she must have been at least 90. They were soft…controlled, not the slow and shaky way that people that age seem to move with.
Nausea welled up in my stomach as she slowly and carefully reached down to pick up my son. Her spindly fingers wrapped around him and she seemed to pull him close in a wretched embrace, cradling him in her arms. All I could imagine was her pulling his poor defenceless form close before running for the window, taking him from me forever.
I dropped the phone and charged towards Eddie’s room. There was no way I was going to let this old woman steal my son. How had she been getting in? I didn't care, I just needed to get in there, to get him away from her.
I charged through Eddie’s door again, like the night before, ready to save him from the grip of this aged abductor. As I spun around to face where she was in the feed… There was nothing there. The room was empty again, and freezing. The smell of that lavender perfume was strong in the air. Eddie was awake. The wrong way around in his cot, cooing and giggling, looking at the closet. The door was wide open just like I’d seen on the camera.
She must have hidden in there when she heard me running down the hall. Barely containing my anger, I made my way over to it, shouting for her to make her way out or there’d be trouble. I was met with no response.
Flinging the door back in a rage, I was met with….nothing….again. I’d seen her, she was definitely in here, where could she possibly have gone? I started moving Eddie’s clothes around in the closet, in case she was hiding behind a large stack of them. Much to my dismay there was nothing.
I was about to give up my search when I noticed something. Sticking out from under a pile of Eddie’s pyjamas, was a thick, black shawl, just like the one she’d been wearing. There was no other trace of her. I tried to pick it up, but as my fingers closed around it, it crumbled away, filling the closet with the stench of that lavender perfume.
I’d had enough. I didn't know what was happening but I wasn't going to stand for it. There was someone here and they wanted my son. There’s no way I was going to let that happen.
Scooping up Eddie, I made my way back into my room. I set up the old Moses basket that he used to sleep in by the side of my bed and placed him in it before barricading the door with a chair. There was no way anyone was getting in here, even if they broke into Eddie’s room. I’d call the police in the morning and they’d find whoever did this, I’d get them to stake out the apartment if they had to.
Eddie fell to sleep straight away, not registering the events of the night, but sleep eluded me. I forced myself to stay awake in case anyone tried to take my son again. Sitting there in the near darkness, I kept my ears pricked for any sound that might indicate another person in the house. My nerves were completely shot at this point, so when the obnoxious beeping noise from my phone started I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Shakily reaching for it, I dreaded what would be there spread across my screen, although a part of me already seemed to know. “Sound Detected By Camera 1” was sprawled across the top of the screen in those ominous red letters I’d seen earlier in the night.
Eddie was in my room with me and there should have been no one else in the house. The old woman might have left her hiding place now, maybe she’d made a noise that the camera had picked up? With a trembling finger, I tapped the notification, needing to know where the old woman was getting into and out of the room from.
The app opened the same as before, the sound loading first, filling the room with that strange whispering again. Only this time it seemed different, off. Rather than the cooing whispering I’d heard for the past couple of nights, this sounded like a mix of sobbing and anger. This was more unnerving than the whispering, it sounded almost desperate.
Then the video feed loaded in and I could make out Eddie’s room again clearly. The closet door was wide open again and the old woman was standing there in the centre of his room, staring at the empty cot.
She seemed different this time though. She still had her back to the camera, but I could clearly make out her aged hands. They were elongated, reaching further than any human hands should, ending in long black fingernails. Her skin was a mottled grey colour and I could see black veins snaking their way from her hands up into her black dress.
She wasn't wearing the shawl anymore, her ghost-white hair visible at the top of her head. She stood there, twitching, her arms and shoulders jerking at odd angles, she seemed almost like she was vibrating slightly. She was whispering to herself in that odd, desperate tone. Occasionally she would throw her head back in a cry.
Just what the hell was happening?
Then, almost as though she could sense me watching her through the monitor, she slowly spun herself around, her legs moving in an erratic jerking motion. When her body finally stopped contorting I nearly screamed.
I could clearly make out that face now, it was the same pale grey colour as the elongated fingers I’d seen before she turned around. It was also lined with the same thick black veins that snaked their way across her face and under her scalp.
She was staring at me through the feed, her eyes fixed on the camera, although it felt like she was looking directly into me. Her eyes were pitch black, the same colour as the veins running all over her. They were like shark's eyes.
Slowly, she pulled back her lips into a terrifying grin, revealing several rows of yellow serrated teeth lining her mouth. Black ichor dripped from her mouth, flowing down her jaw and staining the front of her tattered black dress.
I was terrified, I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest. This thing, it had been in Eddie’s room the entire time he’d been in there. I’d left him there, left him in danger. I shuddered to think what would have happened if I hadn't gotten this new baby monitor.
Her face contorted again, this time into a mask of rage, and I could feel the immense hatred coming from behind those empty black eyes. Her jaw began to descend, leaking more black ichor and she let out a horrific scream that sounded like the word “Eeedddddiiiieeeeee” before the feed went black and was replaced with static. I’d heard it through the wall too, and almost felt it.
I sat there staring at my phone, watching the static flashing across the screen. I was numb. What the hell was that? Whatever it was, it wanted Eddie and now it was angry. I looked at my son, a feeling of fear for him, for his safety, and a feeling that I would do whatever it took to keep him safe filled me.
The static on my phone cleared and I could now clearly see Eddie’s room again. It was completely empty, everything was where it should have been. The closet door was also shut tight. I didn't hear anything at all, the house was quiet again.
Suddenly the handle of my bedroom door turned and the door was pushed before slamming into my makeshift barricade. It rattled back and forth angrily, violently slamming into the chair, trying to move it, all the while I could hear that same shout. “Eeeeedddiiiieeee!!”.
I couldn’t move, I was wide-eyed with fear. This couldn't be happening. The stench of lavender filled the room, but it wasn't the sickly sweet smell like normal, it was near rancid, as though it had aged and decayed.
I didn't take my eyes off of Eddie from that point. Not until the sun started rising and the banging at the door disappeared with it. My mind was broken, I couldn’t think straight. All I could think was that we needed to get out of here. It wasn't safe.
Eddie started stirring for his morning bottle. Gingerly opening the door, I crept with him into the kitchen and prepared it for him, all the while listening out for signs of noises from his room. There was nothing but silence.
I knew we needed to get out of there, it wasn't safe for Eddie and I had no idea how to protect him from whatever was in that room. Mustering up as much courage as I could, I made my way into his room to grab the essentials that we would need.
The smell of that lavender perfume was almost suffocating now. The room was still cold too. I ran in, throwing the closet door open and grabbing as many of his clothes as I could, stuffing them into an overnight bag.
As I was frantically moving the clothes, I couldn't help feeling like I was being watched. Like there were a pair of dead, black eyes drilling into me. Once I’d got what I needed I ran from the room, slamming the door behind me. Scooping up Eddie, I got into my car and drove to my parent's house.
I’m still there now, I don't know what to do. I can’t go back there, it’s not safe for me or Eddie. I just hope that she doesn't know where we’ve gone. |
Recently I found myself in a state of desperation, forced to return to my childhood home after losing my apartment due to some bad financial decisions. It was meant to be a temporary arrangement, a few days until I got back on my feet. Little did I know, those nights would become a haunting experience I would never forget.
During the day, my mother seemed like her usual self. Warm and caring, she went about her daily routine, offering me comfort in a time of need. But as the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness enveloped the house, an eerie transformation took place.
It was around 3 or 4 am every night when I would abruptly awaken, my senses alert to the strange happenings within the house. I would find my mother engaged in odd activities, muttering to herself as she obsessively cleaned every surface. Her eyes held a distant, vacant stare that sent shivers down my spine. Other nights, she would wander aimlessly through the dimly lit corridors, her footsteps echoing like whispers in the night.
Yet, the most chilling encounter occurred one fateful night. Stirred from my sleep at the usual hour, I peeled my eyes open to witness a sight that would forever haunt me. There, outside my window, stood my mother, staring at me with a grin so wide and unsettling that it seemed to stretch the limits of her face. Her hands pressed against the glass, leaving smudges as a testament to her presence. I called out to her, my voice trembling, but she remained motionless, unresponsive to my pleas.
Fear gripped me like a vice, and in a desperate attempt to escape the escalating terror, I decided to leave the house and go for a drive. The night air provided a temporary respite, offering a fleeting distraction from the horrors that unfolded within those familiar walls.
Eventually, I returned home, exhausted and hoping that the light of day would dispel the shadows of the night. As I stepped through the threshold, a profound silence greeted me. It was then that I discovered my mother, peacefully nestled in her bed, seemingly undisturbed. Confusion mingled with the lingering unease, leaving me to question my own sanity.
Morning arrived, and with it, the need to confront my mother about the night's events. I cautiously broached the subject, hoping for answers. But to my astonishment, she appeared genuinely perplexed, her eyes filled with genuine concern. She had no recollection of standing outside my window or anything that transpired during those haunting hours.
Her innocence seemed undeniable, yet the chilling memories refused to fade. I attempted to convince myself that it was just a bizarre sleepwalking habit, a manifestation of her subconscious mind. But the uneasy feeling persisted, gnawing at the edges of my sanity. The line between reality and nightmare had blurred, leaving me trapped in a sinister dance with the unknown.
With each passing night, I found myself dreading the hour when darkness reigned supreme. The veil of normalcy my mother wore during the day became a façade that concealed a deeper, unsettling truth. And as the days turned into weeks, I questioned whether I could ever find solace within those walls again or if I would forever be trapped in a twisted labyrinth of fear and uncertainty. |
Read the last entry here:
Hello Everyone,
Victoria signing in.
As quite a few people saw my group's last publication, the story if you will, so I have now returned to share another one today.
Last time we discussed a case of a singular creature bringing misery to a lone family. Contrary to this, today we will be taking a look at the catastrophic demise of an entire German town in the year 2008. On the 20th of June 2008, the town [private information] was stripped of all human life. On all official records, there is no evidence regarding this but there is a voice recording that was recovered from the ruins of the city. A single man thought it to be a worthwhile idea to document the downfall of his home. That man's name was Nathan G. While Mr. G., unfortunately, didn't survive the ordeal, his voice has. So now following are the last wows of a doomed man toward his home. Fully translated from German to English for easier reading.
June 1st, 2008:
Hello to whoever finds this. [private information], the town I live in will probably have perished and me alongside it. Worry not, I have made peace with my situation. Oh, I guess I should introduce myself. I am Prof. Dr. Nathan G. and I am a teacher of anthropology at the University of [private information].
*Audible drinking of water and clearing of throat*
Excuse me, all of this is getting to me quite a bit.
Now the reason all of this is being recorded is that a strange illness has befallen my hometown. By this, I do not mean to describe an illness of the physical health nor one that befalls one's mind in the classical sense. Sin has held a victory march into everyone's home and nobody does anything about it. It all started with the appearance of a musician from a faraway part of Germany. A flutist, supposedly world famous, wishing to give concerts in our little backwater city. I had a bad feeling right away but no one ever listens to me. Last night the stranger held his first show and it was horrific. In the beginning, it was as any good show should be, people dancing, drinking, losing themselves in the music. The weirdness didn't take very long to start because after a short while the crowd's temperament started to shift. The dancers got more and more excited, starting to tear off each other's clothes and violently making love. Each new song escalated their behaviour further until eventually, it was a writhing mass of intertwined flesh and blood. Unable to bear witness to it any longer I fled the scene. Furthermore, when I went out for groceries this morning everyone seemed to stare at me.
June 13th 2008:
Things have gotten drastically worse since my first recording. Not only has that damned piper been spreading his ungodly tunes every night since the start of the month, no the entire town feels like a giant powder keg. Everyone's general willingness for violence has gone up to a frightening degree. Just this morning two young men got into a fight over bumping into each other. It was horrific. One guy lost both his eyes and lips. The other guy would have straight-up torn him to shreds if the police hadn't shown up. However, that is where it got worse as instead of trying to talk to them they just shot them both. While everyone else just quietly gathered around, staring with a hungry look in their eyes as if they were just waiting their turn.
June 17th, 2008:
*Sound of a man sobbing*
Oh dear God, oh Lord, the end times are upon us. When I left my house today I saw my neighbors violating the corpse of a man from one street over. It was not the only case of depravity I witnessed as the local butcher was cutting up people he had scraped off the street, the Doctor was opening up living children for everyone's viewing pleasure and so much more. The town's temper is feverish and violent. I fear that it's going to collapse in on itself any day now. The only ray of light is that the 20th with hold the Piper's last concert here, titled "Repayment". Maybe after that, it will all be over and all those fallen to sin will find their senses again.
June 20th, 2008:
Oh my Lord Jesus Christ, I beg of you to save your lost son from this hell fallen on earth. I resisted the devil's lullaby, I alone did. All the others are gone, swallowed up by the maw of the abyss. During the concert today a mass of rats sprang forth from every hole and crevice, no matter how impossibly slim or small, making their way to the dancing folk. And oh did they dance. More manic and crazy with every single note escaping the tempter's flute. Round and round, faster and faster, wilder and wilder. And the rats piled up around them like a swelling tide, casting a shadow on the psychotic mass. Higher and higher they rose until they were like a wave mighty enough to crush buildings. And with the piper's last song ending they collapsed on the crowd with the sound of screams and crunching bones. Meat being ripped and torn, blood being gulped up, and yells of panic, fear, and ecstasy drowned out by the furry flood. I now sit here in the space where hundreds of people just celebrated and have nothing to prove what happened. Not a single piece of anyone remains.
*The sound of footsteps, followed by a smooth, almost hypnotic voice*
Oh foolish creature, unable to enjoy my wonderful song. May your words be your legacy and you one of my many mouths. And you who bear witness to this at this very moment at any point in the future, know that I can see you. Know that one day even your time is up.
With that today's document reaches its end. I hope your eyes will be more vigilant and your ears filled with more suspicion toward music that sounds too heavenly to be real.
Loving,
Victoria. |
I just want to say when this all happened I was eighteen, and I was young, innocent and naive. Now that I’m in my mid twenties I would never let this happen again.
It was my freshman year at college and as could one imagine I was excited to be on my own for once in my life. So excited to be on my own I decided I was going to take summer classes on campus. That way I wouldn’t have to worry about coming in when the big crowd of freshman came and I would also already know where everything was. Plus it meant I could get away from my parents faster.
But mainly all I could think about was boys.
You see I had never dated anyone through highschool, so I thought I would find my one true love at college. Because of course, that’s what all the movies told me anyways.
About two weeks go by and me and one of my roommates (I had four) were hanging out in the lounge area showing off pictures from Instagram of our friends,family, ect...
Well my roommate (I’ll call her Tracy) showed me a picture of her and these two guys. One of the guys was Tracy’s boyfriend, and the other was Tracy’s boyfriends best friend (I’ll call him Sean)
Now Sean was very attractive and I told Tracy that he was hot. And she told me that he went to the tech college near us and he was single.
Now a day or two goes by after this and she tells me she told Sean that I was interested in him and he wanted to know if he could follow me on Instagram so he could Dm me. And at the time I trusted Tracy because she seemed like a cool chill girl, so I excitedly told her yes.
I wish I never told her yes...
I talked to Sean for about a week before I was comfortable enough to give him my phone number. At first he seemed super sweet. He would always send me a text message in the mornings, telling me to have a good day at class and he couldn’t wait to face time me that night.
And we would face time EVERY night.
At first I loved it because I never had a boy give me so much attention, and like I said before I had never dated anyone so I was just over the moon that he was even interested enough in me to talk to me.
But it started to get annoying.
He would text me almost every second of the day and try to face time me at least four times.
When I wouldn’t respond to him he would ask if I was okay, why wasn’t I answering him, if I was seeing another guy. If I was seeing another guy it would make him really mad if I was. I of course once seeing the messages would try to reassure him I was okay and I wasn’t seeing anyone. Like I said In the beginning, I was young and naive. So I didn’t see it as a red flag.
Things kept going downhill though.
It came to a point were he started asking for pictures of me. Either just selfies or pictures of me in the mirror. I wouldn’t send them though because I wasn’t comfortable. And he would brush it off saying that was fine and I could send him pictures of myself to him whenever I was ready.
One day I was in class for a long time because it was a lab, and it started at 7:00pm and wouldn’t end until 10:00pm that night . For those of you who don’t know labs in college can last from 2-4 hours and mine just happened to be 3 hours that night.
Once class ended I headed up to my dorm and took out my phone.
I clicked the button on the side lighting up the screen.
I had 380 unread text, 10 miss calls, and three voice mails from Sean. Before I could even react or even read all the messages my phone started to ring. Instead of being Sean it was my dad. He had called me to make sure I was alright because he got an alert from the phone company that I had gotten all those messages(I was still on his phone plan).
I don’t know why but I lied to him and laughed it off. Saying that I was just in a group chat with a bunch of girls from school.
Once I got off the phone with my dad I quickily went to look at the messages I had gotten. Most of them were demanding why I wasn’t answering him and he would come and find me if I didn’t answer him. The voicemails were crude and mostly of him saying how he was going to find me, and when he did he was going to punish me for not answering him.
After this I just completely blocked him on everything I could think of. Completely freaked out about the whole thing.
About a week goes by and I start to slowly forget about the incident trying not to think much about it. At least that what I was trying to do. That whole week I felt like someone was watching me. But I brushed it off as me being paranoid.
At the end of the week my roommate Tracy (who I had been avoiding) comes up to me shouting at me saying how I broke Sean’s heart and he had called her crying saying he didn’t understand why I stopped talking to him. I couldn’t even get a word in because of how fast she was talking. She finally called me a self centered bitched and walked away.
I went to class right after that not realizing I forgot to lock my dorm room. You see I lived with four girls and each girl had there own room which would lock from the outside with a key.
Well when I came back from class I noticed my door was cracked opened slightly.
My heart dropped into my stomach. I hesitated going in, my hands were shaking terribly. But I finally got the nerve to push it open....
Nothing... there was nothing out of place it seemed. Even though there was nothing out of place I could have sworn I closed the door before Leaving for class. Though I don’t remember if I locked it or not I know for sure I closed the door. So I asked my roommates (including Tracy) if anyone had gone into my room today. And they all denied it, even Tracy. But I just knew in my heart someone had been in there.
I tried to brush it off but I couldn’t. So one weekend when i knew that all my roommates were going to be out of town I switched dorm buildings and roomed with a girl I had gotten to be close friends with.
After I moved in with here I told her all that had happened, and she said that she would walk with me to my classes. Which thankfully we had most of our classes together except the night lab I had. And she would walk with me to my lab and wait until my lab was done to walk with me back to the dorm.
One night though she had gone out of town to see her parents or something. I was walking back from my lab and it had gone really late that night again. I heard someone walking behind me but I didn’t pay any kind to it since class was just let out. But as I was walking I could hear the steps getting closer. So I started to pick up my walking speed.
At this point I could tell someone was following me and I was to afraid to look back. As the footsteps increased and got faster I started running as fast as I could.
Now let me tell you I’m not athletic by any means. Somehow though,Adrenalin probably, I was able to sprint to my dorm building hearing someone still running behind me and I thankfully already had my keycard out to get into the building and I swiped it on the door and slammed it behind me.
Looking up from slamming the door I see someone who’s probably about 10 feet away from the door staring at me. Even though through the persons hoody that was up and I couldn’t see there face I could just they were looking at me. I just knew it was Sean.
Not wasting anymore time I go to the RA that was up that night bawling telling him what had just happened. He called the police and I told them everything that happened. But they basically said they couldn’t do anything since I didn’t see his face even if I thought it was Sean and maybe I was just paranoid since it was night time and I was walking by myself.
After all this I called my friend and told her what happened and she never went out of town again if I had my late night classes.
I eventually decided college wasn’t for me and I dropped out.
I moved back to my home state and went to cosmetology school and became a hairdresser.
I still haven’t dated anyone yet though. Maybe it’s the fear of something like that happening again, I’ll never know. I do know that I’m super careful with who I talk to now and who I give my social media and phone number to.
I’m still scared to go to places by myself even though it’s been years and I’m states away. Even so...
Sean,
Let’s not meet ever again. |
Be prepared to read things that are not my finest moments, when I was a freshman in highschool I was dealing with a lot of things and it ultimately caused poor life decisions.
So I started highschool when I was young, barely 13 years old (I'm a female, now a junior). I didn't think anything about this guy since I wasn't focused on people, I didn't really care about anyone else except two friends I had in the classes I had with him. He was 17 at the time, and yes in those classes the grade levels were mixed.
Nothing ever stuck me as odd about him (since I rarely paid attention to him), until one day in biology I looked up from my paper and saw him taking pictures of me. I was creeped out, but didn't say anything in case I was wrong, then days later he found my instagram and kept texting me which I obviously never responded to, and if I had to I would be very dry and just leave him on seen.
Then one day in the middle of class I got a text from a random number saying "Hey \*name\* \*various emojis like heart ones" and I immediately knew it was him since earlier he was asking for my number which I declined to give to him. I immediately went to the two friends in that class to yell at them for telling him, which they replied "We never gave it to him" they even showed me their phones and let me go through them and their messages with him and no number of mine was ever mentioned despite his numerous texts asking them for it.
I never answered him and desperately tried to avoid him, until one day on instagram I got a text from him saying "You're so pretty" to which I replied that I wasn't pretty, and then he spammed me with pictures that he had taken of me. That wasn't even the creepiest part.
There were like 50+ pictures of me, ranging from classes, around the school campus, and even outside of school (like near the bus stop or waiting for a friend at the quad to go somewhere), there was even some of me playing soccer with friends on the football field (it's used for soccer too since the soccer field gets flooded easily and constantly is getting fixed to look pretty).
Obviously I left him on seen, blocked him, and avoided him even more, to the point I started skipping class, and when I did go I told the teacher what happened while I was shaking and she let me go to the dean of the school where I showed them everything and even gave them the number I got the message from.
It's been two years, I'm a Junior now (stayed in the school since they have connections to a hospital I want to volunteer in and because I have great friends there) and he's made new accounts on everything (instagram, snapchat, and probably got a new number) and he has been trying to follow me, and message me for weeks now.
I keep blocking him but new accounts are created, I'm honestly glad for quarantine since I would probably be nervous to go to class or even school. It's also worth mentioning that it's still not known how he got my number as the only two people who had it never gave it to him. And I'm 100% sure that he was following me around school even after I told the dean. |
New to reddit, but listen to stories from here all the time so I figured I might as well give my contribution.
I am a 17 year old male living a relatively quiet life in rural northern Montana, I don't party a lot or do stupid stuff, but I do love driving in the mountains. Little did I know this could've costed me my life.
Its August of this year(2020 obviously) and I was enjoying some free time on my day off of work, and I decided to go take a drive in the mountains north of Kalispell. I drive a red shitbox Nissan Frontier straight out of the 90s with a super tempermental transmission for context.
The drive there was really uneventful, typical asshole drivers, big deisels, northern highway drearyness. It was a foggy cold rainy day so I figured nobody would be in the mountains at this time and I would be all alone up there. When I pulled off the main road and up the mountainous dirt road I felt normal, like nothing was wrong other than my damned transmission.
I am driving up the road for about two hours until I hit a peak and get out to take some pictures, something I usually do for memories. And nothing was really out of the ordinary and it was silent other than the wind whistling through the trees and the rain. I was truly alone.
Until I got the feeling.
Y'know, that feeling you get in your core when someone/something is looking at you ? I was just standing there motionless listening to any noises that might alert me to someone's presence, but there was absolute stillness. I start slowly walking back to my truck when I hear a loud boom and a sound like you hear in those old western movies.
My fight or flight was instantly in 6th gear and I sprinted back to my truck, started it, and by the grace of god or some higher being, was able to get it into first quickly and sped off. I found a spot big enough and turned the truck around and hauled as much ass as this little 4 banger could do back down the mountain road and onto the highway. I drove completely flat out down the highway to the nearest gas station where I stopped. I was shitting bricks at this point because It wasn't hunting season, I didn't see or hear anyone else, and there was no way I could be mistaken for an animal.
I get out to see if the truck was damaged at all and lo and behold! There was a massive bullet hole, I'm gonna guess 7mm round sized hole, in the side of my truck. It went in by the rear fender and came out through the tailgate. I immediately called the county sheriff but since there was no bullet or evidence that they had done it, there wasn't much they could do. Nothing else has really happened since then and I haven't gone back to that area.
Not as exiting as the others but to whoever shot at me alone in the middle of the northern Montana wilderness, you are a bad shot, and lets never meet. |
Recently discovered LNM and decided my story would fit well! Changed accounts because honestly I don’t know who’s out there and don’t want this connected with my identity.
A few years back, my then-boyfriend and I (22F) were living in a 1BR apartment in downtown Denver - about a mile away from the coveted Larimer Square and tourist-favorite 16th street. The location was fantastic, but with people-dense areas often comes trouble. We lived in a historic house with 4 townhouses next to one another. The layout is important to the story - all four front doors were aligned on a single porch. My apartment was located next to an alley, and was the last door on the left. Due to a work obligation, my boyfriend was sent on a 3-month long work assignment, leaving me alone in the house with our two dogs. No sweat off my back - after growing up in a small town in the Northeast, I was eager to explore!
My days after work were filled with long walks around the dog parks and exploring restaurants and craft breweries in downtown. All was well, until it wasn't. Being alone most of the time, and raised in a town of 4,000 of my cousins (exaggeration, but not really); I was docile and trusting - the worst combination. About a month into being alone in the city, I would come home to 3 men smoking outside my door. The first encounter, I decided to keep walking and called a nearby friend to help me get into my house safely. I thought this was a one-time thing, but weeks later, the men continually showed up. It was routine - when I got home at 5pm, they were there lighting up a cigarette - almost like they were waiting for me.
I was finally at my wits-end and asked them if they lived here and whether they could verify that with my landlord. None of them answered and two proceeded to walk down the alley - but one remained stone-cold, and standing his ground, continuing to smoke. I was upset and I repeated the question - "do you live here and can you verify this?". He stared at me with dark, cold eyes and put his cigarette out on my door, only to brush my shoulder as he left my property. Safe to say, I was unnerved. I reached out to my boyfriend to let him know what happened, and he relayed the message to our landlady.
Few days had gone by since my past encounter, and there were no signs on those men. I felt pretty good about myself - I had taken for granted being able to walk up my apartment steps without being fearful. I had made it to Friday, and decided to treat myself to a few drinks with local friends. I had become diligent about locking windows and doors - being next to an alley made me feel extra vulnerable and after my confrontation with the porch-creeps, I was on edge.
My night out was enjoyable and after a few beers, I decided it was time to go home. Thankfully, a friend of mine insisted on making sure I got into my house safely. After all, he was the one who had assisted me on a few occasions before. I arrived home and he walked me to my door, but upon arrival, my door was covered in ash and the porch floor in cigarette butts, with the aroma of freshly-smoked cigarettes in the air. He could see the fear on my face and offered to sleep on the couch to keep watch, but I told him I would be fine on my own.
I stayed up a bit longer double checking locks and pulling my blinds down. After about 20 minutes I retreated to my bedroom which faced my front door, being sure to keep the door ajar so my Rhodesian-ridgeback could be aware of anything happening outside my door. After a bit of netflix, I finally dozed off. Until 3-am, when I awoke to my dog growling.
I was petrified. Something in me knew tonight was the night he/they would be back. I got out of my bed slowly, trying to make as little sound as possible. I peered out my door and saw a single hand on the stained glass window, and a pair of eyes peering in - sure enough, he was back. I had unfortunately left my kitchen lamp on, exposing my house to the outside world, and knew if he saw me, it was game-on. Slowly and quietly, I made my way to the lamp and turned it off so he could no longer see me, which ensued terror. The man - appearing to be shirtless and yelling slurs at me - began pounding on my door, demanding entrance. I retreated to my room and called 911, who told me to stay low, avoid interaction, and to stay on the line until the officers arrived. I couldn't stand to watch him punching the window, because I knew it was a race between him and the officers for whoever got me first. Finally, there was a loud crash, I peered through the door crack to see that he had upgraded from a hand to a brick, causing the glass to begin cracking.
I remember vividly - it had been almost 10 minutes on the phone with dispatch at this point with officers 10 minutes away from my home. After a few more brick-throws, I watched him scale the porch to my window, continuing to try and obliterate the glass leaving the cracks in his wake.
And then there was silence.
I once again looked toward my front door to see him looking back at me, cigarette in hand, until the cops arrived. I was told to wait for a knock on my door, which finally came, to tell me it was safe to come out. I made it outside just as they were putting him in the back of the vehicle, when he yelled "Bye, Pete" - this shook me to my core; only my family referred to me as that, and they were thousands of miles away. I realized he had been watching, listening, waiting. He probably knew my boyfriend was gone, and most likely heard me refuse to have my friend stay here.
I watched the vehicle drive away and called whoever I could get ahold of at this hour. Come morning, my mom finally called me back and told me to get in touch with officers and press charges - something that entirely slipped my mind during the mayhem. I called them back and asked them to get the paperwork, only to be told he was put in the hospital and ran off before properly identifying him.
Needless to say, I moved shortly thereafter and my boyfriend found another job locally. To the cops who were absolutely no help, good riddance! And to the man who was after me for God-knows-what.... lets not meet again. |
First time poster so apologies if this doesn't meet standard, I'll remove if needed. I've been reading through tons of these and my S/O thinks my recent experience would be a good fit for this subreddit.
I want to start out by saying that this all happened very quickly and isn't nearly as spooky or scary as 99% of the other stories on here. However, it was a very unsettling experience and one I hope to never have again.
Lots of back story/scene setting:
I am 5'4" trans male, so I'm often paranoid about being out at night and alone. However, I just moved to a more ritzy suburban gated apartment and have never felt more safe, at least up until that night.
I take my dog, Sara, on walks fairly late at night, anywhere between 10p and midnight is common for me to be out with Sara. She's part pit, but she's scared of her own shadow and I've never gotten the feeling she'd harm anybody even if they were attempting to harm me. She's a great dog, just definitely not meant to be a guard dog.
On this particular evening, it was fairly gross outside as far as air quality and heat. I have asthma and the air quality bothers me a lot so it wouldn't be a long drawn out thing. Sara had also just had surgery and wasn't quite ready for a full walk due to her meds, so it was perfect. She had a cone on her head, as well, which made it fairly difficult to walk and sniff around since she'd get stuck on bushes or the ground... Or me.
As per discussion with Sara, I was only going to head to the apartment mailboxes and grab the mail and head back. Sara makes this a long drawn out process anyway, so it would be sufficient considering the air quality and her meds. My significant other was already asleep so I snuck out of bed, leashed up Sara and headed out.
The way our apartment is set up to get to the mailboxes was a quick walk without Sara. We are a corner apartment so on the left is a T junction that sidelines the parking lot and to the right is the walk toward the apartment office (which is where the mailboxes are located.)
The walk was uneventful to the mailbox, Sara took ages to sniff around and hid behind a tree while I got the mail. On the way back, we were on the final stretch to get back to the apartment and approaching our entry way just before the T junction. It was about 11:30p at night and other folks do walk around the complex with their dogs or whatever so seeing folks isn't uncommon.
The figure had their arms folded and were walking very slow down that side. They didn't turn down the sidewalk to walk by me but walked just past it and then paused just at the corner behind a bush right outside my apartment and turned to stare at me while I walked back to my entry way. They had no dog, and made no noise, I couldn't see their face due to the hood being up. I was already on edge but when they turned to stare at me with their arms crossed, it creeped me out hard and alarm bells started to ring.
I picked up the pace a bit and finally made it to my entryway. I don't typically lock the front door (which I'm gonna plan on from here on out) when I take Sara on shorter walks, so as soon I turned the corner and got out of sight of the figure, I busted into a run and grabbed the door knob. As I turned it, I heard the snap of a twig and crunching noises to my right side as if someone was running thru the landscaping towards my entry way. Me and the dog both dove into the house and I shut/locked the door as quick as I could.
I checked every window which faced that direction, our patio window, our living room windows and bedroom windows, and front door peephole and could not find the person at all. They must have either kept running up the sidewalk or bolted the other way. Either way, I waited a good 15 minutes before taking Sara back out to relieve herself, in which the person never reappeared.
Ever since then, I look everywhere before I leave, we lock the door, and I've started going out no later than 10:30p when more of the residents are out. I no longer have the same feeling of safety here. I always tell my S/O when I leave and make sure she's awake.
So, Sidewalk Stalker, let's not meet.
EDIT: I appreciate the interest in covering this on Youtube Channels or podcasts - but I'm no longer giving permission to cover this story save for the folks I've already given permission to. Please refrain from asking any further :) Thanks! |
TW// mentions of abuse! pls do not read if you are triggered by abuse
i love my mom but damn does she have bad judgement when it comes to dudes LOL (she got two other crazy ex’s but those stories are a whooole other thing) i also haven’t wrote in so long, very sorry if this isnt explained too well (i wrote from what i remember happening, i have forgotten some small details at this point but nothing big) or if there’s typos!
getting right into it, when i was about 6 or 7 years old, my mom started dating this guy which for the sake of this story, can be called rob (easy basic) and his son who can be called tim (again, basic). we (me, my mom and older sister) had moved in with them once school was about to be in session again and all was good for a bit, for about 2 years actually other than some minor things and his hella toxic masculinity (he fr constantly felt the need to put everyone else down and be aggressive all the time). i’m not really sure what made him snap one day, could’ve been the fact he was drinkin but it wasn’t only when he was drunk after that. he grew very mean to tim and i basically overnight. he wasn’t so much physically abusive to me or my sister as he was to tim, was more mentally to me and we never did find out why he switched up like that so fast. when i had first witnessed his abusive ways he used on tim, i became very scared very fast and he knew that and that’s exactly what it seemed like he wanted. this went on for months and months. once my mom found out about the abuse happening and he saw she wasn’t going to put up with that, rob didn’t like it at all. he started throwing a whole fit, straight up like a baby. kicking things and yelling at her to not go while crying (which he always tried to guilt trip her by crying), at one point he had even punched a hole in the wall of the house we were renting. i don’t remember most of that day or what was said, i just knew we were finally gonna leave. at this point my mom had called the police since he did start being violent but of course the cops didn’t do anything about him because he was drunk, instead my sister got a lecture from them since she was yelling at him once he had gotten in her face, but other than that, they just left us to deal with him.
after we had moved out it was an instant relief feeling even though i felt bad that tim had to be stuck with that man by himself.
after the official break off of everything, is when he started to follow us. first it was just at stores, we’d see him in one isle then the next and the next, even when we would walk way across the store he would always just ‘show up’ and it definitely didn’t feel like a coincidence. this happened for the next couple weeks in a row when going to stores. we even would go back a forth between stores, grocery shopping at one one week and the other store the next time. once we stopped seeing him, my mom said she had felt less anxious about leaving the house but that was until about a week later. that’s when the endless amount of phone calls and emails started. shed block the number and he’d just call back with a different one or email with a new email (manz was dedicated to cry to her about her leaving). this went on for months and months until he just got creepy. at this time i was in basketball in elementary so on game night we would get home at around dark or when it’s dark (during winter) and one night we had left the game a bit later than usual making it pretty dark when we got home. on our way home one night, this man was at our house, two months after their split (which may not be long but c’mon now), my heart had fell to the floor when i saw his car there then seeing him on our porch, looking in the windows?? my heart stopped. i could tell my mom was trying to be calm cause she didn’t want me to be scared so she just kept driving and hoped he didn’t see us and thankfully he didn’t. we had drove around the surrounding blocks a couple times before trying to go back home and which when we did, he wasn’t there. my mom didn’t feel safe just going in knowing he had, had violent tendencies, especially when he’s angry so to be on the safe side, she had called a friend to walk through the house with us just to have a third person there. thankfully the house was all good and he was no where to be found. this similar type of situation had happened again except i was home alone this time. i was sick from school and my mom had work, along with my sister (who wasn’t really home to experience much of this which is why she wasn’t mentioned much previously) but again, he was looking through the windows like a complete creep. my adrenaline had got so high once i saw him, my ten year old self knowing i couldn’t do much nor could i move from behind the front door without him seeing me, started pounding on the front door which scared him off pretty fast thankfully, pretty sure he expected no one to be home or i’m not really sure what he was looking for or who he was looking for. after this, i only had saw him at the store a couple other times, each and every isle once again. weird enough, after a couple more weird calls and voice calls, it all stopped. we never saw him or heard from him again. well, up until about a year ago, another email, another apology, another block for my mom.
it’s been almost 8 years now but rob, let’s never meet again. |
This story took place about 2 years ago, I was about 16 and 5'6, who either looked like a 12 year old boy or a 16 year old tom boy depending on the person. At the time as well I suffered with really bad anxiety and you could definitely see it on my body language, I was definitely visually an easy target for predators.
So, I was a 16 year old kid just picking up hardbacks for my last year in school. After I was done shopping I decided to get a tram back to my dad's work place and then he would take me home, it was a Sunday morning, pretty chilly and it definitely had an uneasy feel. I hated going into town alone but no one else was available to join me so I sucked it up and did the deed. The trams were new at the time and I had only taken them 2 or 3 times so I was definitely hyper vigilant on them, especially since I suffer with anxiety. Hyper vigilant so I didn't miss my stop and hyper vigilant that nothing weird happens as the tram was notorious for weird people.
I walk to my tram stop ansd I wait, I see the next tram is soon, but there is a guy making me unbelievably uneasy. I hate assuming the worst of people but this man was making me so uncomfortable. Nothing in particular was off about him, he looked a bit scruffy but not *a predator*. So I decided to walk away from the stop for a bit and wait for the tram coming to pass, then return and get the one after, they come often enough and this dude was giving me the creeps.
I walk away for a bit, take a nice relaxing stroll to calm myself down and return to the stop.... he's still there. When I left he definitely watched me leave and waited for me to return. Now at the time I was doubting myself, I was telling myself I am being irrational. Something like a creepy dude following me couldn't happen to me surely? Wrong.
We get on the tram, my tram takes about 5 stops to my dad's work place. I walk down the tram a bit, the man was still in my eyeline and I was in his. Now my dad's work place is about a 5 minute stroll from my tram stop but it is a walk down a quiet area, an area that someone could easily assault you or take you and not many would take notice, especially on a Sunday morning. At each stop I am PRAYING this guy gets off the tram, but he does not. My anxiety has hit the roof and although the tram walk is only 5 minutes I call my dad to pick me up right outside the station. My dad surprisingly obliges, I think he could tell something was off with me. So all I have to do it walk out of the tram station and make it to the car. I still had hope in my heart that this guy would not get off at my station and go to the next instead.
It comes to my stop, I get off, and of course Mr. Creepy gets off too. No one else gets off but us two. Fuck. The guy looks at me and I look at him, we make eye contact. I could tell he was planning on walking in my direction and follow me out. I can see him panic a little and then he walks in the opposite direction to me. Now the chilling part about this is. This station only has one exit. This man turns around and walks onto the tracks of the tram and just wonders off. I didn't stay too long to see if he would come back and I sped walk to my dad's car.
When I get into my dad's car I double check with him that there is only one exit to the station as the tram is only new and I was unfamiliar with it. He says yes there is only one exit and I am covered in goosebumps. This man waited for me to get onto the tram even though he could have taken an earlier one, followed me to the station and decided to last minute abort mission.
I have tried to rationally explain this to myself, maybe he wasn't following me and he was just a weird dude, but why did his presence make me so uneasy that I decided to walk away and wait for the next tram? Why did he wait for the next tram when he could have gotten an earlier one? What are the chances of the man getting off at the same stop as me? Why did he not use the exit and walk onto the tracks instead? It's not like I gave him a death stare, we just made eye contact when we got off the tram and I was a 5'6 sixteen year old kid, definitely not intimidating.
All I know about this experience is that I was just glad my dad picked me up outside the station and I never want to experience the feeling of being followed again.
So to the weird dude who followed me on the tram, let's not meet again. |
* I hereby declare a copyright notice and no one has my permission to use my original content below including narration via YouTube and other online/ offline media*
I stayed at beachside resort on a small island in Thailand. The rooms were actually separate small houses sprawled over a large hill. The resort was adjacent to a smaller hotel located about 800m down an empty beach with lively nightlife.
I woke up at 2 one night out of hunger. No food in the room and my husband was sound asleep. I decided to walk down the beach to the smaller hotel for food.
I passed our resort’s empty guard station that stood on the entrance to the beach which casted a large spotlight onto the beach in front of the resort. I walked out of the spotlight and down about 800m of pitch black beach, until I reached the light cast by the smaller hotel’s bar, where everyone was partying and pretty tipsy. While I ate my food near the bar I noticed
two men hanging out on the beach kind of watching the bar-goers. They sat apart from the party, but they could have just been chatting smoking cigarettes.
My purse was stolen a few years prior on a beach in Ibiza (where the police informed me that locals often preyed I’m drunk tourists). Due to this previous experience, I watched the two guys on the beach out of the corner of my eye, as I began my walk back down the beach to my resort.
I see one guy hit the other’s shoulder and kind of nudge the guys towards my direction. My stomach just dropped and I got a really bad feeling, so I just walked faster thinking I had enough of a head start. As I hit the dark prt of that beach I turned but I couldn’t see anything and my instincts just kicked in. I just start RUNNING.
Once I get to the spotlight in front of the resort I make number of exaggerated waves to the empty station and yelled a pretend hello to the non-existent guard.
I get back to the stairwell leading down to my hotel bungalow and I started to feel really silly, that I freaked myself for no reason. I then heard some footsteps and I stopped cold and ducked against the wall at the foot of the stairwell that wasn’t visible to the pathway up from the beach.
Before I ducked, to my shock and horror, I saw that the footsteps belonged to the same two men I had saw at the bar. There also want anything on this end of the beach except for these bungalows. Luckily the pathway forked, I heard them walking around a bit, with my heart beating in my chest and almost passing out, and after a few minutes I manoeuvred my key into the door and slipped in my room.
I didn’t know what to make of it but later read that rapes/ violent thefts against tourists were not uncommon on that very small island. The resort got involved, and said that sometimes the beach is dangerous.
I would 100% go back, because other than that I felt completely safe. All I can say is thank god I was sober. To the two men on the beach, let’s not meet again.
Edit - intro. |
I’d like to preface this by saying I was young and drunk for most of this so my bad decision making, while annoying, was not out of pure ignorance.
I was 20(f) at a anime convention, my 21st birthday was coming up a month later so my roommates decided to let me get shit faced as long as I stayed in the room or left with someone I trusted. I was staying with a large group of people in one of the nicer hotel rooms there. I had been to quite a lot of conventions and never really had a bad experience outside of a few cosplay creepers and shitty people at times.
The weekend went pretty normal except I was drunk and my group was throwing small parties, on the night of a particularly not so fun one I decided to drunkenly leave the room and go roam around the main lobby. That was when I met Steven.
I have no idea how old Steven was but he was atleast an adult, maybe a little older than me. We ran into each other at a manga table and he mentioned how he loved the Manga I was holding. I didn’t really read manga and just liked the artwork(I’m an anime Andy), but I still listened to him gush about the story for a few because whatever he seems nice enough. I didn’t say much to him outside of “mhm” and “yeah that sounds really cool!”. I thanked him for the info and walked away, after a hour or so of roaming around I decided to head back up to my room.
Back in my room I had taken two shots with my roomies and was laying on the couch when we got a knock on the door, the music and talking quieted down as it was customary to shush when someone knocked in case of con security coming to shut down our party. Thats when my roommate who answered the door said “Veronica? She’s here come on in.” Followed by silence and then my roommate calling my name and telling me “Someone is here for you”.
Now two things drunk me didn’t think about were the fact that I didn’t tell Steven my name, our interaction lasted 5 minutes max and I gave no information to him. On top of that my name is more complicated and hard to pronounce, but maybe I assumed he just described me and my roommate knew who he was talking about.
But I didn’t give him my room number, no we were several floors up in the suites area, you’d have to take a different elevator to get to the room than you would to get to a standard hotel room. I definitely didn’t think about that though.
I walked to the door and Steven was smiling, he asked me to go for a walk with him. And I drunkenly said yes, I mean he’s just an awkward anime dude who just want a friend to hang out with.
We were walking and he was talking to me about how he recently was watching an anime where the protagonist wouldn’t stop killing the girl he liked. i’ve since googled that anime plot and have not been able to find one similar to what he was talking about outside of some yandere anime. I got a little creeped out as the hall was empty and we were walking with no plan of where we were going. He then began to talk about his favorite serial killers, how he was a huge crime junkie and how he followed a lot of cases. A big red flag went off in my head and I decided it was time to try to go back to my room.
But then he stopped walking and stared at me “I know a really cool spot we can go, if you take the staff elevator you can go all the way to the top of the hotel, it’s really pretty.” He was suddenly breathing a little oddly, and his hand were shaking.
I said no, as I had some sense left in my head. He then grabbed my arm as hard as he could and started pulling me, yanking me towards the staff doors. I pulled back asking him to stop and he told me to just be quiet. I yanked free of him and started running, he chased after me telling me to stop.
I was nearly in tears and wondering why the hallways were so empty at the one of the most crowded cons I had ever went to. When I finally ran into a group of girls they saw the fear on my face and immediately pulled me into their group, asking me about my hair and make up, wrapping their arms around me. I was crying telling them what was happening and when I looked back Steven was gone.
I didn’t see him for the rest of the con, but I stopped being so friendly at cons because of him.
I would also like to say Steven is the name I gave him, I never got his name personally. I told con security about him and my roommates and friends used the buddy system with me for the rest of the convention.
I’d like to never meet you again Steven. |
This is my first story! By the way, english isn't my mother tongue so sorry if I make any mistake.
This happened to me 2 weeks ago. I started university in September, and therefore live in a "students only" apartment complex. There are 4 other appartments in my hallway, and sometimes we just spend time in each other's appartments.
I had the absolute chance (that's ironic) to lose my keys the first week of university. It wasn't a big deal, I simply paid for another key.
After a week in my appartment, I started to notice that some of my stuff wasn't in the same place as I thought I'd put it. It didn't scare me, because I know I'm a distracted person.
On the day of the incident, I was coming home earlier than usual with another student, Thomas, the boy that lives in the appartment next to mine. We got in, and when I unlocked my door, I saw a woman inside my appartment.
Of course, it scared me, but as I was about to ask her what the fuck she was doing here, she told me: "oh sorry, I didn't know you'd be home this early. I'm the janitor, I clean rooms weekly." She then smiled at me, and went out.
I didn't know we had a janitor, but this kinda explained why my stuff was moving.
Thomas then noticed she had left her keys on my desk, and said I should give them back to her. When I took a closer look, I just realized those were MY lost keys!
The night passed, and I decided to talk to the man in charge of the complex about this. I told him that the janitor that had my lost keys (so I didn't really lost them), and I asked for my money back. He just looked at me in total incomprehension, and told me: "but, we don't even have a janitor..."
I just froze. Then who the fuck went in my appartment for the past few weeks?? Why was she there?? We didn't call the police, because nothing had been stolen, but I still searched for cameras in my appartment (you never know with these psychopaths).
I haven't seen her since that, and I'm glad to know that she can't enter the complex anymore without the badge on the keys.
Morals of the story: try not to lose your keys guys. |
When I was 17, I lived with my grandparents in a tucked away, suburban neighborhood in socal. I was very social back then, partied a lot, and was out doing something basically every single night, getting home anywhere from 2 AM- 5 AM.
We had only lived there for maybe 6 months, and only had one key. The neighborhood was all old white people and some younger families, all upper middle class, and no one drove into our street unless they lived there or knew someone who did. My family was always home, so I never took the sole house key and the front door and backyard sliding door were always unlocked/open so I could come home at any time of the night and then lock it behind me.
Also, my husky slept outside and liked to come in and out as she pleased which is the main reason the slider was always open all night. I'll circle back to why mentioning my dog is important in a bit.
Fast forward to a random night I was out with a friend of mine. No recollection of what we did that night. Probably went to someone's house and did a bunch of coke til 3 am. She drives me home (I don't drive) and drops me off at about 3:45 AM. I say bye, head inside and lock the door behind me.
I go into the kitchen and pop a cup of noodles in the microwave. About five minutes later, I go upstairs to my room. My room was on the second floor, directly above the garage and driveway. Looking out you see (about 50 yards away) the entrance to my street which was shaped like the letter "p" , so anyone who drove into my street I could clearly see, and they would have to loop around and pass our house to leave via the same road.
This is when I looked out of my window and saw them. My lights were already on, and my curtains already drawn from when I left in a hurry earlier. I walked up to the window to shut the curtains, looked down into my driveway where between my grandparents four parked cars stood a very large man staring up into my window, dead still - blank stare.
He was Hispanic, late twenties to early thirties, about 6'2 and at least 250 lbs. red shirt. I immediately dropped to the floor, but there's no way he didn't already see me. As I dropped I saw another man walking out from my gate (which is not visible from my window) next to the driveway, coming out from the INSIDE, towards the other man. I heard some brief speaking from the man who came out of the gate and couldn't understand what language it was but it was not english. oddly, it didn't sound spanish either.
After I dropped to the floor, I crawled to my grandpas office which sat directly next to my room and had a window that also faced the driveway. The lights were off in there so I could look out without being seen. The man who i saw standing between our cars was still standing there staring and motionless. the other man was looking around and pointing to my house. i nearly vomited. I crawled to my grandparents room down the hall. i was crawling because the upper level was loft style where you can see the whole lower level, and out of the glass front door and windows. (you can also see in)
I frantically knocked on their door trying to stay quiet as not to tip off these men because I wanted them to be caught and questioned by police. my grandparents finally woke up and could barely understand me because I was shaking so badly and my words were just spilling out. My grandpa (being the fearless grumpy old man he is) put on his robe and decided to walk outside and investigate himself. I called the cops and watched from the upstairs window to make sure nothing happened to him.
By the time he went outside and stood in the driveway, the men were gone from my sight. a few moments later a car sped out of our street, lights off, and no license plate. He told me once he came back inside that when he went out there, they were parked next to my next door neighbor's car in her driveway, with the car on but lights off and the seats reclined. he said it "looked like they were sleeping," or pretending to. when they looked over and saw him, they backed out and sped off.
The cops took a whopping 30 minutes to show up, didn't want my descriptions of the men, or the car. They said lock the doors and if they come back, call the cops. they drove around my street for a bit then left. great. thanks for the help. my grandma thought I was just on drugs and didn't feel the level of urgency or danger that I felt. my grandpa was also very nonchalant even though he saw them, which pissed me off and made me feel even more helpless. i slept on the floor of their room from that night on until about 3 months later.
That wasn't the end though.
So. My husky.
Her name is Nala, and at the time she was about two. She's small for a husky, about 50lbs, but to people who aren't super familiar with dogs she looks pretty threatening. She chose to always sleep outside, which is why we ALWAYS left the slider to the backyard open. Literally always. My grandparents would get pissed when I would close and lock it because she'd piss and shit in the house.
Anyway, about a month(?)or so before that night I saw those men, I was in the backyard and saw nala chewing on something. She has possession aggression with certain things like bones, small animals and things she's stolen. that basically means when you go near her and she's in that state, she growls, flashes her teeth, snarls and lunges. and if you dare to reach your hand out as if to take what she has, you'll lose that hand.
when I walked up to her, she lunged at me. she had a steak. a rotten, moldy, obviously old t-bone steak. looked like she'd been working on it for a while. I asked my grandparents, they didn't give it to her. asked my neighbors if they maybe threw her one over the fence, they had no idea what I was talking about.
I didn't think anything of it.
until it happened four. more. times.
four separate occasions I found her with a rotten-meat-clinging-to-the-bone, t-bone steak. I threw them away each time I found them, so I knew they were new. I asked my neighbors again, thinking maybe they thought I was mad they were giving my dog food and lying to me--nothing. hm.
like I said, this was coincidentally happening in the weeks leading up to that night I saw those men.
the event that made me start to connect the dots between the steaks nala was finding and these men, happened the second time I encountered the men.
fast forward to about 3 months after that initial event. I hadn't slept in my room since, and i went on a trip to europe to visit some family for a month. Nothing had happened since that night but the trauma and fear were very real. it made me lose weight, I stayed up all night listening to every noise I heard and analyzing it, peeking out the windows every couple minutes until 6 am. I was a wreck.
while out of the country I came to terms with everything in my own mind and decided I had to stop living like how I was. in constant fear. what were those men going to do to me if I hadn't seen them? if they wanted to break in and rob us, most all of us were gone during the day most days a week for at least a few hours. why wait for everyone to be home? if they were peeping toms, they could've parked on my street and watched me all night and I would've never known. I think they were going to try to take me. trafficking maybe? I should mention I am a model (not a known one) and had/have a decently big social media following. I do a lot of livestreams, i'm very interactive with my followers and had been in the spotlight online since I was 13.
I got back from europe and about a week or so later, decided I was going to finally go out again. it was the first day where I really felt "okay" and not so afraid. I got used to things being normal again and was excited to move on from the whole thing. that night I went out. I got home earlier, about 1-2AM, and had my key this time. we started locking the doors after that night.
my friend waited for me to go through my gate and get to my door before leaving. as I pulled out my keys and walking up to the door I heard a rustling in the bushes. I thought "i'm being paranoid, it's just an animal." to help form a better picture, you walk through a 3 foot tall swing open gate adjacent to the driveway and about 6 steps down a path to the front door, and a small 3 ft gate to the backyard is adjacent to the front door to the left.
when I heard the rustling I instinctively flashed my unlocked phone screen in that direction for light to look into the pitch black backyard. at the exact moment I did that, someone about 4 ft in front of me in my backyard flashed their phone screen as if they were investigating the same way I was. I didn't see the person, just the phone screen which had a text convo open on it. i noted that it wasn't an iphone.
I let out a gasp and they whipped around the corner back into the backyard and I bolted inside the front door. I ran to the back slider and slammed and locked it and ran upstairs while calling the police. that entire interaction outside happened in about 10 seconds.
the police showed up, and did nothing at all just like before. after talking with them for a while I went upstairs to my room and peered out the window as they spoke to my grandparents. as I was scanning the street from the window i heard a whistle coming from directly below me (the driveway). it was that whistle people do when trying to get someone's attention, or when calling your dog to you. as if communicating with his buddy saying "cops are here, let's dip."
my theory about the steaks is that these men were stalking me and casing our house for at least a month before i saw them that first night. they must've seen my dog, and not knowing that she doesn't bark or attack strangers, baited her with steaks to gain her trust so they could go into the backyard without a problem.
we moved a couple months later due to something unrelated. I never saw them again. to this day I struggle with the PTSD those events caused me. I have lived in constant fear and paranoia ever since. I can't be alone at night. at all.
I think the reason it affects me so much is because they were never caught. no one knows what their end goal was, and (the worst part for me) how the fuck did they find me? did they follow me home from seeing me somewhere in public one night? were they some of the gardeners who often mowed the lawn around me as i laid out and tanned? were they some of the workers that redid our roof for weeks on end a month or so before any of this happened? (everyone on our street had their roofs redone one by one for about a month, and since I was on the top floor I often woke up to the workers sitting in my window sill adjacent to my bed with my curtains open, literally inches away from me)
did one of the workers tell a friend there was a hot teenage girl who always left her curtains open? did they find me through social media? i'll never fucking know and it kills me.
I still hear that fucking whistle every now and then. honestly, it might be auditory hallucinations at this point. I don't know. i'll never know who those men were, or what their intentions were, but regardless--- let's not meet. again. |
First, i would like to point out a few things considering that that most of reddit is American and they have a riot right now with some being pro-cop or anti-cop and i don't really want people to say " screw cops " or for a good cop to read this and think they are being attacked, this story takes place in Egypt and like in any place some cops are bad, also the title is a little weird but hopefully, you will understand as we descent into the story.
2-3 years ago i was 20, just an Egyptian guy studying law in the nightmare period of finals, barely getting any sleep or any showers. this is important because that meant my beard grew a lot and looked nasty and my hair poofed into soft curls and I pretty much looked like trash.
for this story to make sense I am going to give you some background, about a decade or half a decade ago there was this political group called Muslim brotherhood, they are made of Islamists so you are thinking long beard and very religious views almost extreme religious views, so a coup disguised as a revolution took place and the guy who lead it marked them as terrorists to remove any major political parties that can stand in his way, that means if you had a long beard you were probably hunted, imprisoned, killed, tortured or a mix of all of them.
years pass and things are much calmer and 20 years old me is anxious, stressed, and nervous i do NOT want to fail my exam, if anything I wanted good scores. so here i am looking like absolute Sh\*t with a very messy beard and hair , i am almost late for my finals and i am walk-sprinting while reading my notes again and again and again, and this guy in civilian clothes asks me to stop, obviously, i don't i am in a hurry and i am nervous and the last thing i need is to lose my focus.
so he tells me that he is a cop and now i am TOO nervous and i ask him in a very nervous way " what? show me your ID " and he says just come with me.
you can only imagine how i feel, firstly i am pretty much shaking by now i didn't do anything wrong why would i be stopped? am i going to be sent to the PD? what about my finals? and there's also this very good chance he could be someone dangerous.
he starts grabbing me by the arm and i yell at the top of my lungs for help, nobody helps they just look at me and pass me by, the guy then grabs me by my neck with his elbow and drags me to an empty cafe, i thought to myself " yep i am going to die today " and started whispering my prayers.
i get told to calm the f\*ck down and they sit me down and the supervisor and his team, they are all in civilian clothes and the supervisor basically yells at me " either shut the f\*ck up or i will send you for three hours of investigations at the department, your choice " i am now shaking and almost on the verge of tears, it was a humiliating experience. they take my ID to inquire about it and i keep explaining i have a law exam that i need to get to so they tell me to stay still and be quiet or they will make it take longer.
luckily one of the cops was very kind to me, he kept asking me questions about the exams and looked at my notes to talk to me about it and was just very nice, here's the thing I had no idea why on earth am i being searched up, at least i didn't until they dragged another much older person but with a LONG and i mean Gandalf LONG beard and they asked him about the brotherhood and then they asked me why have i grown my beard to which i replied with " i don't really have time for hygiene i have finals " then they asked about my family and asked if i had any relatives or if i knew anyone who is with the brotherhood, i told them that i do not know anyone and that my family and i tend to keep to ourselves.
when i realized where this was going i decided to show them my phone, i mostly had rock and metal music and the people here have the misconception that metal is the devil's music, it was worth a shot and i don't think they would've accused me of being a devil worshipper.
they finally finish checking me on the database and give me my ID back and they literally asked me a question that left me speechless " why did you scream for help? " i can't really tell them it's because they dragged me forcefully, can i? so i just told them i got mugged this way before and they literally all just laughed at me.
i ended up apologizing to the supervisor Because it took place about 10 minutes away from where i live and the last thing i need is being a target.
i finally made it to the exam room but i am a whole hour late, i couldn't enter with the notes so instead of stashing my notebook i was too angry so i just threw it away and entered, i solved all that i could but honestly, i didn't have the focus, every time i wrote something i kept having flashbacks of what happened so when i had enough and made sure i solved all the questions i got out, i just wanted to go home.
i only got a passing mark for this subject.
sometimes this memory pops up from here and then and every time i do i remember the humiliation i felt back then, i don't think i could've done anything differently back then which just makes it worse because that probably means if i am faced with this situation again there would be nothing i can do unless i have higher " power " than them |
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About a month ago, when summer was just at its end, my friend Rose and I decided to go for a drive up to the mountains. I grew up nearly out of city limits and drove the mountain roads often. Rose is a newer friend in my life and had only been up in the mountains a few times. I was eager to show her how cool it was at night, especially when you're headed back to town and you can see all of the city lights as you're leaving the foothills.
I love listening to creepy videos and watching scary movies, which may have been a big help for Rose and I on this particular night. We headed up in my van, a dependable '03 Toyota who had made the journey with me dozens of times before. There's a part where the pavement ends and the gravel road takes you deeper into the mountain. Just beside this stretch of asphalt-to-gravel is a stretch of dirt that people use to park their trucks and trailers. Rose and I drove by and I noted that the pull-out was empty, as was normal for this time of night.
It was 10 pm, the sun had set, and the lights with timers had all turned on in town. I'd never seen any lights up on the mountain, though. Almost every farming field on the mountains is fenced off with a locked gate that will say "Private Property" normally with bullet holes in the metal to show that the owner are armed and generally pissed off at idiots that try to break into their fields.
Every field in the mountains is watered with a center pivot irrigation system. Those are the long, repeatedly arched systems with metal frames and wheels that are commonly seen all over the United States' agricultural districts. I'd seen a few irrigation systems in town that have lights with timers on them, so at first I wasn't too surprised when I saw one light in a field. We'd only gone a quarter mile in by now, but then I remembered that not only had the light not been there before, it was in the wrong place.
"Ah fuck," I sighed, which was probably not what Rose wanted to hear in the middle of her first night-time mountain excursion.
"What's up?" Rose asked.
"Well, I know farmers are harvesting now, so I guess a light in a field makes sense, but at the same time....I've never seen that one before," I say, gesturing off to our right, where there is a very random amber light off at the edge of the field. It's dark enough that I can't see fences or any of the boulder around it, but I was familiar enough with the mountains to know that it was the edge of the property. I started to tap on the wheel anxiously, as I was filled with mixed emotions. I was eager to keep going, because the mountains were going to be beautiful in the half-moon and Rose had never seen them at night before.
At the same time, my brain told me that if I'm going to listen to a few dozen hours of horror stories per month, I'd at least better get some meaning out of them. "Fuck, I'm sorry, Rose. I'd keep going if those were tractor headlights, but I've never seen just one light right there, especially in that field. I've never even seen it farmed, so it wouldn't make sense to waste energy or money lighting it."
Rose is amazing and didn't mind that we were turning around only a quarter mile in. We turn and head back towards the asphalt. I had no idea why, but I felt like there was a clock that had suddenly started ticking. "Hey, Rose? Could you please hold the handle? I'm going to go fast enough that you might want something to hold onto. I promise, we're safe."
Rose silently clutched the "oh shit handle" above the passenger side of the car and I went faster. I felt the sense that it was time to hurry up, so I did. I zoomed back towards the asphalt as fast as I dared, my sense of trepidation only intensifying when we reached the truck parking zone. There was a white truck and flatbed trailer that had not been there less than ten minutes before. Five, maybe six guys were around the truck that had its headlights on. One guy was in a UTV, backing it off a flatbed trailer so fast that I thought he was going to crash into one of his friends.
I raced by and somebody ran behind the car. I turned onto a road that would lead to a main road. "Rose," I asked while inching my way up to 70 mph, "were those people there when we drove by earlier?" I just wanted to make sure I wasn't crazy.
"Nope," Rose said evenly.
"Mhm," I sighed, copying her tone, even as I jumped up to 75 and glanced in my rear view mirror. As far as I could tell, they weren't following us, but we had eight miles of straight, flat roads with no cover before we actually managed to reach civilization. "Did they seem like they were in a hurry to you?" There was no other traffic, so we didn't have to slow down for anyone, which helped us both remain as calm as possible.
#x200B;
"Just a bit," she laughed nervously, looking over her shoulder to check for any cars as well. Thankfully, nobody came. We drove to a crowded restaurant and sat in the car while we calmed down. We tried to think of a reason why those guys had shown up so abruptly in the middle of the night. Rose suggested that maybe their friends were camping and in trouble. All of the land in the mountains are private property, so nobody camps there. I'm glad Rose and I left so we didn't have to find out why six guys decided they needed to rush up the mountain in the middle of the night. |
This is my first post, I just found this subreddit and made an account so I could contribute. My sister and I are sort of magnets for weird shit happening so I might post a couple other stories in the future.
#x200B;
This happened when I was about 12 years old, in Kansas. I was sitting in my bedroom playing Halo. My parents were both out running errands, and my sister was at work, so I was home alone with my two dogs, a little terrier and a Bichon-Frise. Not exactly the attack dog breeds, more like early warning systems at best. I had been home alone before, it really was not a big deal, we lived in a pretty safe part of town that had never had any problems, other than one time where some people sprayed KKK graffiti on some public park equipment.
Anyway, I was kicking back in my chair, doritos in one hand, controller in the other, full gamer mode, when I heard the very distinct sound of my door open and close like someone had just come in. The room I was in faced in such a way where I could not see the front door. My dogs got up and ran into the living room, and so I just assumed my parents were home. I shouted for my mom to confirm this (I'm a bit paranoid due to the aforementioned "being a weird shit magnet") and I heard no response. My dogs also were not barking like they normally do when someone gets home. I thought that was kind of weird, so I paused my game and walked out into the living room. Nothing.
I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had heard someone come in, clear as day. I was not wearing headphones, I had the TV turned down and was listening to music, so I knew it couldn't have been the game. I immediately went to my parent's closet and grabbed our shotgun, like a good midwest boy tends to do. The only problem with that was that I did not know where my dad kept the shells, so my plan was to fake it and hope they didn't have a gun of their own (stupid plan, I wasn't the brightest kid). At this point, doubt started to kick in, had I actually heard the door? Was it the game? But then I thought, "Why would the dogs jump up like that if it was?"
I walked back into my living room, unloaded shotgun pointing in front of me. I tried to call my dad, he didn't pick up. I tried to call my mom, she didn't pick up. I tried to call two of my best friends, they didn't pick up. My 12 year old mind immediately jumped to "Holy fuck they're all dead", and so for the first time in my life, I had to call 911. The operator picked up, I explained the situation with tears in my eyes from fear. She told me to stay calm, and that police were on their way.
The difficult part about staying calm was that there was a hallway by my front door.
I knew in my heart of hearts that there was someone in that hallway about to jump out and really fuck my day up.
My two dogs were right by me, also staring towards the hallway. This did not help the fear.
I stood there rooted to the spot for what felt like an hour, but was actually only a few minutes, the operator's voice in my ear telling me to stay calm. Thankfully, my parents opened the front door.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
I explain to my father the situation we are currently in, he grabs his pistol from the front room (didn't know that was there, thanks dad), and we go a-hunting.
I always thought it would be cool to go around clearing rooms and shit like a SWAT team but fuck if I wasn't about to shit myself every time we opened a bedroom door. We didn't find anything.
The police arrived shortly after, and told us that this had been happening over the past few weeks, people wait until homeowners leave, check the door, and if it's unlocked they go in and take valuables. They said whoever it was probably left when they heard that someone was home, which never quite sat right with me because I only heard the door open and close once. Ever since this happened, I have triple checked every door and window lock whenever I am home alone.
To whoever walked into my house that day, I never saw you...and I really hope I never do.
#x200B;
As a fun little post script to this story, I told it to one of my friends and he goes, "You only heard the door once? You probably heard them leaving, not entering then. They were already in the house." That...was not comforting. |
So for a preface, I was 19(I’m now 22) and I worked in the mall in my town. My town is relatively calm, never any major crimes committed, but the city that’s about 15 minutes out used to have the highest murder rate in Canada.
The mall I worked in was pretty small, the usual type of customers were moms with their kids or older people just trying to pass the time. Not a sketchy type of mall at all, and very safe to work at.
One day I was on my break and I went to the food court to get a drink and sit down and just browse my phone as usual. I noticed two women walking towards me and my first instinct was they saw my uniform and they were going to ask me something about a product my store sold. I thought nothing sinister of it.
They come up to me and sit down right away. They both had heavy accents, though I’m not sure what kind because it hadn’t been something I’d ever heard. They were dressed very classy, as if they were going to church. And they relatively seemed completely normal. One of the women pulls out a book and they begin asking me some odd questions. Such as,
“Do you go to church?”
“Do you believe in god?”
Mainly just stuff that has to do with religion. So I assumed they were some sort of missionaries. Then they began to tell me about “God the mother.” With me being extremely shy, I just listened to them talk. They then asked me if I was able to come with them to a youth group they had organized that was going on tonight. I told them that I was at work, and just on break so I couldn’t go. But they continued to insist.
Finally they got the message that I couldn’t go with them, so they asked me for my phone number and told me that they’d text me next time they arrange one and I could go. I really didn’t want to talk to them anymore, I wanted to get them to leave, so I agreed and gave them my phone number.
A couple of days later I got a text from them trying to arrange something but I just blocked the number and thought nothing of it. It’s not that I thought they were planning to hurt me, I just wasn’t really into going to a youth group.
Then a couple of months later, I was reading the news and there was a story warning young girls about a human trafficking scheme in my city. It said that women would come up to you and talk to you about “god the mother” and try to get you to leave with them.
So thank goodness I hadn’t finished my shift yet, and thank goodness that I never responded to their text. It’s so weird to me to think that if I would have went, I probably wouldn’t even be in Canada right now.
EDIT-
Everyone’s saying this isn’t sex trafficking... yet my city literally had news posts saying that it was. |
Hi All! Long time lurker , first time poster here. Sorry I’m advance for any typos- I’m on my mobile.
This happened about 20 years ago when I was 15. My parents were divorced and by this time had a pretty good relationship. Their parenting styles were night and day though. My dad was a strict military man, while my mom was an easy going, good time Charlie. At this time they were splitting custody of me 7 days on and 7 days off.
My mom worked double shifts 6 days a week. She was only home on Sunday nights. Because of this and the fact that my mom was so lax with rules, she allowed me to pretty much do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. In the very few instances she would say no I would still do what I wanted because there were pretty much zero consequences. At this time, my boyfriend lived about a mile from my mom so needless to say, I couldn’t wait until it was my mom’s week.
While at my mom’s I would sneak over to my boyfriends house after his parents went to sleep. He was an only child and his parents were pretty strict like my dad, and did not allow us to spend much time together outside of school. As soon as his parents would be go to sleep, I would leave my house say around 9:30-10 pm and jog over to his house. We would hang out until around 1-1:30 a.m. and I would leave for my early morning jog home.
During my jogs I would make sure to stay super vigilant. After all, I was a 15 year old female jogging in the dark. Nobody knew where I was and this was before cell phones were a thing. I’m about a half a block from home and at this point always felt a sense of relief as soon as I was in my neighborhood and able to see my moms apartment building. As I continue jogging , I was passing the end of a driveway and this van pulls out of nowhere and stops right in front of me. I didn’t even see it coming ! No spidey sense, nothing! I stopped so abruptly I almost tripped face first into the passenger side door.
When I looked up I saw two older men in the front seat with their windows rolled down staring me up and down. It was a slow gaze and I could feel their eyes burning into every inch of my body. The passenger leaned out the window getting as close to me as he could without opening his door and asked if I wanted a ride. He then smiled the most sinister smile I had ever seen. While staring into his dark eyes everything else faded away. It was like they were the only thing that existed at this point and time . My vision zoomed in on them and I could feel my flight or flight kick in. I quickly ran in the direction they came from. I knew they alley they had pulled out from was too narrow for their van to make a turn. They had to pull out into the street to make a u- turn.
I had never run so fast In my life. I knew I didn’t have enough time make it to my moms building before they came back so I ran to the closest building and hid behind the large trash can. My heart was beating and I was covering my mouth to muffle my breathing and silent cries. I could hear the rocks in the loose asphalt being crushed by the tires as they slowly crept by the trash can. They stopped in front of it for what felt like an eternity and whispered something to each other I couldn’t make out. They didn’t get out but kept moving forward slowly; stopping by each of the other buildings trash cans. I waited until they were out of sight and bolted the rest of the way home and locked the door. That was the last time I Ever jogged to my boyfriends house.
To the two creeps who tried to pick me up and do god know what to me.......let’s not meet. |
This is my first post on this sub, but I’ve frequented it for a while. This is really the only experience I’ve had that would fit on this sub and it felt so surreal while it was happening.
So, I’m a 21M and this experience happened last summer, while I was on vacation at Myrtle Beach with my family. We were staying in a resort right on the beach, and were on the 13th or 14th floor in a sort of timeshare.
One night, I was feeling restless and having a hard time falling asleep, and at around 3 AM, I decided to go out on the balcony to get some air. I stepped out and was stunned as there was a full moon, and the moonlight on the water was really beautiful. The beach was completely empty as far as I could see, and I had never seen it like that before. I decided since I wasn’t able to sleep I might as well head down, take a stroll, and listen to some music to relax, hopefully when I returned I’d be able to get some sleep. It was really unsafe and dumb of me, but since it was 3AM and the rest of my family was asleep I decided to just head down without letting anyone know I was going, as I thought I’d just go and chill there for 10-15 minutes then come right back up.
So, at the base of the timeshare we were at there was an area with a pool, an outdoor bar, and then two boardwalks separated by about 100 feet which both led to the beach. On the sides of the boardwalks there were swaths of tall grass separating the ocean and the resort. When I got down to the base, the entire area was completely deserted, and I started walking down the boardwalk on the right towards the beach. As I’m walking down, I suddenly see someone approaching me from the beach, which was strange because I had a pretty clear view of this same area from the balcony just before and had literally seen no one. I start to get a bit nervous as I see this figure approach, and as I get closer, I see it is a man, maybe in his late thirties, who has a backpack on and is wearing glasses with large, square lenses. As he gets closer, I get a clearer look at him as the boardwalk is sort of illuminated by lights from the outdoor bar. He looks very on edge and alert, almost like he is trying to find someone who is trying to meet him in this area, and his clothes are somewhat tattered. We made eye contact and I sort of nod at him and pass. At this point I’m creeped out, cause honest to god he had a sort of Jeffrey Dahmer look, maybe it was the glasses, and he just didn’t seem like he actually belonged to the timeshare. I shake it off and keep walking down to the beach, and put my headphones in.
As I get down to the beach, I turn right and start walking parallel to the water, and am just taking in the scenery. I’m barefoot and decide it’d be nice to walk just along the shoreline, so I move closer to the water and continue walking. I’m walking for no longer than a minute before I get a really really strange feeling that something is wrong. I take off my headphones and turn around, and I see a dark figure that is trailing me just up shore, he is situated in between me and the timeshare. I immediately can tell from the figure’s height, body type, and demeanor that it is the same man I passed on the boardwalk.
At this point, I’m starting to panic, as every story from LetsNotMeet is rushing to my head. At the same time I’m trying to rationalize as it feels too surreal that I may actually be in a dangerous situation, so I remind myself it could just be a coincidence and the man decided he also wanted to take a walk on the beach, and just happened to be headed in the same direction as me. So, I take some breaths and turn my head back to the ocean and continue walking in the same direction.
After a couple seconds I turn my head back again, and
see that now, he is much closer to me, and is not walking parallel to me, but is definitely actually walking towards me. I pick up my walking speed now, and turn my head back around, and see he is matching my faster pace and is still walking towards me and the water. Still, for some reason I think, “ok, maybe he also wants to walk by the water, there’s no way I’m actually being followed by a creepy man on a deserted beach”. So, at this point, to truly test it, I do a 180 and completely change directions, and as I turn my head I see him completely change directions with me and continue closing in distance, and he is power walking now.
It suddenly hits me that I’m in a really bad situation, and I take off in a run along the water, and he starts running as well, but stays up shore of me so that if I try to run up towards the boardwalk he will intercept me. I’m freaking out now and just keep running with no plan, but figure that since I’m 20 and sort of fit, I should probably be able to keep running along the water and outrun him, and then find some other exit off the beach and either call my family or head back to the timeshare on the road. So I keep running, but he’s keeping up with me, and this goes on for what feels like 10-15 minutes.
The scariest part of all this which I wouldn’t have thought of is, it is completely, dead silent. All I hear is my breath and feet on the sand, and when I turn I only see his shadowy figure up shore keeping pace with me. Suddenly, up ahead, in the sand, I see a small blue light and what looks like 4 people on the beach with a blanket, they are a bit up shore. I turn and look at the figure and bet even though they are up shore, I can beat him to these people, so I start sprinting towards them with hopes of quickly telling them what’s going on so we can all confront him. I really use up my energy sprinting towards them, and as I approach my heart drops.
What I see is 4 guys on a blanket, with 3 or 4 handles of hard liquor surrounding them. 3 of the handles are empty, and the fourth is about half empty. 3 of the guys are just completely passed out on the blankets, and the last is half sat up, obviously beyond shit faced, with a sort of party hat on that has blue lights on it, and he is talking to himself. His eyes are half closed and he doesn’t even register me approaching him, even though now I’m no more than 5 feet away. I turn and see the figure has slowed down and is observing me, and then I see he makes sense of the group’s state and suddenly starts sprinting at me. As he gets closer, the half passed out guy’s blue light illuminates him, and I can clearly see it’s the same guy as before. I make eye contact with him and I can see he’s wide eyed and looks almost manic, and is barreling at me full sprint.
At this point I decide I have to do something decisive. It seemed like I had underestimated his fitness and since I had just sprinted towards this group and exhausted myself I was afraid that he might actually be able to catch up to me if we just continued running along the beach indefinitely, and then who knows what. So, instead of turning around and running, I suddenly sprint towards him and to the right, which I don’t think he was expecting at all.
I catch him off balance and run past him, and I literally am full sprinting back to the timeshare without even looking back. Literally all the hairs on my neck were standing and it felt like a dream where you’re barely evading someone but he’s right about to catch you. The adrenaline was crazy, and I keep running and start to see the timeshare. I finally turn around to see how close he is, and I see him in the distance maybe 400-500 ft away, he’s lost a lot of distance on me. I don’t waste any time and sprint up the boardwalk and towards the base of the timeshare. I jam the elevator buttons and leap in, and start mashing the close door button as I’m gasping for air. The door closes and I hit the button for my floor, and when the elevator reaches I literally sprint back to my room, open the door, enter, and then slam the door and double lock it. I’m breathing heavy and I drop to the floor and just sit there for a minute, not believing what just happened. I crouch and crawl over to my room, as I was literally afraid he might be able to see me through the
window on our balcony, and I enter my room.
Let’s just say I definitely wasn’t able to sleep after that. Guy who chased me on the beach, let’s not meet again. |
This story happened more than 10 years ago, when I was still a student. It has a few graphic details of animal harm and graphic violence, so discretion is advised.
A bit of backstory. As with most students, I was always broke, and had a few ventures apart from my part time job to bring me extra money. One of them was house and pet sitting. I have always had a love for animals so when this couple contacted me to ask to house sit for them for the last few days before they return from their overseas trip, as the last sitter has bailed on them and their 6 month old golden retriever puppy would be alone, I jumped at the opportunity. The fact that they promised to pay me the full 2 week fee for staying there less than a week made it just more appealing. Little did I know how bad it would turn out. I got the details, got the keys from the agent and headed over to the house as it was already after 5pm and almost dark, as it was early spring. I got to the house, which was a really nice place, but it bordered a not so good area that was and still is prone to crime. House break ins, robberies etc. It did not bother me much, cause you know, nothing will happen to me. I know, young and naive.
The first 4 nights went without a hitch. Watching movies, jacuzzi and just generally enjoying myself. The owners would have returned on the 5th day, fairly late at night. I went over to check on the doggo. I got a call from them about 10pm, saying their flight got delayed, they are going to stay in a hotel and do the 3 1/2 hour drive back the following morning, and asked if I could sleep there again that night. Which was fine, I was already there and had my overnight bag still in my car. I called my dad to let him know of the plans, as I was still staying with my parents, and he specifically asked what the address was. I normally did not give them details like that, cause I was old enough to look after myself. I still believe to this day that that probably saved my life. I eventually got to bed about 1am, and it felt like I have only slept 5min when I was awoken to a window breaking, and I could hear movement and what sounded like footsteps running down the hallway. The first thing I did was grab my phone and just hit redial(thanks to my old Motorola phone, redialing was as simple as pressing one button)as my dad was the last number that I had called, hoping that he wakes up from the call. I then dropped the phone in between the headboard and mattress incase my dad picks up that he can hear what is going on. I had barely done that when the first guy stormed through the bedroom door. I could see his silhouette, and he had a knife in his hand. When he saw me he raised it and came at me.
Now one thing to those that is unfamiliar with South Africa and the crime, is that robberies and house invasions usually are very brutal and violent. People get murdered or tortured if they in the slightest retaliate or not cooperate with the robbers.
Out of instinct I raised my legs back when he came at me, and when he came within reach I kicked both legs out as hard as I can. Now, I’m not a small guy. I’m 6’3, and at that stage I weighed about 100kg, or 220 pounds, and I was fit and strong. My time not spent at the uni or work was at the gym. I could do an easy 250 pound bench, 350 pound squat. When I kicked and made contact with the guy he completely lifted off the ground and shot into the wall, luckily the knife shot out of his hand as well. Before he got the chance to get up I was on top of him, driving my right knee into his face and in return his head into the wall. I knew that my life depended on it, so I put in some extra force. The guy dropped like a sack of potatoes. But before I could get up I heard the sound of a pistol cock and I froze. It felt like all the blood drained from my body and I became just numb. I remember the only thing that went through my head was that if he shot me that I would rather die than be disabled or dependant on other people that will have to take care of me. He stood like that with the pistol against my head for what felt like hours, but was probably less that 10 seconds. I did not move, and he eventually said in very broken English to get on the bed, face down. I panicked, but thought if he wanted to shoot me that he already would have done so. So I did as he said. He threw a blanket over me, and I turned into a fetal position with my back against the wall, just so if they wanted to stab me that I had my legs and arms in front to protect my body.
Now by that time I had forgotten that I had called my dad, and the guy that I had knee’d is still down. I heard a third guy come into the room, and I could hear what sounded like Portugese to me. I could not understand what they said, but I recognised it, as we used to go to Mozambique on holiday a lot and that is the main language spoken there. The one guy tried to get the guy that I put down off the ground, while the other started to ransack the house, shoving valuables into a big bag. It was about at this time that I heard tyres screeching and a car approaching at what sounded like Mach 1. The car skidded to a halt right in front of the gate, and I heard someone scream. It was my dad. The 3 inside the house panicked, and ran out the back door and tried to jump the fence. My dad opened fire, shooting in their general direction.
Now I know my dad missed them on purpose cause if he wanted to hit them he would, as he is not one of, but the best shot that I know. And I’m not just saying that cause he is my dad. He is ex army special forces(or recces for those in the know), represented SA in the Clay pigeon world championships a couple of years, has various regional pistol and rifle championship titles and is a gunsmith by occupation. I have seen him hit golfballs at 50m with his pistol. Politics and the racial situation in the country would have had him in big trouble had he hit one of them.
I grabbed the house keys and pressed the gate remote, and my dad called the police while he came in. I met him at the front door, and we walked out to the car to wait there for the police. It took them over an hour to get there. Some excuse of no vehicle available. By that time I had calmed down, and started to look for the dog. I could not find her anywhere. I grabbed a flashlight from my dad and started scanning the surrounding yard, and as I got to the corner I could see her laying on the ground. I got to her and saw she was dead.
Later autopsies revealed she was poisoned, and the police found pieces of meat laced with poison near the fence. Poisoning is pretty standard practice in my country for dealing with dogs at a house or area that is targeted for a break in or robbery. I was fuming, and so sad. The police was also pretty useless and had a “don’t give a shit” attitude, and barely took our statements. By that time it was starting to get light, and I retrieved my bag, phone and locked the house as good as I can without touching anything, and drove home behind my dad. Only when I got home I got the story from my dad’s side. He said he answered my call, only to hear the shouting and what sounded like fighting going on, and when I did not respond he flew out of the house and raced over. Luckily he asked me for the address the previous night, and he knows the area well to know exactly which house it is. Now, my dad got there pretty quickly, and he said he stayed on the line the whole time, only hanging up when he stopped at the gate. My parent’s house is about 10km/6miles from there, through a residential area. Its normally about a 20min drive. The call duration was 7min 13 sec...
I met the detective there later that day, gave my statement, they took fingerprints etc, and the owners got back about the same time. The rest of the day was a blur, as I came down from the shock and adrenalin.
Now, that is not where the story ends. About 7 or 8 months later I got a call from the detective, telling me they caught the guys, and I must come to a line up to point them out. I specifically told her that I did not see any of their faces, as it was dark and after the guy held the gun against my head I was under the blanket and did not see anything. She assured me that they caught them on fingerprints and will show them to me beforehand. Which might not be the ethically correct way to do it, but they wanted to have as much evidence as possible against them, you will understand why in a minute. I got to the police station, and unlike you see in the movies, there is no one way glass or seperate room. They bring the 3 guys into the room, and make them stand against the wall.
The one, which I was later told was the leader, which was the one that I had knee’d, looked at me with so much hate as I had never seen in my life. He had the eyes of someone that would slit your throat and not blink an eye. His name was Joseph “Dragon” Sambo. He pulled his hand up to his neck and made the “slit my throat” gesture. You know which one I mean. We left the room and the detective gave me a copy of his rap sheet. Amongst others, 4 counts of murder, I think 8-9 for attempted murder, multiple assault, aggravated assault, over 100 of house break and robbery, rape. I was shocked. The detective told me that had I not taken him out first and fast that night, I would have definitely not gotten away so lightly. Now, this is also not where the story ends. 3 days later, I get another call from the detective, saying that I should be careful, as he had escaped from custody and they have not caught him yet. I was not worried too much, as the robbery wasn’t at my house, and I had changed cars, so he probably could not find me. Also, I got my firearm license and carried my pistol on me 24/7.
I did not hear anything after that, until about 2 years later, when I saw the detective in the grocery shop. We started talking about the case, and she told me that he was killed during a home invasion. He broke into the wrong house, and the owner was waiting for him, pistol in hand. Shot him one in the stomach and one in the neck. And thanks to the slow response time of emergency services and police, he bled out on the guy’s living room floor, ridding society of a piece of human garbage.
I want to ad a bit of info to this. All 3 that were caught were Mozambican nationals. Undocumented and no fingerprints or ID in the system, essentially illegal immigrants. And it is of opinion in SA that more than 70% of all violent crime is done by illegal immigrants, mainly Mozambican, Zimbabwean and Nigerian decent. It makes it fairly easy, cause none of those countries have extradition to SA, so if it gets too hot, they just flee back over the border and nothing can be done to them.
This whole ordeal has made me more vigilant, heightened my situational awareness and made me a little paranoid to double and triple check all doors, locks etc. Also thanks to my heightened situational awareness has allowed me to remove myself from a few potential dangerous situations in the years after the incident. But it has also robbed me of my peace of mind. I have since immigrated to a safer country, but I still sometimes wake up at night if I hear a noise.
So to keep up with tradition, Joseph, we will never meet again as you have passed. But to his cronies or anyone that wants to try something similar, please do pay me a visit. I will arrange your swiftly departure and reunion with Joseph in hell. And to Joseph, I hope you died in agony for poisoning Daisy...
Edit: For those that asked is the violence in South Africa really that bad? Here is a link with some that I could find.
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I just discover ed this sub, and I have been reading your stories. Some are quite frightening. I have a tale from a long time ago I thought I would share, I think it belongs here. I hope I don't bore you.
I am now a seventy-two year old man. This happened long ago, but I remember it so well.
The background was a series of events that placed me in a mountain cabin outside of Frederick Maryland circa 1969 or 1970. Just say my life at the time was in disarray, I had dropped out of college, my father had died very badly, and I was alienated. I needed to get my mind right.
The opportunity to move to an isolated cabin, to live in contemplation and solitude was welcome. I had some inheritance money to pay for it. To the best of my memory I was there eight to nine months. No TV, but books and radio, I had a library card, and I can’t remember if I had a phone.
The story begins when a month into my stay, a female Beagle showed up at my door. She was a lost dog, and I took her in. Never could train her to do anything, but I fed her, and she was a sweet, if not the brightest, dog.
A few months in, I began to feel a presence around the isolated cabin. Hard to describe, but I felt like someone was watching. On many occasions I thought someone might even be looking in my cabin window, watching us.
The next phase was the shadowing or following. I knew the folks a half mile down the lane, woods all around, and would sometimes visit them at night. Someone, something was waiting for me, and followed closely in the woods beside me in the darkness. You could hear it easily, footsteps in the woods, and it picked up it’s pace as I did. This not only happened to me, but to my younger brother who visited, and to friends. And it spooked them, big time.
At night, it was out there, around the cabin. Here is the funny thing, I was never afraid, never felt threatened. Not at all, at least early on. There was no feeling of malevolence.
I spent a good bit of time wandering the vast areas of woodlands around me. There was a state park just up the hill, and the Frederick Municipal Forest went on for mile after mile. The whole of western Maryland was much more country than it is now, none of the development had set in yet.
In our hikes, the dog and I, we came across evidence of campsites, recent ones, in the woods. Traces of fires, old abandoned buildings that had corners that gave shelter and looked slept in. Garbage, food and drink, paper, what have you. Perhaps hunters, but much of it did not have the organized feel you would get from experienced hunters.
The last month of my stay there was when things intensified. Maybe he sensed I was preparing to leave. In the mornings I would find small dead animals at the bottom of the front porch steps. The cabin had a small front porch, screened with a light door, and four wooden steps to the ground. A spotlight would illuminate the long front yard, with woods close by either side.
Dead animals began to appear at the bottom of the steps, many mornings. I remember small birds, then a squirrel, a rabbit, even a weasel one day. Like they were offerings. I had to grab them up before the dog ate them. This went on almost daily for several weeks.
One night, very late, I was awoken by some sound. I lay in bed and heard something from the porch. I hopped up and hit the lights and I saw that hound dog, who never learned to sit or stay, standing at the front door, in a perfect point position. She was shaking in fear. She never barked. I heard the door slam and footsteps down the steps.
I hit the spotlight but saw nothing. I went out, he had been on the porch at my front door, maybe trying to enter.
After that I stayed in at night more and more. The animal offerings got bigger and bigger, larger birds, a possum, a woodchuck….it was not funny.
The final two ‘gifts’ were legs from either horses or cows. Big and bloody, one was skinned, holy shit!
The second to the last day, the dog left me. I could hear her in the woods howling on a trail, following a scent. I looked for her in every way I could, came up in following weeks, but to no avail. She left as she came.
I moved back to the Maryland suburbs of DC, got an apartment with a friend, got a job and moved on with my life. One day not long after I picked up the Washington Post and there was an article about recent encounters with the ‘Sykesville Monster.’ It described a tall, Yeti like creature, fur covered, on two legs that would pick out a family or person and give them “attention.” I wasn’t the only one.
That attention, described in the article was exactly what had happened to me. Following you at night, looking inside the house, ‘gifts,’ and so on. I was shocked! If I had turned on that spotlight and seen a Bigfoot or Yeti, I might still be running.
But I think I know who it was. Sykesville, Maryland, was the location of the Springfield Hospital Center, a large state psychiatric hospital. It was twenty miles or so east of Frederick. Back then, many folks knew how to live in the woods, they grew up that way. Country folks.
I think the monster was an escaped patient , or just a free schizophrenic who lived outside. This is like all the homeless you see in cities now. Probably off his meds, but somehow functional, and lonely. He would pick people or families to ‘adopt.’ The camps in the woods could have been him. Nothing to do, he would make mischief. I think he liked me, but sensed I was leaving.
I can’t prove any of this, just my theory. My monster was very much of that time and place, and his behavior was what I noticed in nearly every case then. I do not think he could have survived until the 1980s. Deinstitutionalization of mental hospitals threw the mentally ill out into the streets and took away the shelter of hospitals. Unprotected, the mentally ill die.
Here are some interesting links.
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So this happened probably around 10/11 years ago when I was 15/16.
For a little back story the legal drinking age in my country is 18 so if you want alcohol and didn’t have fake ID or a parent to get it for you then you had to wait around outside the off-license(liquor store for the Americans) until someone came by who agreed to go in and purchase the alcohol for you. So we waited around, found someone who was willing to go in and buy our alcohol for us and got him to purchase a few bottles of vodka for me and few friends, 2 of which I was with and the others we were meeting after we’d done this.
Now as it was around 6pm we decided it was too much of a risk to decant our vodka in to less suspicious looking bottles in the middle of the street as it was very busy so we did what we would usually do in this situation and found a near by food place to quickly run in and use the bathroom to decant our alcohol so we could be on our way. This time we chose to do this in a near by McDonald’s we’d done it in before so we knew it was a safe bet.
So we go in to McDonald’s and head straight for the bathroom as we’d done a million times before, as we get in to the bathroom me and my other two friends(we’ll call them Harriet and Kara) all occupy one cubicle to get the job done and get out and back to our drinking asap. And as i previously mentioned we’d done this lots of times before and usually opted to come in to this McDonald’s as it was usually busy which meant no one payed attention to three teenagers running straight in to the toilet without purchasing anything.
So anyway, we’re all in there doing our thing when I could suddenly hear a lot of shifting and moving around above us. I figured it was possibly the air conditioning and opted not to tell my friends as I thought it would freak them out. We get the job done and as we’re about to leave the cubicle we hear a giggle and ‘where are you girls off to’ (I was presenting as female at the time) I looked up and see the forehead and eyes of a male who looked to be about 30 just staring out from underneath a tile in the ceiling that he’d slightly lifted.
We were all in shock just staring at this guy who proceeded to giggle down at us and ask our names, where we were going and if he could come. We’re all in shock because let’s be honest who really expects there to be some random guy in the ceiling of a McDonald’s. Being a teenager who thought I was untouchable I proceeded to tell the guy that he was a perv and to fuck right off. The guy seemed to enjoy this and giggled a little more still shifting around in the ceiling never taking his eyes off of us.
Now I should probably mention that along with pouring our drink in to other bottles we pre rolled a few joints so we were terrified to alert anyone at this point as we were young and terrified of our parents finding out. The guy still staring at us proceeds to ask questions like ‘what age are you guys’ ‘where do you live’ ‘can I have some of your drink/a smoke of your weed’ still all the while twitching and fidgeting over head. He then started to lift the tile and as we’re all stuck in a cubicle with this guy above us we knew the only way for him to get down was to come down directly on top of us, so we noped out at that point pretty quickly.
We went outside and discussed what we were going to do and I decided to go back in and alert someone, as it’s a very busy McDonald’s and I knew there would be women and children in and out of the toilet until closing time, I didn’t want to risk that creep staying up there just to spy on them, especially since I knew he was there and had witnessed his behaviour first hand.
So I go in, tell a member of staff that I’d been in the toilet for a long while taking a phone call(terrible lie but my 15/16 year old brain was too scared to tell the truth incase they alerted the police) and that’s when the guy had appeared and to my shock they were completely unsurprised, they were just pissed off more than anything. I seen a few male members of staff enter the toilet and I figured they could handle it from there so I went on my way. We still went in to that McDonald’s but never had any encounters with ceiling guy again, we’re not even sure if the guy got caught as we didn’t hear anything about it afterwards.
So to the creepy guy in the ceiling watching the girls bathroom with a birds eye view, let’s not meet ever, ever again.
Edit~ Spelling, grammar and just generally fixing the wording where I’d went wrong.
TLDR~ Went in to McDonald’s to decant vodka in to less suspicious bottles and a creep appeared in the ceiling above us through a tile that he’d lifted. Proceeded to ask us creepy questions and staff were utterly unsurprised when I brought it to their attention. |
Back when I was 18 years old I started working at a gas station. This was my first job. Near the end of my first shift, I was cleaning the hotdog rollers and a man walked in. He was rough looking not in a bad way but like he had been working outside all day. As soon as I set eyes on him I got the gut feeling that I needed to stay away from him. Since I wasn't the one at the register there was no reason for him to talk to me. However, the moment he saw me he walked over and asked if I was new. I said yes and he told me I was doing a good job and went on his way to check out. I noticed that he had a Jamaican accent which was weird to hear since I lived in Michigan. Honestly, at that point, I thought that my gut was wrong about him and that I probably felt that way because I have bad social anxiety and had reached my limit of human interaction for the day. I was right the first time.
During my next shift he once again came in and again I was cleaning. He came over to me and I still got the bad feeling in my gut. He asked me how my day was and I told him that it was okay. Then he looked at my hand, I was wearing my high school class ring and I had put it on my left-hand ring finger because I didn't want to scuff it up while cleaning with my right hand. He asked if I was married, I said no and told him it was my class ring, he then asked if I was dating and I lied and said yes. He started asking me questions about my "boyfriend" like how old was he, did I want to marry him, and if we were in a physical relationship. I told him I wasn't comfortable with answering that and he got mad but dropped the conversation. He would continue to ask me questions about my love life every time he would come in.
After about a month and a half of this, I noticed that he would come in every day that I was working. This was weird because the days and hours that I worked changed from week to week. I asked my coworkers if he came in when I wasn't here and all of them said no. I also asked if any of them had told him what shifts I had been working but again they said no. This honestly freaked me out and I would start to have a panic attack every time that I would see his car pull in. One day he tried to give me his phone number and I politely told him that I wasn't interested in it. He got mad and was telling me that I needed to take it, my co-worker, at this point told him that he needed to leave. The next day he came in and asked me on a date and when I declined he told me that I was going to regret it. He asked me several more times and each time I said no.
After a while of him asking I told him that it was never going to happen and that I had absolutely no interest in him and never would. This only made things worse. He told me that I didn't have a choice and that he would be here when I got off work and that I was going to go with him. When he left I called my father told him what happened and asked if mom and he could come to pick me up at the end of my shift. He said yes, I didn't get off until midnight, and about 10 minutes before my dad walked in and told me to act like I was going to my car as normal but he was going to be in there. A few minutes after the guy pulled in and got out of his car and was just standing there.
As my shift was over I hurriedly walked to my car, he started approaching me and I jumped into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. When he got to my door my dad rolled down the window and pointed his gun at him. The man ran off and I thought that it was the end of it since he didn't come back into my work the next few days. However, it wasn't, about a week later I was at the store with my mom when I got the feeling that someone was following us and sure enough it was him. We got out of there as fast as we could and from then on out my mom and I was not allowed to leave without my dad. Everywhere I would go he would show up, even when I went to my friend’s house who lived about a half-hour from me. We caught him driving by the house several times. My mother had also caught him following her several times, which freaked her out.
We contacted the police and told them what was going on but they said that there wasn't enough evidence and that there was nothing that they were able to do. To this day I am still mad at the police for not doing anything. He started coming back into my workplace and I asked my boss to ban him from the store but she said no. Later I would find out that they were friends and that is how he always knew when I was working. I also believe that she was the one to give him my phone number, because it was around this time that I started receiving strange messages about how I looked, about my parents, and other creepy things.
I got to the point where I was so paranoid that I wouldn't leave my house without my father, and when he was at work I would carry a gun around with me. I had to have him drop me off and pick me up from work, and when I was at work any time I had seen a car that even somewhat looked like his I would run and hide in the back room. Even my poor mother was paranoid and wouldn’t go outside without someone with her. Finally, my father had enough and told me to quit my job and that he would help me pay the few bills that I had. Even after quitting my job I was freaked out and decided to go stay with my Aunt and Uncle (who is a police officer) who live about 6 hours away from me.
When I got there, it was the first time in nearly 6 months that I was able to relax. It didn't last for long. One night my uncle and I went to pick up a pizza. Less than a minute after he walked in the glass on my door was broken and hands were grabbing me. It was the Jamaican man and another guy, they got the door open and were pulling me out. I fought them as hard as I could, I got a few good hits on them but it didn’t do much good. Thankfully my uncle came out, both of them ran after my uncle announce who he was but my uncle chased down the Jamaican man after I shouted which man he was. That day he was arrested, I cried for hours straight from relief, anger, and stress. Later on, I found out that he was here illegally and was deported.
It took me about two years before I would go anywhere by myself. Honestly, it wasn’t until I got my CPL that I was comfortable going places without someone with me. I still get panic attacks from time to time because of seeing a car like his or if I feel like someone is watching me.
So Jamaican man if your reading this let’s not meet again. |
Please use this thread to share posts that you enjoyed from the past month (don't forget to include a link!).
-The /r/LetsNotMeet Mod Team |
I ran a bunch of errands yesterday, the final one entailed going to a specific company's office. Unfortunately, there are only two in my area and I couldn't have made it to the office across town that I prefer before they closed. Which left me with the one in the ghetto. It was still broad daylight and I parked right up against the busy major road in the otherwise empty parking lot, so I assumed nobody would try anything.
Wrong. I get into my car, roll my window down and as I'm texting my boyfriend to confirm I ran the errand, a woman appears at my window. She was very obviously on drugs and at first she was giving me the typical beggar spiel; I'm homeless, I need money, etc. All I had on me was a card, but I had half a salad left from lunch and offered it to her.
She seemed content but continued to ramble on about how she was in labor (she was clearly not even pregnant, btw), her husband can't come to the hospital because it's against his religion, she needs a C section etc. Then she suddenly leans in my window so that her face is right in mine and goes "I'm having this baby right now and if you don't help me, I'm going to kill you right here" while shaking a hand inside her hoodie pouch, insinuating to me that she had a weapon inside.
At this point, I'm fairly certain if I was to grab my car keys and start trying to drive off without her, she was legitimately going to stab me or do something like jump onto my car and get seriously injured falling off when I got on the highway. So I played along, I promised her I'd take her to the hospital and waited until she got in to start the car.
I headed towards the hospital, intentionally squealing tires away from green lights, going 15 over the limit and driving as shittily but safely as possible in hopes of a cop pulling me over to save me from this hell. She remained perfectly still with her hand in her hoodie pouch rambling on about things like she's been pregnant since 2017, her husband will murder her for having this baby, I'm going to die if it doesn't survive etc.
Suddenly, she erupts into a god awful screech, starts kicking my dash and demands to know why I'm going the way I am, because Taco Bell is the other way. I'm like "I thought you were wanting to go to the hospital to have the baby?" and she tells me no, the baby needs food and reminds me that if it starves, she's going to watch me bleed out.
At this point, I'm not sure if she's bluffing or if she was actually serious about the death threats since I couldn't physically see her weapon. But regardless, I wanted to get as far away from her as possible so I pulled into a grocery store parking lot and told her I was going to go get her a soda and food for the baby. Luckily she agreed to that, so I locked her in the car, hid behind a pillar at the front of the store and called the police.
They got her out of my car and calmed her down enough to where she'd sit still enough to be questioned her for a while. I couldn't hear what they were saying but they were very patient with her as she was trying to kick their legs and I could hear her screeching occasionally. Eventually one approached me for my statement, told me I did the right thing by not upsetting her and thanked me for calling for help instead of escalating the situation.
He escorted me back to the car after making sure I was physically and mentally okay to drive and as I was heading down the highway towards my house, a bunch of ambulances were tearing down the road towards the grocery store I'd parked at. I haven't seen anything on the news and I haven't received any calls from the PD yet, but I hope everything turned out okay and she didn't hurt herself or someone else.
So if you're still out there, lady...I hope you get the help you need, but I truly don't ever want to meet you again. |
A couple of years ago, I flew home to visit family. I’d be there about a week, then we’d head to the coast for a week, then back home for another week. I totally needed this break. I’d just ended an on again/off again relationship (like, seriously, one day on, the next off.) It took 7 months of putting up with it, because you’re supposed to fight for what is important to you, right?
Anyhow, I finally just said it was done, no more chances, no trying to work it out, just done. So, with that chapter of my life being over, I was more than happy to be somewhere else, surrounded by family, and begin putting myself back together. Got there, spent a couple of days sleeping a lot... my Mother’s a nurse and she was becoming concerned that there was something physically wrong with me. I just needed a couple days in a safe place where I could let my brain work on digesting the new life I would have when I got back home.
So, before we left for the coast, I met up with a friend from grade school that I’d kept in contact with over the years. I thought it would just be he and I, but it didn’t really phase me that another person was there. We hung out for a while and then I needed to head home because I had to take a backwoods rural route to get home, or taking a different route that would add another 20 miles onto my trek. Being backwoods, I needed to be able to keep an eye out for deer. So, I said goodbye and told SA that if he was ever in my neck of the woods, look me up and we’d grab a drink and hang out. I told him to grab my number from my friend and out the door I went.
About halfway home, I got this weird queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, so I slowed way down and sure enough, there was a deer in the middle of the road. Because I had slowed down, I could see another car out on the road. I couldn’t shake the queasy feeling, so I figured it would be better to cut-off and go down to the main road because there were more places to stop. I seriously didn’t want to stop in some rural farmer’s driveway. I’ve watched too many movies to make that mistake.
So, I get over to the main road and pull into a gas station and sit there for a couple minutes trying not to get sick to my stomach. I ran in to the store, grabbed some water and ginger ale, and came back out to my vehicle, still unable to shake that queasy feeling. So, I started to head home from the gas station and knew I didn’t want to go straight home, so I drove around, taking this road or that road, until that weird feeling started to go away. Then, I went home, read for a bit, and then went to sleep. Next day, everything was fine and we headed off to the coast.
Fast-forward 2 weeks. Trip is over, I’m still feeling a little bit fragile over the break up, but that’s all. I figured I would begin the process of cleansing the environment of negative energies and then then work through the baggage that came from the breakup. I knew there was a lot and it would take time.
So, the next day, I’m going about my business and everything is cool as can be when picking through the junk left behind after a breakup. I’m really just doing mindless things to zone out and not have to think too much on the activity, since my brain was working full time already.
A little bit later in the day, my phone rings. I don’t get a lot of calls, so I assumed that there might be a family emergency and that I needed to answer it ASAP. The area code of the caller (who is not in my contacts) is the same as my cousin, so I answered without a second thought. On the other end was SA, the acquaintance I met at my friends house. It’s a little weird to have him be calling me, but I’m not thinking that anything is terribly out of the ordinary.
I asked him what was up and he said he was at the airport. I still find it a little odd but I said Oh, that’s cool. Where are you going? He said that he’d already landed. Again, I’m distracted and really just want to get him off the phone so I could go back to my mental side-step and zone out while my brain chugged away. So, I said that I hoped he had a good time wherever he was. He said that he needed me to pick him up.
Screech?!? What? Did you just say you needed me to pick you up? Yeah, he replied, I came to visit you. Pause there for a second... I know for a fact that I didn’t show any more interest in him than general courtesy. Even the tossed over the shoulder Look me up comment was one of those polite things to say because you never actually plan on seeing them again.
Unpause... Why did you come to visit me, I asked. He said he felt a deep connection and wanted to be with me. I’m starting to get angry as well as freaked out at this stage. I told him I didn’t feel a connection at all and couldn’t believe that he would fly across country to see someone that he’d spent maybe two hours with. He said that I invited him when I said to look him up. I said, Erm... no. That’s just a polite thing to say to some random person that has made a very small impression on me. He said that he needed to find a way back home then since I misled him.
Misled him? WTF? Look me up if you’re ever in my neck of the woods had led him to think that was a basis for any sort of encounter that was meaningful? He said that he needed a place to stay until he could get the money for a plane ticket back. I said there were more than enough hotels that he could stay at while he got himself sorted out. He said he didn’t have any money after buying the random ONE-WAY plane ticket.
So, at this stage, I’m flabbergasted, angry, and freaked out that someone would do that on a one-way ticket. I finally caved and said he could stay the night while he sorted shit out, but I expected him to be gone no later than the morning of the day after tomorrow.
So, I bring him back to my place, throw pillows and a blanket on the couch and turn to head to my bedroom and he asks if he can sleep with me. I’m like, Uh, no. Actually no fucking way is that going to happen. So, I point out that I have firearms and do not attempt to come in.
Next day, I have to work, so I woke him up and told him to get up and find a way home immediately. I also told him that I had to work, but would check in on his progress because the next morning, I was dropping him off at departures regardless of whether he had a way back or not.
Went to work, he blew up my phone all day. Wanted me to come back to my place for lunch. Told him no, I’m way too busy. I finally get home from work and I’m chuckling at a text that I got about my dog. And, that’s when I noticed that he rearranged everything, and by everything, I mean every room of the house has been rearranged.
I flipped my lid. I asked him why he thought it was normal to do anything that he did? Instead of answering, he asked me who I’d been talking to. I said that it really wasn’t any of his business, but I had received a text from the guy watching my dog while I was on vacation. Color me shocked when he says that he doesn’t want me to talk to that guy.
No longer freaked. Full force apocalyptic disaster is about to be unleashed and leave nothing but a smoking crater. The temperature drops about 10°, and I very calmly said to get his shit and I was calling a cab to take him to the airport because he’s fucking psycho. Side note: full rage has been achieve when it feels like the temperature drops and I speak very calmly. If I’m complaining about something, it’s a quick burn. If I go monotone calm and tilt my head to one side slightly, that is where I hit arctic level anger.
So he, unaware of the environmental change that has occurred and that the chances of survival are dropping by the second, decides to tell me that he used my computer and got my ex’s phone number and they both agree that I was just heartless. We’re fast approaching the epic scale disaster and he finally seems to notice how deep into rage I had sunk. I told him it was unlikely that he had gotten into my computer because it’s a full quote of a part of The Art of War by Sun Tsu, and that he would have to have been the processing power of the Hadron Collider Computers and it was obvious that was not the case.
I told him he had 3 minutes to get his stuff and get out or I wouldn’t be responsible for what would occur. So, still yelling insults at me, he gathers his stuff and leaves.
I used to get calls and texts from him. I’d block one, and 6 more would pop up, but it eventually stopped. To this day I have no idea, nor interest in knowing where he’s at or if he made it back.
So, crazy dude who would hop on a plane with a one-way ticket based on a random polite comment, let’s not meet (again). |
I overlooked the serene lake stoically. It had been 4 years since I was here last. Since I was the only witness to my brother Jake’s horrible drowning – an “accidental” drowning as it was reported – since I watched the lake pull him down and swallow him whole, lifejacket and all, on a calm, clear August day, not much different than this one.
The only thing left was the boat he’d taken us out on, and his inconsolable and utterly confused 12 year old brother. Now at 16 myself, standing taller and stronger, and more confident, made me question even more what I had seen that day. Could this lake just drag me down to the depths of hell too?
Returning to my family’s summer cabin was supposed to be healing, and it was proving harder than I thought. The only glimpses of joy I’d had so far were the jokes from my best friend Mitch, who I was allowed to bring to ‘keep my mind busy’, as my mother had said.
At night there were no jokes to fill my mind, there was only me and my whirring thoughts. My memories, that bled into nightmares. Jake’s face in slow motion, becoming wetter and wetter, deeper, and deeper, into the nothingness. Jake playing a stringless guitar from within the lake, a song from under the surface, that I strained to hear, but was unable to. And finally, peering into the water and Jake grabbing my head and holding it under. Where I could finally hear, but all at once, all too much. Jake tried to talk but was overpowered by the many other voices under the surface.
I awoke with a gasp and decided I could sleep no longer. I put on a hoodie and some slides and walked down to the dock to think. Who were all those voices Jake had wanted me to hear? Perhaps the voices of all the other mysterious drownings and disappearances surrounding the lake? There had been almost forty in the past 20 years….. I looked down over the dock into the lake’s reflection almost as if to ask …. “Is anybody there?” Just as I could’ve sworn had heard a low humming of voices I was interrupted by my mother calling out to me, to come up for breakfast.
After breakfast, Mitch and I headed to the corner store, a long walk away from the cabin, away from my parents, to clear my head. I confided in Mitch about the nightmares in hopes that he could reassure me that it was just a dream. That I was overreacting, overthinking, traumatized and doing my best to process. But Mitch only made things more real. He only asked about the other drownings, about what had really happened to those disappearances – did I really think it was connected? And what had I seen that day? Had I really seen playful lights under the surface that lured my brother to jump in? Or was it darker? A black scaly snake that pulled him under, like I had told police? Or were those just the inventions of a traumatized mind?
The corner store clerk heard our whisperings as we picked out some coke and two ice creams. Petra, she introduced herself as. A local high school senior working her way through summer. She had questions herself. Had we heard the stories?
The Slavic lore of Vodnik – a water spirit who hated the boldness of humans. Who used illusions beneath the surface to lure them into the water. Often with moving lights or using his long black scaly tail. Once in the water, you were his soul to keep. He would drag you to the depths of the lake and wait for your very last breath to escape you, which he would catch and keep in an overturned mug in the bottom of the lake as a trophy. As proof that humans were inferior. To mock the Vodnik in any way, call his name, or speak too boldly, would anger him to drown again. An anger that originated when the Vodnik fell in love with a human woman he had watched from the beach. When he presented himself to her in his human form, she laughed, and thus became his first victim.
I had to convince myself these sightings, these memories, were truth. I had to see for myself with fresh and wiser eyes. So the the 3 of us, Mitch, Petra and myself, agreed to paddle out in a canoe after dark.
The paddle was slow, and quiet, no one dared to talk or speak out loud what they were thinking for fear it either was true or was not. I honestly was unsure which outcome was worse for fear of embarrassment. Once out far enough we weren’t entirely sure what to do but wait. Impatiently, Mitch spoke up, insisting the Vodnik was not real and any drownings were purely accidental. Demons were not real, lore was made for campfire scares, and any lake this big probably just had a gross misidentified water snake.
Lights! Under the surface. At first deep, deep down. Then coming closer and closer still. We sat very still, silent, breathless, unable to move. The lights stopped, and we exchanged confused looks. A tail, a slippery, scaly tail. Slowly moving side to side. As if to invite us. As if luring us. Not violent, but hypnotic. But was it really black? Or was it the darkness that made it seem that way? Petra reached out, almost to touch it. But I slowly put my hand on hers and met her terrified eyes.
Safely ashore we huddled. What was that!? “Vodnik” Petra said quietly. “Well how do you kill it?” Asked Mitch, as if he hadn’t just doubted it’s existence a mere 20 minutes ago. “Sol,” she replied, “Salt. They are said to die in salt water.” Mitch was flustered, yelling something about hiring 100 dump trucks should about do it.
I ignored his rantings and thought hard. All the cabins were fed water from the lake. So maybe we didn’t have to go back into the lake, maybe we could get the Vodnik to come to the cabin and salt him there. The plan was set for the following night. Petra was tasked for supplies, salt, and a lot of it. Mitch was in charge of calling the Vodnik out through the bath water and the pipes. When he acted surprised by this, Petra laughed and assured him it was a job that would come easily enough to him.
I, however, would have to face my biggest fear. I would have to swim into the lake. The lake that looked so innocent and pure but rotted from deep down inside. I would have to free the trapped souls. But where even were the mugs? The Vodnik would keep them somewhere special to him. The beach where he presented himself as human, where he took his first soul.
“Ok, Jake,” I said out loud, “I’m coming for you”. |
To some of you, this post might be up a little bit late. Even though I planned to update you people on this Wednesday, I knew there was a high possibility of me not fulfilling this task. Up to this very moment, my hands are still shaking, as I did expect to go through some strange experiences during my two last shifts, but not to the extent you are about to discover.
Last Sunday, I prepared for the next two shifts just like I told you in my previous post. Despite not really knowing what I am up against, I figured that there were some useful things I could get to put myself in some form of 'advantage' if I may say. Therefore, after a little turn by the supermarket and using the maximum amount of money I could for that purpose, I came back home with a machete, a nail gun for lack of something better like a pistol, and some fancy flashlights that I was certain to be resistant to electromagnetic disturbance. Upon arriving home with the items, my wife who was not convinced by how 'great' I had described my new working environment, asked me again a few details about my new job. Once again, not wanting to unearth old matters of contention, I lied to her in order to keep the peace. More on those 'matters' in later posts.
On Monday, I arrived at work around 6:33 pm and got ready for the shift in a few minutes. Nothing in that place looks extraordinary, I can assure you of that. No matter the time, everything just looks normal and absolutely not out of place. It is just that midnight thing that is the black stain in what I thought would be a bright picture. Five minutes before the dreaded time, I took the items to the black room and put them in the cupboard, except for the machete. For some reason, I considered the machete more useful than the traditional security guard baton, and I sat with it in front of the monitors, waiting for the scary show to begin. At 12:00 am, the anomaly began as usual at the main entrance as the camera in that area started malfunctioning. Just like during the first night, it roamed around silently, not shaking any door, and passed in front of the black door at 12:17 am. Of course, due to the distortion, I could not see a thing on the monitor, which in turn really fed my curiosity. I do not know about you, but I am not the kind of person to just obey to a mysterious rule. Can you imagine renting a house for example and being told that a specific door must never be open? Without even stating the reason why? What if it is because there are human remains there?
I made a bold plan to get a glimpse of this mysterious midnight being. I watched its movements on the monitors which then seemed to me to be patterned and unaltered as long as no disruption occurs. Also, the contract never mentioned anything about the black room door. I can be in a room without locking the door. Even by leaving the door wide open, I can still be 'in' the room. Following my reasoning, at 12:33 am, I stood at the door and opened it just a little, just enough to get a fair view of the corridor. Through the monitors, I saw the thing approaching the black room and got ready to see it with my naked eyes. Something emitting a warm yellow light was approaching, as if in those well lit corridors, someone was walking around holding a flame torch. Before I could see the source of the light, or the person holding it, or whatever it really was, I felt my heartbeat accelerating. Something just felt wrong, and the hair on my skin rose as if I turned into a frightened cat. I could not allow myself to see what that thing was and quickly closed and locked the door. Once again, it stood right on the other side of the door and did not move from there until 01:00 am then disappeared. I came out a few minutes afterwards to a completely normal environment but kept my machete just in case.
The next night on Tuesday was the one with the scheduled loadshedding. Once again, I sat down in front of the monitors until the lights went out, plunging me in complete darkness at exactly 12:00 am. At that time, I figured it would really be nice to take a nap, but I realized that there was not even a mattress in the room. After setting an alarm for 01:00 am, I just put the chair against the wall, sat with my legs and arms crossed, and closed my eyes, hoping to sleep as fast as I could. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps in the corridor. Without the aid of the monitors then off because of the loadshedding, I could not pinpoint the exact location of the thing and could not risk opening the door in that total darkness.
I just listened attentively till I stood up, getting closer to the door. I retrieved one of the flashlight that I bought in the cupboard and switch it on, only to see the light flickering. Despite that, I could read 12:17 am on the clock as I approached the door again. I heard the rapid footsteps getting further and further until I could no longer hear them. At 12:22 am, they came back, but this time, it sounded like there were at least four persons walking quickly instead of just one. What on earth was that? I thought. At 12:38 am, they came back again in the black room corridor, then sounding like a whole platoon of soldiers jogging in front of the door. The steps were so heavy that the door was shaking until they just came to an abrupt end, plunging the already dark place in an ominous silence. Out of the blue, the thing outside started banging on the door while trying to open it as the doorknob turned. I fell in fear and started to crawl backwards. I wanted to handle my machete but could not even think of where I had put it, watching the door being forced by the intruder all trough the flickering of the flashlight. Once again, everything just stopped and the short and deep silence that almost pierced my ears was suddenly broken by the giggle of a woman. Not a friendly giggle, rather like a 'I'll get you one day' type of giggle. Who was that? I kept my eyes on the door, trembling in fear, until the alarm on my phone scared me even more when 01:00 am rang and the power came back on.
There was no way I could set foot out there before morning. I remained in the black room until the end of my shift, thinking deeply about my situation and my life. I am paid weekly, which means that last week, I could at least get half of the pay. I will not lie, that piece of the cake seemed hefty and wiped out a big chunk of my wife and I financial concerns. I came home today morning, seeing my wife and the kids all excited about a few things we could buy for the house and ourselves. There was no way I could take that kind of joy away from them. I just have to keep working. However, before I return to work tomorrow Thursday, I need to have a serious conversation with somebody.
|
I'm currently writing this from my bedroom in the attic of the house I live in.
I have two other roommates, one is my brother and the other is our childhood friend we met during Primary school.
We had another roommate at one point or another but he moved out and we haven't seen him since.
Everything has felt a bit strange today, but I simply brushed it off as my anxiety; you see, I've always had bad anxiety and there are days where it becomes debilitating and turns into paranoia.
And so, like any logical human being would do, I brushed my feelings aside as simply me being paranoid or anxious.
Especially since it's been quiet today.
Our roommate is out, and it's just been my older brother and I in the house all day today.
My brother keeps to himself, unfortunately preferring to turn to the bottle for company unless we're both out and about in the common areas of our two story, three bedroom house.
I didn't know what was happening when suddenly my anxiety started to ramp up, but I certainly hadn't been expecting to look out the window and find some sort of giant creature staring back at me.
I can only look away when I sit down. That's how I'm writing this.
But it doesn't last for long; it's like my gaze is drawn back to it's giant, wide, blank eyes after only a few minutes of looking away.
I don't know what it is, but I know it doesn't feel friendly.
It's bigger than two double-storied houses stacked on top of each other. It has to get on it's massive hands and knees to even peer through my small attic window.
It almost looks like a shadow. A giant, grinning, malevolent shadow with eyes that stare into your soul.
I'm scared to stand up and look at it again, but I can feel the compulsion to getting larger and harder to resist.
There's this ringing in my ears that's almost deafening, and it gets louder the longer I don't look at it.
I don't know what it will do to me, but I'm afraid it might kill me, or potentially do even worse.
I'm too young to die, I haven't even fully gotten started on my life yet.
I'm scared, but I know there's nothing I can do against some sort of giant shadow creature.
I can feel tears pouring down my cheeks as I write this, but I hadn't even known I was crying.
I guess terror will do that to a guy.
I can hear my brother running across the house now, yelling out my name.
If by any chance I don't make it out of this, I hope my brother finds this post so I can tell him how much I appreciate him always being there for me, even in his darkest times.
I know I wasn't easy to deal with, especially after everything he had gone through in his early life.
I can hear him pounding on my door, trying to get in.
I'm going to stand up now, though; I don't know what will happen if I do, but I don't think it will be anything good.
If you're my brother reading this, and that thing hasn't come after you through some miraculous intervention; I wanted to say thank you for being such an amazing older brother.
I love you.
Goodbye. |
This is a story that has haunted me since my childhood, an experience I went through when I was just a little boy. I grew up in a secluded small town where we didn’t have many ways of entertainment, so strange stories were told like urban legends. One of those obscure legends was the so-called "Dead TV Ritual."
The legend claimed that during a lunar eclipse, it was possible to tune into an empty channel on the television and see the spirits of the dead. It sounded so absurd that my best friend at the time, Chris, and I decided to test it, more for fun than for any real belief in the legend.
The night of the eclipse arrived, with the sky covered in dark clouds, obscuring the moon. We took an old black-and-white television we found stored in the basement, that had belonged to my grandfather and began adjusting the antennas, trying to find an empty channel. We fiddled with the antennas for a while until we finally managed to tune into a channel that showed nothing but static.
We sat in front of the TV, staring at the blank screen, our anticipation building. At first, nothing happened, and we began to doubt the truth of the legend. The room was filled with an eerie silence, broken only by the soft hum of the television. But then, slowly, the static on the screen started to take shape, like shadows moving behind it.
Our eyes were glued to the screen, hypnotized by what was happening. Gradually, images began to appear, images of distorted faces and whispering voices. They sounded like muffled screams, and their voices seemed to penetrate our souls.
The faces twisted, and the voices grew more and more anguished. We felt a shiver down our spines when we realized that these faces were familiar. They were people who had died in our town, some of them still alive in our memories. Their eyes held an empty, desperate gaze, as if they were trapped between worlds.
Our hearts began to race, and we had never felt more scared. It was as if we were witnessing something we shouldn't have, something that defied all the laws of reality. The images on the screen seemed to call out to us, as if they wanted us to join them in their spectral realm.
Then, a face appeared on the screen that we couldn't recognize. It was a pale and cadaverous face, with empty eyes that seemed to look directly at us. It started moving towards the screen, as if it wanted to exit the TV and enter our world.
At that moment, we panicked. We turned off the television abruptly, cutting the connection to those disturbing images. The static returned, and the room fell silent, but the fear still echoed in our hearts.
Chris and I went on with our lives and neither one of us ever spoke about that night again, and the old television was returned to the basement, where it remained forgotten until today.
Now, years later, I still have nightmares about those distorted faces and whispering voices we heard that night. I think we messed with something we shouldn't have, something way beyond our understanding. Since then, I have never attempted to tune into the "Dead TV," and the memory of that night continues to haunt me, as a dark reminder that some urban legends are best left as legends, untested and untouched. |
To describe the setting, I was at my Grandmothers house in a very densely populated suburb. My grandmother is in tune with her spiritual body. She works with chakras and a whole bunch of other weird shit. In simple terms, she's a spiritual healer.
This incident took place in April of 2020, which just so happened to be the Islamic month of Ramadhaan. The month in which Muslims fast from sunrise till sunset.
I crawled into bed on a Tuesday night as usual.
At around midnight I got hungry so I made my way downstairs to the kitchen. Upon reaching the kitchen I hear two cats fighting outside.
My grandmother lives in a gated complex and she is the only one there who owns a cat.
Out of curiosity, I open the door that leads from the kitchen to the backard. As soon as I opened it, something ran across. From the right to the left. It moved so elegantly, almost as if it floated through time.
The sound of claws scraping on the floor echoes around the other side of the house.
It galloped, not as a horse, but rather a small monkey.
The only way I could describe it is it looked and felt dark. It lefts streaks of black matter as it ran. A dark and twisted aura surrounded it. Unable to define its features I could only see something I'd describe as a black entity of nothingness. Grabbing a broom that was against the wall, I chased it as soon as it initially ran past the door.
I cut the corner half a second after it did and It was no where to be seen. Vanished into thin air.
Keep in mind, this is still Tuesday night.
Losing my appetite I go back to sleep.
In Ramadhaan, Muslims are encouraged to wake up early before sunrise to have breakfast before the fast begins. One can only eat up until sunrise, and not beyond, until sunset.
Wednesday morning I awake at 8. Missing all my alarms I set so that I could have my early breakfast before sunrise. I check with everybody else after they wake up and they had the same issue.
I relayed the story about the cats that were fighting to my Grandmother, but she assured me that her cat was in her bed last night.
That when my stomach dropped
After describing the features of what I had seen the previous night to her, she told me she knows exactly what I'm talking about.
It was a Demon or just the Devil, also known as Shaytaan is Islam. She has had multiple ecnounters with them, and my description matched what she too had seen.
This hasn't haunted me but has been a story I've wanted to share on this sub reddit for a while
I try to explain what I saw that night to people but nobody can seem to relate or back it up.
Willing to listen to anyone who has any info <3 |
This will be my final update.
Last night, my dad and I talked for hours about, well, everything.
“I’m not going to hide things from you anymore,” I said, pulling out my phone. “I took photos of the wardrobe.”
Dad calmly took my phone and started scrolling through the photos I’d taken.
“Oh, God…” Dad cried, pushing the phone back into my hands.
“Do you think…” I started, gulping. “Do you think he’s responsible for… Mum?”
Dad winced sharply. “Cara, I… I don’t want to… I don’t know whether I can grieve for your mother twice.”
I understand why he’d prefer to believe that Mum took her own life, rather than believe that someone took it from her. And perhaps I don’t want the police to uncover the truth either. Perhaps I’m done grieving too. But what I will say is that Mum’s death in 2018, though seemingly self-inflicted, was unfathomably awful. A mangled corpse in a car wreck. And I can’t help but wonder why she’d want to end her life so painfully.
Anyway, I had the day off work — given the circumstances — and I spent it flicking through my photos, searching for answers. I couldn’t stop thinking about the photo of me sleeping in my university dorm room.
He’s always watching.
That’s what Grandma said in her note. Maybe he travelled to and from their Devon hideout at first, but he likely didn’t ever return after killing his wife and leaving her there.
So, where is he now? I wondered in horror, scrolling back and forth through my photos.
There was a picture of Mum driving on the motorway — a picture Grandad had taken whilst he was driving too. In it, I could see the dashboard of his car and his left hand on the steering wheel — with his wrist donning a shiny, golden Rolex. But most importantly, he’d captured his BMW’s askew hood ornament — distinctly askew.
A sinking feeling consumed me.
“Dad…” I said.
My dad lifted his head from the newspaper. “Yes?”
“Is this the car you're always complaining about…?” I asked, showing him the photo.
My dad’s eyes widened, and he slowly nodded at me, face turning a ghostly shade. For the past few years, he’d been moaning, on and off, about spotting a BMW with that exact shabby ornament around our village. Parked in places that it shouldn’t be parked. But it always moved before he could do anything about it.
“I think we need to call the police,” He said.
I nodded, feeling more than a little queasy. Dad couldn’t remember when or where he’d last seen the vehicle. As I said, my dad’s memory is awful. But I was sure it was only a month or so ago that he moaned about it being parked on a double-yellow line around the corner from our street.
That meant Grandad had been here for years.
Am I one of his victims or not? I wondered, continuing to scroll through the photos whilst my dad talked to the police. Every photo of my mother and me had been taken at night. He used the flash-light on his phone or the headlights of his car to illuminate his surroundings. And that made me think of other unusual things from the past few years.
For instance, I often forget to draw my curtains before bed — foolish, given that I’m a light sleeper. And since lockdown, I can think of numerous occasions on which I was rudely awakened in the early hours of the morning. A car’s blinding full-beam headlights would fill my small room. Every time, I’d grumpily get up and draw my curtains. That wouldn't completely block out the light from the road, but the car, strangely, would always drive away shortly afterwards.
As if there were no point in staying without being able to see through my window.
Another unusual thing comes to mind when I think of that dreaded photo Grandad took in my dorm room. Could he have been watching me sleep back home?
I’m a forgetful person. I think we’ve established that. But at least once a week, I’ve been waking in the morning to find my bedroom door ever-so-slightly ajar. And I’m fairly certain I rarely forget to close it. That terrifies me more than anything. The thought that he has been in our house. Close enough to touch me.
“Thank you, officer,” My dad said, hanging up the phone and turning to me. “They’re going to keep an eye out for a car that matches the description. As for the broader investigation into his location, they’re looking into missing person cases from recent years. The detective is going to come over here personally and talk to us about moving somewhere safer — somewhere Grandad can’t find us.”
“Won’t Grandad just follow us?” I asked, trembling.
Dad hugged me. “I know you’re scared, Cara, but it’s going to be okay. The police have it under control.”
As we waited for Detective Simon Smith — I’m not using his real name, for obvious reasons — all I could think about was the fact that the police didn’t seem to have anything under control. They’d known of this horror for fourteen years, and they were no closer to solving anything.
Anyway, I wasn't expecting a dingy, brown Ford Focus to pull onto our driveway. I suppose detectives in TV shows and films lead a more glamorous lifestyle. The man who exited the car must’ve been in his early thirties, though his coarse skin aged him. He had thinning, damaged hair, but a neatly-trimmed beard. He wore a smart, grey trench coat and black gloves. In that way, he seemed to conform to Hollywood stereotypes of the typical detective.
“Nice to see you again, John,” He said, shaking hands with my dad.
“Same to you, Simon,” Dad replied. “What’s it been, four years?”
Simon nodded. “About that, yes. I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve had anything to tell you. The case was, admittedly, gathering dust until yesterday’s discovery. And this is our hero, Cara, I presume?”
I nodded my head, shaking his hand.
“I’m really sorry, Cara,” Simon said sombrely. “What you saw in that house was... something nobody should ever have to see. But you’re incredibly brave and undoubtedly smart. Perhaps a career in detective work is on the cards for you?”
I smiled weakly.
“Right, well, I think the first thing we should do is find alternative accommodation for the two of you. How does that sound?” Simon asked.
“But my Grandad will just follow us,” I protested.
“He won’t, I assure you,” Simon replied. “I’ll be checking my tail the whole way.”
“How long will we have to stay away?” My dad asked. “What if you never find my father?”
Simon shook his head. “We’ll find him, John. Don’t you worry. You’ve both been a massive help with this investigation. We’ve already found a BMW matching your description on numerous recent CCTV tapes from business owners in town. I don’t think it’ll be long before he rears his ugly head.”
Realising that arguing was futile, I went upstairs and packed a bag. And ten minutes later, with our most important belongings in hand, we walked with Detective Smith to his battered Ford Focus.
“So, where are you taking us?” Dad asked as we clambered inside and buckled our seatbelts.
“A Travelodge in Manchester,” Simon replied. “With any luck, we’ll have him before the end of the week.”
As we set off, I watched my quaint little village roll by the passenger-side window. The sun was setting, but the sky was still a calming blue — a settled, safe world surrounded me, in contrast to the rainy, chaotic few days which preceded it.
“So, how did you do it, Cara?” Simon asked.
I looked away from the window. “What?”
“How did you figure out where to find your grandad?” He asked.
I shrugged, nervously locking eyes with Simon in the rear-view mirror. “Grandma left clues.”
Simon chuckled, parroting what I’d said. “Grandma left clues… Remarkable. I’m serious, you really should join the force. You’re a damn sight better at this than me.”
It was as the car turned sharply onto a country road that I first noticed it. The sleeve of Simon’s trench coat lifted as he steered to the left, and it revealed something beneath his black glove.
A golden Rolex.
My stomach immediately lurched.
“Won’t this way take us longer, Simon? We should’ve turned right to head towards Manchester,” My dad pointed out.
Simon didn’t reply. And we very suddenly found ourselves on a bumpy, disused road, dwarfed on either side by towering oak trees. The daylight was fading, and I found myself gripped by unimaginable terror — completely unable to say anything. Unable to process what I'd seen.
“Simon? Where are we going?” Dad asked.
“Dad…” I finally managed to croak. “I want to go home.”
“You are home, Cara,” Simon finally replied.
He brought the Ford Focus to a stop in the middle of a wooded clearing. Far from civilisation. Far from anything but a small, lightless shack of a house. And then there was a clicking noise.
“What...?” My dad began.
“Get out of the car,” Simon replied, pointing what I realised to be a handgun at my father.
“What the fuck is—” My dad continued.
“— I won’t tell you again,” Simon warned.
As my dad shakily opened the door and stepped outside, Simon turned the gun onto me. His eyes were suddenly as untamed as his hair.
“You too, Detective,” He said. “Get the fuck out.”
My dad opened the door for me, and we embraced as Simon quickly got out of the driver’s side, pointing the gun at both of us.
“Walk in front of me,” He ordered. “Head towards the front door, and don’t run.”
As we walked, I didn’t dare look back at the lunatic. I huddled closely to my dad and prayed that the nightmare would end. We could barely see our feet in the pitch-black forest, but we managed to stumble towards the front path of the shack.
“Open the door, John,” Simon said.
My dad lightly pushed the rickety wooden door, and it opened onto a black chasm.
“Move!” Simon growled.
“We can’t see,” My dad said.
Something prodded me in the back, and I turned slightly to see a torch in Simon’s spare hand. He eyed me coldly until I took it. I was afraid to turn it on because part of me already knew what I would see. But it was worse. So much worse than the caravan.
My dad yelled, but I didn’t voice my terror. Of course, I was certainly just as horrified to be faced with rotten walls, mostly covered in brown hair, but it was exactly what I expected. What I hadn’t expected was the floors — stained a dark brownish or reddish colour. I think I know what it must have been, but there was just so much of it. Too much of it.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Simon gleefully whispered in my ear, pointing at the walls. “Underneath that soft, silky, brown blanket, you’ll find a sturdy under-layer of smooth, skin-covered plaster.”
I uttered an involuntary yelp.
Simon giggled. “Don’t worry, Cara. It decays, as do all beautiful things. We can always go downstairs for more… But don’t you worry about Downstairs.”
My dad and I embraced one another again.
“Head to the end of the corridor,” Simon barked.
“What are you doing, Simon?” My dad asked as we walked along the hair-walled, bloody-floored hallway through an empty, derelict bungalow.
“Don’t ask me,” Simon replied, nodding at the door ahead.
I shone the torch on the door handle, and my dad obliged Simon’s request, twisting it. As the door lightly creaked open, I cast the light above my father’s shoulder, not daring to squeeze past him — I hid in fear. And my father’s gasp told me that greater horrors lurked inside the following room.
“Dad…” My father gasped.
I stepped inside, knees quaking, and found myself standing in a living room much like the one in Grandad’s caravan. It was coated, much like the corridor, with interlaced hair blankets — every wall, floor, and furnishing. Everything but the fireplace, which burnt brightly enough for me to finally turn off the torch.
And then there was the man himself, sitting atop a brown-haired throne with its back to the fire. My grandfather.
The Bogeyman.
But he was barely a shadow. 80 years old, at the very least, and he was an emaciated, skeletal man. How could such a pale, weak thing strike so much fear in me?
“*Sit*,” Grandad wheezed.
Simon prodded the gun into each of our backs, and he shut the door behind us. My father and I sat on the soft, hairy floor, and it took every ounce of my willpower not to projectile-vomit again.
My dad was crying. “Why are you doing this to us, Dad? We’re your family.”
“Family...” Grandad repeated thoughtfully.
He was little more than a silhouette with the fireplace behind him. A dark outline. A faceless monster. And before Grandad could elaborate, Simon walked to the side of his master’s throne.
“You really don’t know who I am, do you, John?” Simon laughed, prodding the gun aggressively in my direction. “Why don’t you tell her about her mother? Your slut of a wife.”
Simon laughed manically, and the light of the crackling flames danced across his scruffy, patchy head of brunette hair.
“What are you talking about?” Dad asked in a croaky whisper.
“What are you talking about?” Simon mocked. “You and Rachel. You were 16 and in love. It was the graduation prom. Your whore passed out and got knocked up.”
Dad had tears in his eyes, and he turned to me. “She was raped, Cara. We didn’t want you to know… We wanted to spare you that story. It was long before you came along.”
My father weaved his fingers into mine, gripping my hand tightly. I managed a smile and nodded through my tears. This seemed to anger Simon.
“Look at me…” Simon said.
But Dad didn't.
“*Look at me, you coward!*” The psychopath screamed, suddenly unloading a round into the wall.
The deafening roar of the handgun petrified me. I shrieked, squeezing the life out of my father’s hand. Dad quickly lifted his head to lock eyes with the crazed man standing before us.
“Tell her,” Simon said calmly. “Tell her who I am.”
Dad’s eyes widened, and he shook his head, finally having come to a realisation.
“Yes, John,” Simon said. “It’s me. The rotten... thing that the two of you simply discarded at an orphanage. 34 years ago. A helpless baby. Abandoned by my mother and my…”
Simon paused, smiling slightly.
“… Brother,” Grandad finished.
Silence filled the air as my grandfather’s single word coursed through the room. The horror of the revelation struck me before my brain had even caught up.
“What do you mean?” My dad whispered, though I knew he’d heard and understood, just as I had.
“He saved me,” Simon said. “Father saved me from the dump in which you left me.”
“Father…?” My dad cried, shaking violently.
“She was perfect, your Rachel,” Grandad coughed. “Her hair. Perfect. When your mother grew old... Rachel became the new key to my pure bloodline.”
Dad, face smeared with tears, started to wail. And I simply continued to tremble. This was far more terrible than anything I ever could have imagined.
“Don’t cry, Brother,” Simon whispered. “Your pain won’t last long. You’ll join the wall soon.”
“Patience, Son,” Grandad croaked as loudly as he could muster. “There is an order to these things.”
“Sorry, Father,” Simon whimpered. “The Catalogue?”
Grandad nodded lightly, and his son — brother to both my father and me — scurried out of the room in fear. The man on the vile throne then cast his gaze to me. With his back to the flames, I could scarcely see his face, but I caught a glimmer of something in the demon’s eyes. Joy, perhaps. A demented form of joy.
“Cara,” He muttered. “There is another thing I have longed to tell you. Something your... father doesn't know. Come closer.”
Lip quivering, I crawled across the floor, releasing my father’s hand, and stopped inches in front of my grandad’s throne. The man unfurled one of his shaky fists, caressing my cheek with terrifyingly gnarled, inhuman fingers. He leaned forwards to whisper in my ear, and his following words will haunt me to end of my days.
“You are Rachel’s daughter, but you are also a child of *my* purest bloodline,” He groaned. “You will inherit my gift soon enough.”
I still want to pretend I misinterpreted him. But I know I didn't. I understood him perfectly. He was never my grandad.
He was my father.
I crawled backwards, horrified and disbelieving eyes stretched wide. I crawled straight into my real father’s warm, comforting arms. How did this monster rape my mother twice? Sweets, I imagine. And now I fear what he might have been doing to me in my sleep over the years.
“Why did you kill her?” My dad blubbered.
Grandad sighed, though it was little more than a strained wheeze. “All perfect things must be preserved in The Catalogue. Otherwise, they tarnish.”
Simon re-entered the room, and I turned to see that he was holding a Polaroid camera in his free hand.
“They’re ready to be catalogued, Father, and—” Simon began.
Everything happened quickly. My father, utilising Simon’s brief moment of distraction, sprang towards him. He propelled from the floor with such speed and force that, when he collided with the detective, the two of them hurtled through the open doorway into the main corridor. And my grandad — if I should even call him that anymore — howled like a wounded wolf, supporting himself on the armrests of his throne and attempting to stand.
I don’t know what overcame me. But my body moved before my mind had even registered the situation. I lurched forwards and roughly thrust my hands into my grandfather’s bony, shrivelled chest. He felt cold. Even by the fire, he felt cold.
He and his throne of matted hair fell into the inferno, and he screeched at a piercing volume as the flames ensnared him. I stood in a frozen position, witnessing a truly horrifying spectacle of burning hair, flesh, and whatever else formed the Bogeyman. But it was all over far quicker than I expected. He was reduced to a charred mess, concealed by flame.
“Father!” I heard Simon splutter in pain.
I turned to see my dad knelt on the madman’s chest, launching punch after punch into his bloody, bruised face.
“Cara!” Dad shouted, not taking his eyes off the monster he was bludgeoning to death. “Call the police!”
I quickly scooped my phone out of my pocket, dialled 999, and the rest is a blur.
My dad managed to stop just short of killing Simon. I had nightmares of the detective’s corrupt fellow police officers bailing him out and arresting us instead, but they swiftly surrounded the house and apprehended Simon without a moment’s hesitation. I hope he never sees the light of day, but perhaps we should have pushed him in the fire too.
Is that my Grandad speaking? Have I inherited his insane bloodlust as he promised?
I think I eyed the fireplace in a trance for a good hour or so. Eventually, I managed to pull my gaze away and leave with my father. Though there was nothing of Grandad left at that point, I just had to be sure I'd burnt him to ashes. He spent so many years living in the shadows — an immortal spectre that watched us night and day. I suppose I’ll never *truly* believe that he’s gone for good.
After all, the Bogeyman is dead, but his bloodline lives.
|
My Name is Anna, and I just moved to a new neighborhood with my Shitz Shu Toby.
We moved to a small quaint town in Oregon, with a population of around 5000 people. I'm going to leave out anymore detail In fear that someone Will go looking for the horrid things I bore witness to.
When I first moved to the small Oregon suburb, I made it a priority to introduce myself to my new neighbors, mostly because I'm new to town and desperately need friends. I decided to start my neighbor meeting "escapade" with the house across the street.
The house was a older two story brick home, and absolutely stunning If you can ignore the 12 foot fence around back.
Even with the obviously distracting fence, the home was infinitely more beautiful than mine, with its peeling siding, and rotting porch.
"At least I have a doggy door for Toby." I said out loud while crossing the street, and stepping up onto my neighbors porch.
I walked up to the old wooden door and knocked lightly. Almost immediately after, a small old, and dainty man opened the door.
"what do you want?" He scorned quickly.
"Oh hello." I said, letting my anxiety get the best of me.
"My name is Anna, my dog and I just moved in across the street." I stated. Just as the words left my mouth, the mans face turned ghost white.
"You have dogs?" the man said, as though he was taken aback by the situation.
"Well, just the one. He's a sh-" Just as I was about to finish my sentence, the man interrupted.
"Keep your dog away from my fence, I don't ever want to see it on my property!" The man shouted, as he was closing his door. Shaken by this interaction, I decided to cut my neighbor meeting quest short and went back home, to dwell on what had just occurred.
"Could what he said have anything to do with his comically large fence? was he raising elephants, and didn't want them to step on my dog?"
I Chuckled.
just as I was thinking about starting my comedy career after making myself laugh, Toby ran out of his doggy door.
I bolted towards the door after him, remembering what the neighbor whose name I didn't catch, had said to me.
I slung the door open to find Toby just doing his business. I sighed a sigh of relief.
"Even if something was behind that fence, I doubt Toby would care anyway." I muttered to my self. Just as I finished that thought, Toby promptly proved me wrong by growling at the fence. My whole body tensed up.
But what horrified me even more what ever growled back. It growled as if it had just learned how by trying to mimic Toby.
My mind quickly fabricated a story to ease itself.
"Maybe the neighbor has a special needs dog or something, and doesn't want Toby to bully it." I thought naively. after calming down, I grabbed Toby and made my way back home. I walked in the door and was suddenly hit with a wave of nausea, this didn't yield too much concern, as nausea was a common symptom with my anxiety. However, this wave of anxiety was overwhelmingly intense.
I dropped Toby on the floor, and stumbled over to my couch to lay down. Just as soon as my head hit the arm rest, I lost consciousness. After what had to have been hours, I awoke in a cold sweat. I sat up in a daze while reaching for my phone so I could check the time. A feeling of sorrow hit me when the clock read 3:00 A.M.
"Great there goes my sleep schedule." I muttered. Just as the thought left my mind I heard barking outside, barking that sounded just like Toby.
"Shit I forgot about the doggy door," I said while striding to the door. I slung the door open to the sight of Toby starting to dig under the fence. I started a full sprint to Toby, but missed him by a second as he slid under the fence. Not even Five seconds after Toby got under the fence, I heard what sounded like a dog chirp in pain.
"Damn it Toby, I can't afford a vet bill because you want to pick on the neighbors dog." I started pulling out my phone to use the flash on the camera to see what's going on. It turned out being the worst mistake I've ever made.
I saw the most gut-wrenching thing someone could lay eyes on.
The creature was tall, skinny, and pale. It hosted large, soulless, black eyes. The longer I stared, the more dread that built inside me.
The creatures jaw was unhinged, and it was swallowing Toby, like a snake eats its prey, which would have driven me insane If the creature staring right at me hadn't done it first. I stood up as quickly as I could dashing back to my house.
Once I finally got into the door, I came to the decision to use what I think are my last hours alive writing this warning.
Always respect someone's wishes because one day You may come across something you regret. |
I live in a small town which has never had a population larger than eight thousand people, it's one of those towns in where everyone knows everyone and where gossip travels fast.
#x200B;
Usually the gossip is very underwhelming. Like who has been taking books from the take a book leave a book box without leaving a book behind or why did Mr. Danis stay in his RV for the night while Mrs. Danis had a girls night in the house. However on a cold night in October all the harmless small town gossip changed to something horrifying and mystifying, the disappearance of the quiet eleventh grader Jamie Hurst...
#x200B;
Jamie and his family had just moved into the town a year prior to his disappearance and lived into the small two bedroom house at the very end of Woodlawn Street, the house was previously lived in by Mr. Vernis a military veteran who was infamous in the town for being a very sweet but stern individual. Vernis died four days after his one-hundredth birthday, The town mourned the loss and the house stayed vacant for nearly eight years before the Hurst family bought and quickly moved into the home.
#x200B;
The week they moved in is the week I met Jamie Hurst, Jamie was introduced to our grade ten class and immediately made friends with much of the more popular kids from the school, Jamie moved to our town from San Francisco and that quickly made him very popular being the only family in our town to come from such a big city. Let me mention before I continue anymore that I was in no way close with Jamie, actually I never really interacted with him at all other than the couple of times we were put together in group projects. Jamie joined the school basketball team and got the reputation as sort of a jock. The school year continued on like any other school year, Jamie's aura as the new student quickly faded and just like that he was just another student at our school. Before any of us knew it, it was already June and the end of the school year was approaching, now for a lot of students this meant talking about their big summer plans.. My family and I like usual did not have any big extravagant summer plans like Jeremy's three week Caribbean vacation, Diana's usual Montana cottage trip or Petr's summer long vacation to Holland to visit family. My family could not afford anything such as those, we were lucky enough to have the money this year to go to a amusement park on one of the weekends this summer, don't get me wrong I am not ungrateful for this I absolutely love the amusement park we go to and I am beyond thankful that my parents worked so hard just to be able to afford for me to go.
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The question of summer plans than quickly turned over to Jamie, Jamie instead of becoming ecstatic about what he and his family had planned this summer instead went quiet as he quickly tried to glaze over the subject hoping that we would just move on from him and onto the next person. This was something I had noticed and thought of as very strange and uncharacteristic of him, Usually Jamie would be someone who was very vocal and seemed to be outgoing, whether it be in class or with friends such as this. Thankfully for Jamie though his hopes came true as the other students continued on without pressing on the matter and continued on boasting about all the things they would be doing this summer.
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With that summer break came, Our final day of school was a uneventful one with all of the tests being finished and teachers being left without a curriculum to follow the day was full of word searches and extra PE time. Once the bell rang for the end of the day the students all belted loudly with excitement and quickly left their desks.. except for Jamie, instead Jamie's expression was that of what almost seemed like fear? I watched as Jamie slowly grabbed his bookbag and hung his head low, I almost wanted to approach him and reach out to see what was wrong but as I had never been close with him all school year I instead chose to just keep my distance.
That summer ended up being one of the best summers of my childhood, we went to the amusement park and won a contest that I begged my parents to enter, the prize being free amusement park entry for a month. I swear I spent almost every day for the next month going and riding the rides, one time I rode the Mind-Boggler so much that I threw up. The thought of Jamie and his strange behaviour at the last day of the school year did not cross my mind at all that summer.. until the last day before school.
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I was laying in bed half excited and half dreading the beginning of the new school year, on one hand I was so happy that I would be seeing the few school friends I do have once again but on the other it was the eleventh grade and the classes I had this year were going to be very difficult.. Boy looking back now childhood troubles seem so insignificant and easy compared to what we deal with now as adults. As I lay there thinking about school my mind came across something that it had not thought about the entire summer, Jamie Hurst and how strange and unlike himself he acted as the school year came to an end. I tried to push it aside thinking about how so many things could have caused that reaction from him, maybe his scores on his year end tests were not the best? maybe trouble at home? maybe just him being a teenager and going through teenager problems? whatever the issue was for some reason that night it was all I could think about, eventually though I managed to drift off to sleep...
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It was seven AM and I awoke feeling exhausted but at the same time excited and nervous for the first day back to school, once again the thought of Jamie was not present and my focus was once again school. I arrived by 8AM fifteen minutes before the first bell. This gave me a little time to reconnect with my school friends, we quickly talked about our summers. Jeremy was still burnt from falling asleep in a beach chair by the pool at his resort, Diana went on about how when she is older she is moving to Montana and Petr talked about how he barely made it back in time due to his flight being cancelled three times. We stood outside our classroom door as the other students all began to line up by the door, all chattering in unison before our teacher Mr. Cotton arrived quieting the class and opening the door and telling us all to pick our seats, making it a point to mention how the seats we choose will be the seats we will have for the entire semester. I somehow managed to be one of the final students to get a seat, I was left to either choose a seat at the very front of the class or one of the two seats available at the very back of the room. I of course chose one of the back seats, no way I would put myself in the front of the classroom like that Mr. Cotton is well known for believing the kids at the front of his class are the ones who know all the answers to his questions.
After about five minutes Mr. Cotton began roll call, Every student in the classroom was present except for one in particular.. That being Jamie Hurst, Mr. Cotton paused expecting to hear the boy call here like every other student but after a minute of silence the teacher looked up and nodded his head in disappointment before muttering under his breath "Absent on the first day, not good at all" before finishing roll call. Class went on like any other class would until thirty minutes in when during a lesson about the history of world war two Mr. Cotton's speech would be suddenly interrupted by the classroom door quickly swinging open. Quietly with his head down Jamie entered the classroom looking unrecognizable from the last time he was seen, his usually well kempt Blonde hair was greasy, matted and looked like it had not been brushed in several weeks, his bright and wonderous green eyes now looked sunken and dark with bags under them making it seem as if he hadn't slept for the entire summer break, the clothes he wore now were dirty and ripped when before he would get upset if he got just a tiny stain on them. Mr. Cotton looked dumfounded by Jamie's appearance and tardiness as was the rest of the class, as quiet gasps were heard at the sight of Jamie. Jamie chose the seat at the back of the class right beside me and slumped down into the seat not smiling or even giving attention to any of the other kids in the class, kids that just a few months ago were his close friends.
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This strange theme continued for the rest of the week with Jamie arriving later and later for class and looking more dishevelled and depressed. One thing that never changed with Jamie was the clothes he was wearing, he arrived everyday with the same dirty grey hoodie, ripped and stained light blue track pants and scuffed and worn down pair of white and red jordan sneakers. Mr. Cotton began to look more concerned for Jamie after each day. By time Friday came Jamie was asked by Mr. Cotton to stay behind after class, at this remark Jamie stood so quickly that the chair he was seated on flew backwards and hit the wall. Jamie stared right into Mr. Cotton's eyes before cursing at him, in an instant Jamie grabbed his bookbag and stormed out of the class... This was the last time Jamie ever went to school. For weeks following the incident Jamie would be seen arriving to school in the morning only to leave as the bell rang for first period.
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On the first day of October it was especially cold and gray outside and thanks to my father's loud and noisy morning routine I was woken up by 6AM. Instead of falling back to sleep for an hour I decided I would get ready and go to school early today, maybe I could try the schools breakfast program and see if it is really as bad as all the students say it is. I got myself ready and arrived to school by 7:15am, quite a bit before any of the other students. I believed I was alone.. that was until I saw a lone boy sitting on the front steps of the school, it was Jamie Hurst. At first I kept my distance but Jamie looked up and saw me he broke a very faint and tiny smile before nodding at me to come over to him.
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Extremely hesitant I took a deep breath and exhaled before slowly taking steps towards him, I had never interacted with Jamie one on one and I already had social anxiety, so that on top of Jamie's complete change of character I was definitely intimidated to say the least. When I approached Jamie my heart was racing as there was a moment of silence that felt as if it would last forever so I worked up the courage to finally break it.
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So ugh, Jamie how have you.. In that instant I was cut off by Jamie as he held up his hand and held his other hand to his mouth, Jamie then reached into his hoodie pocket and rummaged before pulling out something, He turned his closed hand and opened it to reveal three teeth covered in dried blood. Jamie then began to smile an uncomfortably long smile, Thus revealing a mouth void of any teeth at all. At this very moment my heart felt as if it was going to burst out of my chest, I could not help but to let out a scream of terror at the sight of Jamie. Jamie tilted his head and dropped the teeth on the ground before laughing wildly. In that instant Jamie reached towards me but I managed to step backwards just managing to avoid Jamie's grasp. I quickly turned and sprinted away from Jamie as fast as a was physically able to do so, as I made space between him and I all I was able to hear was the loud and almost forced sounding laughter belting out from Jamie. I ran without catching my breath for what seemed like at least an hour until I was only a block away from my house. I rushed to it and burst through the front door and right into my mother who was about to leave for work, In shock and complete horror I spilled out exactly what had happened to my mother. Her face went from confusion to a mirrored terror to mine. She allowed me to stay home from school that day and called the local police department telling them in exact detail on what happened, The police seemed to not totally believe in what my mother was saying but gave in and told her that they would do a checkup at the Hurst adress... what happened after that has continued to haunt me and the town till this very day.....
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The police arrived to the Hurst residence by 1PM that day and after several attempts to get an answer at the front door they became concerned as the Hurst's car was parked in the driveway, After roughly 25 minutes the police forced their way into the residence and walked into a grisly scene. Before them laid the bodies of Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, both of them were badly decomposed presumed to have been dead for months now. The wretched smell of the bodies made several of the Officers puke and many had to leave the house at the sight of it, being small town police in a town with very little crime this was the first time many of them have ever seen something as horrific as this. The officers began to look around the house searching for Jamie, But Jamie was nowhere to be found. The only sign that Jamie was there was teeth, the rest of Jamie's teeth along with the full sets of teeth of his parents. The teeth were all placed onto Jamie's bed put into a strange design... a design of a war medal. Next to the teeth was a note, written in a sticky red substance. Here is what the note read..
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**HOW I SPENT MY SUMMER**
June 10th
Mr. Vernis has become so demanding as of late, at first he only wanted us to respect him.. Now he won't let mom and dad leave the house. He only let's me leave when one of us offer him a piece of us, my parents decided to use their teeth.. They told me that they will continue to offer up their own so I could continue school.. I've tried to act normal but now with summer here I wont be able to leave, I dont want them to suffer anymore, they're almost out of teeth to give... soon I will have to step up.
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June 29th
Mr. Vernis has become aggressive, I should have never unlocked that journal.. Now my dad is dead, Mr. Vernis said I could live as long as my mother stabbed my father in the neck seven times.. she did it. she really did it.
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July 8th
She's dead.. I am so alone now. I wish we never moved here. I have accepted that I am to be next. Mr. Vernis tells me that he will raise me now. I can't sleep or eat, my mom is in the bathtub... I smell terrible but I cannot muster up enough courage to get her out of there.
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July 26th
I left the house for the first time today. Mr. Vernis said I had to give him two teeth for everytime I left now.. I did it, It felt relieving. I thank Mr. Vernis now...
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August 2nd
The bodies are starting to smell so bad, I moved mom beside dad.. I think she would of wanted that..
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August 20th
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School starts again soon, I think I am going to start going. I can't take this anymore.. Mr. Vernis said that if I give my teeth to someone that I will be free from all of this. I need to be free, I have to..
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September 1st
Free.. **SET ME FREE**
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Shortly after this the Hurst residence was swiftly condemned and torn down, with the only thing being left is a small garden with a plaque in memory of the Hurst family.
It has been over twenty years since Jamie Hurst has disappeared, Twenty years since the Hurst families grim fate... Twenty years is a long time, and I honestly think of this as a distant memory.. I am only writing this because this morning the strangest thing happened, When I went to leave my house I stumbled upon a small baby blue box on my doorstep. I picked it up and began to open it before seeing what it was... Inside the box contained three small... bloody teeth... |
I woke up one fateful morning to an unsettling hush enveloping every nook and cranny of my familiar surroundings. As I prepared myself for the day that lay ahead, the absence of bustling life left me feeling restless and uneasy. Throughout the hours that ticked by, a disquieting sense of unease settled deep within me, stirring my curiosity and compelling me to unravel the mystery that shrouded this profound silence.
Stepping out onto my porch, I was met with an eerie stillness that seemed to hang in the air like a heavy fog. The usual symphony of sounds that would accompany the dawning of a new day was conspicuously absent, intensifying my apprehension. The crisp morning breeze carried a foreboding quality, whispering secrets of a silenced world. What was once a vibrant neighborhood now felt empty and desolate, devoid of life and the joyous energy that once permeated every corner. The complete absence of even a single living soul added to the knot of unease that coiled in the pit of my stomach, fueling my determination to unearth the truth.
With cautious steps, I embarked on my journey, venturing into the silent streets, my surroundings mirroring the depths of an abandoned abyss. Subtle changes began to emerge, casting an eerie hue upon the tapestry of my surroundings. The once-lively front yards, adorned with vibrant flowers that danced in the sun's warm embrace, now harbored shriveled and lifeless petals, a haunting reminder of the hibernation that had befallen the world. The absence of chirping birds and buzzing insects accentuated the profound silence, causing my footsteps to reverberate eerily against the vacant houses as if they were echoes of a long-forgotten past.
Curiosity propelled me forward, my feet carrying me toward the pulsating heart of the city. With each step I took, my hope grew, an ember flickering in the darkness, yearning for a spark of familiarity and reassurance. However, as I approached the bustling metropolis that once thrived with life, what lay before me was akin to a haunting ghost town. Abandoned cars, frozen in time, lined the desolate streets, their engines silenced as if time itself had come to a standstill. The echoes of hurried footsteps and cheerful chatter had been replaced by a deafening roar of solitude, amplifying my own heartbeat in the cavern of silence that surrounded me.
Panic began to seep into my veins, urging me to quicken my pace in search of any glimpse of familiarity amongst this vast expanse of emptiness. Passing by once-familiar landmarks that now stood as quiet sentinels of isolation, a sense of profound despair washed over me. The vibrant cafes and shops that were once the lifeblood of the community now sat in darkness and emptiness, their doors tightly shut, as if hiding from an invisible threat that loomed outside. The absence of people and the haunting silence became increasingly unnerving, leaving me overwhelmed by a suffocating sense of isolation as if I were the sole witness to this strange phenomenon.
Still, I forged ahead, my determination unwavering, the flicker of hope guiding me through the desolation. And then, as if the universe had heard my silent pleas, a faint, wavering light seeped through the dusty windows of a long-forgotten bookstore, offering a glimmer of solace and sanctuary amidst the chaos. A mixture of relief and trepidation filled my heart as I cautiously pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside, the air heavy with the scent of aged paper and forgotten tales.
The bookstore became my refuge, a haven where time stood still and the stories of antiquity danced upon the shelves. Dimly lit aisles led me on a journey through the pages of forgotten worlds, where the words of authors long gone whispered their tales into the depths of my soul. With each turn of a page, I found solace in the exquisite prose that caressed my imagination and transported me to faraway lands, offering a temporary respite from the weight of my worries.
Lost in the enchantment of the books, an ethereal tranquility settled upon me, wrapping me in its gentle embrace. And just when the silence threatened to overtake my senses, a voice broke through the stillness, shattering the spell that had held me captive. "Hello there," a hushed, gentle voice called out, causing me to startle in surprise. I turned around, my heart pounding in my chest, only to find an elderly gentleman standing there, his eyes filled with wisdom and empathy, his lips curved into a kind smile.
Relief flooded my senses as I poured out the details of my bewildering expedition, sharing the disquieting emptiness that had swallowed the world whole. The old man listened intently, nodding with understanding as if he had witnessed this phenomenon many times fold.
The old man nodded sagely, his eyes brimming with affinity. "Ah, dear one, you have stumbled upon a rare phenomenon," he said, his voice carrying a soothing quality. "The world, as you perceive it, has temporarily entered a state of hibernation. A momentary pause, if you will."
With a calm voice, he went on to explain that periodically, the planet yearned for a moment of respite, an ephemeral interlude to break free from the relentless hustle and bustle. During these periods, all living creatures succumbed to a temporary slumber, and the world retreated into a profound silence, enveloped in a tranquil stillness. It was these moments when they rested, rejuvenated, and eventually emerged when the time was right.
As the old man's words sank deep into the depths of my soul, a newfound calmness and solace blanketed my being. The absence of noise served as a poignant reminder of the inherent beauty that lies within moments of solitude and stillness. Though unsettling, this temporary hibernation of the world spoke volumes about the resilience of nature and the awe-inspiring power of equilibrioception.
Should an event of such nature happen to befall you, as it has upon myself, fret not, for always keep in mind that you are not alone. This occurrence has transpired throughout the ages since the inception of our world. If ever you find yourself in a state of bewilderment or yearning for solace, seek out the wise old gentleman, for he shall be your guiding light. In due course, the world shall reclaim its customary rhythm; all that is required is the virtue of patience. |
Hello all. I wish the internet were around back when I was younger; maybe then I wouldn't be living in this constant state of paranoia. But here we are now, so I might as well leave it all on the table. Sorry if this isn't some well written essay or something, it's just mostly the rambling of an older man trying to make sense of things.
I was a happy kid growing up. Times weren't like how they are now; all us kids, ranging from toddlers to teenagers, played unsupervised all over the neighborhood. Street hockey, make believe knights, wilderness exploration, you name it. It was simpler back then. And many people would tell you it was safer. But they're wrong. The story I will share with you today is only the first of a myriad of happenings that have haunted me ever since:
The rain was sporadically pouring down upon us, but that didn't stop anyone from playing. Any time it picked up, we'd just find some cover and as soon as it let up, it was back to action. Everyone went about their normal activities as if the sun were beating down on us and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. But me and my best friend Tim had other ideas. It didn't rain often where we lived, so the two of us reveled in any opportunity we could get to play in it. We went around like idiots filling up garbage hood lids with water and then taking turns dumping it on one another. Eventually we grew tired of our monotonous play and decided to take a break and have some ice pops. I loved cherry and he loved blueberry. Ironically enough, both of our parents loved the opposite flavor we enjoyed, thus we had a deal; I'd trade him my blueberry and he'd give me a cherry in return. We were barterers in the making. I'm sorry, that really had nothing to do with the main reason I'm writing thisf here, but I feel like cherishing those memories are the only thing that's keeping me sane nowadays... But I digress... After we had completed our cold cuisines, Tim had the idea to make an obstacle course on the street in the cul-de-sac area of our neighborhood. You see, this particular plot of street was filled to the brim with potholes galore. Tim explained that we'd hop from puddle to puddle, as if any ground other than the potholes was lava (yes I know, lava and rain don't make sense together). I for one thought it was brilliant and without a second thought, we got up and made our way to the makeshift obstacle course.
It was better than we had hoped. Each hole was overflowing with water. Our shoes would surely drown and our mothers would surely hit us for having destroyed them, but it was totally worth it. We started off on the sidewalk with the "children at play" sign. The goal was to make it all the way to the other side of the street where the fire hydrant was, without ever stepping foot on the actual road itself. And just like that, like kids always do; we didn't think, we just did. Tim started hopping from pothole to pothole, causing watery volcanic eruptions with every stomp. I followed two potholes behind, as to not get any water in my eyes that would impede my vision forward. It was exhilarating. Tim and I were whooping and howling the whole way through. Our thundering screams probably annoyed all the people inside their houses, but we didn't care. We were both wailing our heads off... until I was the only one screaming. I watched it all happen, probably less than ten feet in front of me. Tim was in the second to last puddle and made his grand leap into the final pothole... but he never hit the ground. As soon as he made contact with the surface of the water, he just kept going until his whole body had been submerged.
For the first time I can remember, I was absolutely speechless. I stepped out of my pothole and made my way towards the one he had just disappeared into. Carefully placing one foot in, the only thing I found was the street just a few inches down. I was so confused. I probably stood there dumbfounded for about a minute before something caught my eye. Directly in front of me was a house that none of us knew about. We always assumed it was some old people cause they never came out and we've never seen any kids there. But at that moment, on that day for whatever particular reason, someone in that house showed themselves. He was a scraggly man. Long and lean, almost sickeningly. I barely got to see what he looked like before he had fully shut his shades. But I could still see his shadow standing there, unmoving, simply watching me. Slowly I could see his hand move up to his head, with one finger raised. It was the same motion my mother made while she was on the phone to shush me up.
I was never a scared kid. Monsters didn't exist, there was no crime to plague us and the dark meant nothing to me. But in that moment I was scared. I had never felt like that before and I hated the feeling. I instinctively ran home. Ran as fast as my little legs could. Probably ran the fastest I've ever run in my life, that day.
It wasn't long until both my parents and Tim's came back to the spot to investigate. I had told them what had happened, too the tune of much disbelief. But they could see that I was scared, so they knew *something* had indeed taken place. But it couldn't possibly be the ramblings of some six year old kid, now could it?
Without any sign of Tim, the police were soon called and a search party scoured the neighborhood and nearby woods. It felt like the entire neighborhood showed up to help. It would've been a heartwarming feeling if the story had a happy ending, but of course, I wouldn't be here if it did. Cadaver dogs were brought in, but all they did was follow his scent to the pothole I saw him vanish in and begin whimpering. With the lack of luck locating Tim, police began questioning the residents in the cul-de-sac. But of course, no one saw anything. Night had fallen and the rain had ceased. Many people went home, deciding to go in for the night, despite a little boy being lost. As I was seemingly the only witness, the police grilled me over and over again to tell them the truth. And I did. With frustrations increasing, the cops all but left me be, as my story was not changing. Seemingly as a last resort (though I feel like this is the first thing they should've done), the sheriff spoke to me. I always liked the sheriff, hell, everyone liked him. He was not some chubby donut eating cop who had nothing better to do in an area where the only crimes were local idiots getting drunk and falling asleep on people's lawn. No, we was a *police officer,* through and through. He was big and strong and his burly mustache was the icing on the cake that was his stature. But more than that, he was kind. After I recounted my story yet again, instead of discrediting me and yelling at me to stop making up stories, he simply put his hand on my shoulder and said "okay." I'm not sure to this day whether he believed me or was just trying to comfort me, but that single word meant a lot.
"Do you know if anyone else was around when this happened."
Again, a question I had been asked before, but this time I finally felt safe to inform him of the man at the window. I wish I never did. "One second," he said and walked off to converse with his subordinates and local residents. After a few minutes he returned to me and crouched down. With a sigh he simply said "son, no one lives in that house."
That's when I cried. I cried and cried until I was literally chocking. I know what I saw. The sheriff could see how distraught I was and went to check the house out. He was so kind. The door was locked when her tried opening it, so he called a few of his people to help him ram it open. And inside they went. Everything was so quiet. The twenty or so of us who waited outside stared down that house in sheer silence, as it we were expecting a blazing gun fight to go off at any moment. But this wasn't a movie. The sheriff and his men walked back out and just shook their heads. And I cried again.
It's been decades now. Tim was never found. People moved on. His *own family* moved on. But not me. I wasn't allowed to move on. *He* wouldn't let me... |
Are we there yet? I can't wait to see granny!
Said my son in an excited voice
Not yet, buddy, not yet. we still have quite the long drive ahead of us!
Awwww...
Oh, don't worry, we'll get there soon!
Me, my wife and 2 sons were going to visit my parents in Edmonton. It was quite a long drive, as we lived in the fairbanks, so we had to stop and rest every now and then. We were all quite excited. I remember the last time I saw my mother was over 2 years ago. As I was driving, it started snowing, more and more, until, eventually, we were in the middle of a blizzard. I decided to stop the car so we could sleep for a while, I was driving for 7 hours after all
Thick fog started to set in as I started to steer the car to the side of the road when my nightmare began
As I was steering my car to the left, I saw a humanoid figure standing in the middle of the road. My son was the first to notice it.
DAD WATCH OU-
BANG
I passed out for what seemed like 3 hours. When I woke up, I saw blood all around me... the car split in half... I turned around to see a sight that would haunt me for the rest of my days. I saw the lifeless body of my eldest son, split PERFECTLY in half. I broke down crying as the insides of my son spilled all over the car seats
What is this nightmare?!
WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIIIISSS?!!!
I said to myself while breaking down in tears
Amidst all the chaos, I overlooked the fact that the other half with my wife and child was... somewhere...
As I was drowning in trepidation, I was fearing for the worst when I heard my son's cries coming from down the road
MOMMY!!!! DADDY!!!!!! HELPPPP!!!!!!
A smile was drawn on my face. One of my boys was still alive!!!
With all the cuts and pain from the crash, I carried myself out of the car and started limping towards the direction of the noise.
I always carry a gun with me just in case I need to defend myself or my family. Surprisingly, the gun didn't go off or get damaged during the crash... I took it out of the holster and aimed in front of me
The blizzard got stronger as the fog got thicker, I could barely see a thing when I heard my son's cries again
DAAAAAAAAADDDD!!!!!
I tried to walk faster, but the snow was just too strong. As my son's cries got quiter and quiter, I heard something sprinting towards me
Who could run in this weather?!!!
I said to myself...
In a sense of fear and panick, I aimed the gun in front of me as I saw something rapidly approaching as it got more and more visible in the fog. I could finally see its full appearance, its hideous twisted face, the horns sticking out of its head, and its massive claws
As it unleashed a chilling screech, I had no time to react. I put my finger on the trigger as it leaped at me with its mouth wide open
BANG BANG BANG
It collapsed in front of me as I fired the third shot
What is that thing?!
I asked myself
As my brain was processing what had just happened, I heard another demonic screech
Ready to kill, I already had my gun aimed in the direction of the noise, but it was different this time...
I could hear the sounds of flesh being torn apart as a woman screamed her lungs out. All of a sudden, I heard my son's voice
MOMMY!!!!! LEAVE HER YOU EVIL MONSTER!!!!!!!
Oh Lord... that... that was Stephanie!
I walked as fast as I could towards the noise when I finally saw them...
I saw one of those things devouring the now dead corpse of my wife as my son tried hitting him with a stick
In a panic, I aimed my pistol at the creature, steadied my hands, and pulled on the trigger
BANG BANG BANG
What the hell?!
I saw the gunshots bounce off its skin like it was rubber. It stood up and grabbed my son by the neck as it ran away while releasing another screech
I couldn't process what had just happened... I was... perplexed...
I was drowning in powerlessness, I felt a sense of misery. I put my gun up to my head, closed my eyes, and put my finger on the trigger...
I was about to pull it when I heard
DAD!
I opened my eyes and I saw my son standing right in front of me, I hugged him as hard as I could when all of a sudden
KHEEEYAAAAAH!!!!!
I felt him being snatched out of my hands as one of the creatures leaped at us and took him. Realization hit me
If they didn't kill him 2 minutes ago, how do I know they'll kill him now?
I picked my gun up from the ground and went in the direction the creature went in, I kept on walking for what seemed like hours. The blizzard eventually stopped, but thick fog still blinded me. I eventually got tired and went into the forest. I gathered some tree branches and shot them to start a fire, I sat near the fire to warm up
After being worried, stressed, and terrified for so long, I finally felt a sense of calm wash over me. I remembered that I had my phone in my pocket, I called 911 immediately, but instead of hearing the usual "911, what's your emergency?" I heard a language I could not understand over the phone, followed by my son's cries
The calm I felt disappeared in an instant. I was hopeless, powerless, lost in my own thoughts.
Why is this happening to me? To us...
I felt more anxious than ever when I heard my stomach growling, I saw a rabbit running around near me, I grabbed it, took a sharp rock from the ground, and killed it.
I guess this is my dinner now
I said to myself as I was skinning the rabbit
I sit alone, anxious, lost, and hopeless. I wanted to write this not to keep people up at night but to warn them of this. I don't want anyone to experience what I experienced... I will probably be dead by the time someone sees this, but if I am still breathing, I will be sure to keep everyone updated |
In the bustling chaos of Bridgetown, amidst the vibrant Saturday morning rush, my mother and I traversed the streets of Fairchild Street with purpose. Laden with groceries, our destination was the bus terminal, where we hoped to secure our ride home. My mother clutched my hand tightly, her protective grip shielding me from the perils lurking around every corner.
However, our journey took an unexpected detour when my mother halted at a vendor's stall, lured by the allure of tempting avocados. Engaged in a intense negotiation, she released her grip on my hand, entrusting me to remain close and out of harm's way. It was during this momentary lapse in vigilance that I noticed him—a figure lurking in the shadows of a narrow alleyway across the street.
He was a formidable presence, a towering giant with a bald head glistening in the sunlight. Clad in an creepy black buttoned shirt and long, foreboding pants, he exuded an air of malevolence. His age, somewhere in his fifties, was betrayed by the deep lines etched upon his face, while a silver chain glinted around his neck.
But it wasn't his appearance that held me captive; it was the object clutched within his grasp—a collection of lollipops, a tantalizing assortment that beckoned to me.
As if possessed, I found myself irresistibly drawn towards this enigmatic figure, his beckoning gesture akin to a siren's call. The vendor's voice faded into the background as my eyes fixated solely on that array of sugary delights. With a quick glance in both directions, I darted across the pavement, heedless of the invisible danger that lurked beneath the surface.
Approaching the man, his presence loomed larger than life. The scent of mischief and dread hung heavy in the air. Extending a lollipop towards me, the crimson hue of the strawberry flavor enticed me further. My hand reached out instinctively, magnetized by the promise of sweetness. And that was when it happened.
In an instant, his huge hands closed around me, clamping over my mouth before I had even a chance to scream. Panic seized the depths of my soul as he whisked me away, shoving me forcefully into the confines of a white panel van. The desire for a mere lollipop was swiftly overshadowed by an overwhelming terror that paralyzed me to my core. Tears streamed down my face as I wailed, my voice lost amidst the chaos of this nightmare.
The van lurched forward, careening through the streets with reckless abandon. Each abrupt turn sent me crashing against the unforgiving walls, my body battered and bruised. I clung to the remnants of my composure, bracing myself for the onslaught of each subsequent jolt. And then, abruptly, the van ceased its thunderous journey, casting me forward in a disorienting whirlwind of motion.
The man, the harbinger of my torment, emerged from the driver's seat and flung open the back door. His hands, rough and calloused, closed around me once more, dragging me out into an unfamiliar back alley. Panic gripped my heart as I was propelled through the dimly lit, dusty corridors of a dilapidated building. Each step echoed ominously, heightening the sense of anxiety that consumed me.
Finally, we arrived at a tattered white door, a gateway to the unknown. The man thrust it open, revealing a room enveloped in darkness, save for a solitary window that offered a mere sliver of light. The air within was heavy with decay, the floor strewn with remnants of a forgotten past. My heart raced, pounding against my ribcage like a desperate prisoner, as the man retrieved a length of rope from a nearby table.
With a swift, calculated motion, he bound my hands tightly behind my back, rendering me helpless. The knots dug into my flesh, a cruel reminder of my captivity. And then he vanished, his presence dissipating into the shadows, leaving me alone with my fear.
Time became an elusive concept within those walls, the boundaries between minutes and hours blurred into insignificance. Periodically, the bald-headed tormentor would return, offering me meager sustenance in the form of crackers and water, as if to prolong my anguish. And with each visit, a needle would pierce my skin, injecting an unknown substance that plunged me further into the abyss of unconsciousness.
How long did I endure this torment? I cannot say, for time ceased to hold any meaning within those walls of despair. But one thing remained certain—I was trapped, a pawn in the hands of a sadistic puppeteer, my innocence slowly eroding with each passing day.
As I regained consciousness, my surroundings slowly came into focus. The grimy walls of the alley seemed to close in on me, suffocating me with their stale stench. The pain radiating through my body was unbearable, as if every nerve ending had been set ablaze. I tried to sit up, but my muscles rebelled, refusing to obey my commands. I was trapped in this hellish nightmare.
Through the haze of my suffering, a familiar voice echoed in the distance, like a beacon of hope piercing the darkness. It was my father, his voice filled with desperation and fear. His footsteps grew louder, a deafening rhythm against the asphalt, as he raced towards me. And then, there he was, kneeling beside me, his arms enveloping me in a desperate embrace.
"Are you alright?" he pleaded, his voice trembling with a mixture of relief and anguish. "What did they do to you?"
I wanted to respond, to ease his worries, but my parched throat could only produce a feeble rasp. My tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth. All I could manage was a weak smile, a silent reassurance that I was alive.
The sound of sirens pierced the air, growing louder with each passing second. The police arrived, their flashing lights casting an eerie glow on the alley walls. They swarmed the area, their faces etched with determination, searching for any clue that could lead to my kidnapper.
But as the hours turned into days, and the days into weeks, hope began to fade. The investigation hit dead end after dead end, leaving my family and the authorities frustrated and lost. The kidnapper had vanished into thin air, leaving behind nothing but shattered lives and unanswered questions.
As I recovered from my physical injuries, my mind became plagued with haunting thoughts. Who had taken me? Why had they chosen me? And most importantly, were they still out there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for their next victim?
I became consumed by paranoia, my every waking moment filled with the fear of being snatched away once more. Sleep eluded me, as nightmares of masked figures and dank alleyways tormented my restless mind. The world had become a sinister place, where danger lurked around every corner. |
*A farmer approaches his chicken coop, the chicken coop itself looks like a small house, a tiny painting on the wall that looks like a rooster with a smile, two windows with bars and a metal door are all the noticable features of the chicken coop from the outside.*
*As the farmer gets closer, he notices the door popped out of it's frame and upon closer inspection, it looks like a professional boxer gave the door a few good hits.*
Farmer: Shit!
*The farmer quickly enters the chicken coop, expecting the worst, he starts counting his chickens, with a disappointed look on his face, he takes out his phone and calls someone.*
Farmer (On the phone): Hey! I know you're busy and all, but I really need your help, something big tore down the door of the coop and even took one of my chicken as it's dinner. Can you hop over here and help me change the door, I'll pay 'ya a hefty sum of cash!
*The farmer finishes his phone call, seemingly satisfied with how it went.*
*While he waits for the replacement door, he tries to find out what took one of his chickens, he stares at the chickens walking on the sawdust bedding, he tries to find any sign of struggle, blood or flesh, unfortunately he only sees the usual, noisy chickens walking on the sawdust bedding without a care in the world.*
*20 Minutes pass.*
*The farmer's friend carrying a seemingly impregnable door joins him, they shake hands and hastily get to work.*
*Some time passes, the new door is successfully installed.*
Farmer (Hands out a wad of cash): I owe you one, bud! Take this, you earned it!
*The farmer's friend takes the wad of cash with a smile.*
Farmer's friend: Let's just hope whatever broke down your first door doesn't come back, actually it would work well for me if it came back to wreck this door too, changing a door for this much moolah is well worth it!
Farmer: Cheeky bastard! Don't get your hopes up, I think this door will hold!
*The farmer's friend wishes him farewell and leaves.*
*The farmer gives his chickens fresh food and water, then locks the new chicken coop door and leaves.*
*The farmer once again approaches the chicken coop, looks like one day has passed.*
*This time, the door looks to be in pristine condition, a big smile appears on the farmer's face as he notices the door hasn't been penetrated.*
*The farmer unlocks the door and enters the chicken coop.*
*Instinctively he takes a look at his chickens.*
*The farmer's bright smile turns into an angry
expression.*
Farmer: Damn it! How?
*The farmer once again calls his friend.*
Farmer (On the phone): Man, you won't believe me! The door's all good, and yet one god-damned chicken is missing again! Something got away with it even though the windows have iron bars and the door looks like it's damn near bullet proof. I'll need to borrow your security camera, just for a little while, three days is more than enough, I have to see for myself what the hell's happening here!
*About 20 minutes pass.*
*The farmer's friend joins him once again, they quickly shake hands and get to work.*
*The camera is quickly set-up, it points directly to the chicken coop.*
Farmer's friend: Well, I don't know what kind of animal is killing your chickens, my guess is a bear that learned a lot from Houdini! Whatever the hell it is, the camera will catch it live and you're finally going to find out who or what your troublemaker really is!
Farmer: Yeah, I hope so. Don't worry, I'll return the cam in three days, just like I said!
Farmer's friend: Best of luck to 'ya!
*Once again the two friends part ways, the farmer locks the door and leaves.*
*A day passes, The farmer does the usual routine, but this time, no chicken is missing.*
*The same thing happens for two more days, it seems the farmer's luck finally changed for the better.*
*The farmer's friend arrives to pick up the camera.*
Farmer's friend: So, did you find out what the mystery intruder was?
Farmer: Not at all, three whole days passed and nothing unusual happened, I even reviewed the surveillance footage, all I could see is just boring old chickens!
Farmer's friend: Weird, looks like the mystery beast went on it's merry way, I guess it got sick of eating chicken every day!
Farmer: May it never return!
*The two friends part ways one last time, the farmer locks the door of the chicken coop and leaves.*
*It looks like it's nighttime, the chicken coop is shown from the inside*
*The sawdust bedding rustles, the chickens all run to one corner, they look to be in distress.*
*A lanky humanoid figure with short goatlike horns, emerges from the sawdust.*
*The mysterious creature lets out a deep yawn and stretches it's long arms, just like anyone would after a good night's sleep.*
*Without even a moment of hesitation, the creature lunges at the chickens, it grabs two of them by the neck, putting them in it's tight grip.*
*The creature calmly approaches the door of the chicken coop, a quick cracking sound is heard as the creature easily snaps the necks of the two chickens.*
*The creature puts down the lifeless bodies of the chickens down for a moment, with surprising power and speed, it starts punching the door.*
*Not even 20 hits are needed and the door pops out of it's frame.*
*The creature picks up both chickens, and slowly exits the chicken coop.*
*TAPE ENDS.*
*The same warning appears just like last time.*
*Not willing to waste any time and risk getting heavily injured, I quickly take out the tape out of the VCR and put in the next tape.*
*Tape 3: Butcher, Begins.* |
The International Space Station stopped responding to transmissions 2 days ago.
If you Google The ISS you will get all kinds of answers for its purpose. Some sites will claim it is purely for scientific gain and to see how zero gravity affects the human body while others claim that it is for the advancement of water purification methods.
They are all lies.
You have been lied to.
And you are all going to die for the sins of our government.
Nothing I do matters now. I don't have much time left.
But maybe I can warn you all before it's too late. Maybe someone who reads this will listen and expose all of this.
The craft that you are all told to be the ISS is nothing more than a satellite. It is a giant tube that generates a massive field that bends light around it. It's technology that we've had for years and is used to hide the actual ISS.
The real ISS is a giant circle with a circumference of approximately 2.3 miles across. Its main body is a white tube that rotates at such a speed that it creates downforce that mimics the gravity of Earth for those on board.
This allows the staff to walk around, drive, and even sleep just as they would on earth.
The purpose of such a place is to hold anything too dangerous to be kept on earth. Viruses, bio-weapons, and even alien life. Anything you could think of that you wouldn't want on earth is up here and I used to work with them firsthand.
When I got the opportunity to come here, I was ecstatic. It was the definition of the opportunity of a lifetime, and after getting all of the necessary clearances, I was shot into orbit along with my fellow colleagues, Ana Woodman and Jackson Price.
Ana was an amazing woman. We quickly became friends and bonded over our mutual love of science. We both thought that we were on the front lines of human progression. We would be in history books for what we accomplished…and when we arrived at the station, that was the dream we were sold.
They started us off on smaller projects.
Simple things like testing how alien life interacted with earthly viruses and bacteria to see if isolating their antibodies to potentially create new cures was possible.
But the longer we worked here, the worse it became. Soon my experiments became darker. I went from making cures to doing the opposite, testing how Botulinum Toxins affected an alien's nervous system, or even testing alien parasites on animals and watching them slowly die as black fluid slowly secreted out of their noses…
No matter how bad it truly got though, I always had my beautiful Ana. Even when what we were doing seemed unforgivable she always found a way to give me hope that what we were doing would forge the future for humanity.
I quickly fell in love with her for it and only a year later I would ask her to marry me.
Even though we couldn't get married on the station we'd planned to have a massive wedding when we got back home and even buy a house.
I looked forward to a bright future with her.
That future, however, was nothing more than the dream I had whenever I first arrived here.
Another in the long line of crushed spirits and apparitions that all came crashing down when our actions finally caught up with us.
One day I'd gotten word that a new project was starting. Some genius had come up with the excellent idea to infect an alien with mad cow disease. Do not be fooled, though I refer to this abomination as mad cow disease this is not the mad cow disease you're familiar with. This is a specially mad strain of bacteria that accomplishes the same effect through attacking the brain of its host.
Aliens are strange. We've only ever discovered a few different kinds but the ones that are the most plentiful are the standard, big headed, gray skinned creatures you imagine them to be. They are the scouts of a race that reside a few star systems over and the government has acquired a plentiful amount of test subjects due to their many trips to earth.
Their brains are very different from ours. Their neural pathways are nearly 3x more efficient than our own and have nearly 2x the regular mass of a human brain. Pair this with a special strain of mad cow disease that's been bombarded with every known antibiotic known to mankind and you get the end of the world.
Stage one of the infection isn't all that bad. You will experience a mild hunger followed by the feeling of needing to sleep fade away. The feel of hunger will only get worse as you slowly fall into madness. You see, the disease not only takes the need of sleep away, it takes the entire ability to as well.
After 24 hours of not sleeping the average human will begin to feel paranoia and after 48 they will begin to experience minor delusions.
I can now conclusively tell you all that after a week of no sleep they will be full-blown schizophrenic. Pair this with the now unbearable hunger and slowly decaying prefrontal cortex and you get violent and horrifying shells of humans.
During the autopsy process of the alien's brain there was a minor contact of fluids between one of the doctors.
I heard that he'd accidentally cut himself with his own scalpel and the fraction of a second was all it took for him to contract what is now dubbed Croatoan-15.
From his mouth, the disease was able to make it into the water supply from a quick drink from a water fountain and only 72 hours after infection the entire station was in chaos as everyone slowly began to lose the ability to sleep.
The worst part is that they are not being controlled.
This is not some parasite.
It is contagious madness.
The man I mentioned before, Jackson, now passes his time slowly making his way down the halls while calling out for help and if he gets a response will viciously attack and devour the one who came to his aid, thanking them as he ripped their intestines out and gorged himself.
My Ana was also not so lucky…
And I wept when she asked me to end her life when she found out.
She was one of the first ones to be confirmed infected and I agreed to spend the last days we had left together locked in our room.
She ate every last scrap of food we had and when it came time for me to kill her…I couldn't.
I slowly watched her change. The whites of her eyes became yellow, becoming bloodshot as her skin over time took on a sickly gray color. by the 4th day, her veins bulged from her skin and were a dark, blackened color.
Her mind did not fare much better. She held out as long as she could but she slowly devolved into paranoia. I did my best to calm her and for a while, my presence helped her through the worst bouts…
But now It's been nearly 6 days and she is currently staring at me from across the room. The power has been cut and life support will most likely follow.
Ana, won't speak to me and if I go near her she will lash out at me verbally and physically, biting at me while sprouting nonsense about demons.
Her hair is slowly falling out in clumps and she has not blinked the entire time I've observed her. And now she just whispers to herself over and over about how hungry she is and with all of the food gone I know what she's thinking.
I know she's gone…
And in a way, this is my love letter to her, the last thing I can do. I'm sure if I really tried I could get this door open and leave, but I won't. I'll see this through with you, Ana. You never once left me alone and it's time for me to do the same for you.
Ana, I love you and I'm sorry I didn't have the strength to put you out of your misery. I will never see your beautiful smile again and I'm sorry I was never able to give you the life you wanted.
This is my warning to you all. Me and Ana's warning. We are all dead.
Do not trust your government. Do not let them get away with this. Even though I am a selfish, weak, willed bastard, please do not let them get away with taking Ana away from this world.
\- Damian Winters and Ana Winters |
I was walking down towards the cow pastures at the farm. My grandfather was out of town, so the chores were entirely my responsibility. I was excited, I loved taking care of the animals. My parents passed away when I was young, and my grandfather had raised me.
The pond was shimmering in the sun, reflecting the vibrant colors of changing leaves on a crisp, fall day.
The slaughterhouse hadn’t been utilized since the early ‘70s, when my grandfather began working in a factory to make ends meet after my grandmother disappeared.
That building always gave me the creeps. I continued towards the chicken coops to collect the eggs for the day. A strong gust of wind rushed in and the warm sunshine was a thing of the past.
Thick pillars of red-tinted clouds filled the sky as a violent storm approached. I ran toward the barn for shelter, but the doors wouldn’t open. Huddled under the cow shed, I watched as hail violently poured from the ominous clouds.
I panicked and desperately ran toward the farmhouse, but it felt as though I wasn’t getting any closer.
A loud crash of thunder rumbled and I heard the downpour of rain in the distance, becoming progressively louder. Seeking shelter as quickly as possible, I hesitantly sprinted toward the slaughterhouse.
I pushed through the rotting wood into the slaughterhouse, I was shocked when my grandfather called my name from the entrance, slamming the door behind him.
“Oh honey, I see you’ve finally met your parents,” my grandfather said as he latched the door.
“W-what…?” I whimpered.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I had never felt such pure terror, it was as though the walls were bleeding. The slaughterhouse was much larger on the interior than it appeared to be from outside. The walls were lined with shelves containing the most gruesome sights I’d ever seen - or so I thought, until I looked down.
The floor was composed of the undead bodies of what appeared to be my parents and various family members, neighbors, and other poor unfortunate strangers. The entire structure was breathing, it was alive. I couldn’t process what was happening.
“What the fuck is this?” I asked my grandfather, mustering as much courage as I could dig out of myself in the situation.
“I know this is a lot,” he said casually. *What the hell, is my grandfather a serial killer?* I had always thought he was such a kind and compassionate man. I didn’t know what I thought anymore.
“I’m gonna give it to ya straight dear, we gotta feed this house or it’s gonna ruin us all. My daddy did it before me and so on, it’s gettin’ too much for me and you’re gonna have to take it over. I’ll show ya the ropes and what’s what,” he said as he began walking down the narrow stairs into the darkness, the structure gasped as he began limping down the stairs.
*Feed the house?* This couldn’t actually be happening, it didn’t make any sense. “What do you mean we have to feed the house? Is that what the bodies in the flooring are?” I asked, in a daze almost totally disconnected from any emotion.
“Yep. It don’t like kids, and it don’t like old people. Can’t tell ya much else,” he said, again nonchalantly, as though this was normal, “You can get ‘em in here however ya want, the house’ll do the rest.”
“Then how come nothing is happening to me?”
“Not sure, it must like ya. It wouldn’t take ya when you were little either. I figured it wanted ya to replace me,” he said. I needed an explanation. I swear I’d never been inside this godforsaken slaughterhouse.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in here, what do you mean it wouldn’t take me? When did this happen? What happened?” I asked, confused and frustrated.
“I didn’t wanna bring your daddy in here, but he was real mean to your mama and the house needed to eat. Your mama chased after him and burst through the door, you came followin’ right behind. It swallowed both of ‘em right up, but not you. You was gone, and I found ya over by the pond and kept ya,” he said as tears began to fill his eyes, ”your mama was my baby girl, I’d have never let anything happen to her but I couldn’t do nothin’ to stop it.”
Streams of tears began to flow down his aging cheeks and he became very pale, I was startled as the tears turned to blood and he was absorbed into the flooring of the slaughterhouse.
I hear a low, gruff, and angry voice echoing from all around me, “You have three days.”
I crumbled to the floor and burst into tears, I don’t understand. What the hell am I supposed to do now? |
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