Growths
I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets under books and bags. The kids at school never said anything to my face, but I knew they were laughing behind my back.
I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor, to get them checked out. The growths on my hands seemed to be the elephant in the room back then, since they’d just say I was fine and change the subject. But I knew better.
I had tried to remove them as a child, but without avail. Scissors, knives, potato peelers; trying to cut or scrape them off was always a lost cause because I couldn’t continue once the pain kicked in.
But today was different. It’s amazing how numb you can get with a couple of tourniquets and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was originally planning to use a sharp knife, but figured that trying to slice through the tough flesh of the growths would be too arduous in my drunken state. I opted for the slightly more technological plan B.
I had to hurry though. I was already pretty light-headed and was starting to feel dizzy. My hands and forearms, nearly blue from the lack of circulation, couldn’t wait much longer either. The whirring of the blender helped to put me in a sort of trance–ready to do what I had wanted to do since I first looked down at my strange deformities.
I shoved my left hand in first. The immediate sensation of sharp blades slicing through flesh was jarring, but I was surprised at how well the alcohol was working–I expected it to hurt more. I could hear the sharp metal churning and cutting, working perfectly as planned. I pressed my hand down harder. All those bad memories, all of the embarrassment–all of those horrible things were now nothing more than a thick red pulp.
Breaking from the feelings of ecstasy, I pulled out before the blades hit knuckle. I smiled, taking a good look at my new hand. As for the growths–well, five down, and five to go.
The Third Wish
An elderly man was sitting alone on a dark path. He wasn’t certain of which direction to go, and he’d forgotten both where he was traveling to and who he was. He’d sat down for a moment to rest his weary legs, and suddenly looked up to see an elderly woman before him. She grinned toothlessly and with a cackle, spoke: “Now your *third* wish. What will it be?”
“Third wish?” The man was baffled. “How can it be a third wish if I haven’t had a first and second wish?”
“You’ve had two wishes already,” the hag said, “but your second wish was for me to return everything to the way it was before you had made your first wish. That’s why you remember nothing; because everything is the way it was before you made any wishes.” She cackled at the poor man. “So it is that you have one wish left.”
“All right,” he said, “I don’t believe this, but there’s no harm in wishing. I wish to know who I am.”
“Funny,” said the old woman as she granted his wish and disappeared forever. “That was your first wish.”
An Important Note
It has been reported that some victims of rape, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not WAKE UP. In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren't being raped. The only way that they realized they needed to WAKE UP was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to WAKE UP. Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and PLEASE WAKE UP.
The Picture
One school day, a boy named Tom was sitting in class and doing math. It was six more minutes until after school. As he was doing his homework, something caught his eye.
His desk was next to the window, and he turned and stared outside. It looked liked a picture. When it was home time at the school, he ran to the spot where he saw it. He ran fast so that no one else could grab it.
He picked it up and smiled. It had a picture of the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had a dress with tights on and red shoes, and her hand was formed into a peace sign.
She was so beautiful he wanted to meet her, so he ran all over the school and asked everyone if they knew her or have ever seen her before. But everyone he asked said “no.” He was devastated.
When he was home, he asked his older sister if she knew the girl, but unfortunately she also said “no.” It was very late, so Tom walked up the stairs, placed the picture on his bedside table and went to sleep.
In the middle of the night Tom was awakened by a tap on his window. It was like a nail tapping. He got scared. After the tapping he heard a giggle. He saw a shadow near his window, so he got out of his bed, walked toward his window, opened it up and followed the giggling. By the time he reached it, it was gone.
The next day again he asked his neighbors if they knew her. Everybody said, “Sorry, no.” When his mother came home he even asked her if she knew her. She said “no.” He went to his room, placed the picture on his desk and fell asleep.
Once again he was awakened by a tapping. He took the picture and followed the giggling. He walked across the road, when suddenly he got hit by a car. He was dead with the picture in his hand.
The driver got out of the car and tried to help him, but it was too late. Suddenly he saw the picture and picked it up. He smiled. He saw a cute girl holding up three fingers…
The Last
There was this woman whose husband was acting very strange one day, very paranoid, she asked him why and this is what he told her:
“Twelve years ago to this day a whole bunch of my friends and I went to an old haunted house downtown to stay the night because we thought it would be fun. We were all settled on the bottom floor of the house and we were fine for the first few hours. We began to hear things that sounded like foot steps pacing on the floor above, and scratching on the walls.”
“We sent Jimmy, who was the oldest of us, up to have a look so he grabbed his flashlight and we watched him head up the steps. His foot steps seemed to stop towards the last few steps where he was no longer visible to us and slowly his light faded from view, we called after him but there was no reply.”
“Afterwards we sent Matt, the second oldest up to find him, he walked up the steps and the same thing happened. At this point we thought they were joking, and out third eldest, Jason went up to look shouting that he knew it was a trick and to give it up, at the last few steps where the other guys had vanished his shouting voice became distant before vanishing completely.”
“The rest of us got scared and went home to call the police who checked it out the next morning and found blood smeared up the sides of the stairwell. They searched the entire house and never found a soul. The house was eventually knocked down and not one body was found. Every year on this day one of us remaining from that house has disappeared going from oldest to youngest.”
Her husband was not seen again after that day. Police held a brief investigation, but nothing came of it.
Grinning
This morning I stepped out of the shower and this bathroom was fine: white walls, white tiles, sink and counter with toothpaste crusted all over. Three out of the four lightbulbs over the mirror were still good — 100 watt, clear bulb, blinding bright in the small white room. Like always I was late, so I skipped shaving. She liked it when I didn’t shave, anyway. I was thinking about doing mutton chops. She’d get a kick out of that. I passed the mirror and noticed I was grinning. I didn’t even know I was grinning.
I’m in the bathroom tonight before bed and there’s something wrong with the lights. All three are on again but they glow kind of brown and don’t really light up the rest of the room. I should get more bulbs from the kitchen. I should, but I’m busy. The date was shit and she shut her apartment door on me. You’d think that would wipe off the stupid grin from this morning. But I came back in the bathroom and, in the mirror, my face was still doing it. If I touch my face it doesn’t feel like a grin, but there it is in the mirror.
In the brown light it’s hard to make out but — have you ever actually counted how many teeth show when you smile? I lean in close. One, two, three, four — I didn’t know my mouth was so wide. Nine, ten, eleven — I can’t do mutton chops after all. The corners of my lips are out to my ears. It still doesn’t feel like a grin. But keep counting, for curiosity. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.
Heavy Sleeper
It’s the summer, and you’re out of your college classes for at least a week or two, before the next semester starts. You’ve spent this time lounging around, and sleeping a lot. But lately, correspondence between your local friends has dropped off. They don’t drop by. Your phone’s been quiet for awhile, and your IM lists are all empty.
After five days of this, you’ve gotten bored enough to try chatrooms. They’re all empty; even the big ones. Any e-mails you send get no replies.
When you leave your apartment, the whole of the building is unearthly silent. The only noise that comes about at all is the whurr from the automated Rail outside. Nobody answers when you knock. All the buildings are dark and locked up when you look out the window; the only cars are of the parked variety.
A search of the entire building, and even further beyond that, yeilds nothing. No life; the only movement is from the wind, or the automated pieces of machinery. Defeated, you slink back into the empty apartment complex.
On your door is pinned a note:
“Turns out the guy in room 302 really could sleep through the end of the world.”
The note is dated five days ago.
"Other" Channels
In some television markets, people get two different versions of the same channel. This is usually caused by affiliates being nearby–for example, while living in New Jersey receiving the ABC affiliate from both New York City and Philadelphia, or living in Southern California and getting both the Los Angeles and San Diego stations. For the most part, these appear to be the same channel in all except local news and some daytime programming, with the exception that one is actually closer and more clear than the other.
These channels, in reality, should not occur. Television markets are set up to focus around ONE city, and offering two different versions of the same channel in one market can split viewer-ship in the ever-competitive ratings race.
If you are to watch the channel with worse reception, from the city that is further away, you’ll start to notice that the news reports major events that never occurred, on people that aren’t real, on technology that shouldn’t exist, the ads are for products that you’ve never heard of.
The conspiracy theorists think that these television stations belong to an alternate world. They point to the fact that the news tends to be getting worse over there, more separate from our own. There are reports of looking into an alternate world, and invading it for their own. Just pray they aren’t talking about us.
Food
In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.
She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She went to the police, who raided the address on the envelope, where they found heaps of human flesh for sale.
And what was in the envelope? “This is the last one I am sending you today.”
Kuchisake-Onna
Kuchisake-Onna is the legend of a Japanese woman, mutilated by her jealous samurai husband who murdered her for infidelity scarring her horribly and leaving her repulsive.
Her jealous Ghost still haunts places in Japan, usually on foggy nights, wearing a surgical mask when she will approach people and ask shyly: “Watashi kirei?” (Am i beautiful?) The person usually responds, yes.
She then pulls down her mask to reveal an ear to ear grin, cut by her jealous husband to mar her for her life. “Even like this?” she will persist. If you answer no. She will take a pair of scissors, and cut the same gruesome smile into your own face. If you answer yes, she will disappear, and the second you go home will reappear at your door and finish the job.
The only way of confusing Kuchisake-Onna is to say: You are average, which will confuse this mysterious Onryo. Or to present her with hard amber candy, or say ‘Pomade’ six times will shall make her flee.
She has been seen from the 1970’s til the early 2000’s, often seen lurking near children whose innocent answer of yes when asked if she is ugly, will lead to their deaths
Sarah O'Bannon
Coffins used to be built with holes in them, attached to six feet of copper tubing and a bell. The tubing would allow air for victims buried under the mistaken impression they were dead. Harold, the Oakdale gravedigger, upon hearing a bell, went to go see if it was children pretending to be spirits. Sometimes it was also the wind. This time it wasn’t either. A voice from below begged, pleaded to be unburied.
“You Sarah O’Bannon?” Yes! the voice assured.
“You were born on September 17, 1827?”
“Yes!”
“The gravestone here says you died on February 19?”
“No I’m alive, it was a mistake! Dig me up, set me free!”
“Sorry about this, ma’am,” Harold said, stepping on the bell to silence it and plugging up the copper tube with dirt. “But this is August. Whatever you is down there, you ain’t alive no more, and you ain’t comin’ up.”
The Odd Library Book
Prominently displayed in the children’s section of the Houston Downtown Public Library, among several others of the same title, My First Cookbook appears as a run-of-the-mill children’s cookbook, complete with large print, simple instructions, colorful, friendly illustrations and a somewhat disproportionate desert section. In fact, the only major deviation from this theme is an article near the end of the book entitled “A Recipe for Success”. This is a complex, macabre ritual involving human sacrifice, self mutilation and sacrilege, as well as more curious and innocuous practices such as walking down a stair case with a prime number of stairs taking them two at a time and then up it taking them three at a time. It’s written in the same cheerfully simple prose as the rest of the book and accompanied by the same helpful, pastel drawings.
D.I.Y.
The man in the baseball cap walked through the hardware section of Home Depot.
Something was wrong. He had to fix it when he got home. It was a little stuffy in there; might feel good to let some air in. He thought for awhile. The hacksaw would probably take too long, and it would be a weird angle for the phillips head screwdriver. He had tried the hammer, but couldn’t get it to work, even with the four inch hot-dip galvanized nails he’d bought yesterday.
It was an old place. Sold construction, over forty years old. The fuck if he knew what it was really made of. His eyes wandered over to the power tool section. That might do the trick. He just wanted to fix it up a bit. The ventilation wasn’t right.
After some inspection, the man purchased a DeWalt 14.4 volt electric drill, with a 7 piece set of rapid load masonry bits. 3000 rpm, 98.7 foot-pounds of torque, two batteries and a charger. He paid in cash, thanked the casher, and drove home. As the clock hit 1:47, he figured he’d give it a go. He didn’t know if the batteries were fully charged or not, but figured a few minutes of juice would be enough. Besides, he was getting a headache, and he wanted to get this done before the kids came home.
The man sat down at the dinner table and loaded the drill with a battery and a 17/64” masonry bit. He wasn’t sure what size to use, so he guessed he could start low and size up. But it didn’t really matter, anyway. After removing the baseball cap, the man pressed the electric drill to the left side of his head and squeezed the trigger. The drill made a loud grinding sound as the bit struggled to pierce his skull.
Two, three minutes later it was done. The man pulled the drill from his skull. Little flecks of bone were stuck to the bit. It felt like a slight wind was blowing through his head. He sat there for a moment, smiling.
It felt good to let some air in. But now it was time to take care of that leak.
"These used to be red"
Those used to be green!” the man said aloud, staring at the plants on the sill.
“I swear! They were green just yesterday!” he shouted to his wife, who was reading a book across the room.
He looked around. His eyes were unable to focus clearly for a moment, so he rubbed them. Looking around, he shouted again, “The walls! They used to be blue! We painted them blue just last month! Why aren’t they blue?” He was unable to control himself anymore. His wife looked over at him, surprised to see him in such a fervent uproar.
“Honey! Relax! You’ve just had a long day!” she affirmed. He wouldn’t have any of it though. “Don’t tell me what I’ve had or haven’t had!” he commanded as he stormed out of the room.
Figuring her husband had possibly been drinking, the woman tried to continue reading her book. But her concentration was continually broken by the yells of her husband.
“This used to be orange!” she could hear him yell in the other room. “These used to be brown!” he yelled again. Several minutes passed, but finally he was silent. Content that her husband had calmed down, the woman continued reading.
However, moments later a loud crash could be heard in the kitchen. The woman sprang from her chair in surprise, and darted over to the kitchen to see what was the matter. As she entered the room, she let out an incredible scream. There lay her husband on the floor, drenched in blood, with his abdomen slit wide open. Holding his own bowels in his hands, he uttered one last breath, “…these used to be red!…”
The Baby Sitter
A teenage baby-sitter put the kids she was watching to sleep in their beds and went back downstairs. The late night news was on the TV — the reporter said a psychopath from a local mental institution was on the loose and that police thought he might be in the area. He cautioned residents to lock their doors and windows because this guy was very, very dangerous.
Well, the teenager checked the locks on the windows and the doors, but she forgot the door on the cellar bulkhead. Needless to say, the psychopath broke in about an hour later, coming up from the cellar, armed with an ax. The children heard some noises downstairs, but thought it was the baby-sitter moving some furniture around. Then it got real quiet.
All they heard for the remainder of the night was this noise: “Thump! Thump! Dra-aag… Thump! Thump! Dra-aag…” Evidently, they were too afraid to get up to see what it was. In the morning, their parents came home and were horrified to find the babysitter at the top of the stairs, dead with both arms hacked off at the elbows. She’d been climbing the stairs on the bloody stumps of her arms, pulling her badly injured body along. Was she trying to check on the children? Was she trying to get help? Or in the madness of her tortured soul, was she planning to kill the children herself?
"Her Beautiful Eyes"
It was her eyes that first attracted me to her. I didn’t believe in love, but the
first time I gazed into her beautiful green eyes I knew she was the one.
I loved seeing myself reflected in those eyes, looking deep into her soul and
knowing I was a part of it. It’s kinda stupid, but I even wrote poetry about them. I
don’t remember much, but I told her “There’s so much life within your eyes, and so
much love”.
Oh God, I loved the way the light danced within them. I just couldn’t imagine not
being able to stare dreamily into them.
Now if I could just find a box that was half as beautiful as her eyes, I could stop
carrying them round in my pocket.
The Tapping
It’s about 9:35 at night. The show on your TV is silent, the volume turned down. Maybe you’re one of those people that has to have a static noise and picture, even when listening to or watching something else.
The living room light is on. Two of the five bulbs have burnt out. The one in the back seems the next to go, but you don’t think much about it as you stretch out in your chair.
Something begins gnawing at the back of your mind. It’s just a normal Monday night, the rain outside a steady drizzle that freezes as it hits the road. Something that makes you want to look out the large pannel window beside you, covered up by a Harley Davidson blanket to keep the warmth in the house.
You try and distract yourself, turning on your favorite band. Maybe it’s Collective Soul, or Rammstein, or anything. Something to take your mind off of it. It’s only 9:37 now, just a few minutes later, and you still have this urge to turn around and look out that window, shrouded by a black and orange blanket. You hear a slight tapping on the glass, like a fingertip trying to get your attention. You turn the music up louder, trying to drown it out. It becomes louder and more insistent now, faster and faster, still trying to draw your attention.
“It’s in my head, I’m just worked up, too little sleep. Last night was crazy.” You tell yourself. The rapping on the window ceases, and you begin to settle back in. It’s 9:41. You turn your attention back to the TV, commercials flooding your brain.
The tapping returns. A simple, sharp tap. Curiosity overwrites fear, and you lift up the blanket with your left hand, expecting to see a stray limb from a tree smacking the window from the wind outside, or maybe nothing at all.
A long, pale white tongue drags across the window, smacking back with another tap. Your heart stops as you look up, seeing two great, white staring eyes bulging from an elongated face, lacerated with boiling cuts and keloid scars, coated with burns, it’s face nearly as long as your window itself. It’s upside down, hanging from your ceiling. It’s mouth is lined with razor-sharp teeth, there may be thousands or millions of them. Several are rotten and pulsating, and it keeps staring at you. It’s cavernous mouth seems to be smiling. Like it knows something you don’t…
The Guardian Angel
And I am always with you.
I was there from the time you were born. I stood in the delivery room, staring down at you before you could even open your eyes to see me. Your parents, relatives and doctors couldn’t see me there, in the corner, watching you with cloudy eyes, but I was there from the time you were born.
And I followed you home.
I was with you always, your constant companion. You played with your toys alone while I stared from all angles in nearby mirrors; my matted, clotted hair with oily sweat that hung off my dented forehead like glue. I was always your constant companion, drifting behind your mother’s car on your ride to preschool. You alone in the bathroom, but I was on the other side of the door, wind whistling through the bruised hole in my throat. My arms twisted and hanging in their sockets as I stood hunched on the other side of the shower curtain. I wait and follow you. I follow and drift behind you.
I’m not seen. I’m almost not-there in light. You never saw me that morning as I sat across from you at the breakfast table, a shiny red clot hanging from an empty tooth socket as I gaped grotesquely at you. I wonder sometimes if you know I’m there. I think you are aware, but you’ll never understand just how close I am.
I spend hours of your day doing nothing more than breathing in your ear.
Breathing – gagging, really.
I crave to be close to you, to always wrap my crippled arms around your neck. I lie near you ever single night, cloudy eyes staring at your ceiling, underneath your bed, at your sleeping face in the dark.
Yes. You caught me staring occasionally. Your parents came running down to your room one night when you screamed. You were just beginning to talk, so you were only able to cry out “Man! Man in my room!” You thought you’d never forget the sight of me, with my collapsed jaw hanging to my chest, swinging back and forth. I sank back into your closet and your mother was unable to see me though you pointed and pointed and pointed. You thought you’d never forget when they left that same night. You saw the closet door crack so softly and me crawling across the floor to your bed on all fours, shambling in jerking movements as I pushed myself under your bed on disjointed limbs.
You learned a new word for me: boogeyman. Not quite the monster you thought I was. I’m just waiting and following you always, touching your face with my knotted fingers as you sleep.
You’ll see me again soon. Any day now, I’m coming, blunt and brutal. One day you’ll walk across the road and – I believe I’ll plow into you with loud roar and a screech.
You rolling on the pavement, rolling under wheels, bluntforce metal fenders and my fingers touching your face again and again.
As you stare up from the cold pavement with cloudy eyes; your matted, clotted hair hanging in your face and your jaw unhinged and swinging to your chest.
You’ll see me approaching.
No one else will see me. You will stare past them into my eyes and I’ll leer down at you. For the first time in our life, something like a smile will come over my face. You’ll swear you’re looking into a mirror as clotted red bubbles from our mouths.
I’ll lean down, past the doctors and the oogling people and pick you up in my crooked arms.
Our faces will touch. My wings will unfurl. And then you’ll have to follow me.
And I am always with you.
I am your guardian angel.
Sleep Paralysis
It’s a simple enough thing. It’s all a part of the body’s sleep processes. Sleep Paralysis, right? No big deal, really. Your body produces a chemical that paralyzes your body during R.E.M sleep to prevent you from hurting yourself by thrashing about during your dreams. No big deal.
Okay, so, you opened your eyes and you can’t move your body. It’s the chemicals. Oh, you can keep trying to wriggle those toes, but it’s not happening. Forget it. Just relax. It’ll go away. It’s fine. It’s normal.
Oh, now there’s something pressing on your chest, real hard, it’s making it hard to breathe. It’s heavy, so very heavy, whatever’s on your chest. Chemicals. It’s all chemicals. Stop trying to scream, it won’t work. Your throat muscles are paralyzed too. You still can’t breathe.
You are staring at a blank ceiling, you can’t stare anywhere else. Shadows flit across your vision, forming shapes you try not to think about. A clawed hand, a flash of jagged, shadowy teeth. All images from your subconscious. A face forming above yours, leering through black void eyes. You think you hear sibilant whispering. Angry hissing, like a snake that’s been disturbed.
Suddenly, a sharp white light briefly flares in the room as a car pulls down the street, dispelling the shadows. The weight is gone. You can breathe, your hands clench sheets.
You feel an eternity has passed by but it was all the work of a moment. You wriggle, just to prove to yourself you can. You sit up, take a deep breath and then laugh a little at yourself. Sleep Paralysis. Stupid.
You turn to shake your spouse awake, eager to share your experience. You feel paralyzed again, but it has nothing to do with Sleep Paralysis. You stare at the blood, the jagged wound in her throat, her wide, staring eyes, mouth opened in soundless scream.
You survived your Old Hag Syndrome.
She didn’t.
The Deepest Fear
You’ve been dating your girlfriend almost two years now. You often stay late over the summer and on weekends and arrive home long after the rest of your family go to sleep.
Every night you drive the deserted rural roads back home from a pleasant evening at her house you become overwhelmed by fears that you will arrive home to find your family dead in their beds. Each night you peek into your sister’s room and see she’s fine and hear the reassuring rumble of your father’s snore as you pass your parents door.
You chuckle at your silly worries and drift off to sleep. Finally one morning you decide to tell your mother about your late night fears amidst some jovial conversation for a nice laugh. As you tell her a concerned look comes over her face. She sweeps the hair away from her face as she says, “Oh honey, you know we were all shot almost two years ago.”
You scream as you see the gaping bullet hole in her forehead.
Perfect
I miss her, I really do. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me, and I loved her with all my heart and soul. Do you know what it’s like to find your other half, so early in life as I did? It’s uncommon, let me tell you. It just might be the rarest goddamn thing to ever happen to a person, and it happened to me at twenty one. It’s not my fault, you know, she was the one who didn’t want commitment. I swear, every other word from her mouth was “restraining order” this, or “call the cops” that, but she must not have had the grasp on love that I did.
I blame her, personally, for how all this went down. If she had just tried, she would’ve seen how truly amazing our love could have become, but she never wanted to give it a chance. She just wanted to live with that joke of a husband she had, and keep working at her useless career. It was out of love I did what I did. I had to set her free from her prison. I couldn’t stand to see her so out of place from where she belonged – safe, with me – and so I killed her, knowing that if we can’t be together in this life, we’ll have all of eternity in the next.
Well, I guess that the reason I miss her is because of this girl I’ve met. She’s absolutely perfect. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I love her with all my heart and soul. It’s like she’s my other half. Do you know what it’s like to find your other half, so early in life as I have? It’s uncommon, let me tell you. It just might be the rarest goddamn thing to ever happen to a person.
President
In 1964, an otherwise ordinary man was committed to a sanitarium after assaulting a famous actor in a restaurant in Los Angeles. The name of the man, as well as what he looked like, was forgotten with time, but his strange encounter was retold many times by the owner of the restaurant, to add a bit of local flavor to his location. On one such evening, I was fortunate enough to happen in while he was recounting the story to a group of tourists.
“He comes in, an’ he just starts swingin’ away at the actor – busts open his nose, he does. There’s blood everywhere. I go an’ pull the bastard off him. ‘What the hell are you doin’?’ I ask him. He looks at me, his eyes wide, and he says, ‘You’ve got to let me kill this man. He’s going to end the world. It isn’t going to happen now, or when he’s in charge, but it will all be his fault, you’ll see, if you don’t let me kill him.’ He didn’t say much after that, because Casey came from out of the kitchen, knocked him out with the mop. We called the cops, they took a few statements, and left.” He looked around the group of tourists, admiring how he had captivated them. I was certainly impressed.
“So we offer the actor a free meal, but needless to say,” he pauses to set up the story’s punch-line, “but of course, he never took it.” The tourists all laughed, and he left to check on their meal.
On his way past me, I stopped him. “I stumbled in about halfway through your story, and I’m just a little curious. Who was the actor who got attacked?”
“Well, ain’t it the damndest thing,” he said, scratching his head, “It’s our new governor, Ronald Reagan. But hell,” he smiled, “It isn’t like he’ll ever be president.”
Carnivals
Walking in graveyards shouldn't be scary. The things under the ground there are dead. They can't hurt you now.
It's the lively places, the carnivals and theaters, places where people gather and crowd and swirl together.
Those are the feeding grounds.
Worms
Go to any mirror and put your hand against the glass. Don't worry, nothing will grab you. Wait. Sometimes it takes half a day, sometimes it takes a moment. But you'll yank your hand away when you feel it.
Worms or centipedes, who knows? All pressed in tight like there's no more room on that side, wriggling against your skin. When you pull back, the glass is the same and you'll be unharmed.
But now you know it's there.
Baby Dolls
Porcelain dolls, baby dolls, plastic things with vacant eyes that stare at nothing—little girls always get at least one. It's not because they all want to play mommy. Most of them think those dolls are creepy, too.
They're training tools for when the girls grow up and have children of their own. For when they look down into the bassinet and see their baby's smile has grown forced, the laughter turned into a rattle, their eyes too intelligent and cold. They recognize what it is and kill it quick.
It doesn't happen often, but it happens. And when they have a daughter that makes it to childhood, they make sure she has a baby doll of her own.
Old Man
The first time we moved houses was when I was 8. We moved into a rather small three bedroom house that was; get this, about a mile from a graveyard. No big deal right? I thought this was cool and, being eight, I decided to find out if there were ghosts and shit.
I guess the first warning sign I should have had was when the real estate agent told us to stick together in the house because of a 'roach problem'. Naturally, the first thing I did was sneak off and go into the kitchen of the house. It was completely empty—white walls and a few connections.
I don’t know why but I thought ghosts would hide, so I walked through the kitchen and into the hallway and into a bedroom. Christ. There was an old armchair facing a wall. I skipped over too it to see what was up. The chair noiselessly slid across the room.
As it did so, the door to the closet opened, and the chair backed in. I got a quick glance at a grinning, bony old man sitting in the chair. I was now staring into the tilted face of an old, withered man. The skin around his eye-sockets had been torn away and all that was there was black. His lips and teeth were gone, it was black. Yet something about his smile made me want to see him again, I walked towards the closet, and opened it.
The old man jerked forward and grabbed me, I screamed. Instead of touching me, his hand went THROUGH my body and I felt him grab something deep in my chest. My entire body went freezing cold at the touch of his icy fingers in my chest. The man glared through me and his voice rattled as he spoke to me, "I'm hungry", and pulled me towards the closet. The door closed, and at that point, thank god, I forget what happened.
My parents say they came into the room and heard nothing, nothing at all. Then they opened the closet, and at that point, they found me on the ground screaming at the door, clawing at the ground so hard that one of my fingernails came off.
I've been to psychologist and hypnotists, I even spent a month in a mental hospital, but I still have no idea what happened after that door closed. I do have nightmares though. Lots of them.
We didn’t buy the house.
Itch
Have you ever felt that itch? The strange itch, as if insects were crawling on your skin. You reach down to scrath it, expecting a fly or an ant to be there… but nothing. No creepy-crawlies on your skin.
None ON your skin. But beneath the surface…
Words
GET HELP.
You start noticing those words when you're going about your day-to-day business - just flipping through the classifieds, or posted on telephones near bridges. Normal places. Just words that seem to be catching your eye.
Then they start appearing more randomly: the first seven tiles you pick in Scrabble, the first spoonful of alphabet soup, even those stupid spams sent by strangers. You even check a few of them, but they all end up being for the same old pills and promises.
Now it's getting so everything you read has those words crop up - close-captioned TV shows, book titles, CDs, bus schedules, menus, everywhere. It's distracting, very very distracting, it's so very hard to concentrate when words squiggle out of the corner of your eye, when the keyboard's no longer qwerty but gethelpgethelpgethelp.
The delusion's taking its toll. Who needs help? Who's sending you this message? Why you? How can you help someone who you don't even know?
You're trying to type an email to a friend. It's very hard to do. The letters keep swimming and you add an apology in the email, just in case your writing's garbled. You finally hit send.
Later, you wake up.
You're in the hospital. Your friend is sitting beside you. I was so worried, he says. When you sent that email. GET HELP GET HELP GET HELP, over and over. I came over and found you on the floor. They had to do surgery. Do you know what they found? A second brain. Tiny but fully formed, growing in your head. It was blocking an artery. You're lucky to be alive.
But you aren't really listening to your friend any more. You're staring at a fire escape diagram near your bed. It doesn't say anything about fire safety at all.
FINALLY, it says. IT WAS GETTING CROWDED IN THERE.
The Ribbon
There once was a little boy and he was friends with this girl in kindergarten.
He saw that the girl had a green ribbon around her neck and asked her why.
She said only, "I'm not s'posed to tell." They remained friends through childhood,
all the way to high school, and the girl still wore that green ribbon around her neck.
The boy has since grown used to it, and stopped asking long ago. They decided to go
steady and were very happy for almost 2 years. Finally, on the anniversary of their
second year together, they decided to give themselves to each other. Undressing
each other lovingly, they spoke of how much they cared for one another. The boy
kissed his girl, and grasped the green ribbon, the last vestige of clothing she wore,
and swiftly untied it.
He was found hours later, still naked, sitting in the corner, her head in his arms.
Parties
Two dormmates in college were in the same science class. The teacher had just reminded them about the midterm the next day when one dormmate — let's call her Juli — got asked to this big bash by the hottest guy in school. The other dormmate, Meg, had pretty much no interest in going and, being a diligent student, she took notes on what the midterm was about. After the entire period of flirting with her date, Juli was totally unprepared for her test, while Meg was completely prepared for a major study date with her books.
At the end of the day, Juli spent hours getting ready for the party while Meg started studying. Juli tried to get Meg to go, but she was insistent that she would study and pass the test. The girls were rather close and Juli didn't like leaving Meg alone to be bored while she was out having a blast. Juli finally gave up, using the excuse that she would cram in homeroom the next day.
Juli went to the party and had the time of her life with her date. She headed back to the dorm around 2 a.m. and decided not to wake Meg. She went to bed nervous about the midterm and decided she would wake up early to ask Meg for help.
She woke up and went to wake Meg. Meg was lying on her stomach, apparently sound asleep. Juli rolled Meg over to reveal Meg's terrified face. Juli, concerned, turned on the desk lamp. Meg's study stuff was still open and had blood all over it. Meg had been slaughtered. Juli, in horror, fell to the floor and looked up to see, written on the wall in Meg's blood: "Aren't you glad you didn't turn on the lights?"
Breath
Every time you exhale, a little bit of your soul escapes. Luckily, you almost always inhale it back before anyone else gets to it. Almost.
Ever fogged up a mirror with your breath?
Don't do that.
Punishment
Nicholas was older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die. The dwarfish natives of the arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once every year they forced him,sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was far harsher.
Ho.
Ho.
Ho.
(Actually written by Neil Gaiman, apparently.)
Voices
If you ever are in an area of absolute quiet, still your breathing and move not a muscle. After a few seconds, you will notice that the silence has a sort of "sound" of its own, a kind of empty ringing tone.
This is nothing unique, everyone will hear this, given the proper setting. An informed person will tell you that your brain is trying to interpret the lack of stimuli to your hearing and so creates a bit of a filler sound. Actually, there is never, ever, total quiet anywhere on Earth. This sound actually covers something very important.
For a persistent individual, one can discern what is under this pitch. The next time you are in such a situation, shout at the top of your lungs for about half a minute, then become completely silent all at once. It will be different for everyone. Some will hear nothing different for dozens of tries. Others might catch a snatch of soft murmuring. A special few might clearly make out what they hear on the first attempt. What you will hear is a voice that relays an account of events about to happen in the immediate future. It's like a sportscaster relaying the events occurring 10 seconds later. Such an ability would doubtlessly be invaluable, no?
You will be able react to any immediate danger, relate to people around you with greater ease. No one would ever surprise you. As time goes on, you will be able to make out this voice under increasingly noisy circumstances, to the point that it can be heard at any time by just concentrating. Now, of course you are wondering what sort of horrible catch there is for this.
Perhaps the tone of the voice is so horrible that it will drive you mad, or maybe the voice will only predict your death over and over again. Of course this isn't the case, though, its a normal voice, your ears receive it no matter what, its simply a matter of noticing. But there is a danger. For you see, there's no such thing as a voice lacking a body. And just like you will notice new sounds, so shall you notice new sights. More importantly, you will be noticed.
Earphones
Earphones can listen to anything. Plug 'em in to the wrong socket on your laptop and proceed to screw around. If do the right .exe, then you can hear your computer think. It's actually relaxing… Kind of like a bee's nest, busy at work. Except for the times when you hear a distinct English word. I usually hear "fade," "dream," or "lie." A friend of mine just gets cussed at when he plugs in.
Stamps
During the war a soldier faithfully wrote his mother every week so she would know he was all right, until one week she didn't get a letter and immediately began to worry. Within a couple of weeks she got a letter from the Army saying that her son had been captured and was being held in a Prisoner-of-War camp, and they assured her that they had no reason to believe the American prisoners were being mistreated in any way. A few weeks later the woman finally received another letter from her son, it read: "Dear Mom, Try not to worry about me, they are treating us well and I'll be released as soon as the war is over. Make sure that little Teddy gets the stamp for his collection. Love you, Joe" The woman was overjoyed to hear the news, but was confused because she had no idea who "little Teddy" was. She decided to steam the stamp from the envelope and have a look. When she did she saw that written on the back of the stamp were the words:
"They've cut off my legs".
Pins
Convicted forger A. Schiller was serving his time in Sing Sing prison in the late 19th century when guards found him dead in his cell. On his body, they found seven regular straight pins whose heads measured the typical 47/1000ths of an inch or 1.17 mm in diameter. Under 500X magnification, it was found that the tiny etchings were seen on the heads of the pins were the words to “The Lord’s Prayer,” which is 65 words and 254 letters long. Of the seven pins, six were silver and one was gold. The gold pin’s prayer was flawless and said to be a true masterpiece. Schiller had spent the last twenty five years of his life creating the pins, using a tool too small to be seen by the naked eye. It is estimated that it took 1,863 separate carving strokes to make it. Schiller went blind because of his artwork. Why did Schiller do this? And how did he acquire the knowledge to construct such a tiny instrument for the engravings?
Two Phones
I once stuck two cell phones together in 69 position while they called each other. Weird noises came out, so I tried saying something in it to see how it would be distorted. I said, "Hi. I'm Aaron." I said this about 5 times and each one sounded different until a voice came back saying (completely different from my voice). "Hello Aaron. Hello Aaron. I am Mikeal. I am Micheal. Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead?" I tried saying my name again, but a different voice came back saying, "I don't want to go. I don't want to go." After that I hung up.
Watching
Have you ever been taking a shower and felt like something was moving around behind the curtain? Especially if you were alone? Like as if something were watching you? Did you look up? Did you catch the very vaguest hint of eyebrows or a tuft of matted, greasy hair above the curtain rod?
That's not a good idea. It doesn't really like it if you see it. It likes it the most when you've got shampoo on your hair, and your eyes are shut tight so they won't sting. Or even better, when there's soap and bubbles all over your soft face. It likes that the best, because your eyes are clenched so tight, and even if you did want to open them, like, if you heard a soft rasping of hard, dense hairs against the plastic shower curtain, or the scratching of claws on bathroom tile, or the gentle splatter of drool or cum or… god knows what… on the floor outside, well, you wouldn't open your eyes because it'd burn. Right?
Right.
Don't open your eyes. Because if you ever see its face, catch its eyes…
Well,
it'll notice.
They Watch
Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your slumber. You begin to doze, then another crash jolts you awake. The cycle lasts most of the night. So you lay there, eyes open and outward, looking at your room stretching out before you in oblong shadows. Your eyes move from nameless object, to object, until you reach your mirror, sitting adjacent to you across the room.
Suddenly a flash of lighting, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror revels to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face.
Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don’t sleep for the rest of the evening.
The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn’t matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.
Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend’s house. It’s time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You’re watching intently as words form:
“Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night.”
"I took care of everything…"
You wake up one morning to find a note taped to your mirror: "Don't worry, I took care of everything." Your clothes have been freshly laundered, the bathroom is spotless, and your garage has been organized. Even your faithful old toolbox has been replaced.
Later that week, there's another note on your mirror: "GET OUT OF TOWN." Paper-clipped to this message are several grainy photos of police in a taped-off section of a field. One of them is carrying your old toolbox in his latex-gloved hand.
Cats
The eyes of a cat are windows to your soul. They can see other dimensions, they can see your aura, and what's wrong with you. A cat knows when you are happy, when you are in bad health, when you are troubled, or when you are hungry. He knows when you are feeling magnanimous, and he knows when you are about to die.
It's fortunate that cats can't talk, because you have a lot of secrets. The cat knows.
Minutes
The phone rings.
"Hello?"
"… Yes! Hello. May I have a few minutes of your time?"
"Sure, I guess."
The phone clicks.
I feel a little older.
Fingerprints
While brushing your teeth in the evening, you catch a glimpse of your wall mirror, covered in fingerprints. Annoyed, you grab a towel and rub at them. They remain. Upon closer inspection, you realize that they seem to be on the other side of the glass…
Larry
The Pop-A-Top bar. Every small city in America has one of these somewhere within its limits. If you ever happen to stumble through the door of
one of these "fine" establishments find yourself a seat at the bar. Make sure there is an empty stool to your left. The bartender will pay you
no mind, but make sure to pester him for a bottle Jim Beam and two shot glasses. While you have the bartender's attention ask,
"Have you seen Larry around here lately?" His answer will be different every time, but if he ever informs you that he's there now,
leave immediately. Pour yourself a shot and drink. Never look around. Stare at nothing but the contents of your shot glass.
Eventually you'll hear a voice. "You're in my seat." DO NOT TURN AROUND, DO NOT ACKNOWLEDGE THE VOICE. Fill up the second glass and Wait
for the voice to repeat itself. Close your eyes and turn around.
With eyes closed ask, "Would you care for a shot, friend?" If nothing happens throw the glass at the voice as hard as you can and run to the door.
If you feel the shot wretched out of your hand turn back around and pour yourself another shot. You can open you eyes again,
but DO NOT look at the man who has seated hisself to your left. As you drink, so will he.
When the two of you have finished off the bottle of Jim Beam, the man will speak up. "So, I guess you came here to find out.
" To this reply,"What do I need to know?" "Look here, son." he'll say, except his voice has changed.
Take your eyes off of your shot glass and take a good look at Larry. He is you.
Look at your rotted corpse for clues. Cuts, abrasions, broken bones, anything that will clue you in to your own death.
When you are through call the barkeep over. Ask for another bottle of Jim Beam, pay your tab, and leave. Do not come back a second time,
well… that's not entirely right. You will be back a second time.
Explaining Away
You wake up to a strange scratching at your window. You sit up, and look blankly at your wall, which is in perfect order. You lean slightly to one side and tilt your head to hear the sound better. You realize it's just the tree's leaves scratching your window; after all it's a windy night.
You lay back down, and after about five minutes a tapping noise awakens you once more. You repeat what you just did, you lean over and tilt your head; it's definitely a tapping. For a minute you become paranoid, but you realize that after all it is winter, so a majority of the foliage has died and fallen off; it's just a bare branch hitting your window.
You're just about to lay back down, when you hear a hissing. Of course, it's just the wind blowing through the dead leaves, and the "hissing" is just the leaves rustling among one another.
You laugh to yourself, and lay back down.
But then, you jump straight out of bed in a cold sweat.
You don't have a tree outside your window.
Don't Worry About it
You’re slowly stirred awake by the distant ringing as the phone beside your bed pulls you out of your dreams. Your thoughts gather themselves and you groan, reaching over to answer.
As soon as you place the phone to your ear, you’re greeted by the background noise consisting of twisted screams. People in agonizing pain begging for help or death, not that the interference allows you to hear any individual voice clearly enough.
“Get out of the house now!”
The call ends abruptly after what you could have sworn was a voice from closer to you than on the other end. You shift yourself to the side of the bed, sighing while rubbing your eyes. A call this startling and this early in the morning would keep you awake.
Your wife shuffles to the side, apparently also woken by the call. She wraps her arms around you and gives a light kiss on the neck.
“Don’t worry about it,” Her half asleep mumble calms you down somewhat.
Just as you’re about to place the phone down, it rings again. You fumble slightly and drop it. Instead, you feel your wife’s arms tighten around you, preventing you from leaning forward.
It’s then you notice a subtle difference between the arms around you and the familiarity of your wife’s.
“He’s too late to save you anyway.”
The Cute Waitress
You just moved into your new apartment, in a very big city. After a year of this life, you have almost given up hope of making any friends; be it at work or any other means. You feel very lonely. After looking for a peaceful place to spend your time, you find a quiet diner on the outskirts of town. The waitress is very attractive. Also, she seems to be the only employee there, ever. You never see anyone else eat there either, ever. The place is perfect for you.
Making love to her becomes a routine. You go there every night for dinner, and then to see her.
You eventually make other friends, and eat at the diner less and less. After some time you stop going completely.
At a bar with your best friend, you tell him about the fun you had with the waitress at the diner. He says he absolutely must see her. You take him there one night, but the building is in a state of ruin. The front door barely opens. The grimy insides of the diner are disgusting, and, behind the counter, is moldy corpse, reeking of pus and rot.
When the police come to the scene, they interview both you and your friend. You are shocked to hear that the body is of a runaway girl from another province. The police tell you this is a homicide, and that she was also raped dozens of times, after she was killed. The police say they can get a match for DNA and eliminate you as a suspect. You are suddenly very worried.
The Modern Essenes
There were giants on the earth in olden days, and Methuselah lived to be 969 years old. Is it accurate to dismiss these accounts as fantasy or allegory?
Years ago in my freight-hopping days, I climbed into an open boxcar on a rural siding out in the middle of nowhere and was surprised to see a very old man sitting in a dark corner. We got to talking, and he told me that the perception of time passing was just an artifact of consciousness, and that everything was indeed happening at once.
He said that the ancient Essenes had learned to control time through conscious will, enabling them to live very long - though not quite immortial - lives, and that their descendants, modern Essenes, still walked the earth, blending in with us due to not wanting to call attention to themselves. He said it was impossible for ordinary humans to distinguish a modern Essene, but that cats, with their amplified sensory abilities, could tell almost immediately.
Apparently cats don’t like Essenes very much and the attitude is reciprocated, so an Essene will immediately leave the room upon seeing a cat in it. He further stated that the modern Essenes were hunting him down in order to kill him to suppress this secret, but that he (and I) were “pretty safe” out here on the rails.
Slightly creeped out, I selected another boxcar to spend the night in, in hopes a train would come by the next day, hook up to the cars on the siding and take me somewhere interesting. An hour or two after midnight, I heard a rumble as a passenger train was approaching rapidly on the main track. I watched out the open boxcar door, through a light rain, as the windows and scenes on the passenger train flashed by, and I heard a loud thump as something thrown from the moving train struck the outside of my boxcar. The next morning I got out of the car to stretch my legs and found what had made the thump. it was the body of a cat with its neck broken.
I never saw the old man again.
The Decaying Mall
There is a dead mall somewhere in Virginia that is in an advanced state of decay. For one reason or another, the mall still stands — there have been several plans, some of them quite elaborate, to revitalise the area, many of them calling for the original building’s demolition…but none of them have ever come to pass.
It is quite a shame, a sorry thing to look at today. In its heyday in the 1970’s and early 80’s, the mall was jampacked, the place to be on the weekends, especially Saturday nights. It was upscale, fashionable, and always a happy place to go.
Years went by, and bigger, better malls opened around the city. The mall slowly started losing tenants, until today it is completely empty. If you go in it nowadays, you will be astounded by the vast emptiness — every step you make and every word you speak will echo loudly. Where once scores of people did their shopping, met for lunch, and got together, there is now only eerie silence. Over the years, the happy, upbeat feeling of the place has darkened, more and more, until now many people avoid it — but can never tell you exactly why.
The story would end here, were it not for a very curious rumour: it is said on certain Saturday nights throughout the year, something very strange happens. If you go to one of the entrances of this mall, it will be unlocked. Push open the door, and it will give way — and you may enter.
Near a bench right in the entrance will be a shadowy figure — casting a shadow that obscures than the darkness around it. This shadowy figure can be spoken to — call out to it: “I know your secret, and the secrets you keep.” Where once there was shadow, there will appear a face — a radiantly pale, withered old man’s face, with black holes for eye-sockets.
“No,” he will respond in a voice that will be like the slithering of maggots, “for I know yours.”
He will then ask a question — the question will be about your life, or rather a detail about your life, something that happened many years ago. The question he poses will be one you should know the answer to — but so obscure, it will be difficult to answer at first, if you can answer it at all.
You will be forced to answer — you simply won’t be able to respond with “I don’t know”.
If you get the answer right, the shadowy man will thrust a box into your hands, before dissolving back into the darkness. Open the box, and there will be a note, on which will be written the name of the person you were meant to marry or fall in love with. Only rarely is it the person you think it will be.
If you get the answer wrong, your body will be found the morning of the following Sunday, at the entrance to the mall you came in, mutilated and eviscerated so badly no one will be able to identify the body.
The Shadow Being
When I was fourteen, my mother and father were divorced, and I went to live with my mother and a man she supposedly fell in love with several years ago. We searched for a house for all three of us to live in, and eventually found the perfect house. A few months later, after finding out that my dad had cancer, my mom went, even while engaged to this man living with us, to the very hospital and stayed with my father for about a week, leaving me to fend for myself as I remained in the basement, wasting my time on the computer.
It was late, around midnight if I recall correctly, and the man living with us went off to bed, turning off every light in the house, except for the computer room in the basement. During this time we had one dog and one cat. I can’t remember exactly where the dog was, but the cat was downstairs with me, doing what cats do, I guess. While typing away on the computer, it occurred to me, after several minutes had passed, my cat had been staring at the door, which was left wide open, for a long time. Her ears appeared to be pinned against the back of her head and I finally noticed her faint growling.
Thinking that it was the dog, I turned around and called for her, only then to notice something that took me completely by surprise. The door that leads up to the second floor was left wide open. In front of it, taking the size of a three or four year old, was this ominous being, made of shadow.
As chills ran down my spine and fear completely took over my body, I watched this unearthly ‘thing’ with what little time I had, I absorbed any features possible, noting that it had small, beady eyes that were yellow, and this ‘thing’ had black tendrils on top of it’s head, and on the sides of it’s body, which didn’t exactly have a ’shape’.
Whatever this thing was, it reacted quickly and hid by leaping over to the stairs, making it partially visible to my view. Then, I noticed that it leaned over and peeked through the wall that hid it, quickly pulling away as it knew I was still watching.
To this very day I don’t know how, but I managed to muster up enough courage and quickly ran to the computer room’s door, slamming and locking it. An hour later, I ran through the whole house, turning on every light possible, except for my mom’s bedroom, and I went to bed with the light on. I didn’t bother looking for the dog, and I never told the man about this strange occurrence. I just went into my room and crawled into bed.
I don’t know how I fell asleep. But I did. Whatever the Hell that thing was, it was watching me. I didn’t think that I’d ever get over it. But I guess I calmed down after a while.
A week later, after staying the night at my brothers house, I was bored and decided to look this thing up. Oddly enough, what I saw that night matched the description of what most people call a ‘Shadow Being’. That scared the living Hell out of me, and I knew, without a doubt, that it was not my imagination that created this thing.
Ever since, I hated that house. That perfect house was no longer my home. I’m honestly surprised that I still stayed in that house, unfortunately, I didn’t have much of a choice. But I never saw the Shadow Being again. Never. Still, I was afraid.
Thankfully three months after, mom and I moved back in with my dad and the man living with us eventually moved away, and our so called dream home was up for sale. Probably still is.
I still have nightmares of the Shadow Being from time to time. Sometimes, it feels like it’s watching me whenever I’m alone. I was never really afraid of the dark until then. Now, I hate looking into the darkness.
The darkness could be looking back at me.
