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When I was seven, I had a best friend named John. Every night John would ask to stay over at my house, of course I said yes. But as a normal seven year old, I got bored of doing the same thing. So I asked John if we could spend the night at his house instead of mine. A look of fear flashed in his eyes, and he hesitated before saying no, I obviously begged and pestered him before he finally said yes.

Throughout the day leading up to me sleeping over, John had been very quiet and nervous. After school, I went home to get my clothes and toothbrush, and John had begged me if we could please just spend the night at my house, I laughed and joked around that he just didn’t want me to see how messy his room was.

The night had been going good, we had stayed up till 1 AM and I was getting sleepy, so I had asked John if we could go to sleep.

He gave me a nervous look again but nodded his head. As I was getting into my sleeping bag, John turned up the TV as loud as it could possibly go and just stared at the TV. I turned the TV off and that’s when I heard it. It sounded like someone.. something was scraping the floor above us. Then it spoke, not loudly, but a quiet raspy whisper, "Come up and play with me, John, it’s been sooo long since you’ve came up here.. I miss you.. We miss you..”

I started crying and John hushed me and told me to get into my sleeping bag and be quiet. I later fell asleep. I woke up in the middle of the night and started feeling around for my glasses, but then I heard raspy breathing next to me.. Everything was blurry but I could see this dark figure perched over John, just breathing and staring at him. It looked back at me and that’s all I remember.
Me and John didn’t speak after that. We went through all of junior high and almost high school without speaking. On my senior year, John came running up to me, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks and had bruises in every place imaginable. He was begging me to let him stay at my house, but I made up some excuse because I really didn’t know him anymore.

The thing is, John committed suicide that night. His parents contacted me and said they wanted me to pack up his things because it was too difficult for them. I understood and went through his things while packing them into boxes. He had kept endless journals of his life. I found the last entry and here it is:
“Mister has been watching me and -scribbles- keeps whispering and doesn’t stop shh shhh he can hear me I don’t know what is going on I can’t breathe -scribbles- goodbye”

After the last entry, this is the only picture John had drawn of “Mister”.



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