Milk White

  

I was born and raised in Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Unless you live nearby you’ve probably never heard of it. Even people in the large Wisconsin cities (Madison, Milwaukee) don’t know we exist. Wisconsin in general is known for our cheese, our cows, and our love of beer. And of course for our excess of mental institutions and serial killers.

Ed Gein and Jeffery Dahmer hail from my home state. In case you’ve been living under a rock, they are two of the most infamous serial killers in America. I don’t know if it’s the cold climate or what, but we seem to breed quite a bit of crazy up here.

Sheboygan is not immune from the crazy. We have this old abandoned asylum by the highway. Here’s a picture of it from an old post card. It used to house the criminally insane, at least according to local folklore. This is where the Milk White legend came from.

Milk White was supposedly a patient at the asylum. He was born there, his mother being one of the inmates. No one knew what to do with him so he just crawled around the asylum, eating scraps. He had no other kids to play with. He was an albino and any form of light would horribly burn his skin, so he was never awake when there was daylight. Milk White grew up learning madness from the other inmates, desperate for human companionship. Something about that madness turned him from a human into a demon.

The story is that one day he found a way to get in and out of the asylum. He got it into his head that he could go find friends from the city. He peered into the windows of every house to see if anyone was awake. If he found a child awake, he would steal them away. Of course children are loud, so instead of taking them alive he would use his huge teeth to crush their necks. He would prop up the corpses of the children in the asylum basement, pretending to have an entire room of friends. He would sing them nursey rhymes in the dead of night.

The asylum was shut down a long time ago. Milk White had nowhere to go. So they say he still lives in the abandoned building, going out at night and bringing back the bodies of any kid still awake after dark.

This was all regarded as an urban legend. But I remember that story back from when I was a kid. There was an odd little rhyme that we used to sing on the playground. It went:

.

Hush now, sleep tight

Or else beware of Milk White

He doesn’t fuss, he doesn’t fight

He’ll kill you dead with just one bite

.

Parents would use this tale to scare their children into going to sleep. It worked well, or at least it did for me. I fully believed the myth up until middle school. I remember that’s when a new kid moved to town. He was from New York City, so we all thought he had to be way cooler than any of us

His name was Jimmy. He had a New York accent and everything. He wore chucks and had a leather jacket. He wore it all year round, even in the middle of winter. He was never quiet about how much he hated it in Sheboygan. My friend Hans and I made an uneasy friendship with him.

Hans was seventeen but dumb enough to be held back to middle school. He was huge compared to us. We’d been friends for a while. I actually grew up with his brother, Peter. Peter disappeared on a camping trip when we were seven. After that I started becoming closer with Hans. We’d hang out, play video games, and just do nothing. He wasn’t very smart (hence being held back for so long) but he was a good guy. I liked being his friend.

I was a pretty typical 12 year old – scrawny, trying to appear cooler than I was. I wasn’t particularly special but I guess I was a good kid.

Jimmy was the one with all the confidence. He could talk to girls and get himself out of trouble easily. He also thought he knew everything.

It was Jimmy’s idea to scope out the asylum. I think he was bored of the snow and wanted to do something exciting. That’s when I told him about Milk White.

“What a crock of shit,” he responded. “That’s a fucking baby story. You don’t really believe that?”

I looked at Hans, who shook his head stupidly. Hans was pretty happy to have friends, so he would have done anything for Jimmy or me. I was scared, but I shook my head too.

Jimmy decided we would go to the asylum that night. He joked about Milk White, calling him a pathetic excuse for a ghost story. Hans and I were horrified that he would mock the creature that haunted our childhoods. But we tried to act calm about it.

We snuck out around midnight and met up at the over pass. I was bundled in about seven layers of wool. Jimmy, like always, just wore his leather jacket. He led the way as we trudged through the snow towards the abandoned building. It must have been impressive once, but now it just looked decayed. While we were walking Hans grabbed my arm and pointed to the ground. A set of footprints were in the snow. The prints were large, like that of a grown man. But there were toe marks as if the person was barefoot.

I debated showing them to Jimmy but I knew he would just laugh at me. I shrugged at Hans. “Come on.”

We got to the main entrance of the asylum just as a fresh falling of snow began to accumulate. Jimmy tried to open the door but it was shut firmly. He kicked at it but to no use.

Hans was shivering. “Looks like we can’t get in.”

Jimmy laughed at him. “You fucking pussy. We haven’t even tried yet.” Jimmy has a terrible mouth on him. Hans and I were good Midwestern boys, we never swore. But Jimmy was very different than us.

He moved around to a boarded up window. It was low enough that he could use his hands to pry under the boards. With a violent jerk he pulled a plank away. We could see that there was no glass inside. Jimmy made a loud “Aha!” sound and fought the other board loose.

“You coming, pansies?” He pulled himself up to the window and slipped inside.

Hans and I looked at each other nervously. If we went in, we’d be confronting the very thing we had feared since kindergarten. If we didn’t, we’d lose our friendship with Jimmy and probably any shred of reputation. I took a deep breath of cold air and hoisted myself through the window.

I landed on a pile of broken boards. Apparently other people had tried to get in as well, because there were planks everywhere. Jimmy was rubbing his leg. “I think I fucking cut myself.” His jeans had a long gash in them. I stood up and dusted myself off.

Hans flew through the window with a heavy thump. He shrieked and held up his hand. A nail was embedded into his palm. Jimmy went over to him and yanked the thing out. Tears poured down Hans’s cheeks. Jimmy rolled his eyes. “You’re a big fucking baby, aren’t you? Scared of a ghost and a little blood.”

He turned his back on us and started towards the hall. We all had thought ahead to bring flashlights, but they weren’t much help. The halls were pitch black. We walked along the wall, keeping a hand steady to balance. We heard a squeak from behind us and I almost jumped out of my skin. Jimmy just laughed. “Scared of mice now too, queer?”

The entire time we explored the asylum I barely breathed. It wasn’t just the darkness – it was the unknown. We found empty wheelchairs and creepy looking metal cots. Our flashlights scanned the blackness but nothing moved. Once we had been exploring for an hour or so I felt my heartbeat slow. Jimmy was obviously right. Milk White was just a baby story to scare kids.

It was Hans who found the door to the basement. He pointed at it with his flashlight. Jimmy tried the handle but it was stuck. He tried kicking down the door but he just hurt his ankle. I stood silently. Jimmy shone his light into Hans’s face. “You, big guy, kick the door. I want to see what’s down there.”

Hans started trembling and shook his head no. Jimmy pushed him. “Come on, you big idiot. Do something useful for fucks sake.”

Hans looked down, embarrassed. I stepped towards them. “Maybe we show go.”

Jimmy sneered. “Or maybe you should-“

We all stopped because of what we heard. It was footsteps. It sounded like there were coming up the stairs from the basement door. I stared open-mouthed at Jimmy, who was frozen in place. The footsteps were loud. They sounded like skin slapping on metal.

“Turn off your lights, now!” Jimmy hissed.

We all shut our flashlights off and huddled against the wall. Hans was shaking really bad and I could smell that he had peed himself. Jimmy was swearing under his breath.

The footsteps kept going until they were almost right next to us. Then there was the sound of a doorknob creaking. It was completely dark so we couldn’t see a thing. All we could do was listen as the door slid open.

That’s when we heard the voice. It was the deep voice of a man but sung unreasonably high. It sang/whispered, “Hush now……sleep tight….”

Jimmy was rocking back and forth. I could feel the fear emanating from him. He had his jaw clenched and his teeth made a horrible crunch. The voice kept singing, “Beware……beware…..of Milk White.”

I must have trembled because my thumb knocked the on button of my flashlight. In a single second it illuminated the hallway and we could see the source of the voice. All of us gasped as one. It stood barely two feet away. It might have been a man once but now had the posture of a scorpion. It was naked, standing with its feet spread apart like an insect. Its head reared back like it would spit venom. The nails on its feet and hands were so overgrown they curled back into its skin. The teeth jutted from its mouth. They hung down as if it were too heavy for it to list its head properly.

Its skin…it wasn’t white. Not like the rhyme said. It was stained red.

It took a step towards us and whispered, “Kill you dead with just one bite.”

And that’s when Hans bashed my head in with his flashlight.

---

I woke up on the floor of the asylum. Daylight had only just creeped into the sky. My head was pounding. I struggled to stand but I must have gotten frostbite in the night. My fingers and toes were completely numb. I looked around and saw Jimmy passed out near me. He had a giant bruise on his temple. I tried to wake him, but he wouldn’t stir.

I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to stand up and drag Jimmy out of the window. I wasn’t strong enough to sling him over my shoulder so I had to drag him through the snow. He made soft pain sounds but didn’t wake up. I made it to the tavern by the highway. They weren’t open but I pounded on the door until my knuckles bled, screaming for help.

The owner finally came to see what the noise was and let us in. He was visibly shaken by our appearance. He called the police and our parents. Soon I was wrapped in blankets and slowly beginning to feel warm again. Jimmy eventually woke up in the hospital with minor memory loss.

I told the police my story and they searched the entire asylum. They didn’t find anything. No evidence of any foul play except the blood Jimmy had lost. No one knew where Hans was. His parents were devastated. Now they had lost two sons.

Jimmy had no memory of the night’s events. At least that’s what he said.

My parents made me see a psychologist who told me I created the whole thing in my mind. She said Hans must have done something terrible to Jimmy and I, and I just blocked it out. After all, Hans was so much older and bigger than us. And then he left town so suddenly. The psych implied it was sexual abuse. She said I made up the image of Milk White because I knew that from my childhood. It was easier than facing the truth.

I went to bed before dark every night until I went away for college. I never went back to Sheboygan. My parents hound me to visit but I refuse to return. They think it’s because of what Hans did to me.

But I know what I saw. And I know that Hans only hurt me to knock me out.

He knew that Milk White can’t get you if you’re asleep. 

---

EZmisery

My Mom Sent Me Some Old Home Videos for My Birthday (Part 4) [FINAL]

  

So it all ends with me dying. Not literally, of course. Not figuratively either. Philosophically maybe? How did we get here? How does a simple home video lead to such violence,death, and the utter dismantlement of my perceived reality? I guess that’s what you’re here to find out.

Justin kept trying to call me, kept sending me messages, but I was still in no condition to respond. I’m not sure if you’ve caught on to this, but my mental state can sometimes be described as rather flimsy. When facing distress, I have this slight tendency to fall into bottomless pits of anxiety, and there’s really not much I can do about it. Except petting Dave, that is.

So that’s what I did, for half an hour straight. Just kept stroking his silky feline exterior, the shiny orange fur soon enough stained with crimson patches of blood. I still hadn’t found time to clean up. Where could I clean up? My bathtub, and by extension my shower, was filled with what remained of my “mom”, mom, and I felt no inclination toward dealing with that mess.

New texts from Justin kept pouring in, and at some point they became too frequent for me to ignore. I scrolled down the near endless list of capitalized profanity and hatefulness, focusing on the latter five, of which seemed a fair bit more level headed, albeit infinitely more disturbing.

Justin: Come see me at grandpa’s cabin, Jeffy.

Justin: Come alone if you want the boy to live.

Justin: You don’t want it to happen again, do you?

Justin: You don’t want more blood on your hands.

Justin: Be seeing you.

There was a lot I didn’t understand, and there was a lot I didn’t want to understand. I could feel them, locked away deep in my mind; a resurgence of memories pushing ever onwards. I couldn’t let them free, though. No chance in hell. There was just no way I was going back to that place. Padded cells, padded mind.

I hadn’t been to the cabin for ages, probably even before grandpa died, but it was quite a ways out, and I knew I didn’t have the time or energy to dare the journey on foot. Luckily my neighbors kid had an old moped parked haphazardly in the middle of the street, and those suckers can be hotwired with the single turn of a screwdriver, so without hesitation I stuffed Dave under my jacket, and off we went.

We were on the road for three-four hours maybe, and I had to stop to refill the ridiculously small tank three times over. Dave kept his calm about him as per usual, but I could tell that he was getting antsy by the time we turned off the main road, heading up the bumpy road to the Quintessential Point, where grandpa’s old cabin could be found. I had to ditch the moped about halfway up, so I let Dave run free as we hiked the last couple of miles by foot.

The cabin was an eyesore. It had always been an eyesore. Grandpa had fought tooth and nails to keep the property after certain incidents of federal nature forced him into hiding for a couple of years. It was situated on the very edge of the Quintessential Point, dangerously so, and there was a vertical drop of maybe thirty feet just on the other side of the ramshackle railings of the balcony. I felt a cold chill run down my spine as I spotted the silhouette of Justin in the window. I had no plan, and no idea what to expect. The Justin I knew was gone, replaced by a violent psychopath harboring unknown motives.

I picked up the loitering Dave, and knocked exactly three times on the front door.

“Jeffy,” Justin said, smiling warmly as he opened the door. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

He seemed flustered, but otherwise in fine shape. A warm glow pulsated from the stove behind him, illuminating worn-down furniture and faded walls, and as he beckoned for me to enter, I heard a soft, muffled cry.

“Uhm,” I said. “Is that Jenna’s, uhm, baby?”

“Indeed,” he grinned. “He’s all right, don’t worry. Fed him some formula just now, so he’s happy as a stiff at a funeral. Come in, Jeffy. Sit down. We have much to discuss.”

I sauntered into the living room, nervously scanning the interior. Nothing had changed really. It was still the same tacky craphole, moldy old animal hides and broken antlers decorating the dead wooden walls. I sat down in grandpa’s old rocking chair, placing Dave in my lap, desperately trying to identify where he kept the baby. Justin gave me a brutal pat on the back, and sat down in the couch opposite of me.

“Jeffy, Jeffy, Jeffy,” he sighed. “What are we going to do with you, Jeffy?”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here, Justin,” I said, gaze wandering around the room. “But I suppose you’re about to tell me.”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Sure you do, Jeffy. Sure you do,” he said. “You know I killed mom, and I know you killed dad. We’re the same now, Jeffy. Matricide and patricide aside, we used to be so close, remember?”

I did remember. Justin always looked after me, kept me safe. I guess that’s what made all this so hard to understand. I’d never seen this side of him before, and I was convinced I knew him intricately.

“But you don’t remember why, do you?” he leaned forward, eyes flickering left to right erratically. “Why I had to be nice to you?”

“What do you, uhm, mean?” I muttered.

“Oh boy, I knew they did a number on you over at the institution, but I never realised it was this bad,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re the reason they stopped, you know. Poor Jeffy couldn’t handle it. But they never considered what I could handle or not, did they? No, they messed me up good, Jeffy, and they didn’t even care.”

“I don’t, uh-understand, how did they mess you up? What couldn’t I handle?”

“Why, all the murdering, of course!” he laughed, slapping his thigh. “Oh, they enjoyed their depravity, didn’t they? The fuckier, the better. Put poor Jeffy in a bathtub full of blood, make Justin cut out all the organs, force feed them both pieces of the victims. What a family, eh? No wonder you lost it eventually.”

The memories came flooding back to me. Screams, rivers of blood, the leathery texture of an undercooked kidney. A knife in my hand, and an old, ugly, heinous face.

“Grandpa was the worst of the lot. Truth be told, I think they were happy when you slaughtered him. That’s when they stopped, you know. That’s when they sent you to that place.”

“I, uh, I don’t remember…”

“No, you don’t, do you?” he said coldly. “They couldn’t get you talk for months, and when you finally did, you couldn’t remember anything. Just kept mumbling the same name, over and over. Dave, Dave, Dave.”

I stared at Dave. He stared back, purring contently. “What do you mean? What Dave? Did I know a Dave back then? Is that why I instantly named my cat Dave?”

“There is no cat, Jeffy!” he yelled. “Think about it, for god's sake. How long have you had him now? Thirty years? That’s some old ass cat you got there, buddy.”

“N-nuh-no,” I stammered. “You’re wrong Justin. He’s right here. I can see him. I can feel him.”

“For fucks sake, I don’t care,” Justin stood up, and calmly walked toward the kitchen cabinet. “Keep your imaginary friend, it really doesn’t fucking matter. In fact, it will make this whole thing a lot easier to sell.”

He opened one of the cabinets, the one at the very top, and suddenly the muffled cries became louder. “You see, I want to start my own family,” he said, carefully lifting down the baby boy. “But I need a demon in the hurricane.”

“Wh-whu-what does that mean?!” I said. “I don’t uh-understand!”

“Oh, surely you remember. It was grandpa’s family mantra. We cannot move lest we leave a demon behind in the hurricane. It’s an overly pompous way of saying that we always need a scapegoat. I mean, think about it; how do you suppose they got away with all those murders, hmm? The only reason they did, is because they consistently set up some poor schmuck to take the fall.”

“An-uh-and, uhm, I’m your, uhm, demon?”

“Look, I didn’t plan for it to end this way. I just wanted you dead, Jeffy. That’s all. That’s why I switched out mom’s birthday present with those tapes; I was so sure they were gonna kill you for that.”

He gently rocked the baby back and forth, humming a beautiful tune. “But here’s the kicker, Jeffy; they weren’t even gonna hurt you. Not initially, anyway. Mom just wanted dad to bring you here, to keep you safe, to calm you down. So, you know, I lost it. Fucking killed her.”

“Wh-uh-why did you want me dead? What have I, uhm, ever done to you?” I said, tears rapidly forming in my eyes. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I really thought I’d reached the bottom of the rabbit hole, but there was obviously more.

“Nothing personal, buddy,” he smiled. “Just wanted them to feel pain. They really loved you, Jeffy. Can’t for the life of me understand why, but they did. Me? Not so much. I guess I reminded them too much of grandpa, or perhaps themselves. Jenna’s baby changed my mind though. When mom brought her over to try to convince you to come back home, I instantly knew what I’d wanted all these years. Someone to love. Someone to love me back unconditionally. Someone to shape. Someone to mold into a better, more capable me.”

I let my fingers run through Dave’s soft fur. I needed his calming guidance now. Dave’s always been there for me. Always had my back. Always kept me on the straight and narrow.

“So, uhm, what now?” I asked, eyeing the open window just behind the couch.

“Oh, you know,” he said, placing the baby back in the cabinet, and closing the door. “You still have to die, Jeffy. Just need to make it look, you know, suicidy. That’s all I need from my demon.”

He grabbed a knife from the kitchen counter, and edged closer to me. There was this look on his face, a very familiar expression I’d seen before, once that I could remember, but probably countless times over. A look of hate and murderous violence. The exact look I saw on my mother’s face when she butchered those poor people in the video.

“Give me your wrist, Jeffy,” he snarled. “No reason to make this more painful than it has to be.”

I got up from the rocking chair, backing up slowly, Dave firmly in my grasp. I knew I had only one shot at this, so I needed to position myself just right. When Justin edged past the rocking chair, back turned to the couch, I made my move.

I quickly put Dave on the ground, pointing at Justin. “Get him, Dave!” I yelled. “Fuck him up!”

We rushed at Justin in unison, and when he, wide-eyed with surprise and shock, stuck the knife brutally into my shoulder, I quickly jerked sideways, breaking the blade off at the grip. Sure, there was pain involved, but I’ve been through worse. With a continuous motion I elbowed him in the groin, and watched in awe as Dave fucked up his face. That cat had some unreal moves, let me tell you.

Justin stumbled back, and when he clumsily hit the couch, I charged at him with what little was left of my stamina, sending him tumbling through the open window. There was shattering of glass, a whole lot of blood, and horrible screams, as Justin and Dave rolled around, slipping under the ramshackle railing, suddenly freefalling the thirty feet down to the jagged rock foundation below.

I heard a sound I can’t accurately describe, but I’m often reminded of it when I hear a butcher working with raw meat. Squishy, meaty sounds. I collapsed on the floor, desperately heaving for my breath. I would have passed out on the spot if it wasn’t for the muffled crying coming from the cabinet. I stumbled to my feet, staggering towards it, gently lifting him down. He felt a lot like Dave. Same weight, different texture though. I sat down in the couch, momentarily lost in those bright blue peepers of his. Maybe I wanted my own family too? Maybe Justin could be my demon in the hurricane?

But no. I wasn’t them. I wasn’t grandpa, or mom, or dad, or even Justin. So I called the police, this time more than able to string together the correct words, describing in vivid detail everything from start to finish. From home videos to the shattered remains of Justin. I felt good. I felt free. But there was also a sadness, I suppose. A loss of sorts. Poor, poor Dave.

So you see, it all ends with my death. Not philosophical either. Mental, perhaps. Personal. A new me. The police came to believe me eventually, although it took a few days of long, strenuous interrogations to get it sorted. A lot of details to be uncovered, things from my childhood I just couldn’t remember. They mentioned something, though. Something you lot might find comforting. On the second day of the interview, the lead detective asked me about Justin, about the struggle, about his remains.

“There were some marks, wounds, we can’t account for,” he said. “On the suspect's face. Looks a hell of a lot like someone, something, clawed him, scratched him up real good.

”

Of course it looked like that, I thought, stroking Dave's perfectly soft fur lovingly.

Of course it looked like that.

---

Credits 

My Mom Sent Me Some Old Home Videos for My Birthday (Part 3)

  

What does a sane mind look like when subjugated by waves of unrelenting madness? An innocent home video turned into murderous slaughter. Normal, loving parents morphing into deceitful, homicidal maniacs. The very foundation under my metaphorical feet disappearing, leaving my fragile psyche spiraling into the unknown abyss.

Yes, I tend to get just a little bit philosophical when I’m under a lot of stress. I suppose, under normal circumstances, it helps calm my nerves, but as I sat in that dark cabin cradling Dave like a little baby - my “mom’s” sinister words echoing repeatedly in my head - I felt no relief in delving into the soothing corners of fatalism. The situation required swift action. Swift, decisive, well-executed action. Not my strong suit.

So I did what I imagine anyone in my situation would do; I called my big brother. He’d know what to do. He was my polar opposite in many ways; charismatic, athletic, outgoing, funny. He could make widows laugh on the day of their late husband's funeral, and effortlessly talk his way out of any crime, petty or otherwise. He’d help me out, like he’d done so many times before.

I’ll spare you the boring details of the conversation, which in short involved a lot of uhm’s, and me desperately trying to string together a coherent narrative (failing many times over), and Justin patiently waiting for me to finish.

“That’s, uhm, all I know,” I murmured tiredly. “I know, uhm, it’s hard to believe, but I swear, Justin, it’s the truth.”

There was a long, silent, awkward pause. “I believe you, Jeffy,” he finally said. “I don’t know why, but I believe you.”

It felt like a great burden was lifted from my shoulders, and I could finally breathe again. The growing tension in my chest faded instantly, and I even think I smiled, or at least thought about smiling. I’d do that quite often for some reason. Think about things, instead of actually doing them. Like the manifestation of thought was enough.

“So, uhm, what now?” I asked.

“Just hang back, Jeffy,” he said. “I’ll get in touch with the police. Explain everything. You get some rest, stay put. I’ll call you when I have some news.”

I glanced around the cramp, dark cabin. There was nothing but the couch I was sitting on, a table, a few ramshackle cabinets, and a cast iron stove. “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll do that, uhm, Justin. Please hurry, OK? You know, uhm, I don’t like waiting.”

“Will do, Jeffy, will do,” he said reassuringly, before hanging up.

I sat in the darkness for a while, staring at nothing except dull wooden walls, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. It didn’t. Nothing made sense anymore, and I had a hard time figuring out how anything could ever make sense again. It was like my whole life had been an illusion, an impossibly elaborate magic trick, where I was the poor white rabbit stuffed in the hat all this time, obscured and hidden from heinous reality.

I guess I must have dozed off at some point. Collapsed in exhaustion. I know it wasn’t a dreamless sleep, because I remember swimming in rivers of blood, but I care not to dwell on the details of it. Doesn’t help with my anxiety. Doesn’t help with my sanity.

I woke up sweating and shivering and hurting to the vague sensation of my phone buzzing. I’d been asleep for at least twelve hours, but it felt like barely a minute, and the vibrant rays of the sun blinded me as I stumbled to my feet. My body felt battered and beaten, almost like I’d been in a car crash, and it took me a moment or two to realise that, yes, that’s exactly what had happened.

“Uhm, Justin?” I muttered weakly. “Did you fix it? Can I come home?”

There was no answer. Just silence. I waited patiently for maybe thirty seconds, every so often checking if the call was still active. “Justin?” I queried once more.

“Jeffy…” Justin said, voice trembling. “You need to stay put, OK? Don’t move, you hear me? Help is on the way, all right?”

“Uhm,” I stammered confusedly. “Uhm, I don’t understand? Did they find dad? Did they find mom? Is, uhm, she in, uhm, jail?”

I found Dave chilling in the warm sun behind the couch, and gently lifted him up with one arm. He was a support animal of sorts I suppose. I always felt calmer when holding him.

“They, they, oh shit,” Justin whispered. His voice was cracking, like he was crying, or trying to avoid crying, and it really put me on edge. Justin never cried. “They found Jenna. At mom and dads. She, they, she is dead, Jeffy. Stabbed, murdered, blood all over, absolute fucking mess. Oh shit.”

“And, uhm, mom?” I asked. “Did they find mom?”

“Missing, gone,” Justin sighed. “But that’s not all, Jeffy. The baby, the baby, Jenna’s baby, shit, the baby is missing too. Nowhere to be found.”

“Uhm, oh,” I muttered. “That’s, uhm, not good, is it?”

“No, Jeffy, that’s not good at all,” he said, a slight hint of annoyance in his tone. “But listen, the cops want to talk to you. It’s real important, Jeffy. Just, you know, stay put. Don’t run. It won’t look good if you run, Jeffy.”

“Uhm, OK,” I said. “But why? Why can’t I just come home? I haven’t done anything. I can show them the video. Prove that mom did it.”

“Stay put, you hear?” he said sternly. “Just stay there. I’ve given them your location, Jeffy. They want to bring you in. Don’t. Do. Anything.”

“Uhm, sure, I guess,” I said, staring at Dave, trying to understand what was happening. “I’ll just, uhm, sit back with Dave then, I guess.”

“Yes, of course, Dave,” he sighed. “Stay put with Dave, sure. I’ll let them know, OK?”

“Uhm, yeah, thanks Justin,” I said. “Talk soon.”

He hung up, leaving me once again drowning in the fathomless depths of my own anxiety. I knew that I could trust Justin, but I also instinctively knew when he was lying. He’d done it before. Leave out certain details to keep me calm and docile, as he’d have it. He didn’t want me to worry, to stress out, to lose my mind. But this time it went deeper. This time I’m not sure he believed me - or worse yet; he didn’t trust me.

I couldn’t know for sure what the police had told him, or what he’d told the police, so in my rather feverish state of mind I did the exact opposite of what he ordered me to do; I promptly left the premises. Grabbed Dave and the laptop, and stumbled into the forest, not having the slightest idea of where I was. Add that to the fact that my sense of direction was abysmal at best, and you have one confused Jeffy heedlessly heading for disaster.

In retrospect it was somewhat of a miracle that I didn’t just topple over and fall unconscious out there in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t realise the extent of my blood loss until I saw my ragged pajamas in the bright sunlight. I was positively drenched in blood. From neck to toe, a crimson spectacle staggering through the woods. There’s like a few gallons tops in a human body, right? I’m sure some of you know this. I didn’t.

I went to some rather dark places of my psyche on my impromptu hike. Revisiting memories I didn’t know existed. Time spent delving into a childhood that seemed so strangely...lacking. I could barely remember anything before the age of six. And even then, there was little but snippets. Brief flashes and fragments. Isn’t that strange?

Dave seemed to enjoy cleaning my clothes though, and with him as company, and possibly some sort of feline guardian angel, I somehow managed to keep up a moderately acceptable pace. I didn’t want to expose my rather ominously decorated persona if I could avoid it, so when I stumbled upon the main road several hours later, I kept myself hidden in the treelines for as long as possible.

Thankfully the streets were more or less empty when I reached the outskirts of town. It was getting pretty late, so shrouded by shadows and sneaking stealthlessly around corners, I was able to get to my apartment unseen by anyone except for the neighborhood hobo, Lars. He’d probably seen stranger things though, so he didn’t seem altogether that bothered by my bloody appearance, nodding idly as I gracelessly tripped past him.

I let out a sigh of relief as I pushed the door open. A shower, fresh clothes, food, sleep; mundane privileges we all take for granted, but oh so heavenly when you’ve gone without them for just as little as a day. I put Dave down, thanking him for putting up with me, secured the laptop, and headed for the shower.

I was halfway into the bathroom when I noticed the smell. I say noticed, but in reality it was more like a pungent punch right up my nostrils. I doubled over on the floor more or less instantly, retching half of my lungs up, the other half desperately hiding behind other organs. A flood of memories overcame me as I lay there gasping for air, but they all seemed so...false. Like they’d happened to someone else. Flashes of screams and blood and death, tears and pain and torment.

I managed to stumble to my feet, switching on the light as I did. The sight that unfolded sent me sprawling to the floor once more.

There was a...thing in the bathtub. Once human, I am sure. Now in pieces, I’d say dozens of them, limbs, organs, guts, bobbing around in a pool of blood and other fluids that probably belongs on the inside of the body. I resorted to crawling out of there, slamming the door shut the moment I crossed the threshold.

I spent the next five minutes hyperventilating on the floor. There was an image etched into my mind. A head, a face, floating around in the pond of rotting remains like a grotesque parody of a rubber duck. A face I instantly recognized. A head I’d seen so many times before.

It was my mom.

I anxiously fumbled with my phone, knowing there was only one person I could call, but I was immediately greeted by a bunch of unread messages and missed calls, all from Justin. I guess I hadn’t noticed. I opened the messages, feeling an unrelenting dread rising as I rapidly read through them.

Justin: Are you still there? The cops are coming now. Don’t move.

Justin: They should be right outside now. Don’t move. Stay put Jeffy!

Justin: They’re inside. Can’t find you. Where are you? Stay where you are, and call me.

Justin: Where are you you fucking shit? I told you stay put!!

Justin: FUCK YOU JEFFY!! WHERE ARE YOU?

Justin: YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD WHEN I FIND YOU JEFFY!!

---

Credits 

My Mom Sent Me Some Old Home Videos for My Birthday (Part 2)

  

I’m sorry I haven’t been able to update sooner, but it’s been a crazy couple of days, and quite frankly it wasn’t on top of my todo-list given the urgency of my current situation. I’ll do my best to give an accurate description of the events that followed the brutal demolition of my life as I know it, but time isn’t exactly on my side, so I’ll have to keep it brief.

After the text from “mom” I didn’t have time to think. I didn’t know what to think either, I just knew I had to get out of there before my “dad” arrived. So in a panicky haze I quickly grabbed the laptop, and Dave the cat - who’d been loitering diligently just outside the door - and ran down the deserted street sobbing hysterically. I had no idea where I was going, or what I was doing. I guess I just figured that running was a solid plan given the circumstances.

I got about halfway down the block before the rational part of my brain interfered. Why am I running? Shouldn’t I show this video to someone? The police? My brother? I slowly came to a halt as I considered all my options. How sure was I that this wasn’t just a prank? How could it be a prank? Who in their right f’ing mind would think that this was even remotely funny? No, it was the truth alright, there was simply no denying it. I gently placed Dave on the ground as I fished the phone out of my pocket, dialling 911 with trembling fingers.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” a female dispatcher answered.

“Uh, I need help,” I stammered incoherently. “My mom, uhm, that’s to say she’s not really my mom, uhm, killed my real parents when I was a baby, and now she’s sent my dad, who isn’t my dad, after me, and I, uhm, don’t know what to do.”

“Sir, you’re not making any sense. What is your location?”

“So I got, uhm, this DVD,” I continued, waving my laptop around like she could somehow see it. “And it’s got everything, uhm, on it. Like, the murder, and my mom, and everything.”

There was a long pause, like the dispatcher was considering whether or not to just hang up on me, which in retrospect makes total sense, since I must have sounded like a crazed, blabbering maniac. I was tripping around nervously in a circle, head bobbing up and down erratically, tears streaming down my face. I was looking at this rather peculiar garden ornament, shaped like a bulbous rat, when suddenly I caught movement in my peripheral vision. Moments later I was on the run again, laptop under one arm, Dave in the other, phone hazardously kept in place between my cheek and shoulder.

My father’s car.

“You gotta hurry!” I yelled into the phone. “He’s here!”

I somehow managed to pocket the phone while juggling the laptop and Dave, stumbling down the street aimlessly. I could hear the sound of car tires approaching from behind - my “dad” more than likely - and in a moment of panic I decided to run up to a random apartment, banging on the front door awkwardly with my elbow. I saw movement behind closed curtains, then a pair of inquisitive eyes glancing at me briefly, before disappearing again. Of course they weren’t gonna let me in; I was a grown-ass man in my pajamas, carrying a laptop and fat cat named Dave. But I was hoping they’d call the cops on me.

“Jeffy,” my “dad’s” voice beckoned from behind. “Please, son, get in the car. I think you’re a little bit confused.”

He was parked by the curb, hanging over the open car door, like we were having a perfectly casual conversation about the stock market or something. He had this awkward smile on his face, and there was a look of genuine concern in his eyes.

“Uhm, no, no way,” I said, feverishly trying to find a way to escape that didn’t require me to use any of my arms. “I saw the video, uhm, the baby and mom and everything.”

He laughed heartily, slapping the roof of the car theatrically. “Oh, that? Jeffy, Jeffy,” he said. “It was just a prank! You have to know that, right? It’s just another one of your mom’s silly shenanigans. I think she went a little too far on this one though, I’ll give you that much.”

So here’s a weird thing; I sort of believed him. Sure, looking back on it, it was a stupid f’ing thing to do. But you weren’t there. You weren’t in my head. You don’t know them like I did. They were just so painfully...dull, you know? A boring, old couple. Nothing about them ever stood out. They were normal. So unbelievably normal. And a five minute video can’t undo decades of carefully planned indoctrination.

“Uhm, yeah, I mean, OK,” I said, hanging my head in shame. And I did feel shame right then. Ashamed I’d made such a fool of myself. Ashamed I’d accused my parents of something so utterly heinous. That’s how deep it went. That’s how easy it was for them to control me.

“That’s a good boy,” my “dad” said, patting me on my back as I climbed into the backseat. Dave was getting fairly fed up with all the back and forth, and he’d scratched me up pretty severely on my panicky half-assed escape, so I focused on calming him down.

“Where are we going?” I inquired, staring out the window idly. We were heading out of town, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why.

I heard a soft chuckle, seemingly innocent enough, but for some reason I didn’t like the sound of it. “I figured a few days down by the old cabin would do you wonders,” he said. “Get you back on track. We cannot move lest we leave a demon behind in the hurricane, you know.”

It was such a strange thing to say, leave a demon behind in the hurricane, and I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d heard it somewhere before. I swallowed deeply as the familiar comfort of the concrete scenery was rapidly replaced by the ominous depths of the dark woods.

“So how did mom do it?” I asked. “How did she make the video?”

I stared at my “dad’s” neck as I asked the question, and noticed a slight twitch as the seemingly innocent inquiry registered. “Oh, you know,” he shrugged. “Computer programs and such.”

“Yeah, uhm, but which one? It seemed very sophisticated.”

“I mean, your brother helped her,” he squirmed. “Yes, they spent all of last weekend on it. Complicated stuff.”

“Justin was there last weekend? During the lockdown?” I asked, gently placing Dave on the floor below me. “He drove two hours for that?”

He didn’t respond right away, briefly glancing at me in the rearview mirror. I could tell that he was having a hard time keeping up with his rather poorly executed lies. “Yes, I mean, we’d planned it for months, so we couldn’t, you know, cancel it because of some silly old bug.”

“That, uhm, makes sense, yeah,” I lied.

He let out a sigh of relief, and I could see the smile returning to his face. The next part I didn’t really think through. It was an impulsive decision you could say. An act of misguided self-preservation mixed with varying degrees of rage and fear. He didn’t see it coming, I’ll tell you that much. An arm around his neck, squeezing as hard as I possibly could. The part I didn’t really think through was obviously the fact that he was operating a moving vehicle at high speed.

If you’ve ever been in a car accident, especially one where the car sort of flips mid-air, you might have experienced a certain calmness as you come to accept the finality of your imminent death. You know there’s nothing you can do; you’ll soon enough suffer the lethal impact of the violent collision, so you sort of sit back, metaphorically speaking, readying yourself for the inevitable conclusion.

But sometimes you’ll make it. Sometimes you’ll climb out of the flaming wreckage, laptop and Dave in hand, leaving the unconscious, fatally wounded body of your murderous fake father behind to burn slowly to death in the most horrible way imaginable. And that’s OK. That’s great, even. Just go with it, I say.

There was nothing around for miles, and I was in a pretty bad shape. I stumbled confusedly into the dark woods not quite knowing what to do, or where to go. I just knew I had to get away from the car. Away from the flames. Away from everything.

I can’t say for how long I wandered around in a dazed stupor, but it was getting dark when I found the old cabin. It wasn’t much, nothing more than a shed really, but it was enough. I managed to crack open a window and climb inside, finally allowing poor fat Dave to roam on his lonesome for a few, while I found an old worn-down couch, planting my exhausted body face down in it.

My phone started vibrating minutes later. It was my “mom” calling. I felt my heart beating out of my chest as I stared at the ominous pulsating greenish light of it. I wanted nothing more than to ignore it. To ignore her. But I knew I couldn’t. I knew I had to face her.

“Uhm, hello,” I answered. “What do you want?”

“Jeffy!” my “mom” sang cheerily. “I’m so glad you answered. I’ve been trying to reach your dad for hours now, but he won’t pick up. I don’t suppose you know what he’s up to?”

“He’s, uhm, dead,” I said. “I hope. Car accident, uhm, crash.”

There was a pause, and I could hear her breathing heavily in strained intervals. “That sounds like him, doesn’t it?” she said coldly. “Fell asleep at the wheel no doubt. Silly old fool, wasn’t he?”

She sounded so unphased, like she was discussing the weather with the neighbor or something. No feelings, no emotion; a flat, inhuman, lifeless tone. I was starting to realise just how dangerously insane she really was.

“You can get fucked!” I suddenly yelled. It was really out of character for me, the cursing. It’s not something I normally resort to, you know. “I got evidence, mom,” I snarled, “and you’re not getting away with it!”

“We’ll see about that, Jeffy,” she said calmly. “You know I’ll always find you. Wherever you are, whatever you do; mommy is coming for you.”

She ended the call on that note, knowing full well the state it would leave me in. If I wasn’t paranoid before, I sure as hell was now. Could she find me? Definitely. I was maybe a few miles from the car crash, probably on the only property within walking distance from it, and she wasn’t stupid. She was anything but stupid.

My phone vibrated again; a text message from “mom”. With trembling fingers I opened it, only to drop the phone to the floor the moment I realised what I was looking at.

It was a photo. A young woman and her baby, sitting on my “mom’s” couch. I recognized her instantly. It was their neighbor, Jenna. Single mom, kinda cute. I’ve had a crush on her for ages, but I’ve never acted on it. Don’t know how, you know? A single sentence captioned the image, and it sent tremors of cold chills down my spine.

If you leave me, Jeffy, I’ll have to replace you with someone new.

Love Mom<3 

---

Credits 

 

My Mom Sent Me Some Old Home Videos for My Birthday (Part 1)

I don’t celebrate birthdays anymore. When you get older you try to forget they even exist. You really don’t need a reminder telling you you’re slowly becoming an outdated dinosaur, and I’ve always found commemorating the harrowing approach of your own death a rather morbid notion. So I suppose having my birthday in the middle of a nationwide lockdown was somewhat of a godsend.

That didn’t stop my mother from sending me a present though. She always found a way to annoy me, in the best way possible, and she’d out-fiddle the devil himself just to put a smile on my face. I don’t know how she did it, but this morning, when I went to let Dave, my cat, out, I nearly tripped over it. An anonymous brown package just laying there, inside my flat. How the hell did she pull that off?

I chuckled internally as I desperately tried to decipher what was scribbled on the front of the package. It was clearly in her handwriting. I’d recognize it anywhere. The worst f’ing handwriting you’ll ever see. Like if you grabbed a crow, dipped its beak in ink, and let it peck randomly on the paper.

TO JEFFY, LOVE MOM

I yelled to Dave to hurry his shit up, but he wasn’t having it, so I just closed the door, and brought the package with me inside, carefully placing it down on the kitchen counter. Mom was a next-level prankster, so I made sure to investigate every inch of it, weighing it, gently shaking it, before finally opening it.

I scratched my head in puzzlement. It wasn’t much. Just a DVD. No note or anything. My mom wasn’t very technical, and the thought of her burning a DVD was quite frankly absurd. Did she even own a computer? Maybe dad helped her out? Or my brother? I guess there were ways she could have pulled it off, so I shrugged, and plopped the thing into my laptop.

After whirring discordantly for what felt like minutes, I was finally greeted with a single video file named Jeffy’s Home Videos 86-90. I caught myself smiling sheepishly in the reflection on my screen. I didn’t even know we had a video camera back then, so it was a very thoughtful surprise. Sort of an atypical gift from my mom, but I was still halfway expecting it all to be some elaborate prank. Maybe it was a rick roll or something?

But no, to my mild surprise it seemed like a pretty extensive collection of genuine home videos from the 80’s, complete with ridiculous low resolution, graininess, horrible audio, and an abysmal cameraman. They seemed to be in the wrong order though, starting when I was 4, then younger and younger, which, to me, proved that it was my technically challenged mom who’d compiled them.

I sat for about half an hour enjoying every second of the shaky cam time travel, reliving moments I’d entirely forgotten, laughing at how weird everybody looked back then, and boggling at how I was still alive. I was a stupid, stupid kid, always falling over and running into things. I sent my mom a picture of me and my bottle of wine relishing the ancient videos, with the caption Thanks for the home videos mom<3 Best birthday gift ever!

But then it got strange. I’d just finished watching the summer of 87, when we apparently spent the holiday out by my grandpa’s cabin by the sea. I was two years old then, and my brother Justin must have been five. It was a wonderful trip down non-memory lane, since I had no recollection of it, and I was anxiously looking forward to videos from my first year. I didn’t have any photos or anything from back then, my mom said they’d must have been misplaced when they moved a decade ago, but she could never seem to find them again.

It was the summer of 86 according to the date in the bottom left corner. A shaky cam, more than likely maneuvered by my dad, looking over a tall white fence. A family of three was gathered on the other side; husband, wife, and a tiny toddler. I didn’t recognize any of them, but I suppose they must have been our neighbors. We moved every couple of years when I was a child - something about my mom’s work - so it was an educated guess.

There was some barely audible whispering as the camera was lowered, now facing the grass. I replayed this part several times, but I could never really hear what was said. Just fragments of it made sense. We...Move...Leave...Hurry were the only words I could make out. Then the camera was raised, once again peering over the top of the fence. The family was gathered out by the front porch of a house, the toddler with his assumed mother, and the assumed father operating a hose, spraying water on assorted flowers. Then the camera moved again, focusing on the cheery face of my mom. She was wearing a bright red sun hat, real cheesy looking, and the first time I saw it I giggled uncontrollably.

“Let’s do it,” she said, grinning widely.

A chill ran down my spine. Those exact words have no meaning without context, you know. Could point to absolutely anything. Let’s do it. Let’s go get ice cream. Let’s do it. Let’s drive down to the beach. Innocent things. Mundane snapshots. But the way she said it, and the expression on her face; I knew instantly that something wasn’t right.

Moments later the shaky cam got shakier, now running around the fence, and into the backyard of the family. The cameraman, assumedly my dad, stopped at the gate, zooming in on the woman’s face. She looked shocked. Scared even, holding onto the toddler tightly, and backing away towards the front door. Then my mom came into view again, and I realised why the woman appeared so frightened. I had to replay that moment several times too, because I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it was her.

She was wielding a knife. A huge butchery thing. She turned and grinned to the camera, waving the knife around playfully, before suddenly charging at the woman, her terrifying high-pitched screams echoing through my kitchen. I almost stumbled to the floor as I watched the carnage unfold. My mom stabbed the woman brutally in her left leg, causing her to collapse on the front porch, the toddler rolling down onto the grass, wailing hysterically. The assumed father suddenly became aware of what was happening, and his eyes widened as he yelled something, running to the woman's aid, only to be stabbed in the neck by my mom as he came within arm’s reach.

The next two or three minutes were dedicated to my mom stabbing the two of them repeatedly, the fleshly, pulpy, mangled remains at the end of it hardly even human in appearance any more. Absolutely drenched in blood, my mom turned to the camera, laughing maniacally. She suddenly noticed the wailing toddler in the grass, and quickly wiped clean the knife with the inside of her dress, placing it down on the porch. She then gently lifted the toddler, hugging him tightly, smearing blood all over the child.

“We’ll name you Jeffy,” she said, and kissed him, me, on the cheek, before waving to the camera.

I slammed the laptop shut, and staggered back, hyperventilating uncontrollably. No. It couldn’t be. It had to be some kind of prank, right? Right? Some unbelievably elaborate prank. You could do that these days, you know? Fabricate shit like that? Right? Deep fake and everything?

My phone vibrated. A text from my mom. I read it. Then again. Once more. Then I grabbed my laptop and got the hell out of there.

I didn’t send you any videos, but your father is coming over to sort it out.

Stay where you are, Jeffy. Everything will be alright. Don’t move. We’ll be right there.

Mom<3

---

Credits 

A King and His Four Wives

 

Once upon a time, there was a King who had four wives.

He loved the fourth wife the most, spoiling her with his deepest affection and providing her with only the finest things life could offer.

He also loved the third wife and proudly displayed her to the neighboring kingdoms.

He relied a lot on his second wife. She was his trusted advisor and companion. Whenever the King faced a problem, he could confide in her, and she would help him get through the difficult times.

However, not much can be said about his first wife. Despite her significant contributions to maintaining his kingdom and her tireless efforts to win his love and admiration, the King barely noticed her existence.

One day, the King fell gravely ill. Despite his efforts to find a cure, he realized that his time was running out.

He reflected on his majestic life and decided to spend everything to prolong it, leading him to consult a mystical sorcerer. The sorcerer said, “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but nothing can be done. Your death is imminent. However, I will grant you the chance to take one wife with you into the afterlife.”

Thus, he asked his fourth wife, “I have given you nothing but the best in life. Now that I’m dying, will you accompany me into the afterlife?”

“No way!”, replied the fourth wife, and she walked away without saying a word.

The sad King then asked the third wife.

“No!” replied the third wife. “Life is too good here! I’ll stay! When you die, I’m going to remarry!”

He then asked his second wife.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t go with you,” replied the second wife. “I can only see you to the edge of your grave.”

The King’s heart sank, and he felt a deep sense of despair. He was utterly devastated.

Then he heard a weary, sad voice, speaking softly: “I’ll go with you. I’ll follow you no matter where you go.”

The King looked up and saw his first wife as if for the first time. She appeared aged beyond her years, barely recognizable due to years of neglect. With deep regret, the King said, “I should have taken much better care of you while I had the chance!”

---

MORAL:

We all have these four wives in our lives.

The FOURTH wife is our BODY.  
We often shower our body with the most affection, spending our lives adorning it with exquisite clothing and ornaments. Yet, in the end, it will abandon us when we die.

Our THIRD wife is our POSSESSIONS.  
We invest much of our time and energy in accumulating wealth, but none of it will accompany us when we die. Instead, it will be divided and passed on to others.

Our SECOND wife is our friends, family, and relatives.  
We love and trust them, and in return, they offer us comfort and support when we need it. However, no matter how long they remain by our side, they can only accompany us up to the point of our burial.

And our FIRST wife is our SPIRIT.  
We often neglect our spirits in the pursuit of wealth, pleasure, and power, not realizing that it is only our spirit that accompanies us after death. While it's important to take care of our bodies by staying healthy and exercising, and to enjoy time with loved ones, we must also remember to nurture our greatest treasure: our spirit.

To lead a fulfilling life, it’s essential to find balance in caring for the four aspects of our existence: our body, our earthly possessions, our relationships, and our spirit. By giving each of these areas the attention they deserve, we create a harmonious life where we are not only prepared for the end but also enriched in the present.

Someone is Hiding in my House

  

...I think they're trying to scare me to death.

It all started with a cup of water. Every morning I wake up, climb out of bed, march downstairs, fill a tall glass with tap water and drink it. But this time, the water went down the wrong way. I started coughing. Sputtering. Almost choking. I set the glass down on the countertop, turned away and thumped my chest until the coughing stopped. But when I turned back, the cup of water was gone. I froze. Motionless. Only my eyes moved. Darting back and forth around the kitchen.

The air shifted, a subtle drift, as though something moved through with incredible speed. I stepped back from the countertop and… my heel bumped into something. I spun around. My heel had bumped into the glass of water; it tumbled over with a dull and clattering thud. Empty. Wary, I squat down, picked it up, and studied it. Turned it over in my hand like it was some strange, alien artifact. What just happened?

I called my sister to tell her what happened. She laughed. There must be a reasonable explanation, she said. Perhaps Dash, from The Incredibles did it? "Coincidence, I think NOT!" she teased. I laughed along. Maybe she was right. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation for it. Maybe I dropped the glass in my coughing fit, and it somehow landed upright. Crazier things have happened.

But of course, that wasn't the end of it. Little happenings like this became commonplace. Each event was slightly less explainable than the last. A building experience of uncanny madness. But still, I shrugged it off, tried to think of reasonable explanations. Tried to hand wave it all away...

But then, the 'cup trail incident' occurred. There was no reasonable explanation for the cup trail incident:

I snapped awake. 2:58 AM on a Tuesday. Bright light blinding into my dilated eyes. The lights were on. Somehow, the lights were on. A power surge, perhaps? I climbed out of bed, marched across the room, and froze. I froze because my bedroom door was open. But the door being open didn't bother me too much. What bothered me was the glass of half-empty water, sitting on the floor in the middle of the upstairs hallway. That bothered me for several reasons. Chief among them being: I didn't put it there.

I crept out into the hallway. The floor was uncharacteristically creaky tonight. I squat down, lifted the glass of water and…

Fingerprints. Fingerprints were fogged on the glass: dozens and dozens of fingerprints. I recoiled, dropping the glass. It thumped onto the carpet and spilled over, an expanding puddle of water absorbing into the carpet. I glanced back over my shoulder. A looming sense of unease climbed through my body. I pushed back to standing and…

…Another glass of water. Half-empty. Sitting at the top of the stairs. I walked forward. I looked down the stairs. Another one. Sitting halfway down the steps. A trail of half-empty cups. Should I just call the police? I reached for my phone instinctively, but it wasn't there. I always kept my phone in my pocket, even while I slept (don't ask). But now it was gone… It was gone, and somebody was hiding in my house. I looked back over my shoulder, down the hallway, towards my bedroom. Did it fall out of my pocket? Was it in my bed? Did I leave it on my bedside table? I was about to go look when…

Downstairs. Something BUZZED against hardwood floor. A quick one-two-three… one-two-three pattern. The distinct pattern I made for notifications; Somehow, my phone was downstairs. I turned back. Took a deep breath, and stepped forward.

My phone lay on the kitchen floor, buzzing around in lazy circles. I stepped over, picked it up, and flicked on the screen. Time to call the police. But I froze again. My eyes caught a push notification at the top of the screen, "New photo saved to cloud." I raised an eyebrow, tapped into it and…

My breath sucked out of my lungs like a vacuum. It was a photo of me, fast asleep. Taken at 2:57 AM. One minute before I woke up. A sickening swell of dread spiraled through me as everything piled up. The cups of water, the lights turning on, the phone being downstairs, and now… finally… the photo of me. The photo which somebody else had taken as I slept.

I dialed 911.

"911 where are you located?" a calming, almost serene voice answered.

I gave them my address.

"What's your emergency?" she replied.

"There's somebody in my house…"

"Are you in a room?"

"What?"

"Please get to a safe room and lock the door."

I bolted to the nearest washroom, slammed the door shut, and locked it. Maybe I should've just ran outside, but... what if they were waiting for me?

"Okay sir, are you safe?" said the voice on the other end.

"I… I…"

A door slammed shut. Somewhere upstairs.

"He's upstairs…" I said.

"Help is on the way. Focus on breathing. Breathe in."

I breathed in.

"Breathe out."

I breathed out.

"Breathe in…"

Upstairs, another door swung open and slammed shut. The intruder was searching now; Checking each and every room in order.

"Sir? Are you there...?"

"Y-yes…" I whispered. The slamming doors getting closer. One room at a time, getting closer. The final door upstairs slammed shut, and suddenly, a door downstairs swung open, and slammed shut. Were there multiple intruders? Either there were multiple intruders, or this person was impossibly fast.

"Sir?"

"He's… He's…"

"Sir… are you still in the bathroom?"

…the bathroom? How did they know I was hiding in the bathroom. I never told them I was hiding in the bathroom…

"Sir… are you there?"

The voice said again, but this time... I could hear it on the other side of the door too. I could hear the 911 operators voice inside my house. The intruder was talking to me on the phone. The intruder was somehow pretending to be a 911 operator. They were talking to me.

The bathroom doorknob jostled.

"Sir, open the door please," she said.

Dropping the phone, I wrapped my grip around the handle, pulled back with all my strength.

"Sir, please open the door..."

I didn't budge.

"Sir, open the door. Open the door, open the door," she kept repeating. Like a broken record. Like a pre-made recording. All the while pulling back at the doorknob, trying to get in.

The lights started turning on and off. On and off. A rapid cycle between light and dark, faster and faster.

"Sir, we can't help you if you don't open the door," she said, almost sounding on the verge of laughter now. "Sir? Are you there? Sir…?"

Suddenly, outside, around the corner, the front door burst open, "POLICE!" a baritone voice boomed.

Silence.

"Police?"

I remained quiet. I didn't trust it. Whatever I was dealing with didn't seem to play by the rules of reality. I wasn't going to fall for it. I remained silent. Hands gripped around the doorknob, I remained motionless.

"Hello?" said the deep voice, then the crackle of radio static, "I'm getting no response, requesting backup."

I hid in the bathroom for about an hour until they found me. The actual police found me. I was a nervous wreck, understandably so. Ranting and raving. Telling them about the woman on the phone, telling them about the cups of water on the floor.

They sent me in for psych eval and I was discharged a few days later. Of course, no one believed me. Even when I showed them the photo of me sleeping, no one believed me.

"There must be a reasonable explanation," they always said. "Perhaps you had a temporary psychotic breakdown…?" My sister theorized.

I moved out the next month. No way I was sticking around after that. In hindsight, I should've moved out earlier.

Now I'm living upstate, in a much smaller house. Less places for would-be intruders to hide. I have cameras set up everywhere, so this time, if anyone messes with me, I'll have the receipts. It's all connected to my phone too, so I can even check the cameras while at work. I might be a coward, but I'm not stupid.

So anyways, quite a few uneventful months had gone by since the cup trail incident. In fact, nothing else had even happened until tonight. I was even starting to wonder if perhaps my sister was right; Perhaps I had a momentary lapse in sanity…

But now… Now I'm lying on my bed, writing this on my phone. I can't move. I'm paralyzed with fear, and writing this is the only thing that even remotely calms me down. I'm paralyzed with fear because earlier, about one hour and twenty-three minutes ago to be exact. I got home from work late. I got home from work late and crawled right into bed. That was my first mistake. I broke my ritual; My daily ritual of checking all the cameras before entering the house, checking to see if any motion was recorded during the day. But I was tired, and it was late after work, and I just wanted to sleep. I'll check the cameras in bed, I thought. I'll just check the cameras in bed…

And of course, today, of all days, is the day something happened. What happened, you ask? Perhaps some of you already guessed. But I'll let you know regardless…

Nine hours and twenty-three minutes ago, the bedroom camera recorded motion. I watched the footage on my phone just twenty minutes ago. It was footage of me, mulling about the house, getting ready for work, and then leaving. I breathed relief. Of course, it was just me. You fool, you should've known. It was you. You threw off your schedule, and you were late, and the cameras detected you…

But then… thirty seconds after I had left. MOTION DETECTED: BEDROOM CAMERA. The footage appeared. My empty bedroom. Dark. I squinted. Nothing. Suddenly, in the footage, the lights flicked on. Still nothing. They flicked on and off and then… Then I saw something that filled me with a fear far beyond anything I'd ever felt. A fear far beyond anything I even knew was possible:

When the lights flicked back on, a person appeared. A person standing in the middle of my room, with pin-straight posture, hands over their face like someone playing peekaboo. The footage fast-forwarded on its own now. Shadows drifting across the wall as the sun outside moved downward. But the person just stood there motionless. Motionless as the world sped by. Hands covering their face.

The footage snapped back to real-time. Thirty seconds before I arrived home. The person slightly perked up, hearing my arrival. Then, hands still covering their face, they dropped to their knees. In one smooth, almost robotic motion, they fell to their side, and rolled under the bed. They rolled under the bed. They rolled under the bed that I was currently lying on. The bed which I am laying on right now… Manically typing on my phone in the dark.

"Just beat them up lol, I would," I can almost hear the very badass readers among you writing in the comments below.

"Call 911?" I hear the good faith worriers among you thinking.

But seriously? Call 911? After what happened last time? Call 911?

Either way, I figure this is the last thing I'll ever post; So I hope you got some enjoyment out of reading about my imminent demise.

-William Creston

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welcome back

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I Work Security at Disney World... Well, I Mean I Did

  

I work in security at Disney World, the happiest place on Earth. Typically, I wouldn’t say where I work as obviously there are some pretty strict rules about things employees can put online, but I just don’t think I can tell this properly without that context. And, honestly, I think this may be it for me anyway with this job. I just can’t see myself working here any longer now.

I’ve been with the company for 23 years. The first 20 years I worked in the parks – nabbing shoplifters and rounding up people who were drinking too much for the heat. Occasionally there’d be a fight to break up, but people usually kept it pretty mild.

The heat and walking was getting too much for me the last few years so I asked to be transferred somewhere with a/c and the company moved me to one of their resorts. While the working conditions were 110% better as far as climate and comfort go, the guest issues were trickier - mainly domestics. I guess the expensive and stress of vacation got to a lot of people and I’d be called by neighboring rooms because some mom and dad were yelling at each other. I’d try to suggest they take a nap or go do separate activities for a bit and that would usually calm them down.

But none of that is what I’m here for. I’ve got to get this out while I have time.

Three days ago I got a call from management. Apparently a couple of days before that, housekeeping had went into a room that should’ve been turned over that day (turned over is when one guest leaves by about 11:00 a.m. and the next guest checks in around 3:00 p.m.) and all of the guests’ items were still in the room. Housekeeping made a note of it and moved on, but during the next two days when they entered the room, everything was still there and untouched.

I went to check it out and sure enough there was an empty room full of luggage, clothes, snacks, some toys, everything a family would need for vacation. The manager had already looked up the previous reservation and it was for a family – dad, mom, two little kids. I tried to call the phone numbers they had given but all I got was voice mail. We were a bit stumped so I made the call that housekeeper could clean the room and take the family’s personal items to be held until we got in contact with someone.

I went digging into the reservation more. The family had arrived five days before housekeeping discovered all of their stuff. I found that the family had paid a parking fee and their vehicle description was listed. A quick walk of the parking lots and I had easily located their vehicle. So that ruled out a car accident or them deciding to just leave all their stuff behind.

Next, I saw that they had bought a dining plan. This is when a guest prepays for all of their food. They’re given a certain number of “credits” to use for meals. This family had only used 3 credits and the last one was two days after they checked in. It appeared that the day they arrived, they got here late and probably just stayed on the resort. The next day they used 2 credits at Epcot. The second park day they used just 1 credit at Magic Kingdom and it was at breakfast time.

Now at Disney we have something called Magic Bands. Magic Bands are worn by the guests and act as a room key, park ticket, credit card, dining reservation payment, fastpass (a system used to bypass lines), and more. It took some work, but I was finally able to look up this family’s fastpass history. The day they went to Magic Kingdom, they had breakfast at a restaurant in the park, rode a couple of rides, and then rode their last ride, It’s a Small World around 11:00 a.m. Then nothing.

Finally, it was time to bring in someone else on this. I called an old co-worker at Magic Kingdom and asked him to pull security footage for It’s a Small World at the time they rode it and I made my way over there. When I got there, my friend was very confused, almost distraught, looking. He showed me what he found. There’s usually a camera in the direction of where rides load and unload. The footage showed them scanning their bands to use fastpasses for the ride and boarding the ride. The footage from the exit of the ride just showed the other people in their car exiting. They weren’t there.

Of course we thought the worse, maybe one of the kids had fallen out and mom and dad and the other kid got off in the middle of the ride to help and they all got injured or killed or stuck in machinery somewhere. So we shut down the ride. Middle of the damn day. Turned off that ear worm music and turned up the lights. Me and my buddy walked that ride three times before we called in help. Eventually there was close to ten cast members searching, and we didn’t find shit except for three cell phones and a hat.

I was right stumped. I've kept digging the past couple of days, and I’m not sure who to tell what I found next to. I’ve called the police and I suppose they’re on the way, but the company has a way of covering up things like this and I decided I can’t live with myself if I don’t put out some type of warning.

I kept digging into their reservation over the last couple of days and today I noticed they had purchased memory maker. There are photographers all over the parks and cameras in a lot of the rides and, with memory maker, the photos are all free. They automatically get added to a guest’s Disney account when the system knows their picture has been taken. And the system always knows. Everyone’s whereabouts are always known with the Magic Bands.

Well, I opened up their memory maker photo album and, I swear, there’s 732 pictures. The first 30 or so are pretty normal. Epcot, a few rides, in front of the castle. But the rest. The rest are all in It’s a Small World. The rides only take one picture per go around. So it appears as though this family has ridden this ride over 700 times. The first picture was pretty normal. Everyone looked happy, it was busy day and a full car of guests. The next one is rough to look at. The car is empty except for this little family and they look so darn confused. The next 10-15 I can see dad getting angry, yelling. Mom is holding onto those two kids like her life depends on it and you can see the kids getting increasingly upset, crying. And it goes on, and on, and on. After 50 or so it looks like they’re trying to get out. In one the dad is missing. In another they’re all gone. Maybe like they’ve bailed early in the ride and tried to walk out, but in the very next one, they’re all right back in that damn car. After around 450 or so, I only see the mom and kids. It’s just when I look closely I can see dad, maybe just his body now, slumped down in one of the other seats. Since about 675, there’s just mom and one kid. Another body in another seat. The mom and kid aren’t moving anymore. I think them two are still alive, just damn near catatonic. Looking straight ahead, pale.

And, y’all, I swear on my fucking life, the dolls are moving or something. In some of these pictures I can tell they aren’t where they should be. I even saw one with a doll in the car with this family.

I can’t look anymore or I’m going to lose my lunch. I closed the album. It’s file sized has increased since I closed it. God, are there new pictures being added?

I see on security cameras that the local PD just arrived so they’ll take over soon. I wish I knew what the fuck is going on, but I also wish this damn thing had never landed in my lap. I don’t think I’ll be able to update this. After I talk to the police, I think I’m going to walk out of here and never come back. I just wanted to get this out there, before Disney feeds the media some bullshit cover up as to why a whole family vanished. They didn’t vanish. I know where they are.

 

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Credits

I Think Something Got My Friend

  

Before I start retelling this particular experience, I want to preface it my reason for posting. This happened some years back, and I've always been quick to push it off and try and forget about it, but a conversation I had recently inspired me write my story out so people with more experience of paranormal/supernatural phenomena might tell me what I witnessed, if anything.

This all takes place in North-Western Montana during the late autumn of 2009.

Apologies for spelling and grammatical errors. I wrote it all down in one sitting.

When I was seventeen I moved out of my parents and in with a coworker (who I'll call John) in his trailer. We got along well at work and we'd been part of the same weekly D&D group for awhile. It was actually one of the better roommate situations I've ever had in terms of compatibility, and we became close friends during that time. We were roommates until shortly after I turned 18 and some personal stuff happened with my family. I ended up moving back in with them for awhile so I could help them cover some bills.

It took about three months for that situation to stabilize and I called this friend up about moving back out there. This was the first time I remember feeling something was off, though it's been so long I can't remember the details of the conversation. Just a sense of wrongness that lingered for awhile after I'd hung up the phone. The end result was that I was welcome to move back in, which I expected. I waited for a day off, and another friend, who I'll call Dave, came to help me move. Dave was another D&D pal from a different group, and we were figuring we'd show up and talk John into a one-shot session or something. So we loaded up all my stuff and drove out there, and it was a nightmare.

From the moment John opened the door, everything was wrong. I won't say John was a clean freak, but he tried to maintain his space, and he'd always insisted we clean up for company when I was living with him. I stood there open mouthed to see the thick layer of dust that coated nearly everything, and the longer I looked around the worse it got. There was a half-eaten plate of food turned to mold sitting on the table, both sinks in the kitchen were similarly moldy, and the air in the trailer stank, even beyond what I'd expect for some moldy dishes.

I was extremely taken aback by the state of the trailer, but the state of my friend was even more shocking. He worked at a bank, and had always kept himself clean, but now he looked like a wreck. He'd lost weight, his skin had an unhealthy waxy look to it, his hair was overgrown and greasy, and his body odor was terrible. His smell is the first thing that makes me think there's something really off about the situation. I've been playing D&D and doing other nerd stuff for a long time, and I'm sorry to say a lot of nerds don't have the best hygiene practices. Short story is I've been in the presence of some pretty pungent body odor in my life, and this was not like that.

It was almost the sickly sweet smell of something dead, but not quite. I've never smelled anything exactly like it, before or since. At this point during the encounter I'm at a general level of unease, and I didn't have any desire to go into the trailer, but John invites us and not wanting to be rude, I go in. At this point I'm thinking something crazy happened while I was away. John wasn't dating anyone, so I didn't figure this was a depression resulting from heartbreak, and we'd kept in touch okay after I first moved out, and even when that fell off a bit, I still heard from our mutual friends about the D&D sessions he was attending.

Regardless, despite having not heard anything about it, obviously something had happened. So, standing there in his dusty living room with Dave (Who is shooting my sideways looks the entire time) I ask John if everything is alright. After a full three seconds of silence he assures me everything is fine. Just that, doesn't try to explain the state of his house or anything, and weirder yet. He goes "You guys can crash out here." and just heads off to the back of the house.

I'd always known him to be a diligent host so this was odd to say the least, although basically nothing was going as I expected or remembered up to this point, so him ditching us in the living room of his nasty house was maybe the least weird thing. Now comes the part where I'm pretty glad Dave was there. To me, this nasty trailer was my home. I'd lived there for more than a year before my three month visit to my parents, and had a sense of belonging in the place which I think made me oblivious to things that were obvious to Dave.

Despite the state of things, and being left alone by my friend. I hadn't made any changes to the plan of living there. I set my stuff down and started getting ready to do some cleaning, but Dave stopped me and started point out things I hadn't noticed up to this point. The layer of dust was even an undisturbed across the entire living room and kitchen area except for the thin track from the front door to the hallway, leading to the back of the trailer.

Whispering to me Dave says

"Nothing in here has been used for a long time." and really looking around I realize he's right. The T.V, the computer, the couch and chairs. Dining table with it's rotten food. He hasn't so much as laid a hand on any of it for a month, possibly longer. Dave, almost as if he's sneaking, walks quietly into the kitchen to inspect the fridge. He points out a few thick patches of dust on the flatter surfaces of the fridge, but it's harder to tell here. The fridges metal handle had some dust, but it wasn't collected.

Stepping passed Dave, I reach out with one finger and popped the fridge open, and was gagging before I'd even opened the door enough to trigger the interior light. Throwing my arm across my face, and burying my nose in the crook of my elbow I opened the fridge about halfway, and it's top to bottom rotten food. I step back after a second, turning away and trying to suppress my urge to vomit.

After I take a moment to collect myself, Dave draws my attention to a half-gallon of milk he pulled out of the fridge. Indicating that it had expired three weeks prior. Personally I just wanted him to put everything back and close the fridge. More or less done playing dust detective. I basically shrug off every thing up to this point, clear some dust from the couch, get my laptop out and connect to the WiFi. We'd always paid for the best internet available.

After awhile Dave joins me, and we played World of Warcraft for a bit. Eventually he tells me he'll hang out for tonight, because I'm his ride and taking him back to his place and driving back to the trailer was a 90 minute round trip. To be clear I would've taken him home anyway, I wouldn't blame anyone for not wanting to hang out in a room with a giant stack of moldy dishes in the sink and a fridge full of rotten food. We played games on the computer for the next few hours and John never made a noise.

At one point Dave asked me where the bathroom was, and I told him at the far end of the Hallway, next to Johns bedroom. A low level of unease had been present since John first answered the door, and was becoming more apparent the longer we stayed. Normally I don't walk with my friends to the bathroom, but it seemed the right thing to do at the time. So I lead Dave down the hallway, flipping on the hallway light as we go, and covering my fingers in dust from the switch.

At this point I was actually starting to get annoyed with all of it. I don't normally have bad seasonal allergies, but all the dust we'd been stirring up had my nose itchy and half plugged. So on my way down the hallway, I think I'm gonna point Dave into the bathroom and knock on Johns bedroom door and confront him about the condition of the house, but halfway down the hallway I realize there's a hole in the floor outside the bathroom door. A jagged edged hole through which you can clearly see the dirt, cobwebs and shredded black plastic that used to cover insulation. A sigh, exasperated now with the weirdness. I point Dave into the bathroom and walk to the end of hallway where Johns room is.

I wonder briefly if he's asleep, as there's no light coming from under his door. The sun was setting, but it gets dark pretty early this time of year. Annoyed I knocked, loudly, and after a few seconds I heard a grunt from inside the room. I pop the door open and flip on the light. This is the point in time where it really starts to sink in for me how wrong this experience has felt. I take in the room in a glance and it's in much the same state as the rest of the house. Dust everywhere, except for the track from the door to the nearest side of the bed. The bed itself was terrible. The blankets and pillows were stained a deep yellow, almost black in places and John just lay on his bed with a thousand yard stare turned on the ceiling.

I forget entirely why I came to talk to John, because looking directly at him I felt the beginnings of a profound fear, which even at the time seemed like an odd feeling to have in that situation. My sickly looking, clearly depressed friend laying on his disgusting bed, paying not attention to me at all. John was not an intimidating guy, short, kinda chubby and baby faced, but in my gut I was afraid of him. I mumbled something about how I'd come to say goodnight, turned off the light and shut the door.

I turned around to find Dave kneeling by the hole in the floor (which, as I write this makes me wonder how long I stood in the doorway to Johns room. If I had to estimate from where I left Dave to saying goodnight to John only 15 seconds or so elapsed, yet he was already out of the bathroom.) As I approach Dave points at the edge of the hole, and tells me the wood along the edge is twisted upward, as if the hole was made from below. This part, I wish I could confirm to be true. I'm including it in my retelling of events because Dave did say it to me, but I did not take the time to inspect the edge of the hole myself. Right then I was at war with my own sense of fear that being in Johns presence had sparked. I just nodded to Dave and said

"We should get back to the living room" Fast forwarding a bit, I kind of came to my senses once we were back in the living room area and I had reopened my laptop. My sudden intense fear of John eased off and we played games for a few more hours before Dave said he wanted to rest his eyes. We shut everything down. I chilled out in a recliner, and Dave laid down on the couch. Positioned so he could look down the hallway.

I was too uneasy to sleep overall. After looking into Johns roomed I had determined I wouldn't be living here after all. As much as I really didn't like living with my parents anymore, it was preferable to whatever John had going on. Quietly I told Dave that everything was all wrong and explained a bit how John as I knew him would never let anything get to this point.
We weighed out the possibilities, a psychotic break, or maybe drugs. (it occurred to me more recently that I should've considered the fact he might've been seriously ill). These are all still possible explanations to his strange behavior, but my gut tells me none of these are the answer.

After a while we lapse into silence and at this point I'm just waiting for the sun to come up, really starting to wonder why we haven't left already when Dave motions with his hand to get my attention. He kind of points towards the hallway and I turn my head slowly in the recliner to look, and after perhaps 15 or so seconds of staring hard into the darkened hallway I hear a slight creak from the darkness. A little while, and a few creeks later. I see Johns darkened silhouette standing just inside the hallway at the edge of the kitchen, and that deep sense of fear started to build in me again.

The only thing I can compare it to is once when out hiking alone, I ran right into a bear going the opposite way on the trail. I had bear spray on me, which I didn't end up using that time, but it was a terrifying experience, and if I'm being honest I've never really enjoyed hiking much since. Just standing across from that monster of a bear with nothing between us awakened a terror in me so deep seated that recalling the memory still gives me goosebumps.

Alternatively I've been face to face with a lot of crazy people and felt no such terror. I wasn't fearless when trying to avoid a knife wielding transient shouting gibberish at me, but it was a human threat if that makes sense. I realize I've segued pretty hard from my retelling of events, but I feel making this clear is paramount. Seeing John lurking in the darkness of that hallway inspired in me a state of fear so powerful I feel I have no choice, but to look for unconventional answers as to what happened to my friend. Because the only thing comparable to that gut feeling of dread my short, chubby, baby faced friend created in me was the time I ran into one of the largest terrestrial predators on the planet, by myself on his home turf, far and away from any help armed with nothing but a can of bear spray.

There was something wrong and dangerous going on that I can't justify analytically, but my instincts told me I was in danger in a way I'd never been prepared for. To fast forward this story to the end. We lay there in silence while he lurked in the hallway for hours. When I questioned Dave recently he tells me it was least two hours John stood there. Eventually, he crept back down the hallway to his bedroom, and quietly and quickly, we got our shit together, sneaked out to my car and left.

I did a little bit of follow up with our mutual friends afterward, but got the same story from all of them. One day he just stopped coming around. Later I heard from someone who spoke to his parents that he called them and said he was leaving town, and no one that I know has seen or heard from him since. I've mostly tried to forgot it all happened. For awhile I'd have panic attacks when I thought about it. I realize nothing overtly paranormal took place, so I'm sorry if this is posted in the wrong place, but my gut tells me that something well out of the ordinary was taking place. If anyone has any insight I'd be happy to hear it, and if you need more details I'll answer questions to the best of my ability and if you don't believe me, I don't blame you.

 

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Credits