tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29791534791212465332024-03-18T01:44:15.396-07:00The Novella Life of Illuscia Nester HimawariBlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.comBlogger3747125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-73041567493650737092024-02-11T05:17:00.000-08:002024-02-11T05:19:27.469-08:00Have You Heard of "Milly The Hanged Lady"?<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn.openart.ai/stable_diffusion/daf4b045441635ebf0e576e9a9541efb837704be_2000x2000.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="512" height="640" src="https://cdn.openart.ai/stable_diffusion/daf4b045441635ebf0e576e9a9541efb837704be_2000x2000.webp" width="512" /></a></div><p></p><div class="text-neutral-content">
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<p>
That's what Josh, my best friend, asked me one night while we were camping in the woods.
</p><p>
"Seriously? Is this another story you made up, Josh?" asked Sue skeptically.
</p><p>
"No, no, this story is 100% true. Seriously, you've never heard of it?"
</p><p>
I shrugged my shoulders in denial.
</p><p>
Josh loved telling stories. Especially the urban legends he'd read
on the Internet. Most likely he'd prepared a dozen of them in advance
for the night.
</p><p>
"The story begins one late night in the forest where we are," Josh began seriously.
</p><p>
I smiled out of the corner of my mouth, and exchanged a glance with
Sue, who knew as well as I did that, now that he was off and running,
there was no stopping him.
</p><p>
"Milly was a high-schooler like the three of us, and ever since she
was a little girl, she'd been picked on by the other kids. You see,
Milly was different from the others. She always kept to herself, didn't
dare speak up, and didn't mix well with the others. And soon, she became
the target of others. Over the years, her reputation followed her, and
the harassment from other students in her class became increasingly
cruel"
</p><p>
Sue kept a neutral expression, but I could feel that the story
touched her. She too had struggled to fit in after her parents moved
here. And it was only after befriending Josh and me that she'd managed
to come out of her shell. But if she hadn't, she might have been
subjected to this kind of behavior too. In fact, she had confessed to me
that this had even been the case at her previous school.
</p><p>
"One wintry evening, several students decided to play a prank on
Milly," Josh continued, the flames from the campfire reflecting in his
eyes.
</p><p>
"They all grabbed scary masks, armed themselves with knives, and
chased Milly as she made her way home through the forest. Milly,
terrified, fled as far as she could. She got lost in the forest. The
story goes that during the night, cold, lost and hungry, she found a
rope stretched over a branch, like an invitation. And that she ended her
life."
</p><p>
"What a horror..." said Sue, still captivated by the tale.
</p><p>
"And since then, they say she haunts these woods, and that it's possible to summon her by repeating certain words."
</p><p>
"Cut the crap," I said, uncomfortably.
</p><p>
"I swear! All you have to do is stand in front of a branch and say
"Milly Milly, why are you so lonely" three times, then turn around and
say "Milly Milly, come talk to me" just once. Then you'll hear the sound
of the rope swinging under the weight of her body. And the story goes,
if you're unfortunate enough to turn around and look at her, she'll kill
you.
</p><p>
"Okay, that's definitely nonsense. No, really, Josh, you had me
going so far, but I don't believe it anymore," Sue said, standing up.
</p><p>
"You'll excuse me, guys, but I'm going to hit the sack. Good night, don't stay up too late tomorrow, we're leaving early."
</p><p>
And with that, she headed off to her tent.
</p><p>
Josh and I stayed a while, staring at the fire in silence.
</p><p>
After a while, as if he couldn't hold back any longer, he asked me, "Do you want to do it?"
</p><p>
"What?"
</p><p>
"Well, repeat the sentence and everything? Come on, we've been walking and picking mushrooms all day, what the hell?"
</p><p>
I had a feeling that if I didn't agree this night, he'd ask me every
night after until I gave in, so I preferred to take the lead.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
We found ourselves in front of a branch a few dozen feet from the
camp, where the fire was beginning to fade. We had equipped ourselves
with our flashlights to see where we were going.
</p><p>
Josh seemed excited.
</p><p>
I have to admit that once we got to the branch, I was more
apprehensive than I would have imagined about some stupid urban legend.
</p><p>
"You're the one doing it," Josh told me.
</p><p>
"Why me? It was your idea, your story!"
</p><p>
"But I've already done it 15 times, come on, it's your turn, man, don't back down now."
</p><p>
I huffed, this was typical of him.
</p><p>
I stood in front of the branch, flashlight in hand. Josh gave me the
sentence to repeat three times, and with a stutter or two, I managed to
get it right.
</p><p>
I turned around, my back to the branch. Jose stood next to me because he said if he looked, it wouldn't work.
</p><p>
"Milly Milly, come talk to me," I finally said in a whisper.
</p><p>
"Hey, don't shit yourself," Josh laughed.
</p><p>
We waited for a few moments.
</p><p>
"Well I don't hear any taut rope noises, I guess that means I'll live."
</p><p>
"Maybe she was busy elsewhere tonight," Josh replied with a laugh.
</p><p>
"Come on let's go to bed, we're starting to freeze out here."
</p><p>
We headed back to our camp.
</p><p>
I couldn't help but look back for a moment while holding my lamp in
front of me. And for a moment, I could have sworn I saw something moving
from right to left near the tree where we'd been for a few moments.
</p><p>
<em>Damn I should really stop listening to Josh’s stories</em>.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
I was awakened by a scream.
</p><p>
I scrambled to my feet, ears pricked and wondering if I'd imagined the scream.
</p><p>
I could see through the canvas of my tent that it was still dark outside.
</p><p>
"Josh? Sue?" I called aloud, our tents being right next to each other.
</p><p>
No answer.
</p><p>
<em>Why the hell aren't they answering? If they play a prank on me, I'm going to kill them</em>.
</p><p>
I grabbed the flashlight from my tent, my cell phone, and quietly stepped out of my tent.
</p><p>
"Josh? Sue?" I asked again.
</p><p>
I lit up their tents in turn, and noticed they were both open, and empty.
</p><p>
I couldn't remember clearly what I'd heard, but I thought the scream
I'd heard was that of a girl. I couldn't believe for a second that Sue
would participate in a prank like that.
</p><p>
But if it wasn't that, then maybe something serious had happened.
</p><p>
As I stood there trying to think about where they might have gone,
and what might have happened, a strong wind blew. And to my right, a few
dozen feet away, I spotted something moving.
</p><p>
"Josh, I swear to God, if this is one of your stupid jokes," I said
as I slowly approached, my flashlight trying to shine through the
vegetation toward the spot.
</p><p>
I walked towards where I'd thought I'd seen movement, and finally, I
saw something just to my right moving again. Slowly, heavily.
</p><p>
I heard the sound of a taut rope.
</p><p>
I shone my flashlight from bottom to top.
</p><p>
And there I saw Josh, hanging by his neck with a rope tied to the branch of a tree.
</p><p>
I was silent for a few seconds at the shock.
</p><p>
"Josh, please stop this bullshit."
</p><p>
His face was contorted in an expression of sheer terror, eyes revolted back. His skin was blue, lifeless.
</p><p>
I nudged him with my hand, and he just rocked back and forth a little.
</p><p>
I couldn't believe it. It must have been an elaborate prank on his
part, it wasn't possible, not Josh. He was glowing with life, he would
never have taken his own life like that, in the middle of the night,
camping with us.
</p><p>
The reality finally dawned on me, and I was overcome by a violent sob. My legs buckled and I threw up on the ground.
</p><p>
As I wiped my mouth, my eyes misty with tears, I heard something impossible.
</p><p>
The sound of a taut rope slowly swinging, right behind me.
</p><p>
I straightened up slowly, the sensation of mortal danger just behind my neck.
</p><p>
"Who... who's there?" I asked, my voice trembling and still tight.
</p><p>
The rope suddenly stopped moving.
</p><p>
"Why won't you look at me?" asked a feminine voice from beyond the grave and whose windpipe seemed to be strangled.
</p><p>
"Wh... What?"
</p><p>
"Your friend looked at me. And look at him now. He's so much happier, here, with me."
</p><p>
I remained silent, my eyes fixed in front of me, as if frozen in place.
</p><p>
<em>It's impossible, she can't be real, you're having a nightmare, wake up wake up</em>.
</p><p>
"LOOK AT ME!"
</p><p>
I ran.
</p><p>
I didn't know where, and I didn't care. She'd killed Josh, and now this thing, whatever it was, was after me.
</p><p>
After a minute I remembered Sue's scream. She must have been
awakened like me, maybe by Josh getting up or when he'd been killed, and
she must have discovered his corpse too.
</p><p>
With any luck, she'd managed to escape too.
</p><p>
I figured that if she'd gone off with her cell phone too, she'd have
tried to escape to the nearest road, which was about 15 miles away,
even though there was no way she'd get there before the night was over.
</p><p>
I tried calling the police or my parents without success. But
luckily the GPS still seemed to be working, so I followed this
direction.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
I was walking fast now so as not to collapse on the ground from exhaustion. I was already out of breath and couldn't stop.
</p><p>
I always made sure to aim my flashlight at the ground in front of me
to be on the safe side. The urban legend Josh had told me was that you
had to "turn around and look at her" for her to kill you, so maybe I
shouldn't look her in the eye?
</p><p>
I felt like I was being stalked, I flinched at every movement of a
branch in the wind, and I constantly felt eyes behind my back, but I was
too scared to turn around.
</p><p>
I had to get the hell out of this forest.
</p><p>
<em>Sorry Josh, I promise I'll come back for you as soon as I find some help</em>.
</p><p>
I spotted an abandoned cabin we'd seen on the way here. I remembered
Sue had said that if there was a storm, we could always take shelter
there.
</p><p>
Suddenly, I saw light piercing the darkness through the wooden planks of the cabin.
</p><p>
I sprinted toward it.
</p><p>
"Sue! I'm coming!" I shouted, out of breath.
</p><p>
I stepped inside, the boards creaking beneath my feet. Light
streamed in from under the door of the cabin's only small bedroom.
</p><p>
I crossed the space between me and the door, glad I'd found Sue before I fled here. I put my hand on the door handle.
</p><p>
"Sue...", I paused. The silence was unnatural, something was wrong.
</p><p>
"Sue, are you okay?" I asked through the door, my hand still on the handle.
</p><p>
"Sue answer me please you're freaking me out, Josh is dead and the
thing that killed him is still around we need to get the hell out of
here."
</p><p>
No response.
</p><p>
"Sue!"
</p><p>
I noticed the light moving under the door. As if someone was holding
the strap at the end of a finger and swinging it left and right.
</p><p>
"No no no," I said in horror.
</p><p>
In response, a childish laugh rang out from behind the door.
</p><p>
I ran to the front door, which I opened with a shove of my shoulder, and ran, ran straight out.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
After a few minutes I collapsed on the ground. It forced me to stop
and think about what had happened. Maybe it wasn't Sue. Maybe this thing
had managed to grab a flashlight and was playing with me. After all, I
had no idea of the extent of it’s abilities.
</p><p>
I kept my eyes on my knees as I pondered what I'd just seen.
</p><p>
Then I heard it. That sound, which I could now detect among any other sounds.
</p><p>
The sound of a rope stretched taut, swinging from left to right.
</p><p>
The sound wasn't coming from behind me this time, but from my left.
</p><p>
I could feel her sinister gaze on me, inviting me to look back at her, and sealing my death in the process.
</p><p>
I stood up, eyes still on my feet, and started to run to my right.
</p><p>
But I was stopped in my tracks. The sound of rope was now coming from just ahead.
</p><p>
Without thinking, I turned again in the opposite direction.
</p><p>
Again, the sound was coming from right in front of me.
</p><p>
<em>She's everywhere. I'm screwed</em>.
</p><p>
I stood there with my eyes on my feet, trying to think of a
solution. I was reaching my limit. Josh's death, Sue missing, maybe dead
too, and this running around all night.
</p><p>
I closed my eyes, and tears quickly formed at the ends.
</p><p>
I had an idea.
</p><p>
Legend had it that it was "looking" at her that allowed her to kill
you. What if, what if I kept moving forward, looking at my feet. Or
even, closed my eyes?
</p><p>
The very idea of walking through the forest with my eyes closed sent a chill down my spine, but what other choice do I have?
</p><p>
I've been squatting here for several minutes now, writing this message.
</p><p>
I've tried to call the police but every time I call all I hear is static.
</p><p>
I don't know where Sue is or how to get rid of this thing. I'm alone, I'm cold and I'm exhausted.
</p><p>
If you're reading this, please help me.
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">----</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/S_G_Woodhouse/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-91990544158475647022024-02-11T05:14:00.000-08:002024-02-11T05:14:56.725-08:00There's Something Creepy about the Doll on My Shelf<p> <img alt="https://s2.r29static.com/bin/entry/b2d/0,0,2000,1050/x,80/2039917/image.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="506" src="https://s2.r29static.com/bin/entry/b2d/0,0,2000,1050/x,80/2039917/image.jpg" width="964" /> </p><div class="text-neutral-content">
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<p>
I got a doll for my birthday. She looked just like me. Same brown
hair, same blue dress I wore. Mommy said she found her at an old shop
and knew I’d love her. I named her Lily.
</p><p>
Lily was fun at first. We had tea parties and I told her secrets.
But then, weird things happened. I’d leave Lily on the chair, but find
her on my bed later. “Maybe you forgot you moved her,” Mommy said. But I
knew I didn’t.
</p><p>
One night, I heard a noise. Like tiny feet walking. I peeked from
under my covers and saw Lily sitting on my desk, but her eyes were
looking at me. It made my heart beat really fast.
</p><p>
Next day, I put Lily in the closet. I didn’t want to play with her
anymore. She made me feel strange. But when I came back from school, she
was sitting on my bed again. Her smile looked different, bigger.
</p><p>
I told Mommy, but she just laughed. “Lily’s just a doll,” she said.
</p><p>
Then, the scariest thing happened. It was night, and the moon was
bright. I woke up feeling cold. I looked around and... I wasn’t in my
bed. I was on the shelf, where I keep my toys. And in my bed, where I
should have been, was Lily. She was under my blanket, her eyes closed
like she was sleeping.
</p><p>
I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I couldn’t move. My arms
and legs were stiff as wood. I looked down at my hands. They weren’t my
hands. They were doll hands.
</p><p>
I don’t know how long I stayed there. The moon moved across the sky,
and the room got darker. Then, light peeked in. Morning.
</p><p>
When Mommy came to wake me, she didn’t see me on the shelf. She went
to the bed. “Time to get up, Amy,” she said to Lily. Lily moved. She
stretched and yawned, like she was really me.
</p><p>
I wanted to cry, to tell Mommy it was me, on the shelf. But I couldn’t. I was just a doll.
</p><p>
Mommy left the room, and Lily got dressed in my clothes. She looked
in the mirror and smiled. But her eyes were scary, not like mine.
</p><p>
I sat on the shelf every day, watching Lily. She played with my
toys, ate my food, and hugged my mommy. Nobody knew I was here on the
shelf.
</p><p>
—
</p><p>
Years went by, so many years, sitting on the shelf in my room. But
it wasn't my room anymore. It was Lily's room now. She grew taller and
older, but I stayed the same, a small porcelain doll with a silent
voice. I watched Lily become a teenager, then a grown-up. She stopped
playing with dolls, stopped noticing me on the shelf. I was just a
forgotten toy in a room filled with memories.
</p><p>
Then, one sunny day, Mommy decided to have a garage sale. She
gathered old things, things that weren't needed anymore. And that
included me. I was placed on a table with <a class="relative pointer-events-auto" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MGd1F6Ay8ho" rel="noopener nofollow ugc" target="_blank">other</a>
old toys, my dress faded and my hair a bit tangled. People came and
went, looking at all the stuff. Then, she came. A little girl with
bright eyes and a smile that reminded me of... me, a long time ago. Her
name was Emma.
</p><p>
Emma saw me and her face lit up. "Can I have this doll, Mommy?" she
asked, holding me gently. Her mom nodded, and that's how I left my old
home, tucked under Emma's arm, going to a new place.
</p><p>
Emma's room was full of colors and laughter. She played with me
every day, telling me stories and secrets, just like I used to do with
Lily. She named me Rosie, and I loved that name. It felt new and happy.
</p><p>
Then, something strange happened. One morning, I felt a tingle in my
fingers. It scared me, but also made me hopeful. Each day, I felt more
and more. My arms, my legs, they started to feel real again.
</p><p>
One night, under the moonlight streaming through Emma's window, I
felt it. I could move, just a little, but it was movement. My heart, if I
still had one, was beating so fast. I closed my eyes, wishing, hoping.
</p><p>
When I opened my eyes again, it was morning. But everything was
different. I was in Emma's bed, covered in her blanket. I sat up,
looking at my hands. They were real hands again.
</p><p>
I jumped out of bed and ran to the mirror. But the reflection
staring back wasn't mine. It was Emma's face. I touched my face, feeling
real skin instead of porcelain. It was like magic, but also scary.
</p><p>
I turned around and saw the shelf where I used to sit. There, in my
old spot, was a doll. It looked just like Emma, with her cute dress and
shiny hair. But it wasn't Emma. It was just a doll, still and silent. My
heart felt heavy. I understood then. The same thing that happened to me
and Lily had happened to Emma.
</p><p>
I was free from being a doll, but Emma, she was trapped, just like I
had been. I remembered Lily and realized she must have been a real girl
too, turned into a doll. The only way to break the doll's curse was for
another little girl to take my place. It made me feel sad and guilty. I
didn't want Emma to be stuck like I was.
</p><p>
But what could I do? I was in Emma's body now.
</p><p>
—
</p><p>
Now, I go to her school, play with her friends, and live her life.
But every night, I look at the Emma-doll on the shelf and whisper, "I'm
sorry." I wish I could change it, make it all go back to normal. But I
don’t <a class="relative pointer-events-auto" href="https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/19aj2dc/i_found_out_why_my_dad_never_talked_about_his/" rel="noopener nofollow ugc" target="_blank">know</a> how.
</p><p>
—<a class="relative pointer-events-auto" href="https://www.reddit.com/r/PageTurner627Horror/" rel="noopener nofollow ugc" target="_blank">Amy</a></p><p>----</p><p><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/PageTurner627/">Credits</a>
</p>
</div>
</div>
</div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-90122043703005824572024-02-11T05:09:00.000-08:002024-02-11T05:10:11.572-08:00What Happened to Mistletoe After She Played “Exocyde”?<p> <img alt="https://img.freepik.com/free-photo/view-boat-floating-water-with-nature-scenery_23-2150693396.jpg?t=st=1707656683~exp=1707660283~hmac=b2c9fdc02b4c9160719582f0be375b8907429711dd82cefd7f7af0bca6f5ae04&w=996" class="shrinkToFit" height="642" src="https://img.freepik.com/free-photo/view-boat-floating-water-with-nature-scenery_23-2150693396.jpg?t=st=1707656683~exp=1707660283~hmac=b2c9fdc02b4c9160719582f0be375b8907429711dd82cefd7f7af0bca6f5ae04&w=996" width="964" /> </p><div class="text-neutral-content">
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<p>
I <strong>used to</strong> know a girl called Mistletoe.
</p><p>
“My parents thought it'd be cute to name me that as a nod to their
first kiss,” she always joked. “Shame they didn't realise mistletoe is a
parasite that literally sucks the life out of its host.”
</p><p>
Understandably, she went by <strong>Miz</strong>.
</p><p>
The day Miz disappeared started like any other. My hometown had
humble beginnings as a handful of shabby buildings erected in a Sherwood
Forest clearing. Centuries later there are rows of terraced housing,
small businesses and the forest has receded. There are still pockets of
ancient woodland within walking distance though and, with only five TV
channels and the internet still in its infancy, these woodlands were
where we spent most of the summer holidays back when we were kids.
</p><p>
At first they were just hangouts to trade Pokémon cards and build
dens. But when we got older The Trees (as we came to call our favourite
spot) was a great place to drink, smoke cigarettes and occasionally get
stoned if anyone had the money. There were rumours of worse going on in
nearby Glover's Wood but to be truthful we were a tame bunch and never
went there to investigate.
</p><p>
The summer day in question was hot and balmy. I remember I received a
text from Mistletoe saying that we were meeting at The Trees around
midday. When I got there Miz was already talking with Gus and Cherie,
trying to convince them that we should hike all the way out to the old
fishing pond on the other side of the woods.
</p><p>
To understand how strange of a request this was, you really need to
know a little bit more about Miz. She was smart, pretty, with freckles
and a blonde pixie cut. But Miz was no manic pixie dream girl. She was
studious, reserved and shy around people she didn't know. Miz was also a
bit emo (to use the parlance of the time). She was always reading
novels by dead Russian guys, writing in her journal and, on days when
the weather was bad, Miz could be found playing her acoustic guitar in
the cramped bedroom she shared with her sister. My point is that Miz
being adamant about anything was kind of rare. She mostly just went with
the flow.
</p><p>
But that afternoon Miz was determined we all go and so, despite the
heat, the four of us headed up the woodland footpath towards the fishing
pond. Once we got there we actually had a lot of fun. Sunbathing,
skimming stones and doing the quizzes in Cherie's trashy magazines. Miz
was strangely distant though, even though the pond had been her idea.
Whilst we goofed around she sat on the bank staring out across the
water, occasionally making a note in her journal. It was a relief when
she finally stood up and asked if anyone fancied taking the boat out.
</p><p>
The one boat abandoned by the side of the pond was a small rowboat
with a single oar and just enough room for two people. After we rescued
the rowboat from its prison of brambles Miz and I went out on the water.
We paddled around the pond laughing and splashing water at each other,
we timed ourselves to see how fast we could paddle bank to bank, and we
talked in stupid pirate voices the whole time. After a while, Miz asked
me to paddle out to the centre of the pond so we could work out how deep
it was. She took the oar from me and pushed it down into the water,
following it in with her outstretched arm right up to her elbow. From
her measurements we guessed the pond was somewhere between eight and
nine feet deep.
</p><p>
Our little boat trip was nice. Really nice actually, one last good
memory before everything went so wrong. All good things must come to an
end though, and once the sun began to sink we came ashore and then the
four of us all headed back along the footpath.
</p><p>
As we neared The Trees Miz slowed and stopped me.
</p><p>
“Me and you,” she said quietly, “we're coming back out tonight.”
</p><p>
Now, I was a teenager and, like I said, Mistletoe was pretty. What I
was hoping for must have registered on my face because Miz rolled her
eyes.
</p><p>
“Don't get any ideas,” she said. “We're not doing that, we're doing
this.” She handed me a folded up piece of paper. “Don't read it until
you get home.”
</p><p>
Believe it or not I still have this piece of paper. I'd kept it
tucked inside a secondhand copy of Anna Karenina Mistletoe lent me
before she disappeared. When I looked it was still there, all these
years later. I'll type out what was printed on the paper for you below:
</p><blockquote>
<p>
Wherever two worlds meet a porous boundary is created. <strong>Exocyde</strong>
is a game that takes advantage of this boundary effect, offering one of
two players the chance to commune with the other side and receive an
answer to their most desperate question. Two people, the Speaker and the
Witness, must take a Vessel out onto the water in full dark and under a
half moon. An electronic Receiver is also required and must be present
aboard the Vessel.
</p>
</blockquote><blockquote>
<p>
Once the Vessel is upon the water, a weighted Tether is dropped to
the waterbed linking the Vessel to the water/earth Boundary. The Witness
may then light a candle, this is the Beacon. If the ritual has been set
up correctly the game begins and the pair's resolve will be Tested.
Should both Speaker and Witness remain silent and keep the Beacon alight
during the Test they will have passed. Only then will the Speaker
receive a call on their Receiver from the Caller. Once prompted the
Speaker may ask their question. But be warned, once the question is
answered the Caller will demand a rich price be paid for the
information. This is the Forfeit and it cannot be evaded or escaped.
</p>
</blockquote><p>
<strong>Rule One: Exocyde</strong> must only be played upon freshwater.
</p><blockquote>
<p>
The gamespace must be deep enough that, if the Speaker and Witness
were to stand upon the bottom, neither would break the surface.
</p>
</blockquote><p>
<strong>Rule Two:</strong> The <strong>Vessel</strong> must be propelled by the Speaker's labour only.
</p><p>
<strong>Rule Four:</strong> The <strong>Tether</strong> must link the Vessel directly to the Boundary.
</p><p>
<strong>Rule Five:</strong> The <strong>Receiver</strong> is the only electronic device allowed aboard the Vessel.
</p><blockquote>
<p>
Any two-way communication device such as a house phone or CB radio
may serve as Receiver. Any other devices must be kept external to the
gamespace.
</p>
</blockquote><p>
<strong>Rule Six:</strong> The <strong>Witness</strong> must light and maintain the Beacon. The game begins when the Beacon is lit. If the Beacon is extinguished, the game ends.
</p><p>
<strong>Rule Seven:</strong> Whilst the <strong>Test</strong> will
be different for every Speaker and Witness combination, the goal is
always to remain silent and to keep the Beacon lit throughout.
</p><p>
<strong>Rule Eight:</strong> If either the Speaker or the Witness
speak once the Beacon is lit, the game ends. If either the Speaker or
Witness enter the water, all is lost.
</p><p>
<strong>Rule Nine:</strong> Only the Speaker may speak with the <strong>Caller</strong>. The Speaker may speak only when The Caller addresses them.
</p><blockquote>
<p>
The Speaker must answer the Caller's questions in either the
monosyllabic affirmative or the monosyllabic negative. The only
exception is when the Caller prompts the Speaker to ask their question.
Under no circumstances is the Speaker permitted to ask the Caller to
identify themselves.
</p>
</blockquote><p>
<strong>Rule Ten:</strong> The <strong>Forfeit</strong> is non-negotiable.
</p><blockquote>
<p>
After the Caller declares the nature of the Forfeit, the Speaker must—
</p>
</blockquote><p>
Bizarre, right? Rule Ten is cut off at the bottom of the page, like
there was too much text for a single sheet of A4 or the message board or
forum or wherever Mistletoe got Exocyde from was incomplete. I haven't
failed to notice that Rule Three is either missing or deliberately
omitted either. The only other detail of note on the paper are the words
<em>The Trees 9pm</em> written in Mistletoe's handwriting and underlined.
</p><p>
Back to the day that Mistletoe disappeared.
</p><p>
After dinner I told my parents I was going to bed to watch a film
and snuck out through my window. As expected Miz was waiting for me at
The Trees. To be honest I was still hoping that this was some weird emo
version of foreplay and I was going to get lucky. But, of course, Miz
told me that we were hiking out to the pond to play Exocyde.
</p><p>
The pond seemed very different at night. Whilst the surrounding
woodland had resembled a picturesque scene from a storybook in the day,
in the darkness the trees looked crooked and warped. Creaking limbs
seemed to reach for us as we walked along the bank. Above, the sky was
cloudless, the pond below still and perfectly reflective. It looked as
though I'd be able to scoop a star or even the moon from the water if I
wanted to.
</p><p>
Miz made me leave my mobile phone on the bank with hers and then she
launched the boat and paddled us out. She stowed the oar and opened the
backpack she had brought. She pulled out an old ring dial telephone
with a long extension cord attached. I noticed Miz had tied some kind of
lumpy fishing ledger to the end of the cord and it sank quickly when
she threw it overboard. Next, Miz sat down and coiled the slack into her
lap. She reached into her bag again and passed me a candle and
matchbox.
</p><p>
“Light it,” she instructed. “And no matter what happens, don't say a word.”
</p><p>
At first what happened was precisely nothing. Sure, there was the
rustling of trees and the gentle lapping of water against the boat. At
one point I thought I heard laughter from deep within the woods, but
nothing otherworldly. My mind started to wander and, being the teenage
cliché I was, I soon found myself staring at Miz in the candlelight. She
was peering across the water, deep in thought and trembling slightly.
She was still wearing the denim shorts and old band tee she'd had on all
day. Perfect for a hot summer afternoon but I wondered if she was
starting to feel the chill of the night air. Maybe I should scoot over
and put my arm around—
</p><p>
<strong>THUD</strong>
</p><p>
The sound reverberated through the hull of the rowboat like we'd hit
floating debris at top speed. But we weren't moving, we were tethered
and still.
</p><p>
Miz looked at me and raised a finger to her lips. Then I saw that
the cord in her lap was uncoiling, slowly being pulled into the water.
Miz noticed too and promptly wrapped her fingers around the remaining
slack. When the cord met resistance, whatever was pulling on it started
to yank it over and over again, rocking the boat and causing me to
almost drop the candle. Somehow the cord didn't snap, somehow I managed
to keep the candle alight.
</p><p>
After a short struggle the line went slack again.
</p><p>
Confused, I leaned over the boat and looked into the water. All I
saw was my own reflection. No, not my reflection at all. It was
Mistletoe's reflection in place of mine. Ghostly pale and shivering. She
mouthed the words <em>Help me…</em>
</p><p>
I reached out with my free hand but the real Mistletoe grabbed me
and pulled me back into my seat. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the
reflection dissolve and a dark shape behind it turn in the water and
dive. Had whatever it was somehow used Mistletoe's reflection as a
disguise?
</p><p>
<strong>THUD THUD THUD</strong>
</p><p>
Bangs on the boat like a hailstorm of arrows turning their target
into a pincushion. We both held onto the rim of the rowboat as the
barrage continued, rocking the boat violently. I'm sure we both gasped
but crucially I don't think either of us actually spoke any words.
</p><p>
<strong>THUD THUD THUD</strong>
</p><p>
And then, as suddenly as the clatter had begun, it ceased. For a few
moments the boat continued to rock before gently coming to a stop. The
water became calm.
</p><p>
Then, to my absolute horror, the <strong>phone began to ring</strong>.
</p><p>
Miz drew in a deep breath and raised the receiver to her ear. After a
whistle of static I heard a voice speak on the other end. Cold and
ragged like sheet ice cracking. I could hear the voice but I couldn't
make out what it was saying. Mistletoe on the other hand listened and
then answered “Yes”, then “No”, and then “No” again.
</p><p>
Then she asked her question in a low growl:
</p><p>
“Why haven't I been granted what I'm rightfully owed?”
</p><p>
The Caller responded but still I could hear no words. This was a
long answer that went on for at least a minute. Eventually, Mistletoe
said “Yes'' and then the voice continued.
</p><p>
As the Caller's tone became increasingly vicious, the colour drained
from Mistletoe's face. In the candlelight I watched as a tear trickled
down her cheek. Finally, Miz slammed the handset home, cutting the
Caller off mid-sentence.
</p><p>
I blew out the candle.
</p><p>
We didn't talk much on the way back to The Trees. I was too shaken
up. When we got there Miz gave me a long hug before telling me she would
call me tomorrow and explain everything. Then she walked off into the
darkness. I never saw or heard from Mistletoe again.
</p><p>
That night broke me. I retreated into myself, became a different
person. I was scared of leaving the house, scared of being with people,
scared of being alone.
</p><p>
There was an investigation into Mistletoe's disappearance of course,
but it struck me as half-hearted. Mistletoe was a teenage girl who had
run away from a broken home to try and make it on her own. That was the
official line but I never believed it. Someone or something stole
Mistletoe away and I knew it. But, shamefully, I never came forward to
reveal what I had witnessed that night. I never told the police, my
parents or even Gus and Cherie. I thought I would be ignored at best and
considered a suspect at worst. After all, I was the last person to see
Mistletoe alive.
</p><p>
When my family moved away eight months later I was beyond relieved.
Still broken, but at least further away from the Caller and that cold,
feral voice.
</p><p>
After that I coasted for years. Uninspiring grades at school turned
into a lacklustre degree. Then, after bumming around for almost a
decade, I got a job at a struggling Midlands rag, the <em>Sentinel</em>.
I'm not even a real reporter, I run the ad pages. But two months ago I
saw that my hometown was on the circulation list. That stirred something
in me. I realised that words I had written had found their way back to
my hometown. Even though it was just crappy advertising copy I felt like
I had taken a first step without even realising it. Suddenly, I knew
what I needed to do.
</p><p>
That's why I'm writing and posting this. As a statement of intent,
as a plea for assistance. I'm heading back home to Edwinstoak tomorrow.
And I'm not coming back until I've figured this whole thing out.
</p><p>
Even if I have to search every inch of that godforsaken forest myself.
</p><p>
Even if I have to play that damned game again.
</p><p>
I already know what my question will be:
</p><p>
“What happened to <strong>Mistletoe Marrion-May</strong> after she played Exocyde?”
</p><p>
-- <a class="relative pointer-events-auto" href="https://www.reddit.com/user/mediamusing/comments/13yiod2/story_index_and_links/" rel="noopener nofollow ugc" target="_blank">John</a>
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">----</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/mediamusing/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-86435629533717307202024-02-11T05:01:00.000-08:002024-02-11T05:01:55.018-08:00My Scary Experience with the Cinnamon Challenge<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/19/Ground_cinnamon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="426" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/19/Ground_cinnamon.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="text-neutral-content">
<div class="mb-sm mb-xs px-md xs:px-0" data-post-click-location="text-body">
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<p>
Have you heard of the Cinnamon challenge?
</p><p>
I bet some of you have. Or at least a version of it. The version
most people are familiar with is this trend from a long time ago where
you eat a spoonful of raw cinnamon powder and swallow it. Apparently,
the rough powder causes immediate coughing and wheezing. It’s almost
guaranteed that you can’t keep it down.
</p><p>
The real challenge is actually kind of dangerous.
</p><p>
It was on New Years day this year that my family asked me if I
wanted to try it for myself. It sounds stupid but you can’t imagine how
excited I was to try it. I didn’t really know what the challenge was at
first. I looked it up on my phone as soon as my dad brought it up to
me.
</p><p>
One thing you should know, before I finish telling you what
happened, is that I’m the youngest child in my family. I have two older
brothers and a really mean older sister. You would think that I would
get attention from our parents since I’m the youngest, but it’s the
opposite. I always feel that I’m being left out of things, either
because I’m too young or everyone else is busy. It kind of sucks. That’s
why I was so excited when they all thought it would be fun to film me
try the Cinnamon challenge.
</p><p>
We set up the DSLR camera in the living room where the whole family
could see my reaction. Even my grandparents were there. Everyone was in
really high spirits and laughing and telling jokes. I should have seen
it coming but I was clueless. Why would they all of sudden want to play
and hang out with me doing this weird challenge that I had never heard
of?
</p><p>
After my dad finished setting up the camera, he pulled out a
handkerchief. He told me that I had to blindfold myself and they were
going to spin me around five times before they did the challenge. I told
him that I think he was mistaken. I didn’t need to be blindfolded for
the cinnamon challenge. I also mentioned to him that it might be good to
have some water or something nearby in case I choke.
</p><p>
He laughed in a way that was really sus. I was too excited though; I
just wasn’t paying close enough attention to what was happening. That
is when he explained that this is a bit different than that cinnamon
challenge online. This is more of a ritual.
</p><p>
“It’s the cinnamon challenge of Invisibility!”, he said to me.
</p><p>
I wanted to look it up on my phone, but it was still in the kitchen
and I didn’t want to make my parents upset. Like if I questioned them
too much they would just say “You know what Ronan, just forget it.
You’re no fun, we’ll do it with your brothers”.
</p><p>
Even though I was kind of scared, my dad blindfolded me and then
slowly turned me in a circle that he said was counterclockwise. Everyone
counted louder with each number until they almost shouted “FIVE”.
</p><p>
Then someone blew some cinnamon powder in my face. It wasn’t a lot
but I could tell what it was. It immediately made me sneeze.
</p><p>
Then I heard gasps in the room. I ripped off the blindfold and
everyone’s expressions were full of fear. My mom’s face looked so sad,
and she yelled at my dad to stop it, that this wasn’t funny. She was
yelling my name out…
</p><p>
“Ronan! Stop this right now, come out here this instant! This is not funny!”
</p><p>
I tried to run up to her and I told her that I was there. I looked
down and I could see my arms and my body. My shirt still had a slight
stain from the cake we had for dessert at dinner. I definitely wasn’t
invisible to myself, but everyone’s expressions were so horrifying. They
looked around wildly and my mom said that she thought she could hear
something but it was soo far away.
</p><p>
I ran up to my dad and screamed at him to look at me. His eyes were
looking in my general direction, but it was like they couldn’t focus on
me. His head was in the direction of my voice, but his eyes shifted
quickly back and forth, sweeping over me entirely.
</p><p>
I grabbed his pant leg and pulled down sharply. He then kind of gasped in shock.
</p><p>
“Oh shit. I think I feel something. Ronan, are you there? Listen, if
you’re by my leg, just stand still, I’m going to see if I can see you
through my phone’s camera.”
</p><p>
So he leaned down and took out his phone. He took a selfie while he
was kneeling down right beside me but with the rear facing camera so I
couldn’t see a preview of it. Then he turned the screen over to look at
the picture.
</p><p>
It was just a picture of him kneeling down without me!!!!
</p><p>
I screamed and looked around. I saw my older brother Will smiling
slightly and ran up to him and screamed for him to look at me. I didn’t
want to live my life invisible! I already felt invisible in my family
and this would be a nightmare if I had to live the rest of life like
this.
</p><p>
Will though was not quite acting like everybody else. It’s like he was trying not to laugh.
</p><p>
“I know you can see me WILL, PLEASE LOOK AT ME. I’M REALLY
SCARED!!!”, I shouted at him. I then scratched myself on my arm for
some reason in front of him. I think I was trying to shock him into
acknowledging me.
</p><p>
He coughed several times forcefully and then his face went blank and he resumed looking worried.
</p><p>
He told my parents that this was too sad for him and he needed to step out. He would try to find help somewhere.
</p><p>
Will stepped out and I wanted to follow him but when I looked back
everyone else was still trying to look around for me. My mom called my
name again and wiped her eyes. I couldn’t see any tears, but her eyes
were a little red. She was covering her mouth with her hand.
</p><p>
This is when I saw my sister’s friend Jackie. She was sitting alone
on the couch on the other side of the living room. Unlike everyone else,
Jackie was staring right into my eyes.
</p><p>
“Hey kiddo”, she said.
</p><p>
I ran up to her and I asked whether she could see me.
</p><p>
“Yeah, I can totally see you. How are you doing?”
</p><p>
“Why can’t anybody else see me???”, I asked her.
</p><p>
“They can totally see you. They are being assholes and filming a prank on you. They are awful people”, she said.
</p><p>
I looked back at my family and shouted that I know that they can see me but they didn’t react.
</p><p>
“Why are they still acting like this? You just revealed the prank. It’s not funny anymore…”
</p><p>
“Because they really can’t see me”, she said.
</p><p>
I tried to think back a few weeks. My sister and Jackie used to
carpool to school together. They are both seniors in high school and
Jackie used to come by almost every other day until a few weeks ago.
Jackie’s mom had been by our house a few times since then and one time I
remember seeing her crying and upset.
</p><p>
“Listen, Ronan. You need to know something about your sister. She is
not a good person. We went out partying several weeks ago and your
sister and I were going to meet up with some boys. At least I thought we
were. Instead, we went to cross the bridge over the river that heads
directly into the next town. She pulled over on that bridge and said
that she thought she had a flat tire. She got out first and I followed
after her.”
</p><p>
It took Jackie a few seconds to continue. I looked back at my family
and they were still fully pretending not to see me although I could
start to see smiles on some of their faces.
</p><p>
“I was standing next to the railing and that’s when I felt her push
me. I hit the water that was hundreds of feet below the bridge. That was
it. I think she was jealous over a guy that was interested in me. I was
so stupid…. Ronan, listen to me. You have to be careful around her. She
is dangerous and I hate to tell you this. She doesn’t like you very
much. Be careful around her.”
</p><p>
I couldn’t tell what I was supposed to do after Jackie said this.
Was this also part of the prank? I asked her why they couldn’t see her
and she said she thought it was probably Inattentional Blindness. Maybe
they couldn’t see what was staring them in the face.
</p><p>
I ran to my room screaming and eventually my dad ran after me. He
was laughing but looked a little concerned. He FINALLY looked at me and
told me it was a prank and apologized. Everybody else eventually came to
my room and admitted the prank and apologized. It was such a huge
relief.
</p><p>
Jackie though did not come to my room with everyone else. I
eventually asked my mom about it. Her face got really serious, and she
asked me what I was talking about. I told her what Jackie told me and my
mom’s face darkened in a scary way and she said…
</p><p>
“That’s not funny at all, Ronan. Did your brother put you up to this?”
</p><p>
I tried to tell her what happened, but she wouldn’t hear it. I
looked it up on my phone and I could see posts online and on my sister’s
socials with vigils for Jackie praying for her safe return. I’m
starting to think that the interaction that I had with Jackie was real.
What should I do??? Did I see a ghost or was this a part of the prank?
My sister is still driving me to school in the mornings and I don’t what
to do….
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">----</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/MarineroRon/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-81336256140418897432024-02-11T04:59:00.000-08:002024-02-11T04:59:03.240-08:00I Am Being Watched By A Woman From The Other Side Of The Road Everyday...<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/single-person-walking-on-street-600nw-493126720.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="402" data-original-width="600" height="402" src="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/single-person-walking-on-street-600nw-493126720.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p></p><div class="text-neutral-content">
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<div class="md text-14" id="t3_1af3cyw-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
A few years have passed since I moved out of my parents' house to
stand on my own two feet. While most things were difficult to manage at
the beginning of my independent life, I now do them in my sleep.
</p><p>
a daily, weekly, even yearly routine that has always worked and
there's not much that can break it. except when you realize sooner or
later that the perfect life you've supposedly built isn't so perfect
after all.
</p><p>
For example, when you realize that the monthly costs are too high to
put any significant money aside and it will probably be difficult to
pay off your student loan. and when the tax authorities come knocking at
your door for a tax audit, you really realize what it means to be an
adult.
</p><p>
some time ago i was in a terrible crisis because i had massive debts
that i couldn't pay and my mother also died. and as i was an only child
and my father died when i was a child, my mother was the last person i
could count on. it was around that time that i started to see her.
</p><p>
the woman on the side of the road. i didn't notice her at first, but
the more often she appeared, the more often i noticed her. at the time,
i thought she was just a simple middle-aged woman waiting for her bus.
but the more often i saw her, the more it increased. in the beginning, i
saw her maybe once a month. then eventually twice, then eventually
several times a week and eventually every day. and she always looked at
me. She had long brown hair and a few strands of gray. Otherwise she was
quite pretty. She wore a white short-sleeved top with a black skirt
that went down to her feet. She also wore a bracelet
</p><p>
her face was emotionless and no one who walked past her seemed to
interact with her. a month before the event, i started seeing her even
at night. and during the night, she stood even closer to my house. she
was not on the opposite side of the street but on mine, staring at the
house. when this was the case, some strange things often happened. i
heard someone knocking on the door but i didn't have the courage to open
it because i assumed the woman was stalking me. then i heard doors and
even windows opening and closing. i tried to speak to her a few times
but every time i stepped out of the house she was gone. it was almost as
if she had vanished into thin air.
</p><p>
And two weeks before the event, I saw her everywhere. At home, at
work, on the way home, in my favorite cafe. everywhere. i only saw her
in the corner of my eye. but the really scary thing happened the night
before the event. i woke up in the middle of the night because i saw her
in my dreams. she ran up to me and asked me for help. but she didn't
explain what she wanted me to help her with. she just repeated it until i
woke up. a shiver ran down my spine because my door was ajar and i saw
her peeking through the slit. i wanted to scream at her to leave me
alone, but i couldn't get a sound out. she turned around and disappeared
into the darkness.
</p><p>
i contacted the police, but when they searched my house they found no one. there was no sign of a break-in either.
</p><p>
i worked at a tech company as a computer scientist and even though i
was earning well i could only just cover my costs. and then there were
still the back payments to the tax office. i couldn't even afford a car
so i had to walk. i remained optimistic that my situation would change
at some point. but most of all i hoped i wouldn't see the woman again.
</p><p>
and then came the event that changed my life. that evening i was
walking home from work. it was a friday so it was the weekend and i
don't know why but something made me take a detour through a forest. the
forest atmosphere was incredibly calming. for the first time, i was
able to really reflect. i came to the conclusion that i imagined the
older woman as a reaction to my mother's death. that i didn't want to be
alone and longed for a mother figure to lean on. i lay down in the
grass and closed my eyes.
</p><p>
i was about to sink into the realm of dreams in the middle of the
forest when i was suddenly awakened by a loud scream. i jumped up and
looked around. i heard a woman screaming from a distance. i don't know
why i didn't call the police right away, but i ran in the direction of
the noise. i was afraid that someone was in danger that i had to help.
</p><p>
and then i saw them. two older, broad men who had gagged and tied up
a young woman. they pressed their hands over the woman's mouth as she
screamed in panic for help while they tried to tape it shut with duct
tape. as they were still busy with the woman and were inattentive, i was
able to pick up a thick stick nearby and sneak up on them. i reached
out and pulled the stick over the head of one of them. he fell
unconscious and the other first wondered whether he should attack me but
then took flight.
</p><p>
the woman cried bitterly and i freed her. then i called the police.
in the meantime, i stayed with the crying and traumatized woman and
assured her that everything was fine and that nothing would happen to
her. the man who had been knocked unconscious was arrested immediately
and his partner was arrested as well. the two were wanted criminals who
had already taken the life of a middle-aged woman after torturing and
raping her.
</p><p>
when an ambulance arrived alongside the police, the woman was given
medical treatment while the policemen questioned me. they told me that
they needed a witness statement from me and took me to the police
station. afterwards, i visited the woman in hospital. and she thanked me
from the bottom of her heart. She explained that she was afraid at that
moment she would share the fate of her mother, who was also murdered,
but now she is happy that she is well. we talked for a while and got to
know each other a little. and it got late.
</p><p>
i explained to her that i had to go now but that we would surely see
each other again. she thanked me again and said goodbye. when i stepped
outside i saw her again. the woman. she was standing on the other side
of the street again. although it was raining i could clearly see that
she was smiling at me. and then she made a sign for me to follow her.
</p><p>
i took this as a chance to find out what she wanted from me. also
because i hoped to finally have my peace. i followed her and while i did
so she always kept eye contact even if that meant walking backwards. i
was a bit confused but whenever i called out to her where she wanted me
to go she just kept quiet and made the gesture again that i should
follow her.
</p><p>
she eventually led me to the town cemetery and there to the grave of
a ruby miller. when i finally caught up with her she had her back
turned to me and was staring at the headstone. she turned and looked me
in the eye and i could see that she had tears in her eyes.
</p><p>
she began to speak: "i suppose you're wondering who i am and why i
was watching you. after everything that happened, you deserve an answer.
the girl you saved today. she's my daughter"
</p><p>
i looked at her in disbelief and replied: "what? that's a very macabre joke, isn't it? she told me her mother is dead".
</p><p>
"she is" she replied and showed me the gravestone. "my name is ruby
miller. the men who were arrested today abused and killed me some time
ago. they took my daughter's photo from my wallet and told me before
they killed me that they would find my daughter and do the same to her."
</p><p>
I didn't know what to say so I just listened carefully.
</p><p>
"in the afterlife, i was looking for a way to help my daughter.
souls are no longer bound by time after death. this allowed me to find a
solution in different timelines to save my daughter. and in every
timeline in which my daughter survived, you were the one who saved her.
so i returned to my timeline, tracked you down and led you into the
forest.
</p><p>
thank you from the bottom of my heart. i hope you know that you are
her guardian angel. finally i can rest in peace now that i know my
daughter is safe."
</p><p>
suddenly she pulled a ring she wore on her right hand off her finger.
</p><p>
"i want you to have this. this is my wedding ring. a gift from my
husband. we were wealthy. this is a five-carat diamond ring. it was
buried with me, but i don't think i have any use for it anymore. but for
you, it can be a key out of your difficult situation."
</p><p>
she handed me the ring and came up to me for a hug. i closed my eyes
for just a moment and when i opened them again she was gone. the only
thing i heard was the rain pattering on the headstones and the grass. i
stood in front of the headstone for a few more minutes. i still had the
ring in my hand. it was hard to process that moment.
</p><p>
i sold the ring for a good price and was finally able to get rid of a
significant amount of my debt. samantha, the woman i saved, became a
friend of mine shortly after. but i never told her what happened at the
cemetery. or what happened before that fateful day. if i had told her i
had met her mother, she would never have believed me. Ruby however never
showed up again.
</p><p>
i still cry when i think about it. thank you ruby. sincerely
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">----</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Sure-Tumbleweed650/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-20677016020108289722024-02-11T01:26:00.000-08:002024-02-11T01:26:09.210-08:00Have You Heard Of This App Called: "Are You Being Followed?" <p> <img alt="https://iowaadguy.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/454399125.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="682" src="https://iowaadguy.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/454399125.jpg" width="964" /> <br /></p><div class="text-neutral-content">
<div class="mb-sm mb-xs px-md xs:px-0" data-post-click-location="text-body">
<div class="md text-14" id="t3_197a5dz-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I've always been afraid of being attacked on the street at night.
</p><p>
Despite years of working in a bar, and coming home late around midnight, this fear had never left me.
</p><p>
The pay was lousy and the boss forbade employees to park their cars
in the parking lot reserved for customers. So every night, I had to walk
alone for several minutes to my car parked a little further away.
</p><p>
One day, as I was talking to one of my friends, she told me about this application.
</p><p>
"Don't you know this app? It's called "Are you being followed?" or
AYBF for short. Basically, the app detects the waves of nearby cell
phones, and if the algorithm notices that a signal is following you, the
app sends you a notification," she explained.
</p><p>
"Some say it also detects ghosts and "supernatural" creatures that
give off particular waves, but I think that's bullshit to attract views
on Tik-Tok," she added.
</p><p>
I couldn't quite figure out how it worked, but she assured me that
the algorithm was never wrong, and that it had already allowed her once
to be alerted early enough to be safe from a strange guy one night.
</p><p>
I downloaded it, figuring it couldn't hurt.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
One evening, as I was walking down the street clutching my coat, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.
</p><p>
It was the app that had sent me a notification, and on the screen simply appeared the message: "YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED".
</p><p>
I slowed down and looked around.
</p><p>
The street was deserted, only the wind sounding in my ears.
</p><p>
Perplexed, I continued walking, the sound of my solitary footsteps echoing around me.
</p><p>
A minute later, I received another notification.
</p><p>
"YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED".
</p><p>
With no one behind me, I wondered if it was a bug or if this app was literally a scam.
</p><p>
"BOO!"
</p><p>
I jumped and shouted.
</p><p>
And right in from of me was my colleague, Ian, wallowing in laughter.
</p><p>
"Sorry sorry I couldn't help it. Here, you forgot your tips," and he handed me a few bills.
</p><p>
"Next time you do that, I'll empty my pepper spray in your face".
</p><p>
Safe in my car, I finally managed to laugh it off, and figured that at least I had proof that the app worked.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
The app never triggered again after that.
</p><p>
Until tonight.
</p><p>
I'd just finished a long evening and was exhausted. All I wanted to do was go home and go to bed.
</p><p>
As I was walking alone in the cold night, with just enough strength
to look at the tips of my feet without falling asleep while walking, my
cell phone vibrated and I picked it up, thinking someone had sent me a
text message.
</p><p>
"YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED"
</p><p>
The appearance of the message caught me off guard and woke me up all at once.
</p><p>
I looked around. There was nothing and no one around at this late hour and the temperature was negative.
</p><p>
I thought back to the only time it had gone off and Ian's joke. He
knew perfectly well by now that I didn’t find it funny, and I had made
it clear that I hoped he wouldn't do it again or he would get his ass
kicked.
</p><p>
I stood there, looking back. Looking for someone who obviously didn't exist.
</p><p>
Still suspicious, I resumed my walk, keeping my phone in my hand.
</p><p>
After a minute, it vibrated again.
</p><p>
"YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED
</p><p>
I looked around again, but there was nothing. I was starting to
panic. I was alone, in the middle of the night, and I was beginning to
think something was wrong.
</p><p>
A paper cup was pushed by the wind and the noise startled me.
</p><p>
"Is anyone there?" I felt compelled to say aloud.
</p><p>
Obviously, no one answered.
</p><p>
"If there's anyone, I’m warning you, I'm armed," I lied, trying to be as convincing as possible.
</p><p>
When nothing happened, I started to turn around to resume my walk.
And at the last moment, out of the corner of my eye, even as I turned my
head, I swore I saw something moving in the shadows at the corner of an
alley.
</p><p>
It took me a while to process what I'd seen. At first I thought it had been a cat.
</p><p>
<em>No, cats don't have white eyes</em>.
</p><p>
I walked quickly.
</p><p>
"YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED"
</p><p>
Behind me there was absolute silence.
</p><p>
"YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED"
</p><p>
Was it the sound of bare feet on the sidewalk I'd just heard?
</p><p>
"YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED"
</p><p>
I clutched my pepper spray can as I took the last few steps to my
car while looking around like a madwoman attacked by imaginary birds.
</p><p>
I closed the car door and locked the doors.
</p><p>
Finally I managed to exhale the air I'd been holding in my lungs.
</p><p>
I didn't wait any longer, not wanting to linger here, and started the engine.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
Once home, I took a shower and got ready for bed.
</p><p>
It had been a strange night. The more I thought about it, the more I
wondered why the application had triggered so many times. Wasn't it
possible that there had been a malfunction and I'd just imagined what I
thought I was hearing and seeing because of the stress?
</p><p>
After a while, I came to the conclusion that the app was bugged and
that my overactive imagination combined with my natural fear of being
attacked had done the rest.
</p><p>
I put my mobile in my pocket and made several trips to the kitchen to throw away the remains of my dinner.
</p><p>
My cell phone vibrated.
</p><p>
"YOU ARE BEING FOLLOWED"
</p><p>
My breathing stopped.
</p><p>
I stood there for several seconds, staring at my screen.
</p><p>
I raised my head slowly and looked around. I inspected every nook and cranny accessible to my view without making a move.
</p><p>
The light in my bedroom was still off. Apart from that, I couldn't see any place where an intruder might be.
</p><p>
I made my way discreetly towards my bedroom.
</p><p>
<em>Stop stressing, you said it yourself, this app doesn't work</em>.
</p><p>
I continued walking slowly, and put my hand on the light switch just to the left of the door.
</p><p>
I pressed it.
</p><p>
I took a few steps inside, but without a doubt, no intruder, ghost or monster had entered my room.
</p><p>
As I returned to the living room, reassured, my gaze was drawn to the window and the night outside.
</p><p>
And there I saw the pale face of a creature glued to the glass,
staring back at me with the two whitest eyes I'd ever seen in my life.
</p><p>
After a second spent trying to understand what I was seeing, I screamed in fear.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
The police immediately dispatched a patrol car after my panicked call.
</p><p>
The two officers inspected the area around the house without finding
anyone who resembled the vague description I'd given them, even though
they seemed worried. I had obviously avoided mentioning the fact that
what I had seen had white eyes and skin and a bald head.
</p><p>
After a while, they had to leave and told me to call back if I ever saw "someone" at my window again.
</p><p>
I closed all my shutters, and spent the night awake, a knife resting on the living room table.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
When day broke, I finally got the courage to leave my house.
</p><p>
I looked around it, and saw something the police hadn't seen, or hadn't wanted to tell me.
</p><p>
Just below the window where I'd seen this thing, there were dozens
and dozens of bare footprints going from left to right towards all the
other <a class="relative pointer-events-auto" href="https://www.reddit.com/r/SGWoodhouse/" rel="noopener nofollow ugc" target="_blank">windows.</a>
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">----</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/S_G_Woodhouse/">Credits </a><br /></div>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-49431535638814600742024-02-11T01:20:00.000-08:002024-02-11T01:20:41.311-08:00Pale Death<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/concept-large-group-orange-butterflies-600nw-2334612273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="600" height="400" src="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/concept-large-group-orange-butterflies-600nw-2334612273.jpg" width="600" /></a></div><p></p><div class="text-neutral-content">
<div class="mb-sm mb-xs px-md xs:px-0" data-post-click-location="text-body">
<div class="md text-14" id="t3_1ag1nrq-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I can't explain it, but the butterflies seem to know where the bodies are.
</p><p>
I've been a park ranger since I was eighteen, and after five years, I
really can't imagine doing anything else. I was in the scouts when I
was younger, and I've been an avid hiker all my life. Time spent in the
woods is time well spent, and the ability to work there every day is
honestly a dream come true.
</p><p>
Being a park ranger, you see your fair share of bodies in the woods.
People come out here to hike and swim and forget that there are things
here that will kill you. They run afoul of animals, they get sucked
under in the rapids, they don't pack enough food or water, or they just
get lost and aren't found till someone chances upon them.
</p><p>
Spring two thousand twenty-three was the year that we got some help from the butterflies.
</p><p>
It started with the death of Angel Myers, but it certainly didn't end there.
</p><p>
Angel Myers was what you would call a minimalistic camper. She would
come in with a few essentials and a blanket, just kind of camp wherever
she decided to drop down. She knew which plants would kill her and
which ones would nourish her, which was good. She also knew which plants
would get her higher than airplane wings, which was bad. We had called
the police on Angel several times, but they always cut her loose after a
few months, and the rangers refused to toss her a lifetime ban from the
park so she just kept coming back.
</p><p>
When a pair of hikers told us they had found a body in an area we
knew as The Meadow, we supposed this would be the last time we called
the police for her.
</p><p>
She was naked, and it wasn't the first time any of us had seen her
in this state. She wasn't bad to look at, but it was always a little
weird to find someone stark naked in the elements. She was splayed out,
spread eagle, in the flowers that grew in the meadows, and her eyes and
tongue were missing. That wasn't terribly uncommon either, not with all
the varments in the park, but the little black growths on her skin were
definitely something I had never seen before. She had three rows of
perfect little spikes, each of them about three inches long and each
line about nine spikes long.
</p><p>
Other than the spikes, the strangest part of the whole scene were the butterflies.
</p><p>
They were not a species I was familiar with, and they were bone
white with light black patterns on the wings. They were thick over the
body, and I assumed they had been what had drawn the hikers. They were
circling in a thick cloud, the whites easily seen against the green
canopy around them, and I was as amazed by them as I was the weird
protrusions on her skin.
</p><p>
"What the hell are these?" I asked, reaching out a finger to test if
they were sharp, but finding them squishy and full of green liquid.
</p><p>
"Pallida mors," said Rico, one of the rangers who worked with me.
</p><p>
"One more time in English, for the rest of us," I said.
</p><p>
"Pale Death," he said, pointing to the butterflies, "They're rare, I
don't think I've seen one in the flesh. They're supposed to live in the
deep woods, and they only come out once every few years to lay eggs."
</p><p>
I pointed to the little row of black spikes running up her thigh, "On corpses?"
</p><p>
Rico nodded, "That's why they call them Palida Mors. They lay their
eggs on corpses, though it's usually of animals. I have heard of them
laying eggs on human bodies, but it's rare. I guess they found the
corpse before we did."
</p><p>
The hikers said the same when we questioned them. They had been
hiking to the meadow, his fiance wanting to see it in spring, and as
they came to the end of the trail, she had noticed the swarm of pale
butterflies and wanted a closer look. She had thought they were so
pretty, but as they came closer, they had seen the body and realized
what they were swarming around it.
</p><p>
We called the station and got some guys from the coroner's office down to pick her up.
</p><p>
We hoped she would somehow be the last body we found that spring,
but I think, even then, I knew this wouldn't be the last body I saw
taken from the park that year.
</p><p>
The next one was a hiker named Marcus Dray, and his death was truly terrible.
</p><p>
Some campers had gone fishing in the Conusquat River, the waterway
that runs through the park, and as they chased the trout who were
beginning their journey to the spawning grounds, one of their kids came
across a grizzly sight. He said it looked like a scaled claw was
sticking out of the river, and he ran to get his mother, thinking it was
a monster. She had expected a rock formation or maybe a stick with some
moss on it, but what they found was an arm covered in the black spike
pods the butterflies left behind.
</p><p>
"They looked like scales," the mother had said, still a little
shaken by the experience, "and I could understand why he thought it was a
monster hand. It wasn't until I got closer that I realized it was an
arm jutting up from the foam."
</p><p>
At first, we thought the guy had just fallen into the river and
gotten stuck between the rocks after drowning. When we pulled him out,
however, we got a better idea of the extent of the damage. Something
forced him into the small space between the two rocks, and they hadn't
done it gently. His shoulders were broken, like snapped in the middle
and just folded up. He was crumpled up like a suit coat in the hole, and
that wasn't all.
</p><p>
Something had eaten his face.
</p><p>
Not like Angel, where her eyes and tongue were missing. They had
eaten his entire face off, down to the skull, and there was nothing left
but ragged flesh and scored white bone. If it hadn't been for the arm
sticking up, we might have never found him until someone panning for
minerals found a finger or a skull.
</p><p>
The butterflies, the Pale Death, presided over the whole thing as we managed to get him onto the shore.
</p><p>
After that, we found four more bodies in a month.
</p><p>
One was left on a mountainside, its hands missing and its nose and
lips chewed off. He had been climbing the low-grade mountain we have on
the grounds, and when he'd gone missing we thought it might be a small
avalanche due to snow melt. When a fisherman found him laid out on the
lowest peak of the mountain, however, we knew it was something much
worse.
</p><p>
The second was a woman who'd gone into the woods to relieve herself
during a picnic and was found in the low branches of a tree, well, half
of her was. The other half was high up in the tree, and something had
eaten her legs. The husband had to be hospitalized after he identified
the top half of his wife, and I felt bad for her kids. They had been
here to enjoy a picnic in the park, and something had taken that away
from them.
</p><p>
The third was, unfortunately, a child named Kaitlyn Mills. Kaitlyn
would have been six in July, but she never got the opportunity. Kaitlyn
was the strangest and also the easiest to identify. Kaitlyn had left her
parents campsite in the night, but it appeared that whatever had found
her had taken an interest in her. Something had taken care of her in the
woods. Something had fed her, something had changed her clothes,
something had made sure she drank clean water, and then, unfortunately,
its care had lapsed. Kaitlyn hadn't died because her face had been eaten
off, she had died because her skull had connected with the ground and
cracked. It was pretty clear she had fallen out of a tree, but the
coroner said she would have needed to fall from a pretty steep height.
She was stretched out too, as if something had made her comfortable as
she lay dying.
</p><p>
The fourth was the worst, and the reason for what came after.
</p><p>
The fourth was Ranger Franklin Carpenter, and he had gone missing
after going to check one of the pump stations. We had six pump stations,
things we used to bring clean water to the campgrounds, and he had been
responding to a call about a malfunction in station four. He had gone
out before lunch, and we found what was left of him the next day after
he never came back. If he hadn't died wearing his name tag then we
wouldn't have known who it was. His arms and legs were missing and
believed to have been eaten. His face was gone, as was the top of his
skull and what lay within. Something had gnawed his chest, eaten his
buttocks, and chewed his genitals off for good measure. He was just a
torso and part of a head when we found him on the edge of the woods, and
a lot of us got pretty scared after losing one of our own like that.
</p><p>
Over all four bodies, the butterflies held sway, and their eggs were in evidence.
</p><p>
I expected a visit from the Head Ranger, but when he arrived with a
man in a dark suit the next day, we should have known something was
about to happen. He had a few other men in similar attire, and Rico
lifted an eyebrow as we took our seats at briefing. None of these guys
were dressed for more than a slow stroll over concrete paths, but I
doubted that was their intention.
</p><p>
"Agent Lee has been gracious enough to come and help us with our
little problem. We will be splitting all of you into groups so you can
canvas the woods. We need to find whatever is doing this before summer
starts, especially with one of our own being a recent casualty. We have a
lot of ground to cover, so, Rangers will be splitting off with two of
Agent Lee's boys to show them the trails and help them bring this to a
close."
</p><p>
So, that's how I found myself in the woods with Agents Fiest and
Agent Martin. Agent Lee might have looked like an investment banker, but
these two had traded their Brooks Brothers suits for camo and assault
rifles. We had broken out the shotguns that we used for putting off
angry wildlife to supplement the firepower the Agents had brought, and
the three of us proceeded through the woods. Agent Fiest wasn't a big
talker, but Agent Martin made up for it by asking questions about what
we had seen. I told him about the bodies, the parts that had been eaten,
and the butterflies that seemed to hover around everything.
</p><p>
"Butterflies?" Fiest said, and it was probably the only thing I had heard him say in the hour we had been walking.
</p><p>
"Yeah, Rico calls them something in Latin that basically means Pale
Death. They show up around the bodies and just kind of mark where they
are."
</p><p>
Fiest gave Martin a look and the two nodded knowingly.
</p><p>
"Have you seen anything near the sights? Footprints or scales maybe? Stuff like insect skin?"
</p><p>
I shook my head, "No, mostly just dead people."
</p><p>
I was preparing to ask them what they thought we were looking for
since they clearly knew something, when we came through a dense stand of
trees and into an open space that was anything but open. It seemed
invested with the pale butterflies, and as we stalked in, they fluttered
around us almost gladly. The two Agents took this as a good sign but I
wasn't sure what to think. These things had been a pretty foul omen in
the last few months, and finding a huge number of them now seemed less
than ideal.
</p><p>
As we moved into the cloud of butterflies, it also seemed like
something was stalking us. Through the thick wave of insects, there was a
large shadow that stalked us. It almost appeared human-sized, but the
longer I watched it flit through the swarm, it seemed to grow. It may
have had as few as two arms, or as many as eight, but the wings I saw
stir its smaller kin were what worried me.
</p><p>
They were tall and white, just like the others, and it seemed to be using them as a blind as it lured us deeper.
</p><p>
"It's close," Martin whispered.
</p><p>
"Steady," Fiest said. "If we spook him, he might fly away before we can take him out."
</p><p>
"What?" I half whispered, talking too loud, but too scared to care.
</p><p>
Fiest looked at Martin, shrugging at something in the other's face.
</p><p>
"You've heard of the moth man? Well, there are counterparts to that
thing. The people of Joplin talk about how many of their children were
saved from a tornado by these "butterfly people," but they assume those
who were lost were taken by said tornado, and not the same creatures who
saved them. We call them Lycaenidae Bipedus, and they are extremely,"
but he never got to finish.
</p><p>
Suddenly the cloud of butterflies enveloped us, their small bodies
clinging to us as they struck. Our vision was cut off, and as the
automatic weapon chattered, I hit my belly and started crawling. I
wanted to get out of the swarm, to get away from the wild bark of the
gun, and as I crawled, I heard people yelling. The wet sound of
something being torn cut off some of the screaming, but the gunfire
persisted as I kept making my way out of the cloud of insects.
</p><p>
I kept crawling until I made it out of the clearing, and once I was
no longer being buffeted by butterflies, I got up and started running.
</p><p>
I could still hear the gunfire behind me, but I knew that what I wanted was to live.
</p><p>
I knew that if I stayed, I'd be dead, and I still very much wanted to live.
</p><p>
I ran until someone yelled at me to stop and shoved a gun in my face.
</p><p>
It was another one of the Agents, and as they all coalesced, I was
ordered to take them back to the spot where I had left Agent Fiest.
</p><p>
As little as I wanted to go back, I agreed.
</p><p>
By the time I found it again, Fiest was sitting on something he had
covered with a tarp. Fiest's left arm was hanging uselessly at his side,
his clothes were ripped to shreds, but he was grinning like a big game
hunter who's bagged the big one.
</p><p>
"Get it to the truck. Tell the boys back at base I had no choice but
to kill it. It refused to come peacefully and forced my hand."
</p><p>
Martin was dead, his body covered in a slew of crushed butterflies. I
saw him before they could tarp him as well. Something had torn his
thrown out, and I assumed it was whatever was under the big tarp that
Fiest was guarding. They took both the tarped bodies away, and when
Fiest came towards me, I was worried he would be angry that I had fled.
</p><p>
He put a hand on my shoulder instead and nodded in understanding.
</p><p>
"Don't feel bad, kid. I would have run too if I'd had the choice.
Both Agent Martin and I knew what we were getting into. You got us here,
that's what counts."
</p><p>
They took it away, and the murders stopped.
</p><p>
We lost two more hikers that year, but they were both killed by the elements.
</p><p>
The butterflies left that same day, never (hopefully) to return.
</p><p>
I can’t help but think about that spring again as winter abates and the season gets warmer.
</p><p>
I tell you one thing, I’ll be keeping an eye peeled for butterflies from now on.
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">---</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Erutious/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-77332903384386840912024-02-11T01:17:00.000-08:002024-02-11T01:17:50.687-08:00Colors of Fear<p> <img alt="https://i0.wp.com/post.medicalnewstoday.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2021/10/Dissecting_terror_GettyImages763291217_Header-1024x575.jpg?w=1155&h=1528" class="shrinkToFit" height="541" src="https://i0.wp.com/post.medicalnewstoday.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2021/10/Dissecting_terror_GettyImages763291217_Header-1024x575.jpg?w=1155&h=1528" width="964" /> </p><div class="text-neutral-content">
<div class="mb-sm mb-xs px-md xs:px-0" data-post-click-location="text-body">
<div class="md text-14" id="t3_19a85ns-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
When I came home from work and saw the package on the front porch, I was filled with an irrational flood of joy.
</p><p>
You would have thought I had received something spectacular, and, to me, I had.
</p><p>
I had been waiting five days for Amazon to send this package, and as
I brought it inside and cut the tape, I couldn't wait to see how it
looked.
</p><p>
Reaching into the buffer pads, I pulled out not a game or a new
Funco Pop, but a single light bulb in a package that seemed bigger than
it should have needed to be.
</p><p>
Not just any lightbulb, however, but one of those color-changing LED light bulbs.
</p><p>
I had seen them on TikTok and thought they looked cool. They would
go through a whole spectrum of colors, thanks to the little remote they
came with, and I thought the whole operation looked very soothing. I
liked to watch people lay in bed as the colors shifted, and I thought it
might help my recent mood. I'd been experiencing some heavy seasonal
depression lately, and the inclusion of some colors might be just what I
was missing.
</p><p>
I read the instructions, installed the bulb in my ceiling fan, and
smiled as I looked at the little remote in my hand. There were so many
colors to choose from, and I felt a giddy sense of anticipation. Which
one to try first? Red? Maybe blue?
</p><p>
I settled on a light and buttery yellow. As I lay in my bed, I felt
like I was under the kind of suns I had always drawn as a little kid.
The yellow was the thick shade of melted crayons, and I was happy as I
lay beneath it in my single room. It had been hard to get out in the
cold lately, and this made me feel like I was out at the park or under
the warm sun at the beach.
</p><p>
It wasn't actually warm, but I could trick my mind into thinking it was.
</p><p>
I lay there for a few minutes, just soaking up the fake sunlight
before I got up and went to my computer. As I logged onto World of
Warcraft for a little gaming, I looked at the remote and decided on a
different color. As I explored the game, I changed colors depending on
where I was going. The rusty red of Orgrimmar, the deep green of
Stranglethorn, the light blue of the Undercity, back to the sunny yellow
of the Barrons, and so on and so on. The bulb had a color for every
occasion, it seemed, and I really enjoyed playing with it as the evening
progressed.
</p><p>
I fell asleep that first night under the soft dark blue of the night sky and slept deeper than I had in a long time.
</p><p>
In my downtime the following week, I found myself playing with the
light and trying out different colors. I discovered a button for mixing
colors and found myself making color combinations that turned my room
into all kinds of different shades. I found I liked a few of them, the
blue and green combinations reminding me of undersea videos I had seen
on the Discovery Channel when I was younger. There was the red and
yellow of the deep desert, the purple-blue of icy peaks, and I found
myself lying in bed some evening after work and trying different
combinations.
</p><p>
I fell asleep on Thursday night, the soft blue and deep purple making me think of glaciers, and woke up to a nightmare.
</p><p>
I opened my eyes to find myself floating in a room that looked
smeared with blood. The walls held strange shadows, the reds and blacks
mingling like filth in a morgue, but that wasn't the worst of it. The
worst was the creatures. They were a dirty white that was almost
translucent, their eyes like lamps as they stared at my prone form. I
wasn't sure what to make of them, at first, and I wondered if I was
dreaming? If I was, this was the most realistic dream I had ever had.
Their bodies were long and narrow, like pale reeds, and other than their
eyes they seemed devoid of features. There were two of them, one in the
corner by my desk, and the other perched in the junction of the ceiling
and wall.
</p><p>
We stared at each other for some undeterminable time, and I was
nearly convinced that I was actually dreaming when my phone chirped and
lit up on the nightstand. All three of us looked at the light, and when I
looked back at them, the one in the corner of the ceiling had dropped
soundlessly to the floor. The skin around the bottom of its head seemed
to rip open to reveal a double row of butter-yellow teeth, and his
fellow-creature did the same as the two stalked closer to me on their
noodly-looking arms.
</p><p>
I whimpered, reaching for the bat I kept beside my bed, and as I turned I must have rolled over onto the remote.
</p><p>
As the bulb changed back to the same buttery yellow I had basked
under on the first day, I came up with the bat out in front of me to
find the room devoid of nightmare creatures.
</p><p>
I turned it back to normal fluorescents and looked around in a panic, trying to figure out what had just happened.
</p><p>
I was still awake when the sunrise lit the windows, and I wasn't
sure I'd ever sleep again with the image of those creatures thumping
around in my head.
</p><p>
I tried to get about my morning routine, getting ready for work and
getting breakfast together, but the image of those horrible things
wouldn't leave me. They followed me through my day, dogging my steps as I
tried to get my work done. By lunch, I was a mess, and when my boss saw
me in the breakroom, my shaking hands struggling to open my lunch bag,
she told me I looked ill and said I should go home and get some rest.
</p><p>
"You look ill, dear. Take the rest of the day, have a good weekend, and we'll see you Monday."
</p><p>
I told her that wasn't necessary, but she insisted.
</p><p>
I was grateful for the chance to get some rest, but I found my anxiety growing as I got home.
</p><p>
The same place I had seen those horrors.
</p><p>
I checked the corners where I had seen them, hoping to find some
sign that it had just been a dream, and was rewarded with nothing. There
were no marks on the eggshell white walls, no sign of claws or dirt
from the filthy skin of the creatures, but it did little to soothe me.
Sign or not, I knew I hadn't been dreaming, and that meant that these
things had to be real. The idea that I couldn't see them, that they only
existed in the dark, was even more terrifying, but despite my fear, the
need to find out what they were and how they had disappeared wouldn't
leave any sign wouldn’t leave me.
</p><p>
I started by just turning off the lights, but I didn't think that
would do much good. I had woken up in the dark plenty of times, and I
had never seen anything like these creatures. No, I thought, it had to
have something to do with that light that had been covering the walls.
It had changed when I rolled onto the remote, and whatever combination I
had bumped had allowed me to see the creatures. I knew about things you
couldn't see with the naked eye, things that were too small or hard to
see outside the right color spectrum, and I wondered if these things
were like that.
</p><p>
More importantly, if I could only see them in that spectrum, then was it a two-way street?
</p><p>
Could they only see me when that spectrum was on?
</p><p>
It might explain why they didn't attack me otherwise.
</p><p>
I didn't want to see them, the thought of looking at them terrified
me, but I was curious as well. The thought of them followed me as surely
as the creatures might, and I needed to be sure of what they were. I
was no scientist, not by a long shot, but my desire for answers was
greater than my self-preservation in this case.
</p><p>
I started playing with different color combinations on the remote,
my bat always at the ready. Before you ask, I tried red and black, but
it gave me something like a desert cave more than anything. The remote
was small, but if you held the buttons, the colors would change further.
They would get darker or lighter, they would change depth and
perception, and the combinations really were vast. My computer sat
untouched that weekend, my books and TV left to catch dust, and by
Sunday I was a mess. I hadn't slept much that weekend. Every time I
closed my eyes all I could see were the faces of the monsters that had
stalked me, and my rest was thin.
</p><p>
When someone knocked on the door, I jumped and looked around fitfully.
</p><p>
I peeked down the hallways as someone knocked again, and when Debby
called my name, I realized it wasn't a monster trying to trick me out of
my little cocoon.
</p><p>
I didn't even realize I wasn't dressed for company until I made it
to the door. I was in clothes that my mother would have called grubs,
and my hair was loose and unwashed. I likely smelled, I hadn't showered
since Friday morning, and I was extremely self-conscious as I opened the
door to my apartment. Debby smiled, bundled up against the cold, and
when she saw the state of me, she came right in and asked me what was
wrong.
</p><p>
"Wendy said they had sent you home on Friday with some kind of
sickness, and I see why now. You look terrible. It's not the COVID, is
it?" she asked, pulling her scarf over her nose and mouth.
</p><p>
"No, I'm not actually sick," I admitted.
</p><p>
"Then what's going on? Have you been sleeping okay? Here," she said,
taking some egg drop soup from a bag and setting me on the couch, "I
brought your favorite sick soup to help you get passed this."
</p><p>
I smelled, realizing that I hadn't eaten since the night before when the delicious steam hit my nose.
</p><p>
Bless her, Debby was a true friend.
</p><p>
As we sat, Debby had brought dumplings to go along with the soup, I
told her about the weird creatures I had seen. Unlike me, Debby looked
excited at the prospect of seeing something different. Debby was into
things like ghost hunting and cryptids, and she loved the idea of
actually getting to see one.
</p><p>
"Oh my gosh, you have to let me help. Come on, we'll have a picnic
in your room. If this is making you sick, I want to help you see it
through."
</p><p>
I was glad for her help, but I didn't want to get her caught in the
same crap I was likely to get caught in. Debby was my best friend, and
the thought of the creatures getting her too, all thanks to my
curiosity, was something I would rather avoid. Debby, however, was not
taking no for an answer. We took the food to my room, and I showed her
the remote and the lightbulb. Debbie scratched her chin as she looked at
the buttons, asking if I was sure it was the red and black ones as she
started working through the settings.
</p><p>
"When I woke up it was definitely red and black, but it was
different. It was greasy looking, ethereal, not quite real. It was like a
dream, that's why it took me so long to realize I was awake."
</p><p>
Debby started changing the colors in quick succession, the colors
dancing as they went through the spectrums. I was afraid she would burn
it out, the colors changing too quickly for my liking, but she just
shook her head. She said it would be fine, they were meant to sustain
these kinds of things, and it would speed it up if she just kept
flipping through.
</p><p>
So, we sat there eating and flipping the lights at an almost nauseating pace for the next few hours.
</p><p>
The sun went down and the moon came up, and as I lay on the bed and played on my phone, I realized it was almost midnight.
</p><p>
I had to go back to work the next day, and I told Debby I needed to get to bed.
</p><p>
"I appreciate your help, but I've gotta be up early in the morning."
</p><p>
"Just a little more," Debby said, the lights still dancing by, "I know I can do it."
</p><p>
I rolled over and shook my head, reaching for the remote, "I appreciate your help, but I just don't think it can be done."
</p><p>
She moved a little away, still flipping through the colors as I
reached, and as I came off the bed, she scuttled a little further off.
</p><p>
"Come on, just a little longer. You can be a little tired tomorrow for a good night's sleep, right?"
</p><p>
"No, Debby, I'm tired. I need to,"
</p><p>
I grabbed the remote, Debby pulling back, and that's when it fell over us.
</p><p>
I don't know how, but we were both suddenly enveloped in the aura of
dirty red and black light. The walls oozed like fresh blood, the dark
hung around them like smog, and I was suddenly aware that we weren't
alone. There were more than two this time, their numbers nearly a dozen
as they clung to the walls and ceiling like grizzly insects. Debby's
mouth hung open, her scream stuck midway up her throat, and I realized
this had likely not been what she was expecting.
</p><p>
As their mouths split their faces, their teeth huge, my hands shook and my stomach dropped.
</p><p>
They fell on us then, and I rolled under the bed without thinking.
Debby's scream came out, loud and strong, and I pulled my knees to my
chest as I tried to think of what to do. They were killing her, they
were killing my best friend, and the only thing I could think of was
changing the lights back. It had worked the first time, maybe it would
work now.
</p><p>
I looked around, finding the remote on the ground, but as I reached for it, I saw the giant yellow eyes find me.
</p><p>
One of those noodly arms came reaching for me, and as my fingers
found the plastic face, I pushed the first button I could find and
snatched it away from the sharp teeth of the creature.
</p><p>
The light returned to something like normal before it popped loudly,
and I was left in darkness. I took out my phone and turned on the
light, looking around to make sure they had gone. I found the remains of
our picnic, but that was all I discovered.
</p><p>
By the light on my phone, I discovered that the creatures were gone, but Debby was also gone.
</p><p>
I've ordered another light bulb, but it won't arrive until tomorrow.
I paid for express shipping, but I don't know if that will be soon
enough to save Debby. I don't want to see those things ever again, but
if there's a chance that Debby is still alive, I have to find her.
</p><p>
She wanted to help me, and now it's my turn to try and help her.
</p><p>
So be careful with your new light bulb if you buy one.
</p><p>
You may see more than you bargained for, and you may lose more than the cost of shipping.
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">---</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Erutious/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-19963158982053213182024-02-11T01:15:00.000-08:002024-02-11T01:15:57.852-08:00Things Are Disappearing From My House. And I'm Terrified By Who Might Be Taking Them<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://img.freepik.com/free-photo/coffee-cup_74190-7428.jpg?size=626&ext=jpg&ga=GA1.1.1826414947.1701648000&semt=ais" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="626" height="418" src="https://img.freepik.com/free-photo/coffee-cup_74190-7428.jpg?size=626&ext=jpg&ga=GA1.1.1826414947.1701648000&semt=ais" width="626" /></a></div><p></p><div class="text-neutral-content">
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<p>
The first time it happened, I didn't think much of it.
</p><p>
I had left my house for work in the morning, just as I always did,
and when I got home that night... my yucca plant was gone.
</p><p>
The second time it happened, I honestly assumed it was my wife.
</p><p>
Again, I had left my house for work in the morning, and when I got home that night... my umbrella was gone.
</p><p>
But then I remembered, that my wife had left the house earlier than
me that day, and got home after me. In addition to the fact that, it
wasn't even supposed to rain.
</p><p>
The third time it happened, well... is when I started to get
suspicious of the bizarre disappearances, and began to wonder whether
something... else was going on inside my home.
</p><p>
Yet again, I had left my house for work in the morning, and when I
got home that night, lo and behold... my record player was gone.
</p><p>
In all three instances, no matter where I looked for the lost items
around the house, no matter how hard I tried to find them, they were
nowhere to be found.
</p><p>
This continued happening enough times, that I eventually decided to keep a log, to track everything that was disappearing.
</p><p>
And so, I vowed that after a month of logging the missing
possessions, I would scour the list, for some sort of common
denominator. Some sort of motivation for why this was happening.
</p><p>
But just a day before the end of the month, I left my house for work
in the morning, and when I got home that night... the log, itself, was
gone.
</p><p>
That's when I realized, that anything I wanted to keep, I'd better
take with me when I left my house for work in the morning, lest it be
swept away to wherever all of the missing things had been swept away to.
</p><p>
So, that's exactly what I did, creating an itemized list of only the
things I couldn't live without, by auditing every material object that I
owned.
</p><p>
And, in the process, I was incredibly surprised, by both the amount
of stuff that I'd accumulated over the years, and the relatively small
amount of stuff that I really needed.
</p><p>
Once the list was complete, I would run through the same meticulous
routine every morning, placing the most cherished of my personal
belongings into a combination of my pockets, and a backpack, that I had
bought for this very purpose.
</p><p>
But one day, I left my house for work in the morning and forgot the
backpack, and when I got home that night... it, too, was gone.
</p><p>
After this had gone on for about two months, so many household items
had disappeared, that my wife had assumed that I had been decluttering
the home, purging it of my unwanted things.
</p><p>
This was, of course, not the case, but I was too afraid to tell her
the truth, too afraid that she'd think it was all... preposterous. So I
just played along.
</p><p>
However, I was so disappointed with myself for lying to my wife, and
at the same time, so frustrated with the disappearing items, that I
swore to put an end to the situation, once and for all.
</p><p>
So I ordered a surveillance camera, and as soon as it arrived, I
installed it, before leaving my house for work in the morning.
</p><p>
But when I got home that night... sure enough, the camera was gone.
</p><p>
That's when I realized, that whoever, or whatever, was taking my
things, was aware that I was aware of it, and was actively thwarting my
attempts to thwart it.
</p><p>
But that only made me want to thwart it even more.
</p><p>
The next week, I faked being sick, calling out from work each day, for the sole purpose of<br />coming up with a plan for how to stop the mysterious disappearances, or find out who, or what, was behind them, or both.
</p><p>
That's when I had the realization, that nothing seemed to disappear when my wife left the house, and only when I did.
</p><p>
Since I'd been married to her for eight years, and was fairly
certain she wasn't the one hiding my things, I grew confident that there
was someone, or something, else, in the house, who was specifically
taking my things, whenever I left.
</p><p>
So, I reached out to my company's HR contact, requesting to work
remotely, and less than a month later, the request got approved, and I
started working from home.
</p><p>
Sure enough, a month went by, and nothing was stolen.
</p><p>
Which led me to wonder, whether it had actually been my wife's
doing, after all. Rationalizing that even though she did tend to leave
the house before me and get back after me every day, she could easily
come home during her lunch break.
</p><p>
It took me a week to gather the courage to confront her about it,
and I finally accused my wife of eight years and trusted confidant, of
something completely outlandish. And just as I had feared, she thought
it was all... preposterous.
</p><p>
And, as to be expected, she could not have been more offended. We
had the worst fight of our marriage that night, and both went to bed
upset.
</p><p>
And so, the next day, I decided to sacrifice a physical possession,
in order to make it up to Sarah, leaving my house for work in the
morning, with the sole purpose of buying her flowers.
</p><p>
But when I got home that night... gift in hand, and ready to apologize, this time...
</p><p>
...Sarah, herself, was gone.
</p><p>
I should have known that she, too, had been taken away, but I was so
obsessed with understanding the situation, that I convinced myself that
Sarah, still angry at me from the night before, must have up and left.
</p><p>
And with Sarah gone, I could finally know for sure, whether she was the one behind everything.
</p><p>
Once again, I left my house for work in the morning, and when I got
home that night... the flowers that I had bought for Sarah the day
before were gone... and she had still not returned.
</p><p>
But rather than accept the truth, I remembered that she still had the keys to the house.
</p><p>
So, the next day, I hired a locksmith to change every lock in the home, before leaving my house for work in the morning.
</p><p>
But when I got home that night... my coffee table was gone.
</p><p>
And that's when I knew, for certain, that Sarah wasn't the one
behind the strange disappearances. That's when I knew, that she was
actually the victim of them, and that something... else was undoubtedly
in the house.
</p><p>
My wife now missing, I cried myself to sleep hard that night,
clenching at the very sheets, that she once slept upon beside me.
</p><p>
The next morning, I thought about calling the police, but I knew
that the tale would sound so far-fetched, that they'd never believe me.
</p><p>
My sadness quickly turned to rage, and I proceeded to tear my home
apart, searching under every bed, inside every closet, behind every
curtain, and around every corner, for any sign of the culprit, or the
missing items, or both, leaving no stone unturned.
</p><p>
But ultimately, I found... nothing.
</p><p>
That's when I remembered...
</p><p>
...The basement...
</p><p>
...Or lack thereof.
</p><p>
The truth is, when we first bought the home, we were told that there
had once been a basement, but at some point over the years, one of its
previous owners had sealed it off, leaving no trace of a stairway
downstairs.
</p><p>
If I could just find such a stairway, or secret passage to the
cellar, I just might be able to find the culprit, who I imagined would
be sitting there: surrounded by a heaping pile of everything that had
gone missing... including my wife.
</p><p>
But no matter where I looked, I found... nothing.
</p><p>
Defeated, depressed, and terrified, all at the same time, I strongly
considered moving to an entirely new house, but ultimately, I couldn't
bring myself to leave the place that I'd called home for the past eight
years of marriage.
</p><p>
Instead, my obsession with figuring out who, or what, had taken my
wife, and to where, consumed me, and led me to drastic measures.
</p><p>
And so, I started clearing out the house, selling off anything
anyone would buy, and giving away anything left over. Until my once
cluttered home... was reduced to an empty shell of its former self.
</p><p>
When I finally got rid of the last item, I collapsed onto the
rugless floor of the now barren living room, and sat there in silence,
exhausted from what I'd just done, but at the same time, satisfied with
the fact that whoever, or whatever, had been stealing my things, had
nothing left to steal.
</p><p>
That is... until I started to doubt myself, questioning every
decision that I had made, and thereby, my very grasp on reality.
</p><p>
I must have sat there in silence for thirty minutes, internally
beating myself up about it, until I heard a rattling noise below me...
</p><p>
...Suddenly, in the middle of the empty living room... a trap door
popped open. The very trap door, to the basement, that I had been
previously looking for.
</p><p>
Sitting on the floor, directly behind the now upright door, and out
of the line of sight of whoever, or whatever, opened it...
</p><p>
...I suddenly saw a disfigured hand, slowly reach out for something on the floor nearby...
</p><p>
...It was a pencil, that I must have overlooked during the cleanse, the last object left to steal...
</p><p>
...Before I heard it speak.
</p><p>
"I'll be back for you tomorrow." Whatever it was, called out from behind the trap door.
</p><p>
And like that...
</p><p>
...It took the pencil.
</p><p>
I then heard it climb back into the basement, and saw the trap door
shut behind it, as I still sat there on the floor, quietly cowering in
fear.
</p><p>
That was today...
</p><p>
...And tomorrow, my only hope...
</p><p>
...Is that it doesn't take me too.
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">---</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Relative-Obscurity/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-29568703174745344572024-02-11T01:08:00.000-08:002024-02-11T01:08:54.250-08:00Stuck In A Tree<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://image1.masterfile.com/getImage/NzAwLTA1NDUyMjE3ZW4uMDAwMDAwMDA=AHfmsn/700-05452217en_Masterfile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="450" height="300" src="https://image1.masterfile.com/getImage/NzAwLTA1NDUyMjE3ZW4uMDAwMDAwMDA=AHfmsn/700-05452217en_Masterfile.jpg" width="450" /></a></div><p></p><div class="text-neutral-content">
<div class="mb-sm mb-xs px-md xs:px-0" data-post-click-location="text-body">
<div class="md text-14" id="t3_19eq9fa-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I was lucky when I was a kid. I lived in the country and had
open-minded parents that didn't really care where I went, what I did, or
how late I stayed out. Call it bad parenting if you want, but they
trusted me to not get into too much trouble. I of course did still get
into trouble, but not of my own making.
</p><p>
Khaled was my best friend. He lived right next door and during the
summer, it wasn't a question whether or not we were going to hang out,
it was understood that we were every day. He was older than me by one
year, and kind of acted like my big brother. When crossing a small
stream or walking through thorns, I'd hop into his back and he would
hoof it with no complaints. Even though many times afterward blood would
trickle down his leg. I never really saw him get scared. Not of
anything really, except the last day I ever saw him.
</p><p>
One day in early July we decided to pack a backpack with snacks and
capri suns and hike through the wilderness to a big beautiful oak tree
that we favored among so many around the area. This tree was perfect for
climbing, had plenty of shade, and was the ideal place for two kids to
chill on a summer afternoon while discussing video games and naked
ladies.
</p><p>
We walked over 2 miles without any problems, but as we neared the
tree, I swear I could just feel this looming sense of something
different. Not necessarily something wrong, just different from the
norm. We had done this same walk and climbed this same tree dozens of
times and I had never had this feeling before today. We reached the
tree, both of us sweating. It was hot as hell that day and I was
anxiously waiting to gulp down 80% of my water that I brought. As we
climbed the tree, I heard something. It sounded like someone or
something was below us, but when I looked down, nothing was there.
</p><p>
We settled onto the fattest branch that was great for sitting, with
maximum shade. Khaled unzipped the pack and tossed a turkey and cheese
sandwich at me. Laughing as I almost dropped it, I said "dude!" He
laughed and responded "relax, I knew you wouldn't". We began eating and
talking. He was going on about a substitute teacher that he had earlier
that year who he swears had a crush on him. Meanwhile I was carving Goku
into the tree right next to the faded Cloud Strife. Suddenly, a man
spoke from right below us. "Hi."
</p><p>
Khaled stopped mid sentence and we both stared down at this man like
a couple of deer about to get plowed on the highway. Honestly this man
had scared the living shit out of me. We were in the middle of nowhere
and had never seen another person around here. I was frozen, but Khaled
replied, "Hi." The man looked as if he was intentionally trying to look
creepy. He wore a dirty plain white t shirt, and what looked to be old
brown slacks that were missing the button and were only held up by the
zipper. He had long brown hair that was slicked back into a pony tail.
He stood there with an exaggerated upwards glare at us. Imagine standing
right up against a tall skyscraper, putting your chin up to it and
looking straight up. That's what he was doing, all the while, smiling
from ear to ear.
</p><p>
"Can you come down here please so I can show you this cool thing I
just got?" I looked at Khaled, shocked at his question. Khaled, without
missing a beat replied, "no thanks". The man's smile vanished and was
replaced by utter devastation, as if you just told him his house burned
down. The way his expression changed in an instant was nothing short of
terrifying. "That will break my heart baby. Look, it's so SHARP."
</p><p>
Now, I'm honestly not sure what was more alarming, him calling my
friend baby, or the giant butcher's knife he revealed from behind him.
He held it up se we could see it clearly. It looked brand new and shined
as if it were covered in olive oil. Khaled usually didn't show fear or
hesitation when it came to adults, but at that moment when I looked at
him, expecting him to shut this guy down, his eyes were wide, and I saw
them fill with water. In that moment Khaled's reaction made this real.
We were in a very serious situation.
</p><p>
Khaled looked at me for the first time since this stranger appeared.
I could read his mind. He was scared and no idea what to say or do.
Somehow, don't ask me how, I summoned courage I didn't know I had and
said to the man, "it's really cool." The man shifted his gaze from
Khaled to me. "Get down here." His smile returned. The courage I just
spoke of was gone in an instant. My eyes welled up. Khaled forced words
out and I could hear that innate protective instinct he had for me.
"He's not getting down. We just got here and we're just hanging out. Not
being bad."
</p><p>
Those last three words haunt me. To this day they haunt me. When
Khaled spoke those last three words, I could tell they were spoken while
holding back full on tears. I had never heard him sound and act like a
little kid, but in his pure fear in that moment he sounded like a
six-year old. It was heartbreaking. He was scared.
</p><p>
I looked down at the man, tears streaming down my cheeks at this
point. "You're not in trouble. I just want to show you this and I'll
leave. Promise." The man could definitely see that I was crying and it
didn't seem to bother him, which was absolute confirmation to me that he
was in fact there to do us harm, of some kind. What happened next is
the reason I have therapy three times a week. For over twenty years now.
Khaled looked at me and shut his eyes tight, preparing to unveil every
ounce of courage he had at his young age. "Okay I'll come down and see
it. Just for a second. Then we have to go." The man smiled wider somehow
at this. "I thought you said you just got here. What's the hurry now?"
</p><p>
Khaled hesitated, and responded after four or five seconds, "I know
but...his mom said we couldn't play anymore if I got him home late." I
looked back and forth at Khaled and the man, having zero clue what was
happening now or what would happen next. "Good idea. Better get home
before it gets dark. That's when the monsters come out." The man's smile
abruptly vanished again. "Come on now, get down. Hurry up." Khaled
looked at me and I shook my head as tears erupted from eyes as if to say
urgently, "No."
</p><p>
Khaled whispered "I'll be right back." I started shaking my head,
and was mortified to see the man smiling and staring at me as I looked
down as Khaled descended. When Khaled was within reach, the man put the
knife away and with both arms grabbed Khaled's arms gently. "Here,
careful, I got ya. Here, come over here and I'll show ya." The man
started walking Khaled away, and he looked up at me one more time, with
pure fear on his face. The strong, protective big brother was gone.
</p><p>
They disappeared from my view, and then there was nothing. It was as
if nothing had happened. I was sitting in this tree alone, and for a
moment I imagined that I had made the trip solo. That Khaled was safe
somewhere else, and all was fine. But it wasn't.
</p><p>
I heard nothing as I focused on hearing anything. Anything at all.
Minutes passed by like hours, and eventually I came to the horrifying
conclusion...they were not coming back. Adrenaline started to kick in
now, and I needed to get down. To see where they were, to leave, to just
not be in this tree by myself anymore. When I reached the bottom with
the backpack tightly strapped, I looked around everywhere. Silence and
nothing. They were gone. I realized I had to get to adults, now. I had
to let them know what happened. I ran. Faster than I ever have before or
since, and when I reached my house, I threw up on my front lawn from
exhaustion and desperation. My mom was on the phone sitting on the
porch. She promptly ended her call and came to me.
</p><p>
The details from that point are typical. Calls were made, searches
were done. They didn't find Khaled. They didn't find any trace of him at
all.
</p><p>
It's been many years, and I think about my friend who was taken
almost every day. I'd rather find out what happened to him than
anything. I'd rather know than to win the lottery. I'd rather know he
was killed than not know. Not knowing has made my life black and gray.
Sadness and without faith in goodness.
</p><p>
The only thing that helps is telling myself I was wrong. The strong
and protective big brother never left him that day. It was never gone.
It is the only reason I'm telling this story now. He was my brother and
he protected me. I think he knew what would happen, but he made damn
sure it wasn't going to happen to me, and it's not something I will ever
take for granted.
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">----</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Being_Scared/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-36646089246037560422024-02-11T01:04:00.000-08:002024-02-11T01:04:53.464-08:00How Could This Happen to Me?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/dark-creepy-wooden-cellar-door-600nw-1918773251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="429" height="600" src="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/dark-creepy-wooden-cellar-door-600nw-1918773251.jpg" width="429" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><div class="text-neutral-content">
<div class="mb-sm mb-xs px-md xs:px-0" data-post-click-location="text-body">
<div class="md text-14" id="t3_1adg4s2-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
Not to brag or anything. But I'm an exceptional human being. Not
only am I intelligent. I'm also handsome, charismatic and humble. So to
think this horrifying incident would happen to such a great guy like
myself honestly shocks me.
</p><p>
My story begins in the summer of 2022. I just finished my sophomore
year at one of the top universities in the country. I had a girlfriend
named Alexis. Her family was poor, she could only afford to go to a
community college. She also had to work part time at a fast food
restaurant (this is where I met her). Stupid girl but she was hot. Also,
she was very quiet and reserved. So she had some positives. I planned
on upgrading from her after I got my degree.
</p><p>
The only other "friend" I really had was my college roommate, Troy.
He was a complete dork. He was really into ghosts, demons and other
superstitious stuff. His family was incredibly wealthy. He would show me
pictures of his mansion. He would say some really weird shit like
there's a demon living in the mansion. That it lives in the basement but
comes upstairs at night and bangs on his bedroom door all night long.
He says he never leaves his bedroom at night because the demon kidnapped
his grandfather.
</p><p>
Anyway, I had two weeks until I started a summer internship. I
wanted to spend time with Alexis but she seemed to be getting bored with
me. I then thought of an idea. I remembered Troy saying that he was
taking a trip with his family to Japan the whole summer. The mansion
would be completely empty. I could take Alexis to the empty mansion and
impress her by saying it's mine. When Troy took a shower, I rummaged
through all of his stuff and eventually found the key to the mansion in
his coat pocket. I wasn't stealing it, just borrowing it for the summer.
</p><p>
The next day I took her to the mansion. I started giving her a tour.
At one point during the tour I thought I heard a noise coming from the
basement. Sounded like someone moaning. </p><p>"It's probably my imagination", I
thought to myself. After I gave her the tour I asked, "So what do you
think?". </p><p>She gave me a smile and disinterested look, "It's nice". </p><p>Her
disinterest annoyed me. She lived in a shithole neighborhood. Here I am,
wasting all my time showing her a proper house and she has the audacity
to show disinterest. Anyway, we decided to spend the night there.
</p><p>
We watched netflix all night and fell asleep on the couch. I woke up
around 2 am. For some reason I felt uneasy. Like someone was watching
me. I was still half asleep but I started making out a dark figure
standing across from me on the coach. </p><p>"Alexis?", I asked. </p><p>But then I
looked to my right, she was still sleeping next to me. Troy? No he
should be in Japan. My eyes started to adjust. The dark figure was
humanoid in shape but at the same time it was obviously not human. It
was skinny, around eight feet tall it's arms and legs were
disproportionately long compared to the rest of it's body. The figure
started making a moaning noise. The same one I heard in the basement
earlier that day. Alexis woke up from that noise. It's then that I
realized that this was probably the demon Troy was talking about. I
thought it was complete bullshit, but here it was right in front of us.
</p><p>
"What's wrong?", I heard Alexis ask me. But I was still fixated on
the demon. Alexis followed my eyes and screamed with terror when she saw
the demon. The demon started walking towards us, I shoved Alexis at the
demon to distract it. I then sprinted for the exit. However, the
mansion was so big and it was pitch black that I didn't know where I was
going. I just continued to run, hoping I could find the exit. I
eventually tripped and fell over.
</p><p>
I started to feel really sorry for myself. Why was this happening to
someone as exceptional as me? Why not Troy? Dudes a loser. Or heck, it
could be anyone. Why was this happening to me? I started crying and
accepted my fate. A few seconds later, I felt a hard slap on my face. I
looked up. It was Alexis. </p><p>"You fucking asshole!", she wailed, "You were
going to let that thing kill me so you could get away!" </p><p>I was astonished
by what she was saying. She never acted this way. She was always very
reserved and polite. And she just physically assaulted me.
</p><p>
I was furious that she would treat me this way. But I regained my
composure. "I demand an explanation. How did you get away?". </p><p>She looked
enraged, "That's what you ask me? Not that you're glad that I survived?
Or how I'm doing after you left me to die?". </p><p>"You're exaggerating. I
didn't leave you to die." I retorted, "And it's not like you contribute
anything relevant to society like me"
</p><p>
She looked at me with disgust and said, "That's it. I'm done with
you." And started walking away from me. This completely caught me off
guard. Why was she being so selfish? I'm destined for greatness. She is a
community college student destined for mediocrity. My future is much
more important than hers. She should be putting all of her effort into
making sure I survive. But here she is walking away from me.
</p><p>
"What, you think you can escape without me?", I asked mockingly, "We
both know you're too stupid to survive without me. You need me." </p><p>She
continued to walk away without a word. Fine, I don't need her anyway. I
thought to myself. My eyes started to adjust to the darkness. I started
to realize that I was near the kitchen. The kitchen has a window. I can
escape through the window. I started feeling my way through the darkness
until I reached the kitchen. I tried to unlock the window without
success. Looking around, I found a pot on the kitchen table. I used it
to break the window. </p><p>I grinned, "Sweet freedom. Dumb bitch should have
stuck with me". I started to crawl through the window to the outside. I
was almost all the way out when something grabbed my right leg. It was
the demon! It was pulling me back inside. I was wiggling my leg, trying
to get my leg loose, but the demon's grasp was too strong.
</p><p>
The demon was slowly pulling me back into the mansion. To my
bewilderment, I saw Alexis. She was already outside and she was walking
away from the mansion. "Alexis!". </p><p>"Alexis!". I screamed again and again
as the demon was slowly pulling me back inside. But she couldn't hear
me. </p><p>"Alexis!", I cried. My whole body was back in the mansion now. The
demon dragged me through the pitch darkness. I cried in horror. What was
it going to do to me? I started to realize that it was taking me
downstairs. It was taking me to the basement.
</p><p>
Two years later, I'm still trapped in the basement. The only company
I have is the demon and Troy's grandfather who was also kidnapped.
Turns out the demon is lonely and that's why it kidnapped the both of
us. The demon has a laptop, so that's how I'm posting my story on
reddit. I sometimes go on Alexis's social media. Turns out she now
transferred to MIT and is doing very well for herself. As for me, I'm
bored to death. All I do is play monopoly with the demon and Troy's
grandfather and surf the web. How could this happen to me? I had such a
bright future. </p><p>----</p><p><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/bobbdac7894/">Credits</a> <br /></p>
</div>
</div>
</div>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-61106595769728158932024-02-11T00:59:00.000-08:002024-02-11T00:59:20.106-08:00Do You Remember How Many Children You Had Before The Fog?<p> <img alt="https://www.abc27.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/55/2023/12/GettyImages-1055906130.jpg?w=2560&h=1440&crop=1" class="shrinkToFit" height="542" src="https://www.abc27.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/55/2023/12/GettyImages-1055906130.jpg?w=2560&h=1440&crop=1" width="964" /> </p><p>
I know this sounds crazy, and I don’t know where else to go.
</p><p>
Something happened over the weekend that I can’t fully explain and
to be honest I haven’t had a full night’s rest ever since then.
</p><p>
I tried to tell myself that this is just my brain running low on
caffeine. But the more I push the doubts away, the more uneasy I feel.
</p><p>
Something is wrong with my children. I have too many of them.
</p><p>
I have three wonderful boys. James is 8 and Braxton is 6.
</p><p>
I don’t remember Dylan.
</p><p>
I see pictures of him up on the fridge, smiling and playing catch
with his dad. He goes to the same school as his older brothers. He’s a
great kid, for the few days that I’ve known him.
</p><p>
But before Saturday I have no recollection of him being a part of our family.
</p><p>
Saturday was strange, to say the least.
</p><p>
There was a cold front moving in. Weather report said there would be
rain mixed with hail. We had to cancel baseball practice because of the
nasty change.
</p><p>
But no one seemed really prepared for the fog.
</p><p>
We were leaving the field when I saw it roll in, I think it came
from the south. It was thick, so very much so that traffic came to a
halt.
</p><p>
My husband tried to get out and see if there was a way around it but no one could see anything for miles.
</p><p>
It was so very cold, colder than you would expect. The boys were
complaining because of it and even though we stayed in the car, I didn’t
feel comfortable sitting there amid the cloud.
</p><p>
Something was wrong about all of it. Everyone could feel it but no one said anything.
</p><p>
Braxton and James were complaining one minute about the whole
situation and then it became dead silent. Time itself seemed to stop.
</p><p>
I remember telling them to be quiet while we tried to drive forward
inch by inch. It was a little nerve wracking being unsure what was just
mere feet in front of you. My husband finally announced he could see the
edge of the cloud and pushed the ignition.
</p><p>
I told my boys that we were finally headed home and then I saw something in the mirror.
</p><p>
A third child.
</p><p>
I screamed.
</p><p>
My husband slammed on the brakes.
</p><p>
“What the hell Joy! I thought we were going to get in a wreck!” I
was staring at the third child in the back seat, and everyone in my
family was looking at me like I was insane.
</p><p>
“Who are you?” I whispered. The question to me sounded like what any
sane person would ask. I should have realized sanity left our lives the
moment the fog came.
</p><p>
The boy spoke. “Mom… it’s me, Dylan. Are you okay?”
</p><p>
I looked to my husband for answers and he was equally worried, checking my head for signs of a bruise.
</p><p>
“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”
</p><p>
I didn’t know what to say, so I waited until we got home and the three boys were asleep.
</p><p>
“Vincent… I know this sounds insane… but I don’t recall having three
children. When we went into that fog, I only remember Braxton and
James,” I whispered as we got ready for bed.
</p><p>
My husband couldn’t believe it. He showed me family pictures of all of us.
</p><p>
“I think we need to schedule a doctor visit. This isn’t normal,” he said.
</p><p>
But he didn’t mean for the third child, he meant for me. I had a
hard time even closing my eyes that night knowing a stranger was
sleeping in my house.
</p><p>
Worst of all, I kept wondering if my mind was playing tricks with
me. How could I possibly forget having a third child? It couldn’t be.
Dylan is my son, and I must be just having an aneurysm or something.
</p><p>
The thought frightened me because nothing about it offered easy solutions.
</p><p>
The next day we sent the boys to school and got that appointment.
When we made it to the office, I was nearly convinced that I had just
imagined the whole bizarre fog.
</p><p>
Then I overheard a young man in the lobby arguing with two kids he claimed were not his.
</p><p>
“I don’t know you I don’t care what that doctor says, you aren’t
mine. Get away from me!” he snapped. I stopped him as he was about to go
out the door and saw something in his eyes.
</p><p>
“Was it the fog?” I whispered.
</p><p>
He knew what I was talking about and that troubled me even more.
</p><p>
The doctor examined me and couldn’t find anything physically wrong.
</p><p>
“I’m going to prescribe a few psychiatric medications just to help
you remain calm. I’m sure this will all resolve itself in a few days,”
the doctor said.
</p><p>
I smiled uneasily and promised I would take them.
</p><p>
I never did I will admit. I wanted a clear mind so I could figure
out what was happening and which of these children was actually real.
</p><p>
But meeting that man confirmed to me that I wasn’t alone. Others were experiencing the same as I was.
</p><p>
I didn’t know how to explain it to my husband, and I was scared he
might consider sending me to an asylum if I kept pressing the issue.
Maybe I was crazy. Maybe these are my children.
</p><p>
When they got home from school I made them food and sat right across
from Dylan. I wanted to try to resume a normal life as crazy as that
sounds.
</p><p>
This kid had made no effort to seem a threat. Maybe I was the one affected. Maybe the fog did something to me, not to him.
</p><p>
“Thanks for dinner mom,” Dylan said as he hugged me after washing his plate.
</p><p>
I gave him a half smile and sat there, feeling absolutely awful.
</p><p>
I was starting to feel something towards him.
</p><p>
Was he even real?
</p><p>
How could I be sure he was?
</p><p>
That second night of no sleep made me get up and check on the boys, to be sure that nothing out of the ordinary happened.
</p><p>
They were all so peaceful. My life felt like a dream.
</p><p>
But it was still off. Alarm bells rang in my head. Telling me not to just push these feelings aside.
</p><p>
I went to the attic, to try and find anything connecting to Dylan’s childhood.
</p><p>
If he is really my son, I knew I would have kept baby stuff up there.
</p><p>
But I didn’t find anything.
</p><p>
Not even a bracelet from the hospital.
</p><p>
As I sat there looking at other albums it occurred to me that every part of him seemingly manifested four days ago.
</p><p>
Before that he didn’t exist.
</p><p>
The next day when Vincent went to work I checked online in our area
to see if anyone else might possibly have a similar experience from the
fog.
</p><p>
It took a bit of digging, and maybe one too many coffees but I found something; buried under a help tab on a Facebook group.
</p><blockquote>
<p>
How to tell which of your children is real
</p>
</blockquote><p>
There was a video of a mother just like me.
</p><p>
Behind her there were three children, all sitting in chairs strapped down by zip ties.
</p><p>
I held my hand over my mouth as she started to speak.
</p><p>
“Everyone says I’m crazy. But I can’t shake the feeling that one of
these children isn’t really a real kid. It started with the fog and it
grew larger from there. At first I was certain… then it started to
infect me more. I blur their faces. They all look the same. Then I
realized I wasn’t sure which one was the one I couldn’t remember. I
needed to know. If they are my blood I know they will have blood… And
then I told myself it didn’t matter. I love them all. But… that unease
in my stomach didn’t disappear…”
</p><p>
She took out a switchblade. Then the screen suddenly went black, announcing the video was pulled.
</p><p>
It made my heart race.
</p><p>
I couldn’t do that. I’m not a monster.
</p><p>
But what she said bothered me. The fog had infected her mind. Made
her question reality. What if it was doing that to me too? What if one
of these children is an imposter?
</p><p>
Yesterday I reached my breaking point. I tried for a full day to
push these thoughts aside and treat the three of them as mine.
</p><p>
Yet I had no connection to Dylan. No motherly instinct was kicking
in. When he hugged me I just felt dead inside. He is a stranger. A
mother knows her children.
</p><p>
I told my husband I was going to take them to the park.
</p><p>
When they got out and played I sat there and watched them, trying to psych myself up to what I needed to do.
</p><p>
I have a few safety pins in the car for clothing emergencies, and I told myself I just needed to prick their finger.
</p><p>
That’s what the woman was going to do, I was sure of it. The real ones will bleed. The fake one… I wasn’t sure.
</p><p>
I waited until they got back in the car and then locked the doors.
</p><p>
“Mom, can we go for ice cream?” Braxton asked.
</p><p>
I was saying a mental countdown and then pounced, pricking his finger. “Mom what the hell?” James shouted.
</p><p>
I snagged him next. Dylan tried to defend himself and the sharp point snagged his arm.
</p><p>
Blood trickled down and he cried out.
</p><p>
“Mom, what are you doing? Why did you do that?”
</p><p>
I froze, looking at the other boys.
</p><p>
I dropped the safety pin and quickly drove them to the nearest clinic.
</p><p>
“It was an accident. You were rough housing and you stuck yourself. It will only be a few stitches,” I told Dylan.
</p><p>
They promised to not say anything to their father.
</p><p>
I’ve been dumbstruck and horrified by the moment ever since. Their
faces were filled with fear. Their own mother attacking them.
</p><p>
That isn’t the worst part though, because I have one thing seared in my mind.
</p><p>
Braxton wasn’t bleeding. </p><p>----</p><p><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Colourblindness/">Credits</a> <br /></p><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-69881336651317068782024-02-11T00:55:00.000-08:002024-02-11T00:55:02.312-08:00Marco Polo<p> <img alt="https://dx35vtwkllhj9.cloudfront.net/universalstudios/night-swim/images/bg.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="502" src="https://dx35vtwkllhj9.cloudfront.net/universalstudios/night-swim/images/bg.jpg" width="964" /> </p><div class="text-neutral-content">
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<p>
Most people know the rules of Marco Polo. I doubt anyone, who grew
up in a neighborhood with a community pool, survived their childhood
without playing this game at least once. One child is selected to be
“it,” closes their eyes, and shouts “Marco!” All the other kids yell
“Polo!” in response and try to avoid getting caught by the child who’s
“it.” There’s always a moment of mild panic mixed with a sense of
giddiness for the closest child responding with “Polo!” as the kid who’s
“it” hears them, and lunges forward to catch their prey! If the kid
who’s “it” successfully catches their victim, that hapless boy or girl
becomes the new “it.”
</p><p>
My friends and I played this game all the time when we were little
except that we lived in a more rural area of town on the outskirts of
our city’s suburbs. Instead of going to a crowded neighborhood pool
every summer, we had a sizable nearby lake.
</p><p>
I remember cutting through my neighbor’s backyard toward the wood
line each summer where a small dirt path wound its way downhill for
about a quarter mile through the trees until I reached an enormous
clearing. There, beyond the trees and a small stretch of knee-high
grass sat a large, crystal-clear lake! It seemed enormous to a
10-year-old me at the time, but I don’t recall its actual size. All I
know is that one of the older boys – Brock – claimed he swam down to the
bottom and told us that it was probably 12 to 15 feet deep.
</p><p>
About 30 yards from the shore was a small, floating dock which we
enjoyed sitting on and watching small schools of fish dart around shafts
of light from the afternoon sun. The fish would occasionally swim right
up to this small hole in the lake bed, but would quickly swim away as
if startled by something inside. Brock bragged to me and some of the
other kids that he swam down one time to investigate it. He never went
inside because it would have been a tight squeeze, but he said the water
around it was noticeably warmer than the rest of the lake and it seemed
to be lined with smooth rock.
</p><p>
As I mentioned, we loved playing Marco Polo in this lake during the
day, but during the hottest parts of the summer, about nine other kids
and I would head down to the lake to play Marco Polo at night. We’d
tell our parents we were going to a nearby field to play flashlight tag
and then double back towards the lake when we were safely out of sight.
Once we got there, we’d strip down to our underwear and swim out to
that small dock I mentioned. We’d make sure to do this on clear
evenings so we could see each other in the moonlight.
</p><p>
The last time we ever did this, there were exactly 10 of us in total
(counting me). Six boys and four girls all around the 10 to
12-year-old range. Becky - a small, freckled, awkward girl with a
rhoticism (meaning she had trouble pronouncing the letter “r”) - was
picked to be “it” first.
</p><p>
She wasn't the best swimmer and flailed around haplessly for a good
five minutes (maybe longer), repeatedly shouting “Marco!” Due to the
speech impediment, though, this sounded more like “Mowco!” We responded
with the obligatory “Polo!” each time, but as the minutes dragged on, I
started to feel more and more sorry for her.
</p><p>
Best I could tell from keeping tabs on where everyone was, we had
all managed to maintain about a good 15-foot gap between her and us.
So, I was surprised when I heard her shout in triumph and announce that
she’d caught someone. Last I'd checked, there was no one remotely close
to her. I shrugged it off because, despite her awkwardness, I had a
bit of a crush on her and was relieved she’d actually managed to catch
someone.
</p><p>
Whoever Becky caught, though, was a much better swimmer than she had
been. Such a good swimmer that I decided to escape to the safety of
the dock despite the risk of getting called out as a "fish out of water"
and thereby becoming the new "it." From here, I quietly sat and
watched the rest of the game unfold.
</p><p>
As I sat on the dock, trying to remain as still and quiet as I
could, I started to sense that something was “off.” There was just
enough light that I could see the person who was now “it” was a girl
(though I wasn’t sure exactly who because I couldn’t make out any facial
features).
</p><p>
Part of what unnerved me was that she sounded a lot like Becky. She
pronounced her “r’s” the same way, so when she’d call out “Marco!” It
also sounded like “Mowco.” Something else was strange about the voice
though and it took me a minute before I realized what it was. It was a
couple of things, actually – her voice was completely monotone and it
almost had a robotic quality to it. She also emphasized the wrong
syllable, so it sounded like “MOW-co…” Additionally, she never paused to
allow anyone to respond. It was just “MOW- co. MOW-co. MOW-co.” Over
and over again.
</p><p>
This was odd, yes, but it made me more curious to know which one of
our group it was. I decided to figure it out by process of elimination.
I was the only one on the dock and there were 10 of us, in total, so
there should have been nine in the water. It took me a couple of tries
due to the low light and the fact that I was convinced I had miscounted.
I began to panic, though, as I realized there was an extra 10th person
in the water!
</p><p>
I quickly shouted to everyone to get out! There was a moment of
confused hesitation, but some of the others must have also sensed
something was off because, after that pause, everyone swam for the dock
as fast as they could.
</p><p>
One by one, everyone clambered onto the dock and huddled together.
Everyone, except Becky, that is. She was still trying to swim away from
this weird girl as fast as she could while crying for help. Brock and I
almost dove back in after her, but it was too late. In an inhumanly
fast and fluid motion, the girl who was "it" surged forward while at the
same time rising out of the water. For a split second, the image of
her doing that reminded me of one of those mermaid figureheads at the
bow of an old sailing ship.
</p><p>
For one, horrifying moment, the girl (or whatever it was) was high
enough out of the water that we would have been able to see her legs; if
she’d had legs, that is. Instead of legs, after her waist came a
pinnacle of what looked like smooth, slippery flesh. It reminded me a
lot of a hand puppet where you can see a little bit of the puppeteer’s
arm.
</p><p>
Almost gracefully, the girl-puppet-thing fell on Becky, grabbed her
in a tight embrace, and pulled her under the water leaving behind
nothing more than a splash, and then a small, vortex-like swirl. The
wispy clouds suddenly cleared, and, in the moonlight, I could see this
abominable, tentacle, puppet…thing…retract into that hole at the bottom
of the lake. It got stuck for a moment as it tried to force Becky into
the hole with it. But once it managed to do so, she completely
disappeared into it in a dark cloud of blood mixed with sediment, and
air bubbles.
</p><p>
As if a spell had broken, everyone suddenly dove into the water
towards the shore, screaming and splashing in panic. It felt like it
took an eternity to reach the safety of the land. I kept thinking that,
at any moment, I'd look back and see that thing chasing after me
imitating Becky's voice and calling out "MOW-co." We were met at the
shore by some of the angry parents who’d been woken by all the
commotion.
</p><p>
While none of our parents ever believed our story about the puppet
thing that had mimicked Becky and dragged her under, a subsequent search
by police divers revealed the hole and, just inside it, the tattered
remains of the unfortunate girl’s swimsuit top. It was too tight a
squeeze for the divers to get into, so nothing else was ever found.
They simply covered up the hole as best they could, erected a chain-link
fence blocking off that section of shoreline, and put up a sign warning
people away from swimming in the lake.
</p><p>
I don’t think that hole remained covered for very long, though. A
few months after Becky “disappeared,” I snuck out of my house one final
time to sit a safe distance from the shoreline, watch the sunset, and
say a final, symbolic goodbye to Becky. I’d been seeing a therapist
(for all the good it did) at the time, and I thought making this gesture
might help bring some sort of closure and healing even if it didn’t
stop the frequent nightmares and panic attacks.
</p><p>
As I watched the sunset over the lake, my eyes caught a ripple in
the water. I froze as, a moment later, this was followed by the
puppet-like silhouette of that mimic creature cutting through the water
like a mermaid figurehead at the bow of an old ship... In lazy
figure-eight motions, it swam around. An unsettling voice emanating
from it mimicked Becky in a never-ending, monotone “MOW-co. MOW-co.
MOW-co…”
</p><p>
There was another noise in the background that gradually seemed to
become louder and louder until, a full minute later, I realized it was
me - screaming and sobbing hysterically. With that, I turned and ran…
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">---</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/OkYou9707/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-69604348898600372672024-02-11T00:51:00.000-08:002024-02-11T00:51:51.324-08:00I Think I Saw Where Nightmares Come From<p> <img alt="https://mediaproxy.salon.com/width/1200/https://media2.salon.com/2023/10/spooky_horror_concept_of_a_monster_with_glowing_eyes_1334660932.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="642" src="https://mediaproxy.salon.com/width/1200/https://media2.salon.com/2023/10/spooky_horror_concept_of_a_monster_with_glowing_eyes_1334660932.jpg" width="964" /> </p><div class="text-neutral-content">
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<p>
I have always had this thing happen in the middle of the night where
I wake up at 3 or 4 am with a sudden burst of energy. I went to doctors
and specialists when I was little because my parents would find me
running around the house trying to tire myself out. Rather than have me
wander outside as a teenager, they ended up moving my whole bedroom to
the basement and putting a treadmill down there. Any neurological tests
done on me were inconclusive and sleeping pills never did the trick, so
this just became something I’ve lived with.
</p><p>
Now that I’m an adult and live alone, I actually found the best
remedy for my restlessness is late-night walks. I’ll walk for a mile,
maybe two, and then once I feel myself coming down, I’ll turn around and
head back home. It’s been pretty therapeutic, and I’ve started
welcoming these walks as a part of my nighttime routine.
</p><p>
I tell you all of this because it’s very important to understand
that walking in the middle of the night is not unusual for me. It’s
something I do every single day. I don’t hallucinate, feel tired, or
groggy, or feel anything that would impede my senses. But what I saw
last night is unexplainable.
</p><p>
I was up and out of bed at 3:33 am, and I remember that distinctly
because it was so specific. I didn’t think anything of it because I wake
up randomly throughout the night from 3-4 am, so this was just a
regular time. I put on my sweatsuit and headed out the front door, my
nerve-ends already firing and kicking into gear. My body basically
craved the walks at this point, and I’m smart enough to not deny it.
</p><p>
I stepped out into my street, caked only in moonlight and the dim
buzz of yellowed street lights. I’m no horror movie fan, but I get why
they are all set at night. Even my peaceful, suburban block looked
terrifying in the stillness of night. I could hear my blood bump that
night as I walked up the steep incline toward the forest decorating the
top of our block. Sure, I walked outside around this time every night,
but that eerie feeling never diminished.
</p><p>
I walked my normal weekday route, which is along a treeline and
across a semi-kept-up stretch of sidewalk. The path leads directly to an
elementary school, which on any normal night, is locked up and blacked
out.
</p><p>
However, as I got closer, I saw that the lights were on. Not just a
few lights like a teacher forgot to shut them off, either. Every light
inside the two-story cement building was on. More than that, I could see
silhouettes in each of the windows. I instinctively thought that this
must be some school event, but then I remembered what time it was.
</p><p>
I reached down to check my phone, but felt nothing in my pocket. I
must have left it at home. After over a thousand of these night walks
with no incidents, I didn’t typically grab it on my way out. The phone
would only help keep me awake anyway, which was opposite to the point of
these walks. However, I really wish I had it for what I saw next.
</p><p>
I had to get closer, but I had that uneasy feeling creeping up my
spine. A chill that ran through me regardless of how warm I was.
Standing in the doorway to the school was an impossibly tall individual.
I was still well over one hundred feet away so I couldn’t tell if it
was a man or woman, but they filled the frame of the archway to the door
and then some. The arch in their back indicated they weren’t even
standing up straight, which meant they were well-over nine or ten feet
tall.
</p><p>
I should have turned back, but my brain knew I wasn’t getting any
sleep that night regardless. I took a path off to the left that I knew
wrapped around to the woods near the school. If I wanted to tell anyone
about what I was seeing, I needed more to go off of than just some
creepy tall person hanging outside the school.
</p><p>
So I crept into the woods, watching the figure stand at the entrance
as I disappeared into the treeline. I had about twenty feet of covered
grounds ahead of me to strategize. I couldn’t take any photos because I
was without my phone and if something potentially dangerous was going
on, I doubt anyone was close enough to hear me scream, but I decided to
proceed anyway.
</p><p>
I emerged from the woods just to the west entrance of the school. I
could no longer see the front entrance, which meant I couldn’t see the
figure standing there as well. I was unsettled not having sight of them,
but I pushed through that. I approached the school cautiously, wanting
to get a glimpse inside one of the many lit-up windows.
</p><p>
The bottom floor was occupied by a few homeroom classrooms, my niece
actually went to this school about a decade ago, and I’d occasionally
pick her up afterward when my sister was busy with work. I crept my way
closer, not seeing any other figures outside, and I peered into my
niece’s old homeroom first.
</p><p>
I was about ten feet away from the window, but I could see clearly
inside that something was different. There were no seats in the
classroom, no cubbies, and no sign of it being a classroom at all.
Instead, it looked like some sort of lab. There were huge jars with
murky liquid, tubes running from the hallway, and massive power cables
extending from the walls. Lurking in the corner, there was a cloaked,
wide figure. It looked like it was straining against something as it
pulsed its arms over and over. I say it because like the figure in the
entryway, this was too large to be a person. It was almost comically
wide and round, but it moved just like a man.
</p><p>
Right as it spun around, I ducked down. But, I caught a glimpse of
what it was holding. It looked like an oversized rat with human eyes and
human teeth. Now, this is why I wish I had my phone. The thing I didn’t
tell you about my sleeping issues is that I also suffer from night
terrors. They aren’t every night, thankfully, but when they happen… they
are vivid. This rat, human hybrid creature is something I’ve been
seeing sit in the corner of my room since I was a kid. And now I’m
seeing it just up the street?
</p><p>
I had convinced myself at that moment this was a dream, but no
matter how many times I pinched myself, I couldn’t wake up. I had no
choice but to continue looking.
</p><p>
The next classroom over was unfamiliar to me, however. There were
several hooded figures this time. Each of them a different size and
stature; each of them was just barely not-human. They had some sort of
creature strapped to a large gurney. It was horrific. What I imagine a
boogeyman would look like if it was real. They were showing it photo
after photo of kids, while another hooded figure sliced into its dark,
hardened flesh. I couldn’t hear inside, but I could see it snapping and
growling at them.
</p><p>
I didn’t stay too long at that one.
</p><p>
I passed by another couple of classrooms, each more confusing and
terrifying than the last, before I reached another eerily familiar
sight. This time, I gazed into the elementary school gymnasium. Inside, I
saw hundreds, if not thousands of shadows. These were not shadow people
like you read about online. These were embodied shadows of people you
know. It was one my most common night terror sightings. I’d see the
shadow of someone I recognize and then it would do something horrible,
like stab itself or try and attack me.
</p><p>
This one was too much for me and I decided to head back home. The
sights I’d seen were too strange and unusual for anyone to believe me.
For all I knew this was a dream, anyway. But as I turned back to the
woods, I saw him. I knew certainly that it was a <em>he</em> now as the
ten-foot-tall man from the entrance was lurking through the woods. His
horrifyingly scarred and pale face sniffed the air at an impossible
height. Or at least I thought he was sniffing. Only a hole remained
where his nose should be. His eyes were ravaged white by time.
</p><p>
I could tell he was looking for me. For my scent.
</p><p>
I bolted in the direction of my house, adrenaline pumping in my
veins. I could hear thumping behind me but I did not dare look back. I’d
stumbled across something horrible and beyond understanding, and it
clearly didn’t want to be seen. <em>He</em> didn't want me seeing it.
</p><p>
I ran straight back to my house and quickly threw myself back
inside. I ran into my bedroom, closed the door, and ducked myself under
the covers like a child. I peered at the clock, feeling like hours had
passed, but the time remained at 3:33 am.
</p><p>
I desperately didn’t want to fall back asleep that night. Somehow, I
knew that wouldn’t end well. My body failed me, despite my attempts to
keep myself awake. I wrote most of this in my notes app at that moment
in an attempt to keep things fresh, but also to push sleep away. It
worked for nearly half an hour, but then I must have fallen victim to
slumber.
</p><p>
I don’t remember the dreams I had from 4 am to 7:45 am when I woke
up, but I know they were nightmares. I had scratch marks down my arms
and my fingernails were chewed down. This extreme of a physical reaction
had only happened when I was a little kid and the night terrors were
exceedingly bad. My night walks had actually been helping take care of
them, but clearly, this one didn't help. Or maybe <em>he</em> made sure
this was an exceptionally bad one. After seeing a few of the classrooms,
I'm terrified for what he could have sent my way.
</p><p>
And then there was the note. Scrawled in my own handwriting on a slip of paper next to my bed was a note that read:
</p><p>
<em>Don’t come back.</em>
</p><p>
I really don’t know what to make of what happened last night, and
I’m frightened of what will happen tonight. It’s almost midnight, and
I’m afraid to go to sleep. I know it sounds insane, but I’m sure I
wasn’t dreaming. That school was some sort of factory where terrible
things get created. Things that I’ve only ever seen in my nightmares,
and I wonder if you all have seen some of those things too.
</p>
</div>
</div> </div><div class="text-neutral-content">---</div><div class="text-neutral-content"> </div><div class="text-neutral-content"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Tasty_Personality227/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-15556539665573741222024-02-10T07:20:00.000-08:002024-02-10T07:20:28.715-08:00The First and Last Time I Ever Went Hunting<p> <img alt="https://cnr.ncsu.edu/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2021/01/ncsu.cnr_.hunting.istock.featured.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="542" src="https://cnr.ncsu.edu/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2021/01/ncsu.cnr_.hunting.istock.featured.jpg" width="963" /> </p><div class="text-neutral-content">
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<p>
I was 12 years old and I had just gotten my hunting license the
previous summer. I come from a long line of seasoned hunters, my dad
especially. Even before I could hunt I’d been going to deer camp with my
family my whole life. I was hyped though, I’d been waiting for this
forever and I knew my dad was excited to share the experience with me as
well.
</p><p>
It was the first day of opening weekend and me and my dad got up
probably around 3:30ish. We ate breakfast, got geared up, and set out
for the stand. It was pitch black, windy, and bite ass cold that
morning. We pushed on anyway, my dad leading the trek and me desperately
trying to keep up.<br />The stand was probably a mile or two away from
camp and I was exhausted. The stand was well up in the air and we had to
climb a ladder to get to it. It was pretty nice though, at least for a
hunting stand. It was a little box, just big enough for two people,
waist high walls on the three sides the entrance wasn't on, and it had a
roof so we were living lavishly by hunting standards.
</p><p>
We got set up and then we sat, and waited, and waited, and waited,
and then we heard it. It had to have been far away still at that point
but just hearing it made me shit my twelve year old pants. It sounded
like a distorted woman screaming in agonizing pain far off in the
distance, elongated as it echoed through the forest. I was tweakn for
sure but I wanted to look tough for my dad so I tried not to show it. He
saw straight through me though and put his arm around my shoulder and
told me, “It’s alright buddy, it’s just a bobcat. They sound just like a
woman screaming when they get feisty. Creepy as all hell but won’t
bother us.” I nodded and started to relax, after all he’s a seasoned
hunter, he’d seen it all.
</p><p>
A couple minutes went by and everything seemed normal, just the
sounds of the birds waking up. The sky was less of a black at this point
and more of a dark purple as the sun was just beginning to rise. Right
as I finally started to chill out we both heard it again, closer this
time. Not right on us but making ground towards us for sure. This time
even my dad jumped. It sounded like a woman screaming still but as it
got closer it sounded more and more unnatural. I looked over at my dad
and he looked at me, “It's probably hunting something, just like us
right.” he said, still trying to make me believe it was a bobcat. He
went as far as to try and laugh it off but even at 12 years old I knew
he was bullshitting me.<br />We both went back to sitting and waited but
the silence was tense. Looking back now he was definitely as freaked out
as I was at that point. Maybe another half hour went by and the sun was
up enough to provide enough light to see figures and shapes but not
quite details. I sat there totally on edge, every sound was unnerving,
sending shivers down my spine. That’s when shit really hit the fan. We
heard the scream again but now it was all around us. It was loud,
shrill, and ear piercing. There was still a resemblance of a fans scream
but it was much more beastly and unnatural. Whatever it was, it was
right next to us somewhere.
</p><p>
I tried to hide and bury my face in my dads side as tears of fear
were welling in my eyes but at the sound of the scream he stood up and
shouldered his rifle. He put the scope to his eye and began surveying
the trees surrounding us. He slowly started scanning the area from left
to right. I kept whispering to him that I wanted to leave, begging him,
but he ignored me and kept looking. He kept pivoting his body away from
me until he stopped, rather froze. I heard a sharp exhale leave his
mouth and it was the first time I ever saw my dad genuinely terrified. I
wanted to ask what he saw but I didn’t want whatever was out there to
hear me. I watched him flick the safety off his gun, his hand was
shaking while he did it. I watched his finger move to the trigger as he
took a shaky breath.
</p><p>
Right before he pulled the trigger branches snapped in the direction
he was aiming and he quickly stumbled and fell backwards. “Dad what is
it, what’s out there!” I whispered through my tears. He ignored me,
quickly shouldering his gun again and looking back where he had been
before. He searched the area for a bit, mumbling curse words under his
shaky breath. He lowered his gun and hung it over his shoulder with the
strap. He looked at me trying to be calm so as to not scare me more but I
could see right through him. He put his hands on my shoulders. “I’m
gonna climb down first, then you follow, and we’re gonna go back to
camp.” He tried to be reassuring but the terror was piercing through.
</p><p>
“Dad, I don't wanna go down there.” I cried softly.
</p><p>
“Hey, it’s gonna be ok I promise.” He smiled, “Just follow after me and we’ll get back.”
</p><p>
“Ok.” I responded sniffling
</p><p>
He nodded and began climbing down the ladder. Once he got to the
bottom he shouldered his gun and scanned the tree line again, pausing
where he had been aiming before. He lowered his gun and waved me down. I
climbed down as fast as I could. Once I got to the bottom he picked me
up and ran. He ran two ish miles all the way back to camp carrying me
and never stopping. When we got back he put me down in the cabin and
locked the door behind us.
</p><p>
He turned around from the door and we stood face to face and I asked
him through tears “Dad what was out there?” He looked at me, he was
still colorless in his face. He didn’t answer me though, instead he took
a step towards me, dropped to his knees, and hugged me. He hugged me
for a long time.
</p><p>
Nine years later he still hasn’t told me. For a little bit people
used to crack jokes and make fun of him and say he was hallucinating or
that the darkness was playing tricks on him but soon after people found
it best to just not bring it up. My mom worries about him and told me
about all the medication he needs just to sleep and that he says he’s
“afraid he’ll see it in his dreams.”
</p><p>
Regardless of what it was, that was the last time either of us ever went hunting. </p><p>---</p><p><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/theparrot625/">Credits</a> <br /></p>
</div>
</div>
</div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-15714953110601251042024-02-08T08:17:00.000-08:002024-02-08T08:17:13.777-08:00Portraits<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.mutualart.com/Images//2019_07/23/14/140512267/5085734a-cbca-4093-a7aa-d089db4f9064.Jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="724" height="640" src="https://media.mutualart.com/Images//2019_07/23/14/140512267/5085734a-cbca-4093-a7aa-d089db4f9064.Jpeg" width="579" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_14y4p64-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I found Greta and Georg at one of my favorite nearby thrift stores.
Two beautifully framed portraits, for only $7.50 a piece.
</p><p>
I brought them home and introduced them to my husband with a little
flair, holding each behind my back and then revealing them, announcing
their names as I held them up in the light for him to admire. The little
girl, or Greta as I had named her, had brown hair, cut into a bowl
shape with thick bangs resting over brown eyes. Her teal dress was
trimmed with lace and finished with a white collar. The little boy,
Georg, had a short brown buzz cut, dark brown eyes, and in a daring
moment for fashion wore a white turtleneck with a red blazer, a small
crest next to the lapel.
</p><p>
“I guess they're cool, but who are Greta and Georg?” he asked.
Pushing back his curly blonde hair and leaning in closer for a better
look.
</p><p>
“Well the paintings don’t have names on them, and Greta and Georg just felt right.” I explained.
</p><p>
“Yeah, they do feel right.” He chuckled, his green eyes twinkling, amused, he helped me hang them up.
</p><p>
Over the next few weeks, I introduced every visitor to our new
friends. Some asked if the paintings were of my husband and I as kids,
some thought they might be a family heirloom, and my mother was annoyed
that I had wasted money and decoration space on portraits of some
unknown kids. I thought they were hilarious. Something so stately, Greta
and Georg’s parents had likely spent a decent amount of money to have
the portraits done, only for them to end up in a thrift store at a steep
discount.
</p><p>
The cats on the other hand despised the portraits. Alice, an already
stressed and anxious Maine Coon had spent the first day staring up at
them, occasionally yowling at the ceiling before fixing her gaze once
more. She often yowled at the ceiling, and we rarely understood why, so
the behavior wasn’t outside of her norm. Scratch on the other hand
stopped going in the living room at all. He wanted nothing to do with
the area, and what had once been his favorite perch upon the back of the
couch hadn’t seen a visit from him since the paintings went up.
</p><p>
We chalked it up to cats being cats. Maybe Scratch was trying to
broaden his horizons and find new spots to enjoy the sunshine.
</p><p>
We got used to the portraits, and soon they melded in with the rest
of the paintings and pictures, just another couple of items adorning the
walls. Every once in a while we would welcome a new guest, they would
comment on the paintings, asking if they were of us or of family. I
would excitedly recount what a deal they had been, and often get a
polite and confused nod.
</p><p>
Some months later, we held a movie night. My husband had gotten a
used projector from work, and had spent the weekend mounting it to the
ceiling of the living room. All that was left was to rearrange the
furniture and decorations to create a blank wall for the movie to play
on. We pushed the couch away from the wall, flipping it so our guests
could sit comfortably facing the projection. I set about the task of
removing everything I had hung up. Thanks to a picture rail, it was
quick work. Just a matter of taking things down from the rail hooks.
Piece by piece the stack grew. Much of the decor had also come from the
thrift store, old pressed flowers, frame cross-stitch, records with cool
covers that were too scratched to be played anymore. My walls were a
collage of used treasure.
</p><p>
As I removed items, I noticed a crack that I didn’t remember seeing
before. I studied it, it ran parallel to the foundation, never a good
sign in an old house. It wasn’t very wide, but the wall bowed out just
slightly around it, creating two ridges.
</p><p>
“Hey Dan?” I called my husband over. “Do you remember this crack being here before?”
</p><p>
He hopped over the stack of taken down decorations to take a closer look.
</p><p>
“Hm, no, I think this is new.” He surveyed what was left on the
wall, a poster detailing the anatomy of a pomegranate, and Greta and
Georg. “You didn’t use nails to put those portraits up did you?”
</p><p>
“No, of course not.” Our walls were made of lath and plaster, known
to crack as a result of the vibration of hammering a nail into the wall.
It was why the picture rail was there.
</p><p>
He traced the crack with his finger, part of it was hidden by the
portraits. I stepped up onto the ladder and pulled them down so we could
see the terminuses. The sun had faded the paint around the portraits
just enough that we could see their outline left on the wall, and the
crack started and ended perfectly within the center of where each
painting had sat.
</p><p>
“Should we call an inspector to take a look at the foundation?” I asked.
</p><p>
“Maybe, let’s see if it gets bigger in the next week or two and then decide.” He replied.
</p><p>
We finished setting up the living room just as the first few guests
arrived. With the projector ready to go, and popcorn in hand our movie
night began. The wall served as a near perfect screen for the black and
white film we decided to watch, save for the crack. The faces of the
actors were slightly distorted around it. As if they were being pushed
and pulled into the wall.
</p><p>
As the camera panned through a train station in one scene, I noticed
two familiar looking kids sitting on a bench in the background. Not
wanting to disrupt the night over a trivial detail, I made a note to
rewatch the scene later.
</p><p>
Our movie night was a success, the projector had given a cinematic
feel at home, and it meant we wouldn’t need to have the TV cluttering up
space anymore. Once our guests had left, and with the house empty, I
started turning off the lights, my eyes grazing over the crack in the
wall once more before shutting off the last one.
</p><p>
The next day I remembered to check over the scene again. I found the
clip on YouTube, but upon rewatching there were no kids sitting
together, no familiar dress. I watched the clip again, but no they
weren’t there. Confused, I turned the project on. Maybe something about
the warping from the crack in the wall had made it look like there were
two kids. I fast forwarded, and watched the scene again, this time on
the wall.
</p><p>
They were there this time. I rewound, hit play and then paused as
soon as the two kids came into vision. Yes, the dress was very familiar.
A dark heavy looking fabric, with lace trim and a little white collar.
The girl wearing it had dark hair with thick bangs. The little boy next
to her wore a blazer with a crest next to the lapel, his own dark hair
in a short buzz. With the projection paused, I started up the YouTube
clip again on my computer, pausing at just the same scene. No little
girl. No little boy. No kids at all.
</p><p>
I felt frozen. Unsure and confused, why did the two clips differ? And why did those kids look so familiar?
</p><p>
I looked down and from the corner of my eye I saw the frames of the
portraits stacked together with the other decorations. My stomach turned
and my breath caught in my throat. I looked back at the screen. The
kids in the projection were sitting, their seats perfectly aligned with
the crack in the wall. I slid down and slowly reached for the portraits,
separating them out of the pile. Holding them up I compared the
projection to the paintings. In oil paint Greta and Georg stared back at
me. And in black and white Greta and Georg stared back at me. I
couldn’t take my eyes off the black and white Greta and Georg. I called
out to Dan.
</p><p>
“Dan!” I heard his chair shift in the other room.
</p><p>
“Dan! Quick please!” I could hear his footsteps in the hallway.
</p><p>
I broke my gaze to look at him as he entered the room, but his
familiar face didn’t turn the corner. The footsteps had stopped. My
heart quickening I had to force myself to look back at the screen. Georg
was gone, now Greta sat alone. I looked down at the portraits. A little
boy, in a blazer with a crest next to the lapel, blonde hair falling in
face framing curls, green eyes looking back at me. And a little girl, I
swear I could see her eyes fading from brown to blue, just like mine.
</p> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_14y4p64-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">---</div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_14y4p64-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_14y4p64-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/nroseclark/">Credits</a> <br /></div>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-90178684381059730542024-02-08T08:06:00.000-08:002024-02-08T08:06:44.031-08:00Soul On The Line: A Deal To Die For<p> <img alt="https://cloudfront-us-east-1.images.arcpublishing.com/ajc/WHW6VUW2NRDTPFR6GP74PUIXOM.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="526" src="https://cloudfront-us-east-1.images.arcpublishing.com/ajc/WHW6VUW2NRDTPFR6GP74PUIXOM.jpg" width="958" /> </p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_144khze-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
Now, I work in a relatively small town, pretty far from any major
city, so I'm not taking on any newsworthy cases, and my clients aren't
usually offering me the big bucks for my services. So, you can imagine
my surprise when, yesterday morning, a client walked in carrying two
heavy-looking sacks, sat down in front of me, and opened one of the
sacks to reveal money. A lot of it.
</p><p>
Even more surprising was the fact the client was a young girl, who
couldn't have been more than seventeen. Now, you can understand why I
was already more than a bit skeptical, then she told me she was immortal
and needed my help in changing that.
</p><p>
No sooner than I had awkwardly laughed, she interrupted me and made my jaw drop.
</p><p>
"I was Tommy O'Malley. Mr. O'Malley to you, back when I taught you
mathematics for a few years in the early nineteen-eighties."
</p><p>
I was a bit confused now. I did have a Mr. O'Malley teaching me back
when I was a teenager, I remember him mostly for being strict and for
excessively mean. I noticed that the teenage girl had the same blonde
hair and green eyes that he had. Perhaps they were relatives and this
was some sort of prank? That would be a bit strange though, considering
that I had heard about Mr. O Malley's death a little under a month ago.
</p><p>
I was trying to rationalize this in my head, but her next statement blindsided me.
</p><p>
"Near the end of the school year, your first year at the school, I
kept you behind and yelled at you, saying you wouldn't be half the
lawyer that your father was if you kept skipping classes and failing
tests. You then started crying."
</p><p>
Wow. Yeah, I suppose Mr. O'Malley was a mean old man, but I can't
see him telling that charming tale to his granddaughter so she could
play a prank on me, not least after he was dead for almost a month. Now,
I wasn't really convinced that old Mr. O'Malley had reincarnated as
this teenage girl, but I definitely wanted to know more.
</p><p>
"OK, let's say you're immortal. Why are you here?"
</p><p>
"I was given this curse in the summer of 1641. I was only in my
twenties, perhaps my early-thirties, yet I had fallen ill. I was
coughing up blood for over a week and I knew I hadn't long left. One
night, I sat down by a river feeling sorry for myself."
</p><p>
Now, this teenage girl had just told me that she's been around since
the 17th century, but something about the sincerity and regret in what
she spoke about had me drawn in. I've never been one to deny the
existence of the supernatural, but I was still wary, so I let her
continue speaking.
</p><p>
"I was lamenting that I had done nothing and my life was being cut
short before my hair had gone completely gray. I had no wife, no
children, and I was far from wealthy. Then I spotted him. Across the
river, a man wearing rags, humming a tune, until he looked up at me."
</p><p>
The young girls tone of voice was one of anger, of hate, but her eyes looked fearful.
</p><p>
"He asked me what had me in such a foul mood on such a fine night. I
grumbled that it was very apparent I was dying, and that was when he
grinned, a terrible, wretched smile. He stepped across the river, and
the water froze under his feet, and a cold chill went up my spine."
</p><p>
"He offered you immortality?" I asked, in response to her silence.
</p><p>
"I asked him what the cost was, to which he told me that I would find out, should I accept his offer."
</p><p>
"And what was the cost?" I found myself whispering.
</p><p>
"After I shook his hand and he walked into the forest, I expected
for my sickness to go away, but I began coughing up even more blood,
until I died, a little under three days later. But I awoke, feeling
healthier than I had in weeks. I got out of bed, walked to a river
flowing past outside, and found that the reflection I saw wasn't my
own."
</p><p>
"And who's was it?"
</p><p>
"Mary. A girl I had shared a brief romance with when I was younger,
but she was married off and moved to another part of the country with a
richer man. My consciousness had replaced hers, and I had to resume her
life. It was a miracle I wasn't thrown into a sanitorium by her husband
for acting strangely, but he wasn't very attentive, let alone present
most of the time."
</p><p>
"That's lucky, I think."
</p><p>
"Then I died for a second time a decade later from pneumonia, and
awoke in the body of Mary's, or my, son. Then, forty years later, I died
for a third time, waking up in the body of his, or my, son, twenty
years later in the body of his, or my best friend. I was reincarnating
as the people I cared about most. Whatever I made a deal with had played
a cruel trick on me. This brand of immortality is worse than death"
</p><p>
"Got more than you bargained for, there." I mumbled, still trying to
figure out if I believed her or not. On one hand, the whole idea was
crazy. On the other hand, I was pretty convinced, plus she had a sack of
money.
</p><p>
"So why'd you come to me? And why's it worth that big stash of cash?" I asked.
</p><p>
"Last I was Tommy O'Malley. I'd been Tommy O'Malley since he was a
toddler. I'd got a good teaching job, but stupidly I had a kid. I
abandoned him before he turned five. I foolishly hoped I could save him
from the consequences of my wish. So I became a recluse. Only showing up
to work."
</p><p>
"Were you being a mean old fella in case you'd wind up getting
attached to any of us?" I laughed, but stopped after the young girl
glared at me, and I swear it was the same glare Mr. O'Malley would give
us when we talked in class.
</p><p>
She continued "But, then in 2008, my son came to see me. I don't
know how he didn't hate me, but he said he wanted his kids to meet their
grandpa. I should've turned him down, but I had gotten lonely, and
little Kelly melted my heart."
</p><p>
I realized where this was going, and let her continue.
</p><p>
"Three weeks ago, Tommy O'Malley, that is to say, me, died in his
sleep. I woke up as Kelly at around two in the morning, and ran to the
edge of town crying. Then I saw him again. The man who granted my wish. I
began swearing like a sailor at him, then he spoke."
</p><p>
<em>"Immortality not all as you imagined it? That's alright. Meet me
one month from now, at the river we first met. I can take back your
wish, but it'll cost you."</em>
</p><p>
Kelly stared at the floor and said "I'm can't let him have my soul,
but my immortality needs to end, otherwise I might end up reincarnating
as one of Tommy's grandchildren, or my siblings, I suppose."
</p><p>
I understood. I had to raise my daughter all by myself, I wouldn't
be able to stand the thought of her soul being kicked out of her body.
Still, Kelly was asking a lot of me.
</p><p>
I responded "You think my time at law school will help you cut a
better deal with some demon? I'm a little out of my depth in that
regard."
</p><p>
She opened the second sack to reveal books, scrolls, some printed
documents and sharply said "These are some recorded instances of a guy
who sounds like my curse-giver. Learn what you can, and remember, I'm
paying you a pretty big portion of the money I earned as Tommy. Meet me
tomorrow night."
</p><p>
With that, she left, carrying the money bag. I'm in my fifties now, I
shouldn't be buying this, but somehow I was convinced, whether it be by
the apparent sincerity of Kelly, or Mr. O'Malley, or whoever, or the
money, I quickly turned my attention to the documents she had.
</p><p>
Let me tell you, these seemed more like fairy tales and urban
legends, but I couldn't stop reading. All the tales originate from the
same region, and involve our boy taking advantage of those who are on
the verge of death. It always takes the form of a man with long black
hair, wearing rags, with glassy eyes and an unnerving grin. Seriously,
there was a real creepy old drawing of him included.
</p><p>
Before I knew it, it was dark outside. I read the last document,
containing the coordinates, as well as a note saying to be there
tomorrow at midnight.
</p><p>
I tried to sleep, but I kept seeing that old timey drawing of a
blind young man with a sinister smile. The day went quickly, and soon I
left to visit the destination. I was starting to believe this more and
more, but the pay was better than what I was used to, so I arrived, and
found Kelly with the money.
</p><p>
"Did you figure anything out?" she whispered.
</p><p>
"I've a hunch that the people whose bodies you hijacked, it has their souls now."
</p><p>
Tears began falling from Kelly's eyes, but they suddenly widened. I
heard a humming from across the river, and it sent a shiver down my
spine. A man in rags, with long hair began crossing the river.
</p><p>
"Did you find another way?" Kelly frantically asked.
</p><p>
"I'm sorry, but for the sake of your family, I think you'll have to let it take your soul."
</p><p>
"There's another way. I'm so sorry." she sobbed, then the blind young man put its hand on her shoulder.
</p><p>
I watched in horror as the life left her body immediately, yet she
had a smile on her face, as she began to turn to dust and blow away in
the wind.
</p><p>
"Shame. A soul that's been around for a few hundred years would've
satisfied me greatly. But, I'm nothing if not patient, and I suppose
you're an investment. How's it feel to be immortal, pal?"
</p><p>
"No. No. Oh no." I stuttered as I ran back to my car, hearing the young blind man chuckling quietly.
</p><p>
That was last night. I've been coughing up blood all day. I worry for my daughter's soul.
</p> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_144khze-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">---</div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_144khze-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_144khze-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/SkinnyTinkles/">Credits</a><br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-59868865989845633552024-02-08T08:03:00.000-08:002024-02-08T08:03:57.399-08:00My Job Offers Divorce Support As A Perk<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/proxy/V1ao7ZN5oZpiP_MW_R7P1jTRS4xAzwgpz69I-6NoCfw_JNwRZyxo2k4ld6mTDGgrNBijNbHihHVIDO1UN7hLe8_8lo7dMISgT8YCSA22YIubip9tvqd1o78RfPQWSOBDsoB0PO-g6gecZLu-OiIS3AB_v27WAC8=s512" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="208" data-original-width="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/proxy/V1ao7ZN5oZpiP_MW_R7P1jTRS4xAzwgpz69I-6NoCfw_JNwRZyxo2k4ld6mTDGgrNBijNbHihHVIDO1UN7hLe8_8lo7dMISgT8YCSA22YIubip9tvqd1o78RfPQWSOBDsoB0PO-g6gecZLu-OiIS3AB_v27WAC8=s16000" /></a></div><p></p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_16lvcci-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I have a really high paying top classy job and they have a lot of
perks ranging from free food, free gym memberships, cinema tickets,
holiday perks and even divorce perks. Our company will help their
employees through out their divorce by paying fees and providing good
lawyers. </p><p>They would even go a step further by spying on their spouse's
to get information that could help the divorce. I mean it's a perk I
have never experienced before. Also I'm glad my workplace offers divorce
support right now because my wife and I want a divorce. It's going to
be a horrible one.
</p><p>
She is coming for me and our relationship has been a rocky one from
the start, and I guess it was always coming towards divorce. Let give
you some advice. Never marry because your scared of being lonely, you
are just going to make a terrible decision. </p><p>Any how I told my boss about
my divorce and he planned an interview with me about it. He had already
hired a divorce lawyer and someone to spy on my wife. I was confident I
was going to come out good on the other end. The reason my company
offers divorce support as a perk, is because they need their staff on
top form. They also offer top of the range health care.
</p><p>
As things were looking good, my wife had also hired a top lawyer.
Her top lawyer completely wasted the lawyer my company had offered. My
future was looking bleak and I was really desperate. I was going to lose
everything but my boss isn't someone who gives up. I mean I was
grateful that I didn't have to pay divorce lawyer fees or any other fees
as my company had paid it, but losing never feels good.
</p><p>
Then they switched my lawyer to someone else and they spied on my
wife everyday, when we went to court again, it was a miracle as I was
now on top. My future ex wife couldn't believe it how things had turned
around. She fired her lawyer. Then she applied to a job at my company
but different area, now she gets divorce support.
</p><p>
Then one day I wake up to find myself with a gun to my head and the
mask man tells me to get up and get in his car. He tells me as my wife
and I work for the same company, we both get divorce support. They did a
coin toss as to who to help, and I lost. </p><p>---</p><p><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/shortstory1/">Credits</a> <br /></p>
</div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-81414045426232272832024-02-08T01:36:00.000-08:002024-02-08T01:36:42.586-08:00It Can Last You A Lifetime<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://img.pikbest.com/ai/illus_our/20230427/1b809a7a300b447c960c9fb73870c97c.jpg!sw800" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="800" height="448" src="https://img.pikbest.com/ai/illus_our/20230427/1b809a7a300b447c960c9fb73870c97c.jpg!sw800" width="800" /></a></div><p></p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_162v8ov-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I promised Chris that ten thousand pounds can last him a life time.
He laughed at my face as he didn't believe me at all. I kept promising
him that it could and that I will make sure that ten thousand pounds
will last him a life time. I gave him ten thousands and then told him to
quit his job. He trusted me and he quit his job. I assumed that the
reason he trusted me is because no body had ever given him such an
amount of money before. He didn't have to pay me back and I gave it to
him on a Friday.
</p><p>
There could be another reason why he quit his job and its because of
the ten thousands pounds, and not because he trusted me. I assume that
he thought that the ten thousand pounds would last him a couple of
months before he finds a new job. I kept telling Chris that he will
never need a new job ever again, because the ten thousand pounds I had
give him would last him all his life. On Friday he started partying and I
assumed he was going to spend it all, and then laugh in my face for
being wrong. I am not wrong though.
</p><p>
Ten thousands pounds can last anyone a life time in the 21st
century. On Saturday Chris started spending more of the money and he had
spent half way through the money already. I was happy that he was
enjoying himself and this is how all people should live out their lives.
It's been a long time since Chris has enjoyed himself. His wife was
angry that he quit his job because he has children to support, but Chris
kept talking about me and how I have told him that ten thousand pounds
can last him a life time.
</p><p>
On Sunday Chris only had 3k left and he was living it up. He
couldn't wait to laugh at my face for being wrong. I kept firm and I
kept telling him that ten thousand pounds can last anyone a life time.
Chris was getting annoyed but ignored me. On Monday he was all spent up.
He woke up to me in his hotel room and I was holding a gun to his face.
I then told him "ten thousand pounds can last you a life time Chris, as
long as you die on Monday" and I then shot him.
</p><p>
I then phoned his wife and said "He is dead now. I want my money in cash"
</p> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_162v8ov-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">---</div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_162v8ov-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_162v8ov-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/shortstory1/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-87692254904745464352024-02-08T01:32:00.000-08:002024-02-08T01:32:30.520-08:00I Saw My Abusive Ex-Girlfriend Last Night... She Died A Year Ago<p> <img alt="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/7r7ROOw2B8Q/maxresdefault.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="538" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/7r7ROOw2B8Q/maxresdefault.jpg" width="958" /> </p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1afrmml-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I was in a very abusive relationship from the first year of high
school, all the way to my last year of university. We had known each
other since elementary school and our families were also close. She was
very kind at the beginning. However, as time went on, things began to
get very scary.
</p><p>
The abuse started off with little things. She would insult and
berate me for nothing and she began smacking me when she thought I did
something stupid. It got much worse every year we were together. It was
both physical and psychological. The tactics she would utilize in order
to prevent me from leaving her were various and relentless. She
threatened to kill herself if I left her, or hurt me or someone in my
family. She used to tell me, if I called the police on her, she would
stab herself and tell them I did it. For the record, throughout our
whole relationship I had never laid a finger on her. I always tried my
best to deescalate the tense situations. Looking back now, putting up
with that sort of behavior was definitely something which kept me
trapped in that situation.
</p><p>
When she wasn’t hitting me, or insulting me, she would sit on the
couch for hours on end, scratching and picking at her scalp, pulling
bits of her hair out in the process. I’d find strands of her hair all
over the apartment, sometimes with drops of blood near them. I truly
believe she had some sort of undiagnosed mental illness. I tried to get
her help many times, but she would never accept it. Even though she
treated me horribly, a part of me still loved her and wanted to help
her.
</p><p>
When men are in abusive relationships, I think many of us are
ashamed or scared to tell people. Either we fear we'll be perceived as
weak, or we fear we won't be believed at all. But it's important to
remember that anyone can be the victim of an abusive partner. It’s
crucial to leave them immediately, tell your loved ones and go to the
authorities. If you don't, you'll risk being in a situation like I was.
It will only get worse.
</p><p>
At the time, I felt as though there was nothing I could do to get
out of that situation. I genuinely felt fear for my life, and the lives
of my family. I stayed awake for nights on end because I was afraid she
would kill me in my sleep.
</p><p>
But eventually, I got desperate. I decided to hire a private
investigator to collect information on her and help document the abuse
she put me through on a daily basis. I hid cameras in our apartment,
recorded our conversations, and took pictures of the cuts and bruises
she would inflict onto me. Eventually, we gathered enough evidence to
build a solid case against her. My intention was to only use this
information for legal purposes. I never went public with it or used it
as blackmail material. I wanted to keep it as private as I possibly
could.
</p><p>
One night, she had another outburst. She began to hit and bite me.
But I finally decided that I was done being a victim. I locked myself in
the bedroom, barricaded the door, and called the police.
</p><p>
I waited for what felt like an eternity, as she violently banged on
the door. “I’m gonna kill you! I’m gonna fucken kill you!” she screamed
over and over. Eventually, she walked away from the door, and I heard
her screaming in pain. Turns out, she had burned her arm on the stove in
order to show the police officers and blame me.
</p><p>
When the police arrived, she showed them the massive burn on her
forearm, and told them I was the one who had assaulted her. However, I
handed the officers the envelop and USB drive with all the evidence my
private investigator and I had gathered. When she realized she could no
longer force me to stay with her, she became irate, and lunged at me.
Thankfully, the police officers quickly subdued her, put her in
handcuffs and took her to the station. As I saw her leaving in the squad
car, I began crying. I knew she couldn’t hurt me anymore and I could
finally move on with my life.
</p><p>
I decided not to press charges, because I didn’t think prison would
help her. I knew she needed professional help. I also didn’t want to
relive my trauma in a court room in front of a large group of people. I
just wanted it all to be over, her to stay away from me, and to move on
with my life. But you better believe I kicked all her shit to the curb
and filed the mother of all restraining orders.
</p><p>
After it was over, she moved back in with her parents. We lived in a
small town, so even though I never went public with any of this, word
still got around about what had happened. Eventually, everyone knew what
kind of person she was. Because of this, her parents decided to move
the family to another state, and she went with them.
</p><p>
One year went by and it was one of the best years of my life. I
managed to score a new job and met the love of my life who later became
pregnant with our first child. I didn’t hear anything from or about my
ex and hoped it would stay that way. Until I got a phone call one
night...
</p><p>
I was sitting on the couch watching TV with my fiancée. I answered
the phone and it was my mom. She told me she got a call from my ex’s
aunt, who informed her that my ex had taken a concoction of various
pills, and drowned herself in a lake near her house, in an apparent
suicide.
</p><p>
I was in shock. A part of me was sad, and blamed myself for not
making sure she got the help she needed while we were together. But, I
also knew I was her victim. Despite everything she put me through, I
tried my best to get her the help she so desperately needed. But there
was nothing else I could have done under those circumstances.
</p><p>
However... I’d be lying if I said there also wasn’t a part of me
that felt... relief. I know that sounds awful, but knowing my abuser no
longer existed in this world carried some kind of twisted comfort on
it’s own. Now, I knew that she couldn’t hurt me anymore, no matter what.
At least... That’s what I thought.
</p><p>
Another year passed, and my beautiful baby boy was born. My fiancée
and I have been learning the ropes of parenthood. I had largely moved on
from the trauma of my previous relationship, made peace with what had
happened to my ex, and forgiven myself for not being able to help her.
Everything was finally going my way.
</p><p>
Until last night... My fiancée and I were asleep in our room. This
was one of the rare occasions when our newborn was also fast asleep in
his crib, and not crying the entire night. I had been working long hours
while my fiancée stayed home on maternity leave. On top of that, we’re
currently spending most of our free time scanning the housing market for
a new place. Needless to say, we were getting some much needed rest.
</p><p>
Suddenly, I was awoken by what felt like a very cold, wet hand wrap
around my neck. I jumped up immediately and looked around. My fiancée
and son were fast asleep. There was no one else in the room, but my neck
was now wet and cold. I figured it was bad dream or something and the
wetness on my neck was just sweat. I didn’t think much of it, and
attempted to go back to sleep.
</p><p>
As I shut my eyes, the sound of a woman’s sobbing began echoing
through the apartment. It started off quiet, but got progressively
louder. I shot back up and listened hard. I kept hearing it. It wasn’t
in my head. I slowly got up out of bed, walked out of the room and shut
the door behind me, making sure to lock it on my way out.
</p><p>
I stepped into a puddle as I made my way down the hall. I noticed a
trail of water leading all the way to the living room. I began to follow
it. As I neared the living room, I heard a strange scratching noise as
the sobbing continued. It sounded like someone was scratching their
scalp. Immediately, I began to think of my ex.
</p><p>
“That’s impossible.” I whispered to myself.
</p><p>
As soon as I got to the living room, I stopped dead in my tracks... A
woman with long wet, jet black hair was sitting on the couch facing
away from me. She was crying and scratching at her scalp. At that
moment, I knew who it was, but I didn’t want to believe it. I was frozen
with fear.
</p><p>
Suddenly, she stopped crying and slowly turned her head around.
Darkness concealed much of her face, but I saw her eyes very clearly.
They were filled with anger and hatred. As she turned her neck, I could
hear the cracking of her bones.
</p><p>
Then, she jumped up onto the couch as she simultaneously turned
around completely to face me. I could see her more clearly now, as the
street lights outside the window illuminated her face. Her skin was pale
white and wrinkled, her clothing was wet and torn, and her hair was
messy, covering parts of her face. It was her...
</p><p>
“What.. What are... How...” I struggled to get words out as I began
to hyperventilate. I thought I was surely dreaming, or maybe I had gone
mad. We stood there for a while, just staring at each other. I don’t
know for how long.
</p><p>
Suddenly, she let out an awful, bloodcurdling scream and lunged at
me on all fours. I quickly turned around and bolted back toward the
bedroom. The only thought on my mind was to prevent her from getting to
my son and fiancée. As I ran down the hall, I looked back, and saw her
crawling on the ceiling like a spider at lightning speed. Her hair was
covering her face as her head violently thrashed from side to side.
</p><p>
I got to the bedroom door and stood in front of it, ready to prevent
her from getting in. But, when I turned around, she was gone. My
fiancée unlocked the door and swung it open.
</p><p>
“What the hell is going on?” she whispered with a concerned look on her face. “You’re gonna wake the baby.”
</p><p>
I couldn’t get the words out to explain it to her. I turned on all
the lights and searched through every corner of the apartment. I found
drops of water on the ground. I also scanned the couch, and noticed wet,
muddy foot prints on the beige cushions. My fiancée came into the
living room and I showed her all the evidence. Her first thought was
that someone had broken in, but then I told her what I really saw.
Surprisingly, she said she believed what I had seen. I’m not sure if she
just said that to calm me down, or if she really meant it. She hugged
me as I began to sob.
</p><p>
“It was her... It was her...” I kept saying.
</p><p>
“She can’t hurt you anymore, baby.” She replied, as we embraced.
</p><p>
But then, to our pure horror, we heard a distorted voice from the baby monitor.
</p><p>
“I’M GONNA FUCKEN KILL YOU!” The voice snarled. Then, our son began to scream.
</p><p>
We immediately ran to our bedroom, but as we were about to reach the
door, it slammed shut and locked on it’s own. We pounded on it, as our
son continued to cry even louder. Adrenaline took over, and I gave the
door three swift kicks until it ripped off it’s hinges. We ran inside
and found our son was still crying, but thankfully, unharmed. My fiancée
picked him up, and we noticed his sheets were soaked with mud and
water. He was also covered with long black hairs. If she didn’t believe
me at first, she definitely did at that point.
</p><p>
We left the apartment immediately after, and are now staying at my
parent’s house. I don’t think we’ll ever be going back. I was never a
person who believed in the supernatural, but after what happened last
night, I don’t know anymore. Maybe she is somehow drawn to that
apartment since its where we used to live together, so hopefully staying
here will prevent her from finding us.
</p><p>
My fiancée is scared, I’m scared, and we don’t know how, or if we’re
going to sleep tonight. We threw some holy water around my parent’s
house in an attempt to keep her away, but we don’t know if that’s going
to work. I thought I would never hear from her again, but two years
after I broke free from the abuse, and one year after her death, she is
still inflicting new trauma onto my family and I.
</p><p>
Even from the grave, she continues to torture me...
</p> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1afrmml-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">---</div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1afrmml-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1afrmml-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Mammoth_Feature3205/">Credits</a> <br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-20487614610090570282024-02-08T01:29:00.000-08:002024-02-08T01:29:17.539-08:00Why I’m Terrified to Go Out in the Rain<p> <img alt="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/X8umnK69LQQ/hq720.jpg?sqp=-oaymwEXCK4FEIIDSFryq4qpAwkIARUAAIhCGAE=&rs=AOn4CLAdroyX-uiOG50OCZ_c8e1zrQ0UDg" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/X8umnK69LQQ/hq720.jpg?sqp=-oaymwEXCK4FEIIDSFryq4qpAwkIARUAAIhCGAE=&rs=AOn4CLAdroyX-uiOG50OCZ_c8e1zrQ0UDg" /> </p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1aeouzp-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
My name is Nathan, and I’m here for some help and advice. I haven’t
left my house in nearly a week, and I’m at risk of losing my job and
possibly my life. Most of you will discount what I’m about to say, and,
to be honest, so would I, well that was before last week. Truth is often
stranger than fiction, and in this case, it certainly is. This is some
messed-up story time! So, please, listen to what I’m about to tell you,
and if someone out there has any answers, reach out to me before it’s
too late.
</p><p>
Last Friday, I joined some colleagues for a quiz night at a local
bar. Honestly, we did more shots than we got correct answers. At 10:30
pm, I decided to leave. I wasn’t drunk, just slightly tipsy. I didn’t
live far, so I started to wander back home. Around 5 minutes into my
10-minute journey, it started to rain. There had been a storm forecast,
but it hit earlier than expected. I held my jacket over me while seeking
a shortcut through an alleyway up ahead.
</p><p>
As I was about to go through, my pace slowed as I realized someone
had crossed the road further down the street. It was an older woman,
possibly in her late 40s or 50s. She seemed as eager as me to get home,
running down the road in my direction. She then began to cry out, her
voice echoing in the rainy night, while her head glanced back over her
shoulder. It looked as though she was being chased, but I couldn’t see
anyone behind her.
</p><p>
Should I help her or hide? I thought to myself, but the small
possibility of danger entered my mind. I cautiously slipped into the
alley, peeking slowly around the corner. I noticed in the illuminated
rays of the streetlights, a dark silhouette, carved into the rain. The
looming figure was moving in on her. I closed my eyes briefly, my breath
caught in my throat, while the rhythmic sound of raindrops sounded out
around me. I quickly reopened my eyes just as the woman toppled and
crashed to the waterlogged ground below, with a shriek and a splattering
thud.
</p><p>
Time seemed to slow, as the thin layer of water leading up to the
helpless woman, began dancing upwards, in a pulsing rhythm. The
flickering water drew closer, as she attempted to scramble to her feet.
Then the splashing footsteps stopped. She moved her head from side to
side, trying to locate the stalking predator. But, nothing. Just an
eerie silence filled the empty street. Only the blanket noise of
raindrops could be heard.
</p><p>
She stumbled forward, legs trembling, now stood underneath one of
the streetlights. The glowing beam exposed her bloodied face. The figure
reappeared out of nothing, like a light-absorbing vortex, distorted by
the rain. It was stood right behind her. A dripping blade made from
water began to form at the end of a shadowy arm. She must have sensed
it, by the way her body jerked quickly around, now face to face with
that thing.
</p><p>
The watery blade plunged deep into her gasping mouth.
</p><p>
Her horrific screams turned into a gargle in an instant. Her eyes
widened as she looked straight at me, the life draining from her now
limp body. The woman then dropped to the glistening concrete in a heap,
as water settled around her. I turned, my right foot slipped as I tried
to sprint off through the narrow stone-enclosed alleyway. I had no idea
what that thing was or how it killed that poor woman, but I wasn’t going
to hang around to find out.
</p><p>
I didn’t stop running till I reached my front door. I dipped my hand
frantically into my left jeans pocket, pulled out my set of keys. They
fumbled in my hand as I concentrated on finding the right key. Why I had
all of these keys on there, when I only know what half of them are for,
I really don’t know! Once I had found the right one, the next challenge
was trying to get my arm to stop shaking so I could get in. I forced
the key in, unlocked it, and burst through the door. I slammed it so
hard behind me the surrounding wall trembled.
</p><p>
I was stood, hunched over, hands on my knees and head down. My
breath deep and quivering as my eyes watered in fear. I felt sick in
that moment, like I had just been punched in the stomach. After five
minutes, I had started to regain some normal breathing again, enough to
lift myself up and walk to the living room. I sat , exhausted on the
chair, just as a bang came from the wall. It was obviously my neighbour,
probably moving something around, but I jumped out of my skin
regardless. For the rest of the night, I had all of the lights on, and
TV on full volume. I couldn’t sleep.
</p><p>
The image of that woman, losing her life, right in front of me, was
playing on repeat in my mind. I must have finally managed to fall asleep
around 4 or 5 am. I woke up in a confused state, positioned awkwardly
on my sofa. The sunlight streamed through a gap in my blinds, hitting
half of my face. Eyes squinted, I looked for the TV remote. It must have
turned itself off overnight. Once I had found it, I switched it on. A
banner ran across the bottom of the news channel on the screen. It read,
“Woman found dead in street of small town.” I have not disclosed the
town in question out of respect for the woman’s family. I pulled out my
phone to search on the internet for the article. The information was
vague at the moment, but a quick search on social media gave me more
details.
</p><p>
As the weekend went on, the story settled into a probable cause of
death. The woman had passed out and landed face-first into a large
puddle, where she unfortunately drowned. Only I knew what really
happened. I couldn’t go to the police. Who would have believed me? If
anything, I would have been classed as a suspect. Sunday evening had set
in, and I looked curiously at the week’s weather forecast. It seemed
that Friday’s downpour was just the start; a great storm was supposed to
hit tomorrow and last the full week. I had convinced myself that I
couldn’t have seen that figure in the rain. It was probably me
hallucinating in my tipsy state, but seeing that forecast made me feel
anxious and dread the morning.
</p><p>
I tossed and turned until I eventually drifted off to sleep. My
night was long and full of nightmares. I must have woken up 7 - 8 times
gasping for air, covered in my own sweat.
</p><p>
Morning finally came, and as I was getting ready for work, raindrops
cascaded down my bedroom window. I opened my front door to leave around
7 am; the sun was only just starting to rise in the miserable dawn
twilight. I put my jacket hood over my head and hurried to the car, the
wind whipping mists of rain into my face. I took a deep breath to
compose myself before setting off. I drove the 10-minute journey to the
office, the wind and rain battering my windscreen. I felt relieved when I
pulled into the office car park.
</p><p>
I got out of the car and pulled the hood back over my head. As I
walked towards the glass door of the office, I heard a small splash
behind me. Naturally, I thought it was a colleague, but I couldn’t see
around my hood. I turned my body round to look, but the car park was
empty; I couldn’t see anyone in their cars either. I continued walking
towards the door, and the splattering started again. It was like someone
walking behind, following me; it was clear these were footsteps.
</p><p>
I walked faster, into a jog, as the splashes mirrored my pace. I
finally reached the building, and I got through the door just in time.
The glass behind me was cloaked in a wave of water, that dripped into a
small puddle below. My day at work was probably the quickest I had
experienced in my life, time appeared to fast forward. 5 o’clock came, a
nervous lump formed at the back of my throat. I walked outside with a
few of my coworkers, luckily the rain had stopped. As I headed back
home, there was nothing out of the ordinary. I even started to feel
calm.
</p><p>
I got back home, put the TV on, and stuck some pasta in the
microwave. Later that evening, while I drifted off to sleep, I started
to hear running water from my kitchen. I leapt up and tentatively walked
towards the kitchen doorway. Every step into the darkness felt like a
descent into the unknown. I felt for the switch and flicked it on; water
flowed into my sink, of its own accord. I rushed over to turn it off,
all of my senses now heightened. I turned back towards the door and
crept to the bottom of my staircase, paranoia was now clearly getting
the better of me.
</p><p>
I peered up, seeing if anyone was up there, and I called up,
“He…hello? Is someone up there?” Of course, nothing answered me. I knew,
deep down, I was alone in the house. Maybe my lack of sleep was
catching up with me, I thought. I turned the TV and lights off, then
headed upstairs to go to sleep. I brushed my teeth and began to get into
bed. The wind rattled the half a dozen trees outside my bedroom window,
as rain began to patter on the glass. Just the sound of rain was
causing me anxiety, so I put on my headphones and listened to music to
try to mask the ongoing storm.
</p><p>
I lay, eyes wide, my brain on overload, thinking about every tiny
detail of the last few days. I cursed to myself, as I remembered that I
hadn’t locked the front door. I went down the stairs and double-locked
it. Just as I turned to walk back to bed, a crash of water hit the door.
Small water droplets began to run down the inside of the doorframe. I
sprinted upstairs, pulled open my curtains to look out onto the street
below. I expected to see flooding or a water mains leak, but nothing. It
was barely even raining at this point. I really thought I was losing
the plot!
</p><p>
I shuffled back to my bedroom when I heard my shower running in the
en-suite. Panic set in; my heart rate grew faster and my breath deeper.
As steam seeped out of the cracks between the frame and the door, I put
my quivering hand on the handle. I slowly pushed it down and pulled the
door towards me. The hinges creaked, as I was hit by a warm mist, coming
from the darkness. I pulled on the light cord; the bright spotlights
lit the room. Through the steam, I could see a figure, stood in the
shower cubicle. A chill ran through my body; I froze in shock. I
physically couldn’t move. I used all of my strength to approach the
cubicle and yank the door open.
</p><p>
No one was there, well not that I could see. I slowly backed away,
as within the cascades of water, a silhouette began to emerge. The faint
sounds of water droplets hitting an unseen body splattered towards me.
Its water-lined arm started to raise, as liquid rushed towards the end
of it. I picked up a glass and threw it at the evil entity, trying to
get it to leave. The glass shattered on the tiled wall behind, sending
shards flying throughout the shower.
</p><p>
I had to get out of there; I ran out the door, closed it behind me,
and pushed my drawer unit in front. I burst out of my room and down the
stairs, my hurried feet slipping as I went down. As I got into the
kitchen, the water began to flow from the tap again. I flung open the
cupboard underneath and twisted the water shut-off valve. A gurgling
noise proceeded as the water above me started to reduce into a slow
drip.
</p><p>
I sat trying to regain my breath on the cold tiled floor; I didn’t
see any way out of this for me. I couldn’t and still can’t make sense of
what was stalking me, this ominous man-like figure using water as a
weapon. After what seemed like hours, I got myself off the floor and sat
in my living room. I can’t lie, dark thoughts ran through my messed-up
head, how I wasn’t going to let that thing take me out. Even if I had to
take myself out of this dire situation.
</p><p>
Morning came sooner than I thought; I had been sat up all night. My
head racked with fear, I didn’t dare go back upstairs. I called in sick
for work, as I just couldn’t move knowing the rain was still battering
down outside. Every so often I would hear a large splash of water on one
of my windows. First, it would be the living room one; then the kitchen
window was drenched in a wave of water. About 11 o’clock, I decided I
was going to go upstairs; I nervously walked up each step. I was
anticipating the worst from what I had experienced the night before.
</p><p>
I pushed the bedroom door open, holding my breath, trying to listen
for any slight noise. As I neared the en-suite bathroom, I could see
that the drawer unit was pushed out at an angle, and the door was now
open. This was the same door I had slammed shut and blocked 12 hours
prior. Goosebumps suddenly covered my body, as my heart frantically
lashed at my rib cage. My breath was forced out in short bursts, as I
prepared myself to enter the bathroom. One large exhale later, I burst
the door open. It was empty; the shower was still wet, and the shards of
glass still covered the bottom. As I looked down at the tiled floor,
five, large watery footprints led towards the door. The hairs on the
back of my neck began to stand on end, as I slowly looked around. The
curtains were soaked in water, and the window was ajar; it looked like
it had made it out of the house. I fell to the bed in relief, hoping
this was the last I would see of it.
</p><p>
I have since only been out once in the last four days, to get food
and stock up on small bottles of water. I have still not had the courage
to turn the water back on; I have no plans to do so until I get some
answers. The storms keep passing through, and I venture outside between
the downpours.
</p><p>
I constantly feel like I’m being watched, and the pipes have been making strange noises ever since that awful night.
</p><p>
I am now desperate for some suggestions or solutions to all of this.
</p><p>
I don’t know how long I can put up with it all; I just hope somebody will take this seriously.
</p><p>
I hope to update you all soon, wish me luck.
</p> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1aeouzp-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">---</div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1aeouzp-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1aeouzp-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/CreepyScribbler/">Credits</a><br /></div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-737202792039335012024-02-07T23:52:00.000-08:002024-02-07T23:52:48.979-08:00I'm a Coroner, and The Last Body I Opened Had Something Terrifying Inside<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/rWKB15_9rD0/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="360" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/rWKB15_9rD0/hqdefault.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1abhtn0-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I thought I'd seen everything, but I had no idea what I was going to see in this body.
</p><p>
In my work, the rule is always to be meticulous and to study every
organ, every inch of the body. An oversight and you could miss something
crucial to understanding the cause of death.
</p><p>
When Detective Mike Dalen called me in the middle of the night to
perform an autopsy on this body, I thought it would be just another
procedure, but I was terribly wrong.
</p><p>
"Mike, was it really necessary to wake me up in the middle of the
night for this? It's 2 a.m., the body's not going anywhere," I told him
as we entered the autopsy room where he was already with the body.
</p><p>
"Sorry Jack, chief's orders," he said, massaging the back of his neck.
</p><p>
I looked at the body lying on the table.
</p><p>
A man, white, in his thirties, bald, about 5.9 feet tall. I could
see several fresh bullet wounds on his torso. I couldn't figure out why,
but something was bothering me at the sight of these wounds.
</p><p>
"He was shot just a few hours ago by two of our guys, but I'll fill
you in later. The most important thing is that you examine the body for
now," Mike told me.
</p><p>
I remained thoughtful for a few seconds.
</p><p>
The wind and rain were pounding hard against the windows, and the light was flickering from the growing storm outside.
</p><p>
"Mike, come on, I can feel that there is something weird here. You
never would have called me in the middle of the night if there wasn't
something going on."
</p><p>
He seemed to hesitate.
</p><p>
"Look, take care of the body. It may be nothing. I hope so anyway,"
he sighed. "If you notice anything or need me, I'm right here in the
hall."
</p><p>
"What, you're going to stay there throughout the autopsy?" I asked with surprise.
</p><p>
"Yeah, just a precautionary measure. The chief wants a report as soon as possible," he said, while staring at the body.
</p><p>
I was puzzled.
</p><p>
But there was a body on my autopsy table, and I saw nothing else to do but get to work and discover the answers myself.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
The storm outside had picked up, but the lighting remained steady enough to examine it.
</p><p>
I donned my equipment and set to work.
</p><p>
The first thing to do was to drain the body of its blood.
</p><p>
Problem: either there wasn't a single drop left, or my equipment wasn't working.
</p><p>
After checking, I thought he had indeed bled to death somehow, and
decided to make the incision in his torso to work him over completely.
</p><p>
As I stood over the body, scalpel in hand, I felt something strange.
As if I were about to commit a transgression, a fault. As if something
was waiting for me inside that body, and once I'd opened it, I'd never
be able to go back.
</p><p>
As I stared at the man's belly, I thought I saw him blink.
</p><p>
I immediately snapped out of my torpor and stared at his face, my heart rate jumping all at once.
</p><p>
"What are you hiding from me?" I whispered.
</p><p>
It might sound odd, but speaking aloud would sometimes ease the
tension in the room when I came across a particularly banged-up body.
</p><p>
But conversely, this one seemed in a very good state. Precisely, a
little too good when I thought about it. Although the color of the body
was strangely dull.
</p><p>
And as I observed the color of his skin, I swore I saw out of the
corner of my eye his gaze turn to me and instantly return to its place.
</p><p>
I gasped again and pulled away.
</p><p>
I took a deep breath.
</p><p>
It was past midnight, I'd been awakened after a long day at work,
and I hadn't even had time for a cup of coffee. That, coupled with the
storm and Mike's strange behavior was probably putting my imagination
into overdrive.
</p><p>
<em>You've got to get a grip, man. You've been doing this too long to believe in the undead now</em>.
</p><p>
I stepped back in front of the body and raised the scalpel in front of me.
</p><p>
I closed my eyes for a second, and made the "Y" incision.
</p><p>
I reached the end of it’s lower abdomen, and finished opening the body with the necessary tools.
</p><p>
Every passing second seemed surreal.
</p><p>
I could feel that something was wrong.
</p><p>
And when I looked inside his body, I understood why.
</p><p>
There was nothing there.
</p><p>
Not nothing in the sense of "nothing wrong". Nothing in the sense that the body was entirely empty.
</p><p>
The light bulb above my head flickered.
</p><p>
<em>What the hell?</em>
</p><p>
Still dubious, I grabbed a flashlight and shone it inside. I got my
face as close as I could, and shone the light in all directions. There
was absolutely nothing, no organs, not even a trace of blood.
</p><p>
I straightened up, and stormed out of the autopsy room.
</p><p>
"Mike, is this a joke?"
</p><p>
He gasped in surprise as I yelled at him.
</p><p>
"Wow, Jake what's going on?"
</p><p>
"Come see what's going on."
</p><p>
He followed me inside, and I indicated the body with my hand.
</p><p>
He looked inside, and unspeakable fear crossed his face.
</p><p>
Then he began to stare inside, and seemed lost in thought. As if
looking for an answer to a question I didn't know. Drops of sweat
appeared on his face. After a moment, he looked up at me.
</p><p>
"I'm sorry, Jake. I didn't tell you everything."
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
I joined him over the reclining body.
</p><p>
"Now's a good time then. What the hell is this? A cop joke? How did you even manage to pull this off seriously?"
</p><p>
"It's no joke Jake," he took a long breath to calm himself. "I
didn't lie to you about the apparent cause of death. Two of our guys
shot him after he tried to attack them last night. They responded to a
call from a woman who seemed in absolute panic and was talking about a
man, or something, chasing her to the edge of the woods."
</p><p>
Mike stared at the floor with a defeated expression on his face.
</p><p>
"They managed to intervene, but too late. He had already ripped the
poor woman open and seemed to be... digging inside her with his hands
when they found him. He tried to attack them and they opened fire."
</p><p>
He looked at me again.
</p><p>
"The thing is, when the paramedics arrived. They saw right away that
there was something wrong with the body. They said it felt like they'd
lifted a dummy instead of a man. It seemed... hollow," and on that last
word he stared at the body again.
</p><p>
"Holy shit Mike, and you didn't think it was a good thing to tell me about this before?"
</p><p>
"I didn't want to influence you. After all, they could have made a mistake too."
</p><p>
I looked silently at the body on the autopsy table. It definitely
gave off something artificial, as if animated by something other than
common human biology.
</p><p>
"Wait," I said suddenly, staring at the body as if I were actually seeing it for the first time.
</p><p>
"You're telling me that, that thing, was shot by bullets."
</p><p>
"Yeah."
</p><p>
I turned my head toward Mike.
</p><p>
"This thing isn't bleeding, and it doesn't have any internal organs. So how can you be sure it's dead?"
</p><p>
And with that, as if it'd been listening to us since we walked into the room, the body on the table began to shake.
</p><p>
We were both in a state of stupefaction, watching this body come
back to life before our very eyes. This empty body, without organs,
without anything that should make it live.
</p><p>
A moment later, the thing calmly straightened up, and sat down on the autopsy table, torso still open.
</p><p>
Its eyes fell on me, then on Mike. The light kept flickering above us.
</p><p>
And in an artificial voice, devoid of any emotion, it said those words I'd never forget.
</p><p>
"Thank you very much. Now I'm certain of what I was missing."
</p><p>
It leapt forward and Mike stepped between it and me.
</p><p>
He didn't have time to draw his gun and a struggle ensued, but it
was a lose-lose for Mike. This thing was incredibly strong and agile,
contrary to what its empty shell suggested.
</p><p>
In less than a minute, Mike was inert on the ground, his lifeless eyes darting in my direction.
</p><p>
The body straightened up and began to lean towards me.
</p><p>
I closed my eyes and put my arms in front of me to protect myself.
</p><p>
I waited for a few seconds that seemed like an eternity. And when I
finally opened my eyes, expecting to come face to face with this thing, I
realized that I was alone in the room.
</p><p>
Mike's body had disappeared with it, leaving a pool of blood as the only evidence of what had happened.
</p><p>
Droplets splashed on my face. And I noticed the window was open.
</p><p>
It had fled with Mike's body.
</p><p>
I stood there for a few minutes, trying to process what had just happened.
</p><ul><li>
<p>
</p>
<br /></li></ul><p>
I closed the window and called the police about what had happened just a few minutes ago.
</p><p>
But I think it's my responsibility to warn you.
</p><p>
I don’t know what it is, but that thing is out there. And now it has everything it needs to look just like <a class="relative pointer-events-auto" href="https://www.reddit.com/r/SGWoodhouse/" rel="noopener nofollow ugc" target="_blank">us.</a>
</p> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1abhtn0-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">----</div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1abhtn0-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"> </div><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1abhtn0-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;"><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/S_G_Woodhouse/">Credits</a> <br /></div>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-43911868247534442432024-02-07T23:48:00.000-08:002024-02-07T23:48:53.984-08:00My Friends Were Murdered When I Was Fourteen. I Know What Killed Them. It Wasn't Human<p> <img alt="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/wWdyDlHIzyY/maxresdefault.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="538" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/wWdyDlHIzyY/maxresdefault.jpg" width="958" /> </p><p>
Twenty years is a long time to live with an awful secret. And it's
worse when it's a secret you can't share with anyone else -- not only
because you're afraid of how they will judge you, but because they'll
probably think you're insane. I know if someone else experienced what I
did when I was fourteen and told me, <em>I'd</em> think they were nuts...if I hadn't experienced it myself, that is.
</p><p>
I never told anyone, not the police, not my family, not the families
of Dylan and Greg and Zack and Terry, not even the therapist I see
regularly to deal with the lingering guilt and trauma. I think she
suspects I'm holding back, that I know more than I'm letting on, and she
prods me, encouraging me to get it out. She tells me it would be
beneficial to come clean and put it out in the open. But I just can't.
No human being in their right mind would believe such a story.
</p><p>
But I want to get it out there somehow, to someone. I want to unload
the burden I've been carrying all these years. That's why I'm post it
here, anonymously, on Reddit NoSleep. I want to tell others the truth
about what happened to me and my friends on Halloween 2003. I don't care
what you think of me after you read it, judge me or call me crazy all
you want, I just want an impersonal audience to know the truth, and give
me their opinion. I think that would make me feel better.
</p><p>
Me and my best friends Dylan and Greg were in Eighth Grade that
fall. We had been friends since we were seven. Middle school is that
awkward transitional stage between grade school and high school, where
you start to shift away from being a kid and start to mature towards
adulthood. Even though we would be starting high school in just another
year, in many ways we were closer to twelve-year-olds rather than
teenagers in terms of maturity. I'm telling you that so you have some
understanding of why we did what we did that night.
</p><p>
Terry was the new kid in school, a shy, geeky kid who, even by
middle-school standards was pretty awkward. He was desperate to fit in,
to make friends and be accepted by his peers. I guess that's why we took
advantage of him.
</p><p>
Please, try to understand, we didn't consider ourselves to be
bullies. We never intended for anyone to get hurt. We just wanted to
scare him, that's all. We weren't intentionally trying to be cruel; it
was just supposed to be a dumb prank. We were stupid kids, and stupid
kids do stupid things.
</p><p>
It was mostly Dylan's idea, but me and Greg went along with it. In
hindsight, I wish to God we hadn't, but how the fuck were we supposed to
know? How could <em>anyone</em> know that what we did that night was going to result in so much horror and bloodshed?
</p><p>
Dylan told Terry that if he wanted to hang out with us, he had to
pass an "initiation" first. To become part of our group, first he had to
spend a night in the old McGruder House...alone. And it being late
October and Halloween fast approaching, that was the perfect night for
Terry to take the dare.
</p><p>
The "old McGruder House" in question was an abandoned old wreck that
stood at the edge of a cornfield on the outskirts of town. A rotting,
decrepit two-story house that had been deserted for as long as anyone
could remember. We didn't even know who the original owner had been;
"McGruder" was just a name Dylan made up for dramatic effect. The three
of us had explored the house before, and even though its outward
appearance was admittedly pretty creepy (peeling paint, broken windows,
sagging roof) inside, it was truthfully rather nondescript and
unthreatening. Just empty rooms with tattered wallpaper and dusty old
furniture.
</p><p>
I could tell Terry was apprehensive (maybe even a bit scared) but he
swallowed his reservations and accepted Dylan's challenge. He just
wanted to make friends that badly. That's one of the things that haunts
me the most.
</p><p>
October 31 was a chilly, windy night when the four of us -- me,
Dylan, Greg and Terry -- rode our bikes out to the old house. We had met
at Greg's house, telling our parents we were spending the night to
watch horror movies (Greg's parents both worked nights and wouldn't
notice we weren't there).
</p><p>
When we arrived at the abandoned house, we dismounted our bikes and
just stood for a few moments, staring. None of us had ever been out here
at night, and it looked ten times creepier than it did during the day.
The decayed facade almost resembled a face; the dark windows empty eye
sockets, the front doorway a gaping black mouth.
</p><p>
A cold autumn breeze rustled through the bare trees that surrounded
the house, rattling their skeletal branches. I shivered and pulled up
the zipper on my jacket. I glanced at Terry and saw him gulp nervously
as he took in the sight. He was trembling slightly, and not just from
the breeze. He was scared. We hadn't even entered yet, and the poor kid
already looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. I felt a flash
of guilt because I knew what Dylan had planned.
</p><p>
Dylan took off the backpack he had brought along, rummaged inside,
and brought out three flashlights and a battery-powered lantern. He kept
the latter for himself and passed out the former to me, Greg and Terry.
Without a word, he gestured for us to follow him, then started towards
the house.
</p><p>
I exchanged a slightly uneasy glance with Greg (I think he was also
feeling bad, knowing what we had in store for Terry) then we went after
Dylan, Terry trailing hesitantly behind us.
</p><p>
Dylan stepped through the doorway -- the front door itself was long
gone, either removed from its hinges ages ago or simply rotted away with
the passage of time -- and disappeared from view, but we could see the
glow of his lantern inside.
</p><p>
Me and Greg paused for a second just outside the doorway, Terry
behind us. We exchanged another nervous look, then passed through the
threshold, into the abandoned house.
</p><p>
Dylan was standing in the middle of what had once been the living
room, waiting for us, lantern in hand. Me, Greg and Terry looked around
the place, shining our flashlights around. There was a huge stone
fireplace in the room, some old, splintered chairs, and the remains of
what had probably once been a sofa or a couch but was now only a heap of
crumbling termite-eaten wood and rotted, mildewed upholstery. Apart
from a thick coating of dust and a heap of dried leaves that had blown
in through the front door, the living room was empty.
</p><p>
Dylan sat down on the floor and motioned for us to do the same. We
did, sitting in a semicircle like kids at a campfire gathered to hear a
ghost story...which was exactly what happened next.
</p><p>
Dylan proceeded to tell us the lurid, blood-curdling "history" of the house and its prior residents, the "McGruders."
</p><p>
According to Dylan, back in the 1950s the house had been owned by a
widowed old man named McGruder, who lived there with his adult daughter.
McGruder was a recluse who was seldom seen, only coming into town once a
month to buy supplies. He was rumored to be an evil man who cruelly
mistreated his daughter, who he never allowed to leave the house.
Because he never attended church, there were even rumors he was a devil
worshipper and practiced Satanic rites. Several young children
disappeared from the town. They suspected McGruder was somehow
responsible, but with no evidence they couldn't arrest him.
</p><p>
After a while, people noticed that McGruder hadn't made his regular
once-a-month trip to the general store to stock up on groceries. In
fact, no one in town had seen McGruder is well over a month. A group of
townspeople went to his house to investigate. There they made a gruesome
discovery. Old Man McGruder and his daughter were both dead; their
bodies torn to pieces and scattered throughout the house. The Sheriff
later said it looked like they had been torn apart by wild animals.
Their bodies were covered with claw marks...and they had been partially
eaten.
</p><p>
Supposedly, when they went down into the basement, they had found a
pentagram drawn on the floor with blood, old witchcraft books...and a
pile of charred bones belonging to the missing children.
</p><p>
They never solved the murders, but the town suspected that McGruder
must have been performing a Satanic ritual and somehow something had
gone wrong. Perhaps he had summoned a demon that had killed him and his
daughter.
</p><p>
The house stood empty for more than five years, but then a new
family moved into town and bought it because it was so cheap. The
townspeople tried to warn them about the house and its horrifying past,
but they just laughed them off. They were from the city and they didn't
believe in "stupid superstitions." They had scored a great deal on the
place and they weren't going to be scared off by a bunch of "ignorant
hicks." A month passed uneventfully...but then the family just
disappeared. They weren't murdered; there were no bodies, they were
just...gone. Vanished without a trace. No signs of foul play. All their
possessions were still in the house and their car was still parked
outside. It was as if they had just disappeared off the face of the
earth.
</p><p>
After that, no one would dare live in the house. It just stood vacant for decades, slowly falling into ruin.
</p><p>
I need to stress that Dylan's whole story was total bullshit.
Everything he told us was pulled straight from his ass, made up
specifically for Terry's benefit, and it had the desired effect. As
Dylan told his story, Terry's eyes got wider and wider with fearful
wonder and dread. He bought it hook, line and sinker. Poor guy was just
too trusting. Me and Greg both knew Dylan's story was fake, but we
played along, pretending to be equally freaked out.
</p><p>
Dylan fell silent, a grim, thoughtful look on his face. He glanced
at his watch and announced that it was twenty minutes till midnight. He
handed Terry his lantern and told him he had to remain inside the house
until dawn.
</p><p>
By himself.
</p><p>
The three of us would be waiting outside to make sure he didn't try
to cheat and sneak away. If he lasted until seven A.M. he could consider
himself to be part of the group.
</p><p>
We stood up, wished him good luck, then left the house, one by one. I
was the last to leave. I looked back at Terry just once. He stood
there, trembling, scared shitless but with a look of almost pitiful
determination on his face. I remember him like that, frightened but
resolved to prove his bravery to us, because it was the last time I ever
saw him alive.
</p><p>
I joined Dylan and Greg outside and we returned to where we had
parked our bikes. As soon as we were far enough away, Dylan and Greg's
grave expressions broke and they both began to snicker.
</p><p>
Dylan fished around in his jacket pocket and removed a small
battery-powered receiver. It belonged to a baby monitor Dylan had bought
at the local mall a couple days back. The transmitter was hidden inside
the old house.
</p><p>
You see, what we had neglected to tell Terry was that we had managed
to rope Greg's older brother Zack, who was sixteen, into dressing up in
a pretty impressive demon costume, complete with a realistic latex
mask, and hiding in one of the abandoned house's upstairs rooms an hour
before we had shown up. he was waiting up there now.
</p><p>
In exactly twenty minutes, at midnight., Zack was going to start
making some scary noises; subtle at first, shuffling footsteps and
creaking floorboards. If Terry was brave enough to go up and
investigate, Zack would jump out and ambush him there. If he wasn't,
then in another ten minutes, at twelve-ten, Zack was going to move up to
making terrifying groaning sounds and demonic growls. There he was
going to gradually descend the stairs to confront Terry in the living
room.
</p><p>
We would hear Terry's horrified reaction over the receiver...just
before he fled the house in a panic, probably screaming at the top of
his lungs as he did so.
</p><p>
Yeah, it was a mean prank, but we were just teenagers. And to make
it up to Terry, we had agreed we would let him be friends with us
afterwards...if he was still interested, that was.
</p><p>
We waited there, listening to the receiver as the minutes slowly
crept by. We could hear slight shuffling sounds, probably Terry moving
around in the living room. Maybe he was pacing to kill time, waiting for
dawn to come. Then he started humming what I think was an Avril Lavigne
song. This caused Dylan and Greg to snicker again.
</p><p>
I looked at my watch. Eleven fifty-five. Five more minutes.
</p><p>
We listened.
</p><p>
Suddenly we heard Terry's voice through the receiver's speaker. "Hello?" he said uncertainly, "is someone there?"
</p><p>
Dylan quickly raised his finger to his lips and motioned for silence. This was it. We listened intently.
</p><p>
"Hello?" Terry said again nervously, "is someone down there?"
</p><p>
At this I saw Dylan frown slightly, confused. <em>Is someone down there?</em>
The noises were supposed to be coming from upstairs, where Zack was
hiding. But Terry was apparently reacting to something he was hearing in
the basement.
</p><p>
"Hello?' Terry said a third time. His voice was fainter, as if he
had moved further away from the hidden transmitter, to see what was
making whatever sound he was hearing.
</p><p>
We listened, waiting for what came next. Silence for about a minute.
Then we heard a piercing scream, coming simultaneously from the
receiver in Dylan's hand and the house itself. A high, warbling cry of
absolute terror. It cut off abruptly. For several seconds there was
total silence. Then all three of us flinched as a hideous roar emanated
from the receiver -- a nerve-shattering, bestial bellow of pure,
unearthly rage. It was a sound that froze the blood in my veins, primal
and completely inhuman.
</p><p>
The receiver fell silent. The three of us looked at each other,
shuddering, our eyes wide with shock. We turned to face the house. We
stood there silently, waiting for Terry to appear in the doorway. He
didn't. Minutes passed, but there was no sign of him, or of Greg's
brother Zack.
</p><p>
We called out their names, but there was no answer. Dread seized my heart with a cold, clutching hand. Dread, and fear.
</p><p>
Dylan was close to panicking. He wanted us to get the hell out right
then and there, to get back on our bikes and ride home as fast as we
could, but Greg angrily refused to leave. Terry might be hurt. Maybe
there was a wild animal in there that had attacked him. And besides, his
brother was still in there too. We had to help them.
</p><p>
Greg was right, too. We couldn't just leave them in there. With a
great deal of reluctance, the three of us headed back to the house. We
reasoned that maybe Terry had somehow found out we were setting him up
for a prank. Maybe he had turned the tables and was trying to prank us
in return. I'm not sure if any of us believe that, though.
</p><p>
We entered the living room and aimed our flashlights around, calling
out Terry and Zack's names. There was no sign of them. We listened, but
there was nothing but silence. But I did notice something.
</p><p>
The house...smelled different. When we had been in there earlier it
had been the unpleasant -- but not unusual -- musty, dusty odor you'd
associate with long-abandoned homes; a combination of dry rot, mildew,
mold and the dank smell of decaying wood. Those smells were still there,
but now they'd been overlayed with an entirely different smell.
Something that was hard to describe. The rank, feral odor, organic and
savage, of something alive. It was like something you'd smell in a zoo.
The smell of a predator's den.
</p><p>
And the air felt different, too. It felt heavier, and oppressive.
</p><p>
There was something here that didn't belong here.
</p><p>
I had never been more terrified in my life as I was right then.
Every nerve in my body was screaming at me to retreat, to flee. I might
have done so in another few seconds, but then Dylan called out: "Hey,
what's that?"
</p><p>
Me and Greg looked over. He was staring through the kitchen doorway,
shining his light at something on the floor. We joined him and saw what
the beam of his flashlight was focused upon. On the cracked, grimy,
ancient linoleum was the lantern Dylan had given to Terry. It was lying
on its side, smashed to pieces.
</p><p>
A few feet beyond it, at the other end of the kitchen, stood a
black, gaping square of blackness. A doorway. A doorway leading to the
basement.
</p><p>
I think all three of us were getting ready to bolt, when a voice spoke from the darkness beyond the basement door.
</p><p>
"Please. Please help me."
</p><p>
It was Terry's voice. Pleading in a weak, painful groan.
</p><p>
"Please help me. I'm hurt and I can't see. It's dark down here."
</p><p>
"Terry?" Dylan stammered, "what happened to you, man?"
</p><p>
"There was a monster. It attacked me. I fell down the stairs. I think I broke my leg. Please, guys, help me."
</p><p>
In spite of my horror and dismay, I felt a small measure of relief. I
began to understand what must have happened. Zack had surprised Terry
in his costume and Terry had panicked and gone the wrong way trying to
flee from the house. He had run into the kitchen instead of going out
the front door and fallen down the basement stairs. Zack must have
panicked himself when he realized what had happened and had slipped out
through the rear of the house.
</p><p>
"Shit," Dylan whispered to me and Greg, "we're in trouble." Then he
called down to Terry: "Okay, hang on, man, we're coming down to get
you!"
</p><p>
Dylan pointed his flashlight down into the basement and began to descend the stairs, Greg right behind him.
</p><p>
I started to follow them...but then I spotted something. An old
refrigerator stood beside the basement door. The refrigerator door was
slightly ajar...and something was leaking out of it, dripping steadily
into a growing red puddle on the floor.
</p><p>
Feeling suddenly very cold, my heart beginning to beat faster, I
stepped closer, aiming my light on the red puddle below the
refrigerator.
</p><p>
Distantly, I heard Dylan's voice from down below. They must have
reached the bottom of the basement stairs. "Where the hell is he?"
</p><p>
Seemingly in slow motion, I reached out a numb hand and grasped the
refrigerator's handle, pulling the door all the way open.
</p><p>
"Terry!" Greg's voice called out from the basement, "where are you?"
</p><p>
Terry's mutilated, blood-splattered corpse was crammed grotesquely
inside the refrigerator. His glazed eyes seemed to stare dully at me,
accusingly.
</p><p>
"Terry?" Dylan called out doubtfully.
</p><p>
I lunged at the basement door, shouting down at my friends: <em>"DYLAN, GREG! GET OUT! GET OUT OF THERE NOW! IT'S NOT TERRY! IT--"</em>
</p><p>
Before I could finish, I heard three piercing screams in quick
succession -- the first two short, the third longer. The first scream
might have been of shock, the second was probably of terror, but the
third, protracted scream was unquestionably one of agony.
</p><p>
Dylan.
</p><p>
Dylan's dying, agonized scream died to silence, but Greg quickly
picked up the chorus, screaming my name, screaming for help.
</p><p>
Standing in the basement doorway, at the top of the stairs, too
scared to go to his aid, I shone my light down in the direction of
Greg's screaming voice. I saw my friend backed up in the corner,
trapped, his eyes bulging and wild with horror, facing...<em>something</em>...that was approaching him.
</p><p>
I only glimpsed it, but that one brief glimpse was enough. <em>More</em>
than enough. Enough to imprint itself like a brand upon my scarred
psyche, to haunt me in untold nightmares to come for the rest of my
life.
</p><p>
It wasn't human. I don't think it ever had been. It was tall and
slumped and horribly out of proportion, its head about three feet above
its torso, perched on a thin, elongated neck, like a giraffe's. It's
long, spindly arms extended at least six feet from its shoulders. Its
skeletal hands were tipped with long, bloody claws. It appeared to be
naked, and its skin was a hideous mottled gray, like the skin of a
corpse. It had its back to me, so at least I didn't see its face...which
I am eternally grateful for. If I had, I don't know if I would have
kept my sanity.
</p><p>
As the thing moved in for the kill, Greg, cornered, looked up, locking eyes with me. <em>"Help me!"</em> he shrieked.
</p><p>
But I didn't. Instead, I ran, like a coward, abandoning him to his
fate. I ran, out of that house, back to my bike, and peddled away as
fast as I could. Greg's dying scream chased after me...until it abruptly
stopped.
</p><p>
Weeping, I rode back to Greg's house.
</p><p>
I called 911. The police came. They went to investigate the house.
Greg's older brother Zack was found dead in one of the bedrooms
upstairs, his head torn off his shoulders. Terry was still in the
refrigerator where I had discovered him. What was left of Dylan and
Greg's bodies were scattered throughout the basement; they had been
ripped apart.
</p><p>
The cops questioned me, of course, demanding to know what we had
been doing there in the first place. I finally admitted to the prank we
had staged on poor Terry...but didn't tell them about the creature I had
seen in the basement; as traumatized as I was, I knew they wouldn't
believe me. I simply told them someone else had been in the house, a
squatter maybe, some deranged psychopath who had attacked me and my
friends, with me being the only one to escape. I told them it was dark
and I hadn't gotten a good look at the assailant. They were suspicious
of my story; they must have sensed that I was holding something back. It
crossed my mind that they might even suspect I had killed them myself,
but no one ever accused me outright. There wasn't a drop of blood on me,
and I was obviously distressed and shaken over what had happened.
</p><p>
The investigation lasted for weeks. Forensic teams scoured the house
for any physical evidence, but never found anything useful, and the
murders were never solved.
</p><p>
Not long after, my parents moved me away to a new town for a fresh
start. I went on with my life, trying to move past what happened that
terrible Halloween night when I was fourteen, but I never got over the
horror and the guilt. For the rest of my teens, into my early twenties, I
went through a very difficult, self-destructive phase. I dropped out of
school shortly after the start of my sophomore year in high school, got
mixed up in drugs and alcohol, got arrested more than once, got kicked
out by my parents, was homeless for a while, and finally went into rehab
and got straightened out. I'm married now, with two children and a
semi-decent job in a warehouse.
</p><p>
Things are going pretty well for me right now. But I still dwell
upon what happened that night. Everything Dylan told Terry was fake.
There was no old man named McGruder, no devil worshipping or child
sacrifices or demons or murders. <em>It was all made up.</em> It makes
me wonder. I think about the power of suggestion. The placebo effect.
The story Dylan told wasn't real, but I could tell Terry believed it.
Maybe belief was the key. Maybe Terry was so frightened by what he
heard, he somehow unwillingly, unconsciously <em>willed</em> it all into
reality. They say faith can move mountains. Maybe that's true, but
maybe it also means fear can give nightmares flesh. Maybe all the
monsters we were all scared of when we were kids were more real than we
thought they were.
</p><p>
I've been thinking about that a lot more lately. Especially after what I heard on the news a few days ago.
</p><p>
You see, that old, abandoned house isn't there anymore. About ten
years ago a developer bought up all that land and built an apartment
complex there. The police are investigating a brutal mass murder. The
residents of the three lower units were all killed during the night;
massacred. They have no leads. The police can't even figure out how the
killer gained entry; all three apartments were locked from the inside.
</p><p>
I think whatever horror we accidentally conjured that Halloween night twenty years ago is still there. </p><p>---</p><p><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/CarlB1961/">Credits</a> <br /></p><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-33096999369107445182024-02-07T23:47:00.000-08:002024-02-07T23:47:15.491-08:00Last Week I Lost My Voice. Something Else Found It...<p> <img alt="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/WFLnD7CrXgE/maxresdefault.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="538" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/WFLnD7CrXgE/maxresdefault.jpg" width="958" /> </p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_1498g8i-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
I grew up in the city, so of course I was eager to see new and
interesting places. I mean, as soon as I'd turned eighteen I was out the
door and travelling across the country. In the end though, the thing I
wanted most was the peace and quiet that I couldn't find in the city.
That's how I ended up working at a bar in a small Montana town at
nineteen years-old.
</p><p>
As I said, the town is pretty small. Mostly just bars and a few
stores. Ever since I moved there last month, I've always found the
library to be interesting. The old architecture makes the place look
surreal, and on top of that, I'm an avid reader.
</p><p>
I've actually been meaning to write a book, maybe make some money
from it, so last week I visited the place, hoping for some inspiration,
if not some good reading material.
</p><p>
Nobody was inside, which I thought was weird, considering it was
located in a pretty busy part of town. I looked around a bit and saw a
girl, about my age, in an office chair, reading a Stephen King novel
that I don't remember the name of.
</p><p>
"Do you work here?" I asked tentatively.
</p><p>
"Work here? I own the place." She said, jolting upwards.
</p><p>
"Oh, wow. But you're-"
</p><p>
"Only nineteen. Yeah, my aunt left it to me. I was the only reader
in the family besides herself, so we were pretty close. I'm Kat."
</p><p>
"Huh. I'm Leo."
</p><p>
"Sorry I didn't see you there sooner. I don't usually see many
people coming in here this time of week. Not a lot of readers in this
town. The library gets most of its money from people buying DVDs every
Friday."
</p><p>
Sure enough, there were several stands full of DVDs for the latest
and greatest movies. Those weren't why I was there, though.
</p><p>
"Say, I've been thinking of writing a novel. I was hoping I could find some inspiration here."
</p><p>
"A passion for reading, let alone writing? You must not be from here. Well, what're you planning on writing then?
</p><p>
"I suppose I've always been a big horror fan. I'd love to write something scary."
</p><p>
"A horror fan? Me too. If you're looking for inspiration... Oh! Yes,
there's a section over there that contains all kinds of books about
witchcraft, demons, all that fun stuff. I'm not meant to touch them too
often, they're real old, but I wouldn't want to anyway."
</p><p>
"Why not?" I was interested now.
</p><p>
"Well, I don't get scared easily. I'm fine with reading scary
stories and watching scary movies, been that way since I was a little
girl, but something about those old books gives me the heebie-jeebies."
</p><p>
This was exactly what I was hoping for. I thanked Kat and walked to the section containing the creepy old books.
</p><p>
"Be careful with them! As I said, they're real old, if they get
damaged, there'll be hell to pay." She shouted across the library.
</p><p>
"Of course!" I chuckled, grabbing one of the books.
</p><p>
The cover was a faded red, and the pages were yellowed. It had no
title, so I began flicking through pages. Eventually, I landed on a page
with a creepy drawing. A face smiling, but with wide, frightened eyes.
As I said, creepy, but I love creepy stuff, so I made the mistake of
reading the text, which I will not share with you for soon-to-be-obvious
reasons.
</p><p>
As soon as I was done reading it, I gasped, then had a burning
sensation in my throat and my jaw hung open. I stayed like that for ten
seconds at least, before stumbling backwards. My breathing was unsteady,
and I stumbled towards the exit.
</p><p>
Kat looked up from her book again, then became concerned when she
saw me, but I just told her that my inhaler was in my car and that I'd
come back tomorrow. My voice came out as a whisper, but it was enough to
get her back to her book.
</p><p>
I hurried home, and though my breathing had become relaxed, my voice
was completely gone. I tried to talk to myself in the mirror, but
nothing came out. The book is meant to be really old, maybe I had gotten
sick from touching it? I made the decision to sleep it off.
</p><p>
My alarm woke me up for work, and I went into the bathroom to brush
my teeth, but I found that I couldn't open my mouth. Hell, I couldn't
even move my tongue. As panic began to settle in, I spoke.
</p><p>
I was saying things. It was my voice. But, it wasn't me saying those things? Something was controlling my mouth to speak.
</p><p>
"You invited me in. Yesterday evening, you read from the book. Be
aware, I am in control of not just your speech, but your respiration. If
you try to communicate about this to anyone, or if you don't do as I
desire, I will stop breathing for you, or perhaps I'll bite clean
through your tongue."
</p><p>
I showed up to work on time, thankfully. I must've been a sight.
Pale as a ghost, but still talking as confident as ever. More confident
than normal, even. Whatever was using my voice was remembering the names
of every bargoer and keeping them entertained as I gave them their
drinks. I left, got in my car, then my voice told me to go to the
library.
</p><p>
It was a Friday, so there were a few people looking for DVDs, but I walked over to Kat.
</p><p>
"Leo! How are you? You looked kinda sick when you left yesterday?" She said with concern in her voice.
</p><p>
"Oh, I'm better for seeing you. I think there was just some dust in
the old book, got me sick for a day." I responded casually. "Say, mind
if I take that book home, have a little look at it? I think it has some
great material for a horror novel!"
</p><p>
"Oh, I dunno, Leo. I'm meant to keep that old thing mostly
untouched. And if it's gonna make people all sick for the day, I don't
think I should be letting people near it."
</p><p>
"Okie dokie!" I grinned at her, then I whispered so that only I could hear myself "Go grab some horror DVDs."
</p><p>
I obliged, taking two in each hand and walking back to Kat.
</p><p>
"Say, you're a horror fan, ain't ya?" I smiled.
</p><p>
"Sure. I don't scare easy, though."
</p><p>
My smile grew wider as I said "Say, I'll be watching a few of these
here horror movies tonight, wanna come over to my place tonight and
watch them with me?"
</p><p>
She took me up on the offer, and I headed home to get ready. I was
beginning to seriously worry. Whatever was controlling my smile and my
voice had to have something planned for her, and I doubt it was anything
good. Still, I wanted to continue breathing.
</p><p>
She arrived at 9PM and I went to turn on the movies. The movies I
was told to grab were the Evil Dead films. My mouth-possessor was not
without a sense of humor. We sat on the couch for two hours like that,
laughing at the movies and getting increasingly, incredibly drunk, even
while I was afraid to move from the couch and my voice was sweet-talking
her. At around 11PM, we were both plastered, though I got the sense
that whatever was controlling my voice was focused on something, despite
my speech being slurred.
</p><p>
It was at this point that she leaned in for a kiss, which the thing
controlling my mouth obliged. As soon as our lips touched, I felt the
same burning sensation in my throat that I had felt when I read from the
red book, and my eyes opened wide. Judging by Kat's wide eyes, I could
guess she was feeling the same feeling in her throat.
</p><p>
We both fell backwards and I heard her breathing become unsteady. My
jaw hung open for a while, until I realized that I was in control of my
breathing again, and by extension, my speech.
</p><p>
"Are you alright there, Kat?" I slurred out, still very much inebriated.
</p><p>
"Yeah, just tired. Real tired..." She responded. Her voice came out as a whisper.
</p><p>
She fell asleep on the couch and I passed out drunk on the floor.
When I woke up, I heard her voice coming from the bathroom.
</p><p>
"Be aware, I am in control of not just your speech, but your
respiration. If you try to communicate about this to anyone, or if you
don't do as I desire, I will stop breathing for you, or perhaps I'll
bite clean through your tongue."
</p><p>
I had transferred it to her. I ran to the bathroom and puked into
the toilet. Partially out of panic, mostly because I was hungover.
</p><p>
"Thanks, Leo. We should do this again sometime." I looked up to see
Kat grinning, but with fear in her eyes. "Grab your keys and go home."
She said, this time to herself.
</p><p>
After that, I tried to figure out why it wanted her instead of me,
and I realized last night. She owns the library, and has access to those
old books. Like the one that I read from.
</p><p>
Kat is in danger. And more people might be if she uses the book. </p><p>---</p><p><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/SkinnyTinkles/">Credits</a> <br /></p>
</div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2979153479121246533.post-11467893353260430502024-02-07T23:41:00.000-08:002024-02-07T23:41:44.304-08:00I Lost My Voice, But Gained Another<p> <img alt="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/DutTzI4BTxA/maxresdefault.jpg" class="shrinkToFit" height="538" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/DutTzI4BTxA/maxresdefault.jpg" width="958" /> </p><div class="md text-14" id="t3_18u5pd2-post-rtjson-content" style="--emote-size: 20px;">
<p>
When I was fresh out of high school, I was in a bit of family drama.
I needed a temporary place to stay and had to find a quick job to
support myself. I had the ambition to push myself through college and
ended up in a bad spot. I barely slept, I had no social life, and I
couldn’t find the time to do the most basic stuff. I didn’t have time to
cook, so I basically lived takeout box to takeout box.
</p><p>
The only place I could find within my price range was a refurbished
storage space. It was basically just a bed and a couple of shelves with
partial access to a bathroom. It wasn’t really meant as a living space,
but the landlord didn’t care. There wasn’t even wallpaper, unless you
consider some actual vines in the corner to be wallpaper.
</p><p>
But this is where I get to teach y’all something. Storage spaces are
built very differently from ordinary living spaces and apartments.
They’re not isolated the same way, and this space was lined with
something nasty.
</p><p>
</p><p>
My immune system was crashing hard from months of vitamin deficiency
and unhealthy habits, and in combination with an awful living
situation, I got a bad infection. Like, really bad. My throat got so
swollen that it looked like I’d swallowed a whole apple. I could barely
breathe, I got one of the worst fevers of my life, and I had no
insurance.
</p><p>
I ended up crawling back to my parents. It was humiliating. We’d had
our falling out, but when they could see how bad things’d gotten, they
helped me out. I was immediately taken to a doctor and put on
antibiotics, but the swelling had gotten so bad that they suspected
permanent nerve damage.
</p><p>
Once the swelling died down, it turned out the doctor was right.
Trying to speak was like touching a live wire. It was so painful that it
could make me black out.
</p><p>
</p><p>
It eventually got a bit better. I could start to make noises without
immediate pain, like laughing and coughing, but trying to form words
tickled something in my throat. Moving my vocal cords too much caused
that pain to flare back up. My doctor said it would probably never heal
completely, but in a couple of months, at most a year or two, I’d get my
part of my voice back. Maybe.
</p><p>
But yeah, for all intents and purposes – I was mute.
</p><p>
</p><p>
It was difficult to cope with at first. I began to carry a laminated
card, basically saying “I’m mute”. It is easy to forget the many ways
we use verbal communication in our day-to-day. Ordering at the fast-food
place, answering questions in class, turning down salesmen at the door…
it’s usually the things you don’t think too much about. But having that
barrier, no matter how small, can really turn the mundane into a chore.
It just becomes too bothersome to explain the same thing several times a
day.
</p><p>
I started to socially isolate myself more. It was hard to be around
other people. Forget about going to a party; ain’t no one patient enough
to wait for you to type stuff out on your phone. My parents helped me
find a better place to live in, and I managed to find a job closer to my
new home. Nothing fancy, just stocking groceries at one of the corner
shops.
</p><p>
A couple of months passed, and I started to get used to a new life
and routine. I knew there’d come a day when my voice returned, but for
now, even attempting to speak made me nauseous. A loud yawn could send
me spiraling if I wasn’t cautious.
</p><p>
</p><p>
Then one morning, I got a phone call. I’d been up late the previous
night and didn’t think too much about it. Out of reflex, I pushed to
answer the call, held it up to my ear, and opened my mouth to speak. In
the last possible moment I stopped myself, only pushing out a hoarse
breath. If I’d tried to actually say something, I’d have ruined the rest
of the day.
</p><p>
So imagine my surprise when <em>another voice came out of me.</em>
</p><p>
</p><p>
“<em>Good morning</em>,” it said.
</p><p>
I dropped my phone and slammed my hands over my mouth in shock. I
saw the call end, and just sat there in silence, trying to calm down.
</p><p>
That wasn’t my voice. Those weren’t my words.
</p><p>
What the hell?
</p><p>
</p><p>
I took some time to collect myself. Checking my phone, turns out
that was just a robocall; some automated crap trying to make me answer a
survey. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror for a good ten minutes,
opening and closing my mouth, trying to see if I could make that voice
come out again. I thought it might have been some kind of trick, or a
sign of recovery. Maybe I just didn’t recognize my own voice?
</p><p>
No matter what I tried, as soon as I even tried to formulate a word,
my throat burned like I’d been cut by something sharp. There was just
no way I could’ve said anything without noticing it. Even pretending to
speak and testing my limits caused a burning sensation, forcing me to
put on a bit of eucalyptus balm.
</p><p>
I went on with my day, but that moment kept coming back to me. It
wasn’t imagined, but it wasn’t me either. At one point, I thought it
might’ve come from the phone, but that didn’t make sense to me. The
simple fact was that it came - from me.
</p><p>
Somehow.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I got back home from my shift, had a hot shower, and parked myself
in front of a Netflix show. That show about social media people tricking
one another – I have a soft spot for reality shows. It was this big
dramatical reveal of a member of the team getting kicked off at the end
of the episode, and I audibly gasped; almost choking on my takeout
ramen.
</p><p>
Then, it happened again. A light tickle at the bottom of my throat, and the voice came back.
</p><p>
“<em>Scandalous</em>,” it muttered, all without my lips moving.
</p><p>
I felt it much clearer now. It wasn’t me forming those words; they
were coming up from my throat on their own. My mouth was wide open, I
wasn’t shaping any vowels or consonants.
</p><p>
I just sat there for a moment, my heart skipping a beat. I was
scared to move, as if that might prompt it to reappear. I remember
wondering over and over what the hell it was. And finally, I mouthed a
silent question; “Are you still there?”
</p><p>
And to that, a vocal answer crept back up, slithering out of me.
</p><p>
“<em>Yes</em>.”
</p><p>
</p><p>
I stood up and wandered about the room. A hundred questions went
through my mind, but none of them were answered. My thoughts had to
linger on that final ‘yes’, and the implications. There was me, and
there was a ‘you’. Something different from me; using me. Even then and
there, in the comfort of my own space, I felt watched.
</p><p>
As I went to bed that night, I had trouble relaxing. I had this
recurring thought that whatever was resting inside of me was just
waiting for a chance to do something. It felt sinister – a presence
forced upon me.
</p><p>
I probably scrolled through my socials for at least an hour and a half before I fell asleep with the screen still facing me.
</p><p>
</p><p>
Somewhere in the black of the night, I woke up. It wasn’t sudden;
just my eyes slowly opening. The sun hadn’t broken through my window
yet, and I could tell I’d only been asleep for a couple hours. There
were no cars going by on the streets outside, and no neighbors stomping
around.
</p><p>
But there was a noise. It took me a couple of seconds to realize that it was coming from me.
</p><p>
A hushed voice, whispering into the dark. It was barely audible, but
it was coming from my mouth. I tried to look down, but all I could see
was my shivering upper lip.
</p><p>
“<em>You have been given so many gifts</em>,” I caught it saying. “<em>To
spoil and squander and wither. Idle children feasting on crumbs of
gold. Mother, unbirth me, find me unwanting, undeserving, unsullied</em>.”
</p><p>
</p><p>
When I finally realized what was going on, I shot out of bed and
sprinted to the bathroom. I was frustrated and scared to the point that I
wanted to scream and cry, but all that came out were these weird
hulking noises. And with every awkward breath, I could hear something in
the space between.
</p><p>
<em>“…no…”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“…awful…”</em>
</p><p>
<em>“…grim…”</em>
</p><p>
Finally, I just snapped. I forced myself to scream. Even at my
greatest effort, it wasn’t loud, but it was enough. Little specks of
blood spattered on the wall. The scream triggered such an intense shock
of pain that it left me squirming on the bathroom floor, gasping for
air. I have no idea how long it took for me to regain my composure.
Wiping my tears, I bent over the toilet seat and spat up a glob of blood
and dislodged scar tissue.
</p><p>
I stayed in the shower for over half an hour, just waiting for the
bleeding to stop. I’d set back my recovery weeks, maybe months. But hey,
at least the voice was gone. Perhaps it needed some part of me to speak
– a part that I’d damaged.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I had a few spots of blood on my pillow the next day. I’d barely
slept. Still, I dragged myself to work. I tried my best to keep out of
the spotlight, get a quick nap on my lunch hour, and keep to myself. I
didn’t want to try and explain what I was experiencing. I had tried to
type out a message for my parents, but there was no way they wouldn’t
overreact. They would probably think I was on drugs, or suffering some
kind of schizophrenia. They always assumed I was at fault for whatever
ailed me – that was their go-to response. They couldn’t accept that
sometimes, things were just… out of my control.
</p><p>
I gave up after the sixth draft. I couldn’t find the right words.
</p><p>
</p><p>
As my shift ended, I made my way home. My favorite takeout place was
packed with people from some kind of work outing, so I had to shoulder
my way forward to the counter.
</p><p>
<em>“…maggots.”</em>
</p><p>
The word just fell out of me, whispered into the ear of some random
passerby. I saw them turn around to look my way, but they didn’t say
anything. The look he gave me was the first actual proof that this
wasn’t just my imagination; this was a real, physical thing. And the
look he gave me was nothing short of disgust and confusion.
</p><p>
I forced my mouth shut, but it didn’t help. I could feel the air
push out of my nose as another sentence reverberated in my mouth.
</p><p>
<em>“…damn them all.”</em>
</p><p>
</p><p>
I stopped a few feet from the counter as I took notice of people
turning my way. I tried to hold it back, holding my breath, but little
puffs of air made my cheeks expand like a chipmunk. When I finally let
go, it was just a non-stop barrage of word salad pouring out of me. Not
loud, but not quiet – just enough to make me look like a blathering
madman.
</p><p>
I turned to leave. A worried 40-something office worker tried to
touch my shoulder and ask if I was okay, but the voice in me snapped
back.
</p><p>
“<em>… I’ll suck the skin off your knuckles…</em>” it hissed.
</p><p>
As I left, I looked back one final time. About half a dozen worried
faces looked back at me. Faces turned from curious to wide-eyed
bewilderment. As I stepped away into the dark, the voice made itself
known one last time.
</p><p>
<em>“…Yes. Leave. Make us lonesome.”</em>
</p><p>
</p><p>
Coming back home, I positioned myself in front of my mirror. I
didn’t even take my coat off, I just took out my phone, held it up, and
opened my mouth. I wasn’t going to let it use me – I wanted it on
camera. I needed something to prove I wasn’t delusional. I tried to coax
it. To ask it questions in my head. I tried to make it come forward,
but nothing seemed to work.
</p><p>
I must’ve stood there for a good half hour until my jaw started
hurting. Not a single peep or noise. It was just me staring at my own
teeth in silence.
</p><p>
I was so goddamn frustrated. I wanted to scream and shout, but I
couldn’t. I ended up throwing the mug with my toothbrush across the
room, shattering it against the hallway wall. All I managed to get out
was a couple of grunts, and even that burned my throat like I was
licking a welding torch.
</p><p>
</p><p>
Leaving the bathroom, I kneeled to scoop up the mug pieces. As soon
as my knees touched the floor, a gleeful little whisper escaped me.
</p><p>
“<em>…I won’t dance to your tune, puppet,</em>” it chuckled. “<em>Stay on your knees</em>.”
</p><p>
I bit my tongue - I was so frustrated I could cry.
</p><p>
</p><p>
That night, as I lay down to sleep, I could feel the voice just
inches away. There was a little push in my stomach every time it was
about to speak, and I felt that push all night long. It was always just a
breath away, but the words didn’t come. But as I finally closed my eyes
and yawned, it returned.
</p><p>
<em>“…you need to submit.”</em>
</p><p>
I gently shook my head, rustling my hair against the pillow.
</p><p>
<em>“…you have to.”</em>
</p><p>
And again, I shook my head. The tension in my chest remained, but
nothing more came out. I hugged a pillow, made myself comfortable, and
tried not to think about it.
</p><p>
</p><p>
Moments later, it came back with a vengeance.
</p><p>
My lungs pushed themselves empty and a cramp crept up my spine. I
rolled onto my back and felt my stomach force itself upward. My mouth
opened, and I had this dreadful feeling. It felt like being trapped
under ice, desperate for air. For a moment, nothing happened. I just
hung there, my body tense and out of control.
</p><p>
Then, a scream.
</p><p>
It resembled a woman being murdered. Scream, after scream, after
scream. Begging for help, squealing in pain, crying. I couldn’t stop it.
I forced myself to roll over to try and block it with a pillow, but it
didn’t help. It was so loud that my ears rung.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I scrambled out of bed, still feeling this constant flow of screams
pushing its way out of me. Trying to hold my breath just built up this
unbearable pressure, like my lungs were going to explode.
</p><p>
I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I dug through kitchen
drawers, spilling forks and knives onto the floor. I tried stuffing a
dish towel into my mouth, just to dampen the noise, but it was useless.
There was nothing I could do, or say; it was going to continue, no
matter what.
</p><p>
Finally, there was a knock on the door. A few final pleas for help escaped me as two police officers burst through the door.
</p><p>
In that moment, the voice stopped.
</p><p>
</p><p>
They had a hard time believing that screams came from me. First of
all, I’m a man. The voice was clearly female. Second of all – I couldn’t
talk. They found the laminated “I’m mute”-note in the hallway. There
was no way they could believe a mute man could make that kind of noise.
Then again, they couldn’t find a victim either. Confused, they had me
get dressed and took me down to the station.
</p><p>
The process was surprisingly quick. Rushed, even. They said they
were holding me until they could find out what the hell had happened,
but they refused to get me something to type on. Not even my phone.
There was no way for me to explain what was going on, and as a result, I
just had to wait it out.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I spent the night in a holding cell, expecting every breath to taunt
me. I shared that cell with another person. I have no idea what he was
in for, but he had the look of someone who wasn’t afraid to get violent.
Something about his eyes said he was itching for a fight. He was easily
6’4, and his leg kept twitching.
</p><p>
I tried to avoid eye contact, but as the hours passed, he was
getting antsy. When he finally locked eyes on me, I knew it was going
down.
</p><p>
“Stop staring at me,” he said. “I’ll rip your fucking eyes out.”
</p><p>
</p><p>
I looked away, but he didn’t care. He was pacing back and forth,
trying to provoke me. Goading me into a reaction. Calling me all kinds
of awful names, accusing me of being something I wasn’t, and doing
something I didn’t.
</p><p>
“Little bitch,” he’d say. “You like sitting there, checking me out? Think you can take me?”
</p><p>
I couldn’t say anything, and that tingle inside me didn’t either. I
just sat there. But as he escalated, it quickly got physical. As he
grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to my feet, I could feel his sour
breath on my face.
</p><p>
“Who’s to say I don’t put you the fuck down, huh?” he said. “Get you before you get me?”
</p><p>
</p><p>
Maybe it needed me alive. Maybe it didn’t want to see me beaten and
bruised. Maybe it was a matter of control – two alpha creatures
clashing, trying to outmaneuver one another. Either way, as I stared
into this man’s eyes, I felt something move. The words flowed out of me
like venomous silk. A new voice, but from the same source as every other
cursed word that I’d had forced upon me – nestled deep in the core of
my stomach.
</p><p>
<em>“…why’d your brother stop crying, Simon?”</em>
</p><p>
He immediately let go, and his eyes went wide. His mouth hung open, like he’d forgotten how to breathe.
</p><p>
“<em>…Simon?</em>” it continued. <em>“Simon, where is your brother?”</em>
</p><p>
He backed away, his lips shivering. His hands retreated to his chest, like he was subconsciously hugging himself.
</p><p>
“<em>…Simon, you’re scaring me,</em>” the voice pleaded. “<em>Simon, please.”</em>
</p><p>
</p><p>
I have never seen a man this terrified before. There was no way to
tell what he was going to do as he was forced into this primal flight or
fight reaction. He pushed himself against the door, and just started
bawling. Slowly, it escalated into a horrified scream. This shrieking,
child-like primate scream. He was unraveling in front of me, clawing to
get away.
</p><p>
A chuckle escaped me, and it grew into a laugh. I tried shaking my
head, pointing at my throat, but nothing helped. For all intents and
purposes – it was me doing this to him. There was no comfort in saying
it wasn’t. Not that I could if I wanted to.
</p><p>
He was taken to another holding cell, and I spent the rest of my night alone, curled up in a corner.
</p><p>
Quiet.
</p><p>
</p><p>
Somewhere, in the space between sleep and dream, I heard it again. I
can’t remember the exact words, but I remember what it tried to tell
me.
</p><p>
That it could be a friend. A great ally. It just needed me to
acknowledge my position. I was a vessel. An honored and appreciated
vessel, but no less an object. Something likened to a king’s crown, or a
bejeweled scepter.
</p><p>
But I was to make no mistake. This thing, this being, could do perfectly fine without me. It could thrive.
</p><p>
And it could make my life a living hell, for as long as it wanted to.
</p><p>
For as long as it needed to.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I drifted in and out of sleep, tossing between struggling to keep my
eyes closed to deep in a fever-like dream state. At one point, I
remember forcing my eyes open to get out of a nightmare, only to see the
entire room half-flooded with water. Dead flower petals bobbing up and
down beneath the cold black waves; reaching all the way up to the edge
of my sleep-paralyzed lips. On the other side of the room was a person
wrapped in black algae. Shivering.
</p><p>
It didn’t speak, but I knew what it sounded like. It knew that I knew.
</p><p>
And that made it smile.
</p><p>
</p><p>
Early the next morning, I was released. There was no reason to hold
me, as there was no victim. They didn’t have an explanation, and I
couldn’t give them one. They concluded that it simply couldn’t have been
me, and if it somehow it was, there was no victim. There was no crime.
</p><p>
Walking home, I was in a daze. I was exhausted and broken. I didn’t
even notice the voice still talking to me. The whispers were kinder.
Little wishes reaching my ears. Small, sensible things. To go home and
change, to have a proper breakfast, to brush my teeth. Things I would’ve
done anyway. But doing what it asked, well… it felt right. Good, even.
</p><p>
I couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. I couldn’t stop it. I
couldn’t fight it. There was no strength left in me, and I didn’t want
to live in that world of pain and constant conflict. It was so much
easier to just say yes.
</p><p>
</p><p>
And for some time, that’s what I did. I barely remember what I did.
I’d do absurd internet searches for obscure articles relating to
anything from large investment groups to agricultural practices of
growing sunflowers. I’d spend hours scrolling through profiles and
pictures, making little notes with numbers that I didn’t know the
meaning of. It all felt like an improvisational dance; making little
movements just for the sake of a stray thought. It wasn’t inherently
malicious.
</p><p>
But every now and then, there’d be something I didn’t want to do. To
follow a stranger home and make note of where they lived. To note which
bus someone would take on their way home from work. To ask someone’s
name, only to look it up online later. Something in me was forcing me to
map out people, their actions, and their routines. Not just any people,
but specific ones. They seemed to have little in common, but the voice
was adamant.
</p><p>
And every time I hesitated, or said no, I knew I was in for a world
of hurt. It wouldn’t take much for me to change my mind. A little
chuckle. A sigh. A knowing purr.
</p><p>
</p><p>
One night, I found myself staring at my reflection in the bathroom
mirror. I was wearing a black cap and sunglasses, and I came to the
realization that I had no idea what I was doing. When had I even bought
that cap? Did I have a new jacket?
</p><p>
Something had snapped me out of my daze, and I didn’t even realize what, or why.
</p><p>
I looked down at my leather-clad gloves. I had some kind of rope in
my pocket. I was about to go out and do something, but I didn’t know
what.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I’d shaved my head and trimmed my eyebrows. I had these heavy bags
under my eyes, as if I hadn’t slept for days. I’d lost a lot of weight,
and my cheeks had lost a bit of their rosy vigor.
</p><p>
On the side of the bathroom mirror was a tiny speck of dry blood. It
occurred to me that it was from that very first night, when I had
challenged the voice. When I had forced it quiet with a scream of my
own. It was a stark reminder of just how much pain it took from me to
shut that thing up – even temporary.
</p><p>
But looking at myself, as I was, I was starting to come to terms
with just what it would take for me to resume a normal life; and to stop
whatever the hell I was about to do.
</p><p>
</p><p>
“<em>…I can hear your doubt</em>,” it whispered. “<em>Tools don’t doubt.”</em>
</p><p>
The words brushed against my lips, escaping into the room. It left
some condensation on the bathroom mirror. I wiped away the speck of
blood, looking at it on the top of my finger.
</p><p>
“…<em>we have work to do</em>,” the voice continued. “<em>Come now</em>.”
</p><p>
I shook my head. I knew I was going to regret it, but I didn’t want
to do this anymore. I didn’t know what it was making me do, and the
realization that I had no idea where my life even was anymore felt like
ice running up my spine.
</p><p>
I’d lost control. I’d handed over the reins. How long had it been? Weeks? Months?
</p><p>
What had it made me do?
</p><p>
</p><p>
I shook my head again, mouthing a quiet “no”.
</p><p>
My body tensed as my jaw was forced open. I could hear a laughter
bubbling up from inside. It was pleased. It wanted me in distress, and
it made no secret of it.
</p><p>
I thought back on that first night. I’d screamed so bad that I
damaged my throat. But no matter how painful it was, it had accomplished
one thing.
</p><p>
It had made that damn thing shut up.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I grunted. I could feel an uncomfortable poke at the vocal cords,
but that was it. I grunted again, louder. I forced a groan through my
throat, and this time, it started to burn; like swallowing boiling
water.
</p><p>
“…<em>no</em>,” it whispered. “<em>This will not do.”</em>
</p><p>
With a twitch of a neck muscle, it slammed my head into the bathroom mirror.
</p><p>
</p><p>
It felt like blinking, but when my eyes opened, I was standing on an
unfamiliar street. It had moved me. Something warm was running down my
forehead, partially dry. I was clutching a knife, slowly making my way
through an alleyway.
</p><p>
This time, I forced myself to growl; rattling my vocal cords. It
felt like being slowly chainsawed, but I could tell it wasn’t just
hurting me. My knees buckled and I fell forward, dropping the knife.
</p><p>
When I got up, I had moved again. I was somewhere off the highway,
walking towards a car that’d pulled over for me. Maybe they’d mistaken
me for a hitchhiker. I turned the other way, trying to wave them off, as
I steeled myself for my greatest effort yet. I knew it was going to be
painful. Maybe the most pain I’d felt so far. The thought of it made my
eyes tear up, but maybe it’d be enough for that thing to finally shut up
for good.
</p><p>
I got down on all fours by the side of the road, and just screamed. I
screamed repeatedly, and I could feel the pain tearing through me like a
hot knife. A stray thought cried out that maybe this was for nothing –
but I couldn’t bear it. I had to believe that this was going to work.
</p><p>
I kept screaming, over and over. The coughs bubbled up, and as I
spat my blood on the asphalt, I could feel something tickling my throat.
</p><p>
“…<em>pointless</em>,” it whispered. “…<em>useless</em>.”
</p><p>
It was playing on my doubts, but I could hear that it was weaker. It was lying. Convincing itself.
</p><p>
</p><p>
Finally, I could feel something come loose. Something tangible and
physical. I spat out what looked like a small vine, covered in tiny
petals. It was probably blue, but the blood made it look black. With
every cough, I lost more control, but I could feel more and more
dislodge. Vines, petals, some kind of shelled seed, and even a blooming
flower. Something resembling a twisted, organic sunflower – with little
Z-shaped petals. No bigger than a thumb.
</p><p>
It was still moving, raw and bloodied like a newborn mouse.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I was just lying there, on the side of the road. The bleeding
wouldn’t stop. I could feel my pulse all the way up to my teeth. I was
desperately crying for help, but there were no words. No screams.
Nothing.
</p><p>
But at least there was no voice left in the back of my throat.
</p><p>
</p><p>
I only have vague memories of what happened next. The blood loss was
pretty severe. They had to perform some kind of surgery. The next thing
I can clearly remember is looking up at the hospital ceiling, feeling a
comforting warmth in my left hand. My father, holding my hand,
patiently waiting for me to wake up.
</p><p>
The doctor explained how I would probably never talk again. That it
would take several screenings and check-ups over the course of several
months just to keep my throat from rupturing. That I wouldn’t be able to
eat solid food for a long time. There were technical terms,
projections, hopes and fears – but the greatest problem, to me, was
already solved.
</p><p>
That thing was gone. Whatever had lived in me had been ripped out by
the roots, and I was in control. I was finally back in total, <em>actual</em>, control.
</p><p>
</p><p>
Now, this was a couple of years ago, and I don’t like to look back
on it. Even mentioning it makes people look at me funny. Most of my
immediate family think it was a psychotic episode. I’ve become that
family member that you have to be a bit careful around, it seems. I’m
hoping it will fade in time.
</p><p>
I’m not sure where that thing came from. I think it might’ve lived
in that storage space as some kind of spore. Maybe it was something I
ate. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just this metaphysical manifestation; it
was an actual physical obstacle. I think the longer it had time to dig
its roots in, the worse the loss of control got. I think that thing was
bad enough to touch nerves that I didn’t even know I had.
</p><p>
Thinking back on that night where I finally ripped it out makes me
cold. Yes, it was an amazing relief, but the pain was otherworldly.
</p><p>
</p><p>
But as far as things go, I’m me. I may not have a voice anymore, but
actions speak louder than words anyway. I figured that, by writing this
down, I could stop myself from forgetting that this really happened.
Looking back at it feels almost like another life, like something that
happened to someone else. But it was as real as real gets, and I don’t
want to imagine what would’ve happened if I hadn’t done as I did.
</p><p>
But sometimes I wonder - if my voice were to fully recover, who’s to say that it won’t come back?
</p><p>
What if there is still some kernel of it, living deep in the pit of my stomach?
</p><p>
</p><p>
Who’s to say I’m not still whispering things in the dead of night? </p><p>---</p><p><a href="https://www.reddit.com/user/Saturdead/">Credits</a> <br /></p>
</div><p></p>BlackGargiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10424804328231083456noreply@blogger.com0