There’s this old ghost story that I used to tell. When I was six, my dad promised he would play catch with me; we always would play catch. I stood out in the lawn waiting for him for half an hour. He was inside having a fight with my mother over god-knows-what. He came out of the house got down on his knees. He said, “Sorry buddy; Daddy can’t play catch today.” He got into his car and drove off. I was a frustrated six year old and tossed my baseball into the forest behind my backyard. Then the ball came back. I tossed the ball back and forth for maybe an hour. I was so happy I had someone to play catch with. I threw the ball in once and it didn’t come back, so I walked into the forest looking for whoever had played catch with me. I found my ball laying in the dirt, and I couldn’t see anyone around me. I yelled a “hello” into the forest, but there was no response.
Today, I found this in my mailbox. A letter from a retired police officer who used to patrol around my childhood neighborhood. The envelope had a note written on it: “Sorry kid, but I think you have to know.” Inside the letter were four diary entries from my old neighbor.
My therapist says I should use a diary to vent some of my issues. So, here I write doing just that. I guess I should start by recording some of my childhood demons on the page. My father was an abusive drunkard; my mother was what he liked to call a “whore”. They never cared much for me. They usually just fought. They fought until one day, Dad crushed Mom’s skull with a baseball bat. I saw it happen through my the cracks of my bedroom door. I still see the image of my dead mother whenever I close my eyes, as if have the picture burned into the inside of my eyelids. Then Dad went to jail and was later given a lethal injection on state’s ruling. He deserved what he got, and who’s to say she deserved it too. I feel like my childhood has put a weight on my back, that I will never lift, but sometimes I don’t even want to try.
-Nathan [I’m not writing his last name]
I saw the family next door, today. They seemed so happy. The mother kissed the father, then he went to play catch with his son. Why should he be so lucky? What gives him the right to go outside and feel safe and be happy? I never did. I was never lucky. I was never happy. Why do I have to walk around broken, missing pieces of my life that I’ll never understand? Why does he get to play catch? I never got to play catch.
-Nathan
My old dreams of my mother have been replaced. Now, I dream of going to that neighbor boy’s house, busting his mother’s head open and making him watch her skull drain and spill whatever leaks out. I want to show him what I saw. I want to make him feel what I do. I want to take him back to my house and make sure he never feels safe ever again. I will; I think I will tomorrow.
-Nathan
I couldn’t do it. I stood outside of his house in the shade of some bushes in his backyard. I held a hammer in my cold leather gloves. I waited for his father to come out so they could start playing catch. I waited, but his father stayed inside. I heard yelling. I heard the hurtful things that his parents said to one and other. I saw the boy sit on the house’s small back patio, throwing the ball in the air and catching it. I saw the boy’s father walk out from their home and talk to the boy and drive away. I began to walk out to the boy’s home, but I felt something hit my chest. It was his baseball. I picked it up from the dirt and threw it back. He caught the ball in his mitten and threw it back at me. I caught it. He was smiling. He was smiling at me. I had begun to play catch with him. It felt so good. I began to cry. I hadn’t cried in such a long time. I forgot the sensation of tears flowing down my cheeks. It felt so right. I ran back through the woods, and I heard him calling to me,”Hello? Hello?”, but I kept running. Now, I stand here with a noose around my neck. I feel the rope rubbing against my neck, and I know I will die tonight, but when I close my eyes all I see is the boy and his baseball. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy before in my life.
-Nathan
I looked up my neighbor’s name, and sure enough, he died the day I threw my ball into the woods. They found him hung on a noose, with his diary nearby. I read these entries and now I believe some truths should be left untold, and some ghost stories should stay what they are, ghost stories.
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Credits to: Reddit user NocturnalPoster
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