The Pursuer

The last pale stripes of light were fading quickly behind the city’s expanse that evening. The street, still damp from a recent rain, glimmered thinly. The streetlights had not yet flickered to life, and the street was hanging suspended in that breathless squinting moment between light and dark.

I was on my way home from what had been a difficult job, leaving me exhausted and grim. I took long steps, my hands balled into fists, shoved deep into my pockets. It was chilly. Not a biting cold, but a murmuring one. A cold that sent its pallid hands lightly creeping along your skin, whispers of touch that raised goosepimples, hair and suspicion. I felt my heart rate quicken, my breathing become labored. I paused, eyes fluttered shut, and I heard the muted crunch of a single footstep behind me. Then nothing.

There was someone following me.

I set off at a dead run, all springs and gears turning, and now there was no mistaking it. I most certainly had a pursuer. I didn’t look back, I only ran. My feet slapped pavement hard, jarring. We ran together, my pursuer and I, a manic, high-stakes dance. Through side streets, back alleys and over garbage cans. Finally we reached my street, I jumped one-handed over a fence, through a back yard and ran to my front stoop. I reached my front door, a mad scramble with my keys. I knew, if I could only make it to the basement before I was caught, I would be home free.

I ran to my basement door, shoved it open, then tore down the stairs, jumping down the last two steps before hiding into the shadows.

My pursuer slowed as he crept down the steps of my basement, each foot fall descending him further into the murky gloom. A weak ray of light shining down the basement stairs allowed me to see my pursuer’s hand brushing and feeling his way along the cold basement wall, searching for a light switch. I heard his every breath, ragged, heavy and wet.

As his hand met with the light switch, he quickly flicked it on.

I watched as the man in the blue uniform stood frozen in terror as his gaze swept over the room. From the blood stained walls to the gory freezer in the corner to what was left of my previous dinner on the surgical table.

He didn’t hear me creep up behind him, but he must’ve felt the throbbing bulge in my pants as I emptied a full syringe into the flesh of his neck. “Well, officer,” I whispered into the policeman’s ear as his body went limp “looks like you’ve solved this case.”

A maniacal grin crept its way across my lips.

---

(source: http://www.creepypastaindex.com/creepypasta/the-pursuer)

New Year's Quotes, Stories and Prayers

What’s in a Name?. . . . . . . . . . . . .Complete Speaker’s Almanac, p. 22

"Here we are in a month named after the Roman god Janus, an appropriate personification of the start of the new year. This particular Roman god had two faces so that he could look ahead toward the future and back at the past at the same time. As we get rid of an old year and look forward to a new one, we all try to be a little like Janus. We know through experience what we did wrong and what we did right, and hope to do better this year. Some people make ambitious new year’s resolutions; others just take a deep breath and hope for the best.…"

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To Start A New Year. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous

"A new year is unfolding—like a blossom with petals curled tightly concealing the beauty within.

Lord, let this year be filled with the things that are truly good—with the comfort of warmth in our relationships, with the strength to help those who need our help and the humility and openness to accept help from others.

As we make our resolutions for the year ahead, let us go forward with great hope that all things can be possible—with Your help and guidance."

---

Recipe for a Happy New Year. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous

Take twelve fine, full-grown months; see that these are thoroughly free from old memories of bitterness, rancor and hate, cleanse them completely from every clinging spite; pick off all specks of pettiness and littleness; in short, see that these months are freed from all the past—have them fresh and clean as when they first came from the great storehouse of Time. Cut these months into thirty or thirty-one equal parts. Do not attempt to make up the whole batch at one time (so many persons spoil the entire lot this way) but prepare one day at a time.

Into each day put equal parts of faith, patience, courage, work (some people omit this ingredient and so spoil the flavor of the rest), hope, fidelity, liberality, kindness, rest (leaving this out is like leaving the oil out of the salad dressing— don’t do it), prayer, meditation, and one well-selected resolution. Put in about one teaspoonful of good spirits, a dash of fun, a pinch of folly, a sprinkling of play, and a heaping cupful of good humor.

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I Am the New Year. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Bible Illustrator

I am the new year. I am an unspoiled page in your book of time.

I am your next chance at the art of living. I am your opportunity to practice what you have learned about life during the last twelve months.

All that you sought and didn’t find is hidden in me, waiting for you to search it but with more determination.

All the good that you tried for and didn’t achieve is mine to grant when you have fewer conflicting desires.

All that you dreamed but didn’t dare to do, all that you hoped but did not will, all the faith that you claimed but did not have—these slumber lightly, waiting to be awakened by the touch of a strong purpose.

I am your opportunity to renew your allegiance to Him who said, "Behold, I make all things new."

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A Year of Time. . . . . . . . . . . . Steven B. Cloud, Pulpit Helps, Vol. 14, # 2

…Though even thinking on the subject of time may prove discomforting, it is not a bad idea—especially at the beginning of a new year.

As we look into we look at a block of time. We see 12 months, 52 weeks, 365 days, 8,760 hours, 525,600 minutes, 31,536,000 seconds. And all is a gift from God. We have done nothing to deserve it, earn it, or purchased it. Like the air we breathe, time comes to us as a part of life.

The gift of time is not ours alone. It is given equally to each person. Rich and poor, educated and ignorant, strong and weak—every man, woman and child has the same twenty-four hours every day.

Another important thing about time is that you cannot stop it. There is no way to slow it down, turn it off, or adjust it. Time marches on.

And you cannot bring back time. Once it is gone, it is gone. Yesterday is lost forever. If yesterday is lost, tomorrow is uncertain. We may look ahead at a full year’s block of time, but we really have no guarantee that we will experience any of it.

Obviously, time is one of our most precious possessions. We can waste it. We can worry over it. We can spend it on ourselves. Or, as good stewards, we can invest it in the kingdom of God.

The new year is full of time. As the seconds tick away, will you be tossing time out the window, or will you make every minute count?

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Time for New Beginnings. . . . . . . . . . . Taylor Addison, Blue Mountain Arts, 1989

"This is a time for reflection as well as celebration.

As you look back on the past year and all that has taken place in your life,

Remember each experience for the good that has come of it
and for the knowledge you have gained.

Remember the efforts you have made and the goals you have reached.

Remember the love you have shared and the happiness you have brought.

Remember the laughter, the joy, the hard work, and the tears.

And as you reflect on the past year, also be thinking of the new one to come.

Because most importantly, this is a time of new beginnings
and the celebration of life."

---

A New Year’s Prayer. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous

Dear Lord, please give me…
A few friends who understand me and remain my friends;
A work to do which has real value,
without which the world would be the poorer;
A mind unafraid to travel, even though the trail be not blazed;
An understanding heart;
A sense of humor;
Time for quiet, silent meditation;
A feeling of the presence of God;
The patience to wait for the coming of these things,
With the wisdom to recognize them when they come. Amen.

---

A New Year. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . William Arthur Ward

Another fresh new year is here …
Another year to live!
To banish worry, doubt, and fear,
To love and laugh and give!

This bright new year is given me
To live each day with zest …
To daily grow and try to be
My highest and my best!

I have the opportunity
Once more to right some wrongs,
To pray for peace, to plant a tree,
And sing more joyful songs!

---

A New Year’s Prayer

May God make your year a happy one!
Not by shielding you from all sorrows and pain,
But by strengthening you to bear it, as it comes;
Not by making your path easy,
But by making you sturdy to travel any path;
Not by taking hardships from you,
But by taking fear from your heart;
Not by granting you unbroken sunshine,
But by keeping your face bright, even in the shadows;
Not by making your life always pleasant,
But by showing you when people and their causes need you most,
and by making you anxious to be there to help.
God’s love, peace, hope and joy to you for the year ahead.

---

A Prayer for the New Year

Come, Holy Spirit,
Spirit of the Risen Christ, be with us today and always.
Be our Light, our Guide, and our Comforter.
Be our Strength, our Courage, and our Sanctifier.
May this new year be a time of deep spiritual growth for us,
A time of welcoming your graces and gifts,
A time for forgiving freely and unconditionally,
A time for growing in virtue and goodness.

Come, Holy Spirit,
Be with us today and always. Amen.

---

"A Morning Wish". . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . W.R. Hunt

"The sun is just rising on the morning of another day, the first day of the new year. What can I wish that this day, that this year, may bring to me?

Nothing that shall make the world of others poorer, nothing at the expense of others; but just those few things which in their coming do not stop with me but touch me rather, as they pass and gather strength:

• A few friends who understand me, and yet remain my friends.
• A work to do which has real value without which the world would feel the poorer.
• A return for such work small enough not to tax unduly anyone who pays.
• A mind unafraid to travel, even though the trail be not blazed.
• An understanding heart.
• A sight of the eternal hills and unbelting sea, and of something beautiful the individual hand has made.
• A sense of humor and the power to laugh.
• A little leisure with nothing to do.
• A few moments of quiet, silent meditation. The sense of the presence of God.
• And the patience to wait for the coming of these things, with the wisdom to know them when they come."

Guide words: An Anthology of Inspiration and Humor, p. 13

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New Year’s Message

"I asked the New Year for some message sweet,
Some rule of life with which to guide my feet;
I asked, and paused: it answered soft and low,
‘God’s will to know.’

‘Will knowledge then suffice, New Year?’ Aloud I cried.
And, ere the question into silence died,
The answer came, ‘Nay, but remember, too
God’s will to do.’

Once more I asked, ‘Is there no more to tell?’
And once again the answer sweetly fell,
‘Yes! this thing, all other things above:
God’s will to love.’"

Guidewords: An Anthology of Inspiration and Humor

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New Year’s Prayer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anonymous

"Heavenly Father, for this coming year
Just one request I bring.

I do not pray for happiness or any earthly thing.
I do not ask to understand the way you lead me;
But this I ask—teach me to do the thing that pleases You.
I want to know Your guiding voice,
To walk with you each day.

Heavenly Father,
Make me swift to hear and ready to obey;
And thus the year I now begin
A happy year will be,

If I am seeking just to do
The thing that pleases You."

---

A Prayer for the New Year

Come, Holy Spirit,
Spirit of the Risen Christ,
Be with us today and always.
Be our Light, our Guide,
And our Comforter.
Be our Strength, our Courage,
And our Sanctifier.

May this new year be a time
Of deep spiritual growth for us,
A time of welcoming
Your graces and gifts,
A time for forgiving freely
And unconditionally,
A time for growing
In virtue and goodness.

Come, Holy Spirit,
Be with us today and always.
Amen.

---

Pacem in Terris

Pope John XXIII, 4/11/63

"May He banish from the hearts of all men and women whatever might endanger peace.

May He transform them into witnesses of truth, justice and love.

May He enkindle the rulers of peoples so that in addition to their solicitude for the proper welfare of their citizens, they may guarantee and defend the great gift of peace.

May He enkindle the wills of all so that they may overcome the barriers that divide, cherish the bonds of mutual charity, understand others, and pardon those who have done them wrong.

May all peoples of the earth become as brothers and sisters, and may the most longed-for peace blossom forth and reign always among men and women."

Taken from Appleseeds.org

Interference

Let me start by saying that this is a very true story from my childhood, and if you visit the big library in the Nottingham City Centre, and check out their newspaper records, you will actually find information about the events detailed here.

This story takes place around 15 or 16 years ago. I was just 7 years old, and my cousin Dale, was around 9, maybe 10. He was staying with me while his mother was away looking after a sick relative. Since I was an only child, I didn’t have many toys, and my Sega Genesis was busted, and so we didn’t have much things to do that were entertaining.

Our days consisted of watching cartoons on our cable television, followed by Dale teling me scary ghost stories at it turned night-time. My mother, sympathysing with us, and wanting us to do something more active decided to purchase a pair of walkie talkies for us to play with. We had fun with them, journeying to a neighbouring Strelley Village, and hiding far apart in the woods, while the other person would try and find them by using the walkie talkie. Since we were quite young however, we weren’t allowed out of the house for very long, and so we had to be home by 5pm. We returned home later (about 6) and had our dinner. By this time it was around 7pm. We decided we would call it a night, and packed all of our toys away and got ready for bed.

However, we didn’t pack the walkie talkies away. Dale was staying in the spare room, and I had my own room, and so we planned to talk to each other through the walkie talkies until we fell asleep. That’s when we heard the thing that would change us forever. It was about 11 at night, and we had been telling ghost stories over the walkie talkies for hours. All of a sudden, whilst Dale was telling me a story about a monster that supposedly haunts the same woods we had been at earlier in the day, his voice was cut off, and replaced with the usual static noise the walkie talkies produced when the talker had accidently let go of the button used to speak. I waited for a few seconds for Dale to carry on speaking, when I heard a faint mumble coming from the small speaker. “That’s odd.” I thought. The speaker was still emitting static, but I could definately hear some kind of movement and speech.

All of a sudden, the sound of crying could be heard through the static. This was very creepy to me, and so I dived out of my bed, and rushed to the room Dale was staying in. He was sat bolt upright in bed, also listening to his walkie talkie, which was emitting the same sounds, if not a second or so behind mine. The crying grew louder. “What is that?” Dale asked. “I thought you were playing a prank.” When I told him I wasn’t, his face dropped. He switched his off. The sound still emitted from the walkie talkie I was holding in my hand, making it impossible for my walkie talkie to be picking up sound from his. “This is creepy” said Dale. The crying and mumbles through the static seemed to get slightly clearer, and louder. I switched mine off too and went back to bed.

All kinds of ideas were flowing through my head. Perhaps I was picking up the sounds of the afterlife? Perhaps my walkie talkie were simply broken and producing weird sounds that just sounded like crying and mumbling? I tried not to think anything of it, and went to sleep.

I was awoken the next day by a massive bang which seemed to be coming from downstairs. It was around 6 in the morning, and I rushed downstairs to find my mother and cousin Dale looking out of the living room window at our neighbours house next door. A large police van had pulled up outside, and our neighbour Jessie was being led outside by several officers. She was screaming profanities and insults, and even tried to run from the officers at one point before being pushed into the back of the van and handcuffed. We were shocked by what had happened, and generally confused. Jessie had been a new neighbour, recently moving into the house next door with her baby after our old neighbour had died of old age. She had kept herself to herself, and as far as we had known she was very quiet, and didn’t seem like the type of person that would be arrested for any reason.

It wasn’t until the next day when we recieved our daily newspaper that we found out what had happened. Jessie had murdered her baby after apparently seeing horrible apparitions of an elderly person in her house that had tormented her for weeks and she had finally snapped and turned loopy. This wasn’t the disturbing part though. The disturbing part was that fact that the baby monitor in the room the murder took place had been switched on during the murder.

My cousin and I had heard everything.

—
Credits to: Elmarco

The Little Girl in the Red Cape

A little girl’s parents went out for a business dinner so they hired a babysitter to watch her.

“Can I have some ice cream?” the little girl, Holly asked after supper.

“Sure” the babysitter, Beatrice said. “Where’s the freezer?”

“In the basement, so are the nuts, cherries and candy and stuff.”

When she went down to get the ice cream, she looked out the window to see a little girl standing outside. This didn’t strike her as too suspicious and she simply brushed it off.

After she had given Holly her ice cream, Holly asked, “Can I have some hot fudge on this, please?”

“Course,” was the quick reply.

After Beatrice went back down into the basement to retrieve the hot fudge, she looked back out the window to see the same little girl, only wearing a red cape. She absentmindedly wondered if the girl was playing dress-up as she trudged back upstairs.

“Got it,” she deadpanned after setting the hot fudge in the microwave and putting the thick chocolate goop on the ice cream.

“Can I please have some nuts on this please…?”

“Really?”

“Puh-lease?”

“Fine…” she sighed already heading back down the stairs. As she got the nuts out of a small cabinet in the wall she looked back out the window to see the same little girl in the red cape, holding a knife.

As she ran upstairs she decided she was calling the police.

“Ooh Thank you!” Holly squealed happily from her perch on her pink Disney Princess booster seat.

“Uh-I-I yeah. Hey, Holly, I need you to-“

“Oh no! Can I have a cherry on top, please?”

Not wanting to alarm Holly, she decided that she would go get the cherries, then call the police after locking herself and Holly in the bathroom. There’s no way the little girl could get inside if the windows and doors were all locked.

After slowly descending down the stairs, she opened the freezer with shaky arms. Daring to peek out of the window, she closed her eyes before staring out it. The same little girl, in the same red cape, holding the same knife was there. Only the knife now had blood on it.

Running up the stairs, scared of what might await, she checked on Holly. Holly was dead, a small pool of blood forming on the floor under her. She ran into the bathroom and locked the door behind her before dialing 911.

When the police arrived, the tearful mother and father were with them. The mother approached Beatrice, sobbing uncontrollably. “What happened?”

“Oh God- I’m sorry oh God! I-I saw this little girl with this red cape and a knife outside your basement window!”

The mother said, “We-we don’t have any basement windows, only mirrors…”

---

(source: http://www.creepypastaindex.com/creepypasta/the-little-girl-in-the-red-cape)

Lightning

We had just moved into a little ranch house in the suburbs. Storybook neighborhood – quiet, friendly neighbors, picket fences, the whole nine yards. Suffice it to say that this was supposed to be a new start for me, a recently single dad, and my three-year-old son. A time to move on from the previous year’s drama and stress.

I viewed the thunderstorm as a metaphor for this fresh start: one last show of theatrics before the dirt and grime of the past would be washed away. My son loved it anyway, even with the power out. It was the first big storm he’d ever seen. Flashes of lightning flooded the bare rooms of our house, imparting unpacked boxes with long creeping shadows, and he jumped and squealed as the thunder boomed. It was well past his bedtime before he’d finally settled down enough to go to sleep.

The next morning I found him awake in bed and smiling. “I watched the lightning at my window!” he proudly announced.

A few mornings later, he told me the same thing. “You’re silly,” I said. “It didn’t storm last night, you were only dreaming!” “Oh…” He seemed somewhat disheartened. I ruffled his hair and told him not to worry, there should be another storm soon.

Then it became a pattern. He would tell me how he watched the lightning outside his window at least twice a week, despite there being no storms. Recurring dreams of that first memorable thunderstorm, I figured.

It’s easy to hate myself in hindsight. Everybody assures me there’s nothing I could have done, no way I could have known. But I’m supposed to be the guardian of my child, and these are useless words of comfort. I constantly relive that morning: making my coffee, pouring milk over my cereal, and picking up the newspaper to read about the pedophile local authorities had just arrested. It was front-page stuff. Apparently this guy would select a young target (usually a boy), stake out their house for a while, and take flash photos of them through their window while they slept. Sometimes he did more. My stomach sank as the connection was made.

At the time, it was merely something from a child’s imagination. In retrospect, it is the scariest thing I’ve ever heard. About a week before the predator was caught, my son came up to me in his pajamas. “Guess what?” he asked.

“What?”

“No more lightning at my window!”

I played along. “Oh, that’s nice, it finally died down huh?”

“No! Now it’s in my closet!”

I’ve yet to see the photos police have collected.

—
Credits to: alapanamo

"Kevin"

What I’m about to say is true, or at least that’s what I think. It’s been so long and my parents have done all they could to convince me it didn’t. After that day, I never told a soul about the whole thing. Well, that is until now.

Let me see what I remember. I was about five or six years old at the time. My parents suggested I participate in an after school program that was going on. They said it would be a perfect way for me to socialize with other kids, since I was quite a loner and I kept to myself. Well, that’s what they said; but I knew their true intentions. My parents were both working overtime by the Fall to help make ends meet. They couldn’t afford to pay the usual babysitter I’d have from about 3:15 to about 8PM when I’d usually be in bed and they weren’t sure how they felt about me being around my so-called “sketchy” neighbors.

The program, to my memory, would start once the last bus left and we’d all go off to a classroom to do our homework with a provided snack until we were done and go off to do activities of some sort—like crafts or whatever until about 6PM when our parents would pick us up. But enough of that. I was in a room one day, doing my work with a pack of fruit gummies by me when my eyes landed on a kid sitting across from me. I heard he had a peculiar eating habit, but I never noticed it until then. He would arrange his food by color and made sure nothing was touching.

I’m not sure why I never took notice of him before, especially since he had a unique look if you will which got him the nickname “Sticks”. He was on the tall side, one of the taller kids in our grade, and pretty pale and skinny. He wasn’t so thin to where you could see his ribs, but it looked like he was just skin and bones, not much meat on him at all. He had these dark eyes that hid behind circular glasses and thick dark red hair. All of that aside, I still can’t remember what got me to move to the empty desk next to him. I’ll just say it was his Spiderman backpack to save time. We spent the rest of the day talking about shit 6 year olds did and we were pretty bummed out when we saw our parents out front, but made a note of where to meet at lunch so we pick up where our talk ended. His name was Brian.

Weeks went by and the two of us became attached at the hip. Because we got so close, my parents eventually came around and let me go to his house until my parents go off of work and would pick me up. Some nights would result in me being allowed to stay over his house where we’d try to be quiet enough to play Super Mario Bros. and Contra on his brother’s NES. One night over that was the strongest for me was the same old thing; video games, watching cartoons and taking turns reading stuff from “Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark”. When the morning hours arrived, the two of us were playing in his backyard while his mom was getting breakfast together. What happened next still confuses me today.

We were on a swing and from out of nowhere, Brian started laughing. When I asked him what he what was so funny, he told me he remembered a joke that someone named Kevin had told him. Confused, I asked him who Kevin was and what the joke was; he told me Kevin was a friend he met some time ago. I was taken aback by the joke at first, not understanding of it until I got older. I shrugged the whole thing off and we went about the rest of our day.

Time went onward and Brian and I were growing apart, or he was ignoring me. I’d go over his house to see if he wanted to do something like watch movies or ride our bikes, but he’d just tell me that Kevin was over and he couldn’t make room. He said Kevin had abandonment issues and didn’t like to feel like a third wheel. Whenever we’d run into each other at school and I’d ask if he wanted to do anything—he’d mention Kevin. Kevin would be at lunch and he didn’t like other people around. I got annoyed and went about my day. At lunch that day, I saw Brian alone at his old table and I got really pissed off. I figured he didn’t wan to man up and tell me why he didn’t want to be friends anymore so he resorted to that.

I don’t remember when it was, but I was at recess one day by myself; just playing with a stick in the dirt by the old basketball hoop at the opposite side of the grounds. From out of nowhere, Brian sat down next to me. In a pretty angry tone, I busted his ass saying he shouldn’t talk to me since he might make Kevin jealous.

"I’m sorry, Max." he explained "I never meant for anything to happen."

"Whatever." I sighed "Just go. Clearly we’re not friends if you’re too busy with imaginary ones."

"I never said I didn’t want to not be friends anymore." He said "It’s not my fault. It’s Kevin’s."

"Whatever." I sighed again.

"Listen to me," he pleaded "Kevin hasn’t always been like this. He used to be really nice. He was so fun to be around when my brother was in college. But then he just got mean and he told me he didn’t want me to see you. He didn’t want me to need anyone else but him."

"You’re talking crazy." I said. At this point I wanted the conversation to be done with. Brian had been pissing me off enough as it was and why he even bothered to talk to me made me more pissed off.

"You have to believe me, Max!" he plead again "Nobody else will. I haven’t been able to tell anyone because Kevin has always been over my shoulder."

"Oh yeah?" I inquired, raising a brow "Well where is he now?"

"We were playing a game." He told me "We’re playing hide and seek and I let him hide first."

I started to tune him out and hoped if I ignored him enough that he’d go away. That’s all I wanted. I just wanted him to go away.

"If he knows I told you…" he started "He said if I ever told anyone what he’s done or leave him, he’d do bad things. I’m scared, Max."

"How can something hurt you if it’s not real?" I asked "I mean if you made him, he can’t hurt you."

"I didn’t say he was wasn’t real." he said in an almost whisper, choked up with fear. "I thought he was at first. I was so alone that I guess my mind made him up. But then he got strong and I couldn’t do anything to stop him. He got really mad the day you came over with your bike. So mad that he smashed my TV. I’m afraid, Max. I don’t know how to stop him."

"Sticks, are you okay?" I asked, suddenly concerned. Not so much about him at the time in general, but his mental health.

"Oh no." he said, with the same fearful voice. "He’s over by the door…I have to go!"

"Wait!" I called to him.

He just kept running for the door and he stayed there until the bell rang and we’d go inside. I wish I knew what he was talking about so I could have helped, but I didn’t get to. He must have been so spooked if he was one of the first out of the school. I tried to call him afterwards, but he didn’t want to talk. I let him be and knew I’d try to make things right the next morning.

The day was memorable. The skies were this shade of gray that was common for this time of the year and the air was cool. We just had our first snowfall of the year and my mother made sure I was well bundled before sending me off to the bus stop. I walked over with the usual group of kids in the area and we made our way over to Brian’s to see if he was ready. When we made the corner to his house, there were police cars swarmed around. We got up close before the bright yellow tape blocked us off. I asked an officer what happened, and he told me simply to step back.

Brian’s parents were standing on the porch, hysterical. Brian himself was nowhere in sight. I wasn’t sure how to even process what was going on until a kid pulled on my jacket and pointed to the side of the house where Brian’s window was. It was wide open and there were footsteps trailing away from it. Not like foot prints made with shoes, but…feet. Bare feet. They also didn’t look like normal sized feet..no. They looked monstrous. Enormous, even from where I was standing. But even then, they didn’t look like prints from a person, but an animal—but none that looked familiar to me from my animal tracking book.

From what I vaguely recall on the news, Brian’s parents tucked him into bed and went to sleep. When they went to wake him up, he was gone. His bed was unmade and the window was wide open. There looked like there was no sign of forced entry, which lead police to have his parents listed as the lead suspects, but they weren’t able to describe the footprints in the snow. He was never seen again.

My parents would reassure me that he would be found and come home safely. I mentioned Kevin to them and they just assumed he was this imaginary friend of mine. A monster I made up as a way to explain why Brian was missing. They did their damnedest to convince me that Kevin wasn’t real, but the more the days went by, the more I became a believer of Brian’s story. My parents eventually put me in therapy, where they told me Kevin is just a coping mechanism on dealing with the trauma of my best friend being gone. The case eventually went cold, despite an incident that we thought would provide answers—but ultimately brought us to another frozen dead end.

By the time I was in the 5th grade, I forgot about Brian and that night…until now. I could have sworn I saw those footprints again, leading to the bedroom window of my childhood home. Someone left the window open.

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http://sirchubbybunny.tumblr.com/post/66771860823/kevin