Possessed

When I was 8, I attended a family party at my aunt’s house which was on top of a hill. Her backyard consisted of this huge downward sloping garden with lots of trees everywhere. I grew up with a lot of cousins who were around the same age as me, and that day, we all decided to play around and explore the backyard—we climbed trees, collected bugs, played hide & seek, etc. 

Everyone who came to the party that day was completely healthy. The weather was nice, food was good. There was a small chance for anyone to get sick from the party…however, during the drive home that night, I started to feel nauseous. I used to get carsick a lot when I was little, so I thought it would pass once I got home. The thing is, I live 15 minutes away from my aunt; the nausea was not from being carsick, and it didn’t go away when I got home.

In fact, my mom (who left the party early and was already home by the time my cousin dropped me off) said that when I got home, I acted very strange. I was totally silent despite the fact that I had been hyper and talkative that whole day. I didn’t say a word to my parents, not even a hello or a kiss on the cheek to greet them like I always did. I walked right past them and just sat on a chair on my patio outside for about an hour. That whole time, I didn’t do anything on that chair. Just sat. From what I remember, I eventually I got up out the chair, threw up water, then fell asleep.

I was too sick to go to school the next day. My mom is a nurse, so she knew whether or not I needed to visit a pediatrician to explain/treat my sickness. I didn’t. 

She did, however, call upon a different kind of doctor: a “witch doctor”. This witch doctor lives all the way in the Philippines, aka the other side of the world. My mom had my grandma in the Philippines give the doctor a picture of me and then told him general information about me like my name and birthday. The witch doctor then put my photo on this shrine in his home, said a prayer, and dipped melted candle wax into a bowl of water which formed the shape of a girl. Almost immediately after this prayer, which took place thousands of miles away from me, I felt better and the nausea was gone. The power of prayer. (Many people actually do practice the magic of candle burning and prayers in wax, you can try it if you research it.)

Apparently, the witch doctor said the reason why I got sick was because there was a spirit of a young girl in my aunt’s backyard that wanted to play with me and my cousins, and in order to do so, she “went inside” of me and basically took over my body. That also explains my weird behavior and the formation of a girl in the water bowl. The prayer he did drove the spirit away from my body. 

Ever since this incident, I stopped going to my aunt’s garden. Who knows what’s still down there, playing beneath the trees.

---

unexplained-events

Slenderman

After waking up with a jolt, the girl laid in bed a few seconds longer. Reaching over to switch on her bedside lamp, she tried to remember exactly what had stolen her sweet slumber away. When she couldn’t, the brunette swung her legs over the side of the bed and heaved herself up. Checking the time on her phone, she snorted when she saw it was midnight- the witching hour. Knowing that sleep would only evade her, she left her bedroom for the kitchen, a good cup of coffee on her mind.

As she passed by her front door, a chill spread like liquid fire down her spine. It’s only winter, she told herself, focusing again on the coffee plan. Measuring out scoops, water, and preparing her cup kept her occupied, but as the dark liquid boiled, she had nothing left to keep her mind from wandering off. The chill returned and she couldn’t help but glance behind her to the front door. It stood there innocently enough, just like always. The dead bolt was still in place and she could see nothing amiss with it. Turning back to her coffee, she did her best to forget about the feeling.

With her cup in hand, she started back towards her bedroom. As she walked by the front door, she decided that a quick glance out of the peep hole would help calm her restless mind. The chill worsened with each step she took towards the door and further away from the safety and warmth of her blankets. She pressed her empty hand against the cold, metal door and took a deep breath before leading her eye to the peep hole.

At first, she could only see an inky blackness and somehow seemed to swirl in itself. When she blinked in surprise, the void melted away. She wished it hadn’t. In it’s place, there stood what she could only guess was once a man. The limbs were long and inhumanly awkward, with bulky joints branching off into several arms, not unlike the branches of a tree. The creature was drapped in a black suit, somehow manking the thing more nightmarish to her. The icing on the proverbial cake, however, was what passed as the hellish thing’s face. It was as though her mind blurred the ghastly visage to spare itself further shock and horror.

She shoved herself away from the door with the hand still pressed against it. The scalding mug of coffee fell, the liquid burning her bare legs as she fell backwards and tried to crawl away from the door. She knew, somehow, that her mind hadn’t been playing tricks on her. As she crab walked away from the door, she watched as tendrels as black as the void she first saw snake around through the cracks. The girl was trapped between the instinct to flee and the gut feeling to not turn her back on the door. When the door jolted, the urge to flee overcame her and she slipped in the burning liquid as she tried to make it back to her room.

She knew deep down that she was trapping herself in a corner, but she had to get away from the door. The girl was halfway down the hallway when she heard the previously locked door creak open. She screamed and slipped into a wall, cracking her chin on it and stunning her.

After that, there was only blackness.

–

“Nicole?” a warm, male voice snapped the woman out of her trance. As she turned around, she was met by one of her sister’s doctor’s. She nodded, not sure if she should say anything, or even if she could find her voice if she did have something to say. That morning, she had gotten an urgent phone call from the hospital, saying that her sister, Lindsay, was there. Before they had even let her see her, the doctor’s had pulled her off to the side and insisted that they talk to her about what might have happened. Phrases like ‘self-inflected’ and ‘assault’ had been thrown around and Nicole felt her mind reel.

She still hadn’t fully understood what they had been saying until she saw Lindsay with her own eyes. Her little sister had a bandage wrapped around her head, covering both of her ears as well as her eyes. They said it was to keep her now deadened eyes from drying out and to try to keep infection out of the wounds Lindsay had made to her ears. The doctors had guessed that either she or someone else had jammed a pencil into them to keep her off balance or to deafen herself against something. There was the mix of first and second degree burns on her hands, legs, and feet, from what was assumed to be the coffee her neighbors found slipped all over the entry to her apartment.

As Nicole walked into her sister’s hospital room the first time, she thought she had spied the silhouette of a man in the window. That, she knew, was impossible. Her sister’s room was on the third story of the hospital.

Why Choose One?

As I lie there, I look into the eyes of my boyfriend while he stares back at me with a look that once meant love and comfort.

Turning over, I see the face of the other man who swept me off my feet and that same warm, embracing smile now turned cold.

They told me to choose, to decide between them…and I chose both.

Now as they both lay cold and silent in my bed, I smile, realizing that I don’t ever have to leave either of them.

—

http://fifteenhours-creepystories.tumblr.com/

Willow Men

There’s a local legend where I come from. They’re simply referred to as the willow men.

There’s hardly a need for the law enforcement in this town. The willow men take care of all that. Every single step taken, every word spoken, every drop of blood spilt.. The willow men know about it before anyone else. Believe me, anyone that has invoked the wrath of the willow men has gone missing without a trace.

That’s why when I realized what I had done it was too late. The willow men were coming.

She just wouldn’t shut the hell up. No matter what I said and what I would do she was just hysterical. She kept pacing about the house screaming. She said she found this and that and knew I was cheating on her. She’d ask me who it was and I told her she was crazy. I guess I wore that excuse out. After a while, I couldn’t take her damn voice anymore. I’d walk room to room and she’d follow me. When we got to the kitchen I had my fill.

I reached for the first knife I could find and jammed it into her throat. The face of anger and sorrow melted into one of despair and disbelief. The crimson fluid ran freely all over her blouse and she dropped to her knees, scrambling around on the floor. She clawed at the tile and made gurgling noises which only served to infuriate me. I grabbed an iron skillet that had been pre-heating on the stove and took a swing at her head. A wet crack followed the impact and while I didn’t need to keep going I did.

I lost count of the number of times I hit her but I had a good deal of blood on me. What was left of her head was being held together by thin particles of bone and blood continued to rush out. I dropped the skillet to the floor with a loud clang. I wish remorse could have followed so I would’ve felt a least a bit human but it didn’t. I was just happy to be rid of her. With a grunt I picked her body up off the floor and hoisted it unto my shoulder. Her face hung next to me, dead eyes staring with conviction. I could only chuckle. As soon as I got outside, I dropped the ragged heap onto the ground and went to find a shovel. That’s when I knew they were watching.

I could hear the whispers from the woods and in the corners of my eyes I could see them staring intently at my every move. Whenever I would look up to the woods I would find only gnarled trees staring back at me. I knew they were there. It was dusk by the time she was good and buried. I was drenched in sweat and it had made the blood stains on my clothes expand and turn orange. I looked back up to the woods and I saw them peering from behind the trees. Long, gnarled faces with hollow eyes and gaunt figures. I could only half see the faces as they chose to hide behind their precious trees but they were there. Watching, whispering…

“What are you staring for, bastards?! You heard her! I had to do it,” I yelled at them.

Was I expecting a response? I don’t know. They just continued to watch me from behind the trees. I spit on the ground and threw the shovel down. They would come for me under cover of darkness and I wasn’t going without a fight. I stole away into the house and prepared. I pushed couches and dressers in front of doorways. I nailed wooden boards haphazardly to cover all the windows. As the sun crept underneath the horizon a great trepidation settled in the pit of my stomach. Was it honestly nerves? I hated to think it was such a powerful fear that I would start breaking into an ice cold sweat. I loaded up my shotgun and reached for a bottle of whiskey. I forced down a mouthful and then another and slammed the rest of the bottle against the wall in frustration.

One door I left open. It was the back door that stared out to the woods. I put a chair down in front of it and sat, shotgun in my lap. They were still staring at me. The willow men. We stayed staring at one another for three days. Eventually, exhaustion began to get the best of me and I started to nod off. I tried desperately to keep my eyes open. For a foolish second I propped my head up with the shotgun so that it wouldn’t fall. I snapped back to reason and lifted my head high. Last thing I wanted to do was shoot myself. Had I known what was coming I probably should have.

I pushed myself to stay up for a few more hours. The day came and went and it was the dead of night before I knew it. They persisted behind the trees. I began to rationalize that if I closed my eyes for a second, I could have enough time to open them while the willow men were coming at me so I could take a few down. Smiling I did just that. Of course, its’ difficult to tell how long you were asleep. Could be a second, could be for days. I opened my eyes again and found I was still sitting in my chair with my shotgun in my lap. I snapped up when I saw that the willow men were no longer behind the trees. I flipped out and held the shotgun up, darting around barrel first. I took a few steps outside and tried to control my heavy breaths. I shook damn near uncontrollably and found it impossible to keep the gun steady.

I began to calm down when I didn’t see anything outside and began to return to my post when I stopped dead in my tracks. I felt tears well in my eyes and something began to push up and out of my throat. The willow men were peering from around the doorway and the sides of the house. I froze staring at their gnarled up faces and branch-like hands. I had to do something. I pulled the gun up and fired off a round. It managed to take out part of the door frame but it missed any of them altogether. I popped open the shotgun and madly grasped for a fresh shell in my pocket. I successfully reloaded it and lifted the gun back up.

The willow men continued to look at me from where they had been. I took careful aim this time and fired once more. Another shot hit the doorframe this time although closer to the willow men. I fumbled for a third round and as I did, I saw a large shadow cover me. Looking up, the willow men were upon me. I screamed and closed the barrel down on my thumb effectively severing it. Immediately after that, I lost all consciousness and collapsed.

When I awoke, it was ice cold. My vision began to return to me slowly and I could feel that I was being dragged. My heart sank when I looked around. Darkness stretched as far as the eye could see and I knew I was in the deepest part of the woods. Where my thumb had once been was black and swollen and had managed to numb up to my forearm. My ankles were in severe pain too but I didn’t know why. When I looked, I saw that they had been clearly snapped and the willow men were dragging me by my feet. I began to scream as loudly as possible for someone, anyone.

All I did was cause more willow men to appear and watch me from behind the strangest willow trees I’d ever seen. Their trunks were small and looked just like leather. The earth around them was red and moist yet where I was being dragged was dry, rugged land. I looked up to the canopy and wish I hadn’t. Skinless corpses hung down, blood dripping freely to feed what I now knew were flesh-bound trees. My screams were swallowed by the dark and my throat gave out, hoarse from the strain. In the silence, I heard a faint moaning.

I looked around to see if there was someone else here. Maybe some poor bastard who suffered my same fate. To my horror, I discovered the source of the moans. The bodies hanging on the branches of the trees were all still alive. Soon, I too would have my flesh torn asunder and be damned to hang up there and feed the hungry willow trees. There was nothing I could but accept my fate. The willow men had me.

By: Vel.

Resort Connection

Thoughts of Thai food from the place around the corner cluttered my concentration as lunchtime crept ever closer. No one makes hotel reservations in December. By now, virtually all rooms were booked and the best rates were a summer memory. Still, there is always a chance for a last minute booking so I waited, at the ready, for anything resembling a call.

Two clear tones signalled an incoming call. I glance at the clock. “Of course, just before I clocked out,” I thought to myself.

Putting on my dressiest phone voice I responded to the call. “Thank you for calling the reservation center, this afternoon. How may I help you?”

"I’m at the front desk of the Towers and they say our reservation has a problem" the woman explained, with a hint of desperation.

Forgetting about the proximity of lunch, I leapt into action. “I’m terribly sorry about the issue. Please tell me your name and the location you booked a stay at.”

"I’m Sandra Henshaw and I’m staying at The Bainbridge Towers and Resort," She replied.

Unsure of the location, I did a quick search in the computer. “Are you sure that the location you are staying at is one of our hotels? I can’t find it in the system.”

"I dialled the number provided by the desk," her tone sharpening.

"Where is the hotel located?" I query.

"Montserrat, it’s in the Caribbean."

I search again, for any hotel in the region, in an attempt to justify my pay. The news is not getting any better. At this point, I can only hope she is merciful.

"We don’t have any hotels in the region, Ms. Henshaw. Because there has obviously been some critical miscommunication please allow me to direct you to customer care where we will attempt to find a solution for your evening lodgings."

"You can’t be serious. I booked this over th—"

I grasped at my headsets as a powerful rumbling ricocheted in my eardrums. Whatever had caused that noise disrupted the line leaving only a low steady dial tone. I quickly checked my hearing, narrowly donning my gear in time to address the next call.

"Thank you for calling the reservation center this afternoon, how may I help you?" My voice is a distant canned vaudeville star as I struggle to focus on the customer’s reply.

"This is clearly unacceptable," the man’s voice full of intent and authority he continued in detail. "I have stayed at your company’s lodgings for nearly two decades. This is the only time I have ever arrived only to have the clerk inform me that the reservation was not completed properly. I’ve flown a great distance and hopped several islands. Would you please just get me into my room?!"

"Would you be attempting to check into the Bainbridge Towers and Resort, Sir?" I asked, fearing the start of an epic computerized clusterfuck.

"Yes, I am. I saw the commercial for the opening during last year’s finale of Friends and decided to book on a whim. My family was overdue for a summer getaway," he continued - clearly frustrated at having to explain himself.

"Um sir, what time of the year did you say it was?" I asked as my brain started to nit-pick what he told me.
"Today is July 18th and instead of relaxing poolside with my kids we are currently standing in the lobby of a hotel in a foreign country with no place to stay. You need to fix this," he said with a slowly raising voice.

"Well, according to my computer I-"

"I don’t care what your computer says - be creative and think of som-" the abrupt end of his voice was followed by another thunderous rolling roar through me headset. My fingers vibrated as I used them to shield my ears, reacting quick enough this time to avoid the same inner ear ringing as last time.

On a second hearing, I detect anguished screams from a panicked crowd. It’s muffled but I can hear dozens of voices cry out for assistance. Someone in the distance is providing reassurance and then silence engulfs the line.

Barely able to process, I take the next call on instinct. It’s only half-way through the customer’s complaint I regain focus at the sound of the phrase “Bainbridge Towers and Resort.”

"Miss …."

"Geraldine."

"Miss Geraldine, is there any type of disaster occurring in the lobby? Anything that sounds like hell’s bowels exploding in surround sound," I ask, knowing full well how the request for information sounds to a rational person.

"No, and is this some kind of joke?"

"Believe me, Miss Geraldine. I wish I could say I was kidding. All I know is that I have been receiving calls from several guests at the hotel where you are staying. No one’s booking is right and I keep getting disconnected due to something that almost sounds like an explosion in the background. But if everything is fine, then it must be an equip——"

This time I hear the screams a few seconds before the rumbling engulfs the speaker. Shock, terror, and pleas for salvation fill the line as I listen helplessly.

My numbness is only interrupted by another voice at the end of the line as a call starts anew.

"Hello? Hello? Is anyone on this line? I’m stuck at my resort due to a booking error. Is there anything that -"

I interrupt the elderly gentleman on the other end of the line. “Get out of Bainbridge Towers, now. You need to seek shelter immediately. Some sort of disaster is about to occur.”

"Where can I go? I have no room anywhere? That’s why I’m calling you. Some grand opening you have here. Nothing but dozens of people unable to check-in, littering the lobby on whatever phones they can find," he said.

"No, you don’t understand. I need you to flee the hotel at once for your own safety. Something is going to happen to everyone. Tell everyone to leave, now," I pleaded.

"Now see here, I’m 82. Just how far do you think I want to be —"

Again, the line cuts out in tormented confusion. Again, I can’t help anyone. Again, I listen to the death cries to those around the caller. Again, I pick up the phone.

"Are you in Bainbridge towers?"

"Not according to the reservation desk," replies a confused younger gentleman.

"Get out of there, now. Get everyone to flee for their lives before whatever is coming hits the hotel," in desperation my voice is demanding the attention of the caller. Only afterwards do I realize this breach in etiquette.

"I don’t care who you think you are, but I booked a suite under the Honeymoon package and I will not tolerate this occasion being marred by your rudeness. I need you to -"

I hang up the phone and set the computer to stop receiving calls. I close my eyes and wonder how long the gentleman stood livid at my insubordination before being engulfed by his fiery fate. Maybe his bride was arriving later and she is still okay. Maybe, I’m just stressed and need a break.

I clock out slightly early for lunch and immediately regret my actions as my boss walks by.

"I’ve been meaning to speak with you today."

My veins freeze, hoping that no one has been monitoring my last batch of calls.

"You are the new hire, aren’t you" she said. "I forgot to warn you about one of our yearly … instances," she said apologetically. "The 13th of December is always heavy on calls from Bainbridge Towers. Eventually you learn to just place them on hold and tell them someone is on the way to assist them.

"Wait," trying to balancing relief, fear and annoyance I asked, "So, this was all just a hazing? Did everyone get a good laugh at my expense?"

"You misunderstand," she said. "Dec 13th is always when we get the calls from July 18th, 1995. That was when our hotel on Monserrat was lost due to an explosion from a volcano previously believed to be dormant. There is nothing we can do to help them, other than pretend we are directing them to customer service."

Not sure I really believed her explanation, I sat stunned.

"Oh, and you don’t have any friends or family in any place called Nevada, do you? And you aren’t planning on being in that area around October 2023 or 2024. Those connections aren’t as good, so the details are a bit fuzzier," she said matter-of-factly.

"Why, what happens then?" I asked, allowing my curiosity to take the bait.

"Work on February 23rd to find out, or don’t. I strongly recommend don’t." She said, without looking back as she returned to her office.

As I head out for Thai food, I make a mental note to use whatever vacation time I have on Feb. 23rd.

—
Credits to: danatblair

Visiting Grandpa

The family gathered around grandpa, one of our monthly visits since we had put him in a home, it hadn’t been an easy decision but the old man just couldn’t look after himself anymore, he was already becoming frail with age you see, but now Alzheimer’s was taking what was left of him. He had been so strong before too, I guess he had to be with the life he’d lived, poor guy had lost two children (they would have been my aunt and uncle) in a house fire when he was only a young man. And if that wasn’t enough the grief drove his wife to suicide a short two years later. Fortunately Gramps was a fighter and went on to raise my mother alone, for which I am eternally grateful.

It had affected them deeply though, my poor mum, god bless her wasn’t quite as resilient as Gramps, a lifelong battle with alcohol and prescription drugs can attest to that, but she got on as best she could. They often seemed sad though, and worst of all the trauma had driven them apart, by now she couldn’t even bring herself to visit him and Gramps never asked, I guess they must remind each other of what they lost.

Now it was horrible to watch such a strong and determined man wither away under the burden of Alzheimer’s, but the disease, perhaps ironically, did bring with it some small mercy, because now for the first time in years there were days when he actually looked happy, when the pain of memory subsided and he even forgot who he was, I guess when you have so much pain stored up ignorance can be bliss.

The doctor’s worried though, a careless mind may sometimes be at ease but it’s only a short step from there to further decline, so they suggested some therapy’s to jog his memory and keep the man himself.

Well at first we weren’t sure, whenever he did remember himself he looked sad again, and was it worth it? To trouble an old man so close to the end with painful memory’s? We did like seeing him a little happier after all, even if it was only briefly, but as time went on it became clear he was mentally regressing, becoming more childlike by the day, he had even taken to keeping a nightlight on to “keep the boogeyman away”, so reluctantly we took the doctor’s advice.

At their behest we dug up all the family photo’s we could find and, armed with our own little album of history presented them to him, now he didn’t know who he was or who we were let alone the people in the pictures, but he took delight in looking through them anyway, there was me getting my diploma, my brother Jeff winning silver in the school race, the kids gathered around the tree at Christmas, happy memories. We carried on flicking through the album, he had a few moments of faint recognition, a relative or two he seemed to think he knew, but mostly gramps was just having fun looking, that is until we turned to a picture of his lost children and wife.

He looked the picture over intently and his childlike expression turned to one of deep sadness, we asked if he remembered who they were and he said no, only that “it was awful, those poor children..”, not wanting to see him like this I decided to turn the page. Gramps looked up at me kindly as if to say thank you, but as his eyes returned to the book I could see the colour drain from his face, trembling his breath drew short and in a panicked frenzy he began to cry out.

“That HIM! The bogeyman! Please! Keep him away! He.. he did terrible things to those kids, he’s a monster! A murderer! He.. he..”

Gramps threw the book down and huddled up into the fetal position, sobbing quietly like a child.

On the floor was an old photograph of a man, my grandpa in his youth.

—
Credits to: xhaze