Stuck In A Tree

 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

"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."

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.

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."

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.

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?"

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

----

 

Credits

How Could This Happen to Me?

 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. 

"It's probably my imagination", I thought to myself. After I gave her the tour I asked, "So what do you think?". 

She gave me a smile and disinterested look, "It's nice". 

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.

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. 

"Alexis?", I asked. 

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.

"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.

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. 

"You fucking asshole!", she wailed, "You were going to let that thing kill me so you could get away!" 

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.

I was furious that she would treat me this way. But I regained my composure. "I demand an explanation. How did you get away?". 

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?". 

"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"

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.

"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." 

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. 

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.

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!". 

"Alexis!". I screamed again and again as the demon was slowly pulling me back inside. But she couldn't hear me. 

"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.

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. 

----

Credits

Do You Remember How Many Children You Had Before The Fog?

  

I know this sounds crazy, and I don’t know where else to go.

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.

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.

Something is wrong with my children. I have too many of them.

I have three wonderful boys. James is 8 and Braxton is 6.

I don’t remember Dylan.

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.

But before Saturday I have no recollection of him being a part of our family.

Saturday was strange, to say the least.

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.

But no one seemed really prepared for the fog.

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.

My husband tried to get out and see if there was a way around it but no one could see anything for miles.

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.

Something was wrong about all of it. Everyone could feel it but no one said anything.

Braxton and James were complaining one minute about the whole situation and then it became dead silent. Time itself seemed to stop.

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.

I told my boys that we were finally headed home and then I saw something in the mirror.

A third child.

I screamed.

My husband slammed on the brakes.

“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.

“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.

The boy spoke. “Mom… it’s me, Dylan. Are you okay?”

I looked to my husband for answers and he was equally worried, checking my head for signs of a bruise.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?”

I didn’t know what to say, so I waited until we got home and the three boys were asleep.

“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.

My husband couldn’t believe it. He showed me family pictures of all of us.

“I think we need to schedule a doctor visit. This isn’t normal,” he said.

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.

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.

The thought frightened me because nothing about it offered easy solutions.

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.

Then I overheard a young man in the lobby arguing with two kids he claimed were not his.

“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.

“Was it the fog?” I whispered.

He knew what I was talking about and that troubled me even more.

The doctor examined me and couldn’t find anything physically wrong.

“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.

I smiled uneasily and promised I would take them.

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.

But meeting that man confirmed to me that I wasn’t alone. Others were experiencing the same as I was.

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.

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.

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.

“Thanks for dinner mom,” Dylan said as he hugged me after washing his plate.

I gave him a half smile and sat there, feeling absolutely awful.

I was starting to feel something towards him.

Was he even real?

How could I be sure he was?

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.

They were all so peaceful. My life felt like a dream.

But it was still off. Alarm bells rang in my head. Telling me not to just push these feelings aside.

I went to the attic, to try and find anything connecting to Dylan’s childhood.

If he is really my son, I knew I would have kept baby stuff up there.

But I didn’t find anything.

Not even a bracelet from the hospital.

As I sat there looking at other albums it occurred to me that every part of him seemingly manifested four days ago.

Before that he didn’t exist.

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.

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.

How to tell which of your children is real

There was a video of a mother just like me.

Behind her there were three children, all sitting in chairs strapped down by zip ties.

I held my hand over my mouth as she started to speak.

“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…”

She took out a switchblade. Then the screen suddenly went black, announcing the video was pulled.

It made my heart race.

I couldn’t do that. I’m not a monster.

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?

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.

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.

I told my husband I was going to take them to the park.

When they got out and played I sat there and watched them, trying to psych myself up to what I needed to do.

I have a few safety pins in the car for clothing emergencies, and I told myself I just needed to prick their finger.

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.

I waited until they got back in the car and then locked the doors.

“Mom, can we go for ice cream?” Braxton asked.

I was saying a mental countdown and then pounced, pricking his finger. “Mom what the hell?” James shouted.

I snagged him next. Dylan tried to defend himself and the sharp point snagged his arm.

Blood trickled down and he cried out.

“Mom, what are you doing? Why did you do that?”

I froze, looking at the other boys.

I dropped the safety pin and quickly drove them to the nearest clinic.

“It was an accident. You were rough housing and you stuck yourself. It will only be a few stitches,” I told Dylan.

They promised to not say anything to their father.

I’ve been dumbstruck and horrified by the moment ever since. Their faces were filled with fear. Their own mother attacking them.

That isn’t the worst part though, because I have one thing seared in my mind.

Braxton wasn’t bleeding. 

----

Credits

Marco Polo

  

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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).

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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…”

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…

 

---

 

Credits

I Think I Saw Where Nightmares Come From

  

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

I didn’t stay too long at that one.

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.

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 he 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.

I could tell he was looking for me. For my scent.

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. He didn't want me seeing it.

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.

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.

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 he 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.

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:

Don’t come back.

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.

 

---

 

Credits

The First and Last Time I Ever Went Hunting

  

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.
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.

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.

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.

“Dad, I don't wanna go down there.” I cried softly.

“Hey, it’s gonna be ok I promise.” He smiled, “Just follow after me and we’ll get back.”

“Ok.” I responded sniffling

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.

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.

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.”

Regardless of what it was, that was the last time either of us ever went hunting. 

---

Credits

Portraits

 

I found Greta and Georg at one of my favorite nearby thrift stores. Two beautifully framed portraits, for only $7.50 a piece.

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.

“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.

“Well the paintings don’t have names on them, and Greta and Georg just felt right.” I explained.

“Yeah, they do feel right.” He chuckled, his green eyes twinkling, amused, he helped me hang them up.

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.

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.

We chalked it up to cats being cats. Maybe Scratch was trying to broaden his horizons and find new spots to enjoy the sunshine.

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.

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.

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.

“Hey Dan?” I called my husband over. “Do you remember this crack being here before?”

He hopped over the stack of taken down decorations to take a closer look.

“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?”

“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.

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.

“Should we call an inspector to take a look at the foundation?” I asked.

“Maybe, let’s see if it gets bigger in the next week or two and then decide.” He replied.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I felt frozen. Unsure and confused, why did the two clips differ? And why did those kids look so familiar?

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.

“Dan!” I heard his chair shift in the other room.

“Dan! Quick please!” I could hear his footsteps in the hallway.

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.

 

---

 

Credits