Don’t Peek

May 17, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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I lay awake under the covers of my bed. I’d grown accustomed to sleeping with my head completely underneath due to the extreme coldness in my bedroom. We had recently moved house and although we were settling in quite well the cold was something we all had to adjust to, especially with winter slowly creeping in.

As I gazed blearily into the dark blankets I started wondering what had awoken me, for I had been sleeping peacefully until just this moment. I strained my ears and caught a very faint creaking sound, almost rhythmic in its regularity. I shut my eyes once more, it was simply the shutters on the windows creaking in the wind. I settled back into the pillows and listened to the noise, it was almost soothing in a way.

My eyes suddenly shot open, my old house had shutters that would sometimes creak in the wind but this new one didn’t. I’d inspected the windows thoroughly a few days before fruitlessly trying to plug up any gaps that might be letting the cool air in. I’d asked my parents to change bedroom but they said they needed the space in the other rooms and my brother definitely wasn’t swapping his, he had the warmest room in the house next to the boiler.

Listening intently I realised another thing, the sounds didn’t seem to be coming from the direction of the window. Although slightly muffled by my blankets, the sound seemed to be coming from directly above me as if I had some ancient creaking fan on the ceiling. I still didn’t want to leave the warmth of the covers so I turned my head to try and listen to get a better idea of what it was.

As I moved my head the sound abruptly stopped. I lay there holding my breath trying to catch any hint of the creaks again. Just as I thought the noise had stopped for good I heard something that chilled my insides, even in the warmth of my bed. A grating scratching sound like teeth grinding on a bone uttered the words:

“Don’t peek”

Lying completely still, my heart was racing. The creaking had once again started slightly faster this time, and with a jolt I suddenly realised what it was. Breathing. The horrible thing that was hanging above me was breathing. How could I have thought it soothing before? It was a horrible choked noise, sounding more like a death rattle now than the quiet creaking of before. The voice had been inhuman, utterly devoid of any emotion.

I lay trembling listening to the quickened pace of the breathing. Minutes dragged on and after seemingly hours daylight began to creep into the room. I must have dozed off at some point, even amidst the sheer terror that I was feeling that night, because I couldn’t remember that horrible breathing stopping. It was silent now, but I refused to get out from under the covers.

It wasn’t until my mother came in to wake me up for school that I braved leaving the safety of my bed sheets. I tried to tell her about what had happened the previous night and she initially seemed concerned, but that was mostly due to the bags under my eyes and lack of sleep than some kind of “make believe monster”. I went down for breakfast dreading the day of school that lay ahead of me in my tired state.

As I predicted school went by slowly and I dozed off in class multiple times much to the annoyance of my teachers. After a short talk with the principal after school about making sure I get enough sleep and not to let it happen again I could finally start the walk home. As I walked a new dread filled me, would it be back tonight?

Forty minutes later and I was walking down the driveway. Seeing the lights from the windows was comforting, it was already getting dark and I really didn’t want to be walking alone at night. I went inside and was instantly cornered by my mother who’d had a phone call from school earlier on. They had told her about me sleeping during lessons and she wasn’t all too happy. I was told I was going to have supper and then get an early night so that it wouldn’t happen again, much to my disdain.

I ate supper as slowly as I could in order to prolong the time it took for me to have to go into that room again. All too soon my plate was cleared and I was sent up to bed with a warning about no TV if I let it happen again. That was the least of my worries.

I climbed into bed and made sure that my door was ajar and the landing light was left on. I could hear the TV and murmurs of my parents which gave me some comfort, at least they weren’t too far away. The room was getting cold again but I refused to go under the covers, the light from the door partially illuminated the room and banishing the darkness giving me courage.

I lay like this for a few hours, partially dozing off when I heard the sound of the TV go silent and movement signalling that my parents were heading for bed. I listened to their door close and sighed, maybe there was nothing after all. The light spilling into the room comforted me and I curled up underneath the covers away from the cold.

I awoke staring into blackness, it took a while for me to realise what was wrong. The light from the landing had gone off, I could tell without leaving the warmth of my bed sheets. I felt an icy chill and memories from the previous night came rushing back. I lay still as a corpse as I held my breath, listening.

It was there, I could hear the rasping rattling sound of its breath. A shuddering sigh escaped my lips and I realised that was a mistake. The hideous breathing intensified, as if some inhuman being had realised its prey was trapped within its grasp. To my horror the breathing got louder, it seemed to lower from the ceiling towards the thin barrier that lay between me and it.

It sounded like it was a few feet above my bed now, its dry rattling was all I could hear. Until once more:

“Don’t peek”

The voice sounded even more terrifying when it was this close, it was all I could do not to scream. I knew that if I tried to make a noise it would silence me before the sound had left my throat. I closed my eyes, tears escaping through my scrunched eyelids as I waited for dawn. And it watched.

I was awoken by my mother yet again, sometime in the early hours I must have passed out from either fear or tiredness. Perhaps both. I felt awful and I must’ve looked it too because my mother did a double take when I rose out of my blankets. She suggested I take the day off school, that I must be ill. I was tempted until she said “A day in bed will do you good”. I sat bolt upright and flat out refused, I was ok, I just felt a little iffy but I’m sure it’ll pass.

My parents both have work and my brother would be at school, there was no way in hell I was staying in the house, in that bedroom on my own. Even in daylight it was an uncomfortable thought.

The school day was another blur, falling asleep in class and speaking to the principal again. He was getting frustrated at my apparent lack of interest in my subjects, seemed to think I was doing it on purpose for attention now. I didn’t argue, sitting in his office after school delayed going back to that room.

That night played out much the same as the one before, except the creature was getting closer once more. Night faded again to a bleary day repeating the same old steps, falling asleep, principles office and dreading going home. This time I was promised a detention after school the following day and if my behaviour continued then they would discuss further options.

That night I sunk into bed once more feeling utterly defeated. It was just going to continue like this, it was going to ruin my life and keep me awake forever. I’d read about people dying from sleep deprivation, was that going to be my fate? Soon enough the breathing started again as I lay powerless beneath the covers. This time it felt like it was merely a few inches from the top of my sheets. I could feel them quiver with each breath the thing took.

“Don’t Peeeeeeek”

It rasped the words so loudly I half expected my parents to come bursting into the room to see what was going on. But as with every other night they were either sound asleep or just deaf to the nightmare that was happening in my room. I could feel pressure on the covers, it was pressed right up against them now. My mind raced in panic, all it had to do was rip of the sheets and it could devour me or take me or do whatever other horrific thing it had in mind.

If this is how I’m going to die I want to go out with a fight at least. I had no idea how strong the monster would be, or if I could even hurt it at all but I had to try. I grabbed the top of my bed sheets and paused for a moment, steeling my resolve. Its gasping breathing had increased now as if it could sense what was happening.

With a roar I pulled the bed sheets down from over my head and swung upwards as hard as I could with my fist. I hit nothing but air. Scanning the room for any signs of the creature I quickly jumped out of bed and sped towards the light flicking it on. As the room filled with brightness my eyes took a while to adjust, I had my back pressed against the wall so nothing could get behind me in my temporary blindness. Once my vision had returned I had a proper look around, rummaging through my cupboards and under the bed. There was no sign of anything abnormal. I stood shivering, after the initial adrenaline rush I was feeling the cold of the room again. My breath appeared mist-like in front of me.

I glanced at the bed again wanting to get back under the covers. After a few moments of consideration I climbed back into the warm blankets. This time I refused to put my head under the covers no matter how cold it was. I had left the light on which gave me comfort, I was sure the thing needed darkness to manifest itself. A glance at my clock told me it was 1.47am. Had I defeated the monster? Maybe it didn’t want me to peek because that was what it gained strength from, fear of the unknown. These thoughts swirled around in my head as my eyelids drooped.

I awoke the next morning feeling refreshed, that was the best nights sleep I’d had in a long time. As my mother came to make sure I was up she commented on my appearance, the bags under my eyes that had been present for the last few days had gone and my face had colour once again.

The day at school went well, not once did I fall asleep and I tried my hardest to catch up on what I missed. I still had the after school detention to get through but even that didn’t seem so bad now I was properly awake. I could use the time to catch up on my work. As the school day drew to a close I went towards the detention hall feeling confident that the past weeks horrors had ended.

After the detention I started the walk home from school. I wanted to hurry because it was already getting dark. By the time I saw the comforting lights of my house the sun had fully set. Opening the door I called out an apology for my lateness before heading into the living room. The television was on, the usual wildlife documentaries my parents watch that I never had much interest in. The room was empty however, so I headed for the kitchen thinking maybe they had already started dinner without me.

Upon entering the kitchen however, I stopped confused. They had indeed started eating without me, plates containing a half eaten meal were sitting on the table. But there was no sign of my parents or my brother. A quick check in the other downstairs rooms confirmed they weren’t there either. I headed upstairs in the vain hope they had decided on a very early night. Even if that was the case they wouldn’t have left their meals like that.

My heart was a dull thud in my chest when I reached the top of the staircase. A peek into my parent’s room showed it empty, the same with my brothers. I was beginning to sweat now as I walked slowly towards my bedroom door. I gripped the door handle, my mind was telling me to turn around and leave, but I had to see. I pushed open the door and looked towards the bed.

Three black silhouettes were sitting up against the headboard, two larger and one smaller. They were the unmistakeable shapes of my parents and brother. Something looked off about them however. I groped towards the light switch as the voice in my head screamed at me to go downstairs and run to the neighbours, to call the police. Ignoring it I flipped the switch.

The vacant eyes of my family were all staring at me, glasslike but somehow they were looking right at me. Their heads were hanging at an unnatural angle, as if their necks had been simply snapped. They had been propped up against the bed like grotesque puppets. A cry was caught in my throat as I stood rooted to the floor. I willed myself to take a step back when I heard it again, the sound that had tormented me all those nights. The breathing really was a death rattle now, it sounded somehow even more full of malice than the previous nights. And it was coming from right behind me.

“You Peeked”.

Credit To – Spamalot2006

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Gazing into the Abyss

May 16, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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“Robert Adam Lane the Third. You gave your soul to Him on May 7th, 1989, and it was a lie. A lie that you told the whole time you held your breath in that brownwater river. A lie you smiled out at that those holyrollers on the bank. Lies are mine, Lies are mine. Mine.” The last “mine” trailed off into a phlegmy wheeze.

These words were clearly audible, despite the man lying face down and away from the windowed door to the isolation cell. The heavy steel meal-flap was standing open to facilitate communication and accommodate feeding times, but usually the cell’s hard surfaces made an echo that distorted every sentence into chaos. This man’s words, though, were not only audible, but guttural, far deeper than the inmate’s normal speaking tones.

“I am His. I am His,” Robert whispered, his voice tight and his chest light from raw fear.

There was no way for this man to have known his full name, and there was no way for him to have known that dark and shameful secret that Robert had never spoken aloud.

He was just a kid when he was baptized. He didn’t really understand the significance or the need until he and his wife had their first son. Introspection accompanied late night feedings and changes; the need for something greater and a higher purpose drove him to accept the religion he’d long ago been a part of, but had never really had be a part of him.

He had taken the job in the county’s number two industry. First was farming, chiefly cattle. Second was the State Prison.

He had been on the job for three years when he encountered Simmons, David R., Number 200400097. Simmons had transferred in from another facility, and he was on year two of a six year sentence out of Atlanta. He had been in medical isolation for most of his incarceration, and he was now in segregation for his own safety and the safety of others. Medically speaking, physically, there was nothing wrong with him. Psychologically, he had several diagnoses that required a small buffet of medications morning and night.

Robert’s encounters with Simmons had been completely routine in nature. Meals were delivered, medications were administered, the head count was conducted. No conversations ever occurred outside of “Good morning, please, and thank you.”

But every day, each and every day that Robert stood shift in the isolation unit, Simmons would “act out” between 2 and 2:15 pm. These episodes mostly consisted of shouting, dancing, stripping, and speaking in tongues or singing. No seizures or convulsions, no physically damaging behavior ever presented itself and necessitated that restraints be used. So regular were these outbursts that somebody could set a watch by them, which was in itself odd…because inmates in isolation had absolutely no way to tell time.

To make matters even more interesting, after a few weeks, Robert’s supervisor claimed that the episodes only went down when Robert was in the building.

There was no exterior window nor any way for Simmons to have heard or seen when Robert was working a duty rotation in Isolation, until Robert himself came to his door.

Some days, Robert never went into the cell blocks, instead, he worked solely in the control room…and still, the episodes presented themselves at around 2pm.

Robert never told anyone at work about what Simmons said. He did his job, day in and day out, and he did his best to pretend that nothing had happened.

He always tried to avoid being in the cell blocks around 2pm.

For several weeks, this worked, until one day, time got away from him, and he found himself doing a head count…at two fifteen.

When Robert came to the window, his heart stopped.

Standing stock-still with his nose inches away from the reinforced glass, Simmons was completely rigid, absolutely, perfectly tense, and on the balls of his feet. Every muscle in his naked, wiry frame was taut, as though his whole body was experiencing a cramp. His eyes were saucers, opened as wide as they would possibly go, and they constantly rolled. Around, around, back until only the whites would show, and then back down, and around and around.

When Robert’s eyes met his, Simmons stopped his eyerolls. Silence filled the cell and the hallway.

Laughter, slow and low, greeted Robert, and then that same guttural voice that had haunted Robert for weeks, spoke.

“Adam Lane the Third. Would you like to see what We do to this man when no one watches? Let Us show you.”

With that, Simmons head-butted the reinforced glass window. His forehead hit with such force that the steel door shook in its frame, and Robert was amazed that the glass didn’t spiderweb. Twice, he hit the window, and before Robert could call for support to get Simmons restrained, a fourth and fifth impact sounded on the steel edge of the windowframe, and as suddenly as the assault began, it ended.

Simmons regained his tensed pose on the balls of his feet. His eyes, still wide as saucers, met Robert’s. Blood slowly poured from large gashes above the inmate’s eyebrows, covering his face in a red mask. There was absolutely no expression, no indication of pain, anger, or distress.

Perfectly impassive, Simmons stared.

Robert broke eye contact and walked on.

A short time later when medics arrived to clean him up, he had curled up and was asleep on his cot, and at final meal-call of the day, he said “Thank you” to Robert in his normal speaking voice as though nothing had happened.

Robert could barely hide the shake in his hands as he handed over the tray of food.


Corrections Officer Lane had grown up in the Pentacostal church. His grandmother, 93, still went every Sunday and Wednesday, and twice a month she attended Sunday School.

He was driving her to a Wednesday evening service when he told her about Simmons.

Her hand, covered in parchment-thin skin and decorated with liverspots and bruises, gripped his on the steering wheel. He drove with his left as she, with surprising strength, took his right hand in hers.

“Don’t let him in, son. Don’t you let him. He knows when those b’long to Jesus come ’round. He smells it. He hates it. You pray on it, yhear? You pray to Lordjesus, I’ll pray with you. You pray with me today and you lookit that man in the eye the next time he acts the fool. You lookit’m and you tell’m to give you his name by the will of the Lord. He will. You ain’t gonna unnahstand him, son, but he will. He’ll do it if you’re right with th’Lord. Get right, boy, and stay right. And you get clear. You stay away from that’un.”

His grandmother was telling the truth.


Weeks went by, and Robert heard nothing unusual out of inmate 200400097. Just when he was beginning to think that the whole thing was a strange game, something happened.

Simmons had maintained his routine of “showing out” at around 2pm daily. By coincidence, and not design, Robert had not found himself on the floor at these episodes. Ever since the day he’d rammed his head into the doorframe, Simmons had been calmer, only whispering, whimpering quietly, or singing to himself during his regular shows.

It was mid-song that Robert entered line of sight for Simmons. Abruptly, the singing stopped, and Simmons faced the door.

“I don’t like it when you’re here, Lane.”

This came out as all one word, a husky whisper, but still that deep tone that was so unlike every other time the prisoner spoke. “Lane” became “laaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyynnnnnnnnnnn” in the latest attempt to rattle the officer.

“Hey. By Jesus, tell me your Name. Who are you? By Christ’s command, what is your NAME?” Robert shouted the last word, and the echoes filled the concrete hallway.

Simmons recoiled as though struck. He looked to be in physical pain, but Robert heard him speak. The jeering, cheerful face was pinched, and a word came from his lips in a rasp. Robert heard it clearly, but he couldn’t understand it. It sounded foreign, it sounded alien.

It sounded Other.

“I have heard your Name. Never. Speak. To. Me. Again.”

With that, the inmate curled up into a ball on his bed.

That was the last time that David R. Simmons ever spoke to Robert A. Lane, III.

Robert Lane’s hand shook as he snubbed out his last Marlboro Red. A collection of them sat bent, burned and broken in the silver ashtray between us. We both leaned our elbows on the pinewood picnic table where we’d shared a meal and a story.

He thumbed through the pages of the book by Malachi Martin I’d been reading before he sat down to eat with me today. Cover fluttering in the wind, “Hostage to the Devil” had gained its own seat at our table as he put it down next to the remains of my chicken salad sandwich.

“I don’t need to read about this in a book or see it in a movie, man. I’ve seen it in real life. What scares me most, though, is that it has seen me.”

Credit To – Nick O’Caliban

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The Real Town of Blanche

May 14, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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I turn on the lamp as I sit down at my desk. I softly remove the ribbon that was holding the diary together. As I open the strange looking book, a hard smell of rotten pages hits me. Interestingly enough the text is still intelligible, something you wouldn’t really expect when you find a diary in a trashed house that has been burnt down by the owners. The police didn’t bother demolishing it, so they’ve just restricted access to foreign personnel. In order to gain access to the house you must go over to the police with your ID card, so you can prove that you are in one way or another, related to the former owners. My last name definitely helps. Or better said, the fact that an officer called me to warn me about the tragedy, helps even more. The officer stated that he found my phone number in an agenda that has also been spared by the fire. I was obviously in shock when I heard the story over the phone, so my first question was: “Is my brother and his family OK?” To which he replied: “They… they’re all dead!”. A moment of silence, followed by the officer’s worried voice: “Is everything alright, sir!??” snapped me back to reality. I had to fly over to Europe as soon as possible to investigate. When I arrived, as I priory mentioned, the police came to the conclusion that the fire was actually started by one of the family’s members. That didn’t really make much sense to me at that moment. In fact it didn’t make sense at all. How could’ve they known? But then again I am no expert, so I avoided posing questions just so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself in front of a legalized and specialized institution that has been dealing with over 1000 crime cases over the course of a decade. But this was no crime at all, since there was no criminal to start the fire. I requested the permission to take a look at the house, and at my brother’s personal belongings, thinking that maybe I could find something that would lead me to the roots of this mystery.

John was always an excellent brother to me. You can probably already tell that he was the older one. He knew to work his way around tricky situations, that’s why I was shocked when I found out that he… died. I can already imagine him grabbing his wife’s hand, his kids, and bash right through the window over to safety, then pull out his phone and call the firefighters. But that didn’t happen. They all died. “WHY!??” I kept repeating over and over in my head, why…? When I entered the house, I couldn’t help but realize how fast they must have died. The fire must’ve been huge. A common misconception spread amongst many people, is that dying in a fire must be really painful, to be surrounded by tall flames, knowing there’s no way to escape but trying to dash through them, which ultimately might lead to you collapsing to the floor under the excruciating heat, burning there, like a stuffed turkey in an oven, the only difference being that you’re alive, and feeling the actual pain. Sure, burning alive is extremely painful, but in 99% of the cases, people die of smoke intoxication, before the flames even reach them. By the time the fire claims its victim and turns it into ash, the soul is long gone. That’s exactly what happened to John, my beloved brother, and his family. Their bodies were beyond recognition, only a slightly taller pile of dust helped the legists tell them apart from other objects that have been turned into dust and ashes by the fire. I headed to my brother’s room. It wasn’t difficult at all to move around and get through rooms and hallways. Obviously all the doors were gone. In fact pretty much everything made out of wood was gone. There was nothing for me to see there anymore… Or was it? As I was preparing to leave I stepped on a solid… solid something. I couldn’t tell what it was, until I bent down to look at it and swept the dust away. It was the diary. That was a little bit unsettling. How could have the diary survived? Well, even now by looking at it, I can tell it is in a deplorable state, but you’d normally expect it to be inexistent. Disregarding this peculiar fact, I picked up the diary, and decided to head off to an apartment I used to own downtown, when I still lived in Amsterdam. I didn’t sell it, thinking that I might visit John sometimes, but I never really got the time and the opportunity to do so, only now, under unpleasant circumstances, when it’s already too late. I moved to The States a long time ago. I think it’s been almost 8 years since I moved to San Francisco. But my brother always preferred Europe over America. He also loved traveling, God, how much he loved traveling with his family. Every holiday, which you’d probably spend wasting your time, he’d spend planning the perfect trip.

I remember him calling me last time, almost tripping with excitement, as he was telling me: “Oh God, I am so happy, you know that I never really got to see France. And now, after so many years, given the fact that I’ve been almost everywhere around Europe with my family, on my own money that I always struggle to gather before holidays begin, the company I work for has given me a salary raise to pay for my efforts since my boss told me that I am probably one of their most dedicated workers. Isn’t that just great!?” By then, I was having a hard time dealing with my own workplace, which I never really liked, so I was really stressed, always refused to go out with friends, and all that, but whenever you talked to John, he always cheered you up somehow. He had that tone in his voice that immediately gave you a boost of confidence and made you feel really good. He’s always been the optimistic guy, even in the worst of situations. On the other side, I don’t really classify myself as a pessimistic person, I’m more of a combination between an optimistic and a realistic guy. I do see things for what they are, but I try to get over with it whenever I’m having a bad time. His phone call really cheered me up that day. I responded: “Oh wow, that’s really great. I can’t believe it. You will get to see Cote d’Azur, Paris, and many other attractions I’d like to see as well [He knew that I just didn’t really have the time to go in these trips together with him due to my workplace]. I just… Wow… And your boss sounds like an amazing person. It’s finally starting to look good for you brother, it’s finally looking good!”. He replied: “I know Dan, I know, thanks for being supportive, you’ve always believed in me more than anyone else, and now, here I am, I did not disappoint you. I never really expected to go on a trip without having to gather money for it throughout a few months! We’re probably even going to afford a fancy hotel now, and all that good stuff –“. And the call suddenly stopped. I tried to call him back but he didn’t answer.

Later on he texted me that his phone battery died, but there wasn’t much for us to talk about anyway so he wished me good luck for my interview [I almost forgot to mention that I was planning to quit my old job, as I hated it so much, and the new one is still the job I love and own today], and that about sums it up. We haven’t spoken since then, only when he returned to Amsterdam from his trip, but we only had a quick Skype conversation, as he was preparing his kids for school. After that we’ve both been really busy, me with my new workplace, him in his new position at work, so we haven’t talked at all in almost two months. Until I received the call from the police officer. And now here I am, in my apartment, in Amsterdam, sitting at my desk, ready to open the diary to unveil its secrets. Not surprising at all, the first page of the diary just comes off the edge of the book. I can’t tell what’s going on, my mind is still having flashbacks, not letting me rationalize. I might need some sleep right now, but I… I feel like I have to read the diary. Me and my brother never had any secrets. Of course a diary is a personal thing, but if he’d owned one he would have told me. My eyes must be playing some sort of trick on me, this isn’t John’s handwriting… Oh wait, I think I know! It belongs to his son. I remember John telling me that his son really loved writing down stories about how their trips went, and much more. Each night he would close the door to his room, and write down everything that happened that day. It seems the diary was a habit he didn’t plan to give up on all of a sudden. There are no days missing. Except for the last week… It’s missing entirely. But there’s something even stranger. For a 10 year old boy, his handwriting is actually pretty. And John always praised about his good grades. So I guess he was a smart kid. Heh, just like his father… [I shed a tear that falls on the diary’s page, soaking the dry ink, making it spread a little bit on the corner of the page]. The strange thing that I notice is that his handwriting suddenly changed at one point in the diary. To be specific, on June 20th 2014, when they left Amsterdam for France. Now obviously, everybody’s handwriting changes at one point, but for a kid, quite unlikely.

One more thing I can’t pass by is that he progressively moved on to the usage of the word “friend” instead of “diary”. He moved on from “Dear diary”, to “Dear friend”. I don’t really know how much a diary can mean to a person, because I never owned one, but I guess there is a special connection to it, you know, something similar to a teddy bear. Hey, I’m not judging anyone. Well it’s finally time to start reading I guess:

“ Dear friend, [Exactly what I’ve said before]

France is awesome so far. I’m really enjoying it. Right now we’re sitting at an inn in Blanche– ”. Umm wait, what!?? I must admit that I am not good at geography, but to be really honest I’ve never heard of “Blanche” so far. Should I keep reading? “ Blanche is a strange town, but I guess it’s OK, we’re leaving soon anyway! ”. I’m confused. Good thing I brought my laptop with me, so I can look the name up. The name does return indeed some historical data related to France, Blanche was some sort of queen I think, but besides that, nothing more. There’s no town named Blanche located in France. He must have misspelled the name. I should continue reading:

“ I don’t know when, but we’ll be leaving. Our car broke down and daddy can’t really fix it right now. He says he must find some parts for the car or I don’t know. He looked a bit concerned. He loves his car. He’s had it for almost 6 years now. Mommy and sis aren’t that happy with the idea that we must stay in this town for a while. The good thing is that we can now afford separate rooms at the inn with daddy’s salary raise. It’s not that we can’t afford a hotel now, but there are no hotels in this… village. ” [Aha! So after all Blanche is in fact a village. Villages don’t usually show up on maps or Wikipedia. That must be it, he’s probably mistaken it for a town and found out later on that it’s a village] “ Also something really strange happened. But I can’t really be sure of it. Mom and dad say they’ve been hearing me talk in my sleep. But I don’t know what to say, I think they’re lying to me, or… Anyway time to go to sleep, that’s it for this day friend, see you tomorrow. Take good care of yourself.”

As I said, creepy. I don’t really know why he was treating the diary like a real person. Anyway, it’s getting late now, maybe I should go to sleep, but I really feel like I must uncover this mystery. I really want to know what happened. This diary might or might not hold the answers to my question, but I don’t really care right now:

“ Dear friend,

Today something amazing happened. I made a new friend. I wanted to be sure of it before I tell you. I’ve been dreaming of the same guy for a few nights, over and over again since we’ve arrived here in Blanche. He is a tall guy, with red eyes, but a pleasant red, I can’t really describe it, it’s not scary however. But it’s a bit creepy because I can never speak whenever he shows up in my dreams. He said that the only way for me to talk to him is you. But he said I must not let mommy and daddy or anyone else know. ” [Now what’s this? OK, fine, he is 10 year old, or, sorry, was 10 year old, but I think that the time for imaginary friends should be over by that age. Then again, I am in no position to judge anybody] “You are the only one allowed to know. He didn’t tell me his name however, and I don’t know how to address him. ‘Could you please tell me your name when we meet again?’ Also I can never make out of him more than his red eyes, he sits in the dark. There is light in my dreams, but he says light is bad for him, and he won’t show his face. But I’m sure he’s pretty. I don’t have many friends so I’m really happy with him. I actually want to go to sleep right now, to see him again, maybe we can play together! ”

Well, this is very unsettling. This doesn’t really seem like an ordinary imaginary friend, as he mentioned he only sees him in his dreams, and he’s been dreaming of him every night. This is really getting interesting, but I should go to sleep. My mind is playing tricks on me. I hear things cracking in the kitchen, and footsteps. But it’s the same as the story with the fire, only a different scenario. It’s just my imagination sending signals to my subconscious, trying to alter different aspects of reality, tricking me into thinking that something is wrong. The urge to check if everything is OK is almost uncontrollable for many people, but I am different. As I mentioned before, I am sort of a realistic guy. It’s probably nothing. I’m going to read a few more pages. After all, maybe I’ll be able to sleep better if I get to the end of this diary:

“ Dear friend,

Last night was awesome. I can really talk to him, through you. He said he can’t tell me his name, because he would be punished for that. Today I’m going to try out something more interesting. ‘Could you please do something about daddy’s car? Mom and sis really want to leave, they miss Amsterdam, and we haven’t even got to see Paris and the Eiffel Tower. I promise I won’t tell them it was you who fixed the car if you can do that! Nobody ever touches my diary, only me.’

Oh wow, now I’m not even sure whether I’m lucid or not right now. What am I reading? It’s a kid’s diary, I know that, I shouldn’t be that amazed, but it’s still creepy, and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t even… There’s only one way to know. I know for sure John arrived in Paris on 26th of June, 2014 of course. He posted a picture on his Facebook, now that’s what I call a fancy selfie, with the Eiffel Tower in the background. And this page of the diary was apparently written on 25th of June. I, I should read it, but…:

“ Dear friend,

He did it! Daddy’s car is now working. I don’t know how, or what kind of powers he has, but he helped us get out of that village, and now we’re in Paris. ‘Thank you very much!’ Also I feel like I should apologize to him as well. As we were preparing to leave Blanche, daddy went into my room to pack my things. Please never have me go through such panic again. It was OK for daddy to see you and even read you before, but now it’s forbidden, I’ve already told you, that’s what the man with the red eyes said. ‘I am really sorry! The diary fell off the table, and somehow opened at the latest page. Daddy picked it up and probably wanted to read it, but fortunately I stepped into the room at the right time to stop him from doing so! It won’t happen again, I promise!’ Something strange happened as well. As we were leaving, when my parents weren’t around, the innkeeper walked up to me and gave me a ribbon [Probably the one I’ve just removed earlier], a beautiful one. I asked him: ‘What’s this for?’ And he said to me: ‘Oh, you know you don’t want mommy and daddy to open that diary. This will hold the pages together, preventing anyone from reading it.’ Before I had time to ask him another question he went off to welcome the new guests. That startled me a bit. Why did that happen? How did he know that mommy and daddy were not supposed to read the diary? Did he actually find it and read it? I know I was the only one with a key to my room, but obviously he must have had a spare one in case I lost mine. But I’ve spent almost all my time in my room. I never left for more than 30 minutes as there wasn’t much you could do in town. ” [He’s calling it town again] “ I… I don’t know. I didn’t like that man very much. He’s been strange since we’ve arrived in Blanche. But he wasn’t even probably a bad person after all, I think. He must have seen me writing to you, and that’s all. Then again I don’t blame him, I don’t really like strangers at all, I don’t hate him specifically! ”

I am speechless. So they did leave Blanche on 26th of June, and the car was fixed miraculously. Or not that miraculously, now that I know the story behind it. Is it just a pure coincidence in fact? Did John find the parts for the car that very day? Is the man with the red eyes real? Was his son a shy person that didn’t have many friends? Why did he start mentioning the man with the red eyes only after they arrived in Blanche? So many questions. I don’t know what to believe. I am curious to what the diary has to offer me furthermore. But at the same time I feel afraid. And even more tired, but scared, I can’t go to sleep right now. Who is the man with the red eyes? I guess I have to keep reading.

“ Dear friend,

We are back home. Tomorrow’s first day of school. My daddy and the teachers say I’m a really good student. But I hate going to school because of my classmates. I think that it’s time for a change. I’m going to need the help of the man with the red eyes. But first, I will wait. What if they changed during this holiday? I hope they will treat me accordingly, or else it might get nasty for them. I don’t want to hurt anybody, but I don’t like being hurt by someone else. I’ve talked to daddy and he said revenge is not good. He proceeded to speak with my teachers, and they’ve calmed down for a week or two. School ended shortly after that. Tomorrow’s a new beginning for me, and hopefully for them. ‘I don’t know who you are, but thanks for coming with me. I appreciate your support. So far I’ve asked you to help me with minor things, but tomorrow that might change.’

Did I leave the window open? I feel a slight breeze. Or is it my imagination again. Most likely. I am pretty sure I closed it, or did I? It doesn’t matter. I am by far shocked by the stories I’m reading right now. I don’t feel any better. I must keep reading:

“ Dear friend,

As I assumed, they haven’t changed at all, they started bullying me again. I knew they would do that, but I still had to make sure. Normally I’d speak to daddy again, but this time I’m not going to do it. This time it will be different. ‘I really hate Ray. He’s the worst. He never leaves me alone. Could you please make him stay at home? For a while at least? I promise nobody will ever know it was you, not even if the teachers ask what’s happened to him! Thanks in advance, and see you tonight!’

I don’t know what to expect anymore. At some point or another, it was pretty obvious that he was going to ask for something like that. But continuing reading the diary will reveal whether the “car fixing itself” was just a mere coincidence, or the man with the red eyes is… real. I’m still hoping for the best. The man with the red eyes must be the work of a boy with an extraordinary imagination that unfortunately passed away. The only explanation as to why the man with the red eyes started to show up in his dreams only when they arrived in Blanche, is because they were on holiday. I will explain. In fact, this page of the diary might be the answer I’m looking for. You see, if he was bullied on a daily basis, he’s also must been really stressed. The mind was desperately trying to find a way to release that stress, but he was fearing the next day of school. He probably wanted to stay at home, in his room, alone with his diary. But he had to go to school. When holidays finally arrived, he started to feel a little bit relieved. And his mind created the man with the red eyes in order to get rid of all the stress he’s gathered during school days. John probably fixed the car, no, John definitely fixed the car. If he hadn’t fixed it that very day, the man with the red eyes would’ve most likely dissolved into inexistence, due to the fact that John’s son would’ve felt deceived by the man with the red eyes, betrayed. But given the fact that John somehow fixed the car, it fed his son’s imagination, tricking him into thinking that the man with the red eyes fixed the car in fact. And so he lived on in the boy’s imagination, up until now…

That’s my take on the story, and I strongly believe that I am right, no matter what. It can’t be any other way. I remember when I was a kid, I also used to have an imaginary friend, when I was about 7 or 8, but I soon realized there’s no such thing as imaginary friends. So I simply gave up on him. Soon I made real friends which were more fun to play with, obviously. At the age of 10 I might have even forgotten his name. It’s useless to try to recall it now. L… L something, I don’t know… I don’t care. However, my imaginary friend did have a name. The man with the red eyes has no name apparently. Well, I mean John’s son mentioned in the diary that the man with the red eyes would be punished for saying his name. What could that possibly mean? I am upset with the fact that he didn’t insist upon finding out his name. Usually kids are very curious at the age of 10. I wonder if… Nah, it can’t be. I definitely need sleep right now. But still… I might give it a shot after I finish reading the diary, not too many pages left anyway. I… I just feel like writing down a simple question in the diary: “What’s your name?”, and then go to sleep, but that won’t lead anywhere. I am already being delusional, it’s a bit disturbing to read such stories told by a 10 year old kid. But the next page of the diary will finally reveal the truth, I hope:

“ Dear friend,

Today I found out something rather disturbing. I am thankful to the man with the red eyes for the fact that Ray did not come to school today. But… I found out that he got ran over by a car, and he died. ‘Please don’t do this again. The teacher was upset with me when I told her that he had it coming for being mean to me, but I didn’t know at that time that he died. Today nobody bullied me, but I didn’t expect you to kill him, why did you do that!?? We must talk tonight. I am mad at you!’

Yeah… OK, this is… odd. Well, this should have shown up on the local news and newspapers. I should try and look it up on my laptop. […] Oh God…, he is right. But that’s not all to it. The page in the diary dates 3rd of September. You’d normally expect the newspaper to go stir crazy about the story the very next day. But they published the story on 5th of September only, and it’s…, well:

“[…] His parents state that Ray wasn’t the best kid in town, but definitely not the type that would like to get in trouble. The driver that committed this horrible crime is yet to be found, as there weren’t many witnesses at that point, and he just drove off like nothing happened. The police has set up control points in the major areas of the city. No driver is allowed to leave this town, until the criminal is located and arrested. A peculiar fact is that Ray’s teacher, completely terrified by this incident, died the very next day to what the medics would believe to be a heart attack. The strange thing is that she’d never had any health problems.”

So the teacher died as well… Why!?? There’s no request for a punishment in the diary. There’s only this line which I’ve previously read: ‘The teacher was upset with me when I told her that he had it coming for being mean to me, but I didn’t know at that time that he died.’ So why did she die as well? Was it AGAIN, only a coincidence? Was Ray’s death a coincidence? I have to keep reading the diary:

“ Dear friend,

He killed my teacher too. Why did he do that? I didn’t say I was upset with her. I only said that SHE was upset with me, and the man with the red eyes finished her off, just like he did with Ray. I don’t like him anymore. Last night he was really scary. He wouldn’t talk to me anymore. But he had a really big and creepy grin. He would stare at me but… I think he moved closer to me, and it’s getting darker in my dreams. I’m afraid of him. I don’t want to sleep anymore. ‘Please stop killing people, I don’t like it!’

I am almost getting to the end of this diary, but I still refuse to believe that the man with the red eyes is real. However, he seems to be the only… “logical” explanation to all these events invading all of sudden John’s son life. To be really honest now, the real problem here is that not many 10 year old kids own a diary. As a parent, I would be a bit concerned about my son owning a diary at such a young age. Again, I know that a diary is a personal thing, but as a parent, I would check it from time to time, just to see what my child is trying to hide from me. I must admit however, that I’d have no idea what to do if I found a diary such as this one. Call the police? Call a psychiatrist?

Nevertheless John should have done something about it. I’m in no position to judge but as I mentioned before, he always had an answer to his problems. But most likely he was unaware of his son’s “imaginary friend”, the man with the red eyes… I can’t be surprised anymore, no matter what the next page in the diary holds for me, however… this isn’t John’s son writing. WHAT!??… WHAT’S THIS:

“ Dear friend,

I am starting to like the man with the red eyes again! ‘I really like you, man with the red eyes. Can you please do me the biggest favor of all times? Daddy can be really annoying sometimes, walking into my room without permission. He never touched my diary, but he might be tempted to do so one day. It’s already too dangerous to be around my family. Make daddy grab a gasoline tank and spread it around the house, make him do this at night, when everyone’s sleeping. He should save the last drops for him, sis, mommy and…me! He should then grab a lighter and set the house on fire, together with us. I am really sorry it had to come to this, but I just can’t be around you anymore, maybe you’ll find a new friend, a worthy one, I am really sorry that I couldn’t live up to your expectations! But this way you will be free, you won’t be tied to me anymore, and that’s what you do with those you love. You set them free!’

I said that nothing can surprise me anymore, oh how wrong I was… WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!?? Was it someone else that has been using John’s son diary? Or… was it actually still him!??

“ Dear friend,

I am CRYING. I am really scared. I don’t know what to do, what’s this? A random page showed up, and I am sure it wasn’t me who wrote it! Why? Who did this? It must have been the man with the red eyes. Last night he was laughing in my dream, and he still wouldn’t talk to me, I could feel him getting closer and closer to me. I am afraid. I won’t sleep anymore. I don’t want my family to die. I don’t want to die. Please, someone help me. ‘Why are you doing this to me? Please leave, please stop it! I don’t want to talk to you anymore… YOU’RE NOT A FRIEND ANYMORE. You can only hurt me if I go to sleep, but tonight I won’t sleep!’

Wow, I have some really bad habits. When I’m really focused, I start playing with stuff around me. Well, normally what kids usually do, you know, chewing on a pen, etc. But… I’m holding a cutter, playing with it. Was it here on my desk all the time? Maybe I’m just being paranoid. I can hear noises again, footsteps.. It must’ve been on the desk. I was just too busy to notice it, because of this diary. The next page is really scribbled:

“ Dear friend,

I am still alive. We… are still alive, I haven’t slept the entire night, and this is the first time I’m writing to you in the morning. The man with the red eyes was… under my bad last night. I could hear him whispering to me, trying to persuade me to go to sleep. I was keeping my eyes wide open, so I wouldn’t fall asleep, but I imagined him showing up in front of my face and dragging me under the bed. I was sobbing silently. I think he was enjoying it. I am afraid, I don’t know what to do, but I still have to go to school, I will take you with me this time! ”

This was played smartly by him. He took the diary with him. Well at least I think it was a smart move. And apparently the man with the red eyes can only attack while he sleeps. That’s really strange, but… I guess he couldn’t take it anymore without some sleep, since they… died. Oh and I was wrong about them not suffering as well. If what the diary states is true, John must have set himself, his family, and the house on fire. Looks like I am getting to the bottom of this story. I wouldn’t be surprised however if I wake up tomorrow to find out that I am just being delirious, and nothing bad happened in fact, only an unfortunate accident, and this diary is in fact not readable, only my mind making up stories. That has to be it, but I have to finish reading it:

“ Dear friend,

I am crying again, I think it’s going to be over soon. My new teacher sent me home, thinking that I am sick, because I fell asleep for 5 minutes during her class. I didn’t tell my parents yet, just so they wouldn’t force me to go to sleep, but I don’t know how much I can take it anymore. Right now, I can hear daddy talking to my teacher on the phone, in the kitchen. I tried to listen to them using the extension phone, but daddy heard me breathing and told me to hang up. He might be coming upstairs in a couple Of minutes. It’s too late already, I will miss you, this might be the last page I am writing. You’ve been together with me whenever I needed help. You were my best friend, and now somehow you are also the one who tied me to this hideous creature that won’t tell me his name. The man with the red eyes, oh, how much I hate him. If I fall asleep, it’s over… over!
I took a break, daddy came into my room, as I’ve told you before. He said that trying to hide the fact that I am sick is not good for me, and he forced me to take a pill, an antibiotic probably, which usually causes sleepiness. I tried to tell him about the man with the red eyes, but I guess it’s too late, he didn’t believe me, he blamed it on my fever. An inexistent fever… ‘I beg of you once more, please spare us, what did I do wrong? I considered you my friend, please leave, go back to where you belong. I regret the day I started dreaming about you, in Blanche!’

And that’s the end of this page, but there seems to be one more page. He said this would be his last one. Was he really able to control his urge to sleep? Impossible. The last pages are glued together, probably due to the fire… Well, I guess the cutter isn’t useless after all. But… it was dry blood holding the pages together… This is it, the moment of truth, what can the last page possibly hold for me, since I am certain John’s son fell asleep that very day… leading to their deaths. It’s the scribbled different writing again. And… I see my name written in capital letters. I will read the page entirely however:

“ Dear friend,

These are my last words. I am going to die for my best friend, the friend that I love the most, the man with the red eyes. ‘I first freed you from Blanche, taking you with me, but you obviously returned the favor by fulfilling the wishes I’d write down here. Tonight you will be truly free. But for that, we all must die. It’s not going to be hard, I will be falling asleep soon, and that will sort me, mommy, daddy and sister out. DAN, daddy’s brother will find out about what happened to us. He will obviously want to investigate, no matter what. He will find this diary, and he’ll start reading it. But as he progresses and gets through more pages, he will become paranoid. He’ll start hearing strange sounds, footsteps, wood creaking, whispers. He won’t take it seriously. He will blame it on the lack of sleep. At one point or another, he will feel a light breeze. Unbeknownst to him, he will go and shut the open window, and also grab a cutter from the kitchen. As he continues to read the diary, he will start carving the desk with the cutter, until he becomes aware of it at one point, leaving him confused for a few seconds. He will then proceed to use it to unglue this last page from the previous one, and notice some of my blood drops. He won’t get to finish reading this page. He will notice his name that I’ve just written down before, but as soon as he starts reading the page, unaware of his hand gestures, he will take the cutter, and stab his left hand, cutting his veins. He will sit there at the desk, with the life flowing out of him. When he’ll realize what he’s done, it’s going to be way too late for him. And that is, when you will be free!’

Credit To – Gothard Eduard; Schiau Remus

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The Unseen

May 8, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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I used to work in this pretty old building. It was originally the courthouse for the city I live in. I remember when I first started working there, people would tell me about odd goings-on, like strange noises, lights flickering or turning off completely, weird smells, etc. It seemed like everyone I worked with had some sort of “experience.” I never put much stock into that sort of thing. “Paranormal activity?” There had to be a logical explanation.

After working there for awhile, I felt like I had the building figured out. Clink-clank-clink – the heater turning on (we were in the middle of the basement of the building and all of the pipes led to the boiler room adjacent to my office), hisssssss – the ac unit in my office turning on (like I said, we were smack dab in the middle of the basement, air didn’t fluctuate too well so we had a separate ac unit for our office) clunk-clunk-clunk -the ice machine in the fridge in our “break area”, whoosh – the toilets being flushed and the water running through the pipes above me. As for the flickering lights, I’m sure it would lead to faulty wiring. The building had been condemned, twice. And the odd smells, I just blamed on the people.

I worked as a security dispatcher for a school district, and I usually ended up working the graveyard shift. We were located in the district office which was a three story building, four including the basement. We had surveillance cameras in various areas of all of the schools as well as every floor of our building, and outside. We also had a dial up alarm system. When the system was armed, any noise would set off an alarm, and I could dial up the area and listen to exactly what set the alarm off. The system also brought up the camera of whatever area was triggered.

Looking back, I think my first experience was the elevator. Our custodial crew left at 0015, so after that, there shouldn’t have been anyone inside the building. One night, I received an alarm from the lobby area of our building on the first floor. I listened to try to figure out what set the alarm off as I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary on the camera. I didn’t hear anything either. This sort of thing happened. Sometimes the system was faulty and we received bogus alarms. I cleared the alarm and almost automatically I received an alarm from the lobby of the basement. I didn’t need to listen to see what the cause of the alarm was. The elevator doors were opening and closing. I went out to investigate, it was just down the hall from where I was. I could hear the elevator doors continuously opening and closing. I’d never had that happen, but it was an old building. As I walked up, I kind of got the creeping feeling like I was going to find something inside the elevator, but it was empty. I hit the call button and the doors stopped. I stood there for a minute looking inside the elevator, checking the doors. I’m not one for elevators so I didn’t step inside. When I stuck my head inside, I smelled a putrid smell. It filled my nostrils and seemed to burn my throat. I pulled back and gagged and then the elevator doors seemed to slam shut. I was slightly unnerved, but brushed it off and went back to my office. I called the elevator company and scheduled for them to come check it the next morning. The rest of the night was quiet.

I had the next two days off, and forgot about the incident. I went back to work on the graveyard shift and started my routine. It was about 0230 and all had been quiet. I received an alarm and saw that it was from the third floor of our building. I checked the camera and once again saw nothing. I dialed up the alarm and…. I heard something. It sounded at first like a fan blowing, but after listening for a little bit, it started to sound like someone whispering. I saw no one, but the cameras didn’t cover every angle of the building. I started to wonder if someone had stayed late. No one notified us, and people were aware of our protocol, but not everyone followed it. I decided it would be best to have one of our guards on call to check it out. It took him about 15 minutes to get to the building. The guard radioed and told me he had arrived. The “whispering” was still going on. I was beginning to wonder if it was a fan or some sort of machinery making the noise. I told the guard the area of the alarm and waited. As the guard moved through the building, alarms were being set off and I could see him walking via the cameras. He made it to the third floor. I watched and saw him make it to the area where the “whispering” was coming from. He stopped just under the camera. I could see the back of his head and body, but not his face. He stood there for what seemed like minutes. I dialed up the area and the “whispering” seemed louder now. I could almost make out words, but it was so fast. It sounded like the same thing was being repeated over and over. All of a sudden, the guard turned his face toward the camera. His eyes were wide and his mouth was wide open like he was screaming, but nothing was coming out. I was pretty freaked out. I didn’t understand what was happening. I radioed him and asked what was wrong, my voice was trembling. He didn’t respond, just kept staring, unblinking into the camera. I asked my coworker if they were pulling a prank, and he looked freaked out as well, and shook his head. He gasped and I looked back at the screen. He was gone, walking back the way he came. I watched as he made his way through the building and down the stairs towards my office. Then he was at the door. We kept the door locked, but there was a little glass window cut out. I saw him look inside. My heart was beating fast. Then, as if nothing happened, he said, “Hey guys! What’s going on? Let me in!” He had a playful look on his face. I went up to the door and smelled a hint of that awful smell again. Without opening it I asked, “What just happened up there? What the hell were you doing?” He looked at me confused. “What do you mean? I checked the area and there was nothing. I came down to give you my report.” I was furious! I yelled, “Were you messing with us right now? Why would you do that? That was horrible!” He really looked confused then. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about. I went and checked the area and found nothing and now I’m here trying to give you my report.” I cracked the door open and the smell was stronger. I grabbed the paper and slammed the door. He walked away, head shaking. I watched as he left the building. I went to complete my report, somewhat unsure what to write. The sound seemed to have stopped once the guard left the area. I decided just to say “area was found secure.” I grabbed the guards report from the table, having set it there without looking at it. When I read it, I was filled with a variety of emotion. His report read: I’m watching you as you try to watch me. I can see you, but I am unseen. I tried to reach the guard on the radio, but he did not respond. I emailed my supervisor and notified him of the situation. The rest of the night was uneventful.

The next afternoon I received a phone call from my supervisor. He said he had tried repeatedly to reach the guard from the night before, but had been unable to. He wasn’t very happy about the incident either and wanted to know what happened. He said he would let me know as soon as he talked to him. I went into work that night, but I felt a bit off. Walking through the stairwell and down the hall to my office, I felt as though I was being watched. And not by the cameras, it was….. something else. I got goosebumps all over and realized it was really cold. I walked a little faster and made it to my office, but not before smelling that rancid smell again. I slammed the door behind me. My counterpart was already there and the other crew left. Fifteen minutes later, we saw the custodial crew leave. They usually turned and waved at the camera when they left, but not that night. They kept their heads straight ahead and left the building. For a moment as they walked out the door I thought it looked like one of them had her mouth widely ajar. I thought it was weird and assumed I caught her in a yawn. I checked my email and saw that my supervisor had sent one stating that he was still unable to reach the guard and said he left a voicemail and email telling him not to come to work until he spoke to him about the situation. Another guard would be covering his shift until then. I felt a little relieved. I really didn’t want to see that guy again for awhile, if ever.

A few hours had passed, we received some alarms here and there from a few school sites. All uneventful. Then, I received an alarm from the second floor of my building. I was slightly apprehensive to check the alarm, but it was my job. The camera was blacked out. I thought it odd and made a note to have someone check it in the morning. I dialed up the alarm and bit my lip. Nothing. I kept listening for awhile. Sometimes silence could be really unnerving, but what broke the silence, even more so. I heard it clearly that time, it wasn’t whispering. It was a deep male voice saying over and over, quickly, “I’m watching you as you try to watch me, I can see you, but I am unseen.” Then there was a deep rumble that almost sounded like laughter. I was really freaked out. I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be in the building. I got on the radio and said I needed a guard asap! We only had one guard on duty and he said he was wrapping up at a school across town so it would be at least 30 minutes until he would arrive. I looked at my coworker who was biting his nails and staring at the screen with the cameras. Then I saw his eyes grow large and he went pale. I turned to look at the screen and saw why. The camera screen wasn’t black anymore, I could see the area now. It was a hallway on the second floor, but in the middle was a dark human figure. It looked like a shadow. All I could make out was a silhouette that looked to be made up of a black mist. Then suddenly through our speakers I heard in a hoarse, crackling voice, “Can you see me now?” And then there was a wailing so loud I had to cover my ears. Everything went black and silent. All I could hear was my heart beating.

After a minute, the emergency lights kicked on. The room was dimly lit and I didn’t see my coworker anywhere. The generator kicked in for the security system and it was rebooting still so I couldn’t check the cameras. I turned and looked at the door and it was wide open. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. I didn’t know what that thing was, but in that moment, I believed in everything. I made the decision to get the hell out of there. The job wasn’t worth it. I shakily started to make my way through the dark basement. The emergency lights helped in making the situation all the more creepy. I started to sob when I saw a human form at the end of the hall. The smell was back too and stronger than ever. I tried to cover my nose and mouth with my sweater, but it didn’t help much. I got my phone out and turned on the flashlight. “Charlie?” I called to my coworker. I felt completely uneasy that he was just standing there, his back to me. I was about 10 feet away when he turned suddenly, his eyes wide and mouth wide like he was trying to scream, just like the guard. I screamed and turned to run the other way when I saw another human form at the other end of the hall. I heard that hoarse, cracking voice again, “Can you see me?!?” I had seconds to make a decision and I decided to run back in the direction of my coworker. That was the quickest way out of the building. He stood there unmoving as I ran past, but made an awful gurgling sound. It sounded like he said, “I see.”

I felt as if I might faint, but as I saw the stairwell that would lead to the exit, and my freedom, I felt a burst of adrenaline. As I made it to the top, I felt a coldness and then I heard that voice again, “LOOK AT ME, PAMELA!” I didn’t turn around. I reached the door, ran out and slammed it shut behind me. I kept running through the parking lot until I reached my car. I was opening the door and I heard something behind me. Something grabbed my shoulder and I screamed and turned and saw it was the guard who I had called to inspect the alarm. He looked at me with concern and asked what had happened and if I needed assistance. I told him I just needed to get away from the building now. He told me I wasn’t driving anywhere and to get in his car. It was out on the street and I ran towards it and got inside. I knew I was probably in shock and shouldn’t drive and I knew the guy well enough. I couldn’t look at the building. When we were far enough away, I told him what happened. He looked at me like I was insane, I don’t think he ever had had a call-out to the building. I had him drop me off at my boyfriends apartment.

The next day, I didn’t want to go back, but I had to get my car. So my boyfriend took me over and said he would stay with me. I saw my supervisor in the parking lot. When he saw me I could tell he was furious. “Where the hell did you go? Charlie called me this morning and told me that you walked out in the middle of your shift!” “Charlie called you and told you that, huh? Well I have one thing to say, I QUIT!!” He looked shocked and opened his mouth as if to say something , but then just walked away. I got in my car and have never set foot in that building again.

About a week after I left, I heard that the guard from the night I first heard the whispers was found hanging in his apartment, eyes and mouth wide open. A few days later there was a report about a string of suicides of employees from that building. The two custodians and Charlie were all found to have committed suicide, and all found with eyes wide and mouths agape. I did some digging around online and found these were not isolated occurrences. Even as far back as 1922, when the building was a courthouse, there were reports of multiple employee suicides. I have no idea what happened those nights or what is in that building, but I am a believer. It’s been a few years since then and I try to avoid that building as much as possible. But sometimes I do have to drive by, and I can’t help but look up at it, wondering what might be looking back at me.

Credit To – Scarlett’s Amorous Kiss

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I’ll be waiting

May 7, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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You don’t know me. No one knows me. Only Master knows of my existence. But Master and I know all of you. We visit all of you, my friends, during the witching hour.

I’m never there during the day. The sun’s rays penetrate my shadowy soul and obliterate my flesh. My bones turn to ash and my organs become dust. Daytime in one place is nighttime in another though, so Master and I always are traveling. Never in one place for too long.

After the sun has died and the moon lives again, I come. I’ll get close up to you and breathe in the scent of your life. I listen to your heartbeat and breathing. Master then starts work on you, putting one finger on your forehead and whispering Latin words. You always end up squirming or screaming. Master calls them nightmares. I always want to comfort you, hold you close. But I can never touch, not ever. Master tells me never to touch.

I’ve learned not to touch. Master hurt me badly, and my skin, my scarred, sensitive skin, has paid the price. But sometimes I can’t help myself. When Master isn’t looking, I strike. I brush my fingernails down your arms, trace your lips, comb your hair away from your face. But my skin kills your kind, breaks the blood vessels, bruises your body in mysterious ways you can never figure out. I’m sorry, I really am. I just can’t help myself. I want to show you how much I love you.

When Master and I are done with you, I always remember to take a souvenir. Usually it’s something small that you won’t notice is missing, like a coin or a pen, snatched up from behind Master’s back. But sometimes you don’t have very much. When that happens, I take something else, with Master’s permission of course. Hair. Nails. Eyelashes. A part of you. And it will always be mine.

I hope to see you tonight. But if you don’t fall asleep, we’ll have a problem. Master says I can’t let you see me. If you see me, our friendship will be over. And I’ll have to kill you. I don’t want to kill you. I don’t want to see the blood seep through your bedsheets. I don’t want to see your face as you scream at the sight of me. My deformed skin. My scars. My love for you.

But maybe, deep down inside, just a little bit, I do. I am Master’s child, afterall.

Sweet dreams, darlings. I’ll be waiting for you.

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Ubloo, Part Four

May 5, 2015 at 12:00 AM
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Note: This is part four of the Ubloo Series. You may view the previous parts of this story here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3. Keep an eye on the Ubloo Series tag for future installments!

I paced across my hotel room swirling a glass of gin, lost in thought. Tomorrow I had a meeting with the Louisiana Bank to view the old school that Robert Jennings had looked into. When I told them I was interested in buying the place they were a little surprised, and when I heard there was next to no interest in the place, I was surprised as well. The house, albeit dilapidated and in need of repair, was beautiful. The woman I spoke with on the phone informed me that the school had become somewhat of a local spook story for the townspeople. It was shut down when the funding ran out, and a lot of the students and their families were really upset with how the local government had chosen to send them elsewhere rather than provide additional funds. After that it went on the market, but I guess no one felt quite right about taking something that had done such good for those children. Fast forward a few bad storms and no maintenance later and the place had become a paranormal attraction, although no real activity had ever been documented there.

I took a long sip of gin and gulped it down. I couldn’t believe how accustomed to this shit I’ve become. While I wasn’t much of a drinker before, I had always had a taste for whiskey. Now this is all I can drink.

The hotel room I was staying in was dark and musty. My bank account was starting to run low now that I’ve been living without income for more than two months, and I couldn’t afford to spend lavishly. I thought about writing some prescriptions and selling them but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. While the money would be great to have, I refused to turn my back on who I used to be. Who knows? Maybe this school will offer some new information I could use to possibly kill Ubloo. Kill? I shook my head. It’s a fucking voodoo curse, how do you even kill something like that?

I put my hands against my dresser and leaned forward over my glass of gin, watching the ice cubes bobble and clink against the sides.


It came from behind me. I spun around so fast I nearly fell, and my eyes had to adjust to the rapid movement. Before me, someone was beginning to come into view.

It was Andrew.

We stood there and stared at each other. He had on a plain black shirt and jeans. His hair was messy and tangled, and his once familiar bright green eyes were replaced by balls of pure white.

“Doctor, why are you here?” He spoke again.

My words caught in my throat, but finally I managed to push them out.

“I’m trying to find a way out, Andrew. I’m trying to beat it. I’m trying to beat Ubloo.”

Andrew slowly shook his head at this.

“You can’t beat Ubloo, Doctor. You can’t.” He said. “Ubloo is always there, always waiting, always watching.”

We stood in silence, my stomach churning in depression and nervousness.

“Well I have to try Andrew.” I finally spoke. “I have to try, because I can’t let this happen to someone else, I just can’t.”

And then I saw it. It slunk out of the shadows behind Andrew with slow, almost clumsy movements. Its skin was slick and gray, pulled taut against his body, and I saw every bone and muscle twitch and move as it hobbled over on its six long legs. It had to be at least six feet tall, probably more, and this was hunched down on its knees. Its big round head and those deep black eyes stared right into me. While it had no pupils I could tell it was watching my every move, examining me. The long trunk that dangled from its head swayed back and forth as it walked, as if it hung limp. It stopped just behind Andrew as he began to speak again.

“It will happen to someone else Doctor.” His white eyes staring right at me. “There is only one way out now.”

Ubloo’s trunk reached up and pressed itself to Andrew’s ear. I then saw its long, thin black tongue emerge from Andrew’s nose and he let out a shrill scream.

I covered my ears with my hands and slumped down against the dresser.

“NO! STOP IT!” I screamed, but to no avail.

Andrew’s flesh began sloughing off his bones in sloppy chunks, dripping like candlewax and exposing his skeleton and muscle tissue. He continued screaming as his body turned to a soupy pile at his feet. I watched as his face melted and revealed his jaw bone, and then I heard a sharp twang and saw his jaw muscle snap, and the bone fall crooked at an angle, all the while screaming in agony.


And with that Andrew stopped, his jaw still hung open. He was nothing but a half-skeleton now, with bits of meat and entrails caught between his bones that hadn’t made it to the floor. He was frozen, and then his head snapped and turned to look at me, and the balls of white rolled from the back of his head to reveal those bright green horrible eyes. Behind him Ubloo watched all the while.

“The end is the beginning Doctor.”

And then his skeleton shattered and his remains fell to the floor in the mound of flesh and bile he left behind, and Ubloo’s trunk fell and dangled below his head, and I heard him say it.


My legs were tangled in my bedsheets like knotted wood. I laid in a pool of cold sweat, panting, staring up at the dark ceiling as the outline of a cold light fixture came into focus.

I laid there panting for a while. Once I had caught my breath I stood up and walked over to my dresser and opened one of the drawers. Inside lay a pill bottle, and beside that lay a revolver.

While I still held on hope of finding a way to rid myself of this curse, a small rational part of me remained that there might truly only be one way out of this whole thing.

I pulled out a full bottle of adderall and popped three into my mouth. I grabbed an almost-empty bottle of gin and downed the rest of it. I turned and looked around the room, nothing. I flicked the light on and checked my watch. 4:37 AM.

It was time to pack.

I made it to the bank just after 7 AM. It wouldn’t be open for another hour or so, so I pulled out one of the many pints of gin I now kept in my car and emptied some of its contents into my coffee. The first sip burnt my tongue but I just didn’t fucking care anymore. There are worse things than a burnt mouth.

I kept thinking about what Andrew said, if it was Andrew. Could it have been the Ubloo speaking to me? It made no sense. If it can tell me to wake up every damn time why would it want to fabricate a vision of Andrew to talk to me? Hearing that thing talk would be much more freaky, in my opinion.

I met the woman who was to show me the school at the door. Her name was Linda. She was middle aged with brown hair and freckles, and had a brilliantly white smile. I took the time to really clean up my appearance for this meeting. If I was going to look like someone buying this house and squeeze information out of her, I’d have to play the part. My hair was neatly combed and I trimmed down and cleaned up my haggard looking beard. I put on some of my old work clothes that I ironed the night before and even put a spritz of cologne on. Truth be told, it felt good to dress myself up a bit.

We took her car to the school, which was only a few blocks from the bank. When we pulled up I got an eerie feeling in stomach, the way you feel when you see someone you’ve only seen in pictures before. I felt like I knew this place already with the amount of studying I had done on it.

“Now it may not look like much now but this used to be a real beauty I tell ya.” She said as she walked up to the big iron gate.

She pulled a key ring from her purse with three keys on it and fumbled through them. I watched her carefully. There were two gold keys and one silver one. She settled on the silver one and slipped it into the gate’s lock. I looked up at the fence and inspected the sharp pikes at the top. It wouldn’t be ideal to climb over, but if done carefully it was certainly doable.

“The yard is a little overgrown right now, we usually send someone out to mow it once every few months, and to check in on the place, make sure no one has been messing with it.

We walked up the walkway and ascended the front steps. They creaked under our feet as we made our way to the door. From the same key ring she gripped one of the golden keys and slipped it into the lock. The door opened inward and she began heading in.

“So, here we have the foyer and as you can see there’s an old open floor with high ceilings, which is all the rage nowadays.” She said as she shut the door behind me.

The house truly was beautiful and I can understand why it was easy for Robert to play the acquisition off as a good investment. Linda showed me the rest of the house, which was bleak and dusty. The floor boards creaked where we walked, and evidence of water damage littered the walls and ceilings. Most of the first floor was classrooms, with the exception of a small kitchen that the teachers must have used as a break room. Upstairs was the dean’s office and more classrooms.

I kept walking through the house, only half listening to what Linda was telling me, the other half just waiting for something to jump out, but nothing did. I was hitting a dead end. I had followed clues all the way up to this point, and now I couldn’t help but feel lost and alone.

When we were done viewing the house I went back to the bank with Linda to go over some of the documents and talk numbers. I took a seat in her office opposite her desk. She put her purse down and went to get us some coffee. When she got back, she sat down and pulled out the paperwork.

“We’re asking a minimum of $685,000, with all fees in the exchange of the deed covered on your end. There’s also a broker’s fee of $10,000 but to be honest I can see the bank waiving that if you can commit, they’re pretty adamant about getting rid of this property.” When she finished speaking she slid the paperwork over for me to look at.

I pretended to read it and then sat back in my chair.

“$685,000 sounds doable.” I said. “Although a similar home would go for almost double that on the market right now, especially one with this square footage and architecture.”

Linda knew what I was saying before I even said it.

“It’s just that,” I continued “I had heard some rumors about the property while I was in the area, and while I’m certainly skeptical, I’m also understandably curious.”

Linda sighed despite my generous wording of the inquiry.

“Well I can assure you there’s nothing to be worried about with this property. When the school was shut down they sent the students to public schools, which a lot of the parents weren’t happy about because there was still a lot of racial tension. The parents begged us for funding but it was just too expensive to keep it going. They chased off some of the first potential buyers, the house stayed vacant for a long time and then the stories started. After that, it’s pretty difficult to sell a house, especially one that had sustained damage and had bad blood behind it.”

I nodded. Made sense. Part of me was hoping there would be a story to go off of but all I ever found was the usual, run-of-the-mill tall tales; people seen in the windows, people going in and never coming out, etc.

“Well, I’ll have to speak with my wife about this and see what she thinks.” Saying that felt weird. I took a sip of my coffee. It had cooled down to a drinkable temperature, which made me feel a little better about what I was about to do.

“Of course, I understand.” Linda answered with a smile.

“In the meantime do you mind if I take a copy of-“ I reached my hand across the desk to grab the papers and dropped my cup of coffee so that it spilled onto Linda’s shirt and lap. “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry.”

“Oh!” She stood up and looked around the room for something to wipe herself off with. “I just-umm-one moment please.”

She rushed from the room and I heard her heels pacing down the hallway.

“I’m so sorry!” I called after her as my hands dug through her purse and found the key ring. “I’m so clumsy I should have warned you!” I slipped the keys into my pocket, and then pulled out the box of tissues I had hidden under my chair and placed them back on her desk.

“Oh it’s quite alright!” She said as she came back in with a roll of paper towels. “Happens all the time dear. Let me just get one of the interns to print you another copy of those agreements.”

Linda walked me out and I apologized to her again for spilling the coffee. She said she hoped to hear from me soon. I waved to her from my car and couldn’t help but chuckle as I pulled away at the sight of her standing there with a big coffee stain on her blouse.

Once I had gotten back to my hotel room I poured myself a glass of gin and sat on my bed. I threw two more adderall in my mouth and swallowed.

I’ll go to the house around 2AM. I’ll have to remember to bring the flashlight and some tools, just in case I grabbed the wrong keys. While highly unlikely, it was unlike me to ever leave myself room for error. I started packing a duffle bag. Flashlight, hammer, wrench, screw driver, crowbar. I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a ski mask. I felt something heavy underneath it move and looked down at my revolver. I stood there staring at it, and was jolted back to reality when my phone rang.

I pulled it out and read the caller ID.

It was Eli. I hesitated a moment and then answered the call.

“Eli, how are you?”

“I’m fine Doctor, yisself?” He said with that charming Southern twang.

“Been better, y’know.” I trailed off. “How can I help you?”

“Well Doctor, I’ve done some researching on that… y’know.”

“And?” I said back. Ubloo was nothing new to me, so I was less inclined to tip-toe around the issue than he was.

“Well I couldn’t find anything else about ‘Daiala Bu Umba’ specifically, but I did find something similar. It was in some other tribe’s history.”

My ears perked up and I felt my stomach flutter.

“Go on.”

“Well it says here, a member of this tribe was afflicted with terrible nightmares. They found him dead one morning in his hut, and the person that found him started getting the nightmares.

“Sounds promising.” I said, trying to hide the excitement from my voice.

“Well this went on a few times before the tribe caught on, but unlike other tribes, they didn’t banish the one with the dreams, instead they assigned him an ‘Ubuala.’”


“Yes Doctor, that’s old Khoe for ‘The Waker.’ The Ubuala would sit with the person afflicted and wake him if he started to have nightmares by shaking them and yelling ‘Ubloo!’”

My stomach dropped. This was getting eerie, and started to hit me a little too close to home.

“Did it help?”

“Well it says it did, for a little, but then the tribe member started reporting that he was seeing the monster while he was awake. No one believed him, and then one day they found him off when he was supposed to be gathering water with his wrists slit.”

Somehow this didn’t surprise me.

“Well, then what?”

“The tribe’s elder commissioned that he would be the Ubuala for the man who found the previous cursed tribe member, and never left his side. Until one night, when the man was woke from his nightmare, he wrestled a knife away from the elder and killed himself before him.”


“Are you sitting down Doctor?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re not going to like this next part. It’s says that the elder wanted to rid his tribe of the curse, and that anyone who finds him dead will inherit it from him, so…”

My heart was racing.


“So he asked that his tribe bring him somewhere that no one would ever find his body.”

Silence from both of us.


“They buried him, Doctor… Alive.”

I felt sick to my stomach instantly.

“Jesus, Eli…”

“I know, Doctor. Now this is where the trail runs cold. I had found minor reports of nightmares elsewhere in history texts but nothing after this. So I read into the art of voodoo. I learned that once a curse has been placed, the spirit will hunt until it has claimed everything it was promised. This is the only way to rid a curse, so I haven’t figured out how burying the elder alive could stop it.”

I choked back nausea and tears.

“Well is there any way to summon it again once it hits a dead end like that? I mean there has to be some reason it’s back.”

“Yes, well a curse can always be revitalized if it’s summoned again, but even still, it will only hunger for what it was promised, and whoever summoned it would need to know the exact ritual performed. You see, certain components are required for voodoo. The witch doctor who summoned Daiala Bu Umba cited using elephant tusks, snakes and many other things, as well as the remains of his whole tribe, and the book you gave me was all I ever found from the Binuma Tribe. Before that, everyone assumed they never even existed.”

My head was spinning from all this new information.

“Alright well, I don’t plan on calling it quits yet Eli. And if burying me alive won’t even kill this thing for good I’d hope to exhaust all my possibilities before even considering that.”

“I understand Doctor. I’m sorry I had to tell you this.”

“It’s alright, Eli, any information is good information.” I hesitated, and then asked the question that hung between the both of us. “Would you bury me if we had to, Eli?”

The pause was long, but finally, I heard that old Southern voice speak again, smooth as water.

“If we had to Doctor, I would.”

I reached the school at almost exactly 2AM.

I pulled the duffle bag from the back seat and put it in my lap. I exhaled deeply, and then opened the car door.

The night air was still and damp. I had parked a considerable distance from the school so I slung the bag over my shoulder and started the long walk to the gate.

As I walked I couldn’t help but think about what Eli had told me. About the elder, the Ubuala’s, everything. How is it that Daiala Bu Umba says Ubloo? Why would it tell me to wake up in the absence of someone else? I walked a bit further and then it hit me. I stopped dead in my tracks.

What if it isn’t the one saying Ubloo? What if it’s something else? Some other spirit trying to help me? Trying to stop the worst from happening? It made sense. It made just enough sense. That’s why I wake up from the dream, why I always hear it just before.

I felt butterflies grow in my stomach as I walk again. If the beast feeds on despair then it would make sense for some benevolent spirit to wake me up before it can have its fill. My mind was racing with this new information, and for the first time in a long while, I finally felt a tiny spark of hope.

By the time I reached the gate my shoulder was beginning to ache from carrying the duffle bag. I reached into my pocket and found the bottle of adderall. I took another one, just to be safe. I put it back in my pocket and pulled out the keys. I held my breath, stuck the silver key in the lock.

It turned.

Finally things were starting to go my way again. I opened the gate softly and slipped inside. I ducked down and silently ran up the walkway to the door. I slipped the gold key in, opened it, and slipped inside without making a sound.

I shut the door behind me and was surrounded by pitch black. I unzipped the duffle bag and fumbled around blindly until my hand found the flashlight. I pulled it out and turned it on. I shined it around the first room, half expecting to see something there. Too many horror movies as a kid I guess. I chuckled, and then began making my way through the house.

Again, I didn’t know what I was looking for when I was searching the house, but somehow I felt I would know when I saw it. I started upstairs and went through the office and classrooms. I knocked on the walls, trying to hear if there were any false passages or things behind them. I scanned the rooms and then moved back downstairs. I went through the classrooms and then the kitchen and then the classrooms again. After an hour or two of searching the house, I squatted down on my heels and let out a sigh.

I was going to have to come back another night and try again. Fuck.

The funny thing was this building wasn’t too much unlike the one I lived in back in Stoneham, Massachusetts. I got up and walked over to the walls and rubbed some of the grime off. Same color paint, or was it looked like. Same set up. Same hardwood floors. There was just something about carpets that I couldn’t stand. Probably because I hated to vacuu-

Then I saw it.

One floor board, a slight shade lighter than the rest.

I walked over and shined my light down onto it. While it was the same wood it looked lighter, the finish a little more pronounced. It looked… newer.

I dropped the duffle bag and pulled out the hammer and crowbar. I pried up the nails on one end and then pried the whole board back until it snapped in half. I had about three inches to see through. I tried shining my light into the whole it left but I couldn’t see enough. I went mad with excitement, ripping the boards up using the open space as leverage. I pulled another two back and then shined my light through again. What I saw almost made me sick.

There were bones on the ground beneath the floor. It’s not uncommon for Louisiana houses to be built a few feet off the ground, as to avoid flooding, although this one was considerably far from any bodies of water. There was about a foot or two of space and then dirt, which was absolutely littered with charred bones and ash. I searched around that patch of the floor frantically with my flashlight, and then I saw it.

Faded, but still there, was a large circle around the pile of bones and ash, with symbols that I recognized almost instantly.

It was ancient Khoe.

I sat there frozen, staring at the horrific inscriptions when I saw a piece of paper off to the side. I reached down through the floor boards and just with the tip of my fingers grasped it and pulled it up.

I opened the note and read it:

“I asked you how you sleep at night, now I’ve got my answer.”

Signed at the bottom:

“Monaya Guthrie”

I sat back on my heels bewildered.

“Monaya Guthrie.” I said to myself as I welled up with anger. She must have somehow summoned Ubloo back with this ritual and sent him after someone responsible for closing the school. My eyes welled up with tears of anger and frustration. But why? Why is the monster still searching? If it killed the tribe then why would it still be out there?

And then it hit me.

The witch doctor wrote that his wife was pregnant when she was murdered, and that he burned his entire tribe to summon the monster. But what if it wasn’t his entire tribe, what if what the monster wanted once it had killed off who the doctor sent it after, it still searched for this child? What if the witch doctor had somehow managed to save his child?!

My mind was racing frantically. While primitive it wasn’t uncommon for ancient medicines to be able to perform such a procedure. I mean, it’s just a premature c-section after all.

I stuffed my tools and the note back in the bag and stood up.

Monaya Guthrie, I have to find her. Or at least someone who knew her. She has to know what to do next. For fuck’s sake she might even be the descendant of-

The floor board behind me creaked and I froze in horror at the sound.

I spun around and shined my light and screamed.

There in the darkness, illuminated by just a beam of light, stood Ubloo.

It watched me with those cold black eyes and stared as I shook in fear.

I need to wake up. Fuck fuck fuck I need to wake up.

I watched as it slowly began to crawl towards me, the bones of its body visible with every movement under that smooth gray skin.

And then I realized. Never in a dream had I known I was asleep.

The panic set in like a fever. The tribesmen who saw Ubloo when they were awake, the way Andrew died propped against the wall facing the door. My heart was pounding out of my chest.

It wasn’t some benevolent spirit trying to wake me up. How could I be so fucking stupid?

It was Ubloo. All along it was Ubloo. Telling me to wake up every time. Making me feel safe at the last moment so that this time, this time I would realize there is no waking up. There is no escape anymore.

Ubloo stopped, tilted its head ever so slightly, and then galloped hard towards me. I screamed and turned and ran. I ran out the classroom door and into the hall. Halfway down the hall I saw a door and heard Ubloo crash into a wall behind me, chasing me. It was gaining on me and fast. I spilled out of the door and found myself in another classroom. I ran and searched frantically, finding another doorway. I turned a few feet before it and pulled the revolver from the back of my waistband. I shined my flashlight at where I had just came in and saw the door frame crash inwards as Ubloo came barreling through it. I fired three shots and saw its body flinch. Where the bullets had hit it there appeared small holes of black. It didn’t bleed, and I watched in horror as the holes simply closed up.

I ran through the doorway near me into the middle of the room and searched around with my light. No way out. I felt my heart pound harder as I realized this. I flashed the light around more and then I realized in horror that there were no windows either.

“No. No no no no no. Fuck fuck FUCK!”

I heard Ubloo approaching the door from the other room. I ran to the corner and turned to face it.

Slowly I saw the trunk reach around the door frame, and then its head poked in, those big black horrible eyes staring at me, trapped in the corner like a rat.

I clutched the handle of the revolver tightly and slumped down against the wall into the corner. This is the end. This is the end of Thomas Abian. The genius Doctor Abian who was entrusted with saving Andrew Jennings all those days ago.

I began to cry.

“The end is the beginning.” I said to myself as I cried.

Ubloo entered and was slowly crawling his way across the room to where I sat.

The end is the beginning. What a stupid fucking way to say it. I shook my head and tears fell into my lap.

I could hear Ubloo getting closer now.

I’m just going to become another fucking clue. I thought to myself as I sat there, crying like a baby. And to think I actually hoped to-

And then I realized it all, the dark horrible twisted sickness of it all.

The monster doesn’t feed on our despair, our sadness, it feeds on our hope.

It keeps us alive just long enough to think we can make it, and then it takes us.

The floorboards around me creaked from Ubloo’s weight as it got closer.

The hope Robert felt when he found the book, Andrew’s hope when I gave him the cyproheptadine, my hope when I found the ritual and note beneath the floor, and thought there may be a benevolent spirit.

But most of all, the hope that when he finally came for us, we’d wake up.

I began to cry harder as it all made sense.

It’s the perfect curse. One that gets stronger the more you think you can beat it. The end is the beginning after all. The end of my life is the beginning of its hunger for someone new to curse.

I opened my eyes and stared up at Ubloo. His head was just over a foot from where I sat. It knew, somehow it knew it was about to take what it came for.

“I should have let him bury me.” I cried as I raised the revolver.

I placed the cold heavy metal in my mouth and felt my teeth hit the barrel as I sobbed.

I opened my eyes just long enough to see its trunk reaching forward, to see my pitiful reflection in those dark empty eyes, to feel the trigger move beneath my finger, and a burst of light to fill that dark and lonely room. The last echo of a thought that some poor soul would find me here.

Credit To – DifferentWind

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