Did Boy Kill? He Killed Them All.

June 15, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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This is Part 5 and the last installment of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the previous installments in the linked tag.

They are dead.

They are all fucking dead; my husband, Tim, the Catholic and Voodoo priests, Dr. Hamani… everyone. And it’s my fault… and your fault. All you fucking Redditors. Snooping and prying and searching and meddling. I’ll say this; you all are a resourceful, twisted bunch. Everything from articles to incantations to recommendations for shrinks, priests and doctors flooded my PM box. Since I was desperate enough to try anything and everything I could read, I found myself trying to hide the mess. A bloody mess created by your need to meddle. And now these “friends” are all dead.

I can’t even be thankful for the one thing those incantations you all sent me did. They brought my son back to me. The only problem, the biggest of problems really, was that the real Timmy, Jr. WAS the problem. Come to find out, my son has a gift (or a curse depending which side of the coin on which you land). Turns out the reason my son’s body was possessed by those two murder victims was because he placed them there. Call him a demon, a reaper, a summoner… who cares anymore. All I know is that my son, my true son, isn’t what I remembered him to be… and perhaps he never was. Looking back, I should have known all along that he was evil reincarnate. It would have been better to have Nimer, Sr. and Bridget around.

There were signs: animal abuse, speaking in tongues (though I thought it was just kid gibberish), the cutting. And this was before the first possession. It’s not worth getting into the details anymore. It only excites you all further and that is all this was for you all. My family’s torture was just your entertainment. What in the Hell was I thinking coming to you people?

I’ll end this by just mentioning how amazingly creative a 4-year-old murderer can be (lock up your household chemicals and knife set). One would have to be “creative” to be able to pull victims within his own human form only to relive their murders again, decades after they happened. What kind of vile evil finds enjoyment from something like that? It is probably the same reason he kept me alive; for the torture of it. It’s probably why he picked that poor Bridget girl…the abuse and the torture…and the septic tank…it has left me no choice but to question my faith now. If there is a God, he will understand why I did what I did. He will know it was what needed to be done.

Redditors, cops, whoever reads this, please consider this my confession letter. While I did not kill everyone that is currently rotting in my basement, I am the one who killed the boy on the race car bed. And I’ll be the one lying on the floor next to him.

Sincerely,

Sarah

P.S. Mom and Dad, I am so sorry. Please forgive me and please believe me when I say that it was the only choice. I love you both so much.

Credit To – StupidDialUp

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Scream of the End

June 14, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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The usual stories about MineCraft will always go to Herobrine, about how he lives and he’s a lot more than code. But have you ever wondered about the Endermen, and whether there are any secrets about them? Everyone who has played MineCraft is well familiar with them by now, and while they can be hard to find in the overworld, many have visited their home in the End. Of course, they aren’t hostile unless you look at them or attack them. For this reason, quite a few people consider them friendly and like them. Personally, I’ve always found them creepy and killed them whenever i could. They are based off of Slender Man, after all. Well, being as strong as they are, regular players know that if you run into one right after you spawn, you run for water. For some reason, Notch decided to code them with a fear of water, and whoever thought anything bad could happen with water, right?

Well, water is the whole reason this mess started. I haven’t even attempted to start up my game since then. I was playing on my regular world, a server that my friends and I had started. We had plenty of houses built, a seemingly unlimited supply of diamond and gold, and the Ender Dragon was defeated. There really wasn’t much to do in the world anymore, so you had to get very creative. My friends and I, we were creative enough, and we understood the game very well. Aaron was our redstone guy. If you needed anything powered, he found a way to build it and make it better than any tutorial could ever tell you. Myself, I made a majority of the buildings, and even started working on a city. We had a few guys who would work on supplies, planting, and harvesting anything that was needed. Lastly, we had Graham. He did all the magical stuff. Potions, enchanting, and he had us build him a mob trap so he could get an outrageous amount of experience whenever he wanted to. Of course we had the randoms who would join, the occasional troll, and sometimes we would have someone new join our group as a regular. We had all fought the Ender Dragon before, and we could do it fairly quick. Aaron, I, and majority of the group would take out the crystals and fight the dragon. Graham, however, would stay underground working up potions for the battle and have the rest do deliveries. He wasn’t too fond of Endermen either. That’s why he made us bring water buckets to the End. He stayed in the middle of the water, where the Endermen couldn’t get him. That’s where I got my whole idea from.

One day when I was had nothing else to do, I decided to get on the server. It had been about two weeks since the Ender Dragon was beaten, and we hadn’t really gone to the End since then. We had a little trap that was set up with torches and sand that would send anyone who walked onto it into the End, but it was mostly just to make them panic. Well I had the great idea of using the End to farm Ender Pearls. I was planning on using Graham’s idea with the buckets in order to do it, but on a massive scale. I had every intention on flooding the End. With the help of an inventory editor and the /fly command, I started. Of course this was the only time I was using such things, as I made sure our whole server was legit. However, I was the only person on, and I figured everyone would have a good laugh out of the fact that I flooded the home of the Endermen. As I started going, a good portion of the floating island they called home was filling up quickly. You would hear them panic and teleport away every time they would get splashed, and the occasional scream from when they decided to go swimming for too long. It’s amusing how much determination to live a simple computer AI can give a being. As the rest of the island started to fill up, they became very crafty on their spawns. Many were going under the island on little ledges, but as soon as I saw them, they would be swept away from the water and fall into the Void. I kept going until there was a little square in the center, and the obsidian platform I spawned in on. They were pushing each other for what little, precious space they had left, and one would fall off the platform or into the water every few seconds. I made a few more trips around the island, filling up any spots I missed and finishing off any stragglers that found a comfy spot to sit in. One had even found a spot buried in the ground, in a four tall tunnel, until I flooded him out. This all took till about 1 o’clock in the morning, and I was happy I was able to finish by the night’s end. After I was sure I had filled every dry spot up, I filled up the square in the center. Many of the Endermen just swam until you heard the death scream and they fell, while a few of them managed to teleport to the platform. I decided to have a little fun, at first flooding the edges and watching them push each other into the water and off of the level. This left only four. This just compelled me to get it over with and flood the center, which I did, causing three of the four to fall off the platform. The one remaining Enderman stayed jumping in the center, and slowly his health was being chipped away. Finally, he fell to the floor and screamed. But it wasn’t the normal death scream I had grown accustomed to during my trip. It was glitching. Slowed down. Then it would start over, skip, and drag out even more. Eventually the rest of the game took suit, and I was unable to move. The sound repeated itself, as did his body falling to the floor, that is, until, “MineCraft has run out of memory.” MineCraft then crashes, as does Java.

As many people do when something like that happens, I started up both the server and MineCraft again. I figured it was just a glitch due to the massive amount of water running and the loot that was on the ground from the Endermen dying. I put in my IP address in the multiplayer and click connect. “Error: World not found”. Shit, I thought, as I knew that the crash had corrupted the files. Luckily I backed up the world right before we fought the dragon. I grabbed my external, copied over the files, and loaded it right up. Even though I couldn’t fix all that was lost, I figured I’d go back and fight the dragon again before bed. Thanks to Graham, I had armor and weapons with any enchantment possible, as well as potions that would last me years of battle. I get over to the portal, jump down the hole, and the End loads right up. However, something is wrong. As I look for the Ender Dragon, I see nothing in the air. The crystals are on the tower, but no dragon to feed off of them. I notice next that the Endermen are gone as well. I get on the island, walk around a bit, until eventually I’m hit. I look up and see that the crystals are chaining to what I would presume to be the dragon. He was invisible. So the world just didn’t load properly. I save, exit both programs, restart my computer, and get right back into it. The dragon is there, but the Endermen are still absent. Easier fight, as I don’t have to worry about looking in the wrong direction and having to ward off a pissed off Enderman. 20 minutes later, I shoot the last arrow into the dragon and he floats in the air, and the egg drops onto the fountain. I run over there so I can get out of the End, but another strange occurrence. The End portal that usually fills the fountain is now just the same texture as water. A bucket wouldn’t pick it up like normal water though. This just led me to think my .jar file was corrupted, and I hop in. Eventually it functions just as the normal End portal would, except I hear the death scream to the Enderman again. Not just once, but over, and over, and over. The portal finally works, but it isn’t what I expected. Black. Then, “MineCraft has run out of memory.”

I reinstall all the files, including the world for another time, and the game starts up without a hitch. I get back to the portal and hop in. This time, it is not the End that awaits me. Instead, it seems like an endless room. I can still see, but it’s just a faint glow around me. I walk forward, thinking it could be the End and something like a potion of blindness is stopping me from seeing it. The faint globe of light is all I can see, and the only source of light in my room as well. The platform doesn’t end in a few blocks though, and the obsidian continues, shattering my hopes of being in the End. The obsidian floor keeps going in all directions, so I follow a straight line. I walk, and the sound start. My footsteps first, but then the sound of blocks being placed. As I go forward the faint sound of Enderman begins, and increases. First, just the normal grunts. Then, they sound as if they are agitated. The sounds become much more frequent. It gets louder as if there is a whole hoard chasing me but they refuse to catch me. I start to see the purple pixels as if they are teleporting themselves and me. Then it stops. A few seconds and steps later, one comes flying at the screen, and the death scream goes at full volume. This makes me literally jump and let go of the keyboard and mouse. Silence. It doesn’t start up again until I move the mouse. One more sound, a light grunt, as if they are letting me know they are in the darkness, just out of my sight. I go forward again, clicking my mouse, hoping to hit one of them, or a wall, or anything. The pattern starts over, the sounds, the pixels, and the scare. I didn’t stop moving though, and neither did they. It continues. Escape, alt+f4, they don’t have any function. Unplugging the computer is out of the question, as I refuse to risk my equipment. I keep going, hoping it ends. After about three minutes of the cycle, it does. I’m teleported one last time, unable to move. The Enderman on the screen stares straight into my eyes. Water surrounds my character, and after the 20 seconds, he begins to drown. “You are dead.” In the background, the Enderman still looks with his stoic appearance, not even flinching as much as an inch. Five seconds later, the computer powers down without warning, and I’m left in the dark.

The next day, I send my friend the files for the world. They play the game without any flaws, gone to the End and even got a few pearls. I refuse to. I don’t even have the files on my computer anymore. Did a complete wipe of the hard drive. MineCraft became more than a game that night. It’s a lot more than a simple AI controlling a few entities. Definitely more than a glitch. These games and entities that form on our fears, they do that and much more. It’s a lot more than just simple coding now. The Endermen, they do hold a grudge. They have a fear, and it is not something to taunt them with. They are aware, and they will make sure you become well aware of them and their presence.

Credit To – The Magic Merker

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Did Boy Kill? The Visits of Mister Bob

June 14, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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This is Part 4 of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the previous installments in the linked tag.

Much has happened over the past week since I last posted so let me get you all up to speed.

Timmy, Jr., or should I say Bridget S____, doesn’t recognize that she is trapped in a 4-year-old boy’s body. She does what kids are supposed to do at this age (plays with toys, loves running around outside, watches Disney shows, eats on a routine schedule, etc.). What’s odd is she has been speaking like a 19-year-old having a conversation with a stranger at a coffee shop. It has been so hard to explain Timmy’s behavior to people (we mostly lie) but it was most difficult to explain it to a shrink.

We decided not to visit the shrink recommended by the hospital. They already were looking at us cockeyed when Timmy, Jr. was first brought into the emergency room last week. We eventually met with Dr. Hamani, an India-born psychiatrist and neurologist that was recommended to us from a close friend, a few days after Bridget possessed Timmy, Jr. Our friend said that this doctor would be sympathetic to our situation. I was not quite sure what that meant at the time. It could have meant the doctor may have not thrown me and my husband into the psych-ward with our son. At least not right away. Truth be told, that was one of the reasons why we waited so long to seek help. It’s a difficult proposition to explain to people what we have seen and been through. It’s hard not to be skeptical, hell, a part of me is still skeptical that this is just a nightmare and that I’d wake any minute. But I know it isn’t.

For the first couple sessions with Dr. Hamani, we tried to limit the details of what happened the night Melvin Nimer, Jr. killed Timmy, Jr. We explained that Timmy awoke from a dream screaming and that he stopped breathing until Timmy, Sr. resuscitated him. After handing him the police and doctors reports from that night (of course omitting the truth of that night), we explained how he has was now Bridget. It didn’t take long for Dr. Hamani to know that we were hiding something, hiding quite a bit. We soon found out why our friend felt the doctor would be sympathetic to us. Dr. Hamani came from very deep Hindu roots. After a couple sessions, it did not take long for him to become fascinated with the prospect of Timmy, Jr. being an instrument of reincarnation or possession. And after we told him the whole story, he quickly became obsessed with our case and hourly sessions became hours and daily.

General conversations with Timmy, Jr. (Bridget really), Dr. Hamani learned what we had already known; that she was a young southern girl from Louisiana and that she thought it was in the 1970’s. At that point we explained everything we found (articles found about her murder, where she was dumped to die and how it correlated with her nightmares, and about the murderer). She did not let on to the doctor that she knew she was murdered, just that she didn’t know where she was but just that she liked us. The doctor felt it was odd that she remembers so much of her past life but nothing about her murder. He was still skeptical about whether Timmy, Jr. was indeed Bridget. That was until he put him under hypnosis.

There are some portals that are meant to stay closed. Sometimes one must venture thru out of necessity. Our necessity was to find out where our son was or whether he ever actually existed at all. We needed to know the truth, one way or the other. I think Dr. Hamani understood this which is why he held Timmy, Jr. under hypnosis more than any other patient in his 35 years of medical practice. Unfortunately, in the pursuit of truth, you do not always find the answers you are hoping to find. And sometimes, the truth is far worse.

The sessions started simple enough. Dr. Hamani had Tim and I sit in another room and watch over his video monitors and listen via speakers. After putting Timmy under, the doctor spoke directly to Bridget. This was unexpected for the doctor since he expected the real Timmy to come out right away in his subconscious mind. As the session progressed, Dr. Hamani started to ask direct questions about the last things she remembered before showing up in my son’s body (to which she still has no comprehension). Looking back, I deeply regret that he asked.

She detailed how she was leaving a local drug store when a man in a work van approached her for help finding his little girl. She remembered being dragged into the back of his van and hit repeatedly in the face until she blacked out. She remembered being chained to a bed in some drab mobile home. She remembered being violated in ways, and with tools, that only could have been imagined by the Devil himself. She remembered the scratching and the knocking coming from underneath the thin floors of the trailer. She remembered the searing pain of her legs and arms being broken as he was stuffing her limp and defeated body into that septic tank. And she remembered the smell, the vomiting, the rising sewage with presumably every flush, and her eventual drowning in a sea of piss and shit. All of it, all of the details and emotional throws of indescribable torture, was spoken from the mouth of my 4-year-old boy.

He lied there, whimpering. We all sat there quiet, stunned. All of the details, most of them confirmed in the articles the Redditor’s found last week that I mentioned in my 3rd entry, were overwhelming. I had never been so defeated. It was as though this murderer reached out of my boy’s mouth and slaughtered a part of me and my husband. But even our devastation from witnessing this interview failed in comparison to what this girl went through and what my son’s fragile mind was experiencing again, and yet, for the first time. Feeling defeated, however, could not quell the fear in us when we heard my son scream out, petrified and lonely in his own voice, “Mommy!”

At that point, his body started to convulse and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. I couldn’t count how many voices started to spew out of my son’s mouth. It was as though dozens of tortured souls were clawing their way out of my son’s throat, each fighting to be heard, and each fighting to escape…escape from my son, escape from someone, escape from something…I just don’t know what it was. He collapsed back onto the couch, exhausted. I ran to the door to try to go into the room to do something, anything, even if it was just to hold him and comfort him, but I could not open the locked door. Tim yelled out, “Sarah, he is sitting up!”

I ran back to the monitor to check on how my son was doing. Dr. Hamani was trying to communicate with him but Timmy was unresponsive. You could tell he wasn’t sure if Timmy was still under hypnosis or not. So to make sure, the doctor started to count down from ten to one and lightly snapped his fingers to end the hypnosis. When he did, Timmy’s eyes looked up in the doctor’s direction, quickly lifted his finger and started to yell. It wasn’t Timmy though, it was Bridget, and she yelled, “No Mister Bob, please no! Not again Mister Bob! Why are you here?! Please leave me alone!”

Timmy passed out face forward and slammed his head sharply on the coffee table in front of him. My husband kicked down the door and we ran into the room. I went to check on my son and found him bleeding profusely from his forehead and nose from the fall. Tim was looking everywhere around the room to see who Bridget was talking to, not that he could have done anything even if he found him. He knew, just like I knew, that Bridget’s murderer was named Robert “Bob” Hohenberger and that he committed suicide a few weeks after Bridget’s body was found in that septic tank in 1978.

Dr. Hamani has decided to stay with us at our home until we figure something out. I know he cares for Timmy, but I think he needs to see what we saw when Melvin Nimer, Jr. visited us. Something like this shakes you to the core and like I said before, it makes you question everything you think you know. Though Dr. Hamani disagrees with the decision, we are expecting a visit from the priest tomorrow.

It’s been a couple days since the doctor has moved in and he has witnessed the night terrors we described. Timmy (Bridget) has also seen “Bob” on five different occasions, each visit is short but they are getting more intense for Bridget, but we have not seen him like we saw Nimer, Jr. I’m convinced this is his way of torturing Bridget.

We have also watched the hypnosis session tapes over and over. We are still unsure of how many voices we heard, even after listening to the tapes repeatedly (a horrible, horrible task). We are up to 23.

In the video footage, we also saw what Bridget was pointing at. It was hard to make out what Bob had in his hand, but like I said, I’m convinced he is torturing Bridget all over again.

The only thing keeping me hopeful at the moment is that I KNOW I heard my Timmy call out for me. That was my son I heard before all of those other voices came tumbling through. I’m turning over every rock I can looking for help. If anyone reading this has any ideas or finds anything in research that may help answer our questions or help put a stop to this, please post below and let us know. We are desperate!

Credit To – StupidDialUp

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Welcome to Night Vale

June 13, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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This isn’t a proper pasta, but it’s cool enough that it deserves its own post anyway.

Someone send me a heads up via the contact form about a podcast called “Welcome to Night Vale” – they described it as “NPR from the Twilight Zone,” and I have to say that’s a pretty accurate assessment. After listening to the first couple episodes, I’m hooked. As it seems like something that all of you would absolutely love, I wholeheartedly recommend checking it out. The basic gist is that it’s a community radio station from a normal-on-the-surface small desert town – in reality, of course, the town absolutely reeks of the paranormal: secret government agencies, mysterious hooded figures, aliens, angels, and more are all discussed as if they were just your normal, day-to-day life. And for Night Vale, I suppose that’s exactly what it is!

Here’s a short preview clip from the pilot episode, though I’d personally encourage you to listen to the full episode if you’re at all interested – the entire podcast is free, which is awesome.

To stream or download all of the full episodes, you have two options:
Welcome to Night Vale @ Feedburner – this has the added bonus of short episode descriptions and the ability to subscribe via any RSS reader.
Welcome to Night Vale @ iTunes – if you use iTunes a lot, you may prefer downloading your episodes from the store (still free).

Other links:
@NightValeRadio – the official twitter
WTNV on Facebook
Commonplace Books – the website of the showrunners

I hope that you guys enjoy this podcast as much as I am!

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Did Boy Kill? Part 3

June 13, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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This is Part 3 of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the previous installments in the linked tag.

Thanks to Redditors who asked not to be mentioned in this story, we think we have uncovered who has, for lack of a better term, “possessed” my son. I owe a great deal of gratitude to the people who linked me to this article, dated May 28th, 1978 from the Eugene, Oregon Register-Guard paper: [Third Dead Teenager Found in Louisiana].

I have no doubt that my son has become this woman. The things he has said and the way he has said them have me thoroughly convinced. Here is a four year old boy talking about prom dresses, marijuana, and “her” fears of sex in a perfect southern accent. Combine that with his uncanny knowledge of events from the time in question and I am left with little doubt. Apparently my son has become Bridget S___., age 19 from Morgan City, Louisiana. She, along with three other teenagers, were bound, raped then murdered. Ms. S___ was eventually tied up, weighted down, and stuffed into a septic tank, only to be found several weeks after her kidnapping. I cannot fathom what she went through, and from our conversations, neither can she.

As I noted in the previous entry, she only gives hints to these atrocities: waking up with great pain in her genital area and/or vomiting due to some phantom smell when she gets awaken from a nightmare (probably the smell of the septic tank). I haven’t the foggiest idea of how to approach my son/Ms. S___ with this new found information. After we left the hospital on the night of my son’s “death,” we were referred to a psychiatrist for further evaluation. So we are going to seek outside help wherever we can find it. My husband and I are also Catholic so we have put in a call to a Priest who “specializes” in these sorts of things from what our church has informed us.

As for the next steps from there, I am at a loss as to how to approach “her” now that we know who she is? Then there are the really difficult questions: Do we dig further into her past and try to approach the family (the thought of doing this devastates me)? Do we try to explain to “her” what has happened in order for her to be at peace? If we do that and she leaves, will our son die or will another spirit take him over? Does my son (the way we knew him for the last four years) even exist or was he Nimer, Sr. all along? I fear that with each answer I seek it will only lead to more, difficult questions.

Oddly enough, these are not the questions that keep me up at night. Only one question does and it comes to mind because of this second article that a Redditor found for me: [Police Officer Sought Car, Found Fugitive]

Now that I know who her killer was, what he has done, what he looks like, and the fact that he is dead, I fear he will search for my son, just like Nimer, Jr. did. How do you stop a murdering rapist pederast ghoul from hunting down a four-year-old boy? My four-year-old boy…

Credit To – StupidDialUp

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Did Boy Kill? Yes He Did.

June 12, 2013 at 12:00 AM
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This is Part 2 of the Did Boy Kill? series. You can read the previous installments in the linked tag.

My husband and I are alive. My son is not, well not in the way that we knew him. I’m not quite sure if he ever was alive or if he was ever really there. Not sure what to believe anymore.

Melvin, Jr. did come to our house the next evening. I wanted to go far away for that night but my husband was having none of it. Said I was being overly paranoid, even accused me of being drunk. My son, of course, denied having the conversation. It was almost as if he forgot he told me about his past-life, or whatever it was.

I made sure Timmy, Jr. slept with us that night. I refused to let him out of my sight all day. The waiting and not knowing was debilitating. I remember sitting with my aunt at her house when I was 15 years old. She was waiting to hear from the authorities after getting a call that my cousin and uncle were in a boating accident. It took a week for them to call off the search. It took two months to be told that parts of them washed up on shore. I remember thinking back then that the knowing, though tragic, was better than the waiting. That thought held true for me.

Exhausted by every panic-laced minute that passed during the day, I drifted asleep with Timmy, Jr. in my arms. I woke with a young boy, the same eight-year-old boy in the photo of the article, hovering over me, about six inches from my face. He had what I assumed was a knife to my cheek (it was too close to my eye for me to make it out for sure). Paralyzed by fear, I lay frozen in a blank stare at this ghost. He leaned in a little closer to me and whispered, “Mommy, your skin…I want to peel it.”

I screamed in a way that seemed to vibrate the bed. As I did, my husband and son woke, and the boy from the photo lifted his knife and thrust downward. I raised my arms to block him and my husband leapt over to protect me and Timmy Jr. The knife went through my arms and past my husband’s torso like a specter until it landed squarely in my son’s neck. Timmy, Jr. began to convulse as though the knife electrified every nerve in his body. My husband started to throw fists at Melvin Jr., swinging through him and hitting nothing. I tried to console my boy, to shake him out of it, as I lay halfway through the ghost. I tried grasping at the knife in his chest and then tried covering the visible rip in his chest but the knife wasn’t physical and the wound had no blood. I still cannot comprehend what happened.

When Timmy, Jr.’s body stopped shaking, Melvin Jr. disappeared and my son died. My husband tried CPR on my son in an attempt to try to resuscitate him. I sat on the bed next to him, sobbing uncontrollably. When I heard my son cough, I called out his name and prematurely hugged my husband in a relieved embrace.

Timmy Jr. opened his eyes, shifted them to me and started to talk in a way I have never heard him speak. He spoke to us like a southern belle, confused and startled as though “she” woke from a coma.

It’s been a few days since he died and came back to life. My husband and I have been having many interesting conversations with our “son.” Apparently his new name is Bridget S. (I cannot make out the last name due to the accent, maybe “Songs” or “Suds” or something like that) and “she” apparently is from Louisiana. From the conversations we have had she was probably around 18 or 19-years-old and lived in the late 70’s. Timmy, Jr. also has not been sleeping well. He will wake up in a horrible pain, grabbing his private parts in agony or he will wake up and begin to vomit because “she” can’t stand the “smell.” I do not know what any of it means but it may be a clue. Can any of you help me find out more details about this “Bridget” woman? I need to know if something else is coming after my son.

Credit To – StupidDialUp

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