It’s the Little Things

December 24, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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If there was one thing I knew for sure it was that the moment our new neighbors moved in next to us, things in our quiet little suburb seemed to fall out of place. Now don’t get me wrong, the walls of my house didn’t start to bleed or anything, but, something just changed.

The first day the Smiths moved in, my mom made it her goal to make the new foreigners feel welcomed in our little covenant controlled community. My mom, although she was a flight attendant and was often out of town, liked to welcome any new comer to the neighborhood, which sadly involved her dragging me, her awkward seventeen year old daughter, to welcome any new family.

The Smiths, if I could describe them in a word, seemed very…. strained. The couple both had a set of dark circles under their eyes, and after flashing my mother and I with an exhausted smile, they introduced themselves and their baby, whose name seems to have escaped me. It’s understandable that having a screaming, pooping hellion roaming around one’s house would increase the levels of stress, but these people looked like they had been through an uphill battle. Several things betrayed the normality of them, like the bandage wrapped around the husbands hand, or how the wife seemed to cling just a little too close to her baby. After giving them a batch of slightly burned cookies and saying our goodbyes, my mother and I took the unbearable 20 second walk back to our home.

“Well,” My mother started, “They seemed like a nice couple.”

“I just hope that we won’t be able to hear that baby screaming at ungodly hours of the night,” I mumbled, instantly getting scolded about how I needed to be more friendly. Easy for my mom to say because she would be out of town most of the time and didn’t have to deal with whatever obnoxious family moved in next.

It was actually was a couple of weeks before anything strange started to happen. Between school and my mom heading out to catch her next flight, I didn’t really have time to add two and two together about what was going on. At first it was only little things, trash cans being knocked over, mail scattered out of our mailbox, keys being misplaced, and even finding my toothbrush knocked off the bathroom counter. But nothing that made me think something malicious was taking place.

One thing that did raise my suspicions was when I was home alone (nothing new to me) and had just returned from school. I walked into my kitchen and looked out the window over the sink, which, much to my dismay, looked right through the backyard and into the kitchen window of our new neighbor’s house. Whether they were home or out, the Smiths always had their blinds shut, but when I walked up to the sink to wash my hands, I saw what looked like someone parting the blinds and looking straight at me. Feeling slightly taken back, I quickly gave them a short wave and turned away. I mean, both of the couple’s cars were in the driveway, maybe one of them was looking out into their backyard for something. I didn’t realize that the eyes from behind the window kept watching me until I disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom.

Sitting at the kitchen table and dining on the cheapest Chinese take out I could order, I strained to finish my math homework. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard a crash from my garage, accompanied by my dog barking like an idiot.

“Kimbo!” I yelled, throwing open the garage door, looking accusingly into the dog run, trying to get a glimpse of the clumsy canine. However, Kimbo stood innocently in the center of the caged enclosure, but stared intensely at the once neatly stacked pile of wood. Walking into the cold room and flicking on the light, it looked as if someone had pulled out the bottom of the stand the wood had once sat on, leaving all of it to topple to the floor. I sighed and lazily nudged the wood into a makeshift pile, not feeling motivated enough to re-stack it all. But as I reached the back of the pile, which had the highest stack of wood on it, something shifted under the wood and moved deeper into the garage.

Jumping back out of surprise and fear I let out a yelp, nearly tripping over my makeshift pile. We’ve had mice and what not living in our garage before, but never something that big. Was it possible that a rat or even a possum had made it’s way into our house to escape the bite of the winter cold?

Not wanting to mess with any rabies infested rodent, I let Kimbo inside the house, but left the doggy door leading to outside of the garage open, in hope that what ever crawled in would crawl right back out.

Finishing my sub par dinner and settling down for bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about what was in the garage. I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was in the woodpile was something… more. It was like that unsettling feeling when you think you’ve left the oven on, you suspect that something is wrong, but still try to brush it off.

I tossed and turned all night, waking up at the sound of the heater turning on or hearing Kimbo shift in his sleep. But whenever I thought I was finally drifting to sleep, I could’ve sworn that there was something standing on my bed, close enough to me to where I could feel the added pressure… but never close enough to confirm that it wasn’t just my imagination.

After facing another sleep deprived day of school, I didn’t even have time to think about the events of the other night. Until I got home.

I was greeted with the smell of rotting food and a plethora of torn paper plates. The black trash can that normally resides in the corner of our kitchen was toppled over, it’s contents spilled across the once clean wood floor. This isn’t right.

Peeking my head out of our back door I noticed Kimbo lazing around on the grass, gnawing on a raw hide. Walking back over to the garbage heap I noticed the plastic bag looked like it went through a blender; long tears and holes were torn through the white plastic. Feeling unsettled I picked up the trash and did my best to sprint into the garage to dispose of the war zone. As I heaved the bag into the can, I saw something skitter in the corner of my eye. That’s right, something skittered, like a spider running from the judgement of a shoe heel.

Whipping around I caught a flash of pinkish grey flesh disappear behind a folding chair.

What the hell was that.

With every horror movie resurfacing in my mind I shakily grabbed the fire poker by the wood pile and inched closer to the chair. There was no was I was going to miss school and be sent to the ER to get a rabies vaccination just because some rat, or whatever that thing was, decided to call my garage its home. Clutching the iron poker I slowly moved the chair, getting ready to book it back into my house at any moment. Slowly, I inched the chair over, until suddenly the chair slipped and came crashing down to the floor, a sharp hiss rang out through the garage.

Where the chair once stood, crouched and cornered, sat what could only be described as what looked a hairless cat by first glance. Upon further investigation, I realized that I was wrong.

That… thing, had black beady eyes that popped out of it’s head that seemed to have no end, there was no neck to determine where the chest began and where the chin connected. A tail flicked behind it, hairless as well and had the texture of a rat’s scaly appendage, but attached at the end was a snaggled, dirty, curved claw that looked like it would be better suited on a velociraptor. But that wasn’t the worst part, no. The part that sent chills up my spine was when that thing hissed at me again, revealing rows of needle thin, sharp, and unorganized yellowing teeth. Like how a shark has extra rows of teeth, it had at least two rows of snapping teeth on the bottom part of it’s jaw. It lurched up on it’s spindly, long emaciated looking legs and it’s abdomen stood at least one foot off the ground. At first I thought it was just baring its teeth at me, telling me to back off, but then I realized that it was… smiling.

Grinning, skin stretched out to expose it’s slimy teeth and lizard like tongue. When it smiled, I knew. I knew that this wasn’t just some freak of nature, some mutated sewer rat that crawled out from the city. This thing knew what it was doing, it knew I was afraid, it had a some kind of thought pattern, because I have never seen any animal, crazed or afraid, with that kind of evil intent in it’s eyes.

I couldn’t help but let out a scream, stepping back and holding the fire poker with both hands. Trying to inch my way back to the door, but the creature wasn’t planning on letting me go.

It bolted towards me with unimaginable swiftness on it’s twig like legs, but as it leapt into the air I swung my foot out and sent it flying back, further into the garage. Without looking twice I slammed the door behind me and turned the small lock, frozen in place as I heard a shrill squeal through my only barricade, followed by a loud thump. That thing was throwing itself against the door, albeit it wasn’t doing much good, each thud reverberated in my bones.

I don’t know how long I stood there, pressed against the door with tears streaming down my face, but when it finally stopped, I ran to grab my cellphone off of the couch.

At this point, I didn’t care that I was in hysterics when I got my mom on the phone, trying to explain what happened through sobs and heaves. But by the time she had managed to hear the full story, she was instantly irritated, thinking that I had let my overactive imagination get the best of myself. But, none the less, she said that her flight had just landed back home, and would return in about an hour.

By the time she actually came back, I had locked myself and Kimbo in my room, huddled in a corner with my night stand blocking the door. She hesitated when she saw how scared I was, still shaking and as white as a sheet.

My mom made me go back into the garage with her, I was so close to just grabbing my car keys and going to my friend’s house, but if that thing was still I couldn’t just leave her in the house alone. She led me into the cold and disheveled room, poking through the pieces of wood and various other objects that lined the car less garage.

It was gone.

There wasn’t even a trace of the terror that nearly… nearly did what to me? That thing certainly wasn’t some friendly forest creature, but was it out to kill me?

My mother by this time was angry and tired, and told me to get some rest. That’s the cure for anything, isn’t it? Just go to bed and in the morning everything will be magically fixed. Before I had gone to bed, she told me this, “You can’t just let those little things freak you out like that. It’s always the little things.” She was referring to how stressed I was about school and finals, but I still wasn’t persuaded.

As if I need to say this, but, I didn’t sleep at all that night. I wasn’t going to risk letting whatever that was crawl into my room and attack me in my sleep.

But, the next morning my mom continued to tell me that I had just scared myself, and honestly, I believed her. That was the easy way out, to avoid conflict and just go to school like normal. And it worked, though I always had that incident in the back of my mind, I found myself too busy with finals at school and finishing projects. It really worked too, until school got out and I was left alone in the house for winter break. Mom promised me that she would be back by late Christmas Eve, saying that a last minute flight had come up and the other attendant couldn’t make it. As much as I wanted to beg and cry for her to stay, I just let her go, it wasn’t worth arguing over something like this with my mother when she had a predetermined ending in her mind.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t scared, but the first several days of break passed by without a hitch. I had Kimbo at my side 24/7, and made sure I was always within an arms length of the fire poker I had managed to hide from my mom. I may have been on edge, but really… nothing strange happened. It was like everything returned to normal.

I felt like I could finally relax, December 24th was here, and I had decided to just spend the rest of my afternoon watching cheesy Hallmark movies and eating popcorn. Before I knew it the sun was setting, even though it was only about six, one of the disadvantages of winter. It was perfect, I had a nice fire going, Kimbo was curled on the couch with me, and my mom was going to be home in a few hours.

Then I heard it. That sound that made all of the fear, and panic, suddenly resurface and settle into my gut. That skittering sound, getting louder, and closer, with each passing second.

But it wasn’t coming from the garage.

It was coming from the hallway beside me, next to the end of the couch.

The light from the TV and fire was enough to partially penetrate the darkness of the hallway. And I pray to whatever god is up there, that it hadn’t.

That thing was coming towards be, barely shrouded by the darkness, but the last time I had seen it move it was in a short and fast burst. No this, this was something else altogether. The thing pranced as if it was a puppet being controlled by a toddler, it’s twisted gait heaving itself up and down on spindly legs. It didn’t stop smiling, not even when I screamed louder than I ever have, throwing myself off of the couch and reaching for my fire poker.

Before my hands could even brush the cool iron of my closest weapon, I felt something latch onto my calf, what felt like hundreds of needles piercing my flesh and sinking in deeper to the soft muscle. Letting out a cry of agony and looking back, I saw that it had sunken it’s rancid teeth into the back of my leg. It was faster than I thought it could be. I felt paralyzed, frozen in time as I tried to reach for the poker, but to no avail.

In my panic, I didn’t hear the loud snarling and growls as Kimbo launched himself at the monster, sinking his own teeth into the hairless flesh of the beast.

It screeched, like a pig and a cat crying out in agony at the same time, as my dog got a hold of it, but it wasn’t to be beaten that easily. It’s tail lashed out, cutting Kimbo down along his side, and slipped out from between the canine’s jaws. Letting out a whine Kimbo backed off, but the creature skittered off to the nearest doorway; the basement.

As quickly as I could I pulled myself up and grabbed the fire poker. Words cannot describe how badly my leg burned, I never imagined the pain would be like this, and was always under the impression that adrenaline would cover up any injury. Not only that, but the bite was deep, and blood was already seeping through my pant leg. I knew that I couldn’t focus on that now though.

That monster had waited for me to let down my guard, it watched and waited since it last attacked me. I won’t let it win, I can’t let this thing hurt me, or my mom, or Kimbo. I had to kill it.

Wincing as I stood up, I turned every light on in the living room and kitchen, grabbing a can of oven spray, skipping over the knives. There was no way in hell I was going to get that close to that things just to cut it.

Shakily standing at the top of the stairs I let out I hushed whimper. It just had to be the goddamn basement. The one place that only had one exit. I flipped the light on at the top of the stairs and slowly made my descent, making sure not to let my leg give out from under me.

What a joke. A 5’5 teenage girl limping down the stairs with a fire poker and a can of oven cleaner, if I wasn’t ready to wet my pants I might have been laughing.

When I reached the bottom, I scanned the room. Couches lined one wall, facing a TV, and a pool table lied on the other side of the room, but the creature wasn’t there. I turned around and peered into the darker corner by the end of the couch, still shaking, and realized that when my mom came home she would kill me when she sees all of the blood on the carpet.

Then it hit me. This thing wasn’t just playing some sick and twisted game of hide and seek.

It wanted to kill me. Tear me apart, drive me insane, that’s why it let me think I was safe, it made this entire hunt more exciting. It was always waiting for me to let my guard down…

I turned suddenly hearing feverish tapping coming towards me from the laundry room, of course! The one place I hadn’t checked. I had barely lift up the poker when it came flying out at me, screaming, anger burning in it’s beady eyes darker than the moonless night sky, looking for compensation on the bloody teeth marks that were engraved into it’s back.

Out of reflex I swung the iron rod at it and found purchase in the thing’s side, sending it into a nearby wall. I couldn’t hold my ground down here, if I got cornered it would be game over.

Turning heel I began to sprint up the stairs, but almost immediately fell flat on my face when my leg gave out under me. I could hear the skittering getting closer, and I dropped the poker to grab the can of oven spray, hands shaking so violently I almost dropped the cool black cylinder down the stairs. As the monster reached my feet I unleashed a cloud of suffocating and stinging spray from the can, making sure to aim it right into it’s black unblinking eyes.

If it wasn’t angry before, it was furious at this point.

I took the opportunity to climb up the stairs as the beast screeched and whipped it’s head around, feeling the chemical blend seep into it’s sensitive flesh. As I finally reached the top I felt light headed and dizzy, most likely due to the wound in my leg that was still bleeding. I leaned on the counter in search of a new weapon. But this monster had no intention of giving me even a second to spare. It threw itself up the stairs, not trying to achieve speed or stealth, but instead was in such a murderous rage that it’s only goal was to reach me.

By the time I had reached the knife rack, I turned to see it barreling towards me, I held my right arm out in self defense as it jumped, but to no avail. I only succeeded in giving it a new piece of flesh to sink it’s stinking teeth into. I hadn’t noticed until now, but there was an intense stench of rotting eggs being emitted from the thing’s mouth.

I cried out as it bit down harder, hearing flesh splitting. I smashed it down onto the granite counter top, only making it bite down harder. I can’t say that I yelled or cried, but I let out the loudest, longest scream I could as I felt the bones in my arm begin to split and crack. I needed to stop it before I lost my entire arm.

I stumbled to the end of the counter, this hell-spawn wasn’t going to win, I won’t die from some ugly, foul, demented cat sized hairless mole.

Grabbing onto the monster with my left hand I finally smashed it down onto some glasses that littered the counter top. As it opened it’s wretched mouth to screech, I grabbed it with my uninjured left hand, summoning every ounce of strength to keep my death grip on the back of it’s head. Letting out a cry of anger and pain, I threw it’s ugly little face down into the blender next to the broken glass. Smashing my wounded hand into the power button, the whir of machinery and the symphony of cracking bones filled the air. It was still kicking it’s thin wiry legs, and lashing its tail which left thin slices on my stomach. The clawed appendage then dug into one of the teeth marks on my forearm and dug down. But before it could do anymore damage, the nightmarish and hellish creature went limp in my hand. By now the blender was smoking, I quickly unplugged in and painfully lifted the creature out of it’s tomb.

It’s entire head was gone, turned into a chunky mush at the bottom of the kitchen appliance. Only a glimmering section of spine and organs drooped out of the now dead nightmare, save for the collection of chipped teeth that jammed the blades.

I dug a kitchen knife into the remaining mass of flesh, not taking any chances and collapsed to the floor, holding my arm and letting sobs wreck my body. My arm seemed to hurt even more with each passing moment as that adrenaline wore off; I thought I could see a piece of white bone through one of the bite marks.

Who knows how long I stayed on the floor, but when my Mother finally came home, she screamed when she saw what had happened in her home. Kimbo, laying on his side with a long gash on his side, whimpering in pain, the still smoking blender that reeked of rotting eggs and had unidentifiable chunks of meat in it. And then there was me, her daughter curled up in the corner, dripping with blood and rocking back and forth.

By the time she had taken me to the hospital and Kimbo to the vet, the police had been called, finding my blood on the couch and down in the basement. But the real kicker is that, even after I told them what happened in excruciating detail, showing them my bite marks, they didn’t believe me. They told me that it was some, wild, mangy animal that had crawled out from the forest and found itself in my house. Whenever I asked them what kind of animal it was, they just brushed me off.

After that my mom decided to move us closer to the city and her work, getting intentionally further away from the forest. When we had left, the Smiths came over to wish us goodbye, and both of them looked like they finally gotten a full night’s rest. But, when Laura, I believe that was her name, saw the cast on my right and bandages around my calf, she seemed taken back. They asked me what happened and if I was okay, but when my mom told them her version of the story, which was that a wild animal had snuck into our house and attacked me, Laura broke into hysterics. She nearly ran back into her house, her husband telling us that, he was sorry about his wife, and chased after her.

We left without another word.

Years later, when I moved out to college and was living in a dorm, I had decided to procrastinate on studying and surf the internet. I tried my best to leave behind what happened, but the scars would always literally be there, and the Smiths still stuck out to me. I decided to Google the wife’s name, since that was the only one I remembered.

Surprisingly, even with such a generic last name, I found a news article about our old neighbors, and had to read it twice to believe it.

Laura and James Smith originally had twin daughters, and lived about five hours away from our neighborhood. The news report stated that Mrs. Smith had woken up in the middle of the night to hear her two daughters crying, so she decided to go check on them at an unusual hour of the night. When she arrived at their room, she had been horrified to find that someone, or something, was attacking one of her daughters.

The article didn’t touch on any gruesome details, but it was recorded that by the time Laura had taken a nearby lamp and hit the thing off of her daughter, it was too late. She was dead and completely torn apart. The report states that police were called onto the scene but hadn’t found any evidence of a break in, and the case went cold. If I can recall correctly, judging by the time the Smiths moved in next door to us, it had already been three months after their daughter was murdered.

A chill ran up my spine; it was like every puzzle piece fell into place.

The memory of walking into my kitchen that one day to find someone, something, looking at me from the Smith’s window was clear. It was the monster. It had followed the Smiths into their new home to assumably finish what it had started, but then it saw me.

It left them for someone more exciting to play with, and that had just happened to be me.

Whatever that thing was, a demon from hell, evil itself, it had planned to kill me that night, and if I hadn’t killed it there is no doubt in my mind that it would still be after me. And judging by how lucky I had been on that night, I get the feeling that it would’ve succeeded.

Just remember this; sometimes when strange things start to happen it may be a simple coincidence. But if it’s not, if things keep getting worse, and you can feel something off in your gut, know that it’s always the little things that sneak up on you in the end.

Credit To – AMXH

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Bright Eyes

December 22, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I didn’t want to move to a new place. All of my toys were in boxes and we didn’t have any T.V. Mom told me to play outside but she was always busy and Dad was at work. There weren’t any kids around there anyway. Mom told me to explore the house, but I didn’t like to. The house was empty except for boxes. The basement was dark and the attic was dark too and I didn’t like the funny smell in there either. The old people left some treasures in the house and those were fun. I found some shiny spikes that Mom called Jacks. She said they were for a game but I need a ball to play it. I couldn’t find a ball but the Jacks were fun to spin like tops. I found an old Teddy in the attic too when I went up there with Dad. It’s missing an eye and it has a big smile. I didn’t tell Dad about it because he doesn’t like dirty toys. He threw away Blanket after it was old. He never told me that, but I know he did.

The forest was fun to play in but Mom said not to go too far. I found a little house that looked like Dad’s old shed. It had leaves and stuff growing all over it and it looked all broken and really old. There was a little window with bars on it and I didn’t like it. I stayed away from the house because I didn’t think there was treasure in there. Sometimes I threw rocks at the house. I thought I might break it, but it was still pretty strong. I found frogs in the forest. They were hard to catch. I also saw other kids in the woods, but they all hid behind the trees and watched me. They didn’t say anything and I didn’t like them watching me. They got closer and closer if I stayed too long in the forest.

At night I heard noises. They made me very scared. I had to hide Teddy from Dad and Mom so I kept him under the bed, but when the noises got louder I would hold him tight and he would make me feel better. The noises got real bad when it was really late. It was the kids in the forest crying. They got louder when they were closer to the house. I never told Dad or Mom about them because grownups always think I’m dreaming when I’m not. I felt safe with Teddy anyway, so I didn’t need to sleep in their room.

I started to hear their voices one night. They were whispering real quiet outside, but I could hear them whispering. They were outside under my window and they were looking up into my room. In the night they glowed pale green like my star stickers, but brighter. I didn’t like to look at them. They had holes instead of eyes. When they got louder, I held Teddy closer. They went away in the morning.

One night I heard Teddy talking. He had a soft voice. I was crying because the whispers were getting louder. He told me it was going to be alright. He promised to keep me safe. In the morning when the children went back to hide in the forest, I talked to Teddy.

“Are you a good guy?” I asked Teddy. I made sure Dad and Mom were busy so they wouldn’t find us.

“I am a friend to children, little one. I am their guardian in the night from the wickedness of the Bright Eyes. I have protected many children from those creatures and I will protect you too.”

“Who are they?” I asked Teddy.

“They want to take you away little one. They want to hurt you. I am old and I am weak, but I can protect you for a while longer. I appear to children who need me. Those things aren’t children, they hide what they really are inside the skin of children. I have fought them for such a long time, but they grow strong as I grow weak.”

Every night Teddy would stay with me. The Bright Eyes came closer and closer though. They would float up to the window and stare inside. They whispered their noises to me and Teddy told me to shut my ears with my hands while he kept them from coming inside. He told me that he was getting weaker and that was why the child-monsters tried to get me. One night they got into the house. They came up the stairs and started scraping my door. We had to sit against the door to keep them from coming in. Their whispers were loud enough that I could hear them. They kept saying,

“Come and play, come and play. Come come come.”

Teddy watched over me while I was sleeping. In the morning Mom found me sleeping on the ground. She asked what was wrong, but I was afraid she would take Teddy away, so I couldn’t tell.

Teddy told me in the morning that he was too weak to protect me for much longer. He said that there was only one way to keep the Bright Eyes from hurting us.

“There is a key in the basement. We need that key to keep us safe. I cannot go with you. They are strong in that darkness. They will sense me if I go down there and they would take me from you. But they will not see you. They are asleep while the morning sun is up. I need you to go down and get the key.”

“I don’t want to go down there, Teddy.” I told him, hugging him. “What if they try to hurt me?”

“I’m sorry little one, but without that key, neither one of us will be safe for much longer. You can get the key, I cannot.”

“How will I find it?” I asked him.

“They will be guarding it. They know that with it, we can be safe from them. One of them will be holding it. You must take it without waking them. I will wait here for you.”

I didn’t want to go down there, but I couldn’t let them take Teddy away. I was scared, but I went down the stairs quietly. Teddy waited at the top watching me. He was quiet too so he wouldn’t wake them up.

I found them in the corner of the basement, hiding behind a lot of boxes. They were glowing in the dark and they were curled up together. They shook like they were cold and they sounded like they were crying. I was afraid. They didn’t see me. Their eyes were closed like Teddy said. One of them was holding a string tied to the key. I sneaked after them, hiding behind boxes. I wanted to cry without Teddy there with me. I got closer to them. I held my breath tight and was very quiet.

I got very close and I reached out for the key when the one holding it opened its eyes. It looked at me. Its eyes were empty. I screamed, but I grabbed onto the key and turned around, pulling it away until the string broke. They all got up and started coming after me yelling,

“No! Stop!”

They chased me. I tripped on the stairs and I heard them sliding up behind me like snakes. I got back up and ran up the stairs as fast as I could while they tried to grab my legs. I got upstairs before them and closed the door. I heard them on the other side. They were still yelling and hitting the door. I held the key tight. I looked down at it. It was black and plain like an old-fashion kind. I didn’t like how it looked. Then I noticed that Teddy was gone. I called for him, but he didn’t answer. I didn’t know where he went, he said he would wait but he was gone. I started crying.

Dad found me when the Bright Eyes stopped making noises. He asked me what was wrong and why I yelled. I couldn’t tell. I hid the key so he wouldn’t find it. I knew that Teddy had to hide too. That was why he wasn’t there. Dad was very angry. He told me not to yell except if it was an emergency. He told me that he found my Teddy and that he took it and threw it away. I cried and told him I needed Teddy, but he didn’t listen. He said he would get me a new one, but I didn’t want a new Teddy. I was afraid without him and Dad wouldn’t listen!

I hid from Mom and Dad all day. They didn’t know but they couldn’t help me. But Teddy came back at night time when I was in bed. I saw the door open and I was afraid it was the Bright Eyes, but I saw that it was him.

“Teddy! You came back!”

“Yes, little one. I will never leave you. Your Father tried to take me away. He is being controlled by the Bright Eyes, but I was still strong enough to escape their power. We don’t have much time. Did you get the key?”

“Yes.” I said. I got out of bed and showed him the key.

“You are very brave little one, but you must be brave one more time. This time, I will not leave you. We must go into the forest. There is a place there where they cannot go.”

“But I’m not allowed outside at night. If Mom and Dad find out, they might not let us be together anymore.” I said this, but I felt bad because I was scared of going in the forest.

“After tonight, you will be safe, but we must go now before it’s too late.”

I heard the Bright Eyes crying in the basement. They were hitting the door again.

“Please, little one. This is our only chance.”

“You’ll be with me the whole time?”

“Yes, little one. I will stay with you until you are safe.”

We sneaked out of the room. I held Teddy and the key tight. We went downstairs and had to go past the door to the basement before we could get outside. I saw the green light through the cracks and I ran. I heard the door open behind us when I got outside and I saw the Bright eyes push their way out, crying and yelling.

“No! Stop! Come and play!”

I ran into the forest. It was very cold. Teddy told me where to go. It was very dark and I tripped a lot. The Bright Eyes kept coming, flying after us. I ran further and further and I fell down and scraped my knee. I dropped Teddy. Teddy ran into the forest.

“Wait Teddy! Don’t leave me alone!” I yelled.

“This way little one! Follow my voice!”

I stood up and held the key. I ran after Teddy. He kept telling me where he was and I ran after him. I kept crying. The Bright Eyes were so close behind, still making horrible sounds.

“In here.” Teddy said. I stopped and saw that he was standing in the old forest house. The door was open. It looked much smaller in the dark.

“I can protect you in here. You will be safe from the Bright Eyes, little one.”

I looked at Teddy, with his wide grin. I smiled back, but I was scared. It was a very dark room.

“Do we have to go in there?”

Teddy looked sad. I felt bad for being scared.

“If you don’t hurry, they will find you, they will take you away. They will hurt you. I want to protect you, little one. You must come in here and shut the door. They can’t come in here when I’m here to protect you.”

I turned around. The bright children with crooked faces were floating after us. Dark stuff dripped from their empty eyes. They were flying forward with outstretched hands yelling,

“No! Come! Come! Come and play!”

I ran into the house and shut the door.

“Quickly now! Lock it with the key before they can get in!”

I stood on tiptoes to reach the lock and put the key in. I turned it as fast as I could. Right when I stopped, the children started hitting the door very hard, yelling at me. I dropped the key on the ground.

“No! Come and play!”

I ran away from the door to the corner of the room. I tripped and fell down onto a pile of hard, lumpy things. I turned around and saw Teddy walk up to the door. He bent over and picked up the key.

“Teddy, what’s all this stuff on the ground?” I asked him. I was afraid because he wasn’t saying.

The Bright Eyes were hitting the door, but it was locked and they couldn’t get in, just like Teddy said. He walked toward me. I heard something rip and his button eye fell off and rolled on the ground. The fur on his face began to rip and two glowing red holes appeared. They got real wide and bright and lit up his face. He smiled real big and his mouth began to rip open too. He made a sound like Granpa used to make when he was sick.

I cried. I ran away from Teddy and started to hit the door with my fists. It was locked up tight. Teddy’s eyes got really bright and lit up the room like a night light. Two long cracking arms with knifes instead of hands came out of his mouth and began to scrape against the floor, pulling Teddy toward me. I crawled back to the corner. I fell on one of the lumpy things underneath me and hurt my hand. They were white and hard and had scratches all over them. There were lots and lots of them all over.

“What are you doing Teddy? Please stop! You’re frightening me!” I cried as he came closer.

The children were yelling to me from the darkness. They reached in through the bars of the window. I finally knew what they saying. They weren’t saying, “Come and play,” they were saying, “Run away.”

Credit To – Marcus Arias

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Family

December 20, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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Family

This is a video pasta. If the embedded video is not loading for you, please click the link above to go directly to the video’s YouTube page and try watching it there.

Credit To – Liam Vickers

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Kelpie

December 19, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I wasn’t very old when I first saw it. Maybe about five or six or so. It was a long time ago. But I remember it well.

For what feels like the longest time, the whole experience of it felt like…a dream. Like it never really happened, just a little image in my head. A half-forgotten memory.Maybe it didn’t. I can’t remember exactly where the place was, just what it looked like. As the same with the people there. No face or name I could say now. Maybe they weren’t even there. Just additions by time to the memory. Slowly changing the devils in the details. But they don’t matter much. They never did. What did matter, was the Kelpie.

It was summer. I was playing near the bayou not far from my grandmother’s house. I had been sent there to spend the duration of the warm season. My mother thought it was good to breathe fresh, humid air instead of the city smog. My summer that year was spent with my grandmother down south. She was a fierce old lady, second generation from Scotland. Often she would tell wonderful tales of the lochs and forests from her parent’s homeland. About all the creatures that lived within the waters, and all the ones that lived in the trees. One of my favorites was the Selkie. Beautiful seal-women who could change shape at will as they sunned on the rocks or swam in the sea. Another was the Each-Uisge, a more ferocious beast, but also quite interesting to me. My grandmother said that they could take the form of a singing woman, where they would lure sailors into the ocean, and drown them in the salt water when they got close, like sirens. The one I loved most though, was the Unicorn. Such a majestic, mysterious creature. I liked how pure it was told to be. I had always had a desire to see one. To touch its pure, white, coat. But I knew they weren’t real. Just stories. Just tales. But I liked to pretend.

One day I went down to the bayou to catch a fish. I was very proud of myself, having made a pole from a stick and some string. My grandmother laughed and said if I caught a fish, she would cook it for me. I became very determined to the task. I told her I would be back before sundown.

I waited at the banks of the water, legs crossed and pole in hand. There was a small bit of uncooked bacon on the end of the line. I knew I was going to catch a fish. I just knew it. My train of thought and concentration was broken, by music. Someone was playing a fiddle. The sound was enchanting. I looked around for the source. Not finding one, I tried to follow the sound. Abandoning the pole on the bank with the line still in the water, I quietly crept along the bank, walking until I found the source of the music. I found who was playing the fiddle. It was a young man, sitting on a branch of a large tree. The limb hung just above the water, and the young man lay against it, suspended over the mirror-like surface, playing a tune to his wooden fiddle. The white strings seemed to glow in the faint morning light. He stopped when he saw me, and smiled. No words came between us, but he beckoned for me with his hand to take a seat on the mossy bank and he continued to play. The music was wonderful. When the song ended, I asked for him to play another. He nodded, but only if I went into the water. My grandmother had been very keen with me to keep out of the water. I could not swim at the time, and she made me promise to stay on the bank. So I removed my shoes and let my legs dangle in the cool, calm, water. He played another song. When he finished, he beckoned with hand again for me to come closer, deeper into the water. Like he was going to tell me a secret and whisper it in my ear. I shook my head. I had made a promise. The young fiddler seemed sad. Dissapointed. I can’t quite remember the details of his face, but I can just remember his frown. He sighed and rolled off the branch and into the dark water without a splash. Just a few small ripples came from where he entered the bayou. He never came out of the water. After that, I went back to the house as my grandmother called my name. First, I ran to get my pole. A tiny minnow was at the end of the paper clip hook.

I almost told my grandmother about the young fiddler. But I didn’t. She would just think it strange and say it was nonsense.

The next day, I went again back to the bayou banks, fishing pole in hand. I said to my grandmother I would catch a bigger fish. I told her I would be back before sundown. I went back to my spot and sat cross legged, pole in hand. There was a small cut of deer on the hook. I sat, and waited for a fish to bite, my thoughts trailing off about my grandmother’s stories. They were stopped by the sound of laughter. It was a girlish laughter, light and soft. I was curious. Usually the bayou was so lonely, just the call of far away birds and the hum of cicadas. But the laughter broke though it. Right into my head. I followed the sound, leaving my pole on the bank and the line in the water. Moving silently, I walked along the bank. In the same place with the low hanging tree limb was where I found the source of the laughter. That small, watery grove seemed just a little different. A large grey rock sat in the middle of the water, emerging from the deep. I hadn’t noticed it before. Possibly I just hadn’t remember it from when I met the young fiddler. Sitting on the rocks, were three young girls. They looked a few years older than me. All of them had long, dark, hair that swayed around them like thousands of waved silk strings. Hearing them laugh made me…happy. I don’t really know why. I got closer and sat on the bank to watch them. The girls were as beautiful as the Selkies in the tales my grandmother told me. They all had fair skin seemed to glow in the dimmed bayou light. One of them met her dark eyes with mine. She beckoned with a finger towards me. She wanted me to come and play. I wanted to, they seemed as though they were having so much fun up on the rock there! I took off my shoes and rolled up my pant legs. I waded in up to my knees and my feet sunk slightly in the silty mud, but, looking down into the water, I remembered. I couldn’t swim. I sadly stood there, sorrowful that I could not join these new friends. One by one they slid effortlessly into the water and swam towards me, only their eyes visible above the water with their hair flowing behind them. They swum around my legs, barely disturbing the water. One pulled gently at my leg, another at my hand. A shook my head. I couldn’t. Disappointed, they sighed dismally and let go of my hand and left, slipping away like the water they swam in. Their sighs were almost musical, as melodic as they were. I didn’t want them to go. I almost swam in after them. But I heard my grandmother call my name. I went to get my pole. A small fry was at the end of my line.

I almost told my grandmother about the bayou Selkie girls. But I didn’t. I felt like they were…mine, somehow. Like a secret that only I would know.

The following day, I set out again. I was going to get a bigger fish. I had to. This was my last day in the bayou. I was going home the next day. I told my grandmother I would be back before sundown and went to the bank to fish, with the pole in my hands and my legs crossed over one another. There was a small strip of gator meat at the end of my makeshift hook. I gazed out into the dark, still, water. It seemed almost dead. Lovely, but dead. A metallic blue dragonfly landed on the water, took a sip, and flew off. I watched it go. My attention was then turned to most unusual noise. Hooves. And a neigh. There were no horses in the bayou, so I started to wonder. I put my pole down on the bank and let the line sit in the water. I followed the sounds of the braying horse. Yet again I came to that same place. The willows hung low, the tree limb sat just above the water, and the rock was empty of any Selkie girls. Standing by the tree on a small island bank in the middle of the water…was a unicorn. It didn’t have a horn, much to my disappointment, but there it was. A pure, white horse. It pawed at the ground with long furred hooves. Its mane was elegant and shiny. It seemed to glow. Just like the Selkie girl’s skin, and the young man’s fiddle strings. It was beautiful, even if it may not have been a unicorn as the bayou girls were not Selkies, and the young fiddler not the singing Each-Uisge. It looked towards me and waved its head up and down, up and down. It was calling me to it. Without hesitation, I got into the water. I didn’t even take off my shoes. I stood knee deep. The white horse trotted into the water and began to swim to me. I hoped it would play with me on the banks, or at least in the shallows. It stopped though, just a little further out from where I was. It could stand there, but then again, it was much bigger than me. The water couldn’t be too deep over there. Could it? It looked towards its back. It was offering me a ride. In my excitement, I forgot all about my grandmother’s words and went deeper into the water. Up to my chest. Then my shoulders. The water felt suffocating as it went higher and higher. I felt like my lungs were being crushed under the pressure of it. I held my hand out to the white horse. It was still just out of reach. I took another step and the water was to my chin. My fingers brushed over its silky mane. Water weeds had collected in it, giving it green flecks here and there. I went to touch it again. This time though, it felt more…sticky. Like tape, or glue. Looking down into the water, the white horse had lost its glow. It seemed more…grey. Darkening the further down it went until it was almost black. Maybe it was just the water.

My foot slipped.

I went down under the water. Opening my eyes in panic, I was horrified at what I saw in front of me.Where the white horse’s belly and legs would have been, I only saw smooth, black, decaying flesh. Water weeds strewn in and out of it. The back legs fused together in a slowly fanning tail. It was like something out of a nightmare. I immediately stepped back, my movements slowed by the water. I turned around and my head broke the surface as I reached the shallows. I scrambled onto the bank and looked back. The white horse was gone. I felt a relief, although I deeply missed the white horse. Where had it gone? I heard my grandmother call my name. In my soaked and muddy clothes, I ran by my fishing pole. A large catfish was at the end of the hook. I left both and hurried back to my grandmother’s house.

I told my grandmother about the white horse. I did this time. I left out the Selkie girls and the young fiddler from my story, and I did not mention the nature of me falling into the water, but I asked her about a white horse in the water. She told me a tale about a Kelpie. It was water demon, that often took the shape of a beautiful white horse, among others such as a handsome man playing a violin, or a young maiden. It would offer a ride to anyone willing, then take them into the water and drown them. Nothing would ever be found of them. That night, I forced myself to go back there. I needed to see if it was real. By the light of my torch, I followed the path I had taken as I had searched for the source of sound. But after hours of searching, I could not find it. No green willows, no low hanging tree limb, no rock.

I went back home the next day, happy to be away, yet desperate to go back. I never did.

Until recently.

My grandmother had died about a month before. It had been years since I had seen her, in fact, she had visited only once since the time I spent a summer with her. I traveled down back to the bayou, back to her home to pack up her things and sell the house. I had nearly forgotten those three days down at the banks of the bayou. The whole summer had been a blur that year, but going there brought those memories back. For so long I had dismissed it as a dream, or some dull event of meeting other people. A man playing an instrument. Some girls swimming in the water. An animal on another bank. A deer perhaps. Or a white goat that had lost its way. Nothing out of the ordinary for the south. Maybe it was just my imagination that I saw a white horse and pet its mane. But to reassure myself of this childhood nonsense, I decided to go and take just one little look that morning. I would be back before sundown.

I found my old fishing spot. My pole was still there somehow, as if I had just left it. I found the fresh carcass of the catfish I had left there years before. I tossed it into the water. Curious. Then I heard the music. Fiddle music. And laughter. And the sound of… a horse. I followed it, and I found that same place. The place with the willows and low hanging tree limb and the rock and the opposite bank with the tree. Once I got there though, all the music and laughter was gone. The tree limb sat empty over the water, the rock isolated and alone. On the opposite bank, was the white horse. The Kelpie. It shook its head and beckoned me over. Something seemed…strange, not quite right. Out of place. But against my better judgement, I took off my shoes and stepped into the water. Faintly, I could hear hissing, and a quiet screeching noise. It sounded like it was coming from the water. I ignored the sounds and went deeper into the bayou. Finally, it was getting too deep to stand. As I kicked off the bottom, my foot hit something sharp. I don’t think it bled though, so I continued across the water without a thought. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was…under me. Swimming. Maybe even multiple somethings.

I climbed onto the bank. As I got close, the Kelpie kneeled. It was offering me a ride. I remembered what my grandmother had said about these ‘offered rides’. I took a box knife from my back pocket and held it behind my back. Just in case. Opening the blade, I stepped closer and hesitantly put a hand on the magnificent beast. Its white fur was soft, and felt like water in my hands. I told myself I shouldn’t. I had one of those feelings that you get going into a dark tunnel or alley. You know it could be dangerous, and most likely is, but…you still go. I sheathed the knife and sat atop the white horse. It stood and pranced in a circle. I laughed. Oh, how I wished I had done this years ago! Looking up, I saw the young fiddler, laying on the low hanging tree limb. He plucked a string and began to play. He had a handsome face, with shaggy blonde hair hidden under a hat. His clothes looked old, like he was from the wild west. The three bayou Selkie girls came out of the water and lay atop the rock, laughing and brushing out the water weeds with their fingers. I noticed their faces this time. Soft, delicate features with shining dark eyes and smiling mouths. They all seemed so happy. I started to feel the same. A large grin was stuck on my face.

Though after a moment, that was replaced with a feeling of sickness. Worriment. I had a deep ache in my stomach. I was scared. But of what? I tried to lift my hand from the white horse’s neck. I wanted to get off. I wanted to swim to the other bank and run away from this place. My hand wouldn’t move. I pulled at it with my free hand, but it was stuck. Like it had been glued. I watched in horror as the white horse’s coat began to grey before my eyes, becoming darker, and darker. Finally, it became an oily black. Light shined off of it in different colors. It turned its head towards me. No longer was this the beautiful creature I had seen across the bank. It was a monster. The Kelpie.

It’s eyes were blue and clouded, and I could see its jagged teeth through a decayed mouth. A long, greenish-black tongue lapped out of its jaws. The Kelpie’s skin started to become a sticky black goo, engulfing my hand and surrounding my legs. I called for help from the young fiddler and the Selkie girls. It was like they did notice me shouting at them. When they did finally look at me, I realized that they too were not as they seemed. No longer were the Selkie girls beautiful and young. Their skins were green, and rotting. One of them was missing an eye. They gazed lazily at me with tilted heads, as if they were frowning at me with disappointment from their retracted lips and bare teeth, at my fateful decision to ride the Kelpie. The young fiddler, his clothes torn and half of his face peeled away, plucked a few sad notes before his skin began to bubble and turn black. The Selkie girls did the same. Slowly, they all dissolved, bone and flesh, into the same black goo of which the Selkie was made. Gradually they dripped into the water and dissipated like ink, becoming underwater smoke. As soon as they were gone, the Kelpie leapt into the water with me on its back.

As it dove deeper, I tried to pull away. The melting black Kelpie skin was slowly crawling up my legs and chest. I was running out of air. I snatched the box cutter from my pocket and cut at the Selkie’s decaying flesh. It screeched and looked at me with its dead eyes. I saw my own reflection in them. It was angry. It was in pain. And it looked ready to bite. I slashed at it again, and it bit at me, just inches from my face. I had freed my legs. As I tried to cut away the black flesh around my arm and hand, the Kelpie jerked and changed direction, causing the box cutter to dig into my arm. Silently screaming, I watched in horror as the last of my air escaped towards the surface. I cut at it again, and I was free. At a small glimpse, I noticed I was at the bottom. There were bones down there. Human ones. In that short look, I counted at least four skulls. The Kelpie screamed and swam off into the dark water as I pulled myself to the surface.

I gasped and coughed as my face was touched by the warm and humid bayou air. I looked around. Nothing was moving. Dead silent. I noticed a small ripple a few meters away. It got closer and closer, then it disappeared. Only a second passed before I felt something grab my ankle and yank me back under the water. I was being dragged back down. The Kelpie seemed insistent that I never make it back to the banks. I opened my eyes to see myself face to face with the Kelpie. Its black mane flowed around it. Below me, the Selkie girls were grasping at my ankle. I jabbed the knife forward into the Kelpie’s eye. It screamed again, such an inhuman noise that made my ears feel as though they were about to bleed. I no longer felt the hands grasping at my legs. The grip around my ankle was gone. The Kelpie, screaming, swam away, the box cutter still in its eye. I swam back to the water surface.

Quickly paddling my way back to the bank, I hoped that the Kelpie would not come after me for revenge. As I reached the silty shallows, I slowly walked forward, holding my freely bleeding arm. Blood dripped into the water from my fingertips. I crawled up onto the mossy bank and lay on my back for a moment, catching my breath. I sat up and tore away the water weeds that had wrapped around me on my way to the bottom of the bayou. My legs were covered in mud up to my knees, blackening the ends of my rolled up jeans. I looked around. It was nearly night somehow. The sun was gone and the first few stars had begun to shine in the darkening sky. The quiet and beautiful lagoon had changed in appearance. Just like creatures that inhabited it. The rock was mossy, crumbling, cracked. The low hanging tree limb sat broken and sticking up out of the water. All the willows were dead, their leaves decaying upon the ground in clumps. The rest of the trees looked sickly as well. Nothing here was healthy or alive. I backed further away from the water. My hand touched something smooth. Looking behind me, I saw the remnants of a polished fiddle. It looked broken, untouched for years. Further away, I saw the remnants of three colorful beach towels. They were just threads now. The skeletons of fish were around every discarded item. Looking closer in the weeds, I noticed more. Dozens of things, left behind by those who rode the Kelpie.

I never went back to the bayou. As I sold my grandmother’s house to a happy family from upstate New York and handed them the keys, I warned them not to get too close to the waters. There might be gators. As I got in my car and started to drive away, I watched as a little boy tugged at his mother’s sleeve, saying, “I’m going to the bayou, just to have a look. I’ll be back before sundown.”

I drove away, my heart giving an empty ache for the mother of that little boy. Yes, I told myself. He’ll be back before sundown.

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How Do I Sleep?

December 16, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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How Do I Sleep?

This is a video pasta. If the embedded video is not loading for you, please click the link above to go directly to the video’s YouTube page and try watching it there.

Credit To – Liam Vickers

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Her Eyes

December 15, 2014 at 12:00 AM
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I never knew something as simple as a knock on the door could forever send me into a frozen state of terror. It all started with a cold and rainy autumn evening. The wind was blowing fiercely, whistling through the little cracks in the windows and door frames. I was sitting by myself in the living room, watching a terrible homemade zombie flick when I heard a dull thud of foot steps walking up the stairs to my porch.

I muted the television, sat upright, and turned my ear towards the front door. I heard the storm door open then slam shut within two seconds of it opening. I quickly stood up, stumbling over the small ottoman sitting in front of me. I turn on the light in the entryway then peek through the curtain on the little door window to see who was there. No one. I glance out further to see that I had left my driver’s side window cracked open. I curse under my breath and grab my keys from the side table and run outside to my car. I quickly roll my window up, then run back into the house, soaking wet.

I hastily shut the front door, as to not let any heat escape. As soon as it latches, the knocking begins again. Annoyed, I sigh, thinking I forgot to latch the storm door. I turn the knob, ripping the door open when I see a child standing in front of me on the porch. Startled, I gasp loudly, clutching my chest. The child, a girl no older than 10 years stood on my porch, in a raincoat, looking down to the floor. “Are you all right?” She says nothing. I take a step closer to her “Hey, can I help you with something?” I’m starting to panic inside a little because something seems terribly “off” about this girl. Then I notice, she’s completely dry. Not a single drop of rain has touched her coat. I look around to see that my porch is flooded where the wind had blown the rain against my house. Even if she had been on my porch this whole time, she still would’ve been drenched.

I stand there, staring at this child who wouldn’t even look at me.
“Little girl. Please answer–”
“May I please borrow your phone?”
Her voice is calm and kind of deep. She never takes her eyes off of the ground. I inhale sharply, surprised by her sudden question. I weakly ask, “Who do you want to call? Do you need the police, your parents, who?” I’m trying to stay calm, but my voice is shaking. Something is terribly wrong, but I can’t figure it out.

The girl stands very still, and starts sniffling. “May I come in? It’s so cold. Do you have any food?” I stare at the girl, confused by her monotone voice. I don’t feel comfortable letting her inside my house. I feel bad because she’s a child, but something about her terrifies me. I tremble, “What is your name? Where do you live?” The rain suddenly stops. Like turning off a faucet. The wind stops, also, making the neighborhood twenty times quieter. I get shivers down my spine. The girl slowly lifts her hooded head, finally making eye contact. I try to scream, but the only thing that comes out are aggravated breaths of terror. Her eyes. Oh my god. Her eyes. As black as the abyss that she had likely crawled out of. Her pale white skin glowed a soft white, making her eyeballs so much darker. She stepped closer to me, “Please let me in, I’m so cold.” I stare in fear, when the wind and rain turn on like a switch behind her.

I slam the door in her face, running to my phone. I dial 9-1-1, barely holding on because I’m shaking so much. “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” I try to explain what’s happening, but just sound crazy. “There’s a girl. On m-my porch. Not wet. Black eyes. Oh my god.” I hear the lady from 9-1-1 trying to calm me down. “Ma’am? Ma’am? Calm down please, I can’t understand you. You said there’s a girl on your porch?” I stutter, “Y-yes. She’s out there. IT’S out there. She has black eyes and wants to come in. I won’t let her in!” I hear her knocking on my door. Each knock louder than the rest. I cry out, “Leave me alone! I’m not letting you in!” The knocking ceases. I sigh in a small relief. The woman on the phone asks me where I am and if I need a police officer to come. I say “Yes, please hurry.” Then hang up. Ten long minutes later, I see police vehicle lights dancing on my living room wall. I sigh in relief, and hear a loud banging on the door. I run, a little hesitantly, and answer it. “Thank god you’re here, officer–” I gasp. No officer. Only his car, sitting in the rain, driver side door wide open. I walk out onto the porch, frantically searching everywhere for him. I run to the back yard, dripping with rain water, shouting, “Officer! Officer, where are you?!” I run back to the front of the house when I see that awful girl standing in front of me, glaring at me. She sounds aggravated now. “Let me in so I can use your phone. I’m lost. Please help me.” I dart up the porch stairs, shoving her out of my way, throwing her off the porch. I look back to see her ankle twisted in an impossible angle. She doesn’t scream or cry, she just stands up, limping towards me, dragging her ankle behind her. I scream in horror, slamming and locking the door behind me. The knocking continues. I just want it to stop. I have to do something. I run to my kitchen, open the silverware drawer and pull out a sharp knife. The knocking will not stop.

I walk toward the front door, raising the knife above my head, and grabbing for the door knob. I quickly open the door to see the Officer standing in front of me, his gun drawn, pointing at me. Out of instinct, he fires, shorting me in the chest. I drop the knife, and fall to the ground. He enters the door and kneels beside me, yelling into his radio that he needs backup and an ambulance. He puts pressure on my chest as th blood pours out of me. I look behind him to see the black eyed girl standing directly behind him, looking down at me, smiling with her sharp teeth glistening. I’m choking on my own blood at this moment. Gasping in terror, my eyes widen. They never close again. The last thing I ever see is that girl and her harshly blackened eyes, smiling down at me like she just won a prize.

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