My doctor suggested I start keeping a journal in order to organize my thoughts. Said it would help reduce stress, and god knows I need that. I don’t even know what to write, I’ve never done the journal thing before but I guess I’ll start simple.
My name is Milo Stokes, I’m a corporal in the U.S. Marines stationed at Cherry Point North Carolina. Almost a year ago my wife left me after 4 years, said she couldn’t take this lifestyle anymore.
Can’t say I blame her though, if I had a way out I’d take it too, This place is a fucking hole.
But I don’t.
It’s been a little while since my first entry (What can I say, this shit’s new to me) though I’ll admit writing whatever I happen to be thinking is sort of liberating.
As of right now, nothing new to report. Same old bullshit at work, drinking every night, screaming at the walls… you know… normal stuff.
Okay, so I’m really hoping my own fucking journal isn’t gonna judge me here, but I’ve always been kind of afraid of the dark.
Not the dark itself, but the prospect of what may be in it.
And don’t get me wrong, this doesn’t mean at all that I avoid it. On the contrary I’m sort of a thrill seeker and get a rise out of scaring the shit out of myself. Mary (My ex, by the way) and I used to hang out in graveyards at night (Kinda weird, I know) taking pictures, just in the hope that we WOULD find something. And her? Man, she would see shit all the time.
Especially here, in this house.
One night shortly after we had moved in I was in the living room watching TV while she had headed to bed. After a while I heard some loud movement and she shouted my name. I rushed over and into the bedroom to find her sitting up in bed, blankets up to her chin, staring wide eyed at one particular spot in the room.
She explained that she was falling asleep when she heard a sound, something like a knee cracking, coming from the direction of the closet. She looked over to see a man in uniform staring at her from the closet doorway. Well, not staring at her she elaborated, more staring through her. She had glanced at the bedroom door when calling my name and when she looked back, the man was gone.
The next day she described him to me. Going on google I searched the specifics of his uniform and found it was a marine corps service uniform from the WWI era.
She saw him a few more times. Once just standing in the hallway, staring through her. Nothing particularly threatening, he was just kind of… there, watching.
Fell asleep typing last night, never finished the entry.
Woke up late for work, got bitched at, the usual. So anyway, after she started seeing this guy, we would do like we saw on the paranormal shows and set up a recorder to see if we could catch any strange sounds or voices digitally. We met with some success, we got a few weird sounds as well as some moderately audible voices.
Every time it would be a deep man’s voice, sort of what we expected. Throughout the time we did this we got some that were memorable, such as “He’s not a bad boy” which I could only assume referred to our newly bought beagle puppy, Dayton. “It’s so cold here” Is another one we could make out, deep and raspy. Again, not altogether surprising as we had a habit of keeping the AC lower than most people would find comfortable year-round. But the one that stuck out, and haunts me to this day, happened probably a few months before we split. I was still recording mostly out of habit when one day I heard “We won’t always be here” the next few lines were hard to make out, but it definitely ended with “Protect you”
I still wonder what he meant by: “Protect you”
So in relation to my last entry, the voices on the recording stopped altogether when she left. I literally heard nothing, not even the static that used to permeate the spaces in between the messages he would leave us. But recently strange things have been happening around the house. I’ll see what looks like children playing outside the windows, but when I go to check, there’s nothing there.
Probably just the nerves, gonna finish this drink then head to bed.
Alright, I was on duty at the barracks last night and some weird shit went down. I let my A-duty take the first sleeping post, and in those few hours I was totally alone in the duty hut, no one went in or out. So tell me why I found a fucking ragdoll just sitting in the middle of the passageway just outside. All of the marines that live here are at least 17 and up, who the hell would own a ragdoll? And who would leave it just lying in the middle of the hall…? staring at me…
I’m having a hard time typing this as my hands are shaking pretty badly. All these recent incidents going on lately have been of a totally different manner than the ones I’m used to.
No strange but accurate observations on the state of the house.
No still, harmless specters standing in the halls and closet.
I’ve been hearing voices, without the recordings now.
And occasionally I’ll here the voice of an older woman, and then everything will stop.
This all reminded me of the time we started looking for info on our uniformed ghost. Looking up the legends and ghost stories that Cherry Point has gathered over the years since it’s construction.
We didn’t find anything on our WWI marine.
This is what we did find:
“Havelock, Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point.
It is said the ghost of Kissie Sykes haunts the flight line and the housing looking for her children. She does not like men, and the men who yell at kids are in big trouble. There is a story of a young Lcpl on post was found the next morning, huddled in a ball in the corner of the guard shack crying; “she wants her kids… she wants her kids”. In the housing you can hear children playing, and from personal experience Kissy herself appears in childrens’ bedrooms after they are put to bed. Toys in the childrens’ rooms are moved when they aren’t even there. There are many different stories as to Kissy’s origin, but the most common theme is that she and her children were abused and murdered by her husband who had returned from the war suffering from shellshock (Now known as post-traumatic stress disorder). She and her children were buried together on base, but upon construction of the current flightline, half of the graveyard was relocated to another section of the installation. Separated from the graves of her children, she now searches for them, taking vengeance on men who have mistreated their families.”
Being the graveyard rats we were, we set out not long after to learn what we could about Kissie Sykes.
We found her grave on one side of the flightline, and just as the website described, on the other side there were several smaller graves. Some bearing only a first name, most without any dates.
And suddenly, the only thing I hear in the ears of my mind are that last recording I got from our uniformed guardian.
“We won’t always be here… protect you.”
The lights just cut out. Except for the light of my computer screen the entire house is pitch black.
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM M
Police Report, October 4th
After missing an entire workday, Corporal Milo Stokes was reported missing by his platoon. PMO was immediately dispatched to his residence to investigate, and soon found him dead sitting at his computer desk. The cause of death has not yet been clearly determined, however the rate of suicide within the Marine Corps is currently the highest in the nation. Upon investigation, it has been speculated that Corporal Stokes took his own life in a manner yet to be determined, in response to increasing workplace pressures, an alcoholic tendency, and his pending divorce.
End of Report.
Credit To: John