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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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Just a Joke

June 12, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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They laughed. The group has just arrived at their dorm from another night of ghost stories. They weren’t afraid. At least, they wouldn’t show it. They were, after all, men.

“Holy shit, today’s stories were just insane. ‘I know you’re awake.’ What. The. Fuck. That got me,” Joshua said through his laughter.

“Guess who’s not sleeping tonight?”, Jeff forced through his grin.

“Quit being such pussies,” Luke said, “They’re just stories.”

They took a curious glance at Luke. His quaking voice made it painfully obvious that his false bravado masked unbridled fear.

“What? Stop looking at me. You know what? Fuck you guys. I’m gonna piss.”

Luke flicked on the lights, took a cautious look inside the bathroom, then slipped in. Jeff and Joshua could barely suppress their laughter. An idea popped into their heads.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Fuck yeah.”

Jeff closed the translucent sliding door on their bathroom and held it in place, while Joshua silently turned the room’s lights off.

“Ready? Go.”

Joshua turned the bathroom lights off. It was quickly followed by a scream. They could almost imagine Luke, dick in hand, spraying piss everywhere while he screamed.

It took a few moments before Luke started banging on the doors.

“Let me out of here goddamnit! Fuck you guys! LET ME OUT!”

They could see his hands every time they made contact with the plastic door. They laughed.

Strangely, Jeff noticed another pair of black hands pressed up on the plastic door. They were small, as if belonging to a child.

“Hey, Luke, what the fuck are those black hands?”, Jeff said over his friend’s screams.

“What? Just let me ou— OH GOD, HELP ME. SAV—”

Silence. Jeff quickly slid the door open.

All they found was an empty bathroom and a broken window.

Credit To – Urich Victorino

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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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The Cat in the Hat Strikes Back

June 11, 2013 at 12:00 PM
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The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So she sat in the house
All that cold, cold, wet day.

She just sat in a chair
All alone, by herself.
As she watched the paint dry
On her brand new bookshelf.

Too wet to go out
And too cold to play ball.
As she sat in the house,
And did nothing at all.
And then
Something went BUMP!
How that bump made her jump!

She looked!
Then she saw him step in on that mat!
She looked!
And she saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to her,
“Why do you sit there like that?”

“I know it is wet
And the sun is not sunny.
But we can have
Lots of good fun that is funny!”

“I know some good games we could play,”
Said the cat.
“I know some good tricks,”
Said the Cat in the Hat.
“A lot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
Will not mind at all if I do.”

She sat there and she
Did not know what to say.
Her mother was out of the house
For the day.

But her fish said, “No! No!
Make that cat go away!
Tell that Cat in the Hat
You do NOT want to play.
He should not be here.
He should not be about.
He should not be here
When your mother is out!”

“Now! Now! Have no fear.
Have no fear!” said the cat.
“My tricks are not bad,”
Said the Cat in the Hat.
“Why, we can have
Lots of good fun, if you wish,
With a game that I call
Let’s get rid of the fish!”
Then the cat chased the fish
Until she was caught.
And the fish hit the Cat in the head
With a pot.

“STOP!” Yelled the girl
“You do not have to fight
Either leave her alone or
you’re leaving!” “Alright”
Said the cat. “I’ll let the fish be.
Besides, there is something
I want you to see.”

And then he ran out.
And, then, fast as a whirl,
The Cat in the Hat
Came back in with a girl.

She was a cute girl
With eyes that shone bright.
With a sweatshirt and jeans
And teeth that shone white

Then he introduced her
With a tip of his hat.
“Here’s someone I’d like you to meet,”
Said the cat.
“She’s a sweet little girl
I will show to you now”
And the girl gave a twirl.
As the cat took a bow.

“Here’s a sweet little girl
And she wants to play
She can bring you some fun
On this cold, cold, wet day.
She is just like you are,
And I call her Thing One.
Would you like to shake hands
I’m sure you’ll have fun”

She was so bored and
She needed some fun.
So she went to shake hands
With the girl called Thing One.
And as they shook hands.
Her poor fish said, “No! No!
These two should not be
In the house! Make them go!

“They should not be here
When your mother is not!
Put them out! Put them out!”
Said the fish with the pot.
“Have no fear little fish,”
Said the Cat in the Hat.
“For she’s a good Thing.”
And he gave her a pat.
“She is tame. Oh, so tame!
She has come here to play.
She will give you some fun
On this wet, wet, wet day.”
“Now why don’t you two go and play,”
Said the cat.
“Just be on your way”
Said the Cat in the Hat.
“No! No do not go!”
Said the fish with the pot.
“Do not leave me alone
With this cat. You cannot.
Oh, I do not like cats!
They scare me, I admit!
Oh, I do not like this!
Not one little bit!”

But she went anyway,
She ran down the hall.
With Thing One, hand in hand,
They went to play dolls!
Hand in hand they went
To play dolls down the hall.

And left in the room
Was the fish and the cat.
The fish with the cat,
Well, she did not like that.
The fish was afraid
Of the Cat in the Hat.
He looked like a cat
But he smelled like a rat!

The cat said to the fish
With a gleam in his eyes.
“You know, we cats eat fish
This fact can’t be denied”
The fish shook with fear
As she attempted to run
But it’s not just Thing Ones
That want to have fun.

The cat won in the end,
The fish was no more.
“Well she didn’t put up much of a fight
What a bore.”
Then who should come back
But the girl and Thing One?
And the Cat in the Hat asked
“Did you two have fun?”

“We did” said Thing One
“But now she’s dried out
She’s no fun anymore”
Said Thing One with a pout.
“Well that’s the entire idea”
Said the Cat
“Now you’ll take her place”
Said the Cat in the Hat

“We’ll go house to house
All over the world
Taking the life force
Of each boy and girl
While their parents are gone
And it’s too wet to play
We will show up
And take them away
The best time to drain them
Is when their having fun
Then they’ll all be replaced
With Thing Twos and Thing Ones”

“Now take her outside”
Said the cat to Thing One
“Soon she’ll be nothing,
Just beams in the sun.
Then come back inside,
There’s work to be done
We’ve so much to do
We’ve only begun.”

Thing One went outside,
The girl trailing behind
Lifeless and slow
Not a thought in her mind.

Then the cat said “What fun
So much fun to be done
When the world is made up of
Thing Twos and Thing Ones
No more boring kids
Just moping about
For my Things will find fun
Of this I’ve no doubt”

Thing One came back in
In the clothes of the girl
“Are you ready to take her,
Place in this world?”
The new girl gave a nod
And the Cat said, “Then that’s that.”
And then he was gone
With a tip of his hat.

So, she sat in the chair
All alone, by herself.
As she watched the paint dry
On her brand new book shelf.
When her mother came in
She said “What did you do?”
Well, what would YOU do

If your mother asked YOU?

Credit To – Ivy Witch (and obviously inspired by The Cat in the Hat)

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