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Estimated reading time — 3 minutes
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