So...over the last 7 months, I've been working
for someone I responded to on Craigslist. Well, I'll just explain everything. This seems like an appropriate place to post
this. I was scouring the internet for some sort
of paying gig, I didn't really care what. Then I came across a post on Craigslist, I
had just refreshed the page and there it was. Someone was looking for a person to come by
and feed their pets. I assumed they were going out of town or something. So I contacted them and left my number through
email. I got a response immediately in the form of
a phone call. The caller was a man, who explained to me
that he was moving out of town, and his parents had cats they wanted fed daily. I gave the man my name so he could run me
through a cursory background check, and in about 20 minutes, I was hired. I went there the next morning you
to get all the instructions and whatnot, and met the man I'd spoken to on the phone. His name was Ben. Ben explained to me that he would no longer
be able to care for his parents cats, and that his parents needed to focus on themselves,
so I was being brought on to take care of that. The money would be left on the kitchen table
at the end of every week, $200 a week (just to feed some cats, I know right?). In addition to that, money for more cat food
would be left for me as needed. Then he told me the first thing that I thought
was strange. I was to come at exactly 10:00am every day,
and be gone by 10:10am. And I was to never, under any circumstances,
to interact with his parents. He told me that when I'm in their home, they
will be in their chairs in the living room, watching television, and that I was not to
disturb them, ever. He asked if any of that would be a problem,
to which I assured him it wouldn't. He then showed me the area in which the cats
eat (there were 4 cats), and where the food was kept. While not rude in the least, he was very adamant
that I not explore further in the house, to which I assured him wouldn’t be a problem. He ushered me outside and showed me where
the spare key was in case the door was ever locked, but he told me that was very unlikely
to happen. And with that, he expressed his hope that
I could be trusted one last time, shook my hand, and told me to be there at 10am every
day starting tomorrow. If I was ever unable to make it, call and
leave a message on their home phone, to which he gave me the number. I shook my head and was on my way. The next day came, and I went inside at exactly
10am. I walked into the house, and immediately to
my right were Ben’s parents, sitting in recliners, facing away from me, watching some
kind of game show. I announced my presence, which they ignored,
and made my way to the kitchen. I fed the cats bowls and left. This exact same scenario played out countless
times over the next few months.10am, unreturned “hello”, feed the cats, leave. On Fridays, I would pick up the small stack
of $20 bills from the kitchen table. It was the easiest job I ever had. Then came the inevitable: one day, I was running
late. I got to the house at 10:08. I entered and apologized to Ben’s parents
for being late, to which I once again got no response; they just kept sitting in their
chairs watching their game show.I went to the kitchen and fed the cats. I looked at my phone, which read 10:11. And walked down the hall towards the front
door. When I reached the living room, I jumped and
gasped out of shock. Ben’s parents were now standing in the dark
behind their chairs, completely still, staring directly at me. I apologized for running late and got out
of there. Though unnerved, I went back the next day
on time, and everything was fine. A few more months went by of nothing strange,
and then came the last day I was there. I got there at 10:03, but wasn’t worried
because I knew I could be out before 10:10. The problem came when I was in the kitchen
and I heard someone whisper the words ”Help me.”. It startled me, and I jumped, looking around
for the source of the cry for help. I saw no one around, but I heard it again,
and then a third time. I began looking around, before realizing I
was running behind. I looked at my phone and it was 10:10. My heart sank to my stomach when I looked
down the hallway and saw Ben’s parents for the first time in the light. They were grossly emaciated and pale, looking
completely malnourished, They were essentially walking skeletons. I apologized for taking so long and said I’d
be on my way, but they just stood there, blocking the way to the front door. I said I would take the back door, which was
located in the kitchen, but when I went to open in, it required a key to open from the
inside (seriously). It was at this point that true panic set in. I looked behind me, and the parents were now
about a half a foot away from the entrance to the kitchen, and I had nowhere else to
go except what I presumed was a door to a pantry. The had blank stares across their faces, and
their eyes looked as if the life had left them a long time ago. In a last ditch effort, I went to the door
that I thought was the pantry, and found it to lead to a staircase leading into a basement,
with, of course, no light. As soon as I opened the door there was a horrid
stench that washed over the otherwise clean air I was standing in. I carefully went down the stairs and looked
for a window, but they were all nailed shut. I happened to look back up the stairs, and
the parents were now standing next to each other at the top of the stairs. It was truly horrifying. I pulled out my phone and called 9-1-1, not
knowing what else to do, and when I explained my situation, they said they would send a
car out immediately, and to stay on the phone while they connected me to the unit en route. I ran into the dark basement using my phone
as a light. It didn’t provide too much illumination
since I was in the middle of a call, but it was just enough. There were racks of junk that lined the basement,
separating it into almost aisles. I went down down to check if any of the windows
were possibly loose (like I’d be that lucky). Then I turned around and shined the light
in front of me, and I was inches away from the parents’ lifeless-looking faces. I let out a scream and ran in the other direction,
and tripped over something, sending my phone flying from my hand. Of course, it landed face down so I couldn’t
find it. I ran back up the stairs and into the kitchen,
looking back and seeing the parents standing at the bottom of the stairs, with slight grins
on their faces. I ran down the hall to the front door and
flung it open, screaming when I saw the cop standing right in front of me. He asked me if I was the one that called as
I pushed past him to get outside, and told him I was. I looked in the window and saw the parents
sitting in their chairs, watching their game show. I explained that these crazy old people had
trapped me in their house and were chasing me around. The cop went in to talk to the parents and
look around while I sat in the cop car. He came back out about 5 minutes later and
asked if I was sure someone was chasing me. I said yes, I was absolutely sure. That it was the two old people that lived
there. He informed me that the people that lived
there, the people in the chairs, have been dead for quite some time. I asked what the smell in the basement was,
and he said there was another body down there. Backup showed up. I gave them my statement and explained how
I’d been coming there every day for months and months to feed the cats. I told them to call Ben, the homeowners’
son. I gave them the number, and it was disconnected. I found out a few days later that the body
in the basement was Ben. What I don’t get, is who’s been paying
me? 14. This last May, my high school had a lockdown. I was home sick at the time, so my knowledge
of the events that happened that day come mostly from what I have heard through administrators
and classmates after the incident, and the text messages I received during it. The administrators haven’t disclosed much
about the situation, which is only making the rumours surrounding this worse. After a months of trying to make sense of
all this, I am just tired and confused. Maybe someone out there reading this can finally
help me. I’ll try to provide as much background information
as I can in order for this to make sense. I had been texting my best friend, Andrew,
all day while vegging out on my bed with netflix playing in the background. He first texted me about the lockdown at 11:27,
which means he would have been in his 4th hour Spanish class. Being that the seniors had just graduated,
his class was quite small - only 6 students besides him in it. Below are some the texts we sent to each other
that day, starting at 11:27. L stands for my name, Lindsey, and A stands
for Andrew. A: dude holy shit
A: lindsey A: REPLY LINDSEY
L: What? A: the school just went into lockdown
L: like a drill??? Or what? A: I think its for real
A: A: the P.A. came on during class and said
“students and administrators please go into level three lockdown procedure. This is not a drill”
A: like every ones in the corner L: wait level three? Doesnt that mean someones in the building!? L: shit man im shaking now the school better
not be ing with you all A: its so quiet now
A: there isnt a sound in the entire building A: this doesnt seem like they are faking us
out L: I just told my mom, she hasnt heard anything
about it yet A: wait
A: I can hear someone walking down the hallway A: probably the office people coming to let
us out L: what if it isnt?? A: seriously stop lindsey
A: u asshole L: sorry
L: you probably have nothing to worry about though man
A: I can hear them going down the hallway turning all the door handles
L: yeah thats what they do during a drill L: make sure the teachers all locked em
A: they are talking L: yeah then its definitely administrators
A: no A: it doesnt make any sense
A: its all gibberish A: I dont think its even in english
A: what the hell L: drew you guys are okay though right? Your door is locked and lights off? L: have they gone in any other classrooms? L: andrew??? Hello? A: my mom isn't answering
A: some one next to me is crying A: he’s outside my classroom
L: dont make a sound ok? L: andrew? L: did he leave? L: hello!!! L: ANDREW
L: ANDREW HELLO L: please text me back
L: andrew? He never responded. From what I have been told, the school eventually
came out of lockdown mode. When they went around to each classroom to
check in, Andrew’s classroom door was still locked. They called out to the people inside, and
received no response back. Firefighters eventually knocked the door down. When they got in, there was nobody inside. The whole classroom was empty. Officials have offered no explanation as to
where they are, or what happened. I guess most people in town eventually moved
on, shifted their attention elsewhere. It seems as though nobody even cares anymore. But I still do, and I need answers. I need to find my best friend. 13. Have you heard the story of the secret NES
game Ladder to Oblivion by Max Shephard? The internet says there are 91 unlicensed
NES games, but I know that’s not true. There’s one more, and I’ve seen it. It’s real. At the end of this story, I’ll show you
a picture of it. By then, you’ll understand why I will NEVER
play it. But first, the backstory. As you probably know, when the Nintendo released
its Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) in North America in 1986 it created a worldwide
phenomenon. It had already sold over 2.5 million units
in Japan and the success of the system in America single-handedly revitalized the struggling
video game industry. By 1990, 30% of American households owned
the NES, beating the percentage that owned personal computers by 7%. Mine was one of those households. I remember my Dad bringing the NES home for
the first time, beaming with pride. I was in complete awe. I remember sitting in our sunken living room
and playing Super Mario Bros. for hours upon hours, never sitting too close to the television
for fear that my eyes would be damaged. That’s what my mom said, at least. What I didn’t know then that making games
for the NES was big business. Part of the reason the NES was so successful
is because Nintendo actively courted third party developers for its fledgling system. And because it possessed a near monopoly on
the video game market, it was able to enforce its standards and policies with an iron fist. So much so that the United States Department
of Justice actually started looking into Nintendo’s business practices. When the FTC got involved, Nintendo changed
some of the strict terms of its agreements. By Nintendo’s count, there are 671 licensed
games for the NES. That list grows to 677 if you include the
three Tengen games that were only temporarily licensed, plus the several others like Miracle
Piano which were left off of Nintendo’s list. To enforce its licensing standards, Nintendo
created the 10NES authentication chip. When the chip in the system detected the chip
in the game pak, the game would be playable. Otherwise, no dice. As you can imagine, many companies either
didn’t want to pay the licensing fee or were rejected as officially licensed partners
by Nintendo based on the quality of their games. Hence the 91 unlicensed games. You can see the list of them here. To skirt the protection of the 10NES chip,
some companies configured their hardware to create a several millisecond voltage spike
that “short-circuited” the authentication chip for just a moment and allowed the game
to be played. Interesting stuff, right? I thought so. And so did my Dad. He worked for Nintendo in their development
and icensing department during the late eighties and early nineties and got to experience all
of this as it happened. But the story of Ladder to Oblivion does not
begin with my Dad; it begins with Rob, the founder and original President of LTO, LLC,
and his idea for a new video game. Rob was in his senior year at West Lafayettle
High School in Indiana when Mario Bros was released for the NES. Like thousands of other kids around the country,
he became obsessed pretty quickly. When Rob graduated, he decided to attend Purdue
University to study Computer Science. He wanted to make video games. Purdue’s Computer Sciences department moved
into a newly renovated building in the fall of 1985 and Rob took full advantage of it
when he started college the next year. Four years later he graduated at the top of
his class. With honors. My Dad told me rob was one of the smartest
people he’d ever met. Even so, Rob dealt with some personal demons. His mother raised him alone after his father
was murdered in a home invasion when he was young. His mother was home when it happened, but
her life was spared. The resulting trauma sent her careening through
years of alcoholism and depression. Rob was neglected, as you can imagine, and
eventually went into the custody of Child Protective Services. He acted out at first, but eventually rose
above the shitty hand he’d been dealt. When Mario Bros came out his senior year,
he found it to be the escape he’d been seeking. My Dad has told me the story about the day
he first met Rob a dozen times. It was May 25, 1992. He remembered the date because the Friday
prior was Johnny Carson’s final Tonight Show and Jay Leno was announced as the new
host that Monday. “Johnny wanted Letterman to replace him,”
he said every time. “Not that Leno fella.” That Monday, he was sitting at his desk when
the phone rang. The voice on the other side hesitated for
a moment. “How’d you like to be rich?”, the man
said. My Dad had heard a version of that question
a hundred times and typically hung the phone up immediately when he heard it. This time was different. Something in the man’s voice intrigued him. “I’d love to,” he joked. “Do you have a secret to winning the lottery?” The man didn’t laugh. “I’ve got something much better,” he
said. “And what’s that?” my Dad shot back. “A new type of game. One the world has never seen before.” “I’m listening, “ my Dad continued. Rob introduced himself as the President of
LTO, LLC, a game company. At the time, my Dad had no idea Rob was the
only member. Rob went on to describe the game he was working
on. It was a platform game where the main character
moved across the screen from left to right, collected items and power-ups, and fought
enemies. At the end of each level there would be a
boss, with an ultimate boss at the end of the game. My Dad explained that Nintendo already had
a game like that. It was called Mario Bros. My Dad said Rob told him the “differences
were in the details.” The game would start with a young man who
finds a strange wooden ladder protruding out of the ground. When he climbs down the ladder, he realizes
he can’t go back up again. The only way is forward. At the end of each level, the young man must
fight a demon who appears in the form of someone from his past. It could be a teacher, a parent, or a friend,
but the player would find out it was always someone who had harmed the main character
in the past. After defeating the demon, the player climbs
down to the next level. There would be nine levels total. In each, the screen would become darker and
the enemies more powerful. By the ninth level, Rob explained, the player
would barely be able to see his way through the darkness. At the very end, the ultimate boss appears. The player finally learns who he’s been
fighting to reach the entire time: a mirror image of himself. Defeating the boss reveals a new ladder that
leads back up to the surface. “What happens when the player fails?” my Dad asked. “You don’t want to know,” Rob said cryptically. “Can you tell me what it’s called?” “Ladder to Oblivion,” Rob almost whispered. Eventually, Rob convinced my Dad to meet with
him in order to show him the game. It wasn’t quite finished yet, but the first
seven levels were playable. “I was mesmerized,” my Dad told me. “The game made me feel like no game ever
had before. The bosses at the end of the levels – I
started seeing them as the people in my life who had wronged me. A teacher in fourth grade who humiliated me
in front of the class. An old high school friend that had stolen
my girlfriend. It almost felt like that game….changed,
depending on who was playing it.” When my Dad brought the game to Nintendo,
they refused to approve LTO, LLC as an officially licensed developer. Nintendo had very strict rules about the type
of content that their partners could include in their games. No nudity, no gore, no cursing, and no religious
symbols, among others. Ladder to Oblivion’s theme and content didn’t
fall under the recognized restrictions, but it was rejected anyway. “It’s too dark,” was the only explanation
given. Rob was crushed, my Dad said. Understandably so. He’d worked on Ladder to Oblivion for the
better part of three years. My Dad told me the day of the final rejection
was the last time he'd ever spoken to Rob. He never saw him again. I begged him several times to try and get
in touch with Rob. Maybe he still had a copy of the game and
we could play it together. “Maybe,” he’d say, averting his eyes,
“I’ll see if I can dig up his number.” I believed my Dad all these years. For all I knew, the story of Ladder to Oblivion,
the NES game that never was, ended the day my dad said it did. Yesterday I found out I was wrong. It’s hard to even type this, but yesterday
my Dad committed suicide. It was a shock to my entire family. He seemed happy and never acted like he was
depressed. My mother found him in the woods behind our
house, the shotgun he’d used several inches from his outstretched hand. I was devastated. Still am. Last night, I went to the one place where
I felt closest to my Dad: his study. We’d spent hours in there together playing
old NES games and reliving his days at Nintendo. On a whim, I ended up grabbing Marios Bros.
ouf of its case. I was going to play a final game in honor
of my Dad. When I flipped the door open, I found there
was already a game inside. My Dad NEVER left games inside the console. He said it made them wear out quicker. It was Ladder to Oblivion. The art was just how I’d pictured it all
those years. An 8-bit image of a ladder descending into
a raging fire. A note was taped to the back. The note contained the real story of Ladder
to Oblivion – the NES game that did come to be. I considered transcribing the entire thing,
but realized that would be disrespectful towards my Dad. The note was addressed directly to me; he’d
meant the words within for my eyes only. Plus, the words are dark. They aren’t a proper representation of my
Dad at all. I hope you don’t mind that I paraphrase. The day of the rejection, my Dad went and
saw Rob. He was already obsessed with Ladder to Oblivion. After a lengthy discussion, Rob asked my Dad
to join LTO, LLC as a partner. It was Rob’s plan all along and was the
reason he’d asked my Dad at the beginning if he wanted to be rich. Together they’d complete Ladder to Oblivion
and release it as an unlicensed game. My Dad knew all about Nintendo’s authentication
chip and how to work around it. They both understood that many of the companies
that produced unlicensed games, like Tengen, Atari’s software branch, and Color Dreams/Bunch
Games/Wisdom Tree (they changed their name every so often so people would forget about
how crappy their previous games were) actually did very well in the market. They knew the risk – that Nintendo could
come up with a solution that would lock Ladder to Oblivion out of the NES forever – but
were willing to take it. Of course, my Dad would be a silent partner. He still needed his job at Nintendo. It’s what paid the bills, after all. In seven months, Rob finished Ladder to Oblivion. The two were ecstatic, but their joy would
be short-lived. The night Rob completed the game, he called
my Dad and told him it was finally finished. My Dad was excited beyond measure. The next day, my Dad had the game loaded onto
two pre-production cartridges. He had a friend in the art department whip
up a label, complete with Nintendo’s Seal of Quality. That way, they’d think he was working on
something for the company. Once they were ready for a large production
run, he’d have them made off-site. He didn’t want to take any chances. Rob told him not to play the game yet - he
still needed to do a complete play through from start to finish. To catch any remaining bugs. My Dad reluctantly agreed. Rob agreed to call him when he’d finished
so he could meet my Dad and do a play-through with him. Five days later, my Dad showed up at Rob’s
house unannounced. He hadn’t talked to Rob since the phone
call and in his paranoia was worried that Rob had decided to release the game on his
own and cut my Dad out of the profits. What he found was much worse. Rob was dead. I assume by suicide, but the note is unclear. There’s a lot of rambling at this part about
God and the Devil and a lot of sentences have been scribbled over so heavily, the words
are mostly illegible. It looks like Rob left a note. The only words were “Never climb the ladder.” More scribbled out words. At the end of that page, my Dad writes, “He
finally faced himself.” My Dad moved on undeterred. He was terribly upset at Rob’s death, but
the game had taken control of his life. Ever since he’d played it that first time,
he said, he’d been battling a secret depression. The only thing he believed would make him
happy again was to release Ladder to the public. The very next day, my Dad brought on a new
partner: a friend from Purdue named Eddie who was always looking for business opportunities. That night, they got together to play the
game. My Dad started, but ended up leaving after
the 7th level to grab some pizza. When he returned, he found Eddie dead, “Game
Over” flashing on the screen. Eddie had taken a kitchen knife and slashed
both of his wrists. The note gets harder and harder to read, but
I think he carved something into his arm. “UXXy inXXXe.” I’m not sure what that means. He says at that point, he was convinced the
game was responsible for both Rob and Eddie’s deaths, as well as his worsening depression. He tucked the game away, vowing to never play
it again. He couldn’t bear to get rid it though. I was 5 at the time. I obviously don’t remember any of this happening,
but I do remember us moving around that time. My Dad quit his job at Nintendo and we moved
out of town. For 24 years, my Dad kept his promise. He never played Ladder all the way through. Until yesterday. I’ll include the end of the note here. You can draw your own conclusions. I for one believe my Dad, no matter what you
all might say. And my Dad never told me what happened to
Rob's copy. For all I know, it's still out there. Have you seen it? Here’s what my dad wrote:
Twenty-four years of guilt finally caught up to me today. I climbed the Ladder. Something I said I’d never do. I faced myself and I was judged unworthy. Just like Rob. Just like Eddie. There’s something wrong with the Ladder. Almost like consciousness, it’s more than
just the sum of its parts. It looks deep inside you. Too deep for light. To the places you didn’t know existed. Son, I don’t want to die. I XXXX to live. But my shot gun is sitting on the floor beside
me and I can hear it speaking to me. It sounds XX sweet. It’s voice is a XXXen’s song. If I can ignore it, I’ll tear up this letter
and you’ll XXXXX XXXX the difference. I’m sorry I lied XX XXX. I’m sorry XXX X lot of things. Please know that I love you. XXXXX move on. I’m going outside. I can’t XXXX it. Please 12. This all happened about 3 hours ago. I moved back in with my mother about 2 weeks
ago due to my lease ending at my apartment and my girlfriend and I splitting up about
a month before the end date. She took the new place we had looked at together
and since she had put down the security deposit and paid everything up front, I didn't have
a lot of say in the matter. My mother offered to let me stay in her spare
bedroom for a month or 2 while I get back up on my feet and save till I can get my own
place. This was a disaster waiting to happen and
my mother and I don't live well together. Without any options on such short notice,
I took her up on the offer and moved in. It's a small town house tucked away from main
roads, about 5 minutes away from anything of interest. It heats up like a sauna during the day and
so I didn't spend much time there unless it was in the evening or my day off. Thankfully I work from 8am-7pm so I don't
bare the brunt of the heat. Mom works from 5am-4pm herself and shes usually
going to bed by the time I'm home, and the less interaction we have, the less chance
we butt heads, but that all changed tonight. 2 weeks in and my mother and I have lived
surprisingly well with one another, which is a far from when I was in highschool and
growing up. She asked if I would go to the store with
her since it was finally cooling off, most people don't crowd grocery stores at night,
and she needed help carrying a few things she needed to buy. Not like my company would have been nice or
anything. No big deal, I couldn't argue with her letting
me stay rent free, so why not. I offered to drive, so she left her keys in
the house. My smart ass left mine too and it was a reflex
to twist the lock on the knob when you walked out. We both realized once we got to my car that
neither one of us had keys. Great time for our first fight in awhile,
right? After we cleared up the "way to go on forgetting
your keys," and "I knew I shouldn't have asked for your help" bullshit, she tried calling
her land Lord to see if she would come unlock the house with the spare key. While she did that, I walked around to the
front door to see if by some miracle it was unlocked, but no luck. The Landlord is out of town we find out, so
we call the landlords son to see if he has a spare, and he doesn't either. Awesome! Thankfully, my mother has a back deck with
furniture and I had my cigarettes so we call a lock smith and decide to wait it out. Now, to describe things a bit, the town house
is 2 stories. From the table and chairs on the back porch,
you're about 10-12 feet away from the back door and the spare bedroom overlooks the whole
back area. After a few more minutes of complaining At
each other, we sit in silence and my eyes wonder to the window for the spare room. Its about 915pm and so it's still decently
light outside. I can see everything fairly well, and I see
the blinds start swaying slightly. At first I thought I was crazy, and didn't
say anything. I thought it out and remembered I left my
fan on and it rotates to cover whole bedroom and regularly blows the blinds a bit. My mom and I start talking about work, friends,
life in general and I catch the blinds moving out of the corner of my eye again, but this
time, one of them is held up, and I make out the distinct shape of a face. I stand up, walk over to the side of the house
and try to get a better angle, but the blind slid back into place as soon as I moved. Its about 930 at this point, and my mother
keeps asking me what I'm doing, why I'm pacing in the yard. I'm thoroughly freaked out and I'm convinced
that someone was in the house, in my room, watching down at us. Despite my better judgement, I don't tell
my mom. Instead, I come and sit back down, act as
natural as possible and wait to see if I'm not slowly going crazy like my dad did before
he ran out on us. In consecutive 5 minute intervals, I glanced
up at the window to see if there was anymore movement. By about 940, my mom's getting cranky as hell
waiting for the locksmith and started laying into me again about forgetting my keys. I'm so far away from giving a shit, it's dark
outside and we didn't leave any outside lights on so it's getting darker and I'm already
creeped out. The only lights in the house that were left
on when we left was the living room and dining room. My bedroom light was off, and at 945, when
the lock smith finally showed up, I looked up at my window again and the light was now
on in the spare room. The lock smith unlocks our back door, my mom
grabs her debit card and pays him, and I beat her to the door before she can go inside. I tell her to wait for me to check things
out, and before she can start complaining I tell her, "mom, I saw someone through the
window while we were waiting for the lock smith." Color drains out of her face, and I step inside. Grab the keys from the counter where I left
them right inside the door, and I shut the back door. We walk over to my car, parked about 50 ft
away on the street and I retrieve my pistol. I always conceal carry, and I have 1 firearm
in the house, and 1 in my vehicle at all times. My mom sits down in my car, calls 911 and
I go back to the house, armed and ready to deal with whoever was in there. I checked every room, inside every cupboard
and drawer, the bathrooms and closets, and finally my room. Nothing, no one is hiding anywhere and I'm
starting to think I'm actually nuts for a second, until I check my bedroom closet and
find my 2nd gun missing. Okay, red flag.. I get the hell out of dodge at that point,
come blasting down the stairs and that's when I realize the front door is unlocked. That was the first thing I checked when we
were locked out, and now it's not. Someone was definitely here. Cops have been called and arrive after about
10 minutes. We explain what happened and obviously decide
not to stay there tonight but they checked everything out before we left, no signs of
forced entry and the only thing we could document as missing was my gun. What the do I do here? We're not going back to that house, I'm damn
sure of that, but Jesus Christ man. I'm spooked as hell. I'm writing this from my phone and were at
my aunt's house, and now we have half our damn family going nuts over this too. Not how I wanted to spend my Thursday night. 11. Sharing this experience from literally last
night because A) it's creepy as hell (at least for me) and B) I want people to learn from my experience. This is a precautionary tale. I understand that this was my fault, but maybe
if I can help one person by telling my story, it's worth it. I don't drink as a general rule, but once
a month or so I'll go out with friends and binge. My friends and I had a great night at a bar
in the city, and they left. I was chatting up a cute guy so I decided
to stay. I went back to his place. Post-coitus (very unsatisfying for anyone
interested), I'm ready to head home so I call an Uber to pick me up. I don't know where I am - I know the city
I'm in but not my exact location. I order the Uber, but it's taking forever
("requesting....requesting....requesting...") so I cancel it and try again. Pretty soon a car pulls up. I drunkenly mumble something like, "s'this
the Uber?" and I hop in. Mistake. Ubers apparently are supposed to have some
kind of marking on the vehicle. The guy pulls away and starts driving. We're chatting, I'm fumbling for a cigarette,
and the next thing I notice is that we're headed on the highway, but in the opposite
direction of where I thought we needed to drive. And we're going at a solid 90mph. Then I get a call from my Uber driver. He's there, and I'm not. Because I'm in a car with a *ing nutcase. I start texting my friend frantically counting
off mile markers for her. Then I realize that's going to do jack, because
she's probably drunk too. So I call 9-1-1, but I realize this guy is
crazy - he's refusing to let me out of the car - So I've got to do it on the sly. It's been 40 minutes now. I'm terrified. I don't know where I am, I don't know who
this is. We're driving at over 100mph, weaving in and
out of traffic. This guy is trying to get me to hang up my
phone call ("yo get off the phone; the * are you calling? Better not be a snitch"), and also smoking
pot, so I don't want to do anything that might provoke a violent reaction from him. I start chatting to the 9-1-1 dispatcher as
if it's my friend, praying that they'll catch on. "Hey girl, it's me! Yeah I'm with someone right now, we're driving
past [highway exit]. No sweetie, it's not my Uber. I thought it was, but it's not. It's a shame you can't come and meet me and
bring friends." Thank sweet baby Jesus, the operator catches
on! He gets me to stay on the phone while he sends
cops, and we develop a code - if I see cops, I'm supposed to casually put my hand out the
window, which looks semi normal because I'm smoking a cigarette. We pull into some random little housing complex
and he busts out some powder and forms two lines. I now have confirmation that he does drugs,
which means he's probably emotionally volatile. I relay this to the operator, in code ("oh
girl I wish you were here right now, this guy just busted out the coke! You'd love it. He's taking a really big bump, man after my
own heart") etc. Pretty soon I can see the lights from the
cop cars so I start waving my hand out the window - at this point I don't care if he's
on to me or not. I don't know if he has a weapon but I slump
down in my seat just in case things get hot. The cops surround us, get him out of the car,
and then (once it's safe) they extricate me as well. They whisk me to the hospital for a drug test
and evaluation and that's where my story ends. On my way to the hospital, as I'm explaining
all this to the officer, I find out that of the guy's 40-ish years on this earth, he's
been in federal prison for 30 of them, for violent offenses. I want people to learn from my mistakes, and
if nothing else, call 9-1-1 and STAY ON THE LINE. TL;DR by being drunk and stupid, I got into
a car with a violent felon who may have been trying to kidnap me. With some quick thinking on my part and a
9-1-1 dispatcher sent from the gods above, I'm okay. I don't have much by way of proof, but here's
a screen cap of the texts I sent my friend, as well as my hospital band. On the second pic you vaguely see a bruise
forming from where he attempted to physically grab the phone from my hand at one point. 10. Last year when I was moving from my apartment
to my house, I dropped my box with my laptop and it was damaged beyond repair. I definitely didn't have the money for a new
one, so I went on Craigslist to find a cheap deal. After hours of searching for one that was
decent and affordable, I found a Windows 10 for only 25 bucks. I was astonished, and emailed the owner right
away in the hopes it hadn't been bought at such a good deal. I was in good luck because they miraculously
hadn't sold it yet. I was ecstatic, and when I went to pick it
up, I asked the man why he was selling it for so cheap, and he said his sister had recently
passed away, and they were cleaning out her house, so they were selling different things
from here house. It didn't creep me out too much that I was
using a dead person's computer, but I felt weird that they were giving up her belongings
so quickly. I brought the computer home and was so excited
to use it I plugged it in right away and it started loading after a minute. It was crazy. The computer was in perfect condition, not
even a scratch, and was loading surprisingly fast. When it started up, the background popped
up and it was a pitch black screen with 3 letters in white that read EMX. I didn't know what it meant, but I supposed
she had worked for an obscure company. I wondered if she had cleared her files off
the computer, and, being the nosy person that I was, checked the "on this pc" tab for files. I didn't find anything at all until I checked
the documents tab. There were just 3 items there. The first item read:
Case 322 experiment I clicked the first item open and up came
a summary of their little "experiment" of "Case 322." Case #322
Notes: Case suffers severe schizophrenia and depression, and experienced frequent hallucinations
and paralysis. We will be experimenting with treatments for
her unique and unusual case. *It should be noted that the case is extremely
violent, has been speculated at most violent of all cases. Constant murder/torture threats. Surprising detail and graphic descriptions
for someone at such a young age as her. That was the end of that item. I was horrified at the fact that it appeared
they had given me a computer formerly used for children's neurological experiments. Being the curious person I was, though, I
decided to keep reading on. Biggest mistake of my life. The second item read:
Safety/concern?--forewarn I opened the file and it appeared to be a
list. Safety concerns of Case 322
It should be noted that those chosen for experimentation on Case 322 shall be of utmost high standard,
and serious precautions must be taken. Case 322 has been involved in the following
acts: 1) The murder of her entire family. 2) The murder of 4 civilians during an escape
from her home. 3) 2 bank robberies. 4) Over 200 death threats toward figures of
authority, police, guards, doctors, therapists, teachers, school staff, and others. 5) Writing a death note to a classmate. 6) Pulling out her own hair from her roots
and eating it. 7) Pulling her teeth out and stabbing herself
in the eye with it. 8) Over 20 suicide attempts including hanging,
overdose of drugs, self inflicting shots with a firearm, jumping off the top of a building,
and stabbing herself. 9) Attacking a police officer and nearly killing
them. As expected, this is not a full list of offences,
but are the most prominent. When conducting experiments DO NOT leave case
unattended and do not take eyes off of her. Keep keys to experimentation room out of her
parameters and make sure she is restrained in straitjacket through the whole process. Have guards on duty at ALL times of experimentation. And that was the end of that file. I then understood they weren't dealing with
a normal messed up kid. They were dealing with an serial killer. A psychopath. I was sick to my stomach at this point. Why did this woman have such a private matter
on an at-home computer? How did her family not know about this? Why was she dead? The third file read:
Experiment-documentation Day 1: Case 322 fought and screamed until
sedated. She is surprisingly strong for her stature
and for being of only age 14. Experiments went well, not much progress. Day 2: Case 322 stabbed a guard in the eye
with a bobby pin. Case is no longer allowed hair utilities. Case is to have head shaved to prevent it
being used as a noose or strangle/choking/suffocation weapon. After proper sedation we found a serious neurological
phenomenom in her brain, most likely the cause of her issues. Day 3: Case 322 woke up from sedation during
experiments and played asleep as she slowly attempted to escape from restraint. Patient sprung up in middle of experiment,
tackled a doctor and broke their hipbone before being restrained by guards. Doctor to receive compensation. Sedation will be amped up several milligrams
and restraining methods are to be more advanced. Day 4: 2 guards and a nurse were killed in
a escape. Building was put on lockdown. Case was found hiding in a cleaning closet. Day 5: Experiments are becoming increasingly
more dangerous for the team. We are debating the end of the experiment
for safety reasons. Case 322 is by far the most severely- and
please excuse my improper tone- messed up and psychotic case ever speculated by our
team. Day 6: Case 322 is no longer allowed fingernails. Day 7: I know I am about to die. But if I am going to die I am going to make
sure these last few things are documented. She killed the rest of the team. I am hiding in my locked office, but she is
close, I can hear her footsteps. We never figured out how to treat this phenomenom. This is rarely ever, possibly never said in
this field, but this case is absolutely helpless. There is no cure. She is a lost cause. She's picking the lock right now. If my family ever finds this, I love you guys. And Case 322 is out there somewhere. She's in. Goodbye world. :(Ijopd jnidmk,ln bas hvasdsfd, . This is
"Case 322." Well, that's what they call me. I killed this piece of trash, bleach blonde
waste of life. She's dead. If her family is reading this, I enjoyed banging
her head against the desk until she died. I love watching the life drain from my victims. And good luck ever finding me. I'm dropping her laptop off at her house so
they can't use it for evidence. I know where she lives. And I'll find you too. And it ended. I shut off the computer and went straight
back to the man's house. I asked him how his sister died. He seemed taken aback by the question but
answered saying she was murdered. I gave him the computer and showed him the
files. We turned it into the police station and there
has been an ongoing search ever since. Everyone in the area is told to keep doors
locked at all times. Keep on the lookout for the girl. She is out there, somewhere. They still haven't found her. I still have no clue what EMX is. The only thing that really still keeps me
paranoid is the ending. "And I'll find you too." Honestly, based off the description of how
crazy she is, I can't tell you I don't believe her. 9. Let me begin by disclaiming that I am not
schizophrenic. I don't have any psychological issues of the
sort. If you aren't going to believe me don't read
my story. For the past 6 months I've really liked using
guided spoken meditations to fall asleep. I always end up returning back to the same
channel on Youtube. It works wonders for me, I fall asleep with
my mind at peace and my worries lifted. Then last night I decided to try a different
video I had never seen before. The thumbnail caught my attention immediately. It was a picture of what seemed to be the
stars, but the stars came together to form a smiling face with large circular hollow
eyes made of the stars. The video was titled, "GUIDED MEDITATION:
IMMERSIVE ASTROLOGICAL JOURNEY - NIGHTMAN." So I clicked on the video, got nice and comfortable
and closed my eyes. It started like any other meditation I had
heard before. If you have never done this before, basically
a person doing a voiceover tells you to relax, breathe deeply, and clear your mind. Once that process is done the visual or imaginative
part of the meditation begins. Last night I was pretty exhausted, so I ended
up nodding off before the visual portion even began. The last thing I remember before falling asleep
was breathing in to the count of 4, holding, then exhaling to the count of 5. Some time later, I woke up in sleep paralysis. The headphones were still in my ears, and
the meditation was still going. Except there was no voice over, there was
no soothing descriptions for visualization. There was a loud and I mean LOUD static sound,
like the kind you hear on the radio. The most accurate thing I could find is this:
Then there was this incessant whispering, it was so low and gravelly it almost sounded
like a growl. It said over and over: “HE WATCHES FROM
ABOVE.” “HE WATCHES FROM ABOVE.” I laid there paralyzed with an indescribable
sense of dread washing over me. I wanted to move, I wanted my body to wake
up and I wanted the goddamn video to stop. But it just kept going. The more the voice repeated “HE WATCHES
FROM ABOVE,” the more terrified I became. I had this feeling like I knew something was
watching me. This went on for what seemed like hours, but
it could have only been 20 minutes because the video was only 31 minutes long to begin
with. When I finally was able to break out of the
paralysis I tilted my head up and saw it. A big, black shape stretching out over my
bed. Its neck was elongated to the point where
its face hovered a foot from my own. Oh man, its *ing face. It's eyes were abnormally large and round
and white with these MASSIVE pupils like a cat gets when it's about to pounce on something. It's nose was like a goats or something, just
these two black, deep slits. I can't think about it's mouth without feeling
sick. I could smell it's breath. It smelled like rotting carcasses and mold. The mouth was wide, and it seemed to be smiling. It had rows and rows of tiny sharp teeth. If lamprey eels could smile, it would look
exactly like what I saw. (For reference, heres a lamprey eels mouth
I stared at it, paralyzed with fear for 5 *ing hours until the sun came up. Once the sun had started to come through my
windows at around 6 AM, it started crawling backward off my ceiling and seemed to ooze
onto the closet floor and disappear. I don't know what to do. I don't know what I've done to myself. All I know is that I would rather collapse
from sleep deprivation than ever willingly go to sleep again. 8. So after a year of nagging from some of my
gamer buddies, I caved, and finally got myself one of those virtual reality headsets. I was soon about to find out that there was
nothing "virtual" about them. At first I was indifferent towards them, but
once I started using it I realized that it truly does live upto the hype. I even went ahead and got myself a swivel
chair.The experience was so immersive I often forgot I was sitting on a chair in my apartment
and not really soaring across the sky looking down on prehistoric animals and what not. Fast forward a few weeks and it became a habbit
of mine to come home from work and lay a bag of chips next to me and watch netlix on it
until dinner time. Okay so, for those of you who have no experience
with a VR headset, let me just tell you that its identical to a real theatre when you watch
movies on it. Youll see yourself sitting in the middle of
a cinema hall or whatever setting you choose, but all the chairs are empty, you can even
look behind you, like 180 degree behind to empty rows of chairs.Id always wondered what
itd be like to own a personal cinema hall and this was the closest id ever been to it
so it was pretty cool. So one day I come home as usual and followed
tradition and decided id binge watch true detective, it was weekend so I wasnt worried
about sleeping late and my girlfriend was out of town so I really had nowhere to be. Im down 3 episodes of season 1 and really
gripped with the whole series. Half episode in and I hear a light "thud",
as if a door just closed behind me. I take the set off and look around wondering
who mightve walked in. And i realize that there is no door behind
me, im sitting against a window on my couch. I still get up and make sure that my door
was locked, and to my satisfaction, it was. I shrug it off and continued to sit down and
watch. So my weekend is up and im back to work. I walk in and to my delight, kim is already
there (my girlfriend). I chat with her for a while and catch up with
her before our shift starts. After a day of listening to entitled brats
and putting on fake smiles when they try on clothes, im beat ( I work at a Zara store
and we get a lot of people come in who think they own the store and the people working
there). Kim and I grab dinner and we decide to spend
the night at my place since we'd been apart for the weekend. Its about 1 am and I wake up to have water. As im making my way to my room I hear a light
"thud" behind me. I turn around and notice the window in the
hall is open. I figure the wind mustve blown the bathroom
door close or something. But to my surprise, it was open. Now, I didnt give it much thought partly because
I was too sleepy and partly because knowing someone else is there with you in the apartment
makes you less likely to think negatively of such minor occurences. I slowly drag myself to bed and fall asleep
once again (to give you an idea, my apartment is "L" shaped, the smaller head is where the
hall and bathroom is and the longer head has two bedrooms opposite to eachother with a
storage room in between). The next day I get home from work and watch
a million watch to die on the VR. Im laughing and really enjoying myself when
I hear the all too familiar "thud" behind me. I instinctively turn my head with the VR on
and stare at the end of the hall, at the entrance, I see something. Its a dark patch a little darker than the
surroundings. You guys know liquid black? Like the ink? Ye, that kind. I restart the device and look up again, still
there. I figure it mustve always been there since
I never really looked up there. I continue watching the movie and im laughing
and suddenly stop. Im overwhelmed by this realization that im
alone in my apartment with a headset over my eyes and I feel like im being watching. Now im not one of those paranoid types but
the feeling was just too strong. So I take it off and decide that ive had enough
of virtual reality for one day. For the next few days I stayed away from it
and spent more time with kim. Fast forward a few more days and its weekend
again, and kim has to be away, again. I prepare myself for another weekend without
her. I get a call from a friend and he says theres
a new bar that opened up across the street to where he lived and we went to check it
out. We had a few drinks, chatted a bit and went
our way. I figure its only 11pm and ive nothing to
do tomorrow, so I think ill finish the movie I left off. I wear it over my head and start the movie,
but my gaze is suddenly directed towards my extreme left on the last seat of the row ahead
of me, I see a liquid black. I recalled the ink blot id seen over at the
back and turn around, but it isnt there. Now im geniuenely freaked out and just take
it off. I decide ill contact the company about this
first thing in the morning assuming its a glitch. So I wake up and contact them and they ask
me to come over to their help center. They checked it out and said that it was fine. I checked it, and it was. They said sometimes stuff happens thats really
hard to pindown and just fixes itself. I figured it was a fair enough explanation
because that usally is how most technology behaves. Satisfied with my visit, I return home. Now I wont bullshit around and cut to the
chase. It was there again, but closer now. It sat just a few chairs behind me, and I
could almost make out its features. It didnt seem like an ink blot anymore. I suddenly felt like someone touched the back
of my neck and whispered in my ear. It was getting too real too soon and I flung
away the headset from my face and looked around. No one. Obviously, I was alone. I chuckled and thought about how silly I was
being and looked over at the corner of the room, I seemed to have broken the headset. I frowned thinking I wasted all that cash
due to a little paranoia but a little part of me was glad it broke. The weekend is up and im back to spending
time with kim and working. We went to grab dinner after work and I notice
something in my peripheral vision while eating, and it slowly becomes clearer, ink blot. Now im not stupid, so I instantly made the
connection and realized I wasnt even wearing the headset. I tell Kim were leaving and pay at the front
desk and leave. She asked me what that was all about and looked
at me weird. I tell her to just be quiet for a while and
we go back to her place cuz im certainly not staying at mine after what just happened. So here I am, scared out of my mind and not
sure what to do, ill update if anything happens. 7. So that's not entirely true. But I'm somewhere that looks like my bedroom,
except there are some things that are different. For example my closet is filled in with concrete. My windows have lights behind them to make
the effect of day and night and the door is always locked until this person lets me out. For some reason he has left me a fully charged
laptop with superfast internet. I tried downloading a deaf dialer to call
the cops but the website was blocked, same with skype, facetime, messages any website
I could use to contact people except for reddit. Let's move along with this story. He's going to give me my next assignment soon. So 10 days ago I got a text from my girlfriend,
she wanted me to come to our spot because she had a surprise for me. Sweet, but when I got there she was no where
to be found. I texted her to see where she was and she
said she had no idea what I was talking about. Figuring it was just a friend spoof texting
I got back in my car. That's where everything went black. I hit my head or someone hit me over the head. And I woke up and I was in my bedroom. I tried leaving but I couldn't and there was
a notebook on my nightstand with these words written in it "WELCOME HOME". I tried breaking the windows but all I got
was concrete and lights. I was completely trapped somewhere. A voice came over the loud speaker, it sounded
like Roger L. Jackson (the voice from the scream movies) welcome James, here is your
first assignment. And that's where the laptop which I hadn't
noticed buzzed. It said 1 new notification. I'll try and attach a screen shot. Thankfully it's a Mac and I might be able
to hack it's Admin password. It looks like he's messed up the UI a bit. My first assignment was to hang up my clothes
and make my bed like a good boy. There was a text box so I wrote "How. The closet is caved in". With that I heard a rumble and looking at
the closet the concrete slowly moved down in the floor. How much money has this guy spent. So I did what it said. And I got a congratulations music track and
I got my next assignment. "Exit the room and go to the living room". I closed the laptop lid and the door buzzed
open. I made my way out to a dark, cold, concrete
hallway. More doors. None that I could recognize. And I felt like I was walking down a tarmac. I entered the room in which the door was lit
up and the words Enter Here were lit. I pushed open the vault like door and inside
was my living room The couches, the tables, the TV, the chairs, even the piano. The TV buzzed to life "Sit down and play a
song". I sat down at the piano and started playing,
at the same time the TV buzzed "Good boy, I'm proud of you". Now I really want to know who this is, he
is treating me like his property. This is sick. The TV buzzed again. New Assignment. I stopped playing and read, it made me sick
"Strip down to your underwear". I replied NO. And the TV buzzed again "Do it or regret it". "I SAID NO". With that the highest siren you could ever
hear was buzzing. I couldn't take this. I ran back to my room. There was a box of items on the bed. Stuff he/she had to have taken from my house
after I was abducted. My noise cancelling headphones were in there. I put them in and they barely drowned out
the alarm. It hasn't stopped blaring for 8 days. I've been trying to ignore it. But I can't sleep. I have no plan of escape he's trapped me inside
my room. The siren does stop for 10 minutes at 8PM. I'm not sure why though. Finally Day 10 and the siren stopped. The voice came over the speaker "You've learnt
your lesson, new assignment". I went over to the computer and with the nice
startup sound I was taken to the desktop. I clicked open the new assignment and I got
this message. "Please proceed to Lily's room and receive
your surprise". Oh shit, Lily is my girlfriend. I'm afraid on what I'm going to find in there. I'm about to go there now. Please someone call the police. I need to get out of here. There are 3 things I need to do 1. Find out if my girlfriend is here 2. Figure out what the 10 minute silence was
3. Get out of here. 6. I’ve related parts of this story to friends,
family, acquaintances and even once to a girl I met online (that was a mistake). I think I do it in hopes that someone will
rationalize it for me. But I didn’t know this place existed, and
I was shocked to see how so many people have suffered similar experiences. So I hope that someone here might be able
to shed some light on what had actually happened to me. It started when I moved out of my mom’s
place and into my current apartment. I had gotten a great job and over the course
of a year managed to pay off most of my student loans. Around this time, my mom started dropping
hints about ‘birds leaving the nest’ and there ‘not being enough space’, so I packed
my things and left. I left in November. I remember because it was uncharacteristically
cold for a city on the coast. The apartment was old, and so the thermostat
was one of those plain rectangular boxes with an analogue lever underneath with no numbers
to indicate temperature. You just move it left or right until you find
your comfort level. My lease agreement stated that the landlord
would pay for heating so I decided to go to town on it and set it almost all the way to
the right. I could hear the floor-heaters light up with
this clicking sound that sounded like fingernails tapping on a lead pipe. The apartment came completely unfurnished
expect for a full-body mirror which was placed on the outside of my bedroom door. It wasn’t a permanent fixture, held up only
by a screw near the top so that when I closed it too quickly the whole thing would swing
off the door and slap it as it shut. I wanted to take it down except that the door,
which was the same cream colour as the walls, had been painted around the mirror. This meant that if I removed it, there would
be a brown rectangle of unpainted wood in the middle, so I left it up. Being a bit of a scrawny weakling, my extended
family helped me set up my bedframe and mattress before leaving me to unpack. By the end of the night I had some of the
furniture set up and emptied some boxes onto a shelf and not much else. I found the apartment to be quite warm so
I turned down the thermostat, closed the bedroom door and went to sleep. When I awoke the next morning the apartment
was startlingly cold. There was frost on the ground outside my window
so I did not think anything was amiss until I got out of bed. I stopped and stared out into the hallway
through an open doorway. In hindsight, I can tell you, that I closed
that door the night before. Even then I knew that I had closed it, but
I didn’t want to believe what I was looking at. I rationalized it and checked to make sure
that the latch was firm and that the door could not slowly slide open in the night. I made up my mind that I must not have closed
it all the way so that the latch may not have clicked into the bevel in the doorframe and
it must have popped open. I brushed it off and went to the thermostat
and turned it back up to where it was the night before and I heard that familiar clicking
of the heaters coming on. As it was a Saturday (and therefore no work),
I spent most of the day opening boxes and squaring away all the furniture. By night, I had most of the apartment set
up. I took pictures and sent them out to my friends
and family, making very sure not to include the gaudy mirror on the door in any of them. When I went to sleep that night, I closed
the door tightly. I heard the click of the handle, and I made
sure it would not open. The apartment was a little too warm as it
had been the night before, but after the chilling morning I had just had, I decided to leave
it turned up to where it was. I fell asleep that night facing the door. I won’t embellish this next part. When I awoke, my bedroom was ice cold—and
the mirror was now on the inside of my door. I can still recall my fear-stricken face reflected
in that mirror vividly. I didn’t even change in there. I grabbed my clothes from the box (I had not
put them away yet) and got changed in the living room. I didn’t even move the mirror back. I just left it on the door inside the room. The whole day I avoided the bedroom, but it
was hard not to notice the big, unpainted brown spot on the bedroom door where the mirror
used to be. I very seriously thought about calling my
mom and making up some excuse to spend the night over there, but I fought down the urge. I didn’t want to make it seem like I wanted
to move home after only two nights on my own. I even tried to get my girlfriend-at-the-time
to come spend the night with me, making very sure not to mention any of this to her. She respectfully declined with an excuse I
can’t remember now. I left the apartment frequently that day for
different things—usually shopping for little things I forgot to bring like soap, and paper
towels—but I couldn’t stay away because I didn’t have a vehicle and I didn’t want
to carry shopping bags everywhere I went so I had to drop them off. Even from outside I could see the bedroom
window and it would give me shivers. I kept worrying that every time I walked by
the window I would see a face or a monster leering out from behind the drawn curtain. I was dreading night. And by the time it was dark I had run out
of reasons to leave the apartment. I spent my time in the living room—as far
away from the bedroom as I could get without leaving altogether. I unpacked my things half-heartedly wondering
if I should be doing the opposite. I decided to sleep on the couch in the living
room not far from where I was sitting. But I still had to pass by the door to get
to the bathroom to brush my teeth. The thermostat, also, was right outside the
door to the bedroom, so I resolved to get both things done at once. I don’t think I have ever brushed so hard
and so fast in my life. I could have easily just grabbed my brush
and washed in the kitchen sink, but I still didn’t want to admit to myself how scared
I was. I pushed the lever to the thermostat all the
way to the right and returned to the living room, forcing myself to take slow, even steps,
and took courage from the lack of incident. As I was preparing to turn out the light and
go to sleep, I began to wonder if I wasn’t just going crazy. I wanted to believe in what I had thought
the day before—that there was a rational explanation for it. I wanted to think that maybe I had moved the
mirror myself while sleepwalking. Moreover, I had just spent much of the past
three days unpacking. I wasn’t thinking that I would have to move. I knew that I would have to face this at some
point. So I got up and turned on every single light
in the house. I steeled myself at the bedroom door. I remember looking at the hole where the screw
had been which had held the mirror when I first moved in. I opened the door and immediately hit the
light switch inside. The room lit up cheerfully—everything right
where I had left it. Even the mirror. I chose not to go into the room, fearing that
the door would somehow slam shut behind me so I closed the door—leaving the light on
inside. As I turned to walk back to the couch, I heard
the latch click open. My immediate reaction was one of pure dread,
but even in that moment I figured that I had not pushed the door entirely closed. I turned around—and the door was open—the
light was off. I still remember how my body seized. I was completely unable to move, but I could
feel every hair on my body standing on end. The door was open at a fourty-five degree
angle so that I could see perfectly into the room through the reflection in the mirror. Standing next to my bed, silhouetted against
the streetlight coming in through the window, something bulky and rounded stared out at
me. The edges were blurred and it had no eyes
but I could feel it staring at me. At that moment, even in my paralyzed state,
I could hear the clicking of the heater turning on. The shape moved out of sight of the reflection
of the mirror and I heard it whisper in my ear like it was standing right behind me. “Shhh”. I slammed the door so hard the whole wall
shook. I still live in that apartment, but I don’t
go into the bedroom anymore. The door hasn’t opened since. 5. This evening I tried to log in to my account
(which I used to upload gaming videos to.) and I couldn't. After an age of attempting password resets
my email was taken too. I've had a history of my things getting hacked. This evening, I was in a call with my friend. He was looking at my channel and saw that
some of my videos had been taken off. After further inspection, a video had also
been uploaded simply titled "1" He obviously assumed I was trying to pull an elaborate
prank on him.. I wasn't. Here is the video:
All that appears is some brief text with a strange backtrack. Then.. morse code. We have no idea what it says. Then - A second video.. titled, yes, you guessed
it! "2" But this time the code was visual. The video: The morse code in this one, which
we translated (as it was just a visual) Said "Hello"
I thought I'd share it with you. Will update soon with any new details.. thank
you for reading. If you can help with translations, please
don't hesitate to ask. Me and my friend will keep checking the channel. Edit: The third is out. We tried translating it but no luck - seems
to just say "M FRIET" maybe a name? Will keep you posted. Edit 2: Fourth out. The text "Are You Ready" and an ominous picture
to a very weird sound.. like an old router processing. Link:
Edit 3: The new one is out. It's creepy as shit. The description is "Say Hi" in morse, and
the main text in the video translates to "You killed him" I'm really *ing creeped out.. Link:
Edit 4: New one. This is getting ridiculous. BlackCoach will put the full translations
in the comments. But, in the end of the video there is a somewhat
disturbing picture of a man with a bag over his head.. Link:
Edit 5: Just.. watch for yourself. I don't know what's going on anymore. Edit 6: Edit 7: it keeps getting worse im
sorry Edit 8: I'm going to sleep. He just uploaded a new video.. I can't cope with watching it.. please..I
need to sleep. Edit 9: Couldn't sleep. New video. He's actively commenting.. *s sake. Edit 10: I can hear now. Edit 11: Alex. My friend who is with me in the call. Benjamin. Me. He's addressing everyone in the call. I'm not scared any more - I feel the next
few hours are inevitable. Edit 12: The house is getting colder. The heating is supposed to be on and it's
summer - It's calming now. Edit 13: I have another person in the call
from here. It's calming me somewhat. Nothing new happening video wise.. 4. .It's been almost 15 years ago since my family
moved out of the creepy old house that nurtured my nyctophobia which still persists to this
day. I have a panic attack if it's dark enough
that I can't see in front of me, and I cannot go to sleep in a room that's dark enough that
I cannot see all 4 walls, so today I always sleep with my TV on. But as a 7 year old I didn't have the privilege
of a TV set in my bedroom. My family was struggling (mostly due to my
mom's now ex-husband's tendency to spend each paycheck to support his drug addiction, but
that's a whole different story) and they'd gotten a pretty good deal on a crappy house
in the poorer section of town due to being friends with the landlady. My bedroom was at the end of the hall with
a single window facing the back yard, and a tiny closet across from it that seemed to
creak open on its own overnight as the house settled. There was no central air, so I had to rely
on a window unit to keep cool during the night. For anyone who's had to deal with window units
you'll understand how easily the cool air in one room can seep out to the rest of the
house, rendering it completely ineffective if you leave your door open. But my parents were dicks and refused to buy
a night light--“You're nearly 8 years old, you don't need to use a nightlight anymore”--so
I would either have to shut my bedroom door so my room would stay cool enough that I could
sleep, or I'd have to keep my door cracked open so the light from the hallway would ease
my mind enough that I could sleep. In any other house I may have been able to
shut my door, hide my head beneath my blanket and learn to sleep in the dark. But I wasn't in any other house, I was in
812 Havemeyer in Park South...a house so crap that nobody had been willing to live there
for 20 years, in a neighborhood so crap it got demolished just a few years after we left. We lived there for less than a year, but it
was the most memorable year of my entire childhood because of how terrified I was each night
to go to sleep. I remember the first night sleeping in that
room, door closed, blankets pulled up as the AC blasted, when the creaking of my ceiling
fan suddenly got louder just as I was about to fall asleep. I opened my eyes and there, hanging in the
middle of the room was a little girl in a plain woolen nightgown, long dark hair obscuring
her face. I screamed and flung the sheets up over my
head. My step-dad banged my door open a minute later
and flipped the light on. “What's wrong?” he asked as he came up
beside my bed and pulled the sheets off my head. My eyes went to the middle of the room immediately,
and I pointed. “There was a girl hanging from the ceiling
fan.” Step-dad turned and looked, “There's nothing
there. You had a nightmare, go back to sleep.” And just like that he walked out, flipped
off the switch, and shut the door. When my night vision came back in the girl
was there once more, swinging back and forth, as if she'd been there all along, hidden only
by the light. I pulled the blankets back over my head and
laid there shivering all night, too afraid to call out for my parents again because I
knew my step-dad would get angry and yell at me. The next night I slept with the door open,
so that the light from my parents room would light up the hallway and seep into my room,
and the hanging girl wouldn't appear. It worked long enough for me to fall asleep,
but when I woke up an hour before daybreak needing to pee, all the lights in the house
were off and the girl was there once more, swinging slowly back and forth. I held it in, lying in bed squirming and waiting
for the sun to rise, and when she finally faded as the light seeped into my room I bolted
to the bathroom and pissed like a fire hose. That became routine the next couple weeks,
until one morning I woke having to pee earlier than usual and I couldn't quite hold it long
enough. I knew I was about to piss myself, and I'd
have to make a run for it, so I steeled myself, edged out of the bed, then bolted across the
room when suddenly the girl reached out and lunged for me, hair flinging back off her
head, white, glazed eyes staring at me with grim intensity. With greater dexterity than I thought myself
capable I spun on the spot and lunged back into my bed, slinging my blankets up over
my head and hiding until sunlight. Needless to say, I caught hell for wetting
the bed. After that I absolutely refused to sleep in
that bed. My step-dad yelled and screamed and threatened
to beat my ass but I absolutely refused to go into that room after dark, and spent the
rest of our stay at that house sleeping on the living room couch. After we'd moved I was able to convince myself
that it had all been a recurring dream or a delusion or something...and despite my lingering
fear of the dark, I'd essentially forgotten about the house entirely until the day before
yesterday. I had taken my mother grocery shopping when
we bumped into our old land lady and my mother had to stop and chat. Naturally, assuming I didn't remember her
my mom mentioned the house we lived in when I was 7 and wouldn't sleep in my bed, and
I mentioned why. As soon as I mentioned the hanging girl the
former landlady's face became grave. “There actually was a young girl found hanging
in that house in the 80's,” she said. She wouldn't elaborate, and my mom moved the
conversation to lighter topics, but when I got home and was able to hop online I looked
up old news regarding the house/neighborhood and found the article. It was a young girl named Deborah Gibbs. As the story goes, she had been complaining
of a monster in her closet watching her as she tried to sleep every night, and she would
scream and scream every time she saw it until her parents would come in and bring her into
their room. Allegedly the dad got sick of it and to teach
her to face her fears left her in her room one night when she screamed out. They found her hanging the next morning. The father was charged with her murder, but
I can't help but wonder... 3. It all started on a gray, rainy April evening
in 1992. It was a Friday. I know this because my parents only allowed
me to make my way down to the local video library and rent a new video game on Fridays
after I had gotten out of school. It was like my reward for being a good boy
and making good grades. So, six-year-old me had picked out 'Top Gear'
for the Super Nintendo. The black sports car on the front of the box
surrounded by a blaze of what I assumed was fiery nitreous oxide propellant called to
me. And so did the tagline adervtising "TWO PLAYER
SIMULTANEOUS RACING!" I'd often spend weekends over at my friend
Brett's house. We'd make our way to his third floor room... I called it the "blue room" because the carpet
and all the walls were blue... and make his fold-out bed into a couch, grab a snack, and
play video games for hours. It was surprisingly spacious up there, too. Sometimes we'd take breaks and turn out the
lights to have glow-in-the-dark nerf gun battles or play a game of hide and seek. But tonight, we were going to race around
the world! USA, Brazil, Japan, Germany, you name it. And instead of switching off the controller
like we normally did, we could play together the whole time, in glorious split-screen. I stepped out of my mom's car as she dropped
me off at Brett's house and kissed her goodbye. The rain pelted gently against the top of
my navy blue raincoat and my little Velcro shoes sloshed through puddles as I waded to
Brett's back door with the game rental box clasped to my chest. His parents let me in. I gave them a quick hello and bounded up the
steps to the blue room. Brett swung open the door. "What'd you get, Kevin?" he asked with wild,
excited eyes. "Top Gear! They just got it in today. This was the last copy. It's a racing game. 2 players!" "Coooooool! Let's pop it in!" With that, I ripped open the case and Brett
mashed the cartridge into his SNES. He plugged in both controllers and gave me
the Player 2 one, as was customary. "Hey," I said. "Before we play, let me go grab some drinks
and snacks." "OK, but hurry up!" I returned in a jiffy with a couple of peanut
butter and jelly sandwiches his mom had already made for us in advance and some Kool-Aid. As we ate, I thumbed through Top Gear's instruction
booklet. What happened next makes my skin crawl when
I think about it. I flipped to the very last page of the manual. Everyone familiar with old-school gaming will
know that this was typically the "Notes" page where you'd jot down passwords. I looked at it closely. In the middle of all those blank lines, something
was scribbled in red pen. "Huh?" I looked at the scribbling quizzically. Brett glanced over. "I thought you said this came out today." "It did." "Then how'd this get on here?" "No clue, man." We both looked at each other in confusion. "Well what does it say?" Brett asked. I leaned in. "It's a poem. It says: MUSTANG SALLY
OR SHOULD I SAY MICHELLE WHAT'S HELPLESSLY SCREAMING? YOUR TIRES, THEN YOU, IN HELL
-JJB" I shot a look to Brett. "Should we tell your parents about this?" "We can tell them later. It's probably just some dumb joke. Don't you want to play?" "OK, we'll tell them later." With that we booted up the game. Everything about Top Gear was mesmerizing. The sense of speed, the music, the tight controls. Hours flew by effortlessly. We played in a trance, racing across Vegas,
Rio, Tokyo. Checkpoint after checkpoint, finish line after
finish line, the white dotted lines zoomed past us at a blistering pace. Pretty soon we had finished the whole game. To our dismay and disappointment, we didn't
experience any glorious cutscenes. What we got was a message displaying the following: CONGRATULATIONS ON COMPLETING
TOP GEAR BUT CAN YOU WIN ON CHAMPIONSHIP LEVEL Brett and I looked at each other and let out
exasperated sighs but then nodded. We changed the difficulty to "Championship"
in the Options screen and set out to beat the game again. Meanwhile, the rain intensified outside. It was gray as ever, turning dark, and we
were in the midst of a roaring thunderstorm. Thunder cracked loudly outside the back window
as Brett started the next set of races. We did well on the North America, South America,
and Japan, courses but we kept getting stuck on Germany. God damned Germany! There was one track in particular in Germany
called "Dark Forest" where we'd accidentally run through the Pit Stop area, bogging us
down and allowing the other cars to pass us. Every time we failed the race, we were told
to try again and given the level password: "WRECKAGE". After a few times of retrying this level,
we finally beat it, or so I thought. I came in first place, and Brett finished
second. But when the post-race results screen came
up, it showed me in second place and Brett in third place. Who was in first place? "JJB". I looked to Brett. "What the heck?" "I know you came in first, man. You were right ahead of me. I saw you pass the finish line." "Yeah...weird..." I pushed a button to advance to the next screen
and the game froze totally. The music kept looping, but we were stuck
on this results screen. I was used to NES games messing up, but errors
like this were fairly uncommon on the Super Nintendo. Brett reset his system, and I reminded him
of the password. He entered "W-R-E-C-K-A-G-E" and pressed Start. Just as he did, a female's scream came blaring
out of his television speakers. I looked at Brett. Puzzlement filled his face and he shrugged. At the time, I think we both figured it was
some kind of strange password confirmation sound effect. We continued playing... 3 laps down. Then 4. OK, now the final lap. About one fourth of the way to the finish
line, the game began flickering back and forth very rapidly between the main game and what
looked like a pixelated head shot photo of a pretty blonde woman. She could have been a model. The pulsing intensified to point that it distracted
me and Brett from the game and we both hit lamp posts. But at this point, we didn't even care about
winning anymore. We were so curious and weirded out that we
both set our controllers down and got right up to the TV screen to examine what was going
on. The game music ceased and in its place was
a weird, deep droning sound. The woman's image continued to flicker. The droning got louder. And slowly, the photo of the woman's face
began to split into pieces and get pulled apart to every corner of the screen. At this point I was genuinely scared and told
Brett that I was going to go tell his mom what was going on. He nodded in agreement. Just as we began to walk away, we heard a
high-pitched squeal followed by a sickening crash, and the power went out. Brett and I walked over to his window. Though it was now pitch black outside and
there was a thick veil of rain, a streak of lightning illuminated the sky long enough
for us to make out a red Mustang completely wrapped around a telephone poll. We stayed up there and watched out his window
for the next thirty minutes or so. Cops, firefighters, and an ambulance arrived. When the body was recovered and placed onto
a stretcher, I peered down and squinted to make out what I was seeing. All I saw was a mess of blonde hair and red,
chunky flesh where a face should have been. Later that night, the power came back on. Brett and I were both downstairs getting something
to eat when we walked past the living room, where his parents were watching the local
news. A reporter appeared: "Late tonight on Juban Rode, 21-year-old Michelle
Wilkinson was on her way home from her boyfriend's house when her car's tires lost their grip
on the road. Forensic detectives say that the former prom
queen and local model was unsuccessful in regaining control of her car and collided
head-on with a telephone pole. Medical teams were dispatched but were unsuccessful
in saving the young woman's life. She was pronounced dead on the scene. Weather conditions and speed are believed
to have been factors. Our hearts go out to the Wilkinson family. We here at Channel 9 news are truly sorry
to hear of this terrible, terrible Tragedy." The news reporter frowned solemnly. "Back to you, Lisa." 2. Twitter, Facebook, even Myspace. I can't live without my social networking
sites. I've never been popular so I love to chat
with people from the comfort of my home. Recently I've been addicted to snapchat. Random pictures of topless sluts, what's not
to like? Last month I received a friend request from
a beautiful blonde girl. Her username was VIO969. We exchanged snaps just like any other girl
I knew on there. However, she never sent nude pics. I would ask her daily and all I'd get in return
was a picture of her silhouette in a dark bathroom mirror. The message always said "Soon :)".
Eventually I lost interest considering she wouldn't show me anything. It wasn't long before I started receiving
strange snaps from her. "I'm so alone here." with a close up of her crying eyes. I removed her after that. A few more days passed with no incident. Then I received another snap from her. This one showed her silhouette once again
in the bathroom. But her crying eyes were fully illuminated
in the darkness. All the message said was "...".
I couldn't understand how she managed to contact me when she was blocked. No response was sent to her. She'd have to get the hint if I just ignored
her. At least that's what I thought. No, she sent me another snap just hours later. It was just a copy of the last image. I decided to just delete the app. Within hours I received a friend request from
her on facebook. Her profile pic was the crying eyes and her
cover photo was the silhouette. Comments were all over her wall telling her
to leave the men alone who had left them. Every comment had a reply from her. "I'm so alone here." Needless to say I ignored the friend request. But it did me no good. Non stop I've been receiving phone calls and
texts. "I'm so alone here." is all the bitch ever says. Even after shutting off my phone and cell,
I still received letters in the mail from her. Most recently I received a letter from her
full of photos. It contained the two photos from her facebook
as well as photos of my house. There was a second silhouette photo as well,
and I recognized the picture on the wall. She had taken the picture from my bathroom. That wasn't even the worst one. The final photo was of her crying face as
she was lying next to my sleeping body. I stayed in a hotel last night. The police said they would keep an eye on
my house in case she tried to come back. They won't find her though, and I'm not the
only one she's terrorizing. I hope it will all end soon but even as I
write this the hotel phone is ringing non stop. I don't know what to do. I shouldn't have told you guys about the girl. Everyone thinks it's a game and someone even
made a fake snapchat. Listen to me please. She is not happy, and she has been tormenting
me nonstop since I posted the story. Last night I walked to the lobby of the hotel
I'm staying at and I could see her standing in the street. She was just outside the reach of the street
lights so I couldn't make out her details. Even so, I know it was her. Petrified, I stood in the lobby staring at
her until she began to walk down the street. I wasted no time running to my room. My fingers trembled as I dialed 911. "911, what's your emergency?" A woman said on the other line. I stuttered and skipped words as I explained
the incidents that occured over the past month. Calmly, the woman told me to stay inside the
hotel room and wait for an officer to arrive. Minutes felt like hours before I heard a car
crunch to a halt out front of my room. Basically the officer said he couldn't do
anything without a description of the woman. He reassured me that he would watch my hotel
room for the night in case she came back. I was grateful for the small comfort. After some time I managed to fall asleep. When I woke up I checked the post to see what
was said about the whole situation. That's when I saw that everyone was taking
it as a joke. I guess it makes sense considering where I
posted it. But the fake snapchat and picture that was
sent is just ridiculous. The girl had very straight hair and it was
taken as though it were a selfie in a bathroom mirror. Anyway, I got up from the hotel bed and went
into the bathroom. There was an envelope taped to the mirror. Audible pounding could be heard in my ears
as I reached for it. Part of me knew what was inside. I was right. First was a letter with one word. "Soon :)". Attached to the letter was a photo
of me talking to the cop last night. It took some studying before I realized it
was taken from INSIDE the cop car. My hands went numb and I dropped the letter
on the bathroom floor. Somehow she had managed to slip into the cop
car undetected. What coukd I possibly do if she is capable
of doing something that risky. She could sneak into the hotel room and cut
my throat without anyone noticing I've died. No time was wasted phoning the police once
again. I'm not sure if it was the smartest thing
to do but what choice did I have?. I requested the same officer from last night. Within minutes he was back at my hotel room. Almost all of the color left his face when
he saw the photo. I could tell that he didn't feel comfortable
knowing she had been so close to him without him noticing. "I want you to leave this hotel." He said. All of my things were still packed so I walked
back to retrieve them. The officer was saying something into his
radio about getting a few patrol cars somewhere for the night. Most likely the hotel I'd be switching to. I felt kind of relieved to know that I would
have multiple eyes watching out for me. At the same time it felt useless. Something about this girl was off. The phone broke my thought process. The officer was already in his patrol car
as I answered it. "Soon, I won't be alone anymore." Her voice sounded like a girl who had been
crying heavily. I had no time to respond before she hung up. The hotel they escorted me to was quite a
ways out of town. This was a good thing though. Hopefully she'd have a harder time finding
me. The officer walked me to my room and explained
that I was not to leave the room without calling his personal cell phone first. This was far from standard police protocol. The photo must have really worried him. I agreed and headed into the room. I've been in this room for about 6 hours now
unable to sleep. I keep checking the comments on my previous
post hoping to find someone who knows who she is. All I've seen are the fake accounts and the
people spooked by the fake picture that was sent. I'm taking a huge risk just to keep you guys
updated on the situation. So all I ask in return is that you don't treat
it as a joke. If you don't believe me fine, buy please stop
with the fake account stuff. Believe me, if you were really receiving messages
from her you'd know, and if you are please tell me. I need help. Before we get to number 1, my name is Chills
and I hope you’re enjoying the video so far. If you've ever been curious as to what I look
like in real life, then follow me on Instagram @dylan_is_chillin_yt, with underscores instead
of spaces. I also have Twitter @YT_Chills where I post
video updates. I'd really appreciate it if you followed me
and feel free to send me a DM if you have a questions or suggestions. If you’d like to see more of these videos
in the future, then hit that subscribe button because we upload new countdowns every Tuesday
and Saturday. 1. My parents divorced when I was eight years
old. They had just purchased a house together in
the woods in Walker, Louisiana, which is twenty or so miles from Baton Rouge. After seeing his subsequent relationships,
I realize that this is something my father does when his marriage is rocky- he sells
his house and then buys or builds a new one for the sake of distraction. I've actually seen it work for him. Once engaged in a new project and excited
by the possibilities, his wife might forget to ask why he was out so late, who he was
with, and why he smells like another woman's perfume. But this time, his trick didn't work. My mother had had enough. I don't even think we lived in that house
in the woods for a full year before my mother suggested he go stay with his whore instead. I wasn't terribly upset by this. My father and I had never been close. He was a no-nonsense high school coach, and
I was bookish and skinny and weird. Far from the athlete he'd wanted. Though, to be fair, he didn't try to push
me into sports or pressure me to follow football. Instead, he ignored me entirely in favor of
my little brother, Trent, who seemed like he was born with a ball in his hand. Trent didn't play one sport, he played all
of them, starting when he was merely a toddler. I never resented either of them for this,
I merely mention it to help paint a picture of my brother. If Trent and I had been one person, we'd be
a very well-rounded individual. Me, precocious and dreamy and even-tempered. Trent, sporty and rough and emotional, living
up very well to the reputation that came with his bright red hair even when he was still
in diapers. You couldn't have two more opposite children. But we loved each other fiercely, particularly
in the early years of our parents' divorce. Though there were three bedrooms in this house
in the woods, Trent and I shared one, not wanting to be separated. That changed around the time I turned ten. I was starting puberty as well as the weird,
self-exploratory sessions that came with it, so I figured it was time I had my own room. Without so much as asking my mother, I began
moving my things to the room across the hall to claim my new space. We'd been living in that house in the woods
for a couple of years now, and even though it had felt large and empty in the days following
my father's exile, now it felt like home. And I had claimed a new room all for myself,
where I wouldn't be bothered by Trent's nightlight or those soft, irritating snuffling noises
he made in his sleep. But still, though I figured I was too old
for a nightlight, the inky darkness of my room when I turned my bedside lamp off was
a bit too much. My mother would sleep in her room at the end
of the hall with the door open, so she could hear us if we called, and she would often
fall asleep watching Letterman or Seinfeld. The ghostly blue glow of the TV in her room
illuminated mine just enough to pacify me, so I began sleeping with my bedroom door open. I was ten then. I'm thirty now. I have not been able to sleep with my bedroom
door open for twenty years because of what I saw standing in my room that night. I don't know what woke me. I was simply awake and I hadn't been a moment
before. Everything was quiet, everything was still. The sleep-timer on my mother's TV must have
clicked it off, because there was no noise anywhere, not even the whirr of the air-conditioner. Not even crickets in the woods outside. Simple, unbroken silence. I lay in bed for a while, staring at my ceiling
and puzzling over why I had awoken. I realized I was very cold, even though the
A/C wasn't running. With a small shiver, I pulled my comforter
around my shoulders and rolled on my side to face my bedroom door. And there it was. As I am reading this, a strong chill is passing
though me; even twenty years later, the thought of the thing is enough to make every hair
on my body stand straight up. I've got to pee quite badly too, but don't
feel like I can move until I've finished telling this story and am done with it, until I push
that thing out of my head. A small part of me is afraid that by talking
about it tonight, I have somehow summoned it and that it will be waiting for me in the
hallway when I go to empty my bladder. All terrible and white and staring. I don't know what I saw. It was tall - to a ten year old, anyway - and
ghastly thin. It seemed to shine in the thick darkness of
my room, it was so pale. It's skin seemed whiter and thinner than paper,
its skull a round, hairless dome. It was naked, I think, and though I could
see no genitals, I could make out the sharp ridges and curves of its hips. Its fingers, which hung limply at the end
of flat, large hands like giant white spiders, seemed unusually long and alien to me. Whether or not it had a mouth or even a nose,
I could not say; the darkness was too deep and the thing too white to make such distinctions. The worst part was its eyes. I could see those. Or maybe it had no eyes. Maybe those round, black holes in its face
were empty sockets, or maybe its brow was so heavy it hid them entirely in shadow. Whether they were there or not, I knew those
eyes were looking at me. I froze. A scream rose up in me, but I stifled it into
a nearly inaudible sob. I did not move. Could not move. The thing saw me, I knew, but perhaps it didn't
realize that I saw it. Maybe if I just kept pretending to be asleep,
it would leave me alone. I dared not close my eyes, though. I couldn't let the thing out of my sight for
a moment, lest it attempt to creep closer. We stared at each other for what felt like
an eternity, but in reality was probably no more than a minute or two. Neither of us moving, neither of us making
a sound. Both of us just staring. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was
gone. It did not acknowledge me, did not attack
me, did not make a sound except for the odd popping of its joints and the creaking of
the floorboards under its feet as it strode down the hall to the kitchen. It was gone. But still, I could not move. The thing was still out there somewhere, and
it was even more terrible out of sight than it was standing in front of me. At least when I could see it, I knew where
it was and what it was up to. Now? My mind swam with horrific possibilities of
what this thing might be capable of, of what kind of terrible appetites it must possess. I lay there in the dark for over an hour,
fretting over this strange creature and listening to the dark, sleeping house for any sign that
it was still around. But nothing came. Steeling my nerves, I took and deep breath
and prepared to do the bravest thing I'd done in all my ten years- I prepared to run to
my mother. I slowly slipped out of bed, expecting the
moment my feet hit the floor for the thing to snatch them. But it didn't. I stepped carefully and quietly to my bedroom
door, expecting that the moment I peeked my head out, it would be there. But it wasn't. I looked left. I looked right. I looked left again. And then, in a burst of speed I didn't know
I was capable of, bolted down to my mother's room. My sudden and explosive entry was enough to
make her stir. "Drew?" she said blearily while clicking on
her bedside lamp. "Is that you? What's wrong?" "Mom, there's something in the house. I saw something looking at me, it was standing
in my bedroom doorway and it was looking at me and I think it kinda looked like the kid
from Powder. Like, a bald albino or something." I was so relieved to be with her and telling
her what I had seen that I didn't notice the look of shock wash over her face until she
grabbed me and pulled me close to her. She was wide awake now. And she looked terrified. "What did you say? Someone was standing in your doorway looking
at you?" I nodded. She turned and looked over her shoulder and
that's when I realized for the first time that she wasn't alone. My brother, Trent, was asleep in bed beside
her. My mother leapt out of bed and rushed to her
closet, where she kept her handgun. My mother hated that thing, but she insisted
on having one; a single mother with only a ten and a six year old needed to protect herself. "Mom? Mom, what's wrong?" I was starting to get scared again. She snatched the cordless phone off its cradle
and called my grandfather, who lived about two miles away. "Daddy?" she whispered into receiver. "I need you to stay on the phone with me,
if something happens, call the police. About an hour ago, Trent came and got in bed
with me, said he couldn't sleep because somebody was standing in his bedroom doorway watching
him. And now Drew just came and told me the same
thing. I think somebody's in the house." I had never heard my mother so frightened. "Maybe it's Tommy, maybe it's somebody else. If it's Tommy, I'm getting a restraining order. Apparently divorce wasn't enough." "Mom, it's not Dad," I said. "It can't be...it was too thin. Dad's got a big belly." "Shh, sweetie. Shh. Okay, Daddy, I'm walking through the house
right now. Yes, I have my gun. Drew, follow me. If anything happens, run back here and lock
the door and do not open it until Grandaddy or the police get here. Okay?" I nodded solemnly. My mother began to move down the hall, turning
on light after light as she did so, checking every room, every closet. Within a couple of minutes, the whole house
had been searched. Only one room left. The kitchen. My mother entered the room and flipped on
the light, seeming to fully expect my father or some deranged killer to be standing there. But no. The kitchen was empty too. We were alone. We were safe. With a sigh of relief, my mother said goodbye
to my grandfather and put the phone down on the kitchen counter. "Nobody here," she said, "You must have had
a dream, that's all." "No, Ma. I know when I'm dreaming. This wasn't a dream. And Trent saw it too." "Did you both watch that Powder movie recently
or somethi-" "MOM!" I shouted. She jumped, startled. "What? What is it?" I pointed. The kitchen door, which led out into the backyard
and the thick, old woods beyond it, stood slightly ajar. I still don't know what I saw that night. I have thought about it and discussed it with
my brother and my mother. In recent years, I even questioned my father
about it. He wasn't doing too well for a couple of years
following the divorce, was doing some weird and creepy things. But no, he hadn't been there that night. And, honestly, I never thought he had. Still, I had to ask. Because the alternatives are too frightening
to consider. I don't suppose I'll ever know what that thing
was. Maybe that's for the best. What I do know is, I haven't slept with my
bedroom door open since that night. If for some reason I forget to shut it all
the way before I climb in bed, I will not be able to sleep until I go and close it tight. Because now, in every dark doorway, I see
that ghastly white face. I see those terrible, dark eyes. Staring at me. Thanks for checking out this video. Be sure to subscribe because we upload new
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