It would be cliche to say “once upon a time, on a dark and stormy night,” but so be it. The night “IT” happened, it was dark and stormy, it was a full moon, and it was Halloween, 2008.
I find it difficult to talk about “IT”, but I need to let everyone know that it’s possible that you could be the next victim. I never believed in demons or ghosts until that night. Now I know that they are real.
That particular Halloween night started much the same as every other one prior. The children came trick or treating at my door starting right before dark, some in elaborate costumes, others in store bought plastic garb. Plenty of “oohs” and “ahs” as they were all so adorable in their innocent collection of Halloween treats. The full moon lit their path with ease. After 8 or so, I saw less little ones and more teens. Maybe not as adorable, but still a delight, only trying to prolong a childhood tradition and collect as much candy as possible.
Long after all of the trick or treaters’ parents had vigilantly sorted through and tossed suspicious candy out, my nightmare began. While the children slept fitfully after gorging on their treats, the night sky furiously began vomiting fat raindrops that drenched the dry and thirsty earth. The moon clouded over and darkness reigned. It was then that I climbed into my soft warm bed and closed my eyes in peace.
That was the last time I felt peace , for ever since that night, like a compact disc that has been scratched during the worst song, “IT” became my waking nightmare, and I go days without sleep for fear of what I will see when I close my eyes.
My house was built in the early 1900’s. It makes many a noise when it is settling, and I tend to ignore it. On Halloween night, however, after the storm worsened, and the thunder pealed like an angry monster, I lay enfolded snug in my fuzzy blankets, imagining that every creak and moan, and every thunder clap, was someone walking stealthily through my home. I imagined that the rain dripping on the gutters were whispers of strangers in my hallway. Then I realized the reality. I was not imagining anything.
I froze for a minute beneath my sheets, my heart thundering louder than the storm outside. “Think” I said to myself. I tried in vain to slow my racing heart and calm myself, so that I might figure out my escape. My phone was out in the living room.I crawled from beneath the mountain of my blankets and tip toed to the door. Peeking out, was my own worst nightmare. The ghost of the man whom I had accidentally struck with my car 2 years ago.
I know what you are probably thinking. “Of course she meets the ghost of someone she killed”, but I didn’t kill him. He suffered only a broken arm, and in truth, the courts found the accident to be his fault. But he was so incredibly angry with me. He threatened to hunt me down and kill me. He was making good on his promise.
My heart began pumping harder. I could not calm myself. If anything, my panic increased. By the sight of him, I knew that he was no loner a member of the living. One side of his head was nothing but a gaping hole, and his leg was twisted like a piece of licorice. I nearly fainted when he turned my way, but managed somehow to remain upright.
In a raspy deep voice he whispered to me, “I told you that I would find you. I told you that I would kill you. I am however, here to warn you. I will let you live, but from this day on, you will wish that you were dead, for you will now be plagued by all people and things that are no longer living.” With that, he disappeared.
I knew that there would be no sleep for me that night. The TV came on by itself. A door slammed down my hallway. I checked all of the outer windows and doors to make sure that they were locked. I checked to make sure that my phone had a dial tone, and it did. But whom could I call? No one would believe me.
Within hours I started going into mini trances, awakening to find that I had written strange notes. Notes that read “I will be back” and “Always look behind you, for you don’t know what’s coming”.
Over the course of the next several weeks, after sleeping for a only few hours every three or four days, things grew increasingly more frightening. I would hear the voice of a little girl crying “help me, it hurts.” I started having visits from a group of feral cats that would sit outside my window staring in at me. Calico’s, tabbies, black cats, all skin and bones, bitten and torn ripped ears, at least a dozen at a time. Never the same ones. I had visits from at least 20 dead people each day. All of them crying, screaming,. Some bloodied and bruised. Some scraggly and filthy. But all of them obviously dead, and the pain in their voices hurt my ears and chilled me to the core.
After my third night without sleep, the radio blasted on to a religious radio station with a preacher raging about 666 and fire and brimstone. The back door flew open, though I knew that it had been locked. What I saw float in both fascinated me and frightened me. “It” was a tall man in a top hat and coattails, broom mustache, and the largest feet I have every seen. He was at least 7 feet tall, and scarred beyond belief. He had so many scars on his face and arms that he appeared to be without a face. In his arms he held a tiny infant, carved with bloody, pus filled incisions, and screaming at the top of it’s lungs. I couldn’t turn away as “It” started squeezing the infants legs. I fainted. There was no stopping myself this time. When I arose, he was gone, but there were small blood droplets on the floor. I knew then that ghosts were real.
Neighbors heard my screams and called the police. When they heard my story, of course they didn’t believe me. They locked me away in this mental institution and here I sit. I still go into trances and write some pretty strange and scary stuff. Sometimes I’ll just be sitting here writing some……. “If you are reading this, you know of us now, and you must die”.