Tuesday, June 28, 2011


My family and I recently moved into a new house, and as I did most of the moving things around, I ended up putting some boxes in this small three by three little storage area that could be accessed inside the back of the upstairs closet, which was in the bathroom. It stretched about twenty feet along the side of the house, and had wood flooring and a single bare light bulb on the wall near the entrance.

When I first entered this little cubby, I couldn't help but notice the dead ants. There were at least one hundred of them, just laying all about the floor, more condensed against the farthest wall. I instantly felt cold, and had a sense that someone was near me. "Hello.. I just moved in. Nice to meet you." I don't know why I said it, I just felt like it.

I didn't get a response, of course, and went about my business. After a few weeks, I couldn't help but notice that same presence every time I went into that bathroom, which was pretty often. One day, I decided that I should do something with it. This was also the day I found my plastic owl.

I'd been on /x/ a lot lately, and reading about different things like summoning spirits, manipulating energy, and other weird stuff. I decided to blend some concepts, and in an attempt to astral travel, I met the presence from my bathroom. I asked him if he could at times possess my owl and face towards malicious spirits that entered my bedroom, and in return I would do whatever I could to help him out.

He instantly pushed me into my body, which startled me a lot, and I awoke to find my owl staring directly at me from my dresser across the room. "GET OUT OF HERE, I'M NOT AFRAID OF YOU!" I practiaclly yelled this into the open air, and right before my eyes the owl turned to the window, and then back to its normal position facing straight back to the wall across from it. I assumed this was the position it would take when no bad spirits were present, and made note of that.

It worked. I couldn't believe it at first, but it actually worked. "Thank you, I won't let you down. You have my word." I don't know if the spirit ever heard. I decided to name him Nighteye, since I had been playing Oblivion a lot lately, and owls can obviously see well at night. I liked it.

Over the next few weeks, Nighteye always looked a certain way, and then I told whatever was there to leave. I don't know why that worked, I just supposed bad spirits didn't like being found out. And if I'm not afraid of them, what do they have to gain? I always knew when Nighteye found one of the bad spirits, which I called wisps (more Oblivion, as it seemed appropriate), because he turned quickly, making an eerie creaking noise from the plastic scraping the wooden dresser top. The noise bothered me at first, but after a while it didn't any more, and it even became almost comforting. Almost.

I don't know if I'm crazy. I've thought about it, but never come to a conclusion. I saw these things happen, so I believed they were real. Sometimes I questioned it, it didn't make any sense. But I decided in the end it didn't matter. After a while, I began speaking to Nighteye. He never responded, of course, but I believed he heard me. I would just talk about my day at work, how the weather was weird, about a cute girl I saw earlier, just anything.

I spoke to him like I would a friend. I considered him a friend. We helped each other out, didn't we? Sometimes I would go astral, and I'd see him. But for some reason every time I did, he'd push my back into my body right away. I would ask why, but the only thing I ever got for an answer was a whispered "not yet.." that I would only realize I heard upon waking up. I didn't know what he meant by that, but he was helping me, right?

After a while, not a lot of wisps showed up anymore. After all, I lived in a relatively small mountain town, and how many wisps could be wandering around this small place? I was happy. I don't know if the wisps ever did anything to me before I did all this, but I was generally happier, it seemed.

I always made sure to tell Nighteye how much I appreciated what he was doing for me, and that I promised I would make it up to him. After I while I began to think, how could I do something to help a spirit from my closet? I couldn't think of an answer, and it began to worry me. I thought about it more and more, becoming less focused at work and whenever I played games or did anything. I would be happy and fine, and then I would remember. It was like the thought appeared in my mind on its own. Was Nighteye doing this? Did he want to make sure I didn't forget?

For a whole week, no wisps showed up at all. Each day that one didn't appear, I began to worry more and more. I wasn't really afraid of anything, but with every day, the terror that had begun to grow in the pit of my stomach began to grow. On the night of the seventh day that no wisps came to my room, I didn't go to sleep for a long time.

I didn't even remember work, and as soon as I got home I just laid in bed for hours. It must have been around 3 in the morning when I finally fell asleep. I remember I was dreaming, I don't know what about, but it was very pleasant. I remember feeling content and happy, more so than I had ever been. Suddenly I was ripped from my body, thrown into being astral.

This wasn't right, as I looked down at my body. Any time I had gone astral, I did it willingly, and knew ahead of time it was happening. I didn't do this. I turned from my happily sleeping body, and faced directly at Nighteye. He wasn't in the owl anymore. "What are you doing?" I managed to think to him. "You promised to help me" was all he said, and he kept repeating it, over and over.

Each time he said it, he moved closer to me. He seemed angry at first, but with each repeated statement, he began to sound sad. Why was he sad?

I felt a tugging at the back of my head, and remembered the tether. I made a chain of sorts, and attached it from my real body's head to my spirit's. I didn't know if it actually did anything, but it made me feel secure. Whenever it tugged at me, I knew. I wanted to go back to my body, and my body wanted me back. I turned to face Nighteye again, and he was very close now, and sounded very sad. I didn't know what to do, and I couldn't move.

"You promised you would help me.." The thought echoed through my being. He was right in front of me now, and I was more terrified than I had ever been in my entire life. Suddenly Nighteye hugged me, and as I looked over his shoulder, my eyes fixed onto the eyes of my plastic owl. They were staring directly at me. I felt a strange releasing sensation, and I knew right away what had happened. Nighteye had severed my chain.

I spun around as fast as I could, but there was nothing I could do. Nighteye pushed me hard, and as I flew backwards through the walls of my room, my bathroom, and into the closet, I saw him lower into my body. I'm not sure what happened to me then, I know I lost it though. My mind had been broken from despair and confusion. How can I lose my body? What will happen to me now?

These thoughts enveloped me, as I sunk into the far end of the cubby in the back of the closet. I was in a deep depression and all I could do was sit there and cry, and think. Think. Think. I never slept, only my body could. I missed sleeping. Time began to not matter to me. At some point, the light turned on. It was blinding at first, but I adjusted eventually. When I could see again, I saw the boxes of things I had put in the cubby. But they looked different than I remembered, they seemed unfamiliar.

I must have forgotten things from the material world, since they had no reason to matter to me anymore. I heard some shuffling and sliding. My body was going through some things, perhaps? My sadness began to fade instantly at the memories forced into my mind, and it turned instead into a boiling rage. What right did he have to do things with my body?

I stood up suddenly, spreading my presence in the cubby, filling it with my cold rage. My body looked up and glanced around, and appeared to shiver. It seemed sincerely afraid. He should be! I will make him pay, I thought to myself. I continued to look at him and imagine the things I would do if I had real hands. My body looked strange, unfamiliar.

The boxes were one thing, but had I forgotten even my own body? It was no longer mine, I supposed. I can't do anything now, I thought. I filled again with sorrow, and sat. My body left, apparently done with whatever it was doing. I had to do something, but what could I do like this? I began to form a plan. A very dark plan.

I began to act out my dark plan immediately. I would have my revenge. Since time was no longer relevant to me, I had developed an incredible patience. Over the next few weeks, I began to show him as best as I could that I was there. I wanted him to realize I was still around. He must have realized he would have to deal with me sooner or later, for after a few more weeks he went astral himself and summoned me. He spoke to me as if we had never met, and asked if I could do a favor for him.

Did he not remember? Had he seriously forgotten what he had done to me? He asked me to stay in my very own owl, how ironic! I was amused at this point with his faulty memory. I would play his silly game, I thought to myself.

Over the next few weeks, I acted as his 'ghostcrow', pointing to bad spirits that came into the room. He would yell things at them, and they didn't understand. I told them to go scare someone else, that I had much darker intentions for this one. They shrugged and left. And he thought he made them leave! Pompous fool. I would have my revenge, when the time was right.

Sometimes he would go astral himself, a ballsy move in my opinion. But I couldn't win that easily. I needed more time, I wanted him to suffer. I would push him back into my body, and tell him "Not yet, not yet..." each time. He seemed confused. How could he not remember? I didn't understand how he could forget the awful thing he had done to me.

Over time, he began to talk to me. He must be crazy, I thought. He must be taunting me. But he couldn't be, if he had forgotten.. Something seemed strange. I didn't understand what was going on, but I didn't care anymore. I was so full of anger and rage that nothing could phase me now.

Over time, less bad spirits came, since they all knew me by now, and knew it was futile to try anything. That only made things easier for me. After all, my plan was perfect. When I agreed to help him out, I had made him promise to help me in return. He didn't seem to mind. He must have truly forgotten, I began to think. That would make this so much sweeter when he did finally remember. Over the course of a week of no bad spirits showing up at all, he began to become terrified.

I could see it in the way he acted, the way he seemed less interested in what he was doing. I kept pressing my thoughts onto him, trying to remind him of his promise. I didn't want him to forget. No, this he would remember.

Seven days after no bad spirits had shown up at all, I decided it was time. I could wait, but why? He was scared out of his mind, and I wanted revenge. I entered his mind as he was sleeping, peacefully for once. I suddenly felt very peaceful and happy, like I hadn't felt since I had my body. It was a familiar feeling. He was running through a field of flowers, holding hands with a cute girl.

She looked familiar. They were young, this must have been a couple years ago. But he didn't have my body then, why would he have this memory? Why did she look so familiar? My thoughts bothered me, and I decided action was the best course, I would not forget what I had come here to do. I backed away from my body and his mind, grabbing firmly ahold of his spirit as I exited. I had ripped him straight away from my body, and backed away a bit to watch his horror unfold at what I was about to do to him. I was so angry, remembering what he had done to me.

This was my moment. He was confused and scared, and I relished in it. "You promised you would help me." I said to him, and I repeated it. I wanted him to remember everything. I kept repeating the phrase and moving closer to him each time I said it. But I couldn't stop thinking about that happy feeling in the dream, the cute girl that seemed familiar.

Why was she so familiar? I kept repeating myself, trying to keep my mind away from those thoughts I didn't understand, but I didn't feel very angry anymore. I felt sad, and I wasn't sure why. I didn't want my sadness to reflect in my speech, but I couldn't help it. As I moved closer to him, I noticed he had placed a chain connecting his spirit to my body. Familiar. Why? I remembered the girl. I knew her. I remembered the happy feeling. It was my feeling. The memories came rushing back to me all at once, and I knew instantly what was happening.

This wasn't Nighteye I had brought forth. It was me, and I was Nighteye. I was very sad, because I knew I had to continue. It was my body, and what would happen if I didn't take it back? I became completely anguished as I approached myself, knowing what I was about to make myself experience. I couldn't tell him though, I couldn't explain. I just kept repeating myself, letting him know just how sorry I was for what I was doing through inflection.

I didn't know how I could possibly console him, and now that I was immediately in front of him, I did the only thing I could think to do. I hugged him, and knew that he looked over my shoulder. And I knew what he saw. It was the eyes of the owl. I was the bad spirit they pointed at. I reached around his head, and severed the chain. He turned to face me, and I swear I have never seen such sorrow or fear. But I knew he would be ok in the end. I pushed him as hard as I could, wishing him the best, and sank slowly into my body, enveloped in sadness.

Suddenly, I felt warm and happy, like I had before, and I awoke in a field full of flowers. "I'm back here?" I said aloud, and a girl appeared at my side. She offered me her hand, and said "Where were you? We have to go home now." "Oh.. ok. It's so nice here though.." I replied. "I know, but we have to go. We have to go..."

She repeated that over and over as she pulled me away, and the field began to fade. I awoke suddenly in my bed, drenched in sweat, but feeling completely at peace. I felt like I had been asleep for a very long time. Oh well, I thought to myself, as I got up and began a new day.

(This story is credited to a person called Roobios.)

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

NoEnd House

Let me start by saying that Peter Terry was addicted to heroin.

We were friends in college and continued to be after I graduated. Notice that I said "I". He dropped out after two years of barely cutting it. After I moved out of the dorms and into a small apartment, I didn't see Peter as much. We would talk online every now and then (AIM was king in pre-Facebook years). There was a period where he wasn't online for about five weeks straight. I wasn't worried. He was a pretty notorious flake and drug addict, so I assumed he just stopped caring. Then one night I saw him log on. Before I could initiate a conversation, he sent me a message.

"David, man, we need to talk."

That was when he told me about the NoEnd House. It got that name because no one had ever reached the final exit. The rules were pretty simple and cliche: reach the final room of the building and you win $500. There were nine rooms in all. The house was located outside the city, roughly four miles from my house. Apparently Peter had tried and failed. He was a heroin and who-knows-what-the-fuck addict, so I figured the drugs got the best of him and he wigged out at a paper ghost or something. He told me it would be too much for anyone. That it was unnatural.

I didn't believe him. I told him I would check it out the next night and no matter how hard he tried to convince me otherwise, $500 sounded too good to be true. I had to go. I set out the following night.

When I arrived, I immediately noticed something strange about the building. Have you ever seen or read something that shouldn't be scary, but for some reason a chill crawls up your spine? I walked toward the building and the feeling of uneasiness only intensified as I opened the front door.

My heart slowed and I let a relieved sigh leave me as I entered. The room looked like a normal hotel lobby decorated for Halloween. A sign was posted in place of a worker. It read, "Room 1 this way. Eight more follow. Reach the end and you win!" I chuckled and made my way to the first door.

The first area was almost laughable. The decor resembled the Halloween aisle of a K-Mart, complete with sheet ghosts and animatronic zombies that gave a static growl when you passed by. At the far end was an exit; it was the only door besides the one I entered through. I brushed through the fake spider webs and headed for the second room.

I was greeted by fog as I opened the door to room two. The room definitely upped the ante in terms of technology. Not only was there a fog machine, but a bat hung from the ceiling and flew in a circle. Scary. They seemed to have a Halloween soundtrack that one would find in a 99 cent store on loop somewhere in the room. I didn't see a stereo, but I guessed they must have used a PA system. I stepped over a few toy rats that wheeled around and walked with a puffed chest across to the next area.

I reached for the doorknob and my heart sank to my knees. I did not want to open that door. A feeling of dread hit me so hard I could barely even think. Logic overtook me after a few terrified moments, and I shook it off and entered the next room.

Room three is when things began to change.

On the surface, it looked like a normal room. There was a chair in the middle of the wood paneled floor. A single lamp in the corner did a poor job of lighting the area, and it cast a few shadows across the floor and walls. That was the problem. Shadows. Plural. With the exception of the chair's, there were others. I had barely walked in the door and I was already terrified. It was at that moment that I knew something wasn't right. I didn't even think as I automatically tried to open the door I came through. It was locked from the other side.

That set me off. Was someone locking the doors as I progressed? There was no way. I would have heard them. Was it a mechanical lock that set automatically? Maybe. But I was too scared to really think. I turned back to the room and the shadows were gone. The chair's shadow remained, but the others were gone. I slowly began to walk. I used to hallucinate when I was a kid, so I wrote off the shadows as a figment of my imagination. I began to feel better as I made it to the halfway point of the room. I looked down as I took my steps and that's when I saw it.

Or didn't see it. My shadow wasn't there. I didn't have time to scream. I ran as fast as I could to the other door and flung myself without thinking into the room beyond.

The fourth room was possibly the most disturbing. As I closed the door, all light seemed to be sucked out and put back into the previous room. I stood there, surrounded by darkness, and couldn't move. I'm not afraid of the dark and never have been, but I was absolutely terrified. All sight had left me. I held my hand in front of my face and if I didn't know what I was doing so I would never have been able to tell. Darkness doesn't describe it. I couldn't hear anything. It was dead silence. When you're in a sound-proof room, you can still hear yourself breathing. You can hear yourself being alive.

I couldn't. I began to stumble forward after a few moments, my rapidly beating heart the only thing I could fee. There was no door in sight. Wasn't even sure there was one this time. The silence was then broken by a low hum.

I felt something behind me. I spun around wildly but could barely even see my nose. I knew it was there though. Regardless of how dark it was, I knew something was there. The hum grew louder, closer. It seemed to surround me, but I knew whatever was causing the noise was in front of me, inching closer. I took a step back; I had never felt that kind of fear. I can't really describe true fear. I wasn't even scared I was going to die; I was scared of what the alternative was. I was afraid of what this thing had in store for me. Then the lights flashed for a second and I saw it.

Nothing. I saw nothing and I know I saw nothing there. The room was again plunged into darkness and the hum was now a wild screech. I screamed in protest; I couldn't hear this goddamn sound for another minute. I ran backwards, away from the noise, and fumbled for the door handle. I turned and fell into room five.

Before I describe room five, you have to understand something. I am not a drug addict. I have had no history of drug abuse or any sort of psychosis short of the childhood hallucinations I mentioned earlier, and those were only when I was really tired or just waking up. I entered the NoEnd House with a clear head.

After falling in from the previous room, my view of room five was from my back, looking up at the ceiling. What I saw didn't scare me, it simply surprised me. Trees had grown into the room and towered above my head. The ceilings in this room were taller than the others, which made me think I was in the center of the house. I got up off the floor, dusted myself off, and took a look around. It was definitely the biggest room of them all. I couldn't even see the door from where I was; various brush and trees must have blocked my line of sight with the exit.

Up to this point I figured the rooms were going to get scarier, but this was a paradise compared to the last room. I also assumed whatever was in room four stayed back there. I was incredibly wrong.

As I made my way deeper into the room, I began to hear what one would hear if they were in a forest; chirping bugs and the occasional flap of birds seemed to be my only company in this room. That was the thing that bothered me the most. I heard the bugs and other animals, but I didn't see any of them. I began to wonder how big this house was. From the outside when I first walked up to it, it looked like a regular house. It was definitely on the bigger side, but this was almost a full forest in here. The canopy covered my view of the ceiling, but I assumed it was still there, however high it was. I couldn't see any walls, either. The only way I knew I was still inside was the floor matched the other rooms: the standard dark wood paneling.

I kept walking, hoping that the next tree I passed would reveal the door. After a few moments of walking, I felt a mosquito fly onto my arm. I shook it off and kept going. A second later, I felt about ten more land on my skin at different places. I felt them crawl up and down my arms and legs, and a few made their way across my face. I flailed wildly to get them all off, but they just kept crawling. I looked down and let out a muffled scream - more of a whimper, to be honest. I didn't see a single bug. Not one bug was on me, but I could feel them crawl. I heard them fly by my face and sting my skin, but I couldn't see a single one. I dropped to the ground and began to roll wildly. I was desperate. I hated bugs, especially ones I couldn't see or touch. But these bugs could touch me and they were everywhere.

I began to crawl. I had no idea where I was going; the entrance was nowhere in sight and I still hadn't even seen the exit. So I just crawled, my skin wriggling with the presence of those phantom bugs. After what seemed like hours, I found the door. I grabbed the nearest tree and propped myself up, mindlessly slapping my arms and legs to no avail. I tried to run, but I couldn't; my body was exhausted from crawling and dealing with whatever it was that was on me. I took a few shaky steps to the door, grabbing each tree on the way for support.

It was only a few feet away when I heard it. The low hum from before. It was coming from the next room and it was deeper. I could almost feel it inside my body, like when you stand next to an amp at a concert. The feeling of the bugs on me lessened as the hum grew louder. As I placed my hand on the doorknob, the bugs were completely gone but I couldn't bring myself to turn the knob. I knew that if I let go, the bugs would return and there was no way I would make it back to room four. I just stood there, my head pressed against the door marked six and my hand shakily grasping the knob. The hum was so loud I couldn't even hear myself pretend to think. There was nothing I could do but move on. Room six was next, and room six was hell.

I closed the door behind me, my eyes held shut and my ears ringing. The hum was surrounding me. As the door clicked into place, the hum was gone. I opened my eyes in surprise and the door I had shut was gone. It was just a wall now. I looked around in shock. The room was identical to room three - the same chair and lamp - but with the correct amount of shadows this time. The only real difference was that there was no exit door and the one I came in through was gone. As I said before, I had no previous issues in terms of mental instability, but at that moment I fell into what I now know was insanity. I didn't scream. I didn't make a sound.

At first I scratched softly. The wall was tough, but I knew the door was there somewhere. I just knew it was. I scratched at where the doorknob was. I clawed at the wall frantically with both hands, my nails being filed down to the skin against the wood. I fell silently to my knees, the only sound in the room the incessant scratching against the wall. I knew it was there. The door was there, I knew it was just there. I knew if I could just get past this wall -

"Are you alright?"

I jumped off the ground and spun in one motion. I leaned against the wall behind me and I saw what it was that spoke to me; to this day I regret ever turning around.

There was a little girl. She was wearing a soft, white dress that went down to her ankles. She had long blonde hair to the middle of her back and white skin and blue eyes. She was the most frightenin gthing I had ever seen, and I know that nothing in my life will ever be as unnerving as what I saw in her. While looking at her, I saw something else. Where she stood I saw what looked like a man's body, only larger than normal and covered in hair. He was naked from head to toe, but his head was not human and his toes were hooves. It wasn't the devil, but at that moment it might as well have been. The form had the head of a ram and the snout of a wolf.

It was horrifying and it was synonymous with the little girl in front of me. They were the same form. I can't really describe it, but I saw them at the same time. They shared the same spot in that room, but it was like looking at two separate dimensions. When I saw the girl I saw the form, and when I saw the form I saw the girl. I couldn't speak. I could barely even see. My mind was revolting against what it was attempting to process. I had been scared before in my life and I had never been more scared than when I was trapped in the fourth room, but that was before room six. I just stood there, staring at whatever it was that spoke to me. There was no exit. I was trapped here with it. And then it spoke again.

"David, you should have listened."

When it spoke, I heard the words of the little girl, but the other form spoke through my mind in a voice I won't attempt to describe. There was no other sound. The voice just kept repeating that sentence over and over in my mind and I agreed. I didn't know what to do. I was slipping into madness, yet couldn't take my eyes off what was in front of me. I dropped to the floor. I thought I had passed out, but the room wouldn't let me. I just wanted it to end. I was on my side, my eyes wide open and the form staring down at me. Scurrying across the floor in front of me was one of the battery-powered rats from the second room.

The house was toying with me. But for some reason, seeing that rat pulled my mind back from whatever depths it was headed and I looked around the room. I was getting out of there. I was determined to get out of that house and live and never think about this place again. I knew this room was hell and I wasn't ready to take up a residency. At first, it was just my eyes that moved. I searched the walls for any kind of opening. The room wasn't that big, so it didn't take long to soak up the entire layout. The demon still taunted me, the voice growing louder as the form stayed rooted where it stood. I plaed my hand on the floor and lifted myself up to all four, and I turned to scan the wall behind me.

Then I saw something I couldn't believe. The form was now right at my back, whispering into my mind how I shouldn't have dome. I felt its breath on the back of my neck, but I refused to turn around. A large rectangle was scratched into the wood, with a small dent chipped away in the center of it. Right in front of my eyes I saw the large seven I had mindlessly etched into the wall. I knew what it was: room seven was just beyond that wall where room five was moments ago.

I don't know how I had done it - maybe it was just my state of mind at the time - but I had created the door. I knew I had. In my madness, I had scratched into the wall what I needed the most: an exit to the next room. Room seven was close. I knew the demon was right behind me, but for some reason it couldn't touch me. I closed my eyes and placed both hands on the large seven in front of me. I pushed. I pushed as hard as I could. The demon was now screaming in my ear. It told me I was never leaving. It told me that this was the end but I wasn't going to die; I was going to live there in room six with it. I wasn't. I pushed and screamed at the top of my lungs. I knew I was going to push through the wall eventually.

I clenched my eyes shut and screamed, and the demon was gone. I was left in silence. I turned around slowly and was greeted by the room as it was when I entered: just a chair and a lamp. I couldn't believe it, but I didn't have time to well. I turned back to the seven and jumped back slightly. What I saw was a door. It wasn't the one I had scratched in, but a regular door with a large seven on it. My whole body was shaking. It took me a while to turn the knob. I just stood there for a while, staring at the door. I couldn't stay in room six. I couldn't. But if this was only room six, I couldn't imagine was seven had in store. I must have stood there for an hour, just staring at the seven. Finally, with a deep breath, I twisted the knob and opened the door to room seven.

I stumbled through the door mentally exhausted and physically weak. The door behind me closed and I realized where I was. I was outside. Not outside like room five, but actually outside. My eyes stung. I wanted to cry. I fell to my knees and tried but I couldn't. I was finally out of that hell. I didn't even care about the prize that was promised. I turned and saw that the door I just went through was the entrance. I walked to my car and drove home, thinking of how nice a shower sounded.

As I pulled up to my house, I felt uneasy. The joy of leaving NoEnd House had faded and dread was slowly building in my stomach. I shook it off as residual from the house and made my way to the front door. I entered and immediately went up to my room. There on my bed was my cat, Baskerville. He was the first living thing I had seen all night and I reached to pet him. He hissed and swiped at my hand. I recoiled in shock, as he had never acted like that. I thought, "Whatever, he's an old cat." I jumped in the shower and got ready for what I was expecting to be a sleepless night.

After my shower, I went to the kitchen to make something to eat. I descended the stairs and turned into the family room; what I saw would be forever burned into my mind, however. My parents were lying on the ground, naked and covered in blood. They were mutilated to near-unidentifiable states. Their limbs were removed and placed next to their bodies, and their heads were placed on their chests facing me. The most unsettling part was their expressions. They were smiling, as though they were happy to see me. I vomited and sobbed there in the family room. I didn't know what had happened; they didn't even live with me at the time. I was a mess. Then I saw it: a door that was never there before. A door with a large eight scrawled on it in blood.

I was still in the house. I was standing in my family rom but I was in room seven. The faces of my parents smiled wider as I realized this. They weren't my parents; they couldn't be, but they looked exactly like them. The door marked eight was across the room, behind the mutilated bodies in front of me. I knew I had to move on, but at that moment I gave up. The smiling faces tore into my mind; they grounded me where I stood. I vomited again and nearly collapsed. Then the hum returned. It was louder than ever and it filled the house and shook the walls. The hum compelled me to walk.

I began to walk slowly, making my way closer to the door and the bodies. I could barely stand, let alone walk, and the closer I got to my parents the closer I came to suicide. The walls were now shaking so hard it seemed as though they were going to crumble, but still the faces smiled at me. As I inched closer, their eyes followed me. I was now between the two bodies, a few feet away from the door. The dismembered hands clawed their way across the carpet towards me, all while the faces continued to stare. new terror washed over me and I walked faster. I didn't want to hear them speak. I didn't wan tht evoices to match those of my parents. They began to open their mouths and the hands were inches from my feet. In a dash of desperation, I lunged toward the door, threw it open, and slammed it behind me. Room eight.

I was done. After what I had just experienced, I knew there wasn't anything else this fucking house could throw at me that I couldn't live through. there was nothing short of the fires of hell that I wasn't ready for. Unfortunately, I underestimated the abilities of NoEnd House. Unfortunately, things got more disturbing, more terrifying, and more unspeakable in room eight.

I still have trouble believing what I saw in room eight. Again, the room was a carbon copy of rooms four and six, but sitting in the usually empty chair was a man. After a few seconds of disbelief, my mind finally accepted the fact that the man sitting in the chair was me. Not someone who looked like me; it was David Williams. I walked closer. I had to get a better look even though I was sure of it. He looked up at me and I noticed tears in his eyes.

"Please...please, don't do it. Please, don't hurt me."

"What?" I asked. "Who are you? I'm not going to hurt you."

"Yes you are..." He was sobbing now. "You're going to hurt me and I don't want you to." He sat in the chair with his legs up and began rocking back and forth. It was actually pretty pathetic looking, especially since he was me, identical in every way.

"Listen, who are you?" I was now only a few feet from my doppleganger. It was the weirdest experience yet, standing there talking to myself. I wasn't scared, but I would be soon. "Why are you-"

"You're going to hurt me you're going to hurt me if you want to leave you're going to hurt me."

"Why are you saying this? Just calm down, alright? Let's try and figure this-" And then I saw it. The David sitting down was wearing the same clothes as me, except for a small red patch on his shirt embroidered with the number nine.

"You're going to hurt me you're going to hurt me don't please you're going to hurt me..."

My eyes didn't leave that small number on his chest. I knew exactly what it was. The first few doors were plain and simple, but after a while they got a little more ambiguous. Seven was scratched into the wall, but by my own hands. Eight was marked in blood above the bodies of my parents. But nine - this number was on a person, a living person. Worse still, it was on a person that looked exactly like me.

"David?" I had to ask.

"Yes... you're going to hurt me you're going to hurt me..." He continued to sob and rock. He answered to David. he was me, right down to the voice. But that nine. I paced around for a few minutes while he sobbed in his chair. The room had no door and, similarly to room six, the door I came through was gone. For some reason, I assumed that scratching would get me nowhere this time. I studied the walls and floor around the chair, sticking my head underneath and seeing if anything was below. Unfortunately, there was. Below the chair was a knife. Attached was a tag that read, "To David - From Management."

The feeling in my stomach as I read that tag was something sinister. I wanted to throw up and the last thing I wanted to do was remove that knife from under that chair. The other David was still sobbing uncontrollably. My mind was spinning into an attic of unanswerable questions. Who put this here and how did they get my name? Not to mention the fact that as I knelt on the cold wood floor I also sat in that chair, sobbing in protest of being hurt by myself. It was all too much to process. The house and the management had been playing with me this whole time. My thoughts for some reason turned to Peter and whether or not he got this far. If he did, if he met a Peter Terry sobbing in this very chair, rocking back and forth... I shook those thoughts out of my head; they didn't matter. I took the knife from under the chair and immidately the other David went quiet.

"David," He said in my voice, "What do you think you're going to do?"

I lifted myself from the ground and clenched the knife in my hand.

"I'm going to get out of here."

David was still sitting in the chair, though he was very calm now. He looked up at me with a slight grin. I couldn't tell if he was going to laugh or strangle me. Slowly, he got up from the chair and stood, facing me. It was uncanny. His height and even the way he stood matched mine. I felt the rubber hilt of the knife in my hand and gripped it tighter. I don't know what I was planning on doing with it, but I had a feeling I was going to need it.

"Now," his voice was slightly deeper than my own. "I'm going to hurt you. I'm going to hurt you and I'm going to keep you here." I didn't respond. I just lunged and tackled him to the ground. I had mounted him and looked down, knife poised and ready. He looked up at me, terrified. It was like I was looking in a mirror. Then the hum returned, low and distant, though I still felt it deep in my body. David looked up at me as I looked down at myself. The hum was getting louder and I felt something inside me snap. With one motion, I slammed the knife into the patch on his chest and ripped down. Blackness fell on the room and I was falling.

The darkness around me was like nothing I had experienced up to that point. Room three was dark, but it didn't come close to what was completely engulfing me. I wasn't even sure if I was falling after a while. I felt weightless, covered in dark. Then a deep sadness came over me. I felt lost, depressed, and suicidal. The sight of my parents entered my mind. I knew it wasn't real, but I had seen it and the mind has trouble differentiating between what is real and what isn't. The sadness only deepened. I was in room nine for what seemed like days. The final room. And that's exactly what it was: the end. NoEnd House had an end and I had reached it. At that moment, I gave up. I knew I would be in that in-between state forever, accompanied by nothing but darkness. Not even the hum was there to keep me sane.

I had lost all senses. I couldn't feel myself. I couldn't hear anything. Sight was completely useless here. I searched for a taste in my mouth and found nothing. I felt disembodied and completely lost. I knew where I was. This was hell. Room nine was hell. Then it happened. A light. One of those stereotypical lights at the end of the tunnel. I felt ground come up from below me and I was standing. After a moment or two of gathering my thoughts and senses, I slowly walked toward that light.

As I approached the light, it took form. It was a vertical slit down the side of an unmarked door. I slowly walked through the door and found myself back where I started: the lobby of NoEnd House. It was exactly how I left it: still empty, still decorated with childish Halloween decorations. After everything that had happened that night, I was still wary of where I was. After a few moments of normalcy, I looked around the place trying to find anything different. On the desk was a plain white envelope with my name handwritten on it. Immensely curious, yet still cautious, I mustered up the courage to open the envelope. Inside was a letter, again handwritten.

David Williams,

Congratulations! You have made it to the end of NoEnd House! Please accept this prize as a token of great achievement.

Yours forever,

With the letter was five $100 bills.

I couldn't stop laughing. I laughed for what seemed like hours. I laughed as I walked out to my car and laughed as I drove home. I laughed as I pulled into my driveway. I laughed as I opened my front door to my house and laughed as I saw the small ten etched into the wood.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


I don’t even know why I’m writing this. I can post this in a million different places, it won’t matter. There’s still nobody there to read it. Nobody left to hear my story. Yet this might be my last chance to do this, so I will. The feeling won’t go away. They’re watching. They’re watching and getting closer every second. They can feel my terror. And I know they’re enjoying it.

It has been about four months since everyone disappeared. And I mean everyone. I woke up one morning for school. I immediately noticed the time. School started three hours ago. Must have just hit the alarm clock still half-asleep, and fallen right back to sleep. It happens to me sometimes. Why hadn’t my parents woken me up? Probably just went to work early.

The first time I started to notice was at the station. I usually take a train to school, since it’s the fastest way to get there. I hadn’t seen anyone on my way to the station, but I lived in a rather quiet area of the town, so going was slow at this time of the day. It happened, so I didn’t think much of it. When I arrived at the station, I noticed there was nobody there. It was odd. There should have been at least a few people waiting for the train, even at this time of the day. I shrugged it off as an exceptionally slow day. It happened sometimes, too.

I waited for a good while, but the train didn’t come. I don’t remember how long I stood there, but I grew increasingly frustrated. I decided to walk to school. After all, it was only a twenty-minute walk if I did it fast enough, and I was late for the next lesson anyways.

I didn’t see anyone on my way to school. Nor was there anyone in school. The school building was open, and lit. I still didn’t think much of it, the lessons were on anyways. But the classrooms were empty. Every single classroom in the whole building. Some doors were open, some closed. But there was nobody there. I tried the teacher’s lounge, and it was empty.

I even recall the smell of fresh coffee in the room. I tried calling one of my friends to ask what was going on. No answer. The phone rang, but there just wasn’t any answer. I tried another. Same thing. I ended up going through every single person I know from school. No answer.

I rushed to the shopping mall nearby. It was empty. The entire building, normally bustling with life, totally empty. The shops were open, the lights were on, the music was playing, the info screens were on. There just wasn’t anyone strolling around the mall, searching through the stores, manning the counters.

It was like everyone had vanished entirely.

I tried calling my parents. No answer. The whole day, I did not see a single living person. The only cars I saw were parked ones. There were no animals either. Everything was just dead quiet. But everything still worked. The shops were open, the lights were on, the TVs worked, there just wasn’t any program. Even the internet was there. Every site worked, every chatroom was open, there just wasn’t anyone there.

I went nuts. I don’t remember much of the first days, what it was like. Just the feeling of unimaginable terror, loneliness. I didn’t sleep much, I didn’t eat at all. I just sat around my house, waiting for someone to come home, for someone to call me, to hear a car drive past, waiting for the dream to end. It never did.

I eventually gathered myself. I told myself nobody was coming, and I had to get up and at least eat. And eat I did. I ate everything I could find, had the date expired or not. I ate and ate. And cried. I was alone. There was no sign, anywhere, that there’d be a single living person anywhere else in the world. No TV-channels showed any program. Some just showed the same news screens over and over. Nothing in the internet updated. Nobody ever logged in anywhere. Nobody answered the phone.

Yet, everything just kept working. The power never went out. The lights were always on. The traffic lights worked. The stores were open. Music played where it had always played.

But everything was still empty.

I eventually grew accustomed to it. It took a while, but I started going out. At first I tried visiting friends, look for people, anyone. I soon gave it up. Before long, I realized that I need more food than what we have at home. I started looting grocery stores. Just what I needed at first, then went to home, and ate it. Before long, I started looting other goodies. Candy. Drinks.

Maybe a month was gone, and I had come to terms with my life, and the fact that there was nobody else in the world. So I made the most of my life. I started having fun, the kind of fun you’d imagine doing if you had the whole world for yourself for one day. I pillaged through every store I could think of, stole everything I could get my hands on. I slept at beds in furniture stores, I played games with the biggest screens electronic stores had. I broke every fine piece of china I came across. I rampaged through malls, leaving behind a trail of destruction. I missed my old life, but made the best of this one.

It was maybe a month ago that he appeared.

I was relaxing back home, listening through some albums I had brought home with me, when I suddenly heard a strange noise from outside. I can’t really describe it well. It was like something called for me. I’m not even sure I really heard it. I just felt it. What I saw outside scared the life out of me. Someone- something. It was the shape of a man, yet it was somehow… wrong. It was entirely black. No, not just black. It seemed to suck the very light from the air around it.

There were no features to be seen. No clothing, no hair, no facial features. It was just a black mass I somehow knew was something like a man. I couldn’t stare directly at it, yet I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Every second I stared at it, it came closer, yet it didn’t move. Every second I felt I got dragged closer to it, yet I stayed where I was. The only feature I could recognize was it’s eyes. Two green, shiny dots I knew were it’s eyes. I knew it, because no stare has ever been so piercing, so paralyzing, so dreadful. It felt like the stare itself sucked the very life out of me.

It spoke to me. Not with words. Not with signs or gestures. I just looked at it and I knew what it said.


I woke up. A day had passed, maybe two. I can’t remember for certain. I woke up, screaming, sweating, from my own bed. It was a dream. It had to be. I was alone. There was nobody else in the world, how could it have been anything other than a dream?

I went on. At first, the dream kept bothering me. It felt so real. Was it? No, it couldn’t have been. With the days, the memory started to fade. The moment started feeling more and more dreamlike, so I thought nothing of it. I even laughed at myself for thinking it was anything else.

Yet, there was a constant feeling of pressure in the air. It was like a coming storm that never came. Sometimes I barely noticed it, sometimes I couldn’t even think properly because of it. Yet, I went on living.

Today it happened again. The feeling. It called to me, while I was drifting to sleep. It called to me, told me to come to the window. I was too afraid to move. Yet still, my legs slowly took me there. An unimaginable feeling of dread and despair came over me. Tears flowed from my eyes as my feet unwillingly took me to the window. There was nobody there. The street was as empty as always. Yet the feeling did not go away. I felt like there were a million eyes focused on me alone. They were there. They were staring.

They spoke.


That was two hours ago. The calling stopped. The staring didn’t. I’m writing this now, because I know it’s the last time I can. They’re drawing closer by the second.

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this. Maybe there’s someone else like me in some corner of the world. Maybe someone can read this. I don’t care. I have to tell someone.

They’re here.

Buried Alive Model

Often referred to as its code name, the Buryman Script, the Buried Alive Model was to be found on the final story of the Pokémon Tower in the spot of what has been replaced with the Marowak ghost. According to the scripts assigned to it, the Buried Alive Model was intended to be the "boss" of the tower. Upon reaching the top floor, the following conversation would have taken place.

Buried Alive: You're...here.
Buried Alive: I'm trapped...
Buried Alive: ...and I'm lonely...
Buried Alive: ...so very lonely...
Buried Alive: Won't you join me?

After this, the battle would have been initiated. One in "battle view," the Buried Alive Model appears to be a decaying human corpse attempting to crawl out of the ground. It has been programmed to have two White Hands, a Gengar, and a Muk. Strangely enough, a protocol for Buried Alive's actions after defeat wasn't written.

In the case of the player defeating him, the game would freeze. However, an unknown programmer is said to have wrote a speciic ending that was supposed to play once Buried Alive was defeated.

In this ending, Buried Alive was to have stated, "Finally, fresh meat!" followed by several lines of Gibberish. He was to have then dragged the player into the ground surrounding him. The scene would finish with a typical "Game Over" screen. However, in the background an image of Buried Alive devouring the player was to have been shown.

Especially strange are the protocols for after this scene. The cartridge was to download this image to the small internal memory contained in the Game Boy, overwriting the title screen that normally accompanied a Game Boy turning on.

Afterward, whenever the Game Boy was started, the player would view this same image of Buried Alive devouring the player character from the Pokémon games as a sound file known as staticmesh.wav was played. The intended purpose for this effect, unlike many of the other factors leading toward LTS, is unknown.

White Hand Sprite

Known in the code as WhitHand.gif, this was scripted to appear as a Pokémon on the third floor of the Lavender Tower. It is divided into four separate animations: an introduction (the "cry" a Pokémon unleashes before a battle), an idle, and two attacks. These attacks are unknown, as they are listed simply as "Fist" and "Brutal."

While viewing the animation has been proven to be hazardous, viewing the individual frames of the model has been proven to have no adverse effects. The White Hand is depicted as a shriveled, slightly decayed hand with sprising attention to the detail: flesh is peeling back from the bone and several tendons dangle realistically out of the wrist.

The first attack is the hand balling into a fist and swinging forward. However, the "brutal" animation is missing several frames. The hand seems to open up, then cuts out. After a few seconds, it reappears, closed again. No record has been found of these missing frames.

Gateway of the Mind

In 1983, a team of deeply pious scientists conducted a radical experiment in an undisclosed facility. The scientists had theorized that a human without access to any senses or ways to perceive stimuli would be able to perceive the presence of God. They believed that the five senses clouded our awareness of eternity, and without them, a human could actually establish contact with God by thought.

An elderly man who claimed to have “nothing to left to live for” was the only test subject to volunteer. To purge him of all his senses, the scientists performed a complex operation in which every sensory nerve connection to the brain was surgically severed. Although the test subject retained full muscular function, he could not see, hear, taste, smell, or feel. With no possible way to communicate with or even sense the outside world, he was alone with his thoughts.

Scientists monitored him as he spoke aloud about his state of mind in jumbled, slurred sentences that he couldn’t even hear. After four days, the man claimed to be hearing hushed, unintelligible voices in his head. Assuming it was an onset of psychosis, the scientists paid little attention to the man’s concerns.

Two days later, the man cried that he could hear his dead wife speaking with him, and even more, he could communicate back. The scientists were intrigued, but were not convinced until the subject started naming dead relatives of the scientists. He repeated personal information to the scientists that only their dead spouses and parents would have known. At this point, a sizable portion of scientists left the study.

After a week of conversing with the deceased through his thoughts, the subject became distressed, saying the voices were overwhelming. In every waking moment, his consciousness was bombarded by hundreds of voices that refused to leave him alone. He frequently threw himself against the wall, trying to elicit a pain response. He begged the scientists for sedatives, so he could escape the voices by sleeping. This tactic worked for three days, until he started having severe night terrors. The subject repeatedly said that he could see and hear the deceased in his dreams.

Only a day later, the subject began to scream and claw at his non-functional eyes, hoping to sense something in the physical world. The hysterical subject now said the voices of the dead were deafening and hostile, speaking of hell and the end of the world. At one point, he yelled “No heaven, no forgiveness” for five hours straight. He continually begged to be killed, but the scientists were convinced that he was close to establishing contact with God.

After another day, the subject could no longer form coherent sentences. Seemingly mad, he started to bite off chunks of flesh from his arm. The scientists rushed into the test chamber and restrained him to a table so he could not kill himself. After a few hours of being tied down, the subject halted his struggling and screaming. He stared blankly at the ceiling as teardrops silently streaked across his face. For two weeks, the subject had to be manually rehydrated due to the constant crying.

Eventually, he turned his head and, despite his blindness, made focused eye contact with a scientist for the first time in the study. He whispered “I have spoken with God, and he has abandoned us” and his vital signs stopped. There was no apparent cause of death.

Tacos de Venado

I was born in Mexico. My father was a goat farmer and my mother used to weave baskets so we could have at least two meals a day. We were very poor and my older siblings and I had the misfortune of being born in extreme weather. My oldest brother was born on the coldest day of winter, my elder sister in a spring deluge, and I in the thick of summer. Despite the fact that the 80s had brought advances in the standerd of living for the world's citizens, it seemed to have forgotten us in our tiny two-bedroom cabin.

When my father heard about the H1-B Visa program through my uncle, he eagerly signed up. Every spring, he would go to work as a laborer on a pepper and tobacco farm in Texas. The work was hard, but the pay was good and he was always home in time for Christmas, so he didn't complain. He was saving up money so we could emigrate to the United States, so he worked from 1988 until 1991, saving what he could. He made sure not a penny was wasted, and on the long winter bus ride from the farm to Mexico, he would sleep so the hunger pangs would not bother him.

He doesn't usually talk much about his days as a migrant worker, but he did tell us that one day, in the winter of 1989, he couldn't sleep. The bus had made a rest stop near a small taco stand. The tacos smelled wonderful and everyone on the bus formed a long line towards the taco stand, eager and salivating. The man behind the small dirty counter was very friendly, he said, but there was something a little 'off' about him. The man scooped out the steaming, spiced meat onto fresh, piping hot, flour tortillas like a machine, taking the money in one hand and serving up a big loaded plate with the other.

"Tacos de Venado," he cried. Apparently, he was selling venison (deer meat) tacos. "Comprense taquitos de venado. Son muy deliciosos!"

My father debated whether or not he should risk spending two dollars of his hard-earned money. Fortunately, my father is quite impatient and detests long lines, so he went back to the buss and quickly fell asleep.

The next winter, the bus again made a rest stop at the man's taco stand. Again, the passengers formed a long line along with other people. They had become addicted, they said. Every year, they waited impatiently to return to this small, dingy taco stand. My father, of course, stayed on the bus. He was used to the feeling of hunger; he lived with it throughout his childhood, so he would surely survive. Again, he slept, dreaming of a big bowl of my mother's chicken soup with a side of hot corn tortillas (which we could afford by then).

The next spring, he left again. It wasn't a very good year; the weather was horrible and the crop yield was so low that the farm had no choice but to let the workers go home a month early. My father said that the fellow workers were abuzz with excitement. They didn't have to eat their tacos in the cold this year. the men eagerly counted the number of miles, their excitement mounting as they drew closer to the rest stop. Three more miles... Two more miles... One more mile...until they finally reached the spot where the man had his taco stand.

But then, nothing. There was no sign of the stand or the man with his big steel pot of delicious, sweet deer meat. The only person there was an old woman selling papier-mâché frogs and piñatas. The workers demanded to know what had happened to the man with the deer tacos. Had he moved to another location? Did he open up a restaraunt? What happened?

The old woman raised her hand and the men fell silent.

"He was arrested two months ago. A lot of the local farmers and various other men started to go missing in his village and the police were completely dumbfounded. A small rumor was going around that the local butcher - the taco man, as you know him - could be involved. The police had no other leads and decided to follow up on that. What they saw shook them beyond beli-" She was cut off by a man asking, "And what about the deer tacos? When he gets out of jail, will he start making and selling them again?

The old woman chuckled.

"Oh, he won't be leaving his cell for a long time. You see, he wasn't very well liked in his village. Venado was a nickname that he used to refer to his enemies."

Special Meat

Ever since my dad left, my mom has been serving up "special meat." She said that daddy was giving it to us and I should never look in the fridge in the basement. Needless to say, I got incredibly curious. One night, at around midnight, I snuck into the basement and looked in the fridge. What I saw there haunts me to this day.
It was none other than my father, with cube neatly sliced out of his torso and limbs. I screamed, waking up my mom. She instantly knew what I had done and ran up to the kitchen to grab her cleaver. I, on the other hand, was too stunned to move until my mom came into the basement. She was swinging the cleaver like a maniac, all the while trying to coax me to stop running. "It's okay," she goaded in that motherly voice.

After running in circles around the house many times, I realized my mom had locked the door at some point. Inevitably, she caught me. She pinned me to the ground and started chopping off my limbs, one by one. The next day, I was sitting in a wheelchair, all bandaged up. My mom once muttered, "Now you know," but I didn't question it.

I think I know where special meat comes from now.

Monday, June 13, 2011


This is not meant to scare anyone.

Calling it a creepy story would be kind of an insult. This is an expression of gratitute toward a friend - a friend that was always there for me. He watched over me when I was growing up and was the best friend any kid could have, even if I didn't realize it at the time.

He was always there, even though I couldn't see him. He was always acting in my best interests, even if I couldn't understand it. I'd like to take some time to share with you our story, because if you're lucky you might have a friend like this too.

I bought a new computer back in May 2010 and took my old computer to the store to have everything backed up. When I took my new computer home, I set everything up and began restoring my files from my portable hard drive. While I was installing some programs, I noticed a file in the Misc folder the technician at the shop made for files that didn't really belong anywhere. The file was called "HappyBirthdayBaby.txt".

My initial thought was that it was a joke message my mom must have written for me that I never found. I opened it and found this...


You might find this one day. I'm not great at this computer stuff, but I've watched you tinkering with this machine lately and I think I know how to save this so you'll find it. Seeing as it's time for me to go, I want to leave you this last little message.

I know you never met your father, but to me he was Col. Marcus Andrew Stadtfield. As I'm sure your mother told you, he was a good man. He had the pride of a lion, the strength of a bear, and a heart of pure gold. Truth is, I was almost like his son way before you were born. I was his second in command and served with him for three years.

I watched as your mother wept when she heard the news, her belly swolen with your soon-to-be debut into this world. I stayed with her every second of every day until the day you came into the world. After that, my focus shifted to you personally.

I watched as they cleaned you and handed you to your mother. She seemed to look right at me with a knowing eye as I stood over the both of you, almost as if she knew all along. I'd be willing to bet my last penny she did at that time. I've watched you grow; I remember everything, even the things you don't. You were such a happy baby. You seemed to have inherited your father's sense of humor, as when you were getting to be four months old you would do just about everything to hinder your mother's attempts at changing you, laughing all the way. You were a wild one at heart, just as you are today.

Just like Marcus.

When you were about six months old, we used to play all the time. We had a game where I would grab your toes and tickle your belly; you would have a great time. When your mother came in, I'd have to stop and it always perplexed her as to why you'd start crying. She seemed to think you didn't like her, which is when I realized I had to back away some. But hey, I knew it was because you didn't want the fun to end.

When you were a year old, you seemed to develop a sixth sense for me. Although you couldn't really see me so well anymore, you knew I was there. I couldn't play with you much because I knew it would only hurt you in the long run, but I always kept guard. However, I knew you remembered seeing me because you had a way of testing my presence. You'd throw toys into the corner where I stood and waited to see if I would play with them.

Now, I know you won't remember, but once you threw a bear and a rag doll at me. Because your mother was busy in the kitchen, making dinner, I kept you entertained by putting on a little show. It wasn't anything special, all I did was make them dance a little. You were laughing loud and your mom came to see what was so funny, but when she saw what she saw, she wasn't laughing. I bet you could mention the bear and rag doll dance and the color would run right out of her cheeks.

Do me a favor and don't, though; I think it would be much kinder to ask if you ever threw the toys into the corner. That isn't so much a bad memory for her than the dancing.

Do you remember your first word? I do. "Love." Haha. Your mother made damned well sure you knew just how much you were cherished by her. Every moment of every day she would always say "Love you, baby." I remember you tugging my heart strings something awful once, when your mother was changing you in the bathroom this one time. You seemed to have caught my reflection in the mirror.

You pointed and said "Love." Your mother laughed and affirmed it. It was your only word for a time, but as I walked out of the reflection you started getting restless and I knew again that I had to be more stealthy. You were growing more and more every day. I couldn't afford to break my promise to your father, which is why I had to step back further.

I broke the rules many time to protect you. That promise to your father was everything to me. I remember when you were three and had mastered walking. You were a regular little scout. Haha. You could never keep still. Those little legs opened up a whole other world to you and you weren't shy at all about exploring it. One day you were with your mother in the market and a lady with a shiny purse caught your eye.

You went running after her. This other woman was running with her trolley in front of her, coming the other way, and didn't spot you. Because you were running after the purse, you didn't spot her either. Breaking the rules wasn't allowed, but allowing you to get hurt wasn't allowed either. When you noticed her, it was too late. You fell on your ass before you could scamper out of her way. Not having any other option, I sent that trolley flying into the side of a freezer. As it crashed, that woman screamed bloody murder. "A-A-A MAN IN A UNIFORM!"

You giggled as the crowd gathered and your mother came running. When she found you at that scene, you were safe and sound. You pointed to the trolley that had smashed the window to the freezer and you know what you said? "Love mommy." Though I had to hide myself and was shamed for creating such a scene out in the open, I was laughing too.

As you grew and became more aware, so did I. I knew when I could and couldn't intervene. Doing too much would hurt the both of us, so I picked my moments. You were a smart kid just like your father and most of the time knew how to handle any and every situation. If there was an option, you took it.

Though I slipped up a few times while you were growing up, I think I did well to keep an eye on you. It was just little things to make your life a little easier, things you probably won't remember: putting your piano music sheets in your bag at night, turning off your television when you fell asleep, pulling the sheets over you on the colder nights, sorting your drawers, setting your alarm clock, closing your window and door, etc...

You caught me doing one or two of these things a few times and I want to take the time toapologize for scaring you. This one time, you were doing your homework at your desk and fell asleep, so I filled in all the answers for your math quiz. You made such a fuss to your mother about how strict the teacher was about homework and I knew you knew the answers anyway, but you suspected more than ever when you woke up and found that half a sheet you left was done.

You were older and forgotten that we were friends. Things you saw in the media about ghosts scared you and had every right to be scared. I just want to say I'm sorry. I never meant to make you cry. If only I had taken a little extra care, you'd never have known. I just wanted to keep you safe and happy.

As you matured, you began to take form as a young lady. As such, you began to know the evil of men. Though you had your wits about you, you were always taking stupid risks. Watching over you became a little more of a worry for me and I had to expose myself more and more.

Most notably was that night when that no good boy you brought home started putting the moves on you when your mother went to work. He was only after one thing and, although I knew it wasn't my place to choose for you, you were still only a baby girl, just fifteen years old. As he got on top of you and started undressing you, took his top off and began saying those sweet nothings...your face said it all. You were scared. When you told him to stop, he wouldn't. When you tried to push him off, he got angry, struck you, and tried to put his hand up your skirt. All the evil I kept inside of me came out at that moment and it was something I couldn't control.

My temper and rage boiled over as I began to growl. The lights started flickering. The TV volume began to rise. The doors and windows bashed. The keys on your piano began to rattle. With your father's roar, I yelled, "GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE, BOY!!!" As he ran out of the room, you tried to follow, but I slammed the door in your face and wouldn't let the handle go until your mother pulled up in the driveway. I'm so sorry that whole thing traumatized you for a while. You became more frightened of me than ever, having such an experience. I knew from then on, despite how much I loved you, we could never be friends. Not after what I'd done.

Some nights, you used to sit awake to watch for me. I'd have to sit in the darkest corner, looking right back at you, unable to reassue you that I wasn't here to cause you harm. You used to scream "I HATE YOU! GET OUT! LEAVE ME ALONE!" Just as you used to do as a toddler, you threw things into my corner. Instead of toys for me to play with, this time it was heavy books, cd cases, and just about anything else you could get your hands on to get me to move. You used to sit in your bed watching that corner. I always felt terrible about what I did. I'd almost broken that promise to your father. More importantly, I'd almost broken my personal promise I'd made to you, too.

It was like that until the night you tried to make peace with me. That night, you sat in your bed and said "If you're here, I'm sorry. You were only trying to stop him." I wanted to say something, but I couldn't, even as you shuffled around nervously. "You're here, right? Could you show me a sign?" I wanted so badly to give you something, anything to show you I was there and heard that, but I kept silent and just nodded. I feared you would lose it if I gave you a sign. You have to know, I was never mad at you. You were just a girl and that little prick tipped me over the edge. Promise me you'll never do anything like that again, okay?

It's your eighteenth birthday today, which is why I'm writing this to you. I want to wish you a happy birthday. I'm sure your dad's getting sick of keeping that bar stool open for me, though. Live a good life and try not to forget about me. Know you turned out great. Your father would be so proud of you.

This letter is my present to you. Don't you worry about the spooky corner anymore. My last order is complete. I don't know about you, but I think this trooper deserves a drink; you were such a handful. Haha!

If you find this one day, try calling out to me.

Take care, be safe, and live a happy life.
Lt. Anthony Gilchrist.

PS. If you call out my name, call out what you used to call me as a kid. That always got me to come running.


I was gobsmacked when I read this letter; everything made so much sense now. All the things that happened when I was growing up...I always thought I was seeing things until the day my boyfriend at the time almost raped me. I'll be the first to admit I was scared of him. I didn't understand what he was, why he was there, or what he was after, but I got it all wrong.

A few days after reading, I asked my mom a few questions about the spooky things that happened when I was growing up. She was very nonchalant about it until I mentioned what happened in the market. She stopped cleaning, set down her cloth, turned to me, and smiled. She said, "You always had a guardian angel watching over you, honey. I don't know if it was your father or not, but who or whatever it was made sure nothing bad happened to you." She turned around and began cleaning the dishes again before asking, "So I guess you met it then, right? Your spirit friend."

"Not exactly." I replied. "He left something for me." I went upstairs, brought the laptop down, and showed her the letter. My mother was crying by the time she finished. Afterward, she told me about my dad's friend.

"He was a kind boy. Marc brought him home once to meet me and he had a certain air about him. He was as loyal as a dog to your father. He had a love and respect for him that even I was intimidated by at times. When he came to our home on leave, Marcus had to practically order him to make himself at home. He eve had to be asked to take his uniform off. He looked up to Marcus almost like a boy looks up to his father. I don't really know his background, but I remember your father telling me he was a good drinking partner, a fine soldier, and an invaluable friend."

She took a deep breath and choked back a few of her tears before telling me the next part.

"They found that poor boy and Marcus all alone in a building that had been overrun by their enemy. They were out on recon and their team got separated when they came under fire. The rest of the boys in your father's team survived, but those two weren't so lucky. The way they found them was peculiar." As she choked back tears, she looked me right in the eye and continued. "That boy was found right on top of your father, riddled with bullets. He was shielding him right up until the moment he died. He could have gotten away, but he refused to leave your injured father's side."

With that, we both burst into tears. Love. That's exactly what he was. He was a guardian. I had no reason to be afraid of him. I'd have given anything just to tell him I was sorry and I loved him back. I had no right, with all the terrible things I did to him at the end. I realized that he loved my father so much, not even death could keep him from the promise he mentioned in the letter. When I asked what the promise was, my mother looked at me with tears in her eyes. "It was made in this very house while they were setting up your room. It was simply: 'No matter what happens, promise me you’ll watch over my daughter.'"