(Cut for length)
I’ve never told this story to anyone, and I don’t really intend to tell it again. I have a pounding migraine today, and this thread has kept me good company as I’ve drifted in and out. I don’t really like talking about this time in my life, but I want to contribute. When I was 10-12 I lived with my mother. We were below poverty level poor and lived up in the mountains around Santa Cruz California. My mother had a friend that owned a large bit of property up there, and he let us stay in a trailer. Our trailer was small and right beside a garden with a chain link fence running around it, to keep the dog the owner had out, along with other animals. Deer and things are very common in the area. Inside of this fenced area was a single room built like a tiny house. This room had electricity, and since our actual trailer didn’t, I spent a LOT of my time in there. I was super into video games.
There was one thing you should know right now. This small fenced in area was only a small piece of the property, but most of it was heavily forested. Also, I refused to leave the fenced area, because the owners dog had been mistreated by children in the past and was very… sketchy towards me. If I was alone it would bite at me, even through the fence. The fence was tall, at least 7 feet high, and was not movable. So as long as the gate was closed I was safe. That being said, there is no one else around for miles and miles.
Now, I tell you all this, because I think it is important you understand what kind of scene this was before I really get into this story. We have a fenced in location that seems fairly safe. It contains a trailer and a single room with power that is not connected to the trailer. Nothing else around for miles. My mom’s van is parked out in front of the gate to the fenced in area, and a single unpaved road runs from this garden for about a mile to the main house.
Now then, I brought friends up there to sleep over now and again. We all thought it was pretty cool, you know? Like camping out, sort of. Besides, we would get our own room to stay in to play video games all night long. It was like a dream come true. The downside was simple. When it got dark out, it got REALLY dark out. No city around, and the trailer would not be lit up. There was no bathroom to use in the room, and you would have to walk through the dark garden in order to get to the trailer to use it.
Odd things happened out here from time to time. It was always something that could be somewhat easily explained away though. Noises like people working at night sometimes. Or once me and a friend were sitting out in the garden, and we saw a shadow as big as a small bear bound up a tree, but the tree didn’t shake like there was weight on it. The dog also creeped me out, but you know. Angry dog, I was a kid. It happens.
Now, I am a scardy cat. I always have been. To be honest, I don’t know why I even come to /x/. I have trouble walking through a lit house if I am all alone. My friends however, tend to be more outgoing. Just the kinds of people I get along with. This one time I had a friend over. His name was Jacob. We were staying up all night and playing Sonic the Hedgehog 3 (& Knuckles) on my Sega Genesis on a ratty old television. We started playing as the sun went down, and by the time we were finishing up the game it was about 2am.
That’s when we heard it. We turned off the game, getting ready to find something else to play, when there was a rumbling in the woods behind the room we were in. Like somebody was rolling something really heavy around. We hadn’t heard it before because the noise from what we were playing was loud. Immediately I had goosebumps. Jacob was not really worried about it, but it’s not like there was someone else’s house or yard right over there. It was forest for miles, and it sounded like someone was constructing something or some shit. Dragging or rolling something really big.
A very long story but definitely worth the read. Very well written, great build up, no pop up scares, and an ending that your imagination will run with. An all around awesome read.
It started with the usual. Waking up in different places on smaller scales. Fall asleep on the couch, wake up in my bed.
“Oh Randy, I was the same way at your age,” My mother used to say, with smiles and turn-aways that marked the end of discussion.
Sometimes I thought it was my parents, but to what motivation would they do this? When I’m soundly in my bed, pick me up and lay me gently on the kitchen floor? No. This was me. It was around when I was sixteen that they started to see it.
My older sister Anne, eighteen at the time, would be dozing by the TV when I’d saunter in and so very purposely sit beside her. Sometimes she thought I was awake, only to have me not recall it the next day.
Then the talking started. I’d walk into her room one late summer night, while she’s up on her computer and stare blankly at her. She’d question me, and I’d answer yes to every question. Open-ended and all.
“Ran’, you okay?”
“What’s going on?”
Sometimes she’d find me in places, usually asleep. On several occasions her walk-in closet. She’d yell at me and throw me out saying,
“Even with your fucking narcolepsy or whatever, that’s private!” She was a very reserved person, and I always respected that in my waking life, even after she moved out. But it was all different asleep. Nothing was relevant, and none of it mattered.
I’d tried everything. For a while I’d slept in a sleeping bag, zipped to the neck, with mittens. It never really worked. And I was beginning to wake up in stranger and stranger places. Granted, I never went too far from home, but it was becoming a regular thing that I’d wake up outside. Forests, streets. I was sleepless for days at a time and it made me delusional, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to be normal.
My best friend, Daryn was very supportive, always calming me down when I was so sleep deprived I felt like my mind would implode. He’d coax me to sleep and promise to watch me, and for the most part, he did. Sometimes I’d wake up to little notes from him. Little affirmations, like,
“Everything will be okay- Daryn.”
I’d find these notes in the cracks and rifts of my home, folded neatly and creased tight. Telling me it’s okay.
Daryn and I didn’t always get along, though. Sometimes we’d fight, and he’d leave. The guy had a lot of problems, maybe some form of manic depression. That’s when I’d find the malicious notes. The notes that told me to “fuck off” and “get over myself,” Which eventually progressed into darker territory. I’d find them around and it was as if they’d interact with me.
“Nobody loves you, all you do is destroy- Daryn.”
“But I try so hard to be good!” I’d think to myself.
“And every time you try, you fail.- Daryn”
“I’m so sorry…” I’d whisper faintly.
“Kill yourself. -Daryn.”
I should’ve just stopped hanging out with him, but he was all I had, then he’d leave me cold. I’d wake up in the dirt under cold sweat, with blood on my hands that I stole from myself in my slumber.
“This is why you’re worthless – Daryn.”
Annie was leaving soon. Going off to college. Over the course of a week her room faded to emptiness as she took all her things to her dorm, and then only she was left. She said she’d be out in a week. It’d been months since I’d gotten a note from Daryn. He hadn’t been over to supply them.
I was happy. Alone, but happy. He couldn’t bother me anymore.
And the night before Annie left, I went to sleep happy. I dreamt of beautiful things. Waterfalls and meadows, places where everything was in its right place.
That time I woke up midday. No cars in the driveway, nothing too unusual, but my room was distraught. Dents in my wardrobe and a door off its hinges. Must’ve been a crazy night, but at least I was still in my bed.
I went down the hall to check if Annie was still there, she never said when she was leaving. Her room was empty as usual, but something was off this time. Her closet was open a crack. She never left her closet open, not even the slightest bit. It was her private zone, her sanctuary.
That’s when I saw the little drops on the floor. Smeared like crimson pastels, like someone had gone over to spread them. I followed them to the closet. looking down the whole way. I reached the door and wrapped my fingers around the edge. Slowly pushing forward.
And there she was.
Mangled and beaten. The veins in her neck torn out. The carpet was no longer off-white and dry, but moist and crimson. It was as if she were mauled by an animal.
And I saw it.
A little note on her chest, folded with the care and precision Daryn had always prided himself on.
But the signature was different.
And then it hit me, clear as day. Like waves of clarity but still somehow topped with disbelief.
It wasn’t Daryn. It was never Daryn. I squeezed my eyes shut as I declared it to myself.
I opened my lids as I read the note one last time, glazed eyes and trembling fingers.
“Everything will be okay.” – Randy
Credit To: Anna Elise Groves
The following is a true story, including the account of, first, my friend we’ll refer to as Kaskie, and my own.
We were in Basic Training for the Navy, nearing the end of our stay there and moving on to the fleet soon enough. As you can imagine, people get really close in Basic, so close, that one night my friend, Kaskie, decided to share his encounter with something he never gave a name to.
Me, Kaskie, and 2 others sat around our bunks after lights out, each of us sharing spooky stories we’d heard, joking along the way. Kaskie remained silent the entire time, seemingly conflicted. He eventually worked up to telling us of his home in Indiana, and a few minor scares he swore were true. We quickly moved back to our stories when he had stopped speaking, but he still seemed distant. We badgered him for awhile until he finally caved, and spoke of it.
He said he never gave the entity a name, believing by attaching a name to it would give it power over him, and it would return if he would speak a name for it. As crazy as it sounded to me at the time, it seems he had some grounds on what he said, but we’ll get to that later.
Kaskie was only 8 at the time of the incident, living in a very old, 2 story house. He’d had a few minor paranormal encounters in the house already, but none had ever left a lasting impression on him, not like it did. Even as he spoke of it, he grew pale, his eyes darting from side to side, wary lest it come back to finish what it had started over 15 years ago.
As I said, he was 8 at the time, and he recalled that it was 2:37 in the morning, a time he will never forget. He woke up, feeling the need to utilize the bathroom just down the hall. He rose from his bed, tip-toeing on the wooden floors enroute to the bathroom, when he heard something from the stairs, which lied just past the bathroom. It moved slowly, and it sounded as if it were on all fours, but Kaskie didn’t have a dog. He froze in fear, unable to make a break for the bathroom or return to his room, so he stood silently as the sound of paws echoed up the stairs. It eventually reached the top, and what Kaskie faced brought sweat to his brow and sent shivers doiwn his spine to this day.
He described it as having the body of a dog, a very large, hairless dog, standing about 3 and a half feet tall on all fours. It’s head was not the head of a dog, rather, it had a somewhat human appearance, but it was flipped upside down, and it had the teeth of an Angler Fish. It’s eyes were two black pits, which seemed to choke out surrounding light, but there was a faint shimmer in the middle of each, as if looking into a long tunnel. It’s nose were mere slits, and it’s nails seemed more like talons, scratching the hardwood as it walked. He and it stared at each other for only a moment before Kaskie turned and ran into his room. Slamming the door shut and hiding under the blanket. But it didn’t give up so easily.
The sound of the door creaking open was the only sign Kaskie received that the beast had followed him. He slowly peeked out from under his covers, only to find it sitting at the end of his bed, peering at him with it’s pitch black eyes. Suddenly, it jumped up, grabbing the boy by his foot and dragging him into the middle of the room, slinging him about before Kaskie blacked out. He awoke the next morning, deep bite marks marking his legs, covered in scratches and bruises. He told his mother, but she thought he’d been attacked by some dog the previous day, or another child had beat him up. Regardless, he never spoke of it again, except to us, of course.
We sat in silence for a moment, before deciding we were all tired and went to sleep. And that should have been the end of it. But it wasn’t. I decided to send my friend Kaskie a message over a social networking site, mentioning it not by it’s nameless identity, but by a name I conjured for it. He told me never to speak of it again, then immediately blocked me so I couldn’t question him further, or he didn’t have to have the name stuck in his head. For after this happened, it came for ME.
It started slowly at first, shadows in the dark, roaming the house, as it may have done with Kaskie without him realizing it, but I did. I left the next week after hearing it scratch at my door, which I had locked to prevent its entering. I drove roughly 300 miles to see my girlfriend for awhile, staying in a nearby hotel. I thought I was safe here, thought the distance would have made some sort of difference, but one night, by chance, I looked out the hotel window, greeted by it. Now, it wasn’t right in the window, but I was up three stories and had a clear view of my car, and the 3 and a half foot tall dog shadow circling it, scratching at the car door. I watched it for awhile, frozen with fear, then moved away from the window lest it saw me and knew my location. I would’ve written it off as a normal dog, except it kept coming back, circling my car night after night.
After I returned home, I immediately moved out of my house and into an apartment, thinking that it may be thrown off by the smell of other people, and that’s why it goes for my scent on the car, rather than me. So far it’s worked, I haven’t had the beast in my living area since, but every night, when almost nobody is awake, it returns to my vehicle. Scratching, searching for me, and I fear one day it will follow my scent up to the fourth floor, into my apartment, and visit the man who gave it power over himself, with something as simple as a name.
Credit To – Tim Janski
Cut for length
Alone, he stood in the middle of the room. Surrounded by dark walls with nothing but a dim light bulb hanging from the ceiling right above him. Blankly staring at the light, he was trying to put together the events that had led up to his captivity. He was just a scientist who was trying to find a cure for the outbreak, but the government thought otherwise. They thought that it was he and his team who had spread the disease even further. The government was looking for someone to blame to ease the minds and voices of the population, and who better than the only remaining scientist left who had anything to do with their project?
“..on! …mson! Samson!” The scientist took his fixed gaze away from the light bulb and looked towards the reinforced door. It was too dark to see on the other side of the room, but he had heard the heavy clank of metal, indicating one of the guards had opened the slot on the door. “Are you ready to talk?” Samson kept quiet for a moment. They’ve kept him here in this dark room for four days, deprived of food and water. Being a scientist, he knew what deprivation of food and water does to the human body. He was dizzy and fatigued; simple everyday tasks became hard to do.
“What’s the point?” he said calmly with a dry mouth. “I will tell you nothing new. Everything I’ve already told you is everything there is to-” the door slot slammed with that same heavy clank of metal. He took a deep breath and walked towards the wall behind him, slowly, with his hand outreached trying to feel for the wall. He sat down in the darkness and stared back at the dim light. He then closed his eyes and thought about his wife, for it was the only thing keeping him sane and alive. Her beautiful face and the memories they shared; he must survive.
He had sent his wife, Emily, to France before joining the team of scientists who were trying to find a cure. He sent her there in fear that his wife would join those who have been infected by the disease. That was 3 months ago. He missed her so; she was the only person he had left in his life. Everyone he knew was gone. His neighbors, his parents, the old couple who ran the flower shop. The flower shop he thought.
He remembered buying his wife flowers for their anniversary a few days before the outbreak. He and his wife were very good friends with the old, lovely couple that ran the flower shop. The old couple would tell Samson that he and his wife reminded them so much of themselves when they were younger, and that Samson was taking the right path to a happy life.
Samson held back tears as he started reminiscing about that day he had gone in the flower shop for his anniversary.
Yet another lengthy one, but very much worth the read. Cut for length.
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.
During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, humanlike creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were mysteriously destroyed.
Primarily focused in rural New York state and once found in Idaho, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of their encounters with a creature of unknown origin. Emotions ranged from extremely traumatic levels of fright and discomfort, to an almost childlike sense of playfulness and curiosity. While their published versions are no longer on record, the memories remained powerful. Several of the involved parties began looking for answers that year.
In early 2006, the collaboration had accumulated nearly two dozen documents dating between the 12th century and present day, spanning 4 continents. In almost all cases, the stories were identical. I’ve been in contact with a member of this group and was able to get some excerpts from their upcoming book.
A Suicide Note: 1964
“As I prepare to take my life, I feel it necessary to assuage any guilt or pain I have introduced through this act. It is not the fault of anyone other than him. For once I awoke and felt his presence. And once I awoke and saw his form. Once again I awoke and heard his voice, and looked into his eyes. I cannot sleep without fear of what I might next awake to experience. I cannot ever wake. Goodbye.”
Found in the same wooden box were two empty envelopes addressed to William and Rose, and one loose personal letter with no envelope:
I have prayed for you. He spoke your name.”
A Journal Entry (translated from Spanish): 1880
“I have experience the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I see his eyes when I close mine. They are hollow. Black. They saw me and pierced me. His wet hand. I will not sleep. His voice (unintelligible text).”
A Mariner’s Log: 1691
“He came to me in my sleep. From the foot of my bed I felt a sensation. He took everything. We must return to England. We shall not return here again at the request of the Rake.”
From a Witness: 2006
“Three years ago, I had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls with my family for the 4th of July. We were all very exhausted after a long day of driving, so my husband and I put the kids right to bed and called it a night.
At about 4am, I woke up thinking my husband had gotten up to use the restroom. I used the moment to steal back the sheets, only to wake him in the process. I appologized and told him I though he got out of bed. When he turned to face me, he gasped and pulled his feet up from the end of the bed so quickly his knee almost knocked me out of the bed. He then grabbed me and said nothing.
After adjusting to the dark for a half second, I was able to see what caused the strange reaction. At the foot of the bed, sitting and facing away from us, there was what appeared to be a naked man, or a large hairless dog of some sort. Its body position was disturbing and unnatural, as if it had been hit by a car or something. For some reason, I was not instantly frightened by it, but more concerned as to its condition. At this point I was somewhat under the assumption that we were supposed to help him.
My husband was peering over his arm and knee, tucked into the fetal position, occasionally glancing at me before returning to the creature.
In a flurry of motion, the creature scrambled around the side of the bed, and then crawled quickly in a flailing sort of motion right along the bed until it was less than a foot from my husband’s face. The creature was completely silent for about 30 seconds (or probably closer to 5, it just seemed like a while) just looking at my husband. The creature then placed its hand on his knee and ran into the hallway, leading to the kids’ rooms.I screamed and ran for the lightswitch, planning to stop him before he hurt my children. When I got to the hallway, the light from the bedroom was enough to see it crouching and hunched over about 20 feet away. He turned around and looked directly at me, covered in blood. I flipped the switch on the wall and saw my daughter Clara.
The creature ran down the stairs while my husband and I rushed to help our daughter. She was very badly injured and spoke only once more in her short life. She said “he is the Rake”.
My husband drove his car into a lake that night, while rushing our daughter to the hospital. They did not survive.
Being a small town, news got around pretty quickly. The police were helpful at first, and the local newspaper took a lot of interest as well. However, the story was never published and the local television news never followed up either.
For several months, my son Justin and I stayed in a hotel near my parent’s house. After we decided to return home, I began looking for answers myself. I eventually located a man in the next town over who had a similar story. We got in contact and began talking about our experiences. He knew of two other people in New York who had seen the creature we now referred to as the Rake.
It took the four of us about two solid years of hunting on the internet and writing letters to come up with a small collection of what we believe to be accounts of the Rake. None of them gave any details, history or follow up. One journal had an entry involving the creature in its first 3 pages, and never mentioned it again. A ship’s log explained nothing of the encounter, saying only that they were told to leave by the Rake. That was the last entry in the log.
There were, however, many instances where the creature’s visit was one of a series of visits with the same person. Multiple people also mentioned being spoken to, my daughter included. This led us to wonder if the Rake had visited any of us before our last encounter.
I set up a digital recorder near my bed and left it running all night, every night, for two weeks. I would tediously scan through the sounds of me rolling around in my bed each day when I woke up. By the end of the second week, I was quite used to the occasional sound of sleep while blurring through the recording at 8 times the normal speed. (This still took almost an hour every day)
On the first day of the third week, I thought I heard something different. What I found was a shrill voice. It was the Rake. I can’t listen to it long enough to even begin to transcribe it. I haven’t let anyone listen to it yet. All I know is that I’ve heard it before, and I now believe that it spoke when it was sitting in front of my husband. I don’t remember hearing anything at the time, but for some reason, the voice on the recorder immediately brings me back to that moment.
The thoughts that must have gone through my daughter’s head make me very upset.
I have not seen the Rake since he ruined my life, but I know that he has been in my room while I slept. I know and fear that one night I’ll wake up to see him staring at me.”
This is a true story.
Back in the 1990s, a girl committed suicide after viewing an image posted in an old newsgroup.
The image was of a figure - which some identified as a woman - standing in the middle of a lonely road. The figure is transparent to the point that its legs are barely visible and is illuminated by an unknown light source coming from the direction of the camera. Whether it’s headlights, a handheld flashlight, or the light of the camera itself isn’t known for sure, as the actual source of the image has never been identified. No facial features can be made out, but the figure is most easily identified by its long, bony appendages which partly resemble a spider’s legs. Those who have seen the image or know of its existence have come to know the figure as “The Wanderer.”
The first known Wanderer account occurred in 1996. Jane, a college girl who was visiting her family during the holiday season, had an interest in the paranormal. She saw the Wanderer image on a newsgroup along with a message reading, “Do you see me? I can see you too.”
Dozens of other users saw the same post. Most didn’t think much of it - just that it was somehow “funny.” Some actually complained that they experienced headaches while they looked at the image, and similar claims have been made by others since.
According to Jane’s family, she suffered from nightmares in the nights after seeing the image. She claimed she would wake up and see the Wanderer outside her window. Sometimes it would scrape the glass with its spider-like limbs, but usually it would just stand there and stare at her. She would find herself unable to move while in its presence, as if many unseen hands were holding her down. Even if she closed her eyes, she would still see it.
Her family was sure she had just seen frightened by an image online and was having nightmares as a result, until Jane complained of seeing the Wanderer in her waking life as well. She was convinced it was following her. She would see it even while she was in a room full of people or out in public, even though no one else saw anything. Jane’s family feared for her sanity, but only assured her that the Wanderer wasn’t real.
Jane, however, only got worse. She began going to extreme lengths to stay awake at night. It started out just with caffeine and staying active, but quickly graduated to cutting herself and screaming all through the night. Before long, she wasn’t sleeping at all. She was convinced that, if she slept again, the Wanderer would take her.
Her family knew they couldn’t just wait and hope for the best. Jane needed help. But when Jane’s mother knocked on her daughter’s bedroom door, she received no answer. She carefully opened the door, not wanting to disturb or startle Jane, but she still heard nothing.
Jane wasn’t in her bed. She wasn’t sitting at her computer. She didn’t appear to be in her room at all, until her mom checked the closet.
There, Jane was found curled in the corner. Blood reddened the front of her body, having drained from the long slit across her throat. She was clutching a bloodstained note which read, “It can’t have me now.”
Jane’s case is not isolated. Through the rest of the 90’s, dozens of others went missing or committed suicide after viewing the image of the Wanderer. Since the turn of the century - despite my best efforts at locating the image - it seems to have disappeared. Recently though, I posted on a newsgroup asking if anyone had heard of the Wanderer. I’ve done this many times before and usually there’s one or two people who have heard the story, but no one has seen the image. This time was different. Shortly after posting, I received an email in my inbox.
The subject of the email was “I CAN SEE YOU.” The body only read, “Do you see me? I can see you too.”
There was an image attached with the message. I can’t verify whether it’s the real Wanderer image or not, but I must warn you that, if you choose to view the image, you do so at your own risk.
Not a particularly “scary” story but very well written and a wonderful read. Cut for length.
In my old age I’ve seen a lot of things. Some things I’m a little more proud of than others. As a boy there wasn’t a damn thing that could sate my appetite for the world around me. Everything in reach I had to get my hands on, take it apart and study it. My natural curiosity is what got me into the many scraps and situations of my youth.
I remember when I wasn’t any older than six, it was the fall of nineteen hundred and twenty-eight, me and several of the local boys were out playing a game of hide-and-seek. Denny Louis was the seeker, and a damned good one at that, so I took it upon myself to find a damned good hiding place. I remembered the hayloft out in our barn, and figured I could hide myself among the many bales of hay up there, maybe even push some of those bales around like I had times before when I wanted to build a fort, and get myself a perfect hiding space. Denny started counting out loud from a hundred and I took off a running to the barn, the breeze tickling my cheeks and smelling like the harvest.
I ran through those big red doors and my eyes fell on Denny Louis’ mama laying on the ground, straw in her hair and her dress hiked up, with my Daddy laying on top of her, looking like he was trying to pick himself up, but he seemed to be having trouble. I had no idea what I was seeing, but I would later learn all about what my Daddy was doing when I was fourteen when me and Sandra Hannigan made our way up into the same hayloft that I had hid so many times, and made so many forts in, to get out of the rain. She shook the water from that beautiful blazing, red hair of hers and noticed my eyes stuck on her nipples poking out like little buttons in the cold, wet air. She hiked up that flowery yellow dress she liked to wear and spread her creamy white, freckled legs, revealing her sweet fire peach. There in the smell of spring rain and old horse shit I made love for the first time. Beautiful girl, she was.
“Daddy?” my little voice rung out, echoing off the dusty, wooden walls. My old man turned and stared at me, like he’d been caught dipping his hand into the honey pot, and for lack of better words, that’s exactly what he was doing. He hoisted himself off of Mrs. Louis and made his way over to me.