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He first started seeing them when he was five. He woke up around three in the morning. There was a little girl sitting on the edge of his bed, just smiling at him. At first he thought that his mother had taken a late babysitting job and the girl had found his room.
“Hi.” He mumbled to her. She leaned forward and opened her mouth as if to talk but instead her mouth kept opening, and her teeth grew into fangs, that looked as sharp as needles. He screamed. And screamed. And screamed. Very much as he would at the age of 51, he screamed until his throat was raw and he couldn’t scream any more. His mother came in with the first scream, and the girl disappeared as soon as his door opened. She held him in her arms, rocking back and forth.
“What’s wrong Baby? Tell me what’s wrong.” Tears rolled down her face as she held him and he continued to scream. “Baby, tell Mommy what happened.” She had never seen her son in such a state. He was her miracle child. She and his father had been trying to have a baby for four years. They’d tried everything they could think of, until a friend suggested they try magic. They’d gone to a man who their friend told them was the best, and knew exactly what to do.
They went in for their first “consultation” and almost immediately he looked at her and said that they needed to speak alone. Confused, but willing to do anything to help them get pregnant, she agreed. They stepped back into a private room and the magic man (she never did get a real name, that was just how she referred to him as) looked at her and said, “Strip.”. She did so, almost without thinking about it. How was it that he’d inspired that much confidence in her that just one word had her following his orders?
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For years he was haunted by the spirits of people who had died. He remembered every one of them. When he was Six, he had been sent to the cellar to get potatoes for his mother for dinner. He was bending down over the bin that held the spuds and suddenly there was a woman next to him screaming in his ear “HELP ME! HELP ME! LISTEN TO ME! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” He stared ahead, afraid to turn and look at her. If he ignored her maybe she would go away.
But then, she grabbed him. She shook him and screamed again “HELP ME! HELP ME YOU LITTLE FUCK!” She shook him so hard that she actually lost her grip on him. As soon as he realized she’d dropped him he ran. He ran straight into the arms of his loving and understanding mother. Well, loving and understanding when he wasn’t telling her about the ghost in the cellar that scared him too much to get food for dinner. She stormed down there and came back up with the food and not having seen any “ghost”. She told him that he was seeing things and that his imagination was getting the better of him.
At the age of Sixteen, he would still come running into his mother’s room and ask to sleep with her because he was scared. Until one day she looked at him and saw the cuts on his arms. When she asked him about it, he just said that he fell. However as she looked at them she could tell that he hadn’t gotten them all at once. They were in different stages of healing.
“Son, I don’t know what else to do. If you’re going to be hurting yourself, you can not stay in bed with me. You’re old enough now that you shouldn’t be running in here practically every night. That’s over. You can’t come in here any more. Do you understand me?”
He nodded. He knew that he’d been a pain for his mother, but when he was with her, the ghosts didn’t bother him. He tried for Six weeks and for those Six weeks, he didn’t sleep more then a half an hour at a time. He also woke up with cuts and scratches on his body every day. He made sure to cover them the best he could from his mother.
Finally he snapped. As he lay in his bed listening to the ghosts that were floating around him, the fear finally reached its boiling point. He screamed. “Please Leave Me Alone!” And at that point they all attacked. His arms were cut, his back was scratched, everywhere that his skin was exposed, a new cut appeared. When his mother entered the room, they all left, instantly. He was covered in blood and cuts. His bed was soaked in it. His mother screamed. He looked at her and said, “I’m sorry.” before he passed out.
From that night on, he always slept with her. She felt so much guilt for not having believed him. However she knew that as hard as it was for her to believe, it would be harder to convince people who weren’t related to them that her son wasn’t crazy. “Baby, you know we can’t tell anyone about this right? They wouldn’t believe you any more than I did at first.” He nodded his head and buried it in his mother’s shoulder.
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Over the next few years, nothing scary really happened. He lived a normal life, if you can call a 40 year old man sleeping in the same bed as his mom normal. They grew old together, son never leaving mother’s side. They were inseparable it seemed. If one of them went out of town, the other went with them.
And then she died. His mother, companion, his confidant. Gone. Instantly they were back. Before he could yell for help, they were on him as if pissed for having to wait so many years for him. He was able to arrange her funeral, but not much more than that. Once she was in the ground it seemed as if things got worse. This went on for three weeks before he figured out how to fix it.
He got the tools he needed. Looking at the equipment laid out before him, he nodded. The knot was set and the rope tight around his neck. Without hesitating he stepped off the stool. The sound of his neck snapping echoed around the room, and the note he left floated off the floor and flipped up under his bed. It said; “I’m not insane.”
Posted: Tue Oct 18, 2011 6:34 am
