The Cementary

On an early dim morning an elderly woman rested her hand atop a gravestone.

“Henry Blackwood  1938 - 2004.”

She rested flowers on it and wept, something she didn’t usually do. She always made sure to bring something of Henry’s when she made her annual visit to his grave. Her memory wasn’t what it used to be and her brain needed help to get it jogged. She brought something he hated: his hearing aids. She remembered wistfully how he never used them, always insisting he had excellent hearing despite keeping the television’s volume up so high.

Now all she wanted was his return to her loving embrace. “Oh Henry,” she fell to her knees and looked to the sky, “How I wish you’d come back to me.”

Up in the sky and through her blurred teary vision she saw a red star. It was faint but she heard a malignant chuckle and the star flashed to match it. Then it disappeared with the raising sun.

She wiped away her tears. Strange. Was it a product of her imagination? She stood up and surveyed the area but saw nothing. It seemed like the moment was merely nothing but old, senile, womanly mood swings. As she smiled at her silly old self, a question came to her that felt like part of a dark realization. Could the battery in the hearing aid still work? She attached it to her best ear and turned it on. She could hear the rustling of crow feathers in a nearby tree. It probably still worked due to her husband’s lack of commitment to use it. Then, swallowing hard, she rested her ear on the ground above his grave. Her mouth dropped in horror as she heard scratching, shuffling, and a familiar voice bellowing a horrified scream.

Denial

I waved goodbye to my friends as I stepped off the bus and headed to my house. I was super excited to get home and see my parents. They hadn’t talked much at all yesterday. As a matter of fact they just stayed in their bedroom all day. They haven’t been feeling well. I ran up the stairs of the front porch and swung the front door open with a big, cheesy grin on my face; However, when I opened the door there was no one in the den. The television was off and the house seemed to be abnormally quiet. I took a step in and started calling out.

“Mom? Dad?” I called. I knew they were supposed to be here. Dad had the day off and mom didn’t have any plans with her girlfriend’s until next week, right? I placed my backpack on the ground next to the couch and walked into the kitchen to check the calendar. October fifth. I was right. Dad took this day off so him, mom, and I could go see a movie together. “They’ve got to be here somewhere”, I thought myself.  Then it hit me. School let out early today because of a busted water pipe. I looked at the watch on my wrist. “It’s only twelve o’ clock. They may still be sleeping.” I headed back through the den and slowly opened their bedroom door. Surely enough, there they lie. A sigh of relief escaped my mouth and my grin returned. I tiptoed over to my mom’s side of the bed and pulled the covers back.

I was greeted with the same sight as the day before. She lay there motionless, eyes glazed over, mouth agate. Her skin was a pale white and her hair was beginning to thin. The soup I gave her yesterday sat on the bedside table. It was stale now and she hadn’t even touched it. I’m beginning to think they don’t want to feel better. I placed the cover back over her head, grabbed the old soup and left the room slowly closing the door behind me. I decided not to wake either of them considering they must need their sleep. I’m sure they will be up for it tomorrow. Until then, I have a ton of Psychology homework to be done. We’re doing this paper on people who have some type of disorder causing them to live in denial of even some of the most obvious things. I couldn’t imagine living like that.

The Typing

Stay calm.

You know, I never actually thought about this, but I really need to type this since typing always calmed me down, even if only slightly. As you suspected, I typed this because, well, I’m feeling kind of nervous for no apparent reason, but I think I know why. I have this weird feeling that makes me want to hide with someone in a corner. Or it could be that I watched one too many horror movies, which god knows has scared the crap out of me. I mean, I just watched ‘Saw’ and it was pretty good until the masked guy popped up and I just jammed my eyes shut.

There’s no one in this house at the moment except for my brother who’s sleeping in his bedroom, door closed. For some reason though, when I strain my ears, I don’t just hear my breathing or his snores, I hear a pattering sound as well. I didn’t quite feel like checking where the noise came from, but simple dismissed it as my imagination. Just to make sure though, I glanced at the kitchen. While I glance though, I can’t help but feel someone is watching me from over my other shoulder; watching these exact words I am typing. I don’t quite feel like moving or typing anymore.

Oh god. The feeling I felt earlier was really bothering me so I turned around, but there was nothing. I swear I saw a piece of cloth fluttering for a brief moment then disappear though. I think I’m going to go type in my room. Come to think of it, it’s quite ironic how I, who absolutely adore watching horror movies, was feeling like this.

Hey why’s it so quiet suddenly? Wasn’t my brother snoring loudly just a second ago? No, he’s probably just stopped snoring. Yea, that’s – holy shit. Holy fucking shit. I’m not getting up. I’m gonna just stay here. If I get out of this chair, it’s going to follow me. It had a fucking pale face with black freaking eyes staring at me from the reflection on my god-damn computer screen. It’s getting dark. But its November now and all, but it shouldn’t be getting dark this fast. I think someone forgot to close the window. It’s kind of chilly. But why was the window open? I’m pretty sure I closed it. I think something’s coming closer. What if it already killed my brother? He’s not snoring anymore. I don’t think I can type anymore. I have to though. If I don’t it’s going to see I’m not doing anything and it’s going to come for me.

My fingers and arms are growing numb. I’m cold. I’m not getting up though. I think it’s breathing on me. Oh my god it’s beside me. Its head… I’m going to see its head soon. No… I have to keep typing. If I stop I’m not going to be able to stay calm. My chest hurts. It’s getting hard to breath. Oh no. The door is opening by itself. There’s creaking. Something’s reaching over my shoulder. I’m not looking. No. I’m not going to fucking look. Its face is trying to get into my view. Holy shit I can’t breathe. I don’t want to die. No. No. No no no no no. Help. I’m not looking away from the keyboard. Leave me alone.

Oh. Good.

I hear my brother. He came down and asked my where the cookies were. I’m so relieved. I’ll get back to typing in a minute, I’m going to turn around and tell my brother were it is. I’ll finish typing in a bit. Thank goodness I have a brorfgb

Upstairs

When I was a child I lived in a rented two-floor house. Both my parents worked so I was often alone when I came home from school.
One early evening when I came home the house was still dark.
I called out, “Mum?” and heard a voice say “Yeeeeees?” from upstairs.
I called my mum again, and again got the same “Yeeeeees?” reply.
I felt she was calling back at me and climbed up the stairs.
When I reached the first floor I called her once more and the voice “Yeeeeees?” came from the furthest room.
I felt both uneasy, but a strong urge to see my mother, and started to walk towards the room.
But just that moment I heard the front door downstairs open and my mother come in, carrying a lot of shopping bags.
“Sweetie, are you home?” my mother called in a cheery voice.
Hearing her voice made me feel instantly better and I turned back to go downstairs at once…but not before I had a quick glance towards the room.
While I watched from the top of the stairs, the door to the room slowly opened a crack.For a brief moment, I saw something strange in there.A pale face, staring at me.

 

The Bad Dream

“Daddy, I had a bad dream.” You blink your eyes and pull up on your elbows. Your clock glows red in the darkness—it’s 3:23.

“Do you want to climb into bed and tell me about it?”

“No, Daddy.”

The oddness of the situation wakes you up more fully. You can barely make out your daughter’s pale form in the darkness of your room.

“Why not sweetie?”

“Because in my dream, when I told you about the dream, the thing wearing Mommy’s skin sat up.” For a moment, you feel paralyzed; you can’t take your eyes off of your daughter. The covers behind you begin to shift.

You´ll Be Okay

On our way home from vacation, my five year old daughter and I got stuck in traffic caused by an accident up ahead. My daughter asked why we had stopped, and I told her someone had wrecked. That’s when she responded with “Remember when that happened to me?” I was confused… She’d never been in a car accident. I laughed, thinking she was playing pretend or something, and asked her what she was talking about.
“Don’t you remember? We was going to the store and then we hit something, and then the glass cut me and it hurt so bad and I was so scared at first, I thought I was dying, but daddy kept saying I would be okay and I knew he wouldn’t lie.”
I just stared at her for a minute, not sure what to say… For one thing, the whole thing was crazy, I had never been in an accident, and neither had my daughter. And the other thing was, she didn’t have a “daddy”… I mean of course she had a father, but he wasn’t part of the picture, never had been, so where was she getting this from?
Traffic cleared and we continued on our way home, and it slipped from my mind. A few weeks later, while on the phone with my mom, I remembered it and told her about it.
After a pause, my mom told me that when she was just about 3 years old, there had been a car accident, and that her older sister, who was five at the time, had been killed when a piece of glass from the windshield had somehow slit her throat. It was such a tragedy that for the most part her family tried to pretend it hadn’t happened, getting rid of everything that reminded them of her sister and and never mentioning it, which is why I never knew about it. My mom said she could barely remember the accident itself, since she was so young, but she said she’d never forget her dad crying as he held her sister in his arms and repeated over and over again “You’ll be okay, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay.”

I´m Waiting

This is not a random post. This is not a coincidence. I put this here because I know that right now you will be reading it. No one can see this post except for you.
There is a monster in your home. It is there right now and it is waiting to kill you. It will kill you tonight. I can save you.
Go to a mirror. That in there, that’s me. Turn off all the lights except for the dimmest one; too much light screws it up. Take your arms, put them straight out, and put them up against mine, through the glass. Do your best to relax, and when you are ready, close your eyes. Count to three and then I will pull you through to safety. We can work out what to do next once you’re in.
Again, this is not a random post. It is for YOU. You need to do this before the next hour turns or you will die.