Many people ask me, due to my heritage and where I came from, to tell them stories of the Native Americans. Anecdotes that explained why we have rain, why the seasons change, why there are stars, all the usual stories. Even though I was only 25% Cherokee and then 50% British English, and 25% of miscellaneous, everyone seemed to think that that was more than enough to be and Native American myself, of course coming from Oklahoma didn't help either. Despite it, I never minded. I always told the stories just like my great grandma had told me and with almost just as much enthusiasm. So it was no surprise that when I got into high school I was in acting classes. I enjoyed them, and soon I went to competitions and advanced classes and climbed higher in the realm in acting and occasionally I would be asked to tell one of my grandmas Cherokee tales, and I would oblige them.
Only once had I ever been scared by them, all I can remember was the feeling of fear likened to that you get after realizing that something you did may have gotten someone other than you in trouble. The important thing was that the story was lost in my mind, forever taken by my fear and drowned in the waters of forgetfulness. I thought that the story meant nothing and it wasn't important so I went about my story telling and my acting. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop myself from thinking about it and it soon possessed my thoughts. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't even begin to remember it; not the beginning not the end, nothing. It egged my thoughts and soon it came time to visit my Great grandma and go home. Well, home for me, foreign land for my younger sister, she was born and raised in Florida, and used to flatland, unlike me who was born and raised in Oklahoma and forced to move to Florida for my fathers new job; so when we go to Oklahoma my sister throws up constantly due to the change in landscape, I only pop my ears and rub my sisters back to help her when we stop at gas stations. At last, after the long 19 hour car ride we arrived at my old home, where all of my mothers side came from. A small home half in the ground and half above, built for tornadoes. Surrounded by the 180 acres that belonged to my family and not a neighbor or soul in sight. Home sweet home.
We set down our things, still having the thought of the story in the back of my mind and after dinner set up my laptop with the usual word and youtube tuned to Mr.Creepypasta so I could write stories and enjoy some coffee in the comfort of the old home. I was typing mindlessly while my granny washed dishes behind me and soon stopped when the playlist started playing the new video titled; “Genetic Memory”, basically it was about the underlying fear we hold for emaciated looking monster people. Normally, this wouldn't even be something to warrant my attention, but for some reason, that fear came back and it made me nauseous. I jumped when I felt my grannies hand on my shoulder and she gave me a very concerned look, asking me if I was alright. I told her about what I had heard and the fact that I couldn't remember a story she had told me and ect. It made me feel better, but I had the sickening feeling that it made her feel worse. She gave me a look and asked me if I remembered “The Old Ones” I frowned and told her I had no recollection if anything like that.
That night, she pulled me aside and told me about the story I had forgotten, now, I remember why I forgot, because if I had kept remembering it, I wouldn't be sane anymore. I wrote it down quickly and went about my visit, hunting in the familiar woods on my horse Otep and dragging home the deer I expertly shot with a bow (guns made me sick to my stomach) and let my grandma stock up before returning to Florida.
I’m home now, and I’d like to tell you the story of “The Old Ones” even if It’s the last thing I do, I want to tell you all. In hopes that it will be something to help you understand the world as it was. And as it still is. So here it goes....
When the world was young, there were people who praised the earth and nature and looked to things as gods, in those times, people did not fear because they had nothing to fear. Soon, the people grew and evolved to the point of forgetting their nature deities and all together became the strongest creatures in the world, creatures without fear could not be stopped. They say that this angered the gods, and so from the shadows they made fear. They created things that looked as people do and walked as people do, but they were only of the night and only lived in places that one would not venture, such as caves and abandoned homes and the shadows of everything. Soon people began to see them and fear them. They were always described the same way, to be thin and emaciated as if they had not eaten, with long gnarled fingers adorned in long claw like nails. They had skin as pale as death or snow, with eyes that were void of any color or expression and sunken back into stretched out and poked in eye sockets. These were the only things the same, but the came in a variety of ways, tall and lanky or short and stubby, crawling, walking, running, sulking, stalking, and other varieties of movement, with white eyes, black eyes, or red eyes. To the people they were called all manner of things until it was finally agreed to call them “Fear”. They always made you feel the same, as if a rock had been swallowed and made your stomach comically hit your feet and return to its place, it made your heart pound and your body sweat, your hair stand up and your skin make ‘goosebumps’.
“Fear” were known to do anything and everything, take children, murder whole families, hide under beds, in closets or on the other side of windows. Make noises in your home like creaking or rustling, banging or whispering. Over time, it became common for people to know of fear and as society progressed people began to stop telling their children and grandchildren about the “Fear” out of sheer fear for their own safety. The story may have stopped, but they never did. They are still around today and the handful of people who still know of their tale call them “The Old Ones” for they have been around since the world was young. They still are, and they have changed their form and their shape many a times, they have learned how to make us fear them still. Now, instead of uniformity, they can be as tall as trees with no face, they can repeat dialogue that in any other voice would calm us, they can mimic us when we think we are alone at night, they can crawl into spaces we'd think impossible such as mirrors or walls, they can watch us and not be seen, they can do anything. They can look like anything, and they will always be with you.
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