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 Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 2:10 pm
I live in Sacramento, CA, and for about six months a few years ago I lived in what used to be Dorothea Puente's house. She's a locally famous serial killer who ran a senior boarding house out of the house and was actually killing them and burying them in the yard to collect their social security checks. Google her, if you want details, not really the point.
Anyway, one night when it was raining I had a really weird dream. I heard distinctive knocking and scratching at my window (I slept on the ground floor) and went to go see who it was. It was a sort of bad neighborhood and this would probably be a bad idea if I were awake, but in dream-logic I just wanted to see what was out the window. So I open the window wide and there was a really pale old woman standing out in the rain looking up at me. Again, dream-logic, this didn't seem strange. She asked me if I could help her find her way home, and I said, swear to God, "Sorry, I can't help you. You're already dead." She nodded, looking sad. I went back to bed.
When I woke up, my window was definitely open. I'd never sleepwalked before or since (to the best of my knowledge), though I suppose it's a possibility.
Anyway, that's the most paranormal thing that's ever happened to me.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 2:13 pm
I once stuck two cell phones together in 69 position while they called each other. Weird noises came out, so I tried saying something in it to see how it would be distorted. I said, "Hi. I'm Aaron." I said this about 5 times and each one sounded different until a voice came back saying (completely different from my voice). "Hello Aaron. Hello Aaron. I am Mikeal. I am Micheal. Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead? Am I dead?" I tried saying my name again, but a different voice came back saying, "I don't want to go. I don't want to go." After that I hung up.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 2:15 pm
This incident happened a little over a year ago, and I've never forgotten it. My husband and I were on our way up north on I-75 during the afternoon. Luckily, it was not at our normal time in the evening. We have a little place in northern lower Michigan, and often go up there for the weekends. As was our custom, we pulled in at our usual rest stop, and I went into the women's restroom.
As I was preparing to leave the room, I suddenly noticed a thin, dark-haired woman standing alone and starring directly at me. I instantly felt a terrible sense of dread, as though there was something deeply unnatural about her. I then noticed the eyes which had been staring coldly at me, and they were completely black. I saw no color whatsoever, and no pupils. I felt an extremely strong need to get away from her as quickly as possible, as there was something quietly threatening about her. Her stare was devoid of any emotion other than something very cold and disconnected.
My instant and unwavering feeling during this whole experience was that she was not human. I don't know what me made feel this so strongly, but it was my most singular, strongest sense while looking at her. There also was something almost predatory about her, as though she was homing in on prey while she stood there so still. I also had a strange sense of her feeling superior or stronger in some way. Again, the sense of a predator watching its prey. I left as quickly as possible, showing as little reaction to her as possible. It seemed important, for some unknown reason, for me to act unaffected by her while in her presence. I felt a huge sense of relief as I got back into the car and left. I have to say that this was one of the most memorable brief experiences I've ever had around a person, especially a stranger. I have never been able to shake the unexplainable feeling that she wasn't human.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 2:25 pm
Normally you sleep soundly, but the thunderstorm raging outside is stirring you from your sleep. You begin to doze, then another crash jolts you awake. The cycle lasts most of the night. So you lay there, eyes open and outward, looking at your room stretching out before you in oblong shadows. Your eyes move from nameless object, to object, until you reach your mirror, sitting adjacent to you across the room.
Suddenly a flash of lighting, and the mirror flickers in illumination. For a scant second the mirror revels to you dozens of faces, silhouettes within its frame, mouths open and eyes blackened. They stare out at you, their black pupils fixed upon your face. Then it is done. Are you sure of what you have seen? Unsettled, you don't sleep for the rest of the evening.
The next morning you remove the mirror from your wall and toss it in the trash. It didn't matter if the vision you had seen was of truth or falsehood, you wanted to be rid of that mirror. In fact, you scrap every mirror in your house.
Weeks pass and the event of that night falls into passive memory. You are spending the day at a friend's house and it's time to use the bathroom. While you are in there the faucet starts to run without you prompting it. Taken aback by this, you do not yet act, trying to reason with your paranoia in your mind. The water starts to steam and a skin of moisture covers the mirror up above. You're watching intently as words form:
"Please return the mirrors. We miss watching you sleep at night."
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 2:42 pm
Have you ever been taking a shower while alone in the house and felt like something was moving around behind the curtain? Or watching you? Did you look up? Did you catch the very vaguest hint of eyebrows or a tuft of matted, greasy hair above the curtain rod? That's not a good idea. It doesn't really like it if you see it. It likes it the most when you've got shampoo on your hair, and your eyes are shut tight so your eyes don't sting. Or even better, when there's soap and bubbles all over your soft, pink face. It likes that the best, because your eyes are clenched so tight, and even if you did want to open them, like, if you heard a soft scratching against the plastic shower curtain, or a rasping of claws on bathroom tile, or the gentle splatter of drool or c** or... god knows what... well, you wouldn't open your eyes because it'd burn. Right? Right. Don't open your eyes. Because if you ever see its face, catch its eyes... Well. It'll notice.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 2:44 pm
"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."
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 3:01 pm
My Internet Service Provider used to have offices in a shopping center before they moved to their (comparatively) lush accommodations elsewhere. There was a drop box at that original location. The monthly bill was due, and thus, there but for the Grace of the Net I went. It was about 9:30 p.m. when I left. From my relatively isolated apartments, it's about 10-15 minutes or so to downtown (Abilene has a population of about 110,000).
Right next to Camalott Communications' old location is a $1.50 movie theater. At the time, the place was featuring that masterwork of modern film, Mortal Kombat. I drove by the theater on the way into the center proper and pulled into an empty parking space.Using the glow of the marquee to write out my check, I was startled to hear a knock on the driver's-side window of my car.I looked over and saw two children staring at me from street. I need to describe them, with the one feature (you can guess what it was) that I didn't realize until about half-way through the conversation cleverly omitted. Both were boys, and my initial impression is that they were somewhere between 10-14.
Boy No. 1 was the spokesman. Boy No. 2 didn't speak during the entire conversation -- at least not in words.Boy No. 1 was slightly taller than his companion, wearing a pull-over, hooded shirt with a sort of gray checked pattern and jeans. I couldn't see his shoes. His skin was olive-colored and had curly, medium-length brown hair. He exuded an air of quiet confidence. Boy No. 2 had pale skin with a trace of freckles. His primary characteristic seemed to be looking around nervously. He was dressed in a similar manner to his companion, but his pull-over was a light green color. His hair was a sort of pale orange.
They didn't appear to be related, at least directly."Oh, great," I thought. "They're gonna hit me up for money." And then the air changed. There I was, filling out a check in my car (which was still running) and in a sudden panic over the appearance of two little boys. I was confused, but an overwhelming sense of fear and unearthliness rushed in nonetheless.
The spokesman smiled, and the sight for some inexplicable reason chilled my blood. I could feel fight-or-flight responses kicking in. Something, I knew instinctually, was not right, but I didn't know what it could possibly be.I rolled down the window very, very slightly and asked "Yes?"The spokesman smiled again, broader this time. His teeth were very, very white.
"Hey, mister, what's up? We have a problem," he said. His voice was that of a young man, but his diction, quiet calm and ... something I still couldn't put my finger on ... made my desire to flee even greater. "You see, my friend and I want to see the films, but we forgot our money," he continued. "We need to go to our house to get it. Want to help us out?" Okay. Journalists are required to talk to lots of people, and that includes children. I've seen and spoken to lots of them. Here's how that usually goes: "Uh ... M ... M ... Mister? Can I see that camera? I ... I won't break it or anything. I promise. My dad has a camera, and he lets me hold it sometimes, I guess, and I took a picture of my dog -- it wasn's very good, 'cause I got my finger in the way and ..." Add in some feet shuffling and/or body swaying and you've got a typical kid talking to a stranger. In short, they're usually apologetic. People generally teach children that when they talk to adults, they're usually bothering them for one reason or another and they should at least be polite. This kid was in no way fitting the mold. His command of language was incredible and he showed no signs of fear. He spoke as if my help was a foregone conclusion. When he grinned, it was as if he was trying to say, "I know something ... and you're NOT gonna like it. But the only way you're going to find out what it is will be to do what I say ..." "Uh, well ..." was the best reply I could offer.
Now here's where it starts to get strange.The quiet companion looked at the spokesman with a mixture of confusion and guilt on his face. He seemed in some ways shocked, not with his friend's brusque manner but that I didn't just immediately open the door. He eyed me nervously. The spokesman seemed a bit perturbed, too. I still was registering something wrong with both. "C'mon, mister," the spokesman said again, smooth as silk. Car salesmen could learn something from this kid. "Now, we just want to go to our house. And we're just two little boys." That really scared me. Something in the tone and diction again sent off alarm bells. My mind was frantically trying to process what it was perceiving about the two figures that was "wrong."
"Eh. Um ...." was all I could manage. I felt myself digging my fingernails into the steering wheel. "What movie were you going to see?" I asked finally. "Mortal Kombat, of course," the spokesman said. The silent one nodded in affirmation, standing a few paces behind. "Oh," I said. I stole a quick glance at the marquee and at the clock in my car. Mortal Kombat had been playing for an hour, the last showing of the evening. The silent one looked increasingly nervous. I think he saw my glances and suspected that I might be detecting something was not above-board.
"C'mon, mister. Let us in. We can't get in your car until you do, you know," the spokesman said soothingly. "Just let us in, and we'll be gone before you know it. We'll go to our mother's house." We locked eyes. To my horror, I realized my hand had strayed toward the door lock (which was engaged) and was in the process of opening it. I pulled it away, probably a bit too violently. But it did force me to look away from the children. I turned back. "Er ... Um ...," I offered weakly and then my mind snapped into sharp focus.
For the first time, I noticed their eyes. They were coal black. No pupil. No iris. Just two staring orbs reflecting the red and white light of the marquee. At that point, I know my expression betrayed me. The silent one had a look of horror on his face in a combination that seemed to say "We've been found out!" The spokesman, on the other hand, wore a mask of anger. His eyes glittered brightly in the half-light. "Cmon, mister," he said. "We won't hurt you. You have to LET US IN. We don't have a gun ..."
That last statement scared the living hell out of me, because at that point by his tone he was plainly saying, "We don't NEED a gun." He noticed my hand shooting down toward the gear shift. The spokesman's final words contained an anger that was complete and whole, and yet contained in some respects a tone of panic: "WE CAN'T COME IN UNLESS YOU TELL US IT'S OKAY. LET ... US .... IN!"
I ripped the car into reverse (thank goodness no one was coming up behind me) and tore out of the parking lot. I noticed the boys in my peripheral vision, and I stole a quick glance back. They were gone. The sidewalk by the theater was deserted. I drove home in a heightened state of panic. Had anyone attempted to stop me, I would have run on through and faced the consequences later. I bolted into my house, scanning all around -- including the sky. What did I see? Maybe nothing more than some kids looking for a ride. And some really funky contacts. Yeah, right.
A friend suggested they were vampires, what with the old "let us in" bit and my compelled response to open the door. That and the "we'll go see our mother" thing. I'm still not sure what they were, but here's an epilogue I find chilling: A close friend of mine recently moved to Amarillo, but at the time this happened was still living in San Angelo. I called him and talked to him briefly. He had two friends with him at the time, both professing some type of psychic ability.
I started telling him the story, leaving out the part about the black eyes for the kicker. One of the women (we were on a speakerphone) stopped me. "These children had black eyes, right?" she asked. "I mean, all-black eyes?" "Er ... Yes." I said. I was a bit taken aback.
"Hmmm," she said. "One night last week, I had a dream about children with black eyes. They were outside my house, wanting to be let in, but there was something wrong with them. It took me a while to realize it was the eyes."
I hadn't even gotten as far as them wanting to come in. "What did you do?" I asked. "I kept the doors and windows locked," she said. "I knew if they came in, they would kill me." She paused. "And they would have killed you, too, if you had let them into your car."
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 3:09 pm
I found The Rake myself.
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, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of thier enounters with a creature of unkown 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 exceprts from their upcoming book.The Rake
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.
Dearest Linnie, 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].
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. It's 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. He 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.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 3:32 pm
A man, at about the age of 30 went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check-in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and all, and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. So he went to his room, and went to bed. The next night he was curious as to what was in the room, so he walked down the hall to where it was and of course tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. So he bent down and looked through the keyhole. What he saw was a hotel bedroom and in the corner was a woman whose skin was completely white. She was leaning up against a wall and her head was facing the wall. He stared in confusion for a while then went back to his room. The next day, he went back to the room and looked through the keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn’t make anything out besides a distinct red color, un-moving.
At this point he was confused and a little freaked out. He went to the front desk and asked the lady about the room. She sighed and said, "Did you look through the keyhole?" The man told her that he had and the lady said, "Well, I might as well tell you the story. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in that room, and her ghost haunts it. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which are red."
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 3:34 pm
In rural southern Illinois a toy company began selling "realistic" baby dolls to expectant mothers. But apparently after the mother had her child the toy baby would start crying. Eventually the "rocking motion" advertised to calm it down wouldn't work, and you couldn't get it to stop without shaking it. Eventually when it started crying the parent would have to beat it, and the beatings and thrashings would have to get harder and harder to get it to be quiet. The only thing that seemed to shut the baby doll up permanently was the bash its head against the wall to destroy whatever mechanism triggered the crying. On more than one occasion though, neighbors called the authorities to report child abuse, and when the police arrived they found the the bloody remains of infants smeared across the walls and the floor. In most cases the mother couldn't understand why the police were there, she just "got rid of the stupid doll" as she rocked a baby-shaped bundle in her arms.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 3:35 pm
When I was fourteen, my mother and father were divorced, and I went to live with my mother and a man she supposedly fell in love with several years ago. We searched for a house for all three of us to live in, and eventually found the perfect house. A few months later, after finding out that my dad had Cancer, my mom went, engaged to this man living with us, to the very hospital and stayed with my father for about a week, leaving me to tend to myself as I remained in the basement, wasting my time on the computer.
It was late, around midnight if I recall correctly, and the man living with us went off to bed, turning off every light in the house, except for the computer room in the basement. During this time we had one dog and one cat. I can't remember exactly where the dog was, but the cat was downstairs with me, doing what cats do, I guess. While typing away on the computer, it occurred to me, after several minutes had passed, my cat had been staring at the door, which was left wide open, for a long time. Her ears appeared to be pinned against the back of her head and I finally noticed her faint growling.
Thinking that it was the dog, I turned around and called for her, only then to notice something that took me completely by surprise. The door that leads up to the second floor was left wide open. In front of it, taking the size of a three or four year old, was this ominous being, made of shadow.
As chills ran down my spine and fear completely took over my body, I watched this unearthly 'thing' with what little time I had, I absorbed any features possible, noting that it had small, beady eyes that were yellow, and this 'thing' had black tendrils on top of it's head, and on the sides of it's body, which didn't exactly have a 'shape'.
Whatever this thing was, it reacted quickly and hid by leaping over to the stairs, making it partially visible to my view. Then, I noticed that it leaned over and peeked through the wall that hid it, quickly pulling away as it knew I was still watching.
To this very day I don't know how, but I managed to muster up enough courage and quickly ran to the computer room's door, slamming and locking it. An hour later, I ran through the whole house, turning on every light possible, except for my mom's bedroom, and I went to bed with the light on. I didn't bother looking for the dog, and I never told the man about this strange occurrence. I just went into my room and crawled into bed.
I don't know how I fell asleep. But I did. Whatever the Hell that thing was, it was watching me. I didn't think that I'd ever get over it. But I guess I calmed down after a while.
Ever since, I hated that house. That perfect house was no longer my home. I'm honestly surprised that I still stayed in that house, unfortunately, I didn't have much of a choice. But I never saw the Shadow Being again. Never. Still, I was afraid.
Thankfully three months after, mom and I moved back in with my dad and the man living with us eventually moved away, and our so called dream home was up for sale. Probably still is.
I still have nightmares of the Shadow Being from time to time. Sometimes, it feels like it's watching me whenever I'm alone. I was never really afraid of the dark until then.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 3:39 pm
Every child fears under their bed. If they don’t, they fear the closet, or maybe that little crack in the almost closed door.
Most adults accept that children are perceptive, they see things adults don’t. They aren’t yet tethered into only accepting what society wants them to accept. They see what is truly there.
They see the monsters.
If you were to borrow a child’s eyes and see through them for a night, you would go insane. To be able to see what you only dimly remember, burrowing into your covers while wearing those train pajamas, hoping to a God you can barely comprehend that “it” doesn’t see you back…would drive an adult crazy. Because Adults forget the rules.
1) Cover yourself. If you can’t see it, it can’t see you. Even if it makes it harder to breathe.
2) Don't cry out. Don’t make a sound.
3) Don’t move. It attracts their attention.
4) Only light can make them go away. Bright light. Flashlights make it worse.
Teens are caught in the middle. They still feel what’s there, but they cannot see… and they forget the rules….
Why do you think there are so many insomniacs typing at their computers, subconsciously praying the light from their monitor will be enough to keep them away?
Why do you think so many teens run away from home? Or are assumed to have done so?
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 5:01 pm
In Berlin, after World War II, money was short, supplies were tight, and it seemed like everyone was hungry. At that time, people were telling the tale of a young woman who saw a blind man picking his way through a crowd. The two started to talk. The man asked her for a favor: could she deliver the letter to the address on the envelope? Well, it was on her way home, so she agreed.
She started out to deliver the message, when she turned around to see if there was anything else the blind man needed. But she spotted him hurrying through the crowd without his smoked glasses or white cane. She went to the police, who raided the address on the envelope, where they found heaps of human flesh for sale.
And what was in the envelope? "This is the last one I am sending you today."
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 5:04 pm
There was a hunter in the woods, who, after a long day hunting, was in the middle of an immense forest. It was getting dark, and having lost his bearings, he decided to head in one direction until he was clear of the increasingly oppressive foliage. After a what seemed like hours, he came across a cabin in a small clearing. Realizing how dark it had grown, he decided to see if he could stay there for the night. He approached, and found the door ajar. Nobody was inside. The hunter flopped down on the single bed, deciding to explain himself to the owner in the morning. As he looked around, he was suprised to see the walls adorned by many portraits, all painted in incredible detail. Without exception, they appeared to be staring down at him, their features twisted into looks of hatred. Staring back, he grew increasingly uncomfortable. Making a concerted effort to ignore the many hateful faces, he turned to face the wall, and exhausted, he fell into a restless sleep.
Face down in an unfamiliar bed, he turned blinking in unexpected sunlight. Looking up, he discovered that the cabin had no portraits, only windows.
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Posted: Wed Oct 21, 2009 5:10 pm
Ok, disclaimer: To the very best of my knowledge, this story is true. I don't expect to convince you - truth be told, I've had a hard time coming to terms with it myself. Cliche' as it may be, I really am a rational person, and, if not for this, I would probably be the most stone-faced atheist you'd ever meet. But, after much internal struggle and debate, I have come to the conclusion that there are things in life that simply can't be explained with reason, at least in the form in which we know it. Logic, for all the trust we place in it, is really nothing more than a candle, all too easily snuffed out. And when it is gone, we are left alone in the dark, and everything we would scoff at by daylight suddenly becomes very believable.
Alright, before I wax too melodramatic, here's my story.
I was very young; only 4 or 5, at most, before either of my siblings were born. It was just Mommy and Daddy and me, living in our little house in Great Bend, Kansas. Very quaint. We were a young family, without much money, and most of our furniture was second-hand.
It was the middle of the day; summer, hot, boring. I was playing marbles by myself on the thin carpet beside the huge, old, flower-patterned-couch. Mom was down the hall in the kitchen, and Dad was at work.
Why I was trying to roll marbles around on the carpet I don't know - we had a perfectly good linoleum floor, after all. But there I was, swishing the marbles back and forth, happily bouncing them into each other. Then, in my overzealous enthusiasm, I rolled too hard. My favorite marble - the clear, ruby-red one, zipped into the dark space under the couch and was lost.
Damnit. Dad wasn't home, and he was the only one strong enough to move that huge old couch for me. I'd have to get my marble back myself.
I reached my hand under the couch, tentatively at first, then deeper. Encountering no marbles, I pulled my hand out in disappointment.
Then, a hand reached out from under the couch back at me.
I remember the image vividly, and I suspect I always will. It was a slim hand, with tapered fingers - a woman's hand. It was gnarled and wrinkled, as if aged, and it was dead black. Not black as in African, black as in dead. Of course, back then, I didn't know that corpses blacken as they decompose, so I didn't know what the black meant.
The hand reached out to me as far as it could, which was just up to the wrist. Then it retreated under the couch. Then it emerged again, this time pushing with it a little crumpled up, plastic bag with a logo on it I didn't recognize. It waited, as if expecting me to take the bag. Then, when I didn't, it pulled the bag back under the couch and was gone.
I got up, walked down to the kitchen, and told my Mommy what had happened.
Why didn't I run screaming, or at least run? I don't really know. All I can say is, I was a little kid; a hand reaching out from under the couch at me didn't seem like that huge a deal. I hadn't yet learned what was and was not permissible in reality. I had no worldview.
Mom was skeptical, but walked me back to the couch and explained how I was probably imagining things. She even reached her hand under the couch to convince me that nothing was down there. Later, Dad lifted the couch up for me, and the only thing under it was, of course, my missing marble, plus a few more marbles I didn't even remember losing.
But here's the scary part...
For years, I remembered this - I even developed a weird fantasy of little hand-people living under the couch, and I, in my childlike innocence, believed that they would catch me and take me away if I ever reached into their domain again. Then, as I grew older, I wrote the memory off as a dream I had had as a child - cute, but silly.
Then, a few years ago, I recounted the story to my mother.
She gave me a funny look, and told me she remembered it, because, after all, she had been there. She told me that she remembered me coming to her in the middle of the day and telling her about the hand under the couch, and remembered being highly disturbed by my story, since I was an extremely quiet, well-behaved kid who didn't ever lie.
Then she told me about the couch itself. According to her, she and Dad had gotten the couch from the estate of an old woman who had actually died on it. This was the first time I had heard about this, but it sure explained why they got rid of the couch within a month of my story.
But here's part that truly frightens me, even to this day. The part that I have to try so hard to get out of my mind some nights. Remember that bag the hand pushed towards me? I've never forgotten the logo that was on it. And, recently, (as in a few years ago), I saw the same logo again, on what looked like the same type of bag, in a hardware store.
It was a bag of utility razor-blades.
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