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Balloons
By 1000Vultures
A couple days ago I posted a story called Footsteps here on /r/nosleep. There we
re a number of questions that made me curious about certain details about my chi
ldhood and so I spoke with my mother. Exacerbated by my questions she said "why
don't you just tell them about the goddamn balloons if they're so interested." A
s soon as she said that I remembered so much about my childhood that I had forgo
tten. This story will provide some greater context for the previous story, which
I think you should read first. Though the order isn't of vital importance, read
ing that story first will put you in my place more effectively since I remembere
d the events of Footsteps first. If you have questions or anything feel free to
ask and I'll try to answer them. Also, both stories are long, so heads up on tha
t. I'm just hesitant to leave out any details that might be important.
When I was 5 years old I went to an elementary school that, from what I've come to
understand, was really adamant about the importance of learning through activit
y. It was part of a new program designed to allow children to rise at their own
pace, and to facilitate this the school encouraged teachers to come up with real
ly inventive lesson plans. Each teacher was given the latitude to create his or
her own themes which would run for the duration of the grade, and all the lesson
s in math, reading, etc., would be designed in the spirit of the theme. These th
emes were called Groups. There was a Space group, a Sea group, an Earth group, and the
roup I was in, Community.
In Kindergarten in this country you don't learn much except how to tie your shoes
and how to share, so most of it isn't very memorable. I only remember two things v
ery clearly: I was the best at writing my name the right way, and the Balloon Pr
oject, which was really the hallmark of the Community group, since it was a pret
ty clever way to show how a community functioned at a really basic level.
You've probably heard of this activity. On one Friday (I remember it being Friday
because I was excited about the project and it being the end of the week) toward
the beginning of the year, we walked into the classroom in the morning and saw
that there was a fully-inflated balloon tied off with string taped to each of ou
r desks. Sitting on each of our desks was a marker, a pen, a piece of paper, and
an envelope. The project was to write a note on the paper, put it in the envelo
pe, and attach it to the balloon which we could draw a picture on if we wanted.
Most of the kids started fighting over the balloons because they wanted differen
t colors, but I started on my note which I had thought a lot about.
All the notes had to follow a loose structure, but we were allowed to be creativ
e within those boundaries. My note was something like this: Hi! You found my ball
oon! My name is [Name] and I attend ______________ Elementary school. You can ke
ep the balloon, but I hope you write me back! I like Mighty Max, exploring, buil
ding forts, swimming, and friends. What do you like? Write me back soon. Here's a
dollar for the mail! On the dollar I wrote FOR STAMPS right across the front, which
my mom said was unnecessary, but I thought it was genius, so I did it.
The teacher took a Polaroid of each of us with our balloons and had us put them
in the envelope along with our letter. They also included another letter that I
assume explained the nature of the project and sincere appreciation for anyone's p
articipation in writing back and sending photos of their city or neighborhood. T
hat was the whole idea to build a sense of community without having to leave the
school, and to establish safe contact with other people; it seemed like such a
fun idea . . .
Over the next couple weeks the letters started to roll in. Most came with pictur
es of different landmarks, and each time a letter would come in the teacher woul
d pin the picture on a big wall-map we had put up showing where the letter had c
ome from and how far the balloon had traveled. It was a really smart idea, becau
se we actually looked forward to coming to school to see if we had gotten our le
tter. For the duration of the year we had one day a week where we could write ba
ck to our pen-pal or another students' pen-pal in case our letter hadn't come in yet
. Mine was one of the last to arrive. When I came into the classroom I looked at
my desk and once again didn't see any letter waiting for me, but as I sat down th
e teacher approached me and handed me an envelope. I must have looked so excited
because as I was about to open it she put her hand on mine to stop me and said P
lease don't be upset. I didn't understand what she meant why would I be upset now tha
t my letter had come? Initially I was mystified that she would even know what wa
s in the envelope, but now I realize that of course the teachers had screened th
e contents to make sure there was nothing obscene, but all the same how could I
be disappointed? When I opened the envelope I understood.
There was no letter.
The only thing in the envelope was a Polaroid, but I couldn't really make out what
it was. It looked like a patch of desert, but it was too blurry to decipher; it
appeared as if the camera had been moved while the picture was being taken. The
re was no return address, so I couldn't even write back if I wanted to. I was crus
hed.
The school year pressed on, and the letters had stopped coming for nearly all of
the other students. After all, you can only continue a written correspondence w
ith a Kindergartener for so long. Everyone, including myself, had lost interest
in the letters almost completely. Then I got another envelope.
My excitement was rejuvenated, and I reveled in the fact that I was still gettin
g a letter when most of the other pen-pals had abandoned their involvement. It m
ade sense that I received another delivery there had been nothing but a blurry p
icture in the first one, so this was probably to make up for that. But again the
re was no letter at all . . . just another picture.
This one was more distinguishable, but I still didn't understand it. The photograp
h was angled way up, catching the top corner of a building, and the rest of the
image was distorted by a lens-flare from the sun.
Because the balloons didn't travel very far, and because they were all launched on
the same day, the board became a bit cluttered, and so the policy for the stude
nts still exchanging letters became that they could take the photographs home. M
y best friend Josh had the second highest number of pictures taken home by the e
nd of the year his pen-pal was really cooperative and sent him pictures from all
around the neighboring city; Josh took home, I think, 4 pictures.
I took home nearly 50.
The envelopes were all opened by the teacher, but after a while I stopped even l
ooking at the pictures However, I saved them in one of my drawers that housed my
collections of rocks, baseball cards, comic book cards (Marvel Metal cards, for
those who might remember), and little miniature baseball batting helmets that I'd
get out of a vending machine at Winn-Dixie after T-Ball games. With the school
year over my attention turned to other things.
My mom had gotten me a small snow cone machine for Christmas that year, and Josh
had really coveted it so much so that his parents bought him a slightly nicer o
ne for his birthday which was toward the end of the school year. That summer we
had the idea that we would set up a snow cone stand to make money; we thought we'd
make a fortune selling snow cones at $1. Josh lived in a different neighborhood
, but we eventually decided that my neighborhood would be better because there w
ere a lot of people who cared for their lawns; the yards in my neighborhood were
slightly bigger. We did this for 5 weekends in a row until my mom told us that
we had to stop, and I've only recently come to understand why she did that.
On the 5th weekend Josh and I were counting our money. Because we both had a mac
hine we each had a separate stack of money that we put together into one stack a
nd we then split it evenly. We had made a total of $16 that day, and as Josh pai
d out my 5th dollar a feeling of profound surprise consumed me.
The dollar said FOR STAMPS.
Josh noticed my shock and asked if he had miscounted. I told him about the dolla
r and he said, That's so cool, man! As I thought about it, I came to agree. The idea
that the dollar had made it right back to me after changing so many hands floor
ed me. I rushed inside to tell my mom, but my excitement coupled with her being
distracted by a phone call made my story incomprehensible and she responded simp
ly by saying Oh wow! That's neat! Frustrated, I ran back outside and told Josh I had
something to show him. Back in my room, I opened the drawer and took out the st
ack of envelopes and showed him some of the pictures. I started with the first p
icture, and we went through about 10 before Josh lost interest and asked if I wa
nted to go play in the ditch (a dirt ditch down the street from my house) before
his mom came to pick him up, so that's what we did.
We had a dirt war for a while, but it was interrupted several times by rustling in
the woods around us. There were raccoons and stray cats that lived in there, bu
t this was making a little too much noise and we traded guesses at what it was i
n an attempt to scare each other. My last guess was that it was a mummy, but in
the end Josh kept insisting that it was a robot because of the sounds that we he
ard. Before we left, he got a little serious and looked me right in the eyes and
said, You heard it didn't you? It sounded like a robot. You heard it too right? I h
ad heard it, and since it sounded mechanical I agreed that it was probably a rob
ot. It's only now that I understand what we heard.
When we got back Josh's mom was waiting for him at the kitchen table with my mom.
Josh told his mom about the robot, our moms laughed and Josh went home. My mom a
nd I ate dinner, and then I went to bed.
I didn't stay in bed for long before I crept out and decided that, due to the day's
events, I would revisit the envelopes since now the whole affair seemed much mor
e interesting. I took the first envelope and set it on the floor and set the blu
rry desert Polaroid on top. I laid the second envelope right next to it and plac
ed the oddly angled Polaroid of a building's top corner on top and did this with e
ach picture until they formed a grid that was about 5X10; I was always taught to
be careful with things that I was collecting even if I wasn't sure they were valu
able.
I noticed that the pictures gradually became more decipherable. There was a tree
with a bird on it, a speed limit sign, power line, a group of people walking in
to some building. And then I saw something that vexed me so powerfully that I ca
n now, as I write this, distinctly remember feeling dizzy and capable of only a
single, repeating thought:
Why am I in this picture?
In this photograph of the group of people entering the building I saw myself hol
ding hands with my mother in the very back of the crowd of people. We were at th
e very edge of the photo, but it was undeniably us. And as my eyes swam over the
sea of Polaroids I became increasing anxious. It was a really odd feeling it wa
sn't fear, it was the feeling you get when you are in trouble. I'm not sure why I wa
s flooded with that feeling, but there I sat floundering in the distinct sense t
hat I had done something wrong. And this feeling only intensified as I looked on
at the rest of the photos after that the one that had so powerfully struck me.
I was in every photo.
None of them were close shots. None of them were only of me. But I was in every
single one of them off to the side, in the back, bottom of the frame. Some of th
em only had the tiniest part of my face captured at the very edge of the photo,
but nevertheless, I was there. I was always there.
I didn't know what to do. Your mind works in funny ways as a kid, but there was a
large part of me that was afraid of getting in trouble simply for still being up
. Since I already had the looming feeling of having done something wrong I decid
ed that I would wait until tomorrow.
The next day, my mom was off work and spent most of the morning cleaning up arou
nd the house. I watched cartoons, I imagine, and waited until I thought it was a
good time to show her the Polaroids. When she went out to get the mail I grabbe
d a couple of the pictures and put them on the table in front of me as I sat wai
ting for her to come back in. When returned she was already opening the mail and
threw some junk mail into the trashcan and I said,
Mom, can you come here for a second? I have these pictures--
Just give me a minute, honey. I need to mark these on the calendar.
After a minute or two she came and stood behind me and asked me what I needed. I
could hear her shuffling with the mail behind me but I just looked at the Polar
oids and told her about them. As I explained more and pointed to the pictures he
r frequent uh huh's and ok's decreased, and she was suddenly completely quiet and only m
aking a little noise with the mail. The next noise I heard from her sounded as i
f she was trying to catch her breath in a room that had no air left in it. At la
st her struggling gasps were conquered and she simply dropped the remaining mail
on the table and ran to the kitchen to get the phone.
Mom! I'm sorry, I didn't know about these! Don't be mad at me!
With the phone pressed to her ear she was walking/running back and forth and sho
uting into it. I nervously fiddled with the mail sitting next to my Polaroids. T
he top envelope had something sticking out of it that I thoughtlessly and anxiou
sly pulled on until it came out.
It was another Polaroid.
Confused, I thought that somehow one of my Polaroids had slipped into the stack
when she threw the mail down, but when I turned it over and looked at it I reali
zed that I had not seen this one before. To my dismay, it was me, but this one w
as a much closer shot. I was surrounded by trees and was smiling. But it wasn't ju
st me, I noticed. Josh was there too. This was us from yesterday.
I started yelling for my mom who was still screaming into the phone. I repeatedl
y yelled for her until she finally responded with What?! and I could only think to
ask, Who are you calling?
I'm talking with the police, honey.
But why? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do anything
She answered me with a response that I never understood until I was forced to re
visit these event from the earliest years of my life. She grabbed the envelope o
ff the table and the picture of Josh and I spun and slid, landing next to the ot
her Polaroids in front of me. She held the envelope up to my eyes but I could on
ly look at her and watch as all the color began draining out of her face. With t
ears welling up in her eyes she said that she had to call the police because the
re was no postmark.
When You Wish Upon a Star
By NotWhatIWishedFor
I've always suspected that there might be something wrong in my head. That I'm sick t
wisted. I need to get this off my chest. I've never told anyone what I've experience
d throughout my life, until now. I figured this would be the perfect place to st
art, with full anonymity. I apologize in advance for the wall of text. Here goes
nothing.
Despite coming from a loving family, I craved attention as a child. I suppose it
was only natural; my younger sisters were both born with special needs, and I f
elt somewhat neglected by my family. I'd often do disturbing things to catch the a
ttention of my parents: force myself to throw up, deliberately walk into the cof
fee table to bruise my skin, cry for no reason, lie through my god damn teeth. L
ike I said, I'm twisted. It was obvious when I was a child. Anyway, these stupid a
cts always meant that my parents would immediately focus on me, so my actions we
ren't without purpose. After behaving like that I'd felt like the center of their wo
rld again, like I was a necessary being, not just a decorative piece of flesh to
pad out the family photo on the front of Christmas cards. As I got older, my pa
rents began to wise up to my tricks and started to focus on my siblings again, l
eaving me to sit in front of one of my Disney VHS's with a bag of sweets to keep m
e satiated. My favorite was Pinocchio. Do you remember that old song from it? Th
e one which tells you that your dreams will come true if you wish upon a star?
My father got a new job when I was eight years old, and we moved to the other si
de of England. I started a new school on a cold Monday in February - half way th
rough the school year. I didn't make friends easily. Children can be fickle, and a
lthough I was interesting to them for the first day, they soon grew bored of me
and were irritated by how different I was to them. They started to ignore me too
.
I vividly remember walking home from school on the Thursday afternoon, kicking t
he puddles that formed along the pavement and muttering to myself about how I'd sh
ow them that I was interesting and worth their time. I tunelessly hummed the son
g from Pinocchio the whole way home, and decided, when I walked through the door
and was immediately greeted by Get out of the way for God's sake, to see if wishes
really could come true. I wish more than anyone could possibly know that I hadn't.
That night, after being kissed goodnight and tucked in by my frazzled folks, I c
rept out of my bed and towards my window. My eyes scoured the sky, searching for
a star to wish on. I didn't want to pick the brightest everyone would be wishing
on that one. It would be a waste of time. I settled for one that was almost out
of sight, semi-tucked behind the roof of the house that our garden backed on to.
It looked like any other star in the sky, but had a touch of pale red to it. I
liked that. The star was looking to stand out, just like I was. I closed my eyes
, and began to murmur wishes. As impatient as I am now as an adult, I had a far
shorter attention span back then. Why wasn't anything happening? Why weren't my wish
es for love, attention and devotion coming true immediately? Why were my parents
still snuggled up together downstairs without me? I got angry. I cursed at the
star, telling it there was no way it could ever make my dreams come true. It was
a stupid, worthless star; no wonder everyone preferred to look at the bright, s
hiny one instead. I slammed the window shut, dragging the curtains back together
, and stomped back to bed. I pulled the covers over my head to create my own lit
tle den in which to quietly seethe. Soon enough, I fell asleep. What I dreamt ne
xt would change my life forever.
I'll just take a second to apologize for the poor way I'll describe this. It's still h
ard to relieve it, even 14 years later.
My dream started off normally enough. I got a lift to school because it was rain
ing harder than I'd ever seen. My mother nearly ran a red light, unable to focus d
ue to my sisters screaming in their car-seats. I ran into my classroom from the
car-park. It was temporarily housed in a shabby mobile unit due to building work
going on in the main body of the school; the windows leaked and the wind whistl
ed through the gap under the door. I walked into the classroom and nobody lifted
their head; my wellington boots squelched dejectedly as I made my way across th
e sodden carpet to sit at my desk. The teacher came in, and asked us to settle d
own and take out our pencil cases. I grabbed mine, and felt a sharp stab in the
palm of my hand; by the time I glanced down the blood had already began to drip
onto the wet carpet beneath me. I yelped. The teacher told another girl in the c
lass to walk me up to the nurses office to clean my hand up and see whether I ne
eded to go to hospital. We left the classroom and started walking. Along the way
, we stopped into the ladies bathroom, as she wanted to use the facilities. Comi
ng out of my cubicle, I looked down at my palm as I washed my hands. The blood m
ixed with water was the exact shade of pale red that the star had been. I smiled
to myself, thinking of how childish I had been to think that wishing on a star
would actually work, when a cool draft played across the nape of my neck. I look
ed up, into the mirror.
A woman stood behind me, head tilted down.
Although her hair created a thin veil across her face, it was sparse enough to s
ee her facial details. She had the most prominent cheekbones I'd ever seen, though
perhaps they were exacerbated by the hollowness of her cheeks. Her skin, grey a
nd listless, looked stretched over the bones of her face; it was flecked with ag
e spots and small pale red bruises. A thin, twisted mouth hovered beneath her no
se, quivering.
I gasped, and turned around. There was no one there. It must have been a trick o
f the light. Perhaps this cut was more serious than I'd first thought and I had
lost enough blood to make me hallucinate? I didn't really care if it was real or n
ot, I needed to get out of here and away from this bathroom. I turned off the ta
p, and foolishly glanced up at the mirror again. She was there, closer. Her head
almost rested on my shoulders. I screamed, and she opened her eyes. Her pupils
were mere pinpricks in the center of a bloodshot eyeball. She smiled at me, hot
breath spilling onto my shoulder. She had three rows of teeth, much like a shark
, each blackened with decay. They were pointed, and growing longer before my eye
s. She tilted her head, slowly, and reached forward, through the mirror, and sho
ved my chest so hard that I fell backwards. My head slammed into the hand dryer
and I woke up, knotted in my soaked bed sheets and heaving dry sobs. My parents
burst into the room, and held me until I drifted back into restless sleep.
Now that alone would have been enough to terrify any 8 year old child, but it wa
s just the beginning.
I woke up on my own. I heard my father singing and mother laughing downstairs an
d smelled my favorite breakfast - pancakes. I quickly joined them, forgetting al
l about my horrible dream. I ate my pancakes staring out of the window; it was r
aining harder than I'd ever seen before. I put on my wellington boots and rain jac
ket and bounced out of the front door, only to soak myself in a gigantic puddle.
The rain dripped inside my boots and stuck my toes together. I liked the way it
felt - clammy. My mother insisted on giving me a lift to school on her way to d
rop my sisters off at day care. She ran a red light on the way, and my skin pric
kled with a sense of deja-vu. Pushing it to the back of my mind I ran to the cla
ssroom, where I squelched my way to my seat. The teacher blustered into the clas
sroom shaking her umbrella out and told us to take out our pencil cases. I took
mine out as told, and felt a piercing pain in the palm of my hand. My heart stea
dily began to beat faster as the blood dripped onto the sodden carpet before I c
ould look down. I must have turned a shade of white, because the teacher noticed
, and told a girl in my class to take me to the nurse's office. We walked slowly;
the entire time I was telling myself that everything would be fine as long as we
didn't stop off in the bathroom. She paused outside the bathroom door.
Please, don't go in! I begged.
Why not? Are you scared to be out here on your own, big baby? She taunted.
You were supposed to take me to the nurses office, not stop off and kiss yourself
in the mirror! I fumed.
That did it. She glared at me, and pushed me aside to get into the bathroom.
I wish I'd gone in after her, but I couldn't. Every part of my body felt as though i
t was super-glued to whatever it had been touching the moment she walked into th
at room; my feet glued to the floor, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Ev
en my blood seemed stuck inside me my palm had stopped dripping.
A minute later, I heard a desperate scream. Not a typical high-pitched-Hollywood
-girl-in-a-horror-movie scream, but a real, throaty scream from a terrified eigh
t year old girl. It hung in the air, thick with desperation. I found myself able
to move, and ran to get the nurse.
The girl was found in a crumpled heap on the floor, her head bleeding from a har
d impact with the hand dryer. The taps were on and the plug was in. There was wa
ter all over the floor. The nurse said she must have slipped on the water and fa
llen backwards. She'd fractured her skull, and broken a hip. I knew better.
I went to visit her in hospital while she was unconscious. I wanted to apologize
, to shout at her for not listening to me, to cry and hug her. A myriad of emoti
ons. In the end I just sat at the edge of her bed, trying not to make eye contac
t with her sobbing mother. I hated myself. It should have been me.
I walked myself home from the hospital, stomping in puddles as I had done that d
ay, before everything changed. I looked down into one, and swear I saw an old wo
man giggling to herself, before my foot splashed her into a thousand pale red dr
oplets.
Not everyone can pinpoint an exact period of time where their life changed forev
er, but this is mine. I have many more memories, but I think this will do for no
w.
The Most Terrifying and Unexplainable Experience of My Life
By Ewaf
I have been lurking nosleep for quite a while now. Reading the latest stories on
my laptop for a couple of hours before I (ironically) fall asleep has become so
me what of a daily routine for me. I now think it's time to make a contribution.
This is by far the most terrifying thing that has happened to me in my 22 years
of living. The main reason I haven't posted this sooner is because I try not to th
ink about it at all, and I don't have too much confidence in my writing skills. Ho
pefully I can overcome both those hurdles and instill the fear I felt that night
within you. I am not going to desperately ramble on about how true this story i
s, as I see that far too much in nosleep already, but I can assure you this is a
s true as it gets.
This all took place towards the end of my third and final year of university. Mo
st of my time was spent studying and working a couple of days a week at a local
games studio. I was balancing work and play well, and was set to graduate with a
t least a 2.1 which was fine for me. It seemed like the perfect end to the best
three years of my life, and it was a very happy period for me. Little did I know
, I was also going to experience the most unexplainable and deeply disturbing si
tuation I have been in.
I lived in a student house with five friends in an area that consisted almost en
tirely of student housing. It wasn't in the nicest part of town but it also wasn't i
n the worse, and all my friends lived within short walking distance. It was your
typical student digs, all the rooms apart from the kitchen and bathrooms were t
urned in to bedrooms of varying size. This was the second house we had lived in
together, and it was standard protocol to randomly assign the rooms to avoid any
arguing. I was lucky enough to snag a room with a small cornered off shower and
sink, the only down point was that it was at the front of the house by the busy
main road. It had a double bed, desk, wardrobe and a large bay window that went
almost to the ground. The bed was pushed up in the middle of this bay window, a
llowing more space in the center of the room. The top half of the window opened
up, which proved to be a life saver as the room got extremely hot during the sum
mer months as the sun shone on it for most of the day. DO NOT leave that window o
pen during the night!, were the words of my mother when she first saw the room. S
he grabbed my stack of post-it notes and wrote in big letters SHUT WINDOW!, and st
uck it right by the light switch. This proved to be useful as I often nearly for
got to shut it before going out to lectures and seminars.
After a night of proof reading my dissertation and watching a movie (Schindler's L
ist, I distinctly remember) I decided to hit the sack early. For me, going to be
d means brushing my teeth, turning my light off and browsing the net on my lapto
p for an hour or so, which is exactly what I did. I remember falling asleep pret
ty quickly, with my confidence in my uni work bolstered and a lot to look forwar
d too. For some weird reason, I dreamt of being in a densely wooded area at nigh
t with my friends. We were just trundling along, goofing around and everyone see
med to be walking with a purpose, as if we were traveling somewhere. I slipped o
ff a fallen tree and had gotten my ankle caught between the trunk and a thick br
anch. Looking up, I saw my friends hadn't noticed, and seemed to be running off in
to the thick darkness. The heavy feeling of panic surged through my chest, and I
desperately tried to free myself. The sound of a snapping branch pierced the ai
r making me jump and spin around. Instantly sensing the presence of someone or s
omething, I strained my eyes searching the darkness that seemed to be slowly eng
ulfing me. It was then that I saw it, a dark figure, stood a mere 10ft from wher
e I was trapped. It was definitely the figure of a human, but I couldn't make out
any facial features or clothing. Staring at it, I could sense that it possessed
a malicious intent.
Suddenly, a scraping noise brought me out of my slumber and I sat bolt right in
my bed. Thankful that the nightmare had ended, I laid back down and put the scra
ping noise down to a passerby outside. Glancing at my phone revealed that it was
5am, and I could feel a slight cold draft which wasn't unusual with my bed being
so closed to the bay window. I shut my eyes hoping I wouldn't experience another n
ightmare, and could tell it wouldn't take me long to get back to sleep. On the bri
nk of falling asleep, I became aware of a quiet scraping noise but couldn't pinpoi
nt where it was coming from. It sounded like someone very slowly scraping a ston
e along a wall. Looking up at the window above my head it suddenly dawned on me
that it was in fact coming from that area, more specifically, the sound of my cu
rtains being slowly pulled back. Terror washed over me and I instantly leapt up
to my feet. I stood frozen in fear, watching the gap in my curtains slowly growi
ng, until it was a foot or so wide. I HAD LEFT THE FUCKING WINDOW OPEN. Through
the darkness I could make out a figure leaning into my room through the window.
The macho side of me kicked in, and I shouted WHAT THE FUCK in my deepest manliest
voice. Expecting the unknown intruder to turn and bolt, I ran across the room t
o my light switch and flicked it on. To my sheer horror, a pasty white arm reach
ed and yanked the curtains open even more as if they were trying to climb in.
I ran out my room as fast as my macho side did, slamming the door behind me and
holding onto the handle. I screamed for my house mates at the top of my lungs, m
y friend Jake being the first to arrive at the scene as he was the next room alo
ng. THERE'S SOMEONE IN MY FUCKING ROOM! NO WORD OF A LIE THERE IS SOMEONE OR SOMETH
ING, IN MY MOTHERFUCKING ROOM! I shouted, the look on my face must of let Jake kn
ow straight away I wasn't fucking around. He started to say something before a hug
e bang on the other side of my door interrupted him. We both looked at it in she
er shock, a million different things running through my head. I looked down at t
he handle, my hand had gone white and I was still tightly gripping it. To my hor
ror, a jerk up my arm revealed that someone or something had gripped the other s
ide of the handle, and was trying to pull it open. I pulled with all my might, b
ut the door was still slowly opening, revealing an inch gap between the door and
the door frame I could see that my room was now totally pitch black, they must
of turned the lights off. Jake clamped his hands around mine, and I caught a loo
k of panic in his eyes. He was 6ft3 and built like a brick shithouse, there was
no way this door was coming open.
Although it felt like an eternity, the whole event had so far lasted less than a
minute. I could hear my 3 other housemates running down the stairs. What the fuc
k is going on. Sam proclaimed, a look of annoyance across his face. THERE'S SOMEONE
IN MY/MIKE'S FUCKING ROOM! me and Jake shouted back in unison. Call the police and a
ll of you get the fuck outside and make sure this bastard doesn't jump back out my
window. I ordered. As my room was at the front of a house, they were outside my
window in seconds and I could hear one of them on the phone. The pulling on the
door had stopped, and I imagined some dirty thief in a mad panic trying to figur
e out what to do.
A minute of silence passed, and my blood was still thick with adrenaline. I foun
d myself smiling at the absurdity of the situation. Mike, if this is a prank this
is not fucking funny, I have a lecture at 9am, Sam shouted from the front of the
house. I opened my mouth to reply but was interrupted by very loud smashing noi
se. Thinking the intruder had just smashed my window, Jake ran to the front of t
he house. What the hell was that? he asked, and from their responses I could tell
that this wasn't the case. It must of been my mirror! What an asshole! The police w
ill be here any minute, he is so screwed. I shouted down the hallway. This didn't s
eem to go down too well with whoever was inside my room. The sound of an unrelen
ting flurry of smashing, crashing and thumping started coming from inside my roo
m. WHAT THE FUCK!? I said to myself. HE'S TRASHING MY FUCKING ROOM!. For a student roo
m, it was pretty pimped out. I had dual monitors, high end gaming PC, PS3, Xbox
360 and tonnes of other stuff, and the thought of some low life smashing the pla
ce up truly boiled my blood. WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING?! I shouted to the front, m
y voice shaking with both fear and anger. The room is pitch black we can't see a th
ing! Jake relayed back to me.
The growing sound of sirens filled me with a huge sense of relief, and I prayed
that the patrol car was coming this way and not passing by. I could see blue lig
hts dancing off the houses across the street, and saw Sam running into the road
to flag them down. I could hear Jake frantically explaining what was going on, a
nd two police officers appeared at the front doorway, flashlights shining in my
face. The destructive noises were still coming from inside my room as I told the
officers that someone had climbed in my window while I slept. I realized I was
clinging onto my door handle for dear life and must of looked rather pathetic. R
egaining my composure and trying to hide my fear, one of the officers unclipped
his taser and placed his hand on the handle, the other one waiting outside by th
e window. I felt sick and light headed, probably from the potent mix of emotions
that I was experiencing. It sounds sad, that I prayed he hadn't smashed up gaming
PC. THIS IS THE POLICE, DROP ANY WEAPONS YOU MAY HAVE, PUT YOUR HANDS UP AGAINST
THE FAR WALL RIGHT WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM, bellowed the first officer, even I fou
nd his voice very intimidating. I don't remember exactly what he said, but I am gu
essing it was something along those lines. There was one more crash, as if the i
ntruder had dropped something he had in his hands. I pictured in my head my lapt
op falling to the ground, and anger once again replaced my fear.
Me and my housemates were crowded just behind the officer, eager to see justice
being served. He pushed the door open a crack, revealing that it was still pitch
black. Sliding his hand against the inside wall he flicked the switch on. The f
irst thing I noticed as he slowly opened the door was my posters had been ripped
down. The door was opened just enough for the officer to lean in, I saw him sca
n behind the door first and the rest of the room. What on earth? he said. There's a s
hower cubicle in the corner of my room! I shouted, wanting to warn him of a likel
y hiding place. He ventured into my room, and I heard the distinct sound of my s
hower curtain being pulled back. I cautiously followed him in, and what I saw ha
unts me to this day. The room was empty. It had been completely trashed, but it
was empty. I slowly looked around, my mind whirring madly trying to piece what h
ad just happened together. I don't...I.. was all I could manage to say at that point
. Ray did anything come your way? The officer yelled to his partner stood the othe
r side of my window. Of course, nothing had or we would of known pretty quickly.
Well lads, I don't know what your playing at but it's not funny and deserve a right
bollucking for wasting our time. He said, as he turned to face me. I...but...you h
eard the noises!? THERE WAS SOMEONE IN HERE! LOOK AT MY FUCKING ROOM! I pleaded,
rapidly trying to find a rationale explanation. I turned to my housemates, they
stood white faced in my doorway. I wondered if they thought I had pulled off som
e elaborate prank, but the look on their faces revealed they were just as bewild
ered as me. Seriously lads, grow up. The officer said as he left my room and heade
d for the front door, his partner throwing looks of disappointment our way. But..
I said, partly to myself as I stood dumbfounded in the hallway. The officer turn
ed one last time, and gave me a look I wont forget. I saw something in his eye,
knew it wasn't a prank, but it wasn't something he wanted to deal with or knew how t
o deal with.
Watching the patrol car slowly pull away down the road, I turned to my housemate
s who were peering into my room from the hallway, as if they were scared to ente
r. We didn't sleep that night. We sat in my friends bedroom (the one furthest from
mine), discussing the nights events and reeling off any explanation we could th
ink off. When morning came, no one really spoke about it anymore. I slept on the
sofa for the last few weeks, only venturing into my room to get studying materi
al and essentials. When moving out time came around after my exams, my dad drove
up and helped me move out/clean my room. I told him I left my window open one n
ight when I was out, and someone climbed in and realized my door was locked so c
ouldn't get any further into the house. He questioned why they smashed up my PC, m
onitors, laptop etc without stealing anything, but put it down to a lowlife look
ing for a kick.
I'm No Angel
By Mmmslash
It's 3:17 in the morning, and I leap from the bunk as the tone rings. To an outs
ider, they might just sound like a series of beeps, like a more elaborate form o
f Morse code, but to me, and to folks like me, it sounds as clear as if it were
announced over the loudspeaker. Two short beeps, one long, two fast. This is wha
t it sounds like when EMS Rig 6 is brought into service.
My shoes are on my feet before the tone even stops, and I am out the door prepar
ed in under half a minute. We don't need to inspect the rig to make sure we were
ready, we do it at the beginning and end of every shift. Lord forbid you arrive
on scene and find yourself without Oxygen, or airways. I'm in the passenger sea
t a full 15 seconds before my partner, Jonathan Torres, a man who always looks b
etter than he is. You have to give the man credit, it's admirable how he can hid
e himself behind hundred dollar sunglasses and hair gel.
We are pulling out of base as Dispatch comes over the radio. It's a trauma case,
and it sounds severe. An early 20's woman, signs of head trauma, likely altered
mental status. This was a major league deal. Most people think EMT's ride aroun
d in an ambulance all day, like some sort of angel in a blue coat. I'm no angel,
just a guy with a job. The fact is, most of what we do is just drive the elderl
y between hospitals and long-term care facilities. We're a taxi for the fucking
geriatric, by and large.
We're on scene long before ALS, and there's a black and white there to greet us.
Torres must know the guy, since they give each other a friendly nod and quick,
informal greeting. The officer tells us that they were called to the scene of a
bleeding, incoherent woman. They suspect drug use. I glance over, my hand tighte
ning on the green bag in my palm. It weighs maybe 40 pounds, and has everything
in it that you could ever hope to need in case of an emergency, most of which go
es unused for practically everything.
We approach the woman, and I'm a little taken aback. She's beautiful, even with
the dried, caked blood holding her blonde hair to her forehead. I feel empathy,
something as an EMT, I'm usually completely desensitized to. She's younger than
the reports, maybe 16, if that, and is very apparently nude beneath the fire bla
nket the officer must have draped around her shoulders. She clings to it. For th
e briefest of moments, I am jealous of a piece of flame-retardant wool.
All she says is that "he almost got her", and that she is terrified and needs to
go. We try to assure her that she is safe, and we'll get her going in just a mo
ment. A focused examination of her head reveals discoloration behind the ears, o
ften common with sudden, swift blunt force trauma. Her eyes are banded like a su
perhero's domino mask, not unlike a raccoon. I'm a little amazed that she doesn'
t have brains leaking out of her skull at this point. It's a fucking miracle tha
t she's not dead, much less walking and talking.
ALS arrives shortly after, and label her as an unstable patient (due to the alte
red mental status more than the bashed in head, admittedly), and decide to trans
port her to St. Francis, the closest trauma center with any kind of cranial spec
ialization. And just like that, the miracle woman, the beautiful, nubile girl wi
th a mysterious past is out of my life as soon as she stumbled in.
I'd like to tell you that I let sleeping dogs lie, but I just couldn't. This gir
l stayed in my brain, infecting me, affecting me. I laid down my head, and I dre
am of her. I answer calls and I hope they're her. I let this go on for a week an
d a half, until I can't keep up anymore. As I go to load a patient, I drop my en
d of the stretcher. Torres yells at me. I don't hear a thing.
That night, I drive to St. Francis.
It's 5:30 in the morning when I arrive, entering through the emergency admittanc
e entrance. The code for the door is *911, as unimaginative as that is. I work m
y way past nurses and Doctors I know well, citing a need to pick up a Billing Fo
rm I had forgotten. They all nod and give me a knowing smile. These things happe
n. Accidents happen.
I find her room easily enough, somehow drawn to it. She's not in the ICU anymore
, just resting in a bed. She looks so bored, so tired of this hospital. I can re
late, I tell her. Sometimes I wish I could just get away. I ask her if she wants
to leave, and of course she does, but she's afraid her parents will be upset wi
th her. I tell her they never have to know.
She smiles. Today I am a hero.
I wheel her out in a stretcher. I make sure to time it as soon as the morning ch
arge nurse is away from her station. Dahlia, as I learned her name, pretends to
be asleep and motionless. She's so smart, too. Once we're in the elevator, we're
in the clear. People just assume I am transferring her. It's funny how easily y
ou trust a man in a convincing uniform. Briefly, I'm terrified to think of what
I could get away with if I had a fake badge.
We're to my house before long, and Dahlia sleeps the entire way in the car. I un
derstand, it gets so exhausting in a hospital. How is a person supposed to rest
with all of those people, constantly shuffling in and out, all of the pills they
give you "for your own good". What a joke.
I carry her across my doorstep like my bride. She's wake now, and she thinks it'
s adorable. She's practically screaming with happiness at this point, and I'm on
ce again glad I live in such a remote area. It's a half mile of forest and inter
state between myself and the city itself, so the privacy is always abundant. Fai
ntly, we can hear voices below us, in the basement. I sigh softly, reminding mys
elf to make sure I turn off the television before I leave my rec room.
I take Dahlia to bed, as any man does with his new bride, and I love her patient
ly. She's hesitant at first, but some reassurance is all it takes before she ben
ds to my will, much to her benefit. She's so appreciative of how slow we take it
, how I respect her virginity and take it with the most delicate of touches. She
cries with joy, now, and I smile. I carry her to the family room below, and the
voices greet us more urgently this time. I remind Dahlia not to be so forgetful
as me, and that she should always remember to turn off the TV before leaving th
e house. I apologize for not setting a better impression, and I tell her I'll sh
ow her to her room again before I take care of it.
We walk down a long hallway, lined with doors on each side, until we come to the
end with a more ornate door than the others. There's a small, circular window i
n it, similar to a porthole, and you can see her beautiful room. There is a shel
f with beautiful dolls for her, and a wardrobe full of clothes. I tell her it's
all for her, and that I'll never let anyone hurt her again. I lay her in her bed
, and she rolls over, crying with happiness once more. It must feel good to be t
his loved.
I leave her room, quietly locking it behind me so as I may not disturb her. She'
ll be safe here. As I walk back to the family room, the screaming finally comes
to me, from behind the doors. Faces of other brides stare back at me, faces twis
ted with jealousy and envy. They know how much I will love Dhalia, and they're u
ngrateful for all I've given them. I shake my head slowly. They'll have to be pu
nished for such impudence. A better man might be more understanding, but, after
all, I'm no angel.
Jesus Camp
By Marisunday
I was raised Evangelical. Miraculous healing, speaking in tongues, God's voice s
peaking through people, Jesus Camps, and Christian School. Yep. Christian School
. My. Whole. Life. These were all realities to me- and my faith never wavered. Y
ou know what? That is a lie, and I can not write that in good faith... no pun in
tended. My beliefs were always called into question. Even from my early days in
Sunday School learning about how Moses parted the Red Sea and then let it crash
down on his former captors, or Noah watched as everyone except his own children
died by drowning.
A lot of things didn't make sense to me. A lot. Why was God so mean and vindicti
ve? Why would he send plague after plague to the followers of a man who was bein
g contradictory? Why would he kill an entire city, and turn a woman into a pilla
r of salt just for looking back? Why should I be scared of him now? I have never
seen him, or heard him. Angels never moved a stone aside for me so I could insp
ect an empty grave, so to speak. I never got to inspect the hands and feet of Ch
rist after the crucifixion on Golgotha. To me, he sounded more like the boogeyma
n than a friend.
So my faith wavered. And it did so continually from before I can remember, until
9th grade "Jesus Camp".
Camp was set up in the Mountains surrounding Chico, CA. It is rocky, and densely
packed with trees of all kinds. The first thing you see when the bus pulls in,
is this very old, Victorian style hotel. I knew this hotel well, because I had b
een sent to both years of Jr. High summer camp, and it was held in the same plac
e.
When you first walk into the hotel, there is a giant lobby made of all oak. Ever
ything is polished and looking brand new. Much more like a modern hotel or cabin
. Off to the left, there is a bookstore. You could buy anything Christian-niche
there. The year before last my best friend Matt had bought me a little pin that
said "My best friend is a carpenter", which was meant as a play on words by him.
.. because Christ is a carpenter, and my Father was as well.
There was also a large fire place, with many couches around it, and off to the r
ight was entry into the cafeteria and music rooms. Right in the middle of all of
it was a giant staircase which led up to the dorms. Boys took the left tier to
their rooms, and girls took the right tier. Matt and I always wanted to be able
to stay in the same room, but never even bothered asking. It was Christian Bible
camp. Even if our own parents had been letting us have sleepovers since we were
in diapers, that didn't mean a Christian Bible Camp would let a boy and girl bu
nk together. Something unheard of and sinful could happen, like cuddling. Or wor
se- kissing. Big time sin.
I remember my 9th grade summer camp year, I was at this particular phase in my c
ontinual rebellion where I had decided to completely mimic Cyndi Lauper, whom ha
dn't been popular for almost 15 years. I had short spiky pink and purple and blu
e hair, wore ripped up fish nets over multicolored stockings, combat boots, and
chic old lady dresses from the thrift store. Matt had similar tastes, save the d
resses. With blue hair, buddy holly glasses, and always in a black hoodie, peopl
e did tend to think we were a couple. We always laughed at that. We shared hair
dye, not bodily fluids.
Every year to date I had been stuck in the same dorm room with Christina Bean. I
theorize that this is because we were both loners among the other girls. My bes
t friend was a boy and I dressed like the 80's, and she was really, really fucki
ng strange. But I sorta dug strange, and despite the customary eye roll when I f
ound out whom my bunk mate would be for the month of Jesus fun- I still looked f
orward to finding out her strange habits and talking with her some.
Camp was comprised of many Churches sending their youth together- so literally t
here would be hundreds of kids there. Christina came from a small Church somewhe
re in Arizona, and she was the only one in her youth group that they ever sent.
I don't know if it was because she was the only one who could come, or because s
he was the only young person at her church. I never bothered to ask. My group al
ways brought about 60 kids, and everyone knew each other- so Christina would cli
ng to me every year. Like white on ri... you get the picture. I hate that saying
.
So usually as a group, Matt, Christina and I would make our way to morning worsh
ip, at the Chapel, down a little path, past the rec center, and a little set bac
k among the trees. It was together we would take our place in the lunch line, an
d together we would sign up for hikes. Matt did not care for Christina in the le
ast, but he was a good little Christian guy, and put up with her for my sake.
After several days of camp, we had all set into our rituals, and were ready for
the coming month. Matt and Christina and I had signed up for a hike that went to
Mushroom Rock. I don't think it was actually called that, its just, everyone el
se called it that because from a distance, it looked just like the fungi. I had
never been up there before, because I much preferred swimming or playing ping po
ng to trudging up the side of a rocky mountain to sit at the base of "the Mushro
om". But Christina really wanted to do it, so Matt and I tagged along.
I questioned her motive for wanting to go... it was an overcast and drearily fog
gy day, and we would not even be able to see the valley or the ridge of the Moun
tains across the way. But, Christina said it would be an adventure, and she was
weird so I went with it.
Our Counselor Amanda chaperoned the walk. I could tell she wanted to stay and lo
ok at the Counselor dudes swim, but she was preforming her duties none the less.
She quietly and quickly led the hike.
To be honest, the hike was nice. It was about 30 minutes up, with lots of intere
sting flowers and bugs to inspect. I tend to nope away from all things spider, b
ut at the same time, am completely morbidly fascinated by them. Everything was p
retty dreary, but in a really beautiful way. The state flower had a way of shini
ng its brightest orange despite the grey. I would have picked one to go with my
pink spiky motif if it weren't illegal to free the state flower. (Who made that
crap up anyway?) It was brisk, and foggy yes- but warm enough to break a sweat-
and with the light breeze, the sweating didn't suck so bad. It cooled the skin p
erfectly.
Finally, we got to our destination, the bottom of the Mushroom. Matt and I plopp
ed down, and stared up at the rock formation above our heads- the cap of the Mus
hroom. We started talking about different Christian Ska and Punk bands. Was MxPx
better than Five Iron Frenzy? What about The W's?
Christina was speaking with Amanda a short ways away in a hushed tone. Amanda lo
oked sick, and after a few minutes, she turned and jogged down the pathway that
led back to camp. This would never fly- we were not supposed to be alone up here
. We could get into trouble- and so could Amanda. But like holy hell- I was not
going to go jogging down to get her after the hike up here wore me out so bad.
When Christina came and sat down, Matt asked her what had happened.
"I told Amanda that I saw some Counselor she is into making out with another gir
l behind the Chapel. And, that I thought the other girl might be a camper, not a
Counselor." She giggled.
Matt sat up with a bolt- and I could tell he was bothered, because he like, neve
r cussed. "Why the fuck would you do that Christina?"
She smirked. She... liked that he didn't like her. "I wanted to be alone with yo
u two. I need your help with something." She pulled her backpack around to the f
ront of her, and began taking out weird objects. Something furry, something dark
red, something that looked like a misshapen stick, a cross...
When she pulled out the star inside of a circle- Matt went white as a sheet. I'm
willing to wager I did too.
"Christina, why did you bring this stuff... and a pentagram up here?" I asked he
r.
She explained, that the Pentagram is misunderstood. It is not a sign of Satanism
, it is a sign of Heaven on Earth, and the flow of knowledge and power from Heav
en to Earth. She told us that it was ok to be skeptical, but not ok to be scared
. She was going to free all three of us from our bonds. She put all her weird sh
it in some sort of order, and started reading from a book in Latin. Matt and I..
. just sat there and stared at her. What could we do? I mean, we could just leav
e her there, but then we would get in more trouble. We weren't allowed to split
up and leave someone behind. Plus, I mean... have you ever heard the saying "Lik
e watching a train wreck"? It was sort of like that. We couldn't look away. Some
thing held us there.
Eventually she finished her little chant, closed the book, and packed away all h
er things. Without even looking at us, she got up, and began her descent down th
e hill. Matt and I exchanged a scared look and followed her back down. At some p
oint he took my hand. My first time holding hands with a boy should have been sw
eet and romantic, but we were doing it for other reasons. We were both really sc
ared. Later we would share with one another that we each could feel something be
hind us, following us down that hill. But we were too scared, or proud, or whate
ver to look. We just held hands and followed Christina back to Camp.
I had a very hard time falling asleep that night. One, I kept thinking of Matt,
and the hand holding. Did I like him? I mean, no. No way. Weird. Ew. I had liter
ally never thought of him like that- except somewhere between 5-6 when I would m
ake him play house- and ironically, he was always the woman, and I was the bread
winner. He didn't seem to mind playing wife, and quite frankly, I thought he mig
ht be gay. Even though it was a sin. But he was cute, and he did have those pier
cing blue eyes...
Then there was that other shit. What the hell was this girls problem? Why would
she lie to Amanda like that? Why would she make us sit there while she pulled ou
t all her weird Satan crap? I mean... ok, do that shit at home. But at a Christi
an Camp? Just this morning we were hand in hand praying for that crippled kid to
stand up and walk, in Jesus name and all that. Eventually, I dozed, feeling bot
h a little excited for what lie around the corner with Matt, and a little scared
, for what lie in the bed across from mine.
Around 3:30, I heard a loud bang. No. I didn't just hear it, I felt it. Like it
was coming from inside of me, or from all around me. I must have shook, but I di
dn't open my eyes just yet. I was trembling in fear, instantly. After what seeme
d like forever, I could hear heavy panting coming from Christina's side of the r
oom. I willed myself to open my eyes, but wished I hadn't immediately.
Christina had gotten out of bed, and was on the floor. Only, it was a hand stand
. She was doing a fucking hand stand, without falling. She was perfectly still.
There was no swaying, or lack of balance. She was stiff like a fucking pole. As
if she was standing. As if she was just meant to be this way. I flicked on the l
amp light, next to the bed.
Right as I did, she started to piss herself. And, it was weird, because I could
hear it, as well as see it. It sounded like a squirt gun. Since she was upside d
own, it started to run up her crotch, up her stomach, and to her face. I watched
its descent. She. She was smiling. At. Me.
My legs felt like jello. For a moment I almost relaxed because I thought. "Ok, I
can't run and I can't scream. It's a dream". But usually when I have that thoug
ht in a dream, I start floating instantly, so I knew it was real. (Yes, my mind
really does work that way.)
As she continued to piss herself and smile up at me, the pee began to run into h
er mouth, nose, eyes and hair. It was just starting to pool in her hair, around
her head on the floorboards. I willed each step to happen. I made myself peel my
eyes away from that horrible piss filled smile. When I reached the door, she gu
rgled my name. It sounded like two people speaking from a mile away, but also in
side of my head.
"Rachel".
I ran. I didn't know where to go. I was more disoriented from sleep than I thoug
ht I was. I thought for a moment about running to Matt's room... and while I kne
w where the window was, I wasn't sure which room belonged to him because I wasn'
t allowed over there. So I made due with the floor supervisor, which happened to
be Amanda.
I knocked on the door. I could hear the scuffle of sheets, some quiet mumbling,
and not soon enough, the shuffle of slippered feet to the door. Ugh, the bitch l
ooked stunning even when she was mostly asleep.
Her eyes immediately narrowed at the sight of me. "Nice prank today kiddo. What
is this about?"
She seemed to be mad, but I think the look of terror on my face might have helpe
d my case slightly, because she seemed to soften up as I started talking. "Um, M
anda, I'm sorry... that wasn't me... I um, I'm pretty scared, Christina is actin
g really weird... and she peed herself."
"What do you mean, "weird"?
"Can you just come with me and look? I... I don't... please? Just come over and
see?"
Without another word, she shut the door behind herself, and I followed her back
to my dorm. The light was off- which was strange, because I had left it on. Aman
da flicked on the overhead lights.
Christina was in bed, clearly asleep. She sat up squinting, and rubbing sleep fr
om her eyes. She was dry. Her hair was dry. Her jammies. Dry. What the actual fu
ck was going on?
Amanda asked Christina bluntly if she had peed the bed. Christina responded sayi
ng that this was a stupid way to repay her for her little joke on the hill and l
ied back down. Amanda shot me a look of sincere contempt and ordered me back int
o bed. I put forth little protest- I didn't want to explain what happened in fro
nt of Christina. Quite frankly, I didn't want to explain it at all. It must have
just been a dream. It had to be. Only, I don't remember waking up after the pis
s-in-mouth-handstand, I remembered waking up before it. But I brushed it aside.
It was a dream.
As I dosed off, I could hear that strange giggle I heard earlier at Mushroom Roc
k after Christina's little "prank". I willed myself to sleep despite my racing m
ind, for the second time that night.
The next day at breakfast, Matt was nowhere to be found. He wasn't at Chapel or
games either. I didn't see him until lunch. Christina on the other hand, was mor
e attached than ever. Talking up a storm as though nothing had changed. Her blow
dryer wasn't working. Jesus was really amazing wasn't he? Isn't is great to be
out in nature with God and his creations? She's been thinking of taking on aspec
ts of my style. She likes the ripped tights look. Maybe with Chucks instead of b
oots.
When I saw Matt sitting alone at lunch, I looked over at Christina and told her
I wanted to talk to Matt. She said that was a good idea, because we hadn't seen
him all day.
"No, I mean, I think he and I should talk... alone."
The briefest look of hatred crossed her face, but then she smiled. "Ah, yes, the
hand holding incident on the hike. Tsktsk. This is camp, not a porno, but I wil
l leave you to it." She set down her lunch uneaten, and sauntered away.
I looked at her for a good minute as she walked off. I realized my mouth was han
ging open, so I shut it. What the hell would possess her to say something like t
hat? Firstly because, he was my best friend, and it should be perfectly acceptab
le if I wanted to have a private conversation with him. Secondly because- while
I was quite virginal and prudish at fourteen, I was certainly not an idiot, and
I knew that holding someone's hand was significantly different than videotaping
someone getting slammed. I pushed my growing anger down as I turned and walked o
ver to Matt and took my seat.
He looked sullen, he sounded down-right depressed. "What was that all about?"
"Trust me, you don't want to know. And, even if you did, I would not be sure wha
t to tell you."
He shook his head like that was a perfectly reasonable response. He was a very p
erceptive kid. "I had really bad nightmares last night. Like, really bad."
I must have startled him, because I looked up quickly, and he spilled some of hi
s drink. "Me too Matt. I had some weird creepy dreams. What was yours?"
"I was hiking alone at night, and I went down behind the Chapel. I started walki
ng down the path, to get out to the clearing, and when I got there, you were the
re and uh..." He turned bright red.
I shifted. I felt uncomfortable, and a little excited. He dreamed of me. "It's o
k, just tell me."
"Ok, well I don't want you to think it was my fault because it wasn't. I mean, i
t was, but it wasn't. It wasn't like, perverted. I mean, on my part. I didn't. U
gh. Ok, the thing is, in the dream, you were naked."
My eyes went wide. I didn't expect to hear that. "Oh."
"No, Rach, listen. It wasn't like. Ugh, you were laying on this wooden table, an
d you were strapped down, and Christina was standing at the head of the table, l
ooking at me. Like, summoning me."
I guess I must have been beet red too, because that is where he stopped explaini
ng the dream. When I finally looked up at him, he just looked so beaten. The poo
r guy had a nightmare, and I was making him feel badly because of it. I reached
out to him, and he took my hand instantly. It was cold and clammy, but it felt s
afe.
"It's ok Matt, everyone has those sorts of dreams. I mean, I have had like at le
ast 18 dreams where you are naked."
He looked startled. "Is that true?"
"Not at all." We both burst out into laughter. It felt good to laugh, like it wa
s foreign... it must have been forever since I had last laughed. But that couldn
't be true. I tried to think- but it was useless. I had no idea. When we were bo
th able to get our bearings, he asked the next question.
"What was your dream about?"
"Well, it was about Christina. I dreamed she was doing a handstand, and peeing a
ll over her face." We both burst out laughing again. And again, it felt good, an
d foreign. When it settled down, I continued. "What was weird though, was I coul
d swear it really happened. I ran to Manda, and woke her up. But when we got bac
k to the room, Christina was dry. Like it had never happened, so I thought it mu
st be a dream."
All of the red in Matt's face gave way to the pale white of fear. "That's the pa
rt I didn't tell you Rach. When I woke up, I was behind the Chapel. In the clear
ing. I guess I... sleep walked."
After lunch, Matt and I decided to go sit by the fire place listen to one of the
Counselor guys everyone called Topher play the guitar. We thought it would be a
good way to unwind. Matt asked me if we could take a break from Christina. It u
sed to be that he just thought she was annoying. Now he was a little freaked out
by her. I reluctantly agreed. I didn't much like her anymore either, but it wou
ld be hard for me to avoid her since I was rooming with her. It would be awkward
, yes. But camp would be over in three weeks, and we would go home, and never ha
ve to deal with it again. Next year I could just put in a request not to room wi
th her. No prob.
That night, I decided to bite the bullet and just tell Christina that what she d
id up at Mushroom rock wasn't cool. Telling Amanda that lie about the guy she wa
s digging wasn't cool, and the comment about Matt and I being in a porno togethe
r- way not cool. I felt I handled it pretty well, and was as nice and tactful as
anyone could be given the situation. Actually... you know what? That isn't enti
rely true. I was pretty upset. So, I guess I could have been a little nicer. But
I wouldn't say I was mean about it. I would say I was matter of fact.
At the end of the conversation, I told her that I didn't think the three of us s
hould hang out anymore. I told her I didn't mind being around her in the dorm, a
nd I wouldn't ask for a room transfer, but during activities and stuff, from now
on it would just be Matt and I. To be honest, after her display in the cafeteri
a, I was scared that she was going to be super mad. But, she seemed to take it p
retty well. She didn't try to argue her way out of it, and she said she understo
od. That was that.
That night I dreamed that I was strapped to a table in the clearing behind the c
hapel. Leather bound my arms above my head, and held my legs in a spread eagle p
osition. Christina stood above me, and she was also naked. Her breasts turned me
on. The way her nipples were so hard, as she looked down at me between them, an
d then up to the sky. I was scared, but I wanted this. Whatever was going to hap
pen. I needed it. I could tell Matt was coming, because Christina kept saying hi
s and my name in her chant. The thought of him made my crotch vibrate, like it h
ad it's own heartbeat. I looked up at Christina again, and her face had turned i
nto a skeleton. It was black, and crackled. Her beady little eyes had sunken in
even further. She opened her mouth a little to wide, and a thin blood red tongue
shot out, dancing it's way towards my face. I couldn't scream. I couldn't run.
I couldn't even float away like in other dreams. I awoke as Matt approached the
table, with his penis erect before him.
I woke up to Amanda and Christina standing over me. I had pissed myself. It was
3:30 in the morning.
"Get up and get in the shower right now. I can't believe you two. I can't deal w
ith this." Amanda was apparently also 'pissed' at having to be woken up again in
the middle of the night. I dejectedly got up without saying a word, went into t
he bathroom, stripped down, and got in the shower.
There was so much shame to the dream. I woke up feeling embarrassed, and as thou
gh I legitimately sinned. I can't express in words how new, and awful this was.
I felt shattered.
As I cleaned myself in the shower, I could hear bits and pieces of what Christin
a was saying to Amanda. "Touching herself... actually like, moaning... turned on
the... tried to wake her..." I was too ashamed to protest. Maybe I was doing th
ose things. I didn't know. This wasn't even fair, because I had never touched my
self in that way. Devastated. Maybe there are words for how I felt after all.
When I was done, Amanda was gone, and Christina was just sitting in bed with a s
mug smirk on her face. She watched my walk of shame to the bed, and turned off t
he lamp as I laid down. I cried myself to sleep.
The next day when I saw Matt in the breakfast line, I was too ashamed to talk to
him. I grabbed a banana, and decided to walk out to the clearing behind the Cha
pel, just to check it out and sort of psyche myself back into reality. I hadn't
been out here since the summer of 7th grade. It just held no appeal to me. It wa
s a little opening, with a ring of redwood trees, a fire pit in the middle with
a ring of stumps. Lot's of dirt, not much to look at.
I plopped down on one of the stumps facing back towards camp. I peeled the banan
a, and took a bite. Then, for the first of many times, I realized that this was
a somewhat phallic object, and I was eating it. No less, in the place where my d
ream had happened. I lost my appetite, and threw the banana in the fireplace, wh
en something caught my eye. I got up and walked over to the fire pit. Inside, th
e burnt remains of the wood were in the shape of a pentagram. I knew Christina h
ad been there, which made me want to leave. I ran. No, I sprinted. My plan was t
o go all the way back to the dorm and lie down.
Half way there I was running around the corner of the rec room, and literally pl
owed into Matt. We got up without looking at one another, or helping each other,
which was strange for us. We both obviously were feeling embarrassed. As he sta
mmered to his feet he said "Uh, I think we need to talk."
We went to the playground. Offset behind the hotel, it was a total 70's throwbac
k, complete with a carousel. We sat on it side by side and spun ourselves with o
ur feet. We sat like that quietly for about fifteen minutes before one of us had
the courage to say anything. It was Matt.
"I had the dream again."
"Me too. I had the same dream as you. I was on a table."
This didn't seem off to him. We sat quietly for another couple minutes.
"I really like you a lot, and I don't want whatever weirdness is happening to ru
in our friendship, or whatever else." He stopped the carousel with his feet and
looked at me. I couldn't look back.
"Yeah, I don't want anything to pull us apart either. I love you." You might thi
nk this is a big thing, to say to your best friend, and possible crush- but we h
ad been expressing love to each other since we were little.
"I love you too." He started moving his feet again. And we just sat like that, g
oing round and round.
During the course of the next week, not a lot happened that needs too much dragg
ing out. You should know that the dreams continued for both Matt and I, and cont
inued to heighten in extremity, until he and I were having intercourse. I didn't
pee myself again, but I woke up in a cold sweat every morning, scared to death.
I became scared of sleeping because I didn't want to have that dirty horrible n
ightmare.
Matt and I remained inseparable, and steered clear of Christina. However, everyw
here we seemed to go, she would stare at us. When we were in the dining hall eat
ing, she was somewhere across the way, staring. When we went to Chapel for servi
ce, she was somewhere... staring. If we were walking or going to the rec room fo
r ping pong, she would watch our every move from where ever she was. It became r
eally eerie.
Also, a few days after the peeing myself incident, I had to have a heart to hear
t with a pastor about self pleasure, and why it was a sin. He asked me if I was
sexually active, and if I liked the way orgasms felt. At the time I thought he w
as just concerned for me, and my sins, but now I know better. Dude wanted to sav
e my stories to his masturbation file. I didn't tell him about the dreams.
At night, as I fell asleep, I could hear Christina's chanting. I wanted to tell
her to stick her voodoo crap up her you know what- but I was scared. After the l
ast time I confronted her, forget it. Maybe I would wake up this time pooping on
the floor or something. Who knows.
Then one morning, I woke up at 3:30 am, to Christina's horrible giggles. I had h
ad it. I flicked on the lamp... but the room was empty. The giggles dissipated a
s the light filled the room. I walked into the bathroom to get some water, and I
lucked out. I glanced up into the mirror. She had drawn a fucking pentagram ont
o my forehead. I flipped. I tried to wash it off, but she must have done it in s
harpie. The best I could do was to fade it slightly, but it was still clear what
it was. If I went anywhere in camp with this on my head they would send me stra
ight home without a second thought.
I was going to confront that evil bitch, whatever the consequence. But she never
came back to the room. In the morning I donned a beanie, and set out to look fo
r her where I thought she would be. The clearing behind the chapel. When I got t
here, Matt was already in the clearing, staring into the woods.
He too, was wearing a beanie... and I didn't even have to ask. Somehow she had g
otten to him and put the pentagram on him as well. That's why he was here lookin
g for her. Well, even better. We could confront her together. But she wasn't the
re.
What was there were several dead animals, surrounding a 5 point star on the grou
nd. She had placed them in lewd scenes. A dead fox with it's brains spilled out
putting it's penis inside the mouth of a dead squirrel who had shit his own inte
stines. A dog with what looked like its own poop in it's mouth. A male and femal
e buck in the 69 position, with their guts intermixed. There were some others, b
ut those are the ones that stuck with me.
Matt turned his head, bent over and started to heave. Hearing him puke turned my
stomach, and I did the same. While I was lurching the leftovers of last nights
dinner, I heard the gurgling voice again. The one that called my came as I ran f
rom the room when Christina was pissing into her mouth. So. It wasn't a dream.
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. I could hear it in my head, and from
all around me. It was as though the voice occupied the same space as every part
icle of air. I could breathe it in. I could taste it.
"Step into the circle."
Matt snapped up. He heard it too, thank God. Christina came out of the forest Sh
e was completely naked. And... I know this seems impossible, and if you were wit
h me to this point- I might lose you here, but I swear to God. No, I swear on my
own life. On Matt's life. She... had changed. Her arms were longer and thinner.
Her fingers were longer, like claws. She was very very skinny, and I could see
every bone. Her clavicles looked like diving boards sticking out of her neck and
shoulders. She was covered in black dirt, and dried blood. Her face was sallow,
and sunken in. Her eyes bulged too large.
I could smell her from where I was. It was sulfur and rotten meat. It was disgus
ting and sweet at the same time. The smell mixed with the already putrid taste i
n my mouth, and made me start to heave again.
Christina raised her line of vision skyward, and opened her mouth. Too wide. Eas
ily 3 times as wide as any human should be able to open their mouth. A long, sna
kelike tongue began to climb out, slither around. She reached up with her blood
incrusted claw like fingers, and began to massage her breast and vagina. Her hea
d snapped back towards us.
Matt grabbed my hand and pulled me one step backwards. Then another. He was savi
ng me. Every step we put between ourselves and this creature felt a little bette
r... but as long as it was looking at us like that, touching itself I couldn't m
ake myself run. So Matt was doing it for me.
Suddenly, the creature got on all fours, like it was going to spring at us.
"RACHEL. RUN." He never let go of my hand, despite that he could have. He could
have gotten away faster, but he wouldn't let go.
He dragged me behind him while I sobbed and ran as fast as I could. I wanted to
make him happy. I wanted to be the one saving him. I could feel the thing behind
us. I was reminded of that walk up to Mushroom Rock. Closer. We couldn't outrun
it. We would never make it back to camp in time I could feel it. Breathing on m
y neck. Right behind me. I felt it's tongue tickle my ear.
Most shockingly, I could hear all the evil things it wanted me to do. It whisper
ed of ecstasy, and knowledge greater than my own. It told a story of immediate g
ratification. I didn't know if Matt could hear... but neither of us wanted these
things. We wanted our innocence We wanted to choose.
As a claw swiped at my back and tore my dress, we made it to the clearing. We we
re panting, and kids in the quad area stopped what they were doing and looked. I
guess we must have been quite a spectacle We both spun around, and saw the bony
black back disappear back into the shadowy cover of the woods. We embraced thro
ugh our sobs. We sat there in that embrace for what seemed like forever. It felt
so good. To be held. After all of it.
Eventually the Counselors came over and asked us to explain what was going on. W
hen we couldn't, we were led into one of the main Pastor's office.
Now usually, in stories, or movies- the people try to keep everything to themsel
ves because they know that people won't believe them. But, this was Jesus camp.
We spilled our guts. We told him everything... except for the part about the sex
in the dreams. That was too embarrassing for both of us.
Eventually, the Pastor picked a group of the stronger Counselor guys, and a few
Pastor types to go out into the woods and look for Christina. They found her abo
ut two hours later. She had hung herself in a tree. I don't know the details of
what she looked like, but if she looked demonic, I am willing to guess we would
have heard that.
She had killed herself.
The camp was abuzz. There were a million cops that came, ambulances. Special the
rapists came as well, to make sure we weren't traumatized, and maybe because the
re was some cult things involved.
I was questioned by two sort of mean police officers for hours. They totally ins
inuated it was my fault she died because I didn't want to hang out with her. The
y said that she was just a confused kid, mixed up in some cult shit- which wasn'
t too different from what I was mixed up in. After quite a few tears, the Pastor
who was supervising my interview told them it was enough. I was excused.
They placed her time of death sometime around 3 am. Which meant, that whatever t
hat thing was that looked like her, was not her. When the police and pastors sea
rched her things, they found her pentagrams, and her occult books. They also fou
nd the dead animals behind the chapel. There was no suicide note.
Needless to say, camp was canceled We were sent home. On the bus ride, Matt held
me while I cried. He kissed the tears off of my cheeks.
It has been 15 years since that incident up in Chico, and I honestly think about
it every single day. In a very strange way, I am happy that it happened, becaus
e it restored my constantly wavering faith. If there is evil in the world, daemo
ns and spirits. There must be good. There must be God. You might have your own b
eliefs- I know there are a lot of Atheists on this site, and that is fine. But f
or me, I know. I have looked into the face of evil, and have therefor met with G
od.
Matt and I ended up getting married... to other people. I have children of my ow
n now, and so does he. His wife and I get together for shopping sometimes. Matt
and my husband share a love of Texan Hold Em. Our kids sometimes play together.
I am overall very pleased with the way things turned out. Except for...
Every summer when it starts to get warm, Christina visits me. I wake up because
it sounds like someone is peeing on the floor, and I will swing my feet off the
bed and step in warm liquid. I will hear her laughter, as I flick on the light a
nd see that my feet are dry. Her fleeting giggle, that slowly quiets as the ligh
ts come on. And, the dreams.
I still dream of fucking Matt while that beast watches. But I tell God to make i
t stop, and he does.