By Chef IndigoAnnon
We all understand that seeing, is believing. The thing we don’t understand is what happens when you reach past the point of believing, and start knowing. It can be terrifying, because that’s when you realize that they see you too.
This is a true story.
I was as 17 when we moved into the third floor of an old, shitty apartment building in an old, shitty apartment complex. The only saving grace to this “community”, was that it was surrounded by green grass and tall trees.
A few weeks after we moved in, I noticed that certain objects weren’t where I had originally put them. They would show up hours or even days later. One day it would be my keys, the next day it was my wallet or phone. Once, I even found a small stuffed animal inside of the toilet tank (it was causing the tank to backup, so I looked under the lid) in hindsight, I see it now as a warning. These items would constantly go missing and it would frustrate me beyond reason. It caused me to be late, to miss appointments, it even caused a lot of stress between me and my younger brother, whom I started to believe was behind all of the disappearances.
Things got much worse when the nightmares started.
Before bed, I would always close the closet door and switch on some sort of night-light. Ever since I was a small child, I would never sleep in the dark. It always felt like something lived in the dark and the light was its captor. But nothing had happened to me in a few years so when the nightmares started, I assumed that it was just an ordinary thing. Everyone has a nightmare once in a while. However, these nightmares were different. They were so lucid and graphic that I would wake up screaming, in a different room or even outside. I’ve never had a problem with sleep-walking, but these dreams were having a physical effect on my body.
So, with the stress of a new move, things disappearing and lack of sleep, it was safe to say that I was “on edge” most of the time; but then again, so was the rest of my family. It seemed we were all ready to be at one another’s throats at the drop of a pin. It got so bad that it became physically violent between my mother and I. I love my mother, but I will never forget that fight. Without going into too much detail, It ended up with her on top of me with her hands wrapped around my throat. Once she realized what was happening, she burst into tears and ran into her room leaving me on the floor wondering how this all could have escalated over something as trivial as a tape dispenser. Later she apologized and told me that she didn’t know what she was doing until she “snapped out of it”. Little did I know, this was just the beginning.
I had a small, powder white, maltipoo named Bleach. She was an incredibly sweet and affectionate dog who loved everyone. I kept her in my room when I was in school or at work. She had her crate, bed and toys in there so she was pretty content until I got home. One night I opened the door to my room and I see Bleach in the corner, shivering. As soon as she sees me, she hobbled up to my foot and started to cry. I immediately scooped her up and examined her. Her leg had been bent in a 90 degree angle away from her body. I had no idea how long she had been like that, scared, alone and in pain. I absolutely fucking lost it. I wrapped Bleach in a blanket and screamed for my mother.
“Her leg is broken.” I said in a low voice.
“What?” She asked, bewildered.
“Her fucking leg, is BROKEN!” I growled.
I handed the small bundle to my mother and told her to call the emergency vet, then I made a beeline directly to my brother’s room.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“Open the fucking door!” I shouted through the wall.
I knew he had something to do with this. I’m certain my mother wouldn’t do anything like this, and my brother has been told that he is not allowed to play with Bleach until I get home. He’s just too rough with her. I started hitting the door louder.
“Open this door, NOW!” I screamed.
My mother shouted from across the apartment.
“He hasn’t been home all day! He left early this morning for his camping trip, remember?”
I stopped pounding against the door and felt my knees get weak.
“…what?” I asked, disbelieving what I had just heard. It isn’t possible, it had to have been him. There was no one else here.
My mother hurriedly walked over, grabbed her keys and beckoned me to follow her out the door. Bleach still needed medical attention and I quickly realized that I would have to think about this later as my dog needed me. The vet said the break was clean…as if it had just been snapped.
Fast forward a couple of months, Bleach has made a full recovery and her cast has been off for a few weeks. Things seem to finally be going back to normal, the nightmares have subsided and my keys were staying where I put them. I returned home from school one afternoon and see my brother sitting on the couch, with Bleach on his lap. His hands are stacked on top of her seemingly holding her down. She begins to struggle and he lets her find her way to the floor. She makes her way over to me and I can see that she is…hobbling, again. I start to shake as I lean over to carefully pick her up. Her leg is broken, and it’s turned outwardly from her body, just like last time. But it’s not the same leg as before, it’s the leg opposite the original break.
My mother walks through the front door just as I finish processing what has happened. I turn to face her and hand her the whimpering animal. Then I turn to face my brother who is now standing next to me.
I saw her in his lap, I saw him holding her down. Without thinking, my fist flys at my brother’s face. He hits the floor and I pin him to the ground screaming about how cruelty to animals is the first sign of a sociopath and how could he do this to a defenseless dog. My brother is all of 6″4 and 200 pounds, but I didn’t care. I asked him if he was going to kill my pet. In this moment his facial expression changed, his voice sounded deeper as he spoke into my ear.
“Yes, and I’m going to kill you too.” He growled.
I pushed myself off of him and looked into his face. He started crying and said that he never meant to hurt her and that he doesn’t understand what happened. Luckily, the vet was able to mend this broken bone as well.
After the second incident, I decided it would be better if I found a new home for Bleach. I loved her dearly, but could not bare the thought of her being hurt. I cried the entire time I was driving to give her to her new family. I never saw her again.
Fast forward a few weeks. Since I no longer needed to be home to take care of my dog, I spend much more time away from the apartment. I called a close friend and asked if I could vent about all the shit that’s been happening lately. I met him at a local coffee shop and just started unloading everything that had been happening. I told him everything, I didn’t withhold anything for fear of sounding bat-shit crazy. Although, looking back I’m sure anyone eavesdropping would have thought I was off my meds. After recounting the last 6 months I sat there quietly and waited for his reaction. I expected him to call me a luny and walk out. Instead he took a sip of his coffee and calmly stated.
“It sounds like something has just been making your life a living hell.” He said, blowing on his coffee.
I thought about that for a moment. Something doing this to my family, to my dog. I started going through everything mentally, putting pieces and fragments of thought together. Eventually we changed the subject and reminisced about old times.
On the way home I couldn’t get the idea of something being the cause of my family’s distress out of my head. I mean could it really? I started getting upset at this entity. How fucking dare this thing! Who the fuck does it think it is? When I got home, I quietly went into my room without saying a word to my mother or brother and sat down on the bed. I started talking to whatever was there.
“I don’t know if there is anything here…but if there is something here…fuck you.” I paused waiting for a response, when nothing happened I continued.
“You leave this place, do you hear me? LEAVE!” I said, determined to let whatever was there know that I was not dicking around.
Satisfied I had gotten my message across I got off the bed and went into the living room to join my family and watch a movie.
I must have fallen asleep because I remember waking up on the couch and groggily getting up to go to bed. I walk into my dark room and flop down onto my mattress. My closet is directly across from my bed, I can see that the door is open but I’m too tired to give a damn. Without further ado, I fall back asleep.
I awoke an hour or so later to an intense and urgent thirst; it hurt to breathe my throat was so dry. I stagger out of my room and to the kitchen, still half asleep I manage to get a glass of water and finally guzzle enough to quench my thirst. I stumble back to my room holding the water glass, feeling my way through the darkened doorway. I take one last sip and place the glass on my night stand. My head hits the pillow and my gaze travels towards the closet. That’s when I saw it.
It was hunched down inside of the closet amongst my clothes. It’s face was stark white and gaunt. It had eyes black as pitch, encased in deep dark circles. It’s mouth was black and thin. It had what looked like dirty, stringy hair hanging in its face. But those are just the physical features of this thing, the expression on its face was nothing short of my nightmares.
It wanted me.
It hated me.
If this entity had the opportunity, it would have torn me apart. I knew I was staring at the thing that had caused my family so much pain and strife. My eyes widened and then everything goes black. I pass out.
I woke up to sunlight flooding my room. I jolt out of bed, remembering what had happened just a few hours ago. My head snapped towards my closet. What was that thing? I started trying to convince myself that it was all a dream, it had to have been a dream. At that moment I look down at my night stand, where an almost empty glass of water was sitting. I didn’t sleep in my room again for another month.
Always close your closet door.