It can’t be. I don’t believe in ghosts. Or demons, or magic, or psychics, or anything supernatural. I’m a realist. Show me the observable, repeatable, verifiable evidence, and we’ll talk. But anything short of that, and I’m going to give whatever you’re saying as much respect and attention as I give to the wacky-haired Greek dude on the Ancient Aliens show.
That includes anecdotes. Especially anecdotes. Anecdotal evidence is not evidence; it’s just stories. People love ghost stories, although they’re hardly ever told oirsthand. It’s always a friend or a cousin, or maybe Earl down by the car wash who tells them this super legitimate and believable tale of Strange Things, so I really should start believing in the power now, or else!
The point is, it’s all bullshit. Comforting bits of horror we tell ourselves to forcibly project some kind of cosmic will onto an uncaring universe, and I’ll have nothing to do with it, thankyouverymuch.
THAT SAID…I’m pretty sure I’m being stalked by supernatural forces beyond my control that want to murder, maim, or otherwise do physical and mental harm to my person.
I’m probably going to die.
There have been a few WTF? instances in my life, where I haven’t been able to piece together a believable scenario that would account for what happened. Not that I’ve ever looked too deeply into any of them, because even if the caveman fears of my lizard brain are completely unfounded, they’re still freaking scary.
I’ve had unlit candles explode for no reason. Cabinets apparently opening themselves, followed by plates being tossed out to shatter onto the kitchen floor. Night terrors. Sleep paralysis. My ex-wife.
There’s probably an entirely rational explanation for any of them, but they were all scary. The candle’s glass probably had an unseen fracture that just gave in one day, but it still exploded. The plates were probably not put back into the cabinet correctly, and were left pushing against the door that eventually opened, but they weren’t. That sort of thing.
But they still creep me out. The worst was the sleep paralysis, though. It only happened once, but it was absolutely terrifying. I woke up in the crappy bed of my old crappy apartment one night, unprovoked and scared shitless. I couldn’t move, and I could feel this ominous, entirely evil presence just…looking through me. I could see it in the hallway; a dim red glow and this sort of shadow that felt alive. Then, a face looking down at me in bed…
And that’s all I’m going to say about that, because just thinking about it creeps me right the hell out, and I’m already barely functioning as it is. Because something new just happened, which I’ll tell you about in a minute.
But first, here are a couple of posts I made to Facebook when the latest things started happening. All that other crap was years ago, back when I was a stupid twenty-something. Like most self-respecting twenty-somethings, I was almost always up too late after drinking too much when I was that age, so most of the crap that happened back then was probably just a case of me being young. This stuff, though. This stuff just started happening, and I’m 40 years old now.
Which somehow makes it worse.
Anyway, I’ll put these in chronological order for now, then add anything new that might happen as it happens. Or I’ll be dead and not do that. Whichever.
First, a quick primer for those new around here: Brittany is my wife, and Trey is our son. (My stepson, technically. But I don’t go in for labels.) Stomper and Giles are our dogs, and Spooky’s the devil cat. We live in Beaumont, Texas and I hate it here.
OK. Here we go…
(This post is pretty long. If you’d rather take it with you as an eBook, click here to pay what you want for a copy. I’ll take whatever you want to give me, but even if it’s is only worth $1 to you, that’s fine. I won’t judge your ridiculous frugality. Much.)
Late last night, after Brittany had gone to bed, I was getting ready to turn in myself when the dogs lost their minds.
Giles began barking like mad in his crate, while Stomper bayed and growled at the front door, pacing the room between outbursts and whimpering.
I assumed the neighbor’s dogs were loose again and had wandered up onto our porch, so I took hold of Stomper’s collar to keep him from darting out, and opened the door.
No dogs. Just stillness and the haze from the marsh fires.
Then, I looked up.
In the space between two of the trees in my front yard was a shape. Not a silhouette, or someone in darkness, but a shape. A vaguely human shape, but with slightly wrong dimensions. It was like a solid shadow, if that makes any sense. It was absolutely still and just standing there. Looking at me.
I glanced down for a fraction of a second to shove Stomper behind me and reach for the handle of the screen door, but when I looked back up as I pushed it open to go out onto the porch, it was gone.
I walked outside, looked around, and there was nothing there. A trick of light and shadow, I guess. No big deal.
I went back inside, locked up the house and laid down to sleep. The dogs continued their protests, but mostly it was just whimpering. The angry, panicked barks had stopped.
I went to sleep.
This morning, I woke up and leashed up the dogs to take them outside. I stepped out onto my front porch, and the chair I sit in was completely turned around and moved.
Instead of sitting to the left of the door and facing the street, it was facing toward my house. And placed directly in front of my door.
As if someone had used it to sit and stare, waiting for me to open it again.
So…anyone want to buy a house?
© 2015 – 2016, Kristian Bland. All rights reserved.