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Once I stepped in past her, I couldn't see her anymore but I could feel her there. She scared me, but I felt really sorry for her because she was trapped there, just like me, but probably forever.
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As the years went by and things in the house continued to get worse, she started seeming I started feeling like she wasn't really a little girl. I knew there was something ugly in the house and I felt like it was presenting this sympathetic image to me. Then I started thinking I was completely losing my mind. One day, when I was 14, I had a friend from out of town come stay with me for a week. I hadn't told her anything whatsoever about the house because I didn't think she would come if I did. Right after she got there we were sitting in my room and she left to go to the bathroom.
About a minute later she walked back in with a puzzled look on her face and said "So, there's a little girl in your bathroom". Blond hair? Pink dress? You know that's not really a little girl, don't you? I was so relieved and terrified and excited and ready to run out of the house screaming. She wouldn't use my bathroom the rest of the week and I started using it as little as possible without pissing off my parents who did not want to believe. Eventually we moved out and I could not have been happier.
I distanced myself from it mentally as much as I could. Then, when I was 18, I took another friend on a road trip to pack up a few things I'd left in the house my parents hadn't managed to sell it, and wouldn't for 5 more years. The minute we got on the property, my friend seemed uncomfortable. When we came around the bend in the long, steep driveway, he went completely white. I could tell something was wrong, but he insisted he was OK, so we got to work. After a while he asked to use the bathroom and I directed him to mine.
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Not 20 seconds after he left, he came running back in, gasping for breath, andand slammed the bedroom door behind him. He started babbling about a little blond girl who isn't really a little girl. All of a sudden he went dead still, looked me in the eye, and very solemnly said "She's not happy. With you. You left, and you weren't supposed to". We threw whatever we could grab in two trips in my car after I walked him to another bathroom and waited outside the door and got the fuck out at top speed. I grew up in New Mexico and was always very into the outdoors, hiking, camping, rock climbing, etc.
Might sound weird but I had been to this area many times and it was quite safe.
Scary Story Ideas for Middle School
Anyway I brought my camera and took lots of pictures. When I came back and developed my film, there were 3 extra pictures that I didn't take One each night. None of my stuff was missing or stolen and nothing happened, but it freaked the hell out of me. So when I was barely twenty years old I was travelling with a small group of people through China, and we were spending about two months in Qinghai province, which used to be part of Tibet. Our destinations was a specific town to teach English, but we'd been stopping often in towns and small cities along the way.
One day we arrived in a rural town, very small, nothing unusual. We spent only a couple of days there, shopping for food at the markets and walking around to see the sights, although there weren't many.
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This was in the dead of winter, in February, and all the grass on the hills and plains around the town was dead and brown. The overall feeling was that of the normal kind of bleakness that any rural place has in the winter. At this time in my life things were going amazingly, extraordinarily well for me, and I say that because my teenagehood had been rather darkly overcast. But the overwhelming good luck of being able to travel and these close friends I'd made in the last year had more than changed my feelings and attitude towards life — it was like I was a whole new person. I was ecstatic to be in Tibet, went to sleep with a smile on my face every night.
On our second day staying in this small town I woke up feeling a little odd. Not bad, just odd, like my normal thoughts and feelings had been turned down low, like on a dial. We all decided to go for a walk on the hills right behind the town, where there was a small summit with a pile of rocks and some prayer flags to be honest there were little "altars" like these on every other hill, but it gave us something to do. As we hiked up the hills behind the town I started feeling stranger and stranger.
I wasn't scared, and I didn't feel angry or any strong emotion. In fact, it was like emotion was trickling out of me somehow, and I was getting blanker and blanker, emptier and emptier. My mind started feeling a little hazy and more and more I felt like I simply didn't care about anything. A small and rapidly dwindling part of myself started to panic, knew that something bad was happening, but it was like my own inner voice was slowly getting quieter and quieter.
I remember we reached the little summit and I simply sank to the ground next to the pile of rocks. Without meaning to, I started tuning out the voices around me and fixed all my attention on the little pebbles in the dirt. I began tapping one against the other, repeatedly. Do you know the kind of horror that is opposite of feeling scared or feeling anything at all? The kind of vacuous hideousness of a fly buzzing against a closed window for hours on end in an empty room? That's what was filling my mind. It was demonic in its meaninglessness. I touched my face and felt that I was grinning at nothing.
Through all the emptiness a thought floated to the forefront of my mind: You should just die. At first it sounded totally reasonable, but something in me fought it and I was momentarily troubled. Right then, my group started to walk down from the hill, and I followed. The further we walked, the more normal I felt, until we left the town that afternoon and I was totally freaked out. When another girl, Hanna, mentioned in an odd off-hand way that she had felt very strange and depressed while staying there, I told her that I'd felt the same.
When the group leader mentioned that a local had told him that the town had been plagued with a rash of young women under 25 committing suicide, Hanna and I went white. In my old apartment, my dog would, on occasion, look down the hallway towards the bedroom, from the living room, and growl, for no apparent reason.
Also on occasion, when I was sleeping in the bedroom she slept at the foot of the bed , I would wake up with her staring intently at the door and growling. She was a big girl - pounds of Great Dane, Catahoula, and slobber. So I'm there for a couple of years of this, thinking, ok, my dog has a good imagination.
One night I woke up due not to my dog growling, but barking for all she was worth.
And not at the door I opened my eyes pretty much immediately, and there was a blur of light, leaning over me, very close - certainly less than six inches from my face. It was not distinguishable as a person - it more resembled a person-sized version of a colourful nebula you might see a picture of in a science magazine. Three dimensional and all.
I immediately got the distinct impression that this thing had been watching me sleep.
For god knows how long, and how many times before. For all the clarity of that distinct feeling, I had no sense of what it wanted, whether it was malevolent or just curious. I flipped right the fuck out - jumped backwards to the other side of the bed, too terrified to scream, and that blur of light receded and disappeared over the course of about 3 seconds. My dog was going absolutely ape. So, shortly thereafter, I asked the building manager if anybody had ever died there.
She investigated that, and came back to me a couple of weeks later with a yes, a woman had died of a drug overdose in that apartment in so 12 years earlier , shortly after having her child removed from her custody because of her addiction problems. My dog did still growl at the hallway from time to time, but I never saw it again.
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I moved out about a year later. I've had other encounters, but this thing was literally inches from my face, watching me sleep. Getting shivers now just writing about it. So when I was a kid, I would race up to the top of the stairs as fast as I could, like it was some sort of silly game. Well, I must have been five or six at the time. I'm not sure, but I know I was very little.
Somewhere along the way, a voice at the top of the stairs started to whisper to me. It would make bets with me, such as I followed a moment after. He hadn't hit anyone yet.
Kids were scrambling and hiding. It was mayhem. I ran up behind him and tackled him. We struggled. I wrenched the gun out of his hands, turned it on him, and killed him. I closed his mouth forever. On Friday, I was anointed a hero. It was indeed the perfect plan. All things must have balance. Light and dark. Good and evil. Sound and silence.