2 minute read

The Dark (continued)

Year Two

Artwork by Phoenix Goodman, Grade 9

Advertisement

About a month or two later we moved out of the apartment and moved into my Grandma's “Basement,” and by that I mean the underpart of her two-story house. It had been months since I had last seen the man and I was beginning to get back to enjoying my sleep. But, that victory was short-lived. Now at the risk of sounding cliche, the TV turned on in the middle of the night and wouldn't turn off for hours on end, even when it was unplugged (for some background information, this was a single big room, like a studio apartment with four walls, one bathroom, one door out, and one window) The TV would turn on and wouldn't go off no matter what we tried I swear I could see something staring back at me through the static on the TV as if it was watching me as I was it From then on, things got worse, much worse I began to see the man again but this time more clearly, his appearance burned into the back of my mind like ink on a page. I could never forget that face no matter what. His cold empty eyes on his pale shadowed skin accompanied by what looked like a pitch black coat // robe, and he wore slick black shoes with pitch black dress pants, his smile or what I think was his smile I can't unsee, almost like one of those over-exaggerated smiles you see on cartoon characters all teeth pressed together in one creeping smile from cheek to cheek, his posture perfect yet there was something unnatural about him as if he was not human. After his appearance, I began to wake up with long shallow cuts on my arms but never any blood to be found, on the red on my arm never any in the bed or on my pillows I began to call him “the toilet monster” because he always appeared in the bathroom, and I told my parents about him but with a name as childish as that, they assumed it was a nightmare Every night, whether the door was closed or not I could tell he was there watching This went on for several months until one day I was playing outside in the yard and who I assumed was a friend of my parents came over to visit He entered the house and didn’t leave for several hours When he came back out he had a tired yet happy look on his face That night I didn't see the man nor did I ever see him again I had never slept so well in those two years, the presence was gone and so were the cuts on my arm, never to be seen again but never forgotten continued on next page

The Dark (continued)

Epilogue

I had forgotten all this up until recently when I was looking through a photo album and saw my old apartment The memories came back (repressed, I suppose) and I began to ask my mom what had happened She sat me down and told me everything She said that it wasn't just me who saw the man, but her and my father, as well She said that she saw her greatest fear as my father saw his My mom feared for my safety so she saw me hurt, hence the cuts on me My father abused animals so he saw a phantom dog whom he could not hurt, but it could hurt him. The man that came was a priest from our church, and he had come to bless the house. The worst part about this story though, is that it's true. But, at least it's over.

Author Note: After talking with one of my friends about paranormal experiences, he said something that caused my mind to snowball into a very detailed and vivid recollection of two and a half years of my life living in an apartment complex in uptown El Cajon Please note that this is not intended to be professional or captivating in any way, this is just a passion project, and it will stay that way

Anxiety

& Depression

This article is from: