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onceuponanighttime · 7 years ago

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“In [my old] house, frequently but not all the time, when you showered you could hear what sounded like a woman and sometimes a child drowning and screaming. My husband flew out of the shower covered in soap the first time he heard it. He even ripped part of the shower curtain. It upset me too much to be scared. I just made my shower short and tried to ignore it.

The first night we moved in, we heard LOUD angry whispering in the dining room. I don’t know what was up with that stupid dining room but it seems that’s where it is all focused on. It sounded like a large group of people whispering to each other. It was like that angry, spiteful whispering. When we started hearing it I was on the phone with my mom and I had to frequently stop what I was saying to listen to what was going on. My husband and I were freaking out. My mom was on the other side of the phone just laughing at us because we were screaming lol. It was really scary because it was our first experience in the house but now I look back at it and it was kind of funny.

I play the drums and guitar and I had set up the music room in our new home. I got it all set up and left the room and I could hear tap on each of my symbol and each TomTom. Then I heard each string on the guitar play Slowly one at a time E…B…G…D…A…E… That creeped me out, but I was starting to get used to the idea of being in a weird house. I was too chicken to go in and check it out, so I screamed from the hallway, “Stop touching my shit!!” NO ONE touches my Takamine. Not even ghosts. I will haunt you if you touch my instruments lol! I never heard them being messed with again in the six years we lived there.

In the apartment before this house, we could never sleep with the door open and we felt like we could never sleep with it shut. It was weird. My husband and I both felt the same way. It was like we had to leave the door open just a little bit.

After a couple weeks of being there we started hearing what sounded like a little kid in the hallway. I had a strong feeling that it was a little girl. It made me really sad. I realized that when we left the door slightly open it felt more comfortable. I think she felt like she couldn’t come in, but needed to know there were grown-ups there. It made me really sad. More sad then scared. I’ve never had such a strong feeling without seeing anything. The feeling I had was so really specific. It made me wonder if the abused girl lived there at one point.

One night my husband was out of town and it was time for me to go to bed. I knew he thought I sounded crazy, but when it was time for me to go to bed, I opened the door a little bit and said that it was okay and that she could come in if she needed to and not to be scared. I got an overwhelming feeling of comfort that night. I was a little worried about staying there alone since it was the first time I was alone since we were married. After that we really didn’t have a problem.

About a year later I was reading reviews online of that apartment, because we really didn’t like it. It was pretty trashy and the managers were totally trailer. I was snooping through reviews and a few of them said they swear that place is haunted by children. It was really weird to read that! It kind of made me feel a little less crazy.”

By: sauerpatchkid (What is the creepiest and most unexplainable paranormal experience you’ve ever had?)

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onceuponanighttime · 7 years ago

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So Much Filler

Some people, I thought, are just meant to be filler. Background characters only created to decorate the world for the main players. We work, we have a few hobbies, a handful of friends, we exist, but we don’t matter.

It was true for me, anyway.

Every day, I’d wake up at 7 am, shower, have a bowl of cereal, and then go sit in a cubicle for eight hours before coming home, having dinner, watching TV, and going to bed. Rinse and repeat, day after day. On weekends, I’d sometimes go for runs in the park or spend the afternoon wandering aimlessly through shops, never buying anything, just looking.

I had a few folks that I was friendly with from work, but we rarely hung out and, when we did, it was usually just for drinks and bitching about the boss. No substance. I told myself it didn’t matter. I was a boring person who led a boring life.

I was just so much filler.

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onceuponanighttime · 7 years ago

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Spoiled

by reddit user aachenrockcity

Linda has always been the apple to her father’s eye. She was a beautiful 14 year old girl with blonde, curly hair and big blue eyes. She had many friends for she was one of the most popular girls in school.

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onceuponanighttime · 8 years ago

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I’ve been trying to leave my bathroom for the past 30 minutes

by reddit user v0ids

I can’t leave my bathroom.

About 30 minutes ago I got out of the shower and dried off, put on my pjs, opened the door and walked out, only to find myself back in my bathroom, staring at the closed door.

I stopped, and tried to rationalise what had just happened to me. I convinced myself that I had simply imagined that I had opened the door and stepped out, so I tried again. I pushed the door handle down, opened it, stepped out, and yet again found myself in my bathroom, standing in front of a closed door.

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onceuponanighttime · 8 years ago

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I can see people’s auras… and it’s a curse.

by A10A10A10

Yes, I can see people’s auras.

And I hate saying it so bluntly. It makes me sound like some hack psychic who fakes the ability as a means of exploitation and a paycheck. I’ve never made money from my ability. I’ve never taken advantage of it. And, until now, I’ve never spoken of it to anybody.

But I really do see them, and I’m starting to view it as more of a curse. I have a reason for typing this out and I assure you, there isn’t a happy ending.

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onceuponanighttime · 8 years ago

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PUBLISHED: AfterLife AfterDeath: Stories for the Dark

AfterLife AfterDeath: Stories for the Dark presents nineteen chilling tales that will creep beneath your skin and chill you to the bone, opening up some of the most primal feelings that every human being retains of death, darkness, and the fear of the unknown.

Follow a man who returns to his childhood home after his mother’s suicide, only to discover something evil residing within it, and has been waiting for him to return; A dispatch operator receives a terrifying 911 call from a frantic woman who finds her entire family slaughtered; Three teens chasing an urban legend get more than they bargained for when the rumor ends up being true, and more than just a ghost story; A public channel broadcasts something strange to the residents of an apartment building, who begin to act even stranger; A horrific nightmare comes to life for a passenger on a plane traveling overseas.

These stories will make you reconsider what truly lives in the darkest shadows of your home, and instill fears you thought you would never have. Turn the lights off!

AfterLife AfterDeath: Stories for the Dark

Emerald — A lost man on a journey discovers a terrifying secret.

Dispatch — The Hamilton Police Department has just released the transcript of one of the most terrifying 9-1-1 calls ever recorded.

There’s Something in My Closet — There’s something in my closet. Look closely…

Something Was Outside My Window, And I Have A Photo to Prove It — A weird dream gets even weirder after waking up. A true story.

The Nightmare — Dying in a plane crash is a family curse. One of the scariest dreams you’ll ever read. Inspired by a true fear.

Out of Body Experience — Have you ever watched yourself sleep?

Where the Bad Kids Go — It’s been sixteen years since Jesse was taken away from his abusive, alcoholic mother after she had tried to kill him. When he hears of the news that she committed suicide, he returns to his childhood house for preparation to sell it, as well as confront his dark past once and for all. He soon discovers that something evil lurks within the depths of the house, and after all these years, it’s been waiting for him to return.

The Nightmare — Dying in a plane crash is a family curse. One of the scariest dreams you’ll ever read. Inspired by a true fear.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel — Three teens attempt to chase an urban legend about a haunted tunnel, but get more than they bargained for when the story ends up being true, and more than just a ghost story.

There’s Something in My Closet — There’s something in my closet. Look closely…

Photosynthesis — A new species of plant has been discovered in Central Park. When it bloomed, it released…something…

Channel 6 — or, Everyone in My Building Is Dead, and There Are Men In Suits Outside My Door. A man begins to notice something strange being broadcast on a public channel, and something even stranger happening to the residents in the building.

Something Was Outside My Window, And I Have A Photo to Prove It — A weird dream gets even weirder after waking up. A true story.

Out of Body Experience — Have you ever watched yourself sleep?

The Intersection — A driver arrives at an intersection where he meets a hitchhiker that tells him that if he drives to town, he will die.

Size — Sometimes things are so big that the human mind can’t even comprehend them.

Twin — Every single pregnancy resulted in identical twins.

I Murdered My Wife — The title says it all…

A Special Night — Rachel has a special night planned for her husband, and so does he.

Dispatch — The Hamilton Police Department has just released the transcript of one of the most terrifying 9-1-1 calls ever recorded.

The Tooth Fairy — The Tooth Fairy is coming to visit tonight. But what happens when there’s no tooth to take?

Emerald — A lost man on a journey discovers a terrifying secret.

A Storm — You don’t want to get caught in this storm…

Nepenthes — Two kids are lured to an old well after hearing rumors of a ghostly girl residing within it.

Hello? — I woke up from a bad dream, and found a video on my phone from that very nightmare.

AfterLife AfterDeath: Stories for the Dark

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onceuponanighttime · 8 years ago

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Every night I lie to my daughter.

Every night, I lie to my daughter.

It was bound to come out eventually, I suppose, but this is much more painful than I ever imagined. I thought she would understand, but that was… silly of me.

The late night comings & goings. The numerous “landscaping” projects in the backyard, with aromatic perennials covering fresh mounds of earth. The bloodstained tools in my shed.

Nothing stays hidden forever.

I recall forced conversations between father & daughter, interrogations they felt like, soaked in fear & diversion.

Why couldn’t she just let me be?

Every night, I lie to my daughter. Tonight is no exception.

She finds me in the basement, and I lie again.

“Honey I don’t know anything, I PROMISE I don’t think you could ever hurt a fly! Just let me out of here, please…”

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onceuponanighttime · 8 years ago

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Too Close To Home

u/HylianFae Every night at exactly 11:45pm my dog barks at my neighbor. He gets home from work at the same time each night, and it’s been this way for the year that I’ve lived in this neighborhood. It bothered me the first few weeks, but eventually I grew used to it. It’s kind of comforting to know that the old man next door is home for the night.

He was a nice man, my parents quickly befriended him. They had helped me move in my meagre possessions last year, and they ended up sparking a conversation with the neighbor while he checked his mail.

His name was James Barton, and he’d lived in that house his entire life. He was the same age as my father, and apparently they had graduated high school together. They hadn’t been friends back then, but James said he thought he recognized my parents. My mother graduated two years later, so they would still have been attending at the same time.

My parents didn’t recognize James, but he seemed like a great guy. My mother had planned to cook a nice family meal to celebrate my new home, and she invited James to join us for the housewarming. It was nice, there were laughs and pleasant conversation. James didn’t speak a lot, but when he did it never ceased to bring out at least one smile.

Over the last year James has attended a couple of our dinners, and we make pleasant small talk when we see each other outside. He’s become great friends with my father, and often enough I think Dad visits me just as an excuse to make plans with James. It’s nice though, I feel safe when my neighbor is around.

He’s kept me informed about the neighborhood, about how to stay safe when I have to go to work or walk my dog. I didn’t mention it to my parents, but often enough there was somewhere within ten blocks featured on the nightly news. They already thought the place was dangerous, but I didn’t need them to reel me back home after I’d only just decided to make it on my own. More than enough people survive bad neighborhoods.

My dog, Jade, loves our neighbor. She’s always excited when he’s around, and he always had treats because he had his own dog as well. His dog was a small lap dog, nothing like my larger Pitbull-Mastiff mix. His little Smokey was cute at least, but definitely not my type of dog.

Jade was not only strong and protective of me, but she seemed to just be the perfect dog. She kept me safe and in good company, an ideal pet for a woman in her early twenties. She knew the daily routine, and she was smart. My dog was part of the reason that my parents agreed to let me use my savings to move into this one bedroom bungalow. The rent was relatively cheap, and it was close to where I worked, but it was in the “bad part” of town.

I think my parents were put slightly at ease about the neighborhood once they saw it didn’t look entirely destroyed, and having a friendly neighbor nearby in case of an emergency was a plus. I was happy, finally out on my own and working towards building my life. For the longest time I felt entirely safe, as though nothing could get to me through my neighbor and dog.

Things in the neighborhood could be crazy, what with the news of a supposed serial killer roaming the city, and the sheer amount of criminal activity that surrounded this area on a regular basis. I kept to myself for the most part, made friends with a few neighbors and James. Some of the people are odd, but James was never one of them. The oddest thing about James was something he often mumbled to himself.

Sometimes, after we’d have a conversation I’d hear Mister Barton talking to himself quietly. Usually it was nonsense, some small tangent of a memory replaying in his head because of something we’d spoken about. I think that I must have reminded him of someone, because I heard one phrase quite often after we spoke.

”Too close to home.”

He sometimes seemed sad after we spoke to each other, and sometimes I felt bad that I may be triggering a painful memory from his past. He was my best friend in the neighborhood though, since so many of the other neighbors were creepy, they all seemed to blend into the shady environment we lived in. My dog kept me safe from them, and so did Mister Barton.

One night I stopped feeling so safe. I was dancing around my kitchen, music playing and water set to boil on the stove. It was dark, but my house seemed warm and cozy. The kitchen light was bright and it made it hard to see out the windows, but I knew Jade was somewhere sniffing around our small backyard. It was nearly midnight, and I’d been advised by multiple neighbors to avoid walking the streets alone around here. Sure, Jade is pretty tough, but a gun can always beat a dog.

So Jade was confined to the yard until she commenced her nightly ritual of barking at Mister Barton’s car when he pulled in. Those were actually the only times I ever let her out in the small yard instead of going for a walk. The barking didn’t happen though, I put the pasta in the pot, skipped to the next song in my playlist, and then noticed the time. It was a few minutes after midnight, and Jade hadn’t barked. I walked into the small living room to look out the window and see if Mister Barton’s car was there, but it wasn’t. I figured he must be late, and decided to leave Jade outside until I had eaten.

I strained, served, and ate my midnight meal, but still hadn’t heard any barking. When I went to the back door to let Jade in I found her staring into Mister Barton’s yard, just standing still and looking at the lawn. There was nothing there that I could see. It took a minute before she noticed me calling and came lumbering in the house, but she stopped and looked back at his yard as she got to the door. I stared into the yard, then picked up a stone and threw it at the chain fence.

Several birds flew from the overgrown grass of my neighbor’s yard, and I was satisfied with the result. Jade had been transfixed on them. There was no barking at all that night. Jade wasn’t a loud dog, she only barked when a stranger came near the doors of the house or when Mister Barton got home. Neither of those things happened.

Over the next few days I found myself bored, Mister Barton wasn’t around to talk to while I was outside. I tried to occupy the free time, but things were odd without the usual presence. We lived in a part of the country with fair weather pretty much year round, and I tried to fix up my backyard to deal with the boredom.

I’d cleaned out the yard months ago, like nearly every other yard in the neighborhood it had been full of junk. I remember the days I spent cleaning out the yard fondly, because occasionally Mister Barton would see me and help. He was always good conversation while we got rid of useless items left behind by old renters.

Sometimes I’d see him planting things in his yard while I was busy, but it never ceased to look like a jungle. His grass was tall and overgrown, plants and flowers grew at random. It was pretty in a natural way, and that’s exactly how James Barton had wanted it.

I’d asked him once if he wanted me to mow his lawn, but he declined the offer.

“This space is the one place that holds true, natural freedom. It belongs this way,” he had spoken with a smile on his face, his eyes seeming lost in a memory.

After a two days of working in my yard alone I couldn’t take it, I felt so alone and unsafe in the neighborhood. My dog was too quiet, my neighbor had disappeared, and I resorted to stoning birds. It was my only way to fight back against my growing paranoia about the dangerous location I resided in.

Occasionally I have enough spare change to have some recreational fun, and with my neighbor being gone I found myself able to freely have such fun. I didn’t want my smoking habit to get back to my parents, so I usually kept it to my bedroom when I needed to. With my neighbor being gone I was free to sit on the cracked concrete ledge that my landlord dared to call a “patio”.

So that’s what I did, I sat in my yard. A stoned girl throwing rocks at the birds who landed in the yard next door. I’d stare at the yard and wonder if James Barton was dead, buried in a cemetery under flowers that were arranged neatly. I felt like he’d rather let his grave become overgrown, hidden among natural beauty.

I didn’t like thinking that way though. He was the same age as my parents, only in his mid-fifties. I didn’t like knowing that someone that age could suddenly drop without a warning, Mister Barton couldn’t be dead.

It was four days after my dog stopped barking, a warm morning. I got up, got dressed, poured a coffee, and put Jade on the leash for her morning walk. We walked to the mailbox where I stood and looked through my mail, and then Jade whimpered. I looked to her, then to the driveway she was staring at. Mister Barton’s car was back.

I was excited, I wanted to know the reason behind his sudden absence. I went and knocked on his door, Jade jumping around excitedly at my feet. No one answered, and I left to take Jade on her walk after several minutes of waiting. Perhaps he was asleep.

After work I knocked again, only to find the same thing. I was disappointed. He had been gone for days, but it seemed that I would have to wait to figure out why. Before dinner I sat in my yard and smoked, the sun was setting. All the lights in Mister Barton’s house were off, and it still felt empty to me.

I threw stones at the birds and watched a cluster fly up and circle overhead, I felt myself make a face of disgust– I hated birds flying over my head. I watched as they came back down, and for some reason it sent a chill through me. My friend and neighbor had been replaced by a flock of beady eyed creatures. Maybe it was because I smoked too much, but the birds made me feel afraid. What if they were mad about the rocks?

I shut myself into the house for the night, planning on discussing the birds with Mister Barton the next day. I didn’t want them to hurt the garden he loved so much. Unfortunately the next morning was the same as the last, and I found myself spending another few days wondering why Mister Barton was avoiding me.

Sunday came along, and with it brought my parents. They asked about Mister Barton, apparently my father had been trying to get in touch and make plans. I told them what I knew, and my mother took it upon herself to knock at his door. She received the same response as I did, and we all questioned the strange behavior of James Barton over dinner.

Another few days of smoke, stones, birds, and dogs that didn’t bark. That’s when the woman who lived on the other side of James Barton called someone. She had noticed the car remain still, and the mail overflow from its box. She was concerned, worried that the old man might be trapped in his home and hurt. I hadn’t thought of it that way, I had taken the first part of his absence heavily into consideration and assumed that it was all connected, which made it seem like he was avoiding everyone.

They didn’t find an injured Mister Barton, but they found many other things. They found Smokey, Mister Barton’s small terrier-mix. I was horrified when I heard the news, someone had actually strangled the dog. I still can’t understand how anyone could be so cruel.

Someone at the scene noticed the curious amount of scavenger birds circling the backyard, and it wasn’t long until they decided to look deeper. Deeper as in, they dug up the overgrown yard. They destroyed the wild beauty and revealed organized decay. Neat rows of bodies were buried in the yard, most of which have been identified as people who were suspected victims of a local serial killer.

One body in particular stood out, the body of James Barton. James Barton, who had lived in the house next to mine for his entire life, who had attended the same high school as my parents. James Barton, who still kept the yearbook from his senior year in his house, the same year that my father graduated. James Barton, who should have looked familiar to my parents, because he was actually on the football team with my father. James Barton, who was murdered in his home and buried in his backyard. James Barton, who had his identity stolen.

I’ve seen pictures of the real James Barton since then, and the imposter was quite accurate in his impersonation. The true James had been dead around three years, and the man I knew had kept his cover all that time. The person who had made me feel safe in an unsafe place happened to be the most dangerous person possible.

They haven’t found the imposter. He seems to have moved on to his next set of victims, or maybe into permanent hiding. If you’re a young woman in your early twenties, then you match the type of victim that he seems to favor. When I heard the description of his victims it made my blood run cold, and sent a wave of realization through me.

I understood what he meant when he walked away from me muttering under his breath.

”Too close to home.”

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onceuponanighttime · 8 years ago

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The dvd was no more

Part 1, Part 2

I was terrified to turn around. After witnessing the horrors on the dvds I feared that anything could be behind me. But I felt something like spiders along my skin. My head moved without permission. I slowly twisted, terrified of what I would see. I shut my eyes. Maybe if I didn’t look, it couldn’t hurt me. I tried as hard I could to keep my eyes shut, but they were deliberately pulled open. My own fingers were the one to force the lid apart. I hadn’t even felt my arms move.

When I could see properly it was almost a relief. There was no one behind me. I had gotten into my head that a crazed John would be standing there, ready to enact his torture upon me. Luckily that was just a fantasy.

I stood. It was impossible not to shiver. I was exhausted. After watching those disturbing videos I felt almost as if I had gone through them myself. Maybe a meal or some water would help. But before I could go I noticed something out of the ordinary.

On the bookcase behind the table there was a camera. It was sitting innocently between two of my favorite books. I didn’t remember owning a camera. There was a small red light blinking on the top. From somewhere in my memory I recognized this as meaning it needed its battery changed. I approached the camera as though it were a wild animal. When I lifted it, the weight surprised me. It was dull black. Thoroughly used and dented. But it worked. It was losing power, but it had been recording. It was set up perfectly to view my back, the table, and my computer.

I brought the camera closer to my chest and it immediately died. The screen was blacker than anything I had seen. I saw myself in the darkness. I needed to move on. I needed to put the camera down and get out of there. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t ready. Or was it that I wasn’t able?

I sat back down at the table. Instinctively I knew how to eject the memory card from the camera. It popped out and lay in my palm. I knew then that this was the third video I had to watch. It wasn’t a dvd, and it hadn’t truly been delivered to me, but this was what I had to watch next.

I put the memory card into the slot in my computer. It prompted up a folder on the screen. I clicked to open it but instead it opened a strange folder on my desktop. The title was “Ka.” There were three subfolders – “Prisoner”, “Luck”, and “Death” (in that order.) I tried to click the “Prisoner” folder but it wouldn’t open. The same thing happened with “Luck.” The “Death” folder opened without an issue. Within in were three video files. “The Man in Black”, “The Door”, and “Margot is not Margot.”

“The Man in Black” begins with running. Margot runs across a room. She is screaming in an almost inhuman voice. The cameraperson is trying to catch her. They follow her from room to room, getting closer and closer. In one sickening shot she looks behind her shoulder and her face is one of pure terror. This was the first time I really saw Margot’s fear.

Finally Margot trips over a rug. The cameraperson is upon her instantly. She cries and struggles but is held down. It doesn’t take long for the camera to fall beside the pair. As expected, it is John on top of her. He is still wearing his ski mask and gloves.

It becomes clear that John is just holding her down. He doesn’t try to hurt her or anything else more sinister. Margot fights like her life depends on it. There are a solid three minutes of her fighting. Like the other videos, I couldn’t look away. It was difficult to watch but I was stuck. It was like I had my own John holding me in the chair.

Finally Margot calms down. She looks into his face. They stare at each other like strangers. Then Margot starts to laugh. She is wracked with laughter the same way she was wracked with sobs just minutes earlier. Her body rattles with the sounds she makes.

John doesn’t let go. He says, “You’ve forgotten the face of your father.”

She bends upward, pushing her face towards his. “He has no face, John. You know that.”

John is clearly angered by this. “He has a face. A strong face. Face place. Place where the face was faced.”

“Show me then.” She lays back against the floor. “Show me my father’s face, John.”

John sits up, crossing his arms. He is mouthing words but nothing makes sense. Margot does not seem surprised by this odd behavior. Maybe he had done this before. Maybe he often mouthed unintelligible words at her as though they were having a conversation.

Margot lets him do this for a few minutes with a look of glee and rage. Then she realizes her arms are free. John is no longer holding her down. With a strong hand she thrusts upward and grips the ski mask. Before John knows what is happening Margot has grabbed the mask and thrown it across the room.

This is when I realized Margot’s previous words were absolutely true. John had no face.

Of course, he does have a face. There is something holding his eyes in. There is the resemblance of nostrils and a gaping hole of a mouth. But his entire head is covered in horrible burns. His face is made up of scar tissue that twisted and crumpled like dull red roots. He has no eyebrows or lips. Just disgusting flesh mounds around his teeth (of which he has very few).

Panicked, John dives off of Margot and runs to get the mask. Margot gets to her feet in seconds. She grabs the camera and begins running. She runs through the house and gets to the front door. She tries the doorknob but it won’t budge. Margot screams at the door and turns to try somewhere else. But suddenly there was John, blocking her way.

Margot lets out a small terrified shriek and drops the camera. The scene turns to yellow before ending.

I wanted to stop. Any normal person would call the police, get out of the house, or at least delete the files. But my soul was drawn to these videos. I was inexplicitly tied to the suffering of Helen and Margot. Revoltingly, I was also drawn to the madness in John. Maybe I was mad too. My hand tapped the mouse to start the next video.

“The Door” starts with the picture of the small structure from the first video. It flashes and distorts, switching quickly to John talking into the camera. He is in the house with Helen. Helen’s stomach is large and it’s clear she’s pregnant. There is something odd sitting on her belly. It looks like a jaw bone.

John circles Helen, who stares at the ground. She has given up hope. The anger and rage I saw in previous tapes has been replaced with hopelessness. John zooms in on her stomach and the jaw bone. The stubs of her legs are also visible. It seems like John wants to show Helen off.

John says, “Say it.”

Helen licks her lips. “Da-da,” she replies.

“No, say the whole thing.”

She starts to cry quietly. “Da-da-chum,” she says sadly.

John makes small happy noises. “Now raise your claws.”

Helen slowly raises her arms in the air. For the first time her underarms are visible. Both have identical tattoos of a key. The key was crude, with an S shape at the end. She holds her hands up until John grunts. She drops her arms to her sides. In a quiet, sad voice she asks, “Why don’t you just kill me?”

John zooms out on the scene. Margot is creeping in the background, but neither adult notices her. “I do not kill with my gun,” he replies.

“Please, Johnny. I can’t do this.” She begs.

“You just haven’t moved on yet,” he responds. He is calm. Her desperation has almost no effect on him.

Helen picks up the jaw bone and studies it. Then, like a lightning strike, she stabs herself in the neck. John screams and drops the camera. The bone sticks out of Helen’s neck like a stray hair. She sputters, blood filling her windpipe. John is panicking. He pulls the bone out as quickly as possible. But this just causes more blood loss. Helen is smiling.

John calls out, “Girl! Come here! Help!”

I assume he was referring to Margot. But Margot does not come. John scrambles for a second before calling for her again. Yet she still does not arrive. Reluctantly, John leaves Helen to go find Margot.

The screen is filled with Helen gradually bleeding out. She coughs on her own blood. But she looks content. Helen looks right at the camera. She tries to say something. It is hard to make out, since fluid was overcoming her mouth and throat. But she might have said, “Joke’s on you.”

Margot creeps into the room behind Helen. She briefly touches her hair. It is the touch of deep love. Margot’s face is full of regret. She picks up the camera, whispering, “Pleasant nights,” before leaving the room.

She walks quietly around the house until she reaches the front door. It is open. John is outside screaming, yelling for the girl. She sneaks through the doorway. Crouching, she circles behind the house. Then she takes off running. The camera bounces as she sprints away. John’s long scream can be heard in the background.

Margot breaths heavily. The scenes cut between the image of the small structure and footage of her running. The sun moves in the sky. Margot runs with the energy of someone who might never run again. Finally the scene switches to the footage from the very first video, “Origin.” Now it is clear that Margot is the one holding the camera, walking around the structure with the altar inside. There is a crunch from behind her and she hides. After a few moments the scene is abruptly cut.

The video was over.

Instead of relief, panic drenched my body. I was trying to understand what happened. Did Margot escape? Where was she anyway? Who was Helen and John to her? How did she get there? My fingers shook. Where was she now?

I would find out as the next video began to play. “Margot is not Margot” is completely different than the rest of the videos. It is not shot by a handheld camera in a creepy house. Instead, it is a clip of a talk show. It lookes like it had been shot in the early 2000’s. The host is a warm older man who closes his eyes when he talks.

A round of applause begins the video. The man is sitting in a comfortable chair with a must less comfortable one across from him. He smiles. As the clapping stops, he leans forward and puts his hands together.

“Today we are meeting a very special girl,” he says solemnly. “A girl who has gone through more than any person, let alone a little girl, should ever have to go through. Her identity has been obscured for many years to protect her from her assailant. However, now that she has turned 18, she wants to tell her side of the story.” The man stood. “Please join me in welcoming Tabitha!”

The audience erupts in applause. Slowly someone enters the stage. She is a small woman with short cut hair. She walks with a bit of a limp. Her dress is plain. If you walked by her you would never notice her. But with the giant lights shining down upon her tiny frame, she is exposed. She turns her face instinctively away from the camera. It takes her entirely too long to cross the set and sit in the chair.

I reached my hand up and touched the screen. The woman looked so familiar. She had the same eyes as Margot. In fact the more I stared, there was no doubt. This was Margot as a grown up. But there was something else I recognized. Something too close to admit.

The man on screen moves to hug Tabitha but she shrinks back. He adapts quickly and sits in his chair. The applause stops. He looks pityingly at Tabitha. “Welcome, my dear.”

She nods her head but says nothing.

The man compensates, “We are so happy to have you with us to share your story. All of us remember the Indian Lake Maniac. It had a huge impact not only on Wisconsin, but on the entire country. The man called John, whose identity could never be verified, tortured and terrified you and your mother for years. Tell us – how did you survive this?”

Tabitha raises her head. Her voice was not hesitant. It sounded like Margot’s voice. “I separated myself from what was happening around me.”

“What do you mean by that?” probes the host.

“I was still me, but I was also far away. Maybe I was walking on the beach or sleeping under the stars. But I knew my body was there and my real brain was there.” She takes a breath. “I was locked in that house, but my imagination could wander anywhere I wanted.”

“That is so brave,” the man responds. Some people in the audience start to cry. Others hug each other. Tabitha sees them but doesn’t seem to understand their behavior.

The host continues, “What exactly did John do to you?”

Tabitha stiffens. “Why do you want to know that?”

“Um…” the man clearly is not prepared for the odd woman. “Maybe a better question would be, how did you escape?”

Tabitha smiles, finally. “He called her Helen. Not her real name. I don’t remember her real name. The world has moved on. But before it moved on, we hatched a plan. She was pregnant with my second little brother. The first John killed. But the second my mother killed. She told me, she said ‘When you hear John yell, you hide. You find that secret place and hide from him. Then when he opens the door to look for you, you run across the beam and get out. Keep running. Run until you don’t have legs anymore.’ That’s what she said. And that’s what I did.”

The host begins to talk but Tabitha interrupts him. “I made it to the beam and ran. I ran all the way to where he left Jake. That’s what he called him, Jake. I don’t remember his real name. His body was gone but I could still smell him. He mutated into something different. He was in the ground now. I hid behind the chapel until John was gone. I stayed there for days. A man and a woman found me. I was almost dead, almost gone too. Almost with my little brother. They told me I was lucky they found me. They made me go over everything he did in detail. They poked my body in the same places he did. And then they forgot about me. Like I said, the world moved on.”

The man is speechless. Tabitha doesn’t care. “He called me Margot. But I won’t let him name me. Giving something a name gives it power. I had a name before the world moved on, but that wasn’t me either. So I named myself. Margot died at Indian Lake. She died just as much as my mother, just as much as my brother, and just as much as Shardik the bear. And the rest.”

The host waits a few moments before putting on a fake smile. He turns to the camera. “We’ll be right back with Tabitha, the only survivor of the Indian Lake Maniac.”

The footage stops on a close up of Tabitha’s face. If you look very closely, you could see an odd looking eye tattooed on her collarbone. The video then goes black.

I could barely breathe. I touched my own collarbone. There, under my fingertips, lay my own tattoo. It was the same odd shaped eye in red ink. It came to me in a dream. Or so I thought.

I blinked and felt woozy. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. This was normal – I was used to going many hours without eating. But at that moment I felt close to passing out. My small apartment was growing even smaller. I noticed the clutter for the first time. My chest hurt.

All of a sudden the memory card activated. There was one file on it. It opened without me touching it. The footage made me gasp.

It was of me. The back of my head. I was doing something on my computer. There was a brown paper bag next to me, some scotch tape, and a large black marker. After a few minutes I ejected something from the computer. It was a dvd. Carefully I pulled out a small wooden bear from my pocket, and wrapped them both in the brown paper. With care I wrote my name on the front.

TABITHA.

I put in another dvd to burn. While it was working I started to draw. I awkwardly created a rose on a piece of construction paper. When the dvd was ready I threw both in a black trash bag. I put the bag under the table and the package in my arms.

I then stood and turned to the camera. I smiled into the lens. Leaning forward, lips almost touching, I whispered, “Warm days and pleasant nights.” Then I turned the camera off.

An odd sensation washed over me. I felt like I had seen that footage before. How long had I been sitting at this table? My apartment felt foreign. I wanted to leave. But before I could I took the camera and put the memory card back into it. I reached into my pocket and found not the bear, but rather a pair of batteries. I placed them in the camera, turned it on, and put it back between my two favorite books – On Writing and Song of Susannah. I stumbled towards the door, eager to get some fresh air. I had to leave this place. I ran across the floor.

When I opened it a small package lay on the porch. I paused for a moment. I had forgotten why I had even come to the door in the first place. I picked up the box and took it inside.

Is it so strange to open a box on your doorstep? It was addressed to me. That means it was mine. Of course I would open it.

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onceuponanighttime · 8 years ago

Text

The dvd was covered in scratches

This is part 2 in the dvd series. Click here for part 1.

This package was not addressed to me. Not like the last one. It was a dvd thrown in a black trash bag. The bag was wet, as if it had been outside for a long time. The ties were open. I brought it into the house and fished inside. After I found the dvd I pulled out the second item. A rose. Except it wasn’t a rose. It was a picture of a rose drawn on construction paper. The edges had been ripped or nibbled off. Perhaps it had been drawn by a child.

With robotic movements I took the dvd and put it my computer. I propped the rose drawing up beside me. I tried to find the bear but he was gone. Maybe he scampered away. Maybe I swallowed him. I looked for a good ten minutes. The rose never fell over.

I don’t know why I did it. I could have left the bag outside. I could have ignored it. But something about the way the light caught the black of the plastic, shining back at me like eyes in a deep and endless ocean…it made me do it. My actions were predetermined. It was like the bag knew I would pick it up and reveal its contents. It had already moved on.

The dvd started with a menu, just like the last one. The chapters were, “Father,” “Helen shakes a leg,” “Choo Choo,” “Helen and Margot are ok,” and “Mother.” I stared at the screen for a while. I was too afraid to click the first chapter, despite my body calling out for it. But in the end, the dvd made the decision. It started playing without me clicking anywhere.

The chapter called “Father” begins with a black screen and giggling. It sounds like a young girl. In a whispered voice she says, “I stole John’s camera. Won’t he be mad?” And then more giggling. Suddenly the black is ripped away, revealed to simply be a shirt thrown over the lens. The little girl from the first video is gazing at the camera. She has two black eyes. Her bottom lip is slightly torn. She wears a basic dress with one huge pocket on her stomach.

She stops laughing and looks as if she is going to cry. She rubs her eyes furiously despite the pain it must cause her. She turns her back to the camera and sits down. There are a few seconds of silence. Slowly she lifts one finger over her left shoulder. The rest of her hand and arm are not in sight. She bends her finger up and down.

In a strange, high voice she says, “Hello, I am Yesterday.”

In her regular voice she responds, “Hello Yesterday. I am lonely. Will you be my friend?”

The finger wags and says, “No. You are ugly.”

“Please?”

The finger stands straight up. It quivers for a second. “Ugly girls get devil grass and bruises.”

“I’ll be your friend!” cries a new voice. The girl has lifted her other finger over her right shoulder. “I love you, daughter! You are no demon. You are a clean baby girl.”

The left fingers angrily asks, “Who are you?”

“I am her Father.”

“John is her father.”

“John smells bad. He cannot be a father.”

The fingers argue with each other in their strange little voices while the girl sits still. The left finger even begins flicking her in the head but she does not react.

“Don’t hit her,” wails the right finger. “She is my little mouse.”

The left finger shouts, “She has forgotten the face of her father!”

“Her father has no face,” screams the right.

A crash is heard off screen. The little girl scrambles up and runs to the camera. She tries to turn it off quickly but before the shot ends I could see the man called John striding into the room. He wears a thick belt that he touches firmly. The girl gasps before the scene cuts to black.

In a big yellow font are the words “And be a happy little girl until the day I die.”

The main menu returns. My hands were ticking. It felt like they itched. The rose had begun to smell. It was sweet, like a real flower. I breathed it in. For some reason it turned to smoke in my throat. I coughed and scratched at my neck. Before I had completely gotten the ash out of me the next chapter began to play.

“Helen shakes a leg” is the most graphic video I have ever seen. It starts with a woman (the same from the previous dvd) strapped to a table. It looks like the same dining room table they had eaten the raccoon off of. She is tied down with belts. She fights against them but it is no use. The cameraperson walks around the table to show the woman from every angle. Also in the shot is a large machete and an iron.

The woman does not scream. She just stares at the camera defiantly. She whispers something that might be “candlestick.” Finally, the cameraperson sets the thing down facing the woman. As I expected, the cameraperson reveals himself to be John. I can only assume the woman on the table is Helen. Somehow, John has always managed to keep his face out of frame. This scene is no different.

John picks up the machete. Helen turns her face away in fear or hatred. He approaches her and rubs the dull side of the blade against her skin. I could almost feel her disgust. John clears his throat and says, “Say it.”

Helen does not respond.

John grips the machete harder. “If you say it, it will make this easier on you.”

Helen twists her face towards him and spits. From the direction, I think it must have gotten on his face.

John wipes away her saliva and lifts the machete above his head. He body shakes. “I do not aim with my eye,” he screams as he brings the blade down upon her leg. Helen screams as blood splatters across the room. John lifts the weapon again. “I do not cut with my hand!” He swipes downward and slashes her deeper. I swear I could hear when the knife hit the bone. Helen weeps. John is smiling, dripping red. “I do not kill!” He cracks the machete on her leg again, nearly severing it.

I wanted to look away, but I was not in control of my body.

John drops the weapon and descends on the leg. He uses his foot to try and break the bones. Helen has passed out. Drool falls from her lips, mixing on the floor with her blood. He twists the leg until it comes off. He throws the limb away from him and picks up the iron. He sticks his hand in the wound for a second, letting the viscera collect in his palm. Then he presses the iron to the hole. It cauterizes the wound. I could nearly smell the cooking flesh. John hums a song, pleased with himself.

The last shot is of a yellow screen with small black text: “40.7330 N, 74.0071W”

The chapter was done and I felt sick. The rose was gone. I didn’t bother looking for it. I vomited onto my lap. It smelled like flowers. I tried to get up, clean myself, but I was stuck. There was a belt around my waist tying me to the chair. It had a holster that was empty. No, not empty. It had a real rose inside of it.

“Choo Choo” begins without warning. Luckily, it is a quick chapter. It is just an image of the tiny house from the “Origin” chapter. It fast forwards through two days of footage, showing the shack in day and night. I managed to capture a screenshot of the structure. After the two days are complete the main menu returns. Now, however, the structure stands in the back of the screen. It won’t leave. It won’t be forgotten.

I tried to move again and the belt was gone. The vomit was gone too. Maybe I had imagined it? The real rose that had been in the holster was now on the table. I reached out to touch it. A thorn pricked my finger. My blood was yellow. It dripped onto the table, onto my computer, onto my legs. Helplessly I looked up as the next chapter played.

“Helen and Margot are ok” starts with Helen in a wheelchair. Except it’s not a wheelchair. It’s a regular kitchen chair that has two large cardboard circles taped to the outside. She is either unconscious or extremely out of it. She leans to one side, almost falling off, with her eyes open and tired. Both of her legs have been removed.

The little girl sits on her lap. I assume this means the girl is named Margot. She has a full head of hair in this video, unlike the others. So this must have taken place at a later time. How much later I can’t say.

John holds the camera, like usual. He asks, “How are you?”

Margot replies, “I am okay, John.”

“What did you say?”

“Dad. I am okay, dad.”

John clucks his tongue but does not move. “And you?” Clearly he is addressing Helen, who cannot even lift her neck. “Yes, good,” he says, as if Helen has said something.

John steps back. I could see the rotting carcasses of Helen’s legs in the corner of the room. John proclaims, “I have a surprise for you!” He turns and in front of him is a large door. “We are going through the door today,” he says happily.

Margot chirps, “Are we really?!”

“Oh yes. We are going through the door. We have to go through the door. The door is a door for other doors. No doors no mores.” John has begun babbling like he did in a previous chapter. He turns and I could see Margot’s face falling. She knows he will not let them out. “Door floor more core bore store. Door store. Bought a door at the door store. Got to get Jake from the floor. No door to where he went.”

Margot gets out of Helen’s lap. She approaches John. “Jake is dead,” she tells him matter-of-factly.

John drops the camera on the ground and I could hear him let out a little sob. “I didn’t want him to.”

“I know.” Margot picks up the camera now. She focuses in on John’s face. It is covered by a thick black ski mask. Even if Margot wanted to show his true face, it is covered. “John, why do you record us?”

He looks at her for a moment. ‘Record. Chord. Doored. Door. Got to get the door.”

Margot lets out a long sigh and turns the camera off.

I wanted it to be over. I wanted to shut off my computer, but it was now covered in scorpions. The little bear had returned and was roaring next to me. Roses enclosed the floor. I heard five gunshots from somewhere. I started crying. Why was this being sent to me? What had I done that was so terrible? Did I deserve this?

The last chapter was called “Mother.” The footage opens on a plastic gun on the floor. Slowly, Helen crawls into frame. Her movements are weary. She is dirty and naked. The stumps that were once her legs scratch across the wood. Every inch looks painful. She slithers as close to the camera as possible and begins whispering into it.

“Please kill me. Please. Kill me.” She takes the plastic gun into her mouth. She pulls the trigger, but obviously nothing happens. She pulls it again and again. Tears well up in her eyes. She changes the gun’s position to her forehead. She pulls it harder but of course it does nothing.

“I want to die,” she says a bit louder. “I would be better for me to die.”

A light comes on from somewhere in the room. Margot says, “Why do you want to die?”

Helen stares at the camera. In the smallest whispered possible she says, “I’m pregnant.”

‘What?” Margot calls from her spot across the room.

“Nothing,” Helen says louder. “Go find John and tell him he left his camera on.” The scene ends.

I blinked and my computer was shut down. There were no scorpions. The drawing of the rose was still propped up on the table. The little bear was next to it, harmless. I looked to my finger but found no cut. Desperately I tried ejecting the dvd but there was no dvd. Nothing was inside. I kept pushing the button, hoping to make sense of all this.

I heard a sound behind me. My body froze. The blood barely moved in my veins. It was a small beep. Just a tiny everyday noise. Just the sound of something small being turned on.

Something like a camera.

Part 3

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onceuponanighttime · 8 years ago

Text

the dvd was covered in fingerprints

Is it so strange to open a box on your doorstep? It was addressed to me. That means it was mine. Of course I would open it. I didn’t even notice that it had no return address. It was just a small package wrapped in brown paper. My name was written so perfectly in dark black marker. It was for me. Anyone else would have done the exact same thing.

The box held two things. The dvd and a small wooden figure. It was a bear.

Without waiting, I put the dvd in my computer. I put the tiny bear on the table beside me. The dvd had a small menu with four chapters. The chapter names were Origin, Cast, Helen asks to leave the table, and Overture.

I clicked the Origin chapter.

“Origin” starts with the word “START” flashing on the screen. That lasts for a few moments before it switches to a forest scene. The person holding the camera walks slowly through the woods. The only sounds are those of nature. Sometimes I could hear breathing, but it seemed too quiet to be from the cameraperson. After spending five minutes walking through the woods the person comes across a house. Maybe it was more like a shack. The structure has a dirty wire fence around it with an open gate. The person circles the house four times. There was one window on the west and one on the east walls. You could almost see a woman inside. She was not moving.

The camera was held very carefully. There was very little shaking or distortion.

After the last circle, the cameraperson pans to the trail they just came from. The sound of crunching leaves can be heard. This clearly scares the cameraperson. They run behind the house to hide. The video moves as if it was going to show the cameraperson’s face but it abruptly cuts out, leaving the following numbers written in yellow on a black screen: “43. 184094. -89.627832.”

Then I was taken back to the main menu. I tried to click the Origin chapter again but it was crossed out with a yellow X.

I realized then that the little bear had fallen over on its side. I righted it, and clicked the next chapter.

“Cast” begins with footage of black trash bags. They look as though they were used. The video then switches to a kitchen. A woman in a green dress has her back to the camera. She is stirring something on a stove. Faintly I could hear her sniffling. Someone comes pounding down the stairs off camera. A child is crying. The woman doesn’t react to either of these sounds.

The camera is suddenly picked up by someone. This cameraperson is much less careful with the camera. They turn way from the woman and instead focus on a young girl. She is on her knees on the kitchen floor, her hands folded as if in prayer. A book is being held between her arms and chest. Her head has been shaved except one odd chunk that hangs almost completely over her face.

No one in the scene is disturbed by the little girl. The footage moves down to show another child, a boy, at the feet of the cameraperson. He is the one crying. The cameraperson kicks the boy in the stomach. Then, in the first audible dialogue of the dvd, the cameraperson says, “You forgot the face of your father.” The voice is of an adult man.

The boy crawls desperately towards the girl. He grabs at her clothes. He does not speak in words, but seems to be trying to get the girl’s attention. She ignores him. The man speaks again, “Do as you’re told or what you’re told will be done to you.”

The boy looks helplessly into the camera. He finds no solace there. Slowly he scuttles up onto his knees and folkds his hands like the girl. This action seems to prompt the girl into action. She takes the book she was holding and puts it delicately on the boy’s head. He must now balance so the book doesn’t fall. I tried to see the title of the book, but I could only make out “The Dark ____ ___ Slinger.” The boy begins to whisper. The girl kisses him on the mouth and then resumes her own prayers.

The footage pans back to the woman, who has since removed her dress and stands naked in the kitchen. Her back is covered in scars. Three of her fingers are missing on her right hand. The cameraman approaches her and with a black gloved hand, strokes her injured spine. The woman keeps stirring whatever is on the stove.

The man places the camera down on a counter. All I could see was the woman’s midsection. The man behind the camera steps into view. He is wearing a long jacket and has a machete in his gloved hand. He presses the blade to the woman’s skin. The scene cuts away before anything else can happen.

On a black screen, these letters appear in bright yellow, “jung vs lbhe sngure unf ab snpr.”

The main menu comes back suddenly. I wanted to be done watching but the next chapter loaded without me clicking on it. The bear had fallen over again but I didn’t pick it up this time. I felt stuck in place.

“Helen asks to leave the table” had the oddest title of all the chapters, and possibly the most disturbing footage.

There is no opening the way the other two chapters began. Instead it starts at a table. The camera sits upon it, starring at an empty chair. The room is dark but not completely black. The light flickers as if lit by candles. Nothing makes a sound except labored breathing which comes from people off-screen. It stays like this for almost ten minutes. I couldn’t look away.

Finally a man begins singing tunelessly. It’s “Hey Jude” by The Beatles. He sings almost angrily. Accusingly. The man’s torso comes into view as he picks up the camera. He turns the lens to the rest of the scene. There are three other people sitting around table. I assumed they were the characters from the previous chapter. Each is wearing a black trash bag over their head. The bags had been cut so some air could come in and out. Even so, the wearers seem to be having a hard time breathing. The plastic presses tight against their faces before billowing out as their exhaled.

In front of each person is an empty plate. In the center of the table is a dead raccoon. It looks like it had been dead for a long time. Maggots had eaten out its eyes. The man walks around the table, snatching the bags off each person’s head in violence thrusts. The first bag was of the young girl. She gulps air in like a drowning victim. She has a black eye now. Her small chunk of hair is stuck in her nose and mouth. She does not move it away. Maybe she cannot?

The next bag removed is of the woman. She does not react except to blink quickly. Her neck is cracked at an odd angle. There are bits of dried blood around her mouth. She does not look at the man or the little girl.

The last bag is of the young boy. His eyes are open but his skin is sallow. It is unclear whether or not he is breathing at all.

The man circles back to the head of the table. He sits, placing the camera in front of him. He has stopped singing. Instead he lets out a loud laugh and says, “A family that eats together, stays together. Aren’t we a family?” No one response, which angers the man. “Well, aren’t we!?”

The little girl squeaks, “Yes, John. I mean Dad. A family. A perfect family.”

The woman and young boy do not respond.

The man seems satisfied. “Feast then.”

The woman and the little girl stand. They descend upon the raccoon. It is revealed that both have their hands tied behind their backs. They shove their faces into the carcass, tearing and eating with desperate hunger. The boy does not move. He hasn’t blinked. The man hums Hey Jude as they eat the raccoon. They swallow the maggots along with the raw meat. This disgusting banquet goes on for well over fifteen minutes. The boy does not move during this time. At one moment a bone flies out and hits the boy in the temple. He doesn’t react. The bones strikes his face and then lands on his lap.

The man eventually pounds his fist against the table. The woman and the girl tear themselves away from what’s left of the raccoon. Blood and pus cover their faces. The man stands up and walks over to the girl. He looks like he’s trying to clean her up, but instead lingers sickeningly long on her budding chest. His gloved hands cover her face and body. He then leans over and kisses the back of her head. She shuts her eyes tight.

The woman vomits onto the table. This distracts the man, who runs over to her and slaps her face. “You are ruining our family dinner!”

For the first time she stares back at him defiantly. “Leave her alone.”

“She’s my daughter,” he says carefully.

The woman goes to respond but the man grabs her by the hair and slams her face against the table. He does so seven times. Blood covers the wood of the table. The man then throws her onto the floor and takes the camera. “Ungrateful, ungrateful, ungrateful,” he repeats. “What happens to sinners who are ungrateful. What happens to ungrateful women. What happens to women.”

During this time no one has realized that the little girl shrank away from the table.

The last cut of footage is of the young boy, clearly dead for at least a few days, laid upon an altar. There is a large statue of the Virgin Mary behind the boy. The face of the statue seems to be the same face seen in the window of the structure in the first chapter.

The chapter ends and the main menu began flashing. At this point I could not move. I looked down and realized my hands were tied with the same rope of the women in the video. I called out for help but something was in my mouth. I coughed up the small wooden bear onto the table before me. The next chapter began playing.

“Overture” begins with a yellow and black striped screen. The yellow saturates the black until the screen is completely yellow. The video then cuts to the man called “John” by the little girl. He is speaking into the camera in a fast pace. Most of what he says makes no sense. There are themes of family throughout but otherwise has no obvious connections. At one point he says he has no family, then quickly jumps back to the family he does have (or has created). The entire time he holds a book in his hands. The books is bent so I could not see the title. But there was definitely a gun on the cover. The man even uses the book to pretend to shoot himself. “Dead dad, dead dad. Dad is dead. Wants to be dead. My family wants a dad but wants a dad dead.”

After ten minutes of rambling he pulls out a chunk of wood and begins biting it. With the wood in his mouth he reaches below him and pulls up a hand connected to an arm off-screen. A hand with only two fingers left on it.

The last footage is similar to the first chapter, except the person is running. They run through the woods urgently. Once they come to the small house in the first chapter the cameraperson drops the camera. This distorts the image.

My laptop went completely black at this point. “What the hell,” I hear myself say out loud. I look down at my hands and realize they are not tied together. They probably never were. The little bear is upright and sitting where I had originally put it. I was able to eject the dvd and close my computer. Without hesitation I broke the dvd in half.

I might have been able to move past this. I opened a box with my name on it, watched a dvd meant for me, and it was over now. I might have been able to move on. But there was another box on my porch this morning.

This one was wrapped in a black trash bag.

Part 2

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