Okay.. So, before I begin, I just want to say that this story is true. What I’m about to tell you, really happened to me and I’m not just saying so.
This happened when I was a kid. We lived in a smaller house back then and I shared a room with my elder sister. We had a bunk bed and I slept in the bottom bunk. Or, I tried to. For no good reason I was afraid to sleep there.
My parents got tired of me crawling to sleep in their bed night after night, so they suggested that I would sleep next to my sister in the top bunk. My sister wasn’t too fond of the idea, but she finally agreed, with the condition that I would sleep so that my head was lower, at the level of her chest, and not right next to hers, since I once punched her in my sleep causing her nose to bleed.
I, of course, accepted her term, since it got me out of the bottom bunk. I slept next to her and everything seemed just fine. I no longer had nightmares and I felt safer next to my sis.
But then one night I just couldn’t sleep.…
Lilleth stared up at the ceiling while bundled in her covers. Dimly lit with various band posters taped to the wall, it’s the room of a typical punk girl. She nodded her head to the beat, and softly sang along to the heavy metal playing on her speakers. She heard her mom calling over the music.“What!” Lilleth snapped, annoyed because she knew she would have to get up.
“Lilleth! Come down here! I need some help in the kitchen!” she yelled from downstairs. Rolling her eyes, Lilleth got out of bed, and turned her music off.
The hallway was dark. She turned on the florescent lights. Pictures hung crookedly on the walls, or on the floor. Without looking she closed the door behind her, which had black scratches on it, and she sluggishly went downstairs. Looking into the kitchen, she saw her mom wasn’t there. “Mom?” she grumbled loudly while leaning on the countertop. Silence.
“Lilleth?” the sudden voice of her mom from upstairs broke the silence. Lilleth thought it was odd that her mom had managed to get upstairs so fast without passing her.
“Yea?” She replied, shrugging off the oddity.
“Lilleth did you hear that?” Her mom asked, her voice laden with worry.…
On June 4th, 1983, my high school was one of many that took us to Disneyland for Grad Night. If you’ve ever been to Disneyland on Grad Night, you know how much fun – and how crazy – it can be. The park stays open extra late, the skippers who drive the Jungle Cruise boats let loose and tell dirty jokes, and there’s plenty of opportunities for people to sneak booze and weed in. Getting a bunch of amped high schoolers in Disneyland is one thing, but with a nightlife and party atmosphere behind it, things can get pretty nuts.
My two friends and I, Anaheim locals, were particularly excited. We all loved Disneyland, and while we didn’t get to visit often, living practically in the park’s backyard gave us more opportunities than most. In addition, we hadn’t been since the new Fantasyland opened earlier that year, going from a sort of Medieval fairground into a storybook village, so I was kind of looking forward to that. Unlike a lot of people who were there, we intended to keep things clean and have a grand old time of it, hit as many rides as possible, and just revel.
But the big plan for the night was kind of ambitious and maybe a little reckless – to this day, I can’t remember who suggested it first, only that we all thought it was a great idea.…
I’m a scaredy-cat. There’s nothing that I hate more than being left alone at night in a dark, rambling house. In truth I usually do okay. Stay in my chair, on my computer… watch horror movies and shows. I’m a scaredy-cat, but I kind of like being scared.
I was doing my usual routine. Watching things, snacking, waiting for my room mates to get home and bring the house to life again. Nature called to me and I abandoned my comfortable nest I made in the arm chair to wander to the bathroom. This room in particular is one of those modern examples of style. Big white space with mirrored surfaces, and the affronting display of the latrine tucked into its own small room with a linen closet behind a separate door.
It really bugs me, but whenever some one else uses my bathroom they always leave all the doors ajar. I never catch them so I don’t know who to scold, but they all know it bothers me. It’s probably why they do it. This was one of those occasions, where the toilet door was wide open and the linen door cracked just inside of it. Whatever, it’s not that big of a deal.…
I ran straight to the super market when I heard about the nuclear strike. The government said that a deadly disease was spreading were I lived, and that the were going to eliminate anyone who had it. When I got to the store, I saw that almost all of the canned foods were gone, infact, almost everything was gone. I grabbed all of the cans I could carry, ran outside to my car, and realized it was not enough to keep me alive in my bomb shelter.
Wondering what I would do, the nuclear strike being imminent, I saw a woman and two small children loading a van with food cans. They had enough to survive years, I thought. I ran too the woman and asked if I could have some of the cans. “I’m sorry, I have more people to feed at my house, I can’t spare any.” She told me.
Walking back to my car disapointed, I stepped on something, I looked down to see I steped on a screw driver. That’s when I got the idea. I bent down and picked it up, and looked toward the woman, still loading the van with the canned foods. I needed that food.…
God, I hope I’m just going crazy.
You ever had one of those “how in the hell did I get here” moments? I mean those flashes of clarity where you really see your life. You look in the mirror and you’re so far removed from the person you dreamed of being when you were a kid that you’re stunned speechless.
Mine happened about a year ago, a week or two before Thanksgiving, when I woke up in the hospital. I was incredibly disoriented; everything seemed unreal and distant, not really happening to me… like I was dreaming, or an avatar in a video game.
Maybe it was because I already felt so disconnected… maybe it was the terrifying reminder of my own mortality… but it felt like I was seeing myself with a stranger’s eyes. Waves of shame and self-hatred rolled over me in that hospital bed, and I vowed to change my life.
I’d made similar resolutions before and failed miserably, but this time was different.
This time, the change was nearly effortless: old habits evaporated, old temptations lost all allure. Peer pressure stopped being an issue, because I just wasn’t interested in hanging out with my usual group; when I tried going out with them sober, they bored me to tears.…
I don’t know why so many of these things have roots in childhood. It seems like a bad cliché at this point. “When I was a kid”, there was this strange event… that odd creature… or the other thing that made me do something-or-other.
Yeah. I don’t know WHY so many start like that.
For me, I can’t explain this any other way than starting when I was little. It’s the crux of the entire thing, and I apologize in advance if it seems like I’m just following in the footsteps of others.
This is real. This is awful. I feel like nobody’s going to listen because of where the story begins…
When I was growing up, my parents would often take me out for pizza. It didn’t have to be a special occasion, I didn’t even have to be a good kid, it’s more that they wanted a night out and I came along for the ride.
Julie was awesome. She’d put on cartoons for me whenever I showed up, or sometimes the old 60s Batman show in repeats. This was where I was first exposed to video games, as there was always a cabinet or pinball machine waiting by the entrance.…
Hey guys, my name is Martin. I got something to get off my chest, something that has been clawing at me since it happened. It has changed my life and I was so damn lucky to get out of it, let alone Scott free! I was only 15 when it happened, I lived in the bad side of Chicago, a place that is so crime ridden, corrupt, and destroyed, that the Police won’t drive here unless they muster up the courage or they just have to. Our house was the thing that stood out the most from my memory. It was a tiny little house squeezed between a small, run-down apartment complex, and a bigger, more spacious and colorful house. My room is where it happened, all those years ago.
My room was located at the back of the house. It was on the 2nd floor and just above the kitchen. It was one of the biggest rooms in the house and where every toy or videogame console I had was. When I was bored or it was a rainy day and I couldn’t go outside to play or visit friends, I would just go up to my room and build something with my legos, or play on my Play Station 2.…
I’ve lost control in every sense of the word. The steering wheel is slipping loosely through my crimson splattered hands and the cry of a father’s daughter screaming in agony echoes in my conscious. The knife on the passenger seat is sliding back and forth across the leather like a euphoric heretic mid ritual as the grim world outside is reflecting onto its scarlet tainted surface. The rain is growing greater and greater and my car’s wheels barely maintain their connection onto the road as I swerve down a curving beast of a mountain towards my only escape; a bridge across the Hades ravine.
As I finally eye that sacred bridge behind a veil of the brooding torrent of nature; I enter the infinite darkness of a tunnel where my headlights but barely pierce its shroud of shadows. I’m shocked when I see light not from the end of the tunnel I drive towards but from the end behind me. They glow like the eyes of a snarling beast and they rush ever closer with the roar of a vrooming engine; a Hell beast that is undoubtedly ridden by a grieving yet vengeful father. I slam my tattered work boot downward towards the accelerator with a force fueled not by anger but pure terror.…
Do you remember those old televisions that everyone’s grandparents had in their basements? Those old bunny ear t.v.’s that turned to static whenever there was a storm or even a little wind? I do… All too well. Children have very vivid imaginations. We all remember seeing things that our parents told us weren’t really there. The monster under the bed, the beady eyes in the closet that were really just your jacket’s reflectors, the ghost in your basement that would “get you” if the lights weren’t on… just childish and imaginative stuff that made your parents laugh. Well my greatest fear turned out to be the static on the television. We all imagine stuff that’s “not really there” and dismiss it, but what happens when there is really something there?
When I was 7 years old, my family lived in a town deep in rural Alabama. This was the definition of a “swamp water” town. There were only a few houses in the immediate area, so I didn’t really have any neighbors. As a child, I mainly had to entertain myself. My dad was a miner so he was never home and my brother was always focused on his school work.…