Every night since it happened, I have the same nightmare.
I know it's not over. I know there's only one way it
can end. As soon as I close my eyes and
lay down, I am there again. The sound is behind me again.
The methodical, rhythmic, splashing sound of the thing
that is hunting me, The sound that I know heralds the end.
I was a fool to get caught out in this, and now I know I will
likely meet my fate, just as all my friends did before.
Why did I try to make a run for it?
Why did I assume I would make it out?
No one is getting out of here alive.
I dash ahead, my limbs burning and my heart racing.
I fall face first into the water, then I wake up.
No one believed my story, and why would they?
Officially, everything was just a terrible accident.
A vacation, a large body of water.
People drown. Not often almost an entire group
of friends, but people drown. And that's what I was told as my
claims were ignored, always the fake concerned looks as I gave
my account. Eventually those gave way to
annoyance at my pressing of the subject.
My friends, families, even seem determined to chalk it up to an
accident and insist that I am dishonouring their memories by
trying to make such outrageous claims about what happened.
But I know I was there, and I know what I saw with my own
eyes, and I know it was real. I know it was real because since
it happened I have scarcely left my house.
And that is after moving to Nevada, the driest state I could
think of, I decided to write this all down in the likely
event that something happens to me.
I know no one will believe this account either, and assume that
I am crazy, so I may as well share it with a broader
audience. And maybe you will believe me,
maybe believe why the falling rain itself is a herald of my
impending death and why I will never be caught out in the rain
as long as I live. As short as that might be, we
should have listened to that sign.
My name is Tim. My friends and I had gone on a
summer break vacation to a fancy spa and resort by a lake far out
in the country. Good times.
Relaxation, a drink or two, a massage or three, and maybe a
chance to hook up with Becky if I played my cards right.
We had just rounded the corner to a scenic Vista that must be
the road leading to the resort. The area was impressive with
beautiful forests, cool clean air and a crystal Blue Lake.
A small slice of summer heaven, we saw what must be the resort
poking out through the tree line.
Seeing we were close, my friend Adam gunned the engine of his
old van and said hang on, it's going to be a bumpy ride.
And then, as if aiming for them intentionally, he hit a series
of rough potholes on the road. We were all jostled around badly
as we barely had enough space for all of us to fit in in the
1st place, and Gina punched Adam in the arm and chided him for
driving so recklessly. All right, here we are, I
thought to myself excitedly. I was genuinely looking forward
to this. We were going to have a blast.
We all practically fell out of the van.
We started unpacking what little amenities we had brought with us
besides myself. There was Adam, our friendly but
rather egotistical resident jock, and my best friend.
There was Adams girlfriend Gina, a very no nonsense and intense
type who would probably be the CEO of her own company after
finishing school. Becky, who was Adams's sister,
was beautiful, kind and a little shy, but sometimes surprised us
with how outgoing she could be. And finally, our resident know
it all Laura, the smartest person we all knew and the only
one whose ego was bigger than Adam's.
We had originally planned to go to a concert this summer, since
we didn't think we could afford something as lavish as a resort
stay, but some person in Adam's family knew the owners and got
us a stay for much cheaper than we could afford.
Otherwise, I was taken aback by the sights around the resort,
despite being almost eerier with how out of the way it was.
The natural beauty made me forget all about how far away we
were and how long it would take to get help if we needed it.
We walked up to the main building and went inside.
There was no staff there at the counter where one would normally
check in before anyone else could ask a question.
Adam rushed forward and started smashing the bell on the counter
and saying ring a Ling Ding. I say room service like a jerk,
Gina sighed. Becky and Laura giggled, and I
rolled my eyes while laughing a little as well.
A large man in A2, tight fitting and not particularly seasonal
turtleneck came out from a backroom and went behind the
desk. Good afternoon.
You must all be the. He paused, looking down at a
paper. The Johnston party.
Yes, that would be me and my associates.
Good chap, Adam said in a bad English accent, and we all had
to suppress another groan. Very good, very good, said the
concierge. My name is Mr. Dalton.
I will be attending your stay along with Miss Llewellyn who
will be on call for all staff needs.
I am afraid you caught us during our off time.
You see, the resort here is nearly shut down during
hurricane season, so some amenities may not be available.
I scratched my head in confusion.
Wait, did he say hurricane season?
But that's a lake, not the ocean.
We are miles from it. What difference should
hurricanes or possibly the odd thunderstorm cause for a forest
resort? For safety purposes, we must
also ask that you all sign these liability waivers before I give
you your room keys. Due to the season we will make
every effort to, though we cannot guarantee your safety,
especially if you are caught out in a storm.
While partaking of some of our activities here, Laura perked up
at that liability waivers in case of accidental injuries or
death. This says what kind of place is
this? We should go guys.
This seems very sketchy. Adam, the normal voice of
reason, assuming reason had about one too many, was already
signing his form. He bellowed.
Come on guys, it's not so bad. Probably just some weird
insurance thing they have everyone do.
Let's get it over with and go. I want to go swimming.
Not wanting to be left out, we all agreed and reluctantly
signed the waivers. Mr. Dalton smiled, handed us an
antique looking brass key and LED us to our room.
It was a luxury suite that was very impressive with several
rooms, fine decor, 2 hot tubs and an impressive view.
Looking out over both the forest and the nearby Lake Kashur,
everyone was stunned by how nice this place was, especially with
how cheap we were able to get it.
Though we did notice it may have been so cheap because it seemed
like we might be the only guests here during the season.
Are people really that scared of storms this far away from the
coast? I thought I was bumped from my
reverie by Becky, who accidentally dropped her bag
right by me coming into the room.
I bent down at the same time to help her pick it up and we
almost bumped our heads together.
We each suppressed a little chuckle and she smiled
beautifully at me. It made me forget the quip I had
come up with to try and poke fun at the situation and I ended up
staring dumbly until Adam grabbed my shoulder and said
Watch where you were going dude, that big head of yours if a
lethal weapon. The girls chuckled and I got a
little red in the face and went on to my room.
Inside the room was Immaculate besides being a little dusty,
and there was a faint musty smell possibly due to disuse.
I started putting away what little I brought with me.
I hopped on the bed and stretched out.
As I lay on the bed. I leaned up and looked around
the room. I spotted an odd scratch mark on
the wall by the closet. I got up and looked closer at
it. It was painted over but not
restored, so the grooves of the cut were still visible.
What did that? I wondered.
I opened the closet and found nothing other than a hanging
robe, a box fan, an ironing board, and a small box tucked
under the board. What was this?
I puzzled. I opened the box and saw a
handful of old photos. Like old Polaroid style, it
appeared to be footprints on the shore near the lake.
The prints were strangely shaped and there were more pictures of
the Prince in the forest dirt, a faint watery outline on what
looked like a driveway, and even on a carpeted ground, which
looked disturbingly like the same carpet the resort used in
certain places. This was bizarre.
Did someone have a foot fetish? I laughed to myself before
becoming slightly concerned when I saw panicked handwriting on
the back of the last one that appeared to be of the ground
soaking wet with still falling raindrops captured in the
picture. The photo was blurry, but looked
like it may be of an outline of a person.
The panicked writing read. The rain.
It was the rain. That sound.
It was them. What the hell were these?
I thought maybe someone was peeping on people and got
busted, or maybe someone was stalking the last person here.
I thought of a few possibilities before I heard Adam shouting
that dinner was ready. The staff it seemed, despite the
low number, had a solid cook and we had a large dinner brought up
to our room, which to our shock was complimentary.
We all had a good time and Gina, despite normally being the
straight edge type, had actually brought a rather large
assortment of drinks, so it was not long before we were all
messed up and partying like a proper summer vacation.
It was starting to get late and I was about to pass out when
Adam and Gina both demanded that we all go swimming out at the
lake. Since it was so nice and warm
outside, we all agreed and changed into our swimsuits.
As we walk down to the lake, we noted a rather prominent sign by
the lake with a very large font indicating a strange rule.
It said absolutely no swimming in the rain.
What a weird rule, I thought. Laura gawked at the sign as well
and said, well, I have heard of not eating before swimming, but
the rain has little influence on swimming safety in a closed lake
with no boats about. And besides, Adam said
boisterously, licking his finger and holding up to the air.
There ain't any rain dew in these parts.
For days he snickered to himself over the sound of everyone's
eyes rolling. Since the climate seemed OK, we
splashed into the water and we're soon swimming, singing and
having a good time. That was what I wished our whole
vacation was like. I never thought such a
catastrophe could happen at that point with how happy we all
were, but it would start soon after I hopped out of the water.
Everyone was having a great time and thought it would be cool if
we built a big bonfire by the shore and went to work trying to
get the materials to make it. But my plan seemed thwarted as a
large Thunder clap peeled in the sky and rain began to fall down
onto the lake and the shore, the patterning raindrops ensuring
that my hope of starting a fire was moot.
Dang, I thought that would have been cool.
Oh, we are going to be in trouble.
I hope they don't throw us out, Gina said, this time rather
drunk and uncharacteristically unserious.
Yeah, but our towels are getting wet, I thought, and for some
reason also thought of that strange picture from the room
that mentioned rain. Becky got out of the water
first, grabbed her towel, and came up near me under a close by
tree where I had attempted to make the fire sometime for a
storm. Eh, I said, rather lamely.
Yeah, sure is, she said, trying to humor my attempts at banter.
What broke the awkward pause was a strong, almost Searchlight
style light looking toward the water.
It shined on us briefly, and as we squinted at it, we heard two
sharp honks from a whistle which almost sounded like an old steam
engine. Before we knew what had
happened, there was a commotion at the resort and Mr. Dalton and
the enigmatic Miss Llewellyn had jumped into a large red truck
with warning lights on the top and thundered out of the lot.
They were driving so fast I thought they might be coming for
us since we had broken the rule. Just as it seemed like they were
going to run us down, they veered off and started down the
road, pausing only briefly to have Mr. Dalton roll down his
window and say bad luck. My friends, it was nice to have
known you, Godspeed. And indeed, God knows you will
need it for what comes next, he continued, saying we left the
resort unlocked, but I don't believe it will be of much help.
You must accept our deepest apologies.
There is little we can do to help now.
If you can escape, if you cannot die, well, we will notify your
next of kin. Farewell.
And he rolled up the window and speed off.
What the hell does that mean? What was going on?
I was panicked now and so was Becky, who was looking back and
forth and the rain intensified. They just left us.
What is going on? She cried.
I tried to calm her down, but I didn't know what that was all
about either. Maybe it was some weird prank.
What did we miss? Adam said, finally getting out
of the water and lumbering towards us, still partly drunk.
The staff just left. I said they just up and left and
they are gone. They said they left the resort
open, but that they couldn't stay there.
I don't know what kind of prank this is, but it's not funny.
This stunt, the rain, the pictures.
I was ranting, thinking maybe Adam set up this sort of thing
is a big joke, but I saw the confusion on his and everyone
else's face and was afraid that this might indeed really be
happening. What did they actually say?
Laura asked as she approached as well.
I explained what Becky and I saw, and then we looked at each
other as if reading the other's mind and asked in unison.
Where is Gina? Hey Gina, babe, time to get out
of the water, Adam shouted a Thunder clap almost cutting him
off seconds after he shouted. All right, if you buzzkills,
have to ruin it, I guess. She slurred as she slowly walked
out of the water, a buzzed grin still on her face.
As she walked up and out of the water by a boat launch, we heard
an odd sound, like the splashing footsteps she was making coming
out of the water. They seem to double somehow.
It sounded like two people were walking out of the water, the
other tread being much heavier and steadier.
She must have heard it too. Like us, because she paused
briefly, almost as if to test the sound and see if it
continued after a brief delay. It did.
Splash, splash, splash, stomp, stomp, stomp.
Then it stopped. Gina turned around and said
thought I was going crazy and she was wrenched off, her feet
to the ground, a sickening crunch being heard as her head
smashed down onto the concrete. We saw her flailing and ran to
help, but to our horror she began getting pulled into the
water by some unseen force and her eyes and mouth began to leak
water. When she tried to scream.
Adam and I grabbed her arms and tried to pull her back out, but
we were kicked off our feet as well and heard even more watery
footsteps and a disturbing gurgling sound.
Adam was shouting and thrashing, trying to pull Gina out of the
water with all his might. He cried out to her to breathe
as it looked like he was getting some response from her.
Her mouth opened again and water gushed out and enveloped his
head as well. There was a splashing and
sprinting sound of footsteps. Adam was knocked back with such
violent force that he was launched into the lake and
rather than sinking, he just floated on the surface,
convulsing and apparently drowning despite not being under
the water. This spectacle was enough.
Becky and Laura shrieked louder than I had ever heard anyone
scream in my life and ran towards the resort.
I shook myself from my own terror induced stupor and did
the same. We made it inside, panicked and
panting, shivering with cold terror in our breath.
I closed the door to the entryway and found a large lock
and slid it into place. We huddled around not knowing
what to say. Becky was crying, but Laura
broke the silence. What the hell just happened
there? That can't be real.
They just drown above the water. Those footsteps.
What is going on? I didn't know what to say.
I just said we need to find a phone.
We need to call for help. Maybe there's a landline here
that actually has reception since we knew the phones back in
the room had not had service for miles before we got here.
The rain was getting heavier. It was a downpour outside as we
searched around the entrance in the reception office we found a
phone, but our hope was short lived.
We picked it up and the line was dead.
There was nothing for emergency services, no radio or anything
else. We were stuck here alone.
As my panicked and grief stricken mind came to grips with
this revelation, we heard and saw something unbelievable
outside. Over the sound of the intense
rain, we heard the heavy, methodical approach of splashing
footsteps. They stomped across the parking
lot, splashing gouts of water where they landed, but nothing
was making them that we could see.
We held our collective breaths as the stomping, splashing
footfalls approached the front door and stopped.
There was a terrible silence and for a moment we thought nothing
might happen. Then we heard what sounded like
scratching on the glass, and then a terrible cutting sound.
As words began to appear. Being cut into the glass, we
started to shake as we read the words help us.
We are drowning. Help us.
We are your friends. You can't leave us.
Becky let out a SOB. No.
Adam. No.
Is he still alive? We need to help him, my brother.
He is dying. We stopped her from moving
towards the glass and as we stood there, petrified by the
invisible writer, we heard a knock and scratching at the back
door. Then hideous gurgling sounds
like one's head being forced underwater.
It sounded from above as well. My heart felt like it stopped
when we heard footsteps wetly clumping on the ground above us.
Laura ran, sprinting away toward the room.
I couldn't breathe. I sat there, dumbfounded.
Becky grabbed my arm and was screaming at me.
They have Adam. I couldn't respond, so she ran
toward the window where she said she saw him.
She said he was on the ground and he was drowning.
She unlocked the door and the sound of the bolt shooting back
knocked me back into my conscious self.
I barely had time to loose a strangled scream of Becky.
No. Then a cascade of water and the
thunderous marching of wet footsteps rushed forward and
bowled her out of the door and into the drenched ground beyond.
I saw her terrified look, and she looked back at me.
Her scream was cut off by some unseen hands smothering her with
that impossible water. I ran as fast as I could.
I tried to get to the room where Laura was, but as I reached the
door and frantically tried it, I realized I didn't have the key.
I screamed for Laura to let me in, but I heard nothing on the
other side of the door, only footsteps behind me, slow, wet
padding, footsteps over the carpeted floor of the resort.
I screamed as I lowered my shoulder and barged into the
door. Once, twice, 3, then four times,
until finally it broke on a hinge and fell forward.
The padding footstep was behind me, and when I fell into the
room I saw Laura with her hands over her ears, huddled on the
couch, almost catatonic. Come on, I shouted.
We have to go now. I beseeched her, but she was
utterly unresponsive. The footsteps were in the room
now, slowly moving toward the middle of the room.
My heart sank, but I fled and left the footsteps to catch up
to and engulf her. I'm only thankful I didn't have
to hear the scream. I slammed my door shut, grabbed
my bag with my phone, personal effects, and everything else,
and closed myself in the closet of my room.
I heard the footsteps, then the knocking, then the scratching,
then the voices. Help us.
We are stuck under the water. Only you can save us.
Help us. It hurts the water.
There's too much. We are drowning.
I held my hands over my ears as well and closed my eyes and
hoped and prayed for an end to this.
That maybe this was all just a terrible dream.
After what felt like ages, the sound stopped.
The voices, the footsteps, the scratching.
It was all quiet now. I noticed the rain had stopped
as well. The rain.
Maybe it was somehow connected to it.
The damn rain. We were swimming in the lake.
Did those losers know this could happen?
Was that what the waivers were for?
My hands curled into fists? I couldn't believe it.
I redoubled my will and fought on, determined to at least make
them pay for knowingly risking my friends lives and getting
almost all of us killed. If it stopped raining, I could
get away. I needed to get out of here.
I cautiously opened the door and looked outside.
Nothing grabbed me and no watery footsteps were moving anywhere.
It was completely silent. I walked out slowly through the
hall to the living room, fearing what I might see, but Laura was
gone. I felt ashamed and guilty that I
had not tried to grab her and run to the safety of a room.
I slowly walked out of the room and downstairs.
The wind was still kicked up and the front doors were hanging
open, creaking in the blowing wind.
It was almost morning, and a faint light crept into the
entryway. I had gotten Adams's keys from
his room and should be able to get away using the van.
My eyes darted frantically and I looked around, peeking outside
to see ominous clouds, but thankfully there was no rain at
the moment. I slowly walked to the parking
lot, my heart racing at the sounds of my own footsteps,
making sure I didn't hear another behind or in front of
me. I got to the van and thought I
might actually make it. Yet as I press the unlock button
on the fob, a Thunder clap resounded from over the hills
and in moments a morning shower had begun, the rain pattering
off of me in the van. I froze at 1st and then exploded
into motion, reaching for the door to open when I saw inside
and fell backwards in indescribable horror.
Adam and Gina, or at least their boneless looking bodies, slowly
writhed up into the front seats of the van, almost as if being
moved into position like some demonic marionette puppets.
I stood, their mouth agape in horror as Adams's face slunk
toward me and his mouth opened. The water gushed out and began
filling the cabin and spilling out and the corpse.
Things that used to be my friends moved to open the doors,
and the wall of water rushed out to meet me.
They remained, collapsing onto the dashboard, but the splashing
footsteps began immediately, coming towards me again.
I screamed like a madman and broke for the woods, the
implacable footsteps never receding too far behind.
No matter how fast I ran, it felt hopeless.
My energy was all but spent and I ran past my limits in a pure,
desperate bid to survive. My whole body was aching and I
could barely breathe, but I kept running.
I knew if I stopped I would be next.
I thought. I could see what might be a main
road. Maybe the thing might not be
able to follow me past a certain point, but just as I approached
the road, I tripped over my own tired feet and some vines and
fell into a ditch by the road that was filled with water from
the flash flood. I rolled over, spitting water
out and screaming and panting and defiantly challenging my
fate. I stood in the water that was up
to my waist. I looked back the way I came and
I heard nothing. I let out a sigh of relief and I
thought, could this really be over?
There was a painstaking silence. I exhaled and turned around to
try and climb out of the ditch. Then I heard it, just like I
have been hearing it in my nightmares ever since.
The footsteps in the rain. To this day, I don't know how or
why I got away when my friends did not.
I don't know why I am sharing this.
Maybe survivor's guilt. Either way, I don't think I will
be around much longer. There's no way I can avoid the
rain forever. It's still out there somehow.
It can follow me wherever I go. And as soon as the rain starts
falling, those footsteps start falling as well.
I moved to the driest state in the country, but it won't be
enough. Even when it's not raining, I
hear it in my nightmares. I think of my friends being
drowned before my eyes. I still hear their screams.
It still feels so real, just like that faint sound I hear.
No, it couldn't be. I checked the forecast this
morning. Yet as I write this, it sounds
like Thunder in the distance and perhaps a light pattering of
rain. Please excuse me, I had better
lock the doors. I hear the footsteps now and
know I will be having visitors soon. 10 years ago, in my senior
year of high school, I found myself living a solitary
existence. I wasn't bullied or tormented,
but I didn't have any close friends either.
It was just me and my video games, which offered an escape
from my ordinary life. My dad and I shared a quiet
home, and I cherish the time we spent together.
You see, my mother had become entangled with a dangerous crowd
when I was around 10 or 11, and my dad decided it was best to
move us away from that world. It was a messy process, but it
was done to protect me. Despite numerous attempts to
help her, my mother always turned down my dad's efforts
until one day she vanished completely.
Life moved on, and as I grew older, my dad occasionally had
to leave for a weekend for work. I didn't mind being home alone.
My dad trusted me, and I was responsible enough to handle it.
On one particular weekend during my senior year, my dad had left
for the night following our usual routine.
He left some money for pizza and soda, a rare treat in our house
where we didn't usually have soda.
As I sat down to enjoy my pizza, I settled into my usual routine,
eating, gaming, and losing myself in digital worlds.
While I was engrossed in playing Grand Theft Auto, I began to
notice something strange. There were faint, subtle
vibrations and small bumps coming from downstairs.
I had been home alone many times before, and I couldn't recall
ever experiencing these sensations.
They weren't alarming, yet they were unsettling, especially
considering the late hour. Every so often I heard a soft,
scoffing noise. I paused the game, trying to
listen intently, but mostly I heard silence, occasionally
punctuated by a small bump or creak in the house.
The notion of an intruder briefly crossed my mind, and I
even entertained the idea of ghosts, though I quickly
dismissed that notion. This internal debate persisted
for about half an hour. I finally decided to investigate
and prove to myself that there was nothing to fear.
Slowly, I crept down the upstairs hall, heading toward
the source of the sounds. As I got closer, the muffled
noises grew louder, and I began to fear the worst.
The idea of calling the police crossed my mind, but I
hesitated, worried about the possibility of wasting their
time. As I reached the bottom of the
stairs, I noticed a light emanating from the kitchen on
the other side of the house. I was almost certain that I had
turned it off before heading upstairs, and my compulsive
nature made me confident in my memory.
My heart pounded as I inch toward the kitchen.
The sounds of rummaging grew louder, accompanied by a soft,
eerie humming. I hesitated, fearing I might
encounter A menacing intruder. However, the voice sounded oddly
familiar. Peeking into the kitchen, I saw
a small, dishevelled woman with wild hair standing by the sink.
It was my mom. She was humming, a melody I
recognized from my childhood. I've got no strings from
Disney's Pinocchio. A flood of memories rushed back.
This was a song she used to sing to me when I was very young, one
of the few memories I had of her.
I couldn't move, my body trembling in a strange mix of
fear and curiosity. Her voice, which should have
been soothing, sent shivers down my spine.
She turned to me with a big, unsettling smile, revealing
rotting teeth and sunken eyes. She asked.
There's my baby. What are you doing awake at this
hour? I stood like a statue, unable to
respond. She came closer, placing her
dirty hand on my shoulder, commenting about my father's
habits with the cabinets, and chuckling in a disturbing,
cartoonish manner. Overwhelmed with fear, I finally
broke free from my paralysis and rushed back to my room, locking
the door behind me. I immediately called the police
and my dad. My dad instructed me to stay in
my room with the door locked. The police arrived quickly and I
could hear a confrontation downstairs as my mother shouted
at them to leave her house. They were aware of the situation
from my dad's call and mine. After a brief struggle, there
was silence. One of the officers called my
name, indicating it was safe to come downstairs.
I spoke with the police for a while as they drove my mother
away. Another officer remained parked
outside our house to ensure my safety, which I greatly
appreciated. My dad returned home early the
next morning and I could sense his discomfort.
We had narrowly avoided a potentially horrific situation.
My mother had been carrying two knives, one from when she broke
in and another a sharp kitchen knife belonging to my dad.
She never used them or threatened anyone with them, but
the fact that she had them was unsettling.
Perhaps the most terrifying aspect of this ordeal was that
my mother shouldn't have known where we lived.
We had moved far away to protect me, and my dad never disclosed
our new address to her. She had broken into the house
through a downstairs window, a detail I had missed due to my
headphones. I couldn't shake the image of my
mother humming and wandering through the house, potentially
waiting for my dad while I was upstairs.
Even now, after 10 years, the memory still haunts me.
Every time I hear the song from Pinocchio.
I freeze up, hoping that one day I can move past the fear and
remember my mother in a positive light.
I remember that fateful night in Joshua Tree, July 23rd of 2018,
as if it were yesterday. I had embarked on a Western
United States road trip, a solo adventure that was a far cry
from my homeland. The barren beauty of Joshua Tree
National Park was my chosen destination, and I had parked my
motorhome at the Black Rock Campground.
As I arrived at the campground in the late afternoon, I was met
with an intense heat wave that seemed to envelope everything in
its sweltering embrace. The sun's unforgiving rays
painted the landscape in shades of fiery orange and burnt
Sienna. Despite the heat, or perhaps
because of it, the campground appeared nearly deserted, a
stark contrast to the bustling images of campers I had seen
online. There were only one or two other
groups of campers insight, and I couldn't spot any Park Rangers
nearby. It felt eerily desolate, like an
abandoned outpost in the heart of the desert.
Still, my excitement trumped any concerns, and with a naive sense
of adventure, I chose the most isolated lot at the back of the
campground. It was a decision fueled by my
desire to be close to the untouched wilderness, surrounded
by the beauty of the desert flora and the occasional
adorable jackrabbit. Little did I know that this
choice would soon send shivers down my spine.
My chosen lot backed right onto the threshold of the wilderness.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the desert in
an otherworldly twilight, I felt a mix of serenity and unease.
The campsite was bathed in a dusky hue, with the distant
mountains looming like ancient Sentinels.
The isolation and silence were so profound that it felt as if I
had entered a world untouched by time.
Before settling in for the night, I decided to take a
leisurely stroll, capturing the surreal beauty of the desert
with my camera, I climbed a small hill near my van,
capturing the ever changing colors of the desert.
At dusk, as darkness gradually enveloped the landscape, I
couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability that came with
being a lone traveller in such a remote area.
With trepidation, I retreated to the confines of my camper van to
prepare for sleep. Clutching my pocket knife and
pepper spray tightly, I lay in my makeshift bed.
The desert night was eerily quiet, broken only by the
occasional hoot of an owl or the distant howl of a coyote.
My heart pounded in my chest as my mind conjured unsettling
scenarios of someone knocking on my window, an intruder lurking
in the shadows. The relentless anxiety made it
difficult for me to drift into a peaceful slumber.
I tossed and turned my senses on high alert.
The desert night seemed to hold its breath, and I couldn't
escape the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes.
My imagination ran wild, and each rustling of the wind
outside felt like a whisper of impending danger.
Eventually, I surrendered to exhaustion and drifted into a
fitful sleep. But even in my dreams, I
couldn't escape the sense of foreboding that hung in the air
like a heavy shroud. Nightmares plagued my restless
sleep, vivid visions of a mysterious figure knocking on my
window of malevolent intentions lurking in the darkness.
Unable to find solace in sleep, I gave up the feudal endeavor
and turn my attention to the Vans window.
With my heart still racing, I decided to distract myself by
messaging my family back home. The soft glow of my smartphone
illuminated my face as I typed away, trying to shake off the
lingering fear. Then, as if on cue, the universe
unveiled A spectacle that would forever haunt my memory.
Out of the vast star-studded expanse of the desert sky, about
six bright gold lights appeared. They shimmered like fireworks,
suspended in the air, frozen in time just before the moment of
explosion. My breath caught in my throat as
I watched an astonishment. The lights formed a Half Moon
formation, their golden glow casting an eerie radiance on the
barren landscape below. I couldn't tear my eyes away
from the celestial display. Mesmerized by its otherworldly
beauty, these lights weren't like anything I had ever seen.
They weren't moving in any discernible direction, like
shooting stars or meteors. Instead, they simply hung there,
defying explanation and my understanding of the natural
world. As I continued to gaze at the
mysterious lights, they slowly extinguished 1 by 1, vanishing
into the vastness of the night sky.
But just when I thought the spectacle had ended, another
light appeared in the far distance to the right.
It too lingered for a few heart pounding seconds before fading
into obscurity. I couldn't believe my eyes.
I wasn't a firm believer in otherworldly occurrences, but I
couldn't deny the strangeness of what I had just witnessed.
I frantically grabbed my smartphone and began to search
for any logical explanation, scouring the Internet for
astrological events or natural phenomena that could account for
those bizarre lights. But my search yielded no
results. The night remained eerily
silent, and the desert seemed to hold its secrets close.
The lights had left me with a sense of wonder and unease, a
puzzle I couldn't solve. I was left with more questions
than answers, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had
witnessed something beyond the realm of human comprehension.
I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, my mind consumed by
thoughts of those enigmatic lights in the desert sky.
I couldn't help but wonder if anyone else had ever experienced
something similar, or if there was a rational explanation that
had eluded me. As the first light of dawn crept
over the horizon, I knew that I had ventured into a realm of
uncertainty, a place where the boundaries between the known and
the unknown blurred, leaving me with a haunting sense of wonder
and dread that would stay with me for the rest of my life.
One thing that I hate almost more than anything in the world
is being waited on. I don't mean it.
Restaurants or places like that. I just mean in life in general.
I've always been pretty independent and when I first met
my husband we didn't click right away because we would literally
fight over who was going to pay for the check.
Fast forward to now and we have a nice balance of things.
One thing that I usually do is take care of the house and even
specifically the kitchen. I cannot stand a messy kitchen
and dishes in the sink and he's infamous for leaving dishes in
the sink. So that's why I take care of the
kitchen when I can now. A few weeks ago, I had to have
surgery on my knee. This past summer I destroyed my
knee playing softball and still continue to finish the game
doing more damage to my knee. I put the surgery off for as
long as I could, but the pain was too much.
It wasn't even the procedure that I was anxious about.
I actually wanted to just get it done and out of the way.
I was more anxious that I was going to be practically
bedridden for a little while. My husband is amazing and I knew
that he'd take care of me, but I also knew that the kitchen was
going to be a mess. I'm sure this makes me sound
pretty controlling, but I don't even care.
I just love making sure everything's clean.
The day came, the surgery passed, and in bed I was stuck
and I hated it. For me, it felt like I was
trapped in a cell. I was told not to move for
several days unless it was for the bathroom, and even then I
should have assistance. Luckily we had a bathroom in our
bedroom, so it was only a few hops in case I needed to go.
The first night I stayed in bed and the next day at home I was
already restless. I hopped to the bathroom and
when I was done, I realized that I was actually getting around
pretty well. When my husband left for work,
he begged me to stay in bed and that he would take care of the
kitchen and dinner. When he got home.
All I could think about was that the kitchen was a mess.
It didn't take me long to convince myself that I was all
right to make my way there for a little while and just do the
dishes. I took my time on the stairs
because I will admit it was not an easy task.
When I got to the bottom, I smelled something strange, not
trash or old food that I was half expecting to smell coming
from the kitchen. What I smelled was what I
thought at first was some sort of cheap Cologne, but I knew my
husband doesn't even wear Cologne.
Then it hit me harder as I took a few more steps.
It wasn't Cologne. What I was smelling was Axe Body
Spray. I knew it right away when I was
in middle school. All the teenage boys would spray
themselves with it after gym class to mask the smell of body
odor. And I'll never forget that
horrible smell. I took a few more hops.
I know I should have had my Walker at the time and the smell
was so strong that I felt like I could taste it.
I knew my husband wasn't wearing that because I could have easily
smelled it on him by now in our relationship.
I went to text my husband and said, hey don't get mad, but I
actually hobbled downstairs. Why does it smell like Axe body
spray here? After I sent it I went to the
kitchen and I'll have to be honest, I was surprised it
wasn't a mess. There was a small plate and fork
in the sink and other than that he was doing a good job at
keeping the kitchen in line. I went over and washed a couple
of the things in the sink and noticed that the back door which
is in the kitchen was slightly opened, more ajar or crack than
actually opened, but it still wasn't shut.
Maybe this isn't that big of a deal for some people, but we
rarely if ever use that door. When we go out back, we usually
go out the side door. We usually just keep that door
locked and put the recycling bin in front of that door.
I sort of hobbled over to investigate some more and I
noticed that the bin had moved a few inches as well.
It was like the door was open from the outside and the bin
slid out of the way just enough to let someone in.
I already knew the answer, but I texted my husband again anyway
and said did you open the back door for any reason?
He didn't respond right away. I hopped back into the living
room and sat on the couch trying to put all the pieces together
and put a rational spin on everything.
The thought of someone breaking in didn't even remotely cross my
mind. Because we lived in a really
nice neighborhood with almost no crime ever, my husband called me
back a few minutes later and told me that he had called the
police just as a precaution to make sure nobody broke in, and
that he was heading home from work as well.
I got off the phone with him and sat there quietly waiting for
the police and my husband to show up.
Then, without noticing, bang, the closet door in the living
room shot open and a tall man dressed in black ran out of the
closet and out the back door as soon as he ran by.
That smell of axe was incredibly overwhelming.
I tried hopping to the window, but I was only able to get a
brief glance of the man as he ran by the side of the house.
I noticed a very thick beard and that was pretty much it.
He was out of my sight in seconds not long after the
police showed up, and then my husband right after.
I gave them all the information I could.
But like I said, I didn't really have much to give to the police.
The most disturbing part of all of this is that the cops are
sure that the person didn't break into the house.
There were no signs that he forced himself in, which led the
police to believe that whoever this intruder was, he may have
had a key to the house. My husband went out right away
and bought new locks for all the doors and made sure all the
windows were locked as well. No other neighbors reported
anything suspicious, which makes it even more likely that this
person targeted our house specifically.
He also didn't steal anything, which begs the question, what
the hell did he want if he wasn't swiping Axe Body Spray
and left that door cracked? Whatever it is he wanted he may
have gotten. This is a story that happened to
me not too long ago, and it all started in the tranquil rural
landscape of Pennsylvania, where I call home.
My name is Tom and I live near a beautiful place known as Tyler
State Park. This park is a picturesque spot
for riding horses and taking leisurely walks.
It's my sanctuary where I often bring my loyal companion Lola
for our adventures. Riding horses down the winding
trails of this park is a truly majestic experience, and I've
cherished every moment spent there.
One person who played a significant role in my life was
John, a man in his 70s. John, a veteran who had fought
in the Korean War and suffered from a bad hip, owned White
Pines Horse Farm. In exchange for my occasional
help with tasks like dropping hay in his fields and filling
water troughs, John generously allowed me to ride his energetic
but friendly chestnut horse, Irish Red.
This arrangement had been a part of my life for several years.
As I mentioned earlier, I live near Tyler State Park and John's
farm was conveniently located on the park's edge.
There was a less traveled route that provided easy access to the
park and it was on this path that my eerie tail begins.
It was February 26th and the weather had finally started to
improve after a harsh winter. I woke up to a glorious day and
decided to take a walk in the park before embarking on a ride
with Irish. I drove to the farm, called
John, and informed him of my plans.
He wished me a great walk and I parked my car outside the barn.
I made my way to the trailhead, which was only about 6 or 7
meters away from the barn, and started my walk.
The entire trail was deserted, which struck me as oddly creepy.
Now that I think about it, the woods seem to whisper ominous
sounds, as if something lurked just beyond my field of vision.
None the less, I pressed on and enjoyed the solitude.
As I strolled down a trail next to the river, I suddenly spotted
a man on the other side. He wore baggy Gray sweatpants
and a black oversized sweatshirt.
He appeared to be in his 40s or older, which was unusual because
I typically only saw younger people in the area.
My attention was immediately drawn to the fact that he was
holding a gun. Now, I wasn't an expert on
hunting laws, but I was pretty sure it wasn't legal to hunt
with a Glock pistol, especially not in a public park.
An uneasy feeling crept over me, and when he noticed me, he
looked up in surprise and hastily threw his gun into the
dense woods behind him. I couldn't help but chuckle to
myself, wondering what kind of drugs this man might be on.
I called out to him, asking what he was doing.
He replied with a vague nothing and stared at me as if I were
the one with the gun. I mentioned that I had seen the
gun, and he turned so fast that it sent shivers down my spine.
He grabbed the gun, but it wasn't the Glock he had
initially thrown. It was a marksman rifle.
I couldn't identify the exact model.
In that frantic moment. He screamed at me, insisting
that I not call the police and claiming that it wasn't what it
looked like. But I wasn't convinced, and I
asked him why he had a gun. He pointed it at me menacingly,
refusing to answer any of my questions.
Frightened and unsure of what to do, I blurted out that I would
call the police. This sent him into a fit of
rage. With a swift and menacing
movement, he raised the gun towards me and fear course
through my veins like never before.
I turned and sprinted, the sound of three deafening gunshots
echoing in my ears. Panicked, I pulled out my phone
and dialed John's number. As I did, I noticed him waiting
across the river, already making his way toward me.
John picked up, and I barely had time to catch my breath as I
rushed to tell him the story. In under 20 seconds, he managed
to keep up with my rapid narration, instructing me to
keep running while he promised to call the police.
I continued running, but I couldn't shake the fear that had
taken hold of me. I heard four more gunshots, and
the sound of projectiles whizzing past my ears left me
trembling. My stamina was draining rapidly,
and I knew I couldn't keep running indefinitely.
Desperate for a hiding spot, I approached a corner of the trail
and decided to make my stand there.
My heart raced as I scanned the area for something, anything
that could be used as a weapon. However, I found nothing to
defend myself with. The footsteps of the armed man
grew louder as he rounded the bend, and I braced myself for a
life or death confrontation. As he passed by the tree behind
which I crouched, I pounced on him with every ounce of strength
I could muster. He let out a piercing scream and
dropped the gun. I grabbed it and retreated,
pointing it directly at him. My voice quivered as I ordered
him to get down and wait for the police.
His anger flared and he charged at me.
In a desperate moment, I swung the gun, striking him squarely
in the head. He crumpled to the ground,
momentarily knocked out. I kicked him hard in the ankle
to ensure he couldn't recover quickly, but to my surprise, he
got up faster than I anticipated.
He may have had some advantage, but I managed to keep him
subdued until the police arrived.
He was taken into custody and subsequently sent to a mental
hospital for rehabilitation. I hope that sharing my story
serves as a cautionary tale, urging others to be vigilant and
carry self protection measures. In today's unpredictable world,
whether it's pepper spray, a knife, or any means of defending
oneself, it's always better to be prepared.
As I learned that day, I've always believed that we all have
our share of traumatic experiences in life, some more
severe than others. One night during high school, I
found myself living through a horrifying and traumatic event
that I'll never forget. It all started when I stayed
overnight at my buddy's house. His parents had planned to
celebrate their anniversary out of town on a Saturday night, so
he invited me over to keep him company.
The plan was simple. Hang out, play some games, and
have a good time. As the evening progressed, a few
more friends joined us and we had a blast playing games and
laughing together. Eventually everyone left around
11:00 PM, leaving just my buddy and me.
We decided to wind down and watch the office around 2:00 AM
as we dozed off. That's when it happened.
A loud jarring bang from downstairs.
My initial thought was that it sounded like the front door, but
my friend dismissed it as a neighbor's noise and advised me
to ignore it. Fatigue weighed heavily on us,
and we didn't initially panic. Perhaps it was just a neighbor,
or maybe a bird had collided with the house.
We tried to convince ourselves that it was nothing to worry
about. However, the banging at the door
soon began and it was not random.
It was rhythmic and deliberate, echoing ominously throughout the
house. We had no clue what to do.
This wasn't a neighbor, and it was the middle of the night.
The constant knocks coming every few seconds sent shivers down
our spines. The intensity of the knocks
varied, sometimes gentle, sometimes fierce.
But it didn't matter. The fact that someone was out
there at such an hour was enough to fill us with dread.
Both of us stealthily move towards a window, hoping to
catch a glimpse of the person responsible for this unsettling
disturbance. The man we saw was utterly
ordinary, which only added to the weirdness of the situation.
He appeared like an average guy, wearing sneakers, jeans, and a
Nike polo shirt. His short, neatly groomed hair
and clean, shaven face gave no indication of any nefarious
intent. He looked nothing like a
criminal or a sketchy individual.
Despite his unremarkable appearance, the fear in our
hearts intensified. It was 2:00 in the morning after
all. We exchanged bewildered glances
trying to process the situation and figure out the best course
of action. Then he started banging on the
door once more, causing us to jump.
At this hour, any unexpected visitor would be unsettling.
I continued to watch him from the window while my friend
attempted to call his parents. Despite his repeated attempts,
he couldn't reach them. In his panic, he didn't even
think to call the hotel or wherever his parents were
staying. Finally, the man walked away,
giving us a brief moment of relief.
However, that relief was short lived.
Approximately 30 seconds later, he returned and taped a note to
the front door. Without knocking, he sat on the
front steps for nearly 5 minutes before disappearing from our
view. We assume that whoever this
person was, he had left for good.
My friend, eager to unravel the mystery, went to unlock the
door. I shouted at him to stop.
Fearing the worst. He argued that the man had left
and we had nothing to worry about anymore.
We both wanted to know what the note said, so my friend
cautiously opened the door and retrieved it.
As he pulled off the tape, we heard a booming voice from the
distance shouting Hey you. We froze in terror and looked
up. The man who had been knocking
earlier emerged from the bushes across the street, charging
towards the door. We screamed as we slammed the
door shut and another large man who had not been there before
joined him from the bushes. My buddy managed to lock the
door just in the nick of time. Both men began pounding on the
door with ferocity, their blows shaking the entire house.
I glanced out the window and saw the larger man, who was not
originally present, repeatedly slamming his shoulder into the
door. The relentless banging filled
the air and we feared for our lives.
In a panic, my friend called the police and it seemed like the
intruders heard our conversation.
They fled, instantly disappearing into the night.
The police arrived shortly after and thankfully they were able to
reach my friend's parents, who rushed home.
The most unsettling part of this ordeal was the note that had
been taped to the door. It contained violent and
detailed threats mentioning that they had come to collect money.
The note stated things like no more running around and no more
excuses. It was signed with a name,
Leroy. My friend's dad vehemently
denied any knowledge of this Leroy or the money mentioned in
the note. It was all very strange and
uncomfortable and our trust in that family was shaken for a
while. However, as time passed, the
incident seemed to fade into the background, and we never got any
more answers or closure. To this day, my friend and I
still discussed that terrifying night, wondering if his dad was
hiding something. The note had been addressed to
him by name, and the intruders knew where we lived.
Despite the lingering questions, life moved on, but that memory
of that night is etched in our minds forever.
I've never been comfortable being home alone since then, and
I doubt I ever will be. When I was 18 years old, I spent
a significant amount of time exploring the enchanting depths
of the Cahuda Wilderness. My favorite spot within this
untamed expanse was a secluded set of waterfalls nestled
several miles away from the nearest parking lot.
While most visitors were content with parking in the RV area and
swimming in the Creek adjacent to the Gravel Rd.
I was drawn to the wildernesses heart.
Over the course of two years I had hiked these remote trails
countless times, and in all that time I had never encountered
anyone venturing farther than half a mile into this rugged
terrain. One Saturday, I decided to take
my girlfriend along to witness the mesmerizing beauty of the
waterfall, as she had never seen one in person before.
Excitement and anticipation filled the air as we embarked on
our journey, but just 15 minutes into our hike, she abruptly
grabbed my arm and fell into an eerie silence.
Her face grew pale, and she muttered that she felt as though
she were being watched, her voice trembling with unease.
I did my best to reassure her, explaining that the only
concerns I had ever faced in these woods were the occasional
bear or copperhead snake. However, her sense of unease
persisted as we continue deeper into the wilderness.
I chalked it up to her being unfamiliar with the untamed
surroundings, hoping she would eventually acclimate to the
rugged beauty of the Cojuta wilderness.
After a couple of hours of hiking, we finally reached the
trails end. Standing before the majestic
waterfall, we decided to take a break and enjoyed a picnic at
the base of the falls. Once our meal was finished, she
attempted to check her cell phone for messages, only to be
met with panic when she realized there was absolutely no service.
I explained that we were miles away from any cell reception,
and for the first time we were truly alone in this pristine
wilderness. Oddly enough, this revelation
seemed to heighten her anxiety. I tried to console her, urging
her to embrace the serenity and solitude that surrounded us, but
my words only seem to exacerbate her fear, and her panic began to
mount. Determined to ease her distress,
we decided to start our return journey.
As we retraced our steps along the trail, I couldn't help but
smile, thinking that her unease was somewhat irrational.
After all, I had ventured into these woods alone countless
times without encountering any problems.
However, her unsettling feeling of being watched persisted,
casting a shadow over our hike about a mile from the falls.
As we continued on the only trail back, our peaceful walk
took a terrifying turn. Suddenly, a voice called out
from behind us, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
Turning around, we spotted a man approaching us.
He had a rifle slung over his shoulder, a heavy beard
obscuring most of his face, and his hat pulled low over his
eyes. My girlfriend instinctively took
a small step behind me as we stared at this unexpected
stranger. What can I do for you?
I asked, attempting to sound friendly but vigilant.
You guys left your cell phone back by the falls, he said,
revealing A slight grin behind his beard.
His eyes lingered on my girlfriend, making her visibly
uncomfortable. Oh, thanks for the assist, I
replied, extending my hand in gratitude.
However, to our surprise, he shook his head and informed us
that he hadn't brought the cell phone with him.
He claimed it was still sitting up there by the falls,
suggesting that we follow him back to retrieve it ourselves.
Slightly declining his offer, we exchanged uneasy glances before
hastily making our way down the trail, our hearts pounding in
our chests. To our discomfort, he followed
us, maintaining a distance of several feet.
His presence was a chilling reminder of our vulnerability.
The man trailed us all the way back to our car, not saying a
word. When we finally reached the
vehicle, my girlfriend quickly showed me her cell phone, which
she had indeed left behind. Relief washed over her, but her
relief was tinged with lingering apprehension.
Since that unsettling encounter, I haven't returned to that
particular trail in the Cojuta wilderness.
It remains one of the eeriest moments of my life, a reminder
that sometimes, even in the most serene and remote places, the
feeling of being watched can become all too real.
I must begin by saying that recounting this story fills me
with an overwhelming sense of melancholy.
Nevertheless, it remains one of the most chilling nights of my
entire existence. My father had passed away when I
was a mere four or five years old, leaving a void in my life
that would forever ache. My mother, a resilient woman,
eventually found love again when I was 10, in the form of a man
named David. Over the years, he took on the
role of my father, adopting me legally and raising me as his
very own. I loved him dearly, as though he
were my biological father. The phrase real dad did him an
injustice. He wasn't just a father, he was
my father, a great man who cherished my mother and me,
making us feel like the most precious beings in the world.
Several months ago, David fell suddenly, and critically I'll
His demise came swiftly, casting a shadow of sorrow over our
lives. Though he had been aged, his
passing did not sting any less. My elderly mother's health had
been declining steadily, and we were concerned that this loss
might push her over the precipice of despair.
Then came those terrifying nights that still haunt my
thoughts. Two nights in a row, my mother
called me in the dead of night, her voice trembling with fear.
She claimed that there was an intruder in her home, someone
moving about, and she was consumed by dread.
Both times my husband and I rushed to her aid, conducting
thorough searches of the house only to find nothing amiss, no
signs of a break in, nothing stolen, and all the doors and
windows securely locked. We dismissed it as her
imagination, perhaps a byproduct of her grief.
On the third night, my mother implored me to stay overnight in
case the intruder returned. She wanted a witness, someone
who could intervene or call the authorities if necessary.
I thought she was merely exhausted and having vivid
dreams that felt all too real. That night, I was proven wrong.
I thought I heard noises coming from the dining room, a voice
distinct and eerie. My heart raced as I tiptoed
toward the source, dismissing thoughts of ghosts but fearing a
homeless intruder had found refuge in my mother's home. 1000
thoughts raced through my mind as I approached the room, only
one door away. Then I heard it clearly, a
voice. My mother's voice.
I halted my cautious advance and entered the dining room.
There, my mother sat at the head of the table, engaged in an
animated conversation with no one.
It was the most unsettling sight.
Her eyes were wide open, yet they seemed distant, as though
she occupied a strange state between wakefulness and slumber.
She neither acknowledged my presence nor shifted her gaze in
my direction. In a cheerful voice, she greeted
me. Hello, dear.
I'm just enjoying some time with David.
I glanced at the chair next to her, slightly pulled out as if
she had prepared it for someone to sit in.
Her eyes were the most disconcerting.
They appeared devoid of humanity, with an unsettling
smile frozen on her face. I hesitantly reminded her that
David had passed away, but she simply laughed and waved her
hand dismissively, saying, You're so silly, David.
Sitting right here, my words faltered and I felt utterly
lost. Should I indulge her and let her
find comfort in this surreal conversation with her deceased
husband? Or should I attempt to tether
her back to the harsh reality of her crushing heartbreak?
She seized my hand, still avoiding eye contact, and said,
You can leave now, sweetie. My heart sank as she repeated it
was just David. Over and over, her speech
devolving into gibberish interspersed with the name
David, I realized that my mother had been grappling with the
depths of her grief in a way I couldn't fathom.
The line between reality and her fragile psyche had blurred
beyond recognition. When I tried to gently move her,
she snarled like a wounded animal growling.
I called my husband and together we faced a difficult decision.
We dialed 911 as we had no idea how to help her.
The situation escalated as the paramedics attempted to take her
to the hospital. She became fiercely hostile,
even violent. Not because we were taking her
away from her home, but because we were taking her away from
David. She vehemently insisted that she
couldn't leave because David wanted her there.
In the end, my mother never fully returned to her former
self. Her eyes, half open and distant,
never regained their normalcy. The doctors explained that she
had experienced a severe nervous breakdown, compounded by her
advanced age, which left her unable to distinguish between
reality and her own fragile mind.
It was a heart wrenching ordeal. When my biological father passed
away, my mother buried her emotions to raise me, finding
solace in David's love. Losing him was akin to losing
nearly everything she held dear. I apologize if this story is
disheartening, but it serves as a reminder of the fragility of
the human mind. There are moments when I wonder
if David's presence truly lingered that night, and it
sends a shiver down my spine. Take care of your loved ones and
tell them you love them whenever you can.
Life is fragile, and the mind, an enigmatic and formidable
tool, can conjure unimaginable realities in times of distress.