Quotev...

Hey friends.  So sorry I haven't posted in a while.  Eighth grade has kept me really busy, as I expected it to.  I am still working on a few projects, though, so don't lose hope!  :)  About nine months ago, I got a Quotev account.  In one or two of my previous posts, I mentioned it as a really cringy quiz website.  And, yes, I admit it, I do have an account.  But before you stop listening me altogether, please acknowledge the fact that I only go there to be a judgmental turd, and I don't take quizzes there seriously at all.  That said, I do have two quizzes, both of which are CreepyPasta related.  The first one I made, I made a while ago.  I was actually trying to be serious.  It's titled "Which CreepyPasta Shall You Fall Victim To?" or something like that.  I was trying to make it fact-based, because I've heard the stories and tried to interpret them for a quiz.  I thought it was logical that they would prey upon your weaknesses, so I made my Q&A based around that.  The second quiz I made was late last month, actually.  I...don't want to spoil anything for you, so I'll cut to the chase: ...take the quizzes.  I need publicity.  Click the link.  Do it.  Do it now.

https://www.quotev.com/BladeTheFollower/published

A YouTube Channel I Think You Would Enjoy

Guys. Here it is. I am about to reveal the very YouTube channel that inspired me to learn all about torture and disgusting, deadly, and painful diseases and gangrenes. (Any of my friends from school that were in my group last year remember my last Wonder Project on Cancrum Oris a.k.a. Noma?)

And yes, just because you are on this blog, I did kind of assume that you would be interested in this channel. Fair assumption, though, right? Well here you go. If you don't want to check it out, then don't. I'm not making you. But if you do, I highly encourage you to support this channel. 

https://www.youtube.com/user/theywillkillyou

**WARNING: YOU SHOULD TURN DOWN YOUR VOLUME DURING THE INTRO. IT GETS SUPER LOUD AND I AM ASHAMED TO ADMIT THAT IT JUMPSCARED ME. YOU'RE WELCOME.**

13 Signs That Something is WRONG...

Hello, viewer. I am writing this post literally just to scare you. I mean, that's what this entire blog is about, really. But this post in particular. Also, I think that you should know that I am going to reference my story "I Should Have Kept My Promise To Annie". So, like, if you haven't read it already, go read it please.  Some of the stuff on the following list is from other movies and stories, and some of it is from my own personal experience. And now, without further adieu, "13 Signs That Something is WRONG...":

1) You get chills or goosebumps at inexplicable times. (This shows that a deceased person is angry, according to Cole Sear from "The Sixth Sense")
2) You have visions or precognitive dreams about something really terrible. (This has happened to many well-known people, such as Abraham Lincoln)
3) When it's dark, you see shadows moving around. (There cannot be shadows without light. This could mean you have an otherworldly visitor)
4) You hear unexplained noises or appliances turn on and off on their own. (This indicates a possible haunting)
5) Family members or pets act strange in certain parts of the house. (Again, this indicates a possible haunting)
6) Certain objects make you feel uneasy. (This could mean the object is possessed. And it doesn't necessarily have to be a creepy item, like a doll. It could be a possessed dildo. Not likely, but still scary as hell)
7) Objects move/are moving on their own. (This is a sign that you have a poltergeist. Lucky you!)
8) Technology is acting strangely. (You either have a virus or it's the Slenderman)
9) You are getting random mood swings or have random urges to kill. (This could indicate possession by a demon. On top of that, it makes you more of a target for the Slenderman)
10) You hear strange music or singing, but can't quite place where it's coming from. (This could be a spirit trying to get your attention, or worse, trying to lure you somewhere)
11) You feel strangely attracted to an item. (Look up the story behind "The Anguished Man" painting.)
12) You're NOT afraid of the dark. (It is a natural human instinct to fear the dark and the unknown because something dangerous could be lurking among the shadows. If you are NOT at least A BIT afraid of the dark, it is likely because an evil creature is influencing your mind. Whatever doesn't want you to be afraid of the dark is trying to get you a little too comfortable with what you can't see. This means that it probably has a trap all laid out just for you)
13) The final one is about Annie: If she asks you to be her friend, accept. Why wouldn't you try to be a friend to a rape victim? If she asks you to be her protector, tell her that you'll do what you can. She will insist that you promise. Promise to do your very best. After you make these promises, Jacob will always watch you. Please note: Annie will never harm you herself. She is just a sad ghost. Jacob, however, is the angry ghost. If you scare, threaten, bully, or even neglect to visit Annie for a long time, Jacob will become furious. He can't really talk to Annie, but he still does everything he can to protect his sister. If you should make Jacob angry, you may not even know it at first. Annie won't act any differently when you visit her or play with her. However, you may notice some signs that something is wrong, hence the title of this post. Said signs include, seeing Jacob in the corner of your eye or standing right beside you just before you go to sleep. Or, you may notice a lock of his brown hair on your bed or pillow. Or, after you take a shower, when mirrors get all fogged up, he may have written you a chilling message. These signs vary from account to account, but the one sign that always occurs is this: you'll find Annie's original SOS message in your pocket, or near you at all times. For this reason, supernatural experts speculate that the paper is cursed, and whomever it follows is doomed. These signs can occur for 6-10 days after you've somehow offended Annie or Jacob. It is said that during the 6-10 days you are experiencing these signs, Jacob is deciding what your punishment shall be. Remember, Kyler's story was only one account. Your punishment for offending Annie or Jacob could be drastically different. 

"I Should Have Kept My Promise To Annie" Explained

Not too long ago, I posted my latest big story called "I Should Have Kept My Promise To Annie." Well, now I'm here to explain a few things from the story.

First of all: the idea. How could an such an seemingly innocent middle schooler come up with such a horrific story? A nightmare. It's that simple. I had the worst nightmare I've ever had back in March. It took me hours to write it all down in my dream-recording journal, but I'm glad I did, so I recalled all the small details, and beefed them up a bit for a story. In said dream, I played the role of Kyler Hunt, the protagonist. Only, my dream ended with me rocking Annie to sleep and promising to protect her. I haven't seen her since, but I still try to keep my promise as best I can, you know, while not having seen her in a while. For the purposes of it being a horror story, I added in the whole "Kyler breaking her promise" part. 

Second thing to clear up: the characters. Kyler is a teenage girl with anxiety issues. I also experience anxiety, but not to the extent that Kyler does. Our mutual anxiety symptoms are "tummy troubles" and a racing heart. The reason that Kyler gets anxious is because she has somewhat of a sixth sense; she can tell when something is wrong. I just get anxiety when I have an appearance to keep up. :/ Also about the characters: Annie and Jacob are siblings in the story, that get along really well. You'll see me do that a lot in my stories, create siblings that actually get along. (i.e. Kat and Joey, Annie and Jacob, and coming soon, Taran and Jenna) I do that because it's actually sort of rare, from my experience. :> 

Lastly, I want to talk about the real location of where this story takes place. In my nightmare, I was at my grandmother's house in Mattoon, located in Central Illinois, not in Karnak, which is in Southern Illinois. Karnak, Effingham, and Chicago(obviously) are all real places. 

For my next post, I will share some information about Jacob and Annie. (And how to know if they are haunting you) 

I Should Have Kept My Promise To Annie...

Hello, there. This is the story you've been waiting for. Before I present it to you, there are a few things you should know: First of all, like I mentioned before the previous big story of mine, I am but a lowly middle schooler. So perhaps my writing skills aren't perfect. Just keep that in mind as you read, please. Second of all, the following story is rated R. I understand that it seems silly to rate my own stories, but I'm just doing this for the sake of my readers. I will not be held responsible for any nightmares. This story is about twenty times more disturbing than "A Tale of Fire and Water." It doesn't have as much cursing, but it didn't need it. My story is pretty violent; it contains rape and domestic abuse. Lastly, I just want to say that in an upcoming post, I will give more information about the story. Not exactly a sequel, just how I got the idea, stuff like that. (And possibly something to freak you out.) Thanks for bearing with me here. Please continue to read the following story at your own risk. With all that out of the way, enjoy a good scare and/or wave of nausea.

I am so lost. I… sigh. It’s all my fault. If only I had just kept my promise…

    My name is Kyler. Kyler Hunt. It all started when I was just a little girl. From the ages four to eight, I spent my summers at my grandparents’ house, which had been there forever, in Southern Illinois in a humble little town called Karnak. It wasn’t a very long drive from our hometown (at the time) of Effingham, which was just a bit north. The reason I would spend my summers in Karnak was because my parents would fly to Washington to visit my grandmother on my dad’s side of the family. I never met her; for those four years of my life, she was critically ill, and my parents decided that I was too young. If I was to young to be on a plane, or too young to see a person so sick, I’ll never know. It doesn’t matter now, anyway.

    I don’t remember much about the summers I would spend with Grandma Jodi. I know that the days were really fun. I remember Grandma baking cookies with me, I remember Grandpa Ben taking me to the movies, to the park, remember playing outside near the old red barn that always needed a new coat of paint… Yeah, the days sure were fun, but the nights were something else. I would sleep in the guest room, which was located in the attic. I remember pulling the covers over my head, sweating and trembling in fear. I didn’t know, at the time, what, exactly, I was afraid of. But whatever it was, it would terrorize me every single night. Come to think of it, this nightly trauma was probably what caused my anxiety issues. My covers would always be over my head, so I could never see what sort of monster it was. It would always start out with light footsteps downstairs. I could barely hear them over my heavy breathing, but the sound was unmistakable. Then, the footsteps would make their way up the stairs. Next came nine loud knocks at the door in some sort of a rhythm. Knock-knock-knock...knock...knock...knock...knock-knock-knock! I heard this six times. Then came the scratching at the wooden door. To end in a big finale, there would be desperate loud bangs on the door. The most terrifying part of all of this, though, was when it all abruptly stopped. I never knew whether the antagonist was inside, or if it was violently killed, or what!

   

    …I remember always waking up with soiled bedsheets.

    When I was eight years old, my father’s mother passed away. Merely a few days after the tragedy, he got a job in Chicago, thus forcing us to move to the Windy City. I didn’t really have any good friends back in Effingham, so the biggest problem a kid faces when moving--leaving behind friends--wasn’t an issue for me. However, since my parents wouldn’t be visiting my grandmother in Washington anymore, and since we were now about a four hour’s drive from Karnak, I wouldn’t be visiting Grandma Jodi and Grandpa Ben for seven years.

    Chicago was nice. I would consider myself more of a city kid, looking back. I was always awestruck staring up at tall gray beasts that came alive at night and lit up the city. I was always prepared for the fickle Chicago weather, being next to Lake Michigan and all. Especially in the spring. One spring, it was eighty degrees for three days straight, then, the next day, it dropped into the mid forties. I went to a great school, as well. For elementary and middle school, I went to Waters Elementary School. I went through some challenges, but it was never too much to bear. As was the case when I went to high school. Contrary to most kids, I actually enjoyed school. Academics just came easy to me. I was particularly good at the artsy stuff. I was your typical high school dork: I tended to have a pencil behind my ear at all times--hiding in my dark curls, I always made the honor roll, and I was pretty shy, for the most part. Well, actually, I can really only speak for my freshman year. My life changed in the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, when I was fifteen.

    That was the year that Grandpa Ben died in a car accident. Though sobbing, my mother tried to break the news to me as gently as possible. My immediate reaction was to choke out a short laugh. “No…!” Then I broke down, weeping, just like Mom. She took me into her arms, and I would give anything to feel her gentle touch and her loving embrace again. So, back to Karnak we trekked. Though, this wouldn’t be a joyous summer like ones past. It would be grim, as the occasion for visiting Grandma Jodi was for Grandpa Ben’s funeral. I would be staying up in my old room in the attic again. Somehow, over seven years, I had managed to push all the memories of unpleasant nights in Karnak out of my head.

    After the four hour long drive, I was glad to get out of the car and stretch my legs. The place looked exactly as I had remembered it. My mother, my father, and I all solemnly walked up to the house. We hugged a shaky Grandma Jodi, with her mascara smeared across her face. I tugged at Mom’s dress. She turned to me. “What day is the funeral?” “Well, the visitation is tomorrow, so the funeral is in two days.” I nodded numbly, not knowing what else to say. I felt tears threatening, and my stomach tightened up. I hate crying in front of people, even if it’s my family. I stupidly mumbled some “excuse me” and rushed back outside.

    I could relax here, alone among the rolling golden fields of wheat. I found a nice big stone, sat upon it, buried my head into my knees, and cried. I’m not sure how long I was out there crying, but it must have been long enough because I eventually heard a comforting, “Hey, Kyler,” and I jumped. I turned around to see who had spoken to me. “It’s me, Colin.” Oh. Just Colin. Wow, his voice changed since we last saw each other when we were eight. Colin is my cousin, who is also an only child. We were pretty close when we were little, and we often pretended that we were brother and sister.

    Colin just stood there awkwardly, with somewhat of a smile on his face. I’ll admit, I half expected him to hug me, but we were both silent and unmoving. We were like strangers. Finally, he said, “Uh, your mom wants you to come inside now.” And with that, he walked off. I gulped hard and wiped the tears from my eyes. I took a few deep breaths to try and slow my heart rate. I was a bit annoyed with him for startling me like that. By this point in my life, I had begun to learn to control my anxiety. Still, my toes curled up inside my shoes.

    I shut the door as quietly as possible. I spotted Mom on the couch, politely chatting with Grandma Jodi, and my aunt and uncle. Colin was sitting in the rocking chair, listening. I took a seat on the edge of the couch next to my mom and next to Grandma, in her recliner. I stared at the carpet, but I felt my mom glaring at me. She nudged me and whispered, “It was kind of rude of you to just run off like that. Stay here and visit with Grandma.” I winced at her scolding me. I squeezed my knees together, my stomach becoming even more tight. “Um, sorry,” I mumbled as I made my way to the bathroom. Not to be too graphic, but I was stuck in the bathroom for a good twenty minutes. Once the sickness had passed, I stared in the mirror and tried to soothe myself. However, I think I only made things worse. “Oh, no. The tummy troubles have begun. It’s always the first sign that something’s amiss. The scariest thing is: my instincts are almost never wrong. Something isn’t right…!” I pursed my lips and squeezed my eyes shut, hoping that I wouldn’t have to spend another twenty minutes in the restroom.

    By the time I came out, the family was in the kitchen. Mom was preparing lasagna while everyone else chattered away at the dinner table. Once the food was ready, the chef would serve the meal and everybody would be silent until the last person finished their last vegetable. Then, the family would remain at the table and share stories. This was a family tradition. I noticed that Colin was not at the dinner table. I soon realized that he was in the living room, bouncing a ball up and down. I approached him. “Hey Colin.” “Hmm? Oh, hi, Kyler. I’m bored. You wanna play a game?” “Um, sure,” I said. He flashed that childish grin of his that I hadn’t seen in years. He reached into his pocket and pulled out ten blue plastic rings, the kind that you would try on for size at a jeweler’s place. “Look what I have,” he said in a sing-song tone. I grinned.

    Our favorite childhood game was “Hide the Rings.” Quite simple, really. One person would go into another room while the other person would hide the rings. After the rings were hidden, the first person would try to find them. We would take turns until we got tired of that game, which rarely happened in our earlier years, back when a microwave could entertain us.

“I call first!” declared Colin. I smirked and went into the kitchen while he was busy hiding the rings. Five minutes later, I heard him call, “Kyler, come here!” I hurried over to where Colin was. He was standing on tiptoe to see inside of the massive grandfather clock that stood proud and tall in the corner. He had opened up the top of it, where the face of the clock was. “Check this out,” he said, awestruck. “I was gonna hide a ring in here, but look what I found.” Colin reached inside of the clock and pulled out a dusty old paper which had yellowed over the years. He unfolded it, and in a child’s handwriting, it said: 5:30 ower hand. SOS. “What is that supposed to mean?” asked Colin. “‘Ower hand’? That sounds kind of like ‘hour hand’. You know, as in time. And it said ‘5:30’. And, you found it in a clock. Maybe the hour hand points to something at 5:30?” I said softly. Colin’s eyes lit up, and he looked so boyish, like the way he looked seven years ago.

    I looked up at the clock. 5:20. Colin folded his arms impatiently. He said to me, “Ten more minutes. To be honest, I don’t want to wait that long. How about we just set the clock to 5:30?” I was about to agree, but I stopped and said, “Um, well, there’s a window shining light into the room. Maybe at exactly 5:30, the sun is in a position that reveals something, like in ‘Indiana Jones Raiders of the Lost Ark’. I just think we should wait. I mean, that is, if you really want to solve this mystery.” Colin let out a long groan. “I guess you’re right. So we’ll be waiting for ten--nine, now--minutes. Fun.” At this point, I supposed that I was wrong to think that Colin had matured. Maybe he would never act his age.

    We occupied ourselves by pacing the room. That, and hoping that our parents wouldn’t call us to dinner anytime soon. 5:30 rolled around before I was ready for it. I was getting chills in nervous anticipation. I took a deep breath and then said to Colin, “It’s go time.” He, who was the one who really cared about this, had already gotten a tape measure. He rushed over to the clock and carefully aligned the tape measure with the hour hand. He pulled out the flexible ruler and traced the imaginary line that the hour hand pointed at, and he told me to hold the tape measure in place. Colin’s shoulders slumped in disappointment when he found that the hour hand simply pointed to the huge wooden bookshelf that had been against the wall for ages. However, my cousin quickly reanimated when he decided that there must be a secret passage behind the bookshelf. Excited, he began to pull every single one of the books to get the bookshelf to move.

    “Colin!” I hissed. He turned to me with bug-eyes. “Why don’t we just move the bookshelf ourselves!” I harshly suggested. “Oh. Yeah, sure,” he mumbled. Colin went to the other side of the bookshelf. I pulled with all my might as he pushed, and we somehow got the massive thing to move about a foot. And sure enough, a nauseating smell emitted from a dark and cobweb-filled basement. There were old wooden stairs leading downward into a dark abyss. Colin gasped as I felt my stomach tighten. I was so freaked out I felt like I could faint and vomit at the same time… And yet, I felt strangely compelled to go explore. Almost by instinct, I felt myself walking toward the entrance. I grabbed onto the banister and began descending the stairs. I heard Colin whisper my name. Then, all of a sudden, CRACK! The rotten wood gave out beneath me, and I was dangling above a hole in the steps, clutching onto the railing for dear life. Colin shouted, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground, shaking, surrounded by my family.

    I don’t remember much else about that day. I ate dinner. It was rather unusual that there was no conversation at the dinner table, especially for my family. Although, I suppose it was justified. Even if I hadn’t just had a near-death experience followed by a panic attack, Grandma Jodi was grieving the loss of her husband. After supper, I immediately went upstairs to my old room and lied down.

    ...My eyes shot open as I was awoken by the sound of creaking floorboards downstairs. I had intended to take a quick nap, but the events of the day must have really caught up with me, for when I looked over at the digital clock on the nightstand, it read 11:34 PM. My jaw dropped. All of a sudden, the memories came flooding back to me. All those terrifying nights from my childhood. I waited for the footsteps to find their way upstairs. By this time, I was completely drenched in my own sweat. I knew what was coming next: The knocks. Knock-knock-knock...knock...knock...knock...knock-knock-knock! I was older now, so it stands to reason that I knew more. I happened to know a bit of Morse code at this time. It was then that I realized that those knocks, they weren’t just “let me in” knocks… they were a message. “SOS”. My heart thumping, I slowly and quietly pulled my covers over my head, as if that would stop this “visitor.” I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the desperate bangs on the door and then the deafening silence, just like it used to be when I was a little girl.

    However, this time was different. I did not hear the bangs on my door. I did not hear the ear-piercing silence that usually followed. This time, I heard a sound far more frightening than that. This time, I heard the door open. I heard light, unsure footsteps make their way towards my bed in the far corner of the attic. Those steps were so light, I thought, they couldn’t have been made by an adult. Colin wasn’t sleeping over tonight, so I was the youngest person in that house. Whatever it was that was creeping its way towards me could not have been from this world. Either that, or a four-year-old burglar made their way in without me hearing any doors open or any windows shatter downstairs.

    The last thing I heard before I passed out was my antagonist breathing. And I could have sworn that it sounded more like sniffling, as if it were weeping.

    When I first started to wake up from having passed out, the first sense I regained was my sense of touch. The first thing I noticed was that my bottom lip was in sharp pain. I was able to come to the conclusion that I had been biting my lip, harder than usual. The second thing I noticed was that I was not in my bed. My feet were on the hardwood floor. My hand grabbed the railing of the stairs leading to the main floor. The second sense I regained was my sense of taste; I tasted the metallic, icky taste of blood in my mouth. And then I heard my own footsteps once I reached the ground floor. The second-to-last sense I regained was my sense of vision. I saw where I was going. I was headed straight for the kitchen. It was strange, though, I didn’t feel hungry, and I didn’t see light seeping through the curtains, so I knew it wasn’t time for breakfast. That was too bad, I always look forward to having my grandma’s famous chocolate chip pancakes.

    I was confused. I had at least determined that I wasn’t in the kitchen for food. My body was just sort of moving on its own. The most bizarre part of it all was that I was oddly calm. I hadn’t felt this sort of calm for as long as I could remember. It was like I was possessed, and I just let myself be moved. I allowed myself to open up the only drawer in the kitchen that didn’t squeak every time you even thought about opening or closing it. I allowed myself to retrieve the red battery-powered flashlight from the drawer. And I allowed myself to walk over to the secret entrance to the basement that I didn’t know about until a few hours ago.

In my trance, I descended the rotten wood steps, avoiding the spot in which I had nearly fallen through. It was at this time that I regained my sense of smell at last. I smelled musty air, combined with the sour stench of a decaying cadaver. At last, my bare feet touched the coldest cement I had ever set foot on. It was so strange, some part of me was aware of the icy cold, but a stronger force kept me calm. I didn’t have any stomach aches, no sweaty palms, my heart didn’t race. It felt as though I had been drugged. I didn’t even bite my lip, which was just a disgusting habit that I did whether I was anxious or not. Any anxiety I may have had was completely silenced. I clicked the flashlight on and explored whatever awaited me beneath grandma’s house. To my right was a wide space. This room looked simple enough, its only piece of furniture was a humble wooden bed that Goldilocks would have deemed too small. Also in the room was some moist and moldy cardboard lining the perimeter of the space. I also noticed a narrow door in this room that looked like nothing more than a closet.

To my left was a long hallway. It seemed to lead to nothing but a dead end, however there were two doors to my left and one door to my right. I slowly walked to the end of the corridor. I knocked on the wall. It was definitely not hollow. Just before I turned back around, my flashlight flickered out. Under any ordinary circumstance, I would have been paralyzed by my fear of the dark. Though, this experience was far from normal. So, I took a step into the darkness. As soon as I did, the hallway was dimly illuminated by a light cast about ten paces from where I was standing. I walked over to the light source to examine it. It was just a simple lantern sitting next to the one door on that side of the hall.

Then, I heard the sound of sobbing coming from behind me. And a familiar sniffle. Looking back, I cannot believe how it was that I didn’t feel any sort of terror. Just interest. Without a moment’s hesitation, I turned around to see whoever it was that was crying. What I beheld was a little child. She had the messiest blonde hair I’d ever seen. The girl had a torn nightgown and bare feet. Not knowing what to say, if I should say anything, I took a step closer. That’s when she seemed to notice me. She looked up, quick as lightning. Before I could get a good look at her face, she vanished from my sight. Then I heard her blow, and darkness fell over the room once again.

Now, I had no way of determining where this sad little girl had gone, but I assumed that she was right behind me, like something you would see in some cliche horror film. I speculated that as soon as I turned around or looked behind me, she would be right in my face, and scare the life out of me. However, that is not what happened. The girl kicked the back of my knee, and I collapsed. My elbows splashed into some pungent liquid, then smashed into the cement. I’m sure it left a mark. I got up and wiped my arms on my pajamas. I smelled like urine.

I was stunned from the fall, so it took me a moment to recall that I was going to head back towards the stairs. The thought crossed my mind that it might be a good idea to get back to bed before someone woke up and noticed my absence. I stumbled through the darkness to try and find the exit, but it was a feudal attempt; the basement was black as pitch. After walking face-first into the dead end at the end of the hall, I stubbed my toe on the bottom step. I was so relieved to have found the stairs. But, as soon as I began to walk back upstairs, I started feeling really lightheaded and faint.

I ended up losing my consciousness for the second time that night. I was vaguely aware of pain as my body crashed back down the stairs. I saw something while I was knocked out. I saw yet another message. It was very simplistic, I was reading a paper in this vision. It was as though words were engraved on the backs of my eyelids. This text read, “Are you sure you really want to go that way? The choice is yours. Choose wisely.”

I had no idea how much time had passed before I regained my consciousness. It could have been two minutes or two hours. I looked around, surveying my options. The obvious choice would have been to sprint up those stairs and hope I lived to tell the tale. I wish I would have realized that at the time. But I was still in my dream-like trance. I now know that I truly had no influence in my fate.

Feeling daring for the first time (and also the last time) in my life, I took a step back into the darkness. Then another. And another. How ironic is it that the only time I’ve never felt any type of fear, it would cost me my sanity? Suddenly, the girl I saw from before appeared just in front of me, holding a lantern, possibly the one from earlier. I must have looked startled, because after a long pause, she spoke, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” “Oh, no, you didn’t--” I managed to stammer. I truthfully wasn’t spooked, just awestruck. I had so many questions for her. She must have sensed my most burning question, because the next thing she said was, “I took away your fear.” “Who are you?” I asked her.

The girl let out a sad sigh and said, “My name… is Annabelle. Y-you can call me ‘Annie.’” Annie brushed a strand of hair from her face. I shook my head in disbelief. “Annie,” I began cautiously. “Are-are you a ghost?” She looked down and informed me that she did not know. I swallowed hard and asked, “How old are you, Annie?” “Six-and-a-half. How old are you?” I felt my knees lock into place as I realized that I hadn’t introduced myself. “Oh, um, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude… My name is Kyler. Kyler Hunt. I’m fifteen years old,” I said as I awkwardly extended my hand. She nervously shook my hand and seemed frightened that my handshake was firm. My dad always told me that it is rude to have a flimsy handshake.

I began to put the pieces together with what little I could comprehend. After a long pause, I said as non-threateningly as possible, “Annabelle… every night I’ve ever stayed in this house, I have been afraid to go to sleep. Do you know why I was afraid? I was afraid because I heard sounds. Sounds that I couldn’t explain. I recently found a note that led me down here. Are you responsible for these things?” “Yes, but it’s too late now,” she replied. “Oh my god,” I breathed. “Um, just out of curiosity, what year were you born in, Annie?” Annabelle ignored my question and turned away. She said, “Do you want to hear my story?” I offered her a comforting smile and said that I would be honored to. It seemed like the polite thing to say.

“Take my hand,” ordered Annie. “And do not let go. No matter what I show you. For if you do, we are both trapped down here forever.” Almost inaudibly, I responded with an “okay,” because I didn’t know what else to say. Annie had an… interesting smell… okay, she was absolutely filthy, but I suspected that the blame was not hers. I was genuinely interested in what she had to say. I grabbed her hand, and she began her story.

“I had a nice home, built on nice, fertile soil.” As Annie told her story, the most peculiar thing happened: I saw her story unfold before my eyes as she narrated it. I saw a nice one-story home sat upon a slight hill. Behind it was an eerily familiar golden field of wheat ready to be harvested. I saw a large oak tree with a tree house on its branches. I looked around, but was careful not to let go of Annie’s hand. She continued her story, “I had a nice ma, who always loved me. I had a nice brother, who always played with me.” I saw what looked like a family photo of Annie smiling, something I had not yet seen her do. She was being hugged by a friendly-looking blonde woman, with the same deep, soulful brown eyes as Annie. Standing next to the pair was a boy who looked to be about ten years of age. He had medium-length dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a heart-warming smile. I then saw a vision of Annie’s mother hugging her, and Annie’s brother playing some chasing game with her, indulging her by letting her catch him.

“I had a very bad pa. He was very… bad…” her voice trailed off, and I allowed her to regain her composure. After a deep breath, Annie said, “Pa always wanted me to invite my friends over. Pa never let me play with my dolls because he wanted to play with them himself. Pa drank too much alcohol. Ma told him to stop drinking after he hit her. He didn’t stop. Ma told him to stop drinking after he hit Jacob. He didn’t stop. Ma told him to stop drinking after he hit me. He just wouldn’t stop.” I saw rather disturbing visions of Jacob and Annie’s mother screaming. Their father was holding a bottle of booze in his left hand, and swinging wildly at Jacob with the other. He had gray hair, a gray beard, a gray shirt with sweat stains, a beer belly, brown trousers and brown boots.

I then saw the image of the family photograph again, but this time, Annie and Jacob’s mother had a glass eye, Jacob had a crutch, and Annie’s smile was full of terror. I immediately knew the reason. “He just wouldn’t stop,” repeated Annie in a softer voice. “After Pa beat me, Ma sold all of his alcohol, even the bottles he kept hidden in our basement. “Pa got very, very angry. He was mad.” I heard Annie’s father shouting at his wife. “Why the hell did you do that, you filthy whore?! Damn you to hell, disgusting bitch!” Annie’s mother screamed at the top of her lungs. I saw her drop to her knees to plead with him, for she knew what was to happen next. As she predicted, he rushed to the other side of the kitchen and picked up his shotgun. He did not hesitate to shoot his wife dead. The house was silent. All of a sudden, I was aware that Annie and Jacob were hiding behind a cupboard. I was still holding Annie’s hand; there were two different “Annies”. Jacob, in tears, cupped his hand over his sister’s mouth, who was crying harder than he was. “Listen up, Annie. I’ll distract him, and you run for the back door.” The girl’s eyes widened in protest. “I love you, Anna,” said Jacob. He kissed her on the forehead, then took a deep breath.

“Jack!” called the intoxicated father. “Where are you, boy?! Come out now!” Jacob stood up slowly, wincing as he did so. I assumed that it hurt his bad leg. His father’s back was turned, as he was checking behind the opposite cupboard. Jacob then threw his crutch at his father, and it hit him in the back of the head. The boy pushed his sister, but she was paralyzed in horror. Jacob hobbled for the front door, but I could tell by his expression that he knew he wouldn’t make it out alive. Annie watched her brother get his brains blown out. Blood poured from his ears. Annie’s father looked over and his cold gaze locked on her. The small girl gasped and shrieked. I saw her every muscle tense up. She gulped in fear then bolted for the back door, as her brother instructed. However, her father leaped into the air and caught her effortlessly. She kicked and she punched and she screamed, but her tiny fists were no match for the brute.

By now I had figured out that all this happened in the very same house that my grandmother lives in. I knew that because this was such a rural area, there was nobody around to hear poor little Annie scream. Annie’s father carried her to the basement, locking the door behind him. Then he mumbled something like, “I’ll have all yer little friends!” Then he ran out. The “alive Annie” sat on the basement floor sobbing. The Annie holding my hand was silent. I watched the clock on the wall. It was a full two hours before he returned. The evil man had three bags, each with a child squirming inside of it. He put one girl in each of the three rooms that I saw in the hallway.

Annie brought me back to present-day. She took me down the hallway and opened the first door on the left. I saw a dead girl with golden curls. The body was fairly well-preserved in the dank basement. Annie said, “This is Margaret. We used to play hopscotch together.” Annie blew her a kiss and closed the door. She then took me to the door on the right side of the hallway. Annie opened the door to reveal a deceased girl with long brown hair. “This is Cindy. We used to play jump rope together.” Annie blew her a kiss and closed the door. She took me to the last room and opened the door. Behind the door was the corpse of a little redheaded girl. “This is Sarah. We used to play make-believe together.” Annie blew a kiss to the ginger and closed the door.

I was in utter shock. I stopped reacting after Jacob was killed. I was still in disbelief that a human could do such horrid things to another human, especially if that other human was your wife, your son, or your daughter. I saw the room transform as Annie took me back in time once more. She walked down the hallway slowly. Still holding her hand, I had no choice but to follow. We were following the sound of grunting, muffled curses, and muffled cries. Annabelle led me around the stairway and showed me something that no one should see, let alone go through themselves. There, right in front of me, was Annie’s father with his trousers off. He had violently torn off Annie’s nightgown and had her pinned down on the bed. Without thinking, I screamed and ran up to her father, dragging the Annie holding my hand behind. I slammed my fist into his back, or I tried to at least. My fist hit the bed that still stands there, to this day. I then began to plead and weep. “Please… stop… Don’t hurt her…” I whimpered. But there was nothing I could do. This man was raping the poor child and there was nothing I could do! Annie tried to soothe me by saying, “It’s okay. It’s over now.”

Annabelle stopped her story abruptly and there we were, back in the same basement that I had foolishly wandered into. The girl let go of my hand and sighed sadly. The agony on her face was indescribable. I shook my head and stared at her through my tears. She broke the silence by saying somewhat reluctantly, “Um, there’s something I forgot.” Annie walked over to the door I saw in the room that I assumed to be a closet. The closet was bare, except for a bucket. “This is the blasted bucket,” said Annie. “It was my only toilet and my only toy. I named him ‘Jim.’” I suddenly had a vision of Annabelle talking to Jim the bucket for hours on end, like she had gone mad. If she did go mad, it would have been completely justified.

After another long pause, I finally said to her, “Your story… how does it end?” As if I had to ask. I somehow had a sliver of hope that she was rescued. “I don’t know how long I was down here before I heard Pa upstairs yelling at the Sheriff. I was so sure that that would be the day I was saved… I was wrong. So horribly wrong. Pa fed me a carrot a day, if I was lucky. But every time he came down… he hurt me,” her voice cracked. “One day, he never came down again.” I saw a vision of a local newspaper flash before my eyes, and the biggest headline said, “Prisoner hangs himself in jail cell”. And there was a picture of Annie’s father. “I’m not really sure what happened. I think I must have died a few days later,” she said. I gasped in horror. “My body is under the bed,” she whispered. I blinked hard, not knowing what to say at all, not wanting to be impolite.

Annie went over to the bed and sat down, beckoning me to join her. I sat down next to her. She started crying again. I didn’t know what to do. A hug seemed like it would be a nice gesture, but she might feel threatened if I tried to touch her. So I just sat with her. After a good long cry, she said, “I don’t have any friends.” “What about Margaret? Or Cindy, or Sarah?” I didn’t think I should mention Jim. “They all went up to heaven,” said Annie, pointing up. “I… I am lost.” I felt so bad for her.

I’ll admit, I was a bit startled when she crawled into my lap and asked, “Kyler? Will you protect me? Will you be my friend?” Happy that I could do something for her, I said, “Of course I’ll be your friend, Annie. I’ll protect you from anything.” She looked me in the eye. “Promise?” “I promise,” I assured her sincerely. She was pretty small for someone her age, and I had no trouble cradling her and rocking her to sleep. As I lay her down on the bed, she looked so peaceful. And I could have sworn that I saw her smile at me.

…This is not how the story ends. If you like happy endings, I suggest you stop reading right now. Just pretend that Annie became my best friend, pretend that she took away my anxiety for good, pretend that I grew up with Annie by my side. Pretend that we spent our lazy summer days together, and on the happiest of days, Jacob would even join in on the fun. This is not what happens...Yet, it seems that you have made the choice to continue reading. Very well then.

I walked back up the stairs. I peeked out the window, and saw that the twilight was beginning to fade, and dawn’s first rays would soon arrive. I walked up to my room in the attic. I was quite relieved to know the source of the creepy sounds at night, however I still felt my anxiety starting to return. I am such a good person, I thought as I made my way to the bed. I was so happy that Annie could finally have a friend. I slipped under the sheets, a new person. For the first time in years, I slept peacefully, and I hardly felt groggy when I woke up, despite the fact that I woke up for a few hours in the darkest hours of the night.

The visitation and funeral came and went. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful, but I let my mind wander a bit during the service. I couldn’t help but think about Annabelle. When I looked at Grandpa Ben for the last time in his casket, I had an entirely new perspective on death. Grandpa looked so peaceful. At least his upper half did. Because he was in a car wreck, I preferred not to imagine what could have happened to his lower half.

My family drove back to Chicago on the evening of the funeral. That would be where I spent the next year of my life. A lot happens in a year, especially when you’re in high school. With all of my stress, anxiety, homework, drama, (and even a little bit of romance!) to worry about, I somehow pushed Annie and Jacob out of my mind. However, summer rolled around again, and word got to my mom that Grandma Jodi wasn’t doing too well. Mom immediately made plans to go to Karnak once again, and insisted that Dad and I come along with her to “bring some joy to Grandma.”

When we pulled into the driveway though, I noticed another car there. I figured that maybe Grandma Jodi had a friend over to comfort her, or a councilor, or something. She must have still been devastated at the loss of Grandpa Ben. When we got inside, however, I knew something was off. I knew even before we got there, because my stomach began to hurt. My worst fears were confirmed when I heard strange chanting… coming from the basement. Grandma Jodi came and greeted us in the kitchen. “Hello there. If you’re wondering what’s going on in there, I had been experiencing some… other-worldly excitement. Oh, who am I kidding? I was absolutely spooked. I knew that it had to be Ben. But it’s just not like him to frighten me like this. So, desperate times call for desperate measures, right? I called the priest and he told me that he would banish any spirits in this home, whether good or bad. May he finally rest in peace now,” said Grandma Jodi quickly.

I heard the basement steps creak: familiar light, unsure footsteps. However, this time, they were much faster, like they were running as fast as they could. It was not the priest who was coming up the stairs. It was Annie. She was screaming and flailing her arms. She looked like she was sinking into the ground. I saw her start to run for the stairs leading to the attic, but then her eyes locked on mine. Jacob was behind her and sinking into the floorboards as well. And he was angry. Annie was angry. And I was the only one who could see or hear them.

“Hello, friend,” said Jacob, furious. My heart began to race. “Hello, protector,” he taunted. My palms started to sweat, my heart began to race. All the while, Annie was screaming and sinking deeper into the ground. Jacob limped over to me. I nervously backed away, but he cornered me against the wall. He started to shout at me. “You said you would protect my sister! You promised her! And now look what happened! This priest has damned us to hell! We’re innocent! We are the victims! How dare you?!” Annie stopped shrieking just long enough to say, “Kyler Hunt, I curse you!”

Right at that moment, I lost consciousness. I was vaguely aware of doctors surrounding me on a hospital bed. “She’ll be in a coma for the rest of her life, from the looks of it. But this is a truly strange case, I’ve never had anything like it in all my time. Why she fainted in the first place is a mystery.”

My true fate is far worse than being stuck in a coma for the rest of my life. I would love to sleep. I would love to die. I doubt I’ll ever be at peace, though. I am trapped living out the horrors that were the last few days of Annie’s life. The worst part of it all is that I can’t die as long as the doctors are keeping my body alive.

Another School Assignment That Took A Dark Turn

Yo. I have another school assignment that was strangely dark. (Or another "appetizer," however you would like to think of it.) However, this time, the darkness is justified, as the assignment was to write a free verse poem. We could write about anything we wanted. My poem went into some personal issues that I experienced throughout the school year. It's titled, "Even A Princess Has Problems." Enjoy.

Even a princess has problems.

Look at me.

I’m a princess:

I have clothes, I have shoes,

I have a home, I have a school,

I have a loving mama and a sweet daddy.

Yes, I’m a princess, you’re a princess, you’re a prince…

But what does that tell anyone at all?

And I know it is wrong

And I know it is a sin

To compare a princess’ problems to the problems of those who are not princesses

But look at me--my castle is strong.

Many outside forces can hurt me, but many can’t.

My problem is that there are uprisings in my castle.

A civil war.

You can’t even see

My silent misery

You don’t know

The hours I’ve wasted away staring out my bedroom window

Waiting for a change in mood that was beyond my control

Now it is a secret that I fail to keep

That too many times I’ve cried myself to sleep

And it gets worse!

Can you see on my body, in my mind, the scars I’ve made?

Maybe not, but they won’t soon fade.

I keep telling myself it’ll be okay,

But it’s a lie.

I want to freeze, want to fight, want to cut, want to bite, I want to flay

These wants escalate, yes, it gets worse still.

For when positivity I cannot instill,

I want to hurt, I want to kill.

It starts out as a ladybug impaled

Twigs into its once-vibrant wings, I nailed

To just give in to my anger,

Happiness I buried, joy I ate

If I cannot love, I hate

If it was first a ladybug, then next a man?

Will I stop it, if I can?

You see, I focus too much on strengthening my exterior, some call it “cool”

But on the inside, I feel like a weak-minded fool.

Now I know all too well

That without laughter, without love, my life is a living hell.

If I should be forgotten,

If I should be unloved,

If I cannot give my love,

I know I will not be ascending to The Great Above.

If I should become any more untame,

Satan Himself calls my name.

Look at me once more.

Am I the same person you saw before?

Do you think I’m still a princess?

Why don’t you give it a guess?

By now you should know

That only by some rules I choose to abide.

My title as royalty, as a princess, is solely for me to decide.