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[REDDIT]tangga misteri dalam hutan... milik siapa?
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part 8...finale
This will be my final update for now.
Things have deteriorated here to a degree that I didn't foresee. I didn't know how much writing about the things that are happening out here would affect every single part of my life, and maybe that was stupid of me. Maybe I should have considered it more seriously, but honestly I just thought I was writing about things that a few people would want to hear. I didn't think it would get this much attention.
People ask me about the stairs now. It doesn't happen every day, but when it does happen I never really know what to say. My bosses know someone is talking about them, and I'm sure that if they know, the higher-ups know. And I can tell you that they aren't happy about it. I've been formally told that I am not to speak a word about them to anyone anymore, which is part of the reason this has to be my final update. I can't risk my job for this; as much as it's been wonderful to get a lot of these things off my mind, I still do love my work, and I need to be out here. If anything, my being aware of what's really going on is enough reason to stick it out. I may not be able to tell people that they're out there, but if I see them, I can direct traffic away to somewhere safer.
Because of the amount of attention the stories have gotten, I've heard a lot of stories being swapped back and forth. I've heard so many I can't even remember most of them. The ones I do remember are the ones that I wish I could forget.
One story that's made the rounds here was about a young woman who disappeared upstate. Initially, everyone assumed she was a runaway. She didn't come from a great home life, and so it really wasn't any kind of surprise that she'd choose to cut and run. But people started coming forward saying that they'd seen her around the park shortly before she vanished, so some of the Rangers in the area were sent out to make sure she hadn't hung herself or something on any of the back trails. It took them a while, but they did find her. Well, not all of her. Just half of her tongue and a quarter of the lower jaw. Very clean cuts, from what I heard. They've never found the rest of her.
So many stories about children. So many of them going missing and turning up in caves, wedged in between impossibly tight spaces. So many of them found on mountain peaks, or at the bottoms of sheer gullies. Missing shoes, missing socks, or found with both in perfect condition despite them being miles and miles away from where they vanished.
So many stories of black-eyed people, wandering around the woods and calling out in the night, mimicking the sound of running water or a bobcat screaming. One man in particular goes to every news station he thinks will listen to him and tells the same story. He was deer hunting, had camped out in a very remote area, and woke up because something was scraping against his tent. He thought it was a raccoon or a fox until the thing pressed its face against the door of the tent, at which point he could very clearly make out a human nose and mouth. He kicked at it, but it leaped back and was gone by the time he opened the tent flap, gun at his side. He fired two warning shots, and when the sound had faded, he heard a snap behind him. A man was standing at the edge of the campsite. This man was not wearing any clothing, but he also didn't possess any kind of human flesh. As this hunter described it, the man was made of some kind of amalgamation of raw meat and hair. As if someone had scooped up roadkill and molded it into the vague shape of a man. The face was lumpy and only a rough approximation of a human face. The thing opened its lopsided mouth, and from it came the sound of the gun the hunter had fired. It did this twice before mimicking the sound of the tent zipper and fleeing into the night.
A young couple, out for a hike in the rocky areas of my park, reported to me yesterday that they had seen something strange out on a peak I'm very familiar with. They were taking turns looking through a pair of binoculars when the man noticed a hiker climbing up a very steep part of the cliff face. He watched the man scale the slope, and it didn't occur to him until the incident was over that this person had no climbing gear. When the climber reached the top of the peak, which was about five miles away, they turned and faced the young man. He said whoever, or whatever, this person was, was looking right at them. The climber waved in an exaggerated manner before snapping in half at the waist, sideways, and leaping off the peak. The young man didn't see where the climber landed. I sent them on their way with assurances that I'd check it out. I lied. I won't be turning in a report, because there are ten others exactly like it. The climber is well known in that area. I don't question it anymore.
There are so many things I won't ever be able to understand about my job, and it would take me years to relate all of the things I've heard in the last few months. When I feel like my job isn't in jeopardy, I will come back. It may be in a different format, but I will come back. Thank you all for sticking by my side, and enjoying the things I've talked about.
If you go out into the woods, I encourage you to be safe. Bring water, food, survival equipment. Let people know where you're going and when you'll be back. Don't go on uncharted paths unless you know exactly what you're doing.
And above all:
Don't touch them. Don't look at them. Don't go up them.
EDIT: I realize I probably should have mentioned this at the beginning. The series is being paused, but the story is going to live on. A book is in the works. The first draft is coming along very nicely. Keep a lookout, NoSleep.
https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep ... _for_the_us_forest/ |
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okeh..settle semua post.. ckup 8.. aku settle kn trus sebab lepas ni aku bz sket takut tak sempat nk post 1 hari 1 part.. kalau korang nak bace citer lain dari reddit nanti aku post lagi.. selalu nya aku amek story of the month winner |
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Kat Malaysia ni ada je dlm hutan yg ada tangga tapi its remnants from old buildings salah satu nya dkt bukit kutu kuala kubu baru. Have to climb atleast 2 3 jam sampai peak and tepi sikit dr peak tu ada bekas bangunan lama tinggal zaman penjajah dulu. Yang ada dinding, tangga, perigi dibuat dr batu. Yg ni mmg real sebab cucu ke cicit kepada british yg jaga kawasan tu ada actual gmbr tmpt tu. But im curious as to how they brought up things for them to build the place. Skrg jalan clear 2 3 jam blh sampai atas and not carrying weights. Imagine dulu2. Tmpt tu mcm sanatorium dgn rumah rehat british. |
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Salam
http://www.wotrradio.com/blog/2015/12/2/morbid-deaths-missing-time-and-mysterious-stairs-an-interview-with-horror-author-sarwoods
The stories completely blew up on Reddit, gaining instant popularity overnight (literally). Comments left by redditors were tallying up into the hundreds, people excitedly interacting and contributing their own experiences, while others begged to hear more (the first installment of the stories even won the NoSleep monthly contest for August). I guess people always love a good mystery. Missing people, some found dead, some never found (and some found alive, though always under curious circumstances); chilling encounters with seemingly other-worldly creatures; frighteningly grotesque freak accidents; and then, of course, there are the stairs. The mysterious staircases that randomly appear in the forest, only to never then be found again. At this point, the stairs have become somewhat synonymous with SARwoods' stories – you’ll find fan-art online, as well as numerous blog posts and forum discussions (and even a ridiculous article by a “psychic,” who apparently managed to psychically figure out why the staircases exist…I guess she didn’t get the memo that they were fictional).
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pada pemahaman aku la kan....forest tuh ade tasik kat tepi dia..means orang selalu datang utk piknik.. hiking.. jalan2 kat pinggir hutan ngn family.. lagi pun forest ni ade trail untuk pengguna.. tapi yang jadi sesat bila diorang keluar dari trail yang dh disediakan tuh.. hihihi
tapi ni pun fiction..so whatever goes la kan heheh
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waalaikumusalam.. betul tuh.. aku ade google jugak pasal tangga misteri yang diorang sebut2 nih.. and memang kenyataan ni la yang keluar.. so it is fake
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betul...sekitar forest yg ada tasik ni memang jadi tarikan org yg suka camping bersama famili atau geng etcPenulis ni mungkin ambik inspirasi citer Friday the 13th dan Halloween dan citer2 yang bercuti kat hutan yg ada tasik..
end up mati dibunuh orang gila atau something misteri. atau hilang tanpa jejak.
cuma dalam citer ni, penulis tambah misteri tangga....
org ramai keep going ke hutan tu sbb tak diumumkan kawasan tu dah merbahaya. Tak ada notice or signboard amaran apa-apa dari tteam SAR. Selalunya kalau banyak kes hilang atau mati macam ni, kawasan tu dah jadi kawasan larangan dan org ramai dilarang masuk ke situ
kecuali mana yg teruja nak tahu kemisterian hutan tu, so beranikan diri masuk ke hutan tu atas risiko sendiri macam citer Indigeous tuh..hutan kat Panama.
hehhee..gigih pulak aku kupas citer fiction ni..
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Mark Twain — 'Truth is stranger than fiction, but it is because Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities; Truth isn't.'
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hahaha dah macam review filem pulak..nampak sgt ko kaki wayang
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fuhhh habis dah 8 chapter.
thanks TT tolong abiskan paste cite ni kat sini
menarik la cite dia.
fiction pun aku pedulik hape janji best |
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hehehe tq sebab bace citer2 yang aku tepek nih.. nanti aku tepek lagi yer.. 
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citer antu memang best tengok kat wayang..baru la datang feel seram dia btul tak? hihihi
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silakan tepek
sebab nak masuk reddit tu x reti la.
aku reti masuk forum cari je.
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the chandelier
The year my mother and father were wed my father bought his wife a very beautiful Baccarat chandelier. It weighed one ton and hung down two entire flights of stairs. Because it was so large my father searched the whole of Britain for an estate that could accommodate it. He chose a very old palatial home in the Welsh countryside. The mansion was six stories tall and in the middle of the house was a tall, spiraled atrium with a glass ceiling. The stairs wrapped around the walls of the spire encircling the great chandelier at the top.
As far back as I can remember I would spend my days lying underneath the cascading crystals far above and watching the twinkling prisms catch the sunlight and cast vibrant, breathing rainbows across the walls. My mother would smile at me and giggle to my father behind her hands. I was a romantic, she said, a dreamer. Father would smile knowingly but never bother to glance my way. He only had eyes for my mother, at least until little George came along.
But I wasn’t a dreamer, no, I fought sleep with every breath. I much preferred to spend my evenings dancing in the star fields that twinkled in the spire on clear nights. If moonlight shone into the great atrium it was transformed by the Baccarat into a million shimmering, glittering tiny stars. The chandelier was always gently, gently swaying even without a draft in the house and it would make the crisp, vibrant celestials dance upon the wall to a song only I could hear. And I would dance in the star fields.
One day I awoke from an afternoon nap to the loud but sluggish groan of protesting metal. I arrived at the bannister just in time to see the Baccarat’s metal supports snap in two. The chandelier fell half a story until it was brought to an abrupt and violent halt by its last remaining support - a thick, nylon rope. George was playing with a train set far below and I screamed at him. He looked up at me for just a moment and then he was obscured from my view as the nylon snapped and the chandelier went crashing down five stories to the first floor where my mother had thrown herself protectively over George.
My father would only shed his tears for them behind closed doors. A week after their deaths Father had the Baccarat repaired and rehung. It had been my mother’s and he'd loved her deeply. Perhaps he liked to look at the chandelier and think of her. But I preferred to imagine that he rehung it for me because he knew how much I loved it.
But the chandelier wasn’t the same. The gentle cadence it had loyally kept since my birth was now replaced by a stillness as absolute as death. The rainbows were dull, almost colorless and the dancing stars that had once glittered upon the walls at night were absent and the spiraled atrium remained as dark as the heart of obsidian.
I still spend my days and nights lying on the floor looking up at the chandelier and hoping its magic will return to me. Some days I can almost see the vibrant colors and speckled starlight. Most days I see nothing at all.
But nothing at all is better than the nightmare that peeks through the veil sometimes, cruel and uninvited. Sometimes I can feel the cold and the hunger and the pain in my chest. Sometimes the dark nights and dull days make sense. Sometimes I can see the Baccarat for what it really is. Because sometimes I remember that it wasn’t the chandelier that my father hung at the top of the atrium that day - it was himself.
credit to https://wh.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/3q7jdf/the_chandelier/ |
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afira replied at 14-8-2016 03:49 PM
the chandelier
The year my mother and father were wed my father bought his wife a very beautiful ...
laaagi laagii we want more!  |
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anxiety and depression
**strong language**
In case you haven’t noticed, there is a stigma against men accessing mental health services. I was always told to suck it up and stop being sad. Even at the age of eight my parents had no tolerance for my misery. They’re both from China. As traditional Chinese parents, they don’t believe in therapy. They just wanted me to get stronger.
But all I felt was weakness.
I’m not sure exactly when I made the feelings into imaginary friends, but I don’t remember a time without them. Their names are Anxiety and Depression. I supposed I blame them for all of my problems. When they visit me I know things will be bad. I could be in a crowded place and they’d cause a panic attack to take over my body. They would sleep on top of me at night, constricting my breathing. They followed me from place to place without any remorse. In truth, they haunt me.
Anxiety is a tall thin man with no arms. He is completely naked with fingers coming out of his skin. They wriggle around like little worms. His cheeks sag down off his face like basset ears. Drool bubbles up and he sputters bits of phlegm everywhere. When he isn’t drooling he’s whispering things to me. Always whispering. “Your parents hate you.” “You’ll never be anything.” “You’ll die soon.” His voice sounds surprisingly like my father’s broken English. The things he says are terrible, but it’s when he touches me that it’s unbearable. His tiny fingered skin will brush against mine like the feet of a millipede. I cringe and scratch. My mother found long cuts on my arms. I tried to explain it was Anxiety but she just accused me of just wanting attention.
Depression is very different. She looks like a normal woman on one half of her body, but the other half is completely melted. There is an open wound on her scalp which constantly bleeds and spouts greenish puddles of pus. Instead of tears, she cries baby teeth onto the folds of her own skin. She likes to use her good arm to push down on my shoulders. The weight of her would makes me stoop. She doesn’t speak in words, but instead makes a low moan like the call of an owl. I hear it all the time. The sorrowful sound makes my heart hurt. I can’t sleep because of the noise, but can’t get out of bed because of her constant pressure.
I knew logically that they weren’t real in a traditional sense. They were figments of my imagination. But their impact was undeniable. They worked together to make my life as hard as possible. I was utterly alone, except for the two of them.
At least, until this morning.
I woke up with Depression sleeping on my chest. Her disgusting head wound was spitting pus into my mouth. I tried to speak, to ask for help, but her bile kept my voice silent. Anxiety slithered up from the floor. He brushed his terrible finger skin along my arms. I could barely breathe. Anxiety smirked and coughed drool onto my face.
Three knocks came from the door. Depression and Anxiety stiffened, releasing their grips on me for a moment. My sister Kim’s voice came from the hallway. “Get up. Mom says I have to drive you to school.”
I tried to speak by Depression’s bitterness was still clogging my throat. Kim sighed loudly and jammed the door open. “I said get up!”
I screamed when I saw her. She shook in surprise. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
My sister stood in the doorway, her face a mixture of confusion and repulsion. But on her shoulder…was a creature. It was a birdlike skeleton with its claws buried in her neck. Its head was a putrid bowl of vomit. Two eyes floated in the rancid liquid, spinning in circles. Kim stared at me, completely unaware of the thing on top of her.
“Kim, what is that?!”
“What is what?” I pointed at her shoulder. She looked around but saw nothing. “You are such a fucking psycho, you know that? Now get up so I can drive you to school.”
The thing on her shoulder made a loud gurgling noise and then began talking. Its voice was a mix of my mother’s voice and a high pitched wail. “He’s pointing at your fat. Your ugly, huge body. You’re such a disgusting pig. You’ll never be thin enough.” Kim’s face fell a little.
“Why is it saying that?” I cried at her.
She looked at me like I was a cockroach. “You have officially gone insane.” She turned around and left. I heard her go into the bathroom.
I lay for a few moments in my bed. What did I just see? Shakily I stood up. Maybe Kim was right – I was going insane. It wouldn’t really surprise me. Anxiety perked up and whispered, “You’ve always been crazy.”
Depression dragged her melted form behind me as I got dressed. I tried to pretend like I hadn’t just seen that demon clawing at my sister. It was early, maybe it was a dream. I got downstairs by Anxiety pushing me with his tiny fingers. “If you’re late, your family will hate you even more.”
My parents were in the kitchen. Behind them were identical copies of themselves, except swathed in straightjackets made of barbed wire. The copies were screaming, struggling against their binds. But my parents didn’t notice. My father was reading the paper. My mother was finishing breakfast. Her copy slammed itself against the refrigerator, trying to speak. Sand poured out of its mouth.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully to me.
My mouth hung open. How could they not see, not hear those hideous copies? Kim walked around me into the kitchen. The monster was still perched on her, its vomit skull just a little bit bigger. She grabbed the keys off the counter. “Come on, psycho.”
I tried to edge as far away from her in the car as possible. The thing on her shoulder didn’t seem to care about me. It just kept talking to her. “Fat pig. No one will love you. Fat ugly sick cow.” Kim drove in silence.
I soon realized it wasn’t just my family. Everyone we passed had something sickening on or near them. Demons covered the pedestrians. None of them looked the same, but each was disturbing. One man had a giant wolf with its teeth lodged into his back. A woman was surrounded by a black cloud with hundreds of reaching hands. I tried to close my eyes but Anxiety used his wriggling fingers to pry my eyelids open.
Kim got to me to school in less than ten minutes. I saw the kids in my class, kids I’d known for years, being haunted by hideous creatures. I didn’t want to leave the car. Kim narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, are you okay?”
I looked up at her. I wanted so desperately to tell her what was wrong. Depression punched me in the stomach. Anxiety whispered, “Don’t burden her. You’re not worth it.”
“I’m fine,” I said quietly. I exited the car and went into the building.
I couldn’t concentrate on anything. All I could see were the horrible beings tormenting my classmates. Alicia, a girl I’ve always had a crush on, had a disgustingly long tongue hanging down the back of her head. It slurped her hair and she kept plucking at it. She pulled one individual strands and the tongue would stop licking for a moment before starting up again. Benny, my best friend, was face to face with a version of his father. Except this version was small, about the size of an apple, and it sat on his ear. It was shouting, “Be daddy’s good boy. Don’t tell your mom. This is our secret. Such a good boy.” Carrie, the smartest girl in class, had two heads growing out of her neck. One was sickly and dying, coughing up pus that looked like the kind Depression oozed from her skull. The other head was on fire, laughing hysterically and biting at her cheeks.
Even my teacher, Mr. Morrin, had a demon. His was a stick man with dead black flowers growing from his wooden skin. One of his hands was balled in a fist. The other was grasped firmly onto Mr. Morrin’s genitals. The stick man gnashed his teeth and foamed at the mouth. He said, “Alicia is such an innocent girl. Probably still a virgin. So pure. We could deflower her. We could break her in the middle.” Mr. Morrin just kept teaching without noticing.
Once first period was over, I knew I had to get out of there. I snuck out and fled across the field behind the school. Anxiety and Depression followed closely. I was used to them, they were my monsters. But seeing the horrible beings haunting those around me…it was too much.
I paused at the small wooded area just beyond the field. It was such a relief to not see anyone. No people meant no monsters. I was able to get three deep breaths before I heard a twig break behind me. I turned to see Gerald Anderson. Gerald was a few grades ahead of me. He was known as the biggest bully in school. He had never really bothered me though. I was too quiet to garner much attention.
I sucked in my breath, preparing myself for a terrifying creature to show its fear. But Gerald was alone. There was no monster with him. He cocked his head at me, flicking a cigarette out of his mouth. “You’re that Asian kid in 9th grade, right?”
“Uh, yeah.” Anxiety fluttered around me, whispering repeatedly. Depression slumped onto my back.
Gerald took a step closer. “You look like you’re having a rough day.”
I had no idea why he was talking to me. His voice was monotone but I felt strangely calmed by it. It was the first time in a long time that someone acknowledged my pain.
“Yeah.” My voice broke. Anxiety whispered, “You sound like a pussy.”
“You know, life gets rough sometimes,” Gerald mused. “Makes you kind of wonder why we even do it.”
I blinked. “Yeah. I guess.”
He continued, “Like, what’s the point of living if all we get is misery? Well, all you get. I haven’t had much emotions myself. My therapist calls it anti-social personality disorder. Can you believe that? I’m a social person! Here I am, talking to you. Right?”
I didn’t understand our conversation. But Anxiety moved my lips for me. “Right.”
Gerald was close now, nearly touching me. “You should kill yourself.”
Depression gleefully cried baby teeth all over my chest. “What?”
“There’s no point in living anyway. Suicide is the best solution. I’ve been telling people that for years. I got Sam to do it last April, and I bet he’s happier now.” Gerald stroked his hair. “You should kill yourself, kid. You’ll be happy too.”
Depression wrapped her melted flesh around my body. She caressed me with her bloody pus. “You really think that’s what I should do?”
“Yeah, I do.” He reached out and pinched my arm. I flinched. “You won’t feel pain anymore.” He stepped back and laughed. “But whatever, I don’t care what the fuck you do.” He turned his back on me and walked away. I watched him go until he disappeared back into the school building.
I made my way home. That’s where I am now. I’m sitting on the bathroom floor, typing this as quickly as possible. I need to do it quick before my family comes home. I don’t think I could go through with it if they were here.
Depression turned the water on. The tub is filling up. Anxiety is holding the razor. He whispers, “Do it. Do it.” Depression is raising my arm to the blade.
I’m sorry, but I can’t live with these monsters anymore. I can’t live knowing everyone else has them too. Everyone except Gerald. Maybe he doesn’t need a monster. |
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A 911 operator warning u to stay safe
It’s kind of a running joke in my office that I always get the weirdest calls, and it’s true. One of the more interesting ones I got was from a drunk guy who meant to call the cops and was trying to file a noise complaint about his own party. While some of my calls can be pretty strange, they’re usually fairly tame. I’ve been pretty lucky because I haven’t had too many disturbing or sad stories to tell from my years working as a 911 operator. If you’re looking for something like that, I can point you to several of my colleagues because unfortunately, there’s no shortage of those in this industry.
The call that particularly sticks in my mind is one that I had about a year or two ago. I can honestly say that it’s one of the most frightening experiences of my entire life, and think it’s going to stick with me forever.
It had actually been a fairly slow afternoon that day. I know it sounds kind of insensitive, but if you’re not taking a call, this job can get pretty boring. I got stuck covering my friend’s evening shift, and I didn’t expect things to get more interesting. I was counting down the minutes until my shift ended when a call came through my line. I put the headset on and ran through the usual script.
“911, what is your emergency?” I asked.
“I think there’s someone in my house,” the voice sounded like it belonged to a young child. My heart sank. Calls from children were always the worst.
We’re trained to get as much information from each caller as possible. This makes it easier to more fully understand the situation as well as figure out which emergency services we need to dispatch.
“What’s your name, sweetie?” I kept my voice calm and upbeat. There was no need in scaring them any further than they undoubtedly already were.
“Elizabeth,” she said softly. I think she might have been crying.
“That’s a beautiful name. Mine’s Amelia,” even though I didn’t show it, I was beginning to get nervous. “This is very important. Can you tell me what’s happening right now?”
The line was quiet for a moment, but then Elizabeth started talking, “I think someone’s in my house.”
“Where are you parents?” I asked.
“They’re not home. I’m not sure where they are.”
I was pretty angry when I heard this. What kind of parents leave a little girl home alone this late at night? “Is there anyone else there with you?”
“Yeah, I think they’re looking for me,” Elizabeth began, but her voice abruptly stopped at the very end of her sentence. Had it not been for her quiet, frightened breaths, I would have thought she, or whoever else was there, hung up. “They said my name.” She was definitely crying now.
“Where are you right now?”
I heard a door close. “In my parents’ closet,” she spoke a little louder now, probably thinking that the intruder wouldn’t be able to hear her from in there. I hoped she was right. I was glad that she knew to hide. A lot of kids freeze up in dangerous situations like this, especially if their parents or an older sibling aren’t there.
I asked her for her address, which she gave to me, but for the sake of privacy I will only say that Elizabeth’s house was in a fairly nice neighborhood in my area. And it wasn’t far from the police station, which was very helpful.
“Elizabeth, just focus on my voice. I need you to try and relax. I’m sending the police to your house right now, and they should be there in about five minutes. Can you hold on until then?” Even though I would usually try to get a little more information about the intruder, I always tend to air on the side of caution when children call 911. I’d much rather send someone and have it be a false alarm than risk their safety.
Elizabeth did not answer my question, and it took her longer than I was comfortable with to respond. When she did, it was only one word. “Listen.” I heard the phone crackle as she brought it away from her ear and held it out in front of her.
At first, I didn’t hear anything, but as I focused on the background noise, I noticed a lot of whispering. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but it definitely sounded like it was coming from more than one person. I hoped the police would get there on time. As much as I help people with my job and as many lives as I’ve saved, it is always so frustrating that I can’t do anything myself other than wait and talk.
Elizabeth’s voice came out in hushed sobs, “He’s coming up here! Please help!”
“The police are almost there. I need you to be quiet so he doesn’t here you. You’re going to be okay, sweetie, I promise.”
She seemed to calm down a bit.
Everything was quiet for a moment, save for the whispering, which was much louder now. I still didn’t know what they were saying, but I was sure it was coming from multiple people. I could pick out at least three distinct voices.
When I heard a door creak open through the phone, my heart leapt. Elizabeth screamed, and I knew that the intruders had found her. I was so scared for her, and I desperately hoped that someone would be there to help soon. “Are you okay? I need you to tell me what’s going on.” I was trying, and failing, to stop my voice from cracking. I couldn’t let her know that I was afraid.
“There’s a man,” Elizabeth whispered. “He has really long legs and a really big smile.” My imagination was running away from me. I pictured this poor girl alone in the closet as an impossibly tall man towered over her.
I heard another bang coming from somewhere in the house and someone yelling “Police.” Thank god.
I could hear Elizabeth crying as the whispers intensified. I still didn’t understand how she only saw one person. There had to have been more than four!
“He isn’t touching the floor.” The line cut off. I frantically tried to re-establish the connection, but no matter how many times I tried, I was met with only silence on the other end.
I would like to close with a message to any parents reading this: please, please don’t leave your young children home by themselves. I haven’t heard anything about Elizabeth or her family in the year since this happened.
The police only found the phone.
credit to https://wh.reddit.com/r/nosleep/ ... g_you_to_stay_safe/ |
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Author
Post time 8-8-2016 01:42 PM
