It’s in my bed

At thirteen i started to push the boundaries as most angst ridden teenagers do. Mum and dad had split by this point and he had moved back down south leaving me Mum and Lil at home to try and find our new normal.

Boundary number 1: Mum. We are so much alike in many ways that it was impossible not to clash, both being typical hot headed scorpios backing down was never an option and if she wanted me to be home at a certain time, i sure as hell was going to stay out later. School….pffft i was the only school i needed. Or so i thought with that typical scornful attitude teenagers are prone too, my attendance was shocking and i paid the price for it during my GCSE’s. Friends… Well…

Boundary number 2: Friends. See you knew where this was going, my best friend Ab’s and i got involved in a rather unsavoury crowd. A lot of older teenage guys (not the straight laced sort) and their group seemed an alluring option. The village had a terrible drug problem with the real nasty stuff back then, Heroin (or brown) was just a word and it was not unusual to see these guys just smoke it in front of us. I think about it now and i see how wrong and ridiculously inappropriate that is, but then we thought they were the cool crowd. People didn’t survive long in that village, i think you can see why. Safe to say that caused an awful amount of friction at home especially when my mother got frequent calls to say me and Ab’s were paralytic and could she come and fetch us before someone got hurt.

Boundary number 3: The Ouija board. Knowing that things were becoming off the scale creepy i did what any rational teenager did in my quest for answers and cheap thrills. I invited my friends over for Ouija board sessions.

Yes i know before you shout at your screen “WHAT ARE YOU STUPID?…. HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN A HORROR MOVIE?!”

I believe we were all naively under the impression that it was a bit of harmless fun. Mum would go to work and i would send Lil off to bed, then a few of us would make up a crude version of a Spirit board on the coffee table and have a go at communicating with something.

At times nothing would happen, but at others the glass would move and spell out words that didn’t really relate to anything. If we were lucky we would get a few words or names that for somebody in the group would make sense. These small instances of triumph spurred us on but soon the words became more threatening and the house started to feel more ominous, one name that we did get on a regular basis was SIMONG. I have a very long history and relationship with SIMONG that is still ongoing to this day and as we delve into each post you will come to learn more about him too (Spoiler alert the encounter below was not SIMONG.).

The secret gatherings only came to a stop when my mum came home early from work one night and completely lost her s**t at finding four of us huddled in a circle in the candle light with our fingers on the glass. I mean she literally screamed at them to get out and i still have etched upon my brain the petrified looks on my friends faces as they bolted out the front door. I so wish that someone had told me back then not to f**k with the spirits.

Staring at the ceiling in my box room when the lights were off and the world outside was dark became my living nightmare. The air would become incredibly dense and heavy. It started out like the rustling of material moving next to my bed like someone was pacing around. Creaks on the stairs turned into heavy footsteps that would thud up and down for a good portion of the night. My stuff started to move in my room. Jewellery would disappear my curtains would billow out at night as though they had been disturbed by a strong breeze even though my window was shut. My books on the shelves above my bed would be in a pile on the floor the next morning when i woke, like someone had put their hand on one end and swept them clean off the other. I could never work out how it was happening without waking me up and i was more unnerved by the fact that these were just a few feet above my head.

Then the breathing started. Just typing this out now gives me the chills and i have wrapped a heavy duty blanket around me as some form of comfort, safety against the open space and room behind me. Old habits die hard. My bed almost fit neatly in my dinky room and if it hadn’t been for the empty gap between the foot end of my bed and the wall it would have been a snug fit.

I do not remember the details of the very first night it happened but i remember that it became a common occurrence and i remember vividly the routine that me and my Mum grew accustomed to when it would start. In the darkness the silence would be broken by a raspy laboured breathing. It would start quite faint and within a couple of minutes it would fill the room even my heartbeat thumping in my ears could not dull the wheezy intakes of breath and the rattled heavy exhales. They came from that black vacant space near my feet. I would shout for my mum through broken sobs and if she couldn’t hear me because she was fast asleep i would scream until she came.

Nervously opening my door and allowing the hall light to flood in was little relief in them few seconds because the breathing continued. Mothers know pure fear in their children’s voice and my god did she hear mine because she would never step foot over the threshold to my room. Just knowing that something so terrifying was going down that all i could do was freeze up and cry like a baby was enough to keep her rooted at the doorway. Mum must have heard it, there is no doubt in my mind although she has never admitted it but i knew that she was scared too i could hear it in her voice.

“Mum please come in here, come and get me. It’s breathing” I would whisper to her, i felt like a lead weight. Moving seemed impossible even though she was literally a few feet away from me.

“Amy get up and come to me.” I would tell her that i couldn’t i was too scared to move in case it grabbed me, That awful sound still filling the air between me and her felt like a physical wall, but calmly she would tell me again.

“Amy i’m not coming in there. You need to come here now.” I would muster up the courage in a burst of motion throw off my covers and a leap clear from my bed to the door and straight into my mothers arms. Slamming the door shut behind us we would run into her room and i would dive onto her bed and bury myself under the quilt. Thinking that my sister would sleep through all this in the next room i would later find out that she was dealing with her own experiences. The built in double wardrobe was harbouring some messed up activity that also kept her bound in her bed, she would lay there and watch the heavy wooden doors slowly open and she would hear disturbing noises like a small child’s voice coming from within. I feel terrible now that whilst mum was helping me she was left to deal with that all on her own, she was just too scared to call out.

The breathing spirit after a few months decided to notch it up a gear or two…. or thirty whichever way you look at it. I was awoken one night to a weight compressing the bed near my feet, peeking over the top of the quilt i saw nothing. Clearly not satisfied with my response it grew bored and after a few minutes the weight lifted and disappeared. The next time it happened about a week later i peeked over the quilt and there was a faint pale hazy outline of a balding elderly man sat there staring at the wall ahead of him. I wanted to draw as little attention to myself as possible so i slowed my breaths down and tried to lay still. I closed my eyes and waited for him to be gone. A couple of minutes later job done off he went and i slightly relaxed my stiffened muscles a bit and tried to get off to sleep.

The next time it was different. The pressure woke me up, just not by my feet. The outer edge of the bed in the middle near my hips dipped, then the top near my head and finally the end of the bed. The quilt down my entire side tightened with the pressure and i felt the solid weight of a person lay there, i was between him and the wall and my freedom was painfully close on the other side of him. Again i stiffened up and brought my breathing down so slow i realised at some points i was actually holding my breath. I didn’t even want him to see one of my eyelids flicker because then he would know i was awake. My brain just stopped i wasn’t capable of thought in that moment, the only thing that registered was absolute dread and my heart beating so fast it sounded like a hum.

In my head pretending to sleep was my coping mechanism with these encounters, i did not want to see his face because i knew it was next to mine and he was facing me, the cool rhythmic breezes across my face alerted me to that. Loose strands of hair would play across my skin with each out breath and the tickling sensation would drive me insane but there was nothing i could do about it. Just be still and wait.

I am not sure if these nightly visits would last five minutes, ten minutes… i just know it felt like an eternity. The strange thing about it is when up close he wouldn’t breathe like a dying horse in my ear, suppose he was considerate like that but all jokes aside as you can probably imagine this really affected me. It happened on quite a few occasions and i soon learnt to sleep with my dressing gown smooshed up around my head on one side and a teddy on the other to cover my ears. I also took to wearing a sleep mask and wrapped myself with my new armour in a protective cocoon inside my quilt up to my head, a small arch above my face allowed for some airflow and it helped me find my own little bit of safe and in turn settling in for the night came a little more easy. I am sure when it came to some of the night visits i had actually fallen asleep for real.

I have only in the last year (ahem… i’m 30. Don’t judge :p) have stopped sleeping like that. The birth of my daughter persuaded me i needed to suck it up and deal with it. I have ditched the bedtime eye wear, the dressing gown too and my well worn teddy sits very close to the bed .. just in case.

I still religiously tuck my feet up though, you know safety first and all that.

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Tidbits: Do you believe in the power of crystals?

The moonstone with its creamy banded hues, the chrysocolla a deep and vibrant swirling turquoise or the many different varieties of Agates spotted, dotted, striped, shiny and speckled no one can deny these are beautiful specimens to behold. Nature truly is the most diverse of artist’s.

They have gained a cult following amongst many in the new age and spiritual circles that have flourished in the last few decades. Some people swear by the healing powers of them others just like to have them on their shelves and marvel at the intricate and alluring colours. This is a subject which has sparked many a … well lets say.. “healthy” debate in my household. I have a pretty damn impressive collection of tumblestones and a few raw or carved pieces to boot. I also have the odd pendant knocking around but i haven’t quite worked up the confidence to wear them yet.

My guest’s like to pick through my treasure trove of sparkly delights, asking about each crystal they happen upon and the one peculiar thing i have picked up on is that through mid conversation they will put most the stones back and keep hold of one or two and subconsciously turn them and twirl them over and over in their dominant hand. I do not think a lot of them even realise they are doing it, before a few minutes pass and they return them to their box with the others. Funnily enough this is how i will pick out a gemstone from a pot of many, i will pick them up one after another and roll them between my fingers and my palm until one feels right.

I do happen to believe in the power of crystals, to me it is common sense that they hold some kind of energy. I have used amethyst for headaches and howlite to help me sleep. I will not sleep anywhere near a black obsidian crystal due to the intense and disturbingly powerful dreams i started having when one was near by. The comment i will hear the most frequently is “well they are just stones aren’t they?” even from some of my more spiritually inclined friends. Each to their own i suppose it is what feels right and works for each individual.

My box of crystals some tumbled others rough and natural.

I will divulge why i believe there is more than meets the eye with these stones. We all know that they are the result of minerals or decomposed matter that have been heated and compressed and put under immense forces over millions of years. Motion and movement give way to energy and in the case of gemstones this energy is trapped within the layers of sediment deposit or at the bottom of the ocean with the force of millennia shaping and moulding it . In my mind i picture it like a boiling pot where all these ingredients condense, my logic is that atomic vibrations will react differently within a huge range of minerals and crystalline structures will deflect and absorb energy in a variety of ways.

Are we sensitive enough to pick up on this impossibly minuscule changes. Yes i believe we are after all we are also just composed of atoms doing the very same thing. Now i’m no scientist by any means and i hope i haven’t just written down a load of gibberish, but for some reason this just makes sense to me. There is a number of ways they can be used, many people like to have them in their pockets or in a small drawstring bag on their persons. I know of a few people who will soak them in waters and have a crystal infused elixir. Sounds exotic doesn’t it? But if you want to do this please do educate yourself and research the types of stones you are using some can be toxic!

We have all heard of chakra crystals and grids composed to create a harmonious energy within a home. Lithomancy is something that i have dabbled in in the past and makes a nice change from the usual forms of divination using stones assigned to the planets and tossed onto a circle either drawn on paper or simply in the sand or dirt. Even substituting traditional tarot cards for their corresponding crystals can shake things up. Colour combinations and element based groupings are also an interesting way to incorporate the use of these precious and ancient gems. So you never know next time you come across a shop or market stall selling Semi precious gemstones why don’t you take a moment and see if one calls out to you.

I would love to hear your thoughts below and if you have any questions please do ask.

I am going to be doing a giveaway of a few very special hand crafted clay animal crystal totems on Saturday, so look out for me on twitter at @Spiritinmyshad1

Photo by Dan Farrell on Unsplash

The Keyboard that talked

I am sure that everybody at some point in their lives have experienced true fear. The sort of fear that sinks deep into your bones and anchors you to the spot. A fear that leaves an imprint upon their brain that never fades no matter how hard you try to rationalise or forget. This was my first face to face encounter with true fear at number 74 and my first major encounter with something truly horrific in the spiritual sense.

Not too long after the bones were found in the summer, there was a time of tension in our home. My mother and stepfather were arguing a lot of the time and me and my sister were now in the habit of shutting ourselves away or playing on the estate to avoid the horrible atmosphere at home. It was a Saturday and much to my dismay i had been grounded for a reason i cannot recall, whilst the rest of the children down our road were out basking in the last few mild days before the chill set in, Lil included and they zipped around on bicycles and launched water balloon’s at one another in the street, screeching and shouting at each other as they tried to avoid getting drenched.

True to form my parents were at each others throats as had become the custom and i had been banished to my bedroom which suited me just fine whilst they shouted insults at each other downstairs. I didn’t have a television in my room so i remember doodling in my diary for a short while before it grew boring and wondering what to do with myself to drown out the noise. I went to Lil’s bedroom and took down a keyboard that she had stashed on the top shelf of her built in wardrobe, it wasn’t anything fancy just a simple keyboard that in truth was for children much younger than me as the sound effects consisted of farm animals and the like. I was going through a bit of a phase where i wanted to learn music so i thought i could improvise and at least come up with a basic tune i could practice.

I took it to my little room shut the door behind me and made myself comfortable on the carpet with my back against the cool radiator. I let my fingers dance across the keys freely, experimenting finding the ones that would make the most satisfying tune. After settling on a simple melody that sounded right i practised it a few more times before deciding i would record it and show it to my sister later on when she came home. I pressed the record button on the top left of the keyboard and all at once my excitement was shattered by the sounds of all the sound effects coming on at once, it was a horrendous noise as they all played over one another in this cacophony of disturbed drawling animal calls. A few seconds of this unnerving noise and i came to the conclusion that maybe the batteries were wearing out, and wondered if i had anything nearby with batteries i could swap them with. Before i get a chance to act the sound effects started to die down fading a little into the background but still looping over and over.

A voice came through the speaker’s…. the kind of gravelly, deep, guttural voice you hear in horror movies. It started bellowing out my name far louder than the speakers were designed for. AMY…AMY… AMY over and over again all the while the oink’s, moo’s, cluck’s and tractor noises played in the background like some sort of disturbed sound track to a hellscape. It wasn’t like it was making a sound that could have been mistaken for my name it was roaring it out clear as day. I screamed so hard my lungs hurt and then screamed some more as that awful voice rose above mine trying to drown me out AMY…AMY. I tried to squirm backwards to get away but the radiator stopped me. I tried frantically pushing the red off button but it did absolutely nothing so i shoved it about a foot across the carpet to the middle of the room all the while hysterical as this object continued calling my name.

Mum and dad heard the voice and then my terror from downstairs over their argument. They later told me that they thought a bloke had gotten into the house unnoticed somehow, all logic abandoning them as the chaos coming from above them threw them into a panic.

I remember dad bursting through my door with mum close behind and the look on his face will stay with me until my last days, His eyes were bulging in shock as he clocked where the voice was coming from. Staring at it for a few seconds as it continued to ring out he looked lost, like he did not know how to deal with this situation, then in a panicked reflex he picked it up and smashed it against the floor as hard as he possibly could. The batteries flew out of it and the casing that held the back together became dislodged.

It didn’t stop. I s**t you not. Another 7 or 8 seconds passed by as it continued, before fading and then stopping altogether. The entire house fell silent as we all stared at one another open mouthed completely disturbed by what we had just witnessed. Mum and dad attempted to calm me down before dad abruptly snatched it up and took it straight to the outside bin and threw it in there. My fear induced shrieks had caused a bit of a commotion outside with a small group of kids and neighbours gathering near the front gate wondering what the hell had just happened.

Years later dad having always been a sceptical and practical man told me that that had been the one thing in his life he could never explain. In his own words…

“Yeah that was f*****g weird… i cannot explain that nor do i want to…it was just creepy.”

Even after witnessing what happened and hearing the voice with her own ears mum still never wanted to believe that there was anything paranormal going on with the house. I think it was a comfort thing, just pretend it never happened and carry on as before…. she would soon learn.

Friends of mine had asked me a couple of weeks later what went down and when i told a couple of them they all took the mick out of me. Cue voice of mocking disbelief…

“Aaahhh yeah i’m sure… your keyboard spoke to you, you nut job.” They laughed at me.

I never really lived that one down and i soon learnt to keep my mouth shut regarding anything freaky that went down in that house. I think that is why to this day although i am a trained clairvoyant i never call myself that… there is a stigma around it that makes it an uncomfortable thing to admit. It’s not that i ashamed it’s just i am not here to convince naysayer’s as a few of them seem to believe leading to heated debates. It is something that one has to experience to fully understand and i respect that.

I am still not one hundred percent sure who it was that day who tried in a very alarming way to get my attention….. safe to say i have never owned a keyboard and i don’t think i ever will…. you know.. just in case!

Photo credit Alex lby on Unsplash

The bone pit

Shortly after the phantom hand incident involving my little sister, something rather strange happened that in my mind was the catalyst that rained down havoc on our house. I mean it was already creepy as hell and judging by her reaction to that night and the strange sounds and sensations i was experiencing i suspected something was up. Now this is an account that i posted about on reddit so i’m not going to copy and paste because that would be super lazy. I am also going to change names as some of the people involved still live around that area and i stress that i am not making any assumptions or accusations, i am just relaying what happened. So here it goes.

It was a sunny and particularly humid day, i was with my little sister who we shall call Lil my best friend Ab’s my next door neighbour kizzy and her nephew Mike. Apart from my sister we were all in the same class at primary school so we were the same age and all lived within close proximity. We had made little dens all over that estate in tree enclosed dykes, sheds in back gardens the usual places kids like to hide away with penny sweets and magazines. It was a lot different to today where every kid has a mobile phone, a tablet and a fandangled technical watch on their wrist so we just made our own entertainment to waste away the days.

One of our little dens was down the gravel track that separated mine and kizzie’s house that led to the row of garages behind our gardens, just before the main road that ran behind the estate. It had trees and thickets and a little murky hidden away pool of stagnant water. We could be mere metres from our homes and our parents would never have known where to find us, much to their horror i’m sure. The five of us were secreted away right at the end of the row surrounded by a little cove of tree’s, the four of us girls were perched awkwardly on a concrete ledge while Mike was stood up doing absurd impressions of teachers at school much to our amusement.

Now the very end garage that we were sat next to was owned by a guy who lived a couple of doors away from me, he was intense and a little creepy to say the least. Somebody at some point had gone to the effort to vandalise just his garage with spray paint. It had painted on it the words (cue eye roll) REDRUM then underneath BELIEVE IT. A cliche choice of wording i’ll admit and it was a tad odd that his was the only garage that had been targeted, i mention this because this may be relevant to what we discovered next.

As Mike was doing his impressions my attention was drawn to the worn dirt patch where he was standing. To me it looked like it was moving in a calm liquid like motion. I have never had an experience or seen anything like that since.

“We need to dig there.” I blurted out pointing to the ground that he was standing upon. Mike fell silent and everyone just looked at me, the randomness cutting our fun short.

“We need to dig there, there is something under there.” I repeated. I explained to the others that it looked like the ground was moving like water and i was surprised nobody else saw it, so after some convincing me and Lil and Kizzy crept into our homes to arm ourselves with table spoons and butter knives to start ploughing up the dirt. Each of us with a bit of cutlery in hand started digging in a little circle. I don’t think we spoke much, this intense concentration had come over us all like we knew we were going to find something.

About a foot and a half down Kizzy hits something hard with her spoon, peering into the pit we had just made we could see something chalky and solid jutting out of the exposed earth. Pulling it out with her hands. It was a bone about 4 inches long. After scraping off the dirt we could see it was a creamy yellow colour, one end was sharp and jagged clearly having been snapped. We are all clearly spooked by this point and this strange atmosphere had come over us.

“It’s probably just an animal bone.” Mike tries to tell us, Ab’s was clearly freaking out at this point but something compelled us to keep digging. Finding more the deeper and wider we went we collect this morbid pile of skeletal remains, i think there were about 15 in total. Some were a fair size other small broken fragments. We end up collecting them up in a sandwich bag and taking them to school the following Monday. The poor teacher, her reaction was priceless as me and Ab’s marched up to her first thing in the morning and dumped this bag of bones on her desk, She assured us with a grimace on her face that it was more than likely just cow or sheep bones as she put them in her drawer and we left it at that. Never heard anything about it again. We never reported it because we had convinced ourselves that it was just animal remains. Something in hindsight i regret.

That was my first true paranormal experience. I know that if i hadn’t witnessed the ground moving in that odd fluid like motion we would never have found them, does that mean that they were significant in some way? Activity in the house would spiral into the depths of absolute terror after this event so maybe it is relevant. Did the strange graffiti scrawled on that garage door imply someone was responsible for some wrong doing? Again i don’t know. A few years later rumours about our house did the rounds and the one thing that i did keep hearing was about a couple of children dying in our house in some horrific way, i do not know if it was true but we did have a child spirit in that house as it turned out.

In the last few weeks a realisation has dawned on me regarding something a medium told me on our first meeting, she had told me that the little girl had followed me from that house along with another. Nic also said that not long after i had moved in that i had found something that had belonged to the little girl. Something Red…. I had no memory of finding anything physical that was red. Maybe i was thinking about it too literally. The garage door and the words REDRUM BELIEVE IT have been playing on my mind recently.

I just cant help but feel like there is my answer to something that has puzzled me for years. Maybe i am clutching at straw’s. But what do you think i would love to hear your take on it.

Photo credit Annie Spratt on Unsplash

Number 74

I was quite the kooky kid when i was growing up and i had a bizarre fascination with anything that was spooky or unexplainable. Now i know what you must be thinking….. i was imaginative and easily influenced into believing in things that weren’t really there. Imaginative yes, but although i loved to hear ghost stories from my friend’s parent’s at sleep overs with the lights low and swamped by quilts and pillows, eyes wide in horror, i never actually believed i would witness anything myself. I thought it was a grown up thing, they told the stories with such sincerity and conviction and well grown ups don’t lie…. do they? I was safe in the comfort that i wouldn’t have to deal with any ghosts and ghouls until i was much older. Within just a few short years i would be proven horribly wrong. I present to you number 74.

We lived in Lincolnshire in England in a small rural village, the type where everybody knows one another and says hello on the street while fetching their morning papers and milk. The folk were friendly and we had already lived in a couple of different houses in the village so people knew us well. My mother had a rather strange habit of moving house frequently so i assumed we probably wouldn’t be here that long.

We moved to number 74 shortly before i was due to go to high school so i would have been 11. I remember it was summer and i was relieved to be living on an estate where i had a lot of friend’s from primary school. Funnily enough this would prove to be the house that we stayed in for the longest. It was a good size three bedroom council house on a large estate with a huge back garden that was every child’s dream. We had a prime position where we were situated to have a nosy at the neighbour’s if some sort of drama was going down, it sat at the intersection of two blocks of homes with views down the street. Now i should mention this wasn’t some ancient crooked house with lots of history it was about 60 years old at that time. So a relatively new build.

I remember first looking around it with my little sister and being impressed with the size. You hear cases of people being uneasy upon entering a haunted home for the first time… like something in their bones tells them to run for the hills and never look back. I never had that precognitive moment where some peculiar feeling of dread hit me like a punch to the stomach or a case of random chills wrapping themselves around my body as i stood there in my shorts and T shirt surveying our own new kingdom. Nothing led me to believe we were about to move into the most insanely haunted building i have ever entered in my life.

We settled in and lived a relatively normal life for the first couple of months. I chose the little box room at the front as i liked the idea of my own little private space, next to me in the large room at the front of the house was where my mum and stepdad slept, it had a large double built in wardrobe. My little sister who would have been nearly 8 years old opted for the large room at the back of the house a decision she would quickly come to regret, but in general everything seemed hunky dory. I suffered with bad insomnia growing up and i do remember some nights laying there and listening to the sounds of the house with peaked interest creaks, shuffles the odd noises that sounded like footsteps broke the silence. Yes it was creepy and i did have the sensation of being watched at times, but i put it down to me getting used to new sounds in a new building.

A couple of months in and my mum comes to me in the living room with a strange look on her face.

“Amy can you please do me a favour and swap rooms with your sister tonight?” I ask why as most people would at the sudden injustice of having to leave the comfort of their own bedroom.

“Well she said she saw something in there last night that scared her, it was probably just a bad dream but she is refusing to sleep in there.” Knowing damn well we are not both going to fit in my single bed i was exasperated but i know i had no choice, that girl was and still is as stubborn as an ox. Rather foolishly i asked what she had seen that freaked her out so bad. Bad move on my part because what my mum said next put the fear of god into me.

“She said she saw a shadow on the wall moving towards her.”

“What like a persons shadow?” I asked.

“No she said it looked like an arm with a knife in its hand.” What the actual f**k i think was the first thought that went through my head. Upon seeing my reaction mum tried to reassure me that it was just a bad dream. Safe to say i was not comfortable with the idea of staying in there the night, but i was meant to be the tough big sister so i did it for her.

I think i should add here that although the front of the house looked out onto a populated estate behind the house was a little gravel track with a row of garages for the residents that separated our house and the next door neighbours. A main road that at night was very quiet and nothing but open fields for miles. I could never come up with a logical explanation for what she had seen especially as the bedrooms were on the first floor.

It was the longest night of my life and the first time i was genuinely petrified in that place. I lay there all night as stiff as a board not daring to move, scanning the walls around me looking for a phantom body part. At one point a poster above the bed rustled and floated down from the wall onto the quilt that i was using as make shift cocoon. Fantastic timing. My heart nearly stopped.

My sister never slept in that room again she made my parents swap with her much to their annoyance. I gently probed about a week later trying to get her to tell me what she had seen in her own words, she just whispered,

“It was coming for me.” I’ll never forget the look on her face . Things would never be the same after that night for either of us ever again.