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War Experiments

The Nazi reign was famous for its back-door scientists and occult researchers. Special expeditionary divisions of the Reich were often sent out in search of artifacts or locations of occult or religious significance. Meanwhile in Germany, bunkers were assembled and mansions and castles were fitted with labyrinths and dungeons which were filled with strange experiments and research notes.



Whenever the Allies found these places, they were often gutted, burned, or otherwise destroyed and abandoned. Whenever a lab was found intact, the research was often incoherent or missing, or later destroyed by the Allies to prevent the Nazis from recovering any hidden data. A lot of the Nazi experiments were kept under the radar. Until recently. Veterans who served as guards to the labs and ritual zones have explained what they have seen, or folders and books have been uncovered in boxes and crates belonging to the scientists. A fair few of these contain a common research goal.



Giving man the power of God

Exactly the true power is often up to debate but it appears that this is often described in Nazi research as "Immortality", undeath, invincibility or other factors surrounding losing the capacity to die in some way or another.



The larger part of this research was actually legitimately based; certain doses of chemical compounds to aid bloodflow in aging people. First concepts that are now used in today's transplant surgery, grafting, ointments that renewed skin, antibodies to various diseases, and fitness/dieting research.

However, one set of crates discovered in Hamburg in 1999 went way off of this research style. This stuff cross-bred the Occult experiments and immortality research.



"Mind is the disease"

The introductory folders and proofs of concept of the research begin with the principle that the brain controls the body completely and wholly, and, as the body slowly degrades around it, it continues to function. further statements say that the reason the body is left to degrade is because the human brain is "Set on a biological timer" such is why butterflies can only live a day, yet other insects can often last longer: the brain tells us to die.



It is proposed that, as the brain grows, it begins to make connections, resulting in the human becoming more mature and having an advancing brain. At the age of 35-50, however, these connections slowly break down, resulting in forgetfulness, dementia and other mental diseases reserved for the elderly.



Their proposal

The Nazi scientists proposed that the brain has a "Universal Killswitch" that activates as soon as the brain has fully developed. In all normal humans, this killswitch will initiate a shutdown sequence in bodily functions, which occurs over several decades. As soon as the body is fully shut down, the brain will be forced to die through lack of oxygenated blood.



It is said that Werners Syndrome (a disease where a person ages rapidly) is a result of the Killswitch function activating far too early.



The Nazi's proposed that they could remove the killswitch, and give the human mind immortality. And from that, complete immortality. Needless to say, brain surgery was incredibly difficult during those times, but it was possible. In the stacks of folders there were many different diagrams and past research on the brain, psychology, the human mind and the like.



The Location

The experiments were initially proposed to Nazi executives in 1940 and permission was granted to perform the experiments in 1942, under one condition;



The experiments must be conducted outside of Germany. The German Populace must not see this experiment in any way shape or form.

It was no surprise to the scientists that the Executives were paranoid about public relations, but the idea of performing the research outside of the fatherland was foreign in itself. Most experiments were performed in bunkers or basements. Regardless, the scientists complied, and were able to organize a setup with their Ally, Japan. In late 1942, the research had begun.



Here's where it gets strange.



The research team had taken over a Japanese orphanage. The orphanage was in the hills, supposedly somewhere in Shimane, an area nearby Hiroshima.



Carrying out the Experiments

The scientists deduced that if they tried to take the usual test subjects; old or diseased people with "nothing left to live for" (similar in a fashion to Gateway of the Mind) they would be playing with the variable of disease, or, more importantly, they would be experimenting on a brain that has already had an activated killswitch, rendering it useless in the context of finding the solution.



As a result, the Nazi scientists demanded that children, namely the orphans in the orphanage (which they deemed to, again, "have nothing else to live for"), would become test subjects: their young brains eliminated any cause for concern of an already activated killswitch.



To begin the experiments, the children went through numerous immunizations and intense psychological testing, to ensure that they would prevent any defects, and keep a general benchmark for their subjects.



Next, they began with the older staff of the orphanage. Put under anesthetic, the surgeons opened up their skulls to find a good cross section of an adult brain, and begin to find key differences between it and a child's brain.



After gaining a model of both a child brain and an adult brain, the scientists deduced that the 'universal killswitch' wasn't located in the brain, but in the cerebellum, located at the rear. The cerebellum commands all sub-conscious activity in the brain, which is understandable, since it isn't a conscious action to set off the killswitch.



Systematically, they took the tallest child in the orphanage, and began to open her up. They were about to begin their first "killswitch-ectomy" they had managed to open up the cerebellum and remove the part presumed to be the killswitch, however, upon closing the subject up, they found that she had expired. They assumed that the incisions on the brain had been too brash, and required far more precision. The body was dumped in the forest behind the orphanage.



Success, presumably

After imports of different tools, and different techniques developed, the scientists were finally able to remove the killswitch and successfully revive the patients. In May 1943 they had taken one of the youngest girls in the orphanage and removed the killswitch, the only function she lost was the ability to sweat. After their assumed success, the scientists had celebrated, after which everyone went to sleep. The next morning, the girl did not wake up, and was revealed to be comatose. After a while, she was revived successfully, and the "killswitch-ectomies" continued.



Continuation

The initial success gave the doctors a new state of mind, one of refreshment, they were able to continue their experiments with the ease of mind that the theory was proven, well. So they assumed.



Before the doctors continued their removal research they commissioned several doctors in from Moscow, who were trained in the practice of bodily revival (technically zombification, however it relies on the principals of using electric shocks and artificial hearts to power the body back up). They stated the reason for this was that the original subject always became comatose or clinically dead, whenever she went to sleep, and then revived herself in the morning. She had no signs of this behavior before the experiment, and despite the fact that she revived, the doctors did not want to risk a success turning into a failure. The Russian scientists were put to the task of bringing her back to life whenever she expired. After several days of this, the Nazis concluded that it was safe to continue.



Projekt Venom

Projekt Venom was a Russian experiment to create supersoldiers from the theory of Dr. Frankenstein. (It may also form a basis for the Marvel superhero as well) As a repayment for the use of the Russian scientists, Russia had asked that they combine the research of Projekt Venom with the Nazi's ongoing experiments. Naturally, the Nazis agreed.



However, the limited number of orphans was debilitating, as the Nazi's required so many of them, and could only offer a single girl. The Russians were contempt, and began their proof of concept.



They had artificially created an arm, over in Moscow, which was on its way to the orphanage to be grafted on, to prove that amputation and replacement could work. In the meantime, the Russians had to prepare for this.



The girl's right arm was amputated.



Mysteriously, shortly after, the Russian scientists packed up their equipment and left. The replacement arm never came, and the girl was left with a bandage strapped over her kimono perpetually. The Russians were said to have left with a fearful haste, as if suddenly the air had turned too cold for their tastes.



Rebellion

One child out of the whole orphanage, did not approve of the scientists presence. In her acts of rebellion she stole paperwork and ripped it to shreds, broke glassware and wrecked surgery theatres. Despite her young age (8 years old) and size, she had a surprising capacity for destruction. It was noted in a journal that she was heterochromic as well (brown and blue eyes from left to right). The senior scientists despised her, but could not restrain her without arousing suspicion. Instead, they ordered the Nazi soldiers to take care of her.



She was brutally beheaded with a blunt bayonet, she was not buried, just left in the woods behind the orphanage. The soldiers told the caretakers that she had found a new family.



Numerous failures

The Nazi scientists attempted to play around with their successful experiment by trying different aspects to it, sadly, none of them worked. Here is a list of them:



Entry through the forehead. Performed on a 10 year old boy, skull was deformed and the boy had been virtually lobotomized by the end of it. However, he wasn't vegetative as a result, although he was mentally retarded due to the experiment.



Entry through the lower jaw. Performed on a 6 year old girl, the tongue and most of the flesh on the lower jaw was removed and could not be replaced. The subject's sinuses were also scrambled.



Entry through the side of the head, subject was resultantly half deaf. It should also be noted that there was no anesthetic during this surgery and the screams were truly mortifying, as most journals read.



Despite the failure of these, the killswitches were still removed, and the subjects acted in much the same way as the first girl, expiring upon sleep.



However, they were reduced to a mere ten people, due to all the previous failures. This is including the caretakers, and they had performed surgery on all the children.



Killswitch reversal

The doctors began to formulate ideas that in a child, a killswitch isn't already activated, but in an adult a killswitch could be reversed using a chemical compound to eliminate the hormone produced and the killswitch then removed.



This was performed on all the caretakers and was, surprisingly, successful as they all survived.



Personalities gone Awry

During the experiments, scientists were told to watch over the successful children, and monitor their behavior. This part gets freaky.



They appear normal at first, just like any of the other children, playing cheering, learning normally, but when separated from the others, they seem... off. They stroll carelessly around, with a blank smile on their face, their eyes looking straight at you. If approached from behind, their heads snap around with ungodly speed and for a moment, you can almost see an expression so vile on their face that it makes you want to cower. But then you realize they are just forming their dreamy smile again.

Another thing is that they follow us, but only when we are on our own. After finishing on my typewriter and heading to my room, I am often given a fright by one of the children standing several meters down the dark hallway, staring at me. When I go off to my room, she follows me, and I shut my door, jam a chair behind it, and then I sleep safely. It feels like they're ghosts at night time. And the funny thing is, I keep seeing one child with reddish hair. I keep asking who the child is the next morning, but the caretakers say they haven't had a child with reddish hair for a while**

They also seem to be playing a game a lot more than when we started. I haven't got much knowledge of Japanese, but it seems the game is named Circle You, Circle You*, as described by one of the translators. A group of children surround one child, who sits in the centre, alone, they link arms and begin to move in a circular manner around the child, making scary faces at them and singing an eerie chant, you lose if you flinch.

Upon talking to them, I've noticed they seem more dreamy, forgetful and somewhat blank, as if the experiments wiped their memories as well. But it's not an innocent type of dreamy, rather something more sinister. They stare at you with wide eyes, and ask you questions never thought they would know. One asked, "When your grandmother died, did she really leave you a gold plated watch?" It may seem crazy, but my honest answer was... "Yes."

Kagome Kagome means Circle, Circle. The game translates to circle you, circle you.

The child who rebelled against the scientists had reddish hair.

Demise

In early 1945, Hiroshima is bombed, Germany forfeits, and the experiments are ground to a halt. The Germans begin packing up their equipment, most of them have already returned home due to "their mental welfare", stating that they showed signs of insanity. Only 4 scientists remained.



After sending the last set of equipment off, the scientists deemed it only justified that they inform the caretakers that they were leaving and they did so.



And to the horror of one of the scientists, and the surprise of the rest, the head caretaker said, in fluent German, "Will you play one last game with us?"



The three scientists agreed, and a circle of children and caretakers formed around them. "Now, if you flinch, you lose..."



The one horrified scientist ran to the last truck and jumped on it without looking back.



The story now

If you go to Hiroshima, go around the woods and you may find some dirt trails there. If you travel down them, you will see beautiful forests, but if you travel down one that has had signs of trucks going through, you will feel cold, and you will see that a lot of trees are cut down. But don't wander from the path, or you'll likely get lost in those vast woods.



If you pay attention, you will notice that the tree stumps look like kneeling people, missing heads.



If you continue, the air will get cold, naturally because you're climbing uphill, right? Of course, eventually you will reach a clearing, with an old stone building in the centre, vines covering the place.



Go inside, if you want to play.



As soon as you open the door, a foul smell will come out, similar to that of a rotting corpse. If you look down the hall, it will be dark regardless of the time of day, since there are no lights.



Continue down the hall, take the first left, and then go down that hall until you see one door that appears to be made out of a red-coloured wood (the rest are brown). Open the door, you will find ten happy children and caretakers, all wearing kimonos, playing in a normal playroom. One is missing her arm, another is missing his forehead, and a third lacks a jaw, but all are bandaged with clinical precision. The place should be very clean and tidy, dependent on your standard of such things, and well lit.



At once, your presence will draw the attention of everyone in the room, including the ones that look far too preoccupied or distracted. They will turn to look at you, carefree smiles from each of their pleasant faces.



The head caretaker, in all her beauty will ask "Will you come play with us?"



By this time, if you haven't soiled your pants, you really should, to save you the trouble later.



If you say "no", the door will slam shut on you, and if you try to go down the hallways out the exit, you will only find another dark hallway. Open any of the brown doors and you should find operating tables or bunk beds. If you continue down the third hallway you will realize that a girl is standing several meters behind you, her face shrouded by shadow. Approach it, and expect your doom. Continue down the hallway, and try not to let her catch up with you.



If you say "yes", however, you will be welcomed into the room. The door will close behind you, and everyone will form a circle around you.



"Now sit down and dooon't flinch!" a cheerful voice will say.



Just follow the instructions, and you will survive.



All light will disappear from the room, yet you can see the circle of children, each with a vicious expressions on their face, ones so vile you will probably flinch straight up. If you can stomach that, though, they will begin to move around and around you, slowly. You may feel one of them lash towards you. If you look however, there will be nothing there, besides the children circling normally.



If that wasn't enough, they will begin chanting "Kagome, kagome..."



I really can't explain any further. No one ever lives to tell the tale of whathappens then.



If you flinch before they chant, they simply continue as normal.



If you choose to say maybe to the head caretaker, or anything other than yes or no, it is told that the children's expressions will turn mortifying (zalgonic, almost), and they will scream in inhuman voices "Decide! DECIDE!" If you do anything besides say yes or no from here, it is told that the children and caretakers will slam the door on you. If you turn around, the story varies. Supposedly, your worst fear will be waiting at the other end of the hallway, separating you from your exit. Most notably, this character is Aka Manto or the Rake.



The least you could do is greet the Creature before he tears you unto oblivion. If he has the capacity, he may well respond, and you will die as a polite person. Don't greet him, and you will end up as another one of the beheaded bodies along the trail.



If you respond "I don't understand", and you must be genuine, the head caretaker will say "Go to your school, and watch your children play. You should understand then." Nothing will have changed, and close the door on your way out, it's common courtesy.



Disclaimer

Most creepy pastas are fabricated. Some derived from psychological stigma, and others are revamped ghost stories. But there is a small percentage of Creepypastas, which aren't like this.



These are the "True" creepypastas.



And that's not to say that they are a higher class of original pastas, which spawned forth others, it just means, they're real.



Germany did send a research team to Japan, to experiment immortality via the brain.



And they did experiment on children.



In an orphanage.

Bedtime is supposed to be a happy event for a tired child; for me it was terrifying. While some children might complain about being put to bed before they have finished watching a film or playing their favourite video game, when I was a child, night time was something to truly fear. Somewhere in the back of my mind it still is.



As someone who is trained in the sciences, I cannot prove that what happened to me was objectively real, but I can swear that what I experienced was genuine horror. A fear which in my life, I'm glad to say, has never been equalled. I will relate it to you all now as best I can, make of it what you will, but I'll be glad to just get it off of my chest.



I can't remember exactly when it started, but my apprehension towards falling asleep seemed to correspond with my being moved into a room of my own. I was 8 years old at the time and until then I had shared a room, quite happily, with my older brother. As is perfectly understandable for a boy 5 years my senior, my brother eventually wished for a room of his own and as a result, I was given the room at the back of the house.



It was a small, narrow, yet oddly elongated room, large enough for a bed and a couple of chest of drawers, but not much else. I couldn't really complain because, even at that age, I understood that we did not have a large house and I had no real cause to be disappointed, as my family was both loving and caring. It was a happy childhood, during the day.



A solitary window looked out onto our back garden, nothing out of the ordinary, but even during the day the light which crept into that room seemed almost hesitant.



As my brother was given a new bed, I was given the bunk beds which we used to share. While I was upset about sleeping on my own, I was excited at the thought of being able to sleep in the top bunk, which seemed far more adventurous to me.



From the very first night I remember a strange feeling of unease creeping slowly from the back of my mind. I lay on the top bunk, staring down at my action figures and cars strewn across the green-blue carpet. As imaginary battles and adventures took place between the toys on the floor, I couldn't help but feel that my eyes were being slowly drawn towards the bottom bunk, as if something was moving in the corner of my eye. Something which did not wish to be seen.



The bunk was empty, impeccably made with a dark blue blanket tucked in neatly, partially covering two rather bland white pillows. I didn't think anything of it at the time, I was a child, and the noise slipping under my door from my parent's television, bathed me in a warm sense of safety and well-being.



I fell asleep.



When you awaken from a deep sleep to something moving, or stirring, it can take a few moments for you to truly understand what is happening. The fog of sleep hangs over your eyes and ears even when lucid.



Something was moving, there was no doubt about that.



At first I wasn't sure what it was. Everything was dark, almost pitch black, but there was enough light creeping in from outside to outline that narrowly suffocating room. Two thoughts appeared in my mind almost simultaneously. The first was that my parents were in bed because the rest of the house lay both in darkness, and silence. The second thought turned to the noise. A noise which had obviously woken me.



As the last cob webs of sleep withered from my mind, the noise took on a more familiar form. Sometimes the simplest of sounds can be the most unnerving, a cold wind whistling through a tree outside, a neighbour's footsteps uncomfortably close, or, in this case, the simple sound of bed sheets rustling in the dark.



That was it; bed sheets rustling in the dark as if some disturbed sleeper was attempting to get all too comfortable in the bottom bunk. I lay there in disbelief thinking that the noise was either my imagination, or perhaps just my pet cat finding somewhere comfortable to spend the night. It was then that I noticed my door, shut as it had been as I'd fallen asleep.



Perhaps my mum had checked in on me and the cat had sneaked in to my room then.



Yes, that must have been it. I turned to face the wall, closing my eyes in the vain hope that I could fall back to sleep. As I moved, the rustling noise from underneath me ceased. I thought that I must have disturbed my cat, but quickly I realised that the visitor in the bottom bunk was much less mundane than my pet trying to sleep, and much more sinister.



As if alerted to, and disgruntled by, my presence, the disturbed sleeper began to toss and turn violently, like a child having a tantrum in their bed. I could hear the sheets twist and turn with increasing ferocity. Fear then gripped me, not like the subtle sense of unease I had experienced earlier, but now potent and terrifying. My heart raced as my eyes panicked, scanning the almost impenetrable darkness.



I let out a cry.



As most young boys do, I instinctively shouted on my mother. I could hear something stir on the other side of the house, but as I began to breath a sigh of relief that my parents were coming to save me, the bunk beds suddenly started to shake violently as if gripped by an earthquake, scraping against the wall. I could hear the sheets below me thrashing around as if tormented by malice. I did not want to jump down to safety as I feared the thing in the bottom bunk would reach out and grab me, pulling me into the darkness, so I stayed there, white knuckles clenching my own blanket like a shroud of protection. The wait seemed like an eternity.



The door finally, and thankfully, burst open, and I lay bathed in light while the bottom bunk, the resting place of my unwanted visitor, lay empty and peaceful.



I cried and my mother consoled me. Tears of fear, followed by relief, streamed down my face. Yet, through all of the horror and relief, I did not tell her why I was so upset. I cannot explain it, but it was as though whatever had been in that bunk would return if I even so much as spoke of it, or uttered a single syllable of its existence. Whether that was the truth, I do not know, but as a child I felt as if that unseen menace remained close, listening.



My mother lay in the empty bunk, promising to stay there until morning. Eventually my anxiety diminished, tiredness pushed me back towards sleep, but I remained restless, waking several times momentarily to the sound of rustling bed sheets.



I remember the next day wanting to go anywhere, be anywhere, but in that narrow suffocating room. It was a Saturday and I played outside, quite happily with my friends. Although our house was not large we were lucky to have a long sloping garden in the back. We played there often, as much of it was overgrown and we could hide in the bushes, climb in the huge sycamore tree which towered above all else, and easily imagine ourselves in the throws of a grand adventure, in some untamed exotic land.



As fun as it all was, occasionally my eye would turn to that small window; ordinary, slight, and innocuous. But for me, that thin boundary was a looking glass into a strange, cold pocket of dread. Outside, the lush green surroundings of our garden filled with the smiling faces of my friends could not extinguish the creeping feeling clawing its way up my spine; each hair standing on end. The feeling of something in that room, watching me play, waiting for the night when I would be alone; eagerly filled with hate.



It may sound strange to you, but by the time my parents ushered me back into that room for the night, I said nothing. I didn't protest, I didn't even make an excuse as to why I couldn't sleep there. I simply and sullenly walked into that room, climbed the few steps into the top bunk and then waited. As an adult I would be telling everyone about my experience, but even at that age I felt almost silly to be talking about something which I really had no evidence for. I would be lying, however, if I said this was my primary reason; I still felt that this thing would be enraged if I so much as spoke of it.



It's funny how certain words can remain hidden from your mind, no matter how blatant or obvious they are. One word came to me that second night, lying there in the darkness alone, frightened, aware of a rotten change in the atmosphere; a thickening of the air as if something had displaced it. As I heard the first casual twists of the bed sheets below, the first anxious increase of my heartbeat at the realisation that something was once again in the bottom bunk, that word, a word which had been sent into exile, filtered up through my consciousness, breaking free of all repression, gasping for air screaming, etching, and carving itself into my mind.



“Ghost”.



As this thought came to me, I noticed that my unwelcome visitor had ceased moving. The bed sheets lay calm and dormant, but they had been replaced by something far more hideous. A slow, rhythmic, rasping breath heaved and escaped from the thing below. I could imagine its chest rising and falling with each sordid, wheezing, and garbled breath. I shuddered, and hoped beyond all hope that it would leave without occurrence.



The house lay, as it had the previous night, in a thick blanket of darkness. Silence prevailed, all but for the perverted breath of my, as yet, unseen bunkmate.

I lay there terrified. I just wanted this thing to go, to leave me alone.



What did it want?



Then something unmistakably chilling transpired; it moved. It moved in a way different from before. When it threw itself around in the bottom bunk it seemed, unrestrained, without purpose, almost animalistic. This movement, however, was driven by awareness, with purpose, with a goal in mind. For that thing lying there in the darkness, that thing which seemed intent on terrorising a young boy, calmly and nonchalantly sat up. Its laboured breathing had become louder as now only a mattress and a few flimsy wooden slats separated my body from the unearthly breath below.



I lay there, my eyes filled with tears. A fear which mere words cannot relate to you or anyone else coursed through my veins. I would not have believed that this fear could have been heightened, but I was so wrong. I imagined what this thing would look like, sitting there listing from below my mattress, hoping to catch the slightest hint that I was awake. Imagination then turned to an unnerving reality. It began to touch the wooden slats which my mattress sat on. It seemed to caress them carefully, running what I imagined to be fingers and hands across the surface of the wood.



Then, with great force, it prodded angrily between two slats, into the mattress. Even through the padding, it felt as though someone had viciously stuck their fingers into my side. I let out an almighty cry and the wheezing, shaking, and moving thing in the bunk below replied in kind by violently vibrating the bunk as it had done the night before. Small flakes of paint powdered onto my blanket from the wall as the frame of the bed scraped along it, backwards and forwards.



Once again I was bathed in light, and there stood my mother, loving, caring as she always was, with a comforting hug and calming words which eventually subdued my hysteria. Of course she asked what was wrong, but I could not say, I dared not say. I simply said one word over and over and over again.



“Nightmare”.



This pattern of events continued for weeks, if not months. Night after night I would awaken to the sound of rustling sheets. Each time I would scream so as to not provide this abomination with time to prod and 'feel' for me. With each cry the bed would shake violently, stopping with the arrival of my mother who would spend the rest of the night in the bottom bunk, seemingly unaware of the sinister force torturing her son nightly.



Along the way I managed to feign illness a few times and come up with other less-than-truthful reasons for sleeping in my parents' bed, but more often than not I would be alone for the first few hours of each night in that place. The room where the light from outside did not sit right. Alone with that thing.



With time you can become desensitised to almost anything, no matter how horrific. I had come to realise that, for whatever reason, this thing could not harm me when my mother was present. I am sure the same would have been said for my father, but as loving as he was, waking him from sleep was almost impossible.



After a few months I had grown accustomed to my nightly visitor. Do not mistake this for some unearthly friendship, I detested the thing. I still feared it greatly as I could almost sense its desires and its personality, if you could call it that; one filled with a perverted and twisted hatred yet longing for me, of perhaps all things.



My greatest fears were realised in the winter. The days grew short, and the longer nights merely provided this wretch with more opportunities. It was a difficult time for my family. My Grandmother, a wonderfully kind and gentle woman, had deteriorated greatly since the death of my Grandfather. My mother was trying her best to keep her in the community as long as possible, however, dementia is a cruel and degenerative illness, robbing a person of their memories one day at a time. Soon she recognised none of us, and it became clear that she would need to be moved from her house to a nursing home.



Before she could be moved, my Grandmother had a particularly difficult few nights and my mother decided that she would stay with her. As much as I loved my Grandmother and felt nothing but anguish at her illness, to this day I feel guilty that my first thoughts were not of her, but of what my nightly visitor may do should it become aware of my mother's absence; her presence being the one thing which I was sure was protecting me from the full horror of this thing's reach.



I rushed home from school that day and immediately wrenched the bed sheets and mattress from the lower bunk, removing all of the slats and placing an old desk, a chest of drawers, and some chairs which we kept in a cupboard where the bottom bunk used to be. I told my father I was 'making an office' which he found adorable, but I would be damned if I'd give that thing a place to sleep for one more night.



As darkness approached, I lay there knowing my mother was not in the house. I did not know what to do. My only impulse was to sneak into her jewellery box and take a small family crucifix which I had seen there before. While my family were not very religious, at that age I still believed in God and hoped that somehow this would protect me. Although fearful and anxious, while gripping the crucifix under my pillow tightly in one hand, sleep eventually came and as I drifted off to dream, I hoped that I would awaken in the morning without incidence. Unfortunately that night was the most terrifying of all.



I woke gradually. The room was once again dark. As my eyes adjusted I could gradually make out the window and the door, and the walls, some toys on a shelf and...Even to this day I shudder to think of it, for there was no noise. No rustling of sheets. No movement at all. The room felt lifeless. Lifeless, yet not empty.



The nightly visitor, that unwelcome, wheezing, hate-filled thing which had terrorised me night after night, was not in the bottom bunk, it was in my bed! I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Utter terror had shaken the very sound from my voice. I lay motionless. If I could not scream, I did not want to let it know I was awake.



I had not yet seen it, I could only feel it. It was obscured under my blanket. I could see its outline, and I could feel its presence, but I dared not look. The weight of it pressed down on top of me, a sensation I will never forget. When I say that hours passed, I do not exaggerate. Laying there motionless, in the darkness, I was every bit a scared and frightened young boy.



If it had been during the summer months it would have been light by then, but the grasp of winter is long and unrelenting, and I knew it would be hours before sunrise; a sunrise which I yearned for. I was a timid child by nature, but I reached a breaking point, a moment where I could wait no more, where I could survive under this intimately deviant abomination no longer.



Fear can sometimes wear you out, make you threadbare, a shell of nerves leaving only the slightest trace of you behind. I had to get out of that bed! Then I remembered, the crucifix! My hand still lay underneath the pillow, but it was empty! I slowly moved my wrist around to find it, minimising as best I could the sound and vibrations caused, but it could not be found. I had either knocked it off of the top bunk, or it had...I could not even bear to think of it, been taken from my hand.



Without the crucifix I lost any sense of hope. Even at such a young age, you can be acutely aware of what death is, and intensely frightened of it. I knew I was going to die in that bed if I lay there, dormant, passive, doing nothing. I had to leave that room behind, but how? Should I leap from the bed and hope that I make it to the door? What if it is faster than me? Or should I slowly slip out of that top bunk, hoping to not disturb my uncanny bedfellow?



Realising that it had not stirred when I moved, trying to find the crucifix, I began to have the strangest of thoughts.



What if it was asleep?



It hadn't so much as breathed since I had woken up. Perhaps it was resting, believing that it had finally got me. That I was finally in its grasp. Or perhaps it was toying with me, after all it had been doing just that for countless nights, and now with me under it, pinned against my mattress with no mother to protect me, maybe it was holding off, savouring its victory until the last possible moment. Like a wild animal savouring its prey.



I tried to breath as shallowly as possible, and mustering every ounce of courage I could, I reached over slowly with my right hand and began to peel the blanket off of me. What I found under those covers almost stopped my heart. I did not see it, but as my hand moved the blanket, it brushed against something. Something smooth and cold. Something which felt unmistakably like a gaunt hand.



I held my breath in terror as I was sure it must now have known that I was awake.



Nothing.



It did not stir, it felt, dead. After a few moments I placed my hand carefully further down the blanket and felt a thin, poorly formed forearm, my confidence and almost twisted sense of curiosity grew as I moved down further to a disproportionately larger bicep muscle. The arm was outstretched lying across my chest, with the hand resting on my left shoulder as if it had grabbed me in my sleep. I realised that I would have to move this cadaverous appendage if I even so much as hoped to escape its grasp.



For some reason, the feeling of torn, ragged clothing on the shoulder of this night time invader stopped me in my tracks. Fear once again swelled in my stomach and in my chest as I recoiled my hand in disgust at the touch of straggled, oily hair.



I could not bring myself to touch its face, although I wonder to this very day what it would have felt like.



Dear God it moved.



It moved. It was subtle, but its grip on my shoulder and across my body strengthened. No tears came, but God how I wanted to cry. As its hand and arm slowly coiled around me, my right leg brushed along the cool wall which the bed lay against. Of all that happened to me in that room, this was the strangest. I realised that this clutching, rancid thing which drew great delight from violating a young boy's bed, was not entirely on top of me. It was sticking out from the wall, like a spider striking from its lair.



Suddenly its grip moved from a slow tightening to a sudden squeeze, it pulled and clawed at my clothes as if frightened that the opportunity would soon pass. I fought against it, but its emaciated arm was too strong for me. Its head rose up writhing and contorting under the blanket. I now realised where it was taking me, into the wall! I fought for my dear life, I cried and suddenly my voice returned to me, yelling, screaming, but no one came.



Then I realised why it was so eager to suddenly strike, why this thing had to have me now. Through my window, that window which seemed to represent so much malice from outside, streaked hope; the first rays of sunshine. I struggled further knowing that if I could just hold on, it would soon be gone. As I fought for my life, the unearthly parasite shifted, slowly pulling itself up my chest, its head now poking out from under the blanket, wheezing, coughing, rasping. I do not remember its features, I simply remember its breath against my face, foul and as cold as ice.



As the sun broke over the horizon, that dark place, that suffocating room of contempt was washed, bathed in sunlight.



I passed out as its scrawny fingers encircled my neck, squeezing the very life from me.



I awoke to my father offering to make me some breakfast, a wonderful sight indeed! I had survived the most horrible experience of my life until then, and now. I moved the bed away from the wall, leaving behind the furniture I had believed would stop that thing from taking a bed. Little did I think that it would try to take mine...and me.



Weeks passed without incidence, yet on one cold, frostbitten night I awoke to the sound of the furniture where the bunk beds used to be, vibrating violently. In a moment it passed, I lay there sure I could hear a distant wheezing coming from deep within the wall, finally fading into the distance.



I have never told anyone this story before. To this day I still break out in a cold sweat at the sound of bed sheets rustling in the night, or a wheeze brought on by a common cold, and I certainly never sleep with my bed against a wall. Call it superstition if you will but as I said, I cannot discount conventional explanations such as sleep paralysis, hallucination, or that of an over-active imagination, but what I can say is this: The following year I was given a larger room on the other side of the house and my parents took that strangely suffocating, elongated place as their bedroom. They said they didn't need a large room, just one big enough for a bed and a few things.



They lasted 10 days. We moved on the 11th.

“JESUS!!” I cried.



Being jolted from a half dose at a quarter to midnight by my new ‘Halloween theme’ ringtone didn’t do wonders for my heart-rate, especially since I’d momentarily forgot I’d changed the tone at all that day.

Took me a while to find my phone stuck down the side of the armchair I was sitting in, not helped by the fact that the only light in the sitting room was the static on the widescreen TV.



“Unknown Number.”





I answered it, there was no-one there.

To be honest I was expecting heavy breathing on the other end as I was still a little freaked out, but there was no noise at all.

I hung up, took a deep breath and frowned- Maybe I just pocket dialed myself.

My old iPhone could make a fake ‘self call’ designed to create a diversion, so if I was having a boring conversation with someone I could pretend mom was ringing or something , although I wasn’t familiar at all with this ‘new’ piece of crap.

Dad bought it from a gas station for twenty bucks a few days ago, as I’d lost my iPhone on a trip to the city last week.

I flicked through the features on the menu screen trying to find the fake call option, but didn’t have much luck, for one thing the screen was about half the size of a credit card.





I cursed and decided to watch T.V. instead to take my mind off things.

I tried using the light of my cell to find the remote with little success.

Groaning out of laziness, I hauled myself out of the chair to get to the light switch.

Stopping halfway, I registered the fact that I had the T.V. on the satellite channels when I fell asleep yet now: static from the analogue Ariel.

I ran the rest of the way to the switch and basically punched it.

Light flooded the room and my darting eyes saw nothing.

After another deep breath, my moment of fear passed, guess I was a little unused to having the whole house to myself.





Mom and Dad were only gone for the night, but it was quite a treat for me since they rarely went anywhere, even during the day.

Nowhere to go but fields around this part of the country, so them going to a friend’s wedding meant I finally had some solitude.

I still couldn’t see the remote so I decided to recheck the sides of the armchair.

I threw my phone on the seat and reached deep down either side.

The Phone rang again at full creepy blast with my ear pressed right up against it.

I angrily grabbed it- “Dammit WHAT!??”

Again, there was dead silence.

Cursing, I threw the phone back on the seat hard.





POP!!

At that moment the lightbulb blew out violently and the power went out, thrusting me into total darkness.

With a shriek, I scrambled to grab the phone again and found it after an instant of blind terror.

Using the tiny screen light to see, I panicked and bolted down to my room as fast as I could, jumped into bed and pulled the covers. I curled into a fetal position.

I was panting hard, from both the run and the fear. I couldn’t form any thought for about 5 breaths, until I decided to call dad.

Looking at the screen, I saw I forgot to hang up the last call.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw that this time, it wasn’t an “unknown number”- It was mine.



My old number from the phone I’d lost.



As I hit the red button my terrified mind began to race through a thousand horrible implications until I realised something else.



My bed was already warm.



BEEP BEEP. The message tone nearly gave me a heart attack.



“It’s under your pillow”



Ever so slowly, my trembling hand slid underneath the pillow- and found the T.V. remote.



From under the covers I heard my bedroom door close, then lock.



----

Trauma.

Ever since you were a child, you were terribly afraid of your bathroom. You don’t know why, but, whenever you would see your bathroom door during nighttime, you would be invaded by an overwhelming sensation of unease. You developed a habit out of locking your bathroom’s door before going to sleep.



You would never rest at ease until you closed and locked the door, and whispered to yourself:

“It’s locked.”



You never understood your own fears and, as you grew up, though you still felt them, you began trying to overcome them, or at least ignore them as best as you could. Although the feeling lingers, you become bolder and bolder, and feel as if you could forget all about this seemingly unreasonable child trauma.



You then decide to stop locking the door. Rolling around in bed, you try to muster up the willpower necessary not to look or think about the unsettling door. With some struggle, you finally fall asleep.



You suddenly wake up in the middle of the night. The first thing you realise is that you are not in bed anymore. You lie in a hard and cold tile floor, surrounded by nothing but darkness and silence. You try to feel around yourself, when your hand touches a bathtub. Your bathtub. You freeze. Your heart starts pacing while, in panic, you try to hear any sound indicating the presence of anything else in that bathroom. You can’t hear anything over the sound of your own panicked breath, and the thought that something could hear your breathing instead only deepens your despair. Barely being able to hold yourself together, you rush for the door, as fast as you can. As you try to turn the handle, you realize your mistake. Your heart stops.

“It’s locked.”



Suddenly, you hear someone else’s breathing coming from behind your back.