When I got to the bottom step though, I froze. I thought I heard some odd sounds coming from
the basement, just around the corner. Nothing loud and over powering, just a low, gruff
sort of grunting. There were other noises as well, accompanying the grunting; a soft
kind of scraping maybe. The noises conjured visions of creatures trying to push a huge,
heavy trunk across the floor, little by little. It had to be some critter from the woods that
found its way in and was probably trying to make off with some food it had found.
Many animals are known for their ability to hear and smell far better than us humans.
I wondered if perhaps I was good enough in my stealth abilities to sneak up on an animal
that was probably very aware of its surroundings, seeing as how they can be eaten, or any number
of horrible things if they are not observant and alert at all times. It presented an interesting
challenge to me. So, I clenched my jaw, tensed my muscles,
and prepared to make the attempt. And once again, I froze.
The weird sort of grunting became a vocalization of a different sort, and louder. It sounded
like actual words being spoken, albeit in a language I couldn't comprehend.
The language itself was intriguing. It sounded a lot like Latin, or something similar, but
definitely was not. After a few moments of genuine interest, the hair on the back of
my neck stood up. I was too preoccupied with my musings to realize something.
This was no animal.…
I'm Darren Marlar… and this is Weird Darkness.
Welcome to "Weird Darkness". Here you will find ghost stories, unsolved mysteries,
and other stories of the strange and bizarre. I'm always looking for new stories – share
your terrifying experiences at WeirdDarkness.com, I might use them in a future episode!
Music in this episode is provided by:
Midnight Syndicate. They have been creating dark gothic horror instrumental music for
over 20 years and you can hear more of their music at MidnightSyndicate.com.
In this episode…
A young girl is lifted off the ground by a horrifying spirit, taken outside of her home,
and then it tells her something even more horrifying than what she has already experienced.
("12:02")
What does it take to terrify a soldier? One woman in uniform finds out – while living
in military housing. ("Haunted Military House")
Have you indulge in gossiping and talking badly behind peoples' back? If so, be happy
you were not living during the medieval period and the Renaissance. (The Mask Of Shame)
When the Lake Shawnee Amusement Park opened in the 1920s, the owner knew nothing of its
bloody past. (The Bloody History of Lake Shawnee Amusement Park)
A young man who enjoys silently creeping to surprise others gets his own terrifying surprise
when he accidentally sneaks up on something dark in his own basement. (The Sneak)
Now.. sit back, turn down the lights, and come with me into the Weird Darkness!
The Ferris wheel has rusted over and the chair swing ride no longer spins. Lake Shawnee Amusement
Park in West Virginia has been eerily abandoned for decades.
Many amusement parks come and go, but the tale of Lake Shawnee Amusement Park runs a
bit deeper—and a bit darker. In the 18th century, the land was home to the Clay family,
who were early settlers in the region. In the 1920s, it was purchased by a man named
Conley T. Snidow, who turned it into an amusement park, which became a popular attraction for
coal mining families in the area. What Snidow didn't know is that his park
had been built on a Native American burial ground. It was also the site of the massacre
of the Clay family children. The amusement park drew crowds, and the sound
of children's laughter filled the air every summer, until a very mysterious death occurred.
A mother left her son at the park in the morning and planned to return later on to pick him
up. However, when she returned, he was nowhere to be found. After a search of the grounds,
his body was found floating in the swimming pool, drowned.
The pool was quickly and quietly filled up with sand. No one spoke of the death. But
another one would soon transpire. While on the swing ride, a young girl died
when a delivery truck backed up into the contraption. Unable to shake its growing reputation, the
park eventually closed in 1966. The rides sat, deserted. Slowly they were enveloped
in vines, and untamed grasses grew wild. Time forgot Lake Shawnee Amusement Park.
Then in 1985, a man named Gaylord White bought the land. He decided to reopen the park and
return it to its glory days. It only lasted three years though, as it became quite apparent
that the energy in the area was nothing short of paranormal.
White reported sightings of the young girl who died on the swing ride. She'd walk the
grounds in a ruffled pink dress, covered in blood. He also claimed to have heard the sounds
of Native American chants echoing through the trees.
The search for the land's secret history ensued. It was eventually discovered that
it was the site of a large Native American settlement and burial ground that thrived
far before European settlers. As many as 3,000 Native Americans are thought to have been
buried under the park. Here, the storyline led back to Mitchell Clay
and his family, who arrived in 1775 to set up their farm. In 1783, while Clay and some
other men when were out hunting, his children were ambushed by Native Americans.
His son Bartley was killed and scalped, and his daughter Tabitha was also killed as she
attempted to save her brother's life. And, lastly, his son Ezekiel was kidnapped. A search
party was sent out for the missing boy, but by the time his whereabouts were discovered,
it was too late. The Native Americans had taken him deeper in the forest and burned
him at the stake. Clay sought revenge on the Native Americans who had killed his children,
and murdered several of them. Such was the blood-stained plot of land upon
which Snidow opened his theme park in the early 20s. What began as a thriving Native
American settlement turned into a place of murder and death, haunted by vengeful spirits.
For now, at least, the ride has ended at Lake Shawnee Amusement Park.
Have you indulge in gossiping and talking badly behind peoples' back?
If so, be happy you were not living during the medieval period and the Renaissance.
In those days, there were certain methods, rituals, and punishments to control and condemn
such misbehavior. One way of punishing a gossiper was to force him or her to wear the Mask of
Shame. People throughout the region used such masks
well into the eighteenth century, the same time as the Enlightenment and the American
and French revolutions. The purpose of the masks was simple: individuals
who committed a social faux pas (or crime) would have to wear it, revealing to their
community what they had done. Look closely at the Mask of Shame at the first
image to the left, and and you will find an unusual nose.
It was deliberately crafted to look like a pig's snout because the whole the point
was to demonstrate to others that the wearer acted like a pig.
Reinforcing cultural norms and expectations was certainly important enough to Europeans
to develop such interesting and unusual methods. However, to what extent these controversial
methods were successful – that we cannot tell you.
"When I was 22, I moved to Trenton, Ontario into military housing. There was a corner
in the basement that I didn't feel right going into, but other than that I didn't
feel anything out of the ordinary. I lived there three years, and every October
the front door would open during the night. I double checked it over and over the first
year, thinking that I was losing my mind, only to wake up to the door wide open. Even
stranger, my pets never escaped. The first year was frustrating, but after
that I got used to it as there was no harm done. During the last year, however, things
started to happen at other times. It started with the bread on top of the fridge being
on the floor when I got home. Strangely, my dogs never ate it. In fact, they'd be cowering
in the corner when I got home. Then I started to smell smoke in the spare
room, like someone was smoking in there, but no one was ever inside. Also, the door to
the spare room would be open every time I turned the corner. I would have chalked it
up to air pressure, except that when I'd go to close the door, it would open again.
One day, I felt something pull the door open as I tried to close it. I continued to pull
the door close, but it kept opening, and I started yelling, 'No, I want it closed!'
My boyfriend came to see what I was yelling about, and I got him to try closing the door,
but it was once again pulled open. At this point, I was sure of a spirit's
presence. Hundreds of people had lived in the house due to it being military. One day,
I was in a field behind the house with my neighbors. I looked towards my house and saw
a man inside with his hand against the window. I yelled, "Hey, there's a man in my house!"
I ran to the house to confront the man, and my neighbor joined me. We searched every inch
of the house, but found no one. I went to the window where I had seen him and there
was an imprint as though someone had been kneeling on my micro-suede couch. I quickly
rubbed the impression off. One more event happened that scared me, which
is rare because I tend to welcome spirits. I had two packs of earrings on the end table
in the living room. One was face up and one was face down with the tops touching each
other. I was going to put some in when my neighbor asked me to bring my dogs out. I
came back 30 minutes later, and the earrings were gone.
I had just gotten a kitten and blamed her. I searched every inch of the house and even
followed the kitten with the hope that she'd go to them. I didn't find the earrings.
My boyfriend got home and scoured the house in case I'd missed them. Nothing. Two nights
later, I got up because I felt sick to my stomach. I got a glass of apple juice and
set it on the end table as I watched TV. There was nothing on the table but the juice and
a lamp. I grabbed my glass and took a sip and when I went to put it back down, the earrings
were not only there but in the exact position that I had left them. I screamed because I
was terrified that this could happen right beside me and I didn't even feel the spirit
there. The one thing I can say is that it was just as keen on spatial placement as I
was."
We moved to California from Texas and we found an old vintage house for sale. My mom thought
it was pretty cheap so we bought it, But some nights we hear humming. At this time I was
3 and my brother was 7. My mom always said it was the wind. It was 12:02 and every one
is asleep. We heard a pan fall in the kitchen. Me and my brother woke up and went to where
the sound was. I remember it so clearly like it was yesterday. I next to the pan and my
big brother was behind the refrigerator. Then, something picked me up and hanged me by my
arms until my armpits were hurting. Afterwards, she started cradle me like a baby she whispered
,"Good night ,sweet baby ".My brother was so terrified that he couldn't even move, But
then he ran away. I started to cry thinking brother left me to die. The shadow carried
me outside then she said to me,"LETS GO HAVE FUN WITH YOUR SISTER".The eeriness was so
horrible I was shaking. Until the police arrived and the shadow was gone. My brother was watching
the whole time. He came out trembling and crying holding the phone.my parents came out
they told us we were being stubborn and dumb. Last night I remembered This story and looked
at the history on the house. It turns out the woman who used to live there had a child
who was 3 years old and the woman murders her child.when I told my brother he started
crying saying,"so she was going to kill you.." To this day my parents don't believe us but
the house is still there… and haunting my mind with the memory of what happened… every
night… at 12:02.
This episode of Weird Darkness is brought to you by the audiobook: "Black Friday", by
Jason R. Davis, narrated by Darren Marlar Oh, it is that time of year. The Thanksgiving
turkey has been eaten, the afternoon naps have slipped away into the evening camp out.
People leaving in the dead of night to set up their tents and wait outside for those
Friday morning deals. Masses are lined up, all waiting like zombies,
mindlessly eager to find those early morning deals.
Did we say zombies? "Black Friday" by Jason R. Davis, narrated
by Darren Marlar. To hear a FREE sample from this book or to
add it to your collection, visit the audiobooks page at WeirdDarkness.com.
I don't know why, but for whatever reason, I've always been naturally sneaky. Without
putting any effort into the endeavor, I was always scaring people, or at the very least
making them jump. Sometimes even when I approached from the front, people wouldn't notice me
until I was right upon them. Then they would gasp and flinch, and ask me why I snuck up
on them. I guess I'm just naturally quiet and unobtrusive.
As I got into my teen years, I got "better" at it. I would be there one moment, and after
looking away for a mere second or two, I would be gone. Or of course, vice versa, appearing
seemingly from out of nowhere. A joke even began to manifest itself around my high school,
that I was related to, (usually the son of), Michael Myers, because of my seemingly preternatural
ability to know the precise moment when someone was going to look away from where I was. (Also,
being named Michael didn't help any.) I remember walking into anatomy class one
day 20 minutes late, and the teacher never even noticed. Neither did most of the students.
And I didn't even try. I was late. Oh well. Wasn't the first time and wouldn't be
the last. I just walked in the door, set my books down and sat in my seat. Having a last
name near the front of the alphabet, I even had a seat in the front row. When the teacher
finally noticed, she said something to the effect of, "Oh, I'm sorry Michael, I had
you marked as absent." She corrected her "mistake" in the attendance book and went
on with class. It was around then that I began to actually
practice this peculiar ability. You know what they say; practice makes perfect.
And boy did I ever get good at sneaking. In fact, I think I actually added new verbs into
my repertoire. I excelled at sneaking, and also creeping, sidling, slinking, and skulking.
I actually bought and read a book on ninja techniques for hiding, diversion, and silent
movement. I even went as far as to rent and watch all the old Halloween movies so I could
study how Michael Myers actually did his silent creeping, despite him being a fictitious character
from a movie, with all the benefits of special effects and camera trickery. Every October
I volunteered to work in the local haunted house, and whatever room they placed me in
was routinely noted by customers to be the scariest in the entire place. At some point
I acquired a certain pride over my ability, happy that I was able to do something that
few, if any others, could not. To say the least, I had gotten pretty proficient at this
odd, god-given talent. I know what you're all probably thinking.
At some point I'm going to begin using my stealth abilities to go on some sort of rampage,
stalking and dispatching my enemies in terrifying, horror movie worthy murders. However, I am
a peaceful and nonviolent young man, and had no designs with my ability for anything more
than occasional benefits, and harmless practical jokery.
This preface concerning my ability is essential if one is to believe the veracity of my story,
which happened a few years ago. I don't recall the exact day or date. I
believe it was either Tuesday or Wednesday. I was still living with my father as a poor,
but working 20 year old, on the corner of our street, in literally the corner of our
exurb, bordered on three sides by a nice forest that went for a few miles before running into
the lake. It's not like we lived rurally or anything, but our section of town was pretty
secluded and out of the way. I returned home after work on the night in
question, exasperated, and ready to relax. My pops wasn't around, which wasn't odd;
he often spent long nights down at the bar with some of his old union pals. I unwound
for a while, enjoying the freedom the empty house presented, playing my tunes as loud
as I desired, and smoking like a chimney. After I deemed I had enjoyed a sufficient
amount of recreation, I settled down and prepared to actually get some things done. Seeing as
how there was a full load in the laundry basket, I grabbed it and headed for the basement where
the washer and dryer were located. When I was younger, I hated going into my
basement. Like any other unfinished basement, it's dark, it's musty, it's stone cold
and hard, and there are innumerable shadows and places for all nature of dark beings to
hide. Plus, when going down the steps into my basement, you're walled in on both sides
until you reach the very bottom, so there's no way to see what manner of ghosts or monsters
may be lurking down there, waiting to jump on you and rend you to pieces. As time went
on however, that irrational fear began to fade, until it might as well have been a ghost
itself. So, basket in hands, I had decided to make
the trip to the basement as stealthily as possible, always proud to use and practice
my ability, especially when hindered in some way, (carrying something, noisy clothes, creaky
floorboards etc.). Quick, deliberate steps, careful to distribute as much of my weight
across as much surface area of my foot as possible, always planting toe first when going
down stairs, I was successful in descending the basement steps silent as the grave, even
skipping the third to the last step because there was simply no way to put weight on said
stair without it making a creak of some kind. A diversion or additional ambient noise would
be needed to use that stair without spoiling the effect. No need to turn on any lights.
Although it was well after 8 pm, the summer sun was only starting to dip below the tree
line, filling the basement with streams of auburn light falling in from the few windows.
Besides, this was a stealth mission, no lights allowed.
When I got to the bottom step though, I froze. Since I had made absolutely no noise on the
way down, it was easy for me to recognize odd sounds coming from the basement, just
around the corner, to the right, (the left was just more wall). Nothing loud and over
powering, just a low, gruff sort of grunting. There were other noises as well, accompanying
the grunting; a soft kind of scraping maybe. The noises conjured visions of one of those
gremlins from the movies of the same name trying to push a huge, heavy trunk across
the floor, little by little. I wondered if perhaps my dad was the source of these sounds,
but that didn't make any sense. He certainly would have heard me jamming earlier, and he
absolutely hates it when I crank up my tunes. It's not like him to refrain from coming
upstairs and telling me to knock off the racket. And what would he be doing down there for
hours anyway? So if it wasn't my father, it had to be some critter from the woods that
found its way in and was probably trying to make off with some food it had found.
Many animals are known for their ability to hear and smell far better than us humans.
I wondered if perhaps I were good enough in my stealth abilities to sneak up on an animal
that was probably very aware of its surroundings, seeing as how they can be eaten, or any number
of horrible things if they are not observant and alert at all times. It presented an interesting
challenge to my strange skill. So, I clenched my jaw, tensed my muscles,
and prepared to make the attempt. And once again, I froze.
The weird sort of grunting became a vocalization of a different sort, and louder. It sounded
like actual words being spoken, albeit in a language I couldn't comprehend. However,
it still sounded as if it were a gremlin making the noise, or at the very least, some old
crone who smoked 3 packs a day. The language itself was intriguing. It sounded
a lot like Latin, or something similar, but definitely was not. After a few moments of
genuine interest, the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I was too preoccupied with
my musings to realize something. This was no animal.
There was a person in my basement. A person who was doing god knows what, other than…..speaking
in tongues? What the hell was going on down there? My heart rate instantly doubled, but
being a strapping, macho young man, even with no one around I wasn't about to let myself
be scared by some strange old foreign woman, or whoever the hell had broken into my basement.
It was then that I got a little angry. How dare someone break into my house. This was
where I lived. What kind of dirtbag would just break into someone's house? Right about
the time my nape hairs and goose bumps had retreated to their normal positions, a new
sound began emanating from the basement, this one louder, but completely alien to me. I
had never heard anything like this before in my life, (or since) and describing it proves
difficult. It was something between a powerful gust of air, and a high pitched, metal scraping
on metal sound, both occurring simultaneously. That's the best I can do, and trust me,
whatever sound you've conjured in your head to imitate it, most likely doesn't come
close. Seeing as this was the only time in my life that I've ever heard the noise,
I may not even remember it correctly. All I know is this: this sound scared the bejesus
out of me. Strapping young man or not, this unnatural sound went right through my ears,
bypassed my brain, and cut straight to my spine, unleashing a cold rush within me and
freezing my limbs in place. My eyes gaped wide, and I'm pretty sure my eyelids were
nonexistent at this point, because I could not bring myself to shut them, or even squint
a little bit. The sound happened, and quickly faded, but still here I stood, on the bottom
landing of the basement steps. Still unable to see around the corner into the rest of
the basement. Thankfully, whatever was on the other side of the wall couldn't see
me either. I hoped. Standing there doing my very best statue imitation
was not easy at this point; sweaty palmed, breath firmly imprisoned in chest, eyes as
dinner plates. I think it was about then that I began to actually fear for my safety, and
I wished I hadn't been holding that gah-damned clothes basket. It was also about then that
that weird language began again; deliberate, but incomprehensible words.
After a few more moments of listening to this infernal monologue, my curiosity simply got
the better of me. All fear aside, I simply had to see what was happening in my basement
on the other side of the wall. And so, I exhaled as quietly as I could, drew in another deep
breath, and noiselessly, slowly began to lean forward.
Little by little, more and more of the basement was slowly revealed to my personal panorama.
First, the old 8 million pound tube tv that should've been thrown out decades ago. No
mysterious guests so far. Next, the work bench further back, tools in place and undisturbed.
No monsters, ghosts, or creatures there. Then, towards the back corner, the washer and dryer,
undisturbed and silently standing sentinel in their normal place. And next……….HOLY
SHIT! As quickly and silently as a ninja's ghost,
I re-straightened my spine, standing upright and stock still. If my eyes were like dinner
plates before, they were as satellite dishes now.
I had seen it. I had seen what was speaking in that unnerving voice, in my basement. But
what exactly had I seen? It was humanoid, bipedal, and crouched down near the ground.
I didn't get too good of a look at it since I shot straight back out of sight before IT
saw ME. What in the hell was that??? If that was human, that was one hell of a
costume. All my initial espying had yielded was a purplish-reddish ball of fur covering
a vaguely human body, crouched low near the ground, and speaking in that horrid tone and
cadence. Whatever it was, I had never seen anything like it before. I wasn't sure if
anyone had. Seems my odd skill did come in handy, because if it heard me, or detected
my presence in any way, it did not display it. Although I couldn't see it, the monstrous
chanting never slowed, stopped, or even broke cadence, leading me to believe it hadn't
noticed my sweating, shaking presence. Listening closer to what it was saying, it
was clear these were definitely words, and not just some strange guttural groans, or
random atypical vocalizations. This thing was speaking with purpose; with a defined
goal on its mind that it was seeking to accomplish. But of course that inspired the questions:
Who was it speaking to, (if anyone), and what did it want?
Almost instinctively, I began to slowly lean forward again. I was pretty positive this
thing wasn't ordering a pizza or lilting one of its favorite tunes. If I wanted any
hope of determining what this thing wanted, I needed to know more about just what the
fuck it was. The thing had had its back to me when I peaked the first time so that I
couldn't see the face, or any details about its front. I hadn't leaned out far enough
the first time to even see its head anyway. Slowly, inch by inch, and silent as the grave,
I again leaned out past the wall. Here we go again.
The old tube tv. The sun was steadily finding its way below the horizon, ceding space to
the lengthening shadows. Then the work bench. Every inch I leaned seemed
to add decibels to the wild incantations the thing was spitting out.
Now, the washer and dryer. Muscles strained, adrenaline pumping. And then..…purple-red
fur, including a blood red tail. Fuck me! A tail!
Again, on instinct, I straightened back out. Fuckballs. OK. So it clearly wasn't human.
I needed to stop ducking back behind the wall and just person-up, (unisex version of man-up),
so I could get a look at the intruder in my basement. Damnit. I wished again that I hadn't
been holding that fucking laundry basket. My spine had seemingly just reformed itself
into solid matter again when the chanting stopped, and that horrid metallic, wind noise
began again, re-melting my spine and causing my heart to beat so hard I was afraid the
thing on the other side of the wall might hear it. After what seemed like hours, (but
surely was only a minute or two), the wind/metal noise stopped, and predictably, the vicious
chanting and dreadful scraping resumed. I should have went back up the stairs when I
had a chance, but was compelled to get a firm look at this being. I mean, how often does
one discover a previously unheard of creature making noise in their basement? Was it aggressive,
or amicable? Benign, or dangerous? And what the fuck was it doing? In my basement. Was
it a demon? An animal? A mythical creature of some kind, like a little violet and red
sasquatch? I had to know. And so, with courageous curiosity beating
out debilitating fear, I began to lean out once again. You know the drill.
Old tv. Should've been thrown out years ago. Work bench. Looks like dad could use
a new crescent wrench. Washer and dryer. Would I ever get to do the load of laundry, sweatily
clutched in my arms? And finally, it came into view.
Wispy red fur, leading to a slender, slightly curved and motionless tail. The blood red
crimson of its tail darkened into various hues of violet and purple, deepening in color
as it got closer to the torso. It was crouched on its two legs, indeed bipedal, and had a
wild mane of shocked, wispy red and purple hair coming off its head in an Einstein-ian
sort of afro, only with longer strands than the deceased German physicist. The hair was
clumped in places in dread-like protrusions that ran down the back of the body, giving
the appearance of spikes running down its spine and the back of the arms. Its body was
slender, but wiry, and all of it that I could see was covered in that same blood red fur
that descended into a deep violet as it got closer to the center of the body. The feet
were furred, up unto the very tips, and kind of resembled a cat's paws. It was completely
still except for movements it was making with its hands, (or forepaws, or claws, or whatever
the hell it had), and small undulations with its head, coinciding with its wicked sounding
cadence. It was impossible to say for sure, but it looked like if it stood up, it would
be about my height, (6'2), give or take a few inches.
I watched it for a little while, my fright induced adrenaline enabling me to hold stone
still, whilst this being went on about its surely nefarious business. The oration and
scraping were simple enough to figure out, but even through my fear, I was very curious
about what that metallic whooshing was about. I leaned out just a bit farther, (as far as
I would dare), in hopes of getting a look at what, if anything, this creature was crouched
over. Whatever it was, it had to be pretty small,
because the slender being greatly obscured what it was crouched over. All I could obtain
during this time were quick glances of an indistinguishable black object. The chanting
itself became more haunting and sinister on this side of the wall, sounding as if there
were two or three beings speaking in unison. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it
might literally leave a bruise on my chest, and I noticed for the first time that I had
such an absolute death grip on the laundry basket, that the plastic edges were digging
painfully into my hands. My breath was shallow and silent, and I was pretty sure my eyes
hadn't shut even once in the past 3 to 5 minutes.
I watched in graveyard silence, undetected, while this being went on about its work. Before
much longer, it stopped all movement, the scraping and vocalizing again ceasing. Without
warning or preamble the creature raised both arms above its head. In that time, I could
see that its hands and fingers were furred as well, except the palms, and colored in
that same dark crimson as the tail and feet. Its fingers were human-like, with opposable
thumbs, but there was one very defining characteristic. The index, or pointer fingers on each hand
were extraordinarily long. They were at least twice as long as the other fingers, and furred
only about halfway up, with long black protrusions jutting out of the red fur. At first I thought
they were finger nails, but they were pliable and appeared jointed like a normal finger,
(a normal human finger anyway). They were very fine and slender, ever so slightly curved,
pointed at the tip, and looked like they were probably very sharp.
The appearance of the sinister looking claws did not do well to reconcile my mania. In
addition to its size, this creature also came equipped with features that would enable it
to seriously injure or kill me, and all I had was this fucking laundry basket. I didn't
even have my pocket knife on me. I suppose I could have used a pair of knee socks like
nunchuks, but I doubt a parodied ninja weapon would be much use against those claws.
It was all a moot point anyway, because almost immediately after raising its arms, (I forgot
to mention that it raised its arms in a crisscross fashion, because those claws kinda took precedence
at that moment), it brought them down again, uncrossing them as it did, and producing that
whooshing noise, (a process which it repeated over and over again.) It also abraded its
claws together as it swept its arms downward, which produced the high pitched, metallic
scraping noise. Being able to see the thing also added a new phenomenon to the mix. As
it brought its hands downward, the abrasion of its two claws appeared to create some kind
of energy, evidenced by a reddish glow emanating from the hands. The glow grew more and more
intense with each x-shaped swipe of its talons. After a dozen or more repetitions, its hands
were barely visible, with dark red auras, resembling crackling clouds of crimson smoke,
surrounding its hands. When it finally stopped, I could perceptively
feel the energy coming from its hands, like it was creating a soft wind, or gently pushing
against me. Not enough to move me, but enough to be perceived. You'd have to experience
it to truly understand, but it felt nasty somehow, almost viscous, or slimy. It placed
its hands on the small black object in front of it, (I still couldn't tell what it was),
and resumed its perturbing incantations. At this point, I was completely lost. Mentally,
I had nothing, (which isn't far removed from normal), and all I could do was stare,
wide eyed and gaping. Shock, fear, and amazement all amalgamated into a single, thousand pound
medicine ball being bounced around my head, replacing my normally functioning brain. With
no activity going on up top, my eyes and muscles decided I was to keep standing there like
a lump, and see what happens. I found out later that my fight or flight instincts didn't
fail, but simply didn't activate because the creature didn't know I was there, and
choosing one of those options would have alerted it to my presence. (Thank you instincts.)
The incantations were really creeping me out. I desperately wanted to see what it was crouched
over, feeling that this bit of information was immediately valuable to my well being.
I would swear that the creature was saying the words louder than before, and as it went
on this time, its voice definitively began to rise. The increase in noise gave me the
little fortitudinal boost I needed to attempt stepping out and peaking at what the creature
was crouched over. With great care, I took a single noiseless
step out onto the concrete floor, still gripping the ridiculous basket of clothes. With wide,
probing eyes, I slowly leaned further. Just a tad bit more and………and a sock fell
out of the tilted basket in my hands, crashing softly to the floor, mere centimeters from
colliding with the creature's foot. My muscles, every last one of them, tensed
and froze. I quietly cursed myself in my head, and when I say quietly, I mean even my inner
monologue whispered, out of fear of being heard by the mysterious monster in my basement.
I was now so close to it that I could detect an animalistic scent, somewhere between a
lush, sweet forest breeze, and the slight stink of a rotting carcass. The creature seemed
oblivious though, and after insuring nothing else would jeopardize my stealth, I prepared
to take the final step that would afford me a view of what the creature was crouched over.
I was successful, and it afforded me a view of what the creature had in front of it………
Twas a kitten. That's right. It was a little black kitten, lying motionless on the floor.
It looked dead to my eyes, and its fur was matted with blood, more blood than this little
kitty could have possibly contained. Its entire coat was absolutely smattered with it.
I knew this kitten. It had belonged to a family a few houses down. It was part of a litter
their full grown tabby had just had. It was the only black one of the bunch, and it had
died a week or so after being born, the family knew not how. By what manner this goblinous
being had come to possess it, I knew not how. Or why. The absurdity of the situation I found
myself in seemed to know no bounds. The creature's hands were still illuminated
with those snapping clouds of crimson energy, and it was moving them all about the dead
kitten, almost like a magician would before doing a sleight-of-hand trick. The light and
energy given off by its aura-enclosed hands was sickly and felt dangerous, but at the
same time, was beautiful and mesmerizing. It was a strange juxtaposition to experience.
I wasn't sure, but I felt like the energy that this being was manipulating could greatly
harm me, or possibly be amazingly beneficial. Kind of like fire. Applied correctly, its
uses are virtually endless, and remarkably beneficial. But it can also be exploited for
very dire, and horrid purposes. In retrospect, I feel like the power this being was utilizing
could be employed in a similar fashion. This monstrous, demonic-looking, creature looked
apparently ready to use such energy. At this point I began to wonder; should I
try to stop this thing? It didn't seem to be up to anything cataclysmic, like the destruction
of the Earth, or the enslavement of all mankind. I'd like to think such things cannot be
accomplished with some energy (albeit of an unknown origin) and a dead kitten. But all
I had was my feeble human musculature, and a fucking laundry basket full of clothes.
This thing probably had all the agility and ferocity of a mountain lion, as movies and
comics have taught me all creatures of this manner do. Not to mention it had either stayed
hidden for…..however long it had been alive. Or had killed anyone who had ever seen it
before. Not promising prospects for my future. This had been foolish of me. There was no
way to know there would be a frightening monster doing god-knows-what to a dead kitten in my
basement, but it had been my decision to investigate further. That was just stupid. I should have
tried to creep back up the steps to call the cops, or grab a weapon, or anything other
than sneaking up on an unknown monster that could surely do horrible things to me.
So there I was, standing there sweating, heart pounding, mouth agape, eyes opened wide, less
than two feet from a previously unseen creature, holding a full laundry basket. Fear, (and
common sense) finally won out over curiosity, and I made the decision to try to sneak back
upstairs. As I just started to slowly creep my way back
to the landing, the creature's steadily louder orations began to crescendo, freezing
me in place again. It flung its arms wide, hands still surrounded by the reddish purple
auras of energy it had conjured, (and almost giving me a charley horse). As it spoke its
final indecipherable word, (its voice now channeling Mumm Ra from the Thundercats cartoon),
it thrust both hands, grabbing onto the kitten, transferring the red auras from its hands
to the deceased catling. It seemed to be exerting itself, the bloody corona engulfing the kitten
swirling and billowing, and almost seeming to crackle with actual miniature lightning
as the creature gently held its hands to it. I began to question my own sanity at this
point. This situation I was in was getting more and more bizarre, almost as if I were
dreaming. Just when I thought nothing stranger could occur, it would, pushing my heart rate
and my sanity closer to the brink. I really have no idea how I didn't go running for
the hills screaming bloody murder at this point. I guess I was literally too scared
to run for my life. After a couple centuries passed, (mere seconds
I'm sure), the glow from the aura faded and eventually winked out. The creature removed
its hands from the kitten slowly, and to my surprise, did not resume the chanting. This
entire situation had blown all of my assumptions out of the water at every turn, so I decided
not to make any, and just watch. My brain must have secretly made assumptions
without my approval, because I was stunned once again when the demonic looking being
began to speak again, only this time softly, and directly to the kitten. It was practically
cooing to the little creature. And even more amazing, the kitten answered back! It began
to mewl softly, its tail lightly thumping the concrete. A moment later it stood up,
and unless my eyes deceived me, it was no longer covered in blood. It took a few shaky
steps, then proceeded to meow lovingly at the strange monster that had just resurrected
it. Well. That was a relief. I half expected it
to eat the kitten, or rip it apart, or turn it into some giant dire monstercat, or something.
It was such a relief in fact, that I let out a loud and exasperated sigh.
Fully alerting the creature to my presence. Crap.
The creature whirled immediately, and I finally got a look at its front and face. Especially
the face, for when it turned around, it was right in my face, and it shrieked an unholy
roar at me. Its face was leonine, especially with its wild red and purple mane of dreads,
and the mouth and snout were protruded, further resembling a mutant jungle cat. It had fangs
at the front of its jaw, top and bottom, with smaller fangs behind it forming a row that
dove far into its mouth, which was spread wide as it roared at me, its hot breath like
wind blown over a fire. I was close enough to notice horrid looking bits of who-knows-what
amidst the teeth and strands of saliva. It didn't roar for long. It wasn't a drawn
out, I'm a t-rex and I own the world roar, but more of a primal scream. It took a wild
swipe at my torso with a hand and one of those massive claws, but luckily, on pure instinct
(read: I flinched), I raised the basket full of clothes, effectively parrying the strike.
Which was lucky because the basket received one hell of a gash. Also lucky was what happened
next: it left. After the wild swipe, the creature made another noise; a more confused sounding
noise. In a flash, it turned, and on a combination of bipedal and quadripedal movements, it almost
instantly galloped/ran/leaped its way to the back wall by the washer and dryer. And amazingly,
it didn't stop there, for as it made its way, its hands began glowing red again, and
it jumped at and into the wall, red aura-ed hands out stretched towards said wall. A moderate
dark red explosion occurred, leaving a large cloud of crimson fumes, and when the scarlet
smoke had cleared enough to see, there was no trace of the wild creature.
I stood there, dumbfounded. No. More than dumbfounded. Flabbergasted. There was the
possibility that the thing would return, try to claim the life of possibly the only eye
witness to its existence, but I just stood there. I eventually turned the clothes basket
in my hands to see the long gash the creature had left in its side. The basket had a long
wound ripped through one side. Some of the clothes were even ribboned, too. The kitten
was exploring the basement, mewling along oblivious, as if it hadn't just been brought
back from the dead by an unknown monster who just jumped through some kind of teleportational
vortex, or whatever it had just utilized to leave my basement. I scooped the little feller
up, threw em in the basket, and went back upstairs, mouth still agape.
When I told my dad what had happened, he asked me for the number to my dealer. He also said
we couldn't keep the cat. It worked out. I ended up giving it to my sister, (there
was no way I was just gonna drop off a kitten, that had just been resurrected by a strange
being, at the humane society. If the thing grows up to be a monster demon cat, it's
MY monster demon cat). She agreed to take care of the little guy. I tried to tell her
the story of how I came possess it, and my sister reacted in much the same way as my
father. I figured she ought to know, considering the cat could turn out to be something sinister,
and although she wasn't as skeptical as my father, I could tell she didn't believe
me either. I didn't really expect her to. After that day I spent considerable time searching
online for any sort of link or connection to what I had just gone through. Everything
I found was scant and vague. No pics, no stories, no nothing that even scarcely fit the description
of what I had experienced, (while researching the creature online is how I came across creepypasta
actually). All I know is this: my sister still has the
cat, he hasn't turned into any monstrous beings or exhibited a strange reddish glow,
and I am stealthier than a silent ninja fart, for I snuck up on something that comes from
the dark, hides in the shadows, and goes bump in the night. And I scared IT.
Do you have a story you'd like to share for a future episode? If you have a paranormal
story that happened to you or a loved one that you'd like to share, or perhaps you
found a link to something darkly creepy and true on the web that you think would be good
for the show, you can let me know about it http://www.WeirdDarkness.com!
Featured In This Episode...
"The Bloody History of Lake Shawnee Amusement Park"
written by Steven Casale for The-Line-Up.com
"Mask Of Shame: Worn In Ancient Times As Punishment For Gossiping"
posted at MessageToEagle.com
"Haunted Military House" posted at GhostsNGhouls.com
"12:02" submitted anonymously to WeirdDarkness.com
"The Sneak" written by Shape Shafter for Creepypasta.com
Find links to this episode's stories or the authors in the show's description.
Copyright Marlar House Productions, 2017.
Rebroadcast or duplication without express written permission is strictly prohibited.
Music provided by:
Midnight Syndicate. Used with permission. All rights reserved.
For more information on Midnight Syndicate, "Soundtracks for the Imagination", visit:
MidnightSyndicate.com
I'm your creator/host, Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me… in the Weird Darkness.
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