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Bunk Bed

by cnkguy
Bunk Bed

Anonymous Submitted:

My brother whose about two years younger than me have shared a bunk bed for over a decade now. When we were younger, he used to try to spook me by grabbing my leg after I turned off the light and when I was climbing up the ladder. Now he’s been off at college (I’m on the quarter system so I start after he does) and I’ve had the room to myself. But one night, things felt different. I’d been used to not sharing a room with my brother, and this felt different from that usual different. Like I wasn’t completely alone. After I turned off the light it almost sounded like something on my brother’s bed was breathing. I thought it was just the wind or my imagination. Nonetheless, I turned the light back on and there was nothing. After I turned it off again, I waited before heading to the ladder. I was on the second to top rung when I felt a cold, small hand grab my ankle.

I screamed and fell off after the hand released me. I scrambled on the floor to the light switch and flipped it on. There was nothing.

I lay awake on the couch that night.

FYNK James: 8/10 Simple but very effective! Thanks for sharing the scares.




Posted in Nightmares and tagged by with no comments yet.

Don’t Play The Psychic Knock Game

by cnkguy
Don’t Play The Psychic Knock Game

Don't Play The Psychic Knock GameReading Time: 8 minutes



N̴o̸n̷e̷ ̶o̵f̴ ̷u̴s̷ ̵r̸e̶a̵l̷i̵z̶e̸d̴ ̵w̴h̷a̴t̵ ̶w̷e̸ ̵w̴e̶r̴e̷ ̶g̷e̸t̸t̷i̷n̴g̷ ̷i̵n̸t̵o̶.̶ ̵D̸a̸v̵i̴d̴ ̷i̸s̸ ̸t̵h̵e̶ ̸o̵n̴e̶ ̸w̵h̵o̷ ̴c̶l̵i̵c̸k̴e̶d̶ ̷o̷n̵ ̸t̶h̵e̵ ̶p̴o̶s̷t̴ ̵a̴n̶d̶ ̸d̵e̷c̴i̴d̸e̸d̷ ̴w̵e̸ ̸s̶h̴o̷u̴l̷d̸ ̷p̶l̷a̷y̷.̵


It was Thursday night and David’s dad was working. Naturally, at the prospect of finding ourselves on a Friday night unsupervised, my friends and I were drawn to David’s house, like moths into fire.

We are all 17 years old. Before we played, we were beset with that unshakable, idealist faith of youth. Nothing could touch us; we would live forever. The psychic knock game broke this belief, among other ideals.

Nobody believed it was real. The four of us had performed a dozen of these rituals before, to little results. Our little “Scooby Doo Club” consisted of me, my boyfriend David, Donna, and Mike. Smoking a bowl and poking around the internet for ‘sinister’ games to play was just what we did for kicks. The only thing any of them ever actually did was make our skin crawl at the implication of what if? – effectively making us jump at unexpected sounds and non-aggressive shadows. Everyone’s played Bloody Mary, but nobody expects to actually see her in the mirror. In our world of warning labels, the only thrill left that you can find is the thrill of ignoring them.

We were crowded in the living room, scrolling through YouTube on David’s smart TV. Donna had queued up a video that was supposed to be unsettling. It wasn’t. The caption on the video read:

“Japanese Girl Suicide Picture Urban Legend”

Allegedly, this girl had painted a picture of herself as a suicide note. Donna told us: “It was really popular in Korea and got spread around a lot.” Apparently if you stared into the painting’s eyes for long enough, the girl would smirk and her hair would move.

At least, that’s what Donna said. Her ritual choices were usually stupid. I didn’t see shit.

“Donna, this is fucking stupid and the music is annoying.” I told her.

She paused the video and glowered at me. “I thought you guys would like this. She’s pretty hot.”

David laughed and said: “We don’t care what she looks like. This is dumb. I’m with Gage on this one. I don’t really want to watch this girl’s face not change at all for five whole minutes.” Thankful that he’d agreed with me, we exchanged a quiet high-five.

Donna huffed, “Of course you’d side with your stupid boyfriend. At least Mike agrees that she’s hot,” and then with a touch of the dramatic melancholy that was Donna’s trademark, she said to herself: “Her eyes are so sad.”

Mike giggled and threw a pillow at her. Getting a bit too stoned and giggling was Mike’s signature.

“Here’s one,” David grinned. He sent the browser command to the TV and opened

Donna groaned: “I don’t wanna read.”

David read the article for her. It was titled:

The Psychic Knock Game   (*HERE is a link to the post*)


There was more to the rules than the post stated. Here are a few that I’ve come up with:

  • 1st: Do. Not. Play. This. Game.

  • 2nd: The person on the other side of the door must answer it.

  • 3rd: If they don’t, it will knock on your door instead.


None of us even expected the silly Snapchat user in the post to be real… but they are. Go ahead and add them if you don’t believe me. You shouldn’t. But you probably will. We all did


Mike giggled, “Who should we do it to?”

David had a gleam of excitement in his eye. “My stepdad.”

“What if your mom answers?”

Donna sighed, “It’s not real, Gage.”

David was still grinning, “Mom is in Michigan visiting her sister. That’s why we’ve been here all week.”

The front door opened and we all jumped.

David’s sister Morgan doubled over in laughter, “Boo!” She held her side as she tried to catch her breath, “Shouldn’t smoke so much, shit makes you paranoid.” She crossed into the darkened kitchen and opened the refrigerator door, bathing her face in the icy light and grabbing a case of their dad’s beer. Then, taking her keys from the counter, she headed back to the door. She stopped at the frame before she left and turned back, eyeing David, “Better get rid of the smell before Dad gets back. He doesn’t want you guys smoking in here.”

“Oh, but you can take his beer to a party and that’s cool.”

“Shut up.” She rolled her eyes and with a cheerful, “later nerds,” was gone. We heard the snick of the lock behind her and moments later, her headlights shone through the kitchen window as the car backed out of the driveway.

I was already wearing a black t-shirt, but David found clothes for the rest. A black sweater that hung loosely on Donna’s wiry-frame covered her past her shorts. A pair of pants for me. Mike was bigger, so David had improvised with one of his dad’s work uniforms; black cotton pants and a plain black chef’s coat. We looked ridiculous.

David had stolen his stepdad’s cigarettes. We’d been smoking them all night; there were a few left and he insisted that it was a good enough personal item.

I read through the rules again. “It’s not gonna work. We need a picture of the door.”

David handed me his phone with a grin. On the screen was a live video feed of the door in question. I looked back at him confused.

“He put in one of those camera doorbells a couple weeks ago. Dumb idiot put it behind the pillar so you can’t see anything except the door.” He giggled. “When you walk up to the house you can’t even see it. He’s been opening the door to yell at everyone who knocks now for not using the bell.”

Mike laughed so hard at this that his eyes filled with tears, “So perfect. He’ll be so mad.”

Donna pulled up a GPS app and mapped the route to David’s parants’ house.

And so the ritual began.

None of us thought it would work. As we passed the energy from one hand to the next, it grew around us. The air felt oppressive–hot. As beads of sweat soaked my forehead, my breathing grew short and staccatoed. I felt myself growing faint but calmed at the notion that I was just freaking myself out. Then I looked over to David and realized he wasn’t in control of himself any longer.

The house rumbled with the energy and we heard a hissing voice from everywhere around us growl: YESSSSSS.

The candle snuffed itself out. David’s eyes were round planets with stars swirling within, wide as if held open by invisible fingers. When the candle burst back to life, it burned with the intensity of a soldering flame, hot and blinding-white. I didn’t want to, but I felt compelled as the others raised their arms to do the same. David’s eyes changed to glistening, empty pools of milk.

He knocked three times into the air in front of him.

The candle snuffed itself out again, leaving the room in cavernous darkness, save for the lights of the phones displaying the map and the live feed of the door.

The door that his stepdad did not open.

We could see him through the glass at the top; heard as he swore on the other side of the closed door through the live video feed: “Son of a bitch. You fucking kids. Knock on this fucking door again. I’ll fucking–” his voice trailed off as he moved away.

Donna was excited. “Holy shit. Does that mean it worked? He heard it?” Nobody else spoke.


Mike offered a blood curdling scream that rang until Donna covered his mouth with her hand. She directed all of us, with her eyes, to be quiet.

We stared at each other, not making a sound.

Mike was typing something.


His eyes shone with panic, like an animal trapped. He handed Donna his phone:

Do you think that’s it? the thing? Will it give up like in the doorbell vid??

“There was nothing in the doorbell video. Just my stepdad yelling,” David whispered.

“Shhh,” Donna hissed.

The door opened slowly and nobody moved as a dark shadow entered.

“Sorry, couldn’t get my key to work. Forgot my dumb phone.” Morgan looked at us for a moment as if we had three heads each. Grabbing her phone out of her room, she then looked directly at Mike, “I know that was you. You scream like a girl.”

We doubled over in laughter. Slowly, over the course of the next half hour, a sense of ease settled back into the room.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard a dude scream like that,” Donna jibed him.

He threw another pillow at her, “Whatever dude. That was fucking scary as shit,” and he began giggling again.

The rest of the night passed without incident and, for the most part, we forgot about it.


I was hanging out with David the following night. It was just the two of us. Morgan was staying with a friend and his dad was off at work again.


Our phones chimed in unison. A new Snapchat message. I fiddled with my phone and tapped the notification. Large white letters filled the black screen:

You called me, but no-one answered. I will return. One of you must let me in.

It was from callme_469

“So stupid,” David said, putting his phone down on the coffee table. I felt uneasy.


I felt my stomach fall away.

David looked startled but got up saying, “It’s probably my dad. The lock sticks,” he was almost to the door.

“Wait!” I shouted.

David froze as I walked to the kitchen window and gestured to the empty driveway, “If that’s him–”

“–how did he get home?” He finished for me.

We weren’t being loud enough to be heard, but a voice responded. David’s dad. “Son, it is your Father, home here now.  Lock sticking. Open door for Father?” The words sounded new. Whatever was on the other side of the door spoke with the right voice, but the sentence structure was jumbled, as though it was saying words it hadn’t used before. They were harsh. Emphasized wrongly.


This time the message read:

My father’s house has many rooms.

We grew silent and stared at each other.


Many rooms have many doors

The knocking began again, this time all around us.



BANG POUNDIt came from the kitchen cabinets, from the closets, the cupboards, doorways, it rattled the mirrors of the medicine cabinets, and it shook from inside of the refrigerator. It struck everything that had a door, and when that didn’t work, it began knocking on walls, the ceiling, and floors.

David began hyperventilating. I was in shock.

Then, as quickly as it began, it ended. Headlights bathed the front of the house through the kitchen window. Before long we could hear someone at the lock muttering: “Goddamit”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Hey!” His shouts were muffled behind the door. “I can’t get my key to–nevermind.”

We both heard the sound as the key found its home in the lock tumblers and snicked the bolt aside.

I may have imagined the monstrous, formless shadow that loomed behind him; imagined the smile full of teeth shining in the dark like boxcutter blades…

…but I can’t be sure if I saw anything, because as soon as the door inched open wide enough, I bolted, past David’s father and his confused expression, and out into the night.

I didn’t stop running until I was at the door to my own house, but I couldn’t bring myself to open it; unsure of whether it was safe. Initially I’d grazed the handle and couldn’t be sure if I’d heard a knock or if it was the beating sound of blood in my ears.


I recognized the line from my years in Sunday School–paraphrased and perverted to serve its sinister purpose:

I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat.

I’ve been calling David for hours now. He isn’t picking up.

CREDIT: Scott Savino

(You must ask permission before narrating this work. Click HERE to do so)

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Creepy Pasta

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adele-haenel: All of them… All of Them Witches!

by cnkguy
adele-haenel: All of them… All of Them Witches!


All of them… All of Them Witches!



Creepy gifs

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The Psychic Knock Game

by cnkguy
The Psychic Knock Game

The Psychic Knock GameReading Time: 6 minutes



That idiot Josh started this. He found this Snapchat user named callme_469 (click here for a pic of their snapcode). Rumor had it that the account belonged to a hot girl, so Josh thought he could flirt with her, I guess. Despite the suggestive name, Josh was misguided; after connecting, the user sent him nothing but snaps detailing the instructions to some sort of ‘psychic’ game.

“You get a group of you together, and if you all focus hard enough, you can knock on someone’s door with your collective psychic energy.” Josh explained to Martin, Tony, and I in school on Monday.

We noticed that there was a bit more to it than that when he actually showed us the snaps, each one a picture of handwritten instructions.

• You need a large group of people who are connected in some way; friends, teammates, or classmates works well.

• You must all agree on whose door to knock on. If there is any disagreement in the group, the game will not work.

• Everyone must wear black.

• The group must sit in a circle and join hands.

• The leader (caller) in the group must place a picture of the door, a map showing the route from the group to the door’s location, and something belonging to the person to receive the psychic knock in the center of the circle.

• There must be complete silence

• The group must concentrate on the map and visualize moving to the door one at a time, starting with the person sat to the left of the caller. When you reach the door, squeeze the hand of your neighbor to the left. Only when the caller gets to the house can you begin to focus on the knock.

• The group, except for the caller, must raise their right hand, concentrate on the door, and visualize the caller’s hand raised and knocking.

• The caller must also visualise the knock. The psychic energy of the group will be channelled into the caller’s right hand and it will raise of its own accord and knock.

We didn’t know how many people we needed, so it started as a few close friends – but word soon got out. Josh invited Kayla because he wanted to make out with her. Kayla wanted to bring Abbey, the biggest loudmouth in the school, so by Thursday morning we had fourteen people coming.

We picked our chemistry teacher Mr Griffiths. He lived quite close to me so it was easy enough to take a picture of his door and steal a little garden gnome he had at the front of his house.

Everything was set, and then disaster struck.

My mom got asked to cover a shift at work; we really needed the money, so she’s couldn’t say no. Because of this, I had to stay home and look after my little sister Joanie.

So, while Josh, Tony, and Martin were having fun hanging out with the hottest girls in our class and trying to psychically bother our teacher, I was stuck at home with a nine year old brat.

Once I’d packed her off to bed, I jumped on my laptop and Skyped Josh. It was 10pm.

“Hey man, this is awesome – Kayla and all the girls came” he said, “It sucks that you can’t be here.”

“I know, man, when are you going to start?”

“Stroke of midnight, dude. Look, stay on the line, but we are going to have to put you on mute when the time comes. The instructions say complete silence.”

I hung out with them for a couple of hours via Skype and watched them get ready in Josh’s basement den. They were all dressed in black, and Josh lit a bunch of candles around the room that cast an eerie, flickering light. When he turned off the lights, the soft, low candle light made the images on the screen pixelated and indistinct.

“Sorry dude, we’re putting you on silent,” Josh said and hit mute. At this point, I could hear them, but they couldn’t hear me.

They formed into a circle, cross-legged on the floor. Josh was reveling in his role as ‘caller’, dishing out instructions and trying to act cool. There was whispering and nodding, then when they pulled out the map and object to put in the middle of the circle, they broke out in giggles, and a few of them shot glances to the screen to look at me. I couldn’t make out the images clearly, but it didn’t look like Mr Griffith’s gnome. It looked more like a sweater… my sweater.

That was when it hit me. They were going to knock on my door.

“You sons of bitches” I shouted uselessly into the muted Skype call. There was nothing I could do. They were in the circle now, completely focused. I watched, powerless to intervene.

I couldn’t see the hand squeezes as the members of the circle passed the ‘psychic baton’ to each other, but I could somehow sense it. I felt the energy building from one person to the next. The candlelight grew dimmer, drawing all attention into the circle, blocking out the rest of the room; the rest of the world. The light flickered wildly as each hand was squeezed tight, and then, the energy passed. Despite the silence in the room, a distant rumbling, grating noise grew over our connection. It hurt my ears.

I wanted to scream at them to stop, but found myself entranced by the events unfolding on my screen.

The energy passed to Josh and the group broke hands. They raised them in unison. Josh’s hands remained rested on his knees, his face impassive, eyes narrowed.

They knocked three times, slowly and deliberately. Impossibly, a deep reverberation built over the Skype connection so that, by the end of the third knock, the booming noise echoed into the pits of infinity.

It’s hard to describe everything that happened in those next few moments.

Josh’s hand shot up. For a fraction of a second, he stared at it, a terrified look on his face. In an instant, the look was gone, as his eyes rolled back in his head, only the whites now staring vacantly out. The flickering candle light transformed the shadow of his raised hand from a teenage boy’s into that of a gnarled and twisted fiend. I don’t know if I actually saw it, or imagined it after the fact, but for less than a heartbeat I thought I saw the terrible creature who owned that hand, etched in shadow on the wall and my screen.

A sound came over the speakers, full of dread, malice, and glee. It was at once a scream, a roar, and most terrifying of all, the word “Yes”.

The circle must have heard it as well, for they clutched their hands to their ears, faces writhing in agony. Blood trickled from some of their noses. My speakers blew, plunging my room into silence.

Josh was oblivious in his glaze-eyed trance. He made a slow, deliberate knocking motion three times.


My attention shot to my front door at the thudding sound of the knock. My heart began to race.


The knocking on my door was in perfect unison with Josh’s knocking on screen. A couple of the group in Josh’s den scrambled to their feet, freaked out at what was going on. I felt sick; this had gone way too far.


I stood up and backed away from the door to my stairs. No fucking way I was opening that door with the shit I had just seen.

I ran upstairs to check on Joanie, make sure she was okay. Thankfully, she was fast asleep. I went into my own room and grabbed my baseball bat. From my bedroom window, I have a good view of the front door. Sweaty and hyperventilating, I nervously drew back the curtains to look.


I grew bolder and took a good look, studying our porch and looking out down the street. Still nothing, but I could feel a presence. That’s when I caught a glimpse; a shadowy movement in the trees across the road. It was only for an instant, but I saw that same ominous outline that I had seen in Josh’s den.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, mentally taxed from the ordeal. I woke up with my baseball bat next to me.


In the cold light of morning, with a couple hours of sleep under my belt, things felt different… cool almost. What had actually happened for me to be so scared? Josh was probably faked the eye rolling and the look of fear when his hand moved. The group were in on switching it to me rather than Griffiths, so they most likely had someone come around to do the knocking, as a joke. I bet they recorded me on Skype so they could see my reaction.

I went to school more pissed off than scared, ready to confront my dick-head friends. My mood changed pretty quickly.

The whole group from the night before were gathered. They all looked terrible, Josh worse than the rest, pale as a ghost and on edge. “I’m so sorry Cody, I had no idea, man. I’m fucking scared, dude.” He said as soon as he saw me.

He showed me his phone. There was a Snap from callme_469. It was a picture of my front door; all thirteen of them had received the same Snap even though only Josh was connected to the user.

The message said “You called me, but no one answered. I will return. One of you must let me in.”

CREDIT: Adam Davies

(You must ask permission before narrating this work. Click HERE to do so)

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Summerwind Mansion | The Grave Talks Preview

by cnkguy
Summerwind Mansion | The Grave Talks Preview

There mere mention of the name Summerwind Mansion is instantly connected to the word haunted when discussed in the state of Wisconsin. The haunted Summerwind Mansion has a story spanning more than a century. Its story runs deep through many families, rumors of insanity, demonic activity, and ghosts. The haunted Summerwind Mansion is infamous no so much for who lived there, but for why many couldn't live there.

Find out more at:



, Real Ghost Stories

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I’ve Had the Same Dream for 26 Years

by cnkguy
I’ve Had the Same Dream for 26 Years

I've Had the Same Dream for 26 Years"Reading Time: 8 minutes

The things that haunt a man the most, are not usually the choices that he’s made, but rather the choices that he never did make.

I’ve lived through some of the worst hells that you could ever imagine. 9,490 of them to be exact. Every night when I lay down to sleep, I find myself praying for the same thing; sleep, with the absence of dreams.

Every night is exactly the same.

This trend started 26 years ago when I was 10. The first time that the nightmare overtook my dreams, I had come home from the worst day of my life. My dad had taken me to a splash park. It wasn’t much, just a couple water jets that shot up into the air that kids could run around under and cool off from the heat.

We were poor growing up and never could afford to go to any big water parks, but the splash pad was always fun. That is, until that day.

I remember running around under the jets, carefree, enjoying the sweet relief that the cool water brought as it splashed on my red skin. There were a couple of other kids there too but, I didn’t pay them much attention as I was always a bit of a loner even as a child.

“Kyle, come on buddy, it’s time to go.” I heard my dad say from the bench that sat across the way. “Aww, come on Dad, just a little longer.” I pleaded, not noticing the little girl that was making her way toward me from the other side of the pad.

“Five more minutes,” he replied shaking his head and smiling.

As I turned back toward the water jet, happy for the extra time to play, I was met with a little girl standing, not even a foot away from me. My heart felt as though it was going to jump out of my chest as I noticed her face. It looked decayed, her eyes were sunken back into her skull, they were pure white, and her mouth was wide open.

She stood there gazing at me inches away, mouth hanging open, for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t move, I was frozen at the sight of this hideous girl. After a while of this, I finally regained my ability to speak and said, in a shaky voice, “H..hi, I’m Kyle, what’s your name?” The girl turned her head to the side, like a dog does when he’s trying to understand what you’re saying to him.

“Whhhhhaaaaaaahhh.” she let out a long gasp in response. Her breath hit my face; it smelled like smoke and burnt hair. It wasn’t until I stopped choking that I realized she had burns all over her arms and legs. Long singe marks going up the sides, from foot to waist. The skin was hanging off from several places.

I turned in fear back toward my dad, hoping that he would see the girl and come rescue me, but he was chatting with another kid’s mom on the bench, not even looking in my direction.

As I turned back to face the little girl, she was gone.

I ran hard and fast to where my dad was sitting. “Hey buddy, you finally ready to go?” he said smiling, but his facial expression quickly changed as I got close to him. “What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, concern now mixed into his tone.

“The girl over by the pad.” I replied through heavy breaths. “She’s hurt, or burned, or I don’t know.”

Looking over my shoulder to the pad, my dad asked, “What girl? I don’t see anyone, Kyle. Let’s go home, I think you’ve just had too much sun today.”

I didn’t argue – maybe I had just imagined it.

We walked back to the car. Dad was talking to me, but I didn’t hear anything he was saying. I was too preoccupied looking over my shoulder, back toward the pad, searching for the little girl. My dad basically had to push me back to keep me from walking straight into the car door as he held it open for me.

“Whoa champ, watch where you’re going. I can’t afford a hospital visit if you bust your noggin open on the car door. We will come back to play another day, I promise.”

The car ride home seemed much longer than usual. My mind was still thinking about the little girl. Where had she come from? Surely her parents would be looking for her to get her wounds patched up.

As my dad and I pulled into the driveway, I could see my mom coming out to greet us. “He’s a little shook up, too much sun I think. Better get him inside and cool him off.” I could hear my dad tell her after their usual welcome home kiss and hug.

After we ate dinner, Mom came up to my room as I was getting ready for bed. She closed the door, which was strange considering she normally came in, picked up my dirty clothes, and gave me a hug and kiss goodnight.

There was something strange about her facial expression, something different about her tone of voice as she said:

“Your dad told me about the splash pad. What did you see?”

A little reluctantly, I recounted the events, not leaving out any detail. Mom just sat on my bed listening, her new expression never changing as I concluded the story.

“There is something you need to know Kyle, but this stays between you and me. I don’t want your father knowing about this.” she said while I looked nervously at her.

My parents were always the perfect couple – even through hard times, they always loved each other. They never fought or had harsh words between them, so the thought of her keeping anything from Dad seemed odd to me, and I didn’t really like the idea of it.

“We come from a long line of mediums,” she stopped as if trying to really think of the right way to explain.

“What you saw was an omen. Not a particularly bad one, since the girl didn’t touch you and she disappeared. Still,you need to be aware of a few things.” Her eyes started to water as she continued.

“These kind of omens are never good. In this case, I believe that the little girl was killed in a fire, and she came to you because you’re like a magnet to the spirits that still walk the earth.”

I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea what she was talking about. I thought that ghosts were just make believe, and now she was telling me that I attract them?

Finally, after staring at her for a while in disbelief, I asked, “Are you a medium?”

She laughed, confusing me for a second, before she replied with a big smile. “Oh heavens no baby, I’m not a medium. Do you really think that I could kept that a secret from your father all these years? No, your grandmother, my mom, was a medium.”

“So what does this mean for me?” I asked.

“It means that things are going to start happening around you. Lights flickering, shadows in your room moving at night, waking up to voices talking to you, premonitions, and dreams.”

There it was; dreams, the very thing that would plague me every night for the next 26 years. I never did see any ghosts or any of the other weird things that my mom spoke of. Just the dreams.

After our talk, mom left my room, leaving me scared and confused about all of the new information she had just off-loaded onto me. I laid down and turned out my lamp. I lay awake for a long time, spooked, rapidly looking around my room, searching for anything out of the ordinary when sleep finally took me.

The first thing I saw was a building on fire. It was a large two story house at the end of a cul de sac. The mailbox read 322 James St. There were fire trucks with ladders and firefighters pointing hoses toward the inferno, trying to extinguish the flame. I became a little disoriented from all the lights of the sirens. It was dark outside, and besides the fire that engulfed the house, the only lights were from the emergency vehicles, and they were blinding.

I stumbled a little, and as I looked down toward the ground to regain my bearings, I realized that I was wearing firefighting equipment. I reached my hand up and felt the helmet on my head.

I could hear someone shouting something from behind me. I turned back around to see who it was, nearly hitting another firefighter with the axe I had in my hand. I hadn’t even realized I was carrying it until that moment.

A man standing by a red SUV with the words ‘Fire Chief’ on the side was looking right at me.

“Kyle, Go!” he shouted pointing at the blazing house. I didn’t know what I was doing, but at the same time it felt like I had done this before, a hundred times over.

I turned back to the house, running full speed toward the flames. Even with my protective gear on, I could feel the extreme heat radiating from the blaze. I then heard someone’s voice come over the radio.

“Parents say there is a little girl trapped in the second story bathroom.” Without hesitation, I responded “10-4 I’m making entry now, keep on my six and stay sharp, watch for falling debris. This kid is not dying on my watch.”

Me and two other firefighters made our way into the house. The black smoke that billowed in front of me almost blacked out the hallway we were travelling down; I could hardly see ten feet ahead. We pushed forward with the hose slung over our shoulders.

“There’s the stairs!” I yelled, pointing to my right as we continued down the hallway.

The stairs were not yet on fire, save for a few burning embers that had fallen from the top floor. I made my way up, tapping on each step with my Halligan bar to make sure they were stable. The climb was slow and the hose was heavy.

Once we got to the top landing, I could see flames engulfing the sides of the walls and roof going down the second story hallway. The heat was almost too much to bear. We made our way to the first door on the right, touching it to feel for heat. If there was fire on the other side of the door and we opened it, it could cause an explosion, potentially killing us all.

After determining that there was no fire on the other side, I began to scream, “Holly! Holly, are you here!?” No answer. I don’t know how I knew what name to call, it just came to me.

I tried the knob and it was locked. “If you’re in here, stand away from the door, I’m going to break it down.” I yelled before swinging my axe at the door. It took three swings before it opened. As I stepped into the bathroom, I heard a loud crash from behind me; it shook the entire house. Looking back, I could see that part of the roof had caved in, blocking the hallway to the stairs.

Frantically, I searched for the girl. She was sitting in the tub, unconscious.

Another crash, this time causing an explosion in the hallway, blowing out the window at the end. I could hear the glass shatter and feel the pressure from the blast.

“Get the girl, we have to get out of here!” I could hear someone say on my radio.

I reached down, picking her up and cradling her against my chest. As I turned back to leave, the other two firefighters were using the hose to put out the fire from the fallen beam so that we would have a safe path to leave from. Slowly, testing every step, we made our way back down the hallway, the flames becoming more violent, and the heat growing more intense with each passing moment.

Just as I made it to the stairs, one of the other firefighters pushed past, almost knocking me off my feet as he ran by, flying down the stairs in fear.

“Fuck!” I cursed as I slammed into the wall, flinging the legs of the little girl into the fire. I could hear her skin sizzle in the flames. As I began to regain my balance, I saw why the other man had fled. The main beam in the roof was falling right toward me. With a loud crash it pinned me to the ground, causing me to drop the little girl. She was still unconscious, lying directly in the flames to my right.

My head spinning, I tried to push the beam off of me, but it was no use, It was too heavy. After a few minutes of pushing, I gave up, feeling the flames burning my skin. The fire was beyond control. I was stuck with no hope. My heart was pounding with the thought of the little girl burning to death, as well as my own fiery doom.

I laid there in agony, feeling the flames licking the skin on my hands. I watched as the rest of the burning roof collapsed onto me.

I awoke drenched in sweat, screaming. My mother rushed into my room, fear on her face.

After calming down, I recounted the dream. Her hands covered her mouth and tears streamed down her face as I spoke. She didn’t say anything, she just sat there holding me.

It’s been 26 years to the day since that first dream and every night has been the same since. The same house, same girl, same death.

As I’m sitting here writing this, I can hear the alarm sounding, and a voice just came over the Intercom. Now, I have a hard choice to make.

“10-70 Structure fire, all units respond. 322 James St.”


CREDIT: Allan Loe

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