Ghost Stories

Silhouette.

-this story was shared by littlejeffgoldblum on reddit

This story is a recount of a traumatic childhood experience. I am now 24 years old, living with two roommates in the south. I experience frequent night terrors and occasional hallucinations. I believe I have controlled my 'madness', at least enough to function in society properly. I have told no one in my personal life this story.

Day One- Clearwater, Florida. 1997. The bright red sun is beginning to set, palm tree leaves swaying gently in the humid breeze. I am sitting quietly in my living room, watching Full House and chewing on some popcorn my mother had made me. I am six years old. Behind me I hear a key turn the deadbolt, the front door opens hard, hitting the side of the wall. My father is home. I look back to him as he enters the house.

"Could you not slam the fucking door every time you come home?" My mother growls, walking out of the kitchen which is adjacent to the living room.

"Could you not bitch at me the second I walk through the door?" He hisses back, dropping his briefcase with a loud thud.

I turn back around to face the television. The sounds and colors are a mild distraction from the impending, violent argument. This happens almost every day. The crude exchanges quickly turn to vicious screams. I do my best to tune it out, focusing on the colors and sounds of the commercials. A sudden, violent jerk to my arm snaps me out of my gaze.

"It's bedtime sweetheart," my mother whispered, dragging me to my room. Her face is swollen and red, her eyes bloodshot from crying. "No matter what you hear, you stay in here." Her voice is stern, and I nod my head in understanding while she hands me my pajamas. She quickly leaves the room, closing the door gently. Muddled words are all that can be heard.

My eyes lower. I am confused. My heart feels tight, and I can feel it beating against my chest. I wish I could sleep somewhere else, but my mother is paranoid and will not let me visit the homes of friends. She said she cannot keep me safe if she is not there. I take off my clothes, then put on my pajamas. Grabbing the blankets, I pull them up over my nose, leaving my eyes exposed.

My room is a small. I have a twin size bed, which sits next to my old crib. There is a love seat in the corner piled high with various stuffed animals and characters from children's show I enjoy. I have my own bathroom, which has no door for my own safety, or so said my mother. I find the bathroom unsettling. During the dark of the night, it casts odd shadows that make my heart hurt- like when mommy and daddy fight.

I close my eyes, trying to focus on counting sheep. "One...two...three..." I whisper aloud, my small fists clenching the blanket. I hear a crash from outside the bedroom, so I furrow my brow and close my eyes tighter. "One...two...three..." I begin again. After a few more moments, there is silence. As I begin to drift to sleep, a new sound softly floats around the room. It is the cheerful jingle of an ice cream truck. I open my eyes, confused, because the ice cream man only comes during the day. Mommy or daddy would give me a dollar and I would go buy my favorite- a Choco Taco. Unfortunately the ice cream man stopped coming a while ago. I turn my body to the source of the sound. The bathroom. The melody grows a bit louder, and the shadows in the bathroom begin to sway gently. The feeling in my heart when mommy and daddy fight is back. I want to close my eyes, but I cannot. The shadow begins to take a more identifiable form- that of a man with one of those paper hats, and the shadow of a big bow-tie. It raises its hand and waves slowly. My heart is racing, my breathing is heavy. I dig my nails into my hand under the covers, to make sure that I am not dreaming. The shadow ceases its waving, putting up one finger as if to say, 'hold on'.

"One...two...three," I begin to whisper, my eyes glued to the scene in front of me. The soft melody plays in my ears while the shadow holds up the silhouette of an ice cream cone. The shadow shakes its head, as if to say no, and retracts its hand. "One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three," I wheeze quietly. I want to get up and leave, but mommy would be mad if I came outside after she told me not to. The shadowy figure begins to move again, this time a smaller figure emerges. Its shape is that of a small girl, around my height. It stands still, as if it is unable to move at all.