Spookyness

A Few Short Stories ~.'1'.~

*All found on facebook*

Baby Dolls:

In rural Southern Illinois, a toy company began selling “realistic” baby dolls to expectant mothers. But apparently after the mother had her child, the toy baby would start crying. Eventually the “rocking motion” advertised to calm it down wouldn’t work, and you couldn’t get it to stop without shaking it.

Eventually, when it started crying, the parent would have to beat it, and even then the beatings and thrashing would have to get harder and harder to get it be quiet. The only thing that seemed to shut the baby doll up permanently was to bash its head against the wall to destroy whatever mechanism triggered the crying.

 On more than one occasion though, neighbors called the authorities to report child abuse, and when the police arrived they found the bloody remains of infants smeared across the walls and the floor. In most cases the mother couldn’t understand why the police were there, she said that she had just “got rid of the stupid doll,” she calmly stated as she rocked a baby-shaped bundle in her arms.

*Killed the actual baby, not the doll*

Black-eyed People:

Black-eyed people (Sometimes called Black eyed children) are young people. often children, with eyes that are solid black and no differentiation between sciera, pupil, or iris. Those who report encounters with them often feel that the children were somehow supernatural and very dangerous.

Often, the reports talk of a meeting with one or two unusually confident and persuasive children who attempt to talk the victim into letting them into their house to use a telephone, to be safe from something, or often try to talk someone into giving them a ride home. Often, people begin to agree to their requests, even though they will be vaguely unsettling, until it is realized that their eyes are completely black. As soon as they can tell, the children become very angry and insistent. Some people who have encountered black-eyed people feel that the children may have been using some form of low-level mind control to get them to comply.

 Experiences involving the black-eyed people generally do not explain the cause of the children’s eye color or the origins of the children themselves. Some imply they could be ghosts or demons, specifically vampires: the encounters frequently emphasize that the children must be voluntarily admitted or invited into the house or car in question, and in this way are reminiscent of some vampire legends.

Growths:

I’d had them ever since I was a kid.

I can remember being incredibly self-conscious about them, hiding them in my pockets, under books and bags.  The kids at school never said anything to my face, but I knew they were laughing behind my back.

I remember asking my parents to take me to the doctor, to get them checked out. The growths on my hands seemed to be the elephant in the room back then, since they’d just say I was fine and change the subject. But I knew better.

I had tried to remove them as a child, but with no avail. scissors, knives, potato peelers; trying to cut or scrape them off was always a lost cause because I couldn’t continue once the pain kicked in. But today was different. It’s amazing how numb you can get with a couple of tourniquets and a bottle of Jack Daniels. I was originally planning to use a sharp knife, but figured that trying to slice through the tough flesh of the growths would be too arduous in my drunken state. I opted for the slightly more technological plan B.

I had to hurry though. I was already pretty light-headed and was starting to feel dizzy. My hands and forearms, nearly blue from the lack of circulation, couldn’t wait much longer either. The whirring of the blender helped to put me in a sort of trance-ready to do what I had wanted to do since I first looked down at my strange deformities.

I shoved my left hand in first. The immediate sensation of sharp blades slicing through flesh was farring, but I was surprised at how will the alcohol was working-I expected it to hurt more. I could hear the sharp metal churning and cutting, working perfectly as planned. I pressed my hand down harder. All those bad memories, all of the embarrassment-all of those horrible things were now nothing more than a thick red pulp.

 Breaking from the feelings of ecstasy, I pulled out before the blades hit knuckles. I smiled, taking a good look at my new hand. As for the growths-well, five down, five to go.

*This last story: He is cutting his fingers off*