Before you read, this story is much different. It's scarier in a different way. Put yourself is Connor's position when you read, the terror you'd feel what you read about, imagine it happening to you. Then you can fully appreciate how scary this could be if it actually happened.
Many have told me I'm insane. They may be right. My name is Connor, I am 32 years old. I live in Worcester, Massachuesetts. This story starts when I was 8.
My father, who wasn't even a father to me, came home one night even more drunk than usual. The usual was that he'd give me a black eye then fall asleep or simply fall down unconsious. This was by far the worst time, with second place being me having broken fingers. How he went about it, you do not want to know. This time, he was puking blood (must have had a bar fight) and looking for mother. Mother though, has been dead for 2 years now. Father killed her and hid her body. I couldn't speak about it to friends or teachers. It was a lonely world for me because I was called crazy. No one understood. I followed him carefully as he made his way upstairs to his bedroom and punched his wall. He broke through and inside was a coffin. "Dear, I am sorry for what I've done to you," he whispered, "I wish I could remove my addiction, but it gets rid of my pain. The child... I don't know. I don't have the heart to send him away."
Father has mood swings when hes drunk. He killed mother when he was very angry over slightly undercooked venision. Father is incapable of doing much for work because when he killed mother, he dislocated his shoulder and gave himself brain damage from stumbling so many times and falling, hurting his head on the tar on the road. It doesn't help him that we had no money to help his head and no money to help me or the house. All of the money we get goes to him for his drinking habits. My uncle, Graem, takes care of me much more than father is. Uncle wanted to take me to his house, but I denied him. I wanted to look after father. I didn't have many friends because, again, when he killed mother, he turned on me and punched me in the forehead. After that, there was always something wrong with me. Something different. Out of the corner of my eye I could see shadows, even when theres no light. Sometimes, I'd wake up randomly to see something standing over me, then the thing disappears after I blink. One night I stared at it for a very long time. It resembled my mother, with her blue eyes. It had a ghost form of a body, like a whisp. It was black and almost had a tail instead of legs. The Shadow, as I have come to call it, had no facial features, had no mouth, had no nose, no hair, no eyebrows. But what The Shadow did have was almost arms, which had curved scimitars attached with beautiful runic looking marks that shine like a new moon. One of the marks looked like a beautifully decorated coffin. I couldn't study it long enough because I blinked, and it dissipated into nothing. I've always felt eyes on me after that.
Especially now, that my father was staring at the beautifully decorated coffin, exactly like the runic mark. I looked behind me, and there it was. The Shadow. It was my mother. The Shadow resembled her completely now, with, now instead of a black body, it was blue, her favorite color, though her eyes were not blue now. They were crimson, glowing black, almost lighter yet darker than the rest of its body. I still don't understand how I just knew it was her. The Shadow started toward my father, slow yet fast, elegant and majestic, yet deadly beyond belief with an air of superiority and an aura that makes you shiver, makes you want to run and hide, yet stay and watch it's floating gait. The long, curved scimitars reached out toward my father. Then, when the scimitars were a few feet away, he turned around.
"Coral, get the fuck out of here, you lazy wentch and get me my beer." Again, mood swings. Coraline was my mothers name, he never called her "Coral" and seemed to forget she has been dead and her coffin next to him. I was not sure why he was insulting my mother when she was with scimitars. The runic marking of a coffin now made sense. "WHY AREN'T YOU-." He tried to yell, but mother rushed forward with her scimitars and stabbed my father ruthlessly, drawing so much blood. It all spilled all the floor and soon, the scimitars were covered with gore and my father lying in a pool of the same things that were on mothers blades. Slowly, mother made her way towards me. Her gait was almost sad but happy, now that she has killed who has killed her. She has avenged herself, and her vengence is fullfilled. Eyes now blue, speaking with body language, I understood perfectly, no words necessary. Almost telepathically, I "heard": "He could not send you away. Join me in the afterlife, willingly or not." She was going to kill me. I ran, out of the bedroom and outside, but mother was too fast. She caught me and stabbed me in multiple spots, the grass bloody as can be, but then, before we could finish the job, a gun shot was heard. I fell unconscious.
Now fully conscious, my heart slowly, ever so slowly beating. I couldn't sit up. I haven't the strength to even attempt it. Somehow being able to, I turned my head to see my Graem, my uncle. He wore a blue vest with jeans and on his shoulder hung a hunting rifle. "I saw her too. She needs you to be dead to pass on. Same with your father. She needs me dead as well. I hope you will live. Don't try to talk, just sleep. I'll watch over you to my best ability." With that, I fell unconscious again. A few hours later, I woke to see uncle dead, his blue vest tattered. Mother must have not wanted to kill me. I sought out my neighbors and then adopted. Their names escape me, but they were kind people. They had another child, I remember him. His name was Tromel.
When I was 18, I didn't see a sign of The Shadow. I was over at Tromel's house. He had an amazing gun and knife collection, but more importantly he was sick with lime disease. It was only a day until my birthday, and I wanted to spend it with him, helping him back to health. That would be my birthday present from him. But then, on midnight, on my 19th birthday, the house was engulfed in darkness. I rushed outside and didn't understand until...
The memories came back to me.
I stumbled. I fell. I tried to get up to try to go back and help Tromel. But the darkness engulfed me. With instincts, I jumped to the side. The scimitars missed and mother zoomed by me, only to come back again. I feinted to the left then jumped to the right. She fell for it. I was running out of time, not much longer could I last. I decided that my life was worth nothing. It was best if my mother could move on. I lost all will to live until I heard the house fall behind me. With rage, I new Tromel was dead. I couldn't believe my stupidity. Why didn't I take him out with me? Now with newfound strength and purpose, mother did not deserve to move on. I ran towards her, without caring of the scimitars. They found my body, but she wasn't ethereal. I could hit her. I made contact, I hit her, I hurt her. Screaming telepathically, she retreated. I knew my wounds were fatal. Collasped and hardly breathing, sleep, everlasting promise of sleep engulfed me, and I fell into it.
I woke up, gasping. It was all a dream? No. It wasn't. I was on a hospital bed. I barely remembered anything from the hospital. All medical nonsense. All I knew was that I needed to be safe. I went to the best place I had in mind, a place where I might be okay. All the times she attacked, there was darkness, even darker than noraml darkness. They'd shoot the being. A mental hospital. Insane Asylum, a high security prison. There was a certain one I knew, so I escaped there, calling myself a test subject for them.
The Asylum had barbed and electric fences. It was all on the surface. Every building. It was actually quite beautiful, with nature growing on the tall buildings. It had nice style in the rooms and test chambers, with beautifully decorated marble floors and amazing cobblestone walls. I was kept in nice conditions because I wasn't insane. Insane people were sent underground, under the buildings. She could not attack me here. But she tried. She tried...
It was day. I walked out onto the courtyard, excersizing when the darkness came. She stepped out, eyes burning with crimson red. The runes flaired. Sunlight could not reach her. Then, the gunshots came. She was not invincable. The bullets went into her. And it was over quickly. With a cry of defeat, she dispersed into nightmarish patterns of dark material.
I told this same story a hundred times because I was asked. They needed to know. Yet, they deemed me crazy and sent me below to the underground. They then conducted tests on me. Through the testing, my sanity has barely survived and I am starved, without water, without hope. I know I'll be dead soon. And I will have my revenge for these poor conditions. How? Because, the runic mark of a scimitar on my shoulder tells me so.
If people enjoyed this, I will happily make a second part and other things will also be explained in it better, like why Connors mother was trying to kill him.