BedIntruder
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What are your scariest stories (not from creepypasta)?
Most of mine will be from /r/nosleep, and most of them will be really long.
1. Please don't tell mother
Mother laid sleeping in her bed. It had been so long since she had joined me for breakfast. Her eyes stared into mine with such contempt and disappointment. I tried to be a good son, but she wouldn't talk to me. It was a simple mistake. For a brief moment I thought I could leave our wonderful home in search of something more. It was selfish. Mother needed me. I left mother and now she is so sad. I remember the last thing she said to me before heading to her bed and never coming out,
“There you are, buried between the legs of a wh*re, just like your father. You make me sick.”
It was a single indiscretion. The girl had complimented my hair and the way I talked. One thing had indeed led to another and I found myself tempted by this Jezebel and in the throes of passion. It was our special time. This girl, I never even learned her name, had given me something mother had not in forty years of life, relief. When she found us on the chaise sofa finishing our dirty deed, I was at a loss for words. She looked so hurt.
The girl ran, but mother would not let our sin go unpunished. I was told to stand in the corner as she dragged the girl kicking and screaming down the hallway. Her screams were all I heard until mother returned in silence. She had been naughty. Mother did not like naughty children. I had been naughty and mother would see fit to punish me.
Mother stoked the fireplace and glowing orange embers flew up from the coals. After letting the iron poker heat to an orange glow, she placed it to my bare chest to leave another reminder of my terrible behavior. The flesh seared and I grimaced. I knew better than to scream. A good son is a quiet son. When she had finished punishing me for my indiscretion, she went up to her room. She never comes out of her room anymore.
My name is Melvin. I am a good son. Mother has done her best to raise me up over the past forty years. I'm not very smart. Mother tells me that the world is not kind to boys like me. Sometimes mother lets me play in the yard. I wasn't allow to go into the outside world. My only experiences with the outside are movies my mother let me watch. Ever since that girl and I did the bad thing on the sofa, mother doesn't let me play anymore. I spend my days doing chores and reading the books mother gave me. They are getting old. I've read Moby Inappropriate body part on a male so many times I can almost recite it from memory. Mother isn't impressed by this.
She demands that I read and study until I am ready to leave the home. I keep failing. Every time I try to take the test required to call myself a man, I get scared and choked up. Has anyone ever passed that test? It is so heartless. How am I supposed to tell my mother I no longer love her. I know it is required in order to leave, but I cannot bring myself to lie like that. She can be tough, but mother loves me.
I'm not suppose to be on Reddit. Mother bought me a computer so I could work my job online. It is a set of fairly simple tasks. I take medical notes that are mailed to the house and enter them into a form on a website. I do this for about twelve hours a day. Mother says I'm a good boy for earning enough money to buy us food. If mother catches me at an unapproved website she punishes me. Mother's discipline hurts almost as much as the thought of disappointing her, but I've been reading some of the stories here and I can see some of you are dealing with the bad man too.
The Bad Man started coming around last year. Mother brought him into her bedroom and she made all kinds of awful noises. I was scared. I tried to open her door but she screamed at me to go away. Shortly after The Bad Man came downstairs and walked out the door. He comes by about once a week now. I tried to stop him from hurting mother, but she punished me and said he was helping her. I don't see how. She was making terrible noises the last time he came. She doesn't make any noises now. I think she is mad at me. I let The Bad Man hurt her and now she stares at the wall all day. I haven't seen her downstairs in weeks.
Each morning I bring mother a tray of food. I do the same at lunch and dinner. When the trays began to pile up I stood there and begged mother to eat. She is wasting away in that bed. I don't know why she won't talk to me. I try so hard to be good.
One day I did something bad.
I wanted to see if mother would come punish me. She keeps chocolates in the freezer. I'm not allowed to have them. I ate one, then another. After a while I had eaten the whole box. I shouted out that I had eaten all of her chocolates, but she didn't make a sound. I ordered her more online. I'm not allowed to go to the store. Mother says that only men are allowed to leave the house alone. I refuse to pass the manhood test. I don't hate mother. The world is cruel for requiring that. That is probably why none of you ever talk about it.
I'm not supposed to talk to people online. Mother told me that bad men would hurt me if I talked to people. I see you talking to each other and wish I could join the conversation. It has been a very long time since I have talked to anyone besides Mother. I get lonely though. I wanted to talk to someone but Mother wasn't very talkative. I decided to search Google for a new Mother to talk to.
This is how I met Cheryl. She tells me to call her Mommy.
Mommy has a web camera and spends her days talking to boys like me. The first time I messaged her she said that I had to pay two dollars a minute to talk to her. This was not a problem. Having worked so hard for so long, I understood that Mommies needed money. I took Mother's credit card and rented Mommy for an hour. I was so inconsiderate though. When I called her on Skype she didn't even have clothes on. She got dressed and talked to me. It made me happy.
She was younger that Mother. In fact, she was younger that me. I am forty and a half. She said she was thirty-nine. Even still, she became Mommy. Every day I would talk to Mommy for an hour. She would tell me that I was a good boy and that she loved me. She told me it was okay to go on Reddit and to talk to people. Mother wouldn't approve, but Mommy was better than Mother. I felt terrible for thinking that but whereas Mother was cruel and strict, Mommy gave me love and encouraged me to go outside.
With Mommy's encouragement I went outside for the first time in three years the other day. I was worried I would meet another girl. Mother was very strict about girls. She said they were snakes that wanted to eat my innocence. After what happened before, I believed her. Even still, Mommy encouraged me to go out and make friends. This was a mistake.
I walked to the end of the sidewalk and giggled as I put one toe on the street. I had never been that far away from the house. I stepped onto the road and turned left. I had never been outside the yard before. I wanted to be extra careful not to do anything bad. I walked for an hour before I saw a park. I had always wanted to go to the park, but Mother wouldn't allow it. She said the other kids would be mean to me. I saw swings. I wanted to play on the swings.
I walked over to the swings and sat down. I had seen a kid play on the swings in a movie. Awkwardly at first, I kicked my legs out and brought them back. Then I went down the slide. It was fun. There was another kid behind me that was afraid to go down the slide. I waved at her and she started crying. Her Mother came up to me and said,
“Get away from my daughter you pervert!”
I looked at her and said, “What is a pervert? Mother called me that once but she wouldn't explain it.”
The woman started screaming. I said, “You shouldn't shout. Mother said shouting is bad.”
The woman grabbed her daughter and ran away. The playground didn't turn out to be fun. I was sad. I turned to walk home and I realized I didn't know where home was. I started to cry. I sat at the bottom of the slide crying until a police officer walked up to me and said,
“Sir, can I see some identification?”
Still crying I said, “Mother said I wasn't allowed to have identification. She said the government used it to brand us.”
The Police Officer said, “Sir, what is your name?”
I looked up. The Police Officer had a stern look on his face. I replied, “My name is Melvin, Melvin Patten.”
The police officer crouched down and handed me a handkerchief. He said, “Melvin Patten, as in THE Melvin Patten?”
I nodded. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Melvin, would you like to ride with me to the police station.”
I nodded again. The Police Officer let me ride in the front seat of his car. He turned out to be pretty nice. It was confusing. Mother said the police were bad people, but this man was pretty nice. He walked me into the station and put my hand on this weird machine that ran a line of light across my fingers. Then he led me to a chair and gave me a chocolate bar. He asked me a strange question,
“Melvin, where have you been for the last thirty-five years?”
I replied, “I've been with mother. We live at 378 Willowbrook Lane. Are you going to take me home?”
The officer paused for a moment and said into his radio, “Send a patrol unit to 378 Willowbrook Lane.”
He turned to me and said, “Melvin, what is your mother's name?”
I remembered the name from the credit card and said, “Patricia Walton, but I'm not supposed to call her that.”
The officer typed at his computer and asked me to sit still while he worked. I was happy to oblige. He was a nice man and he had given me candy. When I got home I was going to tell Mommy about how I met a nice police officer. I knew Mother would be angry, but I had an idea. I would get Mommy to talk to Mother! It was a great idea. I just had to leave the police station and go home. I tugged on the officer's shirt and said, “When can I go home?”
The officer said, “Not right now. I have to confirm a few things. Don't worry, we have an officer going to check on your Mother. Everything will be okay.”
A voice came over the radio, “Dispatch, we have multiple 10-54's at 378 Willowbrook Lane. I'm going to need more units.”
The officer turned to me and said, “Melvin, why are there dead bodies in your house?”
I shook my head and said, “There aren't any. Mother is sleeping upstairs and the girls Mother punished are in the basement.”
The officer spoke over the radio, “Unit 23, was there a single 10-54 upstairs in bed and multiple 10-54's in the basement?”
A few moments later the voice on the voice on the radio replied, “10-4”
I started to get scared. As I rocked back in forth in my seat the police officer said, “Melvin, I'm going to move you to your own room. Will you come peacefully?”
I nodded and them man led me to a small white room with a blue mattress on a metal frame. There was a toilet. I giggled. Who would put a toilet in the bedroom? It was a silly room. I was worried about Mother but the police officer was taking care of her. I laid down for a nap.
I woke to a new police officer leading me to a room with a big mirror. I sat at a chair facing the mirror and he sat in front of me. He said,
“Mr. Patten we ran your prints and they match a set taken when you were in preschool. Your parents are outside, but before we bring them in here we need to discuss the bodies in your home. How acquainted were you with Patrica Walton?”
I replied, “Mother is here? Oh please send her in. I was so worried.”
The officer replied, “Mr. Patten, I need you to address the bodies.”
I frowned and answered him, “Sometimes a girl would come to the door or talk to me in the yard. Mother would punish me for talking to them. In one case I did something very naughty with a girl and mother dragged her away. She screamed so loud. I was scared.”
The officer said, “How did your mother punish you Melvin?”
I lifted up my shirt.
The man spoke into a radio, “I need a camera in here, now.” Several men took pictures of my chest. I was embarrassed. When they were done the officer turned to me and said, “Your mother did this to you?”
I nodded.
A few minutes later a strange woman and an old man came into the room. The ran up and hugged me. The woman kissed me on the cheek. Both of them were crying. I was sad for them, but the kisses tickled.
I said, “Who are you guys?”
The old man said, “Melvin, I'm your father. This is your REAL mother. The officer told us that awful woman told you she was your mother.”
I stood up and pushed them off of me. I grabbed the man by his shirt screaming, “LIAR! DON'T SAY BAD THINGS ABOUT MOTHER!”
I threw him across the room.
The strange woman wrapped her arms around me and shouted, “It's true Melvin. Think back. We were at the grocery store and that woman grabbed you. I'm your mother. I gave birth to you!”
The police officers flooded into the room and pulled the woman off of me. I was tackled to the ground and put into cuffs. They returned me to that white room. I was happy to be alone. I thought about what the woman said. How did she know what my first memory was? When I was a kid I was at the grocery store with Mother and I was afraid she had gone away forever. Then mother picked me up out of the cart and carried me home. She was a good mother. That man was a liar.
I woke up the next day and I was placed back in chains and led to a van. After a long car ride I was taken to Western State Hospital. Still in chains, I sat across from this bald man in a white coat. He asked me several questions and I was sure to be honest. Mother said never to lie. He pulled out a small tape recorder.
The doctor spoke into the recorder,
“Subject shows severe mental and emotional disability. His demeanor is almost childlike. I have serious doubts that he understands his situation. My advice is that he be treated for severe PTSD and Stockholm Syndrome. From there we can discuss permanent placement.”
I understand the words, but I don't understand how they apply to me. People have been saying a lot of strange things lately. I just want to go back to Mother. I want to talk to Mommy on the computer. They let me use the computer here but when I tried to go to Mommy's site the screen read, “Content Blocked: Pornography” Mommy is not pornography.
The doctor showed me a movie this morning. I don't want to believe it. It is just a movie. Mother said movies aren't real. A lady on the movie said this:
“In what should have been happy news, missing child Melvin Patten, subject of one of the first nationwide campaigns for missing children was found alive in a playground just a few days ago. He had been held for thirty-five years by serial killer Patricia Walton. Numerous bodies were recovered from the house on Willowbrook Lane. Sadly, Melvin has endured a sad life. Doctors say he is developmentally stunted and unaware of his situation. Melvin's birth parents could not be reached for comment, but a lawyer for the family said they declined to comment. No word yet on the issue of Melvin standing trial for his involvement in Patricia Walton's slayings. We will give you more news as it is made available. This is Meghan Cogar signing off.”
So many lies. Why is everyone lying to me?
2. Where Children Play
Playgrounds are meant to be a place where children can run around, have fun and be themselves, but for me, it was a nightmare. I enjoyed it at first, but after time, it became a place to truly fear. I was six when I first started going there. My mother would be sitting on a bench reading a book, while my brother and I played on the swing set or the slides. It was all fun and it got even better when Mr. Piggyton came along.
Mr. Piggyton was a man in a pig costume. Most of the children were scared of him, mostly because of his dark eyes, but none of the parents seemed to mind him being there. I didn't mind him being there either. We would gather around Mr. Piggyton, holding hands and singing songs. We would sing songs like Mary Had a Little Lamb, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and many other children's songs. But, before we'd break up from our little circle, we'd sing a song that Mr. Piggyton wrote; he'd call it our theme song. The chorus of the song went something like this:
It's where children play together
And be best friends forever
Hide and I will try to find you
We really love each other
Nothing could be better
Than spending forever with you
After we'd sing the song, we would play hide and seek. Mr. Piggyton would always be the seeker, while all of us children would run and hide. It was always an innocent game we would play, until one day, it wasn't really innocent at all.
I was hiding behind some bushes when I saw Mr. Piggyton creep pass me. He looked at me, his finger to his lips, and he whispered "shh" before creeping up on Evan who was hiding behind a tree. "I found you, Evan," he said with his high pitched voice. He picked Evan up and he walked into the nearby woods. They disappeared off into the distance and that boy was never seen again.
I told my brother about what had happened, but he didn't believe me. I wanted to tell my mother, but I was afraid to. When Mr. Piggyton told me to stay quiet, I had a feeling he was referring to the fact that he was kidnapping Evan. I feared that he would get me next if I said anything about it to my mother.
The entire town got together to search for Evan, but had no luck of finding him. My brother and I were kept from the playground for a while, but my mother eventually brought us back. I never wanted to go back; I dreaded the thought of going back there and seeing that dark eyed man pig again, but my brother enjoyed it and my mother enjoyed reading there so I had no choice but to go back.
The first day that we were back on the playground, there was no sign of Mr. Piggyton. I figured that maybe the police found out it was him and had arrested him, but that wasn't what happened. Mr. Piggyton eventually came back. I was horrified as I saw him creep out of the woods, looking left and then right to see if any parents had noticed him. Our parents didn't mind him being there. I guess they figured he was being payed to be at the playground and entertainment us children, but no, that wasn't the case. He did it all by his own free will. He enjoyed children in the most fearful way possible.
The other children asked Mr. Piggyton what happened to Evan. He replied, "Well, boys and girls, when we were playing hide and seek, I found Evan which means...he gets to play with me forever!" They all cheered as if that was a good thing, including my little brother. He told them that they couldn't tell anybody else and that it had to be kept a secret. I stayed away from Mr. Piggyton and the other children; I sat alone on the other side of the playground as they held hands in a circle while singing songs. The entire time they'd dance and sing, Mr. Piggyton, with his dark eyes, would stare right at me. He'd put his finger to his mouth and he'd whisper "shh."
I was growing horrified of him, completely and utterly horrified. Every time he'd whisper to me to keep quiet, all I heard was "You better not tell anybody, or you will be next." It was basically the same thing. My mother would ask me why I don't join the other children anymore. I replied by simply stating that they scare me. I guess she assumed it was just a phase that would rare off because she never asked any more questions.
The thought of Mr. Piggyton gave me nightmares. I would literally be afraid to sleep at night in fear that I would have a nightmare about him, but at the same time I was afraid of staying awake in fear that he'd show up in my bedroom. I slept alone as my brother and I had our own rooms. I was never able to keep my eyes open and so, I'd drift off to sleep and slip into a nightmare that had everything to do with Mr. Piggyton.
I still remember a few of those nightmares, even as a now twenty eight year old, I still remember. I don't think I can ever forget them; those nightmares, that song is planted in my mind as a memory I won't soon forget. The first nightmare occurred a week after Mr. Piggyton had kidnapped Evan. I was in my bed, trying to go to sleep when I heard the sound of whistling echo through my room. It was coming from my bed and whoever or whatever it was, was whistling to the tune of Mr. Piggyton's creepy theme song. I sat in my bed riddled with fear as the whistling continued. A slight breeze ran through me, entering my room from the small cracking of the my bedroom window. I told myself not to look, I told myself over and over again, but I ceased to listen. I slowly leaned off the side of my bed and I lifted the sheets that covered the darkness underneath. I peeked underneath and within the darkness, I saw a baby doll that I had never seen before. As I sat back in my bed, I was horrified by the appearance of Mr. Piggyton who, I noticed, looking through my mirror, was sitting just behind me. I woke up after that, screaming for my mother who ran in to console me.
As the weeks went on, It seemed as if those nightmares were getting more and more frequent. I couldn't close my eyes for a second without seeing him and I couldn't open my eyes without thinking about him. In a sense, he was everywhere and there was no escaping him. I remember another nightmare I had of him; I've actually had this same nightmare many times. I'd be asleep when I wake up to the sound of knocking on my closet door. I'd stay there in bed, just glancing over at the door before laying back down. I'd try to go back to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, the knocking would continue. Eventually, I'd get out of bed and creep toward the closet door. As I'd get closer, I'd hear a little girl as she'd sing that song. I'd take a deep breath before opening the door, just to find out that there would never be anyone in there; nothing but clothes and toys. I'd go back to my bed, and I'd try to go back to sleep, but again the knocking at the door would continue. I'd get out of bed again and I'd scream for my mom, just for her to never show up. I'd check in the closet again, but I'd never see anybody. I would then lay back down, pretend to close my eyes and I'd open them to see Mr. Piggyton, knocking at the closet door from the outside. "Oh shucks," he'd say. "You found me." I'd scream and then wake up right after. I don't know why I'd have that same nightmare many times, but every time I did, I didn't ever know what was going to happen, so it was always horrifying.
None of the nightmares I had ever had comes close to as horrifying as the one I'll be sharing next. As far as I can remember, I had this dream only once. I was at the playground; it was dark and dreadfully silent. The only things I could hear were the howling of the wolves, and the singing of children that I could not see. They were singing that dreadful song and their voices echoed right through me. The street lights were flickering; I can remember every little detail, even the sound of my young fragile heart.
Mr. Piggyton was dancing over by the swing set before he stopped and stared at me. Yes, his eyes were pitch black, but I could still see that they were watching me. He slowly walked up to me; my heart beating louder after each step he took. I looked up at him as he stood in front of me, staring into his fearful eyes. "Hello, Casey. Would you like to play hide and seek?" he asked. His high pitched voice was echoing with the wind. Everything in my nightmares had echoes for some reason. I shook my head no, but I knew that it didn't matter rather I wanted to play or not. "I'm gonna count to ten, Casey," he said. "You might want to hide before then."
He ran off and began counting; I could hear his voice echoing as he counted. 1, 2. I was sitting still. 3, 4. My heart was pounding in my chest. 5, 6. I stood up and I ran off. 7, 8. I hid behind a tree. 9, 10. Ready or not, here I come!
Sometimes when you dream, you are aware that you are dreaming, but I had absolutely no idea. It all felt so real; despite the fact that it was clearly a nightmare, it all felt so real. I was standing with my back against the tree, my eyes were closed as I was too afraid to open them. I did open them eventually and when I did, he was standing right in front of me. There was no telling how long he'd been standing there watching me. "I found you, Casey," he said. I ran, but it seemed like no matter where I ran, he was there. I couldn't escape him; he lifted me up over his shoulders and we disappeared into the woods.
Still in that same dream, I woke up alone in some bedroom. The walls were written on with markers and crayons and every word read "Mr. Piggyton" in sloppy writing form. I got out of the bed and I left the room through the open door. As I walked through the hallway, I could hear the sound of children singing Mr. Piggyton's theme song. They were singing the second verse and for some reason, every lyric crept me out.
We hide and we seek
We draw and we read
We wave to the sun
Let's all have some fun!
As I walked through the hall, I noticed a girl in one of the rooms. She was drawing Mr. Piggyton on the wall, using a blue crayon. I had no idea what was going on, but I kept walking. It seemed like I was in some kind of hospital, but there weren't any nurses or doctors. There was nothing that dealt with medicine, just children and toys.
Inside another room, I noticed a young boy. He was sitting on his knees, playing with a toy train. He was wearing blue and white striped pajamas without anything on his feet. I stood there and I watched him before his head suddenly turned towards me. It was Evan, the boy who Mr. Piggyton had recently taken. He was pale and thin, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. The most troubling thing about him, was that he had no mouth and yet he was still singing; singing that song. I'm not saying his mouth was sewn shut, I'm saying he literally had no mouth; it was just gone. "Look what Mr. Piggyton made me, Casey," he said. For some reason, rather he was brainwashed or what, he seemed happy to be there; all of the children did.
I kept on walking through the halls, unsure of what it was I was looking for. I noticed another boy in one of the other rooms. He was dancing, spinning around before he stopped and stared at me. His head was tilted to the right as he looked at me and just like Evan, he had no mouth. He then waved; I was too afraid to wave back. He turned the other way and continued dancing. I'm assuming he was dancing to the tune of the music box that sat in the center of the room. The music box was playing the melody to the song that I've grown so horrified of.
As I continued walking, a loud sound echoed through the halls. It was a constant banging, as if somebody was pounding on something with a hammer. It got louder as I continued walking. The sound eventually led me to a two sided door with a sign that read "Stay Out." Despite the sign, I slightly opened the door; just to peek inside. I noticed a man, hammering at what appeared to be a doll house. To the right of him was a costume, the pig costume that he would wear to lure children to him. The head sat on the chair, and I swear it was staring at me with its dark eyes. The man suddenly stopped hammering and his head snapped toward me unnaturally. Just like the other children, he had no mouth.
"Hello, Casey," he said in a deep manly voice. "I made this for you." He picked the doll house up and slowly walked toward me. "Since your gonna be here forever, you deserve something special." I shut the door and I ran down the hall just to be stopped by a crowd of children. There were at least twenty of them, and they all had no mouth. "Play with us forever, Casey," they said, their voices echoing through the air. "This is where children play."
I looked behind me to see Mr. Piggyton in his full costume, walking toward me with the dollhouse in his hands. I turned to my right and ran through the door. I was inside a bathroom and just like the other rooms, the walls were drawn on with markers and crayons. There were drawings of Mr. Piggyton everywhere, you really could not escape them. I look toward the mirror and I stood in fear by what I had seen. My mouth, it was gone. Tears escaped and ran down my face as the lights started flickering until they turned off completely. It was dark and it all felt so real. I closed my eyes and I held them shut for what seemed like an eternity. That was the end of my nightmare; I woke up in my room, hoping to never dream of that again.
Back to reality, at least three times a week, my mother would take my brother and I back to the playground. No matter how many times I cried and shouted that I never want to go back there, I always found myself back at the playground. I remember on one of those horrifying days, I was sitting alone on the see saw when Mr. Piggyton came up to me. "Hello, Casey. Would you like to play hide and seek?" I shook my head no and I ran to my mother. I looked back at Mr. Piggyton and he had his finger to his lips, whispering "shh."
My mother would always tell me to "run along and play with the other kids" but I'd stick to her, my head resting on her lap. "Why don't play with the other children?" She asked me. "I hear they're having fun with Mr. Piggyton." I told her that Mr. Piggyton was no longer my friend. She replied by stating "you're growing up too fast, Casey."
As the years went on and my brother and I got older, we stopped going to the playground. We moved away from the town, miles away from Mr. Piggyton. We both eventually forgot about him and the nightmares became nonexistent. It wasn't until I started taking my four year old daughter to our local playground that the thought of him had emerged from the back of my mind, where all of my childhood fears were hidden and momentarily forgotten.
I asked my brother about Mr. Piggyton, quite embarrassed to bring him up. I asked if he remembered him, but apparently, he had no memory of him whatsoever. He was only four back then and this was twenty years ago, so it's understandable why he didn't remember. When my mother came over to visit for Christmas of last year, I asked her if she had any memory of Mr. Piggyton.
"Mom, do you remember that guy in the pig costume? Mr. Piggyton?" I asked. It took her a while to draw the memory from the back of her mind.
"Oh yeah, ya'll little friend from the playground," she said. "What about him? I haven't heard of him since you were eight."
"I just wanted to know if you remember what he looked like." She looked at me, obviously confused. She then said something that twisted everything within me, something that made me question rather those dreams I had as a child were really just dreams.
"I don't know, Hunny, none of us parents ever saw him," she said. I guess we figured you children had an imaginary friend together. We all thought it was cute how ya'll would hold hands in a circle and pretend that Mr. Piggyton was there. You kids had quite the imagination."
3.Careful with how you lock your doors.
My neighbourhood has always been what you'd describe as "Ultimate Fishing Rod Of Doom cliche'd". White picket fences, Fathers happily barbequeing, the works. Not to say that this wasn't nice, it was certainly a lovely neighbourhood, and the peace was well worth the humdrum day to day it'd provide.
Of course, it never lasts, otherwise I wouldn't be here telling you all this.
It all started about three weeks ago, we started to get breakins in the neighbourhood. Never anything too serious, it was just food from pantries, and the occasional box of goodwill clothing that had been thoughtlessly left outside. Of course, even if only food or clothes were stolen, it's still incredibly unnerving to know that someone was prowling around your home while you might even have been inside it, so the old rules of the neighbourhood watch were dusted off, and everyone was vigilant for the next two weeks or so before they stopped caring again. People relax too easily.
I suppose a little background on myself is important here. I'm a university student, living at home with my mother and father, and my sister. Dad's in banking, Mum delivers the mail. Pretty standard. We've got a pretty nice home that we moved into about 6 years ago, for a price you could call "Tough but fair", kitted out with a pool, two ensuites, a gaming room, the works. We all lived upstairs when we were younger because kids generally don't like living on a different floor to their parents, but as we got older they shifted me downstairs so that I could have a bit more room to myself.
Now, this will be complicated, but bear with me because it's important.
The layout of my room is what you could consider at best, unusual. With a lot of Australian homes, it's not uncommon to have the main entrance on the 2nd floor, which then lead down to your ground floor, so therefore, my room can be entered through two different ways. You can come downstairs straight into the bulk of my room, you can take the outside door that goes through the laundry, down a hallway, in turn to my room. I don't have any doors to actually close my room, a fact that has made hooking up very difficult in my teen life.
Three days ago, I woke up in this room to hear someone walking around. This isn't an uncommon occurrence as it's an old house, it does creak. It took me a few minutes to realise why this bothered me so much.
The steps were someone walking around on my floor.
This doesn't happen. My mother and father used to do it, back in my first days of living down here, but I'm a light sleeper and whenever they came down to throw some clothes in the washing machine it'd wake me every time.
I Good myself. I've never been brave at the best of times. I just sat there pretending to sleep, hoping he or she would just take whatever and leave. I then heard a click, of my door closing, with no more footsteps. I waited for several minutes before I even dared to move, before sprinting upstairs and waking up Mum and Dad in a blind panic. We didn't sleep that night, we were too busy searching the house.
He didn't take anything. Not a single thing.
Mum and Dad let me stay home for a few days after that, albeit once we'd replaced the locks with deadbolts and looked at some high level security systems. I was still convinced he'd stolen something, it was too unusual that based off what had been happening in the neighbourhood, he'd chosen to take nothing here. So I did some investigating.
I spent a few hours essentially itemising my own belongings, the food in our pantry, I'd even considered testing for prints at one stage when I noticed something. The laundry has several doors for storage of brooms and the like, and one of them was sitting slightly ajar. I swung it open, a kitchen knife at the ready, only to be slightly embarrassed. Then I noticed something at the bottom, hidden just out of view by a bucket.
There was a panel in the wall here, just one of your standard ones for accessing the inner area of the wall. Of course, I was still on edge, so I thought I had no other choice but to investigate. I opened it up, and shined a torch inside, only to see a massive cavity, one that extended all the way to the wall of my bedroom.
That's not the part that bothers me. You miss these kind of things when you move into a house.
What bothers me is the food wrappers and rags of clothing I found in there.
What bothers me is the pictures on the walls of the neighborhood children.
What bothers me is the constant thought I've had every single day since then.
There's only one reason to break in to somewhere and not steal a single thing.
You weren't breaking in at all. You were heading out for the night.
Most of mine will be from /r/nosleep, and most of them will be really long.
1. Please don't tell mother
Mother laid sleeping in her bed. It had been so long since she had joined me for breakfast. Her eyes stared into mine with such contempt and disappointment. I tried to be a good son, but she wouldn't talk to me. It was a simple mistake. For a brief moment I thought I could leave our wonderful home in search of something more. It was selfish. Mother needed me. I left mother and now she is so sad. I remember the last thing she said to me before heading to her bed and never coming out,
“There you are, buried between the legs of a wh*re, just like your father. You make me sick.”
It was a single indiscretion. The girl had complimented my hair and the way I talked. One thing had indeed led to another and I found myself tempted by this Jezebel and in the throes of passion. It was our special time. This girl, I never even learned her name, had given me something mother had not in forty years of life, relief. When she found us on the chaise sofa finishing our dirty deed, I was at a loss for words. She looked so hurt.
The girl ran, but mother would not let our sin go unpunished. I was told to stand in the corner as she dragged the girl kicking and screaming down the hallway. Her screams were all I heard until mother returned in silence. She had been naughty. Mother did not like naughty children. I had been naughty and mother would see fit to punish me.
Mother stoked the fireplace and glowing orange embers flew up from the coals. After letting the iron poker heat to an orange glow, she placed it to my bare chest to leave another reminder of my terrible behavior. The flesh seared and I grimaced. I knew better than to scream. A good son is a quiet son. When she had finished punishing me for my indiscretion, she went up to her room. She never comes out of her room anymore.
My name is Melvin. I am a good son. Mother has done her best to raise me up over the past forty years. I'm not very smart. Mother tells me that the world is not kind to boys like me. Sometimes mother lets me play in the yard. I wasn't allow to go into the outside world. My only experiences with the outside are movies my mother let me watch. Ever since that girl and I did the bad thing on the sofa, mother doesn't let me play anymore. I spend my days doing chores and reading the books mother gave me. They are getting old. I've read Moby Inappropriate body part on a male so many times I can almost recite it from memory. Mother isn't impressed by this.
She demands that I read and study until I am ready to leave the home. I keep failing. Every time I try to take the test required to call myself a man, I get scared and choked up. Has anyone ever passed that test? It is so heartless. How am I supposed to tell my mother I no longer love her. I know it is required in order to leave, but I cannot bring myself to lie like that. She can be tough, but mother loves me.
I'm not suppose to be on Reddit. Mother bought me a computer so I could work my job online. It is a set of fairly simple tasks. I take medical notes that are mailed to the house and enter them into a form on a website. I do this for about twelve hours a day. Mother says I'm a good boy for earning enough money to buy us food. If mother catches me at an unapproved website she punishes me. Mother's discipline hurts almost as much as the thought of disappointing her, but I've been reading some of the stories here and I can see some of you are dealing with the bad man too.
The Bad Man started coming around last year. Mother brought him into her bedroom and she made all kinds of awful noises. I was scared. I tried to open her door but she screamed at me to go away. Shortly after The Bad Man came downstairs and walked out the door. He comes by about once a week now. I tried to stop him from hurting mother, but she punished me and said he was helping her. I don't see how. She was making terrible noises the last time he came. She doesn't make any noises now. I think she is mad at me. I let The Bad Man hurt her and now she stares at the wall all day. I haven't seen her downstairs in weeks.
Each morning I bring mother a tray of food. I do the same at lunch and dinner. When the trays began to pile up I stood there and begged mother to eat. She is wasting away in that bed. I don't know why she won't talk to me. I try so hard to be good.
One day I did something bad.
I wanted to see if mother would come punish me. She keeps chocolates in the freezer. I'm not allowed to have them. I ate one, then another. After a while I had eaten the whole box. I shouted out that I had eaten all of her chocolates, but she didn't make a sound. I ordered her more online. I'm not allowed to go to the store. Mother says that only men are allowed to leave the house alone. I refuse to pass the manhood test. I don't hate mother. The world is cruel for requiring that. That is probably why none of you ever talk about it.
I'm not supposed to talk to people online. Mother told me that bad men would hurt me if I talked to people. I see you talking to each other and wish I could join the conversation. It has been a very long time since I have talked to anyone besides Mother. I get lonely though. I wanted to talk to someone but Mother wasn't very talkative. I decided to search Google for a new Mother to talk to.
This is how I met Cheryl. She tells me to call her Mommy.
Mommy has a web camera and spends her days talking to boys like me. The first time I messaged her she said that I had to pay two dollars a minute to talk to her. This was not a problem. Having worked so hard for so long, I understood that Mommies needed money. I took Mother's credit card and rented Mommy for an hour. I was so inconsiderate though. When I called her on Skype she didn't even have clothes on. She got dressed and talked to me. It made me happy.
She was younger that Mother. In fact, she was younger that me. I am forty and a half. She said she was thirty-nine. Even still, she became Mommy. Every day I would talk to Mommy for an hour. She would tell me that I was a good boy and that she loved me. She told me it was okay to go on Reddit and to talk to people. Mother wouldn't approve, but Mommy was better than Mother. I felt terrible for thinking that but whereas Mother was cruel and strict, Mommy gave me love and encouraged me to go outside.
With Mommy's encouragement I went outside for the first time in three years the other day. I was worried I would meet another girl. Mother was very strict about girls. She said they were snakes that wanted to eat my innocence. After what happened before, I believed her. Even still, Mommy encouraged me to go out and make friends. This was a mistake.
I walked to the end of the sidewalk and giggled as I put one toe on the street. I had never been that far away from the house. I stepped onto the road and turned left. I had never been outside the yard before. I wanted to be extra careful not to do anything bad. I walked for an hour before I saw a park. I had always wanted to go to the park, but Mother wouldn't allow it. She said the other kids would be mean to me. I saw swings. I wanted to play on the swings.
I walked over to the swings and sat down. I had seen a kid play on the swings in a movie. Awkwardly at first, I kicked my legs out and brought them back. Then I went down the slide. It was fun. There was another kid behind me that was afraid to go down the slide. I waved at her and she started crying. Her Mother came up to me and said,
“Get away from my daughter you pervert!”
I looked at her and said, “What is a pervert? Mother called me that once but she wouldn't explain it.”
The woman started screaming. I said, “You shouldn't shout. Mother said shouting is bad.”
The woman grabbed her daughter and ran away. The playground didn't turn out to be fun. I was sad. I turned to walk home and I realized I didn't know where home was. I started to cry. I sat at the bottom of the slide crying until a police officer walked up to me and said,
“Sir, can I see some identification?”
Still crying I said, “Mother said I wasn't allowed to have identification. She said the government used it to brand us.”
The Police Officer said, “Sir, what is your name?”
I looked up. The Police Officer had a stern look on his face. I replied, “My name is Melvin, Melvin Patten.”
The police officer crouched down and handed me a handkerchief. He said, “Melvin Patten, as in THE Melvin Patten?”
I nodded. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Melvin, would you like to ride with me to the police station.”
I nodded again. The Police Officer let me ride in the front seat of his car. He turned out to be pretty nice. It was confusing. Mother said the police were bad people, but this man was pretty nice. He walked me into the station and put my hand on this weird machine that ran a line of light across my fingers. Then he led me to a chair and gave me a chocolate bar. He asked me a strange question,
“Melvin, where have you been for the last thirty-five years?”
I replied, “I've been with mother. We live at 378 Willowbrook Lane. Are you going to take me home?”
The officer paused for a moment and said into his radio, “Send a patrol unit to 378 Willowbrook Lane.”
He turned to me and said, “Melvin, what is your mother's name?”
I remembered the name from the credit card and said, “Patricia Walton, but I'm not supposed to call her that.”
The officer typed at his computer and asked me to sit still while he worked. I was happy to oblige. He was a nice man and he had given me candy. When I got home I was going to tell Mommy about how I met a nice police officer. I knew Mother would be angry, but I had an idea. I would get Mommy to talk to Mother! It was a great idea. I just had to leave the police station and go home. I tugged on the officer's shirt and said, “When can I go home?”
The officer said, “Not right now. I have to confirm a few things. Don't worry, we have an officer going to check on your Mother. Everything will be okay.”
A voice came over the radio, “Dispatch, we have multiple 10-54's at 378 Willowbrook Lane. I'm going to need more units.”
The officer turned to me and said, “Melvin, why are there dead bodies in your house?”
I shook my head and said, “There aren't any. Mother is sleeping upstairs and the girls Mother punished are in the basement.”
The officer spoke over the radio, “Unit 23, was there a single 10-54 upstairs in bed and multiple 10-54's in the basement?”
A few moments later the voice on the voice on the radio replied, “10-4”
I started to get scared. As I rocked back in forth in my seat the police officer said, “Melvin, I'm going to move you to your own room. Will you come peacefully?”
I nodded and them man led me to a small white room with a blue mattress on a metal frame. There was a toilet. I giggled. Who would put a toilet in the bedroom? It was a silly room. I was worried about Mother but the police officer was taking care of her. I laid down for a nap.
I woke to a new police officer leading me to a room with a big mirror. I sat at a chair facing the mirror and he sat in front of me. He said,
“Mr. Patten we ran your prints and they match a set taken when you were in preschool. Your parents are outside, but before we bring them in here we need to discuss the bodies in your home. How acquainted were you with Patrica Walton?”
I replied, “Mother is here? Oh please send her in. I was so worried.”
The officer replied, “Mr. Patten, I need you to address the bodies.”
I frowned and answered him, “Sometimes a girl would come to the door or talk to me in the yard. Mother would punish me for talking to them. In one case I did something very naughty with a girl and mother dragged her away. She screamed so loud. I was scared.”
The officer said, “How did your mother punish you Melvin?”
I lifted up my shirt.
The man spoke into a radio, “I need a camera in here, now.” Several men took pictures of my chest. I was embarrassed. When they were done the officer turned to me and said, “Your mother did this to you?”
I nodded.
A few minutes later a strange woman and an old man came into the room. The ran up and hugged me. The woman kissed me on the cheek. Both of them were crying. I was sad for them, but the kisses tickled.
I said, “Who are you guys?”
The old man said, “Melvin, I'm your father. This is your REAL mother. The officer told us that awful woman told you she was your mother.”
I stood up and pushed them off of me. I grabbed the man by his shirt screaming, “LIAR! DON'T SAY BAD THINGS ABOUT MOTHER!”
I threw him across the room.
The strange woman wrapped her arms around me and shouted, “It's true Melvin. Think back. We were at the grocery store and that woman grabbed you. I'm your mother. I gave birth to you!”
The police officers flooded into the room and pulled the woman off of me. I was tackled to the ground and put into cuffs. They returned me to that white room. I was happy to be alone. I thought about what the woman said. How did she know what my first memory was? When I was a kid I was at the grocery store with Mother and I was afraid she had gone away forever. Then mother picked me up out of the cart and carried me home. She was a good mother. That man was a liar.
I woke up the next day and I was placed back in chains and led to a van. After a long car ride I was taken to Western State Hospital. Still in chains, I sat across from this bald man in a white coat. He asked me several questions and I was sure to be honest. Mother said never to lie. He pulled out a small tape recorder.
The doctor spoke into the recorder,
“Subject shows severe mental and emotional disability. His demeanor is almost childlike. I have serious doubts that he understands his situation. My advice is that he be treated for severe PTSD and Stockholm Syndrome. From there we can discuss permanent placement.”
I understand the words, but I don't understand how they apply to me. People have been saying a lot of strange things lately. I just want to go back to Mother. I want to talk to Mommy on the computer. They let me use the computer here but when I tried to go to Mommy's site the screen read, “Content Blocked: Pornography” Mommy is not pornography.
The doctor showed me a movie this morning. I don't want to believe it. It is just a movie. Mother said movies aren't real. A lady on the movie said this:
“In what should have been happy news, missing child Melvin Patten, subject of one of the first nationwide campaigns for missing children was found alive in a playground just a few days ago. He had been held for thirty-five years by serial killer Patricia Walton. Numerous bodies were recovered from the house on Willowbrook Lane. Sadly, Melvin has endured a sad life. Doctors say he is developmentally stunted and unaware of his situation. Melvin's birth parents could not be reached for comment, but a lawyer for the family said they declined to comment. No word yet on the issue of Melvin standing trial for his involvement in Patricia Walton's slayings. We will give you more news as it is made available. This is Meghan Cogar signing off.”
So many lies. Why is everyone lying to me?
2. Where Children Play
Playgrounds are meant to be a place where children can run around, have fun and be themselves, but for me, it was a nightmare. I enjoyed it at first, but after time, it became a place to truly fear. I was six when I first started going there. My mother would be sitting on a bench reading a book, while my brother and I played on the swing set or the slides. It was all fun and it got even better when Mr. Piggyton came along.
Mr. Piggyton was a man in a pig costume. Most of the children were scared of him, mostly because of his dark eyes, but none of the parents seemed to mind him being there. I didn't mind him being there either. We would gather around Mr. Piggyton, holding hands and singing songs. We would sing songs like Mary Had a Little Lamb, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star and many other children's songs. But, before we'd break up from our little circle, we'd sing a song that Mr. Piggyton wrote; he'd call it our theme song. The chorus of the song went something like this:
It's where children play together
And be best friends forever
Hide and I will try to find you
We really love each other
Nothing could be better
Than spending forever with you
After we'd sing the song, we would play hide and seek. Mr. Piggyton would always be the seeker, while all of us children would run and hide. It was always an innocent game we would play, until one day, it wasn't really innocent at all.
I was hiding behind some bushes when I saw Mr. Piggyton creep pass me. He looked at me, his finger to his lips, and he whispered "shh" before creeping up on Evan who was hiding behind a tree. "I found you, Evan," he said with his high pitched voice. He picked Evan up and he walked into the nearby woods. They disappeared off into the distance and that boy was never seen again.
I told my brother about what had happened, but he didn't believe me. I wanted to tell my mother, but I was afraid to. When Mr. Piggyton told me to stay quiet, I had a feeling he was referring to the fact that he was kidnapping Evan. I feared that he would get me next if I said anything about it to my mother.
The entire town got together to search for Evan, but had no luck of finding him. My brother and I were kept from the playground for a while, but my mother eventually brought us back. I never wanted to go back; I dreaded the thought of going back there and seeing that dark eyed man pig again, but my brother enjoyed it and my mother enjoyed reading there so I had no choice but to go back.
The first day that we were back on the playground, there was no sign of Mr. Piggyton. I figured that maybe the police found out it was him and had arrested him, but that wasn't what happened. Mr. Piggyton eventually came back. I was horrified as I saw him creep out of the woods, looking left and then right to see if any parents had noticed him. Our parents didn't mind him being there. I guess they figured he was being payed to be at the playground and entertainment us children, but no, that wasn't the case. He did it all by his own free will. He enjoyed children in the most fearful way possible.
The other children asked Mr. Piggyton what happened to Evan. He replied, "Well, boys and girls, when we were playing hide and seek, I found Evan which means...he gets to play with me forever!" They all cheered as if that was a good thing, including my little brother. He told them that they couldn't tell anybody else and that it had to be kept a secret. I stayed away from Mr. Piggyton and the other children; I sat alone on the other side of the playground as they held hands in a circle while singing songs. The entire time they'd dance and sing, Mr. Piggyton, with his dark eyes, would stare right at me. He'd put his finger to his mouth and he'd whisper "shh."
I was growing horrified of him, completely and utterly horrified. Every time he'd whisper to me to keep quiet, all I heard was "You better not tell anybody, or you will be next." It was basically the same thing. My mother would ask me why I don't join the other children anymore. I replied by simply stating that they scare me. I guess she assumed it was just a phase that would rare off because she never asked any more questions.
The thought of Mr. Piggyton gave me nightmares. I would literally be afraid to sleep at night in fear that I would have a nightmare about him, but at the same time I was afraid of staying awake in fear that he'd show up in my bedroom. I slept alone as my brother and I had our own rooms. I was never able to keep my eyes open and so, I'd drift off to sleep and slip into a nightmare that had everything to do with Mr. Piggyton.
I still remember a few of those nightmares, even as a now twenty eight year old, I still remember. I don't think I can ever forget them; those nightmares, that song is planted in my mind as a memory I won't soon forget. The first nightmare occurred a week after Mr. Piggyton had kidnapped Evan. I was in my bed, trying to go to sleep when I heard the sound of whistling echo through my room. It was coming from my bed and whoever or whatever it was, was whistling to the tune of Mr. Piggyton's creepy theme song. I sat in my bed riddled with fear as the whistling continued. A slight breeze ran through me, entering my room from the small cracking of the my bedroom window. I told myself not to look, I told myself over and over again, but I ceased to listen. I slowly leaned off the side of my bed and I lifted the sheets that covered the darkness underneath. I peeked underneath and within the darkness, I saw a baby doll that I had never seen before. As I sat back in my bed, I was horrified by the appearance of Mr. Piggyton who, I noticed, looking through my mirror, was sitting just behind me. I woke up after that, screaming for my mother who ran in to console me.
As the weeks went on, It seemed as if those nightmares were getting more and more frequent. I couldn't close my eyes for a second without seeing him and I couldn't open my eyes without thinking about him. In a sense, he was everywhere and there was no escaping him. I remember another nightmare I had of him; I've actually had this same nightmare many times. I'd be asleep when I wake up to the sound of knocking on my closet door. I'd stay there in bed, just glancing over at the door before laying back down. I'd try to go back to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, the knocking would continue. Eventually, I'd get out of bed and creep toward the closet door. As I'd get closer, I'd hear a little girl as she'd sing that song. I'd take a deep breath before opening the door, just to find out that there would never be anyone in there; nothing but clothes and toys. I'd go back to my bed, and I'd try to go back to sleep, but again the knocking at the door would continue. I'd get out of bed again and I'd scream for my mom, just for her to never show up. I'd check in the closet again, but I'd never see anybody. I would then lay back down, pretend to close my eyes and I'd open them to see Mr. Piggyton, knocking at the closet door from the outside. "Oh shucks," he'd say. "You found me." I'd scream and then wake up right after. I don't know why I'd have that same nightmare many times, but every time I did, I didn't ever know what was going to happen, so it was always horrifying.
None of the nightmares I had ever had comes close to as horrifying as the one I'll be sharing next. As far as I can remember, I had this dream only once. I was at the playground; it was dark and dreadfully silent. The only things I could hear were the howling of the wolves, and the singing of children that I could not see. They were singing that dreadful song and their voices echoed right through me. The street lights were flickering; I can remember every little detail, even the sound of my young fragile heart.
Mr. Piggyton was dancing over by the swing set before he stopped and stared at me. Yes, his eyes were pitch black, but I could still see that they were watching me. He slowly walked up to me; my heart beating louder after each step he took. I looked up at him as he stood in front of me, staring into his fearful eyes. "Hello, Casey. Would you like to play hide and seek?" he asked. His high pitched voice was echoing with the wind. Everything in my nightmares had echoes for some reason. I shook my head no, but I knew that it didn't matter rather I wanted to play or not. "I'm gonna count to ten, Casey," he said. "You might want to hide before then."
He ran off and began counting; I could hear his voice echoing as he counted. 1, 2. I was sitting still. 3, 4. My heart was pounding in my chest. 5, 6. I stood up and I ran off. 7, 8. I hid behind a tree. 9, 10. Ready or not, here I come!
Sometimes when you dream, you are aware that you are dreaming, but I had absolutely no idea. It all felt so real; despite the fact that it was clearly a nightmare, it all felt so real. I was standing with my back against the tree, my eyes were closed as I was too afraid to open them. I did open them eventually and when I did, he was standing right in front of me. There was no telling how long he'd been standing there watching me. "I found you, Casey," he said. I ran, but it seemed like no matter where I ran, he was there. I couldn't escape him; he lifted me up over his shoulders and we disappeared into the woods.
Still in that same dream, I woke up alone in some bedroom. The walls were written on with markers and crayons and every word read "Mr. Piggyton" in sloppy writing form. I got out of the bed and I left the room through the open door. As I walked through the hallway, I could hear the sound of children singing Mr. Piggyton's theme song. They were singing the second verse and for some reason, every lyric crept me out.
We hide and we seek
We draw and we read
We wave to the sun
Let's all have some fun!
As I walked through the hall, I noticed a girl in one of the rooms. She was drawing Mr. Piggyton on the wall, using a blue crayon. I had no idea what was going on, but I kept walking. It seemed like I was in some kind of hospital, but there weren't any nurses or doctors. There was nothing that dealt with medicine, just children and toys.
Inside another room, I noticed a young boy. He was sitting on his knees, playing with a toy train. He was wearing blue and white striped pajamas without anything on his feet. I stood there and I watched him before his head suddenly turned towards me. It was Evan, the boy who Mr. Piggyton had recently taken. He was pale and thin, as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. The most troubling thing about him, was that he had no mouth and yet he was still singing; singing that song. I'm not saying his mouth was sewn shut, I'm saying he literally had no mouth; it was just gone. "Look what Mr. Piggyton made me, Casey," he said. For some reason, rather he was brainwashed or what, he seemed happy to be there; all of the children did.
I kept on walking through the halls, unsure of what it was I was looking for. I noticed another boy in one of the other rooms. He was dancing, spinning around before he stopped and stared at me. His head was tilted to the right as he looked at me and just like Evan, he had no mouth. He then waved; I was too afraid to wave back. He turned the other way and continued dancing. I'm assuming he was dancing to the tune of the music box that sat in the center of the room. The music box was playing the melody to the song that I've grown so horrified of.
As I continued walking, a loud sound echoed through the halls. It was a constant banging, as if somebody was pounding on something with a hammer. It got louder as I continued walking. The sound eventually led me to a two sided door with a sign that read "Stay Out." Despite the sign, I slightly opened the door; just to peek inside. I noticed a man, hammering at what appeared to be a doll house. To the right of him was a costume, the pig costume that he would wear to lure children to him. The head sat on the chair, and I swear it was staring at me with its dark eyes. The man suddenly stopped hammering and his head snapped toward me unnaturally. Just like the other children, he had no mouth.
"Hello, Casey," he said in a deep manly voice. "I made this for you." He picked the doll house up and slowly walked toward me. "Since your gonna be here forever, you deserve something special." I shut the door and I ran down the hall just to be stopped by a crowd of children. There were at least twenty of them, and they all had no mouth. "Play with us forever, Casey," they said, their voices echoing through the air. "This is where children play."
I looked behind me to see Mr. Piggyton in his full costume, walking toward me with the dollhouse in his hands. I turned to my right and ran through the door. I was inside a bathroom and just like the other rooms, the walls were drawn on with markers and crayons. There were drawings of Mr. Piggyton everywhere, you really could not escape them. I look toward the mirror and I stood in fear by what I had seen. My mouth, it was gone. Tears escaped and ran down my face as the lights started flickering until they turned off completely. It was dark and it all felt so real. I closed my eyes and I held them shut for what seemed like an eternity. That was the end of my nightmare; I woke up in my room, hoping to never dream of that again.
Back to reality, at least three times a week, my mother would take my brother and I back to the playground. No matter how many times I cried and shouted that I never want to go back there, I always found myself back at the playground. I remember on one of those horrifying days, I was sitting alone on the see saw when Mr. Piggyton came up to me. "Hello, Casey. Would you like to play hide and seek?" I shook my head no and I ran to my mother. I looked back at Mr. Piggyton and he had his finger to his lips, whispering "shh."
My mother would always tell me to "run along and play with the other kids" but I'd stick to her, my head resting on her lap. "Why don't play with the other children?" She asked me. "I hear they're having fun with Mr. Piggyton." I told her that Mr. Piggyton was no longer my friend. She replied by stating "you're growing up too fast, Casey."
As the years went on and my brother and I got older, we stopped going to the playground. We moved away from the town, miles away from Mr. Piggyton. We both eventually forgot about him and the nightmares became nonexistent. It wasn't until I started taking my four year old daughter to our local playground that the thought of him had emerged from the back of my mind, where all of my childhood fears were hidden and momentarily forgotten.
I asked my brother about Mr. Piggyton, quite embarrassed to bring him up. I asked if he remembered him, but apparently, he had no memory of him whatsoever. He was only four back then and this was twenty years ago, so it's understandable why he didn't remember. When my mother came over to visit for Christmas of last year, I asked her if she had any memory of Mr. Piggyton.
"Mom, do you remember that guy in the pig costume? Mr. Piggyton?" I asked. It took her a while to draw the memory from the back of her mind.
"Oh yeah, ya'll little friend from the playground," she said. "What about him? I haven't heard of him since you were eight."
"I just wanted to know if you remember what he looked like." She looked at me, obviously confused. She then said something that twisted everything within me, something that made me question rather those dreams I had as a child were really just dreams.
"I don't know, Hunny, none of us parents ever saw him," she said. I guess we figured you children had an imaginary friend together. We all thought it was cute how ya'll would hold hands in a circle and pretend that Mr. Piggyton was there. You kids had quite the imagination."
3.Careful with how you lock your doors.
My neighbourhood has always been what you'd describe as "Ultimate Fishing Rod Of Doom cliche'd". White picket fences, Fathers happily barbequeing, the works. Not to say that this wasn't nice, it was certainly a lovely neighbourhood, and the peace was well worth the humdrum day to day it'd provide.
Of course, it never lasts, otherwise I wouldn't be here telling you all this.
It all started about three weeks ago, we started to get breakins in the neighbourhood. Never anything too serious, it was just food from pantries, and the occasional box of goodwill clothing that had been thoughtlessly left outside. Of course, even if only food or clothes were stolen, it's still incredibly unnerving to know that someone was prowling around your home while you might even have been inside it, so the old rules of the neighbourhood watch were dusted off, and everyone was vigilant for the next two weeks or so before they stopped caring again. People relax too easily.
I suppose a little background on myself is important here. I'm a university student, living at home with my mother and father, and my sister. Dad's in banking, Mum delivers the mail. Pretty standard. We've got a pretty nice home that we moved into about 6 years ago, for a price you could call "Tough but fair", kitted out with a pool, two ensuites, a gaming room, the works. We all lived upstairs when we were younger because kids generally don't like living on a different floor to their parents, but as we got older they shifted me downstairs so that I could have a bit more room to myself.
Now, this will be complicated, but bear with me because it's important.
The layout of my room is what you could consider at best, unusual. With a lot of Australian homes, it's not uncommon to have the main entrance on the 2nd floor, which then lead down to your ground floor, so therefore, my room can be entered through two different ways. You can come downstairs straight into the bulk of my room, you can take the outside door that goes through the laundry, down a hallway, in turn to my room. I don't have any doors to actually close my room, a fact that has made hooking up very difficult in my teen life.
Three days ago, I woke up in this room to hear someone walking around. This isn't an uncommon occurrence as it's an old house, it does creak. It took me a few minutes to realise why this bothered me so much.
The steps were someone walking around on my floor.
This doesn't happen. My mother and father used to do it, back in my first days of living down here, but I'm a light sleeper and whenever they came down to throw some clothes in the washing machine it'd wake me every time.
I Good myself. I've never been brave at the best of times. I just sat there pretending to sleep, hoping he or she would just take whatever and leave. I then heard a click, of my door closing, with no more footsteps. I waited for several minutes before I even dared to move, before sprinting upstairs and waking up Mum and Dad in a blind panic. We didn't sleep that night, we were too busy searching the house.
He didn't take anything. Not a single thing.
Mum and Dad let me stay home for a few days after that, albeit once we'd replaced the locks with deadbolts and looked at some high level security systems. I was still convinced he'd stolen something, it was too unusual that based off what had been happening in the neighbourhood, he'd chosen to take nothing here. So I did some investigating.
I spent a few hours essentially itemising my own belongings, the food in our pantry, I'd even considered testing for prints at one stage when I noticed something. The laundry has several doors for storage of brooms and the like, and one of them was sitting slightly ajar. I swung it open, a kitchen knife at the ready, only to be slightly embarrassed. Then I noticed something at the bottom, hidden just out of view by a bucket.
There was a panel in the wall here, just one of your standard ones for accessing the inner area of the wall. Of course, I was still on edge, so I thought I had no other choice but to investigate. I opened it up, and shined a torch inside, only to see a massive cavity, one that extended all the way to the wall of my bedroom.
That's not the part that bothers me. You miss these kind of things when you move into a house.
What bothers me is the food wrappers and rags of clothing I found in there.
What bothers me is the pictures on the walls of the neighborhood children.
What bothers me is the constant thought I've had every single day since then.
There's only one reason to break in to somewhere and not steal a single thing.
You weren't breaking in at all. You were heading out for the night.
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