scarlet_nyx Thread

Alright, here's my story concerning a friends house, her mothers death, and Lake Placid with whiskey shots.

Long ago in a suburb far far away, I had this awesome friend. Lets call her L. Now, L was the complete opposite of me ; I was going through a "goth"/dark phase and ( to this day ) can barely boil water. She on the other hand loved soft floral colors and cooking awesome meals. I was the Marceline to her Princess Bubblegum, except she was crazy smart in the art department.

She loved books, same as me. Her favorite story for a time was " The Phantom of the Opera". She read the book several times, watched all the movies ( including the weird as hell one with Robert Englund as the Opera Ghost ) and read all of the fan theories ( he was real! He had Treacher by Collins Syndrome! His children still live below French streets! ). Needless to say, she was hooked.

One day, she calls me in a frantic. While sitting in her bedroom doing stuff, the very secure mirror hanging from her door just dropped straight down and cracked right down the middle. No one else was home, no large going by her home, etc. I calm her down and assure her that hew newish house is simply settling, but all she could talk about was how " Erik is here". I brush it off as fangirl fever and promise to talk to her about it at school the next day.

This goes on for awhile with her saying she feels things around the house, especially when she plays music of any kind. I am finally over at the house one day to feel this - again, no one else was at home, no one drove past, etc. She started playing music and the whole air just felt... Heavier. Like this perfectly new house with huge bay windows wide open had been shut up for years. There was a sour taste on my tongue, much like when you start cleaning out a closet and there's a weird sour, but dirty taste? I know its just the power of suggestion, but it was so weird on a bright, sunny day with the windows wide open.

Over the years, we sadly drifted apart. Long story on that front. But, it all kinda started with her mothers death. Blah blah, long illness, family spirals down into self destruction, blah blah. One day, after my friend had ran away from all of her issues to live in a state that most people forget exist, I was over at her old house with her brother and girlfriend. We were babysitting the house while her father got wrapped up in a golddigger lady.

So, we're sitting in the living room doing whiskey shots and watching Lake Placid. We were toasty, but not drunk at all. Also, I sort of happened to be sitting and later sleeping on the same couch her mother died on. For a horror movie fan, that was a horrible choice.

After the movie ends, we were all pretty tired. They both offered my friends old room, but I had too many memories in there and would not have had a good nights sleep. So, forgetting the hundreds of hours of movies I've seen, I elected to sleep on the couch. that her mother died on. In a house I suspect but don't want to admit something is fucky with.

I manage to dose off with warm thoughts of giant crocs in my head. Around dawn though, I wake up completely unable to breathe. As my eyes are flung open in a state of primal terror, I notice a long, spindly black "shadow" creature with its hand around my throat/pressing my chest. Every breath was torture. This goes on for what seems like hours but, is really only a few moments. Then, I remember my meditation training. At the time ( and now, but at the time as well ) I was/am very much into "modding" my conscious state. I calmed my animal instincts, stilled my flailing arms, and asserted my divine nature as a being on this planet.

To my shock ( because lolhippieshit) the shadow immediately "dropped" me, walked AROUND the coffee table to my right, and stopped at the doorway to the kitchen. It then turned around, smiled at me, and walked into the kitchen while still facing me.

Later on, my friends told me they heard me scream out for them. But, they couldn't get to me due to their door not opening, even with both of them pushing and ramming themselves onto it. That was the last time I went over to that house.