Welcome to 5 nights at Anthonys house. Well be going over 2 creepy stories, each, night. Enjoy! 3:-) Logic, for all the trust we place in it, is really nothing more than a candle, all too easily snuffed out. And when it is gone, we are left alone in the dark, and everything we would give no mind to during daylight suddenly becomes very believable. Alright, before I wax too melodramatic, heres my story. I was very young; only 4 or 5, at most, before either of my siblings were born. It was just Mommy and Daddy and me, living in our little house in Great Bend, Kansas. Very quaint. We were a young family. It was the middle of the day; summer, hot, boring. I was playing marbles by myself on the thin carpet beside the huge, old, flower-patterned-couch. Mom was down the hall in the kitchen, and Dad was at work. Why I was trying to roll marbles around on the carpet I dont know - we had a perfectly good linoleum floor, after all. But there I was, swishing the marbles back and forth, happily bouncing them into each other. Then, in my overzealous enthusiasm, I rolled too hard. My favorite marble - the clear, ruby-red one, zipped into the dark space under the couch and was lost. Dammit. Dad wasnt home, and he was the only one strong enough to move that huge old couch for me. Id have to get my marble back myself. I reached my hand under the couch, tentatively at first, then deeper. Encountering no marbles, I pulled my hand out in disappointment. Then, a hand reached out from under the couch back at me. I remember the image vividly, and I suspect I always will. It was a slim hand, with tapered fingers - a womans hand. It was gnarled and wrinkled, as if aged, and it was dead black. Not black as in African, black as in dead. Of course, back then, I didnt know that corpses blacken as they decompose, so I didnt know what the black meant. The hand reached out to me as far as it could, which was just up to the wrist. Then it retreated under the couch. Then it emerged again, this time pushing with it a little crumpled up, plastic bag with a logo on it I didnt recognize. It waited, as if expecting me to take the bag. Then, when I didnt, it pulled the bag back under the couch and was gone. I got up, walked down to the kitchen, and told my Mommy what had happened. Why didnt I run screaming, or at least run? I dont really know. All I can say is, I was a little kid; a hand reaching out from under the couch at me didnt seem like that huge a deal. I hadnt yet learned what was and was not permissible in reality. I had no worldview. Mom was skeptical, but walked me back to the couch and explained how I was probably imagining things. She even reached her hand under the couch to convince me that nothing was down there. Later, Dad lifted the couch up for me, and the only thing under it was, of course, my missing marble, plus a few more marbles I didnt even remember losing. But heres the scary part... For years, I remembered this - I even developed a weird fantasy of little hand-people living under the couch, and I, in my childlike innocence, believed that they would catch me and take me away if I ever reached into their domain again. Then, as I grew older, I wrote the memory off as a dream I had had as a child - cute, but silly. Then, a few years ago, I recounted the story to my mother. She gave me a funny look, and told me she remembered it, because, after all, she had been there. She told me that she remembered me coming to her in the middle of the day and telling her about the hand under the couch, and remembered being highly disturbed by my story, since I was an extremely quiet, well-behaved kid who didnt ever lie. Then she told me about the couch itself. According to her, she and Dad had gotten the couch from the estate of an old woman who had actually died on it. This was the first time I had heard about this, but it sure explained why they got rid of the couch within a month of my story. But heres part that truly frightens me, even to this day. The part that I have to try so hard to get out of my mind some nights. Remember that bag the hand pushed towards me? Ive never forgotten the logo that was on it. And, recently, (as in a few years ago), I saw the same logo again, on what looked like the same type of bag, in a hardware store. It was a bag of utility razor-blades...
Posted on: Tue, 20 Jan 2015 02:31:45 +0000
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