I grew up in a small town in Ohio with my mom, dad and big sister. We were a normal family, neither happy nor sad, somewhere in between. I was always interested in music as a kid so I spent most of my time playing piano, practicing guitar or trying my best to write my own songs. It was also some sort of medicine for me; it helped me drift away into my own world when my sister and my mom had disputes. You see, my sister was one of those rebellious teenagers at the time that had to have their own way or the rest of the world had to suffer their unfair ranting. I hated it; I hated hearing her yell at my poor mother. During a lonesome walk home from school one day I got a call from my dad, making sure that I didn’t have any plans and telling me that I had to come home as fast as possible. My dad never called my cell phone unless he really wanted something so I knew right away something was up. I remember jogging most of the route home, since my dad sounded so serious. It gave me the creeps to say the least. I jumped over the fence surrounding our villa and paced myself into our house. The kitchen was the first room you’d see upon entering and it was empty so I assumed they were in the living room upstairs. As I was making my way up the stairs I could hear my sister sobbing uncontrollably, something had definitely happened. My dad was standing up as my sister was sitting on the couch, he told me to sit down as well. I was scared and curious at the same time. Dad and my sister never really spoke or had any arguments since my father didn’t bother caring too much about any of my sisters business, so I could figure out that this wasn’t about my sister. I remember sitting there in dead silence with the exception of my sister shedding tears and trying to keep her crying as quiet as possible. My dad was looking like he had no idea what to do or say, as if he didn’t know how to explain something to me. Finally, after a long pause my dad made an introduction to whatever I thought this was about at the time. He said: “Your mother…” and then he needed to grasp some air, and he continued: “Your mother has passed away.” I was eight years old and I couldn’t grasp that concept. I didn’t understand death, or that my mom was eternally gone. I just sat there as I was developing an irrational anger towards god-knows-what, I remember thinking how unfair this was. I do however forgive my dad for telling me so bluntly, he didn’t know what to do and he was in shock at the time. My sister continued crying, she asked dad how mom died although it was obvious she didn’t actually care to know at that precise moment. She was just being desperate and no one could blame her. I thought it was my sisters fault when I was there, I thought that was why she was crying so much. I didn’t shed a single tear; I kept it all inside. Of course that didn’t mean this incident didn’t haunt me for years, I never stopped thinking about my mother. The aftermath of my mother’s death is what has been shaping my life the recent years. My sister was very weak emotionally and it basically drove her insane. My dad had to take her to an actual mental hospital. Something I didn’t even think existed when I was eight. This resulted in that I didn’t get to meet my sister very often, my dad kept telling me she was in a special school for students that wanted a challenge; but I overheard enough conversations to know where she really was. I guess my dad was trying to keep me out of it, and I didn’t blame him. I was guessing that my sister wasn’t doing very well at the hospital since we got to see her less and less as years went by, something that troubled me; I hated living in this big villa of ours with just my dad. It felt so dead, and my dad had been more kept to himself after mom died. We didn’t do anything, I literally spent all time at home in my room, making or playing music. Me and my dad didn’t even greet sometimes when I came home from school, it was depressing. My theory for his change in behavior has always been that he blamed himself for my mother’s death, something that I’m about to get into. You are probably wondering how she died by now, and it’s a legit question to be asking. The best answer I could give you is that I don’t know. My dad has always told me she died of liver-failure but for some reason that has always sounded like a lie to me. It didn’t add up, my mom never had any problems with her liver before and she didn’t drink. I think it was something he made up when I was younger because he assumed I wasn’t mature enough to hear the truth. In addition to this, whenever I asked my dad about this matter he’d get heavily upset. Nowadays I never ask about my mom’s death, nor do I even bring up mom as a topic. Years went by and I ended up being fourteen. It kept going like I just described, I spent most times in my room playing music as my dad did whatever he was doing on his own in the house. My dad did work, he had the night-time shift at a local bottle factory, I’m not joking, he actually made glass bottles for a living. He had higher ambitions but most of them got crushed when he and my mother got my sister, they had to move and dad basically had no other financial option than to quit the university he was attending at the time and get a quick and close job. You guessed it, the bottle factory. I was riding my bike home late at night after spending the evening in the school library at one point when I was fourteen. My school was the type that had an after-school library that didn’t close till 11 pm. I didn’t need any of the books or supplies that the library offered; I just studied there sometimes since it felt less depressing than my father and our lonely villa. Either way, I hadn’t seen my sister for two years that night and I was starting to get the idea that I wouldn’t see her again for another two. When I arrived at the house the front door was open, “This is odd?” I thought. Upon closer examination I realized that someone had taken the spare key from its hidden spot underneath one of my mother’s old jars. It’s never smart to have a spare key hidden right next to the door, number one mistake people do when it comes to spare keys. It did look like whoever had taken it did suffer a struggle before finding it. The rug outside the door was all muffled up and there were scratches on the door, around the lock. I suspected we had been robbed so I pulled out my cell phone, ready to call the police. This is when I heard something coming from inside the house. I was dead scared to say the least, this could have been armed robbers or maybe something worse, I didn’t know. It sounded like someone was grinding furniture against the floor, trying to move it. It was so dark as well, I remember not seeing more than pitch black looking into the open door, technically if someone was in there they would have seen me because of the street lights. I started to slowly pace into the house, walking towards the noise. This is where I had to make a decision, was I going to suddenly turn on the lights in order to reveal whatever was in there or was I going to approach it in the dark? I picked the former. I was just going to switch the lights on when I could see someone strafe into the light coming in through the kitchen window. It was my sister, naked. My entire mindset had to change into a totally different way of dealing with the situation; it took me a good couple of seconds to assume she escaped the hospital. I switched on the lights in an instant. She had redecorated the entire kitchen, in the dark. Of course it all looked hideous and random; she didn’t know what the hell she was doing. I remember being in a slight discomfort, I had never seen my sister naked in my entire life. I also hadn’t seen her for a good couple of years at all. She didn’t look very comfortable either, she looked like she didn’t know who I was and was wondering what I was doing there. I uttered “Linda?” out loud, that was her name. She didn’t respond, she just continued standing there looking at me. “Don’t you remember me, I’m your brother.” I still couldn’t get any feedback out of her; it was as if the wheel wasn’t spinning at all. I wasn’t sure what the protocol here was, not knowing the number to the mental institution or anything I figured I’d try to call dad, before I got to press the call button on my cell phone she uttered: “Don’t call dad.” This is when I realized she couldn’t be completely empty inside after all. “You don’t want to call dad.” She continued. I had no idea what to do, I assumed this was part of the reason she was in the mental hospital in the first place. Luckily my dad got home at that point, not coming from a finished shift at work. He had a good five hours at least left, I assumed the hospital had phoned him and told him about the situation. My father ran into the house as fast as he could. This is when something I didn’t expect happened, he told me to leave. He pointed at the door as if I had no idea how to find my way out of my own house. I asked him where I was supposed to go, he told me to wait in his car. Judging from how serious my dad seemed I didn’t think twice about it, I ran out to the car. As I was sitting in the car I could see my sister walk past the kitchen window a couple of times, I remember how she made no effort to cover her breasts. I had no clue what the two of them were discussing, although I never saw my sister move her lips so I’m guessing my dad did most of the talking. After a couple of minutes my dad started to walk to the car, he joined me inside. I remember asking why he didn’t bring Linda with him, “Don’t call her that name!” he shouted in response. I was so confused at this point. Dad started the car and drove me to my only friend’s house; I didn’t see him very often though. I was a lone wolf growing up and I still was at this point, I didn’t really create any friendships. I remember sitting in the car as he ran up the steps to ring my friend’s doorbell, his mother opened in her night dress and looked confused. I assumed my dad made up some emergency story to cover what was going on in order to get me a place to stay overnight. I didn’t even know what was going on to be fair. Whatever he told them worked, I got to spend the night at my friend’s place. Tim’s place, to be exact. It was pretty awkward I remember, I only saw Tim a couple of times a week and that was when we shared classes in Spanish. We got to be desk-mates because the teacher made up whom to sit next to each semester, so we weren’t very close. It was a Friday so there was no school the morning after; I guessed that made it easier for my dad, leaving him the freedom to pick me up whenever he wanted to. He did, but not before giving me enough time to fully experience the awkward breakfast conversations with Tim’s parents, both trying to justify me as Tim’s best friend. I don’t know. Tim didn’t have many friends I guess. On the way home I asked my dad what was going on the night before and he basically stopped the car and stared at me, as if I was mocking him. I remember how desperate he looked, as if he had no fire left in his heart. He uttered the words: “Do you think I wanted any of this?” as he grabbed his hair in regret. “All I wanted was a normal family with no circumstances, and I’m not blaming you when I’m saying this because frankly you are the only sane member left in this livelihood of ours.” Is what came out of his mouth next. I tried to comfort him, telling him that he had done a good job raising me and what not; I really didn’t have a lot of cards in my deck at this point. I mean my dad was basically losing it. When we got home he told me that he was sorry, and that I should go up to my room. I did go up to my room but I got to tell you; I was starting to get very anxious about my dad. I really wanted to know what the hell was going on. I spent that night recording some guitar sessions for a song and reading books while listening to some ambient records I had found online, I couldn’t sleep so pulling an all-nighter was my only real option. I was reading “A Brief History of Time” for a science project in school, I was somewhere in the middle section of the book and started to get dry eyes. I figured I’d go downstairs into the kitchen to get myself something to drink when I got shocked upon opening the door to the hallway. I saw my mother standing just outside, looking right at me for a fraction of a second. Had all this hassle from the last couple of days driven me insane? It freaked me out so much that I ended up never getting a drink. The image of my mother outside my door haunted me that entire night, I kept thinking about it as I couldn’t sleep. She looked deranged, scared and raw. The shortage of light sources in the hallway made her look like she was from a black and white 50’s movie. I kept begging for the sun to rise up, I even did that thing when you close your eyes and try not to open them because you never know what you’ll see. I might have been fourteen, but I can openly admit that I was dead scared. It finally came to be morning and I ran downstairs, still not fully opening my eyes while passing the hallway. I remember greeting my dad who was sitting in the kitchen drinking orange juice. I was just about to pour myself a glass when he said: “I think I need help.” While holding the glass of juice as if he wasn’t sure he was going to drink the rest of it. I asked him what he meant and he said that he wasn’t sure, that he had felt very uncomfortable and unstable lately. He also mentioned that he was thinking of joining some people from his work in playing golf, he thought that could give him some relief. I told him that sounded like a pretty good idea, jokingly adding that it’s better than hanging around the house doing nothing. He looked offended when I said that, something I didn’t really understand since he obviously worked all night, so that would justify him sleeping through the days. I understand that some of you reading this are wondering how the hell I could have been fourteen and still not know how my mother died. Well, it’s hard to explain how uncomfortable of a character my dad was at times, and it felt a bit like I was offending him whenever I had to ask because part of me did actually believe she died of liver-failure. I mean it was possible. Imagine if it was true, and I kept asking my dad as if he lied to me. That’s the type of thoughts I had in my head about the whole thing. Having that explanation out of the way, I did summon the courage to confront my dad one last time. It was a couple of days after the conversation about my dad picking up golf; I just walked into his room unexpected. A part of me had wanted to do this for a long time because I really never knew what he did in his room; it looked similar to an office which is nothing he’d ever need since he was a labor worker in a bottle factory. He was actually sitting at his desk. Not only that, but the desk was flooded with paper-work of some sort, maybe he had picked up an accounting job for the factory during the day, something he could manage from home. I didn’t ask; I had a big enough question for him as it were. I dragged out a small chair he had behind the door and figured I’d sit on it. It was somewhat squeaky and not very comfortable, better than standing up anyway. Then I leaned forward and I was just about to ask when he interrupted my train of thought by saying: “You want to know about your sister, and what happened the other night. Don’t you?” This is where I started to play along because he was already looking emotionally hurt, bringing up mom here would have been a car-crash. I told him that I was indeed there to ask about my sister. He took a good pause before he bluntly exclaimed it to me: “Your sister is not right in the head; she’s in a mental hospital.” I couldn’t believe he hadn’t figured out that I would have known this by then. Not wanting to make a scene I just pretended like I didn’t know. He explained the context, telling me that she couldn’t take our mother’s death. A tear started climbing down his cheeks, and then he asked me if there was anything else I wanted to talk about. There was no way I could bring up something as sensitive as my mother at this point so I told him that everything was fine, and then I left the room. I realized on my way up to my room that my dad was fragile and very close to losing his mind in this problematic family business. I had no idea how I’d ever get the truth about my mother out of him. When I finally had landed on my bed in my room again, the image of my mom started crawling back to me. The grey scaled portrait of her in the hallway, was my mind playing tricks on me? I also had a slight feeling that I remembered it from somewhere. I mean it was my mom but that exact stare and look she had, not only did it frighten me but I swore I had seen it before. Night landed again, I hadn’t spoken to my father again that day. I was facing the same obstacle that I had the other night, I was too afraid to go downstairs because I thought I’d see my mother again. We all know you can imagine things in the dark, kids do it all the time. It’s as if your mind fills in the gaps, but that incident the other night was different. I got more scared the more I thought of it and figured that I’d open the door to the darn hallway, and turn on the lights in order to feel slightly safer. I’m not going to lie, I did open that door very slowly but as it turned out; there was no sign of my mother. I turned on the lights and went back into my room. Still not wanting to go to bed, not only because it was spring break at this point but also because I was a bit scared I figured I’d listen through some of my older songs. I had loads of them; most of which weren’t very good however. I was still learning how to create music and I never really thought of myself as particularly good, especially not at writing my own songs. I guess I was decent at playing other people’s songs. I basically went through my songs in chronological order, it was interesting because was able to hear how much I had improved over the years. It took me a good three hours to get past most of my songs, and I was reaching the more recent creations of mine. I heard something in one of the songs that I never had paid any attention to before; it was a slight breeze of white noise in the middle of one of my guitar riffs. Knowing that this wasn’t an overworked track yet, it was made just days ago and I hadn’t gotten around to mastering it yet, I figured I wasn’t going to give it more of a thought. That was until the neurons fired, that track was made the day I couldn’t sleep, the day I saw my mother in the hallway. Being a bit gullible I figured that I’d give it a go using my acoustic headphones. I tried everything. I played the song backwards; I cut out bass, middle frequencies, high frequencies and even listened to individual recordings of the instruments and samples. I couldn’t hear anything suspicious, just that white noise. I was a bit disappointed, at the same time relieved. Although that white noise shouldn’t have been there, nothing in my room could have made a noise like that. I didn’t want to over-think the situation, so I ended up hitting the bed. Later that night, as I still had problems sleeping I was laying in bed listening to the same ambient soundtracks that I was using nights before, slowly dozing off to sleep. I hadn’t been asleep for much more than ten minutes when I started to ascend into that state of sleep when you’re in a dream at the same time as real life is somewhat happening to you. I could hear a thumping sound coming from somewhere. Before I knew it I got woken up by a loud bass noise, it sounded like some kind of a technical disorder. I continued lying in bed, trying to figure out if I just dreamt about the noise or if it actually occurred, this is when I heard a much dampened sound coming from the other side of my room. It sounded a lot like someone was trying to get some kind of sound device to work. It got quieter and quieter and when I thought it was about to disappear I could hear a voice; very distorted and unstable speaking in what I believe was Russian. It took me a couple of minutes but I finally realized what I thought the sound was coming from, I had left my old amplifier on from when I was playing guitar. I bounced out of bed in order to turn on the lights. I was overlooking the entire room as I hit the switch, for the blink of an eye, just next to the amplifier I saw my mom again; just as the light went on. The same stare, same face, still that black and white filtered look from before. I got so shocked I fell down on the floor, the noise coming from the amplifier stopped in the same instant. I wasn’t sure what to make of this, and I definitely didn’t want to tell my father about what I had seen, knowing he has already thrown one of his kin to a mental hospital. I had a lot of sleep to catch up on but unfortunately this wouldn’t let me sleep, I just couldn’t sleep at all. I never believed in ghosts or anything growing up, these two small incidents with my mom being my only experience in what could be categorized into the matter. I thought and assumed I was becoming what my sister had become. Whatever this all meant, and needless to say; I didn’t get any sleep that night either. I met my father in the kitchen the next day, he was looking a lot better than the last time I had seen him. He kept going on and on about how much he was looking forward to playing golf with his work-crew later that afternoon. I was happy for him; he deserved some time out of the stress. After the conversation about an afternoon of longing for a spot in the shade and waiting for your turn on a grass field he added: “Have you been thinking of your mother lately?” As if he could read my mind. I told him that I was always missing my mother, and that I had indeed thought of her a lot lately. He stated that he thought I had. I had no clue why. Short after that he left for playing golf. I kept thinking of why my amplifier was acting up that night, I started recalling a clear memory of turning it off after I was done playing. In fact, I knew I did since the amplifier was connected to an electricity hub that I used to turn off a small lamp I had next to my bed, how could it have been on? I had no idea. Since my dad was out of the building I figured I could use this afternoon without his presence to get some answers. I stepped into his room to investigate what he had been doing sitting at that desk of his all those hours. I grabbed a bunch of paperwork and sat myself on the double bed next to his desk, it got me a slight reminder on how he hadn’t gotten rid of the bed he shared with my mother yet. The first paper I started examining looked like a letter of some sort, as if it was a letter inside a legal template of some company. I don’t know how I’d describe it better than that. After further examination I found out it was a letter from my sister sent to our address, I remember wondering why dad wouldn’t show me something like this: “Daddy, why didn’t you visit me last weekend. I thought you were coming back, I was waiting for you. I’m sorry if I made a scene, I thought something had happened to you! I ran to you because I wanted answers, no one has answers here. I’ve been getting visits lately, why can’t you come to me at the same time?” I fixed some grammar and a whole lot of spelling errors for the sake of explaining this to you, my sister had the linguistic abilities of a five year-old in this state. On after-thought I guessed my dad didn’t tell me about letters from my sister since they would inevitably prove that she wasn’t in a special school for people who were after tougher challenges. Although thinking about it, that doesn’t sound ridiculously different than a mental hospital. The rest of the papers seemed to be a real mixture of work-related things and records of local police-investigations. Why would my father be looking into cases of murder, pedophilia, rape and almost anything you can think of? It wasn’t really my business what he did with his spare time but this was just outright messed up. I knew he had a friend in the police force, that was either the reason he had these or just the tool he used to get them. I didn’t even want to know at the time, I had enough stuff on my mind already and I hadn’t slept in far too long. I apologize to whoever reading this if it seems that I’m dragging it out with details a bit too much here and there, I’m only taking precautions to make sure that I’m telling it right. If I’m finally going to tell my story I want it to sound right. My father never came home after golfing so I assumed he went directly to work, which made complete sense. It was starting to get late into the evening and I had absolutely nothing better to do than to once again sit in my room, I was trying to figure out ideas for new songs on my guitar. This time I wasn’t using the amplifier since I was legitimately scared of the noises occurring again. My amplifier has been known to pick up foreign radio broadcasts before, something that explains the distorted Russian speech last time, I wasn’t worrying about that. I was thinking about my mother showing herself again. Not that I was sure that it had anything to do with the amplifier itself. Not too long into that night I started feeling sick of being in-doors for so long, and I felt like I could use some kind of fresh air as a vacation from all this unexplained mystery I had been experiencing. I remember being on the sane side of the fence, thinking critically and trying to find solutions, not marking everything as if it was a conspiracy from hell. I figured I’d take my bike down to a local gas station, not more than ten minutes from my house; I wanted some chips, candy and maybe a couple cans of soda. I scrambled together some change I found in my room and took off; I got there faster than I thought I would. It wasn’t cold outside either; it was a pretty smooth night. After grabbing some generic brand of chips, Skittles and a couple cans of coke I paid for it and left. I didn’t spend much time in the store, but apparently enough time to get my bike stolen. With no bike, feeling like a stupid idiot for not locking it I had to walk home. Something out of the ordinary happened after this, and I wasn’t even sure if I was seeing things at first. I was walking on this huge open road; I guess you could say it was somewhat of a country road. It was tied together with the forest behind our house. It was the type of road that didn’t have any traffic other than truck drivers, passing once every couple of hours at night. I didn’t want to believe my eyes at this point but I saw my sister standing alone wearing what you’d imagine someone coming from a mental hospital would wear. I assumed she was looking for me; she was definitely staring at me. I continued walking, not necessarily fearing my sister. It somehow still felt as if I had a bond with her, that she would never have done anything to hurt me. As I approached her she didn’t give me any response what so ever, she was just staring at me in a light-blue scrub-coat, looking lifeless. I had reached talking-distance; I couldn’t believe this was happening. It felt surreal, like one of those scenarios you can’t be prepared for in real life. She had started to shake a bit, I couldn’t tell if she was freezing or if she was nervous. I asked her if she was looking for me out there, and if she had escaped the hospital. She didn’t respond. I got the notion that she was slightly scared of me, as if I was a threat to her. After a short gap of silence I noticed that she was holding something behind her back. I got a bit worried that she had some kind of a weapon, or a blunt object to swing at me so I stepped back when I spotted it. She started to slowly bring it forth, it was a plastic bag. From the way she was holding it I could tell it wasn’t heavy, or dangerous for that matter. I withdrew the step back I took earlier and tried to peer down into the bag, then she started to stretch it out to me: “I took this from your house the other day, I’m sorry. I think this belongs to you. Jonathan.” I do realize that I never told you my name, it is indeed Jonathan. I was slightly astonished that she had remembered my name even; she seemed to be so out of it. I remember grabbing the plastic bag, she wouldn’t let go of it too lightly either, it was as if she still wanted it. After I had gotten whatever was in the bag we shared another brief moment of silence, she wouldn’t stop staring into my eyes during these. Then she told me to never mention any of this to our dad. Shortly after she started walking towards the forest; as if she knew where she was heading. I saw the headlights of a car coming straight at me and my sister, whoever was in this car was driving way ahead of the speed limit. I noticed when it started to get closer to us that it was my dad’s car, acting on impulse I threw myself into a nearby ditch, as I got to witness my dad chasing after my sister. I didn’t even know if I wanted him to catch her or not, she was purposely running away from him. He dragged her into his car and they both drove away, heading the direction he was originally going. This was the second time she had successfully escaped this mental hospital, and how the hell did my sister make it so far both times? Something wasn’t right, I knew from when I was younger that the hospital wasn’t anywhere close to where we lived since my dad sometimes was gone for ten hours upon visiting her. Of course at the time it was supposedly a special school, but that doesn’t change the logic of it. He never brought me with him whenever he visited my sister, since he kept me in the dark about the whole hospital thing. I ran the rest of the way home, trying not to drop anything; I still had all the items I bought at the gas station. I wanted to make sure that I could get home before my dad did; I had no clue whenever he would get back, and not wanting him to find out whatever was in the bag my sister gave me. I couldn’t spot my dad’s car in the driveway so I felt relieved as I stepped into the house. I didn’t bother putting my drinks in the fridge or anything, I made my way back to my room as fast as I could. I don’t really know why but I locked the door after me, as if there was something to fear. I sat myself on the bed with all the lights in the entire room switched on. I made sure to put all the bags with snacks in them aside; as I was getting ready to dig into whatever my sister ran into the night to give me. I never really thought of something until now, and that is how my sister could have found me. It must have been a coincidence, or she had been following me for a while; knowing she couldn’t approach me in the store. I don’t know. I looked into the bag, it seemed to be random belongings from the drawers in our living room, and maybe some stuff from one of the cupboards we had in the kitchen. After sorting out stuff that had no relevance what so ever, for example there was a roll of tape in there. I planned to spend more time on the more interesting items. The first thing I picked up was a small collection of family photos, most being after mom died. The next thing I could grab was a couple of rocks; they weren’t even dry, I guessed she must have gotten those just before she passed me the bag. There was only one thing left in the bag, an usb-stick. I took the stick out and threw away the bag. Then I started looking at the photos as I was trying to reason why she would have taken any of these from our house. The only thing that somewhat made sense is that a couple of them were from when she wasn’t sent to the hospital yet, but it was pretty much pending already. In fact, most of these photos took place a couple of weeks after our mother passed away. On one of them it’s my sister showing off her prom dress she was planning on wearing, she actually wasn’t acting too badly the first couple of weeks. I guess she didn’t process our mother’s death until later or something. Another photo is of dad’s old car, he had to sell it in order to compensate for our family’s financial depression from when we lost the main income our family had, my mother’s candle business. He loved that damn car with his entire heart; we even used to joke about how mom was jealous of the car. There were more photos but I stopped going through them when I realized a couple of them had a handwritten marking of the letter “x” behind them. It noticed this when I was flipping them as I was trying to get them all to be facing me. I sorted the photos with no marking away and started to focus more on the ones with the marking. I figured my sister must have had done this, for what reason I was about to find out. I kept staring at the first picture; it was the one I told you about earlier, the one of my father’s old car. It was a Pontiac from the early 80’s and it must have cost him a fortune. I never had any particular memories of the car; I remember it spending most of its time in our garage. I kept looking at the photograph and the more I stared at it the more I started to wonder why my dad hadn’t used the car more, he obviously loved it. The photo was taken for an ad in the newspaper, for selling it of course. I was just about to put the sad photo away when I caught a glimpse of my mother sitting in the backseat. It wasn’t very clear and she seemed somewhat transparent. She had the same drained-out appearance and blank stare that she had from when I saw her in the hallway outside my room, and this was taken after her death. I couldn’t believe what I was looking at. I remember dropping the photo out of shock; so many thoughts started circling inside of my head. I have my whole story, theres a 40k letter limit on reddit NoSleep, Ill post the rest as soon as I can.
Posted on: Wed, 27 Nov 2013 13:52:45 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015