Black Eyed Kids
I don't really know what I'd call this story if I was submitting
it for publication in Fate or something of its ilk. "Brian vs..
the Evil, Black-eyed, Possibly Vampiric or Demonic But At Least Not
Bloody Normal Kids" doesn't have much of a ring to it. (Shrug.)
:)
But that's at least an accurate title.
As so many things do, it all started out innocently.
My Internet Service Provider used to have offices in a shopping
center before they moved to their (comparatively) lush accommodations
elsewhere. There was a drop box at that original location. The
monthly bill was due, and thus, there but for the Grace of the Net I
went.
It was about 9:30 p.m. when I left. From my relatively isolated
apartments, it's about 10-15 minutes or so to downtown (Abilene has a
population of about 110,000).
Right next to Camalott Communications' old location is a $1.50
movie theater. At the time, the place was featuring that masterwork
of modern film, Mortal Kombat. I drove by the theater on the way into
the center proper and pulled into an empty parking space.
Using the glow of the marquee to write out my check, I was
startled to hear a knock on the driver's-side window of my car.
I looked over and saw two children staring at me from street. I
need to describe them, with the one feature (you can guess what it
was) that I didn't realize until about half-way through the
conversation cleverly omitted.
Both appeared to be in that semi-mystical stage of life children
get into where you can't exactly tell their age. Both were boys, and
my initial impression is that they were somewhere between 10-14.
Boy No. 1 was the spokesman. Boy No. 2 didn't speak during the
entire conversation -- at least not in words.
Boy No. 1 was slightly taller than his companion, wearing a
pull-over, hooded shirt with a sort of gray checked pattern and
jeans. I couldn't see his shoes. His skin was olive-colored and had
curly, medium-length brown hair. He exuded an air of quiet
confidence.
Boy No. 2 had pale skin with a trace of freckles. His primary
characteristic seemed to be looking around nervously. He was dressed
in a similar manner to his companion, but his pull-over was a light
green color. His hair was a sort of pale orange.
They didn't appear to be related, at least directly.
"Oh, great," I thought. "They're gonna hit me up
for money." And then the air changed.
I've explained this before, but for the benefit of any new lurkers
out there, right before I experience something strange, there's a
change in perception that comes about which I describe in the above
manner. It's basically enough time to know it's too late. ;)
So, there I was, filling out a check in my car (which was still
running) and in a sudden panic over the appearance of two little
boys. I was confused, but an overwhelming sense of fear and
unearthliness rushed in nonetheless.
The spokesman smiled, and the sight for some inexplicable reason
chilled my blood. I could feel fight-or-flight responses kicking in.
Something, I knew instinctually, was not right, but I didn't know
what it could possibly be.
I rolled down the window very, very slightly and asked "Yes?"
The spokesman smiled again, broader this time. His teeth were
very, very white.
"Hey, mister, what's up? We have a problem," he said.
His voice was that of a young man, but his diction, quiet calm and
... something I still couldn't put my finger on ... made my desire to
flee even greater. "You see, my friend and I want to see the
films, but we forgot our money," he continued. "We need to
go to our house to get it. Want to help us out?"
Okay. Journalists are required to talk to lots of people, and that
includes children. I've seen and spoken to lots of them. Here's how
that usually goes:
"Uh ... M ... M ... Mister? Can I see that camera? I ... I
won't break it or anything. I promise. My dad has a camera, and he
lets me hold it sometimes, I guess, and I took a picture of my dog --
it wasn't very good, 'cause I got my finger in the way and ..."
Add in some feet shuffling and/or body swaying and you've got a
typical kid talking to a stranger.
In short, they're usually apologetic. People generally teach
children that when they talk to adults, they're usually bothering
them for one reason or another and they should at least be polite.
This kid was in no way fitting the mold. His command of language
was incredible and he showed no signs of fear. He spoke as if my help
was a foregone conclusion. When he grinned, it was as if he was
trying to say, "I know something ... and you're NOT gonna like
it. But the only way you're going to find out what it is will be to
do what I say ..."
"Uh, well ..." was the best reply I could offer.
Now here's where it starts to get strange.
The quiet companion looked at the spokesman with a mixture of
confusion and guilt on his face. He seemed in some ways shocked, not
with his friend's brusque manner but that I didn't just immediately
open the door.
He eyed me nervously.
The spokesman seemed a bit perturbed, too. I still was registering
something wrong with both.
"C'mon, mister," the spokesman said again, smooth as
silk. Car salesmen could learn something from this kid. "Now, we
just want to go to our house. And we're just two little boys."
That really scared me. Something in the tone and diction again
sent off alarm bells. My mind was frantically trying to process what
it was perceiving about the two figures that was "wrong."
"Eh. Um ...." was all I could manage. I felt myself
digging my fingernails into the steering wheel.
"What movie were you going to see?" I asked finally.
"Mortal Kombat, of course," the spokesman said. The
silent one nodded in affirmation, standing a few paces behind.
"Oh," I said. I stole a quick glance at the marquee and
at the clock in my car. Mortal Kombat had been playing for an hour,
the last showing of the evening.
The silent one looked increasingly nervous. I think he saw my
glances and suspected that I might be detecting something was not
above-board.
"C'mon, mister. Let us in. We can't get in your car until you
do, you know," the spokesman said soothingly. "Just let us
in, and we'll be gone before you know it. We'll go to our mother's
house."
We locked eyes.
To my horror, I realized my hand had strayed toward the door lock
(which was engaged) and was in the process of opening it. I pulled it
away, probably a bit too violently. But it did force me to look away
from the children.
I turned back. "Er ... Um ...," I offered weakly and
then my mind snapped into sharp focus.
For the first time, I noticed their eyes.
They were coal black. No pupil. No iris. Just two staring orbs
reflecting the red and white light of the marquee.
At that point, I know my expression betrayed me. The silent one
had a look of horror on his face in a combination that seemed to
indicate: A) The impossible had just happened and B) "We've been
found out!"
The spokesman, on the other hand, wore a mask of anger. His eyes
glittered brightly in the half-light.
"C'mon, mister," he said. "We won't hurt you. You
have to LET US IN. We don't have a gun ..."
That last statement scared the living hell out of me, because at
that point by his tone he was plainly saying, "We don't NEED a
gun."
He noticed my hand shooting down toward the gear shift. The
spokesman's final words contained an anger that was complete and
whole, and yet contained in some respects a tone of panic:
"WE CAN'T COME IN UNLESS YOU TELL US IT'S OKAY. LET ... US
.... IN!"
I ripped the car into reverse (thank goodness no one was coming up
behind me) and tore out of the parking lot. I noticed the boys in my
peripheral vision, and I stole a quick glance back.
They were gone. The sidewalk by the theater was deserted.
I drove home in a heightened state of panic. Had anyone attempted
to stop me, I would have run on through and faced the consequences
later.
I bolted into my house, scanning all around -- including the sky.
What did I see? Maybe nothing more than some kids looking for a
ride.
And some really funky contacts. Yeah, right.
A friend suggested they were vampires, what with the old "let
us in" bit and my compelled response to open the door. That and
the "we'll go see our mother" thing.
I'm still not sure what they were, but here's an epilogue I find
chilling:
I talk about Chad a lot. He's still my best friend, my best
ghost-hunting companion and an all-around cool guy. He recently moved
to Amarillo, but at the time this happened was still living in San
Angelo of Ram Page fame.
I called him and talked to him briefly. He had two female friends
with him at the time, both professing some type of psychic ability.
I started telling him the story, leaving out the part about the
black eyes for the kicker. One of the women (we were on a
speakerphone) stopped me.
"These children had black eyes, right?" she asked. "I
mean, all-black eyes?"
"Er ... Yes." I said. I was a bit taken aback.
"Hmmm," she said. "One night last week, I had a
dream about children with black eyes. They were outside my house,
wanting to be let in, but there was something wrong with them. It
took me a while to realize it was the eyes."
I hadn't even gotten as far as them wanting to come in.
"What did you do?" I asked.
"I kept the doors and windows locked," she said. "I
knew if they came in, they would kill me."
She paused.
"And they would have killed you, too, if you had let them
into your car."
So, from this extra-long post, we have three unanswered questions:
A) What did I see?
B) What would have happened if I opened my car door?
C) Why does Chad always get the cool psychic chicks? ;)
Brian
brianbet@camalott.com
http://www.camalott.com/~brianbet/ghosts.html
(article reprinted with permission)
If anyone has had a similar
experience, to please contact FPR's Senior Field Investigator, Rick
Heflin, as soon as possible rick@foundationforparanormalresearch.org
|