With gun violence on the rise, Antioch police to get federal help - The Mercury News

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2021.10.23 23:00 robert_cortese With gun violence on the rise, Antioch police to get federal help - The Mercury News

With gun violence on the rise, Antioch police to get federal help - The Mercury News submitted by robert_cortese to SanJoseSUCKS [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 two-hip What I Learned About Death at Age 6

What happened to me is actually kind of a ghost story, so please bear with the background explanation and don’t stop reading right away! And I apologize about the length. Whenever I tell people about what happened I feel like it takes just a few minutes, and didn’t expect it to be anywhere near this long when written out and told properly. Also, I’m a guy, not that that matters, but if it helps trying to picture things.
When I was little there was a house in my neighborhood that everyone called the Witch House. I think pretty much everyone had one of these around them growing up, or at least something similar, so I’m sure you get the picture – a busy yard of gargoyles, creepy yard gnomes and other baubles, and a general lack of giving an eff from the owner (in this case, it actually was kind of a crazy old lady – she didn’t really look like a witch, but probably only because she wore glasses. No idea if she was actually a lonely woman that was super friendly and caring if you actually got to know her). The house was what I think you would call colonial, with the big old porch and pillars, which looking back strikes me as a bit odd given that this was a small town in Wisconsin, but whatever, not important.
All of the neighborhood kids were afraid to go by it, and we would dare each other to ding-dong ditch, or even just enter the yard, etc. I don’t remember any of my friends ever getting much further than the sidewalk next door, but I’m sure plenty of kids did. We were scared enough of the house that we would avoid that street entirely, or at the very least ride our bikes way over on the opposite sidewalk. The house was kind of in the corner of the neighborhood, and it was an older subdivision from when they still laid them out mostly in a grid, so you could always just ride your bike back one street over if you needed to get past it. That kind of only worked to one side though, because the house and the property were far bigger than all the other houses and lots. I’m pretty sure that it had been the big farmhouse that owned all the other land long before it became a subdivision.
Anyhow, when I was maybe like 5 or 6 my grandpa passed away unexpectedly, and I was just barely old enough to sort of get what death meant, and was really sad, but didn’t totally understand it and as guilty as I am to admit this as an adult, I think I got over it pretty quickly. I don’t really know what he died from, and my parents have always been kind of evasive on it. Looking back, his death isn’t really why I remember this part of my life so well, and why it’s always lingering somewhere in the back of my mind or over my shoulder.
My grandma had passed away young – I never knew her – and her mom (my great grandma) had lived with them, and over the years she just stayed living with my grandpa. As far as I can tell, it was a convenience thing way back when, and over the years transitioned into her being dependent on my grandpa to take care of her. It never struck me as odd as a kid, and talking with my parents I really don’t think it felt weird at all, but in hindsight that does seem kind of weird since it wasn’t his mom, but I suppose different generations see family differently.
So when my grandpa died, my parents were left to take care of my great grandma, and she moved in with us. We had a small two bedroom house (not a big old mansion like the witch house), and I was an only child at the time, so I was honored (*wince*) with the opportunity to share a room with my great grandmother. Now, I loved my grandpa and my other set of grandparents as much as any kid, and looked at them with that naïve, blank slate, rose colored filter, that leads kids to look upon others without judgment and only see the good, but my great grandma was totally different. She would eventually shatter that world view.
I don’t directly remember this, but my parents have always told me I was like a kid in a candy store around my grandparents and other elderly relatives. I do, however, distinctly remember feeling quite the opposite around my great grandma. Again, I feel super guilty thinking about this now as an adult, but it’s the truth. By the time I was alive and around to know her, she didn’t have too much left to her. She wasn’t warm, caring and excited to see me like my grandparents. I would cringe when my mom would make me give her a hug and a kiss, and I feel like it was probably so obvious that my great grandma would notice. It seemed so gross. But she didn’t like it any more than I did. She didn’t even do much or talk much, and when she did, the only time it wasn’t something crazy from dementia, it was something cranky and complaining. I didn’t really understand what it meant for her to have dementia, or what it meant to be truly elderly and frail. To me “old” was my grandparents, who were probably still in their 60’s then.
I swear I remember the moment my parents told me she was moving in and going to share my room, and the absolute dread I felt. It was the kind of horror that just grips you and you can’t even think through and rationalize, especially as a kid. It was just SCARY. I also remember being in my room alone before her first night there, looking over at her hospital type bed sitting like 20 inches from mine in my (ughhh….*our) tiny room, with the handrails and the adjustable controls with dirty yellowed rubber cord and buttons gunked up with that icky crap that gets around old TV remote buttons from years of use; a disgusting mélange of dead skin, dust, greasy sweat and…even trying to think what else makes me nauseous as I’m typing. I’ll just summarize it as vomitous, if that’s a real word.
I don’t specifically remember if this was the first night or not, but I feel like it has to be, or maybe my memories from the first few nights bleeding together, but I swear the image of looking over at her, lying on her back, looking dead as a body at a wake, with her bony nose silhouetted against the faint light seeping through the curtains, is tattooed on the inside of my skull. It is a very striking visual image that sticks with me in contrast to the very non-visual trauma I’d experience in my life shortly thereafter.
Since my grandpa had just died, I knew exactly how a body lying supine in a casket looks, and from eye level all you can see is the wizened profile of a face popping up out from behind the casket wall with eyelids pasted shut, and looking plasticky enough to evoke images of old dolls whose eyes would pop open and shut in that staccato, mechanical fashion. This is exactly what great grandma Elly looked like, with the adjustable bed angled just so slightly upwards and all but the face seemingly hidden behind the handrails.
When I couldn’t sleep at night, or would wake up from a bad dream and look over at her, I never wondered if she was dead—which I think most people would in that situation. I don’t think I was old enough to have really connected old age with death in my mind, or really even considered that living, breathing people can die, despite my recent experience with my grandpa. I think it was more just that he had been there and now was gone, and my kid brain and kid logic hadn’t really pieced things together yet. I wasn’t scared because I thought she’d be dead, or a ghost or something, it was her that I was actually afraid of; living, breathing great grandma. Mostly, though, if the possibility of her being dead had even crossed my mind, I always would’ve known right away she wasn’t because of her snoring. It wasn’t especially loud or jarring, but in the small room it would be happening probably 4 or 5 feet from my face, and had this strained, moist rasping sound like something was squirming around inside, edging closer and closer to bursting forth.
Night times were definitely what I was most afraid of, but I actually don’t think that’s what bothered me the most. When you’re a kid (and admittedly even a bit as an adult, haha, right?) things that are scary as all get out during the night, become no big deal whatsoever in the confidence of daylight. It’s easy enough to push scary night time things to the back of your mind in the middle of the day, and with the benefit of the light see them for what they really are. I don’t remember well enough my mindset then, but I think this is why the nights weren’t the worst part.
The worst part was the smell. Hard stop. That ever present miasma conglomerate of sanitization, staleness, putrid festering, microbial growth and death all oxymoronically rolled into one. It’s like if a doctor’s office opened shop at the morgue. When I mentioned that my great grandma shattered my innocent childish worldview of only seeing the good in everyone and being open to everything, that smell is mostly what I was referring to. To be honest, I know this makes me a bad person on some level, but I still can’t stand it. It seriously deters me from doing things like visiting my aunt who I’m close to in her nursing home. Yeah, seeing my great grandma chew her slop, dribble it half out her mouth, and spit half the rest out talking or choking every time she ate was bad to watch as a kid, but it just didn’t hold a candle to that stench. Not even staring with trepidation at her profusely wrinkled paper skin that looked like our old faux leather couch, gunk-caked creases and all, came close to the smell.
I remember feeling like the whole house reeked of it, and my bedroom was like the musk concentrate. It was inescapable. This also happened in winter, so it was hard to get fresh air and get away from it. The night time death bed went away during the day. The effusively spraying mastication was only there at mealtime. I could close my eyes to the leathery skin and salty urine stains on her pants. The smell of wet, festering senescence, however, never went away.
Now, the stuff about the witch house and my great grandma isn’t actually part of the story I wanted to tell everyone about, but I think it is extremely important to understanding my mindset and life at the time. This is particularly important because even though I’m confident enough in my memory of things that all of this actually happened, and most of this has been corroborated by my mom, and some by my dad, I’m not foolish enough to ignore that some things are subjective, the mind can turn a heater kicking in into an eerie bump in the night, and I was a young kid with a young, susceptible kid brain during a traumatic and critical time in my life.
After a little bit of time living with my roomie great grandma, my parents realized our tiny house wasn’t going to cut it, and as old and batty as my great grandma was, she wasn’t going to kick the bucket any time soon. On a side note – this part was definitely filled in from talking to my parents - I wasn’t part of the decision making discussion as a six year old. They said it was probably a few weeks or maybe a month or two that she lived with us before we moved. Had I not talked to them, I would’ve said it was like a year because it seemed like forever. Dark part of my life, haha. When I found out we were going to be moving, I was ecstatic, and turned back to normal kid things like fantasizing about what my awesome new room to myself would be like, complete with piles of toys and bunkbeds for siblings I didn’t even have.
I also have to put the disclaimer out there that after we moved I might not have the timeline of everything exactly in order, but my parents don’t remember exactly either, and It’s not really important for the most part what order things happened in. My sister swears she’s positive on some of it, but she wasn’t even born yet and is going on her recollection of things being told to her many years after the fact, although I suppose if what she heard was accurate at the time maybe she has purer recall since she wasn’t personally involved to conflate memories and never even lived in the house we moved to.
Anyhow, so we moved to a significantly larger house, but also quite old and poorly maintained. My parents weren’t poor, my dad was an electrician and my mom stayed home, but I think options were limited. And if it was scary to hear I’d be sharing a room with my great grandma, it was even more horrifying to find out where we were moving….
The. Witch. House.
Nope, totally kidding, that would have been far too straight out of a bad horror movie, but the truth is still a nail biting coincidence.
It turns out that big old property the witch house was on had a full second home hidden a little ways back behind the trees that I probably would’ve noticed before if I hadn’t always been far too damn scared to get anywhere near that house. To be fair, the second house was mostly hidden behind the main house, and with the partially wooded property and all the weird junk in the yard you really could only see it coming from the other side of the street than we would usually be heading. Lucky us, apparently word had gotten around in the neighborhood and the (probably very nice and totally not a witch) lady had offered to rent it to us on the cheap. On another side note – she actually had a really fitting name, but for privacy reasons I probably should leave it out, and it’s not important to anything anyhow. If you’ll also notice, I refuse to call it “oumy house,” because NOPE.
When I found out that is where we were moving to I was devastated. When you’re a kid small things can utterly consume you in the moment, and at the time I was on a long streak of being put through the ringer. I’m sure I threw a tantrum or two. Still, moving to the new house I had my own room, and that meant things were on the upswing.
Not having any concept of what is “nice”, my huge new room seemed pretty awesome, even though I’m sure it was borderline decrepit. I just remember everything in the house seeming perpetually dusty, and there were endless hardwood floors that creaked and groaned alongside a ton of woodwork and wood paneling. One of the rooms had a built in hutch with an old mirror that was warped and tarnished to the point of acting the funhouse mirror and playing tricks on your eyes. Every room had big open vents along the floor that seemed ripe for bugs, vermin and god knows what to spring out of at any moment to infest your life or crawl into bed with you. It always felt like everything was foggy inside, especially when sunshine through the window would catch the wafting dust. Plus the whole thing smelled like musty basement. It was actually pretty similar to a house I lived in in college. You get it, not an all-out creepy haunted mansion, but old and neglected enough to plant seeds in impressionable minds, especially at night.
This is where the order of events is anyone’s guess so far after the fact, so I’ll just run through some of the things that happened as I remember it.
There were five bedrooms in the house, arranged on either side of a straight hallway. I got a room in the corner of the house, great grandma on my side of the hallway, and my parents across the hall at the other end. I would get scared at night trying to sleep, or waking up from nightmares. Because of where the radiator and vents were in the room, my bed couldn’t be placed conveniently against a wall on any side, and I would feel like I was left out on a dark island in the middle of a cold, barren sea of hardwood floor. There were a lot of old house type noises that I wasn’t used to, and I took to running to my parents’ room regularly. My dad swears it was every single night at first, but I know I remember toughing it out on occasion when the fear of disappointed or even angry parents outweighed that of a dark spooky room.
In movies kids always get scared and close their eyes or hide under the covers, but I could never stand doing that and not seeing if anything was out there. Not seeing, and wondering what’s out there, was (and is) a far scarier thought. Being scared made it hard enough to sleep, but when I also felt like I needed to be constantly on the lookout, sitting up and looking all around, I spent a lot of time not sleeping. At my old house, my bed was in a corner and when I would get scared I had a ritual of looking back and forth across the room, trying to keep as little as possible outside of my range of vision for as short of time as possible, while holding my blanket over me, covering everything except my face. Sometimes thinking about trying to do this as efficiently as I could would be enough to occupy my brain and assuage the fear. In this room, however, without a wall of safety on any side of my bed, I had to swing all the way back and forth, then prop myself up to turn enough to peer over the headboard behind me, and no matter which way I looked there was always a huge, ominous blind spot behind me.
There were a lot of trees surrounding the house, and more often than not the branches would cast shadows across the bare floors, and the combination of branches swaying along the lines of the wood floors gave the constant sense of catching something move out of the corner of your eye.
At night the musty smell seemed to change, and get thicker and more oppressive. I would try my hardest to close my eyes and go to sleep, but seemingly every night was a quick progression from hearing the house creak, to opening my eyes to look around, to frantically turning my head around every which way, then daring myself to close my eyes or not look behind me for as long as I could make it, then building up the “courage” to race across the empty floor to the door, and down the hall to my parents’ bedroom.
After a handful of nights of doing this, and having my mom or dad do the parenting thing and come back in the room with me, calm me down, and if they were in a good mood stay there until I fell asleep, they told me one morning that I was 8 years old and I needed to sleep in my own room by myself and stop being a little kid. I had thought I was a bit younger than this when all this happened, but I checked with my mom since I started typing this out and she said I was 8, and I don’t really recall what grade I was in or who my friends were then to verify, so I’ll go with that from here. The point being though that without being able to run to my parents, my lifeline was gone. I had been spending my nights just trying to build up the courage to make the run to them for safety, and now I had nothing.
The house would get very cold at night, and it was the middle of winter in Wisconsin. All of the radiators in the house would hiss like a teapot all night, and even though it scared me at first, once I got used to it, it became a comforting sound because I knew what it was and that it was normal. Unfortunately, the radiator in my room stopped working at some point, leaving me cold and without the comforting white noise.
My dad put a portable electric heater in my room, and I would have to sleep with it pushed up against my bed with the comforter covering both me and the radiator (I actually have to ask my Mom why they never thought this wasn’t a huge fire hazard, but maybe they didn’t know I slept like that). So at night now, I would be huddled and dried out under the covers, hearing every little scratch and creak, and forced to either freeze while keeping watch, or hide completely under the covers and let my imagination run wild with what was lurking around the room. After a few minutes, hiding under the covers would usually win out, since that was the only way I could actually fall asleep, and the covers did actually help somewhat with the odor.
My room was on the second floor, and even though there were a lot of creepy noises, they mostly came from outside, lower levels of the house, or lower in the walls where the vents and pipes were, and I quickly got pretty used to them. One night, though, I started to hear muffled scratching that sounded like it was coming from higher up in the wall. This was a distinctly different sound than anything I’d heard in the house so far, and impulsively I had to rip the bandage off immediately, tear the covers off my head and look before I scared myself to death wondering what was there.
I looked towards the spot I heard the noise, it was a blank open area of cracked old wall to the side of a conjoining door, and was relieved not to see anything there. After doing my panoramic safety check around the room, and having a couple false alarms out of the corner of my eye from shadow branches playing tricks on the floor, I pulled the cover back over my head warily and tried to go to sleep.
A moment later I thought I heard the scratching sound resume in the same place for a second, followed by a burst that sounded like something tearing through, which definitely was not my imagination. I again immediately had to pull off the covers and look out of sheer terror, and again was relieved to find nothing there. I wrapped the covers back over my head, feeling more than a bit like I was living out the poem The Raven, hearing chimeras coming to get me left and right.
It didn’t take long, though, and the scratching sound resumed, but this time sounding less distant than before. I tried to tell myself it was nothing this time, or just a new house noise, and refrain as best I could from looking out. The noise, sounding less muffled than it had, began to slowly move and transition to more of a thin scraping and dragging sound, sidling intermittently along with a regular rhythm to it. The best way I can think to describe it is like someone dragging their leg limping, where you get a longer, slow scraping sound with movement, then a more brief shuffle of regrouping, except that this was far smaller and lighter sounding than could come from something the size of a person, and it was moving up the wall. It also didn’t fully move one direction, with the second, short regrouping sound backtracking slightly before switching to the scrape and moving forward, kind of like if you throw a hammer, or something else with very lopsided weight distribution that yo-yos as it moves, regressing slightly each cycle. I’m afraid my detailed description belies the unnatural eeriness of the sound, but I don’t know how better to explain it.
The sound continued inching its way up the wall, and onto the ceiling, with each rotation lasting about as long as a breath, and moving a bit less than a foot each time. As the noise crept along the ceiling towards me I got more and more scared, and realized that at this point I could not possibly bear to look out from under the covers again. To make things worse, the path it was taking ran itself right between me and the door. I also noticed a new, putrid smell I’d never sensed before or after in my lifetime.
It kept inching closer towards me while I went into a trance of fear, and when it finally settled right above my bed, my mind went blank and I flew screaming as fast as I could to my parents’ room, who at this point had stopped being understanding and were pretty darn angry. I remember it well, because my dad getting a little short with me was one thing, but it might be the only time my mom ever got visibly angry with me, although she didn’t actually yell.
The next night when I, of course, didn’t want to go to bed, my parents went to great lengths to explain that it was just house noises, or at worst case a mouse (they probably meant cockroach), and certainly not anything to be afraid of. And YES, I still haven’t forgotten that that was also when my dad promised me a mouser kitten that of course we never got. The problem was I knew enough to know that it wasn’t a mouse or some small critter (which also makes more sense with my mom telling me I was 8 years old). Not only could I not come up with an animal that would move or sound like that, but seemed really clear that what I had heard may have begun inside the wall, but came crawling towards me on the surface of the wall and ceiling inside the room. I argued with my parents about it, and just got the usual “you’re over tired, I’ll read you a story and then go to sleep”.
I can’t remember if this was the next night, or several days or even weeks had passed, but soon after I awoke one night to hear the same scratching in the wall again. I again was too scared to just hide and not look, and when I ripped the covers off to check things out there was again nothing there. This time, however, knowing what had happened last time, I kept on alert for a while, periscoping my head back and forth across the room like I was used to doing, and every few turns sitting up enough to turn and look behind the bed as well.
I forgot to explain earlier – my bed faced more or less away from the door because otherwise the large headboard blocked too much of the window, and was positioned such that the door to the hallway was behind me and to the right, and the scratching sound had come from the far wall to the right. So when I would swing my head back and forth, what I would see the most of is the windows looking outside, and the well-lit corner of the room, and everything I was worried about was on the peripherals, or mostly hidden behind the headboard other than when I fully turned around.
After a little while of being vigilant, I realized I had gotten lazy and hadn’t turned to look back behind the bed in a few passes, and got the prickly feeling on the back of my neck that that had been a grave mistake and I was now in for it. Holding my breath, I sprang up extra quickly onto a knee to peer over the headboard behind me, and in doing so lost the covers that I would normally have kept pulled over everything but my face, leaving me especially cold and exposed, and also causing me to grab the top of the headboard with the tips of my fingers dangling over the other side off into the unknown, instead of holding the blanket around me.
I realized my mistake just as I was making the motion forward to look behind the bed, and pulled back in a panic as quickly as I could after seeing nothing was there. All in one motion I swung back and went to grab the covers and pull them over my head, when I heard the same tearing sound again, and out of the corner of my eye caught a glimpse of something on the wall where the sound had come from, and huddled under the covers absolutely terrified and too scared to even yell for my parents.
I have no idea what I saw, or even how big or what color it was. It was so far into my peripheral, and I’m rational enough to admit that my mind has ran wild with speculation over the years, to the point that all I can confidently say is that I definitely saw something.
I don’t really remember what happened after that, but either then or another night soon after, I also began to hear a sound like very congested breathing coming from that same spot. It didn’t really sound like a human breathing, and had more of a wet, rasping sound, kind of like a Saint Bernard panting, but much slower and more drawn out, and had a thick crusty element to it, almost like what I’d picture mashing up a 2 week old apple pie would sound like. Sometimes it would be preceded by the scratching and then the tearing burst noise or the rotting stench, but I’m not sure if the nights that it didn’t were just because the tearing sound is what had woken me up to hear the rest.
My parents, of course, just assumed my mind was running wild at night, and I was psychologically manifesting all the difficult life changes (because yeah, the way psychologists and behaviorists thought in the 70’s). I wouldn’t say I grew used to it, exactly, but I didn’t think about it during the day, and it didn’t happen consistently enough to completely weigh on me. Eventually, however, things escalated.
One night the sounds came again, and I did my usual lookout and unsurprisingly didn’t see anything. Once I nestled back under the covers, the noise, or whatever it was, this time began its slow crawl from the wall, straight down to the floor, and started edging towards my bed. As it moved closer, I could hear it a bit more clearly, and the scraping sound seemed wetter -is the only way I can think to describe it. It still had that two phase rhythm, and the horrible raspy breathing, but everything sounded thick and moist. I lost my nerve with needing to look to see, now feeling like there absolutely had to be something there, and had to just hide under the covers terrified, as it continued to creep towards me.
When it got right up to the bed, it just stopped. Everything was silent for a bit, but then the breathing sound resumed. Hearing the sound this close, the rasping sounded slightly voiced, like it came from a human or something that could speak, rather than some animal. This went on for maybe a few minutes while I lay there terrified, and then inexplicably stopped and was gone.
A similar pattern happened on a number of nights, where the sound would begin with scratching somewhere in the room, usually a wall or ceiling, followed by the sound of something tearing through, and then it would creep around the room sounding like something wet dragging, and then stop in place for a few minutes leaving only the sound of labored, congested breathing. I got the idea that whatever was making the noise was getting progressively bolder, and coming near me more frequently. Over time the odor was becoming more rank, like it was progressively rotting. A few times I thought I could feel a breeze on my skin like something moved nearby or reached out to touch me but didn’t quite make contact.
One night things went a step further. After beginning in the wall near the place I originally heard it, the sound went straight down the wall and headed directly for my bed. Even though it was the usual sound, and crept slowly as always, I had the sense it moved with slightly more urgency than before. Not that I wasn’t scared enough as it was, but as it rocked towards me, seeming to move like waves on the beach, taking 2 steps forward and 1 step back, I became especially terrified knowing that something was different this time, and it seemed to move with a purpose. The sound sidled straight towards me, sounding more urgent and hurried as it got nearer. I tensed as it approached, came right up to the edge of my bed, and paused.
I clenched for the worst in the fetal position with my back to it, and held in my breath to try and hide that I was there, but after a moment the noise just continued on under my bed, and stopped. I felt like I could sense it right below me. Even though it had stopped moving, the breathing started again, and continued on directly underneath me for what seemed like forever, although it was probably less than a minute or two. Then it made a new sound like slurping and squishing through mud, or plunging a toilet, and I swear it seemed to try and say my name. As I cowered there shaking and unable to think, there suddenly was a swift thump up through my bed right into my side. I screamed and ran to my parents’ room as fast as I could without daring to look at anything other than my door and then their bedroom door as I ran.
In talking to my mom about this, she said that she thinks by that point they had grown tired of dealing with my sleep troubles, and didn’t have the energy to get upset anymore. The next day, my dad took me in my room and showed me how nothing could touch me through my bed because even though the mattress was soft, the box spring underneath didn’t bend. They said it was time to grow up, and my dad was going to lock my door until I learned better (sounds cruel, and the second fire hazard of my childhood, but hey, different times). In their defense, I probably wasn’t explaining things well, and they had no reason to think I wasn’t just a kid scared of old house noises. My dad was also the best, most caring dad ever, and was the type that would be disappointed in me rather than get angry, and this is literally the only time ever I can remember him doing something arguably stern and draconian. Sorry – felt I needed to defend my dad there!
The house had square black locks built into all the door jambs with keys that went to them, and I guess they (rightfully) assumed I didn’t know or wouldn’t figure out that from inside the room there was just a little copper latch hanging out the bottom of the lock to release the door, so it couldn’t actually hold me in. My mom also said they knew they could hear me yell easily enough if something actually happened, and that they were just going to lock the door for a few nights, then let me keep thinking it was locked after that until I figured it out – see, good parenting.
All of this led up to the event that caused us to move out of the house, and truly, haunts or family to this day. I just like to call it “The Night.” As much as my parents can really only corroborate the things they saw themselves up to this point (other than them admitting they remember odd, rancid smells), The Night is where things could no longer be brushed off as wild childhood imagination, a rickety old home, or a damn mouse.
Everything started out more or less the same as it always did, but again the sound immediately seemed to emerge with a purpose, and headed straight towards me. This time, however, there was no doubting that there was more urgency behind it, and once it reached the floor, it began to accelerate right towards me, announcing that it meant business. With the faster motion, the dragging noise sounded squishier, and the breathing more congested and labored. It also sounded even more sentient and vocal. I felt like atmospheric pressure in the room was throbbing heavier and heavier around me with each pulse of the noise. The sound of it seeming to rock towards me then slightly back rhythmically before moving forward again, still sticks with me as probably the scariest part of the entire experience. I was a terrified kid cowering under the covers and each beat of the sound hit me like impending doom inching imminently closer. Even as an adult I try not to think about what could possibly sound like that and move that way.
It continued its rocking and rasping toward me, getting slightly faster as it went, but somehow sounding so urgent that it should have already reached me several times over, like it was toying with me and how much I could handle. All I could do was lay there under the covers in the fetal position and shake. It got closer and closer, and all I could think was “this is it.” It came up all the way to the edge of my bed, then stopped, but the sound of slimy, congested breathing became louder and more hurried. I went virtually catatonic, riddled in goosebumps, as I felt the edge of my bedspread slowly lift in the air, and the first cold, moist breath of air hit the skin on my back.
The stench wafted in like a backdraft, and I felt the breath tickle the back of my neck a few more times, and then heard the mattress groan and sink behind me as something got into the bed and laid down next to me. The weight on the mattress pressed down and sucked me slightly towards it. With another crinkle of the bed springs, it slid closer to me, with the congested breath leaving condensation on the back of my neck. I was terrified beyond reason, and couldn’t think or move, but just stare numbly as things happened around me. And then I felt it.
It settled right up against me, feeling more disgusting, wet and diseased than I could ever imagine. I could feel my skin getting damp and sticky as if lathered with curdled milk. It was like being spooned by a cold, pulsating booger. I thought I would fester, rot and die all in an instant. No part of me could think or move, and without even realizing it, I screamed my bloody lungs off.
My parents heard me all right. They both came running down the hall, hurried to unlock the door, then came in and flipped on the lights. It was, without any hint of question, the longest few seconds of my life. My mom half yelled, half gasped, and my dad uttered a drawn out “oh…Jesus…” that sounded more disbelief than shock.
In bed next to me, lay my naked great grandmother, dead.
submitted by two-hip to nosleep [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 TyranitarTantrum Lux Fanart! (hands are so hard to draw for me)

Lux Fanart! (hands are so hard to draw for me) submitted by TyranitarTantrum to FortNiteBR [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 Prudent_Zebra_8880 Without looking it up, do you know who composed the Opera, "Don Giovanni"?

View Poll
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2021.10.23 23:00 pghdmb1012 What’s the deal?

I have lived in PGH for a little over a year and I absolutely it here. However, one thing really irks me on a regular basis: Why do people from here pretend it’s such a rough and tough city to live in?
Here’s the thing. Pittsburgh is an awesome city. It is affordable, laidback, clean and the people are super nice. Sure, the hills make driving a little awkward, but it is not that much of an inconvenience in the grand scheme of things.
Winters are mild here. It snows 6 inches and people freak out. I constantly here about “crazy drivers” and how difficult it is to park in certain neighborhoods, e.g., Shadyside. Honestly, it does not feel congested to me at all, and parking has never felt like a burden. Again, normal city stuff like maybe parking a block away, but very far from stressful.
My neighborhood feels so quiet and peaceful, you barely see people walking around. Yet, I have heard people reference my area as “the middle of everything.”
I’m not complaining, I’m just more curious about what people are talking about? It’s so chill here…
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2021.10.23 23:00 MizerMalice Cyberpunk Modded city build (w.i.p, 1.12.2, forge)

Cyberpunk Modded city build (w.i.p, 1.12.2, forge) submitted by MizerMalice to ModdedMinecraft [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 Rosita_francizStar What is your favorite mirai nikki character? Mine is Yuno

What is your favorite mirai nikki character? Mine is Yuno submitted by Rosita_francizStar to mirainikki [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 fellow-neighbour Sigma pawan singh

Sigma pawan singh submitted by fellow-neighbour to FingMemes [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 EnvironmentalLevel40 Hahaha.... I thought this was so funny made me chuckle and I don't think anything is funny! I'll delete the post tomorrow but thought I'd share with the portion of the community that likes humor of which I am not one....Lol!

Hahaha.... I thought this was so funny made me chuckle and I don't think anything is funny! I'll delete the post tomorrow but thought I'd share with the portion of the community that likes humor of which I am not one....Lol! submitted by EnvironmentalLevel40 to mmnff [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 BearingCharms Employee who killed gunman likely saved lives, police say

Employee who killed gunman likely saved lives, police say submitted by BearingCharms to 2ALiberals [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 HJenkinsRSN WWE Announcer Greg Hamilton Threatens Legal Action Against Westside Gunn

WWE Announcer Greg Hamilton Threatens Legal Action Against Westside Gunn submitted by HJenkinsRSN to ringsidenewscom [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 Sputnik4T Mientras Matamoros vive jornada de terror por balaceras, Cabeza de Vaca se pasea en la feria

Mientras Matamoros vive jornada de terror por balaceras, Cabeza de Vaca se pasea en la feria submitted by Sputnik4T to LaCuarta [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 Stunning_Ad6070 ApolloRebase (APR) 🚀 A rebase token that rewards holders in BUSD. Just Launched ! 💥Doxed Devs 📃 Verified contract 📃 Techrate audit: ✅

ApolloRebase (APR) is a project born out of the need for reliable price rises amongst a sea of volatility and red candles. We've created a token and a community you can join with confidence. ApolloRebase (APR) token is mathematically designed to increase in price every hour, allowing you to be worry-free knowing your investment is protected through a constantly increasing liquidity pool solidifying the price floor.
A rebase token that rewards holders in BUSD.
Buy/Sell Tax:
🥞7% BUSD rewards
💫1% Marketing
🥞2% Liquidity Fee
💯 Doxxed Devs
📃 Verified contract
📃 Techrate audit
📃 Solidity audit
Big marketing plans:
✅ Coingecko listing (fastfrack after launch)
✅ Coinmarketcap listing (fasttrack after launch)
✅ Poocoin ads
✅ Coinsniper, Coinhunt, Coinvote, Coinmooner...
✅ Famous youtubers and twitter influencers
✅ Daily Reddit trending (Cryptomoonshots + other subreddits)
✅ 24/7 telegram shilling
As an Elastic Supply token the Apollo Rebase token uses a negative rebasing to reduce the total supply of tokens in order to increase the value of each token over time. This means the amount of tokens in your wallet will decrease over time, but the value of each token only increases or decreases as the market cap fluctuates.Imagine if you purchased 2% of the total supply . Rebasing means the amount of tokens you hold increases or decreases yet the percentage you hold relative to the supply remains the same.The value of your investment is not measured by the amount of tokens you possess rather it is measured by the percentage of the total supply you hold , just like every other project essentially.
Contract: 0x10d5a47bb842befc7d507594b161aca87f128001
Buy Here: https://pancakeswap.finance/swap?outputCurrency=0x10d5a47bb842befc7d507594b161aca87f128001
LP Locked: https://deeplock.io/lock/0x0E369187E205d37dc06773c4BEFBab23607C66F4
Renounced Ownership: https://bscscan.com/token/0x10d5a47bb842befc7d507594b161aca87f128001#readContract
submitted by Stunning_Ad6070 to CryptocurrencyICO [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 Sputnik4T Rosario Robles también se “solidariza” con la UNAM: “Mi compromiso con México lo aprendí en sus muros”

Rosario Robles también se “solidariza” con la UNAM: “Mi compromiso con México lo aprendí en sus muros” submitted by Sputnik4T to LaCuarta [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 J1930 My cat is in heaven lol

submitted by J1930 to cats [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 smartybrome Microsoft Outlook

Microsoft Outlook submitted by smartybrome to udemyfreebies [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 Please_dont_touchmy Got these signed today

Got these signed today submitted by Please_dont_touchmy to funkopop [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 anne474 Postpartum and in laws…

I have an 8 week old and we’re not allowing holding at all. MIL has been so incredibly nasty and so disrespectful and I get so anxious and stressed, I cannot hand express any milk. It’s MY (husband’s and I’s) baby, MY rules. If they don’t like it, that is their problem. We will not allow holding for a long time and we will require the Covid, flu and Tdap vaccines when we are comfortable with holding.
MIL is anti vax and it is fight after fight and pushing boundaries, saying I should formula feed instead of breastfeeding, etc. (Fed is best!)
She posted a picture of my husband holding our daughter at a few days old, with me in the background post c section, nipples seen through my shirt, mouth full of food and got pissy when my husband told her to take down the photos and to not post without our permission. She makes me feel like a baby maker and incubator and nothing more. Sadly, some MILs just don’t get it and hate being told NO.
I’m just at a loss. My anxiety and stress goes through the roof and I don’t know what to do. 😭 FTM btw.
submitted by anne474 to NewParents [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 KatScanViolation After losing and tilt picking Ivern I have found a new main

After losing and tilt picking Ivern I have found a new main submitted by KatScanViolation to ivernmains [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 sleepymakh Visiting NYC

Hey all, I will be visiting NY next month and I would like to make the most of it! Any recommendations regarding places to visit and eat? Or must-do things?
submitted by sleepymakh to newyorkcity [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 John_Bot No NHL team has ever lost when Evan Rodrigues started as the 1C

The beast has been unleashed.
The league is not ready.
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2021.10.23 23:00 goodmorningtits Booty

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2021.10.23 23:00 letsgopharbz frozen almonds so good frfr

submitted by letsgopharbz to teenagersnew [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 Sputnik4T “México debe mantener el control de su litio”: Aconseja Evo Morales

“México debe mantener el control de su litio”: Aconseja Evo Morales submitted by Sputnik4T to LaCuarta [link] [comments]

2021.10.23 23:00 luvjinn Anyone trading/selling vamp tote?

submitted by luvjinn to RoyaleHighTrading [link] [comments]