“Bandersnatch” was the name affectionately given to the critter that lurked around the little shed in their backyard. “I guess so, but Jaber had other things to worry about.” Jabberwocky might have been watching dust or whatever it is that fascinates cats. Sam was a little kid, and who knew what made them do the things they do? Some of the toys were hand-me-downs and could have been screwing up like old toys tend to after awhile. Ok, so that was creepy, I’d admit to that, but it could also be explained. Sam and their cat, Jabberwocky, continued to watch things move along the walls, sometimes in unison. His toys would turn on and off by themselves or go missing and turn up in the weirdest places. He stopped sleeping through the night, and her parents had to move him back into their room for a bit. Sam couldn’t be left alone for five minutes without him screaming bloody murder. Of course, when she looked there was nothing there, but he was so still and so amazed by whatever the hell it was that she felt shivers scurry down her spine.įrom that point on Tick-Tock was no longer a friend. As she watched, his eyes followed the thing as it moved up the wall and along the ceiling. Sam was standing in front of her, transfixed by something on the wall behind her. It was when he suddenly went silent that she looked up. He was chattering away to no one in particular, and Liz wasn’t paying much attention to him. One afternoon, Liz was studying in their living room while Sam played with some of his toys.
They chocked it up to Sam playing with his first imaginary friend. It took a few weeks for Tick-Tock to feel comfortable “talking” to Sam in other rooms of the house with other people present. Why Tick-Tock was never really clear, but apparently he was a little shy. Liz and her parents started noticing that as soon as they left Sam in his playroom he would start talking to someone. Strangely, it was Liz’s baby brother, Sam, who picked up on whatever was in the house long before anyone else did. There were no creepy feelings, no moving shadows down the hallways, no nothing. At first no one sensed anything out of the ordinary. Heck, I was already figuring out what food to bring.įour years ago, Liz and her family had moved from their smaller, older house across town to the current one. If we could conjure up a few promises of no drinking, no smooching, and the like, we would get our party. They could be pretty troublesome for us wild teens, but I told her not to worry. I suggested using her massive basement, what with its pinball tables, TV, and stereo system.Īh yes, the parents. She and I had a reputation of being little party animals, and therefore we had to make this party as awesome as possible. Liz’s sixteenth birthday was a few weeks away, and we got onto the topic of what the party would be like. Sure it was a little too dark, but the weather was appropriately stormy, and that’ll make any place more than a little spooky. At just under 50 years old with 2 stories, 4 bedrooms, a massive basement area, and an equally huge backyard, the house was phenomenally beautiful. I had only been over to her place once or twice before, which even at the time I considered strange for best friends like us, but to a kid like me who had spent a good part of her life in apartments and military housing, the place was a dream. Like me, she was a storyteller, and storytellers just don’t hide that kind of thing.Īs luck would have it, I ended up spending an afternoon at Liz’s house to work on some project for Biology class.
Liz and I were close, so close that people even mistook us for sisters, and were there any dark secrets about her house, I would have known. They were just whispers of things, ominous hints, and I brushed them aside fairly easily. The rumors about my good friend Liz’s house took their dear sweet time reaching me. Unless it comes looking for you, of course. The scariest part, to me at least, is that you’ll never know what is or isn’t there until you go have a look for yourself. The more you think about it, the more likely every possibility becomes as the shadows thicken and every stray noise or movement forces you deeper into your fear. I’m not terrified as I try not to notice my barely open closet door.
The unidentified sound floating up from somewhere deep in my house doesn’t set my poor heart panicking. It’s not the darkness in my room that frightens me.
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