Black-eyed children
Brian Bethel
Ghosters:
Here's the second story I posted recently on the Ghost Story Discussion
Group. I thought you guys would like it. Enjoy. ++++ 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. (How ... Clever!) 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 was
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 he 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. “Cmon, 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 (on the mailing list, that is.) 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. (NOTE: That's another set of stories entirely. They're on
my web site (see below) if you want to read them, or on the official AFGS
site, http://www.ghosts.org.) 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.” Zoiks! 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? ;) ++++ Well, there you have it. I’ll write some more later.
But for now, your comments are welcomed as always.
Brian
bria...@camalott.com
Ghosts: The Page that Goes Bump in the Night
http://www.camalott.com/~brianbet/ghosts.html
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TuathaBran
Brian...
Thanks for sharing such a wonderfully creepy tale. I can't say I know what
those children were, but what I *can* tell you is that this is not the
first story of such creatures I have heard....
My great-grandmother Bridey was from Donegal, Ireland....now I fully
admit, she was a highly supersititous divinely clooey old bat, but man,
could she tell a tale. :)
One of her favourites was only told when a new member of the family was
born. She always had to check the child's eyes...to make certain they
weren't black. Seems only the Changelings of the Unseelie Court (for those
of you not much into Celtic lore, these are the malicious faeries) had eyes
such as that. My grandmother believed in the Sidhe very strongly, but as
with everything - take this as you will. And keep in mind that it came from
a 97 year old pagan Irish country woman who was also fully convinced that I
myself was a changeling from the Seelie Court. Funny, I don't *feel* like a
changeling. ;)
Raven