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They Come Home To Roost

This farm has been in my family for two generations. I’ve always enjoyed the peace and solitude since I was a boy, just me and my folks. Now, there’s just me. They died a few years back, leavin’ the place to me and I’ve been doing my best to keep enough cash coming in to pay the taxes on the land (though why anybody’d want this place but me these days is beyond me). My grandpa was kind of a recluse and wanted a ‘fair piece o’ distance’ between us and the city slickers as he called them. It’s about 15 miles to the nearest town, down a couple worn ruts in the woods, that turn into a strip more dirt than road, before it finally hits the rural route to town. The old joke about ‘You know you’re a redneck when directions to your house start with: After you turn off the paved road…’? Yeah, that always used to kill him.

Sorry, its getting hard to concentrate, mind wanders. I’m leaving this recording on the off chance someone from town notices I haven’t stopped by for a bit and sends the law down this way to check on me. My advice to you is leave now, while you still can. I know it sounds crazy, but.. its true. First thing I noticed was wrong was a couple nights ago, when Sammy, that’s my dog, started barkin up a storm in the middle of the night. Not too surprisin’, we live like I said, way out at the ass end o’ nowhere, and there’s possums and raccoons and a few wild dogs livin out in the woods and sometimes they come on my land to try thier luck. Anyhow, Sammy’s a good dog and just a few snarls from him is usually enough to convince most critters to hightail it back into the trees. But that night, there was something different. It was like he was crazy or something, snarling and yelping like mad. Not a bark, mind you, a yelp. Y’all with dogs know what I mean, that kinda noise they make when they’re caught someplace between territorial anger and fear.

I grabbed my jeans, shoved my feet into an old pair of workboots and grabbed my shotgun figurin’ something bigger might be about. This ain’t bear country but in lean times I’ve seen a wolf or two pacing the edge of the fence, testin’ the water so to speak. Once I seen a cat, almost as big as Sammy out there, I shit you not. I dunno what it was, maybe a cougar or something, you’d have to ask a hunter, which to Daddy’s disappointment I never turned out to be much of. Slaughtering a chickens ot the occasional pig was as far as I went and I ain’t ever been comfortable even with that much.

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Headphones

I can tell, how you’re staring there at this screen, finding some enjoyment. You need anything, just anything to keep you awake and entertained. It’s late, you’re dead tired, but you want to use up every moment. I know how it is. This happens to me, too.

Are the sounds on your computer too loud? Don’t want to wake your folks? Don’t want to get complaints from neighbors, even? Whatever, not a problem. Lower the volume on your speakers. Now that doesn’t really work for you. Instead grab some headphones. You walk through the dark with that slight paranoia, the old childhood fear of the dark. It never really goes away, but it’s all in your head, and you know that. You find your room, you dig through your drawers and your junk to feel for some wires. Ah! There they are. Time to head back to the computer.

Drop them on your computer desk, and go grab a drink of water. Come back and sit down comfortably. Throw on your headphones. You hear a dark ambient sound in the background. A liquid dripping sound, even some metallic grinding there, too. Is it from outside? You take off the headphones, and suddenly, the sound goes away. You think for a moment, suspicious and even frightened. You slide the headphones back on. There it is again. There’s some high-pitched frequency you hear as well. You rip them back off, thinking this is just a joke. It’s gone again. You slide them back on and turn the volume on your speakers all the way down, you even break off the switch trying to make the sound disappear. But it remains.

But then suddenly you notice something. Something you feel stupid for not noticing before. Your headphones aren’t even plugged in. But wait. The wire, it’s dangling straight out, stretching into the darkness elsewhere. You try to pull it towards you, but nothing. You must’ve gotten it stuck on something, you think. But when was I even over in that area? You walk blindly into the darkness, using the wire as a guide through. The wire is longer than you once remembered, much longer than how you remember. “What the hell is this?” you say in your head. The further you go, you finally feel something on the wire. It’s a heavy, gooey, mucky liquid-solid matter. You pick up your hand and bring it close to your face to see what the substance is. It’s dark, and it glistens off the glow of your computer screen, which is now a lot farther away from you than it should be. You glance at your computer’s set-up, and back at your hand.

But in that quick glance at your computer set-up, you noticed something. You saw something there, standing there and staring at the dark and dull light radiating off of your computer monitor. Not only did you see something, but you heard something as well. A heavy, gooey, mucky dripping sound.

You look back at your computer set-up, as the tall, man-like figure there glistens in the light.

–
Credited to my favorite anarchistic bastard, Mr. Valiant.

The Agent from MIPA

[A transcript of the first recorded interview with Subject H270, a victim of the recent “Interplanar Distress Phenomenon” that has taken approximately one hundred reported humans as of this date. Their numbers grow exponentially.]

—–
MINISTRY FOR THE INVESTIGATION OF PARANORMAL ACTIVITY
WASHINGTON, D.C

17. October, 2005
To: Officer Kathe Waldheim
From: Agent Olaf Kaspar-Gottfried,
Unknown Beings Examinations Department

MIPA FILE NO. 33-4215
LAB NO. 92475683-K

NOTES: Subject H270 has been put under sedation and injected with truth serum to ensure accuracy of the report and my own safety. Interview takes place one night after his rescue. Subject remains shaky when regarding my person, yet is otherwise confident reporting the incident.

BEGIN TAPE
Part I
Kaspar-Gottfried: Recount for us the events that led up to your capture.
H270: Home… I want to go home…
Kaspar-Gottfried: You will be returned to your residence after the investigation, provided you cooperate with us.
H270: No, no. Not my home. The home.
(Sounds of a struggle. H270 shrieks, then whimpers softly.)
Kaspar-Gottfried: Now, please recount the events that led up to your capture.
H270: It started with the noises. You’ve heard them, haven’t you? The noises? They come out at night. Little clicks, whirs, taps, vibrating sounds, that sort of thing? Completely unexplainable noises that sound normal at first. But they only come out at night.
Kaspar-Gottfried: So these “noises”… they captured you?
H270: No. Not at all.
Kaspar-Gottfried: Explain.
H270: The noises grew louder and louder every night. I could never sleep. After a week of insomnia, I decided it was useless. I thought they were trying to dominate me and take control of my mind. I would not be a slave to them. So I embraced insomnia, used the night to truly listen to them. That’s when I realized… their voices had a pattern. A language. Time kept passing by, and I was determined to learn their language. And so I did. They kept saying the same things over and over again to me. “It is not too late.” “Come here, come quickly.” And then there are the things they said to each other. “What is he doing?” “Is he asleep yet?” “It’s okay, it’s okay. He’s coming soon.” The waking birds would drown their conversations out when dawn broke. Then there would only be silence. And one night, I noticed they kept telling me, “Come down, and descend. Come down.” I thought they were speaking metaphorically, about some descent into Hell. But it wasn’t. One night, I felt compelled by some strange force. A spirit not my own, to leave my bed and descend. I resisted as much as I could. After all, if I were out of bed. It’d mean they’d stop speaking to me! But I left. And I went into the basement.

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Polly, The Staring Dolly

On my eighth birthday, I got a present that would change my life forever. It was a beautiful doll that looked a lot like me. That is why my grandmother bought it for me. I named her Polly. However, days after I got the doll, things began to get weird, but I didn’t notice.

I slowly became unsocial, never having kids over. All I needed was Polly to make me happy. She was my best and only friend. I just went to school, and came home daily. I never bothered to make friends, or talk to teachers. I even stopped trying in school. I had been a perfect student until I got the present. Nobody really noticed, though, so I didn’t mind.

After about a week of having Polly, I stopped eating real food. I just didn’t feel right eating normal food, so I would always go out to the backyard (we lived in a forest area), after telling my mom I wasn’t really hungry that night, and find some woodland creature to hunt and kill for dinner. My mom didn’t notice me not eating much, until week three. She even took me to the doctor a few times, asking about what was wrong with me. The doctor always had the same answer. I was at a healthy weight and was not sick. After our third visit to Dr. Cortez, my mom decided I was fine and just going through a “stage” as she called it.

After a month of having Polly, my mom noticed me sleeping in my closet instead of my usual place: my bed. And when she would come to check on me, not only would I be in the closet, but Polly would be in my bed. I would also sleep with my eyes wide open. My mom just ignored it, also saying it was a “stage”.

Three months later, I got a haircut. I wanted a bob, and that is what I got. The creepy thing was, after I got my haircut, Polly’s hair started to fall out. It only stopped when her hair was exactly like mine. My mom then knew things were not right with the doll, but I would not part with it because Polly was my friend. She was the only one who understood me.

My mom also told me that when she was about to fall asleep, she would find Polly right next to her bed. Polly would stare at her intently. My mom would put her back in my room, but always find Polly in the same spot when she went back to bed. Eventually, my mom ignored it. I now know that Polly was checking to see if my mom was still awake.

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Dance, Dance

There was a girl who had an illness and was bed-ridden for the majority of her life. She was recently diagnosed to die within the next couple of months so her parents decided to spend as much time with her as they could before her time came. They decided that the best thing was to go camping at a local site for a little bit since the daughter was stuck in the hospital for so long.

On their way there, the girl was quiet as usual and laid in the back while the parents talked amongst themselves. When they finally reached their destination, they pitched the tent, unpacked everything and started a campfire. The mother was constantly filming the area and her daughter while the father went out for more firewood. It was getting dark when he came back, but he suddenly heard the mother scream so he rushed over to discover that his daughter was standing on her feet and was doing a wild, erratic ‘dance’ before she suddenly dropped dead.

After all the funeral processions and grieving subsided, the parents wanted to see the video the mother recorded on that very night. They put the tape in the player and began to watch. At first it just showed the mother looking at the scenery and random animals that passed by in the distance, but as the time frame skipped, it jumped to when she was inside the tent with the daughter as she stood up and began to jerk around.. But there was something wrong. It first was in the corner of their eyes but as they replayed the scene, their horror became more and more real.

The entire time the daughter was ‘dancing’, there was a ghastly white hand latched onto the top of her head.