I grew up next to a town I often describe with a less poetic version of the phrase, “If the supernatural malevolent is real, it is here.” I consider myself fortunate I did not grow up in it.
Most of my experiences in this town I can construct rational explanations for, but they happened often enough I’m more a believer than a skeptic. I will include some of them for context, but my true goal here is to describe Him. I will name Him only once - his name uttered aloud convinced me of the supernatural, and I fear it draws His attention.
The easiest experience with this town to describe, is the aura. I mean this in the emotional way, there is a presence dragging everyone down. It could be dismissed as “simple” generational trauma creating a self-fulfilling cycle, but at night I could feel the intent behind it. Nearly every family in this town was deep in poverty - houses crumbling, children sent to school without showers or decent clothes, and abusive behaviors rampant levels of poverty. My friends and I made the mistake of hanging out in the park at night once, and the sheer malevolence was enough to prevent our return.
Other experiences are easier to dismiss as the imaginations of children who enjoyed horror. One night near Halloween, we were driving by the graveyard. We saw a dog, but it was wrong. Something in its gait, its shape - I drove out of there as fast as I could. Another trip near the graveyard (we did enjoy scaring ourselves after all), and there was a massive slam on the back of my car. The only thing we saw was a handprint on the rear windshield. Most disconcerting was the presence of The Great Ones (Great meaning gargantuan, in my usage); if we put forth the effort, especially at night, to expand our senses and just feel the world, we could sense great wandering presences patrolling. Like Kaiju of the ethereal plane. They were just there.
While all of that was often terrifying on its own, there is one thing that stands out above all others. One thing that I cannot forget, and one thing that I cannot even talk about.
I first heard about him from a friend of mine, a cheerful young woman setting herself up to become a lawyer someday - a woman who grew up near this town. Her very short story led me on the greatest internet search of my life at that point, where I found only one mention of Him - a poem in some social media board somewhere. I say this now because at this point my memories of her story and the poem have merged somewhat, but the gist is the same.
One day as a little girl, she was playing in the lightly wooded area behind her house. A fence stood nearby, but I cannot remember its importance. She turned around and saw The Red Man.
When I first heard that story, and every time I’ve heard His name since, an extreme fear takes me. I know at some primal level that He is dangerous, and that His name draws attention. However, even with this primal knowledge, I thought at some level I was just a silly child. That is, until I found out other people REFUSE TO TALK ABOUT HIM. My wife, for one, shut me down immediately the two times I’ve tried to bring Him up (and not in the way she does when she’s annoyed). His name instills that same primal fear in her. I’ve had a similar experience with a few others.
I’ve not thought about Him for years, until I started reading the myriad posts of this subreddit. The problem? Now that I remember this, I don’t think I’ll be letting it go. I’m a naturally curious person, and power-hungry. I want to know what exists beyond our understanding, and I want to control it, or at least gain by it. Now that I remember Him, the temptation will always be there to call out - and eventually, I’m sure I will give in.