When I was in 3rd grade, maybe 8 or 9 years old, I saw something that completely traumatized me and I still can’t figure out if it was real and something has replaced my entire family, or if I suffered some type of psychotic break, because I can swear that this truly happened.
It was the day after thanksgiving, I remember that because I spent the whole day with my family, stuffing my face with the mashed potato’s and the delicious barbecue beef cups my grandpa used to make. I came home that night so tired and stuffed, I fell asleep right after I laid down in bed.
I don’t remember anything weird that day, or that night, but the next day was horrific. I went upstairs for breakfast, not even noticing that my sister wasn’t asleep in her bed. I got myself a bowl of cereal and sat at the table.
No one was there, my house was always full. I lived with my aunt and two cousins, as well as my parents and my other two siblings, and usually mornings were loud, parents shouting at us to get up and get ready for school, shower if we needed to and eat some cereal unless we wanted to eat at school, or just laughing and screaming as we played if it wasn’t a school day. It was never quiet.
That morning, there was none of that. It was absolutely silent. Maybe that day is the day that makes me anxious to be in silence, I have to put on music or tv shows I’ve already seen, something that won’t distract me too much in order to sleep, otherwise my mind races and my heartbeat speeds up and I begin to panic.
I don’t know why I felt the need to open that door. I rarely went in that closet, it only held blankets and sheets that weren’t in use. I never should have opened that godforsaken closet door, my life has never been the same since.
I looked around for my family after realizing that it shouldn’t be this quiet in this house. My aunts and cousins gone, everyone just gone. Every room in my house was empty. Until I walked past the closet and something was telling me to open it, only the closet door would not budge. I pulled and pulled, to no avail.
I was about to accept that and walk away, but the door clicked. I pulled the door open and screamed until my throat gave way and my voice abandoned me. Staring back at me was my father, in one of those bags that they put wedding dresses and suits in, just hanging there on that hanger, I can’t begin to explain how that hanger could hold his weight without giving away.
There was other bags so reluctantly I moved them to the side, my parents, my sister, brother, aunt and two cousins, all of them there and undeniably dead. I tried to scream again, forgetting that my voice had already left me like they had. All of them, just gone.
I called the cops of course,they told me they would send someone but no one ever showed up. I began calling my other family members, it all ended the same. They would panic, telling me to stay put until they got there and that they were calling the cops.
Again, the cops never came. My family did though. Each and every one of them became dead bodies hanging in bags in my closet. How they got there I had no idea. The closet wasn’t even big enough for all of them to be in there, yet they were. Every one of my family members were dead, at least the ones whose numbers were saved on the home phone anyways.
My family was gone, I had no way to reach the ones who weren’t, and even if I did why would I? They all ended up dead after the call ended. The cops still didn’t come. Why didn’t they come after I told them my family was dead?
I laid down on the couch and cried in silence. Nothing but the sound of my uneven breaths and sniffles until I cried myself to sleep.
I woke up the next day, my head pounding, but my ears filled with the normal ruckus in my house. Everyone was back, alive and as loud as ever. I told my mom everything, she insisted it was just a nightmare, even called my extended family to prove that they too are alive and well.
I would have believed that, except my eyes were puffy and my head was pounding as it always is when I cry myself to sleep at night. My throat hurt, presumably from the screaming. Not only that, but it was Saturday, if it were just a nightmare wouldn’t it be Friday, since that’s what the day was in my “nightmare.”? If it was Saturday, why didn’t I have any memory of that day aside from the supposed nightmare?
The icing on the cake were the bags in that closet, neatly folded on the floor. I asked my mother about them, she said they were always there. They were not, and even if they were, we definitely would not have had that many.
My mother has changed since that day. She’s mean to me, to everybody. I can’t look at my family the same after seeing all of their dead faces hanging in my closet. My life has not and will never be the same until I get to the bottom of this.
Am I insane, or did something replace my family? Why didn’t they take me too?