I know this subreddit is meant for those who have horrifying stories to tell about their past experiences, some coming from the supernatural aspects of life, and some coming from their haunted house. Either way, this is a horror subreddit. I am aware. This story is meant to scare you, but in a realistic manner. It doesn’t have anything supernatural about it, it doesn’t have any scary monsters. This is something that happened to me that I was terrified of.
When I was about 8 years old, my parents were divorced and both remarried. I lived with my mom at this point. She married a drug addict. In turn, niether of them were good people. At this point in time, we lived in a trailer in this back hollar in a small town, southern Kentucky. There were 12 people in this trailer, and 7 of them were drug dealers. The rest were minors or my parents. One of the people there had a serious addiction to crack cocaine, and I mean SERIOUS. He wasn’t so bad with the meth, but the other stuff he did like literally every day. It terrified me. He terrified me.
One day, he got high. He was goofing off with his best friend, and was waving his gun around like it was a kite. He forgot to unload it. That’s what he told the cops. Him and his best friend ended up getting into an argument over something, and when he pointed the gun and pulled the trigger, it was too late. The bullet went straight through his heart. He dropped to the ground. I was the only person there at the time. I swear he laughed. When he pulled the trigger, I swear he did. He looked at me and smiled, and recocked his gun. That’s when my mom, my aunt and my brother came running around the corner. He saw them and ran. They tried to stop the bleeding. I was standing right next to the guy who was shot. There was blood on my face, my dora shirt, my jeans, my paw patrol shoes.
I stood there while his mom wailed and tried to stop her son from bleeding out. I stood there while my mom held my brother while he cried. I stood there while the ambulance arrived and pronounced him dead. While the police questioned everyone. When they came to me, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything while they forced me into the shower, while they brought me to the police station, while the policeman questioned me in this small room with two chairs and a small table. The man who shot his best friend was found a few days later.
I have never been a fan of guns, even before the incident. Just the thought that one pul of a trigger could so easily undo years of work to become… human. All of it. I didn’t speak for weeks after the incident.
This story isn’t about the supernatural. Or monsters under your bed. It is to warn you about the monsters that sleep under the same roof as you. About the monsters you pass on the street. About the monsters that are human beings.