Okay, so, this might be a pretty long post, but I’m trying to cut it short while giving all necessary information. I was also homeschooled, so my English may be a bit off. Please bear with me.
I’m from a family where my parents are kind of really paranoid for some reason. They were successful otherwise, making tea, but I actually like it because it tasted distinct? I don’t know how to put it into words. Of love?
So every year, I could see the people who were dead before me under a specific tree. I always go to meet them under this one tree though, because my parents constantly tell me not to go there for absolutely no reason, I thought. They said they meant the best for me and that they didn’t want me to “have this illness worse”, but I was sure sneaking around a year wouldn’t hurt.
I thought I was hallucinating initially with the first case being when I was around 6? I think it’s around that age at least–and my parents didn’t get me checked to a doctor or something, which I found strange. But since I’ve eavesdropped some of their conversations when they think I’m gone or sleeping, I hear them saying that they should “try to cut down that godforsaken tree”, and apparently they tried before but it didn’t work.
Anyways, I’ve met a lot of lovely people out there. An old man who just sits under the tree with me and narrates some sweet stories about how he met his wife and how he was alive when he first saw his grandson, or a girl about 15 saying she missed me and talking about her family and stuff about how her younger sister has probably annoyed the life out of their parents, or a gang of boys, who were barely 10 or something, playing hide and seek. It was like a separate family on it’s own. I just stay there for barely a few hours, maybe about 7 hours, and then I leave because my parents wake up at 8 and I’d be dead if they caught me outside.
It seemed to me that all of them always talked about their family in one way or the other. I didn’t know why, and nor did I ask much. I think I did ask the Grandpa once before, when I was almost leaving, and he just stared at me, went silent, and we didn’t talk later about that.
Okay so fast forward to about 3 months before now, I was an eighteen year old, only child in our family, and getting my parent’s business of making tea. So around this time, I learnt that if the person is dedicated enough, emotions gets “in” their work. Like you know, when you have a wife mad at you and making food for the morning, she might screw it up deliberately or something so that you know. Is it a good example? Dunno, like that. And my parents always stressed that emotions should be preserved, especially the positive ones.
Oh and before I forget, my father’s grandad was a scientist. He recently found out how to extract impurity from people’s hearts, and make them as perfect as they could be. Or something. Well not exactly “perfect” but you know, to extract their…happiness? And other positive things? That’s what I understood.
Initially I didn’t think much of that, well until about two something days before.
Instead of the other ghost folks, I was met with a ghost man instead. He was about a year older than me. When I saw him, he was sitting on the grass under the tree which looked ever so green like every other time, staring at the horizon. I asked him his name, and he said it was Michael.
It rang a bell, but I didn’t know who he was. He continued saying that I shouldn’t be with my parents. I ask him why, because they didn’t do anything wrong to me, and he instead told me that I must find this one torn paper he knows was in my room. It was a little creepy, to say the least, but I returned home early as he urged me to go, relentlessly.
My parents checked on me minutes later I arrive, so that man was really a lifesaver. Then after a lot of search, I find a torn paper in an old book, with names of about 15 people. I didn’t recognise any of the names, but I saw a “me??” in it. Other names were striked off.
I asked around my human friends the day after that night, who I don’t know how I met but never ratted me out to my parents. They were the only people my parents allowed to talk to me, for some reason. I asked them a few names from the paper and they looked at each other for a moment before explaining the people to me. They sounded like they were trying to not reveal too much.
One was apparently the father of two, and a grandfather to three. Another one was a son of a woman who made living selling toys, and the other two being his friends. At that moment, things sort of clicked in my head, but I wasn’t sure. I asked if they knew a man called Michael, about year older than me, and they fell silent. I heard noises from their room after a few minutes though, I didn’t know if they were laughing or crying. I thought they were doing the couple things and left.
That was the only night I went down to the tree again right after the previous day. I saw the man again, and he told me that I should follow my parents today. Today as in today-today, not yesterday’s today. So I was all ready, and we did it today.
I still don’t have the right words to explain what my parents did; it’s hard seeing someone you just cared for and loved so long, and them suddenly doing…whatever I’ll explain.
I followed them, where they went to an abandoned house. They entered, without any sound, with steps being as though they were avoiding things. I later figured out it was because of traps in the hard way as I had tripped over some newspaper which covered a hole down below, which had activated something and there were loud noises. I was suddenly pulled over the hiding spot by something I couldn’t even see, and my parents thankfully didn’t catch me. But in their hands, I saw the syringe, and there was a label on it. I couldn’t read it from that far. They nearly found me, like their leg was so close to touching me while I was under a table, I felt so scared like I’ve never been.
They continued. I followed them, to see a room of dead bodies, and them looking like the lifeless form of the spirits I talked to. I saw one of the human friends–those parents who I told were laughing or crying earlier–well, the mother. She was there, dead, as my father inserted a syringe on her upper hand and then the syringe was filled with some white-ish stuff which was near invisible. He then sat down near a wooden table directly opposite to the dead people, put a weird cloth in front of it–cloth?–and then with a glass box connected to it, and then the syringe content was emptied into the glass box as the filter cloth thing was in between.
Father then told his wife that it needed further purification, but that would work. Then he stood upright, getting up from his chair, and called my name. Archer. He added that I should come join my brother, Michael.
I ran out as quick as possible–it was hard because I rarely walked–but I was running for my life. I was genuinely scared. I nearly dropped my phone I flicked from the table, this one I mean, and right now I asked for a villager’s help. They let me reside in a house temporarily for the night. I thanked him and I can’t sleep any longer.
I cannot believe I used to drink my tea with such a horrible element in it.
My name is Archer, and I don’t know where I am. I don’t have proper internet, but I’ll try my very best to struggle one response out at least.
I may delete my account because my parents might have found me, and I don’t know anymore. In case I do get deleted, my username was u/I__need__help___, who’s temporarily away from two devils I called parents before. It feels wrong to call them that in my heart, but I know they’re nothing but that. And if I don’t come out alive from this, at least my story will tell people to remain cautious.