Like every story of this nature, this one is supposedly true. It did not happen to me. It didn’t happen to anyone I know. But the person who told me this tale gave a name. A small bit of research left me at least partially convinced. Tweets, blogs, all the usual methods by which we regularly update strangers online to every detail of our lives. Of course, it could all be a lot of effort from someone in the hopes of lending credibility to something so absurd that it couldn’t possibly have happened. Right?
Regardless, that name will not be seen here. For now, let’s say his name is Joe. I could go with a different name or gender, but I know that would already make things too scary for some of you.
Joe was a man in his late 20’s. Again, all made up. But what IS true is that after several years of making believable excuses for why he couldn’t make it to Thanksgiving or Christmas gatherings, he had successfully been guilted into visiting his mother at his childhood home for a long weekend. He figured a few days with only his mom for company would be easier to handle than being around his entire family. No sister or cousins with their marriages and houses and successful careers. And hey, a couple free meals helps too. Better than a can of spaghetti in a lonely apartment, for sure.
The house stood on top of a small hill in an otherwise fairly flat part of the country backroads. This place was so isolated that the roads themselves only get numbers for names, and even if there weren’t trees on all sides for miles, you’d have to squint to see a speck of someone else’s home on the horizon. If I were willing to change more details of this story for dramatic effect, I might tell you that this took place in a 100-year-old Victorian estate, all weathered and brown. Or the sort of spooky old shack you might imagine existing way out in the sticks like this. But I’m an honest storyteller, and the truth is the structure itself was a perfectly nice two-story, built not long before Joe’s older sister was born. White vinyl siding. Various shrubs and flowers meticulously placed along the front. Joe’s ratty old Grand Cherokee pulled up the driveway.
They sat in the living room, sipping iced tea sweet enough to make soda taste like sea water, both sort of half-watching one of Mom’s house flipper shows on tv. When Joe first arrived, there had been the usual pleasantries and barrage of motherly questions, like “have you been eating well” or “when can I expect a grandbaby from you.” But now things had settled. Dinner was over and conversation had petered out about half an hour earlier. Joe watched the happy couple on tv as they glowed over how successful their new AirB&B would be.
“Well,” said Joe, “I think I’m going to turn in for the night”
He went to the kitchen to dump his ice and rinse his glass, then returned to the living room for his bags before continuing past the staircase and into his old bedroom.
“I haven’t changed much in here,” said Mom, entering right behind Joe. “Got some new sheets and a couple other things. Like it?”
Joe set his bags down and looked around. She was right, everything was basically in the same spot he remembered, save for a few new decorative Hobby Lobby knick-knacks on the walls or on top of the dresser. The bed used to have a white pillow and nondescript forest green comforter, but now sported some sort of Serengeti theme, with throw pillows featuring zebra stripes and giraffe spots.
“It’s, uh... fun!” said Joe, as every other word in the English language disappeared in a puff of smoke. Then he spotted it. “Oh, hey. Is that... me?”
In the corner of the room, fit snugly on the tiny sliver of wall between the bathroom door and the closet, a baby photo.
“Yeah! Look how cute you were,” said mom. “I found it a few months ago while looking through some old boxes I got down from the attic. I can’t believe I forgot about it!”
Joe didn’t remember ever seeing this photo before. Must’ve been in storage for quite a long time. It was maybe 8”x10”, in a cheap old wood frame. One of those Sears-type studio jobs with the classic textured, single-color backdrop. Little bitty Joe, no more than a year and a half old, wearing a tiny red t-shirt and a blue cap, barely gripping a big rubber baseball. He had that clueless look babies get when they don’t know what’s going on but also don’t really care (#1 most common baby look). He wasn’t really looking AT the camera so much as a little to the side, likely at the photographer’s hand holding up some sort of baby treat.
“I’d thought all your pictures burned up in the fire before I found this,” said Mom. “Did you know ‘ball’ was your first word?”
“No! That’s a funny first word,” said Joe.
Mom giggled thinking about it. “You’d point at anything round and go ‘baw. baw.’That Easter all the eggs were ‘baw’ to you.”
“I gotta start saying that again. Baw!”
They both had a good laugh, then chatted a bit longer, but soon Mom was ready to call it a night as well. They both said their goodnights and she headed up the stairs to her room.
Joe stood alone in his old room. He removed the various throw pillows from the bed and piled them on a chair. He grabbed a few nighttime essentials from his bags. Charging cable for his phone, power cord for his laptop, and of course the laptop itself. How did the cavemen get sleepy at night without mildly boring internet videos to watch? Presumably they at least had a cave painting of a man repairing a CD player to look at.
A few video essays later, Joe could finally feel his eyelids getting heavy. He closed his laptop, removed his glasses and adjusted himself into a more sleep-appropriate position. With the lights off, it felt so eerily close to time travel. Like a memory he could walk around in. If he wasn’t so comfortable in bed, maybe he would. Joe felt himself slowly sinking into unconsciousness.
TAP TAP TAP
Joe’s eyes opened. Did Mom need something?
TAP TAP TAP
He realized it was still night. He wasn’t even sure if more than a few minutes had passed since he went to bed.
TAP TAP TAP
What was that tapping, then? He squinted his eyes as he looked around the dark room. Moonlight poured through the window blinds. He could make out the shadow of a single, long, crooked tip of a tree branch on the floor. It moved.
TAP TAP TAP
Joe was a little pissed at himself. He had been just a teeny bit on edge, all because the wind was blowing on a tree. This Ebenezer Scrooge dipshit. Bit of undercooked potato ass.
He relaxed in bed but continued to watch the shadow tap for a little while. After he got his fill he laid back, ready to sleep again. His eyes lingered on the shapes the moonlight made as it intersected with two of the walls in the room. The way the shadow of the blinds mixed with the slats of the closet door like crosshatching.
And the baby photo. Something about it felt... off. Refusing to reward his stupid feelings with the effort of putting on his glasses, Joe decided to just squint harder. Was there a bug on the picture? Whatever it was, it gave the bizarre illusion that the mouth of little baby Joe was moving. Just opening and closing over and over, silently.
Joe realized how utterly insane this thought was and went to sleep as fast as he could.
Joe awoke to clanging and clattering coming from somewhere in the house. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He felt a familiar, intense sense of dread. Joe could not move a single muscle in his entire body. He slowly let one eye peek open. On the opposite wall, a shadow began slowly moving. He tried to scream but could only manage something less than a whisper.
Then Mom knocked and opened the door. Joe sat up, free to move again.
“Good morning, sunshine! Breakfast is ready if you’re hungry!”
Joe rubbed the sleep from his eyes and forced a smile. “Okay, smells great!”
“Well come on! These biscuits ain’t eating themselves!” Mom pauses for a second and lets out a little shiver. “You been messing with the thermostat?”
Joe sat at the table with Mom, enjoying one of the greatest gifts to mankind: a homemade southern breakfast. Fluffy cathead biscuits with your choice of jelly, apple butter or sorghum. Both sausage patties AND bacon. Scrambled eggs. Orange juice made from one of those frozen cans of concentrate.
As he ate, Joe’s mind wandered back to when he first woke up.
“Do you remember how I used to have bad dreams all the time as a kid?” asked Joe.
Mom took a sip of her juice. “Boy DO I. You’d drive me crazy sometimes waking me up at night. Why? Did you not sleep well last night, baby?”
“No, no. Sleeping in my old room last night just made me think about it. I remember I used to keep my tv on all night because I thought it helped keep me from having any nightmares. You used to get so mad at me.”
“Aw, that’s just cuz I would be up at 5 a.m. getting ready for work and I’d hear your tv going. I thought you were staying up all night!”
“Haha, it took a lot of work to convince you I got more sleep with the tv on than I did with it off.”
Conversation trailed off as the two finished up their meals. But Mom had one last question.
“Do you still get those dreams? ‘Sleep analysis’ or whatever you called ‘em?”
Joe looked up from his final bite of biscuit. “Sleep paralysis? Maybe every now and then, but not like I did when I still lived here. I might get it a couple times a year these days, but back then it seemed like almost every night sometimes.”
The two cleaned up the dishes and put away leftovers, and the rest of the day consisted of Joe tagging along with Mom to the local flea market and a few other places. Classic mom activities. We weren’t invited, though, so we don’t get to know the details.
After a long day out and a night of watching movies with Mom, Joe found himself staying up looking at the internet in bed again. His mind had wandered back to his dream from that morning, and he found himself looking up sleep paralysis.
It can be soothing to be reminded how complex and powerful the human mind is, and how it is simultaneously so very broken and stupid. Capable of turning off all muscle movement in the body to prevent us from hurting ourselves, but then also making up terrifying visions and feelings of dread to scare itself for no good reason. It’s no wonder people attributed it to witches and demons for so long.
Joe himself had been convinced for years that the house must be haunted. Except that nobody else had ever lived or died there. But he had had no other explanation, at least until he finally happened to see a news story bring up sleep paralysis on TV one night.
The time in the corner of the screen said 2:14am and Joe knew he needed to stop letting his mind wander so he could get some sleep. He turned off the video he had been watching and closed his laptop.
TAP TAP TAP TAP
Another windy night, it seems. Something to focus on during the slow descent into slumber. Joe removed his glasses and got comfortable.
TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP
He once again looked at the moonlight covering the floor and walls. The shadow of the lone tree branch could be seen again, seeming even longer than the night before as it tapped tapped tapped. It reached nearly halfway across the floor now. Joe’s eyes followed the direction the branch pointed and landed on the baby photo.
There was something strange to Joe about having a photo of himself hanging on the wall, watching over him as he slept. Or maybe it wouldn’t have felt so strange if it had been a more recent pic. Something he could look at and immediately go “oh, yeah, that’s obviously me.” Something about having no memory and no familiarity with this thing. Someone just says “that’s you” and you have to take them at their word.
TAP TAP TAP TAP
That bug or whatever it was came back. The mouth on the photo looked like it was moving, no matter how hard Joe squinted. Open and closed, open and closed. Silent little words being formed.
TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP
Joe finally gave in and put on his glasses, but that didn’t help answer any questions. It was so dark in there, it was hard to see anything in detail. No bug, but the lip flapping illusion remained. There was probably a leaf or something stuck on the window, casting a shadow. Joe considered getting out of bed for a closer look. Whatever. This was all silly. Joe took off his glasses again and closed his eyes.
TAP TAP TA-
“OW, FUCK.”
Joe was asleep for maybe two seconds before a quick, sharp pain on his hand woke him up. He shook it a little before bringing it closer to his face for inspection. There was a cut running across the back of his hand. Nothing more intense than maybe a cat scratch, though it was starting to bleed just a little.
Joe’s bed stand didn’t have a lamp. He opened up his laptop and fullscreened a blank notepad document. Good enough light for him to look around and see what he somehow hit in his sleep. But he couldn’t find anything that made any sense. No loose nails or particularly sharp corners.
Annoyed and tired, Joe got up and walked over to the bathroom door, wanting to clean the blood off his hand and get to sleep. But something caught his eye. He looked at the baby photo. The lips were not moving, but. Something else was off. There was some sort of dark spot on the frame, covering the right hand. Joe reached out to wipe it off, then held his fingers in better lighting so he could see what it was.
“...Blood?”
Maybe it was somehow flung across the room when he had been shaking his hurt hand earlier? It certainly wasn’t dried blood, so that’s the only explanation that made sense.
After cleaning up in the bathroom, Joe got back in bed and went to close his laptop, but hesitated. He laid his head down, closed his eyes, and drifted off while a playlist of calming videos streamed all night.
The next morning, Joe groggily shuffled food around his breakfast plate.
“You feeling okay, sweetie?” asked Mom.
Joe looked up to meet her concerned gaze. “Oh... Yeah! I just accidentally stayed up too late looking at the internet. Lost track of time.”
“Oh, okay. I was gonna say, if you’re not feeling well, I don’t mind taking you to see a doctor while you’re here.”
Joe didn’t need his poor mother finding out her grown-ass son was getting scared of wind and shadows again like he was still a child. If his sister and his cousins can all live successful lives like you’re supposed to at his age, the least he could do is act like he’s not scared of the dark and doesn’t need to get free doctors visits on other peoples’ dimes.
“Nah... Thanks for the offer, though. I just gotta remember to go to bed at a reasonable time tonight.”
“Yeah, you’ve got a long trip back tomorrow. I don’t want you driving sleep deprived.”
Joe continued scraping his eggs around and thinking. Mom changed the subject.
“I was thinking about your bad dreams after you mentioned them yesterday...”
Joe looked up. Mom had a distant look on her face as she continued.
“I remember one. It was maybe a week or so before the fire happened. You had already made a habit of leaving the tv on every night, but that particular night I snuck into your room and turned it off. I guess because it would save a few dollars on the power bill, or to show you it was safe to sleep in the dark. I should’ve left it alone. I woke up thinking you were dying, the way you were screaming. I almost tripped from how fast I ran down the stairs. When I got to your room, you were sitting there crying your eyes out. Crying so hard you could barely breathe. Your face had cold sweat and tears and snot and slobber pouring out, and you wouldn’t even look at me at first. You just sat there, staring at nothing, going back and forth between letting out these quiet little whimpers and gasping for air. I was ready to call an ambulance.”
Joe could see his mother fighting back some tears that were starting to form. He could feel something welling up in the back of his throat, too.
“But thankfully you started to calm down some. Your breathing got a little more even, and you gave me the saddest hug. I don’t think you let go for half an hour. My shirt was covered with tears and blood...”
Joe interrupted. “Blood?”
“Yeah, apparently you had gotten so worked up in your sleep that you must’ve started scratching at yourself. You had scrapes all over your arms. You never were good at keeping your nails trimmed, I guess.”
Joe looked down at his fingernails and let out the smallest, briefest chuckle.
“Anyway, after you started talking again, you asked me to stay up with you, and after the scare you gave me, I wasn’t going to get back to sleep anyway. So we sat there and watched whatever shows would come on antenna tv at four in the morning while you calmed down.”
“It’s weird, but I don’t remember any of this,” said Joe.
“I think the whole thing just shook you so much that you blocked it out. I tried to get you to talk about what happened in your dream that night and it was already fading from your memory even then. All you would mention was something about a shadow and a hand with one single long fingernail...”
Mom let out a deep exhale, like she had just sat down after a long day’s work. Her tone got more relaxed.
“Anyway, not long after that, we had the fire and had to stay with Grandmother for a long time until things could be rebuilt. But you already knew that. Your sleep seemed to get better while you were there, so at least something good came from all that... You done with your food? I can take your plate.”
That night, Joe laid in bed, doing everything in his power to have as few thoughts as possible. TV shows, video essays, game streams, social media. The wind banged against the side of the house. The weather was expected to be bad all night. As a man opened up an old cassette deck on YouTube, Joe noticed the screen dim. A couple seconds later, the video freezes. He looked at the bottom right corner, where a little battery icon was half-filled and the clock read 3:02 A.M. He checked that the power cord was plugged in, then took a moment to listen. Ignoring the wind, the house was deathly quiet. No fridge noise, no AC. Power outage. The laptop was so old and well-used, it maybe could last half an hour without being plugged in.
TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP
The wind was going wild. Joe stared off as his mental levee broke and a hundred thoughts poured in.
TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP
Something caught Joe’s eye. The photo. Something was different. Curiosity overrode everything else as he stood up to get a closer look.
TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP
He walked across the room and hunched down to look as close as he could. The mouth wasn’t moving. No random blood. But did the face look different? More upset? Worried? Something was on the glass of the frame. Joe rubbed his fingers across it. Wet. As if it had been sweating.
TAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAPTAP
Joe walked back to his bed, trying to ignore whatever he just saw. He picked up his phone and checked the battery. 56%. He did some math and figured if he turns the screen brightness way down, it could maybe last him till the morning. And surely the power would be back before then. And after that he’d be leaving, so basically he’d be home free.
Joe made sure his phone’s power cord was properly plugged into both the outlet and into the phone itself. This way it’d get power as soon as it was available. The laptop ran out of juice just as Joe hunkered down to continue his video on a smaller screen. He let out a little yawn.
The next morning, the weather was calm. Joe’s mom had accidentally slept in. She still used an old clock radio for her morning alarm, and the power outage had reset it. Late in the morning, she finally made her way downstairs.
“Joe? Sweety?” Mom gingerly knocked at his bedroom door. “I know you gotta head out soon, but I can still make you a quick breakfast if you haven’t already eaten...”
She opened the door and peeked inside. Empty. She tried knocking at the bathroom.
“Joe?”
Maybe he had already left? Probably was in a hurry and didn’t want to bother his sleeping mother. She put on her slippers and walked out to the driveway just to make sure.
Outside, it was a crisp autumn morning. Dew covered the grass, birds chirped. Nothing seemed out of place. Joe’s Jeep was parked.
Not knowing what to think of this, Joe’s mom walked down the driveway and out onto the empty country road. She looked left and saw nothing. She looked right. Left again. Right.
Still standing in the road, oblivious to any possibility of oncoming traffic, she pulled her cellphone from her pocket to call Joe. And call again. And call again.
Back inside, on Joe’s bedside table, his phone sat exactly where it had been the night before. The screen was completely black. And in the corner of the room, fit snugly on the tiny sliver of wall between the bathroom door and the closet, a photo. It was maybe 8”x10”, in a cheap old wood frame. One of those Sears-type studio jobs. The only thing odd about it was that, besides the classic textured, single-color backdrop, the photo was entirely empty.
There were several attempts at search parties over the following weeks, but Joe was never found. All I can say is, if you’re ever alone at night, and out of the corner of your eye you see something strange and unexplainable, like a photo silently moving its mouth: maybe don’t ignore it… It could be trying to warn you.