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In_The_Wind

Profile Information

Gender: Female
Home country: USA
Current location: Watching my Koi Pond while sipping coffee 24/7
Member since: Mon Apr 25, 2005, 09:44 PM
Number of posts: 70,339

About Me

Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. ~~~~~~~~~ For, it ends in the blink of an eye. Carpe Diem (Seize the day)!

Journal Archives

Sleepy Hollow is just south of my home.



A Knock on the Window

I lay in my bed, restless and alone, on a dark and silent night. I toss and turn in my bed, trying to find a comfortable spot, but I feel uneasy. Something about tonight just didnít feel right. I toss and turn until I finally find a comfortable position.
I close my eyes, but it doesnít make a difference, itís too dark in my room to see a thing anyways. I guess it takes time for my eyes to adjust to darkness. I lay there, still and silent on a dark and dank night. My body is relaxed, my mind is blank, and Iím ready for some much needed rest. Instantly, the silence is shattered and my mind fills with fearful thoughts as my startled eyes flash open.

Knock. Knock.

Itís almost undoubtedly the sound of a fist on glass. But no, it couldnít be, what would someoneís motivation be to wake someone alone in their home? Think logically. If someone wanted to break in, why would they warn me with a knock? They would just break in, making a loud and obvious noise, or try to be as silent as possible. Why would they knock?

Monsters donít exist. I could give myself some peace of mind and simply look out the window, but Iím facing the other way and Iím too timid to turn my head, afraid of finding my greatest fears standing outside my window. What could it be though? Maybe a couple of birds flew into my window. No, thatís too unrealistic. Could a group of kids be running around late at night, knocking on windows to get a few laughs? Itís a possibility. Come to think of it, maybe it was my imagination. Maybe I heard the usual creak in the house and my paranoid mind has mistaken it for a knock.

Knock. Knock.

Nope, that definitely wasnít my imagination. Those damn kids are persistent. They donít want to quit until they get that reaction. Maybe some sick twisted freak is standing outside waiting for me to look so he can smash through and attack me. No, donít think that. Donít get Paranoid. Besides, heís outside, Iím inside, until I hear a shatter, I know Iím safe. Monsters donít exist. Besides, I havenít moved yet, hopefully those kids will think Iím a heavy sleeper and leave me alone.

Knock Knock.

No, it canít be kids. No kid would wait around this long just to get a reaction from one, lonely guy; theyíd just get bored and move along. But, what could it be? Why would a serial killer target me, of all people? Think logically. Monsters donít exist. Donít get paranoid. Theyíre outside, Iím inside, until I hear a shatter, I know Iím safe. But if itís not a monster or some sort of killer, what could it be? Just pretend to be asleep and maybe theyíll go away.

Knock. Knock.

Oh God I canít think of a noise I hate more than that persistent knock! Please go away! Just leave me alone and let me be! Thereís no hope. Itís going to get in here and do sick and horrible things to me. Inhale. Take deep breaths. I can feel my heart pound out of my chest just relax.

Monsters donít exist. Remember, theyíre outside, Iím inside, until I hear a shatter I know Iím safe. Repeat that. Donít let your fear get the best of you. Just pretend to be asleep. Donít move a muscle.

Knock. Knock.

Theyíre outside, Iím inside, until I hear a shatter, I know Iím safe. Monsters donít exist. Just pretend to be asleep and pray itíll go away.

Knock. Knock.

Theyíre outside, Iím inside, until I hear a shatter, I know Iím safe. Frightful tears begin to drip down my face. Monsters donít exist. Monsters DO NOT exist. I begin to whisper to myself, ďTheyíre outside, Iím inside, until I hear a shatter, I know Iím safe. Theyíre outside, Iím inside, until I hear a shatter, I know Iím safe.Ē

Knock. Knock.

I CANíT TAKE IT ANY MORE! Iím gonna go mad listening to these knocks! At least if I see what it is Iíll have peace of mind! Take a deep breath. I repeat to myself, one more time, ďTheyíre outside, Iím inside, until I hear a shatter, I know Iím safe.Ē I take a few more breaths, my heart pounding as hard as itís ever pounded at a mile a minute. I slowly turn my head to face the window.

My heart sinks into my chest and Iím too afraid to scream or move. I turned my head to find a pale figure with beady, black eyes staring through me and into my soul as a horrid grin creeps across its face. It was standing inside the whole time, knocking on my window.

The Rake

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During the summer of 2003, events in the northeastern United States involving a strange, humanlike creature sparked brief local media interest before an apparent blackout was enacted. Little or no information was left intact, as most online and written accounts of the creature were mysteriously destroyed.
Primarily focused in rural New York state and once found in Idaho, self proclaimed witnesses told stories of their encounters with a creature of unknown origin. Emotions ranged from extremely traumatic levels of fright and discomfort, to an almost childlike sense of playfulness and curiosity. While their published versions are no longer on record, the memories remained powerful. Several of the involved parties began looking for answers that year.

In early 2006, the collaboration had accumulated nearly two dozen documents dating between the 12th century and present day, spanning 4 continents. In almost all cases, the stories were identical. Iíve been in contact with a member of this group and was able to get some excerpts from their upcoming book.

A Suicide Note: 1964

"As I prepare to take my life, I feel it necessary to assuage any guilt or pain I have introduced through this act. It is not the fault of anyone other than him. For once I awoke and felt his presence. And once I awoke and saw his form. Once again I awoke and heard his voice, and looked into his eyes. I cannot sleep without fear of what I might next awake to experience. I cannot ever wake. Goodbye."

Found in the same wooden box were two empty envelopes addressed to William and Rose, and one loose personal letter with no envelope:

"Dearest Linnie,

I have prayed for you. He spoke your name."

A Journal Entry (translated from Spanish): 1880

"I have experience the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I have experienced the greatest terror. I see his eyes when I close mine. They are hollow. Black. They saw me and pierced me. His wet hand. I will not sleep. His voice (unintelligible text)."

A Mariner's Log: 1691

"He came to me in my sleep. From the foot of my bed I felt a sensation. He took everything. We must return to England. We shall not return here again at the request of the Rake."

From a Witness: 2006

"Three years ago, I had just returned from a trip from Niagara Falls with my family for the 4th of July. We were all very exhausted after a long day of driving, so my husband and I put the kids right to bed and called it a night.

At about 4am, I woke up thinking my husband had gotten up to use the restroom. I used the moment to steal back the sheets, only to wake him in the process. I appologized and told him I though he got out of bed. When he turned to face me, he gasped and pulled his feet up from the end of the bed so quickly his knee almost knocked me out of the bed. He then grabbed me and said nothing.

After adjusting to the dark for a half second, I was able to see what caused the strange reaction. At the foot of the bed, sitting and facing away from us, there was what appeared to be a naked man, or a large hairless dog of some sort. Its body position was disturbing and unnatural, as if it had been hit by a car or something. For some reason, I was not instantly frightened by it, but more concerned as to its condition. At this point I was somewhat under the assumption that we were supposed to help him.

My husband was peering over his arm and knee, tucked into the fetal position, occasionally glancing at me before returning to the creature.

In a flurry of motion, the creature scrambled around the side of the bed, and then crawled quickly in a flailing sort of motion right along the bed until it was less than a foot from my husband's face. The creature was completely silent for about 30 seconds (or probably closer to 5, it just seemed like a while) just looking at my husband. The creature then placed its hand on his knee and ran into the hallway, leading to the kids' rooms.I screamed and ran for the lightswitch, planning to stop him before he hurt my children. When I got to the hallway, the light from the bedroom was enough to see it crouching and hunched over about 20 feet away. He turned around and looked directly at me, covered in blood. I flipped the switch on the wall and saw my daughter Clara.

The creature ran down the stairs while my husband and I rushed to help our daughter. She was very badly injured and spoke only once more in her short life. She said "he is the Rake".

My husband drove his car into a lake that night, while rushing our daughter to the hospital. They did not survive.

Being a small town, news got around pretty quickly. The police were helpful at first, and the local newspaper took a lot of interest as well. However, the story was never published and the local television news never followed up either.

For several months, my son Justin and I stayed in a hotel near my parent's house. After we decided to return home, I began looking for answers myself. I eventually located a man in the next town over who had a similar story. We got in contact and began talking about our experiences. He knew of two other people in New York who had seen the creature we now referred to as the Rake.

It took the four of us about two solid years of hunting on the internet and writing letters to come up with a small collection of what we believe to be accounts of the Rake. None of them gave any details, history or follow up. One journal had an entry involving the creature in its first 3 pages, and never mentioned it again. A ship's log explained nothing of the encounter, saying only that they were told to leave by the Rake. That was the last entry in the log.

There were, however, many instances where the creature's visit was one of a series of visits with the same person. Multiple people also mentioned being spoken to, my daughter included. This led us to wonder if the Rake had visited any of us before our last encounter.

I set up a digital recorder near my bed and left it running all night, every night, for two weeks. I would tediously scan through the sounds of me rolling around in my bed each day when I woke up. By the end of the second week, I was quite used to the occasional sound of sleep while blurring through the recording at 8 times the normal speed. (This still took almost an hour every day)

On the first day of the third week, I thought I heard something different. What I found was a shrill voice. It was the Rake. I can't listen to it long enough to even begin to transcribe it. I haven't let anyone listen to it yet. All I know is that I've heard it before, and I now believe that it spoke when it was sitting in front of my husband. I don't remember hearing anything at the time, but for some reason, the voice on the recorder immediately brings me back to that moment.

The thoughts that must have gone through my daughter's head make me very upset.

I have not seen the Rake since he ruined my life, but I know that he has been in my room while I slept. I know and fear that one night I'll wake up to see him staring at me."

Are you ready ~ The Sorrow ...


The rain pattered softly against the frosted glass roof, impacting with a miniature shockwave as it fell apart. The sky was a blackened grey with periodical slashes of lightning punctuated by deep booms of thunder. The city was underneath a shroud of darkness, a blackened parody of its previous majesty. Though the inky murk obscured the vision of most of the inhabitants, He could still hunt.
He gently laid a hand upon the glass, peering inside the abandoned building. The woman was still there, searching through the debris, scavenging whatever she could find amongst the rubble. She wore a weathered and torn cloak, ripped and worn by countless hours of aimless running and wandering. A cowl was draped over her head, the same faded tan colour as the cloak. As she searched, He observed in fascination at her random movements. For Him, this was an entirely unknown attitude. He had always had a goal, always an objective to complete for his master. Finally He had grown tired of watching, pulled back slowly from the window, then jumped right into it, crashing right through it.

With an horrific smash, he rammed himself through the window and leapt upon the derelict floor. Falling glass collapsed all around him as if it was the rain itself. The roar of thunder boomed through the building and the lightning streaked through those windows that still remained. The woman turned around in shock then screamed in terror at what stood before her. He tilted his head. Like an animal attempting to understand what she was saying. He was not bred to understand fear. Suddenly, the rain became a torrential downpour, soaking the buildingís entire interior. He tilted his head the other way. He knew this one was weak. Knew she would be easy. He stepped forward slightly, seemingly staring at her.

ďWhat are you?Ē She gasped in wide-eyed terror as it slowly inched towards her. For the first time in days, He spoke. It was a thin yet raspy, fast yet dragged out sentence.

ďWhy did you do it, mother?Ē The words seemed to linger in the air as they left His mouth. The womanís eyes managed to widen even more as He spoke, and she became a pale sheet of white.

ďWhy did you kill me?Ē He asked insistently, still inching slowly towards her.
ďWHAT ARE YOU? YOU ARENíT MY SON!Ē She screamed, attempting to turn and run. He was too fast.

He pounced upon her and dragged her, screaming, to the ground. He slowly, deliberately turned her onto her back and stared into her panicked face.

ďNO! GET OFF ME! LEAVE ME ALONE!Ē She screamed at Him, but he didnít care. He exhaled deeply, right into her face. It smelt to her of boiling blood and roasted flesh.

ďWh- what are you?Ē she asked Him weakly, knowing there was no escape from His inhuman grip. ďI am the avenger, I am the redeemer, I am the guilt, I am the Sorrow.Ē

The storm unleashed one final display of its power, thunder roaring and lightning flashing. Then it miraculously ceased.

Two hours later, the authorities arrived at the building due to reports of Ďirregular and disturbing noisesí emanating from the building. All they discovered there was a dull tan cowl and cape, along with the word ĎSORROWí etched upon each of the walls.

White all over ...

A man went to a hotel and walked up to the front desk to check in. The woman at the desk gave him his key and told him that on the way to his room, there was a door with no number that was locked and no one was allowed in there. She explained that it was a storeroom, and that it was out of bounds. She reminded him of this several times before allowing him upstairs. So he followed the instructions of the woman at the front desk, going straight to his room, and going to bed.
However, the insistence of the woman had piqued his curiosity, so the next night he walked down the hall to the door and tried the handle. Sure enough it was locked. He bent down and looked through the wide keyhole. Cold air passed through it, chilling his eye. What he saw was a hotel bedroom, like his, and in the corner was a woman whose skin was incredibly pale. She was leaning her head against the wall, facing away from the door. He stared in confusion for a while. Was this a celebrity? The owner's daughter? He almost knocked on the door, out of curiosity but decided not to.

As he was still looking, the woman turned sharply and he jumped back from the door, hoping she would not suspect he had been spying on her. He crept away from the door and walked back to his room. The next day, he returned to the door and looked through the wide keyhole. This time, all he saw was redness. He couldn't make anything out besides a distinct red color, unmoving. Perhaps the inhabitants of the room knew he was spying the night before, and had blocked the keyhole with something red. He felt embarrassed that he had made the woman so uncomfortable, and hoped she had not made a complaint with the woman on the front desk.

At this point he decided to consult her for more information. She sighed and said, "Did you look through the keyhole?"

The man told her that he had and she said, "Well, I might as well tell you the story of what happened in that room. A long time ago, a man murdered his wife in there, and we find that even now, whoever stays there gets very uncomfortable. But these people were not ordinary. They were white all over, except for their eyes, which were red."

*gulp*


Indeed








I need suggestions for Halloween candy handouts.

Of course ... everything will be individually wrapped by the manufacturer but what do kids really want? Last year was our first here. We got hammered by trick or treaters until about 9PM.

Help. I need suggestions that won't break the bank.

I was born in Atlanta, lived in Chattanooga for the 1st 9 years of my life.

I married a man from the north, so I've been transplanted into upstate New York for many years.

By the way, I still have a 50 year old Confederate flag but I was never a racist.

I walk barefoot when I can, love grits with milk gravy.

Why do you feed wildlife?



Remembering when

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