There’s Something That Haunts My Hometown, And I’m Terrified What Will Happen If They Ever Find Me

We kept two oil lamps burning, not because we needed the extra light, but so we wouldn’t be left in darkness should one go out for some reason. We had a third lamp, to be lit should anyone need to go to the bathroom. If so, they never went alone. You had to take two people with you. When I needed to go, my father and grandfather would take me. The bathroom door was kept open while we were in there, and we weren’t allowed to flush, no matter what we had done. Whoever accompanied you took my father’s shotgun on the trip; those who stayed in the living room kept the hunting rifle ready to fire until the others returned.

I hated my body on those nights. Hated it and its need to piss and shit. I would try to keep it in for as long as I could because nothing scared me more than having to cross a dark house with an armed man at my back and another holding a lamp which cast the most horrible shadows. We weren’t allowed to simply turn on the lights.

No lights. No sound. Nothing that might call Their attention.

It was harder for people with babies and small children. They don’t really understand the gravity of the situation. They cry loudly and throw tantrums. More babies were buried in my town than any other, accidentally smothered by their mothers desperately trying to quiet them. There was never an arrest or even an investigation. Everyone understood the terror that had driven them to that.